Freedom's Price (18 page)

“Put the shackles on her,” Amos directed Jimmy.

A set of shackles was attached to a heavy iron ring in the wall. Eliza tried to stand, but Jimmy shoved her down and fastened a shackle around each leg. They were big on her legs and rubbed her ankles.

“No more running for you,” Jimmy gloated.

Eliza's lips and tongue were so dry at first, she could only squawk. She coughed and tried again. “You're in big trouble unless you help me.”

Amos and Jimmy exchanged amused looks.

“Is that so?” Jimmy asked.

“I work for Mrs. Charless. Her husband is rich!” Eliza nodded in emphasis. “When the family finds out what you've done, they'll send the sheriff after you. I guarantee it!”

The two men burst out laughing.

“Little girl, who do you think landed you in here?” Jimmy asked.

“What do you mean?” Eliza couldn't keep the confusion from her voice.

“Only Mark Charless—the son of that rich man you're threatening us with. How do you think we knew exactly where you'd be and when? He sent you straight to us.”

Eliza slumped against the wall, her shackles weighing on her ankles. She hadn't had time to put it together before, but it made sense. Mark had sent her back on a pointless errand. No one else knew what he had said to her. Then he had driven away while his partner Frank handled the next bit.

“But when they realize I'm missing . . .” Eliza trailed off. She knew what would happen. Mark would say that Eliza had run off to be with her parents. Miss Charlotte and Miss Sofia might even believe it. They knew how frantic Eliza had been to see her family. Ma and Pa wouldn't know for weeks that she was even gone. By then Eliza would be long sold downriver, never to be seen again.

“You can't do this,” she cried.

“If I were you, I'd hold your tongue,” Amos threatened. “Southern owners don't like slaves who speak their minds.”

Jimmy stepped into the hall, and Amos started to close the heavy door.

No matter what it cost her pride, Eliza had to ask, “Aren't you going to leave the light?”

“Not a chance,” Amos sneered, rubbing the bite mark
on his arm. “We don't want you burning up this valuable steamboat. Keep quiet or I'll forget what Bartlett said about keeping you unmarked. You understand?”

Eliza nodded sullenly.

The thick wooden door slammed shut, and the key turned in the lock. All that was left was the sound of the wash of the river against the wall behind her and her own ragged breathing.

C
HAPTER
Twenty-One

E
LIZA
'
S EYES GRADUALLY ADJUSTED TO THE DARK
. N
OW SHE
could make out a narrow rectangle high up on the wall that let in a thin line of light and air. The shackles were fastened to a wall, and she could explore only a few feet in either direction. Finally she slid down to the floor, sitting with her back against the wall. Eliza pulled at the knots fastening her hands with her teeth, but the knots were tied too tightly.

She tried to think of what Ma and Pa would do. They wouldn't ever let themselves get into this situation. What about Reverend Meachum? He would pray. But first, he'd make sure that he'd tried everything in his power to help himself. She could always count on one thing to calm her down. Before the panic could overwhelm her, she began to hum. Music always reminded Eliza of happier times, like singing at church or putting Lizzie to sleep with a lullaby.

Think, Eliza
, she told herself. She was cargo. There was
no one on this ship who would help her except Wilson. But she couldn't rely on Wilson finding that tiny scrap of ribbon. What else could she do? Her tune got louder, the sound bouncing off the walls. She stopped and listened. She sang a long note and heard it echo back. Could it be that simple? Would her music set her free? Even if Wilson missed the ribbon, he would recognize her voice. He had heard her sing at church. Best of all, if her kidnappers heard, they'd think nothing of it. Just another slave singing a spiritual.

Running her tongue over her lips to moisten her mouth, she took a deep breath and prepared to sing.

                  
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

                  
That saved a wretch like me.

                  
I once was lost but now am found,

                  
Was blind, but now I see.

At first the music was only the tiniest whisper of sound, but soon her voice remembered how to sing out proud and strong:

                  
'Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear.

                  
And Grace, my fears relieved.

                  
How precious did that Grace appear,

                  
The hour I first believed.

Reverend Meachum had told the congregation that a wicked English slave trader, John Newton, wrote the song
a hundred years before. He'd realized the evil he had done and sought forgiveness. Now Reuben Bartlett was as far from grace as it was possible to be, so Eliza wouldn't mind if this song was his undoing. And her salvation.

                  
Through many dangers, toils and snares,

                  
I have already come;

                  
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far,

                  
And Grace will lead me home.

Before she could start the last verse, she heard two short whistles followed by a longer one. The sound floated from the deck two stories above her head through the narrow window. She waited, holding her breath, until the sequence was repeated. She whistled back, again and again. Finally there was a scratching at the door.

“Eliza?” Wilson's voice was the most welcome sound she'd ever heard.

“Wilson!” Eliza cried, shaking with relief.

“It is you!” he exclaimed. “I recognized your voice. When I went looking, I found your ribbon on the stairs.” The door shook on its hinges as he tried to open it. “Why are you locked up in Bartlett's cargo hold?”

“I was kidnapped!” Eliza cried. “They grabbed me from Miss Charlotte's garden and sold me to Bartlett. They
sold
me, Wilson! They stole my life.”

“Did they hurt you?” He rattled the door even harder, trying to reach her.

“Not really.” Eliza sniffed her runny nose. “They hit me some, but I bit one of them back.”

“Good for you!”

“You have to get me out of here!” Eliza cried. “They're going to send me downriver to be sold on the block.”

“We won't let that happen,” Wilson promised.

Eliza wiped her tears away with her shoulder. “Can you get the key?”

“Bartlett's men keep it,” he said.

“There must be another key on the ship.” Eliza urged, “Think, Wilson!”

“The captain might have a key.”

“Will he help us?” Eliza asked.

“No.” Wilson's answer was short and certain. “He gets half his money on every trip from Bartlett and his kind.”

“Then you just have to find the key.”

There was a silence. “Are you shackled?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I find the key to this door . . .” Wilson's voice sounded hopeless. “Only Bartlett's men can open the shackles.”

Eliza rotated her sore shoulders and stretched her legs out in front of her. The heavy metal cuffs were rubbing a raw spot on her ankles. “I'll figure out what to do about the shackles,” she said. “You just find that key.”

From above, someone shouted Wilson's name.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” he promised.

Eliza ran her hands down the chains to her ankles, frantically trying to find a weak link. But they were too strong. She tried the shackle itself. Her fingers slid into the gap between the cold iron and her skin. She twisted her body around to get her hands near her right boot. Every movement scraped her ankle more, but she kept working at it. She untied the lace with her fingertips, then tugged the boot off her foot. As she hoped, the shackle was made for a man's leg, not a girl's. Without the boot, the thick iron ring slipped easily off her foot.

“Bartlett, you think you're so smart,” she muttered, as she started on the other foot. “But I won't let you win.” A few minutes later, Eliza put her boots back on and double-tied the laces.

She stood up; her unshackled legs felt unsteady. The floor beneath her feet shifted—even docked, the
Mameluke
was at the mercy of the river. A sharp object in her pocket jabbed her in the leg. She felt it with her bound hands—it was Miss Sophie's crochet hook. Mark had used the crochet hooks to trick Eliza, but now a hook was going to free her. Carefully, she tugged at her skirt so she could grab hold of the hook.

Holding the hook between her teeth, Eliza went to work on the rope binding her wrists. The knots were tight and came undone slowly. She worried at every sound in case it was Bartlett or his men. She jumped when a bell clanged from the land side of the boat. Above her head, she heard footsteps and muffled shouts. Getting to her feet, she put her ear to the
window. She couldn't make out any words, but she could hear panicked voices.

The rope fell away from her hands. She was free. Where was Wilson? If something was happening on shore, it was the perfect time for Eliza to escape. She went to the narrow window. It was too high for her to see out, but she heard someone shout, “Fire!” In the same instant, she smelled smoke.

Not thinking, she started banging on the door. “Help!” she cried. “Somebody help me!”

“Stop making all that noise.” It was Wilson. “Someone will—”

“Did you get the key?” she interrupted, breathless.

“Yes!”

“Thank goodness.”

The door swung open, and she leaped into his arms. He hugged her tight. “You're out of the shackles!” he said. “How?”

“Bartlett didn't reckon on a leg as small as mine,” she boasted. “Tell me the worst—is the boat on fire?”

“Not ours. The fire started on the
White Cloud.
Then it spread to the
Edward Bates
.”

“Your old ship!”

“It was docked next to us. It's completely ablaze.” Wilson's eyes were red-rimmed; Eliza guessed he had shed a tear for his old boat. “They are cutting the mooring ropes so the river can take it far from the other boats.”

She wanted to comfort Wilson, but there was no time.

“This is my chance to get off the ship while everyone's watching the fire,” she said.

Wilson agreed. He brought out a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a cap. “They won't be looking for a boy.”

Eliza beamed. “Turn your back so I can change.”

Obediently he faced away. The clothes were too big, but she could move in them. She threw the dress in the corner of her cell; she had never liked slave blue anyway.

The shouting on deck grew louder. Eliza and Wilson froze and listened. But they were caught off guard when the
Mameluke
shook, throwing Eliza to the ground.

“Wilson?” Her voice was small and frightened. “What happened?”

He pulled her to her feet. “We have to go. Now.”

“What was that noise?” she asked.

“I'm afraid the
Edward Bates
just floated into our ship.” Grabbing her hand, he headed for the stairs. “If we aren't on fire yet, we soon will be.”

C
HAPTER
Twenty-Two

W
ILSON SPED UP THE NARROW STAIRS,
E
LIZA CLOSE BEHIND
him. It was too dark to make out what was happening above. Somehow the sun had set while she'd been locked up in that cell. There was a loud explosion, and the sky lit up like fireworks.

Wilson poked his head above deck. He returned, almost falling down the stairs. “The deck is burning,” he cried. “We have to get off another way.”

“How?” Eliza asked.

Wilson pointed down a corridor that led to the back of the boat. “Hurry!”

Eliza ran to the end of the hallway. There was a hatch in the center of the wall.

“Push it open!” Wilson yelled.

She shoved and the hatch swung open from a hinge at the top. She poked her head out. They were above the paddle
wheel at the rear of the
Mameluke
. Even though the sun had set, there was a red glow that lit up the river. Above her, she heard snapping and cracking. The fire had touched the sky, sending sparks floating down in front of them. She could see the flames licking the top of the boat.

Screams from the front were followed by splashes. Eliza grabbed Wilson's arm. “The crew's jumping!” she shouted.

Wilson bellowed in her ear, “We can climb down from here.”

A narrow wooden ladder was attached to one side of the hatch. She stared at the water. “I can't! It's too high!” she cried.

“Eliza, you have to!” Wilson insisted. “There's a dinghy for us down there.” He tilted her chin so she had to look him straight in the eye. “A little ladder can't stop Eliza Scott, right?”

She shook her head.

“I'll go first, then you follow. One foot down, then another. All right?”

Behind her the smoke had reached the corridor.

Unable to speak, she nodded.

“Good.” Wilson descended quickly.

Eliza hesitated. If only the ladder weren't so small and the water so far below. A wave of heat rushed down the narrow corridor. The walls were already streaked with fire. She was out of time.