Honor (6 page)

Samuel donned his hat and headed for the door. He would be late for work as it was.

His mother tapped the floor with the kitchen chair to catch his attention, and he turned.

“Thee must face my ill health, Son,” she signed. “I will not be going to the Northwest Territory. Thee must admit this.”

Samuel’s mind shut out her words. He was taking his mother and Eli to a place with clean air and water. His mother’s health would improve. After kissing her cheek, he left for the manufactory. Nonetheless, a heaviness he couldn’t budge lay over him.

Feeling squeezed by disappointment, Honor managed to flee the employment agency with dignity. Ahead, a bench
in front of a store beckoned her. She moved toward it as if wading through water. Royale’s words, spoken just before they’d entered the agency, could no longer be avoided. She waved for Royale to sit beside her. “What was that comment about our having the same eyes?”

T
HE NARROW BENCH
hard beneath her, Honor was distantly aware of Royale beside her, head bowed. People passed. More demanding images from Maryland flitted through her mind, a thousand clues she’d never noticed or questioned. Flashes of Royale’s mother in tears or hiding tears. Honor’s grandfather and father speaking in raised voices, silenced when she, only a child, ran into the room.

A growing presentiment held Honor mute. Finally she shot to her feet. “We can’t talk about this here.”

Royale stood also but would not face her. “We go home then?”

Go home? We can never go home.
Honor grasped Royale’s elbow. She steered them through the jostling throng, suffocating in the heat and smell and noise. More memories tried to shove their way into her mind; she slammed the door on them.

Arriving on Sixth Avenue, Honor averted her eyes from the For Sale sign in Miriam’s window. Through the open door, they stepped out of the sun and halted. Eli was sobbing in the parlor. They hurried to him. Miriam lay sprawled on the faded floral carpet, and Eli knelt beside her, patting her arm and crying, “Gramma. Gramma.”

Honor’s heart wrenched. She dropped to her knees, fearing the worst. But the woman was still breathing. “Miriam?” Honor murmured.

Miriam’s paper-thin eyelids fluttered. “I fell,” she muttered.

“Miss Honor,” Royale warned sharply.

Honor followed Royale’s gaze. Copious blood stained Miriam’s dress and apron. She leaned close to Miriam’s ear. “Is thee still bleeding?”

With a shake of her head, the woman moaned, sending chills through Honor.

Honor drew in a calming breath and slowly let it go. “I’m here.”

“I’m having a bad spell.” As if on cue, Miriam twisted with conspicuous pain. Snatching Honor’s hand, she dragged her downward, closer, and said, “Take Eli out. I don’t want him to see . . . this.”

Honor squeezed the dry, clawlike hand and turned. “Royale, please keep Eli and bring down my medicine chest.”

Her face tight with sympathy, Royale was already leading Eli out by the hand. The little boy went along but until the last moment refused to turn his head away. Royale shut the door quietly.

“Let me help thee up,” Honor said. Rising, she took both of Miriam’s hands and then drew her up, shocked by how easy it was.

Miriam leaned against her, breathing fast. “Help me sit on the wooden rocker. I don’t want to stain the chaise.”

Honor led Miriam to the rocker and set the footstool under the woman’s feet.

With Eli clutching her skirt, Royale carried in the scarred wooden medicine chest.

Honor thanked her with a glance. “Perhaps tea?”

Royale picked up the whimpering child and hugged him against her. “Let’s make tea for your grandma, Eli. That will make her feel better.”

The child leaned his head against Royale’s shoulder, staring sadly at his grandmother again till the door shut.

Honor set the chest on the side table near Miriam. “I have experience tending the sick. What is thy ailment?”

Miriam closed and then opened her eyes. “Honor, I regret . . . I am dying.”

“No,” Honor said instantly.

“Please . . . I don’t have the strength to argue. Samuel refuses to believe. Look at me. Am I well?”

No, thee looks deathly ill.
Though she’d met Miriam only a week ago, Honor knew she was not a woman who would exaggerate. Honor felt panic rise within her like a sail catching the wind.

Another bout of pain attacked the woman.

Honor gripped Miriam’s hand. Suddenly words were pouring from her lips. “‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art
with me.’” An urgency tingled within, the rest of Psalm Twenty-Three flowing through her and out.

Miriam stared at her in anguish, gasping for air in tiny hitches.

Honor ended with “‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.’” She trembled with the power of the words.

Her spasm easing, Miriam gasped, “Amen. Honor, thee has come in the nick of time.”

Honor didn’t understand, but she leaned closer. Miriam’s hair was sliding from its pins. Honor stroked the hair back from the woman’s face and repeated, “What is thy ailment?”

“The doctor said . . . cancer in my female organs.”

Honor blanched. A death sentence. Not meeting Miriam’s eyes, she opened the chest. “I can give thee some laudanum to ease the pain. How long . . . ?”

“The doctor—I’ve not more than a few weeks . . . longer.”

Honor nearly folded up inside. Nonetheless, she forced herself to measure out a modest dram of the opiate. Supporting Miriam, she helped her sip it. Then she sat on the chaise across from Miriam, who looked barely able to hold herself up. In the quiet house, the kitchen clock ticked, ticked. Eli cried out to Royale and she soothed him in a low voice. Another spasm hit Miriam.

Honor winced, enduring it too. “Should I send Royale for a doctor?”

Miriam shook her head no. “He would merely give me more laudanum.”

Honor’s nerves tightened, tightened till Miriam’s spell ebbed. Then she offered the only comfort she could. “Can thee drink tea now?”

“Yes.” Miriam closed her eyes, resting her head against the high back of the chair, panting from exertion.

Honor went into the kitchen. On the stone floor, Eli was playing with wooden blocks, bathed in sunshine from the window, a bright contrast to the gloom hanging over them.

Royale was lifting the steaming kettle from the hearth. “What wrong with her?” she whispered.

“Cancer,” Honor replied in kind. Her mouth was so dry she had to swallow in order to continue. “She says she’s dying.”

Royale set down the kettle hard. “What is that baby and that deaf-mute gon’ do without her?”

Honor bowed her head. What was there to say? The two of them fixed up a tray, and Honor carried it in to Miriam.

The day passed. Royale cared for Eli. Honor sat with Miriam, measuring out small sips of laudanum. Between onslaughts of pain, Miriam taught Honor more of the hand language. It distracted both of them. But underneath it all, uncertainty strained Honor’s nerves. What had Royale yet to reveal? How would Samuel react to Miriam’s sudden decline?

At last Honor heard Samuel come home. Entering the parlor, Samuel paused, scanning the scene—Miriam only half-awake from the drug, the bloodstains that had darkened to brown. Honor stood, clasping and unclasping her hands, wound as tightly as a pocket watch.

Finally he bowed his head toward her as if in thanks. Though reading and spelling words in sign was becoming easier, she could not sign to him all she thought, so she merely gestured, “Welcome.”

Worry for this family and pity for this man tangled inside her. Honor wished to comfort him. But she had none to give. There was none to give.

Honor and Royale had managed to lay out a cold supper and clean up afterward. Then, downstairs with the curtains drawn, Royale gave Miriam a sponge bath while upstairs Honor helped Samuel undress Eli for sleep in the small bedroom the two shared. The little one in his thin cotton nightshirt was clingy and cranky. Settling on the rocker, Honor lifted him onto her lap.

Samuel sat on the bed across from her, signing to Eli, trying to reassure him. Honor did not miss the sadness she read not only on the man’s face but on every part of him. He looked as if he’d been pounded by mallets. The urge to touch him in comfort nearly overwhelmed her.

Regardless of Samuel’s efforts, the little boy began to weep, and he buried his face into Honor’s shoulder.

She tried to soothe him, rocking him and softly singing children’s songs she remembered. She’d never comforted a child before. A new tenderness blossomed within. She kissed the top of his head and rested her cheek there.

Finally Eli fell asleep.

Samuel signed and, half-standing, motioned that he would lay Eli in his small bed.

Honor held up her hand and signed awkwardly, “Wait—till he sleeps sound.” She wished she were more polished in her sign language, but at her words Samuel resumed his seat.

Now that Eli slept, Honor found herself alone with a man in a bedroom—something that had never happened before—and odd sensations rippled through her. Samuel was so imposing a figure, yet so gentle, so vulnerable now. The prompting to help him could not be ignored. The sooner he began to accept the truth, the sooner he would be able to deal with it. “Miriam is ill, very bad,” she signed.

Samuel looked away as if rejecting her words.

She lightly tapped his knee with her knuckles. “Do not say no. We will help thee.”

“I can’t lose her,” Samuel signed at last.

I lost my grandfather and my home—everything.
Her heart throbbed with these words. But making no reply, she cuddled the child closer, giving and receiving comfort.

“If only I can get my mother to Ohio,” his fingers insisted, “she will get better.”

False hope would lead nowhere. For either of them. Honor found she could read his signing, though forming her own fingers into the words was an arduous chore. “She is not well enough.”

He surged to his feet and began pacing in the small room.

Drawing back, Honor rocked the sleeping boy, witnessing Samuel’s anguish. Now she understood Miriam’s words:
“Thee has come in the nick of time.”

Though she could help this family for a time, Honor
could see no way forward for herself. Once Miriam died, she and Royale would have to leave. An unmarried man and woman could not live under the same roof without an older woman as chaperone.