Yellow Wife(42)

All the way

All the way, way to heaven

Let Jesus lead me, all the way.

They clapped their hands and stomped their feet to provide extra rhythm and I found myself swaying in my seat. The music reached down into my heart and pried it open. I felt appreciation for this encounter with the Holy Spirit. True, I was not free, but living at the jail had taught me that my circumstances could be much worse. Mama always said that a grateful heart served as a magnet for miracles, so I latched onto the worship and gave thanks. I closed my eyes, rocked forward and back, and let their voices engulf me, heal me, restore me, while I prayed, Jesus lead me. Jesus lead me.

When the choir finished, I wiped the moistness from the corners of my eyes.

“We better go,” I said to Abbie and July, loud enough for Elsie to hear me. July stood and motioned for the boy Tommy.

I could feel the ease and joy between the five of us on our walk back to the jail. Elsie and Abbie chatted about the sermon, and July started singing a Bible song in a voice that sounded almost as good as that of the woman who led the choir.

“I did not know you could sing.” I tapped her arm and she chuckled.

The good feeling made me consider stopping at the bakery and purchasing pastries for them, but I decided not to press my luck on our first outing. Perhaps with the Jailer’s permission, we would build up to that. We were about two streets from the jail when a little boy ran up to me flashing a wide grin. He looked to be about ten.

“Missus, know where the Lapier jail is?” He bounced on his toes. I saw that he had a note in his hand.

“You all go on around the back way so you can stretch your legs a little. I will take care of him.”

They obeyed. When they were out of sight, I read the note, then handed it back to the boy. Shuddering, I took his hand.

“Who wrote this?”

“My marse. Said I get what I deserve. Hoping it a sweet.”

The poor boy thought that he would receive a treat. How cruel of his master to send him to the jail, and on a Sunday.

Should be a day of peace.

“I will show you, but let me feed you first.”

I took him to the bakery and bought him a pastry. I learned everything about him on our walk to the jail, knowing that he would be added to my diary. When we got to the gate, I told him to hand the note to the guard. They seized him and dragged him toward the whipping room. His big eyes looked up at me, hurt. I turned away and walked toward the house. I could hear his cries as I nursed Monroe and put him to sleep for his afternoon nap. Whenever I started feeling as if I could endure this place, there was always a reminder that I could not.





CHAPTER 19




Keys of Delight

The next day, Tommy found me coming out the house and said the Jailer wanted to see me. I had not spent much time in the tavern, and had to adjust my eyes to see because everything looked dark. The chairs were deep burgundy and the round tables were stained cherry. A long mirror hung behind the bar, and a man in a white shirt was wiping down the countertop. The room smelled like tobacco, musk, and peanuts. The Jailer sat at a corner table in front of his account ledger.

“Pheby.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. Then he rubbed my belly.

He thought the baby to be a boy, but I knew it was a girl by the way my looks had deserted me. My cheeks had broken out in red dots, and my eyes looked too small for my nose. My hands resembled those of a man’s, and my ankles were thick like tree stumps.

“You wanted to see me?”

“I need you to play tonight. Important clients coming from Kentucky.”

“Here in the tavern?”

We both knew that women were only there to serve drinks and entertain with their bodies. I had no practice with the former and no intention of doing the latter.

“I will be here the whole time. No one will lay a finger on you. You are mine.” He smiled.

Essex had said those same words to me, and now look at what I had become.

“Put on a pretty dress and fix your hair. Play something happy. I want these men to spend money.”

I nodded and exited the tavern. I had not played in front of an audience since Miss Sally hosted parties at the Bell plantation, but there was little time to practice or pull together a repertoire of music. I had no choice but to make it work.

Monroe and July were out back behind the kitchen playing peek-a-boo. When I walked up, Monroe held onto the side of the table with one hand while bouncing on his little knees. Four teeth had come in, and he drooled all down his chin. He looked so much like Essex that the sensation of it caught me in the center of my chest. As soon as he saw me, he fell to his bottom and crawled along the small patch of grass. I picked him up and nuzzled my head in his neck. Elsie came out the kitchen rubbing her hands on her apron.

“Spoilin’ him.”

“What is it to you?” I asked.

“Boy ain’t gon’ know he a slave you keep this up.”

“He is not a slave.”

She laughed. “You thinkin’ ’cause you up at the big house that boy ain’t no slave? Chile, you ain’t smart as you think.”

“What is for dinner?”

“Porridge and carrots. That pleasin’ you, Missus?” Elsie mocked me.

“Mind your tongue.” I carried Monroe toward the house.

“She gon’ learn,” Elsie mumbled under her breath, but I kept walking like I did not hear.