Riding Freedom

by Pam Muñoz Ryan

  She grabbed the two bundles and ran as fast as she could until she was beyond the far pasture. The road to Concord was on the other side of the woods and she would have to hurry to get there by morning.

  In the safety of the trees, she unwrapped Vern’s bundle. He had put the money in a little leather pouch. And there was a sandwich and the shears that they used to trim the horses’ manes. But more than that, the cloth they were wrapped in was a worn piece of a shirt that had been crudely hemmed the size of a large kerchief. One side of the kerchief still had the original buttonholes. Charlotte rubbed it over her cheek. She could still hear Vern saying, “You gotta do what your heart tells you.”

  She found a pool near a fast-moving stream. Then she untied her ribbons, unbraided her hair, and shook it hard. It surrounded her shoulders like a woman’s shawl. She leaned over and looked at herself in the water.

  “Good-bye, Charlotte,” she whispered.

  With a trembling hand, she picked up the scissors and cut off a hank of hair. With every snip, long locks landed in the water and floated downstream in the strong current. She had never cared all that much about her hair, but now she ached for it as it disappeared. She dropped her hair ribbons into the water, and like silky snakes, they drifted away, too.

  When Charlotte stood up, she was surprised at how light-headed she felt, as if those braids had been holding her fast to the ground. She quickly changed into Hay’s clothes and put the sandwich and the money pouch in the big pocket of the overalls. She folded Vern’s makeshift kerchief and tucked it into another smaller pocket.

  She took one last look in the pool. The water reflected the image of a young boy.

  Quickly, Charlotte stuffed her frock and the scissors in the stump of a dead tree, covering them with damp leaves and brush. She floated her apron in the stream, wrapping the strings around the nearby tree brambles so it wouldn’t drift away. Make it look like different things could have happened. If anyone came looking, they’d see her apron and think she had drowned.

  Charlotte cut through the woods and arrived at the main road to Concord with the moon still high. She ran until she got tired, then walked, then ran some more. The stage came early, she reminded herself. But her side had a stitch from running, and she slowed a little. Mrs. Boyle would be fussing when Charlotte didn’t show up for breakfast chores on time, but she’d be too busy to come looking herself. Eventually, she’d send one of the boys. He’d see the bed, with what looked like Charlotte inside, and try to wake her. The boy would report back that Charlotte was missing and then Mrs. Boyle would be furious. She’d march straight to Mr. Millshark.

  Charlotte held her side and started running again. She couldn’t miss that stage.

  BEFORE DAWN, CHARLOTTE CAME UPON the wooden sign for Concord. She stopped and gathered some rocks and piled them up around the base. She pictured Vern riding into town next week and seeing her signal, nodding his head and smiling to himself. At least, she hoped it would be that way. She still had to get on the stage without getting caught.

  Charlotte sat on the bench in front of the livery office and ate the sandwich Vern had packed. A sign in the window said SOUTHBOUND COACH 6:00 A.M. Charlotte figured that with luck Mrs. Boyle wouldn’t know for sure that she was gone until about 7:00. By that time, she just had to be far enough away. When the ticket office opened, she gathered Vern’s coins and bought a one-way to Manchester.

  Charlotte’s heart leaped when she heard the pounding hooves. She looked toward the end of the road where it led into town. Then, out of a dust cloud, she saw the horses.

  Harnessed, six handsome, great-limbed horses trotted toward her. They were mostly gray mustangs, but there was one bay. And a sorrel, like Freedom. Healthy and well tended, they seemed eager to work in the traces that wove them together. Behind them, the driver sat atop the stagecoach, holding the reins, in perfect control. Charlotte had heard about six and eight horses being hitched at one time, but she’d never seen it. What would it feel like to have that many horses step to your call?

  The driver yelled, “Whoa!” and the horses slowed.

  There was a jingling and rattling and creaking when the coach settled in front of the hotel. The pressure brake screeched as the driver secured the wheels.

  The coach gleamed with varnish in the morning sun. The wheels were painted yellow, and printed on the doors were the words U.S. MAIL. It was the most beautiful thing that Charlotte had ever seen. She walked over and rubbed her hand across the shiny hickory wood. Then she petted the horse that reminded her, too much, of Freedom.

  The driver assigned the seats right away. Charlotte climbed aboard and found herself wedged between two plump women.

  “Hello there, young man,” said one of the women.

  Charlotte nodded.

  “I’m Mrs. Mapes and this is Mrs. Earhart, my traveling companion. What’s your name?”

  Charlotte stared blankly at Mrs. Mapes.

  “My name?” she asked.

  “Yes, your name, dear?”

  “Charley,” said Charlotte. “My name’s Charley.”

  “Well, Charley, it’s nice to meet you. We’re traveling to the end of the line so I guess we’re in for a long ride together.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Charlotte, and pulled the cap tighter over her head.

  The stage began rolling and rocking over the countryside. Charlotte watched farms and lush woods moving across the coach window. She wished she could sit up-top with the driver so she could see more. Watch him drive the team. Ask him about the horses’ names. She felt excited, as if something new and good was about to happen. What was Hayward doing today, waking up in his new home? She would have a home someday. But not if she’d stayed at the orphanage. Millshark and Mrs. Boyle would’ve seen to that. Now, she felt certain that anything was possible. Vern used to say that plants can’t breathe and grow in a box that’s too tight. Now she knew what he meant.

  Soon Charlotte fell sound asleep against Mrs. Mapes. She woke up now and then, but with the two ladies droning on with their gossip, and the rocking of the stagecoach, she quickly slipped back into her slumber, happy to be traveling farther and farther away from the orphanage.

  It was hours later when the stage pulled in to the end of the line in Worcester, Massachusetts. Why hadn’t someone woken Charlotte up and made her get off sooner? She didn’t recognize the driver. Drivers must have changed at one of the stops. Maybe he thought she was with the two women. She had fallen asleep against one of them.

  After the new driver helped the passengers out of the cramped coach, Charlotte stretched and stood in the street looking up one side and down the other. Guests headed toward the hotel with their satchels and luggage. A burst of laughter erupted from the pub. People came and went from the shops on the street, some in fancier clothes than Charlotte had ever seen. The other passengers drifted away to their destinations and Charlotte soon found herself alone on the side of the road.

  What should she do with herself? She’d run away but she had nowhere to go, really. She didn’t know a soul. She had no money except for a few remaining coins. She hadn’t thought this far. It was getting dark and suddenly she felt frightened and lonely.

  Charlotte went over and stroked the horses. At least they felt familiar. The driver came around and started leading the team toward the livery.

  “Want some help?” asked Charlotte.

  The driver began unhitching the team. “No thankee. I take care of my horses myself. But you’re welcome to watch me put ’em to bed.” The driver chuckled. “Boys and horses. Can’t seem to keep ’em apart.”

  Charlotte followed him into the stable and watched him take the harnesses off the horses, rub the horses down, and put them in their stalls.

  “I can cart some water for you,” said Charlotte.

  “Good boy, do it then.”

  Charlotte hauled buckets of water to the stalls, talking to the horses as she went. Then she helped the driver fork in the straw.

  “You�
��re right handy with them chores,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” said Charlotte.

  “You live around here?”

  “No, sir, well, I just moved to these parts.”

  “Well, get along now. I’ll be closing the barn.”

  Charlotte backed away and moved toward the main door, stopping and petting each horse as she went. It was safe here. She looked around and noticed the lofts above her. When the driver disappeared into the tack room to hang up some bridles, Charlotte took a chance.

  As fast as she could, she climbed up a ladder and flung herself into the loft. She kept her head down and lay there without moving or making a sound. Her heart was pounding as loud as a drum beating. Could the driver hear it, too? He was below her now, whistling and finishing his chores. Finally, he walked out and shut the big barn doors for the night.

  Charlotte peeked over the loft into the stalls. Vern would be fussing a blue streak if he saw how poorly these stalls were kept. She wasn’t that tired, but she was hungry. She climbed down and started nosing around the barn. There wasn’t a bite of food anywhere. Out of habit, she picked up a rake and started cleaning a stall. Then she straightened the bridles in the tack room. Later, she climbed back into the loft. Her stomach growled and complained but finally, she slept.

  She dreamed about mush and potatoes and soup.

  The next morning, Charlotte woke to the sounds of a busy stable. Stock tenders called to one another. Bridles and traces jangled. The stable master barked out orders.

  Charlotte peered over the edge of the loft and barely moved. She couldn’t just climb down and appear. They might throw her out. She listened to the comings-and-goings for some hours until things settled down. Maybe it was lunchtime.

  When no one was moving about and all she could hear was the blow and whinnies of the horses, she pushed up the loft window. It opened onto a low roof. She quietly climbed out, shinnied down a wooden support beam, and landed behind the main barn.

  Hungrier than she could ever remember, she went to the general store and with her remaining money bought some apples. She kept hidden, mainly behind buildings, moving from place to place every hour or so. Before dark, she watched some boys having races in a field. It would have been easy to join them. Easy to beat them all. But there were too many questions that Charlotte didn’t want to answer. Besides, if Millshark were looking for her, everyone would know about a new kid who could run circles around the rest.

  After the boys got called home for supper, she stayed hidden until dark settled in. She thought about the home-cooked meals they’d be eating. Several times, she took out the kerchief that Vern had made for her and fingered the button-holes. She wondered at all the places it had been. And all the places it was going.

  When there was no more activity at the stables, she climbed back in the loft window and quietly waited until the barn was closed for the night. Again, she cleaned the stalls. She wondered how long she could keep doing this. And again she had trouble sleeping, fitfully tossing in the hayloft with dreams of running and running and almost being caught.

  When she woke, someone was standing over her with a pitchfork aimed at her face.

  CHARLOTTE STOOD UP AND BACKED away from the solid-looking, bald-pated man.

  “What’re you doing in my stable?” he said.

  “I-I needed a place to sleep. I’m sorry,” said Charlotte.

  “You the one who cleaned my stalls?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He lowered the pitchfork and looked at Charlotte closely.

  She reached down and grabbed her cap and pulled it on.

  “You’re a scrawny-lookin’ thing,” said the man.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You live around here?”

  “Uh, I just moved to these parts. I’m-I’m looking for a job.”

  “Where’re your folks?” he asked.

  “They … they live out past town. We’re on hard times so … so they sent me in to find work.”

  “How’d you get in here?”

  “I helped the stage driver bed his horses …”

  “Well, I don’t need any help. You need to get on home.”

  Charlotte wanted to say that she didn’t have a home. She wanted to say that she was on her own and that she needed help. But she knew she couldn’t say those things. She didn’t know this man. He might turn her in to Millshark, for all she knew.

  “I’ll … I’ll work for free if I can sleep and eat here. I can soap those bridles for you. Make ’em look like new.”

  The man rubbed his hand over his bald head.

  “I’m the best groomer around. I can ride and I can …”

  His face softened. “Well, you did a right smart job on the stalls. The bridles are pretty pitiful. I could use a bit of help. But I’m moving my stables to Rhode Island in a few months. Providence. So don’t be getting ideas about staying long. You can sleep in the loft, since you’re already doing it. I’ve been mucking and raking for weeks without a boy. But I don’t tolerate no trouble.”

  “No, sir,” said Charlotte.

  “Name’s Ebeneezer Balch. Go on over and eat at the cafe. Tell ’em I sent you. Then come back and get to work. You sure are scrawny for a growin’ boy!”

  * * *

  Ebeneezer told her that he’d gone through more stable boys than he cared to count and that they all had been as lazy as pigs. Charlotte was determined to show him that she was reliable. She put in long hours in the busy stable, cleaning stalls, forking hay, and grooming and feeding the horses. She was the first one up in the morning and the last in bed at night. If there was time, she mended harnesses without being asked. She kept thinking that, just maybe, if she worked hard enough, Ebeneezer would need help in Rhode Island.

  But more than that, she loved the horses, always talking and clucking to them like they were her babies. Before long she could coax even the stubborn ones to do almost anything, with just the murmurings of her voice. The stock tenders shook their heads in amazement. And more than once, Charlotte caught Ebeneezer watching her with the horses.

  She’d been there several months when he came into the tack room. He looked unhappy.

  “Charley, sit down.”

  Charlotte knew what was coming. All the preparations had been made to move the business. An uncertain fear crept over her. What would she do after Ebeneezer left?

  Ebeneezer cleared his throat and said, “A man was in town this morning tellin’ about a runaway girl from an orphanage all the way over in New Hampshire. Said she might have drowned in the river, but might have lived, too. He’s going up and down the stage line looking for her. Wanted to know if I knew anything about her ’cause, hear tell, she’s real good with horses. She come up missing about the time you showed up here. You know anything about her?”

  Charlotte looked down at the bridle she held in her hands. She felt the blood draining from her face.

  “No, sir,” she said. She didn’t like lying to Ebeneezer.

  “Well, I told him I never seen or heard nothin’. He wanted to know if I had a stable boy. I didn’t like the looks or the sounds of him one bit. Said he was ready to punish the girl and wanted to find her in the worst way. Hmmph! Acted like he wanted to come pokin’ around my stables. I told him there ain’t no use, that all I had around my place was top-notch stock tenders. Ain’t that right?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Charlotte.

  “Anyhow, ain’t been no girls around here, has there?”

  Ebeneezer stepped back and looked at Charlotte in a way that he never had before. Did he know?

  Charlotte winced. “No, sir,” she said.

  “Well, that’s what I told him. So, she probably did drown. Yep, that’s what I think. Drowned in the river. Ain’t that sad.”

  He cleared his throat again.

  “Now, another thing. I don’t think this fellow’s going to give up easy, cocky as he is. I suspect he’ll be askin’ around town and probably showin’ up here to ask questions. Everyone
knows I got a new hand.”

  Charlotte nodded. Her mouth felt dry. What if Millshark showed up here and Ebeneezer got in trouble for hiring her?

  The thought of Mr. Millshark finding her and taking her back to the orphanage made her palms sweaty. Made her heart pound. Maybe she should leave. But leaving would mean she’d have to start all over again. She would need to find someplace else to work. And sleep. And eat.

  And hide.

  Charlotte stood up and dropped the bridle. She edged toward the door.

  “I-I need to get on home, you know, since you’re moving the stables and all. I best get going.”

  Ebeneezer held up both of his hands to block her way.

  “Just stay put,” he said. “Now listen. In all my days, I only seen one other person could work with the horses like you. Could put a spell on them and could ride … could ride like … well, I only seen it one other time. I got me a notion and maybe I’m crazy but I got to see if I’m right. If you can do what I think you can do, I’m not about to let you go.”

  As Ebeneezer walked out of the tack room, he said, “Bring around six. I need a wagon hitched.”

  Charlotte tried to concentrate on what he’d said. Bring around six horses? Do what he thought she could do? Confused, she found the traces for six-in-the-hand and brought the horses around, one at a time, to hitch them.

  When each horse was secured to the traces, Ebeneezer said, “Charley, you drive.”

  Charlotte stared at Ebeneezer.

  “I … I ain’t drove six-in-the-hand before,” she said. “I drove two, but not six.”

  “I know that,” said Ebeneezer. “Get up here and let’s take a run, unless you’re scared?”

  “I ain’t scared,” said Charlotte.

  She climbed into the wagon. What was Ebeneezer up to? She felt like he was testing her, almost daring her to drive the team. He handed her the whip, but she wouldn’t take it.

  She’d never whipped a horse in her life.