For a moment she stopped next to Caleb. “Peter and I are going to the depot,” she said, knowing that Caleb could ask more questions without her.
When Libby and Peter headed for the Alton railroad depot, they had their first taste of climbing the steep hills. Once, Libby stopped to catch her breath. Before long she felt the tug of muscles at the back of her legs. By the time she and Peter reached the depot, those muscles ached.
The depot was built of huge limestone blocks three feet thick. As in most stations of that time, one waiting room was set aside for men, another for women and children. But Peter found his way into a smaller room.
A man sat at a desk, using a telegraph. As his finger jiggled a lever, Libby heard short and long clicks and knew she was hearing Morse code, a dot-dash way of communicating. Though Peter could not hear the clicks, his gaze was glued to the telegraph operator and what he was doing.
“Telegraph,” Libby wrote on the boy’s slate. She herself had seen a telegraph only a few times before.
“I know,” Peter said.
More than once Libby had felt surprised by all that Peter knew. Wherever he went, Peter watched every move that people made.
When Libby wanted to leave, Peter wanted to stay. The third time she tugged on his arm, he said, “Samuel Morse has a deaf wife.”
Libby stared at him. “You’re sure?” Then she remembered to shrug her shoulders and raise her eyebrows as if in a question.
Taking one of Libby’s hands, Peter held it palm up. Using two fingers, he began tapping into her palm.
“That’s how they talked?” Libby asked. “That’s how he got the idea for the Morse code?” Then she remembered to write.
As Peter nodded, his grin stretched from ear to ear. A moment later he suddenly turned his back on the operator. Edging close to Libby, Peter stood between her and a man who had entered the room. When Libby would have spoken, Peter put a finger across his lips as though to say, “Shhh!”
Without giving Libby a chance to speak, Peter grabbed hold of her arm. Still with his back toward the man, he guided Libby through another door into a waiting room. From there he hurried Libby outside and around part of the building.
Libby felt more impatient by the minute. First Peter hadn’t wanted to leave. Now with no reason at all, he dragged her away. But when she tried to complain, his grip tightened on her arm. Again he laid his finger across his lips.
Only then did Libby see what Peter was doing. While standing out of the direct view of anyone in the building, Peter looked through a window into the telegraph office. “Danger!” he whispered.
Libby’s heart lurched. She wrote on Peter’s slate. “The swindler?”
Leaning forward, she looked beyond Peter into the room. No doubt about it, the man fit the exact description Peter had given her in Galena. As the man talked to the telegraph operator, Libby studied the swindler. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Broad back. About five feet, ten inches tall.
Peter was right in yet another way. The man had money, yes. Libby knew enough about clothes to guess how much he had spent on them. But he didn’t know how to wear clothes. The expensive suit jacket did not fit, and his tie had slipped out of position.
Just then the swindler put a piece of paper on the desk next to the telegraph operator. I’d like to know what that paper says, Libby thought as the operator began tapping. For a moment he stopped, glancing up at the swindler, as though making sure he sent the right message.
A flicker of impatience crossed the swindler’s face. Reaching forward, he pointed to the paper.
Something about his look nudged Libby’s memory. He’s impatient, Libby thought. But that wasn’t what she needed to remember. What was it?
Then one word flicked into her mind. Anger. How would that man look if he were angry? Libby studied his face. He was clean-shaven and wore a hat. What if his face was red with anger?
Libby gasped. In that moment she knew who she was seeing. The man who robbed Pa’s safe! The man who stole from Jordan’s church and from Pa were one and the same person. Edward Dexter!
Libby tugged on Peter’s arm, then signed Caleb’s name. When Peter didn’t want to leave, Libby insisted that they stay together. “Pa told me I’m supposed to take care of you,” she wrote with three exclamation marks after her words. “Pa said we need to get help from a policeman or sheriff—someone like that.”
Half running, half walking, Libby and Peter hurried back to the river for Caleb. By the time they again climbed the steep hill, Edward Dexter was gone.
“It’s not your fault, Libby,” Caleb said when he saw the disappointment in her face. “No swindler is going to stay around waiting for you to catch him.”
“But I’m sure he was the man who robbed Pa. And Peter thinks he’s the swindler who stole from Jordan.”
To find the man this soon was better than they had hoped for. But it also helped to be sure they were looking for one man, not two.
“Maybe he went to the address Serena found,” Libby said. “If we go there, we’ll find him again.”
“Maybe.” Caleb lowered his voice. “But I need to get back to Jordan. It’s too dangerous for him where he is. In another hour or so, the riverfront will be empty unless a steamboat comes in. When the time is right, we’ll go through a tunnel and find someone with the Underground Railroad. Jordan needs a better hiding place than a pile of wood anyone can search. If I say ‘Run!’ do what I do.”
As they returned to the waterfront, the setting sun cast long shadows across the river into town. Stopping along the side of the street, Libby took the slate from Peter and explained. But Peter didn’t want to take the time needed to write a message. Instead he taught Libby and Caleb the sign for Run away from someone! Holding out his left hand, he swished his right hand against it with a swift upward motion.
Setting out again, Caleb led them back to the wharf. A steamboat was leaving now, and Caleb walked slowly, as though watching it turn into the current. While the shadows lengthened, he and Libby and Peter walked up and down, acting as if everything along the river was of interest to them.
In the dusk that followed the setting of the sun, Caleb nodded toward a steep rock wall at the edge of the waterfront. “Take a walk, Libby. You and Peter.”
At first she wondered why Caleb sent her and Peter on. Then, as she drew closer to the steep hillside, she saw a crease in the land with a stream running down over the rock.
Not far from where the stream found its way to the river, Libby noticed a young pine tree, and near that, a small garden. In spite of the failing light, she saw hollyhocks rising tall and lovely next to the rock hillside.
A part of Libby felt pleased that someone had taken the time to plant flowers that close to a busy wharf and the railroad tracks that ran along the river. At the same time it made Libby curious. Turning, she looked back to where Caleb leaned against a pile of wood.
Just then Libby caught a movement—Jordan standing up. Together he and Caleb crossed the tracks and soon reached Libby and Peter.
Going beyond them, Caleb hurried around the small pine tree. There he opened a door in the side of the rock wall. “Hurry,” he whispered.
As Jordan slipped past Caleb into the darkness, Libby and Peter followed. Behind them, Libby heard the closing of a door, then Peter’s gasp.
CHAPTER 10
The Deserted House
Where are we?” Libby’s voice echoed against rock walls.
“Shhh!” Caleb warned, and Libby heard the sound of scratching. Then the flame of a candle glowed. But it was Peter who held the candle, not Caleb, as Libby expected.
The moment her gaze met his, Peter looked guilty. The bag on his back was still open, as though he had carried the candle and matches there.
So! Libby thought. He still has a candle and matches. Just wait till I tell Pa!
As though reading Libby’s thoughts in her face, Peter’s head shot up. “I’m not on the boat!”
That’s true, Libby thought and didn�
�t know what to do.
Already Caleb was lighting more candles. A small shelf near the door held a supply of them, as well as matches. As Caleb handed her one, Libby held it up. They were in a tunnel lined with brick. A steep stairway led upward, disappearing into the darkness.
“Go ahead,” Caleb said, his voice still a whisper. “You’ll find a well partway up.”
“A well?” Libby whispered back. “Caleb, how do you find these strange places?”
In the flickering light, Libby saw his grin and felt his relief that Jordan was in a safer place. “A man told me about this tunnel,” Caleb said. “He also said there’s an Underground Railroad station called the Rock House.”
As Jordan started up the stairs, Peter grabbed a hand railing on the wall next to the steps. With Libby and Caleb following, they climbed stairs until the tunnel widened. Off to one side was the kind of three-foot-high round brick wall that surrounded a well. From a strong wooden beam above the well hung a rope with a pail.
“Spring-fed,” Caleb said as they all stopped for a drink. “It’s part of the town’s water supply.”
Walking on, they continued climbing for what must have been at least two or three blocks. More than once Libby stopped to rest and catch her breath. It seemed she had been climbing forever. Then she remembered the steep hills she had seen from the boat.
Still clutching his candle, Peter grabbed a railing each time they started out again. Where there was no railing, he caught hold of Libby’s elbow and followed close behind.
Is he afraid of the dark? Libby wondered when he wavered as he walked. It didn’t seem like Peter.
At last they came out in what looked like a cellar. Here, too, a small shelf was built into the brick to hold a supply of candles.
“What do we do now?” Jordan asked.
“I don’t know,” Caleb said. “I thought there would be someone here to meet us.”
“Do you suppose this house is an Underground Railroad station?” Libby asked. Along the way she had noticed more than one door, as if different families used the tunnel to go for water.
“I’m sure it’s a cellar,” Caleb said. “But I don’t know who lives here. The man who told me about the Rock House said it was a couple miles up from the river. We can’t possibly have come that far.”
Just then Libby heard a sound, as if someone walked above them. Holding up her candle, she saw the wooden beams of a floor.
“What if the wrong person finds us?” Libby whispered, feeling more creepy by the minute. In the candlelight Peter’s eyes were wide, as if he wasn’t sure that he liked what was happening.
“I am starting to feel like a mouse in a trap,” Jordan said.
“Caleb, is there some signal you’re supposed to give?” Libby asked.
“If there is, I don’t know it.”
By now Jordan was exploring. A short flight of steps, different from the one they had been on, led upward. At the top was a wooden door. Jordan blew out his candle, then opened the door a crack. Cool night air swept in.
While the rest of them waited at the bottom of the steps, Jordan took a peek outside. “Tell you what,” he whispered as he closed the door again. “I am going to walk out on the street and let some Underground Railroad conductor find me.”
“Look confused,” Caleb said. “That’s how I spot someone who needs help.”
Jordan grinned. “That won’t be hard. But I have a sneaking idea what might happen.”
“If there’s a Railroad conductor around, he’ll talk to you,” Caleb said, as though trying to sound hopeful. “If there’s a slave catcher—”
Caleb didn’t have to finish.
“Oh, Caleb, don’t tease,” Libby said. “Purposely set yourself up to be found by a slave catcher?” They could be headed into big trouble.
“Should we run?” Peter asked.
Libby signed back. “I don’t know.”
But Jordan wasn’t going to wait for Libby to make up her mind. Without another word he opened the door, slipped out, and quietly closed the door behind him.
As Libby, Caleb, and Peter waited for what seemed forever, the floorboards above them creaked again.
What if the wrong person comes down in the cellar? Libby wondered again.
In the flickering light, tall shadows leaped up, seeming to surround them. Then a mouse ran across the floor and under the bottom step. Libby gulped and backed away.
“Are you scared, Libby?” Peter asked.
Libby felt ashamed. Pa had told her to be responsible for Peter. Right now she felt as if he was taking care of her.
Then quietly, on oiled hinges, the door to the outside opened.
“C’mon!” Jordan whispered.
“Ahhh!” Libby breathed deep with relief. Jordan must have found a man from the Underground Railroad.
But when Libby hurried outside, a fairly small, light-skinned woman stood there.
“Put out your candle,” she whispered, and Libby obeyed, embarrassed that she had forgotten.
“Follow me.”
Soon Libby lost track of the streets and the direction. She only knew that the woman moved quickly, wasting no time in bringing them into a frame clapboard church. When she closed the door behind them, she pushed aside a heavy curtain enough to let in a sliver of moonlight. Then she asked, “Why are you here?”
“These are my friends,” Jordan said quickly. “I am looking for my daddy.”
“You think he’s taken the Underground Railroad?”
“If he’s gotten this far.” Jordan explained what had happened. “I think my daddy swam across the river. I want to find him—to tell him where our family is.”
“You came to just the right person.”
“Is this your church?” Libby asked.
“It is the Lord’s church,” the woman answered.
“Where are we?” Libby asked.
“The Alton AME Church. African Methodist Episcopal. My name is Priscilla Baltimore.”
“Miz Priscilla,” Jordan asked. “Is there some way to find out if my daddy made it this far?”
“I’ll ask around,” the woman told him. “If I don’t hear anything, he might have crossed the river farther up. Tell me where he started from.”
When Jordan finished his story, Miss Priscilla said, “I can’t make the trip tonight. If I need to find out more, I’ll row across the river tomorrow night.”
“Do you want me to go with you and help you row?” Caleb asked quickly.
“Thank you kindly,” she answered. “But if I go by myself, I’ll have an empty boat for bringing back any runaways I find.”
In the dark Libby wished she could see Caleb’s expression. Clearly Priscilla Baltimore was a woman who did not sit home waiting for fugitives to come to her. She went out and found them.
“I’ll bring food before I take you farther on,” she said.
Libby had no idea how hungry she was until Miss Priscilla returned with a kettle of soup. To Libby’s amazement she dished it up with only the one sliver of light from where the curtain was pushed slightly aside.
While they finished eating, Priscilla Baltimore talked to Jordan. “I’ll take you to the Rock House. You’ll be safe there till I learn something about your daddy.”
When Miss Priscilla returned for Libby, Caleb, and Peter, she told them, “We’re hiding a lot of people right now. Since no one is looking for you, you can stay at Major Hunter’s. They have a lodging place where you can get food and sleep.”
“We’re also looking for a swindler,” Caleb said. “We have an address that might help us find him. Can you tell us where it is?”
On the way to Major Hunter’s, Miss Priscilla brought them to the address on the piece of paper Serena had found. Now, in the middle of the night, the house looked deserted, as if no one had lived there for some time. Libby and Caleb decided to come back the next day.
In the light of the moon, Miss Priscilla led them on through the empty streets. At last she stopped outside the l
odging place. Far above, against the night sky, was the outline of two chimneys—one on either end of the house.
When Miss Priscilla rapped a special knock, the door quietly opened. Major Hunter’s wife, Rebecca, stood in the dark, ready to welcome them. Though Miss Priscilla didn’t say so, Libby felt sure that Major and Mrs. Hunter were leaders in the Underground Railroad.
That night Libby had a small room all to herself and sank down into a soft bed. Yet her last waking thought was about runaway slaves who walked all night, then slept in whatever place they could find. In order to reach freedom, how many of them were cold and hungry and afraid at this very moment? When the sun came up, how many fugitives would sleep in the woods or in a wet, snake-filled swamp?
In the morning Rebecca Hunter served Libby, Caleb, and Peter a big breakfast with eggs and ham and thick slices of bread. While they were eating, Libby heard the chink, chink, chink of a hammer striking a chisel.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Mrs. Hunter smiled. “Our friend John Livingston asked a man to check our chimneys. Reverend Livingston used to run the press for another friend of ours, Elijah Lovejoy.”
“Mr. Lovejoy was your friend?” Caleb asked, as though hardly daring to believe what he’d heard.
Mrs. Hunter nodded, a shadow of sadness in her eyes.
“Will you tell me about him?” Caleb asked. Some time before, he had told Libby that a mob killed Elijah Lovejoy at Alton, then threw his fourth printing press into the river.
“Elijah was a teacher, writer, newspaper editor,” Mrs. Hunter said. “A Presbyterian minister, a man of God. Do you know all that?”
Caleb nodded. “Elijah Lovejoy is my hero.”
“Then you want to know what he said and wrote. I have extra copies of his most famous words. Would you like to take them along when you leave?”
Caleb’s face shone as though unable to believe such a great gift.
“But now, while you’re here, let me tell you some of the words I remember.” Mrs. Hunter cleared her throat, as though wanting to be sure she gave the words the way Elijah Lovejoy did.
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