Blessing by Lyn Cote Page A

friend’s stern declaration and abrupt departure, Gerard sat alone, holding the thick glass of ale in both hands. So it had come to this. Gerard lifted his glass, rose, and moved to the counter. Well, here was as good a place as any to begin the spadework for his endeavor.
    “Evening,” he began after introducing himself to the barkeep. “I know it’s near the end of the season, but are there any horse races coming up near here?”

    Blessing’s orphanage sat on the far south edge of “respectable” Cincinnati, near Little Africa. Though she spent much time here, she’d decided to maintain residence in the house where she had lived with her husband, over a mile farther away from the river. Yet, once again, she didn’t know when she’d be able to return home for the night.
    In the washroom off the kitchen on the first floor, with her sleeves rolled up, Blessing finished bathing the baby boy. He lay in her arms, so very thin and so quiet with sunken eyes, but still he managed to keep his attention on her. Hadshe brought him here in time? Or would he expire as so many undernourished babies before him had?
    She wondered if he’d ever had a bath. He was eaten up with diaper rash. But the woman had kept him alive. How easy it would have been to let the infant die. Blessing tried to shut out the memories of other children she hadn’t reached in time. She said a prayer for this child to survive and for the woman who’d cared for him to find peace and safety. Blessing drew in a breath to hold back the tears that wanted to come. The infant tried to grip her finger as if clinging to life.
    Would she ever become accustomed to the way the world treated unwanted children? No child should be unwanted. But how could she possibly prepare this child for a world that would always look at him with scorn? She finished bathing him and wrapped him in a towel. This little boy was affecting her more than usual, and she wondered why. Gerard Ramsay’s face came to mind. That didn’t make sense. He had nothing to do with this child or with her.
    Her friend and coworker Joanna, slender and pretty with caramel skin, entered the room. Joanna was in charge of the children’s care here, and she and Blessing had grown up together and been as close as sisters—until Blessing married Richard Brightman. That had separated them for a time.
    “I got his clothing.” Joanna laid out a worn but clean blue flannel blanket, gown, cap, and diaper on the dressing table.
    Glad of her friend’s company, Blessing carried the listless infant to Joanna, who deftly cradled the child. The boy still did not cry or make a sound, but merely stared up at them.
    “Probably has never felt clean before,” Joanna murmured.She began to hum to the baby as she unwrapped him from the towel and started dressing him.
    “I’ve sent my driver for the wet nurse.” Blessing leaned her head against Joanna’s shoulder, seeking comfort for her low spirits. Joanna’s father and mother worked for Blessing’s parents, Samuel and Honor Cathwell. Before that, Joanna’s mother, Royale, had been Honor’s slave. Together Royale and Honor had left Maryland to come to a free state. When Blessing had moved to the city, Joanna had come along as her day maid. Joanna had been engaged to Asher, a lifelong friend, for three years, but he didn’t yet have the means to wed.
    Blessing rolled down her sleeves. She and Joanna had been born only a year apart. Blessing was glad to have a friend who understood her work, her life. Still she wondered how long before Joanna married, began her own family, and left the work here, left her.
    “How is that Miss Tippy doing?” Joanna asked, lifting and patting the child.
    “I’m worried.”
    Joanna looked up. “Why? Is it about that man from Boston that’s making up to her?”
    “Yes.” Blessing chewed on the worry again. “I just don’t want her to make the mistake I did . . . with Richard.”
    Joanna gazed at her. “You were younger