Freedom Bound (6 page)

THE RAIN HAD
stopped during the night, and now a watery
sunshine glistened over the wet rooftops. A few houses had
their windows open. In one open casement hung a yellow
canary in a small cage. From another window came the delicious aroma of baking bread—a fragrance powerful enough
to overcome momentarily the smell of the street.

Charlotte walked carefully, for she had Noah in her arms,
on her way to Mrs. Perkins' home for his morning feeding.
He was wide-awake, his eyes intent upon her face. He had
been fretful before they left Mrs. Doughty's house, but now
she felt his body relax. He likes me, she thought, or maybe
he expects that when I take him for a walk, a breast full of
milk awaits him.

Elijah was on her mind, as he had been ever since she
woke that morning. She had known that the army might
send him down south, but that could mean anywhere from
Virginia to East Florida. Yesterday it had been such a surprise, such a pleasant surprise, to find him in Charleston.
But her pleasure had quickly turned to concern. What could
it be that troubled him so much?

She remembered his visit in November to the little cabin
she and Papa had built on Carleton Island. That visit, too,
had been a surprise. He had survived the defeat of the
Loyalist army at Kings Mountain in October. After being
taken prisoner, he had escaped. But instead of reporting to
Charleston Headquarters, he had travelled five times that
distance to Fort Haldimand, offering the feeble explanation
that he felt he should report to the same place he had enlisted in the first place, three years earlier. It made no sense.

She had noticed a change in him even then. He had lost all
desire to fight, muttering about the stupidity of men dying
for a cause already lost.

While she pondered this, she heard his voice calling from
behind her.

“Charlotte, wait for me!”

Turning around, she saw Elijah running to catch up.

He overtook her, a little out of breath. “I know it's not yet
noon. But the morning drill is finished, and I have two hours
free. Your landlady told me which way you were going.”

“I'm taking the baby for his morning feeding.”

Elijah leaned over to look at Noah. “So that's the baby.
He's very small.”

“He's only one month old. And I don't reckon he'll grow
fast on two feedings a day.”

Noah's lower lip quivered.

“We must keep walking,” said Charlotte. “If we dawdle,
he'll start to cry.”

“I thought you and I could talk.”

“We can. While he's with the wet nurse.”

Elijah fell into step beside her. “This part of town hasn't
been damaged at all,” he said. “It was lucky to be out of reach
of the heavy guns. We caused terrible destruction to some
other areas of Charleston.”

“We? Were you at the siege?”

“All forty-two days. I'll never forget it.” He was silent for a
moment. “We had the rebel army trapped inside the walls,
and we threw everything at them: grapeshot, musket fire,
bombs, red-hot cannon balls.”

“It must have been horrible for the people living here.”

“When you're a soldier, you don't allow yourself to think
about that. We firebombed houses. It's hard to ignore the result when you're close enough to hear children screaming.”

Elijah was talking faster and faster, as if he had a demon
inside his head that had to come out.

“Near the end, the defenders were shooting back at us
with pieces of iron, broken bottles, old axe heads—anything
they could jam into a cannon. On May 12, they surrendered.
I remember walking around the burnt houses. People came
out from cellars where they'd been hiding. Most hadn't
eaten for days. Packs of wild dogs were roaming the streets.
We had orders to destroy them. Charlotte, I didn't join the
army so I could burn cities and kill dogs.”

She kept her head down while she listened. She had the
feeling that he had barely begun, that worse was yet to come.

“We'd stored the rebels' captured arms in a magazine right
in town. A few days later, someone accidentally discharged a
rifle. The magazine blew up. Two hundred people died in the
explosion—more than were killed during the whole siege.

“I can tell you that when my regiment was assigned to the
left flank of Cornwallis's army, I was mighty glad to leave
Charleston and go off to fight the Over Mountain men.”

They reached Mrs. Perkins' house. Elijah waited in the
street while Charlotte took the baby inside. When she rejoined him, he looked glummer than ever.

“Mrs. Perkins says she'll keep the baby for an hour. That
will give us time to talk. Where shall we go?” She looked
around. The street was full of wagons, horses and pedestrians. “There must be someplace quiet.”

“St. Michael's Church.”

“We'd disturb people who go there to pray.”

“I meant the burial ground. It's quiet, and we wouldn't
disturb the folks resting there.”

“I reckon not. They're beyond caring.”

A few minutes' walk brought them to the corner of Meeting Street and Broad Street. Elijah unlatched the iron gate to
St. Michael's burial ground. Within the brick walls, stone
and wooden markers were ranged in rows. Charlotte and
Elijah stopped beside a gravestone whose incised letters told
them that Eleazor Thomas, his wife Matilda and their eight
children were now released from the cares of this world.

Elijah stood with one hand on the gravestone, regarding
her from under the brim of his forage cap. The whites of his
eyes were veined with red. He didn't sleep last night, she
thought. There was a nick on his chin, showing that he had
recently shaved, and it reminded her that he was no longer
a boy, but a young man sixteen years old.

On their families' long trek north from the Mohawk Valley
to Carleton Island, Elijah had been a partial replacement for
the brothers she had lost. Like them, he became a soldier; at
thirteen he put on the uniform of the Royal Greens.

She spoke softly. “What is the problem, Elijah?”

He kept his eyes on hers. “It began with our defeat at the
Battle of Kings Mountain.” He spoke firmly, as if he had rehearsed what he planned to say. “That's when I realized that
we were bound to lose the war. The more I thought about it,
the more I questioned why more men should throw away
their lives. I went north to Carleton Island, hoping the army
would keep me there as a member of the Fort Haldimand
garrison. I thought that if I could just wait out the rest of the
war, everything would be fine.

“But they sent me back down south. I've been in Charleston a month, and in three days my regiment is off to the
backcountry to defend Fort Ninety-Six. But I can't do it. I've
had enough.”

“You're a soldier. You've been in battle before.”

He did not seem to hear her.

“There was one other man in barracks, Sergeant Malcolm,
who felt the same way I did. We didn't talk much, he being
higher in rank. Even if we'd been equal, there are things soldiers don't talk about. He was a sharpshooter, too. One day
he said to me, ‘At the beginning of the war, I saw a target
whenever I took aim. Now I see a man.' The day after he told
me that, he deserted. They captured him heading west into
Cherokee country and brought him back.

“After the court martial, we blindfolded him and made
him drop to his knees. Then we shot him. We shot him four
times before he was dead.” Elijah looked away. “I'd rather be
shot myself than take part in another execution.”

“What can you do?”

“The same as Sergeant Malcolm did. Just hope for a better outcome. I know a place to hide, an abandoned cabin. I
found it by accident while reconnoitring before the siege. It's
in the swamp about ten miles northwest of Charleston.”

“Whoever would be so foolish as to build a cabin in a
swamp?”

“A newcomer who knew no better. In summer, the flood
plain is solid ground. It would look like a good place to clear
land for a farm. The settler couldn't have known what happens in late winter, when the creeks overflow their banks.
When I saw the cabin—that was in April—it was a foot deep
in black water. But there's a loft you can reach by a ladder.
That's where I plan to hide. The fighting can't last much
longer. General Cornwallis will have to give up.”

“Elijah, what makes you think nobody will look for you
there?”

“I doubt anyone knows about the cabin. It's hidden by
trees. From the look of the place, nobody's been there for
years. The swamp is crawling with alligators.”

“You say it's just ten miles from Charleston. Wouldn't you
be safer farther away?”

“Southern Command has better things to do than send a
platoon to search for one runaway private. If the war ends
soon, there be no more need to hide. If it doesn't, I'll move
on.”

“How will you live while you wait?”

“I'll stuff my cartridge cases with hardtack biscuits. In the
swamp, I can set snares. On the ridges there are deer and
turkeys. I'll have plenty of time to fashion a bow and some
arrows.”

“I'll never forget how you learned to hunt with a bow and
arrow.”

“Nor shall I.”

“It was after we left the Mohawk Valley, when we were
camped beside Oneida Lake. I was watching when that young
warrior, Okwaho, tied a dead squirrel high up in a pine tree.
He made you shoot and shoot until finally you hit it.”

“And then he took me deer hunting.” Elijah smiled. “I
haven't used a bow and arrow for three years. I reckon I still
can . . . after a bit of practice.”

“When will you leave?” Charlotte asked.

“Tonight.”

“That soon?” She saw that there was no way she could dissuade him. All he had needed from her was a listening ear.
“People who care about you should be able to find you.”

“Who cares about me?”

She laid her hand upon his arm. “I do. You and I have
been friends for a long time.”

“Through thick and thin.” He nodded. “All right. I'll tell
you as best I can. Follow the broad way north out of Charleston. The first three roads branch to the left, then there's one
to the right. That's the road to take. It skirts the swamp. There
are plenty of trails leading in. I can't be clearer than that.”

She withdrew her hand. “Unless there's an urgent reason,
I won't tell a soul.”

They left the graveyard together. He went into the church
instead of walking back along Meeting Street with her.

A long, hard road lies ahead for him, she thought. Who
knows what he'll find at the end?

AS THE DAY WORE ON
, a feeling of dread settled over Charlotte. She feared for Elijah's safety, because it seemed likely
that if soldiers on his own side did not capture him, then the
rebels would. She feared for him in other ways as well. Even if
he reached the abandoned cabin, an alligator-infested swamp
was not a good place to spend months alone in hiding. In
such a situation, his melancholy might deepen to despair.

Her fears for Elijah spread like a contagion. For three years
she had tried not to worry about Nick, telling herself over
and over how resourceful he was, how skilled in the wilderness, how clever at avoiding capture. But by the end of that
one day, her powers of self-persuasion had drained away.

That night, lying on her cot in the kitchen, she fretted and
stewed, counting the days until the end of February, struggling to remember the exact words of Nick's letter. She could
expect him
before
the end of February, couldn't she? How
much before?

Maybe Mrs. Knightly had news of him. Perhaps there was
even a letter from Nick waiting for her at the officers' quarters. Charlotte had been in Charleston for nearly a week. It
was time to find out. She would do it tomorrow. In between
picking up the day's load of dirty clothes and taking Noah
for his second feeding, there would be enough time.

Having made up her mind, she was at last able to sleep.

The next afternoon she took her new gown and bonnet and
a white lawn kerchief from her trunk. It was fine for an old
friend like Elijah to see her wearing shabby old clothes, but
for a visit to the officers' quarters she must look like a lady.
She dressed carefully, knotting the kerchief on her bosom.
Finally she put on the handsome blue cloak that she had
bought in Quebec before embarking for Charleston.

There was no looking glass in the house, for Mrs. Doughty
would never have owned such an aid to vanity. But Charlotte knew that this afternoon no one would think she was
the poor white helper of a washerwoman.

When she arrived at the officers' quarters, Mrs. Knightly
greeted her with smiles and the tiniest dip of a curtsey, which
Charlotte returned.

Today Mrs. Knightly wore green silk, and a cap trimmed
with fine lace. “Well, I declare!” she said. “You're just in time
for afternoon tea.”

She and Charlotte sat down on the upholstered settee in
the common room and waited for a slave to bring their refreshments.

“I hoped there might be news about Nick,” Charlotte began.

“Alas. There's nothing about him or from him. But I'm so
glad you dropped by. I've been worried about you ever since
Posy told me that a cutpurse robbed you of your pocket.
Why, that's terrible! Was there much money in it?”

“Every penny I owned.”

“I ought to have done something to help you, but lately
I've been so terribly busy.” As she raised her hand to her
brow, the emerald on her slender finger flashed green fire.
“To think what a pickle my husband has landed you in!”

“Colonel Knightly can hardly be blamed for the loss of
my pocket.”

“Oh, but I've heard what happened after that. My husband should not have sent you to lodge with somebody who
keeps a cellar full of escaped slaves. Everybody's talking about
it. I declare, from now on you won't find many of us offering that Quaker woman a helping hand.”

“She's a good person,” Charlotte said firmly, “and now she
has the slave girl's baby as well as her own children to support.”

“Well, she ought to send that baby right back to the people who own him.”

“They don't want him.” Charlotte wondered if Mrs.
Knightly was aware of who the baby's father was, but decided
not to pursue that subject.

At that moment, the tea arrived, borne on a silver tray by
a black woman. Charlotte wondered what she thought of
this conversation, for she must have heard the last few words.
Her expression revealed nothing.

The nut bread was delicious, and the little iced cakes were
the sweetest Charlotte had tasted in a long time. She felt
uncomfortable to be waited on by a slave—but not uncomfortable enough to turn down a second slice of nut bread
and another cake.

Mrs. Knightly had no news about the progress of the war.
It was her practice, she said, to ignore military matters. At
the moment, she was busy organizing a ball. The best of
Charleston society would be invited. If some of her guests
were rebel sympathizers, she was prepared to look the other
way.

Charlotte's attention wandered while Mrs. Knightly was
describing her new ball gown. As soon as they had finished
their tea, she politely took her leave.

“Do drop in any time.” Mrs. Knightly clasped Charlotte's
hand as she bade her goodbye. “Who knows when a message
might arrive from the backcountry?”

“Thank you. I shall.”

Maybe next week there'd be a message, Charlotte thought
as she stepped outside into the fresh breeze blowing from
the harbour. She felt as if she had made an escape. Although
Mrs. Knightly had been most cordial, Charlotte was not at
ease in the elegant surroundings of the officers' quarters.
Thinking it over, she wasn't sorry that Nick's room had been
reassigned to someone else. Despite its drabness, she preferred the simplicity of Mrs. Doughty's modest home.

She walked down the brick pathway to the gate and had
just put her hand upon the latch, when through the wrought-iron grille she saw a hand reach for the latch on the street
side. It was a large hand with bony knuckles. It was a masculine hand that she knew very well.

Charlotte raised her eyes, and there stood Nick. He was
smiling at her through the gate. He took off his tricorn hat,
and his fair hair shone like gold in the afternoon sun.

For a moment she stood blinking in a dazed sort of way,
too astonished to utter a word. Letting go of the latch, she
took a few steps back to let him swing the gate open and
come through.

“I'm back.” Restoring his hat to his head, he held out his
arms.

“I didn't expect . . .” she babbled.

“Aren't you glad to see me?”

Then joy beyond expression welled up within her. They
hugged and kissed and hugged some more. Leaning into him,
she felt his heart beating. Then he released her and held her
by the shoulders, beaming at her as if she were the most
beautiful girl in the world. At that moment, she knew she
was.

She wanted to say, “I love you.” But her throat closed up.
She felt tears well in her eyes. Then, as if a dam had burst,
the tears flowed, rolling down her cheeks. But though she
was crying, she was laughing too, and suddenly floating in a
warm cloud of happiness.

At that moment the bells of St. Michael's Church began
to chime most joyously. And though she knew that they
were merely announcing that it was four o'clock, she felt in
her heart that they were ringing for her and Nick.