The Last Runaway by Tracy Chevalier Read Free Book Online Page A

did not know there was a name for what he did.
    “There’s slave hunters all over Ohio, come up from Kentucky or Virginia to try and take back Negroes to their owners. See, we got lots of runaways through here on their way to Canada. In fact, a lot of traffic comes through Ohio, one way or another. Hell, you can stand at the crossroads here and watch it. East to west you got settlers moving for more land. South to north you got runaway slaves looking for freedom. Funny how nobody wants to go south or east. It’s north and west that hold out some kind of promise.”
    “Why don’t the Negroes remain in Ohio? I thought there was no slavery here.”
    “Some do stop in Ohio—you’ll see free blacks in Oberlin—but freedom’s guaranteed in Canada. Different country, different laws, so slave hunters got no power there.
    “But Donovan’s interested in you,” Belle continued. “Funny, usually he’s suspicious of Quakers. Likes to quote a politician who said Quakers won’t defend the country when there’s war, but are happy to interfere in people’s business when there’s peace. But it ain’t good to get his attention: once you do it ain’t easy to get rid of him. He’ll bother you over in Faithwell too. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch. I should know.” At Honor’s questioning look, Belle smiled. “He’s my brother.”
    She chuckled at the change in Honor’s face. “Two different fathers, so we don’t look much alike. We grew up in Kentucky. But our mother was English—Lincolnshire.”
    A piece fitted into place. “Did she make the quilt on my bed?”
    “Yep. Donovan’s always tryin’ to take it back from me. He’s a mean son of a bitch. We gone in different directions, ain’t we, even if we both come north. Now, we better get back.” Belle stopped in front of Honor. “Look, honey, I know you seen things goin’ on at my house, but it’s best if you don’t actually know anything. Then if Donovan asks, you don’t have to lie. Quakers ain’t supposed to lie, are they?”
    Honor shook her head.
    Belle took her arm and turned around to walk back toward the millinery shop. “Jesus H. Christ, I’m glad I’m not a Quaker. No whiskey, no color, no feathers, no lies. What is there left?”
    “No swearing either,” Honor added.
    Belle burst out laughing.
    Honor smiled. “We do call ourselves ‘the peculiar people,’ for we know we must seem so to others.”
    Belle was still chuckling, but stopped when they reached the hotel bar. Donovan was no longer there.
    * * *
    The next two days Honor sewed all day, first in the corner of the shop by the window during the morning, and on the back porch in the afternoon.
    Belle had Honor work on bonnets again, finishing off some that customers were due to pick up that day. She edged one with lace, another with a double row of ruffles, then sewed clusters of cloth pansies to the inside rim of a stiff green bonnet and attached wide, pale green ribbons for tying under the chin. “Can you make more of them flowers if I give you the petals?” Belle asked when Honor had finished.
    Honor nodded: though she had never made flowers, since Quakers did not wear them, she knew they could not be harder than some of the intricate patchwork she had sewn for quilts.
    Belle handed her a box full of petals and leaves. “I already cut out the petals after you went to bed last night. Just me and the whiskey and the scissors. I like it that way.” She showed Honor how to construct the pansies, then violets, roses, clover and little clusters of lace made to resemble baby’s breath. Honor wished Grace were there to see the things she was making: creations more and more colorful and elaborate.
    Belle’s customers continued to comment on Honor’s presence, even those who had been to the shop the day before and already discussed her. “Goodness, look at that Quaker girl’s lap full of flowers!” they cried. “Isn’t that the funniest thing! You’ll turn her, Belle, you