Freedom's Price (10 page)

“Yes, sir!” Eliza committed the word to memory.

Reverend Meachum clapped Wilson on the back with his giant hand. Wilson stumbled but kept his balance. “I look forward to talking to you again.” The minister moved off to meet with another parishioner.

“‘Muskrat'?” Wilson asked.

“You'll see,” Eliza promised. “School starts an hour after the service finishes.”

Wilson eyes wandered to the potluck table. “I was looking forward to a meal I didn't have to cook.”

“Hmmm,” Eliza said. “I suppose I could get you some lunch.”

“That'd be grand,” Wilson beamed.

“Not so fast,” Eliza said, holding up a hand. “Did you bring me that cake you promised?”

“I'm afraid not. But I will next time!”

“Wait here.” Eliza hurried over to the food table, where Ma was once again in charge. It would take more than a few scared ladies to keep Ma from doing her duty. “I'm going to school, Ma.”

“Who's that boy?” Ma asked. Her watchful eyes never missed anything.

“He's a new student. His name is Wilson.”

“Where does he come from?” Even Reverend Meachum could take some lessons from Ma about being careful with strangers. “Is he a slave or free?”

“Free, Ma. He works on one of the steamboats. He gave me the drippings last week.”

“I want to meet him,” Ma said. “I don't want you going
off with a stranger.”

“There's no time,” Eliza protested. “Besides, Reverend Meachum approved. He said I should bring Wilson to school.”

The suspicious expression on Ma's face faded, and she reached under the table for a pail. “That's all right then. Here's your lunch. And I put your pencil and notebook in there too.”

“Can Wilson have some too? He's mighty hungry.” Eliza's eyes went to Wilson. Her attentions sharpened when she saw that he had been buttonholed by Kiki. Trust Kiki Washington to make a beeline to the new boy!

Ma added more chicken to the pail. “Don't be distracted by this Wilson boy when you should be learning.”

Eliza grinned. “I won't!”

“If the reverend likes him, I suppose he could walk you home after school,” Ma called after her.

“Bye, Ma.” Of course, Eliza would rather die than let Wilson know she lived in a jail. But first things first: it was time to get rid of Kiki.

“It must be interesting to work on a steamboat,” Kiki simpered.

“It's all right,” Wilson answered. “Ah, here's Eliza.” Was Eliza flattering herself, or did she see relief in his face?

“What do you want, Kiki?” Eliza asked, not trying to sweeten the sour in her voice.

“It's Wilson's first day at the school. I'd hate for him not to know anyone,” Kiki said, batting her light green eyes at him.

“He knows me,” Eliza said.

“Besides you,” Kiki went on. “We can go together. What's the code word today?”

“I don't know,” Eliza said. Wilson raised his eyebrows. Eliza stared at him, daring Wilson to correct her.

“And you're supposed to be the best student,” Kiki scoffed. “Never mind, I'll find out.” She bustled away.

“Time to go,” Eliza said cheerily. Tugging lightly on Wilson's sleeve, she led him out the main door. She pushed her way through the crowd of parishioners milling about, with Wilson on her heels. On Market Street, she headed toward the water. As the crowd thinned, they were able to walk side by side.

“Isn't the code word ‘muskrat'?” he said.

Eliza smacked her hand to her forehead. “Oh my, you're right! Kiki will just have to meet us there.”

“And where would ‘there' be?” Wilson asked.

“It's a secret,” Eliza replied.

The good citizens of St. Louis were dressed in their finest for a Sunday-afternoon walk. It was a sunny day, warm for April, and everyone seemed to be in good spirits. Wilson in his neat vest and trousers and Eliza in her new dress didn't stand out in the crowd at all. As they walked, Wilson peppered her with questions. Eliza just smiled and swung her lunch bucket back and forth. Her pencil and notebook rattled in the bucket. Her secret would keep awhile longer.

They paused outside a popular hotel with columns and wide shallow steps in front. A piano was being played in the
lounge. Eliza sang the words under her breath.

“You sing like an angel,” Wilson said. “You should be in there singing.”

“Girls like me aren't welcome in places like that,” Eliza said.

“Maybe, or maybe not. I've heard colored singers on the
Edward Bates.
”

Eliza grinned. “Don't you worry. I have my own plans. The world will hear me sing one day.”

“How?” he asked.

“I'll tell you,” she promised, “when I know you better.”

“I'll hold you to that,” he said.

Eliza smiled shyly. Someday she might trust Wilson enough to tell him her secrets. In the meantime, it looked like he planned to stick around. Her happy mood was like a shimmering soap bubble.

But that bubble soon popped when a pair of young white men stepped out of the hotel. With a start, Eliza recognized Mark Charless. “Let's go back,” she gasped, grabbing Wilson's hand. But it was too late. Mark Charless had seen her.

“If it isn't little Eliza.” Turning to his friend, Mark said, “Frank, this is the girl I told you about.”

“My aunt's slave?” Frank was taller than Mark and fair instead of dark. His bushy eyebrows hung over pale blue eyes. Where Mark had a weak chin, Frank's jutted out, sharp enough to cut you.

“Your aunt doesn't have any rights over me at all,” Eliza insisted.

As if Eliza's words were never spoken, Frank said to Mark, “You're right. She'd fetch a lot of money.”

“Enough to stake us for California,” Mark agreed, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

Eliza's feet twitched as though they knew the smart thing to do was run. “We've got to go,” she mumbled.

Frank gestured to Wilson. “Who's he? Does he belong to my aunt too?”

Moving in front of Eliza, Wilson said, “I don't belong to anyone. I'm a free man, and I have the papers to prove it.”

If Wilson could be brave, so could Eliza. “And I'm about to be free,” she proclaimed. “There's nothing you can do about it.”

“No colored talks to me like that.” Frank grabbed Eliza's arm and tried to twist it, but she wrenched herself away. Her lunch pail slid off her arm, and the contents spilled out onto the pavement.

“Pencil and paper?” Frank said. “Look, Mark, my slave writes.”

“That will hurt her sale price,” Mark warned. “Buyers don't like uppity slaves.”

Wilson glanced sidelong at Eliza. “I guess they're both hard of hearing. There aren't any slaves here.”

“Who taught you to read and write?” Mark asked Eliza.

Eliza clamped her lips together and glared at the young men. Reverend Meachum's first rule was to never draw attention to the school.

“I bet she goes to that school we've heard about,” Mark
declared. “The one the Committee can't find.”

Eliza knelt down to grab the notebook, but Mark stepped forward and put his shiny black boot square on top of it. “Where's the school?” he demanded.

She pulled the notebook as hard as she could, making Mark stumble back in his heeled boots. “Run!” she shouted to Wilson.

Eliza headed down a side street, her feet pounding against the cobblestones. Wilson was next to her as she darted down one alley, then another. Finally they stopped to catch their breath in an alley near the docks. Eliza looked behind them to make sure they hadn't been followed.

“Why does that man think he owns you?” Wilson asked between gasps.

Eliza dragged air into her sore lungs. She reached out to the wall to steady herself. She was unhappy enough that Wilson had seen the bad blood between her and Mark Charless. But now Mrs. Emerson's nephew knew her face, too. “The blond one is Frank Sanford. His aunt is the one we're suing for our freedom. The other one is Mark Charless. His mother is my ma's boss. They're both hard up for money.” She felt light-headed and would have stumbled if Wilson hadn't caught her elbow. She liked how solid he was; “dependable” was the word that best described Wilson, she decided.

“Selling you would solve all their problems?” he asked.

Eliza nodded. “They're wrong. Legally they can't do anything to me.”

“No,” Wilson said slowly. “But that won't matter if they
send a slave catcher after you. There are plenty who don't care about what's legal. You should tell your parents.”

Eliza shook her head hard enough that one of her braids came loose. “They already worry about me all the time.”

“They're right to.” Wilson's troubled eyes stared into Eliza's. “Those boys looked spoiled and desperate,” he warned.

“I'm not scared.”

“Then why did you run?” Wilson asked.

Eliza thought fast to come up with a reasonable explanation. “I don't want them making trouble for the school either. So far we've kept the location a secret. We have to go. If we're late, we'll miss it altogether.”

At a blessedly slower pace, they left the alley. Ducking between two warehouses, they were at the river. A row of steamboats were docked at the pier, but it was oddly quiet. Instead of the shouts of workers, the hooting of steamboats, and the bustling of wagons, the docks were mostly empty. A dozen cormorants, flying in a V shape, swooped past, trailing the surface of the river with their feet.

Wilson looked about him. “The school is on the docks?” His eyes went to the distant outline of the
Edward Bates
, then back to Eliza's face.

“Nope.” She drew Wilson's attention to the sign on the nearest warehouse. It read: C
ANADIAN FURS
. This was the main depot for all the furs coming from the North. “Muskrat is a kind of fur. When the code is ‘muskrat,' it means to meet here.”

“So the school is in the warehouse?” he guessed.

“Nope.” She pointed to the river. Wilson's eyes followed her finger out past the pier to a small steamboat. It was anchored on an island on the Illinois side of the Mississippi, just out of the main lanes for ships traveling on the river. It was a neat ship; its polished wooden sides glistened in the sunlight. At the very end of the pier, four other young people, including Kiki, were watching a rowboat come toward them.

“The
Freedom School
,” she announced.

“The school is on a boat?” Wilson asked, delighted.

“The boat is the school. Reverend Meachum is smarter than all one hundred of that committee put together. He figured out that the middle of the river belongs to the U.S. government, not Missouri. The rules about educating us don't apply if we're on the river. But the Committee would still harass us if they knew where it was, so we change the meeting place for the rowboat every week.”

Wilson grinned, revealing bright white teeth against his dark skin. “And it's a real school?”

“We've got a teacher
and
a library,” Eliza said proudly. “It's my favorite place in the whole world.”

Their footsteps made a clumping sound on the wooden pier. The other students turned to see who was arriving. Eliza held up her hand. “It's just me!”

“I bet you knew the password all along!” Kiki accused.

Eliza couldn't quite meet Kiki's eyes. Staring down at the dock, she muttered an apology. Beside her, she heard Wilson snicker. But an indrawn breath made her look up. Kiki's eyes
were wary and the other students moved together, like iron filings to a magnet.

A voice behind them made her whirl around. “I know one hundred people or so who would be very interested to know this is where you meet for school.” Eliza turned slowly to see Mark Charless and Frank Sanford. Their smug looks made the hairs on the back of Eliza's neck stand on end.

Eliza had led the enemy right to her most prized secret.

C
HAPTER
Thirteen

K
IKI GLARED AT
E
LIZA
. “H
OW COULD YOU BRING THEM HERE
?” she whispered.

“I didn't mean to . . .”

Mark Charless grabbed her arm. “Tell me where the school is.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Even to herself, Eliza's voice sounded tinny and afraid.

“You're a liar,” Mark snarled, his gaze scouring the warehouses. “Where is it?”

The splash of a rowboat caught Frank Sanford's attention. His thin lips stretched into a smile. “I bet the school is on the river.”

“It's that new steamboat off Bloody Island,” Mark said. “No wonder the Committee couldn't find it. We'll soon shut it down now that we know where it is.”

“Eliza!” Kiki hissed. “Do something!”

Eliza dug her nails into the palm of her hand—she couldn't lose the school. Worse yet, she couldn't be the one who let the school be lost. She found her courage and said, “In the middle of the river, the United States government makes the rules, not your Committee.”

His gaze fixed on the
Freedom School
bobbing at anchor across the water, Mark replied, “The Committee can pass a new law.”

The truth of that hit Eliza as hard as a slap; the Committee of One Hundred did what it wanted. She glanced back at the other students. Kiki was glaring at Eliza, but the others—two girls and a boy, all of whom were slaves—looked terrified. Eliza wanted to cry. Now Frank and Mark didn't just have Eliza in their sights—the others were at risk too. She'd put everything in jeopardy.

“We should get the sheriff,” Mark said to Frank.

“There's no reason to get the sheriff. We haven't broken any laws,” Eliza argued.

“You're all learning to read. That's against the law,” Frank said.