“You never told her about your run-in with Mr. Mark, did you?” Sadie wagged her finger at her. Eliza had never thought Sadie looked much like Cook—but when Sadie took her to task, she could see the resemblance.
Eliza wagged her finger at Sadie. “Just tell Miss Charlotte, Sadie. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Eliza hurriedly retreated to the street, all the bravado sinking right out of her body. Her shoulders sagged, and she had to reach for the front gate to stop from folding to the ground. Unwanted tears flowed freely. There was no way Eliza would go back to Ma. No way she was going back to that jail. But where could she go?
After her tears were spent, Eliza scolded herself into action. She couldn’t just stand here on the street. She started to walk—away from the Charlesses’ house but not toward anywhere in particular. The rain had stopped, and the sun made a pale appearance, as though it weren’t sure it would stay.
Her feet took her toward the river. As she started downhill, the muddy sidewalks gave way to the wide wooden planks of the docks. There were more moored ships than Eliza had ever seen at one time. But even with all the ships, there was only a fraction of the usual workers loading and unloading. Eliza’s worries about herself faded as she considered whether that was because the workers had sickened or, worse, had died. Mr. Martin had told Pa that six hundred people had died during the past week alone. Six hundred? Where did they put all the bodies? It was a gruesome thought.
A solitary girl was walking toward Eliza, away from the shanties. She was tall, dressed in a plain homespun dress with an apron. Something about her was familiar, but Eliza couldn’t pin down the recollection. The girl saw Eliza and headed straight for her.
“Hi, Eliza,” she said, a little warily.
Eliza crinkled her forehead. “Celia? Is that you?”
Celia nodded. “You remember me.” She was pleased.
“I almost didn’t recognize you in a dress,” Eliza admitted. “You look pretty.”
“Thanks to you.” Celia beamed. “I did what you said.”
“You went to see Reverend Meachum?” Eliza asked. “I hoped you would.”
“When he heard about how we was living, he helped my ma find a job. I’m cleaning the church. And we’re moving into a boardinghouse in a few days.”
“That’s wonderful.” Eliza threw her arms around Celia. Celia stiffened, then hugged her back. “I’m so glad that you’re leaving the shantytown.”
“Me too.” Celia nodded. “It’s been even worse since everyone’s got sick. I have to go now, but I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
“Maybe at the church when it opens again,” Eliza promised. With a wave, Celia hurried in the opposite direction. “Hey, Celia!” Eliza called. Celia turned. “Can you sing?”
“Not a bit!” Celia shouted.
“I’ll teach you!” Eliza shouted back. She walked on, quite proud of herself for helping Celia find a better life. Surely if she could do that, then getting out of the jail wasn’t out of her reach. Still smiling, she climbed the gangplank of the Edward Bates, her petticoat brushing against the rope railings.
Wilson was alone, mopping the deck. “Eliza?” He smiled, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Um . . .,” she stammered, suddenly realizing how forward it was for her to visit a boy without an invitation, even if she hadn’t meant to. Then she burst into tears.
He dropped the mop and raced to her. “What happened?” he asked. “Did you lose the case?”
“No,” she managed to eke out while gulping back tears.
“Let’s find a quiet place to talk,” he said, taking her hand to lead her down the gangplank.
He brought her to a large stone block on the edge of the levee. She told him everything.
“You have to wait until fall?” He sighed. “That’s not fair.”
Eliza nodded miserably.
Wilson looked out across the river, his eyes fixed on a lone cormorant diving into the river. “Your ma and pa must be very upset.”
“Not upset enough. Pa says we’ve already waited so long, what’s a few more months? But I’m tired of waiting.”
“Oh, Eliza. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m going to work for my ma’s boss. She wants me to look after an old lady. I can live there instead of the jail.”
He gripped her arm so hard, she winced. “Didn’t you tell me that the man on the docks was the son of your mother’s boss?”
Staring at the tops of her scuffed boots, Eliza mumbled, “Yes.”
“He lives there too?”
She nodded without speaking.
“Eliza, it’s not safe to be near him. You can’t go there.”
“I’m sure he’s left for California by now. No one wants to stay in St. Louis longer than they have to.”
Wilson was unconvinced. “What about your family? I’ve been working for a year, but I miss my own family. Especially with all this sickness.” He curled his arm around her shoulder.
“I’ll miss them, but I can still see them,” Eliza said. “I want to be on my own. Without my ma watching my every move and Lizzie hanging onto my skirts all the time.”
“Lizzie’s your sister, right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You don’t often meet sisters with the same name.”
Eliza leaned back. Her shoulders pressed against his arm. “Ma did it on purpose. If someone asks how old I am, she says Lizzie is still her little baby.”
Wilson began to chuckle. “Smart. The younger you seem to be, the safer you are.”
“It would please her if I stayed a little girl forever.”
“She’s protecting you.” Wilson’s large eyes were thoughtful. “I’ve seen plenty of slaves transported on the river—not on the Edward Bates but on other ships. A lot of them aren’t much older than you.”
“I’m not a slave,” Eliza protested. “We’re protected by the law—at least until our case is heard.”
“It doesn’t matter, if you’re unlucky.” Wilson hugged her briefly. After a moment, he said, “I’ve got a new job too.”
“What about the Edward Bates?” Eliza asked.
“The new job is temporary. Since the Edward Bates’s repairs are going to take another few weeks, our captain told us to find some other work. I just got hired by the Mameluke for a trip to New Orleans.”
“New Orleans!” Eliza said. “Black men aren’t safe in Louisiana. My pa says so.”
“Black men aren’t safe anywhere,” Wilson corrected. “But I’ll be with the ship. The skipper has a reputation for taking care of his crew.”
“How long will you be away?” Eliza had only the foggiest idea of where New Orleans was.
“We leave tomorrow, and we’ll be back ten days after that.”
“Ten days!”
“I’ll be thinking about you, like I always seem to do these days,” Wilson admitted with a shy smile. He pulled a little package out of his pocket. “This is for you.”
Her hands were shaky as she took it. No boy had ever given her a gift. “But why?” she asked. “It’s not my birthday.”
“It was to celebrate your court case,” he explained. “But now it’s to remind you of me while I’m away.” This time it was Wilson who stared down at his boots.
With a wide smile, Eliza unfolded the paper. Inside was a pair of bright green ribbons.
“They’re so pretty,” she sighed.
“They match your dress,” he said. “Let’s see.” He tied a ribbon around the end of one braid, then the other. His hands were callused on the palms, but the tops of them were soft as they brushed against Eliza’s cheek.
“I’ll wear them every day you’re gone,” she promised.
“I’ll come see you as soon as we dock,” he said.
“The Charlesses might not let me have a visitor,” Eliza warned, wondering for the first time what it would be like to work in Miss Charlotte’s house. “But there’s a gate in the back garden. I could meet you
there.”
“We need a signal,” Wilson said. They agreed on two short whistles followed by a long one.
“Please be careful, Wilson.”
“You too. I still wish you were going to any house but that one.”
“I’ll be fine,” Eliza assured him, as if it were a promise she had the power to keep.
CHAPTER Sixteen
“WAKE UP, ELIZA.” MA’S VOICE ROUSED ELIZA FROM A sound sleep.
Opening one eye, Eliza said, “Ma, you made a mistake. It’s still dark.”
“No mistake. Wake up.”
Rubbing her eyes, Eliza saw there was the faintest hint of light from the window. Dawn was close but hadn’t arrived yet.
“So we’re talking again?” she asked. When Eliza had returned to the jail the night before, Ma had greeted her with dinner and silence that lasted all evening long. Pa had been quiet too, but Eliza could tell he was more disappointed than angry. Eliza had stayed out of their way and played with Lizzie until it was time for bed.
Ma ignored the question. “Get out of bed, young lady. We have a lot to do.”
“A lot to do?” Eliza repeated, her mind still in a sleepy fog.
“You’re starting at Miss Charlotte’s this morning.”
Eliza sat bolt upright. “What do you mean?” How much did Ma know?
“Did you think that Miss Charlotte wouldn’t ask for my blessing?” Ma said, her pinched face just visible in the dim light. “She sent a note yesterday.”
Her whole body perfectly still, Eliza asked, “And?”
“You must want to work for her very much if you would go behind my back.” Ma sounded calm, but Eliza heard a tremor in her voice.
“Ma, I just don’t want to stay in the jail anymore.”
“Your wish is granted, then,” Ma said.
Eliza clasped her hands together. “I can go?”
“I’m still against it. You aren’t old enough to be on your own.”
“I am too.”
Ma went on as though Eliza hadn’t spoken. “But your pa thinks you’d be healthier in a private house. They have their own water cistern, and Miss Charlotte is keeping strangers away. And we don’t dare offend her, especially now that our case is going to take longer than we thought.”
Eliza tried to make sense of her change of fortune as she followed Ma into the kitchen. “I took a bath the day before yesterday!” Eliza exclaimed when she saw that Ma had already heated up water on the stove. “You can’t expect me to bathe twice in one week.”
“Miss Charlotte wants you clean.” Ma had Eliza strip right there in the kitchen, saying that no one would be awake for at least an hour. She scrubbed Eliza’s skin until it felt raw. When Eliza was clean enough, Ma put a package on the edge of the stove. “And she wants you to wear this.”
“Another new dress?”
“More like a uniform,” Ma said in a flat voice. Eliza warily opened the package. It was a dress like Sadie wore, blue and made of slave cotton.
“This is a slave’s dress,” Eliza complained. Her voice got louder. “I’m not a slave.”
“Shush,” Ma warned. “Of course you aren’t a slave.”
“Then why should I dress like one?” Eliza demanded. “I’ll wear my own dress.”
“Miss Charlotte says she knows this is clean.”
Eliza put the dress to her nose. Lemon balm. “Ma, I washed this dress myself! I’m wearing a slave’s hand-me-down!”
“You got exactly what you asked for,” Ma snapped. “Don’t complain to me if it’s not what you expected.”
As the sun rose, Ma hurried Eliza through the deserted streets.
“Ma, do we have to walk so fast? No one will even be awake at Miss Charlotte’s.”
Ma’s steps slowed. “Miss Charlotte wants you there first thing this morning. And her servants will be awake and working, I promise you that.”
Eliza remembered how tired Sadie had looked; she’d be glad to have Eliza’s help.
“While you’re there,” Ma warned, “I want you to remember that you aren’t a slave—you’re being paid.”
“What good does that do me?” Eliza said, tripping on the cobblestones slick with morning dew. “The sheriff keeps everything we earn.”
“When we’re free, we’ll get all the money back.” Ma’s oft-repeated reassurance rang hollow to Eliza’s ears.
“If we live that long,” Eliza muttered under her breath.
“We certainly will, because we’re careful. When you are at Miss Charlotte’s, I want you to only drink boiled water. And stay away from anyone who’s sick.”
“I will, Ma, I swear.” They walked half a block before Eliza spoke again. “I didn’t even say good-bye to Lizzie.”
“It would have upset her.”
“Tell her I love her. And tell Pa too.”
Ma stopped in the middle of the street. “Eliza Scott, you’re only a few blocks away. As soon as the cholera is gone, I’ll bring Lizzie to work with me at the house.”
“Do you promise?” Ma didn’t make promises lightly.
“Yes.”
When they arrived at the Charlesses’ house, the curtains were drawn, and no one seemed to be stirring.
Ma went down the alley to the locked garden gate. She knocked loudly. As they waited, she lifted Eliza’s chin. “Eliza, please be careful. Be respectful. And don’t leave the house.” Staring into her daughter’s eyes, she said, “You’re too young. I never should have agreed.”
Eliza threw her arms around her mother and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Ma. I can do this.”
Cook opened the door slowly, peering out suspiciously.
“Hello, Harriet,” Cook said. “Come in, Eliza.” Eliza slipped inside. Ma started to follow, but Cook shook her head heavily. “I’m not allowed to let anyone in.”
“But . . .” Ma pressed her lips tightly together.
“You know it’s for the best, Harriet.”
“Eliza,” Ma said. “Be good.”
“Ma!”
Before Eliza could say another word, her mother was gone, hurrying down the alley. Cook slammed the gate and shut the bolt. Eliza stared at the gate, tears streaming down her cheeks. “But I didn’t even say good-bye.”
“It’s easier this way. Your ma knows that.” Cook handed her a floury rag. “Wipe your face.” Her hand, callused from rolling hundreds of pies and biscuits, rested on Eliza’s shoulder. “After what happened with Mr. Mark a few weeks ago, I’m surprised she let you come.”
Foot raised to take the first step, Eliza stopped. She turned to Cook. “He’s not still here, is he?” she asked, barely breathing.
“Of course he is. He lives here.” She paused, staring into Eliza’s eyes. “Ah, you didn’t tell her.”
“I thought he’d be in California by now.” Eliza glanced behind her at the locked gate. She was trapped.
“No one would give him any money,” Cook snorted. “So he’s sulking in his room every day. He’s trying a new medicine for the cholera—whiskey, and lots of it.” She grinned at her own joke, then her smile flattened into a disapproving line. “You’ve made your own bed, Eliza Scott. And you’d best be avoiding that man.”
Eliza matched Cook’s snail’s pace, humming a tune only she could hear, as if the song would protect her from Mark Charless. Once inside, Cook gave her a gentle shove out the kitchen door. “The mistress is waiting for you in the front parlor.”
Eliza smoothed her blue skirt, brushing away some stray flour from Cook’s rag. The collar chafed her neck; she wished she could have worn her own clothes. She reached in her pocket and touched Wilson’s ribbons. She had hidden them there while Ma’s back was turned. She was alone in a strange house, wearing clothes that weren’t her own, but she had kept something that belonged only to her. Wilson was alone on a strange ship too. She’d have to be as brave as he was. She tapped on the door.
“Come in.” Miss Charlotte sat in the front parlor, near the window overlooking the street. She
was crocheting a bright red blanket. Her feet were propped up on a cushioned footstool. An oil lamp was burning on the table next to her, even though the sun was up now. Eliza’s eyes couldn’t help but drift toward the piano. It still looked unused and lonely. Eliza’s fingers twitched, longing to touch the keys.
“Hello, Eliza.” Miss Charlotte’s voice made her stand up straight.
Eliza bobbed in a half-curtsy. “Good morning, ma’am.”
“You’ll be caring for my husband’s aunt Sofia,” Miss Charlotte said briskly.
“Is she ill?” Eliza asked, concern bringing color to her cheeks. Had she left the jail only to go to a house with cholera?
“No! Of course not.” Miss Charlotte waved away that concern. “She’s just very old and can be very demanding. Sometimes her mind wanders.”
“Wanders?” How does a mind wander? Eliza wondered.
“I’m hoping your singing might make her easier to manage.”
“I know a lot of songs,” Eliza said slowly.
“Excellent. Your job is to keep Aunt Sofia in her room. One less worry for me.”
Miss Charlotte’s faced seemed drawn and tired. Eliza wasn’t surprised. Her husband was always traveling for his business, leaving her alone to care for the house, the family farm, her rotten son, and all the servants.
“You’ll take your meals and sleep in Aunt Sofia’s room on a pallet,” Miss Charlotte explained. “You won’t have any reason to leave the room.”
“Never?” Eliza asked. Her voice broke on the second syllable. This was just another kind of prison.
“Never.” Miss Charlotte’s crocheting seemed to require all of her attention. Without looking at Eliza, she said, “My husband’s aunt likes to make mischief. But it’s not as if she’s ever hurt anyone.”
Eliza’s eyes went wide as Miss Charlotte rang a little silver bell. Sadie appeared in a few seconds. “Sadie, take Eliza to Miss Sofia’s room.”
“But . . .,” Eliza protested.
Miss Charlotte waved her away.
Walking upstairs to Miss Sofia’s room, Eliza squeezed Sadie’s hand. “How bad is this Miss Sofia?” She paused. “Is she dangerous?”
“She’s not that bad,” Sadie said, not meeting Eliza’s eyes. She broke away and hurried upstairs. Miss Sofia’s room was at the top of the stairs facing the garden. Sadie pulled a large key from her pocket, unlocked the door, then gave it to Eliza.
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