Free The Last Runaway by Tracy Chevalier Page B

only a very brief portrait of Faithwell. I do not yet have a place here, but with God’s help and the support of Friends, I hope to find one. Please be reassured that I am safely arrived, and am well looked after. I have a bed and enough to eat and kind people about me. God is still with me. For these things I am grateful and have no reason to complain. Yet I think of you all often. Though it is too warm to use it now, I have laid the signature quilt across the end of my bed, and at the beginning and end of the day I touch the signatures of all who are dear to me.
Your loving daughter,
Honor Bright

Appliqué
    SHE COULD NOT stay. Honor knew this within half an hour of arriving at Adam and Abigail’s in Faithwell. It was not the messy kitchen, where dishes left over from dinner were still piled in the sink, or the mud that had not been swept from the hallway, or the inedible supper, or the smokiness from a stove that did not draw well. It was not the mouse droppings she spied in the pantry, or the tatters of cobwebs fluttering in corners, or the tiny room Adam showed her that held no more than a bed, so that her trunk had to sit in the hallway. None of these things would have put her off.
    She could not stay because Abigail clearly did not want her there. A tall woman with a wide forehead and dark, staring eyes, she had broad shoulders and thick ankles and wrists. On meeting Honor she hugged her, but there was no warmth in the contact. Defensive after the unpalatable meal she served, she rattled off a list of excuses as she showed Honor around the house. “Watch thee doesn’t trip on that rug—it needs tacking down, doesn’t it, Adam?” “This lamp does not usually smoke—I was in such a fluster about thy coming so unexpectedly that I didn’t have time to trim it properly.” “I would have swept, but knew thee and thy trunk would bring in dust I would have to sweep away again.” Abigail had a way of making the faults of the household seem the result of everyone but herself. Honor began to feel guilty for being there at all.
    As a child she had been taught that everyone has a measure of the Light in them, and though the amount can vary, all must try to live up to their measure. It seemed to her now that Abigail’s measure was small, and she was not living up to it. Of course she had recently nursed and then lost a husband, and so could be forgiven for being somber. But Honor suspected her unfriendliness was part of her nature.
    Adam Cox did not try to defend Honor or make her feel welcome, but sank further into himself, sober and quiet—stunned by the double loss of his brother and his fiancée, Honor suspected. Though their courtship had been conducted almost entirely through letters, he must have looked forward to the arrival of a lively, beautiful wife. Now he was stuck with the quiet sister and a difficult sister-in-law.
    He only became animated as they were sitting on the front porch after supper and Abigail brought up Honor’s decision to come to Ohio. “Adam told me about Grace’s family,” she said, rocking vigorously in her chair, her hands idle, for it was too dark to sew. “He said thee was to be married. Why is thee here instead?”
    Adam sat up, as if he had been waiting for Abigail to bring up the difficult topic. “Yes, Honor, what happened with Samuel? I thought thee had an understanding with him.”
    Honor winced, though she knew eventually this question would have to be answered. She tried to do so in as few words as possible. “He met someone else.”
    Adam frowned. “Who?”
    “A—a woman from Exeter.”
    “But I am from there and know most of the Friends there. Who is it?”
    Honor swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “She is not a Friend.”
    “What, he married out of the faith?” Abigail practically shouted.
    “Yes.”
    “I assume Bridport Meeting disowned him?” Adam asked.
    “Yes. He has gone to live in Exeter, and joined the Church of England.” That was what