Freedom's Price (11 page)

“I'm free, so it's perfectly legal.” Eliza was startled by Kiki's voice.

Wilson chimed in, “Me too.”

Eliza wanted to hug them both, even Kiki. She found her voice again, “In any case, we're not learning in Missouri, and that's all that matters to the law!”

“Maybe you're crossing the river to escape,” Frank mused.
He was much sneakier than Mark Charless, who was just mean and stupid. “That's illegal.”

“We don't cross the river,” Eliza insisted. “We stop in the middle.”

The rowboat was coming closer. Abe, Reverend Meachum's right-hand man, expertly pulled at the oars. The muscles in his broad shoulders rippled with the effort of maneuvering the boat across the mighty river. Even from here it was obvious that he was an enormous man.

Frank kept his eyes on Eliza as he said, “Mark, watch them while I get the sheriff.”

“You stay. I'll go.” Mark had obviously sized up Abe and knew he was outmatched.

A bump against the dock and Abe had arrived. Everyone turned to watch him clamber out of the boat. The wind on the water had whipped his bushy black hair into a crown sticking up from head. Abe's eyes narrowed as he saw the scene on the dock. The other students gathered around him like puppies crowding their mama. Eliza was most relieved of all.

“What's going on here?” Abe asked in his bullfrog voice. He towered over everyone on the dock. His quiet gaze wasn't exactly threatening, but Mark involuntarily took a step backward.

“We're just leaving,” Mark squeaked.

“But we've caught them red-handed going to school,” Frank protested.

“These children aren't doing anyone any harm. Reverend Meachum's lawyer says we're not breaking any laws,” Abe declared. “You leave them alone.”

Mark tugged on Frank's sleeve. “We need to go.”

Frank gave Mark a contemptuous look, turned, and stalked away. Mark scurried after him.

As soon as they were gone, Abe folded his arms and asked, “How did those men get here?”

“I, um, I . . .,” Eliza stammered, her eyes fixed on Abe's boots.

“Eliza led them right to us!” Kiki accused.

Tears welled in Eliza's eyes. “I didn't mean to.”

Wilson put his arm around Eliza. “They didn't follow us. Eliza was careful.”

“Not careful enough,” Kiki said.

Wilson's arm felt like protection around Eliza's shoulders. Abe sighed. “I suppose it was just a matter of time before they figured it out.”

“That's true,” Wilson agreed.

Though Eliza felt she didn't deserve Abe's kindness, she was grateful for it.

Abe glanced at the afternoon sun and said, “We'd better go before those troublemakers come back.”

Wilson held the rowboat steady for the others to board. Kiki made sure to grab Wilson's arm, but Eliza jumped in unaided, followed by Wilson. He sat next to her in the prow of the boat. With Abe's strong pull on the oars, they were
soon in the middle of the river. The cool breeze was refreshing on Eliza's sweaty face, but it couldn't soothe her troubled conscience.

“You love the school, don't you?” Wilson asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “But I'm afraid I've ruined everything. I was stupid. Once those men saw my notebook, I should never have come to the docks. The
Freedom School
has to be protected. No one knows that better than I do.”

“It's not your fault, Eliza.”

Eliza nodded, though she didn't agree. She let her hand trail in the water, not taking it out even when it got icy cold.

The rowboat plowed through the water. Abe kept a sharp eye on the currents. The river seemed slow and safe on the surface, but there were always hazards floating by.

Abe struggled to maneuver the boat close to the steamboat. “Wilson, grab an oar!” he called. Together they fought the tug of the current until they reached the gentler water near the island. “Welcome to Bloody Island.”

Wilson's eyes darted to Eliza with a question.

“The island is a no-man's-land,” Eliza explained. “It doesn't belong to Missouri or Illinois. Whenever anybody has a duel to fight, they do it there. So they call it Bloody Island. The name has nothing to do with the school.”

With a bump, the rowboat pulled alongside the stairs at the side of the
Freedom School
. Wilson jumped out and expertly tied the rowboat to the steamboat. Abe nodded approvingly.

“Oh my, you certainly know your way around boats.” The
trill in Kiki's voice set Eliza's teeth on edge. As though Kiki were a queen, she held out her hand to Wilson, and he lifted her out of the boat.

When it was Eliza's turn, Wilson said, “A fellow river rat doesn't need any help.”

Eliza saw the jealous expression on Kiki's face and knew she would rather have done laundry every day for a year than ask for assistance.

They climbed the stairs and entered the main room of the steamboat. Eliza's eyes went to every corner, worrying this would be the last time she saw the school.

Wilson touched her arm. “Don't fret. Abe said it would have happened anyway.”

Without thinking, she placed her hand over his. “How did you know what was on my mind?” she asked.

Wilson smiled at her. “It's easy to see what you're feeling.” He ducked his head to avoid her gaze and looked about the boat.

The inside of the
Freedom School
didn't much resemble a typical steamboat. Instead of staterooms, there was one large room with desks.

Wilson ran his hand appreciatively over the polished desks. “It's beautiful work,” he said.

“Reverend Meachum used to be a carpenter, and he made most of this himself.” She brought Wilson to the bookcase on one side of the room, filled with two dozen books. “This is our very own library.”

“Have you read them all?” he asked.

“Not yet. Someday I will. Miss Stubbs says I'm the best reader.”

“She's the teacher?”

Eliza nodded, her finger tracing the title of a book. “She's from Ohio and properly trained.”

“It's brave of all of you to break the law just to get an education,” Wilson said.

“Is it brave if you are just doing what you want to do more than anything?” Eliza replied.

“School is that important to you?” he asked.

“Can I tell you something I've never told anybody?” she whispered, looking around to make sure Kiki wasn't within earshot.

He laughed. “You know I want to be a pastry chef—I think you owe me a secret.”

“Reading is wonderful—but I want an education so I can write songs.”

“Writing songs, is that a job?” Wilson asked.

“I met a lady once at church who wrote hymns. Think on it—when you hear a song, you don't know who wrote it. It could be a girl, even a colored girl like me. Imagine people all over America humming my music.”

“You are full of surprises,” Wilson said. “Why shouldn't you write songs if you want to?”

“Well, I'll need to learn how to write the notes and play a piano—but for now I just sing them in my head.”

“Will you sing one of them for me one day?”

Eliza smiled. Nothing would make her more embarrassed. Or happier. “Someday.”

A
fter the lesson was over, Abe returned the students to the shore. Abe drew Eliza aside. “Don't worry, Eliza,” he assured her. “Reverend Meachum will know what to do. We'll probably just lay low for a few weeks, then use a new meeting place.”

“Thanks, Abe.” Eliza placed her hand on his massive forearm. She slowly turned away; Wilson was waiting for her.

“I'll walk you home,” he said.

“That's not necessary,” she protested, not wanting him to know where she lived.

“I won't let you go alone,” Wilson insisted, holding out his arm. “What if those men are waiting for you?”

Eliza threaded her arm through his as they headed toward the center of town, up Market Street. The long hill was filled with promenading couples, and Eliza pretended she and Wilson were one of them. The more she got to know him, the more she liked him. Someday maybe they would be one of those twosomes. At the corner of Market and Second Streets, she pulled him over to look at Phillips Music Store.

Since it was Sunday, the store was closed. Eliza pressed her face to the glass. She pointed out the instruments and the cases of sheet music in the back of the store.

“Someday your music will be for sale there,” Wilson predicted.

Eliza stared at her reflection in the window. She saw a
songwriter. A free girl. A traveler. A reader. She saw the future.

She tore herself from the window, and they continued up Market Street. They talked about the school.

“I can't believe Miss Stubbs gave me a book to read.” Wilson patted his satchel where he had stowed the book. “It's called
Robinson Crusoe
.”

“You'll like that one,” Eliza promised. “Except for maybe the shipwreck.”

“Shipwrecks are a fact of life on the water,” Wilson said matter-of-factly. “Boilers explode, we can get holed by floating trees and sink—and, of course, there are fires.”

Eliza held up a hand. “Stop telling me how dangerous it is! I've always wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, on a steamboat.”

He grabbed her hand. “Maybe on the
Edward Bates
?”

Eliza would have liked to say something clever, but they had reached Chestnut Street and the moment she was dreading had arrived. The dome of the courthouse loomed over them. The square was deserted except for a rickety wagon hitched to a horse so thin you could count his ribs. Wilson looked around curiously. “You live around here?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered shortly, as if he wouldn't ask the next question.

“Where?”

She pointed to the building behind the courthouse.

“Isn't that the jail?” Wilson asked, puzzled.

She nodded. “I didn't want to tell you. We're forced to
live there,” she explained. She watched his face as she told him the story. When she was done, he was silent for a moment. Would he still like her?

“That's not fair,” he said finally. “You and your family should be able to live anywhere you want.” He gave her a hard look, almost as scolding as one of Ma's glares. “And you shouldn't be ashamed of something that isn't your fault.”

Feeling a weight lift off her shoulders, Eliza agreed. “But in two weeks and one day, we get to go before the judge. Then we won't have to stay here anymore.”

The door to the prison swung open. To Eliza's surprise, her father emerged, walking backward. He carried the front end of a stretcher. Mr. Martin followed holding the back. On top of the stretcher was a swaddled bundle, long and narrow. Pa didn't notice Eliza as he and Mr. Martin loaded the stretcher into the waiting wagon.

“Pa?” Eliza asked.

Pa's head whipped around. “Eliza! Get inside. Get inside now.” The stricken look on his face told her everything.

“It's Lucy, isn't it?” Eliza asked.

C
HAPTER
Fourteen

T
WO WEEKS AND A DAY LATER
.

I
T WAS RAINING AGAIN
. I
T HAD RAINED EVERY DAY FOR A WEEK
. But dawn was coming. Eliza could just make out the bars in the cell's narrow window.

Ma still slept. She worked so hard all day, she would fall asleep as soon as her body hit her straw bed. Lizzie was curled in a tiny ball at Eliza's feet, breathing loudly through her mouth. Somehow she had wandered down there in her sleep. Lizzie had a little cold and her nose was stuffed up. Her gentle snuffling was Eliza's lullaby.

Even with that, though, Eliza couldn't sleep. She turned onto one side, then a moment later flipped to the other. It seemed that morning would never come; they had already waited such a long time to be legally freed. A free Eliza Scott could look forward to tomorrow. A colored girl in the jail had no future at all.

Yes, today would be a good day. And the Lord knew they needed some happy news. Since Lucy's death, Pa had convinced Mr. Martin not to accept any more sick prisoners. It had worked—the cholera had stayed out of the jail. That is, until the sheriff had insisted on delivering two men arrested for stealing, even though they were feverish. Soon they were vomiting uncontrollably and their diarrhea wouldn't stop. Mrs. Martin and Pa had worked day and night to save them. They'd tried all the doctor's potions. Ma had painted the window bars with camphor. Pa had coaxed them to drink clean water to replace all the water they were losing to the illness. Eliza didn't understand why boiled water was better than the water from the well, but Pa said all the rain let the town's sewage seep into the well water. That didn't make any sense to Eliza—surely the rain washed the dirt and muck away.

It had broken Pa's heart when both men had died. Mrs. Martin had taken their deaths especially hard. The following morning she had gone to the country to stay with her family. Mrs. Martin wasn't the only one—half the town had run away. The townspeople who were left wore a desperate look and feared their neighbors. Except for the church bells ringing for the dead all day long, the city felt hushed and scared.