Honor (40 page)

Samuel turned to her, signing, “I was coming to help you. They have been trapped, cramped all day.”

His explanation didn’t change the way she felt. She turned and stiffly walked away, heading toward the creek, where she could drink and splash away the sweat and grit on her face and neck.

“Honor,” Darah called, “don’t run from me. We need to talk. I was too frightened and tired before to try to explain, but you need to know.”

Honor didn’t stop, didn’t slow. But she heard her cousin pursuing her through the tall grass, crunching pinecones underfoot. She felt like outrunning Darah, but suddenly her resolve wilted. Darah caught up with her.

Honor didn’t turn to acknowledge her. She slipped through the trees and hurried the last few steps to the creek. Removing her shoes, she lifted the back of her plain gray skirt and tucked it into her thin belt. She waded out into the chilly water and bent to splash it on her face and neck.

“I know you don’t want me here,” Darah said, following her into the water, not bothering to tuck up her skirt of fine cotton.

Honor stared at her cousin, who stood erect and defiant.

“I know what kind of man Mr. Alec be,” the new maid spoke up. She must have trailed Darah to the creek. “I born on his land. I see what he did to my mistress.”

Honor wanted to ask,
Did what?
She couldn’t form the words.

Darah rolled up her sleeve and held out her bare arm. “See what he did to me.”

When Honor saw a pronounced lump between the wrist and elbow, she gasped and nearly slipped on the slick creek pebbles.

“This happened only weeks after our wedding. Alec threw me against the fireplace and broke my arm. My maid, Sally—” she nodded toward the other woman—“bound it as well as she could, but . . .”

Honor looked into her cousin’s eyes. She pulled back at the stark suffering she saw there. Revulsion over the injury hit her and she bent, gasping against waves of nausea.

Sally waded farther into the creek. “White folk didn’t know, but Mr. Martin’s slaves did. He got a mean streak.”

“It is true,” Darah affirmed. “I couldn’t believe it either at first. But sometimes it’s like he goes mad. It’s terrifying what he does in a rage.”

Honor tried to put this together in her mind.

“Honor, I am not lying.” Darah grabbed her hand. “I can’t go back to him. He threatened that if I tried to leave him, he’d have me locked up as insane. If he finds me and takes me back, my life won’t be worth living. I’ll kill myself first.”

Honor’s pulse skipped and jumped with emotions she didn’t want to confront. What was true? The memory of her last conversation with Alec in the garden of High Oaks returned. How he had slashed the air with his cane and gripped her arms. She’d thought it was due to the intensity of his feelings for her, but now she was forced to admit she had been deceived.

APRIL 12, 1820

A week later, the four of them had passed through busy Detroit and ferried across the Detroit River to prosperous Windsor, Canada. Now in a cozy log inn, they sat at supper in a private dining parlor so Sally could eat with them. Though already partway into the evening, golden sunlight flowed through the open windows. Finely woven cheesecloth hung over each, keeping out most of the mosquitoes yet letting in the evening breeze.

Honor sat beside her husband, trying not to look at Darah, across from her. Even though the horrible truth of Darah’s marriage had been revealed, Honor’s sense of hurt and upheaval festered. Still, Samuel’s solid presence bolstered her. She might not be certain her husband would ever love her, but she couldn’t imagine Samuel ever turning
his strength against her. Once she’d believed Alec loved her, but she’d been proved wrong, and in so many ways. Maybe Alec didn’t know what love meant. She recalled their last conversation. He’d started it with,
“What about me?”

They’d ordered an evening meal of smoked grouse with a delicious cranberry sauce. Honor, drained in every way, just picked at her food, trying to revive herself. Even though it would mean another day of driving the team, she couldn’t wait till the day after tomorrow when they could leave Darah here and head back to Sharpesburg.

The servant girl came in, removed their dinner plates, and set a platter of sliced cheese and rhubarb pie on the table. One forkful and the tart rhubarb tingled on her tongue.

“Honor, I need you to ask your cousin some questions,” Samuel signed.

Every bone in her body ached from many days of driving the team. She sighed and signed, “Do we need to talk now?”
To my cousin who robbed me of everything and didn’t care?

He nodded. “We must have our plans in place because we leave for home at first light in two days. I have work to get home to.”

No mention of Honor’s distress, just his work. Selecting a slice of cheddar cheese, she quelled a grimace and signed, “Very well.”

“Ask your cousin if she has any skill that she might use to make money.”

Honor thought of how ludicrous this question was. Darah had been raised to be a lady, just as she herself had. The skills they had been taught—elegant manners,
beautiful needlework, and the pianoforte—did not have any market value. In her deep fatigue, even the idea of lying down here on the floor started to have appeal. Ever since Darah had appeared at their door, Honor had been prone to crave sleep more than usual—only to wake to nightmares.

Pushing these thoughts aside, she delivered Samuel’s question, hoping to end this as soon as possible and go to bed.

Darah didn’t look surprised. “I can make lace, fine lace.”

Now Honor did recall this. Both of them had been taught this ladylike skill, but unlike Honor, Darah had excelled in it.

Samuel nodded. “Good. Tomorrow we will rent you a shop with living quarters. I will pay the rent for a year. And I will deposit a hundred dollars in an account at the bank for you.”

Honor, in the act of reaching for another slice of cheese, halted her arm in midair. Samuel had to nudge her into relating his words.

Darah gasped.

“Thank you, Jesus,” Sally murmured, clasping her hands together.

Honor stared at her husband, unable to speak. A hundred dollars? She pulled back her hand from the cheese board, suddenly short of breath. One hundred dollars was what she’d been left in her grandfather’s will. The irony of this wrapped around her throat. “We’re leaving High Oaks in Alec’s possession, then?” she demanded sharply.

Every face turned to her.

“What can we do about that, Honor?” Darah asked. “Upon our marriage, High Oaks became his. As a married woman, I have no property rights.”

Honor chewed on this unpalatable legal fact. Though why she should experience afresh the loss of High Oaks baffled her. Even before Darah married Alec, Honor’s home had been wrenched from her. Had she in some secret part of her heart hoped to somehow free her people even now? Impossible.

“The hundred dollars is a loan, which I will expect you to repay over time, Darah,” Samuel signed and Honor translated. “But not till you’ve established your business in a few years and are making a steady income.”

Darah murmured a bewildered thank-you.

Honor lifted a slice of cheese but couldn’t eat it. She still couldn’t look at her cousin. She believed what Darah said about Alec. No sane woman would flee as Darah had unless she had cause. But Honor’s own situation was fraught with such uncertainty. She and Samuel had come so far, but would they ever be completely one? Would her devotion to abolition continue to separate them? Worry tied her up inside into tight, hard knots. She set the cheese on her plate.

Samuel turned to Sally. “What can you do?”

“I can sew and mend. I could hire out.”

Samuel nodded. “I will give both of you money for new clothing so you can look presentable to apply for work. You need new shoes and will require warm clothing for winter.”

Honor continued to share his words, the mistreatment by those she trusted still souring her unsettled stomach. Of
course Samuel would be generous; he had been generous with her. It stirred something unpleasant within her nonetheless, something she wished she didn’t feel. Their meal finally ended, and soon they retired to their reserved rooms upstairs. Honor could barely wish her cousin good night.

In their room, Samuel shut and latched the door. Honor sank into the comfortable chair by the cold hearth. The last rays of the sun lit one wall, reflecting her low mood. She wanted to lie down and sleep, and she wanted to spring up and run from the room.

Samuel stood motionless, gazing at her. She tried to read any trace of love in his expression, his eyes. As usual, he excelled in masking his emotions. Above all, she needed reassurance of their bond. She needed him to hold her, but she couldn’t ask for it. He must do it without prompting or it would mean little.

Everything in her life had been turned upside down. Alec was a monster. Darah was reduced to fleeing him. The people she would have freed were at the mercy of a man with an ungovernable temper. Samuel had proved practical and charitable, while Honor was barely able to speak a civil word to her only cousin. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks. And she was totally helpless in the face of this disruption—of her life now and of what she’d believed about those she’d left in Maryland. Her soul cried out to God, not in words but in confusion and hurt and exhaustion.

When Honor and Samuel left Canada, riding the ferry over the Detroit River back to the American shore, she
stayed near her husband for protection among the strangers, some very rough-looking. Even a few bare-chested Wyandot in buckskin and feathers stood nearby.

On the ferry dock at the Canadian shore, Darah and Sally stood in the morning sunshine that glinted on the water. Watching the ferry leave, Darah raised her hand in farewell.

Honor wanted to ignore the gesture, forget all the shattered illusions, but she could not. She raised her hand. Would she ever see Darah again? The blue water flowed underneath them as she left her kin on another shore, in another land. She had never felt so alone. Samuel never spoke of love but protected and provided for her. Alec had vowed his love for her, but then he married Darah and savaged her. Honor’s turmoil continued to plague her, leaving her weak, bewildered.

Soon, with a bump and groan of ropes, the ferry docked, and Honor led the team and wagon onto the American side. They left bustling Detroit behind, driving south again for another week on the crude trail. Her arms ached as they never had before, her fatigue deeper than ever.

Honor leaned against the bench, her lower back complaining. If Samuel were able to drive, they could take turns holding and guiding the team. While it was true that being unable to voice commands for the team was the main obstacle, she sensed that Samuel’s refusal to learn had more to do with how he still viewed himself—an unwelcome thought.

And she must do all the driving without the diversion
of spoken conversation. Slow tears slid down her cheeks. She couldn’t recall being this physically and emotionally tormented and exhausted. The sun rose higher, higher, and the heat of the day grew cloying, breathless.

“Why are you so upset?” Samuel signed.

Incapable of explaining what she didn’t understand, she brushed his question aside with a wave of her hand.

He stared at her, brows drawn together, then folded his arms and turned away.

Lost in her inner misery, Honor did not attempt to ease their impasse. Some time slipped by before she became aware of a change in the wind.

Samuel rested a hand on her arm. “Are you angry with me? All I’ve done is help your cousin and her runaway maid.”

She shook her head, glancing skyward.

The wind began to gust, and she realized the moisture in the air had climbed also. Honor looked to the west. Thunderclouds were building into ominous, murky-gray mountains. She glanced around in alarm.

Samuel touched her arm again. “What is wrong? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

No shelter anywhere. And Samuel questioning her about the real issue—now, of all times. She slapped the reins, hurrying the team forward. Maybe around the next bend they would find a clearing. If there were thunder, the team could hurt themselves in their panic or run away with the wagon, crashing and injuring her and Samuel. And sitting up so high off the ground, the two of them and the horses would be targets for lightning strikes.