Freedom's Price (6 page)

Eliza nodded. “Miss Charlotte offered me a good job, but Ma said no.”

“Then that's that,” he said. Pa rarely went against Ma's wishes. “Let's go.”

It took only a moment to catch up with Ma. Her expression was still troubled, and Pa touched her cheek. “Home?” Pa asked.

“Do we have to?” Eliza pleaded. “It's Saturday and there's so much to see.”

Pa asked Ma, “Harriet, are you too tired?”

“A walk will do us good,” Ma answered after a moment. “Let's go to the Cathedral.” Pa held out his arm, and Ma threaded her arm through his.

“We can see Jack,” Eliza said.

“And Punch and Judy,” Lizzie chimed in.

Saturday was the best day to wander the city, but Eliza really wanted to postpone the moment when the doors clanged shut behind them for the night. If only Ma would be reasonable, Eliza would never have to stay there again.

Pa picked up Lizzie and put her on his shoulders. Before they had traveled half a block, Pa had Lizzie giggling. The
happy sound was better than any tonic from a doctor. Soon Eliza was smiling, and even Ma's mood improved. Ma reached out and squeezed Eliza's hand. Eliza squeezed back. What would she do without Ma? And Lizzie and Pa? If she worked for Miss Charlotte, she wouldn't see them every day. Eliza sighed. Since Ma had already decided for her, Eliza needn't worry about it.

She swung her arms and lengthened her stride. She winced when she heard the fabric under her arms tear.
At least I have a new dress
, she thought, feeling the package bounce on her back.

Even though the city streets were wide, they were crowded on a Saturday when most folks were finished with work. Food sellers were offering crackling bits of sausage and meat pies. They jostled for space with stalls filled with pots, pans, and pretty bolts of cloth. The goods for sale seemed endless. Pa stopped in front of one stall and admired a bonnet made of a yellow cloth with tiny blue flowers. “You'd look awfully nice wearing one of those,” he said to Ma.

“It's too young for me,” Ma disagreed. “But the yellow would suit Eliza just fine.”

Eliza imagined wearing the bonnet to church the next day. She'd tie the ribbons under her chin and hope Wilson would think it was pretty. “Can I try it on?” she asked.

Ma's smile dried up and she hurried Eliza down the street. “We can't afford to buy anything,” she whispered fiercely. “And that man”—she jerked her head back to the bonnet seller—“he won't want the likes of us touching his wares.”

Feeling very daring, Eliza said, “Ma, if I worked for Miss Charlotte, I could use my wages to buy a bonnet. And something nice for Lizzie too.”

“We don't need pretty things.”

Eliza stared down at the ground. She'd made Ma angry again.

In a gentler voice, Ma said, “Eliza, let's just enjoy the afternoon.” She took Eliza's hand. “Stay close.”

“Yes, Ma.”

They turned onto Elm Street to see the Cathedral looming over the small square. There was a grassy park in front of the church filled with families. Lizzie squealed when she saw the wooden puppet theater. Punch the puppet was smacking Judy on the head. “Pa, let's go!” Lizzie said, urging him forward.

“Can I visit Jack?” Eliza asked.

“Don't go too far,” Ma said, but she was watching Pa and Lizzie, a hint of a smile on her lips.

Jack was an old friend who had a cart on the corner. A wizened black man, he was missing half his teeth, but that didn't stop him from always having a ready smile for Eliza. His cart was filled with ribbons, combs, tiny mirrors—anything to attract the ladies. Eliza hurried over to see what was new.

“Hello, Miss Eliza,” Jack greeted her.

“Hi, Jack,” she responded. She stared at a new addition to the cart: a flat circular stone set in a wheel. “What's that?” she asked.

“I've started sharpening knives and scissors,” Jack replied.
“I'm going to make a pretty penny with this, let me tell you.” Jack patted the wheel. “And best of all, it comes with a song.”

Eliza stood at attention. “A song?”

He began to sing:

                  
Any knives or scissors to grind?

                  
Bring me knives or scissors to grind.

                  
I will make them fine as new.

                  
Just the way you want me to.

Eliza waited until she knew the tune and then joined in. People walking by stopped to listen. When they were done, a white woman offered Eliza a penny.

“Give it back.” Ma's voice filled Eliza's ear. She hadn't even realized Ma was there. “No daughter of mine will sing for money. Singing is for church.”

Eliza felt her face burning as she handed the coin back to the woman.

“Aw, Mrs. Scott, Eliza's singing never did no harm,” Jack said in his soothing voice.

Eliza wasn't listening—her embarrassment felt like water closing over her head; she couldn't breathe. When would Ma just let her be?

Eliza didn't speak while Ma collected everyone to head home. Lizzie was busy chattering with Pa as Ma and Eliza walked in stony silence. When Chestnut Street started to climb, Eliza knew they were almost at the St. Louis County
Jail. Her steps slowed as though the hill were even steeper than it was.

“Don't dawdle,” Ma called over her shoulder.

Eliza made a face at her mother's back. She could never bring herself to think of the jail as home, even though they slept there every night. It was all Mrs. Emerson's fault. Most freedom litigants lived and worked in the city, waiting for their case to be decided. But Mrs. Emerson was so furious about their lawsuit, she insisted that the sheriff keep the Scott family in the jailhouse. Every morning Ma and Pa left the jail to work, but they had to report back each night. The sheriff held their pay and even charged them for room and board. So the respectable Scotts had to live in the same building with murderers and thieves. They were the only freedom litigants living in the jail now, and Lizzie and Eliza were the only children.

The sight of the jailhouse made Eliza's stomach ache. The building was three stories high, plain, and square. Eliza had never been on the upper stories where the real criminals were kept. In front there was an entry hall tacked on. Going through the entryway was like a tunnel into hell. There was a small courtyard for exercise, but no one ever used it. Eliza had heard that they used to hang men there, and to her the courtyard smelled of suffering.

They lived on the ground floor with a few prisoners who had short sentences, called trustees. Ma and the girls were in one cell while Pa slept in another cell with three other men.
The only good thing you could say about the jail was that the Scotts had a roof over their heads. Otherwise, it was a place where hope and happiness went to waste away.

As they neared the entrance, they couldn't miss the sound of a crowd gathered at the corner. There were men and women who'd had too much to drink, a few ordinary people on their way to somewhere else, as well as the usual batch of boys who had no better place to go. Eliza couldn't make out any words amongst all the cursing and shouting. Ma looked a sharp question at Pa. He handed Lizzie to Ma. “Wait here. I'll find out what's happening.”

“Maybe it's a jail break,” Eliza said excitedly.

“Don't even think that,” Ma scolded. “The prisoners aren't like us—they're bad people.”

Pa pushed through the crowd to see a young black girl land hard on the cobblestones right at his feet. Wheeling his arms to keep his balance, he managed not to step on her. A big white man barreled after her. The girl's hair was pulled out of its braids and hung tangled in front of her face. Her dress was torn at the shoulder and the waist. She scrambled to her feet to run away, but her pursuer grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her. She cried out with pain. The crowd backed away, and only then did Eliza see her face.

“Ma! It's Lucy!” Eliza shouted. A quick look at Ma's stricken face, and Eliza knew Ma had recognized the girl from the old days at the river. Lucy and Eliza had been friends until Lucy had been sent to the block.

Pa plucked Lizzie from Ma's arms and held her against his chest. “She's a fugitive now,” he said for Ma's ears.

“Let me see her!” A heavyset white man wearing a dark suit, cigar in his hand, shoved past Eliza to look at Lucy. “This one's cost me a heap of trouble.” He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. Eliza gasped when she saw Lucy's eyes, sunken deep in her face. Back when Eliza knew her, Lucy had been such a pretty girl.

“It's Reuben Bartlett,” Pa said under his breath, but Eliza could just make out the words.

“Lucy,” the man said in a louder voice. He slapped her face until she opened her eyes.

“Stop hitting her!” Eliza cried.

Bartlett's eyes zipped over to Eliza faster than a dragonfly on the Mississippi. And he dismissed her just as quickly. Eliza started forward, but her mother's hand on her shoulder jerked Eliza back.

“Stay still,” Ma hissed. “Bartlett's the worst slave catcher in the country.”

Bartlett slapped Lucy again. “Wake up! Do you know where you are?”

Lucy mumbled something. Eliza thought she might have said, “The jail?”

He nodded. “You'll be locked up here until my boat can take you back to Louisiana. If you run again, I'll kill you.” With a nod to his man, he said, “Let her go.”

The man holding Lucy let her fall to the ground. She was
as limp as a wet cloth, but the thud she made striking the cobblestones turned Eliza's stomach. Bartlett stared down at her for a moment, and the look on his face was the purest mean Eliza had ever witnessed. His right foot moved back, ready to kick Lucy in the belly.

“No!” Without thinking, Eliza pulled out of Ma's grasp. She threw herself over Lucy's body and braced herself.

“Eliza!” Ma's cry sounded above her head.

Eliza's eyes were fixed on the toe of Bartlett's boot swinging toward her head.

C
HAPTER
Eight

S
UDDENLY
B
ARTLETT WAS HAULED BACKWARDS
. “B
ARTLETT
, don't you dare kick that girl!” a man shouted. Bartlett's foot stopped in midair. Eliza's stomach stayed clenched, but she let herself breathe again. It was Mr. Martin, the man in charge of the jail. He was a young man but confident, with his uniform and his authority.

“Stay out of this, Martin. This has nothing to do with you!” Bartlett snarled.

“I can't stop you from abusing the slaves you catch,” Mr. Martin spat. “But I won't let you touch this girl. She's under my protection.”

Pa's hands were patting Eliza all over to make sure there were no injuries.

“Pa, I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“Hush,” he murmured. Eliza saw how he kept his body between her and Bartlett.

“She was interfering with the lawful capture of a fugitive,”
Bartlett announced loudly, wanting the crowd to hear.

“She's a little girl, Bartlett!” Mr. Martin declared. “If you want this jail to continue to hold your fugitives, you'll go now.”

“What about her?” Bartlett jabbed his finger at Lucy lying prone on the ground.

“I'll take charge of her.”

Bartlett took a final puff of his cigar and dropped it to the ground. “Her name's Lucy Jones, and I've been chasing her for three days. Make sure she stays put until I collect my bounty.”

“My jail is secure. She'll be here,” Mr. Martin said. “Of course, I'll charge you for her keep—and any medical attention I decide she needs.”

Bartlett puffed up and started to protest.

“You know the rules,” Martin reminded him. “If you didn't beat them so badly, you'd save money on the doctor's bills.”

Bartlett started to chuckle. “Now, that wouldn't be any fun at all.” He gestured to his man to come with him, and they pushed their way through the crowd.

Pa held Eliza close to him while Ma clutched Lizzie to her breast. Mr. Martin directed his bailiff to bring Lucy inside. He came over to the Scotts. “Is Eliza hurt?”

“I'm fine,” Eliza said, her forehead pressed against Pa's cheek.

“Dred, take Eliza inside,” Mr. Martin ordered. He drew close so only Pa and Eliza could hear. “What were you
thinking, tangling with Bartlett?”

“It was my fault,” Eliza mumbled.

“It certainly was, young lady,” Mr. Martin scolded. “Dred, I like you and your family. Take my advice and don't get in Bartlett's way again.” He looked around at the crowd of curious gawkers. “Clear off, everyone—there's nothing more to see!”

Ma was trembling. With her free hand, she touched Eliza's face, gentle as a feather. But her words hit Eliza like a hammer. “He could have beaten you to death right here in front of us. In front of your little sister.” Lizzie whimpered.

Her voice catching on a sob, Eliza said, “I'm sorry, Ma.”

“You should be. You'd throw away everything for a girl we hardly know?” Ma asked fiercely. “Do you want to end up like her?”

“Lucy's a slave,” Eliza insisted. “I'm free. You always say so.”

“As if that matters to a slave catcher like Bartlett!” Ma spat out his name like it was a burning ember on her tongue. “If it hadn't been for Mr. Martin, you could have been killed and we couldn't have lifted a finger to stop it without being killed ourselves. Then who would take care of Lizzie?”

Tears streaming down her face, Eliza cried, “I said I was sorry.”

“You're always sorry, but you never learn,” Ma reprimanded her. She turned her back on Eliza and Pa and brought Lizzie inside. Eliza knew she would go straight to the kitchen to start dinner without resting even for an instant.