CHAPTER 20
Second Coming
When the sun came up on the first Friday of April, I knew that his child would be born before nightfall. The sky had been crying over Richmond for what felt like all of March, and the damp air kept my body aching. For a week now, it had hurt to move, to lie down, to relax, to sew, to even hold Monroe. My manner had been so irritable that the Jailer had taken a respite from coming to me at night. With my protruding belly, there was no room for him anyway.
Abbie came to check on me before she served him breakfast, bringing me a snack while I readied myself for the day.
“Feeling okay, Miss Pheby?” She poured me a glass of water.
I was on my right side, rubbing my belly.
“Time is here.”
She gazed at me. “Wantin’ me to get Elsie?”
I nodded.
“I’s alert Marse too.”
The birth pains escalated quickly. Felt like climbing through the woods and up a mountain, then having to slide all the way down on my hands and knees. I rolled into a ball and bit down on my pillow so that I would not cry out every time my stomach cramped. Elsie arrived with a wad of towels. Her hair stood up wildly, like she had been in the middle of fixing it when sent for. She lowered herself down and felt between my legs.
“Head right there. Won’t be long.”
I grunted.
“Give me a push.”
I bore down.
“Breathe now. Push again.”
We went back and forth like that, with me breathing and pushing until I felt the baby slip out.
“A girl,” Elsie called out.
“I’s fetch Marse.” Abbie hobbled away.
Tears welled in my eyes as I brought my daughter to my face. “Hello, sugar.”
She was white as a sheet. Not a drop of Mama’s skin tone in her. She had his emerald-colored eyes and slender nose. Her cry roared from her lungs and her face turned pink. Already angry with me. I squeezed my breast into her tiny mouth. She gummed hungrily until she got the milk to flow.
Emotion overpowered me. We would be a pair, like me and Mama, and I would teach her everything I knew. Not how to be a slave, but how to be a lady. Like Miss Sally taught me. She sucked with her tiny fingers wrapped around mine. That was the picture the Jailer saw when he walked into my bedroom.
He gripped his hat in his hand, while his eyes glistened with tears of joy. I sat up and presented his first child to him. He took her in his arms. I watched from the bed as he cooed at her and kissed her neck. I planned to name her Ruth.
“We will name her Hester. My mother’s name.” I disguised my disappointment.
“You have done well, Pheby Delores Brown. She is beautiful.” He snuggled her to his chest. “I will give her the world.”
* * *
The Jailer constantly visited us, wanting to hold Hester and talk to her. I wondered how he conducted any business at all. He spoiled us completely, having Abbie fluff my pillows and bring meals to my room. There were toys and blankets for Hester but nothing new for Monroe. I tried not to worry about the Jailer’s lack of attachment to my son. If we were going to have a family, however unconventional, I wanted Monroe to be a part of it, but he showed no interest in my boy. Still, I wanted Monroe to get used to his sister, so July and I developed a system. Each morning after the Jailer left for his business, I brought Hester to the downstairs bedroom so that he could interact with her. While I sat in the room with the two, July kept watch for the Jailer from the window. I did not know if he would approve of the visits or not, and I decided not to take any chances of upsetting him when things were going so well.
Monroe treated Hester with wonder during our visits, touching her hands and kissing her face. Since he was recently weaned, I did not nurse her in front of him, so when she started up a fuss we would have to go. Those visits were the best part of my day. When Monroe settled down from the excitement of seeing her, I held them both in my arms and sang every children’s song that Mama had taught me. In the time that I had lived at the jail, those moments were the closest semblance of peace.
When Hester turned three months old, the Jailer decided to throw a party to celebrate her birth. In her honor, he invited three couples: Silas Omohundro, Hector Davis, and David Pulliam, all jail owners and dealers of the chattel business in Richmond, and their companions. I had not heard of or met most of these couples, yet he wanted us to move heaven and earth in preparation to receive them.
“I want everything perfect. Nothing is too good for Hester,” he reminded me daily. He had only given us one week’s notice about the party, so we all buzzed around like blue-arsed flies trying to prepare.
To get ready for the festivities, Elsie slaughtered a pig, July picked vegetables from the garden, Tommy polished the silver, Basil whitewashed the outside of the house, and Abbie went to the bakery for sweets. Elsie got mad when she realized she was not making dessert, but when she baked anything but her apple pies, she usually added too much filling and the result was a hot, bubbling disaster.
The Jailer insisted that a dress be tailored for me. The German seamstress he sent me to on Grace Street did not seem pleased to work for me at first. She carelessly took the wrong measurements, and when she wrote them down she seemed surprised when I corrected her. She tried to dissuade me from the material I selected, saying it was too expensive. When I used the name Rubin Lapier, she fell over herself to help me. I was annoyed but also impressed by the power being associated with him wielded.
The day before the party, I rearranged the furniture in the parlor to make it more open for guests, assembled centerpieces for the dining room table, and helped Abbie dust. Abbie had no experience tending a party, so I taught her how to set a table properly and explained the way white folks like to be served dinner.
“Back straight and stiff. Seen but never heard.”
City life was different from plantation life. There was no punkah, a fan used to keep the flies away and the room cool. I hated opening the windows because of the odor and sounds coming from the jail, but the house sweltered in summer so I had no choice. The candles that I scented with perfume worked at masking the smell, kept the mosquitoes out, and added a loveliness to the table.
In the afternoon, I propped Hester on the bed. She chewed on her hand while July laced my corset.
“Is that good?”
“Tighter.”
“Ma’am, you red in the face.”
“I can take it a little tighter.” I held my breath.
When July finished with the corset, I slipped into my hoopskirt. The gown had a white-and-blue delaine skirt and bodice with a satin trim. It was the most elegant and elaborate garment that I had ever owned. When I caught myself in the mirror, my first thought was that Mama would have been pleased at how I had made the best out of my situation. When I was growing up, she constantly reminded me to never be a slave in my mind. Tonight’s gathering served as my opportunity to honor her wishes. As I slipped into my satin shoes, I tried shooing away my second thought, but it pressed hard against my temples. What would Essex think of me? Had he too found it necessary to move on? I shoved those feelings aside.
July slipped Hester into a white satin gown with a light blue ribbon around her head so that we matched. The Jailer knocked before entering my room. His navy waistcoat with a floral cravat also complemented my attire.
“You look lovely.” He pressed my cheek to his.
“Thank you.”
“I have a surprise. Bring Hester.”
July picked up the baby and we followed him downstairs. In the living room stood a man next to a wooden box camera resting on a thick stick.
“Our first family photograph.” He held his hand out to me and guided me to the Queen Anne chair.
I pursed my lips. A family photograph without Monroe. I knew by now not to question him. I forced glee into my eyes and clung to Hester.
* * *
The guests arrived one couple at a time, with just minute
s between them. The Jailer had me stand next to him to receive each pair as they crossed the porch and entered the house.
“Hector, my friend, may I present to you Pheby Delores Brown, mistress of the Lapier jail and mother of my firstborn daughter, Hester Francine Lapier.”
It was the first time that he’d introduced me that way, and I felt the color rise in my cheeks.
“How do you do?” The man kissed my hand.
“Congratulations. Motherhood suits you,” said the woman with him. “I am Anne.” She was nearly white.
The second couple arrived, David and Helen. Basil served the wine and Tommy held a tray with small snacks of olives, peppers, soft cheese, and crusty bread. July had the difficult job of collecting gifts for Hester and dashing to the back room to check on Monroe. Now sixteen months old, Monroe had become quite confident on his feet, and I worried that he would get hurt.
Next, a man of small stature with a long mustache arrived. On his arm was draped a beautiful woman decked out in a cream-and-burgundy dress. It was finer than anything I had ever seen, better even than the pictures in a catalogue. When she brought her black-rimmed eyes to mine, I recognized her as the woman I’d seen on my first trip to the market. The one who had complimented my bonnet.
“Silas Omohundro, may I present to you Pheby Delores Brown, mistress of the Lapier jail and mother of my firstborn daughter, Hester Francine Lapier.”
“How do you do?” The man kissed my hand.
“I am Corrina Hinton,” the lovely woman breathed in my ear as she pecked my cheek. Her perfume smelled heady; it took my breath away.
Silas and Corrina made a most handsome pair. She too was very fair, and carried herself in such a stately manner that I shrank in her presence.
“May I hold her?” Corrina reached for the baby. Green and red gemstones dripped from her fingers, and gold bracelets adorned both wrists.
“Beautiful. Just like her mother.” She smiled at me and then handed Hester back.
The Jailer had hired a violinist for the evening, and we all made our way to the parlor to be entertained. As the gray-haired violinist played, I felt the tune move through me, and could not help but wonder what we would sound like together. The Jailer must have read my mind, because just then he called my name.
“Pheby, dear, would you honor our guests with a selection on the piano?”
“Of course.” I smiled sweetly.
All eyes were on me as I sauntered toward the piano. The instant my fingers grazed the keys, I felt at ease. The moment rivaled old times on the plantation, with me entertaining important guests and being admired for my talent. The violinist accompanied me perfectly, and we each paused to give the other a chance at a solo. Then we ended with one last piece and moved through the notes in concert. Everyone applauded. The Jailer looked at me approvingly just as Elsie rang the dinner bell.
“Let us eat.” He led the way to the dining room.
It was not nearly as impressive as the one on the Bell plantation, but for a city home, I imagined it suitable. The mahogany table seated ten people comfortably. July reached for Hester and then the Jailer pulled out my seat opposite his at the head of the table. Another first. Though we had been taking meals together for months, I had always sat to his right, never opposite him, never with company. The couples sat in the middle of the table with the men closest to him, and the women closest to me. The first course was pea soup and sweetbread. The men chatted, falling into a comfortable conversation of their own, while we women glanced around and sipped daintily from our spoons. I racked my brain for an interesting subject. Since I had never entertained as hostess before, I had no idea what to talk about. I opened my mouth to make a comment on the weather, but Anne spoke first.
“You are gifted on the piano. How long have you played?”
“Feels like most of my life. I started very early.”
“And your dress is gorgeous. Where did you get it?” Helen put down her spoon.
“A German seamstress on Grace Street.”
“Hilda?” Corrina raised an eyebrow. “We live on the same street. She is tightly threaded until you get to know her.”
“I have had my moments with her too,” chimed Helen.
“She did not seem to want to work with me until I threw Rubin Lapier’s name into the conversation.”
“She can be peculiar like that, but once she warms up to you she will go above and beyond your request.”
“Did she make your dress?” I asked Corrina.
“Oh, this?” She looked down like she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “Silas sent for it from New York. A gift for giving him his first daughter. We have four sons.”
“I do not know how you keep it together, Corrina, and still manage to look like that.” Helen flicked her hand and we shared a low laugh.
My nervousness started to wane as Abbie and Elsie served the next course. Pork legs, dumplings, and potatoes with stewed vegetables and gravy.
“Delicious,” Corrina commented.
She appeared to be just a few years older than me, and so beautiful I found it hard to look at her without staring.
“Finding a woman to cook to my tongue has been trial and error. How long has she been with you?”
“She was here before me.”
“Lucky.” Corrina ate some more.
Besides the scrape of forks and knives the entire party fell silent as everyone enjoyed their meal. Elsie had outdone herself with the flavors and seasoning. After having seconds, the Jailer pushed back from the table.
“We will take our dessert and cordials in the parlor,” he told Elsie, and then showed the men out.
“Missus, would you like your dessert served here?” Elsie’s tone pretended at passiveness, but by the way the three women eyed each other, I knew that she had not succeeded.
I placed my glass down on the table and looked at her pointedly until she dropped her eyes. “Yes, please.”
When she exited the room, I sighed more loudly than I’d intended.
“You all right?” Anne touched my arm.
“Yes, of course,” I said, searching for a new topic. “How long have you lived in Richmond?”
Anne replied. “I was born not far from here. Hector took possession of me when I turned thirteen. You?”
“A little over a year.” I dabbed my chin with my napkin. “Born in Charles City.”
“Well, I have been here eight years. Still cannot adjust to the filth of the city.” Helen pouted.
“I love the city,” Corrina replied. “There is much more opportunity here for women like us. If we were on a plantation, the best we could hope for was a position working in the big house. Here, we are running our own homes.”
The other women nodded in agreement as Elsie brought in a silver tray with slices of pie, and blueberries and cream, and placed them on the table. We ate and talked about our children, the endless shopping and management of the servants and food supply. From these women, I discovered that Richmond was second to New Orleans in the slave trade and that there were several jails, holding pens, and auction houses similar to ours scattered within a few-block radius.
As the evening progressed, Anne shared that her older brother, who had lived as a free man in Anne Arundel County, Maryland, had turned up missing a month ago. She feared that he had been stolen and sold South. Corrina squeezed Anne’s hand as Helen confessed to the guilt she nursed over families being separated at auction.
“Sometimes I feel their blood on my hands.”
“None of it is your fault. I have learned that all we can do is pray for change,” Corrina offered, and I felt less alone with my own shame in preparing the girls for sale.
Abbie hobbled in with a carafe and poured each of us a glass of red wine, which lifted the mood. I had never had more than a few sips prior, and after finishing my first glass I felt loose and free.
“Who have you hired to tutor the children?” Helen asked Corrina.
“William Cawfield. He h
as been amazing.”
“You will have to put us in contact with him.”
“Silas has started looking at boarding schools in Lancaster and Philadelphia for the older two.”
“So much to think of.” I fanned myself, thinking about my own education in Miss Sally’s parlor, which I had been fortunate enough to get, and the one in Massachusetts that had never come to pass.
Corrina touched my wrist. “I was like you once: young. This life forces you to grow up fast.”
Helen finished her wine. “Your daughter will be educated just the same. Never too early to think about a tutor.”
“She’s only three months.”
“Time seems to slip away in dog years,” Anne agreed. “My oldest is already eight and it feels like I just carried her.”
Corrina sipped. “Our children are our legacy. We must educate them, and then get them out of the South.”
“That is my daily prayer. For my children to be completely free,” Anne breathed.
Corrina took my hand in hers. Her touch was soft and soothing. “You must also demand respect. That cook does not respect you. I would have her sold. Do not care how good she salts pork.”
“You just want her for yourself,” Helen teased, and we all giggled.
When I had lived on the Bell plantation, I’d lived in isolation between the loom house and the big house. This budding relationship between these women was all new to me, and it was, apart from my children, a ray of light in an otherwise grim time. By the time the dessert tray was cleared away from the table, the many glasses of wine had gone to all our heads. Helen kept us laughing with stories of her thickheaded house servant, and as I chuckled at yet another tale, I heard the Jailer make a loud grunt from the parlor. Then something crashed to the floor.
“Excuse me.” I rose from the table and walked to the entryway. I was immediately caught off guard to see two of the girls used for entertainment at the tavern in our home. He had one of the girls draped across his knee, and was spanking her with the back of his hand. His forehead was wet and his slack eyes revealed that he was drunk.
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