Dear Lord, I had fixed Charlott, a girl younger than me to lie with strange men. The thought turned to acid in my stomach. I fanned my face with my hand so that he could not see my distress.
“Play something for me. Soft on my ears.”
Now that I knew the whole picture, I lost whatever guilt I had over stealing the ink and pen. Writing her story down, acknowledging that she had passed through, that she had a name and a history—it was all I could do.
* * *
There were more girls after Charlott. Sometimes up to four a day. It was the same routine: fit, feed, bathe, oil, and get them dressed. When the house grew quiet at night, I wrote down their names in my diary, where they were from, their ages, descriptions of what they looked like, things they said to me during our brief time together. As I prepared each girl, it did not escape me that it could be me for sale. The poor people housed in the derelict jail were never far from my thoughts either.
I had just released a girl named Eliza to be marched across the courtyard to the white man who would be in control of her fate, when I felt a sharp pain in my belly. It came so sudden that I held the table so that I would not collapse.
July noticed me leaning into the door. “What’s the matter?”
“The baby. I think it is…” I hunched over as the pain rippled through my stomach and up my spine. Then it shot like daggers and made my whole body burn as if ignited.
“I get Elsie.” She led me to the chair, and before I could sit water gushed down my legs and onto my feet. The pain hit again so fast I bit my tongue.
Elsie appeared and put her hand on my shoulder. “Come on, gal.” She held one arm and July took the other as they led me into the house. The sharp pain came again and I had to stop at the gate and wait for it to pass. My vision went blurry as we walked down the hall to my room. I wanted to flop down but Elsie held me up while July padded my bed with rags. The discomfort hit again, harder this time, and I wailed. Elsie dropped between my legs and I could feel her hands inside of me.
“It’s right here. Just gimme a little push.”
I pushed.
“One more.”
I bore down again and then I heard a loud cry, powerful and strong.
“Got a boy.” Elsie held the baby up for me to see. “Let me clean him for you.”
“What you gon’ name him?” July wiped my brow with a cool rag.
I dared not take the chance and name him Essex. I had always been fond of Miss Sally’s lessons on the Founding Fathers of the country. Particularly of James Monroe. She said that he was so honest that if you turned his soul inside out there would not be a spot on it. I did not care so much for James but Monroe I liked.
“Monroe. Monroe Henry Brown.”
Elsie put the baby in my arms, and when I put him to my breast, he latched on fervently. Instantly, I experienced a new kind of love that I had not known existed. I was overwhelmed, scared, and excitedly drunk with this feeling all at the same time. In that moment, I knew I would do anything for my son. Anything at all.
CHAPTER 16
Motherhood
Elsie said I would be given a week to rest and adjust to caring for Monroe, but when the time passed Abbie told me to rest some more.
“Marse wantin’ you to take it slow.”
Cherishing Monroe came easy. He had ten little fingers and perfect toes. His skin smelled of powder, and sometimes when I watched him sleep his face would light up in what seemed like a smile. Even though I tried to rest, the moment I closed my eyes his lips started flapping. The boy ate so much that my nipples cracked and bled. But it was easy to forgive him, especially since he favored his father. Essex had stayed on my mind, but Monroe made me miss him in a new way. This child had come from our union, the deepest expression of our love, and I longed for him in my bones.
After Monroe’s birth, I stayed confined to the house. Three weeks passed with my attention fully on him. The Jailer had not called me for an evening visit, no work was required, but I itched to get outside and do something more. The promise of spring was in the air and I needed to feel the wind on my face. I took a long piece of material and tied Monroe to my back, the way I had seen the women in the fields do with their babies, and stepped out into the sunlight. As I crossed the courtyard, a group of people chained by the neck trudged along. Once again, the daily dose of misery, the sound of the defeated, the smell of waste and death pushed down my spirit. Elsie had told me I would get used to all of it. After seven months at the jail, I still had not. I suspected I never would.
I had only returned to my work for two days when the Jailer sent word that he wanted to see me. July took Monroe, and Abbie brought me a pail and cloth to wash my face and hands. Between the two of them, they were constantly reminding me to keep up my appearance, but truthfully, Monroe was all I cared about.
I entered the room and stood. When the Jailer saw me, he gestured for me to take a seat.
“Abbie left you a tea cake.”
“Thank you.” I lifted it from the table. He took pleasure again in watching me eat.
“You seem down,” he commented.
“I am fine, sir.”
“Maybe you need a change of scenery. Tomorrow Abbie will go to the market to shop. How would you like to leave the baby with July and go with her?”
He phrased this like a question but I knew it was a command. I was supposed to thank him for his kindness but I did not want to leave my new baby behind. I forced my mouth to smile.
“Good, it’s settled.”
* * *
On market day, Abbie had to wait a whole hour for me to get Monroe’s tummy full and settle him into his nap. July had been an angel, the way she helped me with everything. She felt like the little sister I never had. Abbie waited at the back door of the house as I slipped on my new bonnet, the Jailer’s latest gift; then I followed her through the courtyard. We passed Elsie. She looked me over but, instead of a proper greeting, gave a tsk of her teeth. The early spring temperature felt perfect for a day off, and the farther I got away from the house, the more I looked forward to the adventure. When we reached the guard at the jail’s entrance, I recoiled at the sound of the whip whistling through the air. Abbie and I exchanged glances and moved even faster. After showing her pass, we were permitted to exit. The heavy gates of the jail closed and locked behind us.
I was finally free.
The notion made me want to throw my arms in the air and spin in circles. A giddiness came over me that I had not felt in months, and I opened my mouth wide, trying to drink down as much fresh air and sunlight as I could hold. When we exited the alley onto Main Street, I surveyed my surroundings. The streets bustled with activity. More people than I had even seen at one time. Businessmen and well-dressed women. Groups of coloreds in simple clothing stood on the corners.
“What are they doing?” I leaned into Abbie.
“Hiring themselves out. Marse write them a note to collect wages.”
“Oh.”
“Way for marses to make even more money.”
I stepped down off the curb, but then Abbie pulled me back as a carriage passed.
“You ain’t in the country no more.” She chuckled.
I dusted my dress off. “What are we shopping for?”
“Food, material, and supplies.”
Wide-eyed, I followed Abbie in and out of several stores, watching her negotiate prices. “Don’t think Marse Lapier would agree with that price. Can you do betta than that?” she asked, using her long fingers to smooth out her rough wool skirt.
For such a petite woman she had a good mouth. After we placed the last order at Thalhimer’s Dry Goods, she led me down a little backstreet.
“There’s a bakery at the corner run by coloreds. We can sit a spell.” Then she peeked around and put her mouth to my ear.
“Stop for slaves when they run.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“My foot might be lame, but God give me two good ears.” She sm
iled that girlish grin and I squeezed her arm.
When we walked into the bakery, the scent of butter, vanilla, and cinnamon intoxicated me. Abbie asked me what I wanted and I pointed to the biggest piece of apple pie.
“Got a sweet tooth.”
“Small pleasure in this bleakness.”
“It will get better in time.”
Her optimistic view of the future did not catch fire in my heart, but I did not reveal this as we found a bistro table with two seats on the patio.
“How come you never call him Marse?” She passed me my pastry.
I shrugged. “I left my master back on the plantation.”
“I ain’t never met no woman like you. You don’t act like the rest of us.”
I stared out into the street unable to explain the world I had come from, and the war that raged inside of me. Mama had told me not to get caught with no slave babies—my only task was freedom. The past few months had devastated that plan, and now with Master Jacob gone, and the birth of Monroe, I saw no way out. Still, I could not crumble.
I took a bite of piecrust and tried to lose myself in its goodness. The flakiness melted on my tongue and made me think of Aunt Hope’s sweet treats. I made a note to get an extra slice to surprise July.
Just then, a breeze blew the ribbons of my bonnet, and when I glanced up, a beige woman was sauntering our way. She was dressed finer than Missus Delphina ever had been, even when the plantation hosted company. Heavy jewelry dripped from her earlobes and wrists.
“Beautiful bonnet.” She smiled as she passed.
“Thank you.” I leaned over Abbie. “Who was that?”
“Corrina Hinton. She the mistress of the jail off Birch Alley.”
“But she looks—”
“Yep, she mulatto far as I know. Marses here in Richmond makin’ they own rules. She has three or four children with Mr. Omohundro. Come and go as she pleases. I always see her lookin’ mighty pretty.”
I watched her disappear down the cobblestone street, trying to imagine how she could say yes to this life. But what choice did we have?
“Rumor is she run the business better than her husband. Take care of all they affairs. Marse probably wantin’ the same from you.”
I looked up. “That is ridiculous.”
“Way he courtin’ you and all. Have not seen him act like this before, and I been livin’ here ten years.”
“How come he does not have a white wife?”
“No respectable man would marry his daughter off to the owner of a slave pen. Even though Marse is wealthy, high society southerners consider traders dishonorable. Call them the pariahs of men.”
“How do you know so much?”
“Been around long enough to know how things work. That’s how I know you the one Marse choose.”
I put down my fork.
“Just like Mr. Omohundro choose Ms. Corrina. Better get used to it.”
I searched for a way to change the subject. Then Abbie patted me on my arm and told me it was time to go. I did not feel ready to return to my prison, so I asked her to take the long way around. We went through the back way, but even so, I could smell Lapier’s Alley before we turned the corner. The stench worsened with every step we took, and then it was insufferable. I covered my nose with my sleeve.
“Avert your eyes,” Abbie called out, but I moved mine too late. In the mud laid a half dozen naked bodies tossed at the front of the lot. One was a small child with his eyes still open.
“Wait for the pile to grow high, then bury them all at the same time.” Abbie pulled me toward the back entrance. “Don’t come this way much.”
We crossed behind the buildings where the dogs barked like they had not been fed. Their chains scraped against the earth as they pulled and yanked to be set loose. As we approached the courtyard, a woman screamed in agony. She had blood on her arms; her eyes bulged from her head, and her fingers stretched wide for a young boy being snatched away from her by a white man. The child looked to be about three.
“No, no, no, don’t take him,” she bawled. Two men pinned her hands behind her back and dragged her in the opposite direction of the boy. Her headscarf slipped off as she twitched to be let loose. She tried to kick but they continued to pull her. I wrapped my arms around my waist as they threw her into the jail. Even with the door closed, I could hear the sounds of her agony. The little boy was tied with a rope and hauled away.
“What is going to happen to him?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Don’t like to keep kin together round here. ’Specially mamas and sons.”
Abbie’s words hit me in the chest. Monroe. I had fallen into a trap. The Jailer had sent me off on leisure so that he could steal my son. I took off running. My shoe slipped off my foot, but that did not deter me. I burst through the side door of the house and shouted.
“July, July!”
No answer.
I moved down the hall toward my room, my heart thumping so loud I could not hear myself breathe. When I pushed through the door, July and Monroe were on the floor. She tickled his belly and he cooed. I swooped him up in my arms.
“I do something wrong?” July stared, confused.
“No, sweet girl.” I kissed the top of her head. I rocked Monroe and with the other hand clung to July. These two were my family now, and I had to protect them at all costs.
* * *
As I worked in the shed over the next week, the cries of the poor woman being separated from her son rang in my ears. I tried to keep Monroe tied to me at all times. Every evening Monroe slept nestled under my breasts. But even with him so close, my spirit would not rest. In the middle of the night my mind turned over my options. If Monroe and I could get on the other side of the gates, we would run. But the Jailer would never give me permission to take Monroe outside of the jail. I could try to escape in the middle of the night with Monroe, but security on the property was high. It was nearly impossible to move around undetected.
And then Corrina Hinton walked through my mind. She was a woman like me, yet she lived a life better than some white women. Seemed happier than Missus Delphina for sure. Mama’s plan had not gotten me my papers, but at least offered me some advantages: Miss Sally’s education, never whipped, never worked the fields, always had a full belly and slept in a warm bed. Could I even guarantee that for my son? Our son.
If Essex searched for me, how would he find me here? Seemed near impossible when I thought honestly. Since I’d arrived in the jail I’d hung on to hope that Master Jacob would rescue me, but my dream of escaping this place had died with him. Nothing’s more impossible than being rescued by a dead person. It was time for me to become my own savior. As much as the very thought of letting the Jailer touch me repulsed me, as shattered as my heart would be to give up on Essex, the need to protect my child outweighed everything else. My days as a girl were gone. Now I had to think like a woman.
That night I wept through my bath and shed what innocence I had remaining. In my robe, I fed Monroe and rocked him until he drifted off to sleep. When the Jailer sent word for me through Abbie I sighed, pushed myself forward, and opened the closet. Still hanging were the three dresses. I ran my fingers over each one of them, then selected the maroon dress with a lace petticoat.
“Lovely choice.” Abbie patted Monroe’s back while July threaded me into my corset, same as I had Missus Delphina what seemed like a lifetime ago. Then she held the dress open so that I could step into it. July pulled my hair off my shoulders and Abbie told her to pinch my cheeks.
“You look beautiful.”
I kissed Monroe on his temple, closed my bedroom door, and walked slowly toward the parlor. When I turned the corner, the Jailer’s mouth broke and the pleasure in his eyes gave me the gall to move forward.
“You are lovely.”
“Thank you.” I took my seat.
“Will you escort me to my room?”
“No dessert tonight?”
“Is that what you want?”
<
br /> “Yes, please.”
He beckoned Abbie to bring dessert for both of us and a drink for him. He fidgeted in his chair like a surly child who could not wait to unwrap a birthday present. Abbie returned with the two plates. I ate my pie as slowly as I could. Tonight, he did not watch me. He ate his in three big bites.
“Will you escort me to my room?”
I put my plate on the table next to me. “Would you like to hear a song?”
“No.”
“Just one? It would please me.”
He groaned. “As you wish.”
I moved unhurriedly to the piano. I played a love song that I had composed in my head. It was the story of a love triangle.
A girl who loved a boy but had been promised to another. My fingers glided across the keys, pounding out my feelings for my true love but at the same time saying goodbye.
“Come with me. Please?” His voice cracked and pleaded. Then he was standing behind me. “I promise not to hurt you.”
I gave him my hand and he enclosed it in his.
“I need something first.”
“Anything.”
“You must promise to never sell my son away from me.”
His eyes went wild and then settled on my face. “Okay.”
“And you cannot take a wife. As long as I reside at this jail, your allegiance is to me.”
“You have my word.” He kissed me on the mouth, and it took everything in me not to gag.
On the march up the stairs, my insides turned and knotted. I had to hold onto the banister to keep from turning back. In his sleeping quarters, a single candle burned next to the poster bed. I entered on shaky knees, then sat trembling on the edge of the bed. He fumbled with his trousers and then closed the door with his foot.
CHAPTER 17
Splintered
Shame rained down on me like angry piss from Missus Delphina’s chamber pot. The wetness of dishonor clung to my skin. I had made a vow to belong to Essex until the end of time, but I had given myself to another. I was not sure which crushed me more—the weight of the Jailer’s meaty arm across my belly, or my betrayal. The bed creaked as I untangled my body from his girth. I gathered my undergarments from the floor, closed the door behind me, and slipped down the back stairs as quietly as possible.
Yellow Wife Page 11
