by Lyn Cote
He noted Honor had been watching his mother’s hands but looked a bit mystified. “Thank you,” he signed, “for helping my mother.”
She bowed her head. “Welcome.”
He nodded—quick, curt, done. Her efforts to communicate with him only sharpened afresh his feeling of separation from those who could hear and speak. It didn’t make sense, and he liked this perplexing confusion even less.
Rescuing him, Eli ran inside, the black girl in his wake.
Eli signed, “Let’s go play ball?”
Rising, Samuel scooped the boy into his arms, making his escape to play in the shady garden. Nonetheless, at the door he couldn’t stop his head from turning for one last look at Honor.
A few days later, Honor and Royale walked to the pegs by the door and donned their bonnets, preparing to face this new city, to seek employment. The door to the parlor opened, and Miriam came out from resting on her chaise longue. “I wish thee good fortune.”
A man looked in at the open front door. Samuel, who had been sitting at the table, rose to gesture in a middle-aged man, who then entered and doffed his hat.
“This is the land agent who has come to list our property for sale,” Miriam said.
Honor was tempted to stay and hear what the land agent said, but she was not so impolite. Besides, she and Royale must find the nearby employment agency a neighbor had recommended. Leaving the door open as they left, they set out into another sunny, warm day, soon passing Seventh Avenue. They had only a few blocks to walk to 102 Tenth Avenue, the Superior Employment office.
Royale walked by Honor’s side, and even though Honor was distracted by watching the street signs, she became aware of Royale’s nervousness. Eighth Avenue. “I don’t think thee will have any difficulty finding a position.”
“I’m not gonna take just any position,” Royale muttered. “I got to be careful.”
Honor pondered this as they continued. Ninth Avenue. She glanced pointedly at Royale, asking why.
“I don’t want to work in a house with any master.”
The unpleasant incidents on their journey here jolted back into Honor’s mind. With her lighter skin, curly brown hair threaded with gold, and unique green eyes, Royale had garnered the wrong kind of attention. Honor slowed her pace. Tenth Avenue. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Royale’s voice was suddenly harsh, cutting. “Didn’t you never wonder why we have the same eyes?”
Honor’s steps nearly faltered, but to keep up with Royale, she moved forward to the Superior Employment door.
The two entered and paused to let their eyes adjust to the lower light inside.
“May I be of help?” A man with a narrow goatee rose with some hesitance from where he sat behind a small desk in the small office.
Honor drew on her reserves of confidence. “Good day. I am Honor Penworthy—” she stopped before she said of High Oaks—“lately of Maryland.”
Royale’s words ran through her mind: “Why we have the same eyes.”
“I am looking for a position as a governess or lady’s companion,” Honor said.
“And?” the man prompted with a glance at Royale.
“Royale has been my lady’s maid but now must look for another position also. I can give her an excellent reference.”
“Why we have the same eyes.”
“And do you have references?” the man asked.
This startled Honor. When had the lady of High Oaks needed credentials? She shook off her pique and humbled herself. “This would be the first time I’ve sought a position. A death in the family makes the change necessary.” Honor would give no more information. Revealing this had cost her enough.
“I see.” He frowned, his goatee quivering as if he were talking to himself.
Honor waited, enduring his assessing study of both of them.
“Why we have the same eyes.”
“I’m afraid employment opportunities are limited at this time.” He recited these words as if he’d already worn them threadbare. “The bank panic this year caused many of my clients to reduce staff. I’m afraid I have too many applicants for too few positions.”
Honor suffered the blow in silence. “May we leave our names and the address where we are staying in case something comes available?”
“Of course. Please be seated.” The man motioned toward two chairs and took his own seat. He drew out paper and asked Honor to write their information down, looking shocked when Royale filled out her own paper. Honor’s father had insisted Royale take lessons with Honor, even though it was against the law.
“Why we have the same eyes.”
After taking the land agent through the house and surrounding property, Samuel signed the documents specifying the agent’s commission for showing and selling their real estate. Before the agent left, he placed a white placard reading For Sale in the front parlor window.
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?”
THE 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.
Later Samuel carried Miriam to her bed. Honor told him to wake her if Miriam needed her. She and Royale entered their room. As soon as the two of them were alone, what lay between them reared up. They avoided each other. And neither spoke till they were in bed and no light but the moon glowed.
All day, even in the midst of worry over Miriam, Royale’s words had streamed through her mind like a circle of ribbon. Honor braced herself. “Now tell me,” she whispered.
“Your grandfather be my father.”
The air went out of Honor’s lungs. She closed her eyes and her mouth, struggling to conceal her reaction.
“He be my father, and he didn’t leave me one word or one thing for my own,” Royale said, hurt in each word. “Or set me free in his will.”
Honor found Royale’s hand and gripped it. She whispered the only comfort she could offer. “He knew I’d set thee free.”
“But I wanted him to set me free. Don’t you see?”
Honor did. “He betrayed both of us. Did he love us at all?” That last sentence bubbled up from deep inside.
All her life she had loved her grandfather, and she’d thought he’d loved her. But he had turned out to be a man she didn’t know at all.
“You can count on me,” Royale said, her voice stronger. “’Cause I know I can count on you. You said you would free me, and even when you lost everything to Darah, you kept your word.”
“I was raised to keep my word.” By a grandfather who was capable of betraying his own flesh and blood.
Honor realized that Royale was weeping. She pulled her closer. “Don’t worry. Way will open.” The Quaker phrase mocked her.
“I don’t know that. But I know I’m sticking with you.”
Honor’s eyes moistened at this.
“You got to think of marrying, though. Nobody need a governess or companion, and I don’t want to work in a house with a master. You marry, and we can stay together.”
Panic at the thought of marrying a near stranger swept through Honor. “Royale, I can’t. Not now.”
“Miss Honor, I already told you. We do what we got to. If it’s between starving and working with a man in the house, then I’ll do it. But better we stay together. We all we got left.”
Unable to draw up words, Honor lay staring at the faint shadows on the ceiling. She must try again to find a haven for both of them. Royale had spoken the truth: they had only each other. Then she listened to the summer night in the city, the voices and footsteps of other people wafting through the open windows.
Samuel’s tortured face flickered in her mind. She ached for him. He’d already lost so much, and now he would lose not only his mother but his dream of a better life in Ohio. Life had been so easy for her in Maryland, but it had all been an illusion. Did they all live just one step from disaster? Oh, Lord, help.