Honor

PRAISE FOR
HONOR

and other novels by Lyn Cote

“A wonderful story of a brave and strong woman,
Honor
is both a sweet romance and a lesson on the importance of doing what is right. The historical detail is fascinating and the characters are rich and real. Highly recommended!”

GAYLE ROPER, AUTHOR OF
AN UNEXPECTED MATCH

“Cote skillfully and deftly combines period details with a touching, heartwarming love story in a thought-provoking tale that will have readers eager for the next book in the Quaker Brides series.”

MARTA PERRY, AUTHOR OF THE LOST SISTERS OF PLEASANT VALLEY SERIES

“In
Honor
, Lyn Cote has given her many faithful readers another story of suspense, surprise, and love that will hold their attention from beginning to end.”

IRENE BRAND, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF
LOVE FINDS YOU UNDER THE MISTLETOE

“. . . A moving and emotional tale of self-forgiveness and compassion. Complex characters and good pacing make the story entertaining.”

ROMANTIC TIMES
ON
THEIR FRONTIER FAMILY

“In her new series launch, [Cote] demonstrates her skill at creating strong female protagonists in compelling stories that will captivate historical romance readers.”

LIBRARY JOURNAL
ON
THE DESIRES OF HER HEART

“The Desires of Her Heart
is a riveting historical romance that takes you to a time and a place not often written about. Ms. Cote’s characters are unique, and each one takes on a personality of its own.”

TITLETRAKK.COM

“
Her Healing Ways
is a wonderful love story. . . . Cote knows what will keep readers interested in the story and uses this knowledge throughout.”

ROMANTIC TIMES

Visit Tyndale online at
www.tyndale.com
.

Visit Lyn Cote’s website at
www.lyncote.com
.

TYNDALE
and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

Honor

Copyright © 2014 by Lyn Cote. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph taken by Stephen Vosloo. Copyright © by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved.

Designed by Stephen Vosloo

Edited by Danika King

Published in association with the literary agency of Browne & Miller Literary Associates, LLC, 410 Michigan Avenue, Suite 460, Chicago, IL 60605.

Scripture quotations are taken from the
Holy Bible
, King James Version.

Honor
is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Cote, Lyn.

  Honor / Lyn Cote.

       pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-4143-7562-5 (sc)

1. Single women—Fiction. 2. Quakers—Fiction. 3. Man-woman relationships—Fiction. 4. Arranged marriage—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3553.O76378H77 2014

  813'.54—dc23 2014013147

ISBN 978-1-4964-0019-2 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-4143-8476-4 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-4964-0020-8 (Apple)

Build: 2014-08-14 16:43:39

To Mrs. Doris M. Crawford, one of my first African American teachers and the one who took the time to teach me to write, RIP

CONTENTS

1. Chapter 1
   
2. Chapter 2
   
3. Chapter 3
   
4. Chapter 4
   
5. Chapter 5
   
6. Chapter 6
   
7. Chapter 7
   
8. Chapter 8
   
9. Chapter 9
   
10. Chapter 10
    
11. Chapter 11
    
12. Chapter 12
    
13. Chapter 13
    
14. Chapter 14
    
15. Chapter 15
    
16. Chapter 16
    
17. Chapter 17
    
18. Chapter 18
    
19. Chapter 19
    
20. Epilogue
    
21. Historical Note
    
22. Discussion Questions
    
23. About the Author
    

HIGH OAKS PLANTATION

TIDEWATER, MARYLAND

AUGUST 1819

Each time her grandfather struggled for another breath, Honor Penworthy’s own lungs constricted. She stood beside the second-story window, trying to breathe normally, trying to catch a breeze in the heat. Behind her, the gaunt man lay on his canopied bed, his heart failing him. How long must he suffer before God would let him pass on?

Outside the window stretched their acres, including the tobacco fields, where dark heads covered with kerchiefs or straw hats bent to harvest the green-speared leaves. High Oaks—to her, the most beautiful plantation in Maryland. She felt a twinge of pain, of impending loss.

“The edict was impractical. And your . . . father was a
dreamer. But at least he had the sense to realize his irrational decision must be kept secret. Doesn’t that tell you not to carry it out?” Each word in this last phrase slapped her, and each cost him.

Unable to ignore this challenge, she turned. In her grandfather’s youth, the Society of Friends had dictated that all Friends should free their slaves. “My father remained Quaker.” She said the bare words in a neutral voice, trying not to stir the still-smoldering coals.

“I remained a Christian,” he fired back. “My forebears chose to leave the Anglican church to become Quaker. I chose to change back.”

He’d made that choice because the Episcopal church didn’t press its members to emancipate their slaves. All of the other Quakers in the county had left except for a few older, infirm widows—women who’d lost control of their land to sons. As a single woman, however, Honor could inherit and dispose of property legally.

Honor returned to his bedside. At the sight of her grandfather’s ravaged face, pity and love surged through her.

As she approached, her grandfather’s mouth pulled down and his nose wrinkled as if he were tasting bitter fruit.

Torn between love for her father and for her grandfather, she didn’t want to fight with him, not now. “My father loved thee,” she said to placate him.

“That is beside the . . . point. He should
never
have asked that promise of you. It was cowardly.” He panted from the exertion.

Honor gazed at him levelly. The memory of her father’s
untimely and unnecessary death still had the power to sweep away her calm, but one couldn’t change history. Her grandfather’s comment could lead them into harsh recriminations. And it proved that he knew he’d done wrong and had chosen the wide way, not the narrow gate. She chose her words deftly. “I believe that my father was right.”

Grandfather’s mouth tightened, twisted, not only because of her recalcitrance but also from a sudden pain. He gasped wildly for breath.

If only it weren’t so hot. She slipped another white-cased down pillow under his chest and head, trying to ease his breathing. She blinked away tears, a woman’s weapon she disdained.

“How will you . . . work the land without . . . our people?” he demanded in between gasps.

“Thee knows I cannot. And that once they are gone, there will be no way I can hold the land.” She said the words calmly, but inside, fear frothed up. Freeing their slaves would irrevocably alter her life.

He slapped the coverlet with his gnarled fist. “This estate has been Penworthy land for four generations. Will you toss aside the land your great-great-grandfather cleared by hand and fought the Cherokee for?”

Honor felt the pull of her heritage, a cinching around her heart. “I know. It weighs on me,” she admitted.

“Then why do it?”

He forced her to repeat her reasons. “I gave my father my promise, and I agree with him.”

Her grandfather made a sound of disgust, a grating of rusted hinges. Then he glared at her from under bushy,
willful brows. “Things have changed since your father left us. Did you even
notice
that our bank failed this year?”

The lump over Honor’s heart increased in weight, making it hard to breathe. “I am neither blind nor deaf. I am aware of the nationwide bank panic.”

“Are you aware that we’ve lost our cash assets? We only have the land and the people to work the land.
And debts.
”

“Debts?” That she hadn’t known.

“Yes, debt is a part of owning a plantation. And I’m afraid last year’s poor crop put us in a bad situation even before the bank panic.”

Honor looked into her grandfather’s cloudy, almost-blind eyes. “How bad?”

“If you free our people and sell the land, you will have nothing worthwhile left.”

A blow. She bent her head against one post of the canopied bed. The lump in her chest grew heavier still. “I didn’t think emancipation would come without cost.”

“I don’t believe you have any idea of how much it will cost you.” Disdain vibrated in each word. “Who will you be if you free our people and sell the plantation? If you aren’t the lady of High Oaks?”

She looked up at the gauzy canopy. “I’ll be Honor Penworthy, child of God.”

“You will be landless, husbandless, and alone,” he railed. A pause while he gathered strength, wheezing and coughing.

Honor helped him sip honey water.

“I don’t want you in that vulnerable position,” he said in a much-gentler tone, his love for her coming through.
“I won’t be here to protect you. You think that Martin boy will marry you, but he won’t. Not if you give up High Oaks.”

Alec Martin had courted her, but no, she no longer thought they would marry. A sliver of a different sort of pain pierced her.

The floor outside the door creaked, distracting them. Honor turned at the sound of footsteps she recognized. “Darah?” she called.

“I want to see her,” Grandfather said, looking away.

Honor moved quickly and opened the door.

Darah paused at the head of the stairs. She was almost four years younger than Honor’s twenty-four, very slight and pretty, with soft-brown eyes and matching brown hair.

“Cousin, come here. Our grandfather wishes thee.”

Darah reluctantly glanced into Honor’s eyes—at first like a frightened doe and then with something else Honor had never seen in her cousin before. Defiance?

Darah slipped past her into the room. “Grandfather?”

He studied his hands, now clutching the light blanket. “Honor, leave us. I wish to speak to Darah alone.”

Why?
Worry stirred. She ignored it. “And I must see to a few of our people who are ailing.” Honor bowed her head and stepped outside, shutting the door. She went down the stairs to gather her medicine chest, remembering that later she must meet with the overseer. The plantation work could not be put aside because her grandfather’s heart was failing. She tried to take a deep breath, but the weight over her heart would not budge.

Honor hated to see her grandfather suffer, and she hated to disappoint him. But her course had been set since
she was a child. She shuttered her mind against the opposition she knew she would stir up.