Tommy nodded his head, but Monroe’s eyes widened with fright.
I pulled him to my waist and held him tight.
“Mind your tongue and stay close to Tommy. I will be near, watching over you always.” I squeezed his hand.
The courtyard was noisy with the drumming of sledgehammers. Four strapping men were erecting a platform stage. Men and women, threaded together by chains and ropes, sat along the cobblestone pavement while a horde of others shoveled out pounds of sticky bodily waste, rotten debris, and even a small lifeless body. I hacked at the sight and overpowering smell, and then removed a cloth from my pocket and tied it over my nose. Little children sat at the women’s feet, and a baby with big hair cried, refusing to be soothed by her mother’s arms. A bony girl leaned as far as she could with her ropes and vomited. It was the toxicity in the air making them sick. Noxious enough to poison. Something had to be done.
“Pheby.” The Jailer stood in the door of the tavern, dressed for a day of business.
“Good morning.”
“What do you think?” He gestured to all the work going on, seemingly unaware of the dangerous odors.
“I am concerned about their health. The stench is no good for them to breathe. Especially the children.” I pointed to the crying babies. “We must find temporary housing until the cleanup is finished.”
“They are nothing more than something to sell. Like furniture.” He reached for his pocket watch, opened it, and then returned it. “An advertisement ran today in the classified section, inviting nearby men to come with their family members and property to watch the flogging.”
“Has anyone passed around water?”
“Enough with that.” His eyes held mine, then he patted my bottom and steered me toward the shed.
* * *
The baby’s cries carried on persistently through the night. I could not lie in bed while the infant suffered, so I slipped out of the house and went to the shed for my medicine bag. When I rounded the courtyard, the people were still bonded, woven in packs along the ground. Some slept, but most were wide-awake. I walked through the rows following the sound of the child. When I located the mother, I reached for her baby. She turned her back and shook her head no, frightened that I meant them harm.
My eyes were soft. “Let me help.”
She looked me over and then held up the baby.
The little girl’s skin flamed with fever. I rubbed a lemon balm on her palms and chest, behind her ears, and on the soles of her feet. To her mother, I extended my canteen of water. She drank deeply. Once I finished with them, I moved through the row, feeling foreheads and doling out medicine. Then I closed my eyes and prayed.
The next morning, I was exiting the tavern with a package of books that had been delivered for the girls, when the Jailer and Monroe strolled past me. Since he had never taken an interest in my child, the alarm of them together rang in both of my ears.
“Can Monroe carry these books for me up to the house?” I called out.
But he ignored me and shuffled on with Monroe at his heel. I could feel my son’s trepidation but he did not chance a glance at me for reassurance. What could he have done to be beaten at six? But then they walked past the whipping room, away from the jail, and out the front gates. I sighed a small relief, but then realized that I did not know which fate would prove worse—Monroe being stretched out, or Monroe leaving the property with the Jailer alone.
As many times as I had pictured Monroe’s first time off the grounds, he was always with me. I would show him the shops, point out the carriages, walk with him along the river, show him the city lights, buy him a pastry, and let him sit in the café to enjoy the smell of butter, vanilla, and sugar.
I wanted to chase after them but knew that doing so would make matters worse. Seeing my daughters would ease me some, so I went over to the house to get my thoughts together. July greeted me at the back door with Birdie on her hip. The baby cooed when she saw me and reached for my chin. I crossed into the drawing room, where the other three girls were playing on the floor.
“Mama.” Joan rushed into my arms, her fingers around my neck.
“Can you play with us?” Hester begged with two hands in front of her.
“What are you playing?”
“Auction,” chimed Isabel.
I looked at them, confused.
“Let us show you how it is done.” Hester led me to the chair. “Joan, you be the buyer. Isabel, get on the block.”
Hester held up her hand to Joan. “This here is a fine girl. Who has one hundred dollars for her? Do I hear one hundred dollars?”
“One hundred,” cheered Joan.
“Two hundred, anyone two hundred?”
“Two hundred.”
“Three hundred. Three hundred. Someone three hundred.”
“Three hundred. That is it,” Joan called out.
“Sold for three hundred.”
Isabel started fake crying. “But I do not want to leave. Mama.” She held her arms out to me. “Mama, help me.”
Joan started dragging Isabel away.
I sat stunned. “Stop it! Where did you learn this game?” My nostrils flared from one child to the other.
“We saw the niggers playing it in the courtyard while they were waiting to be sold,” Hester offered. “Now it is my turn to be sold.”
“You were sold last time! It is my turn.” Joan pushed past Hester and stood on the footstool. “Mama, do you want to get sold?”
I bared my teeth. “That is enough. No more of this. I never want to see this game again! And we do not call them niggers, they are people. Am I clear?”
The girls looked confused at my outrage, and I pushed up to my feet. “When folks are sold, they never see their families again. What if it were Monroe?” I let slip.
“Something happen to Monty?” Hester’s eyes widened.
“Nothing is promised. You hear me? This is people’s lives you are playing. Now go wash up for lunch,” I raised my voice.
July entered the room and ushered the girls off. I returned to my post.
* * *
The Jailer had rented a woman named Janice to help me with the sewing for the fancy girls. When we had finished up for the day, I returned to the house to help July settle the children for the night. I had just rocked Birdie to sleep when Abbie called to me. When I found her, she was staring out the back door at the garden.
“Abbie, did you need me for something?”
Abbie looked up at the ceiling and scratched her dry right foot with her left toe. Her apron was filthy around her waist.
“Forgot what I wanted again.”
“Did he send for me?”
“Yes. Marse said join him for dinner.”
I moved her short hair back from her forehead. “You feeling all right?”
“Yes, Miss Pheby. Just fine.” She smiled.
But Abbie was not fine. She had slipped away little by little since Basil ran off and the Jailer’s whipping. With Monroe gone and Essex’s impending arrival, I had little time to help her through her pain. I tipped a bit of perfume to my wrists while July fastened me into a plum-colored dress. When I walked into the dining room, he stood while I took a seat at his arm.
“How was your day?” And where is my son? I forced a sweet smile.
“If I say they are furniture, you say okay.”
“Okay.”
“You do not go behind my back embarrassing me with your mercy.”
How did he know that I’d administered medicine and water to the ones left outside?
“I do not like it when you disobey me.” He wiped his mouth.
My head tilted toward my lap in a way that I hoped looked submissive.
“There is no room for pity in this business. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, I understand. It will not happen again.”
“I have been too lenient with you. That is my greatest mistake. You forgot I am your master.”
“I did not.”
> “Say it.” He slammed his fist on the table. “Say it, goddamn it!”
“You are my master.”
“I have spoiled you.” He threw back his drink, and I sat stiff as a board.
“Upstairs,” he growled.
I stammered, “W-w-would you care for dessert? I could play you a song.”
“Now!”
I pushed back my chair, dropped my napkin on the table, and moved toward the stairs. His heavy footsteps echoed behind me but could not compete with the pace of my racing heart. In his bedroom, he slammed the door behind him. Then forced me onto my knees and pushed up my dress. I could barely breathe as he wrapped his meaty hand around my throat and entered me.
“You are mine, Pheby Delores Brown. I am your master. Say it.”
I choked for air and forced the words out.
He loosened his grasp but continued to drive into me. He had been crude before but never like this. I tried to disappear in my mind, but the searing pain of him ripping apart my insides kept me present. It did not matter that I lived in the big house, had his children, helped run his business: I was the same as those chained up in the courtyard awaiting sale. My status did not protect me from the grip he had on my hair, the bites he put on my neck, and the beating and hemorrhaging of my female parts. I bit my bottom lip and endured it all. When he finally passed out across his bed, I crawled to my room, closed the door behind me, and refused to cry.
* * *
I had just finished soaking in the tub and massaging ointment into my bruises when I spotted Monroe walking through the courtyard from my bedroom window. His back was bent and his head hung low. It took everything in me not to shout out my window for him to come to me. My son, a pawn in a game he had no business playing. If only I could bury him in my floorboard along with the money I pinched off from my trips to the market, the diary, Mama’s red dress, and Essex’s necklace—all the things dear to my heart. But I could not. I needed a plan.
CHAPTER 28
The Boston Lion
Most everything to do with the transportation of slaves happened in the dead of the night, while the more fortunate were tucked away in their beds. Essex was due to arrive on July 16, and the Jailer had spent every waking moment in preparation. Though I had seen horrors, I had not seen his desire for punishment reach such a fever pitch as it did now, and his heightened attention kept me in a constant frenzy. I could only imagine how much worse it would be if he were to discover that Essex was Monroe’s father. Only now was I grateful that the Jailer disregarded Monroe, because if he really looked him dead in the eyes he would see the resemblance to Essex. If that were to happen, I was certain my beloved would not make it out of here alive.
On the eve of Essex’s entrance into Richmond, the Jailer refused to retire even though it had grown late. Instead, he waited in the parlor, drinking whiskey and eating peanuts. I hoped his heavy consumption would not cause him to behave foolishly. To ease his tension, I offered to play for him, but he was not in the mood for music and sent me up to bed. It was just as well; I had a better view of the courtyard from my bedroom window anyway. There I perched on my chair and waited. I tried to read by candlelight, but my mind was so distracted with thoughts of Essex that the words blurred together. I wondered what he would be like. Would he remember me? Had he searched for me? Had he taken up with another?
Even though I had anticipated his arrival, I was ill prepared when the gates were thrown open and Essex shuffled in with his head down. My arms broke out in goose pimples. Flanking him on either side were four white men. Straightaway, I could see that the journey had taken a toll on him. His white shirt had been completely soiled, the hair on his head wildly overgrown, and his beard matted with dirt.
The Jailer stumbled across the courtyard, belting out directions to the drivers, blocking my view of Essex with his large girth. I wanted to bang on the window and shout Essex’s name, but then the driver holding his chain yanked him forward. Essex lifted his head, taking in his new surroundings.
“Look up, sweetheart. I am right here,” I whispered in vain.
When the men moved him from the courtyard to the jail, I did not realize that I had been holding my breath until I sat down feeling faint. My need to see Essex consumed me, but sneaking out at that moment would prove dangerous. Besides, the guards were with him and I had not heard the Jailer return to the house.
I imagined what my first conversation with Essex would be like. The sound of his voice as we caught up on the last six years, and his reaction to having a son. I had not been privy to any updates from the Bell plantation and I wondered if he had news of Lovie or Aunt Hope. I was so wrapped up in my fantasy that I did not know that the Jailer had entered my room until he reached for my waist and lifted my dress.
* * *
It had been decided that the flogging would take place on Saturday. Just two days away. In preparation for the big event, the Jailer had people on the half acre busier than a moth in a mitten, stacking chairs, setting up tables, lugging liquor, prepping food, blowing up balloons, organizing games for the kids and instruments for the bandstand. The night before the flogging, he had decided to entertain his colleagues, local politicians, and important plantation owners. The tavern had been rearranged to allow women to attend more comfortably, and lounge chairs had been set in the right corner for them. I did not realize how many meals I had skipped until July fastened me into my evening gown and it hung as if I were wearing one of Elsie’s dresses. The Jailer did not seem to notice as we received his guests.
Silas and Corrina, David and Helen, and Hector and Anne arrived together. Sissy and the other girls worked the room with drinks and passed hors d’oeuvres. My assignment was split between being by the Jailer’s side and playing the piano. It was a blessing when he nodded for me to play. The women’s conversation eluded me as my head was focused only on seeing Essex.
When I took a break, Corrina came to me.
“You are extraordinary. You should be playing in concert halls.”
I dabbed at my brow. “Maybe in another lifetime.”
“How are the girls?”
“They are all fine. And your children?”
“Two are away at boarding school. The house seems empty without them, but I know it is for the best.”
I shifted from one foot to the other.
“Must be difficult managing with all the attention and traffic.”
I gave her a strained smile. As much as I adored Corrina, I knew that if I wanted to steal away to see Essex, time was of the essence. The Jailer sat in conversation with three men, and Sissy had just passed him a fresh drink. I had about twenty minutes before I would be missed.
“Speaking of which, I better run over to the house and check on them. My little Birdie has been nursing a cold.”
Corrina leaned into me. “If you ever need help with anything, please consider me a friend.”
We exchanged looks and I squeezed her hands before exiting through the side door. Two gentlemen smoked in front of the tavern but they had their backs to me. My thoughts of getting to Essex were so loud that I could not hear the dogs barking in the distance. As I turned the corner, I collided with someone in the dark. He put his hands around my arms to keep me from falling.
“Miss Pheby, you all right?”
It was Tommy.
“Yes.”
“Marse sent me to fetch you. He wants to introduce you to a friend.”
I dusted my sweaty palms against my dress and then followed Tommy back into the tavern, where I stayed for the remainder of the night.
* * *
The summer heat had made sleeping with the windows closed unbearable. On the morning of the flogging, I woke in a pool of sweat. I could not conceive how Essex was faring at the top of the jail in such a small holding space. When I turned to rise, the Jailer entered my room fully groomed.
“Wear your finest dress and jewelry that reflects your status as mistress of the jail. The children should also look their b
est.”
I bolted up. “Honey? Might we leave the children in the drawing room? I fear the blood might give them nightmares, especially Hester.” I evoked the name of his pet in hopes of gaining favor. He looked at me and then sucked on his tooth.
“Very well. Have July stay with them.”
I waited for him to shut the door behind him before I threw back my covers. It was one thing for him to see me in the night, but quite indecent for him to see me undressed during daylight hours. When I arrived at breakfast, he had a morning ale with his potatoes, bacon, and biscuit. My hands shook as I clung to my teacup.
“Today feels like my birthday.”
I forced a smile but my insides turned over on my lap.
By nine o’clock, I did not see a cloud that would provide an ounce of shade. The spectators had been gathering since seven, and the courtyard was nearly filled. Ladies carried umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun, and their house girls held onto picnic baskets with snacks, beverages, and lunch. Most of the workers squatted on the cobblestones. Some had small sheets to sit on; others were forced to sit on the hot gravel. This performance of showing off his power by the Jailer was as much for them as it was to entertain their masters. It surprised me that so many owners had brought their children along with them, and I felt grateful that I was allowed to keep the girls away from the scene. It was bad enough that they lived on the half acre of the Lapier jail. God bless them if they had to also witness human flogging.
Once satisfied that my daughters were settled in with July, I found Abbie. Thankfully, she had her full mind today and could help me dress. She buttoned me into a light-blue-and-white printed gauze dress. My hair she pinned into elaborate rows at the nape of my neck, and then covered it with a matching bonnet. I felt sickened, prettying myself for such a barbaric display of power, but recognized my tasks. When I descended the stairs, the Jailer waited for me by the front door. The sight of his face lit like it was Christmas made bile rise in my throat.
Yellow Wife Page 18