Freedom's Price Read Free

into the dining room to make sure no one was eavesdropping, he added, “If you promise not to laugh, I’ll tell you a secret.”
    Eliza crossed her heart. “I promise.”
    â€œI want to be a pastry chef.”
    â€œYou want to make cakes?”
    He nodded. “Cook is teaching me. Meanwhile, I do all the cleaning and dirty work. It’s a fair trade for a dream.”He leaned against the worktable in the center of the kitchen. “I’ve told you my secret—what’s yours?”
    â€œWhat makes you think I have one?”
    â€œCall it a hunch.” He grinned widely, inviting her to confide in him.
    â€œI do have a secret wish,” Eliza offered. “I’ve never told anyone.”
    He spread out his hands.
    â€œMaybe someday I’ll tell you,” she said with a giggle. “After I know you better.”
    â€œThen, I’ll have to see you again,” Wilson declared.
    â€œOn Sundays you can always find my family at the First African Baptist Church on Fourteenth Street and Clark Avenue.” She hesitated, then added, “I sing in the choir.”
    â€œI’ll try to come. Maybe next time I see you, I’ll bring you a cake.”
    â€œThat’d be nice,” she said, holding out her hand for her bucket.
    â€œWe’re sailing north in a few days, but we’ll be home soon enough. We have a regular route up the Ohio River to Pittsburgh and back.” He put the handle of the bucket in her palm; it was heavy enough to placate Ma when she asked where Eliza had been all this time. “Eliza, it was a real pleasure to meet you.”
    â€œLikewise,” she murmured. She liked that their eyes were at the same level. Usually she was taller than most boys her age. “Thank you again.” Holding up the bucket, she waved.
    Eliza was heading back through the dining room when she heard heavy steps coming down the stairs. A man was tripping and swearing as he tried to navigate the narrow stairs. She set the bucket down and ducked behind a velvet chair. Even in the dim light she could see the man was round as a pot of jelly and his face was just as red.
    â€œWho are you?” he demanded loudly, catching sight of her. “What are you doing here?” His voice was slurred, but he was steady enough to grab her. Eliza tried to pull away, but his fingers clamped on to her arm.
    â€œHey, Cook!” Wilson called from the kitchen. The man turned his head, which gave Eliza the opportunity to twist out of his grip. She grabbed the bucket, ignoring the sloshing and spilling of the grease, and ran up the stairs as fast as she could. She flung herself headlong down the gangplank, letting the heavy bucket help pull her to the shore. Gasping for air, she glanced back at the ship. All was quiet. Maybe Wilson hadn’t gotten into trouble for her sake.
    Instead of heading back to Ma, Eliza took a dozen steps in the opposite direction so she could see the name of Wilson’s ship. It was the Edward Bates . Eliza would keep an eye out for the Edward Bates —she wouldn’t mind meeting Wilson again.

C HAPTER Three
    N O NEED TO HURRY, SINCE THE ONLY THING WAITING FOR E LIZA was a mountain of dirty clothes. She walked slowly down the shore, lost in a pleasant daydream of Wilson coming to church with a cake. Ma would be suspicious; she didn’t trust any boys. But she’d be won over by his good manners. Lizzie would love him because he’d brought a treat. And Pa would like anyone who made Lizzie smile.
    A toot from a passing steamboat brought her back to herself. With her free hand, she waved as the boat moved majestically down the river. It was coming from the North: Where had it been? What kind of people was it carrying? What was its cargo? Eliza never tired of watching the massive paddle wheels go round and round, dripping water in the ship’s wake.
    The spring air lost its chill as the sun climbed in the sky. The