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.
CHAPTER Eight
SUDDENLY BARTLETT WAS HAULED BACKWARDS. “BARTLETT, 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.
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.”
&nbs
p; CHAPTER Nine
“ELIZA, 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?”
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