Riding Freedom Read online

  * * *

  Charlotte went back to the horses. What would be the point of lining up with the boys anyway? Even though Mrs. Boyle couldn’t hide her in the potato bin anymore, nobody wanted an almost-grown girl.

  Freedom seemed worse. Vern hovered around her for an hour trying to figure out what was wrong. He just kept shaking his head, and Charlotte got a bad feeling deep inside.

  Later, as Charlotte served the soup at dinner, Hayward whispered, “We heard someone got adopted. Maybe it’ll be William.”

  “Nah,” said Charlotte. “We ain’t that lucky.”

  “Who do you think, Charlotte?” asked Hay.

  But Charlotte didn’t answer. Any other time she would be as nosy as the rest about who it was, but all she could think about was Freedom.

  As soon as she finished the dishes, she went back to the stable. She wanted to do something, anything, to make Freedom better. She sat next to the filly until well after midnight when Vern finally sent her to bed.

  “We won’t know nothin’ till the morning,” he said.

  Reluctantly, Charlotte returned to her room. She tossed all night anxious for morning, but she knew she couldn’t check on the horse until after breakfast. Would she survive? Sweet Freedom. She just had to make it.

  * * *

  Charlotte tried to hurry through the Sunday morning dishes but Mrs. Boyle would have none of that.

  “Charlotte, don’t you be givin’ those dishes a lick and a promise. You scrub those pans until they’re clean!” she yelled.

  Charlotte thought she’d never finish. When she finally bolted out the kitchen door, Hayward was waiting at the back steps.

  “Let’s go check on Freedom,” said Charlotte, almost running.

  “Charlotte, wait! I heard who’s been adopted,” said Hayward as he hurried to keep up.

  “Yeah? Was it one of the young’uns?”

  “No,” said Hayward. He stopped right where he was and waited for Charlotte to turn around and look at him.

  “Well, if it ain’t William I don’t really care,” said Charlotte. “I don’t care much about anything right now except Freedom. You coming or not?”

  Hayward hesitated. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he said.

  They hurried to the barn. Freedom’s stall was empty.

  “Vern must have moved her to the small corral to let her get some air,” said Charlotte.

  They turned and started toward the pasture. But when Charlotte saw Vern walking toward her, his face told it all.

  “The infection got the best of her, Miss Charlotte.”

  “No!” Charlotte clenched her hands.

  “Me and some of the older boys buried her behind the south pasture. Been out there all mornin’. She went real easy in her sleep. There was nothing we could do.”

  Charlotte nodded. She squeezed her eyes tight.

  “She was a real nice horse,” said Vern.

  “Yeah,” said Charlotte, but she didn’t cry. She never cried.

  “Ain’t no shame in mournin’ a loss, Miss Charlotte,” he said.

  But Charlotte pretended she hadn’t heard him and walked over to a stall and called to the stallion. He came over and nuzzled Charlotte’s hand.

  “You sure have a way with them horses,” said Vern.

  Charlotte nodded as she stroked the horse’s head.

  “You go right ahead and rake them stalls if you a mind to it. You the best stable boy I got,” said Vern. “Sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you in here tendin’ to these animals. You my right hand in this stable, Miss Charlotte.”

  Charlotte forced a smile.

  A feeling crept up into her throat and made it hard to swallow. She felt like she was on the verge of something. She tried to shake it off. When she couldn’t, she grabbed a rake and started working.

  She tried to concentrate on the raking, but all she could see was her last glimpse of Freedom, lying in the straw, breathing heavy, her eyes closed.

  “Charlotte?” said Hayward.

  She had forgotten about Hayward. He had wanted to tell her something.

  But before she could ask, Mr. Millshark’s stern voice startled her.

  “Charlotte!” he yelled. Charlotte couldn’t remember Mr. Millshark ever setting foot in the stables. Vern stood up immediately, and Hayward, who was even scared of Millshark’s shadow, fled to the tack room to hide.

  “Vern, just a few words with Charlotte and I’ll be on my way,” said Mr. Millshark as he turned to Charlotte.

  “It’s been brought to my attention that some of the townspeople don’t think it’s quite lady-like for you to be racing the boys. Our reputation here is of raising strong, strapping young men, and we can’t have folks calling our boys molly-coddles now, can we? You’re getting close to being a young lady and you need to start acting like one. From now on, you will have full duties in the kitchen with Mrs. Boyle. The stable is off limits to you.”

  Vern looked up from his work. He never questioned Mr. Millshark, but he said, “She’s a help in the stables. She does the work of three of them boys and she knows the horses as good as me.”

  “Is that so?” said Mr. Millshark. “I heard that she rode a sick horse in the race yesterday and that the horse died this morning. A young man wouldn’t have made such a foolish decision. She’ll stay in the kitchen where she belongs.”

  Mr. Millshark turned and left.

  Charlotte looked at Vern.

  “He’s got a cold heart, Miss Charlotte. And you know you had nothin’ to do with Freedom dyin’. I’m real, real sorry. Maybe he’ll change his notion.”

  Charlotte couldn’t speak.

  She ran from the stables. She ran hard, without stopping, toward the tree line behind the pasture. She hated this place. Mr. Millshark would never, ever change his mind.

  Hayward called after her. “Charlotte, wait!”

  She slumped against a tree and bent over to catch her breath.

  Hayward caught up to her.

  “Charlotte, you all right?”

  “I don’t know, Hay. Stinkin’ old Millshark! I can’t think of nothin’ worse than not workin’ with the horses. I can’t wait to leave this place. Whoever got adopted is lucky not to have to look at Millshark’s face ever again.”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you, Charlotte …”

  Hayward looked down at the ground and drew a circle in the dirt with his boot. He didn’t say anything. Just kept looking at the dirt.

  “Hayward, what’s got into you?”

  “It ain’t William who got adopted. Well, you see…. uh … it was me. It’s a family from Nashua. Name is Clark. Their boy died so they came here to get one to take his place and that’s me. I met ’em this morning, and the lady kept patting me on the head and the man kept calling me son. I guess they don’t mind about my ears.”

  Charlotte stared at Hayward like he was talking crazy talk. Surely it couldn’t really be true. Why, Hayward was ten. He couldn’t leave now. They had plans. She took a deep breath and felt her stomach do a flip-flop.

  A voice came out of her mouth, but it sounded strange and shaky. “That’s real nice, Hay.”

  “I asked them if they wanted a girl, too, but I guess they don’t.”

  Charlotte looked out over the pasture and nodded her head as if Hay were telling her some everyday news.

  “Uh … well then … when you leaving?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Charlotte nodded again. Tomorrow was Monday. They always helped Vern soap the bridles on Monday.

  “’Course they could still change their minds. Do you think they’ll change their minds, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte looked at his worried face. Getting adopted was what every boy lived for. Even Charlotte had those dreams. Dreams of a home. Dreams of a family. At least Hayward would be in a better place than the orphanage. She shook her head and reassured him.

  “Nah.” She reached out and ruffled his hair. “You’re just what they want, kid.�
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  Charlotte sat down under the maple. She felt like someone had socked the wind from her. Her hands shook. She sat on them to keep them still. Hayward sat down next to her.

  “I’ll write you, Charlotte. Then you’ll be the only one here that gets letters.”

  She looked at Hayward. His ears stuck out hard from under his cap. Charlotte closed her eyes. She realized that she had been hoping for something for a long time. She’d been hoping Hayward’s ears would keep him at the orphanage forever.

  “Charlotte?”

  She opened her eyes and said calmly, “I’m leaving, too.”

  Hayward looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “You can’t. You’re not old enough. The last boy that run off got caught and owed the overseer two more years past sixteen.”

  Charlotte felt a determined anger welling up inside her.

  “Hayward, don’t try to talk sense into me. You’re leavin’ tomorrow. I can’t work with the horses. You know that Mr. Millshark will think of some reason to keep me here forever. I ain’t workin’ in that kitchen for the rest of my days! You and me got plans.”

  Hayward jumped up. “They’ll find you, Charlotte. They always find the runaways. And Millshark, he’s mean. He’ll punish you!”

  “He can’t if he doesn’t catch me,” said Charlotte. “I just know I ain’t stayin’ here to deal with William and Millshark and ol’ Mrs. Boyle. Not without you or Freedom or the horses to keep me company. Now I got to think of a way!”

  Charlotte knew that a young girl couldn’t travel without a chaperon. She stood up and put her hands on her hips and paced around in a circle, staring at the ground. She kicked at a rock until it flew into the air and landed in the pasture. She would need money to leave. And when she got away, where would she go? She would need a job. Who would hire her?

  “Don’t do it, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte looked at him. She looked at his hair stuffed under his cap, his overalls hanging crooked to one side. She already missed him, and he hadn’t even gone yet. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Not even that she couldn’t travel alone. A young boy like Hayward could travel around without question.

  As she considered this, a tendril of an idea began to weave itself around in her mind.

  And a plan began to take shape.

  “I got to, Hay,” she said. “But I’m going to need your help.”

  “CHARLOTTE, YOU LOOK NERVOUS AS A cat,” said Hayward.

  Charlotte looked around to see if anyone was watching. She took the bundle he was holding and stuffed it in the wood box behind the kitchen.

  “It’s all there, Charlotte. Everything you asked for. The overalls, the cap, the boots … everything. Please be careful, Charlotte.”

  “Thanks, Hay. I don’t know what I’da done without you.”

  Hayward was ready to leave. His new family was waiting around front. Charlotte tried to look at him but she couldn’t. She looked at the ground.

  “Charlotte, how will I know where to find you?”

  “I know where you’ll be,” she said. “I’ll find you again, I promise. Anyway, I’ve got something for you to remember me.”

  Charlotte took a narrow piece of leather out of her apron pocket.

  “But that’s your bracelet,” said Hayward.

  “No, I cut it in two, long ways. See?”

  Charlotte held up her wrist. The leather that she had worn since she was a baby was half as wide. She tied the other half around Hayward’s wrist. He was quiet and his eyes were wet. He put his arms around her and buried his head against her apron.

  Charlotte held him and ruffled his hair. She felt sick inside, like she’d swallowed something spoiled.

  “Now get along. They’ll be looking for you.”

  Hayward straightened up. Muddy streaks ran down his face.

  “Good-bye, Charlotte,” he said, walking backward, still looking at her.

  “Good-bye, Hay. I’ll find you. We’re gonna have a ranch, remember? With a big ol’ sign that says PRIVATE PROPERTY. Remember? And foals every spring …”

  She couldn’t finish. She choked on the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. She tried to stop but she couldn’t. They just flowed a river down her face until she couldn’t see him anymore.

  * * *

  Charlotte sat behind the wood box for nearly an hour. She felt achy and empty. Silent, her tears spent, she looked out over the pastures and wondered where she’d be tomorrow. It would be easy to stay here and just go about her business. At least she’d know where she’d be sleeping every night. She’d have regular meals. But she wouldn’t have the things she loved. What did Vern always say? That the easy way ain’t always going to get you anywhere.

  Mrs. Boyle’s voice startled her. “Charlotte, do I have to come out there and get the wood myself? You’re good for nothin’ and slow as molasses!”

  Charlotte jumped up and gathered the wood and carried it into the kitchen. She didn’t want Mrs. Boyle getting her dander up and poking her nose in the wood box. Not today.

  When Charlotte walked back into the kitchen and saw the piles of potatoes waiting for her, she realized that as nervous as she was about running away, she was more afraid to stay. Something bigger than peeling potatoes was nagging at her on the inside. But she still needed help to make her plan work. And there was only one person left who she considered her friend.

  * * *

  Vern always ate dinner in the kitchen, so afterward, when he came out to the kitchen steps, Charlotte was waiting.

  “Well, Miss Charlotte! I already been missin’ you, and those horses already missin’ you, too.”

  Charlotte put her finger up to her lips and waved Vern away from the back steps. When they were safely out of Mrs. Boyle’s earshot, Charlotte looked at him and gathered her courage.

  “Vern, where would somebody pick up a stage around here?”

  “A stage? Well, the southbound picks up in Concord ev’ry Tuesday and Saturday morning, so there’s one comin’ tomorrow. You remember Concord. You rode over there with me to pick up some feed. That’s ’bout all I know. Why? What are you up to?”

  “How much does it cost?” asked Charlotte.

  Vern studied her.

  “Well, it costs some dollars to get a body to the next stop. But that ain’t very far. You got money for a stage ride, Miss Charlotte?”

  “Vern, you know I ain’t got no money. But, I … I got to leave. I ain’t got no good cause to stay here. The only reason they keep me is to take Mrs. Boyle’s place in the kitchen.”

  Worried furrows crinkled up Vern’s forehead.

  “Runnin’ away is a might dangerous thing to do,” said Vern.

  “You ran away once,” said Charlotte.

  Vern tilted his hat back on his head and looked at her.

  “Yes, I did. I never knew my momma or poppa, just like you. I ran from the South to the North and all I left behind was bein’ somebody’s slave. But when I ran, I had folks that helped me. And hid me. You’re a girl. That’s different,” said Vern.

  “It ain’t that different,” said Charlotte.

  Vern looked at her, then toward the kitchen.

  “Well, maybe you’re right. If anybody would wither and die in a kitchen, it’s you,” he said.

  She straightened her shoulders and looked at him directly.

  “I’m goin’, Vern.”

  He shook his head then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Miss Charlotte, anybody know your intentions?”

  “No.”

  “Almighty, you keep it that way.” Vern looked around to see if anyone could hear. “Now, you gotta make it look like lots of things could’ve happened to you so folks won’t know which way you went. And … you need to look different.”

  “I already got that figured out.”

  “I just bet you do,” said Vern.

  “I … I need … a pair of scissors tonight,” said Charlotte. “And some money for the stage. I could pay you back … not right off but down the
line.”

  “I don’t know what you have in mind, Miss Charlotte, and it’s better I don’t, ’cause Mr. Millshark, he’ll be askin’ me ’bout you first thing. I’ll try my best to getcha those things. You be careful. You hear me? You be real careful. You’re headin’ for Concord, right? So let me think. You know I can’t read a scratch so when you get through the woods and come to the town sign, you pile some rocks up around the base of that sign. That way, next week when I get the feed and I see those rocks, I’ll know you made it that far. I’ll be worried sick till then.”

  Charlotte smiled at Vern. She would’ve hugged him, too, if she hadn’t been worried about Mrs. Boyle walking out of the kitchen any minute. She couldn’t let anyone think that Vern might have helped her.

  “Thanks, Vern. I wish I could stay with you and work with the horses, but … I’d be in the kitchen and I’d be missin’ Justice and frettin’ ’cause I wouldn’t get to see Charity’s foal … or help you name it.”

  “I know. I know, Miss Charlotte,” said Vern. “You gotta do what your heart tells you.”

  “I won’t ever forget you,” said Charlotte.

  “I guess I’m not likely to forget you, Miss Charlotte. And don’t you worry ’bout Charity’s foal. I got me a name all picked out for that one, and you did help me. Just came to me. A fine name that stands up real good. Fittin’ for the fine horse it will be. That foal’s gonna be named Charlotte’s Pride.”

  * * *

  Charlotte lay in bed, in her clothes, until after midnight. She thought about Hayward, sleeping in his very own bed, in his very own house with his new family. She wondered what that felt like. Knowing you were home. Knowing there were people in the very next room who cared about you.

  “Don’t forget me, Hay,” she whispered into her pillow.

  When Charlotte was certain that everyone was asleep, she got up and plumped her pillows and laid them in her bed, covering them with the blankets so it looked like she was still sleeping. She crawled out the window and sneaked to the wood box.

  Although the night was clear and bright with moonlight, the wood box was in shadows. Had Vern come through? Charlotte opened the box. Inside was Hayward’s bundle of clothes. She strained her eyes in the dim light. And there, in the corner, was another smaller cloth bundle tied with string. She looked back toward the barn. Thank you, Vern, she thought.