Yellow Wife(22)

The white men were on horseback: one at the front, one in the middle of the line, and one bringing up the rear. Matilda’s moans got so loud that the man in charge slowed his horse next to her and put his club in her face.

“If I hear one more thing from you, I’ll shoot you in the head.” He rode up and shouted for all to hear. “Keep your mouths shut and your feet moving forward.”

Matilda stayed quiet after that, and no one else in the coffle made a peep. While we traveled down the road, deeper into the night, the temperature dropped and the clouds rolled in. My dress was made well, but some wore threadbare scraps that barely covered their private areas. The sky gave way and it drizzled off and on but that did not halt our journey. When the sun came up, we stopped for a small break. They passed around a few buckets with drops of water, but it did not quench my thirst. Hunger pains stung my belly, and the rope cut welts into my wrists.

We marched again until nightfall, and stopped when we reached an open field. Two women were released from the front of the line and instructed to make a fire. The rest of us were told to sit on the ground. Even though the dirt was cold and hard, it felt good to stop and stretch. My feet ached, and my ankles had puffed up like dough rising. As much as I wanted to remove my shoes, I feared not being able to get them back on. Plus our hands were still tied.

Cakes made of cornmeal and boiled herring were passed around. We were given water to wipe the journey from our fingers, but the dirt remained mucked into my palms. Somehow, I managed to get my food into my mouth. The meal did not taste good, but I sensed it would be a stretch before we were given more, so I forced it all down. When the canteen came to me, I drank with desperation. It was the first time in my life that I did not care if the water ran clean or held contamination.

“Lie back and get some sleep,” commanded the man in charge.

Matilda fell asleep before I made peace with the earth. I had never slept outside on the ground before and could not find respite. The night sounds frightened me. Crickets rubbed their legs together, birds squawked, a coyote howled in the distance. I tossed and turned, worrying over snakes sneaking up to strangle me. Even the crackle of the fire made me uneasy.

Since rest would not come, I passed the time conjuring up my memory of lying with Essex. I replayed his hard body moving against mine in the stables until I could smell him in front of me. Pretending to be in his arms proved to be the only thing that eased my anxiety and allowed me a little peace.

Before sunrise we were roused and then were at it again. We repeated the march schedule for days. We walked until my feet had blisters on soft, tender skin. We trekked past the time that the raw skin on my feet opened and my socks were soiled with blood. No matter how terrible I felt, we had to keep stepping or else be clubbed. Some in my gang sang to keep the rhythm but I did not. I kept my despair quiet, close to my heart.



* * *



On the eighth day of walking, we reached a quaint town near the mouth of the river. The sun smiled brightly from the sky while the wind cooled my face. I had never seen so many boats in my life. Big steamboats, flatboats, small fishing boats.

Along the water’s edge sat a string of homes built close together, two and three stories high, multicolored, narrow, on tiny patches of land. As we got closer, the air smelled sour, like a combination of old fish and forgotten fowl, killed but never fried. That, mixed with the smell of those of us in shackles, made my stomach swirl like a spinning top. I held my breath and tried to keep up with the line. Then one of the men told us to stop.

“Sit where you are. Wait for my command.”

The man in charge chatted with a round-faced man standing near a boat with steam drifting from long pipes. The boat had two stories with a paddle wheel in the back. A flask moved back and forth between the two and they shared a laugh.

Not knowing what came next simply unnerved me. On the plantation, there was always order. In the amount of time we waited in the grass I could have weeded and watered Missus Delphina’s entire garden, had I been back home. The horseflies showed no pity, and I moved my roped hands up and down to shoo them. Finally, the two men appeared and ushered us up from the ground.

“Go up the ramp to the boat. Move to the front of the vessel and lie down in a straight row.”

The women went first. The wooden ramp felt unsteady under our weight but we shuffled across. We were packed tightly at the point of the front of the deck, with our backs on the floor and our heads toward the sky. A crew of men stood above us on the second level with a clear view of us below. I longed for a bath and clean clothing.

The men’s voices strung together in quick conversation. One said, “Cain’t wait to get to Richmond. Got me a fine piece waitin’ on me.”

“You ain’t got no woman nowhere,” said a man with a high-pitched voice.

“Jest jealous ’cause I get luckier than you.”

“Dream on, sailor. Better get that paddle wheel going if you want to keep this job. Capt’n coming.”

I looked around the boat deck wondering on the possibility of escape, but could barely move my body because we were so tightly knitted together. A few minutes later the boat pulled away from the dock. As we drifted, I wondered if we were on the James River. What would Richmond be like, and would it be our final stop? How would Missus Delphina’s call for punishment play out?

There were four white men on board, including the captain. The youngest of the group had long black hair tied back and a hook nose. Whenever I looked up to the top deck, he stared down at me. I must have been a sight in my filthy red dress among the others wearing browns and burlap. He tried catching my eye but I turned the other way.