Yellow Wife(74)
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The next morning, Henry O’Keefe offered to give us a tour of his plantation.
“Nice to stretch your legs before the long ride back.”
I followed the men. On our walk, I noticed Polly disappear into the kitchen house. If she was like Missus Delphina, she would be going over the menu for the day. Henry pointed out his various outhouses, and I faked interest. Then he showed us to his stables.
“This here is Gold Charm.” Henry pointed to a horse with a dark, velvety coat. Henry’s chest poked out with pride over his prized steed. When I moved in closer, down on the ground kneeling before the horse was Monroe. I bit my tongue to keep from calling out at the sight of my son.
“Your boy has been the biggest help. Sure you don’t want to sell him to me? For such a young fella, he is mighty gifted with my horses.”
Monroe looked up, but he did not dare run to me or even acknowledge our connection. He wore the breeches I’d sewed for him, but had on a rough burlap shirt that I did not recognize.
The Jailer looped his arm through mine. “I am not going to sell him today, but that could change. I will keep your offer in mind. Come along, boy,” he summoned.
Monroe dusted off his knees, then followed us out of the stables trailing a few feet behind, the way a boy would walk behind his master. When we arrived at the carriage, Hamp helped us in, and then Monroe climbed into the carriage box alongside him. Betty appeared carrying two baskets. She handed one to Hamp and the other to me.
“Miss Polly wish you a safe journey.”
“Please pass on my appreciation.”
Hamp clicked his tongue, and the horses pulled away.
Relieved to have Monroe back, I still worried over what he’d endured on that plantation. I wished I could hold him in the carriage with me and rock away his confusion but babying him would not help his situation. By the time we reached the jail, the sun had slumped down behind the buildings and the journey had provided me with a clearer look at our future.
When we came to a rest in the courtyard, the Jailer lifted my hand to his mouth and eyed me. “Consider this a fresh start. No more middle-of-the-night missions. If you disobey me again, I will sell that boy to the highest bidder.”
“Thank you for showing him favor,” I responded, not for one second doubting the validity of his words. But I also knew that I would not honor his request.
CHAPTER 37
Come by Here, My Lord
With all the commotion of Essex’s arrival, we had stopped attending church service. I missed the cool breeze of our walks, the soulful singing of the choir, the pastor’s heartfelt sermon, and the belief that Jesus could make everything all right. When Sunday rolled around, I insisted that we attend. The Jailer permitted me to take all the girls except for Birdie. One of his children always had to stay behind, along with Monroe, as insurance we would return. Sissy stayed in the big house with Birdie and her son, Daniel. Abbie, Elsie, and Hamp, the new driver, accompanied us.
My daughters loved the production of preparing for church, picking out pretty dresses and having their hair curled at the ends. As soon as we walked through the double doors of the sanctuary, they found their place in the front of the children’s section with the other girls and boys of distinguished families and honored guests.
Three rows from the back, on the women’s side of the church, I spotted Corrina Hinton sitting alone. I removed my gloves and took a seat next to her. The organ started up and the choir sang “Come by Here.”
“Good day.”
“Pheby, so nice to see you.” She swayed.
“Feels good to be back. Needed something to help restore my faith.”
“Trying times,” she sang, keeping in step with the choir.
I sang back, “He sold July.”
We both kept our heads facing forward, but she reached for my hand and patted it.
“Life here ebbs and flows. There will be rough patches but you must stay strong.”
“Corrina, I need your help.”
“Whatever I can do.”
The choir finished and the crowd shouted in unison, “Praise the Lord! Amen! Glory be!”
Once the cries began to die, Pastor Ryland walked into the pulpit and gave his welcome address.
Corrina dabbed her handkerchief at the corners of her mouth while whispering, “Ears watch and eyes listen here. Meet me inside the bakery on market day.”
I nodded.
“Tell the woman with the cleft chin that you are meeting me.”
My hand covered hers, and then I turned my attention to the gospel.
* * *
On Wednesday I went to the market. I put in my weekly order at Thalhimer’s Dry Goods and went to Hilda’s competitor on Franklin Street to order ready-made dresses. When I had completed all the tasks on my list, I meandered to the bakery. I loved that I could taste cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. A woman with a cleft chin served behind the counter. There were two white customers in line ahead of me, and after she aided them, I whispered that I was meeting Corrina. She did not raise her eyes, but handed me a swirl pastry and pointed to the seat away from the window. I ate slowly and waited. After about ten minutes, a little girl around Hester’s age came to wipe my table. When she finished, she motioned with her shoulder for me to follow her.