Free Freedom's Price by Michaela MacColl Page A

were closing in on her—maybe because every wall was the same whitewashed color. Ma kept the narrow room spotless and washed the stone floor every week. But every night Eliza breathed through her mouth to avoid the smell of jail that just never went away.
    â€œSing me a song,” Lizzie demanded as she crawled under the blanket.
    â€œJust one and you have to close your eyes,” Eliza said. Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut. Eliza sang one of her own tunes.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I was born on the Mississippi
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  On a night it was raising Cain.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  And every time I think of my ma
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I think of the pouring rain.
    â€œMa won’t let you say ‘Cain,’” Lizzie mumbled.
    â€œGo to sleep,” Eliza said. When Lizzie finally fell asleep, Eliza left the candle burning in its holder and slipped out of the cell. She refused to let her parents protect her from bad news. Eliza would find out what was going on.
    She hurried to the common room. The door was closed, so she crouched down and put her ear to the crack next to the floor.
    â€œThat poor girl.” Eliza heard Mrs. Martin’s voice on the other side of the door.
    Mrs. George answered, “As if she didn’t have troubles enough.”
    Mrs. Martin’s whisper was just barely audible to Eliza. “I’m not supposed to say anything,” she began, in that tone of voice that meant she was going to tell Mrs. George everything. “The doctor doesn’t want to cause a panic, but he thinks it’s . . .” There was a pause as if the word was too awful to say. “Cholera.”
    â€œCholera!”
    Eliza caught her breath. Lucy had cholera? That was even worse than Eliza had imagined. Cholera was a killer. No one knew what caused it or what cured it either. If cholera was in the jail, they were all in deadly danger.
    â€œWe’re keeping it quiet,” Mrs. Martin went on. “The doctor could be wrong.”
    â€œIs the girl vomiting?” Mrs. George asked. “Is her stool watery? Does she have cramps?”
    â€œAll those things,” Mrs. Martin said sadly.
    â€œWretched girl!” Mrs. George exclaimed. “She’ll give it to all of us!”
    Eliza nearly fell over, she was so indignant. It wasn’t Lucy’s fault she was sick!
    â€œYou can’t blame her,” protested Mrs. Martin, speaking the words Eliza wanted to say. “For now, she’ll stay in the infirmary. Harriet and Dred Scott are watching her. Dred’s owner was a doctor, and Dred’s good with sick folks.”
    Eliza was frozen to the spot. Her pity for Lucy was mixed now with fear for herself and her family. What was Pa thinking?
    â€œWhat if the sickness spreads?” Mrs. George asked. “It won’t be safe here.”
    â€œThat is up to my husband,” Mrs. Martin replied. “He’ll do everything possible to keep everyone safe.”
    The women moved out of earshot. That was all right with Eliza; she had plenty to think about. She scurried back to her cell. Lizzie was snoring on the floor. Eliza climbed into bed and held her sister tightly. Cholera! Ma had told her about it. A man would be hale and hearty one day and dead the next. It was painful and disgusting—with the sick coming out of the patient from both ends. And since they didn’t know what caused it, how would Pa keep from getting ill himself?
    Eliza heard Ma’s footsteps in the hall coming toward their cell. She snuffed out the candle and pulled the blanket up to her nose before the candle smoke hit the air.
    Eliza willed her body to be as still as a corpse. To her surprise, Ma didn’t get ready for bed. Instead she rummaged in their small chest