Freedom's Price
Authors: Michaela MacColl
Text copyright © 2015 by Michaela MacColl and Rosemary Nichols
Cover illustration copyright © 2015 by Mark Summers
All rights reserved
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, contact
[email protected]
.
Although this work centers around historical events, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual incidents or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Calkins Creek
An Imprint of Highlights
815 Church Street
Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-62091-624-7 (print)
ISBN: 978-1-62979-432-7 (e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015936507
First edition
The text of this book is set in Garamond 3.
Design by Barbara Grzeslo
Production by Sue Cole
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Laney and Jack
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To Harriet and Dred Scott and the many other enslaved parents whose extraordinary efforts protected their children and preserved their families in terrible circumstances
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Contents
A Note about Our Sources/Further Reading
An Interview with Michaela MacColl
C
HAPTER
One
Eliza Hates Laundry
W
ITH A LONG STICK
, E
LIZA TRACED EACH LETTER CAREFULLY
into the muddy bank of the mighty Mississippi River. She darted a glance toward her mother, who was a few feet away stirring river men's filthy shirts in an iron pot bubbling over a wood fire. Ma straightened her back, and Eliza heard her spine crack. It wouldn't do for her to notice Eliza slacking. Or worse, for her to see that Eliza was writing.
Eliza Wants More
“Eliza, what are you doing?” her mother asked. The sharp edge to her voice made Eliza drop her stick and begin to smear the letters back into the mud with her toe. The thick mud stuck to her boot, and she knew she'd never get the smell of
decay and dirty water out of them. As fast as she smudged the letters, she wasn't quick enough to evade Ma's sharp eyes.
“Doing lettering out here in the open?” Ma scolded. “What are you thinking? Are you trying to get us in trouble?” Ma wanted Eliza to have an education, but it wasn't safe to let anyone see she knew how to read and write.
Eliza gestured around them. The flat riverbank was deserted. The city of St. Louis and the port lay to the south. North of them was a tangle of shanty housesâbut there was no one near enough to see what Eliza was doing. Soon other laundresses would be working nearby at this shallow spot along the river, but for now Ma, Eliza, and little Lizzie were alone. “No one can see, Ma.”
“We only have a few weeks before the court decides our case. We can't afford to be careless even for a moment,” Ma warned. “Why aren't you fetching more water?”
“I'm waiting for the dirt to settle.” Eliza pointed to the barrel that was as high as her waist. It had taken her twenty-three trips with a small bucket to fill the barrel with river water. For a moment, she wondered if Ma hated Mondays as much as she did. Monday through Thursday they did wash at the river for the men who worked on the docks. Friday and Saturday they worked for the Charless family. It was a sorry excuse for a life, doing folks' laundry every day, week in, week out. But Ma never tired of reminding her that they were better off than most colored people in St. Louis. Even if they weren't quite free, they weren't slaves either.
“Let me see.” Ma peeked inside Eliza's barrel. She dipped
her hand into the water and lifted it out, letting the water dribble across her palm. Streaks of Mississippi dirt striped across her hand. “It needs at least another hour,” she said. “The river is running higher and muddier than usual.”
Laundresses in St. Louis didn't have a supply of fresh water for their laundry unless they were part of a proper household with a well. Most used the dirty water from the river or went to Chouteau's Pond where the water was slimy and green. But there was a trick to using the Mississippi River. You had to let the water sit until the dirt sank to the bottom. Then you could pour off the clean water.
Eliza knew a slave named Lucy who had ruined all her mistress's table linens by washing with water straight from the river. She didn't have a mother to teach her how to wash properly. No matter how hard Lucy scrubbed, the linens hadn't come clean. The Mississippi was like thatâonce it took hold, it never let go. Lucy's mistress had sent her to the auction block the next month, and Eliza had never seen her again. All because Lucy had never learned to let the river dirt settle. Sometimes Eliza thought about Lucy and wondered what had happened to her. The way Ma and Pa talked about the auction block, it was a fate worse than dying.
The Mississippi River held no mysteries for Eliza. She knew all the tricks to doing laundry. But that didn't mean she liked the work. She especially begrudged washing tablecloths from rich white people's dinners. Every gravy stain or smear of meat juice was a promise of a fancy meal that Eliza would never get to eat.
Eliza shifted from one foot to another as she watched Ma consult the never-ending list of chores in her head, considering what Eliza could do with a whole hour.
Please not the men's shirts
, Eliza said under her breath. She hated how the sweat stains had to be scrubbed; the lye in the soap burned her hands and arms. Mondays were bad enough without getting stuck with the worst job.
“I could find some more firewood,” she offered.
“We have enough.” Ma's tired eyes rested on her daughter, and, to Eliza's surprise, she smiled. Ma's smiles were rare, but they lit up her solemn face and made it beautiful. “I know you don't want to do the scrubbing. I suppose we could make more soap. I don't have much left.”
Ma's services were in demand because she was reliable and honest to a fault. But it was her special recipe for soap that let her charge extra. Soap-making was certainly better than pushing fabric against the ridged washboard, which always seemed to scrape Eliza's knuckles.
“I'll do it, Ma,” Eliza said eagerly. “Do we got ashes?”
“We
have
ashes,” Ma corrected firmly. Ma might not be able to read or write, but she could speak properly. Under her former master, she had served dinner to the most important men in the Wisconsin territory. “But I need some fat. You'll have to go asking.”
“I've never gone begging for the fat,” Eliza said, her eyes drifting downstream to the deeper water, where the steamboats were moored to the docks. Every boat had a
kitchen to provide meals for the crew, passengers, and human cargo. Somehow Ma could always get the cooks to let her have some of the fat drippings.
“Begging, indeed! Mind your tongue, Eliza. They can spare it, and we need it for our business.”
Lifting her chin, Eliza retorted, “What business? We work our fingers to the bone, and we don't even get to keep our pay.”
“When we win our case, we'll get all the money back. The harder we work, the more we'll deserve our just reward. Don't you forget that.” Ma kept her eyes fixed on Eliza until she nodded. “Now, do you want to find some fat or stay here with your little sister and scrub shirts?” Her little sister, Lizzie, was only four, and one of Eliza's duties was keeping her out of the fire and the river.
Lizzie appeared at Eliza's elbow. “Can I go too?” she asked. Over Lizzie's head, Eliza's eyes met Ma's, imploring her to say no. They both knew that Lizzie would follow Eliza anywhere.
“Not now,” Ma said firmly. “You have to stay with me.”
Lizzie's dark brown eyes, so much like Eliza's own, filled with tears.
“I'll be back soon,” Eliza promised, grabbing the pail and hurrying away before Lizzie started to cry.
“Now, mind you're respectful,” Ma called after her. “Always ask for the cook. And be careful.”
Ma's cautions ringing in her ears, Eliza headed south
along the riverbank to the docks, the pail swinging and knocking against her knees. She intended to enjoy every minute of her freedom; Ma hardly ever let Eliza go out on her own.
Coming from town was a group of colored washerwomen, carrying huge baskets of dirty laundry. They greeted Eliza politely when they passed her on the path. Without even looking behind her, Eliza knew they would say hello to Ma and Lizzie, then walk right by. Ma always worked alone. Ma's skin was as dark as theirs, but these washerwomen were slaves. They were forbidden to associate with the likes of her ma. Harriet Scott was a freedom litigant who had dared to sue her master for her freedom. If the slaves wouldn't talk to Ma, Ma was also cautious about talking to them. Ma never let Eliza forget that the Scotts weren't slaves. It was a shame they couldn't join the others at the riverbank, Eliza thought. It would be easier and much more interesting to do the laundry with a group.
Any day now the court would rule in their favor, and they would no longer be trapped between slavery and freedom. But until then, Ma's rules were Eliza's laws: Don't draw attention to yourself, and stick close to the family. In any case, the court said they couldn't leave St. Louis, so where was there for Eliza to go? Eliza sometimes let herself dream about boarding a steamboat and traveling far away. She wanted to go somewhere she could make a life for herself that didn't involve laundry.
Even with the bucket banging against her knees, Eliza lengthened her stride. The farther she got from Ma and Lizzie, the lighter and more carefree Eliza felt. Ma always hovered, trying to protect her. Eliza was almost twelve and practically free. She strode off down the river's edge, careful not to look too hard for the dangers Ma always warned her about. Eliza Scott could take care of herself.
C
HAPTER
Two
A
S
E
LIZA DREW NEAR THE MOORED BOATS, THE SHORELINE
became busier. The river ran deep here, and the biggest boats could dock close to shore. The wide flat levee between the warehouses and the riverbank looked like a rat's nest of people, animals, and crates. Huge amounts of cargo came in and went out every day in St. Louis. Eliza dodged around porters loading bales of furs and hemp onto steamboats headed north and south on the Mississippi. Other porters were unloading barrels and crates off ships to waiting wagons. The Mississippi River brought shiploads of manufactured goods from the North every day and took back produce and furs from the frontier. Now that gold had been found in California, there were always prospectors heading west. Eliza was glad she didn't see any slaves being loaded onto the boats today. Those slaves would be headed south to hard labor in cotton slave states like Louisiana and Texas.
