Honor by Lyn Cote

crew as they docked the boat. A few boatmen set two gangplanks—one for passengers and one for baggage—and others began unloading the luggage onto shore from the cargo hold like a bucket brigade.
    She drew in a ragged breath and concentrated on disembarking and all it entailed. She wouldn’t be able to relax and leave everything to her husband. She would be the one making their arrangements. After all, that was the main reason Samuel Cathwell had married her. The thought still stung.
    Soon Samuel ushered her, Royale, and Eli down the gangplank. He stood by, brooding, while Honor gathered with the other men to claim their trunks and boxes. Wagons had appeared and lined up to receive the passengers and their bags. Amid the bustle, horses neighed and tugged at their reins. Honor spied a boatman pushing a cart loaded with her and Samuel’s baggage. She beckoned him to come over.
    Within minutes a drayman was helping the boatmanload their baggage onto his wagon. Many fellow travelers from the boat crowded around them.
    “Mrs. Cathwell, I won’t bid you and your husband adieu.” Sinclair Hewitt doffed his curled beaver hat and bowed. “I’m sure we’ll meet again in Cincinnati.”
    She smiled and thanked him, ignoring the ill humor wafting from her husband.
    Several others also wished them well, the men bowing over Honor’s hand. They all nodded to Samuel, and a few patted Eli’s round cheeks. Their show of friendship in this strange place eased Honor’s tension.
    Samuel abruptly assisted Honor onto the wagon seat, looking grim. He helped Royale and Eli get settled on the bench behind them. Without a glance toward Honor, he climbed up beside her. She could have shaken him for his lack of tact.
    “Where to?” the drayman asked, the reins slack in his large hands.
    Honor signed the question to Samuel, who replied, “We need an inn for the night.”
    After receiving this instruction, the driver, a middle-aged man with a hat that had seen better days, slapped the reins. His horse moved slowly away from the wharf. Honor perched stiffly between the two men, both staring straight ahead. She tried to think of a gentle, diplomatic way to confront her husband later. But they were practically still strangers, and so far neither gentle nor diplomatic had answered her purpose.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of two rough-looking men who were walking up the roadbehind them. One was staring toward her in a fixed way. When he noticed she was watching him, he turned to his companion and said something. Honor faced forward, unwilling to give credence to the shiver of wariness she felt.
    The drayman drove past several inns but finally chose one on the high bluff overlooking the river. “This one’s decent for a family. I’ll wait to see if you get a room,” he said gruffly.
    As Samuel helped her down, Honor looked back and thought she saw the same men pull out of sight. Shaken, she paused on the wooden walk in front of the prosperous-looking inn. No one moved, and she shook her head at herself. I am tired and upset; that’s all.
    Honor marched inside and located the proprietor. She inspected the room he led her to and found that the sheets had been properly aired and everything looked neat and tidy. She secured the room.
    In their lodgings at last, Honor looked out on deep-purple clouds draped over the last of the brilliant-bronze sunset outside the small window. Only a bed, one chair, and a ewer and pitcher on a stand by the door fit in their room. Suddenly exhausted, she sat down on the bed and looked at Samuel, who had sunk down onto one of their two trunks. The boxes occupied most of the space in the small room. She now felt unequal to the task of confronting him. “How long before we move into a place of our own?”
    “We will shop in town tomorrow. First we need a team and wagon too. You can drive, can’t you? Or do we need to hire a driver?”
    Honor was taken aback. Men did not ask women to