Freedom Bound (12 page)

“Not me, Mister Nick. I ain't stayin'. No sir! I've been in
this godforsaken swamp long enough. I'm on my way to
Charleston to say goodbye to Phoebe.”

“Say goodbye! Are you going away?” asked Charlotte.

“Now that Phoebe's free, she can make a good life for her
self and the baby. But there can't be any place in that life for
me. Not in Charleston.”

“Where will you go?”

“North. Or maybe west. Someplace slave catchers can't
find me.”

Charlotte did not try to argue. Jammy was right. He had
to leave.

“Jammy, it's too dangerous for you to go to Charleston.
Let me give Phoebe a message from you.”

“No. Phoebe's my girl. I can't just run off without seeing
her one more time.”

Charlotte paused, knowing she would feel the same if she
had to leave Nick and knew that it might be forever. “Just be
careful,” she said.

“Phoebe and I have a signal that she'll recognize. If you
tell me where she sleeps . . .?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Good. I can creep around to the backyard at night and
rap on the shutter. She'll let me in. Then I'll be gone before
morning.”

“Let her know that Nick and I are safe. Tell her we'll be
back soon.”

She hugged Jammy, though she could tell that he felt uncomfortable. Jammy wasn't used to hugs from white people.

After shaking hands with Nick, Jammy took a few steps
toward the door. Then he stopped. “Do you want some help
getting into the loft?”

“We'll manage,” said Charlotte. “You'd best be on your
way.”

She and Nick watched from the doorway as Jammy
crossed the creek, using the trunk of the fallen cypress tree
for a bridge. Just as he had first appeared emerging from a
wall of green, he disappeared into it the same way.

THEY STOOD IN
the flooded cabin, looking up at the loose
boards.

“I'll push those out of the way,” said Nick, “then we can go
up.”

Charlotte turned to him. “Someone may be up there now,
hiding in the loft.”

“If there is, he's being mighty quiet.”

“Wouldn't you be, if somebody was breaking into your
hiding place?”

“Are you serious? Do you really think someone may be up
there?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Who is this fugitive lurking over our heads?”

“Elijah Cobman.”

“Elijah Cobman! Your friend from the Mohawk Valley?
You've told me a lot about him, but nothing to suggest he'd
be hiding in a South Carolina swamp.”

“Elijah deserted his regiment. He'll face a firing squad if
he's caught.”

“I see.” Nick paused. “If he were in the loft, he'd hear you.
He'd recognize your voice.”

“But not yours. He might suspect a trap.”

“Announce yourself, then. Tell him it's me with you.”

“Of course. That's all I have to do.” Raising her head, she
called loud and clear, “Elijah! It's me, Charlotte! Nick's with
me. It's safe.”

Not a sound came from above.

She turned to Nick. “If he were here, he would answer.”

“Let's go up and see what we find.”

Nick raised his arms and shifted the loose boards aside.
Lacing his fingers, he made a stirrup of his hands. “Up you
go!”

As Charlotte set her foot in place and put her hands upon
his shoulders, she felt a tremor come over him. The spark of
energy he had shown seemed to have burned out.

Bracing her forearms on the frame, she pulled herself
through and scrambled over the free boards onto the rough
wooden floor. Spaces between the logs, where chinking had
fallen out, admitted enough light for her to look around.

Overhead, the roof seemed tight; its overlapping wood
shakes had kept out the rain. There was little headroom,
only about four feet under the roof beam. But four feet was
enough to allow them to sit up, at least in the middle of the
loft.

A makeshift bed made of palmetto leaves took up half the
floor space. The leaves were neatly placed, all pointing in the
same direction, and stacked several layers high. On top lay a
soldier's red coat.

“It's fine,” she called to Nick. Crouching on the floorboards, she gave him a helping hand to haul himself up.

“Whew! I'm weak as a baby.” He sat down heavily, panting
to catch his breath.

After a moment, he saw the red coat. “So your friend has
been here.”

“Yes. That must be Elijah's coat.”

“He's cut off the buttons.”

For the first time, she noticed this. “So he did! I wonder
why.”

“Probably to conceal his identity. The name of his regiment is stamped on every button.”

“It would be safer to sink the whole coat in the swamp.”

“A coat makes a fair enough blanket if you've nothing
better. This time of year, it's cold in the swamp at night.”

“I suppose so.” Charlotte set the free boards back in place.
“We're safe here. Now you can rest.”

Nick needed no urging. He flopped right onto the bed of
palmetto leaves. Charlotte pulled off his shoes. They were
the fine leather shoes he had worn to the slave auction.
Completely ruined.

Nick closed his eyes. Within seconds, his deep, regular
breathing told Charlotte that he was asleep.

While he slept, she inspected the loft. From a wooden peg
— actually a stick wedged between two logs—hung Elijah's
white leather cross belts. On the floor lay a small Bible.

If Elijah had left for good, she was sure he would have
taken his Bible with him. So he was either still using the loft,
or he had been captured and would never return.

After inspecting the loft, she peered through a chink between the logs on the left side. All she saw were trees and
vines. Then she looked through a chink on the right side,
toward the creek. There was the fallen cypress tree that
spanned its width. But now she saw something else, a big log
that she hadn't noticed before. It was close to twenty feet
long, half hidden in the rushes. The log was black, with
deeply ridged bark. It must have been there all along, she
thought, but hard to see except from above.

Charlotte lay down beside Nick and cuddled against him.
He probably had a touch of ague. But if he slept for the rest
of the day and all night, by tomorrow he'd be strong enough
to manage the walk back to Charleston.

She yawned. Before leaving, she must write a note to warn
Elijah that his secret cabin was not so secret as he thought.
Since Jammy knew about it, others might as well. She could
write her message in Elijah's Bible. But she didn't have a
pencil. Wondering whether Nick had a pencil, she drifted to
sleep.

A noise startled her awake. Not a loud noise, merely the
sound of splashing right under where she lay. In the swamp's
sleepy silence its effect was like the crack of a rifle. Someone
had entered the cabin.

Fear seized her, followed quickly by relief. It must be
Elijah.

She sat up and was about to call his name when some
deep instinct stopped her.

For a moment there was no sound except the sloshing
below and Nick's calm breathing next to her.

“Nobody's here.” Billy's shrill voice cut through the silence. “I told you they'd head straight back to Charleston.
We wasted precious time coming here.”

“It was only a mile out of our way,” Abner grumbled.
“Worth a look, anyway. We can still overtake them on the
wagon track. Our friend won't be too spry after three days
in the cave.”

“I reckon it's that young Quaker who freed him,” said
Billy.

Abner snorted. “Some Quaker! Damned Tory spy if you
ask me. Well, you can give him back his hat when we catch
them.”

“That's not all I'm gonna give him. But Abner, there were
three people. Three sets of footprints. Our planter's son
wore shoes. The Quaker wore boots. The third man was
barefoot. Wonder who he was?”

“Maybe a runaway. Quakers and slaves get along pretty
good.”

“To tell the truth,” said Billy, “I'm not sure that young man
is a Quaker. I'm not even sure that he's a man.”

“Now, what can you mean by that?”

“Remember that good-looking girl with our friend at the
slave auction? She was just about that height. Same big
brown eyes.”

“Go on! You can't be serious!”

“Just an idea. Remember when we found the hat? I said
there was something fishy.”

“Come to think of it,” said Abner, “that young Quaker had
really pink cheeks for a boy.”

Dear Lord, help us, Charlotte silently prayed. She looked
at Nick lying on his back sound asleep, his mouth wide
open. One good snore would finish them.

“Come on,” said Billy. “Let's lose no more time.”

Charlotte heard them leave the cabin. Cautiously she
crawled over to a chink in the wall, and watched as they
approached the fallen tree that bridged the creek. Where the
water had receded there were patches of bare mud.

Neither man seemed aware of the big log that Charlotte
had noticed from above, half hidden in the rushes. It was
not until they reached the fallen tree bridging the creek that
anything attracted their attention. Then both of them
stopped. They bent over, obviously examining something in
the mud.

A chill ran through her when she realized what they must
be looking at: Jammy's footprints.

Abner scratched his head. Billy shrugged his shoulders.
They both turned and looked back at the cabin.

They were too far away for her to hear their conversation,
but she reckoned she knew what they were talking about.
Three people had left the cave. One wore shoes, one wore
boots, and the third was barefoot. The footprints of all three
had led to the edge of a flooded region. In the water there
would have been no tracks to follow.

Did Abner and Billy recognize the barefoot footprints?
And if they did, were they wondering about the other two
people who had left the cave?

Abner took a few steps toward the cabin. Billy followed, a
pace or two behind. This time they would search thoroughly.
If they found their way into the loft, there would be no
escape.

Charlotte stayed where she was, frozen, hardly breathing.
Nick moved and stretched in his sleep. “Shh!” she whispered.

Her eye was at the hole in the wall when the big log began
to move. It moved on little crooked legs. Slowly.

Then suddenly it shot forward, straight for Billy.

It wasn't a log.

Her hand flew to her mouth as the creature lunged. Jaws
opened—jaws a yard long, with rows of jagged teeth. She
heard the crunch of bone as the jaws snapped shut around
Billy's thigh.

Billy screamed. Spray flew in all directions as the alligator
dragged its prey into the swamp.

The taste of blood was in her mouth, and she realized that
she had bitten down on her knuckle hard enough to break
the skin.

“Billy!” Abner shouted. “Billy!”

Billy screamed one more time.

Abner fled. Arms flailing, he raced across the fallen tree
and kept going.

Nick woke. He blinked. “Did I hear somebody yell?”

She opened her mouth but could not speak. Her fingers
clutched his arm. She was quaking from head to toe.

“An alligator,” she gasped, “got Billy!”

“My God!! What are you telling me?”

“They were here . . . Billy and Abner . . . they knew . . .
about the cabin.” She spoke in bursts, as if the words were
being shaken out of her. “They left. Then they started
back . . .”

He gripped both her hands. Gradually she told him the
rest.

When she finished, he said, “We haven't seen the last of
Abner.”

“I don't think he'll ever come back. Abner ran as if all the
devils of hell were after him.”

“He'll be back. He's got too much to lose if he doesn't.
He'll find his other friend. Then they'll return to look for
me.” Nick took her in his arms and held her while her racing heart slowed to normal.

“This cabin feels more like a death trap than a sanctuary,”
she said.

“It will soon be dark. We're safe until tomorrow. We have
all night to remove this hardware.” He pointed to his feet.
Although Jammy had severed the ten-inch chain that joined
his shackles, they were still on his ankles. “If I have to run,
I'll be faster if I'm not wearing manacles and dragging links
of chain.”

She took the file from her satchel and handed it to him.