Yellow Wife(69)

I paused, and then out of the shadows jumped a black cat.





CHAPTER 33




The Vigil

For the next few mornings, July appealed to me to change out of my soiled dress but I refused. The dress marked my vigil, and I would wear it until my children returned unharmed. Three excruciating days had passed, with me worrying until my mind played hoaxes on me. From the shed, I thought I heard Joan’s sweet voice calling, Mama! I leaped up twice, only to realize that it was the wind. Elsie forced more stew on me, and Janice kept setting water within arm’s reach. But I did not require their watching. I wanted Monroe, Hester, Isabel, Joan, and Birdie to come home.

To escape the depression, I sewed and mended every pair of socks; knitted hats and scarves; repaired sheets, curtains, towels, and tablecloths, and did not stop until my hands stiffened. When Janice noticed my discomfort, she took my palms and massaged them with lard until my muscles relaxed. Janice had soothing eyes. Not bothered by my poor hygiene, she stayed by my side until I went up to the house each night. Her silent companionship reminded me of when I used to work side by side with Mama in the loom house. Words were never necessary, and for that I was grateful.

Around suppertime, Elsie came to the shed holding a bowl. The bite between us had lost its teeth. She had cared for my son in ways that I could not with him living in the kitchen house. Nursed his fevers in the middle of the night, gave him extra helpings of food, support, and love. I accepted that Monroe was her boy too.

“Missus, I don’t think the prisoner bein’ fed ’nough. Permission to take him somethin’?”

I had let my grudge against Essex get the best of me.

Suddenly, I felt ashamed that it had gone on for this long. The poor man was suffering, and now at my hands.

“Yes, please.”

She hurried off with the food. When she returned, she had her hand over her mouth.

“What is it?”

“Poor man smell worse than hog slop. Terrible how he bein’ treated. Shame ’fore God I tell you.” She clucked her tongue and walked heavily toward the kitchen house.

Had I forgotten about Essex? I made up my mind that I would shake my grief and anger and go to him. Before leaving the shed for the night, I wrapped up a burlap shirt and some pieces of fabric I had cut out to make trousers. July had been working in the kitchen helping Elsie since the children had been taken away, and Abbie served me dinner alone. When I’d had my fill, I told her to leave the leftovers for me to clean up and take an early rest.

“You sure, Missus? Don’t mind hangin’ ’round.”

“No, get some sleep. You have been working hard.”

Her fingers clawed at her scalp.

“Abbie, I apologize for grabbing you the other day. My mind has not been right. Please forgive me.”

“I’s okay, Missus. You got your own troubles.”

“Go now.” I pushed her.

Once she hobbled down the hall to her room, I wrapped up the remaining carrots and sweetbreads in a cloth and stuffed it along with the water canteen in my hidden pocket. In a clean rag, I placed lye soap, shears, a needle, thread, and a candle. I tied the bundle like a satchel around my waist and then covered the bulk under my skirt. By the back door, I had left a pail of clean water with a small jar of the Jailer’s whiskey inside of it. I grabbed it and then made my way through the shadows of the buildings.

The bucket was heavy and I dampened my brow before unlocking the door to the garret room. The stench hit me all at once.

When I lit the candle, Essex was lying on the floor, clinging to the hymnal that I’d given him on my first visit. Essex had not been taught to read on the plantation, but I imagined the hymnal offered him comfort nonetheless.

“Sorry for your trouble,” he called.

I rested the bucket at my feet, turned my back, then reached under my skirt to remove the bundle.

“Let me help you up.” I reached for his elbow until he was steady on his feet; then I took the scissors and started cutting him out of his clothing. The shackles prevented me from removing them any other way.

“Don’t have to do this.”

“Be still.” I breathed through my mouth.

Flies hummed in my ears, and I had to stop cutting to swat the mosquitoes nipping at my wrists. I could only hope that his smell had not attracted any larger vermin. When I peeled back the soiled shirt, I was relieved to discover that the material had not set into his wounds. Scabs had formed. There was no sign of new infection. I traced his scars, then turned to examine his chest. His shoulders were a solid mass of muscle, his stomach drum tight, a firm slab of elastic. The shears trembled in my hands as I cut off his trousers. My resolve weakened, and I peeped down.

Waste was clumped in the seam, and I gagged as I removed the breeches from around his thick legs. Essex hunched his shoulders until we were nearly at eye level. Besides his shackled hands covering his manhood, he stood there naked. The soiled items I balled together and carried outside the door.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

“Sorry it has taken me so long.”

“I made you upset.”

“No excuse.” I dipped the rag in the water and then lathered it with lye soap. When I took the cloth across his shoulders, he winced.

“I know it is cold. I could not risk heating it.”