The Devil Behind Us

by S. C. Wilson

  “I’ve sung in saloons for years. I’ve heard many things that were unsettling. No need to sugarcoat things on my account. What is that place?”

  Quiet filled the carriage as he searched for a way to describe it without being too offensive. A pained look flitted across his face even before the words were fully out. “You can buy girls there.”

  Abby, familiar with the ways of the world said, “Oh, I know all about men buying women for pleasure. It happens a lot, especially in the places where I’ve worked.”

  Andrew shook his head and looked down at the tips of his polished, black shoes. “I’m not referring to prostitution. I’m saying men can buy children. Own them. Any age is available, for the right price that is. I’ve even heard some purchase infant children to feed their perversions. Male and female.”

  Abby and Jesse both were overcome with a sudden and sickening feeling. They swallowed against the hot bile rising in their throats.

  Andrew looked at them with a heavy sadness. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have told you,” he said, focusing his attention out the window, regretting he had even mentioned the place.

  Abby used her hand to fan her face, suddenly in need of air as she tried to cope with a burst of anxiety that caused a breathlessness she had never experienced before. The thought of some vile man touching Gwen or Jim wracked her with fear and revulsion. Instinctively, she placed her hand on her belly, stomach roiling. She reached for Jesse’s leg with the other and sidled closer, hoping the simple touch that had always made her feel safe would somehow calm her racing heart.

  Jesse knew exactly how Abby was feeling. She too was desperate to go back and hold onto her children, but she also knew they were safe. She leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry. They’re all right. They’re with Aponi.”

  Then, without any warning, Abby felt a wet sensation. She peeked under her shawl and noticed her breast milk had soaked through her dress. Thinking about her babies somehow triggered her production.

  Jesse caught a glimpse before Abby covered the evidence with her shawl. She slid an understanding hand over Abby’s and asked Andrew, “Can we head back now?”

  The words pulled Andrew’s gaze from the window. “Sure thing, Mr. McGinnis. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil the day.”

  “No need to apologize,” she said. “It’s been interesting. I’ve seen things I’ve never seen before. Things I never thought I’d see. But I think we’ve both had enough for one day.”

  Jesse kept a firm grip on Abby’s hand as the carriage headed for the Bowman Estate. They both felt a sense of helplessness being so far away from the twins and an urgency to get back to them.

  Abby stared out the window in silence, buildings passing by unseen. Her eyes, still the stunning blue Jesse had fallen for, held a distant look. Only hours ago, she’d complained about the pain of breastfeeding. Even the idea of having to do it had made her cringe. Now, she felt totally different. The only thing she desperately wanted, the only thing that mattered, was to get back and hold tight to her babies. She couldn’t wait to feel them suckle again, regardless of the pain, knowing they were safe in her arms. She’d endure any pain—anything for her children.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jesse slid from beneath Abby’s arm, unwound herself from the tangle of bed sheets, and tiptoed across the floor to peek into each crib. Both babies lay sound asleep, lost in dream. After grabbing her clothes, she slipped quietly from the bedroom and padded down the dark hall in the predawn hush still settled throughout the house.

  She turned the knob on the gas-wall sconce in the water closet, enveloping the room in a warm glow. Having seen many modern amenities during her short time in the city, she thought the gas lighting was among the more ingenious. At the sink, she opened the faucet handle and cupped her hands underneath the running water. The splash to her face chased away whatever sleepiness still clouded her head.

  As she patted her face dry with the hand towel, she studied her reflection in the gilded mirror. It struck her that she finally felt comfortable with the person staring back. She didn’t feel like a man or a woman, she just felt like Jesse. When it had happened she wasn’t sure. This was who she’d become—who she truly was. She smiled and hung the towel on the hook next to the sink. When she slipped into her trousers, she chuckled at the thought of having to put on a dress and high-heeled shoes like most women wore. She couldn’t even imagine.

  Dressed and ready, she headed straight for the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee. She could smell the rich, nutty aroma before she pushed open the door. She startled Ulayla, who was seated at the table, steaming mug in her hands.

  “Good morning. You’re up early,” Jesse said, taking a seat across from her. “That coffee sure smells good.”

  Ulayla stood, her half-filled mug clutched in her hand as she walked toward the counter.

  “Please, don’t be like that,” Jesse said. “I don’t bite.”

  Ulayla turned to face her. “We don’t share tables wid the bosses.” A plump hand settled on her hip. “Or anythin’ else for that matter. That’s jus’ the way it is.”

  “Ulayla, I told you, you don’t work for me. I’m not your boss.”

  “Well, you sorta is.” She turned her back and set her cup down, breathing out a sigh.

  “That’s nonsense. I’m no different than you. So what’s the harm if both of us sit here at this table,” Jesse asked, tapping her finger on the wood, “and have a cup of coffee together?”

  Ulayla turned, hand on her hip again. “How’s you like it? Black? Or cream and suga?”

  Jesse shrugged her shoulders. “Never had it with cream and sugar.”

  Ulayla gave her a quick, sidelong glance. “Where’s you from?” she asked, eyebrow arched quizzically.

  “Up north. Hard to find cream and sugar where I’m from, that’s all.”

  Ulayla said nothing as she reached into a cupboard for a clean mug. She poured the coffee and added two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a generous splash of cream. Cup in hand, she said, “Follow me,” and pushed through the door to the dining room. She placed the cup on the table next to the day’s newspaper and returned to the kitchen.

  Jesse picked up the cup and paper and retraced her steps to the kitchen. “Did you read the paper already?” Jesse asked as she took a seat at the table again.

  Jesse’s tenacity confused Ulayla. Why would a man, a white man no less, want to be in the kitchen with her? It made no sense. “No suh, can’t read. Now, I gots to start cookin’ fo’ they’s all up.” She took the heavy cast iron skillet down from its hook on the wall.

  “How about this,” Jesse said, holding up the newspaper. The pages crackled in her hand as she waved it. “You let me sit in here and I’ll read it to you. Would that be all right?”

  The older woman didn’t know what to say. No one had ever offered to do something like that before.

  Taking her silence as a yes, Jesse opened the newspaper and read. She took her time. She didn’t want this to seem like an obligation she wanted to get out of the way. Besides, the longer she lingered, the less likely Ulayla would be to ask her to leave. She hoped.

  After finishing the first article, a story about the seizure of a rum ship, she reached for the handle of her cup. She blew on the coffee and took a sip. Her eyes opened wide as the rich brew lit up her taste buds. The cream tempered the bitterness of the beans and added its own milky notes and silky texture, while the sugar elevated the drink to a luxurious dessert. She couldn’t help smiling. It seemed almost wrong to have this before breakfast. “This is wonderful. I like it with cream and sugar. Thank you.”

  Ulayla, kneading the biscuit dough, glanced over her shoulder. “You’s welcome.”

  Jesse could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile before she turned away again and went about preparing the morning meal. She had read several articles and was starting the fifth one when Ulayla unexpectedly took a seat directly across from her. Jesse glanced up momentarily but didn’t pa
use. The pair sat together, sipping coffee, until she finished reading the last article.

  “The rest is just advertisements,” Jesse said.

  Ulayla stood hastily. “I needs to set the table.” She left her empty mug and went into the dining room.

  Jesse had the notion to follow her and offer a hand. Not wanting to push her luck, she stayed seated, browsing the ads in search of property available for sale or let.

  The very first one she came across had promise.

  Cozy New Cottage, six rooms including bath, sunny side of Madison St. $30, water extra.

  Jesse could picture her family in something like that. Six rooms sounded like plenty; the most difficult thing was imagining life without their own space outdoors. Skimming further, she found another one she thought she might want to check out.

  New House, 902 Hickory Ave. Nine rooms, bath, basement, and yard. $50. Water included.

  The price was higher, but it had more rooms and more importantly, a yard. She read on. The next one she came across sounded still more appealing.

  For Sale or Let. Seven rooms. 317 Taylor St. Comes with barn. For sale on long term, payable monthly or annually, or to let $25 monthly, water included. Large lot: use of cow and chickens, if desired.

  Jesse nodded as she read the listing over a few more times. She went to take another sip of her coffee only to find the bottom of a dry mug. She folded the paper, laid it on the table, and picked up the two empty cups. She washed them and placed them on the rack to dry.

  Outside the window, the pale light of sunrise painted the skyline. Jesse decided to go to the carriage house and check in on the horses. She followed a gravel path between the two houses to the rear of the property. She slid open the door of the carriage house, letting in the scant daylight and releasing the animal smell of the barn. The earthy bouquet wasn’t nearly as offensive as she’d once thought. If anything, it was a comforting reminder of her past, something familiar in a strange city. She made her way down the aisle, looking into each stall until she came upon Buck.

  “Hey, boy,” she said, lightly rubbing her knuckles between his eyes. “What do you think? It’s a lot different than the old place, isn’t it?” She grabbed a currycomb from a nearby hook and brushed him down. When she finished with him, she moved on to Titan’s stall and did the same, relishing her time with her old friends.

  Loud banging from the renovation drowned out the crunch of gravel under her feet as she walked back between the houses. She paused to listen for a moment before curiosity got the better of her. The door of the larger home was already slightly ajar. She pushed it open and called out. “Hello?”

  Getting no response from the cavernous manse besides her own echo, she went inside. The walls were nothing but lath and patches of plaster here and there. To her right rose a tall, unfinished staircase with no railing, only treads and risers. The pounding of a hammer reverberated from somewhere above.

  Her footsteps on the stairs seemed amplified in the open space. She paused on the landing to look down at the vast area below. She was sure the entirety of the old cabin would fit neatly into the spacious foyer.

  “Dammit! That’s it!”

  The shouted words echoed off the unfinished walls, coming from multiple sides and making her jump. She put a hand against the wall to steady herself, now acutely aware of the height and lack of railing. Her stomach did a quick somersault.

  “You’re fired!” a man yelled. “Get the hell out of my sight!”

  A moment later, a young man carrying a toolbox brushed passed her, almost knocking her off the stairway in his haste. She turned and watched him run out the open front door.

  “Well, today is your lucky day.” It was the yelling man again, but his tone had shifted.

  She turned toward the voice. Standing at the top of the stairs was a man, hammer gripped firmly in his oversized hand. The lines of his mouth were etched in a permanent scowl.

  Jesse hesitated before responding. “…Are…are you talking to me?”

  “You see anybody else?” His thick brow furrowed. “I usually don’t hire people on the spot, so today is your lucky day.”

  She pointed at her own chest. “Hire me?”

  “That’s what I said. You aren’t slow, are ya?”

  She wagged her head side to side.

  “That idjit has miscut more wood than you can imagine. I mean if I need a piece of wood 58 ¼, I can’t use one at 58 ¾ or 58 ½. Am I right?”

  Jesse nodded.

  “You can cut wood. Can’t you?”

  “Uh-huh. I can.”

  “Good. I’ll hire you for the day. If you don’t screw up, you can have the job. Pay’s twenty cents an hour. And so you know, right now we are putting in a minimum of sixty hours a week. You good with that?” He pointed his hammer. “If not, there’s the damn door.”

  Jesse did a quick calculation in her head. At twelve dollars a week, she would bring home a monthly income of forty-eight dollars. That would be enough to let the house she read about in the paper.

  “Yes, sir. I’m good with that.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the excitement creeping into her voice.

  “Fine. Now, go cut me four boards at 58 ¼ and bring them up to me,” he said. “The boards are in the room off the foyer.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Well, what the hell are you waiting on?”

  She could see his nostrils flaring and the vein in his neck twitch. “Um…I don’t have any tools.”

  “No tools?” The man’s forehead wrinkled. “Who the hell shows up for a job and don’t bring their tools?”

  “Uh…I didn’t know I’d get hired,” she said, stammering. “So I didn’t bring any.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You do have tools, don’t you?”

  Her mind raced. Any that she once had were left behind in the cabin on top of Mount Perish. She wanted this job desperately. Needed it.

  Knowing she could purchase some later in the day, hopefully, she did the only thing she could think to do. She fibbed. “Uh…yeah. Just didn’t bring them with me this morning. That’s all.”

  The man raked a hand through his thick beard. He was pressed for time. “Tell you what,” he said. “You can use mine today. Come here.”

  Jesse followed him to one of the rooms upstairs where he pointed to a wooden toolbox. “Use what you need. Just make sure I get ‘em back by day’s end.”

  Jesse sorted through them quickly, putting aside the ones she needed. Downstairs, she found several stacks of boards. She pulled one from the stack and set the corner of the board on the floor. She looked down the length of it, checking to make sure it wasn’t warped.

  After methodically picking out three more, she placed them all on sawhorses. She made sure all four boards were flush on the end and bound them with a clamp. With a pencil and square, she measured, scribed, and cut all four pieces at once.

  With planks in hand, she ran them up the stairs. “Here you go.”

  The man cocked his head. He took the nails from between his lips. “You cut four of ‘em already?”

  “Yes, sir. Faster to cut all four at once instead of cutting one at a time.”

  “Yeah, but are they the correct length?” he asked, one thick brow rising in question. He took one of the boards from her and nailed it in place. He repeated the process three more times until all four boards were hanging. They were all exact.

  “Name is Harry Tidwell. What’s yours?”

  “Jesse McGinnis.”

  “Get me six more. 72 ¾.”

  Jesse continued to run boards back and forth over the next hour, working alongside nine other men who had shown up to work on other areas of the house. She had just finished cutting a batch of boards when she heard someone yell, “Son of a bitch!” She looked across the room to see one of the workmen sucking on his thumb. Having done the same thing many times over the years, she knew what he was feeling. The banging sounds of men working with lumber quieted. Their apparent overwhelm
ing concern for their colleague’s mashed finger surprised her. She didn’t see what the big deal was, but then she noticed the men’s gazes weren’t on the injured man. They were staring instead at Abby, who stood in the foyer.

  “There you are,” Abby said to Jesse. “What are you doing?”

  “Working,” she said quietly. “I got hired this morning. I can’t talk now.” She could sense the men’s ogling gazes on Abby. “You should go.”

  “All right,” she said. “I was just worried about you.”

  Jesse waved her off. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Only when Abby was out the door did any work resume.

  Jesse spent the entire day cutting and running boards back and forth. At quitting time, she held back from leaving with the rest of the crew. She didn’t want anyone to see her going to the house next door. If the people she worked with found out she knew the head boss, they might treat her differently. She didn’t want that.

  Finally, it was only Mr. Tidwell who remained. He stood at the front door, ready to walk out, when he noticed her. She could have sworn new lines of annoyance wrinkled around his mouth as they made eye contact.

  “C’mon. I need to lock up,” he said with a grumble.

  Jesse handed him the tools she’d borrowed. He put them in his toolbox and stepped outside to lock the door. “You did good today. I expect you to be here at six o’clock tomorrow morning with tools.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jesse lagged behind him as they walked toward the street. She wanted to see which direction he was going. He turned to walk past the house she was staying in, so she headed in the opposite direction. Walking slowly, she kept glancing over her shoulder until he was out of her sight. Then, she doubled back. She hurried to the carriage house and found Cuffy polishing tack.

  “Do you know the city very well?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yes suh.”

  Her words came out in an excited rush. “How about Taylor street. 317 Taylor Street. You know where that is?”