Yellow Wife(54)

I sat up. Inside there were several books. I pulled the heavy one off the top. It read EMMA. I opened it and started flipping through the pages. The Jailer kissed me on the forehead and then left me alone. I read Emma deep into the night, not stopping unless I had to relieve myself or when Abbie begged me to eat something. The story delivered me from my feelings and provided the escape I needed. By the time I finished the book, my appetite had returned. Then I read Jane Eyre. When the Jailer noticed my improvement, he called me to the parlor. I had taken my meals in my room until then, and my legs were a bit wobbly on the stairs. I appeared in my dressing gown.

“My love.” He seemed startled. “You will catch a draft.”

“I am fine.” I sat on the edge of the piano stool.

“Would you play something for me?”

I turned toward the piano, but my fingers would not gobble up the keys. I could not locate a single song inside of me.

“Maybe another time.”

“How about ‘Pretty Dreamer’? I would love to hear that,” he coaxed. “Just give it a try.”

I turned my legs toward the piano again. Placed my fingers on the keys and pressed down. The first sounds rang out harshly. Then I pressed again. And again. Slow and steady, low and melodic, and then up the scale. More color, more light. The song picked up and I found myself playing notes in staccato. I moved my fingers back and forth across the keys until they were tender and I breathed freer than I had in weeks.

“Brava.” He clapped.

When I turned, wiping the sweat from my brow, I saw that the girls had joined us in the room.

“Mother, lovely.” Hester clapped.

“I want to play like that,” said Isabel. “But where is your pretty dress?”

I chuckled lightly. Joan made her way to me and crawled into my lap. She stuck her pointer finger in her mouth and sighed. I fingered her damp curls from her forehead.

“I have hired a tutor to start working with the girls,” the Jailer informed me. “She will be here day after tomorrow. Would you remember to dress for the visit?”

“She will,” answered Hester. “Of course Mother will.”



* * *



On the morning that the tutor was meant to arrive, Abbie came in with a sweeping new dress.

“Marse said for me to run you a bath and wash your hair.”

I followed Abbie to the bathing chamber. A claw-foot porcelain tub sat in the middle of the room, with steam rising from the water. When I sank my body down in it, my first bath in three weeks’ time, I exhaled. I knew that I had to let my grief go. My son would be in my heart every day, but I had to move on. Abbie soaped my thinning hair. I had taught her to use egg yolk and warm water to give it a healthy glow.

“It will grow back,” she whispered. “I rub your scalp good, then pin it. Nobody know what’s missin’.”

After oiling my skin and dressing, I had to admit that the weight on my chest had lessened. Abbie encouraged me to brush my cheeks with rouge and stain my lips.

“Now you look like the lady of the house.” She smiled, and I felt grateful for her friendship.

July brought in the girls; they were all dressed, and their hair had been combed and tied with bows.

“Mama, you look beautiful.” Hester put her arm around my waist. Isabel tugged on my hand.

“Miss Pheby, Miss Grace here to teach the girls.” July bounced Joan on her hip.

“Let us head into the drawing room so that we can meet your new tutor. When we are finished listening to Miss Grace, we will have cookies and tea.”

Isabel’s face lit up. She had a sweet tooth like her mama. When we entered the room, Miss Grace appeared younger than I had imagined. I estimated her to be around twenty-five years old. Her skin was pale even for this late in the season, and her body looked rail thin. She had dressed her hair elaborately and pulled it tight away from her face.

“Good day, children.” She removed her gloves. “Shall we get started?”

“Yes,” said Hester.

“I will be in the sewing shed.” I had taken Joan from July, and now balanced her on my hip. “Girls, remember to pay attention. July will stay here in case you need anything.”

This became our weekly routine. The kids would be tutored by Miss Grace and July would stay in the room to supervise while I took Joan with me to the shed. I instructed July to listen to the lessons but to keep her face blank and feign disinterest. Any questions after the lesson, I would answer for her. She was a quick study and learned how to spell all the girls’ names and read a few simple sentences in only a few weeks.



* * *



Sissy had kept the fancy girls dressed and going in my absence. When I returned to the shed, she was kneeling near a girl, hemming the bottom of her skirt.

“Morning, Missus,” she called out.

“Morning.” I breezed by her, deciding to take inventory so that I could get ready for my next trip to the market. “How many are we expecting today?”

“Three mo’ after this one.”

“Any supplies running low?”

“Bloomers.” Sissy heaved herself up by holding onto the sewing table. When she stood, her belly rounded in front of her. Surprise lodged in my throat. I had to swallow a few times for the news to settle right in my stomach. I did not have to inquire after the father. Obviously, the Jailer had done this.