“It’s all the new families in town. The more white folks arrive, the less food we get. They’re quality, and they can’t miss a meal,” Ida says, running her finger across the surface of her empty plate before licking it.
“What do you mean?” I ask. I’ve just finished my own stew and am barely restraining myself from licking the plate. Even the roughnecks are looking hungry and perturbed. Their rations have been cut as well, meaning that there really is a problem with the food. This ain’t just another of the preacher’s initiatives to reform the Negro.
“Ain’t you been paying attention? There’s been two trains of families in the past week. Fancy folks, all bedecked in finery. Before that we used to get maybe one train a month, and never anyone wearing silk. Something’s happening back east, but who knows what,” Ida says. “You’d better just hope they don’t think about expanding the brothel, otherwise you’re going to be out of a place to sleep.” She casts a dark look across the room where the Duchess’s girls are calling out to the table of roustabouts. I don’t know why they bother. It’s Thursday. Those fellas are already broke. They spend their money as fast as we do.
There’s more folks moving into the nice part of town, but we haven’t gotten any new Negroes for the patrols. Something just doesn’t add up.
Maybe it’s time to take a little trip.
I think about it all that night and the next. I think about the other side of town as I push aside a girl to get my breakfast, a dark feeling welling up in my middle when she starts crying, just as hungry and desperate as the rest of us. I think about it as I watch a small pod of decrepit shamblers attempt to climb the wall, their hands digging uselessly into the dirt, my blade flashing in the sun as I slide down the exterior of the wall to take off their heads.
I keep thinking about the other side of town until I can’t stand it no more, kicking off my covers in the warm heat of the night. No more wallowing. It’s high time I find my friends and get an idea of what’s going on in this other side of town. There’s an itch in my brain, a thought that needs to be scratched. But more than that, I need food. My stomach growls so loudly that I cannot stand it, and next to me Ida is no better off, just as awake and miserable as me.
“I’m going to find some grub,” I whisper to her over the soft snores of the girls around us.
Ida props herself up on her elbow. “It isn’t safe, Jane.”
“We’re slowly starving to death, Ida. We won’t survive long on what we’re getting. We can either die peacefully or survive by any means necessary.”
Ida purses her lips in the near dark before nodding. “Be careful,” she warns.
I climb to my feet and grab my boots. Food and some answers—one or the other would be fine, but I’m greedy, so I’m hoping for both.
I walk out on the roof and look for a legitimate way down this time. There’s a small overhang off the western edge covering the boardwalk, and I’m thinking that if I can land on it then I can ease myself to the ground from there and make my way to the other side of town. The only problem is that the overhang is almost directly across from the sheriff’s office, so there’s a chance I’ll be seen if they’re looking. It’s not a risk I would take lightly.
I debate going back to bed, or trying something different once I’ve been able to make a proper plan. But then my stomach growls, so loud that I’m sure they heard it all the way back in Baltimore.
I ain’t waiting for an opportunity. I’m making one.
I walk to the edge of the roof, dangling my feet off it and easing forward until I can jump. My landing is too loud, and I throw myself flat on the overhang, breath held, waiting for someone to yell up at me. After a span of frantic heartbeats and slow breaths I realize no one is coming for me, so I lower myself the rest of the way off of the overhang and take off at a sprint away from the buildings.
It’s dark, and I trip often. There ain’t much light to see by, but the rich side of town glitters like a jewel in dung. It doesn’t take me long to get there, in my haste; once I get close to the circle of light cast by the bright lamps that line the road I can maneuver more quickly, using the shadows as my cover. That’s when I realize there’s a strange buzzing, like cicadas. At first I wonder why the bugs would be active this late at night, but then I realize it ain’t cicadas. The sound is coming from the streetlamps themselves. Must be the electricity coursing through them.
I have no idea where the Spencers might live, but of the thirty or so houses in this part of town, not many of them appear to be filled at this point; there are only a few on the street with lights on.
Peeping in windows ain’t ladylike, but it helps me to quickly assess who lives in what houses. The preacher sits in the study of one, reading some book, and I quickly duck away.
I’ve soon looked in all the windows of the houses with lights on, and none of the folks I see are the Spencers or Katherine. But like Ida said, they’re definitely quality. I recognize a couple of the folks from Mayor Carr’s dinner party. It looks like his diabolical scheme is proceeding according to plan.
If
