Honor (29 page)

Yet Cordelia spoke the sad truth. Every law seemed to be against women taking any real action, just as every law seemed to oppose Royale and every other free black, not to mention slaves who wished to be free. The laws were unjust. But . . . laws could be changed.

Electrified with a new idea, Honor lifted her head. “We need to draft a letter to our state legislature.”

Every chin snapped up. The three younger women gawked at her while Deborah tried to hide a grin. “What does thee want to say to our state legislature?”

Honor’s mind raced. What would be a good first step? “Royale, my maid, was kidnapped here in a free state. Wouldn’t a law penalizing other nefarious men who
try this be appropriate? Royale’s incident was broadcast widely, and people were upset that Eli was put at risk by those kidnappers—”

“Who went free after all,” Cordelia said bitterly.

“That does not matter,” Honor said, facing her. “Did thee come here just to sew?”
And argue?
“Yes, we have few rights, but we can still speak. The US Constitution gives us that right in the First Amendment. We can also approach the government for redress. Slave catchers ought to be forced to at least consider the consequences if they kidnap free blacks to sell them back into slavery. And the furor over Royale’s kidnapping is fresh in everyone’s mind.”

“Yes, popular opinion is important to politicians,” Deborah said. “We must not let this opportunity pass by. I think that thee should write the letter here today, Honor, and we will all sign it. This no man can stop us from doing, and it costs us only postage.”

When none of the other three women responded to Honor’s suggestion, Deborah continued more boldly.

“If we do nothing, we should just change our name to the Society for Females Vaguely Concerned about Slavery. Will we just sit and sew and bemoan the terrible fate of our darker brethren and sisters? Or will we act?” Deborah’s passionate speech galvanized the meeting.

“Cordelia,” Anna said, “thee has not even given thy answer. Is thee staying part of this group or leaving?”

“I apologize,” Cordelia said. “I had a . . . difficult week, and I was taking it out on all of thee.” The woman composed herself visibly and glanced from one to another
around the half circle. “I hate oppression. I will do whatever the longing for freedom calls me to do.”

Honor leaned forward and touched Cordelia’s hand. “Deborah is right. We can’t do much, but what we can do—”

“We will do,” Anna finished and grinned.

May, again quiet, nodded vigorously, the brown curls over her ears bouncing.

Honor smiled back, and a sigh of relief winnowed through them all. One action had been agreed upon. Honor felt her inadequacy to affect the lives of thousands enslaved, but she had won support for runaways and free blacks with this small group.

“One step at a time,” Deborah murmured, evidently gauging Honor’s mood. “Every journey is just a series of steps forward.”

DECEMBER 5, 1819

The last of the First Day sun glimmered low on the horizon before quiet little Sharpesburg came into view around the bend of forest. Honor’s fatigue lifted. This place had become home. The only thorn this day was the way Caleb had misbehaved while visiting Judah’s family.

According to Royale, the child had thrown a tantrum worthy of a two-year-old. Caleb had tried to run away. Judah had prevented him, thereby triggering the tantrum. The boy didn’t know his mother had left Cincinnati. He must have thought he could find her. The cruelty of this world pressed in on Honor.

Royale must have been thinking the same thing. “We got quite a job with this boy. How we ever gon’ get him signing?”

Shivering from the cold, Honor turned to her. “I’ve been praying for inspiration. But he must want to learn.”

“He is so sad and so . . . closed off, someway. And I don’t mean because he can’t hear,” Royale said.

Judah tied the reins to the set brake handle, and Samuel climbed off the bench and reached up to help Honor down. Then she realized he didn’t meet her eyes.

She thought over what Royale had just said about Caleb. It could be said of her husband, too. Honor felt a wave of despair. She mentally shook herself—after all, Samuel was much more approachable now than when she’d first met him. Grasping her husband’s chin, she forced him to look at her, then released him to sign. “Somehow we have to think of a way to get Caleb to want to communicate with us.”

Samuel looked grim. “That stepfather ought to be horsewhipped.”

Honor nodded in agreement. She’d like to add to that list all the people whose ignorance and lack of compassion had wounded her husband. Should she tell him about the letter to the legislature she had drafted and signed? Would he object to her doing that?

Honor helped Perlie and Royale carry the smaller parcels inside. Samuel and Judah unloaded the larger ones for the house and kitchen, and Judah led the team to carry others into the barn. Soon Royale helped Eli and Caleb wash their hands and directed them to the table. Perlie delivered a cold supper of biscuits, bacon, and fresh hot tea. Honor thanked both of them, so glad they were here.

The kitten played on the floor with a bit of string. The
pup sat beside Caleb on the bench. Honor saw the little dog begin to squat. Crying out in dismay, she jumped up, grabbed the pup, and set him outside in the grass. Caleb ran after her, wailing for the pup and ratcheting up Honor’s exhausted nerves another notch.

When the pup was finished, Honor motioned to Caleb to take him inside. As she followed him in, she tried to come up with a way to involve Caleb in training his pet.

At the table again, she held her cup of steaming tea and pondered this situation.

“I name my cat Candy,” Eli said and signed.

“Why?” Samuel signed, the first comment he’d made since coming indoors.

“Because she sweet like candy.” He waved what was left of his peppermint.

Honor grinned in spite of her irritation. “That’s a good name for her.” But Caleb’s downcast face dampened her good humor, as did the fact that Samuel had been more withdrawn than usual.

“Eli,” Samuel signed, “ask Caleb what he’s named his pup.”

“He don’t sign. I sign to him, but he don’t sign back.”

Honor knew the rejection Eli experienced. Caleb lived beside Eli day and night, but the older boy refused to speak to him.

“Then we will have to give him a reason to sign.” Samuel looked to Honor. “He loves the pup. He will learn sign to keep him, won’t he?”

Honor looked at him. The pup could be their vehicle to reach Caleb. What did they have to lose?

“Eli,” she said and signed, “tap Caleb, and then sign your name again.”

“But I already do. He won’t.”

“Let me finish. Then point to us and sign our names and your cat’s.”

Eli appeared puzzled but obeyed.

“Now lift up Caleb’s pup and look at him as if thee wants to know something. Samuel and I will too.”

Grinning as if it were a game, Eli obeyed again. She and Samuel rapped the table and pantomimed the same question. “What is the pup’s name?”

Eli set the pup down and pointed to him. “Name?” he signed.

Caleb ignored them and tried to take back the dog. But Eli retrieved him too quickly.

Samuel rapped the table harder, and Caleb turned to him.

Honor watched as her husband signed each of their names, then Caleb’s name, and finally pointed to the pup and lifted his hands in obvious question.

Caleb glared at them and folded his arms in unmistakable stubbornness. He sometimes reminded her of Samuel in more ways than one.

Yet in a way this reaction reassured Honor. His refusal to obey was a child’s response, a normal child’s retort at being asked to obey when he didn’t want to.

Samuel reached over the table and lifted the pup by the scruff of its neck, away from Eli. He petted the dog and signed, “This is a good dog. His name is . . .” Again he made the clear questioning motion.

Caleb slapped the table and just as obviously demanded the pup back. He yelled in that strange-sounding voice of his, “Mine! My dog!”

Samuel signed the question again. “What’s his name?”

“Mine!” Caleb yelled.

“His name is Mine?” Samuel signed. “Mine?”

Caleb stared at him belligerently. He stood on the bench and reached across the table.

Samuel refused to give him the dog, moving it out of Caleb’s reach.

Caleb began huffing with his aggravation. “Mine!” he yelled and pounded the table with the flats of both hands.

Samuel signed back the word. “Mine?”

Caleb threw himself on the floor and yelled, “Mine! Mine!” He kicked and screamed the word over and over.

Honor’s neck tightened. “Samuel, he’s working himself up into a fit.”

“Wait.”

Eli picked up his kitten, stooped beside Caleb, and signed, “I name her Candy. Candy.” He offered Caleb the kitten.

Caleb stopped yelling and kicking. He petted the kitten and then held out his hands toward Samuel, asking for his pup, looking piteous.

Samuel asked for the name again.

Honor’s stomach clenched, and she felt the tension radiating through her whole body. The boy’s struggle over whether to give in and sign the pup’s name was visible. Anger and frustration and mulishness all figured in his expression.

“Pal,” Caleb said aloud finally, holding out his hands again. “Pal.”

Honor interpreted with a hopeful glance toward Samuel.

“No, you must sign it,” Samuel responded. Then he signed the three letters for the boy.
P-A-L.
He pointed toward the pup and pantomimed returning it to Caleb.

Eli also signed the three-letter word, and Honor nodded in encouragement.

Caleb glared at Samuel but said aloud, “Do that again.”

Samuel formed the signs again, and Caleb did each one after him.

Samuel handed the pup to the boy. “Pal,” he signed back. “Your dog is Pal.”

Caleb wrested the dog from Samuel and turned around, hugging the pup to him and pouting, his body radiating frustration.

“He signed it! He signed it!” Eli crowed.

Honor drew in a deep breath. Caleb had just learned his first word in sign. She squeezed Samuel’s arm.

Samuel rested his hand over hers, another moment of family. He gazed into her eyes, then sent Caleb a troubled glance.

Honor felt his compassion for the child and signed, “We won’t give up on him.”

After supper had been devoured, Honor rapped the table and signed to Caleb and Eli. “Time for bed. Take thy animals out once more; visit the necessary.”

As the boys passed her going to the door, Honor kissed Eli’s forehead. When she tried to do the same for Caleb, he pushed her away and slammed the door behind him.

She and Samuel shared another moment of mutual concern. She walked over to him and bent her head to rest upon his. With one arm he drew her close, soothing her unsettled nerves. She kissed his upturned mouth. Their efforts for the boy brought them together more and more, but Caleb would need so much in order to heal.

DECEMBER 6, 1819

Honor woke and lay silently, listening. A muffled knock sounded against the door to the outside. She knew what it must signify.

She slid out of bed, pulled on her robe and slippers, and tiptoed to the door. Hoping not to wake Caleb’s pup in the loft, she leaned close to the door and heard the soft tap again. Her heart throbbing, she opened the door only a narrow slit.