Honor (38 page)

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 clever, 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.”

“I gave Samuel my promise,” Honor replied with brittle courtesy, recalling that she had nearly given Alec the same promise before he turned on her. She rose, walking forward, forcing Zeb outside.

Zeb climbed up on the wagon and looked down on her. “I misjudged you. You didn’t turn out to be a false-hearted love. I give credit where credit is due.”

Honor merely nodded, unable to think what to say. “Good day, Zeb, Dan.”

Then, as he started the team, she barely heard Zeb’s final comment. “Wish I’d chosen as well.”

She watched the two men drive off. Zeb’s phrase
“false-hearted love”
repeated in her mind. Her own hurt stirred. She pressed it down.

A long, uncomfortable day of work in the unusual April heat lay ahead. She and Royale would be doing the weekly laundry and ironing today. She looked down at her hands
that had become callused in places over the past months. She was fortunate to have a man whose business prospered more and more and who could afford a cook and maid. But no longer was Honor the lady of the plantation. She worked with her hands too.

“You can always tell a lady by her hands,”
Royale’s mother had said. Honor refused to allow any more memories. Her life in Maryland was long ago and far away—except that Darah had brought it all back by running away from Alec and hiding in Honor’s barn. A churning started in the pit of her stomach. Why had Darah left Maryland, left Alec?

As soon as the catchers went on their way, Royale hurried inside the house. “Samuel say Darah and her maid are hiding in the barn. What happened?”

Honor had retreated into her chair, trying to recruit her strength. “I don’t know. But Eve isn’t with her. A new woman is her maid.”

Royale dropped into the chair opposite. “What? Eve was raised to be her maid for life—just like you and me.” Royale’s face twisted with confusion. “Why is Miss Darah here? Her letter say she married Mr. Alec last year.”

Honor lowered her head into her hands. “Darah didn’t seem to want to talk, and we had to get them hidden before dawn. And then the catchers came.”

“What did you give those two breakfast for?” Royale’s voice vibrated with her disapproval.

Honor shook her head. “I wanted to distract them.”
To distract myself. I don’t know why.

Several minutes passed before she looked up to find Royale staring at the wall, frowning. “What is it?”

Royale worried her lower lip. “I heard things . . . in Maryland. Slaves talk about their masters.”

Honor straightened up. “What did thee hear?”

Royale ignored her question and still gazed past Honor. “I never worry about you and him ’cause I never thought you would marry him.”