The Last Runaway

Ohio Star

ONE MORNING AN older woman Honor had not seen before came into the shop. “Thomas is making a delivery tomorrow afternoon,” she told Belle. “Big one. Make sure you got the space.”

Belle nodded. “Thankee, Mary,” she said around the pins in her mouth, for she was attaching ruffles to a burgundy bonnet.

“Got both logs and kindling for you. That all right?”

“Course. How’s that li’l granddaughter o’ yours? Go on, take one o’ them ribbons for her hair. Girl always likes a new ribbon.”

“Thankee. You mind if I take two?” The woman chose two red ribbons from a basket on the counter. She hesitated at the door. “You all right, Belle? You’re mighty thin these days.”

“Tapeworm. It’ll pass.”

Honor looked up from her usual position, in the rocker feeding Comfort. The bones in Belle’s triangular face were even more pronounced, so that her hazel eyes blazed above the balls of her cheekbones.

“Belle-” she began when the woman had left.

“No questions,” Belle interrupted. “Usually I can count on you to keep quiet. Stick to that now. You done there?”

Honor nodded.

“Good. You mind the shop a little while-I got to make room for the wood coming.” She disappeared before Honor could be sure Comfort would not wake when she transferred her from her arms to the cradle. Perhaps Comfort sensed Belle’s no-nonsense attitude, for she remained asleep. Honor was able to serve the string of customers who appeared over the next hour while Belle was rearranging the wood still left in the lean-to. She also made several trips upstairs, which surprised Honor, though she knew better than to ask why.

Late the next afternoon, as it was growing dark and Belle was lighting lamps, a man appeared with a wagon full of wood. When he came in to greet Belle, he nodded at Honor, and she recognized him as the old man who had brought her from Hudson over a year ago. “Got yourself a little one, I hear,” Thomas said. “That’s good.”

Honor smiled. “Yes, it is.”

Belle took Thomas out back while Honor remained with the two customers in the store: a young woman and her mother dithering over wool linings for their winter bonnets. Finally they chose and paid. The moment they left, Thomas came back out and went to run his wagon around the back.

“I’ll just be helping with the wood,” Belle said. “Any customers come, you look after them. Keep ’em occupied.” She held Honor’s gaze a moment, then turned and hurried through the kitchen and out of the back door.

She had hardly gone before Donovan’s horse was heard trotting up the street. Then Honor understood. She closed her eyes and prayed that he would not stop.

He did. She watched from the window as he threw his reins over the hitching post. “Where’s Belle?” he demanded as he entered, his eyes flicking over Comfort in her cradle before they settled on Honor.

“She is out back, seeing to a delivery of wood.”

A woman passed along the boards outside, slowing to study the bonnets in the window. Please come in, Honor thought. Please. But she moved on; darkness was not the time for a woman to be out.

“Is she, now? Well, darlin’, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just have a look, make sure she ain’t gettin’ a load o’ green wood.” Donovan stepped around her and strode toward the kitchen.

“Donovan-”

He stopped. “What?”

She had to keep him with her somehow, so that he would not go back to the lean-to.

“I have always-I have always wanted to thank thee for helping me that night. In the woods, with the black man.”

Donovan snorted. “Didn’t help none-nigger was dead, wasn’t he? Not much use to you or me.”

“But thee found me when I was on the road, in the dark. I do not know what I would have done if thee had not come.” Though she did not speak of it, she was making herself remember the feeling she’d had with him that night, that brief moment when they’d shared a closeness. By recalling it she hoped he would too, and break off his focus on what was happening at the back of the house. “I wish,” she added, “thee would change thy ways.”

“Would that make any difference?”

Before Honor could answer, Comfort let out the little cry that signaled she would soon wake.

Donovan grimaced. “It wouldn’t, would it? Not now.” He turned and headed back to Belle.

Honor rocked the cradle, hoping the movement might send Comfort back to sleep. It did not, however, and she picked up the baby and put her over her shoulder, walking around the room and patting her back. At the same time she listened out for what might be taking place by the wood.

A few minutes later Belle reappeared, her arms full of logs, which she dropped in the box by the stove. Donovan was following her. “Donovan, no brother should let his sister bring in wood without carrying some himself. What the hell’s the matter with you? People like Honor here got a low enough opinion of you without you makin’ it worse by bein’ so ungentlemanly.” She squatted and began arranging the wood. “You gonna bring in another load or do I have to do all the work myself?”

Donovan frowned, then went back the way he’d come. He must be younger than Belle, Honor thought, reminded of the natural authority her older brothers had held over her and Grace.

Belle opened the stove and added another log, though the fire didn’t need it: there would be no more customers for the day and they would move to the kitchen fire. It was this unnecessary action that told Honor Belle was nervous.

Donovan came back with a stack of wood, Thomas behind him.

“That should see you up to Christmas, Belle,” Thomas said. “Though I’ll top it up when I’m in town, if you like.”

“Thankee, Thomas. What do I owe you?” While Belle and Thomas went over to the counter to settle up, Donovan began stacking the wood on top of what his sister had brought in. Comfort’s eyes had begun to focus and she followed his movements over Honor’s shoulder. This seemed to bother Donovan, and he hurried to finish. As Thomas was leaving through the kitchen to go back to his wagon, Donovan stood up and made a move toward the front door.

“You want some coffee before you go, Donovan?” Belle said, sounding amused.

“I’ll just scare off your customers. You watch yourself, Belle, Honor. I ain’t through here.” He banged the door behind him.

Belle chuckled. “That baby sure spooks him more’n anything else can. She should stay here all the time. That would keep him away, like a lucky charm.” She kissed the top of Comfort’s head, dusted with wispy white-blond hair. It was rare for her to show the baby affection.

They listened to Donovan’s horse clop away. “Honor, go to the window and check he’s ridin’ it,” Belle said. “He’s tried that one before.”

Honor looked, and recognized his tall silhouette slumped in the saddle. She watched till he was out of sight. “He’s gone.”

“Good. Now, you stay there, and make sure he don’t come back.” Belle hurried to the back of the house. A few minutes later Honor saw Thomas’s wagon go past, rattling now it was empty of its load of wood.

She and Comfort stood on in the window, the baby quiet, balanced on her mother’s shoulder and reaching her hand out toward the darkness. In the last few days she had stopped flailing so much, her movements more controlled.

Soon Belle was back. “All right. I’m gonna fix supper.” When Honor opened her mouth to speak, Belle interrupted her. “Don’t ask. If you don’t know, then you won’t have nothin’ to tell Donovan when he comes back. ’Cause he will come back tonight. He’ll be back for another look.” She was talking as if Honor knew what was happening. She did know. She just did not let herself think openly about it. Some things should remain hidden.

But they did not remain hidden. Honor and Belle were eating in the kitchen, the baby asleep in the cradle at Honor’s feet, when she heard a whimper. It was not Comfort-Honor was so attuned to her child’s noises that she did not even glance down at the cradle. She froze, her knife stopped in the groove it was carving into a pork chop, and listened.

Belle, however, clattered her cutlery onto her plate and stood up, pushing her chair back so that the legs scraped along the wood floor. “You know what I feel like with supper?” she said. “Tea. The English drink tea anytime, don’t they? I’m gonna boil some water.” She picked up a jug of water and filled the kettle. “Makes a change from coffee or whiskey, don’t it?” Belle banged the kettle on the range. “You ain’t never touched a drop o’ liquor, though, have you? No whiskey or beer or nothin’. Poor Quaker.”

Even under Belle’s valiant effort to make noise, Honor heard another whimper, then the low murmur of a woman’s voice. Not just any voice: it was a mother’s, shushing her child. Now that Honor herself was a mother, she was much more sensitive to the sorts of tones a mother needed to use.

“Where are they?” she said in a pause among Belle’s clatter.

Belle looked almost relieved, and smiled as if to apologize for thinking Honor would be fooled by her clumsy attempt at concealment. “If I show you,” she said, “you gotta think about what you’ll say if Donovan asks you ’bout ’em. I know you Quakers ain’t supposed to lie, but ain’t a small lie that helps a bigger truth all right? God ain’t gonna judge you for lying to my brother, is He? And if the Haymakers judge you for it, well…” She did not bother to fill in her thoughts about Honor’s in-laws.

Honor thought. “I have heard of Friends blindfolding themselves so that they do not see those they’re helping. That way they can honestly answer no if asked whether they have seen them.”

Belle snorted. “That’s just a game that God’s gonna see right through anyway. Ain’t playin’ with the truth like that worse than lyin’ outright for the greater good?”

“Perhaps.” The child was no longer whimpering, but crying outright, the sound coming from the hole by the range that led into the lean-to. Belle could reach in through the hole for wood without having to go outside. Though covered with a thick cloth to keep out drafts, it did not completely muffle the sounds. Honor could not bear the crying. She let out a deep breath she did not realize she had been holding. “Please bring in the child,” she said. “I would not have it freeze because of me. I will lie to Donovan if I must.”

Belle nodded. Pulling aside the cloth, she called through the hole. “It’s all right, Virginie, bring ’em in for a little while.”

After a moment a pair of brown hands pushed first one, then a second girl through the hole and into Belle’s arms. She set them on their feet, side by side. They were twins, identical, about five years old, with wide dark eyes, their hair plaited and tied with the red ribbons Thomas’s wife had taken the day before. They stood solemn and mute in front of Belle and Honor, the only difference between them being the runny nose and wheezy cough of the one who had been crying.

Belle pulled them aside as a gray bonnet pushed through the hole. Honor caught a flash of its pale yellow lining and started.

Belle smiled. “So that’s where that bonnet got to. Didn’t recognize it in the dark before. I thought you’d left it with the Haymakers-though Lord knows what they would do with it. Make it into a milk bucket, maybe.” She gave a hand to the runaway woman so that she could stand. Honor recalled her slender height, her sallow skin, her steady gaze.

The woman looked back at Honor and nodded. “I see you still here. Got your baby now. Well, I got my babies too.” She put her arms around the girls. Now that she was out in the open, her mother beside her, the girl with the cold felt confident enough to begin crying freely.

“Honor, get her some raspberry jam in hot water,” Belle commanded. “Kettle’s boiled. Add a drop o’ whiskey to it. Don’t you frown at me-it’ll do her good. I’ll make up a poultice for her chest.” She glanced at the window, which had a heavy curtain pulled across it, and at the door between the kitchen and shop, which she had pulled shut. “Can’t be out like this for long-Donovan’ll be back. We fooled him once-he thinks you ain’t here yet. But he’ll come round again soon enough.”

“When did they get in?” Honor asked.

“Right at the end, just when Donovan was leaving. That’s always the best time, when they’re still here but not suspicious any more. Old Thomas moved ’em. He hid ’em in his wagon, in a compartment under the bottom of the wagon. You lay out flat an’ they put the false bottom over you. It ain’t comfortable, is it, Virginie?”

“Is that how Thomas brought the runaway from Hudson when he drove me here?” Honor thought of Thomas stamping his feet now and then, and his talking while she was in the woods, and the feeling she had had that someone was with them.

“Yep. And Donovan still don’t know about it. He looks under the front seat.”

Now that she knew Honor wouldn’t give away her secrets, Belle became chatty, proud of the ruses she and Thomas and others working on the Underground Railroad had developed to keep runaways hidden. Once they’d dosed the sick child with raspberry jam and whiskey, and spread a mustard paste on her chest, Belle had Honor crawl through the hole into the lean-to, which was deeper along the side of the house than she’d realized from seeing it from the outside. Belle and Thomas had stacked the wood so that it seemed to be up against the back wall, but actually there was a gap between the woodpile and the wall, making a small chamber barely bigger than a cupboard, which you got to by squeezing around the stack. Inside the chamber were three stumps the runaways must use as stools, though turned on their sides they would look innocuous enough. Indeed, if you pushed the back stack of wood into the space it would turn into a messy pile waiting to be burned. As she gazed on it, Honor wondered how many runaways had hidden here. Dozens? Hundreds? Belle had lived in Wellington for fifteen years, and there had been runaways probably for as long as there had been slavery.

Honor heard Comfort crying then, and hurried to get back to her, struggling through the hole so clumsily that Belle chuckled. By the time she was on her feet, Comfort was quiet in the black woman’s arms. Though Honor reached out, the woman did not hand Comfort back. “I looked after a string o’ little white babies for the mistress,” she said, swinging Comfort in the crook of her arm with ease. “Feels good to hold a baby again. Look at her, girls,” she said to her daughters seated at the table. “She ain’t smilin’ yet. She only a month old. Too young to smile at us yet. We got to earn her smile.”

Honor struggled not to snatch her daughter back, even though rationally she knew that Comfort could come to no harm.

The woman’s name was Virginie. The whole night Honor had been with her in the woods and fields, she had not thought to ask her name. Indeed, she had never asked any of the runaways their names. Now she wondered why. Perhaps she had not wanted to personalize them in that way. Without names it was easier for them to disappear from her life. And they did-all except the nameless man buried in Wieland Woods.

Look for the measure of Light in her, she counseled herself, for it is there, as it is in every person. Never forget that.

Comfort was too young to make any judgment other than whether she felt secure in the arms that held her. And she did. She looked up at the black woman, who began to sing:

I’m wading deep waters

Trying to get home

Lord, I’m wading deep waters

Trying to get home

Well, I’m wading deep waters

Wading deep waters

Yes, I’m wading deep waters

Trying to get home.

“She is smiling!” Honor cried.

Virginie chuckled. “Jes’ wind. But nice to see anyway. Go on back to your mama, li’l girl, an’ give her a smile.”

Belle fed the runaways chipped beef and corn bread, spreading the latter with apple butter Honor had made the day before. One twin gobbled it down, but the other picked at the food, then laid her head on her arms. Belle studied her when she came down from the bedrooms, her arms full of quilts. “Y’all best get back there now.” She stuffed the quilts through the hole, but went outside to look around before entering the lean-to.

Honor and Virginie nodded good night and then the runaways crawled through the hole to their hiding place. After a few minutes Belle returned via the back door. “Hope that little one’s gonna be all right.” She shook her head. “It’s snug enough in there, but we don’t want her gettin’ worse. And they’re so close to Canada. Even at a little girl’s pace they can’t be more’n a week away from Lake Erie. Plus if they get to Oberlin they can hide in the black community a while till she improves.”

“Belle, is thee a-a station master?”

Belle snorted. “You know, I never use those silly phrases: station master, depot, conductor. Even Underground Railroad tries my patience. Makes it sound like children playin’ a game, when this surely ain’t no game.”

The girl’s coughing began again. Honor listened as she washed dishes. “The cold air is getting to her chest,” she remarked.

Belle sighed. “Donovan’ll hear her when he comes snoopin’ ’round in the middle of the night. She needs to sleep inside in a bed where it’s warm. That’ll quiet her-that and some paregoric. Can’t bring ’em all in, though-we couldn’t hide ’em all from Donovan.” She drew aside the cloth and whispered into the hole. A few minutes later the sick girl was passed through to Belle. She gave her a spoonful of thick brown liquid from a bottle, then said, “C’mon, honey, I’ll put you in my bed. You be real quiet now.”

Honor went to bed herself soon after, exhausted from nights of broken sleep and from the tension of the day. Leaving the door ajar so that she could hear and see a little from the light downstairs, she lay in bed, baby at her side where she could easily feed her in the night without getting up. Belle was still down in the kitchen, making flowers out of straw for her hats, waiting.

Honor was not yet asleep when she felt a tiny presence next to the bed. In the glow from downstairs she could just make out the girl’s outline. Without saying anything the girl climbed into bed, careful around the baby, and slid under the quilt to press up against Honor’s back, like a little animal looking for warmth. She coughed a bit and then fell asleep.

Honor lay very still, listening to the girl’s snuffling breath and her daughter’s almost imperceptible sigh, marveling that a black girl was snuggling up to her, as Grace had done when they were girls and it was cold. The barrier between them was dissolving in the warm bed; here there was no separate bench. Whatever the uncertainty downstairs, outside, in the world at large, in this bed with the children close by and reliant on her, Honor felt calm, and part of a family. With that clarity she too was able to sleep.

Donovan was never going to enter quietly. Honor jerked awake with the banging on the front door. Her movement, or the noise, woke the girl, who whimpered.

“Shhh,” Honor whispered. “Be as quiet as thee can, and don’t move.” Luckily she was on her side facing the doorway, and with the girl huddled against her back under the quilt, Donovan might not see her. Honor pulled the quilt over the child’s head, hiding her plaits tied with red ribbons.

She heard voices, steady, not raised, then the methodical searching of first the shop, then the kitchen. Donovan was not deliberately destructive. He did not break glass counterpanes or tear up cloth or stamp on hats. He did not throw down crockery or upend furniture. Honor even heard Belle laugh as if sharing a familial joke. Doubtless he had searched her house many times. Perhaps he was simply going through the motions. Or he suspected she was smarter than him and one day he would work out how she hid her runaways.

Then the girl coughed, juddering against her. It was not loud but it was distinct. Honor felt a spike of ice in her stomach. She heard Donovan’s voice, and Belle answering him. She thought she heard her name.

The girl coughed again, and when she stopped, Honor coughed too, trying to imitate a small girl’s breathy chest. She heard footsteps on the stairs, felt the girl’s quivering fear at her back, joined it with her own.

Then Belle’s voice came, telling her what to do. “Donovan, you gonna interrupt her feeding her baby. You really wanna do that?”

Honor reached for Comfort, shaking her gently as she gathered the warm round body to her. Unbuttoning the neck of her nightgown, she pulled out a full, swollen breast that began to leak milk even before Comfort stirred and, half-asleep, opened her mouth and latched on. Gumming the nipple, she sucked hard, so that Honor took in a deep breath of pain and release.

Donovan searched the small bedroom where Belle slept first; then the lantern light swung into the larger bedroom, arcing over her and Comfort. Honor prayed the girl would not cough or move. He stared down at her, trying not to let his eyes slip to the baby and the breast, but failing. Though he fought it, a kind of longing spread across his face. It had the effect Honor had hoped for: he did not come further into the room to ransack the piles of material Belle stored there, or look under the bed.

“Sorry,” he said. But he did not leave immediately. His eyes wandered over the quilt. “That’s Ma’s quilt,” he said. “What’d you call that design? You told me once, when we first met.”

“Star of Bethlehem.”

“That’s it.” Donovan looked at her for a moment, then nodded and backed out.

Honor and the girl remained still and silent. Only Comfort squirmed and sucked, her tiny hand grasping at Honor’s nightgown. They could hear Donovan go out of the back door. Now he would find the others or not. What would they do with this girl if Donovan took them away? Perhaps that was what she herself was thinking about, for suddenly the girl began to sob.

“Oh no, not that. Thee mustn’t. Not now.” With difficulty, Honor detached Comfort and sat up. Leaning against the headboard, she put the baby back on her breast and her free arm around the girl. “Don’t cry, now. We must pray that God will keep them safe.” She closed her eyes, and listened.

He did not find them. Half an hour later Belle came up and sat on the edge of Honor’s bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby. “He’s gone. You can go to sleep now. You too, little one,” she added for the benefit of the girl pressed against Honor.

“Belle, how will we get them safely away from the house?”

“Honey, don’t you worry ’bout that. I always got tricks up my sleeve.”

Comfort woke twice more that night to feed, and each time the girl was asleep. When the rising sun at last woke Honor, the girl had gone.

Down in the kitchen, Belle was frying griddle cakes and bacon-far more than the two of them could eat. She nodded toward the hole. “Little girl’s doing better. She almost smiled at me.” She piled the griddle cakes and bacon onto a plate and pushed it through the hole.

After breakfast Belle went out without saying where she was going, leaving Honor to mind the shop. On her return she handed Honor a wine-colored dress. “Customer wants the hem and sleeves let out.”

All day, as Honor sewed-first the dress, then a child’s skirt-she thought about the three runaways crammed into the small space behind the woodpile. It would be dark and uncomfortable, the wood offering little other than splinters and mice. Yet perhaps it was better than hiding in the cold woods.

Belle was in an overbright mood, displaying a nervous energy as she helped customers try on bonnets, removed flowers that were too summery for the growing cold, added tartan ribbons or feathers, measured for winter linings. When it was quiet, she worked at the table in the corner, sewing yellow netting onto the brown felt hat she had been stretching. Now and then she went to the window to glance out.

When Honor handed her the altered clothes, she noticed Belle was holding a familiar gray bonnet: she had replaced the worn yellow ribbons with a much wider gray ribbon that went round the crown and when tied pulled the brim close around the face. She had also added a row of white lace to the brim, hiding the yellow lining. It was now far too fancy for Honor to wear-or indeed Virginie. No black woman wore something so decorative.

Honor widened her eyes. Belle shrugged and hummed under her breath; Honor recognized it as the tune Virginie had sung to Comfort the night before. “Is that a hymn?”

“No, just a song you hear in the fields in the South. Negroes sing it to keep themselves goin’.”

Late in the day, when Belle was lighting lamps, three women came into the shop, accompanied by several young girls. “Look after ’em, Honor,” Belle said, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll be back.”

Honor stared after her, surprised that she would hurry away from such a large group. The women and girls were lively, trying on so many different hats and bonnets that she could not keep up with replacing them. In the middle of it, Comfort began to cry in her cradle. Before Honor could get to her one of the older girls had picked her up and went jigging around the shop. Comfort stopped crying with the novelty of it all, and the other girls gathered around the baby. There seemed to be more of them now, and they clattered and laughed and played around Honor’s daughter.

In the distance the train whistle sounded, cutting through the noise. “C’mon, girls, time to go,” one of the women called. Immediately the girl handed Comfort over and grabbed the hand of one of the younger ones. The others found partners and linked arms. As they passed through the door one of the smaller girls wearing a wide-brimmed bonnet and a shawl around her neck and chin turned to peek at Honor. It was one of Virginie’s twins, though only a strip of her dark skin was showing. In the dusk outside, her arm linked through another’s, she would be indistinguishable. Honor smiled at her, but the girl looked too terrified to speak.

The other twin left as well, bundled along with the rest of the group, and suddenly it was quiet. Only a woman remained behind. Then Belle was back in the room, pulling Virginie behind her. The runaway was transformed by the burgundy dress and a shawl, the gray and yellow bonnet tied tight under her chin so that from the side her face was hidden. You could only see her if you looked head-on.

“No time to wait,” Belle said. “Town’s out to meet the train. Go out and cry, ‘Wait up, ladies!’ and run after ’em. Act like you goin’ to see the train. He’s across the street, watchin’, so you got to be bold.”

Virginie squeezed Belle’s arm. “Thankee.”

Belle laughed. “All in a day’s work, honey. Off you go, now. If you’re lucky I won’t see you again!”

“God go with thee, Virginie,” Honor added. “And thy girls.”

Virginie nodded, then ducked out of the door after the other woman.

“Come back away from the window,” Belle commanded. “Can’t have Donovan see us takin’ an interest or he’ll get suspicious.”

The door opened then and another Wellington woman entered. “I ain’t too late, am I?” she asked. “I just need a new ribbon for my bonnet.”

“We’ll stay open for you,” Belle said. “Honor, you put all these bonnets back, will you? Those girls just now made the biggest mess.”

Honor stacked bonnets one-handed, bouncing Comfort with the other. Her heart was pounding. She ached to look out and see whether Donovan had followed the women, but knew she could not.

Ten minutes later Belle showed the customer to the door, then she turned the lock and began shuttering the windows. “He’s gone,” she announced, “though whether he’s gone after the women I just don’t know. Could’ve gone inside the bar for an evening whiskey. God knows I could use one. In fact…” Belle made her way to the kitchen, where she poured out a fingerful of whiskey and drank it in one gulp.

Honor watched from the doorway. “Is it always this difficult?”

“Naw.” Belle slammed down the glass. “Lot of times he don’t even know they’re passin’ through. And he prefers to catch ’em in the open. He’s more at home out in the woods or on the roads than in a hat shop. But now you’re here he’s sniffin’ ’round more, even if he ain’t ridin’ up and down the street in front of the shop like he did before. Can’t hide people so easily with all that happenin’.”

“I am putting the runaways in more danger.” Honor stated what was now so obvious she should have realized it weeks ago.

Belle shrugged. “I sent word they shouldn’t come this way for a time, so we ain’t had any while you’ve been here, ’cept Virginie, and she been here before.”

Honor shuddered. Virginie and her daughters could have been caught because she remained at Belle’s, frozen with indecision. Indeed, other runaways could be caught because they were taking other routes to avoid Wellington. Belle had not complained about Honor staying with her, but clearly it had consequences.

The next day a boy came by to say that the runaways had left town safely, and were on their way to Oberlin. Belle celebrated with another whiskey.

It was the last First Day before Honor must return to the Haymakers or be disowned by Faithwell Friends. The shop was closed, and Belle was sleeping in, having stayed up much of the night with a whiskey bottle. In that way she resembled her brother. Like the first time Honor stayed with her, Belle was not going to church. “God and I gonna have a long talk when I meet Him,” she said. “Set things right then.” She made it sound as if such a meeting would not be long in coming. Honor’s stomach tightened at the thought.

She looked in on Belle now. Her friend was sleeping on her back, her bony frame outlined under a ragged quilt in an Ohio Star pattern, with squares and triangles making up eight-pointed stars in red and brown. Honor had offered to repair the tears in the seams, but Belle had shrugged. “Waste of time,” she’d said, without explaining further. In sleep her face was sunken even more, leaving her cheekbones exposed, the skin pulled over bone that seemed almost visible. Her yellow skin had gone gray. She could be lying in a coffin. Honor caught back a sob, and backed out of the room.

She went down to the kitchen and stood at the range, staring into the corn mush she had made for their breakfast. She had been up three hours already, roused by Comfort, and was waiting for Belle to wake and eat. Though Belle ate even less these days, Honor liked to have the company. Now, though, having seen the state of her companion, she was no longer hungry. She pushed the pot to the back of the range and placed a plate over it to keep it warm.

Comfort was asleep in her cradle. For once Honor wished her daughter were awake so that she could hold her. Instead she sat down on one of the straight chairs in the middle of the quiet kitchen and closed her eyes. Since staying with Belle she had not often had the opportunity to sit in silence. It was always harder to do so without the strength and focus of a community. Collective silence contained a purposeful anticipation. Now, alone, her silence felt empty, as if she were not searching hard enough or in the right place.

She sat for a long time, taken out of the sinking feeling she sought by the interruption of sounds she would not normally notice: the crumbling of embers in the stove; the tapping of wood drying somewhere in the house; the clopping of a horse and turning of wagon wheels in the street in front of the shop. Honor found herself thinking about the cot quilt she was going to start and whether the rosettes she had made all summer would really suit Comfort. They seemed very English, and Comfort was not.

Then she heard scratching at the back door and opened her eyes. Through the small window in the upper half of the door she could see the crown of a brown felt hat trimmed with red and orange maple leaves.

Honor hurried to open the door. “Quick, now, let me in,” Mrs. Reed said. “Don’t want people to see.” She stepped past Honor into the kitchen. “Shut the door,” she instructed, for Honor was so surprised she was standing still with her hand on the latch.

Mrs. Reed was wearing a man’s coat with a brown shawl over it. Her mouth was set in its habitual downturn, her lower lip protruding. She wiped her glasses with the end of her shawl, then looked around the kitchen. Spotting the cradle, she brightened, as she had with her own granddaughter when Honor had visited her. This was a woman who liked babies. She might be grim and suspicious with others, but babies got her unconditional smile. She leaned over and put her face right in Comfort’s. “Hello, baby girl, sleepin’ like a li’l angel. Bet you don’t always. I done heard ’bout you. Expect I’ll hear those lungs soon. Comfort to your mama, that’s what you are.”

“Will thee sit?” Honor offered the rocking chair, hoping Mrs. Reed would not wake her daughter. It was always harder to talk when Comfort was awake.

Mrs. Reed sat in one of the straight-backed chairs rather than the rocker. Clearly she was here on business instead of a leisurely visit; a rocking chair would muddle the two. However, she did accept a cup of coffee, sweetened with brown sugar.

“What in the name of our good Lord are you doin’ here, Honor Bright?” Mrs. Reed demanded after she’d tasted the coffee, grimaced, and reached for more sugar. “Apart from burning the coffee, that is. I didn’t even know you was here till Virginie told me. I asked Adam Cox ’bout the baby and he told me you’d had it, but didn’t say nothin’ ’bout you bein’ in Wellington.”

“How is Virginie’s little girl?” Honor deflected the subject from herself.

“The one who was ill? She fine now. A little chili pepper chased away that cold. They stayed with me a few days, then was off to Sandusky. Should be there by now, waitin’ for a boat, with any luck. But don’t change the subject. This visit ain’t about them, it about you. Why are you here and not with your husband?” Mrs. Reed watched Honor steadily, her eyes now clear through the glasses. It was a straight look: not angry, or sad, or frustrated, or any of the other things Honor had seen in others’ eyes while she had been at Belle’s. That straightforwardness made her feel she too should be direct.

“I don’t agree with the Haymakers about not helping runaways,” she said. “That makes me feel I am not a part of the family and never will be.”

Mrs. Reed nodded. “Virginie done told me that part. That the only reason? ’Cause if it is, it ain’t enough.”

Honor stared at her visitor.

“Honor, you think you singlehandedly savin’ all the runaways? You think that one meal you give ’em or the sleep they get in your barn is goin’ to make all the difference? They already come hundreds o’ miles by the time they get to you. They been through some terrible times. You jes’ one small link in a big chain. Sure, we grateful for what you done, but we managed before you come along last year, and we’ll manage without you. Someone will step into the gap, or the Railroad will shift, is all. We been doin’ this a long time, and will be a long time more. You know how many slaves there are in the South?”

Honor shook her head, lowering her eyes to her hands in her lap so that Mrs. Reed would not see the tears welling.

“Millions! Millions. And how many you helped in the last year-maybe twenty? We got us a long way to go. It surely ain’t somethin’ you need to break your marriage over. That’s jes’ foolishness. Any runaway would tell you that. All they want is the freedom to make the kind of life you got. You go and throw that away for their sake, you jes’ mockin’ they own dreams.”

Honor gave up trying to hide her tears and let them roll freely down her face.

“I don’t know what Belle here been sayin’ to you, but someone got to say somethin’, ’cause you ain’t thinkin’ straight.”

“It ain’t so easy sayin’ those things to ’em when they’re livin’ with you, ’cause you got to go on livin’ with ’em.” Belle was leaning in the doorway, startling the women. Now that she was up, her face had regained some of its color, though the gray had not entirely disappeared. “Glad to hear you talkin’ some sense to her.” She gazed at Mrs. Reed, who stared back. The women nodded simultaneously. Their interest in each other gave Honor the chance to wipe her eyes and take a shaky breath.

“Good to meet you at last, Belle,” Mrs. Reed said.

“And you, Elsie.”

“You have never met?” Honor was astonished.

“Better not to-don’t want to draw attention,” Belle replied. “But we know ’bout each other.” She turned back to Mrs. Reed. “Anybody see you come in?”

“Not that I saw. I got a man waitin’ with a horse in the woods out o’ town, took me that far. Then I walked in. Really I shouldn’t be down here-ain’t safe for me these days. I’ve stayed closer to home ever since the new law come in last year. But I made an exception for this one.” Mrs. Reed nodded at Honor. “Ask myself why, though.”

Belle chuckled. “She sure has that effect on people, don’t she?”

Honor looked from one woman to the other, her eyes wide.

“Guess I got to help a runaway when I see one, whatever they color. It’s in my nature.” Mrs. Reed shifted her gaze onto Honor. “Now, I don’t want you usin’ the runaways as the excuse for you to run away. You got a problem with your husband’s family, you stay and sort it out. Or do you have a problem with him?”

Honor considered the question.

Belle joined in. “Does he provide for you? Does he hit you? Is he gentle in bed?”

Honor nodded or shook her head with answers the women already knew.

“Course he’s a Quaker, so he don’t smoke or drink or spit,” Belle continued. “That’s something. What in hell’s name is the matter with him, then? Apart from his mother.” She and Mrs. Reed waited for an answer.

For once Honor wished Comfort would wake to distract them. “There is nothing wrong with Jack,” she said at last. “It is with me. I don’t belong in this country.”

As Belle and Mrs. Reed smiled the same skeptical smile, Honor knew she sounded ridiculous to a woman facing death and a woman whose freedom was precarious. “I am of course grateful to have been taken in by the Haymakers,” she continued, “but I do not feel settled. It is as if-as if I am floating just above the ground, with my feet not touching. Back in England I knew where I was, and felt tied to my place.”

To her surprise-for Honor did not expect them to understand-both women nodded. “That jes’ Ohio,” Mrs. Reed said. “Lots o’ people say that.”

“Everyone’s just passin’ through Ohio to get to somewhere else,” Belle added. “Runaways goin’ north; settlers headin’ west. You meet someone, you never can be sure you’ll see ’em the next day. Next day or next month or next year they may be off. Elsie and I are the veterans. How long you been in Oberlin?” she asked Mrs. Reed.

“Twelve years.”

“I been here fifteen. That’s ancient for most. Wellington was only settled in 1818, and it ain’t even been officially incorporated yet. And Oberlin’s newer than that.”

“The town I am from is a thousand years old,” Honor said.

Mrs. Reed and Belle chuckled. “Well then, honey, we’re just little children to you,” Belle said.

“That what you want, Honor Bright?” Mrs. Reed said. “A town with a thousand-year history, and people who live there all they lives? You in the wrong state for that.”

“You want that rooted-down feeling, you go to Boston or Philadelphia,” Belle added. “But they’re only a couple hundred years old. Really you’re in the wrong country. Maybe you should go back to England. What’s stoppin’ you?”

Honor thought of the penetrating nausea on board the Adventurer, of the weeks with no solid footing. But had she ever found her feet in America? Her stomach might be settled, but her legs still felt unsteady.

“Why you leave England in the first place?” Mrs. Reed asked. If she closed her eyes, Honor could not always tell who was asking the questions.

“My sister came here to marry, but died on the way.”

“I didn’t ask about your sister, I asked about you. You got family back in England?”

Honor nodded.

“Why didn’t you stay with them? You didn’t have to come with your sister.”

Honor’s mouth filled with a bitter taste, but she knew she must answer. “I was meant to marry, but he met another. He left the Society of Friends to be with her.” Thinking of Samuel reminded Honor that soon she too would no longer be a Friend.

“So? That don’t mean you couldn’t stay.”

Honor took a breath and forced herself to voice what she had never said aloud, or even allowed herself to think clearly. “Back home there was a slot in which my life was meant to fit. Then it was taken away and it felt as if there was no place for me. I thought it better to go and start somewhere new. So I thought.”

“That’s a very American notion, leaving problems behind and movin’ on,” Belle said. “If you thought that, maybe you’re not so English after all. Maybe you got it in you to start over. Now, name me some things you like about Ohio.”

When Honor did not immediately answer, Belle added, “I can tell you one thing.” She nodded at Mrs. Reed’s hat. “Maple leaves. You’re always pointing out that red they change to in the fall, saying that don’t happen with English trees.”

Honor nodded. “Yes, they are beautiful. And the cardinals, and the red-bellied woodpeckers. I did not think birds could be so red. I also like hummingbirds.” She paused. “Fresh corn. Popcorn. Maple syrup. Peaches. Fireflies. Chipmunks. Dogwood trees. Some of the quilts.” She glanced at Mrs. Reed, thinking of the quilt in her front room.

“Listen to you. Not so bad, is it? You keep lookin’, with an open mind, and you’ll find more.”

A sound came then from the cradle: Comfort was not crying, but simply announcing, in her baby way, I am here.

“Ah, baby girl.” Before Honor could move, Mrs. Reed had lifted Comfort from the cradle and was holding her against her chest and patting her back. Comfort did not cry, but lay in the stranger’s arms, accepting where she was. “Love the feeling o’ babies’ weight,” Mrs. Reed said. “They like a sack o’ cornmeal, just settin’ there all solid and waitin’ to be eaten up.” She smacked her lips against the baby’s ear. “I love me some babies.”

Honor looked at her daughter and had for a moment that patchwork feeling of being locked into place, and fitting. This time it was not with Jack, but with two women, alike in ways that made their skin color irrelevant. But she knew it could not last: Mrs. Reed had her own community, and Belle-sitting now, already drained of whatever energy she had stored during the night-would not last long. Honor could not remain here; she saw that. The question was whether she could find that settled feeling elsewhere.

The sound was so loud that Belle and Mrs. Reed shouted. It made Honor go silent, though, and so did Comfort, though after a second she began to scream.

Donovan had broken down the back door, kicking it in so that the hinges twisted and the glass shattered. The women jumped up and swung to face him, Mrs. Reed holding tight to Comfort.

“Jesus Christ Almighty, Donovan, what are you doing?” Belle cried. “God damn you, breakin’ down my door! You’re gonna pay to have that fixed. Hell, I’ll make you fix it.”

“Havin’ yourselves a little tea party, are you, ladies?” Donovan said. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m lookin’ for someone.”

“She ain’t here-you missed her by a week.”

“I ain’t missed her-she’s right here.” He grinned at Mrs. Reed.

“What you want with me?” Mrs. Reed looked grim. Comfort was no longer screaming, but had settled into a steady wail.

“Stop that goddamned baby crying,” Donovan growled.

Mrs. Reed handed Comfort to Honor, who wrapped the baby in her shawl to protect her from the cold air coming in through the gap where the door had been.

“What you want with me?” Mrs. Reed repeated.

“Got a little business to take care of. Your old master in Virginia will be mighty pleased to see you back after all these years. Even if you an old woman now, he might still get some work out o’ you.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Belle interjected. “She’s a free woman, lives in Oberlin.”

“Oh, I know where Mrs. Reed lives, dear sister,” Donovan answered. “In that little red house on Mill Street, got all the interesting activity goin’ on. I know all about her-ran away from her master twelve years ago, her and her daughter. Don’t worry, I’ll be lookin’ for her too, and your granddaughter. Take you back all together. It’ll be worth it for the baby, grow up to make a fine slave, if she ain’t been spoiled yet by freedom.” He pronounced the last word as if it were a disease.

“You can’t do that,” Belle protested. “She’s protected by the law. And the baby was born free.”

“You know very well the Fugitive Slave Law gives me the power to take her back even if she ran away years ago.” He turned to Mrs. Reed. “Tell me, what are you doin’ down here having coffee with my sister and Honor Bright? That was a risk, wasn’t it, strayin’ so far from home, for what-her?” He jerked his head at Honor.

Mrs. Reed did not answer except with the tight line of her mouth.

Comfort had stopped crying and was now hiccuping. “Donovan, please leave Mrs. Reed alone,” Honor said in a low voice. She knew why he was doing this: to punish her for having a child with Jack. “Comfort and I will leave Wellington tomorrow and thee will never have to see us again. Please.”

“Too late for that.” Donovan gazed at her and Comfort as if from a distance, his eyes flat, and Honor understood that something had clicked back into place, a way of thinking that was easier for him. The moment when they had stood together looking at the stumps outside Oberlin and he had offered to change for her now seemed a very long time ago.

He took from his pocket a length of rope. Grabbing Mrs. Reed’s wrists, he twisted them behind her back and tied them together, all in a quick motion, as if expecting her to fight. Mrs. Reed did not fight, however. She simply looked at him over her shoulder, the spectacles blanking out her eyes.

Then Belle ran at him and was on his back like a cat, beating at him and trying to choke him. Though her action surprised him, Belle was so weak that her blows had little effect, and Donovan threw her off easily. Honor stumbled over and crouched by her where she fell. Belle moved her hand a little. “Don’t mind me. Help Elsie.” For a moment Honor did not know whom she meant, then remembered: it was Mrs. Reed’s first name. Honor had never asked her.

Donovan was already dragging his prize out of the back door and down the porch steps. Mrs. Reed did not resist so much as simply let her weight slump; in that way she seemed to maintain her dignity. He dragged her through the frosty crabgrass at the side of the house to the front and into Public Square. It was a cold, gray morning, and very still. Honor followed, still holding Comfort, who gasped in the chilly air, but otherwise remained silent. “Please stop, Donovan,” Honor called, knowing that it would have no effect. She looked around the square, hoping a neighbor would be out who might help. But it was deserted-everyone was at church. Even the hotel bar was empty.

Everyone except her husband: Jack Haymaker was walking down Main Street from the north in his broad-brimmed black hat and his black coat, his suspenders flashing against his white shirt as he moved. He was carrying a bunch of late asters from his mother’s front garden. Moving steadily, he smiled as he caught sight of Honor and Comfort. Honor had never thought she would be so relieved to see him. “Jack!” she cried, and ran to him.

Jack’s smile vanished, however, as he recognized Donovan, now struggling to get Mrs. Reed onto his horse.

“Thee must help us!” Honor urged as she reached her husband.

Jack stared at Donovan. He cleared his throat. “Friend, what is thee doing?”

Donovan turned. Taking in the family triangle before him, he smiled. “Jack Haymaker,” he drawled. “Just the man I need. I been meanin’ to get you to help me with another runaway, but out of respect for your wife, I ain’t asked till now. Help me get this nigger up on my horse. She and I got a little trip to take.”

“I don’t need his help to get up on this here horse,” Mrs. Reed interjected. “You jes’ give me a leg up and I’ll get on. Don’t need to involve them Quakers in this.”

“Oh yes, I do need to involve ’em. So, Haymaker, you gonna help me and upset your wife, or break the law and ruin your farm and family? You chose the law last time I asked. You gonna do the same this time too? I hope so. You got a daughter now.”

Jack turned pale. He glanced at Honor, and she felt a familiar sickening twist in her stomach. “Jack-” she began.

“Don’t you do it, Jack Haymaker,” Mrs. Reed interrupted. “This man jes’ tryin’ to set your wife against you. Don’t you dare help him.”

Jack looked around wildly. “Honor, I-” He took a step toward Donovan.

Honor heard the click first. Somehow it seemed louder than the explosion that followed.

She screamed. Longer and louder than ever in her life, she screamed as Donovan’s chest burst like a red flower blooming; as his horse whinnied and bucked with the sound and broke free to run off down the street; as Mrs. Reed went, “Huh,” as if someone had punched her in the gut, and reeled into the walkway in front of the shop; as Comfort stiffened with fright and matched her mother’s scream with her own. Then Jack was gathering her and Comfort in his arms and squeezing them so tight that Honor could not breathe. She freed her face to draw in a breath, and saw over his shoulder Belle Mills, still standing by the side of the house, holding the shotgun she had once used to kill a copperhead. The gunpowder had sprayed into her face so that her yellowish skin was peppered with black. As Honor watched, Belle sank to her knees, her dress billowing around her, and laid the shotgun down in front of her.

The blast had seemed so loud that Honor thought it would bring people running. It was surprising how long it took for anyone to reach them. The owner appeared in the doorway of Wadsworth Hotel, wiping his hands on a towel, but did not come over. The group of men who emerged from the Methodist Church made slow progress down the center of the street, as if in a dream.

Honor was at Belle’s side, holding Comfort.

“Don’t worry ’bout me, honey,” Belle said. “You know I’m dyin’. That’s been clear since we first met. Noose’ll make it go a little faster, is all.”

Jack had cut loose Mrs. Reed’s hands. She approached Belle. “I’m sorry you had to do that,” she said, “but I thank you.”

Belle nodded. “It ain’t so hard choosin’ between good and bad.”

“I got to disappear now.” Mrs. Reed glanced at the distant group of men. “Ain’t never good for a Negro to be ’round a shooting.”

“Go round the back down to the railroad tracks, then follow ’em out of town,” Belle said. “They’re less likely to go that way. I’m real glad to have met you, Elsie.”

“Me too.” Mrs. Reed removed her glasses and wiped her eyes. There had been no change in her face, but Honor saw now that she was crying.

She put her spectacles back on and wrapped her shawl tight around her. “I gon’ pray for you.” Mrs. Reed glanced at Honor and Jack. “All of you. If I ride fast enough I might jes’ get to church before the service end.” She headed around the shop toward the backyard, then looked back. “Bye bye, baby girl,” she said to Comfort. “Get those parents to look after you good.”

As if on cue, Comfort began to cry. Mrs. Reed smiled; then she turned and disappeared behind the shop.

“Honor,” Belle whispered. “You see that bonnet in the window? Gray one I was workin’ on?”

Honor glanced up at the gray bonnet with its sky-blue lining.

“That’s yours. Time you had a change of color. But you knew that.”

She did know it.

“Honor,” Belle said again. “He dead?”

No one had gone to Donovan, who lay on his back, blood pooling in the road under him. His brown vest was shredded and turning a dark red. Next to him were his hat and the bunch of flowers Jack had dropped.

“He has not passed yet.” Honor could feel his presence still, like a runaway in the woods.

“Nobody should have to die alone, not even a bastard like Donovan,” Belle murmured. “Somebody needs to see him out. He’s my brother.”

The group of townsmen had arrived in Public Square, but stood back. They had taken in Belle and her shotgun, and were waiting for the drama to run its course.

Honor bit her lip. Then she got to her feet and went up to her husband. They gazed at each other. “We cannot continue as we were before,” she said. “We must find a new way, different from thy family’s.”

Jack nodded.

“Now I have to do this.”

Jack nodded again.

Honor handed their daughter to him and walked over to Donovan. Kneeling beside him, she saw, amid the meaty, metallic blood and torn cloth on his chest, the glistening key to her trunk. His brown vest was broken up with tiny yellow stripes. I will use some of it for the next quilt, she thought, for he should be a part of it.

Honor looked into his face. His eyes were closed, his mouth a grimace that told her death was waiting.

Then Donovan opened his eyes. Honor could just make out the black flecks in them, suspended in the brown.

“Hold my hand, Honor Bright,” he said.

And she did, squeezing until she felt the Light fade.

Faithwell, Ohio

3rd Month 10th 1852

Dearest Biddy,

This is the last letter I shall write from Faithwell. When I finish it I must pack away my writing things, to go in the wagon with our other belongings. Tomorrow Jack and Comfort and I are going west. All winter we have been debating where to go. For the moment we will head to Wisconsin, which Friends from Faithwell have gone to and written well of. There are prospects for dairy farms there. I have heard too that parts of the west have what they call prairie, with few trees and a great open space. I look forward to that.

We have been waiting for the winter to pass, and for Dorcas to marry. She did, last week, to a dairy farmer who has moved here. He is taking on the farm-and Judith Haymaker as well. We gave her the choice to come with us or remain in Faithwell, and I am relieved to report she has decided to stay. She says she has moved enough. I am content to accept that as her reason.

We are leaving most things behind, for we can buy or make them where we are going. We are taking four quilts, however. (I am very glad now that I sent thy quilt back to thee!) The signature quilt from Bridport, of course, whose names will remain dear to me always, wherever I go. Our marriage quilt, made so quickly by the Faithwell women. It is not the finest stitching, but it is warm-sometimes that is the most one should expect of a quilt. I have also made a small cot quilt for Comfort out of scraps of material from both Dorset and Ohio. It is in a patchwork pattern called Ohio Star, made up of triangles and squares in brown and yellow, red, cream and rust. Comfort sleeps well under it. Finally, a Negro woman called Mrs Reed has given me a quilt I once admired, made up of blue, cream, grey, brown and yellow strips of cloth. It is very different from any quilt thee will have seen, for there is a pleasing randomness to it that defies description. I would like to learn to make such a quilt. Perhaps in the west I shall.

Thee will be pleased to hear that for the first time I spoke at Meeting, the last I attended in Faithwell. I have always felt that words cannot truly capture what I feel inside. But I found the urgency of the Spirit pushing me to open my mouth to explain, even imperfectly, what I feel about helping runaways until that day arrives when slavery is finally ended in this country. For I do believe it will end. It must. When I sat down, the air felt thick with thoughts, and afterwards the blacksmith commended me for finding my voice.

I am not sorry to leave Ohio and go west, except that it is taking me farther from thee, Biddy. I will write again once we have found a place to settle. Because thee remains there, it is easier for me to go, for thee can be the shore I look back on, the star that remains fixed. After the voyage across the ocean, I had not thought I would ever have the spirit to move again, but now that I have chosen to go, I am glad.

I am anxious, of course. I expect I shall not sleep tonight for thinking about what lies ahead. But I feel different from when I left Bridport with Grace. Then I was running away, and it was as if my eyes were shut and there was nothing to hold on to. Now my eyes are open, and I can walk forward, holding on to Jack and Comfort. It is what Americans do. Perhaps that is what I am becoming, at last. I am learning the difference between running from and running towards.

Always with thee in spirit,

Thy faithful friend,

Honor Haymaker