Freedom Bound by Jean Rae Baxter

hour
while he feeds?” she asked.
    Charlotte, seeing nowhere in the front room to sit down
without displacing a child, decided that this was a good opportunity to go for a walk.
    It was a bright, clear morning. She decided to stroll down
to the wharves on the Cooper River to watch the ships until
it was time to pick up Noah.

    After Charlotte had finished her walk and taken Noah back
to Stoll’s Alley, Mrs. Doughty had another task for her. It wastime to pick up the load of laundry for washing the next day.
    â€œKeep thine ears and eyes open when thee goes about
town,” said Mrs. Doughty. “News travels fast in Charleston.
There may be talk about last night.”
    â€œI’ll do my best, for I’d surely like to know what’s happened to Jammy and Phoebe.”
    It was mid-afternoon. The sky had clouded over since
earlier in the day and a chilly wind was blowing from the
harbour.
    The customer’s slave woman had the laundry bundle
ready. Handing it over in a businesslike manner, she showed
no inclination to chat.
    The laundry bundle was large and awkward to carry. Charlotte’s arms and shoulders strained under its weight, and she
could hardly see over it or around it. What a sad sight she
must present, she thought, wearing her shabby gown and
carrying a load of dirty laundry. At least she was unlikely to
meet anyone she knew. That was something to be thankful
for.
    Her gown had been a good one once. She had worn it on
the trek north when her family had fled from the Mohawk
Valley, and it had served her for three years in the Loyalist
camp on Carleton Island. Now, its deep blue faded to nondescript grey, it made her look like any poor washerwoman
on her rounds.
    And this was a good thing because, if she wanted to listen
for gossip, she must be inconspicuous.
    At a street corner, three redcoats stood chatting. Perhapsthey were discussing last night’s ruckus in the street. Affecting a weary manner, she approached as closely as she dared
and leaned against a lamppost, as if needing its support.
    The soldiers were not talking about slaves or slave catchers.
Their subject was a recent battle fought at a place called
Cowpens.
    Cowpens! It sounded like a barnyard, not a battlefield.
    Apparently Cowpens was a place in the backcountry
where the rebels had recently defeated an army of British
and Loyalist troops. The three redcoats assured each other
that this was just a minor setback. As they discussed the
battle, it became clear to Charlotte that their conversation
would shed no light upon slave catcher activities last night.
She walked on.
    The next place she stopped was in front of a coffee house,
where two periwigged gentlemen in frockcoats stood chatting in the doorway. One sported a dark green coat. The
other’s coat was navy blue.
    She bent her head to listen.
    The gentlemen were criticizing England’s policy regarding slaves. It wasn’t that either of them supported the revolution. Certainly not! God save the King! But to arm escaped
slaves was dangerous. Who knew when they might turn
upon the very people who set them free?
    This conversation sounded promising. She waited and,
sure enough, in a few moments she heard a word she had
been waiting for.
    â€œJammy.”
    Charlotte trudged over to the wall, leaned against it, and
heaved a weary sigh. If the gentlemen noticed her, they
would think she was simply resting for a minute and not
paying attention to them at all.
    â€œThe boy’s run away three times,” said the gentleman in
green. “He’ll hang when they catch him. He overpowered
the slave catcher, knocked him senseless, and ran away
shouting, ‘Phoebe, I’m comin’ back for you!’ The other slave
catcher was so busy hanging on to the girl that he couldn’t
help his partner. But he heard what the boy said.”
    The gentleman in the blue coat laughed out loud.
“‘Phoebe, I’m comin’ back for you!’” he