CHAPTER 26 
Fly Birdie
Basil was gone.
No one knew what had happened to him. The Jailer had sent him to Rockett’s Landing to pick up a coffle, something that he has done twice weekly since I had lived at the jail. This time he did not return. The Jailer had his britches in a bunch over his escape. Had every patroller in the state looking for Basil. I was surprised by the whole thing because Basil appeared so loyal. Never hesitated when the Jailer asked him to do anything. He had us all fooled, and I secretly prayed for his safe passage.
As I moved through my tasks, I could not help wondering how Basil must have planned and plotted his escape for months, years even. I pictured him making friends at the dock and consulting with the free blacks on the best way to travel north. If I had known his plan, I might have begged him to take Monroe to freedom. This jail was no place for a Negro boy, and Basil’s running reenergized the notion that I needed to get my boy free. In some ways, I had been lulled into passivity, but now I felt awake.
Every evening over dinner, I had to endure the Jailer’s bouts of anger over losing what he called his best nigger. Three weeks passed with no leads. Basil had vanished without a trace. After getting the report from the patroller, the Jailer decided to take matters into his own hands. He stormed down to the docks and picked up three men. I could hear them from the shed pleading their innocence, but the Jailer had them strapped down. The whip seemed to whistle through the air for hours. When he finished, none of the men could stand. But that did not stop him from having them thrown into the jail. His message rang clear: if anyone hid Basil they would pay with their lives. By the end of the month, the Jailer was at his wits’ end. He drank more and slept less. I coaxed him to take it easy but he disregarded me.
The thing that pushed me over the edge was his determination to show no mercy. I had not known how truly brutal he could be until the morning he sent for Abbie. This time he did not force me to watch, but I could nonetheless hear her call out in pain. The cries had an almost feral quality to them. When she was carried back to the house by Tommy, the metallic smell of blood clung to her skin long after he’d beaten her. Since she and Basil had been lovers, the Jailer now blamed her for his escape. I nursed her back to health best I could, but being under the whip had struck Abbie dumb. She became clumsy and her memory grew short once she returned to work. On top of everything that July already did for the children, she now had to pick up Abbie’s slack.
On May 30, 1857, Katherine, our fourth daughter, was born. Elsie had been ill with fever, Abbie still a useless wreck, and July busy keeping the children entertained. When the birth pains came, I pulled her from my womb myself. As soon as I saw her tiny face, I pet-named her Birdie. She would be my last little bird. There would be no more. When my blood stopped, I fixed myself to make the children stop. I had given him enough.
Sissy worked in the kitchen cooking until Elsie could get back on her feet. Her bigheaded son sure loved Monroe. He cooed and giggled whenever Monroe stopped to play peek-a-boo with him. I was standing in the garden watching Monroe carry slop buckets, amazed at how strong his little arms were, when the Jailer startled me with his presence.
“Pheby. Need you at the tavern, now.”
“Would you like me to change?” I asked, knowing he would not want his clients to see me in my simple housedress.
“There are but ten minutes to spare.”
I untied Birdie and handed her over to July. Abbie was slow, but after fidgeting with my straps and pulls, she got me into my lavender calico dress. I twisted up my hair and made haste. I slipped in unnoticed and started playing a classical song that made me think of home. When I peeked over the top of the piano, I saw the Jailer sitting with four men at a table. One of the entertainment girls brought over a platter. I recognized two of the men as Silas and David, his jailer friends with the wives whom I adored. From eavesdropping on the conversation, I found out that the other two men were politicians. I had seen neither before. The Jailer’s cheeks were red, and I could ascertain from his tone that he was riled up.
“How does my boy just walk away with no trace?” He was yapping on about Basil again.
“I have never lost a nigger,” the Jailer fumed.
“Some of them plan their escape for years. Sneaky.”
“Yankee abolitionists are not making it easy for us. Do they not recognize the law? That we have got papers on them?”
“They think differently.”
“Foolishly.”
“Did you get wind of the nigger in Massachusetts, causing a ruckus?” asked the politician on the right.
Silas nodded. “What is his name? Essex Henry.”
I missed a note on the piano but quickly recovered. Had I heard him right?
“Yes, that boy Essex Henry is causing so much trouble, the federals had to get involved. He is in custody now, but they are planning to bring him back to Virginia, where he belongs,” answered the politician on the left.
“He needs to be punished, and punished good.”
David put down his glass. “We need to send a message that we will not stand for this.”
“Bring him here,” the Jailer growled, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention.
The politician on the left clapped the Jailer on the back.
“That is what we came here for, Rubin. To get you on board.”
“These niggers need a good showing of what happens when they fix it in their head to escape.”
The politician smiled. “Thought you were the man to do it.”
The Jailer smiled back. “I will get justice on this nigger for every slave who has run off, or even thinks about running off. Plan it big. Open up the courtyard for folks to come from miles away to see. I will scare them straight. You have my word.”
One of the politicians stood up. His belly was as big as the Jailer’s. “I will inform the authorities and get back to you with a date. Now, can I indulge?” he said, pointing to one of the girls. The Jailer waved his hand for the man to go.
I played and played and played. Essex has been captured. My Essex is coming here. Everything in me started aching for him at once, but on the same notion, I was desperate over his fate. With Basil having run, the Jailer would be ruthless. He had been merciless in his punishment before. But now, there was no telling what he would do. God help us.