Honor (34 page)

“I can’t see any woman turning away a baby,” Royale said, rocking the infant against her and crooning softly.

The icy landscape passed in silence then, except for an occasional whimper from the swaddled baby, the screech of an owl, the rustle of the wind through dried oak leaves. The horses’ breath sent up plumes of white vapor, and the chill in the air seeped through the layers of wool and flannel till Honor felt like ice.

Finally, around a bend of trees, a settlement of several cabins and a few fields carved from the surrounding forest came into sight. A tall black man loomed out of one cabin, holding a lantern high. He strode to the middle of the rough road leading to the huddle of cabins, a challenge in his stance.

Honor tried to hope but failed.

Judah reined in the team and lifted one leather-gloved hand. “I’m Judah Langston. I’m apprentice to the
glassmaker in Sharpesburg. This is my intended bride, Royale, and the glassmaker’s wife, Honor Cathwell. We need help. Can we come inside and talk?”

“I’m Hank Clifton.” The man motioned for them to get down and held the lantern high for them. A young boy hurried out of the house and led the team into a nearby barn.

Inside the neat, warm cabin, Honor and Royale crowded close to the fire, trying to warm up. One younger woman and one older sat at the table, wrapped in shawls over nightdresses, watching them.

“Hank Clifton, I’m glad to meet thee,” Honor said when she could stop shivering. “We need a nursing mother. Is one living in this town?”

Hank studied her in the firelight. A man of powerful build, he looked to be in his forties with threads of gray in his dark, curly hair. He took his time assessing her and then the baby. “That baby isn’t white.”

“No, the poor babe’s been orphaned and needs a family,” Royale spoke up. “You don’t need to be afraid of Mrs. Cathwell. She set me free.”

“She’s a Quaker?” the man asked.

“Yes, I am a Friend,” Honor answered for herself. “And Royale is my blood kin.”

A kind of shock went through the room.

“There’s many of us with white kin,” Hank said finally in a dry tone, “but none that will claim us.”

The younger of the women rose and offered Honor her hand. She had an almond-shaped face and a kind expression—beautiful. “I’m Hank’s wife, Keturah. And
this is my aunt. I’ll go get the nursing mother that lives nearby. I know she’ll help.”

Hank waved for Honor and Royale to sit on the bench, and Judah came in with the boy who’d helped with the horses. “This is our son,” Hank said. “Now how did you get this baby?”

Honor let Royale tell the sad story.

“Well, God bless you for helping her,” Hank said to Honor.

“How could I turn her away? And how could I blame her for wanting her child born into freedom, not shackles?”

The door opened again, and a plump young woman entered, carrying her own baby on her hip. “Where’s that poor orphan child?”

Within moments the young mother sat by the fire and coaxed the runaway’s baby to begin nursing. “He’s half starved.”

“I know. We weren’t sure how cow’s milk would affect a newborn,” Honor explained, drenched in relief. “Perlie, my cook, kept giving him sugar wrapped in cloth to suck. Thank thee. I am so grateful, so grateful.” She fought a rush of emotion. “I was so afraid we might get here too late or not find a nursing mother.” Honor burst into pent-up tears.

Royale folded her in her arms. “Miss Honor been carrying a heavy load. Her husband didn’t know she was helping runaways till this baby’s mother showed up.”

“Still he let you bring the baby here?” Hank asked.

“He wouldn’t hurt anyone, least of all a child,” Honor said through her tears. “But he doesn’t believe abolition
will ever come. I don’t know if he’ll let me help others in the future.”

“Well,” Keturah said, “that’s better than it could have been.”

But not what I want. I want Samuel to share my passion to set the captives free. I want him to see these people as I do.

DECEMBER 26, 1819

At luncheon the next day, Honor and her family all sat around the table. Upon returning last night, Honor had explained everything about the baby and his new family to Samuel. He’d merely nodded, not showing any reaction. Did he feel that she was being disloyal to him, her husband? She had kept her illegal work a secret, and she would understand if he resented her for it.

Now she faced the wearying routine of sharing a meal with Caleb. She and Samuel had begun to insist that Caleb ask in sign for his food. Honor gestured toward an empty bowl and signed to Caleb, “Spell
stew
so I can give thee some.”

Caleb stared at the table.

She sighed. If it wasn’t Samuel puzzling her, it was Caleb. She knew their prickliness flowed from their deafness. But she never treated them as less than they were because they couldn’t hear her. She didn’t see why the boy still resisted her efforts to teach him sign language.

She signed this question to Samuel, adding, “Did thee resist learning?”

He shook his head no. But he didn’t give any other response.

She ignored another token of his pulling back, withdrawing from her, and signed again to Caleb, instructing him to spell
stew
.

The boy grudgingly signed,
“S-t-e-w.”

Honor dished him up a generous helping, then served herself. She’d just lifted her fork when she heard the jingling of a harness and a deep voice calling, “Hello the house!”

She signed this to Samuel and rose to open the door. She stepped outside and immediately wished she hadn’t. The slave catchers had returned. All that had happened the night before flashed through her like ice and flame. “What does thee want?” she demanded, flushing with unwelcome anger.

“To see if you got a runaway in your barn, Quaker,” the older one retorted. “We’re lookin’ for a pregnant slave.”

“Thee is not welcome here,” she said, gratefully aware that her husband had come up behind her. The dead woman’s face came to mind, her thin body and tattered clothing proof of dishonor and mistreatment. Honor gripped herself tightly and kept the outrage at bay.
God, help me not to hate them.

“Don’t matter if we are welcome here or not. We got a right to search for runaways. Dan, head into that barn and see if they got that Negro we’re looking for in their loft.”

Honor glared at the men. She didn’t know if the Fugitive Slave Law gave them the right to search or not. She would ask Alan Lewis when next she went to town. She signed the slave catcher’s words to Samuel, who raced off after the younger man.

“My husband said he better not touch anything in his glassworks.”

“I heared your man could work glass. That seems funny. Him being deaf and all.” The older man itched the side of his nose.

“One doesn’t need to hear glass to work with it,” she shot back. She knew there was no trace of the runaway having been here—except for her unmarked grave. Could they somehow track the footprints there?

“Oh, I riled you.” He chuckled. “You Quakers get so upset about us returning property to its rightful owners. These runaways cost plenty.”

Honor did not deign to reply to this. Greed, not a zeal to enforce the law, drove these catchers. She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried for calm.

Samuel stalked back beside Dan, the younger slave catcher.

“No slaves, Pa,” Dan announced and swung up on the bench.

“I’m gonna be watching you, Quaker,” the older one said.

“And I will be watching thee,” Honor returned, her impotent fury boiling over. “Do not try to kidnap a free person of color.” This was the only retort she could think of.

The dart hit the mark. The older man’s face boiled red in an instant. He slapped the reins and turned around. As he drove away, he roared, “Watch your step, Quaker!”

Honor seethed, watching till they were swallowed up by the forest, hating that they could stir her to such anger. She tried to release the hot flush, the tight neck muscles. She shook her hands to loosen her arms.

Eli appeared in the doorway of the cabin. “Caleb’s hiding. He won’t come down. He saw those men and hid.”

With Samuel at her heels, Honor hurried inside and up the ladder. But with her skirt, she couldn’t easily crawl into the loft above their bedroom. She called Caleb’s name, scolded herself for forgetting he couldn’t hear her, and rapped the floor to gain his attention. “Caleb,” she signed, “those men are gone. We will not let them take thee. Come down.”

The boy crouched in the farthest corner of the loft.

When those two catchers had found him, what had they done to him to cause such fear? Anger tried to boil up higher inside her. She closed her eyes, praying for God’s peace. Human wrath was against the will of God and only gave Satan influence over a soul. Honor must leave these evil men to God’s justice. She took deep breaths as if forcing the anger out. The tightness in her chest eased enough for her to consider the pressing problem of comforting Caleb.

She couldn’t reach Caleb without raising her skirts to an immodest height. So she waited till she breathed normally again. Perhaps Caleb would sense her anger and think it was directed toward him. If he wouldn’t come down, she must let Samuel deal with him. Once again Caleb needed her, but she couldn’t reach him. That was true, so achingly true.

Caleb didn’t budge, just stared at her, cringing against the wall.

Heartsick, she carefully stepped down the ladder, as ladylike as possible. The boy’s fright had quenched her
frustration over the catchers’ visit. “Samuel, thee must go up and reassure him.”

Samuel climbed up the ladder, and soon she heard Caleb yelling in inarticulate anger. Samuel came down the ladder with the screaming and kicking boy over one shoulder.

Before Samuel put him down, Honor clasped Caleb’s face with both hands and shouted, “Caleb, stop fighting us! We’ll protect thee!” Then she felt foolish again and guilty, yelling at a child who couldn’t hear. But desperation prodded her. She didn’t know how to help him.

“I don’t want to learn to talk with my fingers!” Caleb yelled back. He must have read her moving mouth or interpreted her face, twisted with irritation. “I don’t want to be deaf!”

Her throat thick with emotion, she signed this to Samuel as he set the boy on his feet.

Samuel dropped to his knees and gripped Caleb’s shoulder, signing, “I didn’t want to be deaf either. This is the way it will remain. For both of us. Fighting us won’t help you.”

Caleb stared into Samuel’s eyes, which were nearly level with his. Then he leaned his head back and moaned loud and long like a wolf howling.

The sound cut Honor in two. She felt like throwing her head back and joining in. She didn’t want this child to be deaf and to lose his parents. She didn’t want poor runaways to huddle in their barn, fleeing God knew what. She didn’t want slave catchers to search their property. She didn’t want Samuel to believe slavery would never be outlawed. She didn’t want the world to be the way it was.

She knelt and wrapped her arms around Caleb and Samuel. She felt Eli come alongside her and join the circle they had created around the older boy. Tears fell from her eyes, covering her face like a mourning veil. Caleb had been with them over a month. And only now was he at last expressing all his despair. Was that why the boy affected her emotions so deeply? She wanted so much to feel Samuel’s touch, to feel close to him the way she did when words and circumstances didn’t get in the way. Now so much had come between them—between them all.

JANUARY 3, 1820

On an unusually cold January morning, Honor heard hoofbeats followed by a forceful, peremptory knocking on the door. Setting down her sewing, she hurried across the room. Samuel had just left for the barn. When she looked out the window, she saw that her husband was already halfway there, his back to her. She wished she could call out to him.

But first she must find out what the person at the door wanted. The man was so wrapped up against the cold, she could see only his eyes. He tugged down a scarf, revealing his face, and asked, “Is this the Cathwell house? Cathwell Glassworks?”

“Yes?” Honor said hesitantly.