The Last Runaway. Tracy Chevalier
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Название: The Last Runaway
Автор: Tracy Chevalier
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9780007517466
isbn:
‘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.’
Adam Cox climbed down from the wagon. Honor had always been surprised that Grace chose to marry him. A tall man with the sloped shoulders of a shopkeeper, whiskers along his jaw, sober clothes and a broad-brimmed hat, he nodded at her as he approached the porch, but did not embrace her as a family member would. He looked uncomfortable, and it was confirmed to Honor even before he’d said a word that this would be a difficult reunion. There was no tie of blood or love to bind them, only circumstances and the memory of Grace. She felt tears welling, and struggled to keep them under control.
‘I am glad to see thee too, Honor,’ Adam said. He did not sound glad.
‘I thank thee for coming for me.’ Honor’s voice emerged strangled.
Belle had been watching them, crossing her arms over her chest as she made up her mind about Adam Cox. But she was civil. ‘I’m real sorry about your intended’s death, sir,’ she said. ‘God gives us a hard life, that’s for sure. You look after Honor, now. She’s had one hell of a time.’
Adam stared at her.
‘She’s also got the finest sewing hand in town,’ Belle added. ‘I got a lot of work out of her. Well, now, Honor, I guess I won’t see much of you – Faithwell’s closer to Oberlin than to here, so you’ll be goin’ that way for your provisions. You watch out for them Oberlinites – they got opinions about everything and they’ll be glad to tell you of ’em. You ever get tired of it over that way, come back – there’s always work for you here. There, now, what’s this?’ For Honor was crying. Belle put her arms around her and gave her a hard, bony hug. For a thin woman she was very strong.
The road north from Wellington was wider and more established than the route Honor and Thomas had taken from Hudson. The trees had been cut further back so that the forest was less oppressive, and there were farms and fields of corn and oats along the way, as well as pastures where cows grazed. There was little traffic, though, it being Sunday.
Within a mile, Honor understood a little better Adam Cox’s awkwardness: in terse words he told her that his brother Matthew had died three weeks before, of the consumption that brought Adam to Ohio to help with the business.
‘I am so sorry,’ Honor said.
‘It was expected. I did not want to burden Grace with the prognosis in my letters.’
‘How fares Matthew’s widow?’
‘Abigail is resigned to God’s will. She is of strong character and will cope. But tell me of Grace.’
Honor gave a brief account of her sister’s illness and death. Then they lapsed into silence, and she could feel in its density the weight of unasked questions and unspoken comments. Chief among them, she was sure, was: ‘What is the sister to me now that the wife is gone?’ Adam Cox was of course an honest and honourable man, and would accept responsibility for his would-be sister-in-law. But it was not easy for either.
Adam glanced over at Honor. ‘Is that bonnet new?’
Startled that he would show any interest in her wardrobe, Honor stuttered, ‘It – it was a gift, from Belle.’
‘I see. Thee did not make it.’
‘Is there something wrong with it?’
‘Not – wrong. It is different from what thee normally wears – what a Friend would wear. But no, not wrong.’ It was strange to hear his Dorset accent so far from home. Adam cleared his throat. ‘Abigail – Matthew’s widow – was not expecting thee. Indeed, I was not expecting thee either. We did not know thee was coming to Ohio until the milliner wrote the other day to say thee was with her.’
‘Thee did not get Grace’s letter? She wrote the moment I decided to come. She sent it immediately – within a day.’ Honor kept adding information, as if by saying enough, the letter would appear.
‘Honor, letters do not always arrive, or they arrive late – sometimes later than the person they announce. And by the time the letter arrives, the news is months old. Thee has written to thy parents about Grace, yes?’
‘Of course.’
‘They will not know of her death for six weeks at the earliest. In the meantime thee will receive letters still asking after her. Thee must be prepared for that, upsetting as it is. The gap between letters can be disturbing. Things change before those affected are fully aware.’
Honor was only half listening, for threaded through his words was the sound she had been expecting since leaving Wellington: the uneven hoofbeats of Donovan’s horse approaching from behind.
He drew up alongside them, smelling of whisky and stale smoke. ‘Honor Bright,’ he said, ‘you didn’t think you could leave town without a goodbye, did you? That wouldn’t be СКАЧАТЬ