Rubin kissed Polly’s hand. “Lovely to see you again.”
“Likewise,” she said to him, but she had not taken her eyes off me.
“This is Pheby,” her husband introduced.
“Nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Dear, take Pheby into the sitting room for tea. Rubin and I will be back in time for dinner.”
Polly’s hand went to her throat, and she swallowed for several seconds before leading the way. The sitting room was a square space off the entrance to the house. The curtains were drawn over the large windows, and I could see the Jailer and Henry stroll toward a small outhouse that I assumed to be Henry’s office. A molasses-colored woman stood clutching a platter with a teapot, cups, and saucers. Once we were seated on opposite settees, she placed the tray in front of us and poured.
“Where are you from?” Polly’s saucer shook in her hand.
“Charles City.”
“How did you come to be with Rubin?” Her gaze met mine over the rim of her teacup. The nervousness in her eyes betrayed her intention. She wanted to know whether I was a nigra or white. Whether he owned me or if I was his wife. I sipped my tea, then took my knitting from my bag and resumed my stitching.
When my shoulders relaxed back in place I responded, “You have a beautiful home.”
She pursed her lips and nodded her thanks. It would have pleased me to chat like friends, but Polly abandoned her attempt at conversation when I refused her question. We sat in silence. I knitted while she stared out the window. Finally, the dinner bell rang.
“Betty,” she called to the woman who had served tea. “Show Pheby where she can wash up.”
“This way.”
Betty led me to a small room adjacent to the kitchen prep area, and my stomach growled at the smell of savory meat. We had missed lunch, and I’d only picked at my breakfast. As I rinsed my hands up to my elbows, I heard Polly’s voice through the thin wall.
“I do not want any nigras sleeping under my roof ’less they work for me.”
“Quiet your complaints.”
“And for them to sleep together. A white man and his nigra? I will not have that sin in my house, Henry.”
“Stand down, Polly. Rubin is our guest and you will do as I say. Now, pull yourself together and be a good hostess.”
* * *
Dinner tasted delicious, and after we’d had orange pudding for dessert I feigned exhaustion and retired to the guest quarters. It was an adequate room with a bed and dressing table. As I changed into my sleeping gown provided by our hosts, I could hear the Jailer’s boisterous laugh drift from the back porch. No doubt the whiskey flowed, and he pulled heavily from his pipe. Where was my son? I strained to pick up the men’s conversation, but I could not make out the words over the constant calls of the cicadas. The moment I found rest, the Jailer opened the bedroom door. He undressed gauchely and slipped in next to me. When he reached for my gown, I hoped it would be over quickly.
* * *
The next morning, Henry O’Keefe offered to give us a tour of his plantation.
“Nice to stretch your legs before the long ride back.”
I followed the men. On our walk, I noticed Polly disappear into the kitchen house. If she was like Missus Delphina, she would be going over the menu for the day. Henry pointed out his various outhouses, and I faked interest. Then he showed us to his stables.
“This here is Gold Charm.” Henry pointed to a horse with a dark, velvety coat. Henry’s chest poked out with pride over his prized steed. When I moved in closer, down on the ground kneeling before the horse was Monroe. I bit my tongue to keep from calling out at the sight of my son.
“Your boy has been the biggest help. Sure you don’t want to sell him to me? For such a young fella, he is mighty gifted with my horses.”
Monroe looked up, but he did not dare run to me or even acknowledge our connection. He wore the breeches I’d sewed for him, but had on a rough burlap shirt that I did not recognize.
The Jailer looped his arm through mine. “I am not going to sell him today, but that could change. I will keep your offer in mind. Come along, boy,” he summoned.
Monroe dusted off his knees, then followed us out of the stables trailing a few feet behind, the way a boy would walk behind his master. When we arrived at the carriage, Hamp helped us in, and then Monroe climbed into the carriage box alongside him. Betty appeared carrying two baskets. She handed one to Hamp and the other to me.
“Miss Polly wish you a safe journey.”
“Please pass on my appreciation.”
Hamp clicked his tongue, and the horses pulled away.
Relieved to have Monroe back, I still worried over what he’d endured on that plantation. I wished I could hold him in the carriage with me and rock away his confusion but babying him would not help his situation. By the time we reached the jail, the sun had slumped down behind the buildings and the journey had provided me with a clearer look at our future.
When we came to a rest in the courtyard, the Jailer lifted my hand to his mouth and eyed me. “Consider this a fresh start. No more middle-of-the-night missions. If you disobey me again, I will sell that boy to the highest bidder.”
“Thank you for showing him favor,” I responded, not for one second doubting the validity of his words. But I also knew that I would not honor his request.
CHAPTER 37
Come by Here, My Lord
With all the commotion of Essex’s arrival, we had stopped attending church service. I missed the cool breeze of our walks, the soulful singing of the choir, the pastor’s heartfelt sermon, and the belief that Jesus could make everything all right. When Sunday rolled around, I insisted that we attend. The Jailer permitted me to take all the girls except for Birdie. One of his children always had to stay behind, along with Monroe, as insurance we would return. Sissy stayed in the big house with Birdie and her son, Daniel. Abbie, Elsie, and Hamp, the new driver, accompanied us.
My daughters loved the production of preparing for church, picking out pretty dresses and having their hair curled at the ends. As soon as we walked through the double doors of the sanctuary, they found their place in the front of the children’s section with the other girls and boys of distinguished families and honored guests.
Three rows from the back, on the women’s side of the church, I spotted Corrina Hinton sitting alone. I removed my gloves and took a seat next to her. The organ started up and the choir sang “Come by Here.”
“Good day.”
“Pheby, so nice to see you.” She swayed.
“Feels good to be back. Needed something to help restore my faith.”
“Trying times,” she sang, keeping in step with the choir.
I sang back, “He sold July.”
We both kept our heads facing forward, but she reached for my hand and patted it.
“Life here ebbs and flows. There will be rough patches but you must stay strong.”
“Corrina, I need your help.”
“Whatever I can do.”
The choir finished and the crowd shouted in unison, “Praise the Lord! Amen! Glory be!”
Once the cries began to die, Pastor Ryland walked into the pulpit and gave his welcome address.
Corrina dabbed her handkerchief at the corners of her mouth while whispering, “Ears watch and eyes listen here. Meet me inside the bakery on market day.”
I nodded.
“Tell the woman with the cleft chin that you are meeting me.”
My hand covered hers, and then I turned my attention to the gospel.
* * *
On Wednesday I went to the market. I put in my weekly order at Thalhimer’s Dry Goods and went to Hilda’s competitor on Franklin Street to order ready-made dresses. When I had completed all the tasks on my list, I meandered to the bakery. I loved that I could taste cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. A woman with a cleft chin served behind the counter. There were two white customers in line ahead of me, and after she aided them, I whispered t
hat I was meeting Corrina. She did not raise her eyes, but handed me a swirl pastry and pointed to the seat away from the window. I ate slowly and waited. After about ten minutes, a little girl around Hester’s age came to wipe my table. When she finished, she motioned with her shoulder for me to follow her.
We walked behind the counter, through the kitchen, and down steep, narrow stairs. The place smelled of dust and cement. We turned into the tunnel on the right. Since we carried no light, I touched the chalky wall with my left hand so as not to lose my balance. At the end of the tunnel sat a small table with a candle burning. Corrina sat there with a notebook and a teacup.
“Sorry I do not have a second cup to offer you.”
I dropped into the seat opposite her. The girl disappeared the same way she came. When I felt sure we were alone, I muttered, “Thank you for this.”
“I have not done anything yet.”
I took a deep breath and told Corrina everything, from my life on the plantation, the promise of my freedom, my love for Essex, being sold on the day of my mama’s funeral, and giving birth to Essex’s child to the anguish of the Jailer selling July because of me.
“It is only a matter of time before he sells Monroe. I need to get him out of here.”
“By himself?”
“And Essex.”
Her eyes opened wide. “How would you get them off the property? I am sure they are under lock and key.”
“I am working on that now.”
“They will need money.”
“I have it.”
She sipped. “Rubin Lapier is feared. You know they have nicknamed him Bully behind his back?”
“Yes, I have heard.”
“Let me see what the friends can do.”
“Thank you, Corrina.”
“Do not thank me yet. Your request will not prove easy.”
* * *
I had no opportunity to see Essex, because the Jailer had me playing in the tavern with him until he closed for the night, then insisted that I sleep in his bed. His way of keeping an eye on me. The only time I could visit Monroe was at first light, before the Jailer roused for his day. When I left the big house to find him, the girls were still nestled in their beds but the guards were all at their posts. A coolness followed me as I trekked over to the stables, carrying apples and pears to sustain the boys through the labor of their day. When I reached the stall, Monroe had already headed to the well to draw water, and Tommy was sweeping the stables and stacking hay.
“I need to talk to you,” I whispered, looking over my shoulder. Tommy led me to a corner in the back of the stables. I pulled his ear to my mouth and whispered directions.
“You sure, Missus?” I could not mistake the terror in his eyes.
“I do not want any of you to end up like July.”
At the mention of her name he started to weep. “My sister.”
I never knew. I pulled him to my breasts and rocked him. He stood stiff in my arms, unaccustomed to affection.
“Listen to me and do what I say. I will reward you. It is my promise.”
As I left the stables, I spotted Monroe carrying water up to the kitchen house. I watched as my son balanced a strip of wood with metal buckets hanging from each side. Backbreaking work for such a young child. When I was his age, I was learning to play piano, how to add, and to read simple books like Little Boy Blue. On my way to the shed, I glanced up toward the garret room where Essex resided and prayed under my breath for God’s guidance. A full week had passed since I’d seen Essex last, and I did not want him to lose faith.
* * *
The next Sunday I prepared the girls for church. This week Tommy put on a clean white shirt and attended with us. Abbie stayed back with Birdie, and Hamp remained at the jail to clean and repair the wagon. Sissy held the younger girls’ hands and Hester walked beside Elsie. Tommy and I were side by side; he slowed down a bit and uttered between his lips, “I figured it out, Missus. Take a few more days.”
“Good. No one is to know.”
“I real careful.”
When we arrived at First African Baptist, I quickened my pace and walked up the stone steps. The greeters bid us all good morning and then we entered and found our places. Elsie and Sissy liked to sit as close to the pulpit as possible, as if the word of God could only be found in the front few pews. Corrina sat in her same pew, and I took a seat beside her. While singing the hymns, we talked to each other.
“The friends are afraid. Moving the fugitive is too dangerous. We can help with your son.”
“It has to be both or he will die.”
Corrina folded her hands gently in her lap.
“Please. I can pay more.”
She sang on, “I am so sorry.”
CHAPTER 38
Grounded
I did not know what had spooked Corrina, but I had too much at stake to give up now. There had to be another route. I laid in bed next to the Jailer, waiting for him to fall into his deep sleep. Once his breathing changed, I crept from his bed and walked down the hall to my room. I pulled up my floorboard, retrieved a slip of stationery, and crafted a letter. After the ink dried, I folded it in half, took coins from my stash, and slipped down the back stairs. Abbie’s room was a few inches bigger than the closet that Missus Delphina had made me sleep in back at the Bell plantation, and her door stayed slightly ajar.
“Abbie,” I hummed.
Her eyes fluttered. I put my fingers to my mouth and crawled inside next to her, though there was hardly enough room for the both of us. I pushed her headscarf up over her ear. “I need a favor.”
She nodded.
I whispered my instructions. Her eyes went big, but then she bit her bottom lip and quivered.
“It is the only way.” I pressed the letter and the coins into her hand. “The woman with the cleft chin.”
She nodded her head.
I slipped out and then returned to the Jailer’s room. When I pushed the door open, he sat bare chested and wide-awake. His eyes sliced into me.
“Where have you been?”
“I went to relieve myself.”
“I do not trust you.”
“I am wearing my dressing gown,” I said softly.
My feet carried me toward the bed and he reached over and grabbed my arm roughly, pinning me against the mattress.
“Is it that nigger again?”
“It is indecent for me to use your chamber pot.”
He climbed on top of me and held my thighs in place with his knees. “What is it about him that makes you disobey me?”
“You are hurting me.”
He bared his teeth. “You stay on the premises from here on out. No market and no more church.”
Then, to my relief, he let me go.
The next morning, I rubbed balm on my bruises and then hid them under a sweater. The girls barged into my room as I slipped into my shoes. Abbie entered behind them.
“Missus, you wearing that?” she said, referring to my simple work dress.
“How come we cannot go to the market?” pouted Joan.
“Papa prefers that you mostly leave the half acre with him. For your protection.”
I raised my eyebrow at Abbie. “I have sewing to do, so you will go to the market alone.”
Hester pulled my arm. “Protection from what?”
“There is ugliness in the world that beautiful, smart girls like you have no business being around.”
“I am brave,” said Joan.
“That you are.” I leaned down into their little faces. “You be good for Sissy today and Abbie will bring you back a delicious treat from the bakery. How’s that?”
All three ivory faces smiled up at me.
When we got downstairs, Sissy came through the side door.
“Mornin’ Missus.”
“Sissy.”
“Come along, girls.” She took them to the drawing room.
Abbie dragged herself into the dining room and cleared the Jailer’s dishes from the ta
ble. Her hip knocked against a saucer; it fell to the floor and shattered. I bent to help her. We were both on our knees when I caught her pinched expression.
“It will be okay.”
“Missus, I’s scared. You ain’t been whipped before.”
“We must be strong.”
“Marse sold July.” Her eyes shifted, wild with fear. “God only know what happened to that girl.”
I grabbed her hands to steady them. “You can do this. We must or he will die.”
“I’s want freedom too. Promise me.” She lifted her eyes.
Abbie had never asked for anything. Always did what she was told. “I promise.”
Abbie pulled herself together and I followed her out into the courtyard. The sun beamed down so brightly I pulled my bonnet lower over my face to protect my eyes from the glare. The same two men were always stationed at the gate. They asked Abbie for her pass every week, even though going to the market on Wednesday was the routine. She produced the paper and disappeared beyond the wall.
I passed by the stables on my way to the shed. Monroe stood holding a shovel in his hand but stared out into the bushes. Being away from us on that plantation had changed him. I’d thought giving him time alone would help him snap out of it, but he continued to be withdrawn.
“Son.”
“Morning.” He glanced at me, then picked up the shovel.
“You all right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Baby, what was it like working on that plantation?”
His face went dark and his shoulders shrank. “It be well as ’spected.”
“Expected. People will judge you on the way that you speak.”
He backed away from me. “Silver-head man did not like me speaking like white folk. Showed me a man with his cheek gone and told me to watch my uppity ways.”
My teeth gnawed at the inside of my jaw. “You are not a slave.”
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