Freedom's Price Read Online Free Page A

take comfort from it. The memory of Celia, flinching when Eliza held up her hand, flitted into her brain. Neither Ma nor Pa had ever struck her, and Eliza knew they would die to protect her. “I promise to be more careful, Ma,” she vowed.
    Sniffing hard to keep her nose from running, Eliza shoved the shirt back into the steaming pot of water. With Ma’s long paddle, she poked the shirt until every bit of cloth had disappeared under the roiling bubbles.

C HAPTER Four
    O N S ATURDAY E LIZA HELPED HER MOTHER AT THE C HARLESS family’s place, a fancy house in the center of town. The Charlesses had at least a dozen rooms to live in and a large garden in back. The house had its own well, so getting clean water was easy. Ma had set up her pails in the basement with doors open to the back garden. The basement smelled of damp and starch, but the garden was fragrant with beds of herbs and early vegetables. Naturally, Eliza preferred to be outside.
    â€œTake those dresses . . .,” Ma instructed. Her voice was muffled because she was bent over a washboard, pushing the heavy cloth across the board. As she pulled the laundry back, she found breath enough to finish her sentence. “And hang them up outside.”
    Eliza gathered the slaves’ wet dresses in a basket and heaved the basket onto her hip. Someday she’d like to use the scales outside one of the big stores and see the differencein weight between a wet dress and a dry one. At least here at Miss Charlotte’s house, she only had to haul them twenty feet or so between the basement and the garden. But Eliza missed the breeze from the river and the never-ending parade of steamboats to entertain her as she worked. An enclosed garden meant that the garments could be safely hung to dry without fear of thieves. Eliza was reminded of Celia; she wondered if the girl would come to church the next day. Eliza lifted one dress and draped it over a lilac bush. Her back to the garden gate, she carefully arranged the skirt to lie as flat as it could. The more attention she paid to the drying, the less ironing she would have to do later.
    Eliza had just registered the sound of footsteps in the alley beyond the garden when the gate behind her was shoved open without any warning. Eliza tottered, then lost her balance. With a thud, she landed in the dirt.
    â€œYou’re blocking the gate!” a sharp voice shouted down at her. A pair of high-heeled boots was planted in front of her face. She looked up to see Miss Charlotte’s son, Mark, towering over her. She’d seen him once or twice before, but he had never bothered to notice her. She scrambled to her feet and saw that her eyes were level with his. Maybe he wore those boots to make up for not being very tall. He was not yet twenty, but he had the bad manners of someone who had been practicing a lot longer.
    â€œSorry, I was doing the laundry,” Eliza muttered, her face hot. He was the one who had knocked her down, and yet she was apologizing.
    â€œMy mother’s slaves are as clumsy as they are slow,” he barked. Pushing her aside, he slammed the gate and headed to the kitchen door. His mincing walk made him look as though he were skipping on hot coals.
    Eliza glared at his back and clapped her hand over her mouth. Ma had told her again and again to hold her tongue. She glanced at the basement door, wide open to let in light and air, hoping her mother had heard how well-behaved Eliza had been. But Ma was still scrubbing in the basement. Eliza’s only witness was Lizzie, sitting in the grass trying to coax the house cat to play. Lizzie frowned and said, “That man is mean.”
    â€œHush, Lizzie.” Eliza put her finger to her lips. “We can’t say so. Even if it’s true.”
    Her fall had torn the sleeve of her dress from the bodice. This dress had already been mended too many times. Even Ma’s clever sewing couldn’t repair it again. She wished now