Donovan was ignoring Belle, his eyes still on Honor. “Well, now, guess I’ll see you round Wellington, Honor Bright.”
“Mr. Donovan, may I have my key back, please?”
“Only if you call me Donovan. Can’t stand Mister.”
“All right-Donovan. I would like my key back, please.”
“Sure, darlin’.” Donovan moved his hand, but then stopped. “Aw, sorry, Honor Bright, I lost it on the road.” He held her eyes so that she would know he was lying but could not accuse him. His expression was no longer guarded, but intent, and interested. Her stomach twisted with a mixture of fear and something else: excitement. It was such an unsuitable sensation that she flushed.
Donovan smiled. Then he lifted his hat to the room and turned to go. As he reached the door Honor saw around the back of his neck a thin line of dark green ribbon.
The second he was gone the women began chattering like chickens riled by the sight of a fox.
“Well, Honor Bright, looks like you’ve already made a conquest,” Belle remarked. “Not one you’d ever want to take up with, though, I can guarantee that. Now, you must be starved. You didn’t eat nothin’ last night, and little on the road, I bet. Ladies”-she raised her voice-“you all go on home and get dinner on the table. I got to feed this weary traveler. You want to buy something, come back in an hour or two. Mrs. Bradley, I’ll have your bonnet ready tomorrow. Yours too, Miss Adams. Now I got a good sewer with me I can catch up.”
Honor watched the women obediently filing out, and confusion threatened to overwhelm her. Her life seemed to be in the hands of strangers-where she was going and where she stayed and for how long, what she ate and even what she sewed. It seemed now she was to make bonnets for a woman she had just met. Her eyes pricked with tears.
Belle Mills must have seen them, but said nothing, simply hung a CLOSED sign on the door and went back to the kitchen, where she heaped a ham steak and several eggs into a skillet. “Come and eat,” she commanded a few minutes later, setting two plates on the table. Clearly cooking was not something she spent much time on. “Look, there’s corn bread there, and butter. Help yourself.”
Honor gazed at the greasy ham, the eggs flecked with fat, the stodgy corn bread she’d had at every meal in America. She did not think she could face eating any of it, but since Belle was watching her, she cut a tiny triangle of ham and popped it in her mouth. The sweet and salt together surprised her, and opened a door in her belly. She began to eat steadily, even the corn bread she was so tired of.
Belle nodded. “Thought so. You were looking mighty pale. When did you leave England?”
“Eight weeks ago.”
“When did your sister die?”
Honor had to think. “Four days ago.” Already it felt like months and miles away. Those forty miles between Hudson and Wellington had taken her deeper into a different world than any of the rest of the journey.
“Honey, no wonder you’re peaky. Thomas told me you’re going on to Faithwell, to your sister’s fiancé.”
Honor nodded.
“Well, I sent him word you’re here. Told him to come Sunday afternoon to pick you up. I figured you need a few days to recover. You can help me with some sewing if you want. Earn your keep.”
Honor could not remember what day it was. “All right,” she agreed blindly, relieved to let Belle take charge.
“Now, let’s see what you can do with a needle. You got your own sewing things or you want to use some of mine?”
“I have a sewing box. But it is locked in the trunk.”
“Damn that Donovan. Well, I can probably get it open with a hammer and chisel as long as you don’t mind me breakin’ the lock. All right? We don’t have much choice.”
Honor nodded.
“You do the dishes and I’ll work on the trunk.” Belle surveyed the table, Honor’s clean plate and her own, almost untouched. Picking up the latter, she set it on the sideboard with a napkin over it. Then she disappeared upstairs. A few minutes later, as Honor was scrubbing the pan, she heard banging and then a triumphant shout.
“English locks ain’t any better’n American,” Belle announced as she came downstairs. “It’s broken now. Go and get your sewing things. I’ll finish up here.”
When Honor brought her box down, Belle was dragging a rocking chair through the back door. “Let’s set on the back porch, catch the breeze. You want this rocker, or a straight chair?”
“I will bring out a straight chair.” Honor had seen rocking chairs everywhere she went in America; they were much more common than in England. The sensation reminded her too much of the ship. Besides, she needed solid stillness for sewing.
As she picked up a chair in the kitchen, she noticed Belle’s plate of food on the sideboard was gone.
The milliner’s was on the end of a row of buildings that included a grocery, a harness shop, a confectionary and a drugstore. The backyards of these establishments were underused, though one had a vegetable garden, and in another there was laundry hanging out. Belle’s yard had nothing in it but a pile of planed wood and a goat tethered in the weeds. “Don’t go near the wood,” Belle warned. “Snakes there. And leave that goat be. It belongs to the neighbors, and it’s evil.” There was also an outhouse, and a lean-to along the side of the house for storing wood, but clearly Belle’s energy went into her shop.
Honor sat and opened her sewing box to lay out her things. This ritual, at least, was familiar. The sewing box had belonged to her grandmother, who, when her sight began to fail, handed it on to the best stitcher among her granddaughters. Made of walnut wood, it had a padded needlepoint cover of lilies of the valley in green and yellow and white. This was an image Honor had known from an early age; eyes shut, she could perfectly re-create it in her mind, as she had often done to distract herself during her seasickness. The upper tray contained a needlecase Grace had made, embroidered with lilies of the valley similar to the box lid; a wire needle threader; a porcelain thimble her mother had given her, decorated with yellow roses; a beaded pin cushion her friend Biddy had made for her; packets of pins wrapped in green paper; a small tin holding a lump of beeswax she used on her quilting thread; and her grandmother’s pair of small sewing scissors with green and yellow enameled handles, sheathed in a soft leather case.
Belle Mills leaned forward to inspect. “Nice. What are these?” She picked up pieces of metal cut into different shapes: hexagons, diamonds, squares, triangles.
“Templates for cutting patchwork. My father had them made for me.”
“Quilter, eh?”
Honor nodded.
“What’s underneath?”
Honor lifted the tray to reveal spools of different colored thread, each slotted into its place.
Belle nodded her approval, then reached between the spools to pick out a small silver thimble. “Don’t you want this in the top section with the other things?”
“No.” Samuel had given her the thimble when their feelings for each other were ripe. She would not use it now, but could not quite give it up.
Belle raised her eyebrows. When Honor did not elaborate, she dropped the thimble back into the spools to ruin their perfect order. “All right, Honor Bright,” she chuckled, “everybody’s entitled to their secrets. Now, let’s get you started. You sewed much on straw before?”
Honor shook her head. “I have not made hats, only bonnets.”
“Bet you only got two bonnets-winter and summer. You Quakers don’t go in for fancy clothes, do you? Well, then, let’s start you on cloth. I got a sun bonnet for Mrs. Bradley needs finishing. That’s easy-no straw structure, just corded. Most women make their own, but Mrs. Bradley’s got a fancy notion she don’t ever need to pick up a needle. Think you can manage this? Here’s the thread. I been using a size six needle.” She handed Honor a soft bonnet that had been cut and tacked together with loose stitches, and only needed sewing; it was a simple enough design, with a long, wide bavolet of cloth to cover the neck from the sun. The fabric was a light blue plaid crisscrossed with thin yellow and white stripes. It was not a style Honor was familiar with-no English woman would be willing to let so much fabric flap around her neck-but the sun was stronger here, so perhaps such covering was needed. At any rate, it would be easy to sew.