Honor (5 page)

“But not the first time she sat at our table. Thee has not been kind, Samuel.”

When did anybody make the attempt to be kind to him? Then his own words slapped back into his face. This woman had tried to be kind. Samuel drained his cooled tea, wrestling with his confusion. What did it matter? This attractive woman wouldn’t have any trouble finding a husband, and one wealthy enough to afford to hire her maid.

After supper, Samuel led Eli out to play catch in the small back garden. Royale offered to help Miriam clean up. When Honor realized how exhausted Miriam appeared, she rose and joined Royale at the sink. “I’ll help.”

Royale turned to her, looking surprised.

“I’m sure I’m capable of drying dishes,” Honor murmured. She had often glimpsed this chore in the kitchen and butler’s pantry at High Oaks.

“I thank thee both. The clean cloths are in those drawers,” Miriam said, gesturing toward a low oak sideboard. “I should go lie down on my chaise longue in the parlor. When the kitchen is tidy, I should be able to show thee up to thy room.”

Thy room.
Honor and Royale exchanged glances. They had shared a bed as children. But after they’d put up their
hair and let down their skirts, the gap between lady and maid had intervened.

Refusing to let her discomfort show, Honor found the dishcloths and stood beside Royale, drying each dish with care.

“What you think about them moving west?” Royale said in a low voice.

The question triggered another jolt of alarm. “I didn’t expect that we would stay here long,” Honor said, focusing on the cup in hand.

“I think Miriam be right—you not gonna find a job as a governess or companion,” Royale said, handing her another cup. “I know you don’t want to think of getting married, but you best start thinking that.”

Honor didn’t drop the cup, but her stomach dipped. She took her time drying it and hanging it back on its hook. She had set Royale free, and now Royale was at liberty to speak to her like this. But it was an adjustment, especially when she said words Honor could not bear. “I can’t even think about marrying yet.” Just saying the word caused her stomach to take another dip.

“You been through a lot, I give you that.” Royale’s voice radiated sympathy. “But you and me got to do what we got to do.” Royale’s tone turned sarcastic. “We coulda stayed in Maryland like Darah said—” then her tone shifted to practical—“but we moved here, and everything is different now. We got to be different too.”

Honor accepted another wet cup and rubbed it hard, wrestling with herself. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

Royale offered her another cup and stared at her. “A woman do what she got to in this world of men.”

Honor grasped the cup. The final word,
men
, brought the man of this house to mind. No doubt Samuel Cathwell felt awkward around strangers. That had prompted her to ask Miriam to teach her some sign language. But was that the true reason he did not want them here? Or was it personal?

And his insistence that she be told the house would soon be for sale—it had struck her like a bludgeon, as he must have intended. She dried the cup with a vengeance and slapped it onto its hook, where it rocked dangerously.

“Way will open,”
that was the old Quaker saying. And one must open for her and Royale. Soon.

As Samuel Cathwell—home again from work—hung his hat on a peg by the door and sat down at the table, Honor recalled from earlier the feeling of the delicate glass vase. Tall, clear amber with an elaborate ribboned rim.

Slipping from her wet hands.

Watching it fall. And hearing it shatter on the stone kitchen floor.

Downcast with regret, Honor moved to sit in the chair opposite him and beside Miriam. Honor began slowly to sign the words of apology that Miriam had taught her. “I am sorry. I was cleaning.” She watched her own hand, not daring to glance at him. “I broke the vase. I am sorry. It was beautiful.” She realized she was beginning to babble and rested her hands in her lap, waiting for his response.

Samuel sat, his arms crossed, confused by mixed reactions. The prized vase he’d made for his mother—broken. This pretty lady learning sign language.
Why? We’re leaving, and she is staying.

His mother, who had been sitting at the table when he came in, rapped the tabletop and signed, “Where are thy manners, Samuel? The young woman has apologized.”

He looked to his mother. “And will she understand me if I sign?”

“She has spent the afternoon learning the signs for the letters and simple phrases. Please sign slowly, and she will understand.”

Irritation rubbed inside him like sand on raw skin. He swallowed down his reluctance to speak to this stranger. “It was an accident. I am not angry.”

But he was angry. His irritation gnawed at him, penetrating deeper. How often did he have the energy or time to make something of beauty? At the factory he made simple molded bottles in bulk. He had spent hours after work crafting that glass vase for his mother.

“I’m sorry,” Honor signed, adding again, “It was beautiful.”

Her repeated compliment caught him around the heart. She meant it, and it released something within him. A warmth flowed through him, and he couldn’t look away. The afternoon sunshine glinted on her fair hair. The curve of her elegant neck reminded him of the neck of the vase. He imagined brushing his palm down her soft neck—

Stop.

“Samuel, both Honor and Royale did the shopping
today and have given the parlor the first deep cleaning it’s had in months. Please thank them.”

He noted Honor had been watching his mother’s hands but looked a bit mystified. “Thank you,” he signed, “for helping my mother.”

She bowed her head. “Welcome.”

He nodded—quick, curt, done. Her efforts to communicate with him only sharpened afresh his feeling of separation from those who could hear and speak. It didn’t make sense, and he liked this perplexing confusion even less.

Rescuing him, Eli ran inside, the black girl in his wake.

Eli signed, “Let’s go play ball?”

Rising, Samuel scooped the boy into his arms, making his escape to play in the shady garden. Nonetheless, at the door he couldn’t stop his head from turning for one last look at Honor.

A few days later, Honor and Royale walked to the pegs by the door and donned their bonnets, preparing to face this new city, to seek employment. The door to the parlor opened, and Miriam came out from resting on her chaise longue. “I wish thee good fortune.”

A man looked in at the open front door. Samuel, who had been sitting at the table, rose to gesture in a middle-aged man, who then entered and doffed his hat.

“This is the land agent who has come to list our property for sale,” Miriam said.

Honor was tempted to stay and hear what the land agent said, but she was not so impolite. Besides, she and
Royale must find the nearby employment agency a neighbor had recommended. Leaving the door open as they left, they set out into another sunny, warm day, soon passing Seventh Avenue. They had only a few blocks to walk to 102 Tenth Avenue, the Superior Employment office.

Royale walked by Honor’s side, and even though Honor was distracted by watching the street signs, she became aware of Royale’s nervousness.
Eighth Avenue.
“I don’t think thee will have any difficulty finding a position.”

“I’m not gonna take just any position,” Royale muttered. “I got to be careful.”

Honor pondered this as they continued.
Ninth Avenue.
She glanced pointedly at Royale, asking why.

“I don’t want to work in a house with any master.”

The unpleasant incidents on their journey here jolted back into Honor’s mind. With her lighter skin, curly brown hair threaded with gold, and unique green eyes, Royale had garnered the wrong kind of attention. Honor slowed her pace.
Tenth Avenue.
“I understand.”

“Do you?” Royale’s voice was suddenly harsh, cutting. “Didn’t you never wonder why we have the same eyes?”

Honor’s steps nearly faltered, but to keep up with Royale, she moved forward to the Superior Employment door.

The two entered and paused to let their eyes adjust to the lower light inside.

“May I be of help?” A man with a narrow goatee rose with some hesitance from where he sat behind a small desk in the small office.

Honor drew on her reserves of confidence. “Good day.
I am Honor Penworthy—” she stopped before she said
of High Oaks
—“lately of Maryland.”

Royale’s words ran through her mind:
“Why we have the same eyes.”

“I am looking for a position as a governess or lady’s companion,” Honor said.

“And?” the man prompted with a glance at Royale.

“Royale has been my lady’s maid but now must look for another position also. I can give her an excellent reference.”

“Why we have the same eyes.”

“And do you have references?” the man asked.

This startled Honor. When had the lady of High Oaks needed credentials? She shook off her pique and humbled herself. “This would be the first time I’ve sought a position. A death in the family makes the change necessary.” Honor would give no more information. Revealing this had cost her enough.

“I see.” He frowned, his goatee quivering as if he were talking to himself.

Honor waited, enduring his assessing study of both of them.

“Why we have the same eyes.”

“I’m afraid employment opportunities are limited at this time.” He recited these words as if he’d already worn them threadbare. “The bank panic this year caused many of my clients to reduce staff. I’m afraid I have too many applicants for too few positions.”

Honor suffered the blow in silence. “May we leave our names and the address where we are staying in case something comes available?”

“Of course. Please be seated.” The man motioned toward two chairs and took his own seat. He drew out paper and asked Honor to write their information down, looking shocked when Royale filled out her own paper. Honor’s father had insisted Royale take lessons with Honor, even though it was against the law.

“Why we have the same eyes.”

After taking the land agent through the house and surrounding property, Samuel signed the documents specifying the agent’s commission for showing and selling their real estate. Before the agent left, he placed a white placard reading For Sale in the front parlor window.