by Lyn Cote
Honor heard Charity’s voice from above her. She blinked and opened her eyes. Charity knelt beside her, chafing her wrist. “Mrs. Cathwell, wake up.”
Honor’s thoughts remained scattered. “What happened?” she muttered.
“You fainted,” Amanda said from Honor’s other side.
Even in the dim light, Honor saw that she was surrounded by the women. All of them were staring down at her. Her mind came back into focus. At all costs, she must not give the woman away. But Caleb had been at the top of the ladder. Had he seen the runaway? Revealed her? “Caleb?”
“Eli, she wants Caleb,” Charity said.
“No,” Honor protested, not wanting to call attention to the loft. “He just came to mind. I think I can sit up.”
Samuel moved forward and gripped one hand to help her rise. “Are you all right? Should I carry you to bed?” he signed.
“No, I’ll be fine,” she replied.
“Take it slow, Mrs. Cathwell,” Charity said. “We don’t want you fainting on us again.”
Samuel set her gently in the chair Charity had vacated.
When she was situated, Honor gazed around. The women ringed her, and the men encircled them. No one looked upset, so the runaway must not have been discovered. Had her fainting drawn all attention away from Caleb? Had he come down before actually gaining the loft? Or seeing the runaway?
“I’m fine. Really. I don’t know why I fainted like that,” Honor repeated.
Assured of her recovery, the men began talking again and left the women, going to where the jug of home brew sat in the corner. Samuel lingered, but Thad tugged his arm and led him away.
“Are you increasing?” Charity asked in a low tone.
“No—or I don’t think so. I don’t know why I fainted,” Honor repeated the half-truth. Terror at the thought of the runaway being exposed here—here, in front of people who would send her back to slavery—had caused her to faint.
“Well, you just sit here and watch,” Charity said.
So Honor obeyed, observing the wedding celebration and secretly fretting but trying not to let this show.
About an hour before dark, everyone began to pack up to go home to bed. Dawn and another day of work would come all too soon.
“It’s too bad we don’t have a fiddler in the neighborhood,” Thad said as he carried a basket of food remnants out the barn door. “We could have had dancing.”
Caleb came to her while everyone else bustled around. He signed slowly. “Why is there a woman?” He pointed upward.
Honor blanched and her fingers flew. “Slave catchers chase her. Don’t tell anyone. Please.”
Caleb stared at her in the low light. He drew close and whispered in her ear, “They are bad men.”
She took his face in both hands and nodded. “A secret,” she signed and put a finger to her lips.
The boy whispered, “I hate bad men.”
Honor knew how Caleb felt. Hatred for the slave catchers surfaced every time they passed. But I’m not supposed to hate anyone. Or break the law. I cannot give way to violence or hatred—no matter what.
Now Caleb knew of her secret, and she’d made him an accomplice. How long could a boy keep a secret? An old saying taunted her: “Two can keep a secret if one is dead.” And it wasn’t just two—now her entire household knew, Eli the lone exception.
Why had her husband put her through this torture? She understood that their neighbors would have been suspicious if Samuel had canceled. But surely he could have done something to keep them away.
In the flickering candlelight, Honor bent over the runaway and gently closed her eyes and raised the sheet to cover her face. After dark, Judah had gone to carry the woman back to the kitchen for food and care, but he found that she had expired. He’d carried her over anyway, not knowing what to do. The thought that a woman had died alone in her loft while a wedding party took place just below ripped at Honor’s heart; her chin trembled.
A shocked quiet pervaded the kitchen. All the others stood back from the bed, staring at the still form. Samuel looked crushed, battered. Honor longed to draw near him. Yet the way he’d burst in here last night so angry still left her uncertain. But this sad death would melt even a heart of stone, and Samuel’s heart wasn’t stone—usually.
“Poor woman wasn’t strong enough to make it through a hard labor,” Perlie murmured.
“I’ve never seen a pregnant woman so thin and worn,” Royale said. “What kind of master did she have to fail her so?”
“A cruel one,” Honor said darkly, trembling. “But all masters are cruel. Owning another human alone is cruelty enough.” She wiped away a single tear.
“What are we to do about this child?” Judah said. “We can’t keep him. People will want to know how we suddenly have a baby. But I’ll die before I let him go back to slavery.”
This had been the woman’s only desire, repeated over and over through her labor: to have her child grow up free. Honor watched her husband, waited for him to join in.
“I give her my promise too,” Royale said. “We got to find someone to nurse the child till we find him a home.”
“He doesn’t look black,” Honor said. “Yet. The skin will darken over time.”
“Unless the father was white,” Royale said in a harsh tone. “The child might not darken much.”
Another silence greeted this suggestion.
“I’m old and too tired to do much more than fall into bed,” Perlie said from the chair by the fire with the infant in her arms. “Royale, can you take care of getting the poor woman ready for burial? Judah, we’ll need us a grave in the woods. Even though we got a dusting of snow, the ground isn’t frozen solid.”
Honor gazed at her husband, imploring his cooperation. She hoped for his help, but …
Samuel moved toward her, though hesitantly. “I’ll help Judah bury her.”
Did this mean Samuel supported Honor’s work, or was he bowing to necessity? “We need to talk about this,” Honor signed.
Samuel looked away. “We need shovels,” he signed to Judah. The two men left.
Royale came to Honor and wrapped her arms around her. “Is he gon’ let you help runaways? Your man say anything about all this?”
“No, nothing.” He has barely looked at me.
“Judah and me talking about getting married and moving to Bucktown, a few miles up the road.”
“No,” Honor said, unable to stop herself.
“If we can’t help runaways here, we got to go where we can. That’s why Judah’s father gather the church in Cincinnati, so he can give cover to runaways and help them. The same with places like Bucktown. There be a few more black settlements around Ohio, and all stay here to keep free blacks safe in Ohio and give cover and help to those on the way to Canada.”
This was a long speech from Royale. Honor wept a few tears onto Royale’s shoulder. “What will I do if Samuel forbids me to help escaped slaves?”
“I pray he don’t.”
THE COLD MOON shone over the thick forest. Samuel and Judah had just finished digging the woman’s grave. A small lantern sat beside Samuel’s feet, barely illumining the open patch in the woods. Royale stood beside Judah at the head of the grave. On the opposite side of the grave from Honor, Samuel stared at her, and she met his eyes with fear and something like hostility—as if he were another slave catcher. Her expression pricked him.
They’d left Perlie in the kitchen, weeping and rocking the orphan in her arms. Fortunately, after the excitement of the wedding party, Eli and Caleb had already fallen sound asleep in the cabin loft and knew nothing about this.
Judah touched Samuel’s arm. “Will you pray for her?”
“You pray,” Samuel signed. Then, by the moonlight and his lifted lantern, he watched all that Judah said and signed:
“Father, we commend to you our sister. We don’t know her name, but you do. She died nameless so no master could claim her child. We thank you that you brought her to us. We know t
hat she is with you since we heard her call upon your name as Savior.”
Judah lowered his hand. He had tears running down his face, no longer able to speak. Royale leaned over and put her arm around his waist in support.
Samuel wished this grave, this death, did not separate him from Honor. He longed to hold her, reassure her, and in a way feel the comfort himself. Her pale hair and face shone in the dark, a beacon. Death had again robbed a life. This scene dragged his mind and heart back to his mother’s graveside. He forced back the gloom closing around and within him. I didn’t even know this woman, he tried to convince himself.
In a few moments Judah began again. “Now no one can hurt her. She is safe in your arms, Lord. Free at last.”
The simple words etched themselves onto Samuel’s heart. But his mind was still dazed. Now he guessed that this woman wasn’t the first runaway who had been hidden in his loft. That’s what had taken his wife from his bed. Why would escaped slaves come to his door? Was it because Royale had been kidnapped in Cincinnati? How could they know that Royale lived with them or that they would be helped?
He and Judah began shoveling dirt over the blanket-wrapped form. It bothered Samuel that they hadn’t had time to build her a coffin, but the body must be hidden as soon as possible for the child’s sake. No one must know that a runaway had died in his loft—while they made merry over a wedding cake. The morbid situation whipped his thoughts and feelings into a tumble. He felt queasy, as if the apple cake wanted to come up.
As Samuel shoveled, he glanced up at the shadows from the surrounding trees flickering over Honor’s lovely but stricken face. He tried to go over what had taken place in the past twenty-four hours since he’d awakened to find her gone. But too much had happened. He just felt sick and sad.
Soon they were packing down the earth over the fresh grave, replacing the sod, and scattering dried autumn leaves and pine needles to hide it.
The scene was like something in a bad dream. The scent of pine needles filled Samuel’s head, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to smell them again and not think of this dreadful happening. He led the way back to the cabins with the lantern. Honor plodded beside him.
“How can thee have forgotten to tell me about the wedding party thee agreed to host?” she demanded suddenly, her fingers accusing within the pool of lantern light. “And why did thee let it go on when thee knew the runaway was hiding in the loft? Did thee want her to be discovered?”
Samuel paused, galled. “How could I refuse Micah without giving a reason, without causing gossip? I sometimes forget that people can hear,” he signed. “I didn’t realize what a risk it was till everyone started arriving. Of course I didn’t want her to be found and captured. She was too weak—”
“But if she became well again, would thee have turned her over to the slave catchers who keep coming around here?”
Her accusation sliced into him. “This isn’t the first escaped slave you’ve helped without telling me,” he signed, fighting back.
“No, she wasn’t.” Honor’s lovely face was drawn with worry lines, but her eyes remained fierce. “Samuel, I must and will help any runaway that comes to my door.”
“Our door,” he corrected.
“Is thee forbidding me to help those who need my aid?”
He saw a fresh flash of anger in her eyes. “You are breaking the law.”
“An unjust law that keeps one race enslaved to another.” She slashed the air with emotion.
“I don’t support slavery—”
“If thee does nothing to stop it or to aid those who are fleeing it, then thee does,” her fingers snapped, judging him.
Indignation billowed inside. “There have always been slaves and will always be slaves.”
“I refuse to accept that.”
“Miss Honor,” Royale interrupted as they approached the barn, signing and saying, “we got to take the baby to Bucktown tonight. We need find him a family, and there must be at least one nursing mother there.”
Honor agreed.
Royale continued, but her gaze was directed at Samuel. “We need you to come with us, ma’am, so we don’t get in trouble with any catchers that might be out.”
Samuel did not want Honor to go into the cold night, but he knew there was no way to stop her. “Go ahead, Honor. I’ll stay and keep the boys and Perlie safe.”
Honor nodded to him, going toward the barn with Judah to get the team harnessed.
Samuel walked away toward the cabin, feeling very alone. Why did Honor have to go against the law, against their neighbors? Wasn’t it enough that he and Caleb were deaf? Didn’t that separate them, make them stand out enough?
In the freezing night, Honor sat on the wagon bench beside Royale, who held the swaddled infant. Both were huddled in shawls and covered with lap robes. In the scant moonlight, Judah drove the team to Bucktown, which was some miles north.
After staying up two nights in a row—helping the woman through her labor, hosting the wedding party, and now burying and mourning the nameless runaway—Honor slumped against the back of the bench, exhausted. She and Samuel had not had enough time alone to talk over what had happened, find common ground. Still she hoped, trusted that they could come to some sort of understanding. One thing had become clear to her—she wanted not only Samuel’s cooperation; she wanted his approval, his affection, his love. Did that mean she loved him?
Necessity had forced her to leave Samuel with so much unsettled between them. She ached to have his strong arms around her. But she, Royale, and Perlie had all agreed that finding a wet nurse for the baby could not be put off. The newborn would begin to be really hungry soon. And there was only one place safe to seek a home and help for the orphan. Going into the city to Judah’s father’s house would increase the distance and the danger.
The baby’s unnatural quiet worried both Honor and Royale. The mother had been so weak. Would this child live?
“He should be crying with hunger soon,” Royale said. “The sugar baby Perlie makes ain’t enough to satisfy him for long.”
Honor nodded, gazing at the child sucking sugar wrapped in a cloth plug. “If only we can find a nursing mother in Bucktown, one willing to take the child.”
“I can’t see any woman turning away a baby,” Royale said, rocking the infant against her and crooning softly.
The icy landscape passed in silence then, except for an occasional whimper from the swaddled baby, the screech of an owl, the rustle of the wind through dried oak leaves. The horses’ breath sent up plumes of white vapor, and the chill in the air seeped through the layers of wool and flannel till Honor felt like ice.
Finally, around a bend of trees, a settlement of several cabins and a few fields carved from the surrounding forest came into sight. A tall black man loomed out of one cabin, holding a lantern high. He strode to the middle of the rough road leading to the huddle of cabins, a challenge in his stance.
Honor tried to hope but failed.
Judah reined in the team and lifted one leather-gloved hand. “I’m Judah Langston. I’m apprentice to the glassmaker in Sharpesburg. This is my intended bride, Royale, and the glassmaker’s wife, Honor Cathwell. We need help. Can we come inside and talk?”
“I’m Hank Clifton.” The man motioned for them to get down and held the lantern high for them. A young boy hurried out of the house and led the team into a nearby barn.
Inside the neat, warm cabin, Honor and Royale crowded close to the fire, trying to warm up. One younger woman and one older sat at the table, wrapped in shawls over nightdresses, watching them.
“Hank Clifton, I’m glad to meet thee,” Honor said when she could stop shivering. “We need a nursing mother. Is one living in this town?”
Hank studied her in the firelight. A man of powerful build, he looked to be in his forties with threads of gray in his dark, curly hair. He took his time assessing her and then the baby. “That baby isn’t white.”
“No, the poor babe’s been orphaned and need
s a family,” Royale spoke up. “You don’t need to be afraid of Mrs. Cathwell. She set me free.”
“She’s a Quaker?” the man asked.
“Yes, I am a Friend,” Honor answered for herself. “And Royale is my blood kin.”
A kind of shock went through the room.
“There’s many of us with white kin,” Hank said finally in a dry tone, “but none that will claim us.”
The younger of the women rose and offered Honor her hand. She had an almond-shaped face and a kind expression—beautiful. “I’m Hank’s wife, Keturah. And this is my aunt. I’ll go get the nursing mother that lives nearby. I know she’ll help.”
Hank waved for Honor and Royale to sit on the bench, and Judah came in with the boy who’d helped with the horses. “This is our son,” Hank said. “Now how did you get this baby?”
Honor let Royale tell the sad story.
“Well, God bless you for helping her,” Hank said to Honor.
“How could I turn her away? And how could I blame her for wanting her child born into freedom, not shackles?”
The door opened again, and a plump young woman entered, carrying her own baby on her hip. “Where’s that poor orphan child?”
Within moments the young mother sat by the fire and coaxed the runaway’s baby to begin nursing. “He’s half starved.”
“I know. We weren’t sure how cow’s milk would affect a newborn,” Honor explained, drenched in relief. “Perlie, my cook, kept giving him sugar wrapped in cloth to suck. Thank thee. I am so grateful, so grateful.” She fought a rush of emotion. “I was so afraid we might get here too late or not find a nursing mother.” Honor burst into pent-up tears.
Royale folded her in her arms. “Miss Honor been carrying a heavy load. Her husband didn’t know she was helping runaways till this baby’s mother showed up.”
“Still he let you bring the baby here?” Hank asked.
“He wouldn’t hurt anyone, least of all a child,” Honor said through her tears. “But he doesn’t believe abolition will ever come. I don’t know if he’ll let me help others in the future.”
“Well,” Keturah said, “that’s better than it could have been.”
