Yellow Wife Page 15

  “This is how you do it.”

  The other three men were caught in the middle of cheering him on when I stepped into the room. They looked away and straightened up in their seats.

  “Pheby,” he called to me. “Come, this one loves a good whipping. Give her a slap on the old arse.”

  I tried to hide the disgust from crossing my face as the other three women appeared at my side. David rose from his seat and beckoned to Helen.

  “Ladies, you ever see a good arse whipping? This one likes it rough,” he slurred.

  Silas stood and smoothed out his jacket. “We had better go. It is getting late.” He reached for Corrina.

  Hector followed his lead. “Thank you for a very nice evening.”

  “Where are you going, boys? We are just getting started.” The Jailer turned the girl loose and she scurried from the room. “The night is young. We have not had our cigars.”

  “Next time.” Hector shook his hand.

  Abbie gathered everyone’s things and stood at the door with Tommy to hand them out. The women bid me goodbye, and then followed their men across the courtyard. When they were all gone, I burst.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Do what?” he roared.

  “Bring them in here. Tonight of all nights. I thought we were celebrating our daughter. This is not the tavern. It is our home.” I had spoken without thinking of the consequences. And now I braced myself to be slapped. But he just grinned.

  “All in the name of fun. Get the stick out of your arse, would ya?”

  I was spitting mad. This was my first attempt at friendship. Being with women who understood my experience of the last year and a half, and he’d ruined it with his crude ways. I turned to go.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to nurse the baby.” He pushed up from his seat, grabbing my arm and pulling me back toward him.

  “Do not turn your back on me.”

  “That hurts.”

  “You do not do that.” His face shifted.

  The two girls in the hall flinched at his tone. I then recognized the one with the gray eyes as the girl who’d sat on his lap in the tavern. The baby started to whine.

  “Would you rather she starve?”

  He let me go with a jerk. I marched down the hall to the nursery and slammed the door. July rocked Hester.

  “Unhook me from these things!” I cried out. July fumbled with my hooks and ties and released me from the dress. I was in my chemise and bloomers when Hester found my breast. Monroe placed his head on my lap. Though I was trying to make peace with my fate, I was reminded again that the Jailer was an uncouth animal. It took everything in me to calm down. I stayed in the nursery with the children until they were in a deep sleep before taking the back stairs.

  When I reached the landing, his bedroom door was slightly ajar. As I passed, I heard the springs of his mattress, so I glanced through the gap. That is when I saw him with the cat-eyed entertainment bent over the side of the bed. His hands cupped her dark breasts as he pounded into her flesh. I moved quietly to my room. Moments ago, I’d been the mother of his firstborn, mistress of the jail; now I was reduced to the woman across the hall while he bedded another. I placed a chair against my door to bar him from entering, then searched for sleep.

  CHAPTER 21

  Sissy

  The entertainment had a name: Sissy. Where she came from or when she had arrived I did not know. Hard not to picture him plucking her off the auction block in the same fashion he had me. Three days after the dinner party, he moved Sissy into the room above the tavern. A small space but private, one that she did not have to share. Her new jobs included working alongside Elsie, boiling the laundry, canning vegetables, and passing out the meals to those in the holding pen. Given her promotion, I spent several days worrying over my status as mistress of the jail. Even though I did not love the Jailer, I suffered through our arrangement for the safety of my children, and I could not let another woman threaten my position, not until I figured out a way to get them to safety.

  On my shopping day, I ran into Corrina at Thalhimer’s buying dry goods. She convinced me to stop with her at the bakery. Over tea and crumpets, I confided my fears surrounding Sissy.

  Corrina brought her eyes to mine. “You have given him a daughter white as snow. His allegiance is to you. Sissy is nothing more than his black concubine; all men have one or two. Even though white men do not consider us women fully human, they cannot stop lusting for our flesh.” She took a deep breath. “Rest assured, you are his prized yellow wife. Just make sure she respects you and knows her place.” I carried Corrina’s words with me from the bakery like armor and shield.

  The servants and I had been attending the First African Baptist Church regularly. I still could not take either of my children from the jail. This week Abbie stayed back and Basil was permitted to go. The next week someone else would be on rotation. When we gathered in the courtyard, I noticed that Sissy had joined us for the first time.

  “Morning,” she said without looking at me, then went and stood out of view behind Elsie, as far away from me as possible.

  We passed through the front gate and made our procession to the church. Basil was the closest person to me, probably ordered to protect me. I had not exchanged pleasantries with Basil often, but he wore his devotion to the Jailer in his posture, always anticipating his next need and moving when told. He had been walking slightly behind me, and I slowed until we were side by side.

  “Basil.”

  “Miss Pheby.” He kept his eyes on the ground.

  “Nice day.”

  “Any day ’bove ground good for me.”

  “How long have you been living at the jail?”

  “Round ’bout seven years, ma’am.”

  “Where are you from?” Basil’s story had not yet graced the pages of my diary.

  “Stafford County. Born on Ashby plantation.”

  “How did you get to Richmond?”

  He looked the other way. I knew I asked more questions than he was accustomed to answering. Even around the jail, I did not see him talking much. Not even to Abbie, for whom I suspected he had affections.

  “Ran ’way. Sent here for a whippin’. Then Marse decided to buy me.”

  “He whipped you first?”

  “Worse ’n ten marses.”

  I wondered how he lived with being loyal to someone who had treated him so cruelly.

  “You like it here?” I do not know what made me ask that.

  “Like city life betta ’n plantation life. Little more freedom. Out in the country had me thinkin’ every day bout dying. Was worse ’n hell. Now, things ain’t so bad. Marse treat me real good.”

  We arrived at the church. Basil held the door open for all of us to pass through. The choir was already singing, and Elsie moved to the front of the church and started clapping and praising right along with them. We filed into the pews in our usual formation. Men to the left, women to the right. We had been attending so often that it was almost like we had assigned seats. I sat on the end and swayed to the music. The choir always put me in a good mood, and I pondered what it would be like to play that organ up front and accompany them. The organ could not be too unlike the piano. Different sound, but I knew that given the chance I could do it.

  “Today there is cake and lemonade in the church hall. You are all welcome to join and fellowship,” announced Pastor Ryland.

  Elsie did not wait for my nod, just started down to the basement with Sissy behind her. I signaled to the others that it was fine to go. Pastor Ryland had a sack filled with letters, and as members passed by, he handed the unopened mail to the addressees. I had heard from Corrina that they were notes sent from people who had escaped to the North and contained news of their arrival. The men in the tavern often spoke against Pastor Ryland’s mail deed with repulsion, calling him a traitor, but it did not deter him from handing out the letters each week at the end of service.

  I closed my
eyes and used the peaceful time alone to pray. After the week I’d had, I needed to get my head straight. When I opened my eyes, Pastor Ryland stood in front of my pew.

  “I did not catch your name, ma’am.”

  “Pheby Delores Brown.” I extended my hand.

  “Thanks for bringing your people to hear the word of God. It makes a difference in their lives.” He removed his spectacles. “You are over at the Lapier jail, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked around to see if anyone was listening to us. “Hard place. How are you faring?”

  “Fine. Just fine.”

  “I pray for Rubin Lapier all the time.”

  I gave him a questioning look.

  “His exercise of overt cruelty is beyond the sanctions of the Bible.” His face contorted.

  “Is that why you give out the letters?”

  “My role is to preach the gospel and bring as many to Christianity as I can. Not to be a policeman.”

  “Well, it was nice to meet you.” I pushed myself to stand. I suspected that he could be trusted. Still, I could not take any chances, not even with a man of God.

  “Hoping to see you next week.” He placed a hymnal in my hand. We exchanged looks. His eyes were kind. “As long as there is breath, there is hope.”

  “Thank you.” I slipped the hymnal into my purse and fastened it.

  * * *

  That evening the Jailer sent word through Abbie.

  “Marse say he want you at dinner tonight.”

  More than a week had passed since the last time we had eaten together.

  “Very well.”

  I allowed her to dress me in a simple plaid dress with my hair pinned at the nape of my neck. The children were settled with July in the nursery, and after peeking in on them, I entered the dining room. He was sitting at the table when I arrived. When I moved to the seat at the other end, he beckoned me.

  “Sit here, dear.”

  I gathered my skirts and sat to his right. The pins in my hair were pinching my scalp and I touched them lightly to rearrange them.

  Abbie served pork and dumplings with rice. I guessed we would be eating pork for the remainder of the month, on account of Elsie slaughtering that pig for Hester’s introduction party. “You are cross with me.”

  I said nothing.

  “I cannot take it when you are cranky. I have missed you.”

  I wanted to comment on his new source of pleasure but I bit my lip. No sense in showing a hand of jealousy. That was not going to get me far. I knew what he needed to hear, so I forced the words to exit my mouth.

  “I… have missed you too. We must not quarrel, it is not good for the children.”

  He smiled sloppily. “Shall we retire?”

  “It would please me to have a run with the piano.”

  “Very well. I would be honored to hear.”

  We moved into the parlor. Abbie brought him a nightcap and I took my seat. I closed my eyes and then played the tune that I had shared with the violinist. The tempo and timing sounded beautiful, like a coveted piece of silk floating in the sky.

  When I was finished, I had released as best as I could my resentment toward him.

  “It is time to get you back over to the tavern. It has been so quiet without your music.”

  I stood, walked to where he was, and made myself kiss him on the cheek. He seemed startled by my aggression, but eagerly took my hand and led me to his room. Once the door was closed, I kissed him again, then reached for his trousers and unbuttoned them. He moaned in my mouth as I undid his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. I had learned that when I pretended to want him, our encounter ended much quicker.

  The Jailer was not good at all with the straps and pulls that held me in my dress, so I removed his clumsy hands and pushed him down on the bed. His eyes quickened with anticipation as I laid down and pulled back my dress, eager to get my duty over with. While my body suffered through his rough touch and grunts of delight, I closed my eyes and let my mind escape inside the tune I had just played on the piano. When he had his fill I tried rolling away, but he clung to me possessively and breathed into my neck. “I love you, Pheby Delores Brown.”

  I swallowed back the bitter taste in my mouth and forced a smile, hoping this meant we were back on decent terms.

  CHAPTER 22

  The Hickory

  The smell of smoke woke me from my stupor. And then there was the yelling and running that rose from outside the window. I turned toward the Jailer’s spot but he was gone. It was the first time that I’d stayed all night in his bed. I hurried to my room, dressed in something that I could serve in, and beat it downstairs. Abbie met me at the foot of the steps.

  “What happened?”

  “Tommy set the haystack on fire. Know it an accident, but Marse mad as a March hare.”

  When I rushed out the back door, Basil and Tommy were running back and forth from the well with buckets of water, passing them to Elsie and Sissy, who were dampening the fire. The Jailer stood there with his arms by his sides, tapping his left foot but not lifting a finger to help. I grabbed a pail. Abbie and I worked one side of the fire while Elsie and Sissy worked at the other. When we finally got the flames to submit, we were all hot, flushed, and exhausted.

  “Follow me,” he said to no one in particular, so we all dropped the supplies and went.

  When we turned into the courtyard, a coffle was being led into the jail. Four other groups were washing up and preparing for auction. He walked down into the cellar and headed for the whipping room. I did not wish to follow, but because it was little Tommy I went, hoping that my presence would force lenience. Especially after last night. I stood with my back against the damp wall and sweated.

  “Basil, strap him down.”

  Basil did not hesitate. He grabbed Tommy by the arm and pushed him to the ground.

  “But it was an accident, Marse,” Tommy cried out. My, how he had grown since I’d arrived. He stood at least three inches taller and his voice had deepened.

  Basil handcuffed his hands to the ground and then put his feet in the ankle beads. The ledge under the window held his collection of weapons and restraints: a whip about nine feet long made of tough cowhide, a cobbing board full of angular holes, various hickory sticks, more cowhide, lead, ropes, two clubs, various shackles, and a chain. He studied the weapons, pondering over them like he was trying to decide between wearing a white shirt or a blue one. He reached for the hickory stick and in a blink he tore into Tommy’s flesh. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

  We stood in line, watching Tommy’s skin break loose and the blood begin to seep. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. With each swing the Jailer looked brighter; the sheen glistened high in his face, and any connection that we’d shared the night before seemed forgotten. He behaved like an animal who had finally cornered his prey. Tommy was just a boy, I wanted to scream out. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. My stomach curdled, but I knew if I averted my eyes he would be upset. This was his show and we were supposed to learn from his performance. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. The blood poured and mingled with the last victim’s in the mushy ground. Tommy’s voice had grown weak and his breathing dropped shallow. Thwap. Thwap.

  The hickory stick swung through the air and then onto Tommy’s back, breaking in two. The snap of the stick brought the Jailer’s awareness back to the room. Tommy’s back looked so red that I could not see where the skin started and the wounds ended. It was all a messy blob of puffy flesh and blood. No one moved out of fear that anyone could be next. The Jailer tucked his shirt back into his pants and ran his right hand through his hair.

  “Basil, get him cleaned up. Fix the situation with the hay. Rest of you back to work.”

  I walked the few steps to the supply shed. I had some salve that I made of mutton suet and dandelion roots. I carried my medicine bag over to the kitchen house. When I entered, Elsie had Tommy laid out in her quarters, on the same pallet where I had nursed my fever when I arrived. She dabbed at
his back with a wet towel. I watched as she washed his wounds, and then I knelt beside Tommy and went behind her rubbing in the salve. He winced. I held his head and gave him a sip from the brown jar, Mama’s strongest pain medicine. He fell right asleep. But then as I turned to leave, he lifted his head.

  “Marse said for me to—”

  “Hush now, boy,” I said, gently pushing his head back down on the pallet. “Get a little rest. Be back to check on you after a while. Stay on your stomach so your back can heal.”

  * * *

  I found it impossible to concentrate on my work after doctoring Tommy. The Jailer could easily afford more hay. I knew that the beating was more an example of his power than anything. He liked to keep his foot on our necks, squeezing until it felt like we could not breathe without his permission.

  There were no girls today, so I set about the task of mending things needed—blankets, socks, old shirts—and I stitched together clothes for the field hands out of burlap. I preferred to have some pieces on hand for those who came to the jail with nothing. Especially in the colder months. When I finished, I crossed the courtyard to prepare for dinner. Basil jogged up to me.

  “Miss Pheby, Tommy got a fever.”

  I went back for my bag and headed over to the kitchen house. When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Tommy shivering on the pallet. I lifted the brown jar to his mouth.

  “Bring some onion to put by his bed,” I called down to Elsie.

  I smeared another layer of salve on his back, knowing that I had better hurry or the Jailer would be irritated with me for holding up his dinner.

  “I will be back soon as I can. Do not forget about the onion,” I said to Elsie. She bent her shoulders over a pot of stew and grunted.

  When I reached the house, he was already there.

  “I just need a minute to check on Hester. Do you mind?” I asked nicely. More kindly than I felt, but I knew the way forward to keep the peace.