Honor (17 page)

Then Honor noticed one bag wriggling. “There!” she screamed. But she was not the only one who had seen it. Many voices shouted. A shrill whistle blew. Friends and free blacks poured onto the boardwalk.

The two men pelted toward a rough river craft, a small keelboat with a ramshackle cabin on it. Samuel sped past her and attacked the nearest man. A black man took down
the other. Cursing. The landing of blows. Shouts of pain. A gunshot exploded.

Honor screamed. But she did not stop running. She snatched the smaller bag and tore at the ties. Another person, a black woman, rushed to help. She slit open the bag, and Eli tumbled free onto the planks. The woman sawed away the bonds from his wrists and ankles. Honor dropped to her knees and yanked the gag from his mouth.

Torches flared in the dim light as more help arrived from farther up and down the wharf. Eli wailed, and Honor crushed him to her. Then the commotion began to ease. The two men who’d been carrying the sacks lay on the wooden planks, one unconscious, the other dazed.

Honor struggled to her feet. “Royale? Royale?”

“She’s here.” Many voices echoed variations of this news.

Honor pushed her way through to where Samuel bent, panting. She came up against him, pressing Eli to him.

“Oh!” It was one of the few sounds she’d ever heard him make. And then he was hugging Eli and her. Eli repeated their names and grabbed handfuls of their clothing as if they might leave him.

She pulled away and gazed down at Royale, who didn’t stir. “Is she breathing?”

“Royale,” Eli whimpered.

A man in a doctor’s frock coat had knelt by Royale and was holding her wrist. “She is alive, but barely. She’s been deeply drugged.”

“When will she recover?”

“I don’t know. I’m always careful how much opium I give patients. One can be overdosed.”

Honor dropped to the hard wood, which cut into her knees. She hugged Royale’s limp form to herself and began weeping.

“What’s all this?” a man demanded, pushing through the crowd. His polished brass badge shone in the dim light.

“These are the two kidnappers,” George Coxswain said, pointing downward. “We just caught them carrying the child and his nurse onto this keelboat.”

“We told you not to become involved,” the officer barked. “We had more night watches on the wharf tonight. We were watching for the child.”

Just the child. Honor glared at the man, pink dawn lifting behind him. “Then why didn’t thee stop them before they got onto their boat?”

“I whistled as soon as the outcry went up. Help is on the way!”

“Well, we didn’t wait for help that might come too late,” Honor snapped, aggravation and anguish swirling in her voice. The man had as much as admitted he would have missed the kidnappers except for the vigilance of others.

“One of the kidnappers had a gun,” Brother Ezekiel said, kneeling by the one who lay unconscious on the boardwalk. “I think he shot himself in the struggle.”

Someone lowered the torch, revealing that blood flowed from the man’s upper right chest.

Sickened, Honor turned her head away. “My maid needs to be carried to the inn.”

The doctor rose also. “I will attend the wounded prisoner at the jail and then come to your inn. I know which one.”

Hewitt emerged from the crowd and took Eli from
Samuel, who lifted Royale into his arms. Relief had weakened Honor, the starch draining out of her. She walked between her husband and Hewitt. Dawn was brightening the sky, and the nightmare would be over—if only Royale would wake. Soon.

H
ONOR PACED HER ROOM
around the bed where Royale lay, waiting for her to regain consciousness. Over the innkeeper’s objection that a black maid could not rest in a room abovestairs, Samuel had carried Royale to their bed. Royale was barely breathing, still in a deep stupor. Honor could not stop worrying. Would Royale, her blood kin, suffer damage to her mind, her sanity, from the kidnapping and drugging?

In front of the door Samuel sat on the floor with Eli huddled on his lap. The child whimpered, weepy, clingy, and bewildered. Looking at his small, trembling lips cut Honor to the very heart. She ached to hurt someone. These men had hurt and terrified those she loved, and she yearned to see them lying at her feet, bleeding. Her hands gripped the phantom cane she wished she could use for
their punishment. Never before in her life had Honor felt such a stirring to violence. She’d wanted to slap Darah, but that was no comparison to the rage she was experiencing now. She tried praying for calm, for God’s peace. That soothed her need to strike back but did not ease the confusion and anguish she felt.
Oh, Royale, I let thee down.

With effort, she paced back and forth, forcing down the chafing worries. Like a stallion out of control, her emotions reared up, raced. If she spoke, she didn’t know what might burst out.

A knock on the door brought Honor to an abrupt halt. She motioned to Samuel, and he rose and opened the door, Eli tucked under one arm.

George Coxswain stood in the doorway. “I won’t come in. I just wanted thee to know that the men have been charged with kidnapping and are in jail.”

She moved toward George, hands outstretched.

Samuel caught her attention, and she stopped to translate the Quaker’s message into sign. She added, “Friend, thank thee for telling us. We can never thank thee enough for thy help.”

Bowing his head toward her, George clasped Samuel’s shoulder and patted Eli’s head. “A doctor from our meeting will call on thee later. I explained the situation, and he said not to lose hope. Keep faith.” After bowing his head once more, he left them.

Honor tried to believe George but could not. Would Royale ever be herself again?

Samuel shut the door and placed Eli in her embrace. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

Honor looked up and pressed her hand over his. He’d been as concerned about Royale as about Eli. Perhaps that showed he had formed a loyalty to her, too. Then Honor recalled how he had held her and wept with her yesterday. Miriam had said her son was honest and kind. And perhaps this crisis had opened the way for more between them.

Honor claimed his hand and brought it to her cheek, kissing it and looking up at him. He leaned down, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her lips. She lifted her chin. But again he kissed her forehead.

Closing her eyes, she tried to tamp down her disappointment. She and Samuel had been forced closer to each other, but what would it take to move her silent husband out of his deep reserve? And with each minute that passed, Honor’s worries over Royale leapt ahead. She began pacing once more.
Dear Lord, please let her wake. Soon. With all her wits.

Hours later, another knock came. Rising from where she sat on the bed, Honor hurried to answer it. Had the doctor come at last? Samuel was dozing in the chair, holding Eli as the boy also napped, still exhausted and stunned by his ordeal. Honor felt as if she were weighed down by boulders. She opened the door.

The innkeeper stood in the opening, wringing his hands. “Mrs. Cathwell, I’m sorry, but if you don’t take the girl down to her own room, I’m afraid I will have to ask you to leave.”

Honor stared at him, riddled with disbelief. “We’re only keeping her here till she wakes.”

“Three other guests have told me they will leave if this black girl isn’t moved belowstairs immediately.”

She wanted to snap at the man, but she saw that he appeared honestly torn between compassion and business. How could people be concerned only with Royale’s color, not the ordeal she’d just survived? Honor glanced at her hand and saw that she’d worried it till it bled. She attempted to still her spirit. “Very well.” She breathed in deeply. “I didn’t mean to place thee in an awkward position. My husband will carry Royale down and I’ll keep watch there.”

The man mopped his brow. “Thank you. I’ll make sure comfortable chairs are set there for you.” He waited. “I’ll lead you down.”

Samuel had risen. She explained the distasteful situation. He made no comment, but his jaw tightened visibly. He set Eli in her arms. The little boy cried out, “No, don’t hurt me!”

But he quieted when he saw Samuel lift Royale from the bed. Honor nodded to the innkeeper, who locked the door behind them and led them down the stairs, through the crowded common room and kitchen to the servants’ quarters at the rear. Honor held her head high and did not deign to look at people so far from compassion.

Samuel lay Royale on her bed in the narrow room she and the other maid shared. The room was so tiny Samuel had to step outside with Eli. The innkeeper called for chairs, and soon Honor settled inside with Samuel and Eli right behind her, waiting for Royale to regain consciousness.

Sitting at Royale’s bedside, Honor found herself
praying—chanting, really—
Lord, please wake her and comfort her and comfort Eli. And please let Royale be herself.

Late in the afternoon, Royale at last opened her eyes. Kneeling beside her, Honor clung to Royale’s hands. Looking flattened and crushed as if she had been run over by a coach, the maid was too weak to lift her head. “They say you never find me,” Royale mumbled with effort.

“Thee knows they lied. I would never have stopped looking for thee.” Hiding her deep concern, Honor lifted Royale’s head and shoulders and helped her sip from a glass of water. She turned to Samuel and signed for him to take Eli and tell the cook Royale had awakened.

He left, and for a moment all Honor could do was stroke the curly hair that had come undone from Royale’s braids. Memories of them as children playing at High Oaks came to her. In her mind, she heard the rich and gentle voice of Royale’s mother. Tears dripped from her eyes, and she swiped them away. Questions about Royale’s ordeal jammed in her throat. She choked them back.

She helped Royale sip water again and gently laid her head down. “I’m so sorry.” Honor’s voice trembled in her throat. “We both are. It never occurred to us that someone would take thee by force.”

“I didn’t think ’bout it either.” Royale closed her eyes and inhaled a shuddering breath.

A dreadful worry had plagued Honor. She voiced it now, speaking almost in a whisper. “They didn’t
hurt
thee, did they?”

Royale sobbed without tears. “No. If I never know a man, they get more money for me.”

Relief mixed with horror shot through every nerve in Honor’s body. She gripped Royale’s hand. “I promise I will never let anybody have the opportunity to snatch thee again. Never.”

Royale nodded, gasping between sobs.

Grateful that Royale was able to speak sense, Honor helped her up to drink more.

“They kept me drugged. Did they hurt Eli?” Royale’s eyes were pools of dark suffering.

Honor smoothed back Royale’s tousled curls. “He’s frightened and has a few bruises, but he will be all right.”

Samuel opened the door, and the short, broad-hipped cook came in bearing a small tray.

“I made broth for her and some toast,” the cook said, looking around for somewhere to set the small tray. There was no place. Honor’s chair filled the only space left between the two beds.

“Here, I’ll hold it.” Honor rose and lifted the tray. “Thank thee.”