Honor (22 page)

Samuel tried not to notice his lovely wife in her chair, backlit by candlelight. Eli was already asleep in the middle of their bed. Their wedding night had been delayed for so long, too long. So much had happened in such a short time, and everything seemed to conspire to keep them celibate.

However, they would soon move into their own home. Would Honor be willing, or would she hold back?

OCTOBER 30, 1819

Honor and Samuel stood in the general store nearest the inn, its shelves lined with all manner of merchandise. The store smelled of fall’s apples, a barrel of them at the end of one long counter. Royale and Eli had remained at the inn with Judah Langston, their guardian. Perlie had come with Honor to buy staples to take to their new property in a week or so.

Preparing to leave Cincinnati and move again was playing havoc with Honor’s emotions. Her thoughts were trying to drag her back to that awful memory of the day before she’d left High Oaks, trying to pull her down to the same devastation. A discreet glance at Samuel told her that, in contrast, he was eager to leave. Perhaps moving away from the city would help her better comprehend him, help them
grow closer. They still lived as polite acquaintances—in public as well as in private.

Perlie stood with them in the store bare of other customers, ordering what she needed to set up her kitchen. “I need a tub-a lard,” Perlie said to the bald store owner in his white apron, who was writing down her list. “And a pound-a salt, five pound sugar, and . . .”

Sinclair Hewitt rushed inside. “Mrs. Cathwell!”

The urgency in his voice raced up Honor’s spine and grabbed her by the nape. She whipped around. “Sinclair Hewitt, what is it?”

“They escaped. The kidnappers escaped from the jail last night.”

Perlie gasped.

Honor staggered from the blow. Samuel gripped her arm, tucking her closer. She forced herself to sign the dreadful news to him. The storekeeper stood, gawking at her as she signed. Ignoring him, she looked to Hewitt. “How did this happen?”

“You the people whose boy was kidnapped, the family whose man is deaf?” the storekeeper interrupted. “Is that why you make those motions with your fingers?”

“Yes,” Honor snapped, glaring sideways at the man. “More to the point, our free black maid was abducted. They only took our nephew to force her to obey them.”

He raised his hands. “No need to get excited.”

“They let them go,” Perlie speculated darkly. “That sheriff . . .” The woman waddled a few steps away, muttering to herself.

Honor and Hewitt made eye contact. Could Perlie be right?

“She’s got no call to say that,” the shopkeeper said. “Those kidnappers were convicted, and—”

Honor swung on him, grateful for a target. “The sheriff believed the kidnappers when they lied, saying I’d sold my maid to them. He believed that I sold a free woman in a free state.”

In the face of her fierce challenge, the shopkeeper moved back a step.

Honor’s hands clenched. In her mind they were wrapped around a throat—not this storekeeper’s but the sheriff’s. Horrified at herself, she loosened her hands and drew in a deep breath. No matter what, she must control her emotions, not let herself go the way of violence. That wasn’t the Friends’ way, God’s way.
Forgive me, Father.

Taking another deep breath, she turned to Hewitt. “What’s being done to catch them?”

“A posse was deputized to search for them, but I have no doubt the two are already across the river in Kentucky, among their confederates.”

“Confederates?” Honor asked and signed.

“Other slave catchers. I wouldn’t doubt that the two kidnappers were slave catchers who saw a chance for something more lucrative than a reward from a slaveholder.”

“It’s against the law to aid a fugitive slave,” the storekeeper lectured them.

Honor swung on the man a second time. “What has that got to do with our nephew and his nurse being
kidnapped?” She flung the words into his face with her voice and fingers.

“Well, if we sent all the free blacks back to Africa, we wouldn’t have these problems. Colonization is the answer.” The man’s voice shook with his own intensity.

“I don’t want to go to Africa,” Perlie said flatly, shocking Honor and everyone else. “Who do I know in Africa? That’s not where I was born.”

The storekeeper grew larger in his anger. “We don’t want blacks here in Ohio—free or slave. This country is for white people.”

“Then what you bring us here for?” Perlie demanded, her hands propped on her ample hips. “My grandfather didn’t want to come here, but they brought him anyway.”

Honor signed as fast as she could, keeping Samuel abreast of the exchange.

“Are you going to let your servant speak out of turn like this to a white man?” the storekeeper demanded.

Before Honor could reply, Samuel tapped her shoulder and she spoke his reply aloud. “She is a free woman, and she can say anything she wants to anyone. And we will not be shopping in thy store again, since thee doesn’t care that our nephew’s kidnappers have gone free.”

“The two matters are entirely separate,” the man sputtered.

“No, they aren’t. Our nephew wouldn’t have been in jeopardy if lawless men hadn’t kidnapped our maid,” Honor said bluntly, “just to sell her back into slavery for the sake of greed.”

Without a backward glance, Samuel guided her to the
entrance and waved her and Perlie to precede him and Hewitt. Speaking out had lifted Honor’s spirits. Even more heartening, Samuel had defended Perlie.

Outside, she turned and, standing on tiptoe, touched her husband’s cheek. If they’d been alone, she might have kissed him. “Thank thee. What should we do?” she asked.

Hewitt paused nearby. “I must go. I’m going to write this story up for the newspaper.”

“Thank thee!” Honor called after him as he hurried away.

Samuel touched her shoulder. “Let’s go to the lawyer and see what he says about this.”

“And I know a general store that is better than this one.” Perlie cast a scornful look at the offending storefront. “I shop there for my last mistress. It farther down toward the wharf.”

Honor looked to the woman. “Go and order all thee needs to set up the kitchen. Tell the storekeeper we will pay him when he delivers the goods to the stable at the inn later today.”

“I’ll do that, ma’am.” The woman frowned deeply. “But don’t you go gettin’ your hopes up about those bad men. If those catchers cross the river, you not gon’ find them. All Kentucky will hide them.” Perlie didn’t wait for a response, just started walking south.

Needing to touch Samuel again for reassurance, Honor slipped her arm into his, and they headed for Alan Lewis’s office. Perlie’s words repeated in her mind. She’d hoped that a free state would be different from a slave state, be a safe haven for Royale. She’d hoped in vain—a hard truth. For a moment she rested her head against Samuel’s arm.

“We will keep Royale safe no matter what,” Samuel signed.

Honor squeezed his arm in reply, grateful for his support. But he was just one man—a good man, but just one. And as much as she longed to make life safer for Royale and the other free blacks, she was just one woman, unenfranchised and married—slighted by law, which granted no rights to a woman with a husband. She fought the crushing weight of helplessness.

NOVEMBER 8, 1819

On a sunny fall morning about a week later, Honor drove toward their new property, which could be reached in only an hour—no doubt a blessing from God. As soon as they left the outskirts of Cincinnati, the forest thickened along the road leading to Lebanon. With each mile from the city, the road became rougher, more a matter of wheel tracks gouged into an opening, a trail between the trunks of towering pines, oaks, and maples. This made for difficult driving, and the horses were skittish in the midst of the trees, a new surrounding for them. Deer and small animals darted out, startling the team.

Honor stood many times to guide the wagon around blind bends through the forest. She kept up a constant flow of calm words, guiding the team and reassuring herself too. The farther from Cincinnati they drove, the less sure she felt, in spite of the balmy breeze and the closer proximity of their new parcel. She glanced sideways.

Samuel sat beside her, unusually cheerful. He’d decided
the second parcel was better than the first, with larger buildings and a good creek running through the property. He’d told her he needed plenty of water for his glassworks. So at least he was happy.

Behind them, their baggage and provisions and Samuel’s tools were piled high and strapped securely into the wagon. Perlie rode on the tailgate of the wagon with Eli in her charge. A box of noisy chickens sat beside the cook. Behind the wagon walked Royale and Judah, leading the new milk cow and goat. Judah had offered to come help them unload and get settled in their new place, and accepting his help had been easy. Honor had not missed his partiality for her maid. Perhaps Royale would find love here in Ohio. The thought brought Honor joy for Royale but sorrow for herself.

They rounded a bend, and there was the small village of Sharpesburg. A blacksmith shop and two cabins ranged along the road, about a half mile between each building. Honor slowed the wagon, hoping to see one of their new neighbors come out before she drove around another bend and down the road at least a mile to their property.

Samuel, of course, asked why they were slowing, wanting to go directly to their cabin and begin setting up.

She didn’t reply, just kept the team dawdling along. She needed to meet her new neighbors and find out what kind of people they were. A woman ventured out of the nearest cabin, and a man walked up from a cornfield carved out of the surrounding forest.

“Good day!” the small, white-haired woman from the
nearest cabin called out with a friendly wave. “Didn’t I see you folk pass by before?”

“Good morning! We’re the Cathwells. My husband has bought land near here.”

The woman approached the wagon, glancing toward its rear. “I’m Charity Hastings. I live with my son and his wife here.” Charity was speaking to Honor but gazing toward the rear of the wagon. “You bring servants with you?”

“Yes.” Honor waited to see what the woman would say.

“I guess that’s all right as long as they keep to themselves. There’s a black town farther up the road, name of Bucktown. They keep to themselves pretty much too. We just see them passing once in a while when they go to and from the city.”

Honor did not feel herself warming to this woman.

The young man from the field stepped forward, his face ruddy and his hair thick and red. “I’m Charity’s son, Thad Hastings. My wife is lying in after our firstborn came last week. Welcome to Sharpesburg.” Thad offered his hand to Samuel.

Honor signed the man’s greeting and was not surprised to see the consternation on their new neighbors’ faces. “My husband is deaf,” Honor explained. “I talk to him with my fingers.”

“And you’re both in mourning,” Charity Hastings said, still assessing them.

“Yes, thee is right,” Honor said politely but felt herself tighten inside. “We both lost close relations recently.”

“Oh, my!” Charity exclaimed, her face registering surprise and displeasure. “And you’re Quakers, too.”

“We are not a usual couple; that’s true.” Honor gazed at the woman and her son, assessing them as they continued to do the same. Not the welcome she’d hoped for.
But maybe I hoped for too much.

Another man joined them, obviously the blacksmith from his leather apron and sooty face.

Samuel signed to Honor. “Tell the blacksmith that I’m a glassblower and will set up shop soon. I will need some blacksmithing from time to time to repair tools and such.”

Everyone looked to Samuel, in apparent disbelief that a deaf-mute could be a trained artisan. Honor gritted her teeth.

The blacksmith, named Micah Smith, took off his battered hat and shook Samuel’s hand. A few more comments were exchanged.

Bidding them a curt adieu and slapping the reins, Honor decided that the meeting was enough for now. These people would be their neighbors. Time would tell if they would be good neighbors or not. But thus far they had not impressed her.