Freedom Bound by Jean Rae Baxter Page B

Doughty’s words roused Charlotte. She gently withdrew her hand from Mrs. Doughty’s, stood up, and began to
walk around the room. “I believe in prayer,” she said, “but I
also believe God helps those who help themselves.” Putting
her thought into words helped to rally her spirit, but she still
spoke more confidently than she felt. “What I mean is, I’m
not content to sit and wait for the Lord to bring Nick back
to me. I’m going to search for him. You heard Captain Braemar. He thinks those men took him into the swamp.”
    Mrs. Doughty stared at her from the shadow of herbonnet’s deep brim. “Will thee go into the swamp?”
    â€œYes.” Charlotte wiped the tears from her eyes.
    â€œMiss Charlotte,” said Phoebe, “the swamp’s full of alligators.”
    â€œAnd desperate men,” said Mrs. Doughty. “A woman dare
not go there alone.”
    â€œWell, I dare.” She paused. “I’m sure it is too dangerous
for a woman. But I don’t intend to go there dressed like a
woman. I’ll disguise myself as a man.”
    â€œDisguise is not just a matter of clothing,” said Mrs.
Doughty. “The smallest action may give thee away. Thee
walks like a woman—”
    â€œI know,” Charlotte broke in. “But I’ve done this before. A
couple of years ago, Nick and I travelled through the wilderness from Carleton Island back to the Mohawk Valley to
retrieve some valuables hidden on our farm. We pretended
to be two brothers. Before we left, he drilled me on how to
walk like a boy, how to sit, how to slouch. I can still do it.”
    Mrs. Doughty lowered her head. She looked as if she were
praying, or perhaps thinking deeply. After a minute she
looked up.
    â€œThee is right. To travel as a man is safer. To be safer still,
thee must disguise thyself as a Friend.”
    Charlotte sat up straight. This made sense. Maybe not all
slaves knew about the Quakers, but all who did must know
they were enemies of slavery. As for white people, both
Whigs and Tories generally left Quakers alone.
    â€œI’ll need the right clothes.”
    â€œI still have some of my husband’s clothes. Caleb was not
a big man. With a little alteration, they will fit.”
    â€œI’m quick with my needle,” Phoebe offered.
    â€œQuick enough to have them ready first thing in the
     morning?” Charlotte asked. “There’s no time to lose.”

    That night Charlotte slept fitfully, reaching out for Nick at
wakeful moments and feeling a burst of panic not to find
him there.
    She was glad when morning came. Throwing off her
quilt, she stood up, stretched, and tiptoed into the kitchen,
where Phoebe was still asleep on her mattress on the floor,
and the baby in his cradle. The clothes were ready, folded on
the table.
    Carrying them, she tiptoed back into the front room and
began to dress. As she pulled on the late Mr. Doughty’s
breeches, she recalled the first time she had donned men’s
clothing. She remembered how awkward she had felt wearing breeches. But very soon she had discovered how practical
they were for travelling through the wilderness. Much more
sensible than a gown. She felt confident about her disguise
and comfortable with the prospect of pretending to be a
young man.
    Sounds of life now came from the kitchen. Noah was crying, and Mrs. Doughty was clattering her pots and pans.
    Charlotte joined them. With the Doughty children stillasleep upstairs and Phoebe sitting in a corner nursing her
baby, the kitchen was quiet. Charlotte ate a quick breakfast
of leftover grits.
    â€œI’m ready to go,” she said when she had finished eating.
    She stood by the kitchen table while Mrs. Doughty and
Phoebe gave her a final inspection. Her hair was pulled back
in a pigtail under a wide-brimmed black hat. She wore a
short grey coat over a long black vest. Reaching nearly to her
knees were leather boots that Mrs.