Yellow Wife(79)

My words fell on deaf ears. He held my waist and took me against the piano, breathing hard and moaning into my neck. When he was finished, he slapped my rear end.

“You never disappoint.”

Humiliated even with no witnesses, I fumbled with my skirts. The Jailer leaned his weight on the piano, his trousers still around his knees. “Do you love me?”

My fingers went to the pins in my hair.

“Of course I do, honey.”

“Say it.” He suddenly appeared sober and solemn. “Say that you love me.”

I reached for his hands and looked into his eyes. “I love you, and the life you have made for our family.”

He smiled.

“Nightcap?”

“That would be lovely.”

I went to the drink cart and poured him a liberal shot, slipping in the sleep aid that I had concealed in my sleeve.

“Let us go up. Big day tomorrow.”

He gulped down his drink and staggered up the stairs. In his bedroom, I helped him out of his clothing and tucked him into bed.

“Where are you going?” He grabbed my wrist.

“For my sleeping gown. I will return directly.” I kissed his cheek.

In my bedroom, I stood by the door and waited. Ten whole minutes passed, and then I heard him breathe heavily. Quick and quiet, I crept down the stairs. Abbie stood at the back door with a small satchel strapped across her shoulders. Her look was no longer skittish but stern. She was still small in stature, but her spirit had grown in the past few weeks of concealing our secrets. She looked ready.

“You know what to do?”

She nodded and hobbled out the back door, dragging her lame foot behind her. I crept over to the stables. Monroe was asleep on a pile of hay and I had to nudge him, then cover his mouth with my hand to keep him from calling out.

“No time to waste, stay silent at all cost. Move.”

Tommy popped his head up. “Me too,” he pleaded.

I did not have plans for him.

“Please, Miss Pheby. He will kill me when he knows I aided you.”

I motioned for him to follow, feeling protective over him, like I was his mother too. Abbie was behind the stables holding the kerosene lantern. She motioned to the boys to spread out the hay so that she could start the fire.

“I will meet you at the spot,” I mouthed, then lifted my skirts and rushed over to the tavern. When I entered, I listened for movement. There was no sound, and I hoped that the girl I had paid to keep Clarence distracted was doing her job. The key to the viewing room was hanging on the hook. When I unlatched the door, Essex sat upright in the chair and smiled at me. It was the same grin he had given me when I had snuck into the stables to meet him back home, and it made my throat catch. The steady meals had done him good. His color had returned, and just that morning Tommy had shaved him and cut his hair to prepare him for sale. But I had other plans.

“Hurry.”

He grabbed my face and kissed me. If his life had not been on the line, his lips could have undone my resolve. I pulled away, breathless, and ushered him out of the small room. On our way out, I grabbed the hat that I had stashed by the piano along with a waistcoat and shoes. Both were too big but I told Essex to slip them on. Because of the public flogging and the newspapers, folks knew what Essex looked like. He would need a disguise if we were going to get him out of Richmond undetected.

Adrenaline coursed through me so quickly that it was hard to think. From my pocket, I pulled a pair of reading spectacles, a fishing knife, and a small purse.

“Fasten these to the inside pocket of your trousers.”

When we got outside, a fire of hay, papers, and debris was kicking up a fuss. I led Essex past the stables and around to the back entrance of the jail. I tied a white scarf around my mouth and nose to protect my stomach from the smell of decaying flesh. It had been months since the guards buried those who died in the jail, and bodies were everywhere. We had to step and then climb over a pile of corpses to reach Abbie and the boys along the back gate.

For the past few weeks, Abbie and Tommy had come out at night and pried at a hole in a weak link in the fence. They had dug out the dirt below and hidden their work by covering the spot with rubbish. We moved the garbage and wood planks aside. The boys and Abbie crawled through. Essex had broad shoulders and I could see them getting stuck.

He had read my mind, and at once Essex started pulling and kicked at the fence. Tommy and Monroe removed more dirt until the space widened so that Essex could slither through. We heard the dogs barking in the distance; then Clarence’s voice shouted out, “Hamp, fire! All hands on deck.”

“Move!”

We were all on the street side, but already I could hear the alarm go off, signaling to the neighbors that help was needed with a fire. Soon they would all be storming to the jail with buckets of water and slabs of wood to help beat back the blaze.

“This way,” I ordered, but Abbie hobbled next to me and yanked me to the left.

“Faster way.”

We ran, and I had my hand around Abbie’s to help her limp quicker. Halfway down the road, I realized it was the same route that I had taken seven years ago when I arrived in Richmond. We had to cross the open area of the Mayo Bridge; there was no other way to make it to the river. But there was no cover. We would be exposed in the open space. Running would draw attention to us, so I kept Monroe’s hand in mine and walked as swiftly as possible. When we reached the lip of the bridge, I heard the rattling of chains, then a white man calling out orders. If the man saw us, he would question my intentions, and no doubt return us to the Jailer at gunpoint. The man was coming from the left, so we went right and planted ourselves behind the thickness of twin bushes.