The Last Runaway Read Online Free PDF

simple white cap, with a burst of scrubby fair hair hanging on her forehead. Her tan dress hung from her shoulders and exposed a ridge of collarbone. She reminded Honor of the scarecrows hanging on wooden frames in Dorset gardens. The contrast between her angular plainness and the frilly wares she sold made Honor want to smile.
    “What you grinnin’ at, Honor Bright?”
    Honor started. Donovan had entered the shop, his heavy tread among the customers causing them to fall silent and take a collective step back.
    Honor remained still. She did not want to cause a fuss, so she simply said, “I wish thee good day, Mr. Donovan.”
    Donovan rested his eyes on her. “I was passing and saw you in here. And I thought to myself, ‘Why in hell did Old Thomas leave a Quaker girl at Belle Mills’s when she can’t wear none of the hats?’”
    “Donovan, don’t be so rude to our guest, or she’ll go right back to England and tell everyone what bad manners American men have.” Belle Mills had come out from behind the counter, and turned her attention to Honor. “You’re English, ain’t you, Miss Bright? I could tell from the stitching ’round your neckline. Looks like something only an Englishwoman would think up. I never seen such a striking detail, certainly not on a Quaker woman’s dress. Very fine, that. Simple. Effective. Did you design it or copy it from something?”
    “I made it up myself.” Honor glanced down at the white V of cloth edging the neckline of her dark green dress. It was not the crisp white it had been when she left England. But then, nothing was quite as clean in America as it had been back home.
    “Hey, you bring any English magazines with you? Ladies’ Cabinet of Fashion or Illustrated London News ?”
    Honor shook her head.
    “Shame. I like to copy hats from ’em. By the way, if you’re wonderin’ where your bonnet is, I got it here.” Belle Mills pointed to a shelf behind her. Honor’s bonnet—pale green, with the crown and brim merged into one horizontal line—had been pulled over one of the hat blocks. “It needed a little attention. I just gave it a brush and a sprinkle of starchy water. Give it an hour and it’ll get its shape back. You got it new for your trip?”
    “My mother made it.”
    Belle nodded. “Good hand. Can you sew like that?”
    Better than that, Honor thought but did not say. “She taught me.”
    “Maybe while you’re here you can help me out. Usually I’m not so busy once the Easter-bonnet rush is over, but it’s heated up all of a sudden and everybody’s decided they want a new bonnet, or new trim on their hats.”
    Honor nodded in confusion. She was not expecting to remain in Wellington, but to go immediately on to Faithwell. It was only seven miles away, and she hoped to find another farmer with a wagon to take her, or get a boy to ride there with a message for Adam Cox to come and fetch her. The thought of seeing him so soon filled her with dread, though; she did not know if he would welcome her as warmly without Grace at her side.
    Donovan interrupted her thoughts. “Jesus Christ, is this what you gals talk about all day? Dresses and bonnets?”
    The customers had been soothed enough by Belle’s chat to go back to browsing the merchandise. Hearing Donovan’s tone, however—so alien to a millinery shop—they froze once again.
    “Nobody asked you to come here and listen to us,” Belle countered. “Get out of here—you’re scaring my customers.”
    “Honor Bright, are you stayin’ here ?” Donovan demanded. “You didn’t tell me that before. Thought you said you was headed to Faithwell.”
    “You keep out of her business,” Belle said. “Old Thomas told me you was botherin’ her on the road. Poor Honor has had to meet the lowest of Ohio society before she’s even had a chance to catch her breath.”
    Donovan was ignoring Belle, his eyes still on Honor. “Well, now, guess I’ll see you round Wellington, Honor Bright.”
    “Mr.