Honor

by Lyn Cote

  Samuel waited impatiently till they had been served tea, then attempted to placate her. “I know our property needs work, but that can be done soon enough.”

  Honor gazed at him, her mouth twisted down at one corner. His wife did not mince words. “Why must we live so far out of the city?”

  “Many reasons,” he signed, not meeting her gaze directly.

  She stared at him, telling him how inadequate this response was. “What are they?”

  His own tension heightened. Honor deserved the best. Yet he knew this parcel of land was the best for him, not her. Words finally came. “I am going to build my business catering to other small businessmen who need glass products but are too small to interest the Cincinnati glassworks in designing something special for them. Our property is close enough to get what I need from Cincinnati and on the main road near the city.”

  “And we will not be near many people,” she signed with sharp motions, showing him that his many words hadn’t fooled her. She knew his true reason for wanting to live away from the city. And Honor herself had heightened his desire to escape.

  Familiar hurts reared inside him as he recalled glimpses of how men here looked at his wife—as if they wanted her and couldn’t understand why she had chosen to marry someone defective like him. He clamped down on these hot, unwelcome thoughts. “Our property is already purchased,” he signed because he didn’t have anything else to say.

  She bowed her head in acknowledgment. Their supper was served and they ate in silence, her unhappiness robbing him of his appetite. Just as he longed to move closer to her, an issue once more put them at odds.

  Then one positive point occurred to him. He put down his fork and signed, “Royale will be safer out of the city. I can keep closer watch on her—fewer strangers and farther from the river.”

  His wife considered this and replied, “That is right.” But that was all she conceded.

  Samuel’s plan for his life had been completely altered. He had never thought he would marry, and here he sat with a wife—but one who hadn’t wanted him. That alone kept him from reaching for her. And against his wishes, his wife persisted in trying to knit him into the hearing world. It was wonderful of her but still unpalatable to him.

  The trial of the kidnappers, scheduled to take place tomorrow, hung over them both. They couldn’t leave until it ended. Afterward he could find peace away from the constant irritation of people gawking at him as if he had three heads.

  On their way to the room, Honor considered what she wanted to say to Samuel. The thought of moving to the distant property on Lebanon Road left her feeling empty. Did she have a hope of persuading him not to live so far from the city? In such a secluded place, she’d be cut off from any chance to work for abolition. She’d be sitting amid the forest, isolated from everyone.

  They entered the room. Honor sat on the chair, and Samuel slumped onto the bed. She had to make him understand, so she started with a point they agreed upon. “Royale will be safer outside of town. However, I cannot be happy so far from a meeting.” She forestalled his response with a gesture. “Being part of the body of Christ is a necessity.” Especially the fraction who are antislavery. “Will thee agree to bring us back to Cincinnati for meeting each First Day?”

  “How could we do that? It’s a trip of nearly four hours to our property.” His fingers dismissed the idea.

  “We could leave early in the morning or come into town Saturday afternoon,” she urged. “We could do our shopping and stay at the inn Saturday evening. Is that possible? Do we have the funds?”

  Royale tapped on the door and announced herself before entering. She set Eli down, and he ran for Samuel. As usual, Samuel carried Eli out while Royale helped Honor prepare for bed. Honor watched her husband leave. Even in the midst of this conflict with him, she wanted him to know she was ready for their limbo to end.

  “How did you like our new place?” Royale asked, trying to conceal her obvious anxiety.

  Honor sighed deeply. “It is a long drive from the city.” Realizing that she sounded glum, she quickly brightened for Royale’s sake. “Our cabin is in a very lovely meadow in the forest, and the air is clean.”

  “Cabin?” Royale gasped. In the silence they heard other guests walk past their door, talking quietly.

  Honor closed her eyes and pictured the log cabin that would soon be home. She sighed again and forced herself to appear content.

  Glancing in the mirror, she recognized the strain in Royale’s downcast expression. She touched her hand. “I’ve already spoken to Samuel about coming to town each weekend for worship and shopping. And thee will have our new cook, Perlie, for company too.” Bleakness filled her.

  Royale nodded, not appearing consoled.

  But of course Royale was still recovering from the trauma of the kidnapping. And tomorrow’s trial loomed over them all. Honor smiled at Royale, trying to convey her understanding and sympathy.

  Royale returned a mechanical smile and concentrated on brushing Honor’s hair.

  Closing her eyes and giving herself up to the rhythm of the brush, Honor hoped Samuel would agree to her suggestion. She didn’t know what she would do if he didn’t. And living in a log cabin—she had never imagined that. How far must she fall from what she’d been born to?

  Darah’s face glimmered in her thoughts. Honor pushed it away.

  Royale began softly singing, “‘In that great gettin’ up morning, fare thee well …’”

  The familiar song comforted Honor but also mimicked her situation. Fare thee well, Queen City.

  OCTOBER 26, 1819

  The land agent hastily entered the common room at the inn the next morning, just as Honor and Samuel were finishing as much of their breakfast as they could stomach. Eli sat on Samuel’s lap, one of the places he most preferred since the kidnapping, looking frightened. The trial would begin in just over an hour. They would leave Eli at the Coxswain house with Deborah and several other Friends.

  Honor sipped her bitter coffee, trying to keep what she’d eaten where it belonged. She found it almost impossible to believe the kidnappers would go free, but she couldn’t be certain. Prejudice against free blacks ran high here.

  Royale waited in the kitchen, dressed in her best and ready to go to court with them. She would not be allowed to testify. Her race and former enslavement rendered her invisible to justice.

  The land agent looked distracted and harassed, his hair winging up as he swiped the beaver hat from his head. “I am so sorry,” he began hastily. “I don’t know how this could have happened.”

  Honor was so perplexed that she forgot to sign what the man had said till Samuel touched her arm. “What is thee apologizing for?” she asked and signed.

  “I showed you the wrong property the other day.”

  Samuel watched Honor’s fingers. He sat up straighter and glared at the man, who had taken a seat at their table. “What swindle is this?”

  Honor placed a hand over his, silently asking for his patience. “This may merely be a mistake.” She turned to the land agent. “Please explain what has happened.”

  To her, the land agent appeared distressed rather than guilty. “Somehow I mixed up the legal descriptions and the locations of two parcels of land. I showed you and your husband the wrong parcel yesterday.”

  Honor relayed this and watched red anger flush her husband’s face. “Where is our parcel?” she asked, signing for Samuel’s benefit.

  “It is on Lebanon Road—we passed it on our way yesterday. I don’t know why that didn’t jog my memory. I am so very sorry.”

  Hope blossomed within Honor. “We passed our parcel yesterday?” That meant this parcel wasn’t as far away as the other. Samuel would not be pleased.

  “Yes,” the man replied. “You noticed it, in fact. The property set back from the road about an hour outside of Cincinnati. The man who bought the land originally had the intention of breeding horses. That’s why the barn is large enough to hold animals and leave a sp
acious work area. The house is a log one but with two rooms—one large common room and a large bedroom—and a loft, and there is also a detached kitchen. His wife was used to a frame house, so he tried to impress her with a larger log home.”

  “Did it work?” she asked, much in sympathy with the unknown wife.

  The land agent chuckled dryly. “No, they only lasted a year and then moved back to town.” He looked grim. “They died in the cholera outbreak this spring.”

  Honor’s hand faltered as she signed this, knowing that cholera had robbed Samuel of his brother and Eli of his parents. The scourge of cholera appeared in cities every spring, and no one knew why.

  Maybe Samuel was right. Living away from the city and its contagions might be the best course. After signing all to her husband, she waited to translate his reply. Several moments passed before she prompted, “Samuel?”

  Her husband didn’t conceal his irritation. “Tell him that we will view the property and deeds to make sure he hasn’t made any further mistakes. We will bring our lawyer to go over the legal descriptions of both parcels. But it will have to be after today.”

  The land agent looked relieved. “I am in my office every day this week till seven. I will be happy to show you the parcel that is yours. Again, my apologies for the inconvenience.” He rose, bowed, and left them.

  Honor gazed at Samuel, his mask in place again. Her husband was a master at concealing his thoughts, his emotions. Even from her.

  Before she could frame a diplomatic way to help him accept this unforeseen event, Sinclair Hewitt entered the common room. He headed straight for them.

  At least Samuel had let his jealousy toward the young man ebb. Hewitt had proved himself a friend. Honor motioned him to take a seat at their table and waited while he waved to the serving girl, who brought him a drink and went to fetch his breakfast. “I am going with you to the trial if you will permit me,” he began.

  Her stomach clenched at his words, and she felt unable to go on with the meal. She put down her coffee cup.

  “Sorry,” Hewitt said. “I know this is upsetting, especially to a lady such as yourself.”

  Honor wondered why men thought that being a lady made one more fragile or sensitive in regard to the harsher aspects of life. It didn’t. Also, Royale’s feelings weren’t less than hers, just because she wasn’t considered a lady. But of course, a lady wouldn’t say that. “We are all doing the best we can. Eli is still very … frightened.” As is Royale.

  “I’ve been hired by the Centinel.” Hewitt stirred his coffee. “They liked the articles I submitted to them on the kidnapping.” Hewitt frowned. “I find this city a strange mixture of North and South. It’s in a free state, but free blacks are discouraged from settling here. And any mention of abolition is met with instant opposition.”

  There was much Honor wished to say in reply, but she held her tongue. Sinclair Hewitt might have abolitionist leanings. But this was not the time or place to begin that discussion, especially since her husband dismissed abolition and she was not sure whether he could ever be convinced otherwise.

  Royale appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, wringing her hands and prompting Honor to rise. “Samuel, I can’t eat anything else. And Royale needs me.” The men rose, and she left them. She led Royale through the kitchen to a bench in the inn’s small garden. In contrast to their tension, a robin hopped nearby, calling its mate. “I know thee is worried, but all will be well.”

  Royale was fighting tears. “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  Royale didn’t reply, just hid her face in her hands. Honor’s mind proceeded to supply possible answers:

  I’m afraid that I might be kidnapped again.

  I’m afraid the judge will make me leave Ohio.

  I’m afraid because, even though I’m free, I am unprotected by the law.

  Honor knew the feeling of being stripped of protection. When she’d lost High Oaks, she’d lost a woman’s only power in this world of men: inherited wealth. Now she was married to someone her previous neighbors would scorn, a deaf-mute who worked with his hands, not a gentleman. But Samuel was an honest man who defended her and provided for her. She turned back to Royale.

  Words were of little comfort, but Honor spoke anyway. “Samuel will protect thee. It was our ignorance of thy danger that put thee in jeopardy.”

  Royale slid closer, and Honor slipped an arm around her shoulders. “We will face this together.”

  The courtroom was stark, furnished with only the judge’s high bench, two polished oak counsel tables facing the bench, the jury box, and the gallery seating. A railing with a center gate separated the tables from the gallery. An American flag hung behind the judge, a white-haired man with a scrawny neck above his black robe. The severity of the courtroom oppressed Honor.

  As the afternoon trial commenced, Samuel, Honor, Sinclair Hewitt, and Alan Lewis sat behind the low oak railing on the prosecution side.

  Sheriff Obadiah Blaine and another officer stood nearby. Royale watched from a balcony with the other free blacks who had come to support and protect her. The courtroom was crowded with other spectators—some well dressed, some in homespun. Honor recognized George Coxswain and several other Friends in attendance. The jury selected this morning now sat in the two rows of the jury box, at right angles to everyone else.

  Honor tried not to look at the two kidnappers in shackles who sat beside their own lawyer. Whenever she glimpsed them, a sour sickness curdled in her stomach and a chilling perspiration bathed her.

  As if sensing her distress, Samuel surreptitiously took her hand. Her husband was always kind, but that was all. Would he ever view her as more than a woman under his care—view her as his wife? She forced their uncertain relationship from her mind and tried to focus on the proceedings.

  Lewis was taking copious notes with a pencil on a pad of paper. This seemed to distract the two prosecuting attorneys, who kept looking at him over their shoulders. Hewitt was also rapidly scratching notes along with another two newspaper reporters in court.

  “The state calls George Coxswain to the stand,” the lead prosecutor, a well-dressed and smooth-talking man, said.

  George walked to the stand and, when asked by the bailiff holding the large, black leather Bible, affirmed that he would tell the truth.

  “You were on the wharf on the night in question?” the prosecutor asked.

  “Yes. I was helping look for the little boy, Eli Cathwell, who’d been kidnapped.”

  “And did you find the boy?”

  Honor listened but primarily gazed at the faces of the twelve men chosen to decide this case. Some of them kept glancing up into the balcony and glaring. Others listened with intense interest to everything that George said.

  In her mind, the jury could do nothing but convict these evil men. But justice could be miscarried, especially because of Royale’s involvement—which was not even mentioned in court except as an aside that the kidnapped child had been in the care of a nurse who had also been taken.

  Samuel squeezed her wrist, reassuring her. She sent him a private smile, acknowledging his support, and continued to sign the testimony of each witness.

  Several more Friends testified, identifying the two defendants as the men who had been caught on the wharf red-handed, with Eli Cathwell and his nurse secreted in bags near their keelboat. The prosecutor ended his case.

  Then the defense lawyer, a squat man who kept casting dark looks at the prosecution side and at the balcony, brought some character witnesses to the stand who, in Honor’s opinion, did the defense case more harm than good. The jurors looked aggravated at these testimonies, and she tried to take encouragement from this.

  Samuel stroked the side of her gloved hand with his thumb. “I’m fine,” she signed in return. He moved his hand away, but she drew it back next to hers. His thumb brushed the tender spot under her own thumb. His touch both distracted and comforted her.

  The two kidnappers did not take the stand i
n their own defense. One sat grinning and cocky; the other, who’d been wounded with his own pistol, remained subdued and listless. Their lawyer ended his defense with an emotional appeal full of long Latinate phrases that made no sense to Honor. “All show to cover his lack of a defense,” Alan Lewis muttered.

  Then the jury left to deliberate in private.

  Honor rose to stretch her legs, breaking contact with her husband, who also had risen. She slipped her hands around the crook of his elbow, leaning ever so slightly against his strength.

  “I do not think this will take long,” Lewis commented in a reassuring undertone. He rose and went to talk to the prosecuting attorneys.

  Honor nodded toward him as she signed this to Samuel. She hoped for a quick judgment by the jury, hoped that Eli was not becoming fretful with Deborah. He didn’t like to be separated from Samuel or Royale for long. She resisted the urge to crane her neck toward the balcony and call unwanted attention to Royale. The courtroom walls felt as if they were closing in, forcing out all the air.

  Less than half an hour later, the bailiff came out, then the judge. Finally the jury paraded back to their seats. The judge addressed the foreman, who rose and announced the verdict. “Guilty as charged, Your Honor.”

  Shouts of victory went up in the balcony. The judge called for order. Thanked and dismissed by the judge, the jury left almost immediately. The other two newspaper reporters raced out the door to their offices, but Sinclair Hewitt hung back near Honor and Samuel. Relief drenched Honor, her tension releasing, leaving her weak.

  Samuel pulled her into a one-armed embrace, and she wept a few tears against him. Friends from the meeting crowded around, congratulating them. Two officers marched the angry kidnappers out of the courtroom.

  When the crowd had thinned, Honor and Samuel moved into the aisle. Sheriff Blaine walked up to them. “Well, that’s done. Now I see your girl is here. Her bond has not been paid, so I’ll take her into custody.”