I am very grateful for thy generosity to me, in particular when I was alone and needing help. We think it best, however, if thee does not come to visit us in Faithwell. Our ways are too different from thine. However, I wish thee all happiness, and I will pray that thee will always walk in the Light.
My sincere good wishes,
Honor Haymaker
Onions
HONOR WENT WITH Jack to Oberlin to send her letter to Belle Mills. She had not been to the town in months: first because of the cold and the snow, then because when the thaw came the mud was so bad they could not use the wagon, and Jack would not let her ride a horse for fear of her falling and damaging the baby. Finally, however, the weather improved, and she accompanied him when he went to the college to deliver cheese.
Jack dropped her by Cox’s Dry Goods, but rather than go in, Honor waited until her husband had driven on, then hurried south along Main Street. There was someone else she felt she should inform of her decision.
Though she had described her destination often enough to fugitives, Honor had never been there. When she reached the turning, however, and gazed down Mill Street, over the bridge crossing Plum Creek to the little red house on the right, she lost her nerve, and decided to walk on a bit to regain her composure. It was a mild afternoon, full of the breezy sunshine she had missed all winter.
She thought she would continue south to the edge of town where the railroad was being built. Clearance of thousands of trees had begun, though it would be a year before trains would begin to run, eventually connecting Cleveland with Toledo, a hundred miles west. Honor could not imagine ever wanting to go farther west than Faithwell. She never even walked west through Wieland Woods, or west along any of Oberlin’s roads. Roads and trains running east were more tempting, though she knew that however far east she traveled, she would always run up against the barrier of the Atlantic.
The planks that made up the walkways along Main Street ran out south of Mill Street, and Honor picked her way through the heavy clay that sucked at her boots and turned the hem of her green dress gray. Toward the junction with Mechanics Street she heard shouts of raucous laughter and paused, trying to look as if she were being held up by mud. She had forgotten about Wack’s Hotel.
Oberlin’s founding principles of religious fervor, simple living and hard work made it a dry town, but Wack’s Hotel was just outside the Corporation line, where the laws did not apply. Run by Chauncey Wack, a pro-slavery Democrat, it was the only place in Oberlin where liquor and tobacco were available, and though most Oberlinites were teetotal, there was always a core of visiting drinkers to keep Wack’s in business. Several of them were lounging now on the porch facing the street, taking advantage of the fair weather. Among them was Donovan, leaning back in a chair. Honor caught her breath when she saw him. He was smiling at her, and toasted her with a whiskey bottle. She suspected he had been watching her progress all the way down Main Street.
Though she had not seen him during the winter, with the resumption of runaway traffic he had begun riding again along the track by the farm and lifting his hat at her if she was on the porch or in the yard. Each time she tried and failed to remain unaffected, her pulse beating hard in her throat. It occurred to her now that if she was not going to help runaways, they would stop coming to Faithwell and there would be no need for Donovan to make his visits. Already his reappearance had Judith muttering and Jack angry. I must do the honorable thing, she thought. For the baby; for the family.
She pulled in her stomach, though she knew that, only a few months’ pregnant, there was little yet to show. Then she began to walk toward him, clutching her shawl tight. As she approached the hotel, Donovan’s porch companions greeted her with jeers and catcalls. Honor stood still and waited for them to die down. “Donovan, I would like to speak with thee,” she said, her words renewing the shouts.
“Do you, Honor Bright. That makes a change. I thought you hated the sight of me.” Donovan let his chair drop to the ground and stood. “What do you want to talk about?”
Honor gestured toward the road. “Let us walk for a bit.”
Donovan looked a little embarrassed-whether from the attention of a woman or the feeling that for once he was not in charge of their encounter, Honor was not sure. However, he came down the steps to join her, shaking off the whistles and coarse comments about what Honor might do to him and he to her. Honor tried not to listen but walked purposefully along the road ahead of him, stopping only to let a wagon pass so that it would not splash her.
When they were far enough from the hotel that the men had lost interest, Honor slowed so that Donovan could walk at her side. By now he had recovered his composure and seemed amused. “What’s this all about?” he said. “You never wanted my company before. Haymaker startin’ to bore you? That didn’t take long. What-”
“I want to speak to thee about my involvement with runaway slaves,” Honor interrupted so that she would not have to hear his remarks descend into the crudeness he was accustomed to.
“Ha! You admit it, then. Course I was always sure you was hiding niggers, but it’s nice to hear you say it.”
“My husband’s family-my family-does not approve, and I do not want to go against their wishes. So thee does not need to come to our farm any more. There will be no one hiding there.”
Donovan raised his eyebrows. “Just like that, you’re stopping?”
“There have been no runaways over the winter, and only a few since. I will not start again.”
“What about your principles? I thought you hated slavery and wanted all niggers to be set free.”
“I do. But my family is concerned about the law, and I want to respect their wishes.”
“I’ll tell you what the Haymakers are concerned about, Honor Bright: keeping you in your place. They don’t want a woman who’s gonna think for herself.”
“That is not true,” Honor said, but didn’t defend the Haymakers further. She herself felt she was not telling the truth, though she was not exactly lying either.
They had reached the tract of land being cleared for the railroad line, where a narrow strip of trees-mostly ash and elm-had been cut down. Honor studied the stumps still waiting to be extracted, extending as far as she could see. “Why have they done that?” she asked. Around each stump a trench had been dug and filled with water.
“Water softens the wood so it’s easier to dig out,” Donovan explained. “They’ve left it like that for a time and gone to work farther along the line, toward Norwalk.” He gestured west.
They stood side by side, looking out over the highway of stumps, Honor wondering at the fact that she felt more at ease with Donovan than with the Haymakers, even though he was not a Quaker and his beliefs ran so counter to hers. He accepts me as I am, she thought. That is why.
Donovan scooped up a handful of pebbles. “Listen, Honor,” he began, throwing them one by one so that they bounced off the stumps. “You ever want to give it up and come with me, I’d stop what I was doin’. I could do somethin’ else. Work on the railroad, maybe.” His words were halting, as if he were embarrassed to say them. “We could go west. Bet I’d make you happier than Haymaker.”
What surprised her was that she could imagine it, even with a man like Donovan. There is a good man in there, she thought. “I do not doubt that thee could change,” she said aloud, “but I am carrying Jack’s child.”
Donovan grunted and spat in the street. “Was wonderin’ when Haymaker and you would get around to it.” His expression remained stiff, but it felt to Honor as if a door had been shut.