Honor

by Lyn Cote

  Honor sank into the rocker, weak with regret. “What should we do?”

  “Hope that it goes unnoticed.” With that, he left her.

  She rocked beside the low fire and tried to come up with a way out of this trouble. She recalled the pride she had felt when she’d first seen her name in print. Well, “pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall,” and Honor had the safety of others to consider, not just what people might think of her. Anonymity would have been a small price to pay if it had kept the slave catchers away. If only she’d considered that earlier.

  FEBRUARY 8, 1820

  Once again Royale hovered by Honor’s bed in the early hours of the morning. Honor rose and, this time, shook Samuel awake too.

  “We got a whole family in the kitchen,” Royale said, shivering slightly in her robe and shawl. “Where we gon’ hide a whole family?”

  Honor threw on a dress and shawl over her nightgown, and Samuel dragged on his trousers and jacket. They hurried through the gray light of dawn to the kitchen, where they found a man, his wife, his mother, and their two children, both around Caleb’s age. They were huddled near the fire, eating leftovers and gulping water.

  “Boss, the loft won’t hide this many,” Judah said. “And what if the catchers come?” They’d all been on edge since the poem had appeared in print the previous day.

  “We must take them to Bucktown. Now,” Samuel replied. “Judah, go get the team harnessed. We’ll leave immediately.”

  Honor could hardly believe her eyes. Her husband was taking action for these runaways.

  He turned to her and signed, “Think up some reason for us to go to Bucktown so early in case anyone asks. We’ll come back at once.”

  As he passed her on his way to the door, she gripped his forearm. “Thank thee, Samuel. I know this seems an imposition.”

  He shrugged and pulled free, leaving her.

  Honor smiled at the runaways, but her thoughts were on her husband. A desire to keep their neighbors from finding out what they were doing might explain his quick actions. But he could be acting out of respect for her—or even out of a growing compassion for runaway slaves themselves.

  Samuel and Judah returned well into the morning. They entered the kitchen, where Honor waited with Royale and Perlie. Eli and Caleb played with their pets and small leather balls in front of the fire.

  “They’re safe,” Judah said under his breath, hanging back by the door. “We met no one on the way, and the people of Bucktown took the family into hiding right away.”

  Samuel nodded toward Judah, obviously prompting him. “Mr. Cathwell says we got to build a better hiding place than just putting people in the loft.”

  As if nudged sharply, Honor sprang up from the bench to join them. She schooled her voice to avoid drawing Eli’s attention. “What?”

  “We planned it on the way home. We’re going to get started on it right away. If you see anybody coming, give us a shout and we’ll hide our work. Mr. Cathwell doesn’t want anybody to know what we’re building.”

  Honor nodded, stunned. When the two men left, she turned to Royale and Perlie. “Does thee think my husband has come around to our way of thinking?”

  “No,” Royale said laconically. “I think he don’t want to stick out and be noticed.”

  “The mister never like people to come or to look at him,” Perlie joined in. “I think that’s what this is about.”

  Honor didn’t contradict them, but a flicker of hope flared, hope that Samuel was drawing nearer.

  APRIL 4, 1820

  Honor blinked herself awake to a tapping. She sat up, glad of spring, glad to wake without a cold nose. The feeble gray of predawn lightened the window. The tapping at the door sounded again. A caller before dawn? No, it would be another runaway.

  Jolted fully awake, Honor rolled out of bed and donned her robe. She hurried to answer before the noise woke Eli this early. She opened the door and saw in the barest light two women, hunkered under shawls in the morning mist.

  “This be the Cathwell house?” one asked.

  Alarm quivered through Honor. Usually the runaways didn’t know or ask their name. “Yes,” she replied in a cautious whisper. “I am Honor Cathwell.”

  “Honor.” The one word was spoken in a voice she had never forgotten, fixing her in place, her blood frozen.

  “It is me, Honor.” The woman lifted the shawl she wore over her head and shoulders, revealing her familiar pale face surrounded by brown curls in disarray.

  “Darah,” Honor gasped, her heart throbbing within her.

  “Can we come in, Miss Honor?” begged the other woman, who was rounder and whose skin was the color of brown sugar.

  Not recognizing this other young woman, Honor fell back, dazed. She closed the door behind them, shutting out the early mosquitoes. She stumbled to her chair and sat down, feeling she might faint. Was she having a dream? Could this be real?

  His nightshirt tucked into his trousers, Samuel came up beside her and touched her shoulder.

  Honor looked up at him in the shadows. Even in her shock, his presence strengthened her. Samuel moved farther to the side, evidently so she could see his fingers by the faint light from the window. “What’s wrong?”

  “This is my cousin,” she signed, unable to go on.

  Samuel tried to read his wife’s face but saw only taut suffering. Her cousin? The one who’d inherited the plantation instead of Honor? He drew near his wife, who sat as stiff and still as wood.

  He motioned for the two women to come farther inside. They didn’t move, remaining huddled by the door. The pale skin of one shone in the low light. What was going on?

  Honor did not move to hurry the early morning visitors to the kitchen or barn as she usually did—but then, these weren’t typical runaways. If indeed they were running at all.

  The two women still did not move.

  Reaching over, he gently touched his wife’s arm. She didn’t respond. Increasingly worried, he lit a candle.

  Finally Honor held her hand high in front of the candlelight and signed her words as she spoke. “Darah, why has thee come here, and in this way?”

  The pretty but drawn-looking white woman buried her face in her hands. “You must hide us, Honor. We’re headed to Canada.”

  Samuel read the reply from Honor’s fingers and could not make sense of it. Why would a white woman need to go to Canada?

  “I thought—” Honor said. “Thee wrote me of thy marrying.”

  Following the conversation through Honor’s fingers, Samuel watched the woman called Darah bend over, shaking, sobbing. “What troubles her?” he asked Honor.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know why she’s here. She should be in Maryland.”

  “Miss Honor,” the maid said, “I’m Sally. I know us comin’ is a surprise, but there be two catchers on our trail. I think you better hide us quick.”

  Though Honor signed the woman’s words, she still didn’t move.

  Catchers. Samuel motioned for the women to follow him. When Honor rose at last, the two strangers obeyed him. His wife trailed them, lagging behind the quick pace he set.

  Soon, in the first true glimmers of the dawn’s light, Samuel and Judah led the women to the secret room they’d built in the rear of the barn near Judah’s bedroom. Royale and his wife followed them, both looking confused. Inside, with the touch of a hidden lever, Samuel opened a wall covered with bottles on shelves.

  The women behind him appeared surprised. But they walked into the secret room, obviously noting the blankets neatly folded there as well as the jug of water. Honor set down a bag of bread, turned away, and started back to the cabin.

  Quickly Samuel showed the women how to open the door from the inside in case of emergency, then shut them in. Even now, just before dawn, the day promised unusual heat and humidity. He had drilled holes high and low in the wall for ventilation, but still it would be warm, stuffy inside.

  Bewildered, he hurried after his wife.
Sunshine already lit the sky, though the sun still had not cleared the horizon. Inside their cabin, she sank onto the rocking chair, folding in on herself.

  Samuel sat down in the chair opposite her. He didn’t know what to say. He’d followed the conversation but couldn’t see why her cousin had come here. And why was the woman running away with her slave? “I don’t understand,” he signed, moving his chair closer to hers.

  Honor raised her hand. “I don’t either.”

  “Is this the cousin who got your inheritance?”

  Honor turned her face away and buried her hands in her lap as if refusing to reply, her anguish plain to see.

  He tapped her arm, insistent, concerned. “Talk to me.”

  “It is hard for me to talk about her, but yes, she’s the one who inherited our plantation,” Honor signed. “I can’t believe that my cousin is here. And why is she heading to Canada? It makes no sense.”

  Over the past months since he’d built the secret room for runaway slaves, their life had evened out. As long as she kept her activities secret, he’d accepted his wife’s need to help runaways, and helped them himself, as he had by building the secret room. He had begun to see firsthand the ravages of slavery on humans like himself. The world had rejected him, but it hadn’t beaten him, branded him, or dragged him away from his family. And Judah was as intelligent and skilled as Samuel himself, but his skin color—like Samuel’s deafness—marked him as of less value to the world. It didn’t make sense.

  When Honor put her hands over her face, her pain pricked him. She was always good to him, faithful, respectful… . But Samuel longed for more. He yearned to be closer to this beautiful, tenderhearted woman. He’d begun longing to see his wife sign the words, I love thee, Samuel.

  But they’d married out of necessity, and he’d accepted that he might never see those words. He was lucky just to have Honor, a good wife, an exceptional woman. He had no right to expect more from her.

  Later that morning, Honor was pouring fresh coffee while the rest of her family sat down, ready for breakfast. For the boys’ sake, they must masquerade that this day was like any other. Her stomach clenched, and she doubted she’d be able to eat anything. Darah, here. She couldn’t imagine why.

  Then Honor heard an approaching wagon.

  “Quaker!” the familiar yet unwelcome voice called. “You got any runaways for me today?”

  Honor choked, gasping for breath. Ever since Darah had arrived, Honor had felt like someone had put a loaded pistol to her head and fired. She couldn’t think. And now she must face the catchers, who never passed without stopping. The two had been here almost monthly ever since they’d returned Caleb.

  She signed the catchers’ arrival to Samuel and went to the door, which already stood open to let in some breeze. Darah and her maid were hiding in the barn. That wasn’t an illusion, and never had she feared these two men more. The situation and its implications about her own understanding of the past nauseated her. She forced down the waves of sickness.

  “Good morning, Zeb, Dan.” She hoped her calm and polite words hid her turmoil.

  The older of the two, Zeb, cackled sarcastically at her cordial greeting. “You Quakers are a funny bunch. We’re chasing two women this time. You wouldn’t have seen them, I suppose?”

  Her wits scattered, she couldn’t spar with them as usual. Nothing was usual today. Her mind continued to scramble as words she never expected passed through her lips. “Would thee like a hot cup of coffee?”

  Zeb cackled again. “Yeah, you’re going to give me a cup of coffee. Whatcha gonna do, spit in it?”

  His response goaded her. “If thee doesn’t trust me, come in and watch me pour it.” She backed against the door, opening it wider. She must keep them busy, throw them off the scent. Or was something else prompting her to offer this odd invitation?

  The older man eyed her distrustfully. “I’m still gonna look around your place.”

  “Does thee have a search warrant?” She had recently learned from Alan Lewis that they could not search her home without invitation or a valid warrant.

  “No, we got no warrant,” Zeb admitted. “You gettin’ too knowing.”

  Inviting them in had not come from thoughtful consideration. But she had no time for reflection, and she couldn’t rescind her invitation, whatever ensued. She turned to sign to Samuel and Caleb that she’d invited them in so the boy wouldn’t be surprised into flight.

  Samuel gawked at her.

  She didn’t blame him.

  Though casting her sharp, distrustful glances, Zeb tied the reins of the wagon to the brake handle and got down. His grandson looked surprised but followed him.

  “What you up to, Quaker?” Zeb asked before stepping inside.

  “I’m offering thee hot coffee, hot biscuits, and gravy.”

  “Why?”

  “‘Love your enemies… . Do good to them that hate you,’” she quoted, the familiar words coming to her without thought. Now, however, she felt the weight these words carried. Rarely was she tempted to do good to those who cruelly returned slaves escaping harsh masters. Instead she had often wished harm upon them. “Do good to them that hate you” lay like burning iron over her heart. She dragged in a ragged breath.

  The old man fumed. “Don’t quote the Bible to me. It’s writ in there that slaves are supposed to obey their masters.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then if you follow the Bible, why are you helping runaways?”

  She looked him in the eye. “Thee has never proved such a thing. And I could explain why slavery is wrong, but perhaps it is something thee should ponder thyself. Does thee want biscuits and gravy or not?” Her already-tight stomach twisted again.

  The two neared the table awkwardly and doffed their hats.

  Honor motioned them to sit down, her throat struggling to hold in the truth.

  “Don’t they got to wash their hands first?” Eli complained, having been chastised for forgetting to do this just minutes before.

  “Eli, do not correct thy elders,” Honor scolded without heat.

  Caleb hurried around the far side of the table to sit beside Samuel. Signing, Honor tried to reassure him that these two would not hurt him. Caleb finally trusted Samuel and Honor to keep him safe, but he still feared these two.

  After the slave catchers sat down, Samuel signed, “Good morning.”

  Honor could tell by his bemused expression he also wondered what she was doing. And she wondered too. But something had prompted her. It might have come from an irrational reaction to shock or panic, or it might have come from the Inner Light. She felt as if she were being led into the dark, following a distant candle.

  Mechanically, she poured the men coffee and set two more places, serving gravy made from fragrant sausage and drippings over Perlie’s light, buttery biscuits. All the while, her mind whirled with feelings, thoughts, unable to focus.

  Honor bowed her head and said her silent grace, adding a plea for God to keep Darah and her maid from these men. She took her seat beside Samuel. As they ate, the strained silence around the table expanded moment by moment. Even Eli, who usually chattered at breakfast, stayed silent.

  Finally, desperate to fill the gaping silence and escape her thoughts, she asked, “Where are thee two from?”

  Zeb gave her a distrustful look. “Virginny.”

  “I’m from the South too—Maryland, Tidewater.”

  “We’re from the mountains,” Dan said in between bites.

  “Tidewater is rich with tobacco plantations. You come down in the world,” Zeb said, pointing his finger at them. “And you two are breaking the law, hiding runaways.”

  “Has thee ever found a runaway here?” Honor asked innocently. Her leg jumped as if giving her away.

  Zeb cut into his biscuit. “No, but you people are gettin’ clever about hiding them.”

  “We were already clever,” Samuel signed, and Honor spoke it.

  This forced a laugh from Dan. “You are cleve
r, knowing how to talk with your hands and such.”

  Zeb looked disgruntled and spent the rest of the meal brooding, silently finishing two full helpings of biscuits and gravy and four cups of coffee with sugar and fresh cream, all the while glaring at Honor.

  Honor managed to eat a little and prayed for calm.

  When their plates were clean, the guests rose. Zeb stared at her. “We thank you. Good victuals. But we’re going to look up in the loft here. We can ’cause you invited us in.”

  Honor tilted her head to one side and bowed it. “Thee is welcome to look, but only in the house, Dan, Zeb. We didn’t invite thee into any other building on our land.”

  Her mind still buzzed. From nowhere, she recalled how the angel had set the apostle Peter free when he’d been jailed in Jerusalem and how the maid Rhoda had been so shocked to see him freed, she’d left him outside the door. Now Honor understood Rhoda’s reaction. She’d felt the same way when she first laid eyes on Darah and her maid.

  “Thank ya for the meal, ma’am. It was good,” Dan said.

  Honor nodded. She certainly had learned little about them except that they too had started life in her part of the country.

  Unreasoning fear rolled through her. She resisted an urge to run to the barn and fling open the secret panel. I’m not thinking rationally.

  Samuel waited at the door and signed to her.

  “My husband says he’ll escort thee to thy wagon,” she said. She didn’t follow, couldn’t trust her legs or herself.

  Dan left, but Zeb paused at the door, glaring at her as usual. Then, for a moment, his face softened.

  Honor looked at him, glad he didn’t ask her another question about hiding runaways, but wondering at the change in his expression.

  “You stuck with your man,” Zeb said in a low tone for her ears only.

  Honor gazed at him, uncomprehending.

  “After a while, I figured you’d up and find somebody better than a deaf-mute.”

  Hot indignation shot through Honor. She stiffened.

  “Don’t get riled. You’re a pretty woman. I’d understand if you wasn’t satisfied.”