I would like to report that I was astonished by her words, but I was not. She has voiced the thought that has nagged at me ever since I arrived in Faithwell. Neither Adam nor Abigail has spoken of it, but there is a tension at times that I know stems from our unusual household. However, please do not be troubled on my account. You may take comfort in the knowledge that by the time you read this letter, we will have found a suitable arrangement to satisfy everyone.
Your loving daughter,
Honor Bright
Woods
THE FIRST DAY after the Fourth of July, Honor had a visitor. She was sitting on the porch with Abigail and Adam, sleepy and a little queasy from the Sunday dinner they had just finished, in which fatty, oversalted ham played a large part. Honor had never eaten so much pork. She longed for lamb, and fish-delicate tastes simply served.
“I got a bone to pick with you, Honor Bright!”
Honor started and opened her eyes. A light buggy had pulled up in front of the house, with Belle Mills holding the reins. She threw them over the white picket fence in front of the house and hopped down. “You been sending me too many Oberlin ladies sayin’ ‘I want that gray and yaller bonnet the Quaker girl’s wearing.’ How am I gonna keep up with orders without you helping me?” Belle nodded at Adam and Abigail. “You must be Abigail. I already met Adam. I’m Belle Mills, the milliner over in Wellington. Don’t know what Honor told you about me-probably nothin’. She don’t talk much, do she? Now, you gonna invite me out of the sun? It’s mighty hot.”
Honor stood and waited for Abigail to ask Belle, deferring to her as the mistress of the house. But Abigail was staring at Belle’s hat: straw with a wide brim trimmed with a band of white lace over red ribbon, a clump of silk cherries pinned to the side.
Honor gave up on Abigail and greeted Belle herself. “I am very glad to see thee. Please join us.”
Belle stepped onto the porch and sank into the rocker Adam offered. “Oh, that’s good-no more jolting along that track,” she said, pulling off lace gloves. Honor had not seen her wear gloves in Wellington, not even when they went for walks. These dainty ones looked odd on her, especially when they were taken off to reveal Belle’s big hands and squared fingers. The gloves and her hat jarred with her lean frame and wide shoulders, so different from the plump curves and rounded shoulders that were the fashion. If women were meant to look like doves these days, Belle resembled a buzzard.
“Abigail, perhaps our guest would like something to drink,” Adam suggested.
“Oh!” Abigail hurried inside, embarrassed at having to be reminded.
“Well, ain’t this something,” Belle remarked, looking around. “I never been out this way. That the rest of Faithwell?” She nodded toward the general store.
“There are a few outlying farms, but yes,” Adam replied. “It is growing, however. New families are moving here all the time.”
“Sure they are. All of ’em Quakers, right? I can’t imagine anyone else willing to go down that track. What’s it like in the rain? Mud’s bad enough on the road between Wellington and Oberlin.”
When Abigail reappeared with four glasses, a bottle of dark liquid and a pitcher of water, Belle nodded. “Blackberry cordial, is it? I’m impressed you managed to save some from last summer. I would’ve drunk it all by October.”
Abigail paused in the act of pouring, as if she couldn’t do so and think at the same time.
“Don’t worry, honey, that’s a compliment,” Belle added. “It takes a good housekeeper to hold back the best stuff so she’s got something to give guests.” She turned to Honor. “I was wonderin’ if we would see you in Wellington for the Fourth of July, but I expect it was too far for you, wasn’t it?”
“We do not celebrate the Fourth,” Adam replied.
“Really? What, Quakers don’t like to have fun?”
“We do not wish to celebrate a document that does not include all men as citizens of America.”
“We went to Oberlin to listen to speeches opposing slavery,” Honor added.
“Of course you did. I should’ve guessed Quakers would be more entertained listening to abolitionists than shootin’ guns in the air. Me, I like the guns. How’s business up in Oberlin?”
“Fair,” Adam said. “I would like to see it a little busier.”
“Bet you don’t sell much satin or velvet, do you?”
“Not much, no.”
Belle chuckled. “Them Oberlinites don’t go in for anything fancy, do they? I wouldn’t be a milliner there-I’d never get to make anything fancier than Honor’s bonnet.” Belle glanced at Abigail’s and Honor’s plain dresses, at Adam’s collarless shirt and braces. “Which fabric supplier do you use in Cleveland?”
While Abigail finished pouring cordial and Honor passed it around, Belle discussed business with Adam with an ease Honor envied. But then, much of her job involved talking to people. Belle more than many managed to combine sincere interest with casual humor and offhandedness.
“You got a similar accent to Honor,” she remarked. “You two from the same place in England?”
Adam concurred, and Belle asked him and Honor question after question about Bridport. As they discussed their home town, Abigail began to rock faster and faster until she suddenly stopped. “Would thee like more cordial?” she interrupted, jumping up.
“Sure would, thankee.” Belle held out her glass, winking at Honor as Abigail filled it. “Where you from originally, Abigail?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“Well, there you go. We’re all from somewhere else. That’s how Ohio is.”
“Where was thy home?” Adam asked.
“Kentucky-can’t you tell from my accent? I came up here ’cause my husband went to Cleveland to speculate on steamboats on Lake Erie. I thought Cleveland would be more interesting than a Kentucky hollow. Well, it was, sort of.”
“Thee was married?” Honor exclaimed.
“Still am. Rascal ran off-encouraged by my brother, I’m sorry to say. Them two never saw eye to eye. No idea where he is now. Oh, he was no good, and I was a fool, but I would’ve liked to do the chasin’ off rather than leave it to Donovan. Bastard.” Belle paused. “Sorry for cursing. Anyway, just as well he left-railroads set to take over steamboats soon enough. In Cleveland I learned how to make hats-it’s one of the only businesses a woman can run on her own. Then I came out to Wellington to set up shop. Thought about Oberlin, but they don’t like feathers, or color, and I do. Now, Honor,” she continued, draining her glass, “you gonna show me the rest of Faithwell? I’m ready to stretch my legs. And wear that gray bonnet-I want to see it in action.”
Still reeling from the thought of Belle Mills being married, Honor ran to get her bonnet. It was not what she would have worn for a walk in Faithwell, but she could not say no to its maker.
Belle pulled Honor’s arm through her own as they walked west along the rutted track, nodding at the families gathered on their own porches in neighboring houses. All stared at Belle and her hat, and Honor and her bonnet. Belle seemed not to notice. “Donovan bothered you any since you been here?” she asked.
“He has ridden by a few times, but not stopped.” Honor did not mention that his grin and wave each time brought grimaces from Abigail and Adam.
“Good. Don’t expect that to last, though. He never can resist payin’ people attention when they don’t want it.”
They passed the smithy, then the general store. Belle peered in the windows, though it was closed. “Not much to choose from, is there?” she remarked. “How many families live here?”
“Fifteen, including the outlying farms.”
“Lord, that’s the size of the speck I came from in Kentucky. I know what it’s like. How we gonna get you out of that house?”