So it was “Master Thomas” now. Frederick checked his sigh as he smiled at this boy of his own color.
“My name’s Fred. What’s yours?” he said cordially.
“I Jeb.” The boy answered immediately, but there was a puzzled look on his face. They were unhitching the horse now. He cleared his throat and burst out, “Say, yo’—Yo’ talks lak white folks. Huccome?”
Frederick hesitated. Should he tell him about the notebooks and reading lessons—that he and the Young Master had learned together? He decided not. So he only laughed and said, “Fiddlesticks!”
Jeb studied the newcomer covertly as they went inside. He liked this Fred—liked the way he looked at you—liked the way he walked; but Jeb recognized that here was something to think about.
The ugly, gaunt woman at the stove turned when they entered the kitchen. She did not smile, and Frederick felt her dark eyes, set deep in bony sockets, take him in from head to foot. Then she motioned them to places at the scrubbed pine board. They sat down on stools.
“Hit’s Nada.” Jeb leaned forward and whispered. “She free! She free ’oman!”
Now it was Frederick’s turn to stare at the big woman. She moved slowly, clumsily, as if the springs of her body were giving way. The deep ridges of her face were pitted with smallpox, the scars extending from her eyes to the wide sad space of her mouth. But she was free, and Frederick looked at her with envy.
There were several hundred “free people of color” in Baltimore at this time. Their lot was one of inconceivable hardship. Yet no slave having purchased or having been granted his freedom ever voluntarily went back into slavery. Under the laws of the state, he had no rights as a citizen. At times he was restrained from working at certain occupations, from selling tobacco and other commodities without a certificate from the justice of peace. He couldn’t keep a dog, carry firearms, belong to a secret order, or sell spirituous liquors. The mere word of a white man could convict the Negro of any offense. And punishment was swift and severe.
These people did what work they could for the smallest possible wages—as caulkers in the shipyards, hod carriers, dock workers. A few were good bricklayers and carpenters. No matter what their work, they had to take what they were given. Therefore, they were despised and hated by white workers who were often ousted by this cheaper labor. The rising merchant and business class of the city found it cheaper to employ such help for a few cents a week than to buy slaves to work in their homes. A master had some responsibility for his slave’s upkeep. He had none for his “paid servants.” So, Nada worked for Mrs. Hugh Auld from six o’clock in the morning until eight or nine at night. Then she disappeared down the alley—no one ever bothered to find out where.