by Lyn Cote
The men trooped after her, toward the cabin and away from the barn—away from the runaway.
“That was very thoughtful of Perlie,” Honor murmured to Royale.
Royale winked. “We just want to do you and the mister proud, Miss Honor.”
DECEMBER 17, 1819
Samuel woke up in the dark, chilled room. Honor was sliding between the sheets. He grabbed her hand. A little over a week had passed since this first happened. Where had she gone again?
She turned toward him, not trying to free her hand.
He couldn’t see clearly enough to know if she was signing with her other hand. He felt for it and claimed it as well.
She rolled toward him, cuddling close.
He felt how cold she was, but the way she came into his arms of her own accord distracted him from suspicion. In the darkness, as the scent of her rosewater enveloped him and her soft form pressed against him, his desire for her overcame his misgivings. He leaned forward and kissed her. And when she kissed him back, he forgot everything but Honor in his arms.
DECEMBER 18, 1819
Against the mid-December chill, Honor added another log to the fire in Deborah Coxswain’s neat, plain parlor and sat down to continue sewing the sleeve of a winter coat for Caleb. Honor had driven alone to Deborah’s for this afternoon’s AntiSlavery Society meeting with something concealed in her pocket. Anna and May were already sewing near the windows, making the most of the winter sunlight. The meeting had begun with a time of quiet meditation, and then everyone had taken up their handwork. Honor hoped Deborah or one of the other women would begin the discussion. She hesitated to share her latest attempt.
And overlaying all her thoughts, last night Samuel had caught her coming in from helping another runaway. She’d used passion to distract him and felt guilt about that dishonesty. A Christian wife shouldn’t employ passion as a shield or weapon. Yet at the time it had been the only choice that came to mind.
The fire crackled on some sap, flaring up. Honor glanced around, apprehensive over what these women would say if they knew she was harboring escaped slaves, breaking federal law. Did she have the courage or the right to reveal this? The folded paper in her pocket nudged her.
“I … have something to share.” Honor pulled out the paper.
“Deborah, it’s me.” Cordelia’s voice came from the front hall. They heard her shedding her shawl and scarf in the foyer before she entered the parlor, breathless. “I had trouble getting away. I’m sorry.” Pulling off her gloves, Cordelia took the vacant seat and smoothed back her straight, dark hair.
Deborah smiled and nodded. “Honor was just going to share something with us, and I have something too.”
Everyone looked to Honor, who now wished she had kept this to herself. But perhaps this new way of furthering the cause came from God too. “I tried my hand at some poetry.”
“Poetry?” Cordelia sounded uncertain.
“Yes. I was thinking that people are often touched by poetry, and this might be a vehicle for our cause. Perhaps it could persuade some.”
“Please read it, Honor,” Deborah encouraged. “We will give thee our honest but loving opinion.”
Honor cleared her throat. “It’s a child speaking to his mother.” She smoothed out the creases of the paper on her lap.
“What is a slave, Mother?—I heard you say
That word with a sorrowful voice, one day;
Methinks I have heard a story told,
Of some poor men, who are bought and sold,
And driven abroad with stripes to toil,
The live-long day on a stranger’s soil;
Is this true, Mother?”
Honor felt her throat clogging with emotion, but she pressed on.
“May children as young as I be sold,
And torn away from their mothers’ hold—
From home—from all they have loved and known,
To dwell in the great wide world alone,
Far, far away in some distant place,
Where they never may see their parents’ face?
Ah! how I should weep to be torn from you!
Tell me, dear Mother, can this be true?”
Shaken from reading her own words aloud, Honor glanced up, almost afraid of their reception of her poor attempt to portray the evils she had witnessed firsthand. “And finally the mother replies, ‘Alas, yes, my child.’”
“Oh,” Anna said, a hand to her mouth. “I hate to think of those poor children.”
May was dabbing her eyes under her spectacles with a handkerchief.
Cordelia was merely staring at Honor.
“A worthy effort,” Deborah said with sad confidence. “I think that thee should submit it to the Philanthropist. I’m certain they would welcome it.”
“A poem by a woman?” Cordelia said with grievance in her tone. “They will say it is unladylike and—”
“Anne Bradstreet’s Puritan poetry has been published for years,” Deborah interrupted. “Some men belittle women, but not all.”
Samuel never belittles me, Honor thought. She glanced at Cordelia and wondered again about how her husband treated her. “Cordelia, I know I am not a great poet,” Honor said, “but it’s the cause that matters. I never thought to write poetry, but … I must let out what my heart feels about the suffering of my African sisters and brothers.”
“Let the editor of the paper decide,” Anna said. “If it’s God’s will, this poem will be published and move hearts to our cause.”
May nodded enthusiastically, the curls over her ears bouncing as usual and her spectacles slipping down her nose.
Cordelia drew in a deep breath. “I agree.”
Honor found she couldn’t stop a smile.
“Now for my news,” Deborah said. She drew a letter down from the mantel. “We have received a reply to our letter to one of our local legislators.” She read a flowery, condescending letter from the man.
Honor buried clenched hands in her lap. “So he thinks a pat on the back for our concerns about free people of color is commendable, and that’s all. Humph. Does he think we will give up after a polite dismissal?”
“I’m not about to be dismissed,” Cordelia stated. “Let’s write him again and also a letter to another legislator.”
Every lady turned to stare at Cordelia. Honor couldn’t hide her shock.
“What?” Cordelia responded. “I’ll write the letter this time. I have a few things to say!”
Spontaneous applause greeted Cordelia’s words. Honor clapped hard. Perhaps this group was about more than freeing only slaves.
By the end of the meeting, a reply to the first legislator had been penned, a second to another one, and Honor had copied her poem and planned to mail it to the newspaper office before leaving the city.
She drove away, chilled in the late-afternoon twilight, warmed by the efforts of their group. Though what they did might amount to a teardrop in an ocean of misery, at least they were trying. And though she hated lying to Samuel, she could not stop helping runaways who found their way to her door. God, help change his mind. I know I can’t.
DECEMBER 24, 1819
Samuel awakened to find the bed beside him empty once more. Why had Honor left him? Where could she be? Invisible fists of jealousy grabbed his heart and twisted. He would find out this time.
He sprang out of bed and clambered up the ladder, though he knew she wouldn’t be in the loft. Caleb’s pup opened an eye at him, his tail beating the floor, but then went back to sleep.
Samuel dragged clothes over his nightshirt. At the door, he yanked on his wool coat and knit hat and gloves. Where would he look first?
The only place he could think of was the kitchen. Was someone there ill? He could make no sense of her going out into the cold night, and jealousy clawed him—even though he knew it to be irrational. At least he would learn the truth tonight, for good or bad.
He shut the cabin door quietly but firmly behind him. The crescent moon was still
in the eastern sky, so it was before midnight. The scant moonlight glimmered on the inch of snow on the ground, and he saw them. Footprints—large running beside small. Who could be with Honor?
He took off at a run, disbelief and hurt surging with each step. He reached the kitchen. Candlelight shone from the window. He charged inside.
The scene that met his eyes shocked him into immobility.
With a candlestick in hand and her back to him, Royale stood beside the bed, opposite Honor on the far side. In the bed a black woman with a full womb writhed in the obvious pangs of childbirth.
All faces in the darkened room turned to him.
Honor looked horrified and darted forward. “Samuel, she’s a runaway and needed help. Please just go back to our cabin. I’ll explain later, but I can’t leave now. I’m needed.”
His mind stumbled in shock. “What are you doing here?”
Honor glanced over her shoulder. “I am helping this woman. She is about to give birth. Something’s wrong. Thee shouldn’t be here.”
Samuel stared at her. A runaway? Childbirth? His mind scrambled as if slipping on ice. He stumbled to the bench at the small table. “Go ahead. Help her.”
Then every head swung to the woman. Samuel couldn’t hear the woman’s distress, but he could see her face and body contorted with pain. His fingers shouted in panic, “Help her!”
Honor almost staggered with relief. She hurried forward and spent the next hour helping Perlie, who had some experience as a midwife. Finally Honor held a tiny infant, swaddled in a pillowcase and a linen towel. “We must get them into the barn loft before daylight. I never know when those two slave catchers could appear at our door.”
“They might even come on Christmas Day,” Royale said bitterly.
The fact that this child had been born on the eve of Christ’s birth vibrated through Honor. Friends didn’t celebrate Christmas lavishly, but she was struck by the thought of Mary giving birth in a stable.
“I can carry her and hide her in the loft,” Judah said and signed, staring at Samuel. “But will you permit me, sir?”
All of them turned as if connected by thread to look at Samuel, who still sat as if dazed on the bench.
With the child in her arms, Honor sank to her knees in front of him and signed, “Please, Samuel, let us hide her in the barn. If the catchers come … Traveling now, alone in the cold, might kill her and the child. Please.” Honor rested a hand on his knee, her heart in her throat, its beat nearly deafening her.
She couldn’t imagine the Samuel she knew sending this woman and infant out into the cold. But then she’d seen otherwise-generous white people inflict unthinkable cruelty on those with black skin. Now came the moment she’d dreaded, the moment she would learn whether Samuel’s kindness was only for people with skin like his. Whether he would obey the law of man or of God.
Samuel appeared to shake himself. “Hide her.” He rose. “I’ll help Judah carry her.”
Honor rose as he did and tried to put her free arm around him.
Samuel shied away from her.
Her heart shattered. Samuel was aware of her secret now, but it might cost her all the progress they’d made to being husband and wife.
DECEMBER 25, 1819
Late that morning, Honor tried to continue sewing new, larger clothing for Eli. Samuel had barely looked at her since he’d burst into the kitchen in the hours just before midnight. After a breakfast eaten in tense silence, he’d fled straight to the barn without a word about what had transpired. Dear Lord, what will happen now?
She heard the blacksmith, Micah, call, “Hello the house! I’m back, and I’ve got someone for you to meet. Come out!”
Along with her anxiety, she folded up her sewing, smoothed down her hair and apron, donned her wool shawl, and stepped outside. Already outside playing in the snow, Eli and Caleb came running too. Micah had left for Cincinnati two days ago. Honor halted in surprise. All four members of the Hastings family—the baby included—had accompanied Micah, and a plump, pretty young woman in a fine navy-blue dress and bonnet stood beside him.
“This is my bride—my Christmas bride, Amanda.”
“Whoop!” Eli shouted and dashed toward the barn with Caleb at his heels, presumably to fetch Samuel.
“Amanda,” Honor said, trying to hide her surprise and her caution. “Welcome.” She grasped the woman’s hand. “Please come inside, out of the cold.”
“We came for our wedding celebration,” Micah said, not letting go of his bride’s hand. Honor stared at him, unsure what he meant. “We were married this morning in Cincinnati, as I told Samuel last week, and I’ve brought a large apple cake with us to gather and celebrate with our neighbors. We knew that your husband’s barn would be warm because of the forge, and it’s larger than any of the cabins around here, so Samuel told us we could hold a party there. I’ve invited everyone to come celebrate our wedding and Christmas today in your barn.”
Honor’s heart fell. How could Samuel have neglected to inform her of this? A wedding celebration in their barn—with a runaway and her baby in the loft? She felt the blood drain from her face. It wasn’t possible.
Samuel had exited the barn, pulling on his wool coat as he walked. Eli and Caleb followed him. Any hope that Samuel would draw on his usual standoffishness and somehow dissuade Micah from staying here disappeared with one of her husband’s rare smiles. Nodding, he clasped Micah’s hand, then released it and signed, “Congratulations! Let’s bring the cake into my barn!”
When Honor didn’t translate this, Samuel nudged her and she quickly relayed his words to Micah. She tried not to make another sound or motion so no one would note her rising tension. What was Samuel thinking? He couldn’t have forgotten the woman hidden there. Was this his way of teaching her not to aid runaways? Her stomach twisted into a cold knot.
As Micah, Amanda, and the Hastings family headed for the barn, Samuel pulled Honor aside, communicating with her at last. “I am sorry I forgot to tell you about offering Micah our barn, but this calamity is of your own making.” With that, he strode away from her, toward his friends.
When Honor caught up to them, Amanda sent her a nervous glance, and she summoned up a smile. This woman would be a close neighbor, perhaps for the rest of their lives. “Of course I’m just taken aback. This is all so sudden.”
Micah seemed to misinterpret her. “Well,” he said, sounding shy, “I been writing letters back and forth with her over the last year, and I finally persuaded her to marry me.”
“Where is thee from, Amanda?” Honor asked.
“A town across the river from Cincinnati. Covington, Kentucky,” Amanda said. “I met Micah at a horse sale. I was living with my uncle.”
So this bride came from a slave state. The band around Honor’s lungs tightened. How would this all end? Would her secret lawbreaking become public knowledge today?
Within an hour, all the local families had arrived for the celebration. Nearly twelve chattering adults and a pack of noisy children gathered in the barn, which Thad had helped sweep clean. Honor had changed into her best mourning dress for the occasion, and the rest of the women had come in their finest also. The forge radiated a comfortable heat. And many had brought lanterns for the ride home and for lighting the dim, cavernous barn during the short daylight hours.
Judah had warned the runaway to be quiet at all costs. He’d managed to hide the sleeping baby in a bucket and carry it to Perlie in the kitchen, unnoticed. No one would go there, so if Perlie could keep the infant quiet, all would be well. Honor tried to turn over her worry to the Lord, but it refused to budge. Amanda proved to be a soft-spoken, friendly girl. But Honor’s constant worry put her on her guard.
The men had set up a makeshift table using leftover wood slats on top of sawhorses. Honor draped two of Miriam’s embroidered tablecloths over it to add to the festive air. Every woman who’d come had brought dishes to pass, so Samuel’s last-minute notice of this party didn’t require undue effort from Perl
ie or Royale. Soon heavy pottery bowls filled with a variety of breads, stews, and vegetables covered every inch of the starched white tablecloths. The mouthwatering aromas of rich food mingled in the air. In the center of it all sat the fragrant apple cake, tantalizing them. Honor wished she could have enjoyed this first community party.
She schooled herself not to look toward the loft. God forbid that anyone should detect the woman trapped there because Honor slipped. But the compulsion to look upward bedeviled her moment by moment.
As soon as everyone assembled, a beaming Micah formally introduced his bride to each family, one by one. When he finished, everyone applauded and the men insisted he kiss his wife for all to see.
Even Honor, as stressed as she was, smiled at the big blacksmith, who was now blushing.
One of the older children ran toward the ladder, followed by Eli and several others. “Let’s play in the loft!”
“No!” Honor objected, frantically searching for a reason. “I don’t want anyone falling. Come here, Eli.”
The boy looked startled since he often played in the loft. But he obeyed her and turned from the foot of the ladder.
Honor tried to think of another place she could have hidden the runaway. But there was nowhere else. And no chance now.
The festivities continued. Soon the women were sitting on the benches and chairs they had brought, eating, while the men leaned against the walls and ate. Honor couldn’t concentrate on the conversation going on around her. What if the woman in the loft sneezed? Honor felt as if someone were sawing at her insides, as if she were a piece of wood nearing the point where she would snap apart.
“You must not be hungry,” Charity commented.
“Oh, just thinking,” Honor apologized and began to try to eat her food. Her unsettled stomach, however, threatened to refuse to keep it down.
Then she saw Caleb climbing the ladder to the loft. She couldn’t call him back. He wouldn’t hear her.
He mounted the top rung. He would see the runaway! She leapt up, her heart racing so fast she could barely breathe. Stars burst before her eyes.
