The man nodded, turned on his heel and disappeared into the woods.
That was not so bad, Honor thought, feeling only a little awful. She waited for Judith to say something, but she simply went back to forking the garden.
The next fugitive was an older woman, surprising Honor: most slaves who ran were younger, for they were stronger and more able to cope with the hardships of the road. She discovered her when Digger began to bark and snarl behind the henhouse, sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, watching the dog work himself into a frenzy. Her face was covered with deep lines, but her eyes were still clear, and yellow-brown like a cat’s. “Quaker lady, you got somethin’ to eat?” she asked when Honor had called off Digger. “’Cause I got a hunger.”
“I am sorry but I cannot…” Honor could not complete the practical phrase she had learned.
“Jes’ a piece of bread an’ some milk from one o’ them cows you got, an’ I’ll be on my way.”
“Wait there.” Honor hurried to the kitchen, dragging Digger with her and shutting him inside. Luckily, both Judith and Dorcas were at the general store, and Jack was delivering milk. As she cut a slice of bread and a slab of cheese and poured milk into the tin mug, she tried out in her head the reasoning she would use with Judith: I am not hiding her, I am simply giving her food, as I would any passerby who asked.
She watched the woman eat, keeping an eye on the track for any returning Haymakers. The old woman chewed the bread and cheese slowly, as she had few teeth left. After draining the mug, she smacked her lips. “Good milk. You got some fine cows there.” She rose to her feet and adjusted the rags bound around them in place of shoes, then brushed crumbs from her front. “Thankee.”
“Does thee know where to go?”
“Oh yes. North.” The woman pointed and, following her finger, began to walk.
At dinner Honor waited until there was a pause, quelling her stomach with sips of water. “A fugitive came to the farm today while everyone was out,” she announced. “An old woman,” she added, hoping to soften the news by making the slave seem particularly needful. “I-I gave her some bread and cheese, and some milk. Then she left.”
There was silence. “We have discussed this,” Judith said. “Thee has promised not to help runaways.”
Honor swallowed. “I know. But it is hard to say no to someone who asks for food as she did. It is only what I would have done for any traveler. I was simply being courteous, not aiding a fugitive.” Her rehearsed argument sounded feeble.
Judith pursed her lips. “Thy slave hunter, Donovan, would question that logic. In the future if thee has trouble turning coloreds away, come and get me.”
The next time a runaway passed through, Honor could not take up Judith’s offer. She felt strangely protective, and did not want to subject any of them to her mother-in-law’s smiling mouth and flat eyes. The refusal would sound softer coming from herself. “I am sorry, but I cannot hide thee,” she said to a light-skinned man a few days later. Saying “hide” instead of “help” sounded less rigid, as if holding out the hope that she could still help in some small way. She took to carrying a piece of jerky in her apron pocket so that when she next said “I cannot hide you,” to two teenage boys, she handed them the food-more to make herself feel less guilty than to give them sustenance.
Eventually, however, her practiced words failed her. One early spring morning, as she and Dorcas were crossing the yard after milking, she heard a cry from Wieland Woods that sounded like a baby. They stopped and listened. The baby’s cries came again, though muffled, as if someone were trying to quiet it.
Honor stepped toward the trees, fuzzy with the green buds of leaves about to open. “Surely thee won’t go out there and look,” Dorcas chided, trailing behind her. “Has thee learned nothing from Mother?”
“It may not be a runaway. It may be someone who has lost her way.”
A short, tea-colored woman with round cheeks like pancakes was crouching in the brambles, hugging a child to her breast. She was hardly more than a girl. “You come to turn me in?” she said.
“No,” Honor replied.
“I ain’t got no milk left for her. That’s why she cries.”
“Dorcas, go and get some milk, and something to eat,” Honor ordered.
Dorcas gave her a look, but turned and went back to the house.
While they waited, Honor tried to smile reassuringly at the baby, though it felt forced. “How old is she?”
“Four months. Don’t know why I ran with a little baby. Ain’t fair to her. But I jes’ couldn’t take it no more.”
“Where have you two come from?”
“Kentucky. Ain’t so far as some has come. But it’s close enough my master come after me, him an’ a slave catcher from round here.”
Honor froze. “Is his name Donovan?”
The girl shrugged.
“Are they close by?”
“They was in Wellington last I knew.”
“Not far, then. We cannot hide you both here. But if you stay in these woods, away from the road, you may be as safe as anywhere else.” She explained where Mrs. Reed was, but the girl was not listening, her eyes on something behind Honor. Dorcas was returning, and she had brought her mother.
Judith Haymaker held out a mug of milk to the girl, who took it and tried to tip it into the baby’s mouth. The child could not gulp, however, and the mother resorted to dipping her finger and letting her suck it off.
“Who has told thee to come here?” Judith demanded.
“A woman in Wellington, ma’am,” the girl mumbled, her focus on her child.
“What was her name?”
The girl shook her head.
“What did she look like?”
“White woman. Kinda yaller-looking. Sickly.”
“Where did thee see her?”
“It was the back of a shop.”
“What kind of shop?” Judith persisted. Honor tried to warn the girl with her eyes.
“Dunno, ma’am.” The girl paused, then brightened with a piece of information. “She had feathers in her pockets.”
Honor groaned to herself.
“What, she kept poultry?”
“No, ma’am. They was dyed, blue and red.”
“The milliner.” Judith glanced at Honor before turning back to the girl. “Has the baby finished the milk?”
She had, and was asleep. The girl looked as if she could do with some sleep as well, her head nodding over the baby.
“Then thee must go.” Judith stood as solid as her words. The girl’s eyes snapped wide. She handed the mug to Dorcas and scrambled to her feet, clearly used to doing so without waking the baby. Laying her in a length of striped cloth, she lifted her up onto her back and tied knots at her chest so that the baby lay like a cocoon against her. “Thankee,” she said, gazing at their feet, then trudged off through the woods, disappearing among the maples and beeches.
Judith turned toward the house. “I will go to Wellington to speak to Belle Mills and put a stop to her sending coloreds this way.”
Honor and Dorcas followed. “I would prefer to speak to her myself,” Honor said.
“I do not want thee to see her. She is clearly not a good influence.”
Tears stung Honor. “Then I will write to her. Please.”
Judith grunted. “Tell her not to come visiting here either, for she is not welcome. And show me the letter when thee has written it. I am sorry to say I do not trust thee to do as I ask.”
Faithwell, Ohio
4th Month 3rd 1851
Dear Belle,
I am writing to ask thee not to send fugitives towards Faithwell. I have agreed with my husband and his family that there is too much risk to the farm. Recently a marshal in Greenwich arrested a Friend there for helping a runaway, and he is now imprisoned for six months, with a substantial fine to pay as well. The strengthened Fugitive Slave Law has made such occurrences more common.