Honor

by Lyn Cote

  Honor touched Samuel’s arm and signed the man’s question: “What does your husband plan to do in Cincinnati?”

  Why hadn’t she just answered for him? Then he realized that she was attempting to include him in the conversation. But he really didn’t want to converse with the dandy, with any of these strangers. Finally Samuel signed, “You may tell them I’m setting up my own glassworks.”

  Honor sent him a searching look, but she said and signed his words to the man. The dandy said something in response. Honor signed the man’s comment: his name was Sinclair Hewitt, and he planned to find work as a journalist at the Centinel of the Northwest Territory, one of the first newspapers in the region.

  Then the conversation went on without Samuel. He could only “hear” what Honor chose to sign for him. And she had to use her utensils to eat, so she couldn’t sign everything said—though she obviously continued to include him and thereby called attention to him. He chewed his food and tried to appear unaffected.

  He watched everyone laugh at something the dandy said. Samuel’s stomach burned as he sensed not only their exclusion, but under it their dismissal of him as less than they were, invisible, unworthy of such an attractive wife.

  Honor repeated the “amusing” comment to him, and he nodded like a puppet.

  He glanced at the cabins, one in front of him and one behind. He and Eli would share one berth of the men’s cabin. He didn’t like that his wife would be in another room, not with so many strangers on board. He knew his mother wouldn’t want him to doubt Honor’s loyalty; however, men were unpredictable and would not see him as a barrier to getting closer to his pretty wife. They were mistaken, of course, but they didn’t know that. And he didn’t want to be forced to prove it.

  His food churned in his stomach, hot and unsettled. Only one night and one more day, and they would arrive in Cincinnati. Then he could take his wife away from these men, away from temptation.

  OCTOBER 16, 1819

  The next morning, when Honor stepped outside the ladies’ cabin, Samuel, holding Eli’s hand, was waiting for her. She gazed uncertainly at her husband. Ever since they’d boarded the steamboat yesterday morning, Samuel had been acting very peculiarly. He’d either prowled the deck, hovered around her, or abruptly walked away from her and brooded. Could she get him to tell her why?

  “Morning,” Eli said, but Samuel signed no greeting.

  Ignoring an unexpected urge to take Samuel’s arm and draw him closer, Honor instead bent and cupped the boy’s chin. “Is thee enjoying this steamboat trip?”

  “I like the boat,” Eli declared and signed, rising to his toes like a young cock crowing.

  Eli’s innocent words won her smile. As she talked with Eli, a silent Samuel steered them to the breakfast table. In the bright morning light, she noted once more how substantial her husband looked. She recalled how he’d quickly moved to protect her the day before. There was good in him, but why couldn’t he relax and enjoy this fascinating experience just a little? She was trying to make the best of things.

  The smell of fried bacon and buttered toast filled the air around the table. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure in the distance. A woman on the high forested bluff was waving a white handkerchief.

  Honor hurried to the railing and waved her own handkerchief in return, wondering who the woman was and how she liked living in the Ohio wilderness. Samuel moved to stand behind her again, protectively. Defensively?

  Within moments, as the boat rounded a bend, the woman disappeared from sight. Again, a simple exchange had cheered Honor. She walked the last few feet to the table and turned to Samuel and Eli, smiling, only to see Samuel’s face become taut.

  All the gentlemen greeted her with more than average courtesy, and she blushed at their attention. Samuel helped her sit modestly on the bench once more. “Good morning,” Honor wished the company in general. She bowed her head and said a silent grace.

  When she looked up, the journalist again sat across from her. She smiled at him and opened her napkin. Beside her, Samuel tensed further.

  Bowls of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, buttered toast, and thickly sliced bacon passed from hand to hand. “I didn’t think the food would be this good, Sinclair Hewitt,” she said and signed, trying to include Samuel.

  “I’ve been surprised greatly on this journey. The landscape is so much more striking than I had expected.”

  Signing his words, Honor tilted her head to one side, encouraging the young man, hoping Samuel might catch some of his enthusiasm.

  “Look at these high bluffs.” Sinclair Hewitt motioned broadly toward them. “So high, and such a wild, a picturesque grandeur, which those who have never viewed nature in her primitive and unspoiled state can hardly imagine.”

  Honor continued signing the budding journalist’s grand words.

  Everyone else gave their attention to the young man, who continued to wax eloquent. “What dense and interminable forests.” He raised both arms. “Trees of the most gigantic size. Did you notice the broad shadows they cast yesterday afternoon? And this river, so placid with meanderings and frequent bends, and all the wooded islands—”

  Honor listened carefully, enjoying his elaborate words as she signed them. A glance at Samuel caused her fingers to falter. His face was set and darkened.

  Several of the men chuckled, interrupting the poetic flow. One jested, “Well, you said you were a writer, and now we believe you!”

  Hewitt grinned good-naturedly. “And which one of us could have believed that one could travel from Pittsburgh to Cincinnati in only two days?”

  Honor signed this to Samuel, and she and the other people around the table—except for her husband—agreed with his observation. Steamboat travel was amazing. She glanced once more at Samuel and tried to gauge his mood. He frowned more deeply. Her own enjoyment faded.

  “Can you imagine how steamboats will revolutionize trade from the Northeast to New Orleans?” Hewitt asked. “Cincinnati is going to become a great hub of trade, truly the Queen City of the West!”

  Honor leaned forward to agree with the young man’s contagious optimism.

  Under the table, Samuel squeezed her thigh. Not enough to hurt her, but as an unseen command for restraint.

  Her gaze flew to his face; his expression thundered at her.

  She tingled with alarm. What had upset Samuel? She signed this to him, glad no one but Eli would understand.

  Samuel didn’t reply, merely glared at her.

  Honor sent him a look that she hoped he read as notice of a coming discussion. He did not acknowledge her silent message with so much as a flicker of an eyelash, but merely began eating.

  A lady across from Honor asked her if she was from the South, distracting her. But only for now. She would not be ignored. Her husband had avoided talking to her on this boat for the last time.

  Samuel found he couldn’t evade his wife. As he roamed the deck, she dogged him. Finally, in a spot where they couldn’t be easily observed, he stopped and faced her. “Why are you following me?”

  “Because thee will not talk to me. Why did thee press my leg at the table?”

  He folded his arms and tucked his hands under them.

  “That won’t work. I deserve an answer. No one is looking at us, and no one can read our signs. Why did thee press my leg like thee was upset?”

  “I don’t like that man, that dandy.” His fingers snapped the words.

  “We’re only going to be on this boat for such a short time. What does he matter? I said nothing inappropriate to him, and neither did he to me. He is merely a talker, a man who amuses others. What’s wrong with that?”

  When she put it that way, he was left with nothing to say. “Sorry.”

  She plainly adjusted her expression, letting him see her set aside her irritation. “Very well.”

  He started to turn and begin pacing the deck again.

  She stopped him by touching his arm. “I want to know more about where we
are going.”

  So do I. He hesitated to tell her he didn’t know any more. He was the man, the husband. He was supposed to have everything taken care of. But he couldn’t put Honor off again. Better stick to the simple truth. “I have the name and address of the land agent in Cincinnati who arranged the sale. When we arrive, he will take us to our property and we’ll see it. I only have the legal description, nothing more. What more could I have?”

  She pressed her lips together. “Is that really all?”

  “Yes,” his fingers slashed. He was frustrated too. “I want to know more as well, but we will find what we find.”

  I hope we like what we find.

  Samuel read these words on her face as clearly as if her fingers had signed them. And he could only agree. He had a wife and child depending on him now, and Royale, too. He would have to make everything work out. Worries he had buried bubbled up once more. He smoothed his hair back and situated his hat. And he began pacing again, dragging the heavy responsibilities behind him.

  SAMUEL’S COLD, possessive manner had ruined the rest of Honor’s last day on the steamboat, and now the fiery sun hovered above the Ohio. She gripped the railing, assailed by a new uncertainty. The red-orange of the lowering sun reflected on the river, rippling toward land, toward their destination, toward Cincinnati.

  The shoreline spread out flat. Then a steep bluff jerked her gaze upward. Honor craned her neck, glimpsing not the expected thicket of trees but a jumble of rows of houses, factories, and in the distance, church steeples. So big.

  Breath rushed out of her. After miles and miles of uninhabited forest, now this—a fully grown city. Sinclair Hewitt had said Cincinnati was called the Queen City of the West, and now she saw why.

  She turned to Samuel and signed something of her surprise. He responded with a curt nod and turned away, another phantom slap in her face. She recoiled. Fresh aggravation washed away her reaction to Cincinnati.

  She closed her eyes, praying for how to handle Samuel. She understood that he was still suffering from the loss of Miriam and from being forced to marry her. But neither excused his rudeness. She had also lost everything and been forced into this marriage. Tonight, when she and Samuel were alone at last, she would not let the sun go down on her wrath … or his.

  The steamboat bumped the pier, jarring her. Shouts and whistles spurred the crew as they docked the boat. A few boatmen set two gangplanks—one for passengers and one for baggage—and others began unloading the luggage onto shore from the cargo hold like a bucket brigade.

  She drew in a ragged breath and concentrated on disembarking and all it entailed. She wouldn’t be able to relax and leave everything to her husband. She would be the one making their arrangements. After all, that was the main reason Samuel Cathwell had married her. The thought still stung.

  Soon Samuel ushered her, Royale, and Eli down the gangplank. He stood by, brooding, while Honor gathered with the other men to claim their trunks and boxes. Wagons had appeared and lined up to receive the passengers and their bags. Amid the bustle, horses neighed and tugged at their reins. Honor spied a boatman pushing a cart loaded with her and Samuel’s baggage. She beckoned him to come over.

  Within minutes a drayman was helping the boatman load their baggage onto his wagon. Many fellow travelers from the boat crowded around them.

  “Mrs. Cathwell, I won’t bid you and your husband adieu.” Sinclair Hewitt doffed his curled beaver hat and bowed. “I’m sure we’ll meet again in Cincinnati.”

  She smiled and thanked him, ignoring the ill humor wafting from her husband.

  Several others also wished them well, the men bowing over Honor’s hand. They all nodded to Samuel, and a few patted Eli’s round cheeks. Their show of friendship in this strange place eased Honor’s tension.

  Samuel abruptly assisted Honor onto the wagon seat, looking grim. He helped Royale and Eli get settled on the bench behind them. Without a glance toward Honor, he climbed up beside her. She could have shaken him for his lack of tact.

  “Where to?” the drayman asked, the reins slack in his large hands.

  Honor signed the question to Samuel, who replied, “We need an inn for the night.”

  After receiving this instruction, the driver, a middle-aged man with a hat that had seen better days, slapped the reins. His horse moved slowly away from the wharf. Honor perched stiffly between the two men, both staring straight ahead. She tried to think of a gentle, diplomatic way to confront her husband later. But they were practically still strangers, and so far neither gentle nor diplomatic had answered her purpose.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of two rough-looking men who were walking up the road behind them. One was staring toward her in a fixed way. When he noticed she was watching him, he turned to his companion and said something. Honor faced forward, unwilling to give credence to the shiver of wariness she felt.

  The drayman drove past several inns but finally chose one on the high bluff overlooking the river. “This one’s decent for a family. I’ll wait to see if you get a room,” he said gruffly.

  As Samuel helped her down, Honor looked back and thought she saw the same men pull out of sight. Shaken, she paused on the wooden walk in front of the prosperous-looking inn. No one moved, and she shook her head at herself. I am tired and upset; that’s all.

  Honor marched inside and located the proprietor. She inspected the room he led her to and found that the sheets had been properly aired and everything looked neat and tidy. She secured the room.

  In their lodgings at last, Honor looked out on deep-purple clouds draped over the last of the brilliant-bronze sunset outside the small window. Only a bed, one chair, and a ewer and pitcher on a stand by the door fit in their room. Suddenly exhausted, she sat down on the bed and looked at Samuel, who had sunk down onto one of their two trunks. The boxes occupied most of the space in the small room. She now felt unequal to the task of confronting him. “How long before we move into a place of our own?”

  “We will shop in town tomorrow. First we need a team and wagon too. You can drive, can’t you? Or do we need to hire a driver?”

  Honor was taken aback. Men did not ask women to drive wagons. But the reason came to her. City bred, Samuel had not needed to learn to drive a team. She almost suggested she could teach him, but then she thought of the voice commands used in driving a team. She would be unable to communicate the various commands to Samuel, and he likely could not speak them in any case. And would he want her, a woman, to teach him? Another touchy subject.

  “Well,” he prompted, “can you drive?”

  “Yes, I can drive.” Until I have time to consider this.

  Royale knocked at the door and entered. She had been given a bed in a servant’s room downstairs in the rear.

  Samuel lifted Eli from Royale’s arms and carried him out, not saying where he was going.

  Honor wondered if he sensed her displeasure and was glad to escape even for a few minutes. Yet he would have to face her in the one bed in this small room. She motioned Royale to come nearer. Royale shut the door behind her and helped Honor undress. “So you sure we’re not gon’ live in Cincinnati?”

  “Not right in the city, but somewhere close by, I’m sure.” She added the last bit to bolster herself as much as Royale.

  With slow, firm strokes, Royale brushed Honor’s hair, no doubt trying to help her relax for sleep. “The innkeeper has a black maid working here.” Royale’s soft voice followed the brush soothingly. “I think the maid be able to help me meet some of my own people before we leave. Find an African church.”

  Honor gazed at Royale’s reflection in the small wall mirror. Again their blood connection tugged at her. The reality that they were blood relations continued to seem unreal—yet God, who loved them both equally, had clearly marked Royale as her kin. Still, the world would ignore it and devalue Royale, who was so similar to Honor in intelligence and in what the world prized as beauty. Because Royale was born of a slave mother, she mus
t sleep belowstairs. Grandfather’s sins and lies—so scarring to both of them—stabbed Honor, cutting deeper.

  Honor picked up the thread of their conversation. “I also wish to go to meeting here before we leave the city, meet some other Friends. I doubt the small village we’re going to will have a place of worship for either of us.”

  Soon Royale set down the silver hairbrush and bid Honor good night. Honor forced herself to sit in the chair by the window in her nightdress and not hide under the covers. A married woman now, she must accustom herself to being in a state of some undress with Samuel. Besides, she didn’t feel she could challenge him while lying down. And no matter her fatigue, she must.

  Samuel entered with Eli. After one furtive glance toward Honor, he began helping Eli change his clothes. The glance told her he expected some grievance from her. She joined in assisting him with the child.

  “I saw a horse,” Eli volunteered. “I like horses and wagons.”

  Honor smiled. “Yes, the man with the wagon had a good horse.”

  Soon she slipped Eli into the bed where she and her husband would sleep together for the first time. After Miriam’s death, Samuel had escaped downstairs to his mother’s bedroom.

  With Eli between them, she doubted Samuel would claim his marriage rights. Honor now understood the word limbo. Somehow she must connect with this man she’d married, deal with his barbed moods. Bracing herself, she began, “Why did thee behave so rudely to me on the boat?”

  He stared at her. No reply.

  Her exhaustion pushed her to their raw bone of contention. “Did thee think I was encouraging the men? They were only showing me common courtesy. Nothing more.”

  Samuel wanted to snap back at her, but he couldn’t. For one thing, he had behaved less than politely to her. He was unsure about the common courtesy comment. “I apologize,” he signed. But you don’t know how it feels to be ignored, belittled by their looks, deemed deficient. “I’m tired.” He motioned toward the bed.

  “I am also, but I will not be mistrusted, and so I warn thee.” With that, she slipped under the coverlet and shut her eyes.