Freedom's Price (7 page)

Pa and Eliza lingered outside. “We'll give your ma a few minutes to calm down,” he said.

“She was so mad,” Eliza whispered.

“She was scared. So was I.” He put his arm around Eliza's shoulders.

Eliza leaned against him for a minute, then turned to face him. “Pa, what will happen to Lucy?”

“Her owner will probably beat her or keep her in chains. If she's lucky, he'll sell her.” He squeezed Eliza's hand. “Forget about Lucy. We can't do anything to help her now.” Pa handed Eliza her bundled dress. She didn't remember dropping it. “Put this away and then come help with dinner.”

Eliza walked slowly to the cell she shared with Ma and Lizzie. It had three straw beds and a chamber pot. A battered chest in the corner held their few belongings. She sat on her bed, turning the package over in her hands. Pa had told her there was nothing they could do to help Lucy, so she might as well look at her new dress. She opened the paper.

“Oh . . .” she exclaimed quietly. The dress was dark green, not slave blue. Apparently Miss Charlotte didn't think of Eliza as a slave. Maybe that was why she was helping with their lawsuit. Pa had a lot of explaining to do the next time she could get him alone. In the meantime, she held the dress to her shoulders. The green would flatter her skin, Eliza was sure of it. And the hem fell to the tops of her boots. The colors were the same as Wilson's ship. Maybe he would come to church and see her wearing it. She imagined his wide smile, eyes bright with admiration for her. But then the memory of
Lucy's body, bloody and bruised on the ground, elbowed the pleasant daydream out of her head.

Eliza pulled the dress away from her body. What kind of Christian girl was she to be thinking about courting when Lucy was suffering? Pa said there was nothing to do, but Eliza knew that wasn't true. She could visit Lucy and bring her a blanket. Maybe she could sneak some extra food to her? Anything to let Lucy know that she wasn't alone.

Her eyes went to the ceiling. The female prisoners were housed on the second floor. Eliza had never been up there. She knew the cells were locked, but the guards were reserved for the top floor where all the male criminals were housed. It would be easy to visit Lucy—especially now that Ma and Pa were busy with other tasks. She knew Ma wouldn't soon forgive Eliza if she found out where she'd gone, but helping Lucy was more important.

Before she could change her mind, Eliza grabbed one of her cotton blankets. Lucy would prefer it to the buffalo hide the jail would have given her. She took one of Ma's precious candles and lit it with a flint. She checked the hallway outside their cell—there was no one to see her. She slipped out of the cell, the metal door clanging behind her. She hated that noise—but at least the doors were never locked for the Scotts. They were free to come and go from their cells as they pleased.

Avoiding the common room where Ma was cooking, Eliza headed up the stairway to the second story. She assumed that the cells were arranged the same way as they were on the ground floor.

The hall was narrow with a scuffed and dented wooden floor. There were twelve cell doors in a row. A single lamp at the far end of the hallway was the only light. A draft of chilly air blew through the hall; Eliza cupped her hand around the candle flame to keep it from going out.

Eliza crept up to the first cell door and peered in. An older woman, not Lucy, was lying on the straw. She stared at Eliza but didn't say a word. The cells up here were smaller than the one Eliza slept in. She moved on. Her trembling hand made the candlelight jump and play on the ceiling. The next cell was empty. At the third, she heard Lucy's moans before she saw her slumped on the floor, leaning against the wall.

“Lucy,” Eliza whispered.

There was no response, and Eliza wondered if she was asleep. “Lucy!” she called again, a little louder.

Lucy's eyes opened a crack, then wider when she saw Eliza.

“Remember me?” She held the candle to her face so Lucy could recognize her. “I'm Eliza from down by the river.”

“Are you running away too?” Lucy's voice sounded far away. “Don't go near the river. There's nowhere to hide. They'll catch you.”

“No, I'm not running,” Eliza answered softly. “Are you all right? I saw that man beat you.”

Lucy's head tilted forward like she had fallen asleep. “That was nothing. My master beat me all the time. For no reason at all.” Her voice faltered and Eliza leaned in to hear her better.

“No wonder you ran,” Eliza said.

“I'd've done it months ago, but his men were always watching,” Lucy explained. “But then the master went to Alabama for business. When he came back, he was sick. Real sick. Soon everyone was sick. That was my chance.” She struggled to lift her head and squinted in the dim light.

“Why'd you come back here?” Eliza asked, thinking this was the first place a slave catcher would look for Lucy.

“Where else could I go? I have friends here. I was trying to get to the shantytown when they found me. I ran but they caught me and brought me here.” She buried her face in her hands. “Now they'll hang me.”

“My pa said they'll bring you back to your master.”

“I'm better off dead.” Eliza could barely make out her muffled words.

“You said he was sick. Maybe he's dead?” Eliza said hopefully.

Lucy was silent. Eliza stared at her, feeling helpless. If Ma wasn't so careful all the time, Eliza might be in Lucy's place. What was it Reverend Meachum said? “There but for the grace of God go I.” God's grace and Ma's eagle eye kept Eliza safe.

“I brought you a blanket,” Eliza said finally, shoving it through the bars of the door.

“I remember you now. Eliza. Eliza Scott.” Lucy edged over to the door and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “It was you, wasn't it, who got between me and Bartlett?”

Eliza nodded.

“You shouldn't have done that. Now he'll be after you
too.” Suddenly Lucy vomited all over herself. She curled up like a baby, helpless in her own sick.

“Lucy, are you all right?” Eliza cried. “Lucy!” She reached through the bars and tugged on Lucy's hand, but she didn't wake up.

The woman in the first cell roused herself long enough to press her face against the cell door and complain. “Stop that caterwauling. I'm trying to sleep!”

“She's sick,” Eliza said. “She won't wake up.”

“She's better off asleep. Let her be,” the prisoner said.

“No! She's my friend, and I'm going to help her.” She'd find Mrs. Martin. The jailer's wife was also the jail's nurse. Eliza blew out her candle and ran for the stairs. At the top step, she hesitated for an instant. If she fetched Mrs. Martin, Ma was sure to find out where Eliza had dared to go. She gave herself a little shake. What was another argument with Ma weighed against Lucy's life?

She ran down the stairs. Avoiding the kitchen, she was lucky to find Mrs. Martin in the pantry counting sacks of rice. She was older than her husband with pale skin and hair as yellow and fine as corn silk.

“Lucy Jones needs a doctor!” Eliza blurted out.

“What do you know about Lucy?” Her blue eyes sharpening with suspicion, Mrs. Martin declared, “You know you're not allowed upstairs!”

Speaking as calmly as she could, Eliza replied, “Lucy told me that everyone is sick at her old place. A bad sickness. I think she brought it here. She needs help.”

The blood drained from Mrs. Martin's face. A jail was a terrible place for illness—before long everyone would have it. “I'll have a look at her,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am.” Eliza bobbed her head. “Please be quick.”

Mrs. Martin put aside the rice and went upstairs. Eliza sat on the bottom stair and waited. She leaned her elbows on her knees to keep her legs from shaking. After a few minutes, Mrs. Martin came hurrying down. Eliza leaped to her feet. “Well?” she asked.

“I'm sending for the doctor,” Mrs. Martin told her. “Now promise me you won't go upstairs.”

“I won't,” Eliza assured her. “Hurry, please!”

Even as Mrs. Martin rushed away, her steps seemed heavy. Eliza gazed up the stairway. She couldn't go back, but that didn't stop her from praying. “Please, God, don't let Lucy die.”

C
HAPTER
Nine

“E
LIZA, STOKE UP THE FIRE IN THE OVEN, THEN SET THE TABLE
,” Ma instructed with a no-nonsense look in her eye. Ma didn't know about Eliza's visit to Lucy yet, but it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Martin returned with the doctor and told Ma everything.

“Yes, Ma,” Eliza answered quickly.

The freedom litigants and the trustees had a common room for cooking and eating. Eliza found the room depressing. It was dingy, with low ceilings, and it smelled of too many meals and not enough soap. Besides the Scotts, there were only a few trustees, prisoners who weren't dangerous and had special privileges like Ma's helper, Mrs. George. She was an older white woman who had almost completed her sentence for thieving. Together they prepared dinner.

Eliza quietly brought in the wooden bowls from the back cupboard and set them carefully with metal spoons around the battered wooden table. She had done this chore a hundred
times, but today her hands were clumsy. A bowl slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor. Ma jumped at the noise in the near-silent room.

A gurgle of laughter from the hall had Ma and Eliza turning to the door. The prison tomcat scurried in and hid under a table. Lizzie came chasing after him. Pa brought up the rear.

“Lizzie, be nice to the kitty,” Eliza said. “Maybe he doesn't want to be chased.”
Like Lucy
, she thought.
And all the other fugitives.

“Eliza, let her play,” Pa said. “She doesn't understand what happened outside today.”

“I wish I didn't,” Eliza murmured.

“Come sit with me,” Pa said. He patted a spot on the wooden bench against the wall farthest from the kitchen. They sat quietly watching Ma and Mrs. George prepare dinner. Pa's hand curled around Eliza's.

Pa broke the silence first. “What's worrying you, gypsy girl?”

Eliza's fear for Lucy was squeezing her stomach and making her feel ill, but she couldn't tell Pa. He'd be sure to ask how Eliza knew Lucy was sick. But there were other things she could talk to Pa about, especially while Ma was busy elsewhere.

“Miss Charlotte's family used to own you,” she began. “I didn't even know you knew her!”

“I've known Miss Charlotte all my life. I minded her when she was a babe.” As though Ma knew Pa was telling
secrets, she gave them a sharp look before she returned her attention to a pot bubbling on the stove.

Eliza couldn't imagine a world where her pa was in charge of a grand lady like Miss Charlotte. “Were you born in Virginia?”

“So they tell me,” he said with a shrug.

“Who were your parents?” Eliza asked.

“I never knew.” There was no emotion in his voice. For Pa, being an orphan was just how things were. “Miss Charlotte's family was the only one I ever had.”

“Your owners can't be your family,” Eliza said decisively. “We're your family.”

He stroked her hand. “Most colored folk in this country don't get to keep their family. It's why your ma and I are fighting this law case so hard—so we can keep you close.”

Eliza thought about that. Lucy had had no one to care about her, and look how she ended up. “I guess I'm pretty lucky,” she admitted.

“Your ma always watches over you,” Pa reminded her.

“Let's not talk about Ma,” Eliza said sourly, and Pa chuckled. “What did you do for Miss Charlotte's family?”

“I'm not big enough to be much good in the fields, so I mainly looked after the children. That's when I took care of Miss Charlotte. But the master wasn't good with money. He had to sell a lot of us, including my wife, to pay his debts.”

Eliza turned to see his face. Pa's eyes were staring, unfocused, as though he was looking deep into his memories.

“Your wife?” she cried, loudly enough that Ma shot her a
suspicious look. “Does that mean you're not married to Ma?” Eliza whispered.

“No, no.” Pa was quick to reassure her. “Master Peter let me and Phillis marry, but only ‘until death or distance did us part.' When Phillis was sold, our marriage was over too. I never saw her again.”

Eliza felt the strength of Pa's grip on her hand. He and Ma must worry that Eliza or Lizzie might vanish one day like Phillis had.

“But you aren't married to Ma like that?”

He shook his head. “We're married tight as tight. So don't you worry.” He patted her shoulder. Eliza noticed that Ma's helper, Mrs. George, had told a joke that made Ma laugh. Lizzie had finally cornered the cat, and it was curled up on her lap, purring loudly. Eliza hated it when the common room felt homey. She didn't ever want it to be a place where she felt comfortable.

Pa went on, “We came to St. Louis, and Miss Charlotte grew up. She married Mr. Charless.” He began to laugh. “No one thought we'd ever see the day when the master would let his little girl marry an abolitionist. But Miss Charlotte liked him, and Charless was a rich man. He agreed to let her keep the slaves she had but not to buy any more.”

Eliza's head was beginning to ache. How could Miss Charlotte, who owned dozens of slaves, marry an abolitionist? And why should she help Pa with his legal case? And why was it a secret?

“The next year the master sold me to Dr. Emerson. The
doctor brought me to the territories, where I met your ma.”

Eliza knew that those territories were north of Missouri and that the U.S. government said there was no slavery there. The so-called Missouri Compromise was the reason for their law case.

Eliza couldn't wait any longer. “Pa, why is a slave owner helping us get free?”