by Lyn Cote
SEPTEMBER 12, 1819
When another First Day came, Miriam was again too ill to go to meeting. Her friend Jemima Wool, white-haired, petite, and dressed in sober gray, arrived to walk with Miriam. Honor and Royale set out with her instead, taking turns holding Eli’s pudgy hand. Honor opened a light-blue parasol against the blazing sun. Her black mourning dress and bonnet soaked in the cloying heat.
Last week Honor and Royale had both been too daunted to face a group of strangers, and Honor still did not feel like entering a meetinghouse full of people she’d never met. But she and Royale needed a place to live, jobs to support them—and soon. Fear sped her pulse as she walked sedately between Jemima and Royale.
“Miriam looked some better this morning, don’t you think?” Royale asked.
Honor tilted her head to one side, peering around the parasol, realizing that Royale might be resisting the truth just as Samuel was.
Walking under her own gray parasol, Jemima kept up a gentle flow of words about the meeting and Pittsburgh.
Honor fanned herself and tried to observe the pleasantries.
“There it is!” Eli finally called out, pointing half a block ahead toward a white clapboard building with green-striped canvas awnings above the windows.
Honor smoothed her plain, modest dress and hoped she presented a cool and ladylike appearance in spite of the heat. Certainly positions might exist among the members of this large meeting, positions for her and Royale that would not require them to go through an agency.
They mounted the few steps into the shady interior of the unadorned building, its coolness a relief. They trailed Jemima to the women’s side of the large room, filled with the hum of quiet conversation.
A tall, commanding woman with wisps of iron-gray hair escaping her plain bonnet stepped in front of them. “The black girl must sit on the rear bench.”
The words stung. After Miriam’s acceptance of Royale, Honor hadn’t expected this. She should have. In Maryland, the slaves who had become Quakers sat separate in the balcony of the meetinghouse.
Still holding Eli’s hand, Royale headed toward the rear bench, her head lowered.
Immobilized, Honor helplessly watched Royale’s humiliation. We’re related by blood, but only the color of our skin matters—even here.
Jemima nudged Honor into the nearest row. “Dorcas could have been more gentle,” the older woman murmured.
Honor dropped onto the backless bench in a daze.
The meeting began with a quiet time of prayer. Then men and women rose at the prompting of the Inner Light—the Light of Christ—to quote Scripture or give insights. Finally Jemima rose and introduced Honor, and she was welcomed into the meeting. After a closing prayer, everyone gathered in the aisles and on the steps, greeting one another and exchanging news.
Royale, with Eli in hand, slipped outside, but Honor forced herself to stay and chat with women who came up to greet her individually and in small groups. She tried to connect names and faces, but both flowed through her mind like water through fingers.
“I’m looking for a position as a governess or lady’s companion,” she repeated. “And my maid is seeking a position too.”
Her requests were met with polite surprise and delicate inquiries of what had brought her to Pittsburgh. But no leads. No one knew of anyone seeking either a governess or a companion. No one required another maid.
“The times are bad,” Jemima said, summing up all the commiseration and rebuffs.
“I’m also interested in abolition.” Honor posed this to the group of ladies around her. “Are there any other Friends here working toward that?”
Again the response was lukewarm at best. Emancipation was laudatory but had nothing to do with this meeting. Pennsylvania was a free state.
Then, even more unwelcome, first one and then another gentleman presented himself to Jemima to be introduced to Honor. One was a young attorney and another a middle-aged businessman. Each asked where she lived and if he might call on her. Each question caused her nerves to tense.
Jemima reminded them that Honor was in mourning and added that Miriam was not well enough for visitors.
Both men in turn bowed solicitously over Honor’s hand, and from their expressions, she feared she would be seeing them again anyway.
Jemima patted her hand. “’Tis hard to be among strangers.”
Honor’s smile was merely a coating on her lips, and Samuel’s anguished face glimmered in her mind. For some reason her fingers fidgeted as if they wanted to practice the signs Miriam continued teaching her.
Finally Jemima walked beside her down the steps, stiff from sitting so long. From the shade where they’d been waiting, Royale and Eli joined them.
“Miriam has been faithful to this meeting her whole life,” Jemima said as they started home on foot. “It is a shame that her older son Samuel stopped coming to meeting. People didn’t make the effort to learn how to speak to him in that hand language Miriam found. And it has made matters difficult for her and Samuel.”
Honor had wondered why no friends visited the Cathwells in the week she’d been with them. Walking within the small circle of shade cast by her parasol, Honor pondered the end of her hopes. She had lost her home and her inheritance—and in the midst of very bad times. Everything stood against her. And intertwined with concern for herself and Royale was worry over Miriam, little Eli, and most of all, Samuel.
That stifling afternoon Royale carried Eli to the back garden to play. Samuel’s mother reclined on her chaise in the parlor, and at her request Samuel and Honor joined her.
Samuel resented his mother for including Honor. This woman had learned sign language, breached the barrier existing between him and everyone else. Also, she always looked him directly in the eye. Women ignored him. Why didn’t Honor?
Her regard caused him to imagine impossibilities like having a wife and a family—things other men could possess, not him. The old, empty feeling dogged him.
The sheer curtains fluttered in the faint breeze. His mother began to sign and speak. “Samuel, I don’t have much strength, so … please do not counter everything I say. I must settle matters … for thee and Eli, and soon.”
Samuel’s heart sank. I waited too long. Clenching his fist by his side, he felt like pounding his head.
“When we lost thy brother last year, the time was already too late for me to venture to the wilderness,” Mother signed and said. “I have prayed and prayed, and now God has answered my prayers. He has provided someone else to go to Ohio with thee.”
Samuel started at this, rising. “No.” His fingers slashed the air.
His mother appeared to sigh. Then she rested her head on the back of the chaise and closed her hollow eyes.
Honor lifted her hand toward Samuel. “Please let her speak. She is so weak.”
Samuel bent forward and touched his mother’s hand. She opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
She waited till he sat down again and continued. “I had thought of speaking to each of thee separately. But I have so little time left. Let us not argue. This is what I have to say. Samuel, thee cannot go alone to Ohio … with Eli still so young. Honor, no other recourse has opened to thee or Royale. Samuel, thee must consider offering marriage to Honor—” she forestalled his protest with a sharp gesture—“and, Honor, thee must consider accepting.”
Samuel felt heat rising up his neck and face. He could not look at Honor, could not bear to see the rejection on her face.
Glancing finally from the corner of his eye, he saw that Honor was wiping away tears. Was she crying because his mother was dying? Or was she upset over the thought of being forced by necessity to consider marrying someone like him?
“Arranged marriages or marriages of convenience are not uncommon,” his mother continued, her hand lowering as if she were losing strength. “My own parents met on the day they wed. And thee remembers the girl next door, Samuel. When her parents died at the same time we lost thy brother, her un
cle came and took her home with him to marry a neighbor of his, a prosperous farmer. She has written to me that she is fine and happy. A couple can learn to love one another if there is trust.”
Samuel watched his mother’s slowing fingers, but he knew a woman would do almost anything to avoid being burdened with a deaf man. Now he would have to suffer through Honor’s excuses as to why she couldn’t marry him.
“I must rest now,” Mother signed and said. “The two of thee should sit at the table and discuss this. I cannot force either of thee to do this, but I urge thee both to discuss it honestly.”
Honor rose and spoke to his mother; then she complied, walking into the kitchen.
Samuel stayed where he was. This could not be happening.
His mother rapped the wooden leg of Samuel’s chair.
He looked up, and she motioned for him to go to the table in the kitchen. He rose slowly, reluctantly, obediently.
At the table, he took the place facing Honor. “I did not know my mother would say that,” he signed, trying to stop this before it went further. “I have never thought of marriage. Who would marry a deaf-mute?”
She dismissed this idea with a scornful expression. “Thee is hardworking and caring. Deafness means thee cannot hear. That is all.”
Her proficiency in sign grew every time he talked to her, increasing his discomfort as the barrier between them lessened. “You cannot want to marry me.”
“I do not want to marry, but there are no jobs for me or Royale. This house …” She gestured toward the For Sale sign and shrugged. “Thee plans to leave. What will we do?”
Samuel bowed his head and clasped his hands together. Her honesty shocked him. He’d been so wrapped up in his plans and his worry over his mother’s health that he had not thought of what this lady was facing. However, marriage—allowing someone other than family to come so close …
Honor could not sit and watch his distress. Her own doubt and hurt goaded her.
Outside, she collapsed onto the shaded garden seat near Royale. Royale glanced over her shoulder, then rolled a wooden ball to Eli, who was waiting across from her in the shade of another tree. Royale called out, encouraging the child to get it and roll it back. She turned to Honor. “What Miriam say?”
Honor closed her eyes, wishing she could block out everything she didn’t want to face. Sadness twisted her heart. Drawing in a deep breath, Honor answered Royale. “Miriam suggested that Samuel offer to marry me and take us four to Ohio.”
Royale’s face opened with hope. “Will you marry him if he ask you?”
Honor looked away, resenting Royale’s hopefulness, but honesty forced her to continue. Royale was counting on her, and the two of them had come face-to-face with a stone wall. “I don’t know if I am in a position to reject his offer.” Each word felt like a penance.
“Other men notice you at meeting,” Royale offered tentatively. “I saw how they look at you.” She accepted the ball from Eli and he ran back to his place, laughing.
“Yes, they might want to court me, but I’m in mourning. No one can court me or make an offer for my hand until a year passes. Where would we stay till then?” She thought of Darah, going to stay with Alec’s aunt.
“Then how can you marry Samuel?”
“Samuel doesn’t go about in society like others. I suppose we’d marry, then leave for Ohio.”
Samuel entered the back garden, heading straight toward them. Honor fought panic, the urge to flee.
Eli ran to his uncle, showing the ball. Samuel patted his head and gazed uncertainly toward them.
Royale glanced between him and Honor, and without a word, she went to Eli and led him into the house.
Samuel sat awkwardly beside Honor, overshadowing her with his large frame.
His discomfort crashed against her like the ocean tide. She stiffened herself against allowing her frustration to show. Reluctantly, she signed, “What will we do?”
Samuel rubbed his face with both hands, wishing he could roll back time. “Is my mother really dying?”
“Yes,” Honor signed, her hand motion swift and sharp.
Samuel’s heart clenched so tightly that he felt a moan deep inside. He looked away. He’d tried to avoid the fact, but it was undeniable now. How could he go on without his mother?
The woman at his side did not move. What was she thinking? The weight of what was taking place was crushing him. “You can’t want to marry me.” Samuel watched her hands, though fearful to see her reply.
Honor raised her eyes to his. “I do not want to marry any man. I’m still in mourning. I shouldn’t marry this soon. But I can do nothing else.”
She had been forthright with him, and he must not disrespect her by being less forthright. “If my mother dies, I will not be able to care for Eli and work and …”
“And be able to talk with others,” she finished for him. “I understand. Both of us need someone.”
Samuel nodded and, propping his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands. He steeled himself to face both their situations. He could not wish away what was happening. He weighed Honor’s words.
It galled him that only at this point, the point of last resort, would a woman consider marrying him, but the world was the way it was. His mother had said that people could learn to love one another if there was trust. Was there trust between them? Could there be?
After a moment she touched his shoulder lightly.
He looked up, knowing that he must make this decision, hating that he must make this decision.
“We know each other little, but what are we to do?” she signed with effort. “Does thee know of a place for respectable unmarried women where I can stay?”
He shook his head.
“Is there anyone who will go to Ohio with thee?” She continued to point out the obvious.
Again he shook his head. No friends. No family left.
“Then … ?” She opened her palms in a gesture of helplessness.
His throat closed even though he never spoke words. Eli was depending on him, so what choice did he have? What choice did she have? The moment to accept the inevitable had fallen upon both of them.
He slowly dropped to one knee. “Honor Penworthy, will you be my wife and go to Ohio with me?”
HONEYBEES BUZZED AROUND the flowering bushes as Honor stared at the man kneeling at her feet. A curious numbness gripped her, and a floating sensation untethered her mind like a flag drifting on the breeze. She tried to pull her thoughts together. How had God let her come to this?
But Miriam said she had prayed for her son, prayed for someone to go to Ohio with him and be his wife. Was Honor the answer to Miriam’s prayer for Samuel? Even if she didn’t want to be? The man has proposed to me. I must not sit silent.
She gazed upward at the limitless blue sky above the surrounding roofs and felt trapped.
Samuel had bowed his head, no longer looking at her. The humility in his posture touched her. He still expected her to balk, to refuse.
Why was she hesitating? Honor and Samuel had both come to a point non plus, no options left. She gently lifted his chin so their gazes met. “Yes,” she signed, “I will be thy wife.” Each heavy word jarred her like a blow.
Samuel’s expression of disbelief told her she’d been right. He hadn’t expected her to accept, not even as a last resort. Her sympathy heightened, drawing her toward him. She stroked his cheek. Samuel had suffered much just because he couldn’t hear. She didn’t think him less a man because of his deafness. She just didn’t want to marry him, marry any man she didn’t love. Now she must find out how to do this: marry here and move to the wilderness of Ohio.
In the bushes behind her head, a bird began whistling one note over and over as if prompting her, Do it. Do it. “Come sit. We must talk.” She patted the sun-bleached bench.
He rose and sat beside her, not looking toward her.
She gathered her wayward thoughts like wisps of raw cotton drifting in the air. Propriety, a sa
fe territory, presented itself first. She motioned toward her black dress. “The wedding must be private.” That would be a problem since Quaker weddings had to be public. Without any ordained ministers in the Quaker religion, all the members present had to sign the marriage certificate as witnesses.
“My mother will know what to do,” he offered.
Then a question occurred to Honor. “Why does thee want to go to Ohio?”
At this, he turned to her. “I want to have my own glassworks, my own workshop.” His fingers were emphatic.
She nodded, understanding immediately why he would choose this. Still, she needed more details, more reassurance from him. She struggled to sign a more complicated sentence. “Does thee have funds enough for thy own shop?” Though heedless of wealth, she could not merely accept “poor” as a step up from “penniless.” Living humbly didn’t concern her, but poverty did.
Samuel looked her in the eye. “Yes. I have bought land near Cincinnati. It has a house and a large barn I can use for my work.”
“Thee has enough funds for travel expenses for four? I cannot leave Royale.” Another thought occurred. “We must hire and pay her.”
“Very well. She is good with Eli.”
She had to make something else clear to him. “Samuel, I do not know how to keep house. Royale can help, but she’ll often be occupied with Eli… .”
He shrugged.
The short time she’d spent here had taught her how much she didn’t know about keeping house. She doubted he understood completely. So she ventured another question. “Will we be able to pay for house help?”
He nodded again. “We will have enough to live comfortably.”
She hesitated to press him. She could only hope her idea of comfortable corresponded to his.
“You will speak to my mother about the wedding?” he asked, looking restless.
Of course, she would have to be the one to take care of arrangements with Miriam. He was marrying her so she could be the one to take care of all the communicating with the speaking world for the rest of his life. And he had said, “Will you be my wife,” not “thee,” and he no longer attended meeting. She must broach that with him, but not now.
