Chapter One
A Harsh Reality
Eliza Harris pressed her body against the house.
Winter air chilled her skin. The conversation she overheard chilled her soul.
“He is willing to pay top dollar,” said the voice belonging to Ainsley Seldon. “That little boy, Harry, plus a few others, gonna bring in the money I need.”
Eliza felt as if an icicle was being shoved directly into her heart.
Mr. Seldon was selling a baby. A boy.
Her son!
Eliza was a slave. Mr. Seldon was her master, which meant he owned Eliza, her husband, and their son, the same as if they were horses or shoes. Slaves were not treated like human beings. As a young enslaved woman, Eliza was forced to live apart from her husband because that was how Mr. Seldon wanted it.
She had already buried two children—both died of pneumonia. The idea of losing another son because of the evil practice of slavery was more than she could bear.
Rage bubbled inside her.
She clenched her hands into fists.
Glancing upward, Eliza saw the evening sun painting the Kentucky sky a deep fire orange. Fat clouds laced with shades of charcoal gray approached as night began to fall. The scent of pine trees and winter snow filled her nostrils. Her breath came out in hard gusts.
In the distance, a wolf howled, hungry and prowling for its dinner. Even he is free, Eliza thought bitterly.
She attempted to move closer to the front porch where the men stood with their cigars—everyone knew that Mrs. Seldon didn’t like the smell of smoke in the house. As Eliza stepped, a twig cracked under her foot.
The sound echoed like a gunshot in the night.
“Who’s there?” said Mr. Morgan, Mr. Seldon’s guest. Then footsteps, heavy feet on frozen snow. The men.
They were coming!
Eliza knew that if they caught her, she might get whipped to death before she could save her baby from the auction block. A slave found eavesdropping could expect punishment. She was in grave danger.
Looking around, she followed the trail back to the kitchen door. She heard the men’s boots scrabbling over slick ice.
If she slipped on the icy puddles that coated the path, Eliza might fall and break her neck. Or worse. She could be discovered where she didn’t belong.
The footsteps grew closer. Louder. If she could just make it to the edge of the house . . .
“Anybody back there? Ya better come on out!” called Mr. Morgan. He was a rough man with a coarse manner. Eliza did not welcome the way he looked at her when he came to call on Mr. Seldon.
She dared not look back now.
With her heart pounding and muscles tight, Eliza made it to the corner. She threw herself against the back of the house.
Her body was shaking.
Not because she was tired. Not because she was cold.
But because she was angry.
She thought of her baby. Little Harry.
His faced popped into her mind and the image made her gasp. She wanted to hold him, kiss him, and stroke his hair.
Eliza and Mrs. Seldon had a regular nightly routine—Eliza would help get the Seldon children ready for bed as well as help their mother undo waist cinchers or difficult back hooks on her dresses.
Now all Eliza wanted to do was see her son. Instead, she heard her name being called. Mrs. Seldon’s face appeared at the door.
“For heaven’s sake, Eliza. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Before you go home, could you come inside again? Won’t take but a minute. I need your help.”
Eliza felt the rush of her own blood pounding in her ears. When she blew out a breath, great plumes of frosty air hovered before her face. There was always one more this or one more that. Always one more thing to keep her from her son.
Eliza tried to marshal her expression and extinguish the fire in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. Inside or outside, she needed to get away from Mr. Seldon and his rough visitor. She followed the lady of the house, helped the woman with one last task, then hurried away from the Seldons as quickly as she could.
Eliza moved swiftly but carefully across the icy ground. She was a young woman with golden-brown skin and thick, curly hair worn braided into a thick crown. She had never been extra girly. Instead, Eliza loved the outdoors. Loved the smell of fresh air and the sight of birds flying free in the sky.
And she loved the feeling of moving her body. She had been a good runner when she was a young girl—just as good as any boy.
It didn’t take long for Eliza to reach the small hill that led down to where she and the rest of Mr. Seldon’s two dozen or so slaves lived. Within minutes she was at the door of Miss Sadie’s cabin.
“How do, Eliza?” said the old woman who often looked after Harry. She sat in a rocking chair. A small fire burned in the hearth behind her. Wrinkles like lines on an antique map were etched into her dark skin.
She frowned. “Liza? What’s wrong, child?” the woman asked.
Eliza entered the house and stopped, standing in the doorway, staring down at her baby. Harry was almost two. He had fat cheeks and wide, dark eyes. His tiny hands reached toward the ceiling of the old shack.
Again the older woman asked, “Liza? You come on in here and sit. You letting out all my warmth. What’s got into you? Look like you done seen a fright.”
After a moment more, Eliza collapsed to her knees in front of Miss Sadie’s rocker. She scooped Little Harry into her arms and held him tight. The baby fussed and giggled. His woolly head of glorious kinky hair tickled her face.
Her heart burned with love and pride.
Finally, when she had absorbed every bit of him that she could, she pulled away enough to look at the older woman. Miss Sadie continued to stare at her with concern.
“He wants to sell my baby!” she cried.
“Who?” asked Miss Sadie.
“Mr. Seldon. He was talking to Mr. Morgan after dinner, smoking their cigars on the porch like usual. I overheard him. He wants to sell Harry.”
Miss Sadie gave a quick nod of understanding. Then slowly she shook her head. She had been a slave since she was a girl. She had witnessed so many families torn apart—one person sold to one family, while the wife, brother, sister, or child was sold to another—that she had simply lost count.
“It’s our burden to bear, child. I’m so sorry,” she said.
Eliza’s eyes burned with fire to match the flames in the hearth.
“I will never let that happen!” she said. “Ain’t nobody selling my baby!”
Miss Sadie was shocked by the young woman’s words and look of determination. “Try to keep yourself calm, Liza. Won’t do you no good getting in trouble for something you cannot control.”
Eliza, however, was not about to calm down. She thanked Sadie, as usual, for keeping an eye on Harry. Then she took Harry and went to the cabin she shared with Miss Mattie, another old slave woman. Miss Mattie was such a good cook that the Seldons hired her out sometimes.
A surprise awaited Eliza inside—her husband.
“George!” she said.
Balancing Baby Harry, swaddled in a bundle of cloths, Eliza rushed toward him.
“It’s the middle of the week. You don’t normally come ’round till Sunday,” she said, giving him a tight hug.
He held her, then stepped back and took the baby out of her arms.
George Harris cuddled his son, then stared long and hard at his faithful wife. Eliza sensed something was not right.
He edged her toward the far side of the tiny cabin. Miss Mattie said her how-dos and left, sensing the couple needed privacy.
Once they were alone, George let out a deep breath and bent to one knee so he could look into his wife’s eyes. Eliza sat on a rickety wooden chair near the hearth. He placed their son in her arms.
“What?” she said.
“I’m leaving tonight,” he said. “They sending me and Amos on an errand. Only this time, we ain’t coming back. We just gonna keep on walking. It’ll take ’em at least a week to realize.”
“No!” she said, shooting to her feet. Her husband straightened.
“Let me finish, Eliza,” he pleaded. “I know it’ll be hard. But I’ve met some people. Good people nearby. People with connections to freedom. They gonna help us get to Canada. And after I get situated, I’ll come back for you.”
Eliza Harris, like every other slave in these parts, had heard many tales about the escape routes that came to be known as the Underground Railroad. It wasn’t a steam locomotive that traveled below the earth. Instead, it referred to hundreds of people—black and white—who provided shelter and guidance to those who wanted to escape slavery or already had.
WHAT WAS THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD?
All aboard! Next stop, freedom! The Underground Railroad, a system of shelters and routes designed to help escaped slaves travel north, began in the late 1700s and continued through the Civil War. Although the source of the name is unknown, it is believed to have originated in the 1830s when American railroads were booming. Rather than being made of iron and propelled by coal, the Underground Railroad used human ingenuity, black people’s knowledge of the landscape, and a variety of transportation modes. Free African Americans and whites worked together as “conductors,” people who hosted and led escaped slaves on their journeys to the northern United States as well as Canada.
“George,” Eliza said, “Mr. Seldon’s gonna sell Harry! Our baby! I won’t let him, George. I won’t.”
For a long time, George held his wife. He tried to console her, tried to assure her that it would be easier for him to find his way to the Underground Railroad alone and then return for her and Harry after he was sure they had a place to live free.
Even so, after he was gone, Eliza lay awake that night staring at the ceiling. She felt the warmth of her child pressed against her. In the dim light from the dying coals on the hearth, she made out rough shapes of scrap furnishings. Leftovers and hand-me-downs.
A terrible cold draft seeped between the wooden boards around her. With each harsh gust of wind, the small building seemed to sway.
Human beings ought not to live like this, she thought. Mr. Seldon took better care of his horses than he did his slaves. She pictured her husband disappearing into the night. The light of freedom leading the way like the North Star.
Her heart thudded in her chest. She feared it was loud enough to wake Harry. It was beating with the strength and courage of her ancestors. She’d lost her mother to slavery, having been separated from her years ago. She’d been a baby when her father was taken.
She squeezed Harry against her side.
“I won’t let nobody take you, Harry,” she whispered against his cheek. He cooed and turned over, nuzzling into her bosom. His softness and sweetness were enough to make her want to cry.
Eliza knew, however, that she had no time for tears.
It was time for action.
She would protect her baby.
Or by God, she’d die trying.