Read The Color of Freedom for Free Online Page A

disguise. The freedom that accompanied that thought produced a most unladylike snort of laughter.
    "Sit and eat," Salizar commanded and set a platter of greasy eggs and bacon before her. He filled another tin cup with the strong, bitter coffee.
    "It's nice to have some company besides old Aberdeen. He's not much for conversation, you know. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."
    "You're out early this year," Meadow commented. "Not many travelers would brave winter weather and spring mud."
    He shrugged. "I took ill last autumn and wintered with my sister. Now I'm healthy and the weather's fair. I aim to lighten my load before I reach the coast and resupply. I'm even pondering a side trip to the beleaguered city."
    Meadow looked up in surprise. "Boston?"
    "Aye." He chewed another quick mouthful and washed it down. "Are you headed anywhere in particular, or just along for the ride?"
    Meadow shrugged evasively. "Don't much care where I go, so long as I reach the coast."
    "Ah, taking to sea, are you? I dreamed of such a life myself once." His eyes narrowed as he looked in the fire, seeing there memories of long ago. He grinned suddenly. "Well then, Wynn, my boy, we are headed for Boston together!"
    Meadow shot him a skeptical look. "How will you enter the city? I hear it is cut off from all trade."
    "To be sure, to be sure," he burst out. "That does present a bit of a catch, but heavy profits stand to be made if an enterprising mind can iron out that little wrinkle."
    "So you don't know how to get in."
    "No bloomin ' idea, son," he proclaimed merrily. "No bloomin ' idea." Then he winked, "But luck tends to plague me."
    Meadow shrugged her shoulders recklessly and mustered her first genuine grin in a week. "To Boston, then," she said, raising her tin cup.
    His face wrinkled with pleasure as he clanked his cup against hers. "To Boston!"
    Meadow tossed back the last of the bitter liquid with complete satisfaction.

Chapter 5
    The days with Salizar passed quickly, the end of each setting her that much closer to her father. They traveled slowly through the countryside, stopping at every town and many private homes to peddle their wares. Often Salizar traded for clean rags and old bones which he would sell to be made into paper and fertilizer. Sometimes he bartered for home-crafted goods, but always he traded at a profit.
    The old man was no stranger to the region. He seemed to know every person they met. Many a buxom farm wife invited him in for dinner, and even more frequently, rough, work-hardened men treated him to a round of ale at a local tavern, all of which he accepted with customary humor and bluntness. Meadow followed at his heels, enjoying his quirky company and basking in the illusion of safety.
    One evening, as a purple chill descended with the sun, they pulled into the tree-lined drive of a farmhouse. Several ragged children played about the yard. They let out a collective squeal and ran, shouting, to the back door.
    "The peddler's come!"
    " Salizar is here!"
    "Mama, come look!"
    "You're a popular fellow," Meadow stated.
    Salizar nodded his pleasure emphatically. "This, my boy, is the home of John and Patience Blackburn and their five strapping children. And a nobler family can't be found, even in the highest streets of London."
    A tall, burly man exited the house, his curling black hair fastened behind his neck with a length of twine. Dressed in homespun that stretched over taut muscles, he strode purposefully across the yard. As he came, his features split into a wide smile.
    " Salizar , you scoundrel!" he boomed, extending a callous hand. "How are you, my friend?"
    "Delighted! Delighted!" the little man beamed, bowing right off the wagon seat. "John, meet my young hand, Wynn. Wynn, John Blackburn."
    John extended his hand, and Meadow winced with the pressure of his grip. "I'm honored," John rumbled.
    Meadow nodded and offered the stranger a timid smile.
    John turned back to Salizar . "Come. Patience is anxious to