Freedom's Price by Michaela MacColl

Author:Michaela MacColl
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boyds Mills Press

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 closed. 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.

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