Jack stared at her in astonishment.
The man nodded. “Thankee.” Pulling his hat down over his ears and wrapping his buttonless coat around him, he ran off in the direction she had indicated.
Jack glared at Honor. “How does thee know all of that?”
Honor could not meet his eyes, and instead studied the thin, transparent liquid in the pail. It would only turn brown after hours of boiling.
“We knew thee was leaving out victuals, but didn’t know thee was talking to them and giving such detailed instructions-and talking as well to others working on the Underground Railroad, it seems.”
Honor looked up. “Thee knew I was hiding food?”
“Of course. It is difficult to hide anything from a farmer. I suppose thee hid runaways as well?”
“A few times.”
“I thought so.”
In a way it was a relief to have her activities out in the open. “Why did thee not say anything?”
“Mother wanted to, of course. She was furious that thee disobeyed us and was putting us at risk of being fined. And that thee was attracting that slave catcher.” Jack picked up the larger bucket and moved to the next tree. “But I asked her to let thee continue.”
Honor followed him. “Why?”
Jack took the smaller pail from the tap and poured the sap into the bucket. Then he gave her a sad, sober look. “I wanted to make thee happy, Honor, for I knew that thee was not. I thought if I could let thee act on thy principles, it would make thee more content to be my wife.”
Honor stared at him. She had no idea he had been trying so hard to please her. Taking a breath, she reached out a hand, but he had already turned to the next tree. She should speak, tell him what she had been meaning to say, but the words were stuck in her throat. Once the moment had passed, it was impossible to bring up the subject again, especially as Jack was careful to keep his back to her.
When they finished emptying the pails, Honor and Jack took the sap back to the farmyard. Jack had erected a temporary shack there, for boiling down sap created so much steam that it was best not to do it in the house. Judith and Dorcas had built a fire and hung a cast-iron cauldron over it. They would take turns stirring the sap all day, reducing it to a thick, dark syrup.
Honor had wondered if Jack would remain quiet, but he immediately announced that they had seen a runaway in Wieland Woods, and repeated what Honor had told the man.
Judith Haymaker glanced at her son as she took one of the buckets from him, and then at Honor. “Thee must not start that nonsense again,” she declared, pouring the sap into the cauldron. “I have deferred to Jack’s wishes on this subject long enough. I am sure he will agree with me that not only must thee not put this farm at risk-thee must also think of thy and Jack’s child. It would not be fair for him to come into the world with the farm ruined.”
Honor turned red. “What?” Jack barked.
Judith widened her half-smile, though it did little to warm her face. “Honor, surely thee did not think thee could hide such a thing from me? It is clear in thy face and in how thee walks.” She turned to Jack. “Thee is a man and would not notice such things. I thought to wait for Honor to tell thee herself. I am sorry it has come out in this way, but thee needs to know, to help thy wife understand how much is at stake if she persists in this foolishness.”
Jack turned to her. “Is this true? Thee is with child?”
Honor nodded.
Jack’s anger at her melted like snow in the sun. He put an arm around her. “I am glad.”
“Thee must promise not to get involved again in helping runaways,” Judith continued. “It is illegal, it is dangerous, and the Haymakers cannot tolerate it any longer. We have suffered enough already.”
“What-what does thee mean?”
The Haymakers exchanged glances. Judith sighed. “Back in North Carolina we lost our farm from having to pay a large fine when we hid a runaway. There have been fines to pay even before this recent Fugitive Slave Law was enacted. The new law is simply more insistent, and harsher.”
“Is that why the Haymakers moved to Ohio?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “We could not bear to live there after what happened.”
“I thought…” Honor stopped. Now was not the time to point out that he once said they had moved north because of principles, as most of the southern Quaker families who founded Faithwell had done. Perhaps principles were not as strong a motivation as the reality of losing money and land.
Dorcas was stirring the sap faster and faster, her brow furrowed. “What Mother has not said-” she began, but a shake of Judith’s head stopped her. “Am I the only one who has to stir this?” she demanded. “I suppose Honor will have to stay away from it in her condition.”
“Nonsense, she is not a fragile vase,” Judith said. “We will all take turns. So, Honor, thee must promise not to help slaves if they stop here.”
“All right,” Honor promised, her heart sinking.
“Good. Now thee can stir the sap. Dorcas, give Honor the spoon.”
Faithwell, Ohio
2nd Month 27th 1851
Dear Mother and Father,
I have news for you and the rest of the family: I am with child. I have thought so for some time now, but waited to tell you until the signs seemed certain. I am not sure when the baby will come, but think it may be in 9th or 10th Month. The Haymakers are pleased, of course, though Judith did feel she must point out that I will not be useful at harvest when I am so big or nursing.
The baby has made me a little tired, but otherwise I am well, and not afflicted with the sickness other women have suffered early in their pregnancies-and for some like Abigail, even longer. She still suffers, though the baby is due in a month. (She says two months, but we know it will arrive sooner than that.) I have seen little of her this winter, or Adam Cox-and that is a shame. I had hoped to work in his shop now and then, but the Haymakers said they want me to remain on the farm with them. Though I am glad to have someone from home so close, we are not the friends I had hoped we would be. I expect it will take some time for the awkwardness between us to fade.
I am pleased to report that there is no snow now, and it is a relief not to feel trapped inside. The days are warmer, though the nights are still very cold, and there are snowdrops and even a few early daffodils out. The willows are budding, bringing a welcome green to the grey and brown. In a few weeks we will be able to dig the garden.
It is perhaps foolish of me to hope that one day you may meet your grandchild. That is in God’s hands.
Your loving daughter,
Honor Haymaker
Milk
HONOR’S DECISION NOT to help runaways any longer did not stop them coming. As the weather improved, a steady stream passed through from the south. Nor was it easy simply to turn them away as was expected of her.
The first time it was not so hard. A man appeared from behind the outhouse when Honor was coming out. He looked at her expectantly but said nothing. She glanced over at the kitchen garden, where Judith was turning over soil in preparation for planting. Her mother-in-law had stopped and was leaning on the fork, watching them. Honor repeated the words she had been practicing in her head for this moment: “I am sorry but I cannot help thee.” Then she added in a low voice, “Go three miles north to Oberlin, to the red house on Mill Street and ask for help. God go with thee.” Surely telling him this would not be seen as helping him. Even as she said it, though, she knew that Judith would not approve.