Tracy Chevalier - The Last Runaway

Thy faithful friend,

Honor Bright

HONOR WOKE EARLY ON Sunday. Adam Cox would not come to pick her up until afternoon, after Meeting for Worship in Faithwell had finished, but anxiety made her lie awake in bed, listening to the dawn chorus of unfamiliar American birds, running her fingers over the outline of the Star of Bethlehem in the centre of the quilt, and waiting for the changes to come.

Despite staying up much of the night with a bottle, Belle was also up early. As they ate breakfast – more eggs and ham, along with hominy grits, a white, thin sort of porridge Belle said she’d grown up with in Kentucky – Honor wondered if the milliner would go to church. But Belle made no move to leave; after clearing up the kitchen she sat out on the back porch reading the Cleveland Plain Dealer , which a customer had left behind the day before. Honor hesitated, then got her Bible out of her trunk and went to join her.

The moment she sat down she knew the man was gone from the lean-to. There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, and in Belle, who seemed more relaxed. She glanced over at the book in Honor’s lap. ‘I don’t go to church much myself,’ she remarked. ‘Me and the minister don’t agree on most things. But I’ll take you if you want. You got a choice of Congregationalist, Presbyterian or Methodist. I’d go for Congregationalist myself – better singers. I’ve heard ’em from outside.’

‘There is no need.’

Belle rocked in her chair while Honor opened her Bible, trying to remember what she had last read, with her sister on her deathbed, a lifetime ago. She read a passage here and there, but could not concentrate on the words.

Belle was rocking faster. ‘Somethin’ I want to know about Quakers,’ she announced, lowering the newspaper.

Honor looked up.

‘You sit in silence, don’t you? No hymns, no prayers, no preacher to make you think. Why’s that?’

‘We are listening.’

‘For what?’

‘For God.’

‘Can’t you hear God in a sermon or a hymn?’

Honor was reminded of standing outside St Mary’s Church in Bridport, just across the street from the Meeting House. The congregation had been singing, and she had been briefly envious of the sound.

‘It is less distracting in the silence,’ she said. ‘Sustained silence allows one truly to listen to what is deep inside. We call it waiting in expectation.’

‘Don’t you just think about what you’re having for dinner, or what someone said about someone else? I’d think about the next hat I’m gonna make.’

Honor smiled. ‘Sometimes I think about the quilt I am working on. It takes time to clear the mind of everyday thoughts. It helps to be with others also waiting, and to close one’s eyes.’ She tried to think of words to explain what she felt at Meeting. ‘When the mind is clear one turns inward and sinks into a deep stillness. There is peace there, and a strong sense of being held by what we call the Inner Spirit, or the Inner Light.’ She paused. ‘I have not yet felt that in America.’

‘You been to many Meetings in America?’

‘Only one. Grace and I went to a Meeting in Philadelphia. It was – not the same as England.’

‘Ain’t silence the same everywhere?’

‘There are different kinds of silence. Some are deeper and more productive than others. In Philadelphia I was distracted, and did not find the peace I was looking for that day.’

‘I thought Philadelphia Quakers are supposed to be the best there is. Top-quality Quakers.’

‘We do not think like that. But …’ Honor hesitated. She did not like to be critical of Friends in front of non-Quakers. But she had started, so she must continue. ‘Arch Street is a big Meeting, for there are many Friends in Philadelphia, and when Grace and I entered the room, there were not many benches still free. We sat on one that was, and were asked to move, for they said it was the Negro pew.’

‘What’s that?’

‘For black Members.’

Belle raised her eyebrows. ‘There’s coloured Quakers?’

‘Yes. I had not known there were. None came that day to Meeting, and the bench remained empty, even though the other benches grew crowded and uncomfortable.’

Belle said nothing, but waited.

‘I was surprised that Friends would separate black Members in that way.’

‘So that’s what kept you from God that day.’

‘Perhaps.’

Belle grunted. ‘Honor Bright, you are one delicate flower. You think just ’cause Quakers say everyone is equal in God’s eyes, that means they’ll be equal in each other’s?’

Honor bowed her head.

Belle shrugged and took up her newspaper again. ‘Anyway, I like me a good hymn. Give me that over silence any day.’ She began to hum, rocking in time to the simple, repetitive melody.

Later Belle had the neighbours’ boys bring down Honor’s trunk so that it was ready for Adam Cox’s arrival. After dinner they sat together in the shop to wait for him. Though the other shops were also closed, people strolled up and down, looking in the windows.

‘Thankee for your help,’ Belle said as they waited. ‘I’m caught up now. Won’t be so busy again till September when they bring me their winter bonnets to be retrimmed.’

‘I am very grateful to thee for having me.’

Belle waved her hand. ‘Honey, it’s nothing. Funny, normally I don’t take to company, but you’re all right. You don’t talk too much, for one thing. Are all Quakers as quiet as you?’

‘My sister was not quiet.’ Honor gripped her hands so they would not tremble.

‘Anyway,’ Belle said after a pause, ‘you can come here any time. Next visit I’ll show you how to make hats. Now, I got somethin’ for you.’ Belle went behind the counter and took down from a shelf the grey and yellow bonnet Honor had worked on the day before. ‘A new life needs a new bonnet. And this bonnet needs an adventure.’ When Honor did not take it, Belle pushed it into her hands. ‘It’s the least I can do, as pay for all that work you did. And it’ll suit you. Go on and try it.’

Honor reluctantly took off her old bonnet. Though she liked the dove grey of the body of the bonnet, she didn’t think the yellow rim would suit her. Yet when she looked in the mirror on the wall of the shop, she was startled to discover Belle was right. The yellow brim was like a soft halo that lit up her face.

‘There you go,’ Belle remarked, satisfied. ‘You’ll go to Faithwell lookin’ smart, and maybe just a little more up-to-date. And here’s a bit of the yellow left over – not enough for a lining so it’s not much use to me. I know you quilters like your scraps.’

Though she accepted that it was a silly thought, Honor wondered at first if Adam Cox was so cold with her because he didn’t like the new bonnet.

When they heard a wagon approach from the north, Honor and Belle went out to the front of the shop to meet him, Honor’s stomach twisting. Though she dreaded having to go through the details of Grace’s death with him, to witness his grief and reignite her own, she was also looking forward to seeing a familiar face. When he drew up in front of the shop, slow and careful, she stepped forward eagerly, and was stopped short by his stiff gaze, as if he were far away and not engaged in what he was looking at. He could not seem to meet her eye. Nonetheless she said, ‘Adam, I am glad to see thee.’