Yellow Wife(61)

Hester was reading a book while Isabel and Joan worked on a puzzle. Birdie was nestled on a floor pillow fast asleep. I collapsed into the chair and removed my bonnet.

“Miss Pheby, you all right?” July rose and poured me a glass of water.

“I will be fine.” I drank it down and willed myself to breathe.

“Why are so many people here?” Isabel jumped up and tugged on the hem of my dress.

“?’Cause Papa had to flog a nigger who ran away.” Hester looked up from her book.

“Hester!” My hand flew to my mouth in shock. “I told you about using that word.”

She looked bashful. “Just repeating what Papa said.”

“I do not want to hear that talk again or you will be punished.”

“But, Mama—”

“That is enough.” I held my hand up to silence her.

“Can I get you something to eat?” July touched my shoulder.

“No, thank you. I am going to freshen up a bit.”

In my bedroom, I looked out on the courtyard at the people laughing and being merry. I resented them all. Before I could chew completely on my bitterness, I noticed that the red flag had been raised, which signaled that the auction for today was set to begin. I dabbed my cheeks with rouge and then hurried off to do my duty.

When I arrived in the shed, my helper, Janice, already had the girls dressed and lined up to make the procession over to the tavern for the sale. I felt so troubled over Essex being without medical care that I could not remember any of the girls’ names. I only cared about getting over there to clean and dress his wounds before they became infected. Janice and I worked hard preparing and moving the girls, hour after hour, with little downtime. By the time I walked the last group across the courtyard, the party had died down, the band was packing up, and only a trace of blue remained in the sky. My back throbbed from the long day, but I felt determined to get to Essex.

At the tavern, the Jailer was surrounded by men. They were drinking and talking loud. Half-full dishes of food were laid out on the table. As I turned to leave, he called my name, then motioned for me to play. At the piano, I went through my repertoire of songs, starting from light and airy and moving to hard and robust. I tried to lose myself in the music as I often did when playing in the tavern, but I could not stop picturing Essex or his injuries. Finally, the Jailer stood and stumbled with his group of men to the door. I watched as they clapped him on the back and congratulated him again before leaving.

“Anything for the cause,” he hiccupped. There was a red stain streaking his shirt, and his cravat had come undone.

“Pheby?”

I hated the way he made my name sound like a question, when it was most certainly a command. I moved away from the piano and followed him out the door. He put his arm around my shoulder to steady himself as we headed toward the house.

“Fine performance today, was it not?”

“You outdid yourself.”

“Gave that nigger a whipping that he will never forget.”

He pulled me tighter and kissed me on the neck. When we reached the parlor, he called to Abbie for a drink.

“Honey, you go up and I will bring your nightcap to you.”

He leaned in and kissed me on the lips. “Such a smart girl. It is why I chose you to be mine.”

I went to the bar and poured him a healthy shot of whiskey. My hands were shaking as I listened for his footsteps on the stairs. When I did not hear any sounds, I carried the drink to my room, removed a dab of sleeping powder from my medicine bag, and mixed it into his drink.

“Here you are.”

He sat on the edge of his bed trying to remove his shoes.

“I will help you undress,” I offered.

The Jailer drank the whiskey in one gulp. I took my time removing his shoes and then his socks. Once I had his pants around his ankles, he collapsed backward onto the bed and started to snore. I returned to my room and removed my jewelry, then dug in my closet for the necklace that Essex had given me before he escaped the plantation. I changed into a simple work dress and took what I needed from my medicine bag, sliding them into the hidden pockets of my skirt.

The stairs in the big house usually groaned under the weight of the person descending the steps, but years of going up and down to check on the children had taught me which spots to avoid if I wanted to move undetected. I poured a canteen of water and wrapped up some leftover ham and bread. Outside, I slid along the shadows of the courtyard. The square remained cluttered with rubbish. I looked over my shoulder every step of the way until I stood in a dark corner of the jail. Essex was being held in the garret room, a small space at the very top. When I climbed the stairs, the key hung on the hook outside of the room. I had to bend and crawl through a trapdoor to get inside. It was pitch-black until I lit the candle and closed the door behind me.

“Essex?”





CHAPTER 29




Reunited

He did not answer. When my eyesight adjusted to the light I saw how tiny the room was: only about eight feet wide, and there was no bed or chair for comfort, just a rude bench fastened against the wall and a coarse blanket. Essex laid flat on the floor and did not move at the sound I made as I entered. His arms were shackled, his feet fettered, and the smell of infection setting in was nauseating.

“Essex.” I knelt beside him, touching the top of his hair with my fingertips.