Honor (30 page)

A pair of eyes stared back at her. After a moment she saw an outline in the glow of the gray dawn just lightening the chilly night. A black man in tattered clothing. God had sent her another escaped slave to help. A mix of fear and excitement electrified her.

Snatching down her shawl, she held a finger to her lips and breathed, “Shush . . .” She stepped outside, making him back up. “Go to the barn,” she whispered, shutting the door with exquisite care and throwing on her shawl. “Hurry.”

The two of them hastened over the frozen grass to the
barn. In the small room at the rear, she woke Judah, who lit his lantern. Judah pulled on his coat and boots and ran to the kitchen to get provisions for the man. Honor swept one of the blankets from Judah’s bed around the runaway’s shoulders. Soon Judah returned with a jug of water and a plate of cold leftovers. The man ate ravenously.

“Thank you. Thank you,” the man said at last.

In the dim light she could see little of him or his face. “Thee can sleep up in the loft. But my husband is not sympathetic to runaways, and we have neighbors who occasionally visit,” she said in a low voice. “Please be careful not to make a sound during daylight.”

“Thank you. A black man in Cincinnati told me people in Sharpesburg would help me. To look for a large log cabin, large barn with a small cabin behind. An’ I ask God to lead me to the right door. An’ he did.”

“I will pray for thy safe journey north also. I must return before I’m missed.” She hurried outside and shut the door behind her. The cold quickened her step as much as the dread of discovery. She slipped back into the cabin, shrugged out of her robe and slippers, and slid under the covers again. Her heart beat fast from hurry and fear.

She hoped Samuel hadn’t noted her leaving and returning. She listened to his breathing, which sounded normal, and slowly her body warmed again as she fell asleep, praying for the runaway in her husband’s barn.

Samuel watched Honor at the table the next morning. Where had she gone in the early hours of the morning?
She generally didn’t use the necessary at night, so why had she gone out into the cold? Uncertainty swirled inside him; insecurity simmered in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed coffee.
I should just ask her. She’ll tell me.

But he couldn’t. What if she had left his bed to . . . to what? Whom could she be meeting? They had only two close male neighbors, and it was obvious to everyone that Thad loved his wife. That left only the bachelor blacksmith, Micah. But he and Honor had never been more than polite to each other.

Samuel reminded himself that Honor had done nothing to deserve his mistrust—on the contrary, she’d proved loyal at every turn. He gripped his mug of fragrant coffee, trying to come up with some honest reason that his wife had left his bed in the dark. Maybe she’d heard a noise from the animals and slipped outside to see what was wrong. Or . . . “Have you heard from that newspaperman?” he signed.

Perlie had just delivered scrambled eggs and a pan of hot biscuits. Honor was melting butter over the biscuits one by one. Her hand faltered. “What? Why would thee ask about him?” she signed.

He shrugged without any answer.

Honor sent him a look edged with irritation. “I am thy wife, Samuel Cathwell.”

Samuel felt foolish. Honor was everything a man could want in a wife. That’s what caught in his craw. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe he was enough for her.

Eli and Caleb climbed down the ladder from the loft and came to the table, their pets trailing behind. Surely
if something had occurred out of the ordinary, Eli would have woken. And Pal already promised to be a good little watchdog.

Samuel rose and stood next to his wife, signing for her eyes only. “I’m sorry I asked about Hewitt.”

She turned to kiss his cheek and went on with her buttering.

The tightness in his chest eased, and he sat down and began signing to Caleb, encouraging him to sign back. But the worry and doubt deep inside him had rekindled.

“Today I will fire up my forge for the first time,” Samuel signed at the end of breakfast.

“Is the forge done now?” Honor asked, glancing up.

“Judah and I finished it yesterday with Thad’s help. Micah will bring me some coal. I have some good clean sand that I’ve dug from nearby. I will try to melt some in the forge. Make my first glass in Ohio.” He beamed at her, a rare display.

On her part, Honor tightened with sudden fear for two reasons. After her visit to the glassworks in Pittsburgh, she was all too aware of how dangerous glassmaking might be. Tremendous, fearsome heat alone could melt sand into liquid glass. And Samuel had told her that glass could explode, shatter into piercing shards.

Then the second worry reared up on its hind legs. What if Thad came to see what his help had made possible? Would the runaway in the loft make any telltale sound? “Thad Hastings is helping thee?”

“Yes, he’s coming today.” Samuel paused. “He’s learning to sign more and more.”

Startled, Honor stared at him. She had kept her distance from Thad’s family. But she had noticed that Thad came over often and spent time in the barn. “I’m glad.” She began to realize more fully how her mission would separate her from her neighbors. Tight with fear, all she could say was “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.” Samuel wiped his hands on the finger cloth lying on the table.

Honor picked up her coffee with both hands and drained the cup. Someone knocked on the door, and her guilty nerves jerked.

Eli jumped up and opened the door.

The blacksmith, Micah, had arrived. “Morning.”

Beside him, Thad signed the greeting and asked aloud, “Samuel, done with breakfast? Micah brought coal.”

Both men tugged the brims of their hats, nodding toward her, grinning like children about to get a treat.

Honor signed Thad’s question to Samuel, who rose and waved a greeting to the men. Her husband seemed more relaxed in their company than she’d often seen him. This small community seemed to be the right place for her husband.

“Shall we fire up that forge?” Micah rubbed his hands together with anticipation. Judah appeared behind the other two, looking just as hopeful.

Samuel’s broad smile could have lit the room. After finishing his coffee, he kissed her cheek, grabbed his hat and jacket, and headed toward the door.

Eli finished scooping in the last bite of his eggs and motioned for Caleb to follow him. Caleb slid off the bench and picked up his pup to pursue the other males. Bringing up the rear, Eli’s kitten chased them all outside.

Honor stared at the door with a bit of puzzlement. Firing up a dangerous forge frightened her, but evidently it was highly entertaining to the male sex. Her amusement was short-lived. She bowed her head and prayed that the glassblowing would go safely and that the man in the loft would not give himself away.

As the morning progressed, Honor learned that another neighbor had stopped by the blacksmith’s shop yesterday and had evidently spread the news of today’s event. Men she’d never seen crowded around the entrance to the barn. Honor couldn’t help herself. The barn also drew her like a magnet. And her worry over the runaway kept her heart thudding against her breastbone.

She stayed near the men but somewhat apart, watching as Samuel repeatedly tested the temperature of the forge’s heat. Finally he signed that the sand he’d poured inside the forge was ready to be worked. He thrust a long metal tube into the forge and began to twirl it slowly, gathering the molten amber glass around the tube. Honor was torn between fascination over the process and worry that it would go wrong. The men watched in intense silence.

“Remember,” Micah said to the other men, “stay back. That forge is as hot as mine when I’m working iron, and glass can explode. Do not touch Samuel or get too close.”

In response the surrounding men stepped back a bit farther. Honor’s fear wrapped more tightly around her, and it was all she could do not to glance up into the loft. Was the runaway awake and aware of the danger? Or would he snort in his exhausted sleep and betray them?

The men remained serious and focused on Samuel’s movements. She understood the import of this event for her husband. Today all of the surrounding neighbors would view Samuel’s skill. Her husband’s face showed no emotion, but she read tension in his spine and the way he held his jaw.

Judah and even Thad narrated for Samuel as the others watched in fascinated silence. Eli stood near Honor, peering through the legs of the men in front of him. Caleb sat by the door of the barn, playing with the pup and kitten, teasing them with a string Honor had given him. Ignoring them all.

Honor watched Samuel, who had chosen not to use a mold, twirl the molten glass on the tube, then roll the blob on a slab of marble on his workbench.

“Mr. Cathwell is marvering the glass,” Judah informed them in a quiet, respectful tone. “That means cooling the outside of the glass. That marble is called the marver.”

Then Samuel began to puff into the blowpipe, creating a bubble in the glass. The men reacted in unison, exclaiming in wonder. Honor shifted for a better view. How did he possess the courage to come so close to having his flesh seared?

Samuel thrust the glass back into the furnace, orange-and-blue flames licking the sides of the glass on the cane.

“Mr. Cathwell is reheating the glass so he can work it more. That opening in the furnace is called the glory hole,” Judah said. The men were obviously puzzled by Judah’s presence and knowledge, but no one commented on Samuel’s free black apprentice. Honor drew in a deep breath and prayed again for the runaway’s silence. Still, her husband’s skill captivated her.

Samuel withdrew the rod. With Judah’s deft assistance, Samuel used wooden paddles and pads that had been soaking in water for days to shape the glass vessel. Again her husband’s demanding craft drew Honor’s respect. The wooden pads Samuel wielded were all that separated his flesh from the molten glass.

He went through the same blowing process, and the shape grew larger, fuller. Finally she could see the bottle he was making, a sill or jug about a foot high and a foot in diameter at the base. Judah stepped forward and lifted a rod to Samuel’s sill, taking it from the blowpipe.

Then with quick, deft movements, Samuel created the neck and lip and fashioned a finger handle on the side. He held up the finished bottle still at the end of the rod.

One man reached out toward the jug.

“Don’t touch it!” Micah roared. “It’s still burning hot!”

The man staggered back in surprise. Honor inhaled sharply.

“Sorry. It will take some time before it can be touched.” Micah’s voice sounded tight. “And it could still shatter. Keep back.”

The man wiped his forehead with a navy-blue handkerchief. “Much obliged. Never seen anything like this before.”

The rest murmured in agreement with him.

Samuel cut the glass from the rod, set it in another compartment of the forge, and shut the door.

Judah latched it. “That’s the annealer. The glass needs time to cool so it won’t shatter from cooling too quick.”

Honor flushed with pride at her husband’s ability. The jug was practical, of course, but in a way beautiful. Samuel had taken sand and coal and created this. Peering through the tiny gaps between the men’s shoulders, she beamed at him. He smiled almost shyly at her. She was so glad for him, for this day. She savored his new pride and the respect he had won. And the runaway had not betrayed his presence. If only she could think of a way now to draw everyone away.