Honoria's Dress
At the turn of the nineteenth century, Berks County, Pennsylvania, bordered on America's western frontier. Life in that untamed land was hard, and the inhabitants had to worry constantly about contagious disease, crop failure and extremes in weather. There was also the ever-present threat, real or imagined, of Indian raids.
The Sebring family, one of many that eked out a living from the land, was impoverished, with too many mouths to feed and not nearly enough money to feed them all. Twelve-year-old Honoria, like her older siblings, went to work at an early age, finding employment with the well-to-do Taber family. Honoria was welcomed into their household where, her youth and lack of education notwithstanding, she proved to be an excellent worker. A comely and amiable girl, she was thought of more as a needy relation than as a servant by the Tabers.
For eleven years, Honoria worked in the large stone house in Exeter. During that time, Mrs. Taber gave birth to seven children, four of whom survived their infancy and were placed under Honoria's loving care. The fact that the Taber offspring received all the advantages the Sebring children had lacked did not breed jealousy or resentment in their servant's heart. Honoria had no desire to learn to read and write. What good would book learning be to her? She held no false hope of ever marrying, for unlike the Taber women, she brought no money or land to a prospective husband. Thus, like most of the poor, hard-working people of Berks County, she was content to simply sleep in a warm, comfortable bed at night and eat three meals a day.
When Honoria entered her twenty-third year, however, Mrs. Taber's sister and her family came to live at the large stone dwelling in Exeter. Their own home had been struck by lightning and burned to the ground, so husband, wife and young son were invited to live with the Taber family until a new house could be built.
On the day the Beckers arrived, Honoria helped Mrs. Becker unpack their clothes and personal belongings. In one of the trunks, she found a beautiful dress made of pale blue velvet and decorated with delicate ivory lace, exquisite gold embroidery and tiny seed pearls. As Honoria examined the tiny, intricate stitches that adorned the bodice, Mrs. Becker entered the room.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "Is there a tear or a stain on my dress?"
"No, ma'am," Honoria replied respectfully. "I was just looking at the embroidery and thinking how beautiful it is."
"Humph," Mrs. Becker snorted. "It's just a dress, not even a very good one at that. I had much finer ones that I bought in Philadelphia, but they were burned in the fire."
Honoria, however, who had lived her life in oversized cast-off garments that hung unflatteringly on her petite, slender frame, thought the dress the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
* * *
In her short lifetime, Honoria Sebring had known few men: her father, her three brothers and Mr. Taber, who was like a second father to her. There were also some fieldhands who worked on the farm and shopkeepers in the village, but she rarely came into close contact with them. Mr. Becker, then, was the first man outside of her family that Honoria had ever gotten to know well.
Neither he nor Honoria had ever intended their relationship to be other than a houseguest-family servant one. Fate, though, often seems to have a mind of its own. Innocent as their friendship began, it quickly blossomed into love. Seven months after the Beckers moved into the Tabers' large stone house, Honoria discovered to her horror that she was with child.
The frightened young woman told no one of her dilemma. In 1804 unwed mothers were a disgrace to their families, an embarrassment to their communities and usually an unwanted burden to the men who had gotten them pregnant. In those cases where the man in question was already married to another woman, the result was disastrous, and the poor mother-to-be was looked on as a pariah, the epitome of a vile sinner. Thus, Honoria was convinced that should the Tabers learn her secret, they would put her out of their house, and her parents, shamed by her sinful deed, would not take her back even if they could afford to feed her and the baby, which they couldn't.
Honoria was able to conceal her condition by wearing her baggiest second-hand clothes and loose-fitting aprons, but as the time of her delivery neared, there was nothing she could do to delay the inevitable. On a blustery cold evening in February, she retired early to her attic bedroom, where in the early hours of the night she gave birth to a son. She kept so quiet during the labor and delivery that no one in the house ever suspected that a child had been born under their roof.
Honoria, although exceptionally pale and tired, was up early the following morning, doing her chores as usual.
"Are you feeling all right, my dear?" Mrs. Taber asked with genuine concern when she observed the girl's pallor.
"I think the lamb stew I ate for supper last night didn't quite agree with me, but I'll be fine soon enough, ma'am."
"Well, should you feel the need to lie down and rest, you do so. You don't have to do everything around here yourself, you know."
Three days later Mr. Taber went down into the cellar to toss some garbage into the pit that had been dug into the cellar's dirt floor for that purpose. As he leaned forward, he spied a piece of blood-stained fabric.
"What's this?" he asked himself.
Mr. Taber gingerly picked it up and saw that it was an old blanket. Its weight was unusually heavy, and he assumed something was wrapped inside it. When he held two corners of the wool blanket high in the air, he was horrified to see a frozen, lifeless infant roll onto the cellar floor. The startled man let out an involuntary scream and soon heard his wife's footsteps on the cellar stairs.
"Charles, what's wrong?" she asked in a voice quivering with fear.
Her husband hurried to her, took her by the elbow and led her back upstairs and into the study.
"We have to call the justice of the peace," he explained. "There's a dead body in the cellar."
"Oh, no!" Mrs. Taber cried. "Who is it?"
"No one you know," he said, hoping to spare her further horror by not mentioning the fact that it was an infant's body he found.
* * *
The justice of the peace, after seeing the tiny corpse, immediately sent for the doctor. Then he insisted on speaking to all members of the household. When put to the question, Honoria tearfully confessed that the child was hers.
"I had the baby three nights ago," she admitted.
"Your employers knew nothing of your condition these past months?" the justice asked with disbelief.
"I kept it hidden. I was afraid the Tabers would put me out of the house, sir. It's the middle of winter, and I would have nowhere to go if they did."
"And what did you plan to do afterward? You could not possibly have hidden a child in the attic forever."
"I hadn't thought that far ahead, sir. I mean, childbirth is such an uncertain thing. Both the women and their babies face such grave danger."
"So, your child died at birth, is that what you're claiming?"
"Yes, sir. I held him in my arms, but he never cried. He was born dead."
"You realize, don't you, that it is a capital offense to conceal the death of a child, even that of a stillborn infant?"
Honoria trembled with fear. She had not known her actions would be punishable by death should the courts find her guilty. But perhaps they would take pity on her, for despite their crimes, few women had ever swung from the end of a rope in Pennsylvania.
When the doctor arrived and examined the child's body, however, Honoria lost all hope of receiving mercy.
"It is my professional opinion," the physician pompously declared as though he were rehearsing for his court appearance, "that the male infant in question was strangled to death as he fought to take his first breath of life."
Mrs. Taber was aghast.
"How could our sweet Honoria ever have done such a thing?"
"Infanticide is a frequent problem here in the commonwealth," the justice of the peace explained. "Desperate young women often hope to get out of their predicament by ridding themselves of their newborn children."
The Tabers, although deeply shocked by their servant's actions, could not bring themselves to condemn the girl who had lived with them for the past eleven years. They were heartbroken when Honoria was arrested and taken to Reading to stand trial. Charles Taber hired a lawyer to defend the girl, but the evidence against her was overwhelming. After a speedy trial, she was convicted and subsequently received the maximum punishment of death.
After her sentence was passed, Honoria tearfully admitted the truth to the family she loved so dearly.
"I had no choice but to strangle it," she sobbed. "What else could I do? Where would I go? I had no money, no husband, no home of my own."
Yet despite her sincere desire for absolution, the condemned prisoner would not tell anyone the identity of her child's father.
* * *
Honoria sat in her cell, patiently awaiting the hour of her execution. Throughout the day she could hear passersby cry out to her jailors on her behalf. She was, despite her heinous crime, well-liked in the Berks County community, and its citizens took pity on her and did not want to see her receive such harsh punishment.
Good Christians all, she thought sadly. They have forgiven my crime of murder. I wonder; had I not acted so rashly, whether they would have forgiven my sin of fornication as well?
"What does it matter now?" Honoria asked herself with a sigh. "Before the sun sets this day, I'll be as dead as my child."
Her last meal was brought in, but the condemned woman had no appetite. She spent her remaining hours praying for God's forgiveness and hoping her death would be relatively quick and painless. She didn't want to dangle at the end of the rope, her body twitching while the noose slowly tightened and cut off her air. She would much rather her neck snap from the drop through the trapdoor and her death be instantaneous.
While Honoria was thus begging God for mercy, the jailer called to her, "You've got visitors."
When she saw Peter Becker enter the cell, her heart leaped with joy, but it returned to its melancholy state when Mrs. Becker walked in behind her husband. Honoria could tell from the tortured look in Peter's eyes that he had not confessed to anyone his own guilt in the tragedy.
"My sister and brother-in-law wanted to come and see you," Mrs. Becker began, "but you know how emotional my sister gets."
"It's not necessary," Honoria said. "They have shown me love and kindness for the past eleven years. What more could I ask of them?"
Mrs. Becker looked uneasy.
"I have s-something f-for you," she stammered.
Honoria smiled sweetly.
"I can't remember the last time I received a gift from someone."
The jailer, who had been listening at the door, handed a package to Mrs. Becker, and she in turn gave it to the prisoner. Honoria removed the gift from the somber-colored wrapping. When she saw the dress, tears came to her eyes.
"I made it over myself," Mrs. Becker admitted. "I hope it fits you."
"Oh! It is beautiful. How can I ever thank you?" Honoria asked as she embraced the other woman.
The jailer tactfully reminded them that their time was up, and the Beckers rose to leave.
"God bless you," was all that Peter Becker had to say for himself.
After her visitors left, Honoria put on the dress. She had no mirror, but she knew it fit her perfectly and that the pale blue color would enhance her blond hair and fair complexion.
A few minutes later, the jailer showed a minister into her cell. The reverend prayed with the young woman, and then he and the jailer led her outside where she was taken to the gallows erected at the foot of Mt. Penn. A group of people from Exeter, Reading and the surrounding towns had already gathered there to witness the execution.
Shouts rang out as the condemned prisoner was led through the crowd: "For God's sake, let her go." "She's just a poor young girl." "Have mercy on her."
Honoria herself remained silent throughout the ordeal. She met her fate with dignity and grace and behaved every bit as nobly as the beheaded queens of Britain and France.
After the body was cut down and taken away for burial, the spectators took their anger out on the gallows and the executioner. The poor man was run out of town, fearful for his own life, and the wooden gallows were torn apart by the mob.
The Beckers did not join in with the rioting crowd; they wanted only to return to Exeter to share their grief with the Tabers.
* * *
Honoria Sebring had been born in obscurity and poverty in a time when women of all walks of life were expected to be pillars of virtue, and if perchance they fell from those high pedestals and found themselves in unfortunate situations, they were more often than not rejected by society. Thus, these poor women were often left with no alternative but to commit the unthinkable: the murder of their own children.
Ironically, had she not been driven to commit such a murder, Honoria's name would have died with her. Instead, given the seriousness of her crime and the unpopularity of her harsh sentence, her execution is a memory the people of Pennsylvania will not put to rest. Each year at the Kutztown Pennsylvania German Festival, the tragic young woman's execution is reenacted several times a day in the hopes that hanging the poor girl in effigy will serve as a continual reminder of the sins of not one person but of an entire society.
Each year after the reenactment is over, the crowds disperse and the spectators head toward the food stands, the craft tables or the livestock pavilion. Occasionally, a young blond woman in an old-fashioned blue dress can be seen standing amidst the families on the fairgrounds, smiling longingly at the young children who scamper past her.
This story was inspired by the true case of Susanna Cox of Berks County, PA. Every year her hanging is reenacted at the Kutztown Pennsylvania German Festival.
No, Salem, I don't think anyone at the folklore festival will want to buy your T-shirt.
