Yellow Wife

by Sadeqa Johnson

  “You look lovely, my lady.” He took my arm.

  We walked side by side to the courtyard. The crowd clapped and parted to make room for us. When we reached the stage, the Jailer reached for my hand and escorted me to the top of the platform. I folded my wrists in front of me, hoping that when Essex laid eyes on me he did not feel betrayal.

  The Jailer looked out onto the audience and grinned. “Mighty men and women of the South, we will not stand idly by and let our niggers run away to the North. The Bible says that all slaves shall obey their masters.”

  Cheers roared from the crowd.

  “I am here today to demonstrate what will happen to those who disobey the law and God’s plan.”

  More cries of joy.

  “Punishment to the highest extent for those who go against our institution. Let the flogging begin.” He raised his hands and the crowd shouted.

  “Justice! Punish him! Show no mercy!”

  The door to the holding cell clicked open, and two white men dragged Essex in. His hands were in irons in front of him, feet chained together, and he only had on one shoe. My throat filled, and I lowered my head to hide my dismay. The Jailer stood stiffly on the stage as they dragged a limp Essex up the steps and onto the platform. When he reached the top, he glanced over at me. His eyes narrowed a bit; then they widened in recognition.

  Sissy and Tommy approached the stage. Sissy carried a big, steaming pot. As I moved out of their way, I saw boiling pods of hot peppers. What was this man planning? I silently prayed for Essex’s safety as I stepped past the crowd of slaves and over to the side where the white women stood with babies. Close enough that if the Jailer called to me I could come, but not front and center to Essex’s misery. The mob continued to shout and taunt. When the two white men stood Essex on his feet, he raised himself to full height and looked the Jailer square in his eyes.

  “You better look away, boy.”

  Essex did not budge.

  “Very well, you want to be a show-off nigger. Let the punishment begin!” he called out.

  The crowd clapped and whistled. Men stood shaking their fists in the air and the women shouted out until their faces were inked red with hatred. I felt alone in my repulsion at their glee at human suffering and searched the crowd for a kind eye, but there were none.

  The Jailer pointed to the pole that stood in the center of the stage, and the two white men holding Essex pulled his arms above his head and fastened him by his thumbs to the pole. Essex grunted as he was raised so high the big toe of his shod foot barely scraped the ground. His shirt was then cut away from his body and his back on view to the crowd. He had a smooth and strong back that showed no signs of previous whippings. Even though I stood in the shade, the heat felt excruciating.

  Tommy presented the Jailer with a tray of three weapons. He reached for his cowhide whip and snapped it between his fingers. Then he twirled it in the air and crashed it against Essex’s back. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

  The Jailer paused, and then Tommy dipped a rag into the steaming pot of hot peppers. He then washed the rag across Essex’s gashes. The scalding liquid bubbled in the wound. Essex cried out in such violent pain that I instinctively moved forward, but then just as quickly I was jerked back.

  “Best not ’rupt Marse’s work. Don’t want no more trouble on your boy,” whispered Elsie.

  “Where is he?”

  “I told him stay in the barn. Ain’t want him seeing this.”

  I thanked her for protecting him. The whip sang through the air, and he was at it again. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

  I counted twelve lashes. Tommy again washed the gashes with boiling water. The scene played out again. Twelve lashes. Scalding hot pepper water poured into his skin. Again. Again.

  Again.

  Essex sounded like an animal being slowly slaughtered; each time the guttural noises became fainter and fainter, as if he were drifting toward unconsciousness. His one toe had stopped reaching for the ground and his arms went limp.

  Again. Twelve lashes. Hot pepper bath. Twelve lashes. Hot pepper bath. Twelve lashes. Again. Again. Again.

  I turned my head, but that did not exempt me from counting each lash. It seemed that even the crowd had had enough. Children started crying. Women walked away with their babies, covering their ears. The men only grunted. Then the Jailer finally stopped. If my count proved accurate, Essex received ninety-six lashes, but the hot pepper bath probably made it feel like five hundred.

  “Take him.” The Jailer dropped his whip.

  The two white men took Essex down, his body like a rag doll.

  Blood ran in every direction.

  “He needs to be nursed,” I said to Elsie.

  “Marse will send for us when he ready.”

  As soon as the men and Essex left the stage, Tommy washed the floor down, and then a local band stepped onto the platform. In a matter of minutes, they were playing festive music. The scene transformed from beastly to boisterous in the blink of an eye. House girls approached their families with picnic baskets. The entertainment girls walked around giving out licorice to the children and ale to the men. I stood back and watched as the Jailer received pats on the back from his colleagues for his fine performance, his hands and shirt still splattered in Essex’s blood. While he remained occupied, I returned to the house, where I found the girls in the drawing room.

  Hester was reading a book while Isabel and Joan worked on a puzzle. Birdie was nestled on a floor pillow fast asleep. I collapsed into the chair and removed my bonnet.

  “Miss Pheby, you all right?” July rose and poured me a glass of water.

  “I will be fine.” I drank it down and willed myself to breathe.

  “Why are so many people here?” Isabel jumped up and tugged on the hem of my dress.

  “ ’Cause Papa had to flog a nigger who ran away.” Hester looked up from her book.

  “Hester!” My hand flew to my mouth in shock. “I told you about using that word.”

  She looked bashful. “Just repeating what Papa said.”

  “I do not want to hear that talk again or you will be punished.”

  “But, Mama—”

  “That is enough.” I held my hand up to silence her.

  “Can I get you something to eat?” July touched my shoulder.

  “No, thank you. I am going to freshen up a bit.”

  In my bedroom, I looked out on the courtyard at the people laughing and being merry. I resented them all. Before I could chew completely on my bitterness, I noticed that the red flag had been raised, which signaled that the auction for today was set to begin. I dabbed my cheeks with rouge and then hurried off to do my duty.

  When I arrived in the shed, my helper, Janice, already had the girls dressed and lined up to make the procession over to the tavern for the sale. I felt so troubled over Essex being without medical care that I could not remember any of the girls’ names. I only cared about getting over there to clean and dress his wounds before they became infected. Janice and I worked hard preparing and moving the girls, hour after hour, with little downtime. By the time I walked the last group across the courtyard, the party had died down, the band was packing up, and only a trace of blue remained in the sky. My back throbbed from the long day, but I felt determined to get to Essex.

  At the tavern, the Jailer was surrounded by men. They were drinking and talking loud. Half-full dishes of food were laid out on the table. As I turned to leave, he called my name, then motioned for me to play. At the piano, I went through my repertoire of songs, starting from light and airy and moving to hard and robust. I tried to lose myself in the music as I often did when playing in the tavern, but I could not stop picturing Essex or his injuries. Finally, the Jailer stood and stumbled with his group of men to the door. I watched as they clapped him on the back and congratulated him again before leaving.

  “Anything for the cause,” he hiccupped. There was a red stain streaking his shirt, a
nd his cravat had come undone.

  “Pheby?”

  I hated the way he made my name sound like a question, when it was most certainly a command. I moved away from the piano and followed him out the door. He put his arm around my shoulder to steady himself as we headed toward the house.

  “Fine performance today, was it not?”

  “You outdid yourself.”

  “Gave that nigger a whipping that he will never forget.”

  He pulled me tighter and kissed me on the neck. When we reached the parlor, he called to Abbie for a drink.

  “Honey, you go up and I will bring your nightcap to you.”

  He leaned in and kissed me on the lips. “Such a smart girl. It is why I chose you to be mine.”

  I went to the bar and poured him a healthy shot of whiskey. My hands were shaking as I listened for his footsteps on the stairs. When I did not hear any sounds, I carried the drink to my room, removed a dab of sleeping powder from my medicine bag, and mixed it into his drink.

  “Here you are.”

  He sat on the edge of his bed trying to remove his shoes.

  “I will help you undress,” I offered.

  The Jailer drank the whiskey in one gulp. I took my time removing his shoes and then his socks. Once I had his pants around his ankles, he collapsed backward onto the bed and started to snore. I returned to my room and removed my jewelry, then dug in my closet for the necklace that Essex had given me before he escaped the plantation. I changed into a simple work dress and took what I needed from my medicine bag, sliding them into the hidden pockets of my skirt.

  The stairs in the big house usually groaned under the weight of the person descending the steps, but years of going up and down to check on the children had taught me which spots to avoid if I wanted to move undetected. I poured a canteen of water and wrapped up some leftover ham and bread. Outside, I slid along the shadows of the courtyard. The square remained cluttered with rubbish. I looked over my shoulder every step of the way until I stood in a dark corner of the jail. Essex was being held in the garret room, a small space at the very top. When I climbed the stairs, the key hung on the hook outside of the room. I had to bend and crawl through a trapdoor to get inside. It was pitch-black until I lit the candle and closed the door behind me.

  “Essex?”

  CHAPTER 29

  Reunited

  He did not answer. When my eyesight adjusted to the light I saw how tiny the room was: only about eight feet wide, and there was no bed or chair for comfort, just a rude bench fastened against the wall and a coarse blanket. Essex laid flat on the floor and did not move at the sound I made as I entered. His arms were shackled, his feet fettered, and the smell of infection setting in was nauseating.

  “Essex.” I knelt beside him, touching the top of his hair with my fingertips.

  “That really you?” He looked into my eyes in a way that rearranged my soul. My skin sweltered under my clothing as I pulled him to my breasts. I had forgotten how good it felt to be seen by him.

  “It is me.”

  He tried to roll from the plank floor, but his chains and wounds made it near impossible. I cupped his shoulders to help steady him. His skin sweated hot. The fever would claim him if I did not act fast. He grasped my hands in his and brought them to his lips. A tingling sensation passed through the center of my chest.

  “Not much time.”

  I helped him to his feet and over to the bench. After the flogging, one of the drivers had covered him with a burlap shirt, which was now embedded in his wounds. I tipped a canteen of water laced with medicine from the brown jar to his lips. He drank with thirst, and I had to pull the jar back so that he did not drink it all. Once I could see that the medicine had made him numb, I started cutting away the material with my shears, trying hard not to tear at his skin. With every pull, Essex cringed, and I whispered how sorry I was for everything.

  When I started contemplating my list of sorries, the trail led me all the way back to the Bell plantation. Sorry that I ever came up with the plan for him to run. Maybe we should have waited it out. If he had never run, then perhaps she would never have sold me, and I would be living in Massachusetts with my free papers. Essex could have stuck to his original plan of buying himself from Master Jacob, and I could have persuaded Missus to give the black baby to a woman in the fields without Master knowing anything. Now look at us. Essex had become the most wanted fugitive in Virginia, and I was bound to the Devil for the sake of my four daughters. I had made this mess. All my mistake.

  “Ain’t your fault,” he babbled, as if he heard my thoughts.

  I put my concentration on the work ahead. Never had I seen wounds as deeply lacerating, and I had to labor cut by cut to clean them. I rinsed his bruises with water and then let them air dry before smoothing on salve. Essex remained stoic throughout. Once I finished dressing the wounds, I pulled the food from another pocket and watched him eat.

  “He treating you okay?”

  My eyes looked away. The air between us became stifling but silent as he finished the last bit and then licked his fingers.

  “If you are happy—”

  “I have not depended on being happy since I left the plantation.” My voice boomed. “This here is surviving.” I thumped my fist into my chest.

  “Did not mean—”

  “And you have no idea what surviving has cost me. My bruises might not look like yours but they are there.”

  Determined not to let my emotions fall, I focused on the small window.

  “There wasn’t a girls’ school in Massachusetts I didn’t search, some of them more than once. Looked for you on every corner in Boston.”

  “Missus sold me. Then a few months later Master passed away.”

  “What about Ruth?”

  I told him about Mama dying, and how Missus had traders snatch me on the day of the funeral.

  “Would give anything to go back to that place and protect you Pheby.”

  His comment hung in the air. We both knew that there was no protection for us when white folks made up their minds on how to handle us.

  “I have thought about you every single day since we have been apart, Pheby.”

  My fingers moved like I was knitting. It calmed all that roared inside of me.

  “You have a son,” I blurted.

  When he turned to look at me, his chains rattled. “Am I hearin’ you right?”

  “His name is Monroe Henry Brown. Six years old and reminds me so much of you.”

  “Our son?”

  I looked him in the eye and ran my fingers over his face.

  “Only takes one time.”

  Essex reached for my hand through his shackles. “I need you to get a letter off to my friend. He will get the three of us up North. I promise you that.”

  “Rest and get back your strength. You will need it here.” I pulled out the hymnal that the preacher had given me and tucked it between his fingers. “Keep this hidden. I will come again as soon as it is safe.”

  * * *

  The next evening, I mixed sleeping powder into the Jailer’s drink again. When he fell asleep, I took the same route to see Essex. This time I smuggled in green beans, chicken, biscuits, water, salve, and more of Mama’s pain medicine. As I crept through the courtyard, I reasoned that I would only dress his wounds and feed him. But when he begged me to stay, I could not resist. Every second with him felt like it could be our last.

  With a handkerchief I produced from my pocket, I wiped his mouth.

  “Thank you kindly. That was ten times better than the chicken feed they gave me in Naw’fok.” He grimaced.

  We sat side by side on the narrow bench. Every time he moved his chains clattered, and I could see fresh pain flash across his face as he searched for comfort. It angered me. No purpose in having him tied up like an animal in this small space. The Jailer was just being a dictatorial arse. But after all I had sacrificed, I did not even have the authority to unloose his shackles. To take our minds off his
circumstances, I asked him to tell me about his journey.

  “What you want to know?”

  “Your story?”

  He rubbed his swollen ankles together. They were tied so closely that his walk was more of a waddle.

  “Well, running ain’t for the weakhearted. Them woods get mighty terrifying at night when you out in the middle of nowhere by yourself. Worst was when I came upon a wolf.”

  “How do you know it was not a coyote?” I teased.

  “I know a wolf when I sees one, and I was sure she had a notion to tear me to shreds. I climbed up in a tree and stayed there for three days waiting for her to pass. It wasn’t until I saw four runaways below that I came down.”

  “They saved you?”

  “Ain’t need much saving but I sure needed food.” He chuckled. Still had that hearty, deep-throated laugh and it reminded me of home.

  “I still had the pass you wrote me. My plan was to get to a boat and beg passage up to Baltimore, so I stayed close to the water.”

  “What was the worst part?”

  “Being hungry. Never enough food or fresh water. I went days without eating.”

  He had stuck to Aunt Hope’s plan the best he could. By the time he made it to Baltimore, the fellow she had told him about had moved on. But just using his name had gotten him a job working the docks.

  “That is how I saved money to get on to Philadelphia.”

  “I always wanted to go to Philadelphia.”

  “Ain’t never seen that many freed men and women in one place in all my days. They sure could dress. But I only stayed a few months; always had in my mind that I needed to reach Massachusetts to find you. The farther north I got, easier to breathe. Air different up there.”

  As I listened to him, I could not help but wonder if he had taken up with another woman. He did not disclose, and I could not bear to ask.

  “What caused your capture?”

  “I reckon my love for horses.”

  Essex, slowly and, from the looks of it, painfully stretched his legs out in front of him and told me about his jobs in Boston. During the day he worked at a clothing store; in the evenings he tended to people’s horses.