Yellow Wife(49)

We moved into the parlor. Abbie brought him a nightcap and I took my seat. I closed my eyes and then played the tune that I had shared with the violinist. The tempo and timing sounded beautiful, like a coveted piece of silk floating in the sky.

When I was finished, I had released as best as I could my resentment toward him.

“It is time to get you back over to the tavern. It has been so quiet without your music.”

I stood, walked to where he was, and made myself kiss him on the cheek. He seemed startled by my aggression, but eagerly took my hand and led me to his room. Once the door was closed, I kissed him again, then reached for his trousers and unbuttoned them. He moaned in my mouth as I undid his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. I had learned that when I pretended to want him, our encounter ended much quicker.

The Jailer was not good at all with the straps and pulls that held me in my dress, so I removed his clumsy hands and pushed him down on the bed. His eyes quickened with anticipation as I laid down and pulled back my dress, eager to get my duty over with. While my body suffered through his rough touch and grunts of delight, I closed my eyes and let my mind escape inside the tune I had just played on the piano. When he had his fill I tried rolling away, but he clung to me possessively and breathed into my neck. “I love you, Pheby Delores Brown.”

I swallowed back the bitter taste in my mouth and forced a smile, hoping this meant we were back on decent terms.





CHAPTER 22




The Hickory

The smell of smoke woke me from my stupor. And then there was the yelling and running that rose from outside the window. I turned toward the Jailer’s spot but he was gone. It was the first time that I’d stayed all night in his bed. I hurried to my room, dressed in something that I could serve in, and beat it downstairs. Abbie met me at the foot of the steps.

“What happened?”

“Tommy set the haystack on fire. Know it an accident, but Marse mad as a March hare.”

When I rushed out the back door, Basil and Tommy were running back and forth from the well with buckets of water, passing them to Elsie and Sissy, who were dampening the fire. The Jailer stood there with his arms by his sides, tapping his left foot but not lifting a finger to help. I grabbed a pail. Abbie and I worked one side of the fire while Elsie and Sissy worked at the other. When we finally got the flames to submit, we were all hot, flushed, and exhausted.

“Follow me,” he said to no one in particular, so we all dropped the supplies and went.

When we turned into the courtyard, a coffle was being led into the jail. Four other groups were washing up and preparing for auction. He walked down into the cellar and headed for the whipping room. I did not wish to follow, but because it was little Tommy I went, hoping that my presence would force lenience. Especially after last night. I stood with my back against the damp wall and sweated.

“Basil, strap him down.”

Basil did not hesitate. He grabbed Tommy by the arm and pushed him to the ground.

“But it was an accident, Marse,” Tommy cried out. My, how he had grown since I’d arrived. He stood at least three inches taller and his voice had deepened.

Basil handcuffed his hands to the ground and then put his feet in the ankle beads. The ledge under the window held his collection of weapons and restraints: a whip about nine feet long made of tough cowhide, a cobbing board full of angular holes, various hickory sticks, more cowhide, lead, ropes, two clubs, various shackles, and a chain. He studied the weapons, pondering over them like he was trying to decide between wearing a white shirt or a blue one. He reached for the hickory stick and in a blink he tore into Tommy’s flesh. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

We stood in line, watching Tommy’s skin break loose and the blood begin to seep. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. With each swing the Jailer looked brighter; the sheen glistened high in his face, and any connection that we’d shared the night before seemed forgotten. He behaved like an animal who had finally cornered his prey. Tommy was just a boy, I wanted to scream out. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. My stomach curdled, but I knew if I averted my eyes he would be upset. This was his show and we were supposed to learn from his performance. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. The blood poured and mingled with the last victim’s in the mushy ground. Tommy’s voice had grown weak and his breathing dropped shallow. Thwap. Thwap.

The hickory stick swung through the air and then onto Tommy’s back, breaking in two. The snap of the stick brought the Jailer’s awareness back to the room. Tommy’s back looked so red that I could not see where the skin started and the wounds ended. It was all a messy blob of puffy flesh and blood. No one moved out of fear that anyone could be next. The Jailer tucked his shirt back into his pants and ran his right hand through his hair.

“Basil, get him cleaned up. Fix the situation with the hay. Rest of you back to work.”

I walked the few steps to the supply shed. I had some salve that I made of mutton suet and dandelion roots. I carried my medicine bag over to the kitchen house. When I entered, Elsie had Tommy laid out in her quarters, on the same pallet where I had nursed my fever when I arrived. She dabbed at his back with a wet towel. I watched as she washed his wounds, and then I knelt beside Tommy and went behind her rubbing in the salve. He winced. I held his head and gave him a sip from the brown jar, Mama’s strongest pain medicine. He fell right asleep. But then as I turned to leave, he lifted his head.