Yellow Wife(78)
First I rubbed his clothing down with a basil, lemon, and vinegar oil mixture to kill the insects and any eggs that had nested on him. Then I brushed at him again, dusting the oil through his hair and overgrown beard.
“He needs a bath.”
“Just give him the medicine so we can be on our way,” Clarence replied from the chair. He looked bored and could not stop wiping his hands on his pants.
I tipped the brown jar to Essex’s lips. He looked me in the eye but had the good sense not to say my name.
“He needs food.”
“Fetch it.”
I eased Essex’s head down and then rose to my feet. In the kitchen house, I spooned broth into a cup and took a piece of bread. When I returned, Clarence was chewing on his cuticles while I fed Essex. I placed a small dish with an onion by his head in hopes that it would draw out the fever, then covered him with the remaining edge of the blanket.
Clarence moved to reattach the shackles.
“The man can barely stand, let alone run. Give him the night to heal. There are no windows in here. Lock the door.”
Clarence thought about it for a second, and then walked out of the room.
* * *
Fridays tended to be the busiest day for moving fancy girls. Well before dawn I went to the shed, took inventory, and made sure we were prepared for the day. I thought I was the only one moving before the rooster crowed, and nearly let loose my bladder when Elsie walked through the door carrying a pile of burlap shirts.
“Just been over moppin’ out the tavern. Fugitive ain’t keep down none of him food. Don’t look like his fever break neither.”
“Anyone over there?”
She shook her head. “He asked for you.”
I ran my fingers over my dress. “What did he say?”
“Where the yella wife wit’ the medicine.”
My stomach quieted down. He had not betrayed our connection. Elsie placed the laundered shirts on the table and then headed out of the shed. Instead of carrying my whole medicine bag to Essex, I thought it best to hide a few things in my pockets. The brown jar; a balm I’d made with black elder, peppermint, and ginger for when the girls came down with fever; sliced onion; and some bread. I knew his feet were still swollen, so I tucked a piece of white willow bark in my pocket and made my way.
When I opened the door, Essex was tossing around on the floor, moaning. I rushed to his side.
“It is the yellow wife.”
He smiled through his pain.
“Clever.”
“Knew that if I called you by name, it would give away my affection for you.” His eyes were teary.
“You are going to be okay.” I took the balm and rubbed it across his forehead, over his chest, under his arms, and into the soles of his feet.
“Drink this.” I tipped the jar. Then sprinkled turmeric on his tongue. “This should help with the swelling.”
“The letter.”
“Shh. I am taking care of everything. You rest and get your strength up.”
He squeezed my hand and I kissed his forehead. “Do not ask for me again. Just be ready when I come.”
CHAPTER 40
Fattened for Slaughter
The Virginia State Fair was a good sign that autumn had arrived in Richmond. Families came from both near and far for the excitement of horse races, taste of fresh-squeezed lemonade, and games with prizes for the children. Farmers competed for the biggest grown watermelon, and mistresses showed off their cooks’ flaky-crusted pies. New crop machinery and agricultural equipment were on display, along with stalls of the latest fashions for women. In the very back of the fair was the saloon, where cordials flowed and cigars were smoked, and the highest quality of slaves were available for purchase. It was from eavesdropping in the tavern that I learned that the Jailer had come to his senses and planned to sell Essex on opening night, just a week away.
To prepare Essex for the sale, the Jailer had let him remain in the room at the back of the tavern where the temperature stayed cooler. Elsie’s job was to beef him up by serving him three meals per day, instead of the one meal of spoiled mush that had been left for him when he was in the garret room. The Jailer had me make him root tea to restore his strength, but Elsie administered my healings. Aside from the night he had been moved to the viewing room, and the morning I crept to him, contact with him remained forbidden. I still had not been permitted to go to the market with Abbie. My only reprieve was church on Sundays, which he did begin to permit.
With the approach of the state fair, business had picked up, and the Jailer insisted that I spend every waking hour in the shed preparing girl after girl for sale. Sissy worked around the clock managing his guests at the tavern, while Abbie managed the shopping and the house. With the lot of us so busy, I convinced the Jailer to let the girls stay at Grace Marshall’s home for the week so that we could prepare for the fair with no distractions. Since the girls adored their tutor, he agreed.
On the eve of opening night, the Jailer had his colleagues over for a pre-fair celebration. I entertained for what felt like hours before the group was intoxicated enough to disperse. When the Jailer and I reached the house, his eyes were bloodshot and glassy. He pulled at my dress, and his rough hands fumbled beneath for my bloomers.
“Not in here, what if Abbie comes?”