and so I warn thee.” With that, she slipped under the coverlet and shut her eyes.
He turned away to undress. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could sleep in a different room. Being in close quarters with Honor only intensified the separation that his deafness forced on him. No hearing person could comprehend that isolation; certainly no beautiful woman could. And now he must lie beside his lovely bride all night and not show how she affected him. A cruel penance for his offense.
OCTOBER 17, 1819
Honor blinked herself awake to church bells ringing, chiming, calling the faithful to worship. Suddenly she was filled with anticipation. No Quaker meetinghouse rang bells, but the ringing was a signal to her nonetheless. She hadn’t even thought about the day of the week last night, but now she realized why Royale had mentioned finding an African church. She had known the day.
Honor sat up and, reaching over the lump that was the sleeping Eli, shook Samuel’s shoulder.
He opened his eyes and signed, “What?”
“It’s First Day.” She beamed. “We must get up and dress for meeting. The innkeeper noticed yesterday from my plain speech that I was Quaker and told me there was a meetinghouse just a few blocks away. I don’t know how I lost track of the days.”
“I’m not going to meeting.” He rolled over, turning his back to her.
His refusal sent a cold wave through her. A verse of Scripture came to mind— “Be ye not unequally yoked” —and an inner alarm sounded. She rose, donned her robe, and crept barefoot to the other side of the bed. She shook her husband’s shoulder again.
When his eyes opened in surprise, she signed with swift motions, “Samuel Cathwell, thee not going to meeting is unacceptable. Thee is a married man now and with a child to rear. How can our marriage prosper if we do not attend meeting as a family?”
Samuel stared at her. “Not this week.” He tried to roll over.
She gripped his shoulder, stopping him. “But next week we may not be in Cincinnati.”
Halted, he stared at her.
“Samuel,” she began, needing him to understand why, “in Maryland, when Friends freed their slaves, they had to sell their land and leave. The other slaveholders despised them. When our meetinghouse closed because there were so few members left, I was still just a little girl.” This explanation cost her.
Then the excruciating memory of leaving High Oaks burst in her heart. Her people—the slaves she would have freed—had lined the drive to bid her farewell. Some had wept; some had wailed; others had stared mournfully and lifted a hand in salute. She couldn’t just forget them. She still yearned to set them free.
She must find others who thought the same, who would work toward the same goal. “I cannot be separated from the body of Christ in this new place. I must go to meeting, and my family must come with me. I cannot bear . . .” Tears overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t go on. He couldn’t mean that they would live cut off from other Friends.
Looking disgruntled, Samuel sat up. “Very well. We will go this time.”
Honor nodded, but the words this time troubled her. She began praying that this meeting would welcome her husband.
A knock at the door broke the silence. Honor opened it a crack and found Royale there.
“I come to get your clothes to press for First Day. I ask the maid here, and she told me there an African church down by the river. She say I can go with her and her intended. Can I?”
“As soon as everything is pressed, thee is free for the day.”
“Free for the whole day?” Royale echoed.
“Yes. On First Day, after helping me dress, thee can have the whole day off till sunset.” After searching Samuel’s coat pockets, Honor pressed a silver dollar into Royale’s hand, her first wages.
Royale beamed at her and pocketed the coin. “Thank you, Miss Honor.”
Honor opened her trunk, pulling out the family’s First Day clothing. Royale rushed off to
He turned away to undress. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could sleep in a different room. Being in close quarters with Honor only intensified the separation that his deafness forced on him. No hearing person could comprehend that isolation; certainly no beautiful woman could. And now he must lie beside his lovely bride all night and not show how she affected him. A cruel penance for his offense.
OCTOBER 17, 1819
Honor blinked herself awake to church bells ringing, chiming, calling the faithful to worship. Suddenly she was filled with anticipation. No Quaker meetinghouse rang bells, but the ringing was a signal to her nonetheless. She hadn’t even thought about the day of the week last night, but now she realized why Royale had mentioned finding an African church. She had known the day.
Honor sat up and, reaching over the lump that was the sleeping Eli, shook Samuel’s shoulder.
He opened his eyes and signed, “What?”
“It’s First Day.” She beamed. “We must get up and dress for meeting. The innkeeper noticed yesterday from my plain speech that I was Quaker and told me there was a meetinghouse just a few blocks away. I don’t know how I lost track of the days.”
“I’m not going to meeting.” He rolled over, turning his back to her.
His refusal sent a cold wave through her. A verse of Scripture came to mind— “Be ye not unequally yoked” —and an inner alarm sounded. She rose, donned her robe, and crept barefoot to the other side of the bed. She shook her husband’s shoulder again.
When his eyes opened in surprise, she signed with swift motions, “Samuel Cathwell, thee not going to meeting is unacceptable. Thee is a married man now and with a child to rear. How can our marriage prosper if we do not attend meeting as a family?”
Samuel stared at her. “Not this week.” He tried to roll over.
She gripped his shoulder, stopping him. “But next week we may not be in Cincinnati.”
Halted, he stared at her.
“Samuel,” she began, needing him to understand why, “in Maryland, when Friends freed their slaves, they had to sell their land and leave. The other slaveholders despised them. When our meetinghouse closed because there were so few members left, I was still just a little girl.” This explanation cost her.
Then the excruciating memory of leaving High Oaks burst in her heart. Her people—the slaves she would have freed—had lined the drive to bid her farewell. Some had wept; some had wailed; others had stared mournfully and lifted a hand in salute. She couldn’t just forget them. She still yearned to set them free.
She must find others who thought the same, who would work toward the same goal. “I cannot be separated from the body of Christ in this new place. I must go to meeting, and my family must come with me. I cannot bear . . .” Tears overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t go on. He couldn’t mean that they would live cut off from other Friends.
Looking disgruntled, Samuel sat up. “Very well. We will go this time.”
Honor nodded, but the words this time troubled her. She began praying that this meeting would welcome her husband.
A knock at the door broke the silence. Honor opened it a crack and found Royale there.
“I come to get your clothes to press for First Day. I ask the maid here, and she told me there an African church down by the river. She say I can go with her and her intended. Can I?”
“As soon as everything is pressed, thee is free for the day.”
“Free for the whole day?” Royale echoed.
“Yes. On First Day, after helping me dress, thee can have the whole day off till sunset.” After searching Samuel’s coat pockets, Honor pressed a silver dollar into Royale’s hand, her first wages.
Royale beamed at her and pocketed the coin. “Thank you, Miss Honor.”
Honor opened her trunk, pulling out the family’s First Day clothing. Royale rushed off to
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