“Word spread that I was the horseman, so I became easy to find.” He shook his head, and I could see that the memory sat fresh.
“The day I was taken to the ship became a day of mourning for the city.”
Essex described the scene for me. Thousands of protesters, organized by black and white abolitionist groups, had lined the streets of Boston to watch him walk in shackles toward the waterfront, where the vessel waited to carry him back to Virginia. Every business along the route to the ship was draped in black sheets and the American flag hung upside down. A coffin sat in the middle of Main Street with the words HERE LIES LIBERTY.
“We sailed for eight days and I was treated fairly on the ship. Naw’fok was a different story. People shouted and spit at me, threw things at me all the way to the jail.”
He looked over at me. “I would do it all again because I finally found you. You still so lovely.”
I blushed and squeezed his hand. “Our son is in danger. We need to get him to freedom.”
“Us to freedom.” He leaned in and kissed me. I’d forgotten how good he tasted. Desire for him pulsated below my navel and rested like a weight against my thigh. I pulled away.
“Who do I need to write?”
Essex dictated what he wanted me to say, then had me repeat the address until he felt convinced I had it committed to memory.
“I have never stopped loving you, Pheby.”
“Hush now.” I put my finger to his mouth. Then my lips were on his and we kissed again. “You get some rest.” I blew out the candle. As I locked the door behind me my whole face smiled. Essex could always lighten my mood, even in the worst situations. That is when I saw Sissy on the balcony watching me. Her room sat atop the tavern, directly across from the garret room. I made eye contact with her, lifted my skirts, and hurried along.
My breath quickened as I slipped back into the big house. When I reached the hallway upstairs, the Jailer’s bedroom door sat ajar. I knew that I’d left it closed. I crept to my room as quietly as possible, but a creaking floorboard betrayed me.
“Pheby?”
“Yes?”
The mattress squeaked as he got up; then he was standing in the doorway in his sleeping gown. “Where did you go?”
“To check on the children?”
He looked me over, then demanded that I come to his bed. I had no time to write down the message or the address that Essex gave me. I needed to smother the Jailer’s suspicions. When I laid down next to him, he tucked me in the crook of his arm and began to breathe heavily. In my head, I recited the address and the message until they sounded as familiar to me as my own name.
CHAPTER 30
The Letter
Most days I pressed through my work unprompted: tended to the fancy girls, raised our daughters, tried to keep Monroe safe, and aided the half acre in running properly. There was little in my daily activity that spoke to me. After spending two nights with Essex, I felt something turn inside of me. It happened as fast as the sun slipping behind the clouds. My spirit had been asleep, and now I was awake and thirsting with purpose.
I imagined myself as the heroine from one of my novels. I would get that letter off to Essex’s friend in the North so he could reclaim his freedom and take our son to safety. But I needed a plan. There was no way I could risk entering the post office and customhouse on Main Street unaccompanied. It would get back to the Jailer before I made it home. I would have to find someone to do it for me. Who could I trust? I moved through my morning routine considering my options.
“Miss Pheby.” July stood in the doorway with her long hair in a single braid. She had grown so much in the six years that we had been together. With her pouty lips and bright eyes, she was more beautiful than most of the fancy girls I dressed.
“July, you have to tie up your hair.”
“Forgive me, ma’am. It just takes so much time.”
“Better that you are overheated than draw unwanted attention from the men at the tavern.”
She shifted from one foot to the other.
“Beauty is a curse for a slave girl.” I fidgeted with my hair. “It is what my mama always told me.”
“But you are mistress of the jail.”
“Not by choice,” I let slip, then changed the subject. “It is almost time to celebrate your birthday.”
“Oh, Miss Pheby.” She beamed.
When I had first arrived at the jail, July had told me that she did not know her birthday. We decided on the first day of September because it was easy enough to remember. In a little over a month, the girls and I would celebrate her sixteenth year of life with her favorite lemon cake and present her with small tokens of our affection.
“I’s here to remind you the dressmaker comin’ to measure the girls for they fall wardrobe.”
I tapped my forehead. With everything going on with Essex, I had plumb forgotten.
“Have they had their breakfast?”
“Yes, ma’am. They are in the drawing room playin’. She be here directly.”
“Very well, I will be right down.”
When July closed the door, I put my chair in front of it. Then I pulled up the floorboard for my ink bottle and ledger. I removed a page and jotted down all that I could remember that Essex had said, along with a few sentences more. I would have to steal into the Jailer’s library and remove an envelope. I tucked the letter into my secret pocket and covered the floor with the rug.
Hilda, the dressmaker, arrived tugging her wooden trunk on wheels, with all of her supplies.
“Good day.” She removed her gloves and bonnet and handed them to July. Her hair was mostly white, but her cheeks were cheery and she gave us all a big smile.
“Thank you so much for coming. I know this is a busy time for you.”
“It’s always my pleasure to visit with you and the little darlings.” She smiled.
The girls took turns greeting Hilda with how do you dos, and little curtsies. Then they sat at the foot of her trunk waiting for her to open it. Hilda handed them each a book with the latest pictures in girls’ fashion. Their eyes shone as they paged through catalogues. July sat between Hester and Isabel, and her demeanor brightened too. That was when I decided to have Hilda make her a dress as a birthday present. She could wear it to church and when we attended the state fair in October.
Abbie hobbled into the drawing room with tea and biscuits, which she set up on the buffet. Birdie squirmed around in my lap until she was satisfied, then stuck her finger in her mouth.
“I am first,” said Isabel.
“No, me. I want everything in yellow,” piped up Joan.
“Mama,” Hester cried.
“I think we should go in age order, from youngest to oldest.”
“No fair.” Hester balled up her fist.
I took her arm and whispered in her ear, “Always save the most elaborate dress for last.” I winked, and she returned my grin.
“Let’s go, little Miss Joan, hop up on my footstool.” Joan did as she was told, while Isabel watched and Hester opened her book.
With everyone occupied, it was a good opportunity for me to step aside. I beckoned to July, my most trusted confidante. “Hold Birdie. If he comes home, just whistle.”
She nodded. After peeking out the window to make sure no one was approaching the house, I made my way down the hall to his library. I sat down and quickly recopied the letter on a piece of manila stationery. As soon as I felt certain the ink had dried and it would not smudge, I folded it and placed it inside the envelope. When I returned to the drawing room, Joan was holding out a beautiful peach fabric.
“Mother, what do you think?”
I touched her cheek. “It is beautiful, darling.”
Birdie reached her arms out and I picked her up, hoping that she would calm my thundering heart.
Hilda hung her measuring tape around her neck. “All done.”
“Wait, there is one more.” I pointed to July. She looked at me, confused.
; “For your sixteenth birthday, dear. Hilda will make you a lovely dress of your own.”
“Really?” Her cheeks blushed with disbelief. “Thank you, Miss Pheby.”
I watched as Hilda measured July. It was not with the same gentle care as she did the girls, but July did not seem to notice.
“Which fabric should I pick?”
“You should select what makes your heart spin in circles.”
She ran her fingers over a mint-green pattern that I could already envision her wearing. When Hilda had finished with July, I sent July and the girls into the dining room to have their supper.
“Your girls were a delight as always.” Hilda talked through the pins that she had in her mouth. “I do not usually have the opportunity to fit such young girls. You give me a wonderful challenge.”
“I am certain the dresses will be gorgeous.”
She closed her trunk. I looked over my shoulder to make sure that we were alone, then took a few steps closer to her.
“Hilda, I need a small favor.”
A look of concern crossed her face.
“It is small. Just a letter that needs to be posted. Would you do it for me on your way back to the shop?”
“Does Mr. Lapier know about this?”
“Well, no. It is a surprise for him. An inquiry for his birthday.”
She removed the pins.
“Of course, there is something in it for you.” I produced a small purse from my pocket and handed it to her. When she did not deny me, I put the letter in her other hand. She dropped the envelope and purse into her larger bag. A sense of relief drifted down my spine.
“Please see that this stays between us.”
She nodded.
“When will the dresses be ready?”
“In a few weeks. I will be in touch.” She moved from the room with her large trunk trailing behind her. I hugged myself to celebrate my good fortune.
* * *
Once I got the girls settled in their afternoon play, I left in search of Monroe. I found him in the stables sitting atop a pile of hay.
“Mama! Tommy teaching me how to change the horse’s shoe.”
“Is he catching on?” I kidded.
“He a natural, Miss Pheby.” Tommy’s body had caught up with the size of his head.
“I need to borrow Monroe for just a few minutes.”
My son dusted off his knickers and fell in step next to me. Just a few weeks ago, he’d run and jumped when he saw me. Since the Jailer had taken him off the half acre, he had become cautious in my presence. More subdued.
“Where we going?”
“Where are we going?” I corrected gently.
He repeated my sentence.
“To help Sissy move a few things.” I turned my face so he could not see my lie. We climbed the outside steps that led to the top floor of the tavern.
“It stink bad over here.” He touched his nose.
“It is coming from the jail.” I held my breath too.
“Is that where the prisoner is?” He pointed to the garret room.
“Yes.”
“Marse whip him real bad? Hope I never get whipped like that. Tommy show me his scars.”
“I will protect you always. Do not worry, son.” I kissed the top of his head and immediately felt shame. Deep down, I knew that when it came to the Jailer’s will, my promises were just dust.
We stopped in front of Sissy’s door, and I hoped that she was not there. I knocked, then coughed. A shadow moved toward the window of the garret room. Essex had to be standing on tiptoe to peek out the high window, because all I could see was his forehead and eyes, and the bridge of his nose.
“Mama, you okay?”
“Yes.”
Essex’s chains clashed together as he moved closer and his eyes fastened on Monroe.
“Do you know him?”
“Why do you ask?”
“He is looking at you. Better not let Marse catch him.” He grabbed my hand. “Sissy not home. We better go.”
I glanced back at Essex and nodded my head. I walked Monroe back to the stables. Sissy came from the kitchen house and stopped me.
“Miss Pheby, may I has a word?” Her smooth brown skin shone with oil, and her dress looked of good fabric.
“I have work to do.”
“Won’t take but a few seconds.”
I followed her to the spot behind the kitchen, between the two blackberry bushes.
“What is this about?” I cocked my head with impatience.
“I knows you sneakin’ to see the prisoner at night.”
I tore off a handful of berries and placed them in my mouth.
“I keep your secret from Marse, but you has to do somethin’ for me.” Sissy stepped closer. She smelled of licorice root. “When Daniel is old enough, wantin’ you to teach my boy how to read.”
“That is against the law.”
“Well, I knows you teachin’ Monroe.”
In that moment, I could see what the Jailer saw in her. The boldness. Accommodating her would be foolish, but denying her request could be too. It had been impossible for me to forget the day he’d forced me to watch the horrible whipping of the woman who had taught others to read. Him beating her until she lost her baby. It was one thing to teach July in secret; she was under the roof with me. Monroe was my son and worth the risk. I had no choice but to take my chances.
“Thank you for your concern, but there is nothing to be told.”
“Sure about that?” Her cat eyes caught the sun.
“Good day, Sissy.” I lifted my skirts and left with my head held high. Such a simple country girl. I could not let her believe for one second that she could intimidate me.
When I reached the drawing room, the girls’ tutor, Grace Marshall, was finishing up a lesson on addition. July was sitting guard with her knitting needles in her lap, absorbing the lesson as I had instructed her.
“The girls are doing very well. Hester has advanced to multiplication.” Grace showed me the problems that Hester had worked on her board. “Joan needs to practice words that sound the same but are spelled differently.” She gave me a list. I thanked her.
While July packed up their school things, I moved the girls into the breakfast room so that Abbie could serve dinner. Once we were washed and seated, Abbie announced, “Marse said eat wit’ out him.”
“Is he coming home?”
She shrugged.
I had planned to sneak out to see Essex, but I could not leave the house until the Jailer passed out. After getting the girls to bed, I waited in the parlor for him, hoping that he would return and quickly have his way with me so I could give him the sleep aid. After an hour of reading, I paced the floor of the parlor. What could be keeping him? I had grown anxious to get over to Essex and tell him all that I had accomplished. When the clock struck ten, I knew that the Jailer would be cross if I was still awake, so I gave up my vigil.
“Abbie, I am going to retire,” I called out.
Abbie must not have heard me, because she did not light the candles in the hallway or in my bedroom. I struck the fire and lit the candle next to my bed. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I felt an onset of dry heaves. I tried reaching for the pitcher of water, but then my dinner traveled up my throat and spouted from my mouth all over the floor. What a mess I had made. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, and picked up the envelope that sat on my pillow. It was the letter I had written to Essex’s friend. Hilda, the seamstress, had betrayed me. I choked and then retched again.
CHAPTER 31
My Charges
I must have fallen asleep because the sun was up when July’s hands were gripping my shoulders.
“Missus, wake up,” she cried.
I jerked forward so fast I experienced a rush of dizziness. My fingers wrapped around the arms of my chair to steady myself. July’s eyes were red rimmed, and she had missed a button on her blouse.
“What is wrong?”
“Marse took the children
from me. They in the carriage headin’ way from the jail.”
I jumped up. “All the girls?”
“Monty too.”
I ran from the room barefoot. The quick movement caused my hair to come loose, but I did not stop to pin it. At the side door, Abbie was sweeping the dust away.
“Marse said for you to go to the supply shed. Left work for you there.”
“Where did he take the children?”
“Sorry, Missus. Him gone.”
I hurried across the courtyard, feeling every crack and crevice of the cobblestones strike my naked feet. The entrance gate was closing.
“Hester!” I shouted.
“Mama?” she called back, but I could not get past the two guards to follow the carriage out. One man grabbed me and restrained my arms behind my back, while the other blocked the gate with his breadth.
“Let me go.”
“Mr. Lapier ordered you to stay put,” said the one holding me, smelling faintly of tobacco.
I yanked away from him. “Do not put your filthy hands on me again.”
The guard at the door looked at me through his blond bangs and snickered. I rolled my shoulders back and spit on the ground in front of him. As I turned to march away he grumbled, “Nigger bitch.”
My face went hot as I stooped down, picked up a rock, and threw it at him, narrowly missing his head.
“You will be sorry. Both of you.”
July was standing at the door when I returned and walked me to the breakfast room. “Miss Pheby, let me clean you up.”
Abbie hobbled in. “Want some eggs and biscuits?”
“I want my children!” Before I could think it through, I had grabbed Abbie by the shoulders and was shaking her. My fingertips pressed into her flesh. She looked terrified but I could not stop myself, even when her eyes rolled back. I was angry at her for becoming this shell of herself. I wanted the old Abbie back.
“Miss Pheby.” July wrapped her arms around my waist and pried me off Abbie. “Stop this. You know Abbie suffer from a broken heart and God knows what else.”
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