Yellow Wife Page 9

  The sickness still clung to me, but I resolved to do something useful. Once I dressed, Elsie directed me out into the courtyard. The light of day took me by surprise and I had to pause to let my eyes adjust. A gang, much like mine, passed me by; chained, hungry, feet so worn they left footprints of blood trailing behind them. As I followed Elsie, the click-clack sounds of their iron confinements rang in my ears. The moaning from inside the jail cell cried steady and constant. I clutched my ears, wishing it would all stop.

  “You will get use’t it,” Elsie huffed over her shoulder. “Just be glad it ain’t you.”

  She showed me to a small spot in the supply shed. A tiny space in comparison to the loom house, but it gave me some breathing room from her. Overseer Snitch had snatched me up so fast I had left without my sewing tools. As if she’d read my mind, Elsie dropped a bag in front of me.

  “See if’n this will work. Abbie, the house girl, goes to the market once a week. She can get what ain’t there.”

  After sifting through the implements, I selected the best needle and started picking through cords. It eased my mind to do something familiar. Slipping the thread through the needle, the needle through the fabric, pulling, knotting, tying, looping. A little song popped into my head. I hummed to block out the memories of home, the sounds of the jail, and to push back the despair that seemed lurking at the door ready to choke me. I had just stitched the hem on a pair of men’s trousers and bent for a shirt when a shadow appeared in the doorway. I glanced up and saw the white man who had removed me from the auction block. He had a protruding belly and wore spectacles perched on the edge of his thin nose.

  “Nice to see you feeling better.” He fingered his gold pocket watch, carrying with him the scent of bergamot and cigars.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  Even though Elsie had told me he was my new master, I did not see him as such. I looked at his face to see if he objected to sir, but his expression did not change.

  “I do not believe we made a proper acquaintance. I am Rubin Lapier.”

  “Pheby Delores Brown.”

  “Folks call you Pheby? Pheby Delores? Or Pheby Delores Brown?”

  I could tell he was fooling with me by the way his dimples spread across his cheeks. If I guessed accurately and Elsie was ten years my senior, then he had to be twenty years more than me. Not as old as Master Jacob, but definitely older than Mama.

  “Just Pheby is fine.”

  “Well, Pheby, I brought you something.” He took the few steps toward me and held out his hand. Inside there was a thimble. Silver, shiny, and quite honestly the most beautiful thing anyone had ever given me.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You are welcome,” he said, and then turned out the door.

  Once I felt sure that he had gone, I slipped on my new thimble, and for the first time in weeks, I smiled.

  * * *

  In the days that followed, I quickly fell into a routine. After breakfast, I sewed in the supply room straight through to supper, so consumed with my task I did not have time to think about my situation. I learned from sweet-faced July that the jail cell that I had spent my first night in held folks waiting for auction, and others who were sent by their masters for harsh punishment. Rubin Lapier (who I simply thought of as the Jailer) was the master of it all. From what I could see from my little sewing shed, the Jailer ran his operation from the tavern. It housed the auction room and his office, and served as a place to entertain the men who came to make purchases. I watched him from a distance, but our paths had not crossed since he gave me the thimble.

  I liked my sewing spot; it was nothing more than a little shed, but it felt all mine. I mostly hemmed and mended socks, pants, shirts, and a few drapes and blankets. Plenty of work to keep me busy and my mind from wandering off. Elsie sent food to the room with July, but whatever I chewed came right back up. Most dishes I pretended to eat and then gave the rest to July.

  From my shed, I figured out that there were six people who tended the jail and lived on the property: Basil was the Jailer’s manservant; Abbie worked in the house; July and the boy Tommy were children who did what they were told; Elsie was in the kitchen; and then there was me. I did not intend to get to know any of them too well. My only plan was to keep busy and be helpful until Master Jacob arrived for me. But that did not stop them from trying to get to know me. When that first Sunday rolled around, Elsie sent July to fetch me so that I could eat with the others behind the kitchen house.

  “We do it every Sunday. Sort of like our time off.”

  The first thing that caught my eye when I joined the gathering was a vase of bright, cheerful daisies, which decorated a long table painted black. A whiff of mint and sage came from Elsie’s little garden. Made me long for one of Mama’s teas. She always made me a cup on Sundays just before bed. “To search the blood and keep things movin’.”

  “How do everybody?” I said, wiping my sweaty hands on my skirt.

  I received nods and greetings of hello. Abbie from the house smiled at me. She was missing a tooth on the left side, and her small body made her appear childlike. I took a seat on one of the long benches that straddled the table, and July plopped down next to me.

  “Basil, lead us in grace,” commanded Elsie.

  We dropped our heads and then in unison said, “Amen.”

  Elsie served us each a bowl of crispy chicken, sweet corn, and roasted carrots. The smell did not agree with me, so I paused.

  “Ain’t you goin’ eat?” Elsie cocked her head at me.

  Not wanting to offend, I started in on the dinner.

  “Been told a man come through here from up north yapping ’bout freedom coming,” chewed Basil.

  “Betta hush that talk, less you find trouble.” Elsie heaped a bit more chicken on his plate.

  Basil leaned forward. “Marse ain’t here.”

  “But he has ears everywhere,” Abbie added.

  It was my first encounter with Basil up close. A handsome man, dressed in a button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up at the elbows, he had a crescent-shaped scar on his left cheek. He looked as if someone had branded him. He sat beside Abbie, who seemed to smile into her spoon. The conversation shifted toward talk of the weather, prepping the grounds for winter, and storing food. Then Basil stood from the table. I sensed a restlessness in him.

  “Delicious as always, Elsie.” He kissed her cheek.

  “Yes, thank you kindly.” Abbie rose and collected the empty plates, then made her way to the washbasin. I noticed that she limped when she walked, dragging her left foot slightly behind her, and I wondered if she’d been born like that or had an accident or worse.

  July asked the boy Tommy, “Wantin’ to play kickball?”

  Tommy nodded, and the two of them scurried off, leaving me alone with Elsie. I forked another bite into my mouth despite the churning in my stomach. Then I felt the force of the food shooting up my throat. I pushed back from the table and stuck my head in a nearby bush. Everything came up. When I turned, wiping my mouth, Elsie stood over me with her hand on her hip.

  “When the last time you bled?”

  I had to think. “Before I left the plantation.” Even before Missus had dumped her chamber pot on me. “I think around May.”

  “Chile, it’s August. You is wit’ child.”

  I panted. “A child?” How could this be?

  “Guess n’ that’ll keep Marse from sniffin’ after you for a while.” Elsie bent down in her garden and picked at something.

  “Here some ginger. Help wit’ you stomach.”

  I walked toward my shed, stunned by her revelation. How could I be carrying a child? Essex’s child? My hand dropped down to my belly. Mama had told me to watch myself. Not to bring no slave babies into the world. How could I let her down? I had stumbled and now I did not know how to feel.

  When I reached the courtyard, there was a malnourished man in chains lying naked on the ground. Blood seeped through open wounds, and he looked
at me with such anguish I wanted to help him. As soon as I moved toward him, the Jailer appeared at the tavern door.

  “Run along, Pheby.” He had a pipe to his lips and puffed on it. I hastened my steps and closed the door to the shed behind me. My nose started to run. How could I raise a child in this place of horror? I dug inside my hidden pocket and pulled out the necklace that Essex had given me. Just holding it between my fingers calmed me. We had made a baby. I pictured his eyes on me as I told him the news. The smoothness of his face, and the calloused skin around his hands as he embraced me. I was going to be a mother whether I liked it or not. But how? In this foreign place? Alone without my mama to guide me?

  Same way I raised you.

  CHAPTER 13

  Favor

  The days had grown shorter. Red, orange, and purple leaves drifted to the ground as July and I bent down over the silver wash bin scrubbing the laundry. The motion of pounding the heavy, wet material against the wood-and-metal washboard was making me dizzy.

  The lye soap stung my hands and the October air had stiffened my back. I must have looked on the brink of fainting, because when Elsie huffed by me she tsked her teeth.

  “You’s a weak gal. Don’t know what Marse see ’n you.”

  I wanted to tell Elsie to shut her fat mouth. Did she not have enough business to tend to and people to feed around here without constantly studying me? Still, her comment lit a fire under me and made me more determined to finish the chore. I was scrubbing a resistant bloodstain out of a white shirtsleeve when a shadow crept over me. I looked up and saw the Jailer blocking my sun. Discomfort slid down my spine.

  Elsie’s hands were in the bowl of string beans. “Marse?” She made his name into a question.

  “I want July to be with Pheby for the next few months.”

  “But July my best—”

  “And move Pheby into the back room of the house.”

  “The big house?” Her mouth opened wide enough for me to see her tonsils.

  The Jailer nodded and I shivered.

  “Ain’t show me no favor when I’s carryin’.”

  “Mind your tongue.”

  “Worked me so hard, lost all three of my ninnys.” Elsie parted her lips to sass some more, but then the Jailer raised his hand and slapped her concerns right back down her throat. The sound popped so loud, it stopped me from breathing. I watched as Elsie dropped her head and returned her eyes to the beans. She said nothing more, but I could feel the anger, embarrassment, and indignation radiating from her skin.

  “Have it done before supper.” He walked away. His boots left footprints behind in the sand.

  “Best be movin’ on,” Elsie murmured toward me.

  I left the wash and climbed the stairs to the upper room. I gathered the few things I owned: Mama’s dress, a blanket, and the thimble. My diary stayed hidden in my pocket at all times, and I was already wearing the necklace and shoes. When I turned to leave, Elsie had filled the doorway with her wide hips. She looked older than she had just ten minutes before. Her jaw had started to swell something awful. I moved to pass, but Elsie seized me by the arm.

  “He ain’t what you think.”

  “Turn me loose.”

  Her fingernails dug into my skin. “You know what they call him? Bully. This place? Say it’s the Devil’s Half Acre. Now who you thinkin’ the devil be?”

  She released my arm and stepped aside. I hurried down the stairs with her words vibrating in my head. July met me outside. We moved from the kitchen house across the path that led to the big house. It was enclosed by a black wrought-iron gate, and was the building farthest away from the jail. I lifted the latch and crossed a small patch of grass. Abbie, the house girl, stood at the door to greet us. Her yellow dress hung like a sack from her lanky body. When I reached the front door, her smile, which seemed genuine, comforted me. It took strength not to collapse into her arms the way I would Mama’s.

  “Right this way.” She hobbled, dragging her left foot behind her.

  This was my first time inside the big house, and given that it was about half the size of Master Jacob’s, my thought was that it did not appear to be big at all. Directly in front of me was a wide staircase with a dark wood banister. To my left, a dining room. On the right, a parlor. Both rooms had floor-to-ceiling windows with hardwood floors. July and I trailed Abbie down a long hallway and into a small bedroom behind the staircase.

  “Here we are.” Abbie gestured.

  The room was quaint: big fluffy pillows on the bed, yellow curtains, and a shaggy throw rug. A side table held a pitcher of water and a clean glass. As I walked around touching everything, Elsie’s warning quickly vanished from my thoughts. Tonight I would sleep in a real bed, and I reveled in the comfort of it.

  “Thank you,” I said to Abbie.

  “Let me know if you needin’ anything. July know her way ’round pretty good.” She closed the door behind her.

  I sat down. July came next to me, and I pulled the girl to my chest and hugged her.

  As I became acquainted with my new living quarters, I decided to hide the diary Miss Sally had given me under a small chest in the back of my bedroom closet. Seemed safer than carrying it around with me, especially with my dress getting tight. I also moved the desk and chair farther into the corner to make more space for July in case she wanted to bring over some personal things.

  The next night, Abbie came to my room. July had just finished brushing my hair and twisted it into a chignon. I had found a ball of pearl wool in the shed and was guiding July on knitting a scarf.

  “Marse Rubin like to see you in the parlor.”

  “Why?” My heart raced at the thought of being alone with him.

  “Best put on something from the closet.”

  July hopped up and pulled open the closet door. There hung three dresses. I’d seen them before but I had not known they were intended for me. There were beautifully fussy white-women dresses with embroidered edges and puffed sleeves. Finer than anything that Mama had ever made for me. But I sensed wearing them was a trap.

  “What I am wearing will do.”

  “You sure?” Abbie made her eyes big.

  “I am.” My fingers shook as I smoothed down my linen work dress. It had grown snug over my belly in the past few days, and I noted that I could probably make it another week or two before needing to let the bodice go completely.

  “Betta hurry, Marse hates to wait,” said Abbie. I did not wish to go, but being without choice, I stretched my face into what I hoped was a pleasant expression and headed down the hall.

  The Jailer sat in a high-back Victorian chair, with a nightcap on the table next to him and the newspaper in his lap. Logs burned away in the fireplace, and out the window I could see the sun setting over the buildings behind us. I pushed my knees together to steady my trembling.

  “Please sit.” He looked at me over his spectacles.

  “I prefer to stand, sir.”

  He looked at me again. “Sit.”

  I gathered my skirts and sat on the edge of the chair farthest away from him.

  “Do you find your new living quarters fit?”

  “Yes. Thank you for your kindness.”

  “July will stay with you night and day. Attending to your needs.”

  I tried to keep my posture erect, but I was no longer comfortable in my body. I dropped my eyes, but not before they spotted the piano. It was even lovelier than the one on which Miss Sally had taught me. I recognized it to be a square grand piano made of rosewood with sparkling ivory keys. It had been so long since I had made music and experienced the release that playing gave me. I deepened my breathing, wishing I had brought the ball of pearl wool to keep my hands occupied.

  “You look tired. Go get some rest.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He stood when I did, and I could feel his eyes on me as I walked out of the room.

  July was laying on her pallet next to the closet, practicing looping the wool. I had offered to share the bed with he
r, but she refused.

  “What Marse want?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “He scary,” she whispered.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He has two faces. One minute smiling, next you stretched on the whippin’ post. Basil know betta than all of us.” She turned over and got under her blanket. She fell asleep in the time it took for me to prepare for bed.

  * * *

  After that, the Jailer called for me nightly while he had his whiskey, newspaper, and nibble of dessert. Each time Abbie suggested that I put on one of the white-women dresses from the closet, but I continued to refuse. I did not want to ignite additional interest in me beyond what was there. When I sat with him, I stayed mostly quiet, thinking about the piano, my baby, and Essex while he read the newspaper. Then, about a week into our evening meetings, he ordered Abbie to bring me a slice of apple pie. My mouth watered for the treat. It seemed that the baby had me constantly craving sweets, and in this place sugary snacks proved hard to come by. Like a kid, I wasted no time cutting into the crust with my fork and bringing the thick candied apples to my lips.

  “Do not rush, now.” His eyes twinkled. “I want to watch you enjoy it. Slowly.”

  His rate of breathing had increased, and his anticipation took the satisfaction of the pie from my mouth. The Jailer kept his eyes on me while I slid the pie off my fork, chewing each bite carefully and until there was nothing but mush in my mouth, then swallowed. He leaned toward me from his chair, his cheeks red, his eyes glistening.

  “Go on, lick the spoon. Do not waste a drop.”

  I put the plate down on the table next to me and faked a smile I knew would not reach my eyes.

  * * *

  As the days grew shorter and the weather grew colder, the Jailer started trading his reading in favor of talking to me. He told me things about his chattel business. I did not say much in response—just offered a nod or some sign that I’d heard him.