Yellow Wife(77)

“Nothing.”

“Nuttin’. Ain’t gettin’ my face cut up,” he spat. Tommy returned.

“Monty, Hamp needin’ us to help unload the wagon. Wood just arrived.”

Monroe wiped his face on his shirt and followed Tommy out. I stood there and prayed.

Dear Lord, I come boldly asking for Your divine safety and protection of my plan. Lord, I commit all things in Your hands.

Guide us to what you have promised, Lord. Amen.





CHAPTER 39




Sick and Tired

I stood next to the spigot behind the kitchen house while three girls cleaned off. One ran a little water through her hair while the other two washed their faces and hands. Elsie shuffled down the steps of the kitchen house, shifting the pot of fresh corn in her arms.

“Missus, the fugitive ain’t eatin’ nothin’ I take. Smell worse ’n the jail. Conditions too much for him.”

The shortest of the three girls ran water over her muddy feet, while the other two stood waiting. I wrung my hands, unsure of what to do. The Jailer still had me under lock and key. It had been weeks since I had snuck out to visit Essex. Twice I had tried, and both times I’d had to turn around because of the guards.

I motioned for the girls to follow me back to the sewing shed. My helper, Janice, had been returned to her master, so the responsibility of preparing the fancy girls fell again solely on me. I dressed the three ladies, collected their stories, prayed over them, and then released them to Clarence.

That evening, as I played the piano in the tavern the Jailer entertained two guests. Sissy had just served him his fourth drink and he seemed on the cusp of being inebriated. The two men who sat with him stood, shook his hand, and exited. Sissy cleared their glasses from the table and made her way to the bar. He gulped and then belched. I sauntered over to him and drew my finger along the back of his ear.

“Have a good night, love?” I took a seat across from him without waiting for permission.

“Those two men are looking to buy for a planter in Chesapeake.”

“Might be a good opportunity to get rid of the fugitive.”

“Eh?” He sucked on a chicken bone.

“Buck like that could be worth seven, eight hundred dollars. Unlike you to leave money on the table.”

His eyes took me in. The one thing I could count on when it came to the Jailer was his hunger to consume, whether it be alcohol, food, women, money, power.

“You counting my purse?”

“Just thinking of the girls. We could use the money to take them on holiday to Philadelphia, like you promised them. Start looking into a school for Hester.” I moved into his lap and stroked his ear again.

He squeezed me. “My sweet Pheby, smarter than most.”

I pushed his hair away from his face. “Elsie said he stopped eating. Cannot make money off a sickly nigger.” I leaned in and kissed him. His hands immediately moved down to my backside. “Clarence should go take a look.”

The Jailer put his lips on mine. When he kissed me, it felt uncivilized. Then he pulled back and sighed.

“Clarence, go check on the fugitive. Make sure the nigger is still breathing. Sissy, bring me another drink.”

I moved from his lap and he slapped me on the rump.

“Care for another song?” Before he could answer, I took my place and played something soft for his ears.

Clarence returned with his hands over his mouth. “Mr. Lapier. The fugitive barely breathing. Think we better move him. It is extremely hot up there.”

The Jailer’s green eyes revealed that he was not in the mood to deal with the matter. “Move him to the viewing room. I am not fetching a doctor. Pheby, go with him.”

I cast my eyes down to the floor.

“And keep a close watch on my wench, Clarence. She got a soft spot for niggers.” He belched. “Especially that one.”

Sissy stood by his side and topped off his drink. He put his hand on her hip and seemed to forget about me for the moment. I stopped in the shed for my medicine bag and then followed Clarence up to the garret room. The stench reeked fouler than before. I choked, then coughed.

When I held up the lantern, I startled an army of white maggots that were marching under his head and over to the feces in the corner. In the middle of the floor, Essex curled in a ball. The clothing I had stitched for him dripped in filth. Insects nipped at his ankles and feet. He did not swat them away.

“Unshackle him so that he can walk.”

“No.”

“Then you must be prepared to carry him in all his waste.”

I flashed the light on Essex’s infection and soiled spots. Clarence removed the key from his pocket and unclasped his foot fetters, then the chains on his wrists. We each lent Essex a hand and pulled him to his feet. He lurched, unsteady, and then found his footing.

“Hold this.” I thrust the lantern at Clarence and took a small broom from my bag and dusted the bugs away.

“Move it,” Clarence commanded.

Essex tried obeying orders, but his knees wobbled and he collapsed toward the floor. Clarence reached out and caught him before his head hit the wall. With one arm on Essex’s waist, he half dragged him down the steps. I led the way to the side door of the tavern. The Jailer’s hearty laugh reached my ears as I opened the door to the viewing room. It was nothing more than a closet used for buyers to sexually sample their female slaves prior to purchasing them. The space held a single chair and an old blanket, which I opened and placed on the floor. Clarence let Essex drift to it.