by Lyn Cote
Honor moved to the man and clasped his hand. “Thee has become a friend to us. We will not forget thy many kindnesses.”
The man’s face flushed. “You’re good people, and I feel bad your maid was snatched from my property.”
“The sheriff says the men told him that they bought my maid from us.”
The innkeeper’s mouth dropped open. “What kind of nonsense is that?”
“The worst kind,” Honor said. She wrestled with her rampant anger. I should not seek to do violence. My father taught me that I must control my emotions, not let them control me. The Inner Light cannot work in an angry heart.
“Will thee have Eli brought up to us? I have only enough energy to go up to our room.”
The innkeeper agreed and left them.
Honor led Samuel up to their room. As she mounted the stairs, her exhaustion made itself felt with each step. She wanted only to lie down. Samuel entered behind her, then drew her back to him and wrapped himself around her. Honor reveled in the comfort of the strong arms. She rested her head on Samuel’s broad chest, savoring their intimacy.
But a moment later, another maid brought Eli to their room. This pushed them apart. “I was scared,” the boy said and signed.
Honor sent her husband a look of regret over their having to part.
Shrugging, Samuel hugged Eli to him. Eli accepted this, then held out his arms for Honor.
Tenderness for the child filled her. She cradled him close and sat down in the chair. “My sweet boy,” she murmured over and over, “thee is safe now. God protected thee. No one will ever take thee from us again.” After several minutes of holding Eli and soothing him, he fell asleep.
Samuel lifted him gently and laid him on the bed. Then he sat on the bed, gazing at the boy.
Honor felt oddly keyed up again, as if she needed to walk, get fresh air. But she did not want to disturb this quiet moment together. Finally her restlessness and thoughts about its cause would not subside. She touched Samuel’s knee and signed words she could not hold back. “Samuel, almost losing Royale has made me eager to work toward ending slavery.” More eager than before.
“What?” Her husband looked puzzled.
“I am opposed to slavery and want it to end.”
He sent her a look that said impossible. “The slaveholders need the slaves to work their crops. They will never let them go. They would lose their wealth.”
Every word he said was the absolute truth, but that didn’t mean she could not fight. She tried to think of another approach. “Even though she is a free woman, Royale was kidnapped. If there weren’t slave states and free states, she would not be in danger.”
“I don’t like slavery. But the world is the way it is, and it isn’t going to change.”
His words were flat, and his fingers bluntly told her to let the subject go.
She held in more words she wanted to say. Yet earlier she had felt something in his embrace. Something had altered between them, some connection had formed. If they had been alone, she would have let the embrace go on, leading them to a more natural relationship for a husband and wife. But Eli had needed her. She only hoped Samuel would remember the closeness of that moment. She could not forget it.
OCTOBER 21, 1819
The next morning Honor, Samuel, and Eli entered the common room, which was filled with the fragrance of bacon. Though Royale and Eli had been restored to them, Honor’s spirits surged and ebbed. The sheriff’s snide face kept coming to mind.
Rising, Sinclair Hewitt waved them over to his table. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Honor turned to Samuel, prepared to risk his reluctance. “He helped us find Eli and Royale. I am not flirting with him.” Still, what did the journalist want from them? Or want to warn them of?
“I know,” Samuel signed. She raised a brow at the unexpectedly cordial response. He sat down with Eli on his lap. The child twisted and turned, trying to see everyone around them. Samuel patiently shifted in his chair, accommodating Eli’s movements. A servant girl brought coffee and went to get their breakfast.
Honor sat on the edge of her chair, focused on Hewitt.
“I heard from the innkeeper that the sheriff is not being helpful,” Hewitt said, brushing crumbs off the white tablecloth.
Honor brought him up to date on what had happened so far. Each word raised her outrage toward the sheriff another notch. She finished with, “We are going to hire a lawyer today to represent us and Royale in this case.”
Hewitt nodded and sat back. “I know where the law offices are. I’ll be happy to go with you. I want to write up an article about this. I may not win popularity by it, but if the sheriff is not one to uphold the law regardless of a person’s color or status, that should be known.”
No doubt he was right. She’d thought people in a free state would bear more sympathy toward those who’d been freed. But might Hewitt’s writing do more harm than good for Royale?
Honor studied the journalist. “I don’t know if thee should write about it so soon. Blaine might have undergone a change of heart.” Especially after Samuel let him know how far he would go to seek justice.
“I understand your hesitance, but I think having a journalist in attendance will cause everyone to do their duty more circumspectly, don’t you?”
Torn, Honor signed this to Samuel and asked him to decide.
“Tell Hewitt to come along but not to write anything unless our lawyer says so.”
Hewitt gazed at Samuel. “Show me how to sign yes.”
Honor beamed at the young man and demonstrated the sign for him.
Samuel nodded to the journalist. Then the serving girl delivered their plates, filled with all a person could want for breakfast. If only Honor had any appetite. Royale appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, and Honor smiled at her. When she started to rise to go to Royale, her maid shook her head and mouthed, “I’m fine.”
Royale appeared rested and was wearing clean, well-pressed clothing, so Honor merely nodded.
Still, worry over how this all might turn out twisted her stomach. She sipped her coffee and began praying for good outcomes. For Royale. And for her own future, here with her husband. Hope flickered, dimmed, but didn’t die.
After breakfast, Sinclair Hewitt led Samuel and Honor to the center of town, near the courthouse. All manner of people crowded the narrow streets. Honor let herself feel the bustle of the Queen City, trying to understand this place. She knew Samuel did not prefer to have the journalist with them, but they both agreed he could be of help in dealing with a lawyer. The innkeeper had recommended a young attorney, new to Cincinnati, who had stayed at the inn when he first came to town. The man’s character had impressed the innkeeper favorably. Honor only hoped he would be willing and could help Royale get justice.
A collection of law offices filled the frame building, but it didn’t take them long to find Alan Lewis in the attic, in the smallest of the offices. Lewis was young and thin with a large Adam’s apple. His office was bare except for a few law books, two chairs, and a small, scarred desk.
“How may I help you?” Lewis asked as he seated Honor in the lone client chair. Then, since only his chair remained, he politely leaned against the wall. The other two men also stood out of courtesy.
Taking the lawyer’s measure, Honor glanced to Hewitt, asking him to speak. She would be deemed very forward if she spoke to an attorney while men were present.
“I will speak for the Cathwells,” Hewitt said with a nod to Honor. He proceeded to explain their situation.
“I have, of course, heard of this case,” Lewis said, straightening from the wall. “I can well believe the kidnappers told the sheriff that cock-and-bull story. These men don’t impress me with their intelligence. Their lie won’t stand up in court. Even if you had sold them this girl, which would have been breaking the law and not a binding agreement, why would they take the boy? Why were the boy and your maid concealed in sacks? If he gives any credence to their story, the sh
eriff will look a fool.”
“Thee will represent us, then?” Honor asked, then signed Samuel’s question: “See justice done?”
“Since the city will be bringing the case against them and their own lawyer will defend them, I won’t be able to do or say anything official in court. But I will attend the trial with you. If anything is not done according to the law, I will alert you and make it known upon appeal, if needed.”
Lewis offered his hand to Samuel, who looked surprised but nodded and shook the attorney’s hand.
“When will the trial take place?” Hewitt inquired.
“I’ll go to the sheriff today and find out everything; then I will confer with you.” Lewis looked to Honor. “Never fear. These men who took your nephew and maid against her will won’t be allowed to go scot-free. We must make an example of them.”
Honor hoped this would prove true. From what she’d heard so far, women and people of color rarely hoped to come out of a courtroom vindicated. Or that’s how it seemed. Honor’s resolve in the face of this inequity hardened. Her God was a God of justice and mercy, and she would serve him in both.
OCTOBER 22, 1819
Samuel wished he could have refused to come to the drab Quaker meetinghouse early the next evening, but how could he do that? The Friends had helped them save Eli and Royale. From across the room, he scrutinized his wife, a faint blush on her cheeks, her eyes glowing with eagerness.
He watched her closely. Her gaze did not follow George Coxswain or any other man. She was excited over this meeting of those interested in abolition. But all Samuel wanted to do was sit and stare at her. A dangerous temptation.
Samuel thought of last night when he and Honor had undressed Eli and tucked him into their bed. They’d been standing side by side, looking down at him. Then it had happened. After Honor had smoothed back Eli’s hair and kissed his forehead, Samuel had felt a matching touch and kiss. She had turned, and he’d folded her into his arms.
He didn’t know how much longer he could hold back from truly making her his wife. On the other hand, why did he hesitate to let her come nearer? They were married, weren’t they? Stumped at his own reluctance, he diverted his thoughts from this thorny question.
George Coxswain had risen and was speaking to the group of around twenty men and women. Across from Samuel, Honor began to sign what George was saying. He should have known she’d do that.
But instead of cutting her off with a glare or doing what he wanted—gazing at her and ignoring everyone else—he forced himself to read her fingers. This meeting held importance for his wife, and he must follow what was said.
Royale had first told Honor of this meeting when they had returned from consulting Alan Lewis. The black congregation wanted Honor to attend and report to them if anything of real value was discussed. Black Christians were not welcome in the meetinghouse.
Now Honor listened to George opening the meeting, and she began to sign almost without thinking. Would this body of Friends have ideas that could fight slavery?
“I have been concerned about abolishing slavery since I was a child in North Carolina—”
“I must interrupt thee before our conversation begins,” another man said, holding up a restraining hand. He was very thin and sickly looking. “I don’t think that we should involve women in this work. The fairer gender should not be troubled with such weighty issues, and what can they do to help abolish slavery?”
Honor sat aghast. She wanted to spring up and tell him that women were capable of much, but no lady contradicted a man, and never in public. She would wait to see how George replied.
George fixed his stare on the older man, but his voice was conciliatory. “I am sorry thee feels that way, Friend. I would think that the part played by women in the horrible kidnapping over the past few days would show what they can do. Often a woman can put off suspicion. As thee remembers, women from our meeting patrolled the wharf during the day when the men could not be away from their jobs or stores. And their presence did not alert the kidnappers that watch was being kept.”
The thin man shook his head militantly and others joined in, protesting that the meeting could not continue with both women and men in attendance. This wasn’t a worship gathering but a political discussion. And women had no part in politics. That realm was beyond their understanding.
Honor began shredding her lace handkerchief to keep from rising to debate.
Then George’s widowed mother, Deborah, stood abruptly. “Ladies, I think we will move down the street to my kitchen—where, evidently, women belong—and have our own meeting.”
As surprised as the few other women in attendance appeared to be, Honor wished to stay and argue the point. But she bowed to Deborah’s suggestion and rose.
Samuel stood also and signed, “What’s happening?”
Honor explained before following the other women toward the door. Samuel caught up with her. “Thee can stay here,” she told him. Thee wears pants.
“Why? I won’t hear a word said, and I’d rather be with you.”
“I’d rather be with you.” Honor tried not to read more into those words than she should. Of course Samuel would follow her. What choice did he have?
The women and Samuel marched down the street in the twilight and soon entered the neat parlor of the Coxswains’ home, a two-story frame house. The dismissal still stung Honor. Men offered courtesy with one hand and insult with the other.
“Thank thee for opening thy home,” Honor said as she settled herself stiffly on a settee with Samuel beside her.
“Thee is welcome—even thy husband. And I prefer we gather here in the parlor, not my kitchen.” Deborah grinned. “I don’t understand why a women’s presence should upset Carter Fleming, but he is a curmudgeon of the first water.”
The other women suppressed smiles. Honor thought of a few sharper terms for the rude man and scolded herself for this weakness.
“Of course I should not say so, but it’s the truth, so God will forgive me,” Deborah continued.
“I was surprised to see so few at the meeting tonight,” Honor said, unable to hide her disappointment. “I thought all Friends opposed slavery.” She signed the conversation to include Samuel, though he didn’t look as if he were interested.
“Disapproving is different from taking action against slavery,” Deborah said.
“But what can we do to help end slavery?” another woman asked. “Slaveholders have the law on their side. And wealth. And the vote.”
The women looked into each other’s faces, hoping for inspiration.
“Perhaps we should discuss why we’re interested in abolition,” Deborah suggested. “Honor Cathwell, we know that thy free maid was kidnapped and that thee is from the South. Are those the reasons thee wants to end slavery?”
“Yes, I am from Maryland. I don’t think those who have never seen slavery understand how evil it is. Thee has a Southern accent too, Deborah,” Honor said, offering the older woman a chance to reveal her past.
The ladies shifted their gazes to Deborah.
“Yes, I am from North Carolina. My family and I freed our few slaves. After doing so, we were forced to move north.”
A rush of emotion clogged Honor’s throat. Deborah Coxswain had suffered similar loss and dislocation.
“That must have been hard,” another woman said.
“Indeed it was. My family became enemies to people we had called neighbors for two generations.” Deborah shook her head sorrowfully.
Honor nodded, remembering her own bitter loss. Alec Martin’s face flickered in her memory. He’d chosen Darah, not her; slavery, not emancipation. But her grandfather’s querulous voice overwhelmed that memory. He had left his own blood—both her and Royale—vulnerable. A piercing like thorns twisted around her heart.
Deborah rose and drew something from a small secretary in the corner. “Has thee seen this? Read the title to all, Honor.”
Honor accepted the one-page newspaper and read aloud its ti
tle. “‘The Genius of Universal Emancipation.’” She scanned the page and devoured the impassioned plea for emancipation of slaves.
“Benjamin Lundy just published this in Mount Pleasant, Ohio,” Deborah said.
“There is a new paper right here in town that speaks against slavery,” another woman said. “The Philanthropist.”
The others sat as silent as Samuel.
Honor sat forward. “I do not know how to change this evil, but I would suggest we begin with prayer.”
“Excellent,” Deborah affirmed. “Of course we should ask for the Inner Light to lead us.”
The women bowed their heads, and each prayed in turn for guidance and inspiration to begin the work of ending slavery.
“Lord, inspire us with ways to end this dreadful bondage of our darker brethren and sisters,” Deborah concluded.
“Well, at least we’ve held the first Female AntiSlavery Society meeting,” the youngest of the ladies announced. “I hope we will continue to gather.”
The women around the circle nodded.
“Way will open,” Deborah said, “if we pray and remain vigilant for any opportunity that presents itself. And if this be of God, the way to do it will come.”
Honor and the other women murmured in agreement. Honor’s dismay had eased with prayer. God would show them the way.
A glance at Samuel’s expression puzzled her. She couldn’t decide if he was experiencing one of his bouts of wanting to be away from others or was pondering what had been said. But she hoped against hope that it was the latter. How could she proceed with working toward abolition if her husband opposed it?
OCTOBER 25, 1819
Three days later, just after sunset, Samuel helped Honor down from the wagon bench when they arrived at the inn. The land agent had driven them to view their property. Even as Honor bid the land agent farewell, she did not appear pleased, and Samuel had wanted to please her. More and more, what Honor desired mattered to him. But he couldn’t see how to give her what he did not want.
He opened the inn door for her, and they moved directly into the now-familiar common room, both of them chilled, hungry, and thirsty. Trying to show he cared about her comfort, Samuel offered his arm, leading her to her favorite table by the window. Honor spoke to the innkeeper, signing to Samuel that she was inquiring after Royale and Eli. The man assured her that they were safe. But Honor’s evident yet silent displeasure was still present, eliciting Samuel’s concern.
