by Lyn Cote
He turned away to undress. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could sleep in a different room. Being in close quarters with Honor only intensified the separation that his deafness forced on him. No hearing person could comprehend that isolation; certainly no beautiful woman could. And now he must lie beside his lovely bride all night and not show how she affected him. A cruel penance for his offense.
OCTOBER 17, 1819
Honor blinked herself awake to church bells ringing, chiming, calling the faithful to worship. Suddenly she was filled with anticipation. No Quaker meetinghouse rang bells, but the ringing was a signal to her nonetheless. She hadn’t even thought about the day of the week last night, but now she realized why Royale had mentioned finding an African church. She had known the day.
Honor sat up and, reaching over the lump that was the sleeping Eli, shook Samuel’s shoulder.
He opened his eyes and signed, “What?”
“It’s First Day.” She beamed. “We must get up and dress for meeting. The innkeeper noticed yesterday from my plain speech that I was Quaker and told me there was a meetinghouse just a few blocks away. I don’t know how I lost track of the days.”
“I’m not going to meeting.” He rolled over, turning his back to her.
His refusal sent a cold wave through her. A verse of Scripture came to mind—“Be ye not unequally yoked”—and an inner alarm sounded. She rose, donned her robe, and crept barefoot to the other side of the bed. She shook her husband’s shoulder again.
When his eyes opened in surprise, she signed with swift motions, “Samuel Cathwell, thee not going to meeting is unacceptable. Thee is a married man now and with a child to rear. How can our marriage prosper if we do not attend meeting as a family?”
Samuel stared at her. “Not this week.” He tried to roll over.
She gripped his shoulder, stopping him. “But next week we may not be in Cincinnati.”
Halted, he stared at her.
“Samuel,” she began, needing him to understand why, “in Maryland, when Friends freed their slaves, they had to sell their land and leave. The other slaveholders despised them. When our meetinghouse closed because there were so few members left, I was still just a little girl.” This explanation cost her.
Then the excruciating memory of leaving High Oaks burst in her heart. Her people—the slaves she would have freed—had lined the drive to bid her farewell. Some had wept; some had wailed; others had stared mournfully and lifted a hand in salute. She couldn’t just forget them. She still yearned to set them free.
She must find others who thought the same, who would work toward the same goal. “I cannot be separated from the body of Christ in this new place. I must go to meeting, and my family must come with me. I cannot bear …” Tears overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t go on. He couldn’t mean that they would live cut off from other Friends.
Looking disgruntled, Samuel sat up. “Very well. We will go this time.”
Honor nodded, but the words this time troubled her. She began praying that this meeting would welcome her husband.
A knock at the door broke the silence. Honor opened it a crack and found Royale there.
“I come to get your clothes to press for First Day. I ask the maid here, and she told me there an African church down by the river. She say I can go with her and her intended. Can I?”
“As soon as everything is pressed, thee is free for the day.”
“Free for the whole day?” Royale echoed.
“Yes. On First Day, after helping me dress, thee can have the whole day off till sunset.” After searching Samuel’s coat pockets, Honor pressed a silver dollar into Royale’s hand, her first wages.
Royale beamed at her and pocketed the coin. “Thank you, Miss Honor.”
Honor opened her trunk, pulling out the family’s First Day clothing. Royale rushed off to press the garments at the rear of the inn.
Honor rose and faced Samuel. Eli had awakened, and her husband was helping the little boy use the adult-size chamber pot. The sight of his gentle attention to the child reassured her. And he had agreed to go to meeting today. She would pray about his apparent reluctance to do so in the future.
Her mind alighted on another concern. Would there be others interested in abolition at this meeting? Or would they prove as unconcerned about slavery as the Quakers in Pittsburgh?
Holding Eli’s chubby hand, with Honor at his side, Samuel walked toward the meetinghouse just a few blocks from the inn. With every step they took, his stomach grew more and more unsettled. He had given in to Honor because of her tears. But he wouldn’t be welcomed here either. After all, he had been stricken by God, hadn’t he?
Ahead sat the meetinghouse, the plainest large building on the street. The three of them had arrived before everyone had gone inside. A tall, distinguished-looking Quaker stood at the entrance, greeting people. Samuel prepared himself for humiliation and felt his face freeze into his giving-nothing-away expression.
Honor, of course, sailed straight to the greeter and offered her hand. Clothed in traditional Quaker garb, the man wore a broad-brimmed hat, a coat and vest of dark-gray broadcloth, and antiquated knee breeches with long knit stockings. The mode had gone out of style decades ago. Samuel refused to dress as an old-fashioned Quaker.
She turned to Samuel and signed, “This is Friend Endeavor Lovelace, one of the overseers.” She proceeded to introduce Samuel and Eli to Lovelace in both words and sign.
Lovelace sent him a searching look. However, he did smile and shake Samuel’s hand in a welcoming manner, which was appropriate for an overseer, who was charged with encouraging the body and welcoming newcomers.
Honor signed the man’s greeting to Samuel: “We are happy that thee has joined us today and hope thee will become a part of our body.”
Samuel barely nodded, his closed expression unaltered. Just the usual empty words. Then he entered and, taking Eli with him, moved to the men’s side of the meetinghouse. As was customary, the backless benches filled the open center area. The windows were wide-open, flies meandering aimlessly overhead. Everything was painted gray, gray, gray. Samuel shook his head. He was sure God liked color and wondered why Quakers preferred drabness. Who had decided gray was the color of sanctity?
Soon everyone had assembled, filling the benches. Honor sat directly across from Samuel, and though he resisted her, she kept catching his eye. Lovelace opened with prayer, which Honor signed to Samuel.
While everyone’s heads were bowed, Samuel signed to her to stop it. He didn’t want everyone watching them, as they would if she signed everything to him.
“Why dissemble?” Honor signed.
“I don’t want to call attention to myself,” his fingers snapped back.
“Will everyone ignore us? We’re newcomers. We’ll be introduced to the meeting at the close.”
He shook his head sharply and glowered at her, the heat of embarrassment engulfing him in waves. Did she think anybody here would want to get to know a deaf-mute?
Honor pursed her lips and tried to calm her spirit, to center herself in God’s peace as her father had taught her. But Samuel’s anger whisked up her emotions like a wire spoon whipping meringue. He didn’t see that his resentment—though justified—made matters more difficult for himself. Father, how can I help my husband not pull away—from me, from everyone, even from thee?
A young man, wearing traditional Quaker clothing and sitting near Samuel, rose to speak. “I have just come across a most interesting new publication, the Philanthropist, published northeast of here by Charles Osborn, a resident of Mount Pleasant, Ohio. Charles Osborn was born in the South and is opposed to slavery. He calls on all Christians to refuse to buy products that are produced by slave labor.”
When this man hadn’t just recited a verse or asked for prayer, Honor had identified him as a recorded minister, which meant he was acknowledged as having the gift of spoken ministry. He was also probably a delegate to the Quaker conventions in Philadelphia.
A woman rose. “But how can we know which products are manufactured by slaves? Isn’t all cotton produced in our Southern states?”
The young man bowed his head. “I do not know the answer to that.” He sat down.
Honor sat transfixed. This meeting was openly discussing ways to oppose slavery. She closed her eyes and thanked God.
The rest of the meeting passed with prayers and with passages of Scripture read aloud and discussed. Then the overseer who had welcomed them rose and introduced Honor’s family.
She stood and so did Samuel, though reluctantly. Eli spontaneously waved to the congregation, making many smile. She faced her husband, saying and signing, “My husband, Samuel, is a glassblower from Pittsburgh, and I am lately from Maryland. Samuel is deaf, and I speak to him with a sign language. I’d like to teach thee all how to say hello in sign so thee can welcome him.” She proceeded to hold her hand high and demonstrate several times as she turned slowly in a circle so everyone could see.
At first only a few hands lifted and tried to copy the sign, but finally everyone’s hand was moving in the simple gesture.
Honor beamed at them and sat down.
Samuel had kept his eyes averted during Honor’s demonstration, but when he glanced up, he scorched her with his gaze.
She swallowed but did not quail. “I have done nothing wrong,” she signed.
Lovelace prayed for Honor, Eli, and Samuel; then everyone was rising and chatting quietly.
Samuel came over, leading Eli by the hand. The boy was still waving and greeting anyone who spoke to him. Samuel jerked his head. “Let’s go.”
But everyone they passed greeted him with a signed hello. Honor halted, forcing Samuel to also stop. She didn’t budge till she had spoken to everyone who greeted them. Samuel didn’t like being ignored—she understood that. But evidently he also didn’t like being noticed. He couldn’t have it both ways.
On the short walk back to the inn, she could feel his increasing aggravation billowing over her. She decided not to show that she was aware of this.
Samuel was her husband, and she had promised to obey him. But submission did not mean letting a husband turn from the narrow way. Samuel would not prosper if he cut himself off from God and his people. And when she remembered how the young recorded minister at the meeting had spoken of refusing slave-produced goods, she glowed. I have come to the right place.
Samuel seethed. Honor had blatantly disobeyed him. He’d told her not to put him on display.
His conscience corrected him. She was right. Of course you would be introduced to the meeting. How could she hide you?
He had no answer, and that stoked his anger more.
They arrived at the inn and found Royale and another black woman waiting for them near the entrance. The other woman was older and plump with a round face. Her clothing was simple, neat, and clean, and she walked on broad bare feet that had obviously seldom been confined by shoes.
Honor went forward to greet them, and Eli insisted on being set down. The child ran to Royale. “I went to meeting,” he said and signed.
Royale responded with a smile and lifted him into her arms. She turned to Honor and gestured to the older woman beside her, apparently making introductions.
Honor signed to him, “Royale has found us a cook.”
Samuel tried to bring his mind to this new topic. A cook? “Do we need one?”
His wife looked perturbed. “I cannot cook. Royale cannot cook. Can thee?”
Her tart reply set his teeth on edge. “What does she wish in pay?”
“She will work for the same as Royale, two dollars per month. Can we afford her?”
He stared at Honor for a long moment, then nodded. “But we will not need her till we move into our home. We need to go see what condition it’s in, and soon.”
She signed her words as she hired the cook, named Perlie.
Samuel waited impatiently and decided to show his disfavor by stalking upstairs to their room, simmering with unsaid words. His wife was not turning out to be biddable. He needed to take a stand as quickly as possible. Right now, however, he was too irritated to speak of it. Tomorrow would have to do.
OCTOBER 18, 1819
As Samuel and Honor exited their inn the next day, heading off to buy a team of horses, she glanced back as if she recognized someone. He looked around but saw only two nondescript men. Neither looked like anyone his wife would give a second thought. “What’s wrong?” he signed.
“Nothing,” she replied. “I’m imagining things.”
Samuel checked again, and the men had disappeared. He shrugged and trudged beside Honor for two miles to a small farm the innkeeper had recommended on the edge of Cincinnati. Eli had remained back at the inn with Royale.
Honor introduced herself and Samuel to the horse breeder and signed, “We need a team—an experienced pair for personal use and my husband’s business. He was town bred, but I’m country bred. That is why he is asking me to choose some for his consideration. He will make the final decision, of course.”
The horse breeder, a tall, well-dressed man, led Honor to a pasture, Samuel trailing behind. Honor stopped and rested a hand on the top rail of the fence, intently watching the horses. Samuel had to admit they were beautiful animals. From a distance.
Samuel’s subordinate role still irked him, but he appreciated her suggestion that lack of experience, not his deafness, was why he was letting her take such an important role in this purchase.
The horse breeder nodded at him but spoke to Honor, leaning toward her, resting his arm nonchalantly on the railing near her hand. Samuel smoldered.
Then Honor turned to Samuel. “I think the bay team there—” she pointed to two horses standing nearby—“looks promising. Shall I ask him to bring them out for us to examine?”
Samuel nodded. What objection could he raise?
A groom held the reins of both horses. Honor asked the breeder to lead one apart. She walked around the horse and motioned for Samuel to come closer.
He didn’t want to but complied anyway.
Honor pointed out various facts about the horse, lifting hooves and asking the groom to lead it up and down while she watched its movements closely. She repeated the process with the second horse.
Samuel found that he enjoyed observing how intent his wife was and how much she appeared to know about horses. He did not like the marked attention the horse breeder and the groom were paying her, however. He reined himself in, not letting this show.
“This is a good pair,” Honor said. “Shall we begin bargaining?”
“Go ahead,” he signed.
The dickering went on for several minutes. Finally Honor, Samuel, and the breeder agreed upon a price.
As the two of them walked back to their inn, Honor turned heads. Samuel glanced at her. She was leading the horses and totally unaware. Why didn’t she ever seem to notice the attention she garnered? Maybe she just didn’t show it, because she certainly couldn’t be oblivious to it.
When their inn came within sight, Samuel saw the dandy from the riverboat lounging around the front of the building—like a bad penny. A fire lit in his stomach. The journalist raised a hand in greeting and hurried to join them. This man was like a burr Samuel couldn’t shake off.
Honor greeted him with a smile.
Samuel gritted his teeth and raised a hand.
Soon Honor was showing the dandy the finer points of their new team of horses. Samuel felt like a fifth wheel on a wagon.
Yet his wife signed everything they said. Or he thought she did. He tried to ease up, let it pass over him, but he couldn’t.
The hostler for the inn came to take the horses to the nearby stables for the night. The dandy followed them inside, and Honor let him kiss her hand in parting.
Samuel felt a muscle jumping at his temple. With the barest nod to the journalist, he took his wife�
�s hand and led her toward their room.
One look at Honor’s fixed expression told him she did not appreciate his curtness. And she would not long remain silent about it. That much he knew about his wife.
UPSTAIRS, HONOR WAS GLAD to find their room empty. Royale must have taken Eli for a walk. So now Honor would be able to say exactly what she wanted. Samuel closed the door behind them, and as the latch clicked, she turned to confront him. “Why does thee behave so rudely to me?”
Her husband looked away, hanging back near their stacked luggage.
She stamped her foot to insist on his attention.
He raised his eyes, resentful.
“Every time I am near a man, thee behaves as if thee doesn’t trust me. I am not encouraging men to notice me, flirt with me.”
Samuel stared at her and said nothing.
“Thee is my husband. I am not looking for …” She stopped, not knowing how to go on. What did she mean to say? I am not looking for a lover? Heat flushed through her whole body at the very thought of such illicit behavior.
She approached him and took the large hand that made hers feel so small. Touching him set off those unusual sensations in the pit of her stomach. If only they had been given time to get to know one another. Their forced and rushed marriage made everything harder. “I gave thee my promise. Is that not enough?” She searched his dark eyes and read his pain and shame.
An urgent rap on the door interrupted them. Before Honor could open it, the rap repeated, sharp, insistent, prodding her. She whipped the door open. “Yes?” she asked, flustered at the interruption.
The portly, red-faced innkeeper stood panting. “We got trouble. I found my laundress unconscious outside. And your maid and boy’ve been snatched.”
For a few seconds the words didn’t make sense; then Honor sucked in air and choked.
The innkeeper slapped her on the back.
Samuel gripped her shoulder and urged her to look at him. “What is it?”
Honor signed the man’s words and returned her attention to the innkeeper. “How did this happen?”
