Freedom's Price

by Michaela MacColl

  After a quick scrub with a rag and some fresh water, Eliza followed her mother into the house. Eliza had never been inside Miss Charlotte’s parlor before; she’d only glimpsed it through the windows from the garden. It was full of soft chairs and gleaming tables. There was a little porcelain clock on a marble-topped table. The walls were decorated with portraits of solemn men and women. A thick carpet with a pattern of red roses covered most of the polished wooden floors.

  Her eyes taking in every detail of the room, Eliza made a marvelous discovery. Miss Charlotte had an upright piano tucked away in the corner. Eliza had never heard any piano music in the house; perhaps it was a new purchase. On closer look, she saw that the instrument was well used. There were indentations in the keys showing that someone played it frequently. The piano’s surface was spotless—Miss Charlotte’s servants dusted daily—but it had a forlorn look. Eliza’s fingers itched to press the keys. She was sure she could learn to play if she had the chance. After all, if she could sing the notes, she should be able to plunk at the keys to make the same sounds. She glanced at Ma, who hadn’t noticed the piano at all. Well, Ma wouldn’t, would she? She knew nothing of Eliza’s secret dream.

  Miss Charlotte was sitting in a padded chair, so plush it just begged for Eliza to curl up in its arms and take a nap. But Miss Charlotte sat up straight, her back not touching the upholstery. Eliza reached out to stroke the fabric of the chair nearest to her. Without turning her head, Ma slapped her hand away.

  “How are you, Harriet?” Miss Charlotte asked.

  “Very well, thank you.” Ma’s answer was polite but not forthcoming.

  “And how is Dred?”

  “He is fine.” Ma paused and then seemed to decide that courtesy required more from her. “He’s still working for Mr. Hall.”

  “Ah, the lawyer who took your case.”

  Ma shot a glance at Eliza, then said, “Thanks to you, Miss Charlotte.”

  Eliza’s thoughts jerked away from the comfortable furniture. She stared at her ma, then at Miss Charlotte. They owed their lawyer to Miss Charlotte? What else had Ma kept from her?

  “I never expected your case to take so long,” Miss Charlotte said.

  Ma shrugged, whether as an apology or because she was resigned to wait, Eliza wasn’t sure.

  “The court opens on the third Monday in April. Mr. Hall says we’ll be one of the first cases heard. Soon it will be over.”

  An unfamiliar look flitted across Ma’s face. After a moment, Eliza recognized the expression as hope.

  “But in the meantime, you and the children have to stay in that dreadful place,” Miss Charlotte said. “I’ve been worried about you being there.”

  “That’s very kind, ma’am,” Ma said, as she put an arm around Eliza’s waist. “But so long as we’re together, we’ll be fine.”

  Miss Charlotte stood up and began walking about the room. She absentmindedly ran her hand along the top of the mantle, then examined her fingers for dust. She turned to face Ma. “I have a suggestion. My husband’s aunt just came to live with us. She can be difficult to handle. But today Eliza’s singing calmed her right away.”

  Eliza straightened up with a quick glance at her mother. What was Miss Charlotte after?

  Ma’s eyes narrowed. “That’s very nice, but . . .”

  “In addition to her singing, Eliza’s manners are very good—she’s a credit to you and Dred. I think Eliza’s the perfect person to mind Aunt Sofia. And she can stay here, which would relieve your mind, I’m sure.”

  Eliza drew in a quick breath. She’d never dreamed of living in a house so grand. Taking care of Miss Sofia would be so much easier than doing laundry, day in, day out. She’d sleep on a proper bed and eat Cook’s food and see her friend Sadie every day. Best of all, Ma wouldn’t be watching her every move. Eliza stepped forward, nodding eagerly. She stopped short when she heard Ma, already deciding for her.

  “Thank you for the offer, but Eliza will stay with her family.”

  “But, Ma,” Eliza began. “I would like to . . .”

  Ma shot her a warning look.

  Eliza sighed. Trying to go against Ma was like trying to hold back the river in full flood; it couldn’t be done.

  Miss Charlotte’s lips were pinched. After a few moments, she said, “If you change your mind, Harriet, I’d be glad to have her here.”

  “You’ve been very good to us,” Ma admitted. “But Eliza is safer with us.”

  “I think she’d be safer here—but it’s your decision.”

  Under her breath, Eliza muttered, “The decision should be mine.”

  Miss Charlotte picked up a cloth bag from a side table. Eliza hadn’t noticed it before. “Eliza’s growing clean out of her clothes, so I put aside a dress for her.”

  Eliza couldn’t tear her eyes from the bag. A new dress. If it hadn’t been improper, she’d have shucked off her old tattered dress and put the new one on right there.

  “That’s kind, Miss Charlotte, but we can’t accept.” Then Ma glanced at Eliza’s face and hesitated. For an instant Eliza thought she saw tears in Ma’s eyes—but Ma never cried.

  “Please.” Eliza mouthed the word.

  “Harriet, don’t be proud,” Miss Charlotte scolded. “You have to keep Eliza decent.”

  “Ma, I can’t go out like this!” Eliza gestured to the ripped sleeve, now hanging onto her dress by only a few threads.

  Finally Ma said, “I’ll accept if you take the cost out of my pay.”

  “But it’s a gift!” Miss Charlotte exclaimed.

  “You’ve already done too much for us,” Ma said stubbornly.

  “Very well, I’ll take it out of your wages,” Miss Charlotte replied. Eliza smiled to herself. Ma didn’t actually receive her wages. All the money went to the sheriff until their case was decided.

  “Thank you,” Ma said.

  Miss Charlotte nodded. “You know I’m happy to help . . . so long as it stays between us.”

  Eliza’s eyes darted from Miss Charlotte to her mother. The conversation had arrived somewhere Eliza didn’t understand. Ma’s face had closed up—Eliza would get no answers there.

  “Yes, ma’am; thank you, ma’am.” Ma hurried out of the parlor, towing Eliza behind her.

  “Ma, you’re hurting me,” she complained.

  “It’s time to go home,” Ma said, releasing Eliza’s arm.

  “It’s not home, Ma,” Eliza blurted out, unable to hide the bitterness she felt. “I hate that place. Even Miss Charlotte knows it’s awful. She doesn’t want me to live there.”

  Ma fixed Eliza with a stare. “Miss Charlotte has known about our living arrangements for months. It’s only when she needs something that she decides to do anything about it.”

  “So?” Eliza countered. “She still offered.” She held up the bundle. “And she gave me a dress.”

  “We don’t need her charity,” Ma insisted.

  “You let her get us a lawyer!” Eliza shot back.

  Ma ignored her. She collected Lizzie from the kitchen, then headed out to the garden. Eliza hurried after her.

  “Ma, why won’t you tell me the truth?” Eliza asked.

  Ma started for the gate, but Eliza grabbed her sleeve. Lizzie clung to Ma’s skirts. “These aren’t matters for children.” Ma jerked her arm away.

  “I’m practically grown up, Ma.”

  Ma put her hands on her hips and scowled at Eliza. “Yes, you are. That’s why we’re suing Mrs. Emerson for your freedom.”

  “It’s not just for me—it’s for all of us!” Eliza cried.

  “The older you get, the more danger you are in—don’t you see that? Unless we get the court to say we’re free people, we can’t protect you. We work for no wages and live in that awful place so you and Lizzie don’t have to be afraid like your pa and me.”

  “But I’m not afraid,” Eliza answered. “I want to take the job.”

  Ma gritted her teeth. “All these years I’ve been telling you how dangerous the w
orld is, you still haven’t learned a thing. You are safe with us. Nowhere else.”

  “I’d be safer here,” Eliza insisted. “No one would dare touch me if I lived here. Look at Sadie—she’s not afraid.”

  “Sadie doesn’t have any more sense than you. She could be sold at any time.” Ma gripped Eliza’s hand tightly. “Eliza, she’s a slave. She’s property. And Miss Charlotte can do whatever she wants with her.”

  “Miss Charlotte is a good person,” Eliza said stubbornly. She glanced back at the house. Sadie was lighting the lamps in the parlor. Miss Charlotte sat in her chair sewing.

  “Yes. But what if Miss Charlotte died? Her son’s a no-good rascal. What would happen to Sadie, then?”

  Eliza shivered. She knew that no slave would be safe if Mark Charless were in charge.

  “We may live in a terrible place,” Ma continued, “and we can’t call our wages our own. But we also can’t be sold. When the judge sets us free, no one will ever buy or sell us again.”

  “But . . .”

  “Your pa and I know best. You are not going to work for Miss Charlotte. You’re going to stop asking questions, act younger than your age, and stay close to us until the case is settled. Then we’ll see.”

  “But . . .”

  “That’s final.” Ma threw open the garden gate and stomped outside, dragging a protesting Lizzie with her. The gate slammed shut.

  Eliza took a last look at the house with all its comforts. The garden smelled of fresh herbs. The aroma of Cook’s bread drifted out of the kitchen like a blessing. Reluctantly, she turned her back and followed Ma into the gathering darkness.

  CHAPTER Seven

  ELIZA’S HANDS WERE SHAKING AND HER FINGERS COULDN’T seem to unlatch the gate. Finally she managed it and slipped through. Her new dress, in a bag slung over her shoulder, caught on the wooden gate. She tugged it hard, tears springing to her eyes, until it came free.

  Pa was there in the alley, leaning against the wall, talking to the Charlesses’ stable man. He was almost twice as big as Pa. Pa’s grin faded when Ma pushed past him, Lizzie struggling to keep up.

  “Harriet?” he called. “What’s wrong?”

  Eliza shut the garden gate behind her and walked slowly to Pa. He held out his arms, and she stepped into his big hug. Standing as tall as he did, she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong, gypsy girl?” he asked. Eliza had been born on a steamboat named Gipsy going north on the Mississippi River. Hearing Pa call her that always made her feel better. How could a gypsy girl not have adventures someday?

  “Hi, Pa,” she said, smiling in spite of her bad mood.

  Pa saw the bandage on her hand. “Are you hurt?”

  “It’s just a cut.”

  “Let me see.” She held out her hand, and he deftly removed the bandage and examined the wound. Pa had learned a lot about medicine when he had been Dr. Emerson’s slave. “You cleaned it?”

  She nodded. “Cook ran the pump water over it.”

  He began to rewrap the bandage. “That water’s clean,” he said. “This should heal fine.”

  “Pa, can I ask you a question?” She peered over Pa’s shoulder to make sure Ma was out of earshot. She and Lizzie were waiting at the end of the alley, staying clear of the passing carriages.

  “’Course you can.”

  “Before Dr. Emerson, who did you work for?” she asked.

  His head jerked toward the Charlesses’ house. “I think you already know the answer,” he said slowly.

  Eliza tilted her head to one side, the tufted end of her braid brushing against her shoulder. “Then it doesn’t matter if you tell me all about it,” she coaxed.

  He hesitated. “It was long ago.”

  “Then why is it a secret?” she asked.

  Pa shifted from one foot to another as though the ground weren’t quite firm. “It’s not. You just didn’t have any reason to know.”

  “That’s what Ma said,” Eliza snapped. “But she’s wrong. Why is Miss Charlotte helping us?”

  “Shhh,” he hissed, eyes darting up and down the alley. “That’s family business, best not discussed where people might hear.”

  “According to Ma, best not discussed at all!”

  “Ah,” he said, looking toward Ma, who was tapping her foot while Lizzie tugged at her skirt. “So that’s why your ma looks like thunder?”

  Eliza nodded. “Miss Charlotte offered me a good job, but Ma said no.”

  “Then that’s that,” he said. Pa rarely went against Ma’s wishes. “Let’s go.”

  It took only a moment to catch up with Ma. Her expression was still troubled, and Pa touched her cheek. “Home?” Pa asked.

  “Do we have to?” Eliza pleaded. “It’s Saturday and there’s so much to see.”

  Pa asked Ma, “Harriet, are you too tired?”

  “A walk will do us good,” Ma answered after a moment. “Let’s go to the Cathedral.” Pa held out his arm, and Ma threaded her arm through his.

  “We can see Jack,” Eliza said.

  “And Punch and Judy,” Lizzie chimed in.

  Saturday was the best day to wander the city, but Eliza really wanted to postpone the moment when the doors clanged shut behind them for the night. If only Ma would be reasonable, Eliza would never have to stay there again.

  Pa picked up Lizzie and put her on his shoulders. Before they had traveled half a block, Pa had Lizzie giggling. The happy sound was better than any tonic from a doctor. Soon Eliza was smiling, and even Ma’s mood improved. Ma reached out and squeezed Eliza’s hand. Eliza squeezed back. What would she do without Ma? And Lizzie and Pa? If she worked for Miss Charlotte, she wouldn’t see them every day. Eliza sighed. Since Ma had already decided for her, Eliza needn’t worry about it.

  She swung her arms and lengthened her stride. She winced when she heard the fabric under her arms tear. At least I have a new dress, she thought, feeling the package bounce on her back.

  Even though the city streets were wide, they were crowded on a Saturday when most folks were finished with work. Food sellers were offering crackling bits of sausage and meat pies. They jostled for space with stalls filled with pots, pans, and pretty bolts of cloth. The goods for sale seemed endless. Pa stopped in front of one stall and admired a bonnet made of a yellow cloth with tiny blue flowers. “You’d look awfully nice wearing one of those,” he said to Ma.

  “It’s too young for me,” Ma disagreed. “But the yellow would suit Eliza just fine.”

  Eliza imagined wearing the bonnet to church the next day. She’d tie the ribbons under her chin and hope Wilson would think it was pretty. “Can I try it on?” she asked.

  Ma’s smile dried up and she hurried Eliza down the street. “We can’t afford to buy anything,” she whispered fiercely. “And that man”—she jerked her head back to the bonnet seller—“he won’t want the likes of us touching his wares.”

  Feeling very daring, Eliza said, “Ma, if I worked for Miss Charlotte, I could use my wages to buy a bonnet. And something nice for Lizzie too.”

  “We don’t need pretty things.”

  Eliza stared down at the ground. She’d made Ma angry again.

  In a gentler voice, Ma said, “Eliza, let’s just enjoy the afternoon.” She took Eliza’s hand. “Stay close.”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  They turned onto Elm Street to see the Cathedral looming over the small square. There was a grassy park in front of the church filled with families. Lizzie squealed when she saw the wooden puppet theater. Punch the puppet was smacking Judy on the head. “Pa, let’s go!” Lizzie said, urging him forward.

  “Can I visit Jack?” Eliza asked.

  “Don’t go too far,” Ma said, but she was watching Pa and Lizzie, a hint of a smile on her lips.

  Jack was an old friend who had a cart on the corner. A wizened black man, he was missing half his teeth, but that didn’t stop him from always having a ready smile for Eliza. His cart was filled with ribbons, combs, tiny mirrors—any
thing to attract the ladies. Eliza hurried over to see what was new.

  “Hello, Miss Eliza,” Jack greeted her.

  “Hi, Jack,” she responded. She stared at a new addition to the cart: a flat circular stone set in a wheel. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “I’ve started sharpening knives and scissors,” Jack replied. “I’m going to make a pretty penny with this, let me tell you.” Jack patted the wheel. “And best of all, it comes with a song.”

  Eliza stood at attention. “A song?”

  He began to sing:

  Any knives or scissors to grind?

  Bring me knives or scissors to grind.

  I will make them fine as new.

  Just the way you want me to.

  Eliza waited until she knew the tune and then joined in. People walking by stopped to listen. When they were done, a white woman offered Eliza a penny.

  “Give it back.” Ma’s voice filled Eliza’s ear. She hadn’t even realized Ma was there. “No daughter of mine will sing for money. Singing is for church.”

  Eliza felt her face burning as she handed the coin back to the woman.

  “Aw, Mrs. Scott, Eliza’s singing never did no harm,” Jack said in his soothing voice.

  Eliza wasn’t listening—her embarrassment felt like water closing over her head; she couldn’t breathe. When would Ma just let her be?

  Eliza didn’t speak while Ma collected everyone to head home. Lizzie was busy chattering with Pa as Ma and Eliza walked in stony silence. When Chestnut Street started to climb, Eliza knew they were almost at the St. Louis County Jail. Her steps slowed as though the hill were even steeper than it was.

  “Don’t dawdle,” Ma called over her shoulder.

  Eliza made a face at her mother’s back. She could never bring herself to think of the jail as home, even though they slept there every night. It was all Mrs. Emerson’s fault. Most freedom litigants lived and worked in the city, waiting for their case to be decided. But Mrs. Emerson was so furious about their lawsuit, she insisted that the sheriff keep the Scott family in the jailhouse. Every morning Ma and Pa left the jail to work, but they had to report back each night. The sheriff held their pay and even charged them for room and board. So the respectable Scotts had to live in the same building with murderers and thieves. They were the only freedom litigants living in the jail now, and Lizzie and Eliza were the only children.