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: CANADIAN 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.
CHAPTER Thirteen
KIKI GLARED AT ELIZA. “HOW 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.
“I’m free, so it’s perfectly legal.” Eliza was startled by Kiki’s voice.
Wilson chimed in, “Me too.”
Eliza wanted to hug them both, even Kiki. She found her voice again, “In any case, we’re not learning in Missouri, and that’s all that matters to the law!”
“Maybe you’re crossing the river to escape,” Frank mused. He was much sneakier than Ma
rk Charless, who was just mean and stupid. “That’s illegal.”
“We don’t cross the river,” Eliza insisted. “We stop in the middle.”
The rowboat was coming closer. Abe, Reverend Meachum’s right-hand man, expertly pulled at the oars. The muscles in his broad shoulders rippled with the effort of maneuvering the boat across the mighty river. Even from here it was obvious that he was an enormous man.
Frank kept his eyes on Eliza as he said, “Mark, watch them while I get the sheriff.”
“You stay. I’ll go.” Mark had obviously sized up Abe and knew he was outmatched.
A bump against the dock and Abe had arrived. Everyone turned to watch him clamber out of the boat. The wind on the water had whipped his bushy black hair into a crown sticking up from head. Abe’s eyes narrowed as he saw the scene on the dock. The other students gathered around him like puppies crowding their mama. Eliza was most relieved of all.
“What’s going on here?” Abe asked in his bullfrog voice. He towered over everyone on the dock. His quiet gaze wasn’t exactly threatening, but Mark involuntarily took a step backward.
“We’re just leaving,” Mark squeaked.
“But we’ve caught them red-handed going to school,” Frank protested.
“These children aren’t doing anyone any harm. Reverend Meachum’s lawyer says we’re not breaking any laws,” Abe declared. “You leave them alone.”
Mark tugged on Frank’s sleeve. “We need to go.”
Frank gave Mark a contemptuous look, turned, and stalked away. Mark scurried after him.
As soon as they were gone, Abe folded his arms and asked, “How did those men get here?”
“I, um, I . . .,” Eliza stammered, her eyes fixed on Abe’s boots.
“Eliza led them right to us!” Kiki accused.
Tears welled in Eliza’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”
Wilson put his arm around Eliza. “They didn’t follow us. Eliza was careful.”
“Not careful enough,” Kiki said.
Wilson’s arm felt like protection around Eliza’s shoulders. Abe sighed. “I suppose it was just a matter of time before they figured it out.”
“That’s true,” Wilson agreed.
Though Eliza felt she didn’t deserve Abe’s kindness, she was grateful for it.
Abe glanced at the afternoon sun and said, “We’d better go before those troublemakers come back.”
Wilson held the rowboat steady for the others to board. Kiki made sure to grab Wilson’s arm, but Eliza jumped in unaided, followed by Wilson. He sat next to her in the prow of the boat. With Abe’s strong pull on the oars, they were soon in the middle of the river. The cool breeze was refreshing on Eliza’s sweaty face, but it couldn’t soothe her troubled conscience.
“You love the school, don’t you?” Wilson asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “But I’m afraid I’ve ruined everything. I was stupid. Once those men saw my notebook, I should never have come to the docks. The Freedom School has to be protected. No one knows that better than I do.”
“It’s not your fault, Eliza.”
Eliza nodded, though she didn’t agree. She let her hand trail in the water, not taking it out even when it got icy cold.
The rowboat plowed through the water. Abe kept a sharp eye on the currents. The river seemed slow and safe on the surface, but there were always hazards floating by.
Abe struggled to maneuver the boat close to the steamboat. “Wilson, grab an oar!” he called. Together they fought the tug of the current until they reached the gentler water near the island. “Welcome to Bloody Island.”
Wilson’s eyes darted to Eliza with a question.
“The island is a no-man’s-land,” Eliza explained. “It doesn’t belong to Missouri or Illinois. Whenever anybody has a duel to fight, they do it there. So they call it Bloody Island. The name has nothing to do with the school.”
With a bump, the rowboat pulled alongside the stairs at the side of the Freedom School. Wilson jumped out and expertly tied the rowboat to the steamboat. Abe nodded approvingly.
“Oh my, you certainly know your way around boats.” The trill in Kiki’s voice set Eliza’s teeth on edge. As though Kiki were a queen, she held out her hand to Wilson, and he lifted her out of the boat.
When it was Eliza’s turn, Wilson said, “A fellow river rat doesn’t need any help.”
Eliza saw the jealous expression on Kiki’s face and knew she would rather have done laundry every day for a year than ask for assistance.
They climbed the stairs and entered the main room of the steamboat. Eliza’s eyes went to every corner, worrying this would be the last time she saw the school.
Wilson touched her arm. “Don’t fret. Abe said it would have happened anyway.”
Without thinking, she placed her hand over his. “How did you know what was on my mind?” she asked.
Wilson smiled at her. “It’s easy to see what you’re feeling.” He ducked his head to avoid her gaze and looked about the boat.
The inside of the Freedom School didn’t much resemble a typical steamboat. Instead of staterooms, there was one large room with desks.
Wilson ran his hand appreciatively over the polished desks. “It’s beautiful work,” he said.
“Reverend Meachum used to be a carpenter, and he made most of this himself.” She brought Wilson to the bookcase on one side of the room, filled with two dozen books. “This is our very own library.”
“Have you read them all?” he asked.
“Not yet. Someday I will. Miss Stubbs says I’m the best reader.”
“She’s the teacher?”
Eliza nodded, her finger tracing the title of a book. “She’s from Ohio and properly trained.”
“It’s brave of all of you to break the law just to get an education,” Wilson said.
“Is it brave if you are just doing what you want to do more than anything?” Eliza replied.
“School is that important to you?” he asked.
“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anybody?” she whispered, looking around to make sure Kiki wasn’t within earshot.
He laughed. “You know I want to be a pastry chef—I think you owe me a secret.”
“Reading is wonderful—but I want an education so I can write songs.”
“Writing songs, is that a job?” Wilson asked.
“I met a lady once at church who wrote hymns. Think on it—when you hear a song, you don’t know who wrote it. It could be a girl, even a colored girl like me. Imagine people all over America humming my music.”
“You are full of surprises,” Wilson said. “Why shouldn’t you write songs if you want to?”
“Well, I’ll need to learn how to write the notes and play a piano—but for now I just sing them in my head.”
“Will you sing one of them for me one day?”
Eliza smiled. Nothing would make her more embarrassed. Or happier. “Someday.”
After the lesson was over, Abe returned the students to the shore. Abe drew Eliza aside. “Don’t worry, Eliza,” he assured her. “Reverend Meachum will know what to do. We’ll probably just lay low for a few weeks, then use a new meeting place.”
“Thanks, Abe.” Eliza placed her hand on his massive forearm. She slowly turned away; Wilson was waiting for her.
“I’ll walk you home,” he said.
“That’s not necessary,” she protested, not wanting him to know where she lived.
“I won’t let you go alone,” Wilson insisted, holding out his arm. “What if those men are waiting for you?”
Eliza threaded her arm through his as they headed toward the center of town, up Market Street. The long hill was filled with promenading couples, and Eliza pretended she and Wilson were one of them. The more she got to know him, the more she liked him. Someday maybe they would be one of those twosomes. At the corner of Market and Second Streets, she pulled him over to look at Phillips Music Store.
Since it was Sunday, the store was clo
sed. Eliza pressed her face to the glass. She pointed out the instruments and the cases of sheet music in the back of the store.
“Someday your music will be for sale there,” Wilson predicted.
Eliza stared at her reflection in the window. She saw a songwriter. A free girl. A traveler. A reader. She saw the future.
She tore herself from the window, and they continued up Market Street. They talked about the school.
“I can’t believe Miss Stubbs gave me a book to read.” Wilson patted his satchel where he had stowed the book. “It’s called Robinson Crusoe.”
“You’ll like that one,” Eliza promised. “Except for maybe the shipwreck.”
“Shipwrecks are a fact of life on the water,” Wilson said matter-of-factly. “Boilers explode, we can get holed by floating trees and sink—and, of course, there are fires.”
Eliza held up a hand. “Stop telling me how dangerous it is! I’ve always wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, on a steamboat.”
He grabbed her hand. “Maybe on the Edward Bates?”
Eliza would have liked to say something clever, but they had reached Chestnut Street and the moment she was dreading had arrived. The dome of the courthouse loomed over them. The square was deserted except for a rickety wagon hitched to a horse so thin you could count his ribs. Wilson looked around curiously. “You live around here?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered shortly, as if he wouldn’t ask the next question.
“Where?”
She pointed to the building behind the courthouse.
“Isn’t that the jail?” Wilson asked, puzzled.
She nodded. “I didn’t want to tell you. We’re forced to live there,” she explained. She watched his face as she told him the story. When she was done, he was silent for a moment. Would he still like her?
“That’s not fair,” he said finally. “You and your family should be able to live anywhere you want.” He gave her a hard look, almost as scolding as one of Ma’s glares. “And you shouldn’t be ashamed of something that isn’t your fault.”
Feeling a weight lift off her shoulders, Eliza agreed. “But in two weeks and one day, we get to go before the judge. Then we won’t have to stay here anymore.”
Freedom's Price Page 8