Footsteps. Stomping down the staircase. Honoree held her breath. Bessie held her hand. “Don’t worry. It’s Ezekiel and Jeremiah.”
“How do you know?”
“Honoree.” Ezekiel dropped to his knees beside her. “Oh, Honoree.” His eyes darkened with concern.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sobbing. “I’m so sorry.”
“What are you talking about, Honoree?” He wrapped strong arms around her, and she collapsed into him. “What are you sorry for?”
“I should’ve left Chicago that night Houdini died. I should’ve left.” The tears flowed down her face, salty tears on her lips, and water running over her chin. “Why am I so goddamn stubborn, Ezekiel? Why?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He touched her cheek. “Jeremiah will take you and Bessie to the house. I’ll clean up this mess.”
“Oh, God, what will Archie do when he finds out? What are you going to do with Dewey’s body?”
Ezekiel lifted Honoree’s chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Do not worry about that. You go home. Jeremiah will take you. Bessie, you stay with her. Jeremiah, get back here as soon as you can.”
* * *
Once inside the Bailey house, Honoree hobbled up the stairs. The need to bathe consumed her. She had to wash away Dewey’s touch, his sweat, the mix of their blood on her skin.
She grabbed at her clothing, stripping off her torn shift, her shoes, garters, and stockings.
“You’ll need to burn these,” she said to Bessie, who watched over her from the bathroom doorway.
“I’ll take care of it.” Bessie scurried into the bathroom, shoved the clothes into a corner, and started to prepare the bath.
Honoree stood naked, arms hanging at her sides, unable to help or decide what to do. She could still feel Dewey’s hands touching her, grabbing her, hurting her, and see the hate in his eyes, the pain he wanted to inflict upon her. It would be impossible to forget how he’d looked when he died—or Bessie’s eyes when she killed him.
Bessie turned the knob on the faucet and pushed the rubber stopper into the drain. “There are towels in the bin and several different bars of soap. I’ll get everything. You get in the tub.”
“I’ll wash in lye soap to get Dewey’s blood off me,” said Honoree, but Bessie was holding a bar of Lux soap. “Never taken a bath in a tub before. In a bucket, a stream, or a lake, but that was when I was only a kid.”
She lowered herself into the steaming water, drew her knees into her chest, and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“I should call the police and tell them I killed Dewey Graves,” Bessie said. “That way, I’ll be in jail and safe from Archie’s vengeance.” Bessie dipped her finger in the water. “It sure is hot.”
“You can’t go to jail. You’re pregnant. Think of your baby. What would the coppers do with a woman with a child?”
“I don’t care about the baby. They can put it in a home, an orphanage. I don’t want it.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. I care nothin’ about it. Just like I don’t care nothin’ about killing Dewey. The way he had you pinned on the floor, his pants open in the front. I knew what he was about to do, and I had to stop him.” She wrung out the wet towel and lathered it up. “When he woke up, and went after you again, I had to be sure he was dead. So, I put that stick in his back.”
She washed Honoree’s shoulders. “I thought about hitting him in the head one more time. But I preferred him dead. What was happening to you reminded me of what happened the first time he came at me.” Bessie moved a curl aside from Honoree’s forehead. “If you duck your head in the water, I’ll wash your hair.”
Honoree gasped. All this time she—“What do you mean the first time he came at you?”
“Dewey was the one who was beating me when I first came to Miss Hattie’s. Took me down into that basement and forced me to do things with him. Made me promises, too. That’s how I got the job working at Miss Hattie’s. Not because of Archie but because of Dewey.”
“Lord, Bessie.” Honoree hung her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t you worry about it now, Honoree. That job didn’t make it right for him to hit me. Or make me do things I didn’t want to.”
“You should’ve told me it was him.” Here she had it wrong all this time. It was never Archie.
“When you came into the dressing room that night, I thought it was Dewey coming back for me, and I hid in the corner.” She paused. “I’ve been with a man before, more than one. I used to work the Chitlin’ Circuit. But Dewey, he was mean. I couldn’t—I wasn’t—you see, I’m the dumbest Dora in town. Ain’t pretty. Ain’t smart. But you were nice to me. And when things got worse with Dewey, you invited me to move in with you.”
