Look for the measure of Light in her, she counseled herself, for it is there, as it is in every person. Never forget that.
Comfort was too young to make any judgment other than whether she felt secure in the arms that held her. And she did. She looked up at the black woman, who began to sing:
I’m wading deep waters
Trying to get home
Lord, I’m wading deep waters
Trying to get home
Well, I’m wading deep waters
Wading deep waters
Yes, I’m wading deep waters
Trying to get home.
“She is smiling!” Honor cried.
Virginie chuckled. “Jes’ wind. But nice to see anyway. Go on back to your mama, li’l girl, an’ give her a smile.”
Belle fed the runaways chipped beef and corn bread, spreading the latter with apple butter Honor had made the day before. One twin gobbled it down, but the other picked at the food, then laid her head on her arms. Belle studied her when she came down from the bedrooms, her arms full of quilts. “Y’all best get back there now.” She stuffed the quilts through the hole, but went outside to look around before entering the lean-to.
Honor and Virginie nodded good night and then the runaways crawled through the hole to their hiding place. After a few minutes Belle returned via the back door. “Hope that little one’s gonna be all right.” She shook her head. “It’s snug enough in there, but we don’t want her gettin’ worse. And they’re so close to Canada. Even at a little girl’s pace they can’t be more’n a week away from Lake Erie. Plus if they get to Oberlin they can hide in the black community a while till she improves.”
“Belle, is thee a-a station master?”
Belle snorted. “You know, I never use those silly phrases: station master, depot, conductor. Even Underground Railroad tries my patience. Makes it sound like children playin’ a game, when this surely ain’t no game.”
The girl’s coughing began again. Honor listened as she washed dishes. “The cold air is getting to her chest,” she remarked.
Belle sighed. “Donovan’ll hear her when he comes snoopin’ ’round in the middle of the night. She needs to sleep inside in a bed where it’s warm. That’ll quiet her-that and some paregoric. Can’t bring ’em all in, though-we couldn’t hide ’em all from Donovan.” She drew aside the cloth and whispered into the hole. A few minutes later the sick girl was passed through to Belle. She gave her a spoonful of thick brown liquid from a bottle, then said, “C’mon, honey, I’ll put you in my bed. You be real quiet now.”
Honor went to bed herself soon after, exhausted from nights of broken sleep and from the tension of the day. Leaving the door ajar so that she could hear and see a little from the light downstairs, she lay in bed, baby at her side where she could easily feed her in the night without getting up. Belle was still down in the kitchen, making flowers out of straw for her hats, waiting.
Honor was not yet asleep when she felt a tiny presence next to the bed. In the glow from downstairs she could just make out the girl’s outline. Without saying anything the girl climbed into bed, careful around the baby, and slid under the quilt to press up against Honor’s back, like a little animal looking for warmth. She coughed a bit and then fell asleep.
Honor lay very still, listening to the girl’s snuffling breath and her daughter’s almost imperceptible sigh, marveling that a black girl was snuggling up to her, as Grace had done when they were girls and it was cold. The barrier between them was dissolving in the warm bed; here there was no separate bench. Whatever the uncertainty downstairs, outside, in the world at large, in this bed with the children close by and reliant on her, Honor felt calm, and part of a family. With that clarity she too was able to sleep.
Donovan was never going to enter quietly. Honor jerked awake with the banging on the front door. Her movement, or the noise, woke the girl, who whimpered.
“Shhh,” Honor whispered. “Be as quiet as thee can, and don’t move.” Luckily she was on her side facing the doorway, and with the girl huddled against her back under the quilt, Donovan might not see her. Honor pulled the quilt over the child’s head, hiding her plaits tied with red ribbons.
She heard voices, steady, not raised, then the methodical searching of first the shop, then the kitchen. Donovan was not deliberately destructive. He did not break glass counterpanes or tear up cloth or stamp on hats. He did not throw down crockery or upend furniture. Honor even heard Belle laugh as if sharing a familial joke. Doubtless he had searched her house many times. Perhaps he was simply going through the motions. Or he suspected she was smarter than him and one day he would work out how she hid her runaways.
Then the girl coughed, juddering against her. It was not loud but it was distinct. Honor felt a spike of ice in her stomach. She heard Donovan’s voice, and Belle answering him. She thought she heard her name.
The girl coughed again, and when she stopped, Honor coughed too, trying to imitate a small girl’s breathy chest. She heard footsteps on the stairs, felt the girl’s quivering fear at her back, joined it with her own.
Then Belle’s voice came, telling her what to do. “Donovan, you gonna interrupt her feeding her baby. You really wanna do that?”
Honor reached for Comfort, shaking her gently as she gathered the warm round body to her. Unbuttoning the neck of her nightgown, she pulled out a full, swollen breast that began to leak milk even before Comfort stirred and, half-asleep, opened her mouth and latched on. Gumming the nipple, she sucked hard, so that Honor took in a deep breath of pain and release.
Donovan searched the small bedroom where Belle slept first; then the lantern light swung into the larger bedroom, arcing over her and Comfort. Honor prayed the girl would not cough or move. He stared down at her, trying not to let his eyes slip to the baby and the breast, but failing. Though he fought it, a kind of longing spread across his face. It had the effect Honor had hoped for: he did not come further into the room to ransack the piles of material Belle stored there, or look under the bed.
“Sorry,” he said. But he did not leave immediately. His eyes wandered over the quilt. “That’s Ma’s quilt,” he said. “What’d you call that design? You told me once, when we first met.”
“Star of Bethlehem.”
“That’s it.” Donovan looked at her for a moment, then nodded and backed out.
Honor and the girl remained still and silent. Only Comfort squirmed and sucked, her tiny hand grasping at Honor’s nightgown. They could hear Donovan go out of the back door. Now he would find the others or not. What would they do with this girl if Donovan took them away? Perhaps that was what she herself was thinking about, for suddenly the girl began to sob.
“Oh no, not that. Thee mustn’t. Not now.” With difficulty, Honor detached Comfort and sat up. Leaning against the headboard, she put the baby back on her breast and her free arm around the girl. “Don’t cry, now. We must pray that God will keep them safe.” She closed her eyes, and listened.
He did not find them. Half an hour later Belle came up and sat on the edge of Honor’s bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby. “He’s gone. You can go to sleep now. You too, little one,” she added for the benefit of the girl pressed against Honor.
“Belle, how will we get them safely away from the house?”
“Honey, don’t you worry ’bout that. I always got tricks up my sleeve.”