“I am, Mama.”
“In name only, son. Not in your mind. Never in your mind.”
“I am a slave. No more pretendin’.”
“Monroe.”
He covered his ears. I grabbed his arms and spun him.
“Look at me.”
He drew his eyes up.
“You are the great-grandson of Vinnie Brown, who was the granddaughter of a Mandara queen before she was stolen off her land. Your grandmother was Ruth Brown, healer and medicine woman of the Bell plantation. Your blood runs deep.” I reached for his chin, but he pulled away. “What of my father?” My mouth gaped open. He had never asked before.
“Who is he? Know it ain’t Marse, ’cause he hates me.”
I did not know if I should tell him the truth or not. Just saying the words out loud could put them both in danger.
“He was a good man. Who loved me and would have loved you. Now, focus on being a good helper.”
“Now that July been sold, I gotta feeling I’s next, Mama. Ain’t nuttin’ you can do to stop it either.”
“Nothing.”
“Nuttin’. Ain’t gettin’ my face cut up,” he spat. Tommy returned.
“Monty, Hamp needin’ us to help unload the wagon. Wood just arrived.”
Monroe wiped his face on his shirt and followed Tommy out. I stood there and prayed.
Dear Lord, I come boldly asking for Your divine safety and protection of my plan. Lord, I commit all things in Your hands.
Guide us to what you have promised, Lord. Amen.
CHAPTER 39
Sick and Tired
I stood next to the spigot behind the kitchen house while three girls cleaned off. One ran a little water through her hair while the other two washed their faces and hands. Elsie shuffled down the steps of the kitchen house, shifting the pot of fresh corn in her arms.
“Missus, the fugitive ain’t eatin’ nothin’ I take. Smell worse ’n the jail. Conditions too much for him.”
The shortest of the three girls ran water over her muddy feet, while the other two stood waiting. I wrung my hands, unsure of what to do. The Jailer still had me under lock and key. It had been weeks since I had snuck out to visit Essex. Twice I had tried, and both times I’d had to turn around because of the guards.
I motioned for the girls to follow me back to the sewing shed. My helper, Janice, had been returned to her master, so the responsibility of preparing the fancy girls fell again solely on me. I dressed the three ladies, collected their stories, prayed over them, and then released them to Clarence.
That evening, as I played the piano in the tavern the Jailer entertained two guests. Sissy had just served him his fourth drink and he seemed on the cusp of being inebriated. The two men who sat with him stood, shook his hand, and exited. Sissy cleared their glasses from the table and made her way to the bar. He gulped and then belched. I sauntered over to him and drew my finger along the back of his ear.
“Have a good night, love?” I took a seat across from him without waiting for permission.
“Those two men are looking to buy for a planter in Chesapeake.”
“Might be a good opportunity to get rid of the fugitive.”
“Eh?” He sucked on a chicken bone.
“Buck like that could be worth seven, eight hundred dollars. Unlike you to leave money on the table.”
His eyes took me in. The one thing I could count on when it came to the Jailer was his hunger to consume, whether it be alcohol, food, women, money, power.
“You counting my purse?”
“Just thinking of the girls. We could use the money to take them on holiday to Philadelphia, like you promised them. Start looking into a school for Hester.” I moved into his lap and stroked his ear again.
He squeezed me. “My sweet Pheby, smarter than most.”
I pushed his hair away from his face. “Elsie said he stopped eating. Cannot make money off a sickly nigger.” I leaned in and kissed him. His hands immediately moved down to my backside. “Clarence should go take a look.”
The Jailer put his lips on mine. When he kissed me, it felt uncivilized. Then he pulled back and sighed.
“Clarence, go check on the fugitive. Make sure the nigger is still breathing. Sissy, bring me another drink.”
I moved from his lap and he slapped me on the rump.
“Care for another song?” Before he could answer, I took my place and played something soft for his ears.
Clarence returned with his hands over his mouth. “Mr. Lapier. The fugitive barely breathing. Think we better move him. It is extremely hot up there.”
The Jailer’s green eyes revealed that he was not in the mood to deal with the matter. “Move him to the viewing room. I am not fetching a doctor. Pheby, go with him.”
I cast my eyes down to the floor.
“And keep a close watch on my wench, Clarence. She got a soft spot for niggers.” He belched. “Especially that one.”
Sissy stood by his side and topped off his drink. He put his hand on her hip and seemed to forget about me for the moment. I stopped in the shed for my medicine bag and then followed Clarence up to the garret room. The stench reeked fouler than before. I choked, then coughed.
When I held up the lantern, I startled an army of white maggots that were marching under his head and over to the feces in the corner. In the middle of the floor, Essex curled in a ball. The clothing I had stitched for him dripped in filth. Insects nipped at his ankles and feet. He did not swat them away.
“Unshackle him so that he can walk.”
“No.”
“Then you must be prepared to carry him in all his waste.”
I flashed the light on Essex’s infection and soiled spots. Clarence removed the key from his pocket and unclasped his foot fetters, then the chains on his wrists. We each lent Essex a hand and pulled him to his feet. He lurched, unsteady, and then found his footing.
“Hold this.” I thrust the lantern at Clarence and took a small broom from my bag and dusted the bugs away.
“Move it,” Clarence commanded.
Essex tried obeying orders, but his knees wobbled and he collapsed toward the floor. Clarence reached out and caught him before his head hit the wall. With one arm on Essex’s waist, he half dragged him down the steps. I led the way to the side door of the tavern. The Jailer’s hearty laugh reached my ears as I opened the door to the viewing room. It was nothing more than a closet used for buyers to sexually sample their female slaves prior to purchasing them. The space held a single chair and an old blanket, which I opened and placed on the floor. Clarence let Essex drift to it.
First I rubbed his clothing down with a basil, lemon, and vinegar oil mixture to kill the insects and any eggs that had nested on him. Then I brushed at him again, dusting the oil through his hair and overgrown beard.
“He needs a bath.”
“Just give him the medicine so we can be on our way,” Clarence replied from the chair. He looked bored and could not stop wiping his hands on his pants.
I tipped the brown jar to Essex’s lips. He looked me in the eye but had the good sense not to say my name.
“He needs food.”
“Fetch it.”
I eased Essex’s head down and then rose to my feet. In the kitchen house, I spooned broth into a cup and took a piece of bread. When I returned, Clarence was chewing on his cuticles while I fed Essex. I placed a small dish with an onion by his head in hopes that it would draw out the fever, then covered him with the remaining edge of the blanket.
Clarence moved to reattach the shackles.
“The man can barely stand, let alone run. Give him the night to heal. There are no windows in here. Lock the door.”
Clarence thought about it for a second, and then walked out of the room.
* * *
Fridays tended to be the busiest day for moving fancy girls. Well before dawn I went to the shed, took inventory, and made sure we were prepared for the day. I thought I was the only one moving befo
re the rooster crowed, and nearly let loose my bladder when Elsie walked through the door carrying a pile of burlap shirts.
“Just been over moppin’ out the tavern. Fugitive ain’t keep down none of him food. Don’t look like his fever break neither.”
“Anyone over there?”
She shook her head. “He asked for you.”
I ran my fingers over my dress. “What did he say?”
“Where the yella wife wit’ the medicine.”
My stomach quieted down. He had not betrayed our connection. Elsie placed the laundered shirts on the table and then headed out of the shed. Instead of carrying my whole medicine bag to Essex, I thought it best to hide a few things in my pockets. The brown jar; a balm I’d made with black elder, peppermint, and ginger for when the girls came down with fever; sliced onion; and some bread. I knew his feet were still swollen, so I tucked a piece of white willow bark in my pocket and made my way.
When I opened the door, Essex was tossing around on the floor, moaning. I rushed to his side.
“It is the yellow wife.”
He smiled through his pain.
“Clever.”
“Knew that if I called you by name, it would give away my affection for you.” His eyes were teary.
“You are going to be okay.” I took the balm and rubbed it across his forehead, over his chest, under his arms, and into the soles of his feet.
“Drink this.” I tipped the jar. Then sprinkled turmeric on his tongue. “This should help with the swelling.”
“The letter.”
“Shh. I am taking care of everything. You rest and get your strength up.”
He squeezed my hand and I kissed his forehead. “Do not ask for me again. Just be ready when I come.”
CHAPTER 40
Fattened for Slaughter
The Virginia State Fair was a good sign that autumn had arrived in Richmond. Families came from both near and far for the excitement of horse races, taste of fresh-squeezed lemonade, and games with prizes for the children. Farmers competed for the biggest grown watermelon, and mistresses showed off their cooks’ flaky-crusted pies. New crop machinery and agricultural equipment were on display, along with stalls of the latest fashions for women. In the very back of the fair was the saloon, where cordials flowed and cigars were smoked, and the highest quality of slaves were available for purchase. It was from eavesdropping in the tavern that I learned that the Jailer had come to his senses and planned to sell Essex on opening night, just a week away.
To prepare Essex for the sale, the Jailer had let him remain in the room at the back of the tavern where the temperature stayed cooler. Elsie’s job was to beef him up by serving him three meals per day, instead of the one meal of spoiled mush that had been left for him when he was in the garret room. The Jailer had me make him root tea to restore his strength, but Elsie administered my healings. Aside from the night he had been moved to the viewing room, and the morning I crept to him, contact with him remained forbidden. I still had not been permitted to go to the market with Abbie. My only reprieve was church on Sundays, which he did begin to permit.
With the approach of the state fair, business had picked up, and the Jailer insisted that I spend every waking hour in the shed preparing girl after girl for sale. Sissy worked around the clock managing his guests at the tavern, while Abbie managed the shopping and the house. With the lot of us so busy, I convinced the Jailer to let the girls stay at Grace Marshall’s home for the week so that we could prepare for the fair with no distractions. Since the girls adored their tutor, he agreed.
On the eve of opening night, the Jailer had his colleagues over for a pre-fair celebration. I entertained for what felt like hours before the group was intoxicated enough to disperse. When the Jailer and I reached the house, his eyes were bloodshot and glassy. He pulled at my dress, and his rough hands fumbled beneath for my bloomers.
“Not in here, what if Abbie comes?”
My words fell on deaf ears. He held my waist and took me against the piano, breathing hard and moaning into my neck. When he was finished, he slapped my rear end.
“You never disappoint.”
Humiliated even with no witnesses, I fumbled with my skirts. The Jailer leaned his weight on the piano, his trousers still around his knees. “Do you love me?”
My fingers went to the pins in my hair.
“Of course I do, honey.”
“Say it.” He suddenly appeared sober and solemn. “Say that you love me.”
I reached for his hands and looked into his eyes. “I love you, and the life you have made for our family.”
He smiled.
“Nightcap?”
“That would be lovely.”
I went to the drink cart and poured him a liberal shot, slipping in the sleep aid that I had concealed in my sleeve.
“Let us go up. Big day tomorrow.”
He gulped down his drink and staggered up the stairs. In his bedroom, I helped him out of his clothing and tucked him into bed.
“Where are you going?” He grabbed my wrist.
“For my sleeping gown. I will return directly.” I kissed his cheek.
In my bedroom, I stood by the door and waited. Ten whole minutes passed, and then I heard him breathe heavily. Quick and quiet, I crept down the stairs. Abbie stood at the back door with a small satchel strapped across her shoulders. Her look was no longer skittish but stern. She was still small in stature, but her spirit had grown in the past few weeks of concealing our secrets. She looked ready.
“You know what to do?”
She nodded and hobbled out the back door, dragging her lame foot behind her. I crept over to the stables. Monroe was asleep on a pile of hay and I had to nudge him, then cover his mouth with my hand to keep him from calling out.
“No time to waste, stay silent at all cost. Move.”
Tommy popped his head up. “Me too,” he pleaded.
I did not have plans for him.
“Please, Miss Pheby. He will kill me when he knows I aided you.”
I motioned for him to follow, feeling protective over him, like I was his mother too. Abbie was behind the stables holding the kerosene lantern. She motioned to the boys to spread out the hay so that she could start the fire.
“I will meet you at the spot,” I mouthed, then lifted my skirts and rushed over to the tavern. When I entered, I listened for movement. There was no sound, and I hoped that the girl I had paid to keep Clarence distracted was doing her job. The key to the viewing room was hanging on the hook. When I unlatched the door, Essex sat upright in the chair and smiled at me. It was the same grin he had given me when I had snuck into the stables to meet him back home, and it made my throat catch. The steady meals had done him good. His color had returned, and just that morning Tommy had shaved him and cut his hair to prepare him for sale. But I had other plans.
“Hurry.”
He grabbed my face and kissed me. If his life had not been on the line, his lips could have undone my resolve. I pulled away, breathless, and ushered him out of the small room. On our way out, I grabbed the hat that I had stashed by the piano along with a waistcoat and shoes. Both were too big but I told Essex to slip them on. Because of the public flogging and the newspapers, folks knew what Essex looked like. He would need a disguise if we were going to get him out of Richmond undetected.
Adrenaline coursed through me so quickly that it was hard to think. From my pocket, I pulled a pair of reading spectacles, a fishing knife, and a small purse.
“Fasten these to the inside pocket of your trousers.”
When we got outside, a fire of hay, papers, and debris was kicking up a fuss. I led Essex past the stables and around to the back entrance of the jail. I tied a white scarf around my mouth and nose to protect my stomach from the smell of decaying flesh. It had been months since the guards buried those who died in the jail, and bodies were everywhere. We had to step and then climb over a pile of corpses to reach Abbie and the boys along the back gate.
For the past few weeks, Abbie and Tommy had come out at night and pried at a hole in a weak link in the fence. They had dug out the dirt below and hidden their work by covering the spot with rubbish. We moved the garbage and wood planks aside. The boys and Abbie crawled through. Essex had broad shoulders and I could see them getting stuck.
He had read my mind, and at once Essex started pulling and kicked at the fence. Tommy and Monroe removed more dirt until the space widened so that Essex could slither through. We heard the dogs barking in the distance; then Clarence’s voice shouted out, “Hamp, fire! All hands on deck.”
“Move!”
We were all on the street side, but already I could hear the alarm go off, signaling to the neighbors that help was needed with a fire. Soon they would all be storming to the jail with buckets of water and slabs of wood to help beat back the blaze.
“This way,” I ordered, but Abbie hobbled next to me and yanked me to the left.
“Faster way.”
We ran, and I had my hand around Abbie’s to help her limp quicker. Halfway down the road, I realized it was the same route that I had taken seven years ago when I arrived in Richmond. We had to cross the open area of the Mayo Bridge; there was no other way to make it to the river. But there was no cover. We would be exposed in the open space. Running would draw attention to us, so I kept Monroe’s hand in mine and walked as swiftly as possible. When we reached the lip of the bridge, I heard the rattling of chains, then a white man calling out orders. If the man saw us, he would question my intentions, and no doubt return us to the Jailer at gunpoint. The man was coming from the left, so we went right and planted ourselves behind the thickness of twin bushes.
We squatted down in the dirt until all fell quiet. When I felt sure that no one was around, we trekked down the well-worn dirt path toward the river, keeping to it until we came to another wide bush where we could take cover with the water view in front of us. I pulled Monroe to me.
“What is the plan?” Essex scooted closer to me.
“We need to wait for word.”
Yellow Wife Page 24
