December 25, 1858
Baltimore, Maryland
Eli stepped from the train feeling more anxious than ever to be at their last stop in a slave state. If they made it past Baltimore, their dream would come true. His hands trembling, he imagined every eye in the station watched him. Steeling himself against showing any fear that might betray him, he folded his arms across his chest waiting for Will to bring their trunk.
He appeared a few minutes later, pushing a cart and wearing a white beaver skin hat. Billy grinned at her.
“Billy,” said Eli, “wherever did you find that hat?”
He smiled sheepishly. “It’s second hand. I bought it off another slave, Master Johnson. I thought it makes me look like some kind of grand pumpkin. I don’t think my own mamma would recognize me in it.”
Eli laughed. “Yes, you are quite the cat’s whiskers. Come on along and we’ll buy tickets on the next train to Philadelphia.”
Billy nodded. “Whatever you say, Master Johnson.”
My precious Lord, Eli whispered to himself, be with us now. Please guide us and be our strength, because we are almost free.
A moment later Eli heard someone call after him, and he turned to find two men approaching. One leaned forward and spit a long stream of tobacco juice toward Billy. Both had the shabby appearance of small time, uneducated planters. The man who spit smiled at Eli, but it was a mirthless smirk, his front teeth brown and worn down to the nubs. It appeared the rest of his teeth were in little better condition.
“I reckon, stranger, you are just spoiling that there nigger a your’n by lett’en him wear such a devilish fine hat. Just look at that there quality of it.” Stepping quickly up to Billy, the man extended his hand to take Billy’s hat. Unsure what to do, Billy backed up a step.
“Don’t you sass me, boy,” said the man with real menace.
“Is there something I can do for you, sir?” said Eli.
“Why, the President hisself couldn’t wear no better hat ‘n that ‘n. I should just like to go and knock it overboard.” He glared at Eli.
His friend looked around, nervous, and said, “Don’t speak so to a gentleman, Amos. I don’t want no trouble.”
“I kin talk to him any which way I damn please,” he shot back. Looking at Billy he said, “It always makes me itch all over, from head to toe, to get me a hold a every damned nigger I see dressed like a white man. These parts is just run away with spoilt and free niggers. If‘n I had my way, why I’d sell every damned rascal way down South where the devil’d be flogged out a ‘em and that’s a fact.”
Eli straightened and said with authority, “Come on, Billy. We have business to attend to.”
Eli stood his ground as Billy pushed the cart past the men. The one called Amos faked a jab at Billy that made him flinch, which set him into howls of laughter.
“You see that nigger jump?” he said to his companion. “He don’t look so damn full a hisself now, by damn.”
“You sure got him,” agreed the other, pulling Amos away and obviously glad to be rid of the whole affair with no further trouble.
“Damn niggers,” Amos spat before turning away.
A dark rage swept through Eli. What did it matter to that jackass what damn hat Billy wore? Why was it so important to him to feel superior to a black man, and why was his dignity so wounded because Billy owned just one thing better than he did? And him a man obviously too poor to own any slaves of his own, thank God.
It was the sickness of the South, and for all Eli knew of the whole country, that whites needed to feel superior. No matter how mean, stupid and uneducated he might be, and no matter how low in debauchery and waste he might sink, he would always tell himself that at least he was better than a black man, and he could kick any Negro who dared think otherwise just to prove it. And God help that Negro if he defended himself.
Eli still heard Amos’ harsh stupid laughter behind him. He wanted to turn and beat the man senseless. He wanted to grab him by the throat and squeeze until all the stupid, hateful, ignorant, and vicious life drained from his worthless stinking body. There was not a slave in the entire South who was not a better man. Eli hated being dressed like a white plantation owner, hated that anyone would ever even mistake him for being one.
“Master Johnson?” Shaken out of his rage by Billy’s voice, Eli realized he was standing stock still in the middle of the station, his hands clenched and staring into space. “Master Johnson?” repeated Billy. “You all right, Master?” Billy stood next to him looking worried.
Ellie drew in a deep breath and felt the anger drain from her, only to be replaced by fear. Her heart pounded, her mouth was dry, and she wondered if she had the strength left to move. Dear Jesus, she murmured, help me. I must be strong a few more minutes, because we are almost free.
She managed a smile. “Thank you, Billy, but I’m fine,” she said softly. “The impertinence of that man just got under my skin for a moment. He’s a disgusting hog.”
Will looked into her eyes, and Ellie wanted nothing more than to give him a quick, impulsive hug and hold him so she could draw from his strength. But this, of course, was impossible.
“I guess I shouldn’t have bought this silly damn hat,” Will said into the space between them, a space so narrow and yet so far that they could not reach across it. Not here and not now.
Ellie shook her head. “No, Will, you look fine in your new hat. It’s a wonderful hat. I’m glad you bought it. You deserve a hat like that. You deserve that and so much more.”
Billy smiled at him. “Why, thank you, Master Johnson. That’s right kind of you.”
Ellie nodded. “Now, let’s go buy our tickets to Philadelphia.”