CHAPTER 18 
Deliver Me Lord
It only took four months of his regular visits for me to know I carried his child. I felt the pressure across my lower back and my cheeks were fuller, puffy like Mama’s, even though I did not eat much. Food stopped agreeing with me again. My breasts throbbed, and the pain his lips caused when he sucked and pulled on them was excruciating. He acted like a baby in that way, always reaching for my breasts, like they gave him life.
He had started falling asleep on my pillow some nights, too exhausted to walk across the hall to his own room. That’s when I tried to make sense of him. Besides insisting I watch that awful whipping, he had been consistent in doing things he believed would please me. When he discovered me sniffing flowers out behind the kitchen house, he had Abbie arrange pretty bouquets that she changed out every few days. Gifts of fancy gloves, lace corsets, new shoes, hairpins, and chocolate waited for me weekly on my nightstand. Some days, it felt like I had been living in the jail for two lifetimes, not a few weeks short of a year.
This new pregnancy also made me fret over Monroe’s future. The Jailer mostly pretended like Monroe did not exist. I hoped he would honor my request and not separate us. I hated having to rest my hopes on another white man. But it was not up to me. In this world, the men called Master held all the power.
Ever since Abbie had told me the bakery was a stop for runaways, I had thought about asking them to smuggle my boy and me up North and give this new baby a chance to be born into freedom. It was a thought that I indulged in the middle of the night, but the people of Richmond were so afraid of Rubin Lapier that I doubted they would risk their lives to help me. Even before I asked, I would need to find a way to get my son off the premises of the jail—a near impossible feat, because the Jailer’s guards watched everyone.
The August heat made it too warm in the supply shed to shut the door, so I kept it propped open and wished for a cool breeze. Lavender plants were stationed at the front of the door to dissuade mosquitoes from bothering me. In those first few months, I had turned the space into a full-fledged dressing room. A sheer piece of material hung from the ceiling to give the old room a sense of warmth when the girls were herded in. Buttons, fringes, feathers, ribbons, lace, gloves, and bonnets—all accumulated from my weekly trips to the market—were organized into drawers. Fabric was rolled neatly and the dresses were hung. I even managed to string together some jewels for the highly prized girls, the ones the Jailer thought would fetch eight or nine hundred dollars. I liked to keep things tidy, since the space was small. I stood sweeping loose ends from the floor when Basil approached with the next group.
There were four fair-skinned girls. They introduced themselves as Missy, Taffy, Beth-Anne, and Brenda. Brenda was the oldest of the bunch. I could tell by the way she poked out her lip that she had lived a life that afforded an air of stubbornness.
“You need to comb your hair,” I said, blushing Brenda’s cheeks with the rouge I had made from mixing hibiscus flowers, arrowroot powder, and lavender together. One of Mama’s recipes.
“Don’t want to be made up for them men.”
“It will be over soon.” I took a small dab to her lips, hoping to achieve a bee-stung affect.
“How you know that?”
“I am a praying woman.”
“Way you fixin’ us, I say you need the prayer.” She pulled back and then spit in my face. I was so shocked that I dropped the jar of rouge and it splattered on the floor, spilling red all over her pretty yellow dress. The other three girls gasped in unison.
“You know I can have you whipped for that.” My tone pierced harshly.
“I don’t care what happen next. Can’t be worse’n what already done happen,” Brenda shrieked.
I wiped my cheek. I had a mind to slap the girl across the face myself. What was I going to do about the ruined dress? And my rouge. My thoughts were knotted over how to make her pay for it when July poked her head in.
“Marse ready for them,” she said. Monroe cooed at me from July’s hip. It had gotten to the point that it was hard for me to work and have him tied to my back.
“Take these three; tell him I need more time with the last one. I will escort her as soon as I can.”
July moved into the room, took in the scene. “You need help here?”
I shook my head, motioning for her to go.
“Brenda, where are you from?” I asked, regaining my composure.
“Nowhere.”
“Who is your mama?”
“No one.”
“Okay, then let me pray with you.” I grabbed her hands, but before I could open my mouth she started praying.
“Lawd, I come ’fore you thankin’ you for the air I breathe. One of your sheep done deserted you oh Lawd. She is dressed like a sheep but pretendin’. She really a wolf. Change ’er heart Lawd and bring ’er back to your Kingdom. Invite ’er back to you, Lawd, so she can do good and not evil. In Jesus’s name.”
I dropped her hands. She had a gap between her teeth and she smiled so I could see it.
“I do it for my son.”
“You do it for you. Been ’round your kind plenty.”
I found another dress. Not as nice as the first one, but I wanted her gone.
“I ain’t simple-minded either, if that’s what you think. But I can see thangs when I meet people and I sees you.” She stared until I dropped my eyes, looked down at my feet like she was a white woman.
Later at dinner, I moved rice and trout around my plate, still thinking about my encounter with Brenda. The Jailer did not notice because he loved the sound of his own voice. I wondered how he cleared his plate with all his talking. When I joined him in the parlor for dessert, he asked me to play. It was a relief to sit at the piano after the day I’d had. I positioned my fingers and let out the anger and the shame. When I finished, I had soaked my dress all the way through.
“Simply lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“Shall we retire?” he asked, as if I had a choice. The thought of him pumping into me made me ill.
“I am with child.”
His eyes opened wide, and it only took a moment before the notion produced a smile, lighting up his whole face.
“Are you serious?” He pulled me to my feet.
“Your child,” I said to assure him.
He wrapped me in his arms and brought his face close to mine. I could smell the whiskey on his breath before he kissed me. “You make me happy, Pheby Delores Brown.”
His hand rested on my belly. When he looked at me, his eyes said it all. It was endearing to watch, and for a split second, I forgot the evil that lived inside of him. I could see in his eyes an emotion that could only be described as love.
When we got to his room, he undressed me and tucked me under his covers. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for another long night, but he climbed in bed next to me, put one hand on my belly, and used the other to cradle me. Then he kissed my temple and fell asleep.
He still had me in his arms when I awoke the next morning, and my neck was stiff because of it. Brenda was the first thought that came to mind. Was she right about me? Maybe I needed to seek God.
“Good morning.” He kissed my cheek.
“I want to go to church on Sunday. Take everyone with me. We used to have service on the plantation. I miss it.”
“That can be arranged. That African church is a few blocks away. The others have never been, but I reckon they’ll be curious.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you.” He rubbed my belly.
When Sunday came, I had Monroe dressed in a navy jacket buttoned to high-waisted trousers. He wore matching socks, and I combed his hair with a part in the middle. This would be his first trip outside of the jail and I could not wait to see his little face when he saw the horse and buggy, all the people moving through the streets, the stores and city lights.
“Miss Pheby, you lookin’ good,” July commented on the mustard-colored dress that I wore. I had sewn together a pretty blouse for July out of the extra material from the shed, and she looked lovely in lavender. She was old enough now for a corset and hoopskirt but I did not want men getting ideas about her, especially now that she had received her first blood, so I dressed her down like she was still a child.
I could see the others gathered in front of the house out my window when Abbie came for me. They seemed anxious to get to church, and I did not want to be the one to keep them waiting.
“Miss Pheby? Marse said leave Monroe with Basil. Rest us gon’ on to church.”
“I am taking him with me.”
“Marse told the gatekeeper you ain’t ’pose to leave here with Monroe.”
I picked up my brush and threw it across the room, angry that he would relay his dirty message through Abbie instead of telling me himself. That bastard. Always separating me from my son. I wanted Monroe to know God. Hear the choir. Catch the spirit.
“Basil ain’t so bad. He a good man. Guard Monroe wit’ his life till you return.” Abbie took my arm and steered me away from throwing anything else. When we got downstairs, she reached for the baby. I kissed Monroe’s cheek and then handed him to her. He looked from me to Abbie and started kicking his feet in a fuss. Abbie moved out the back door with him, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth to calm him.
Elsie tried looking away when I approached, but I already noticed her checking me out as I came down the steps. We did well staying out of each other’s ways most days.
“Miss Pheby,” she said, and I did not correct her.
“Morning, Elsie. Ready to hear the word of the Lord?”
“Monroe ain’t comin’?” She tipped her chin.
“Might not be ready to sit still for so long.” I walked ahead, and July fell into step next to me. We exited through the front entrance. I could hear them singing from the jail as we passed.
The First African Baptist Church sat a few blocks away, at the corner of College and Broad. As we made our way, hundreds of Negroes filed into the street headed toward the church. The women’s bonnets framed their beautiful faces and the men dressed neatly. The church stretched in a rectangular shape with its long side facing Broad Street. The foyer was dimly lit, and I could smell the smoke of frankincense and myrrh. Inside the sanctuary there was a wide center aisle with royal-blue carpet. Straightaway I noticed the men moved to sit on the left side and the women to the right. All the children congregated together in side galleries. In the front pews, upper-class whites, dressed in the latest fashions, sat together, with additional white men stationed in the corners of the room and along the back wall, watching. Negroes could not gather, not even in broad daylight to hear the word of God, without being watched.
The church filled fast. The choir walked to the front gallery and began to sing. A lovely pale woman led the massive choir in a few hymns. I recognized one or two. Her voice reminded me of Lovie’s from back home, and I longed for our little church service in the clearing on the plantation. Missed Essex holding my hand and smiling at me.
When the choir finished the last note, the white preacher wearing a yellow robe with a gold cross sewn into the fabric walked up to the pulpit. At the sight of him, everyone sat up straighter.
“I want to welcome you to First African Baptist Church. I am Pastor Robert Ryland. Do we have anyone visiting for the first time? If so, please stand.”
My group stood, as did a few others throughout the sanctuary.
“Welcome to the house of the Lord. Please be seated. You are all in for an amazing treat from a Lamb of God. We have Reverend Nathaniel Colver, all the way from the Tremont Temple in Boston. He will deliver the sermon today.”
Mr. Colver was a medium-sized white man with tight lips. He stood in front of the congregation wearing his white collar and spoke eloquently. It surprised me to hear him hint at the perils of slavery, and how all people should have the right to live with dignity. When he finished, the same woman led the choir in a final song.
Let Jesus lead me
Let Jesus lead me
Let Jesus lead me
All the way
All the way, way to heaven
Let Jesus lead me, all the way.
They clapped their hands and stomped their feet to provide extra rhythm and I found myself swaying in my seat. The music reached down into my heart and pried it open. I felt appreciation for this encounter with the Holy Spirit. True, I was not free, but living at the jail had taught me that my circumstances could be much worse. Mama always said that a grateful heart served as a magnet for miracles, so I latched onto the worship and gave thanks. I closed my eyes, rocked forward and back, and let their voices engulf me, heal me, restore me, while I prayed, Jesus lead me. Jesus lead me.
When the choir finished, I wiped the moistness from the corners of my eyes.
“We better go,” I said to Abbie and July, loud enough for Elsie to hear me. July stood and motioned for the boy Tommy.
I could feel the ease and joy between the five of us on our walk back to the jail. Elsie and Abbie chatted about the sermon, and July started singing a Bible song in a voice that sounded almost as good as that of the woman who led the choir.
“I did not know you could sing.” I tapped her arm and she chuckled.
The good feeling made me consider stopping at the bakery and purchasing pastries for them, but I decided not to press my luck on our first outing. Perhaps with the Jailer’s permission, we would build up to that. We were about two streets from the jail when a little boy ran up to me flashing a wide grin. He looked to be about ten.
“Missus, know where the Lapier jail is?” He bounced on his toes. I saw that he had a note in his hand.
“You all go on around the back way so you can stretch your legs a little. I will take care of him.”
They obeyed. When they were out of sight, I read the note, then handed it back to the boy. Shuddering, I took his hand.
“Who wrote this?”
“My marse. Said I get what I deserve. Hoping it a sweet.”
The poor boy thought that he would receive a treat. How cruel of his master to send him to the jail, and on a Sunday.
Should be a day of peace.
“I will show you, but let me feed you first.”
I took him to the bakery and bought him a pastry. I learned everything about him on our walk to the jail, knowing that he would be added to my diary. When we got to the gate, I told him to hand the note to the guard. They seized him and dragged him toward the whipping room. His big eyes looked up at me, hurt. I turned away and walked toward the house. I could hear his cries as I nursed Monroe and put him to sleep for his afternoon nap. Whenever I started feeling as if I could endure this place, there was always a reminder that I could not.