Yellow Wife(56)

“Pheby. Need you at the tavern, now.”

“Would you like me to change?” I asked, knowing he would not want his clients to see me in my simple housedress.

“There are but ten minutes to spare.”

I untied Birdie and handed her over to July. Abbie was slow, but after fidgeting with my straps and pulls, she got me into my lavender calico dress. I twisted up my hair and made haste. I slipped in unnoticed and started playing a classical song that made me think of home. When I peeked over the top of the piano, I saw the Jailer sitting with four men at a table. One of the entertainment girls brought over a platter. I recognized two of the men as Silas and David, his jailer friends with the wives whom I adored. From eavesdropping on the conversation, I found out that the other two men were politicians. I had seen neither before. The Jailer’s cheeks were red, and I could ascertain from his tone that he was riled up.

“How does my boy just walk away with no trace?” He was yapping on about Basil again.

“I have never lost a nigger,” the Jailer fumed.

“Some of them plan their escape for years. Sneaky.”

“Yankee abolitionists are not making it easy for us. Do they not recognize the law? That we have got papers on them?”

“They think differently.”

“Foolishly.”

“Did you get wind of the nigger in Massachusetts, causing a ruckus?” asked the politician on the right.

Silas nodded. “What is his name? Essex Henry.”

I missed a note on the piano but quickly recovered. Had I heard him right?

“Yes, that boy Essex Henry is causing so much trouble, the federals had to get involved. He is in custody now, but they are planning to bring him back to Virginia, where he belongs,” answered the politician on the left.

“He needs to be punished, and punished good.”

David put down his glass. “We need to send a message that we will not stand for this.”

“Bring him here,” the Jailer growled, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention.

The politician on the left clapped the Jailer on the back.

“That is what we came here for, Rubin. To get you on board.”

“These niggers need a good showing of what happens when they fix it in their head to escape.”

The politician smiled. “Thought you were the man to do it.”

The Jailer smiled back. “I will get justice on this nigger for every slave who has run off, or even thinks about running off. Plan it big. Open up the courtyard for folks to come from miles away to see. I will scare them straight. You have my word.”

One of the politicians stood up. His belly was as big as the Jailer’s. “I will inform the authorities and get back to you with a date. Now, can I indulge?” he said, pointing to one of the girls. The Jailer waved his hand for the man to go.

I played and played and played. Essex has been captured. My Essex is coming here. Everything in me started aching for him at once, but on the same notion, I was desperate over his fate. With Basil having run, the Jailer would be ruthless. He had been merciless in his punishment before. But now, there was no telling what he would do. God help us.





PART THREE



Bully Trader





CHAPTER 27




Auction

After overhearing the men speak of Essex being sent to the jail for punishment, I found it impossible to rest that evening. After minimal sleep, I awakened to the sound of hammers pounding, objects falling, and loud shouts. July pushed open my bedroom door.

“What is the meaning of so much noise?”

“Marse having the pen cleaned out. Ain’t never smelled nothing so bad.” She pinched her nose and slid my window closed.

My stomach knotted. The jail had not been cleaned in the six years that I had lived here. All of this for Essex’s arrival? I waved off breakfast and headed outside. The odor was so putrid that I ran back to the big house and told July to keep the girls locked up in the drawing room. I felt sure they would fall ill if they inhaled the fumes. On my way to the shed, I gave Monroe and Tommy lavender-scented cloths to tie over their mouths and noses.

“Use this as a barrier to breathe until the odor subsides,” I instructed.

Monroe stood still while I looped the cloth behind his neck. His head rose past my waist now and he was due for a haircut. Working with Tommy had broadened his shoulders and he had lost all traces of baby fat. It was hard to believe he was only six years old.

While Tommy mucked the stall, he told me that in preparation for the fugitive’s flogging, all punishment and trading had been ceased on the property for forty-eight hours.

“Marse said that was enough time to clean the pen and paint the tavern and big house. People coming from miles away to see.”

I leaned into the boys. “This is no time for mistakes. Do not give him any reason to find fault with you.”

Tommy nodded his head, but Monroe’s eyes widened with fright.

I pulled him to my waist and held him tight.

“Mind your tongue and stay close to Tommy. I will be near, watching over you always.” I squeezed his hand.

The courtyard was noisy with the drumming of sledgehammers. Four strapping men were erecting a platform stage. Men and women, threaded together by chains and ropes, sat along the cobblestone pavement while a horde of others shoveled out pounds of sticky bodily waste, rotten debris, and even a small lifeless body. I hacked at the sight and overpowering smell, and then removed a cloth from my pocket and tied it over my nose. Little children sat at the women’s feet, and a baby with big hair cried, refusing to be soothed by her mother’s arms. A bony girl leaned as far as she could with her ropes and vomited. It was the toxicity in the air making them sick. Noxious enough to poison. Something had to be done.