“Must be a runaway somewhere nearby,” Jack said. “There is no reason for him to be over this way otherwise.” He glanced at Honor as if to reassure himself.
“They were saying at the store that a Greenwich family who had been helping runaways has stopped because of the Fugitive Slave Law,” Dorcas remarked. “Now that part of the Railroad is disrupted, some of them are ending up over this way rather than going through Norwalk.”
“That Greenwich family has sense,” Judith Haymaker declared, “though doubtless another will take their place.”
“What-what is the law?” Honor asked.
“It means a man like that”-Judith jerked her head at Donovan’s back-“can demand we help him capture a runaway or be fined a thousand dollars and imprisoned. We would lose the farm.”
“Congress is on the verge of passing it,” Jack added. “Caleb Wilson led a discussion of the law at a Meeting for Business during thy illness, Honor, so thee did not hear. It was decided that each individual must follow his own conscience when it comes to helping fugitives or obeying the law.”
Honor looped the thread through itself, pulled tight, and bit off the end.
The next morning when she went to collect eggs, there were two fewer than usual, and the chickens-normally laying like clockwork-seemed upset. Honor told her mother-in-law she had stepped on the eggs and broken them, though she hated lying, and suspected Judith did not believe her anyway.
Later, though, she took some leftover corn bread, smeared it with butter, folded it in a handkerchief and hid it beneath a crate she had taken from the wagon shed where Jack kept farm tools, a rock on top to weigh it down and signal that something was concealed there. It was a risk-any of the Haymakers might find it, or Donovan if he came snooping. The next morning when Honor went to collect eggs, the corn bread was gone, the handkerchief neatly folded. She left a few pieces of bacon that evening, but in the morning they were still there, crawling with ants. Runaways must not linger, she reasoned, or people would notice.
She began to keep a closer eye out for signs of runaways: rustling in the woods; Digger’s barking in the night; the shifting of the cows in the barn. More than these clues, though, Honor began to be able to sense when a presence hovered on the outskirts of the farm. It was as if she carried an inner barometer that measured the change in the surrounding area, as one senses the air swelling before a thunderstorm. The shift was so clear that she marveled none of the others seemed to notice. To her, people’s beings gave off a kind of cold heat. Perhaps that was what Friends meant by an Inner Light.
Often she did not see the runaways, and could only be sure they were out there when the food she hid disappeared. Each time she waited for one of the Haymakers to find the crate and accuse her. But no one went behind the henhouse unless a chicken got out or Jack took the hoe to the snakes that lived in holes there and stole eggs. He normally announced he was doing this, and Honor hid the crate until he was done. To her surprise, and sometimes shame, she was growing used to stealing, and to hiding what she was doing. It was not like her, and it went against Quaker principles of honesty and openness. But since she had come to America, Honor was finding it harder and harder not to lie and conceal. At home her life had been simple and open, where even the heartbreak of losing Samuel was conducted in front of family and community. Among the Haymakers, Honor felt she was constantly working to keep from speaking out, and maintaining a blank expression so that her thoughts and behavior did not clash openly with her new family.
Yet while she said nothing and accepted that it was for her to adjust to the Haymakers, she could not agree with their stance on slavery and fugitives. And so she kept watch, and noted when she became aware of a presence, and looked for ways to help that would not bring attention to what she was doing. She must not seem to be disobeying her husband’s family. Underneath it all, though, she was.
It was not easy to hide her activities. A farm is run communally, with all taking part and working together. Honor was rarely alone. If she was working in the garden-as she often did, for it felt more familiar to her than the rest of the farm-Judith or Dorcas was at the kitchen window, or shaking rugs outside, or making butter on the back porch, or pegging out laundry in the yard. Once the cows were milked, Jack led them out to pasture for the day, and then mended fences, or chopped firewood, or delivered cheese to neighboring towns, or mucked out the pigs, or groomed the horses, or worked in the fields. He was constantly busy with different tasks, and his movements were unpredictable.
Slowly Honor found gaps where she could be alone. Though she was not keen to help with the cows, she willingly took over the chickens, for it was harder to make mistakes with them. Every morning she fed them and collected their eggs; once a week she cleaned out the henhouse. Jack and Dorcas were busy milking then, while Judith was at the stove making breakfast, and Honor was free to check the food crate. When she went to the outhouse to use it or empty chamber pots, she could fill an old mug with water and leave it under the crate or at the edge of the woods. She did these things, always expecting that eventually she would be found out, and not knowing what she would do then.
While the weather was mild, passing fugitives remained in Wieland Woods, only venturing out to look for food under the crate. Honor never saw them, or heard of them, unless they were caught by Donovan or another slave hunter. Donovan in particular liked to advertise his victories to Honor, making sure to ride by the Haymakers’ farm, even when it was out of his way. Often he had the runaway shackled and bound and forced to ride behind him, struggling not to be bounced off the horse’s back.
One evening when the Haymakers were sitting on the porch, Donovan rode up, raised his hat, then nudged the man he had caught off his horse. Honor leaped up, but Jack grabbed her and held her back. “Do not get involved, Honor. He wants thee to.”
“But a man needs help. He may be hurt.” The runaway was lying facedown in the dust, kicking his legs to try to roll onto his side.
“It is a victory to a man like Donovan if thee goes to him.”
Honor frowned.
“Do what thy husband tells thee,” Judith Haymaker said. “And do not look at me like that.”
Honor winced at her sharp tone, and looked to Jack to soften his mother’s command. He did not: he was watching Donovan, arms folded across his chest.
“Haymaker, help me out here,” Donovan called. “I got a live one tryin’ to escape.” When Jack did not immediately move, Donovan grinned. “You want me to quote the law? I’m happy to oblige you: ‘All good citizens are hereby commanded to aid and assist in the prompt and efficient execution of this law wherever their services may be required.’ See, I learned to read just to be able to quote words like that. Now, you gonna be prompt and efficient or you want me to bring you in for breakin’ the law? Or maybe you’d like a little stay in jail, away from your pretty wife.”
Jack’s jaw flexed. He is caught, Honor thought, just as I am caught. Is it worse to have no principles, or principles you cannot then uphold?
She stood on the porch and watched while her husband helped Donovan pick up the black man and heave him back into the saddle. The man’s face was bruised, his clothes torn, but as Donovan rode away the slave’s eyes met Honor’s for a moment. Donovan did not see the exchange, but Jack did. He glanced at his wife, and she dropped her gaze. Even looking was becoming dangerous.
Faithwell, Ohio
10th Month 30th 1850
Dearest Biddy,
I have been meaning to write to thee these last several weeks, but each time I pick up my pen I fall asleep over my words. We have been so busy bringing in the crops that I am too tired to do anything other than eat and wash before falling into bed. Then I am up at dawn for the milking. Yes, I now know how to milk a cow! Judith has insisted on it, and I do understand that if I am truly to be a Haymaker I must take part in the milking.