Libby leaped to her feet. Filled with panic, she cried out, “Caleb!”
CHAPTER 3
Friend Caleb
Just a foot of dirt remained between the front of the wagon and the edge of the bluff. Again Jordan and Nate moved back, bracing their feet on solid ground. Standing behind Nate, Libby took up the end of the rope. With all three of them hanging on, Caleb crawled out on the narrow strip of ground. Moments later he reached safety.
Only then did Libby draw a deep breath of relief. When she looked around, she saw the horses farther down the road. Instead of a lead rope, reins stretched between them and a tree. No longer able to run, Bob tossed his head, his eyes still wild with fear.
Like a matchstick, the pole at the front of the wagon was broken into pieces. The front boards were also shattered beyond use. Seeing them, Libby remembered Nate. “Did you jump?” she asked him.
He nodded. “About two seconds before we hit.”
A moment later Libby saw people coming from all directions to help them. While some of the men rubbed down the sweating horses, others worked together to turn the wagon upright. When they found that two of the wheels still rolled, they pushed the wagon across the road, lodging it against the upward side of the bluff.
With Nate leading the horses, Libby and the boys once more started toward the riverfront. They had walked only a few steps when a farmer stopped to ask if everyone was all right. As soon as Nate tied the lead rope for his horses to the end of the farmer’s wagon, he climbed up to the high seat. Libby, Caleb, and Jordan sat down in the wagon bed.
Leaning against one side of the wagon, Libby covered her eyes with her hands. She wanted to blot out all memory of the runaway horses. Yet, even with her eyes closed, she saw them again. Just thinking about their frantic race down the steep hill, Libby began to shake. I never want to ride in a wagon again!
Then, as she felt the boards beneath her, Libby knew she was doing just that. Embarrassed by her weakness, she forced herself to look up. “What happened?” she asked Jordan.
“The hold back broke,” he said.
“The hold back?” Libby didn’t know what he was talking about.
“A strap,” Jordan explained. “It keep the neck yoke tight to the horse.”
“The neck yoke broke too?” Maybe that was one of the lurches she felt.
“Yes’m. The wagon started runnin’ up on the horses. The singletrees—”
“Singletree?” Libby was lost again.
“A crossbar behind each horse,” Caleb said quickly. “They’re part of the wagon.”
Jordan grinned. “When them singletrees start slappin’ against them horses’ heels, whoo–ee! Them horses spooked!”
Libby wasn’t sure she understood it all. Already she felt her bruises, but she also felt grateful that she was alive. Still, she was curious. “Jordan, how do you know so much about horses?”
Jordan straightened and lifted his head in the proud look Libby had come to know. “That’s why I has value,” he said.
“Value?”
Jordan glanced toward Nate and the farmer. When he spoke, his voice was low. “That’s why I is worth a big reward. I knows more about horses than any other colored boy I know.”
“Is that right, Jordan?” Even Caleb looked surprised. “How did you learn?”
“Before my daddy got sold away he taught me. He said, ‘Jordan, you listen up now. You learn everything I teach you ’cause if you has value you has an easier life.’” Jordan shook his head. “Someday when I git my family free, I is goin’ to prove my value. I is goin’ to show my daddy how much he taught me.”
“I thought you didn’t know where he is,” Libby said.
“I ain’t got no idea where he is. But when Momma and my sisters and my brother is free, I is goin’ to find him.”
The moment they reached downtown Stillwater, Caleb hunted up the village marshal to report the escaped prisoner. The marshal was glad Caleb had told him. Yet he shook his head at still another escape.
When Libby and the boys returned to the waterfront, they found the steamboat they had seen from the top of the bluff. A smaller boat than the Christina, it was the kind that usually traveled up and down the St. Croix River. They had no way of knowing if it had gone into St. Paul. Nor could they tell if the boat had picked up passengers who might know the latest news and remember Jordan.
When it was time to say goodbye, Nate grinned at Libby. “If you come back to Stillwater, I’ll give you another ride,” he said.
As Libby shuddered, Nate’s eyes grew serious. “I’m sorry, Libby. Really sorry about what happened.”
Only then could Libby smile. “It was a great view, Nate. Thanks for trying. I know it wasn’t your fault.”
“Next time I’ll take better care of you,” he promised.
As Libby looked up, she saw Caleb watching them.
When Libby went on board the Christina, her dog, Samson, met her at the top of the gangplank. A big black Newfoundland, he had white patches on his nose, muzzle, chest, and the tips of his toes. Dropping down on her knees, Libby gave him a big hug.
As if he sensed that she needed comfort, Samson reached out his long tongue and tried to lick her. Though Libby edged away from his slobbering, she felt better.
Soon the Christina put out into Lake St. Croix. As the boat steamed upstream, Libby, Caleb, and Jordan watched from the main deck. The water was crowded with the logs Libby had seen from the bluff.
Two miles above the village, lumbermen had built a large boom—a barrier made of a chain of floating logs. Stretched between long islands and the high bluffs on both sides of the river, the boom caught logs coming down the St. Croix River. Once collected, these logs were measured and sorted according to the owner’s mark on the end of each log.
Some of these logs went to a Stillwater sawmill. Others floated downstream in rafts.
In the open water below the boom, men balanced on the spinning logs. Wearing boots with sharp spikes in the sole and heel, each of them held a long pole called a pike. Its point tapered down into a two-inch thread that looked like a screw. Using the pikes, the men guided the logs into long strings that would then be made into rafts.
“Why are all the men wearing red shirts?” Libby asked.
“If a man falls into the river, it’s easier to see him,” Caleb explained.
Soon the Christina nosed into the riverbank below the boom. On the sandstone bluff above the boat was a large cookhouse where the Red Shirts had their meals. According to Caleb, the cooks often fed six hundred men a day.
In the side of the bluff and below the cookhouse was a cave used to store food and supplies. The minute the Christina’s gangplank went down, roustabouts started unloading cargo. As the laborers carried supplies into the cave, Libby hurried up to the hurricane deck. There she knelt down at her favorite spot for watching what was going on. From behind the railing she could see the front part of the main deck, though two decks below.
As Samson dropped down beside her, Libby ran her fingers through the long hair at the back of his neck. When she scratched behind his ears, Samson’s mouth stretched wide, as though trying to smile. Again he seemed to sense how shaky Libby still felt.
One moment Libby felt glad for the way Caleb had watched out for her. The next moment she trembled just thinking about how close they had come to the edge of the bluff. It reminded Libby of the important promise she had made only a few days before. Going beyond all her fears, she had asked God for His love and forgiveness.
Now Libby clutched that memory to herself. If something had happened to me, I would have been ready to die.
Sitting there on the deck, Libby felt even more grateful to the God she was learning to know in a deeper way. “Thanks for protecting me,” Libby prayed softly. “Thanks for watching over all of us.”
Everything had happened so fast, she had almost forgotten about the escaped prisoner. Even Caleb’s promise that maybe she could help rescue Jordan’s family had slippe
d to the back of her mind. Now it became real again. Maybe I will be able to help when Jordan tries to rescue his family! I’ll prove I can keep a secret—that I can do whatever I set out to do!
Then an uneasy thought sneaked into Libby’s mind. Can I really do anything I set out to do? Remembering her close call on the bluff, Libby felt shaky again. Helpless, that’s what I was. As helpless as a baby.
Pushing the memory away, she refused to think about it. I’m a Christian now. Life will be easier.
Just then Libby noticed a man coming down the steps from the cookhouse. As though he knew exactly where he was going, he hurried across a sandy piece of ground to the Christina. When he reached the gangplank, he spoke to the clerk standing nearby.
“Caleb Whitney?” the man asked. “Can I talk to him?”
Uh–oh, Libby thought. What’s gone wrong now?
Then she remembered Jordan. Had someone found out that he was a fugitive? Did someone know that Caleb had helped Jordan come aboard? Grownups were fined or put in prison for helping runaway slaves. The penalty was high, the risk great.
Lying down on her stomach, Libby peered between the posts of the railing. Before long Caleb crossed the forward deck to speak to the man.
“Caleb Whitney?” he asked again.
Instantly Caleb stiffened as if he too wondered what this was all about. But his back was toward Libby, and she couldn’t see his face.
“I’m Caleb,” she heard him say. “What can I do for you?”
Though Libby tried hard, she couldn’t hear the man’s answer. After a few minutes, Caleb led him up the gangplank. Near the front of the boat they sat down on two crates.
Now Libby could see Caleb’s face, but it still didn’t tell her anything. More than once she had noticed how good Caleb was about hiding his feelings. The bigger the danger, the better he seemed to be at not giving away one wrong expression or word.
Finally Libby could no longer push aside her curiosity. On her hands and knees, she backed away from the railing. Once out of Caleb’s sight, Libby stood up and headed for the stairs. One flight down she came to the boiler deck, which was just above the large boiler that heated water and created steam to run the boat.
The next flight down was the main deck. There Libby walked toward the bow as if she were a passenger minding her own business. Pretending that she didn’t know Caleb, she passed close by. Sitting down on a barrel, she looked out at the river.
“And the young lady’s name?” the man asked.
The young lady? Libby wondered. Who’s he talking about? Turning slightly, she watched the man write on a piece of paper.
“Libby Norstad,” Caleb answered. “You should talk with her. She’s quite a bright girl—most of the time, that is.”
“That’s all right. I’ll just talk with you,” the man said.
“You’re sure? It would take just a minute to find her.”
“Do you know her well?” the man asked.
“I work for her father,” Caleb said. “I’m a cabin boy on the Christina.”
And so much more, Libby thought. Once Pa had told her how much Caleb meant to him. “I’d trust him even with my life,” Pa had said. Often Caleb helped Pa by hiding fugitive slaves.
In moments like this, Libby had a hard time understanding the kind of trust Pa had for Caleb. Other times, such as during the wagon accident, she understood perfectly. More than once Caleb had done things that Libby admired. But this wasn’t to be one of those times.
“I’ll get Libby for you,” Caleb said again. “You really need to talk to her.”
“Why don’t you tell me about her instead?” the man asked.
“Wel–l–l–l—” Caleb paused, as though hardly knowing where to begin. “Often she leaps before she looks. Does things I can’t understand. Like listening in on other people’s conversations. In fact, she listens in so often that I wonder if her ears will begin standing out on her head.”
“Indeed?” the man said. “And why is she so curious?”
“I’ve often thought about that,” Caleb answered. “I believe it has to do with her nature. She wants to know everything that is going on.”
“If I ever see this young lady, how will I recognize her?”
From behind the man’s back, Libby glared at Caleb. When their gaze met, she had no doubt that Caleb had seen her. For a moment she thought he was going to give her away. Instead, he kept looking at Libby while still talking to the man.
“Her nose is turned up just a bit,” Caleb said. “Brown eyes. Deep brown eyes. You know, the kind of eyes your favorite dog might have. And red hair,” Caleb went on. “Her hair is deep red with a bit of gold in it. Not bad at all, when the sun shines on it.”
By now Libby’s face felt hot with embarrassment. Whirling around, she tried to hide how she felt from Caleb. How could that awful boy do such a thing? She wanted to storm up to him, to tell him to mind his own business. Instead, she could only stomp off.
“I mean it. You really should talk to her,” Caleb said as she started away. “Libby might tell you a whole other side of the story. For one thing she’s afraid of heights. As we rode up the hill, she clung to the side of the wagon, as if terrified.”
Who is this man Caleb is talking to? With all her heart Libby wanted to find out.
Then with horror she decided that she knew. He must be a newspaper reporter!
CHAPTER 4
Libby Turns Detective
The minute the man was gone, Libby stomped up to Caleb. Already she had forgotten how he protected her in the accident. Instead, she felt embarrassed just thinking about what Caleb had said.
“And who was that gentleman you were talking to?” Libby asked sweetly.
Caleb’s answer sounded just as innocent. “He’s the reporter from the local newspaper. He wanted to know what we knew about the escaped prisoner. And he wanted to know about our accident.”
“And you told him all about it,” Libby said, her voice still sweet.
“Yup.” Caleb sounded as if it weren’t important. “He said there has already been a bad accident on Nelson’s Grade—the road where Nate didn’t want to take us. The reporter expects the town leaders will do something about railings on the drop-offs.”
“And did you tell the reporter that Jordan was with us?” Libby couldn’t forget her fear about what might happen.
“Nope,” Caleb answered. “I didn’t say a word about Jordan.”
“But you said lots of words about me. Why did you talk to that man?”
“Why not?” Caleb asked. “I didn’t tell him anything that he shouldn’t know.”
“So he should know everything you told him about me?”
“Yup.” Caleb grinned.
Libby groaned. “That article will tell the whole world that the Christina came to Stillwater. When does the newspaper come out?”
“Once a week,” Caleb said. “It comes out tomorrow, but not till after we leave.”
“If someone buys that newspaper and carries it onto a steamboat going downstream—” Libby broke off. By now she felt so upset she could barely speak. Caleb had told her she needed to keep a secret. But was he doing it himself?
“You wanted to talk to that reporter because you want to be a reporter yourself,” Libby went on.
“That’s right,” Caleb answered calmly.
“But what if the reporter talks to Nate? What if Nate tells him about Jordan? What if Jordan’s name gets in the paper?”
Caleb groaned. “What if, what if, what if—”
Finally Libby had to give up. Nothing she could say would convince Caleb that he had done anything wrong.
Only then did Libby remember. She had forgotten to ask Caleb another really important question. “Did you find out more about the escaped prisoner?” she asked.
“His name is Sam,” Caleb told her. “Sam McGrady. He went to prison for being part of a gang that robbed banks.”
As the moon rose above the sandstone bluffs, Libby return
ed to her room high on the texas deck. Long after she went to bed, Libby tossed and turned. Wherever her arms and legs touched the mattress, she felt a new bruise. Until then she hadn’t realized how much she bounced around when the wagon rolled on its side.
After a while Libby got up and tightened the ropes that stretched lengthwise and across her bed frame. Yet when she crawled back into bed, the corn husks in her mattress rustled whenever she turned over. Now that she was past the first shock of the accident, her thoughts kept returning to the escaped prisoner. After learning about him, Captain Norstad had ordered the Christina a short distance out from shore. To protect passengers and freight, the Christina’s gangplank was up and a guard posted to watch throughout the night.
In the wee hours of morning, Libby gave up trying to sleep. Quickly she changed into her dress. Her room had two doors, one on either side of the boat. Without making a sound, Libby opened the door on the side away from where Samson always slept.
When Libby tiptoed out on deck, the night air was warm and sweet with the spring that had finally come. For a moment Libby listened to the night sounds. Then, walking on tiptoes, she took the few steps down to the hurricane deck. There Libby dropped onto her knees behind the railing.
Here in the quiet water below the boom site, Libby heard only the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Soon her eyes grew used to the darkness. Between the boat and a nearby island, logs filled the river. Only between the Christina and shore was there a dark line of open water.
From somewhere on the main deck a baby cried, then was quiet again. From near the same area came loud snoring. After several minutes, Libby heard an omooopf! as if someone poked the person who snored.
Then to Libby’s ears came a soft splash, and another. Instantly alert, she peered down over the railing. Near the shore she saw a shape darker than water.
Again Libby heard a muffled splash. As the shape moved closer, Libby strained to see. Whoever it was had either a very big head or wore a strangely shaped hat.
Then, as Libby watched, an arm reached out. In water still cold from winter, someone was swimming toward the Christina.
Midnight Rescue Page 3
