As her sense of danger came alive, Libby jumped to her feet and raced to the stairs. From the hurricane, to the boiler, to the main deck she flew. Stumbling over legs and feet in the darkness, she made her way to the side of the boat nearest shore. But she was too late.
When Libby stared down at the water only a foot or so below the deck, no one swam toward the Christina. No hands reached forward for a man to pull himself onto the deck.
Then Libby saw the guard. As he sat on a crate close to where the gangplank usually went down, Libby stared at the hat he wore. When Libby walked over to him, his head jerked up. But the brim shadowed his face.
For an instant Libby wondered why the lantern wasn’t lit. Had the guard just wakened? Libby wasn’t sure.
“Can I help you, miss?” the man asked, seeming alert.
“Yes,” Libby answered softly, trying not to wake the sleeping passengers around her. “Can you tell me if a man just came on board?”
“A man? Of course not. It’s the middle of the night.”
“No one at all?” Libby asked.
“Not for some time. All’s well on the Christina.”
“Thank you,” Libby said. “And your name?”
“Swenson, Miss. Charlie Swenson, at your service.”
Strange, Libby thought as she crept back up the stairs. I was sure I saw a man swimming toward the Christina. But if I did, I should have seen him on deck. He couldn’t have been more than a minute or two ahead of me.
All the way back to her room Libby thought about it. Still fully dressed, she lay down on her bed to puzzle it out.
I’ll go down there again, she decided. As soon as it’s light, I’ll go back.
Minutes later Libby fell asleep.
Libby woke to the motion of the boat under way. For a minute she lay there, listening to the throb of the engines and the slap of the great paddle wheels against the water. As she came fully awake, she remembered the dark shape swimming toward the Christina.
With a bound Libby leaped from her bed. Quickly she poured water from the pitcher into the basin in the corner of her room. As soon as she splashed water on her face and smoothed down her dress, she was ready.
This time she went out on the side of the deck where Samson usually slept. As she flew down the flights of stairs, Samson trailed along behind her. All around Libby, passengers were waking up. Even so, Libby moved quickly through any narrow space between them.
At the crate next to where the gangplank usually went down, Libby stopped. Here the guard had sat. Here Libby had wondered if his head had nodded—if he was truly awake. There was something about the guard that bothered her. What was it?
Standing there, Libby’s thoughts leaped back to the swimmer. A large hat. Why would someone wear a hat when swimming?
Then it dawned on Libby. Not a hat—clothes perhaps. Clothes bundled tightly and tied on top of the swimmer’s head. If he held his head above water, the clothes wouldn’t get wet.
Libby felt sure that was the shape she had seen. But there wouldn’t have been time for the person to change. If the swimmer really did come on board, where had he gone? He would have been soaking wet.
Still curious, Libby leaned forward for a better look. The wooden crate was a large one and just the right height for someone to sit on. Protected by the overhang of the deck above, it had stayed dry, in spite of the heavy dew of early morning.
Dry except for one place!
On the top of the crate was a clear mark where someone had sat in wet clothing. On the floor in front of the crate the deck was also wet, as though a puddle had formed around the man’s feet. And next to the crate, where a wooden slat and the deck met, there was a thin line of water.
Staring at the telltale marks, Libby felt a sudden jolt of fear. Whoever the man is, I stood right in front of him. In the middle of the night, when everyone else was asleep, I stood here talking to him.
As she tried to push aside the panic tightening her throat, Libby knew one thing. I’ve got to tell Pa right away.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Libby raced back up to the top of the boat. Pa’s cabin was at the front of the texas deck, just ahead of Libby’s room.
A moment after she knocked their special code, her tall, slender father opened the door. Except for the touch of white above his ears, Pa’s black hair was as dark as his captain’s uniform.
Now Pa’s smile welcomed her, and Libby felt better just being with him. When she told him what had happened, his face grew serious.
“And what was the guard’s name?” he asked.
“Swenson, Pa. He said it was Charlie Swenson.”
A puzzled look filled Pa’s eyes. “I can’t remember any crew member by that name, but I’ll check. Our first mate could have hired someone in St. Paul or Stillwater.”
Pa followed Libby down to the main deck. When she showed him the faint outline of damp wood, he nodded. “Good for you, Libby. Someone in wet clothes sat here, all right. The night air was so damp it didn’t dry as fast as it would in a wind.”
When Pa sought out the first mate, Libby went with him.
“Any crew by the name of Charlie Swenson?” Captain Norstad asked.
Mr. Bates shook his head. “No, sir. No one by that name. But I have no doubt that a guard was on duty at the time. I kept a close watch last night because of the escaped prisoner.”
“Could the guard have left his place by the gangplank for a short time?” Libby asked quickly.
“He made his rounds, circling the main deck every twenty minutes.”
“We better change that rule,” Captain Norstad said. “The next time we need a guard, have him change the amount of time between rounds so that someone watching won’t know what to expect. And put on two guards—one on each side of the Christina.”
As Libby and her father headed for the dining room and breakfast, the captain sighed. “I feel like someone who locked the barn after the horse was stolen. Keep your sharp eyes working, Libby. But come to me at any sign of danger. Taking care of men who creep on board is my job, not yours. All right?”
“All right, Pa.” Her father’s hug chased away the scared feelings in Libby’s heart.
But then Pa told her, “I hope that all the man wants is a free ride.”
A free ride.
“Pa,” she said. “The man wore a hat—a hat he could have tied in his bundle. If he was a prisoner, he had to wear a hat.”
As Libby went back to her room she felt scared again.
CHAPTER 5
The Disappearing Cookies
A free ride, Libby thought as she followed Pa up the stairway. What else would the man want?
Then Libby’s heart thudded to a stop. Maybe it really is the escaped prisoner. Or could it be someone who knows that Jordan is on board? If Jordan gets caught, he’ll lose his freedom and the chance to help his family.
The moment she finished breakfast, Libby started looking for Caleb and Jordan. Before she did anything else, she had to warn them. Besides, she wanted to tell Caleb about the great way she had figured things out. Libby felt proud of herself.
If Caleb and Jordan know how smart I am, they’ll trust me more. They’ll let me help with the Underground Railroad. Once before Caleb had allowed her to do something, but that was because he had no choice.
Libby found Caleb and Jordan sitting on the hurricane deck watching a huge log raft being towed down Lake St. Croix. The raft was made up of eight to ten strings of logs fastened side by side. Each of the strings measured about sixteen feet across and four hundred feet long. Around the outer edge were logs joined by chains to hold each raft together.
With the steamboat at the front, strong ropes stretched back to pull the raft along. The men that Caleb called Red Shirts stood on the two ends of the raft. Each of them held the great long pole they used as an oar.
Another man sat on a crate, peeling potatoes. Beyond him were three small buildings. “For the trip down the river each man builds his own little house,�
� Caleb explained. “See how the door is just big enough for a man to crawl in and out?”
Each “house” was only a few boards high, barely giving enough room for one man to lie down. Work pants and red shirts hung over the peaked roof of two of the houses.
Seeing the wet clothing, Libby shivered. Working in the river during this second week of May had to feel like taking a bath in ice water. It reminded her of the reason she had come—to tell Caleb and Jordan about the man who swam out to the Christina.
Libby began by telling how she heard a muffled splash during the night. Partway through her story, Jordan started nervously cracking his knuckles. Watching him, all of Libby’s proud feelings crumbled. No longer did she want to prove what a great thing she had done in figuring things out.
By the time Libby finished talking, worry filled Jordan’s eyes. “Who be this man?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Libby answered.
Caleb also looked upset. “And your pa doesn’t have any idea?”
Libby shook her head. “He could be the prisoner. He could be almost anyone. It was too dark to see his face.”
“Would you recognize his voice?” No longer was Caleb the fourteen-year-old boy who liked to tease Libby. In that one moment he had changed into the Underground Railroad conductor who was always on guard. As a conductor for the railroad, Caleb guided runaway slaves from one place of safety to the next.
“His voice?” Libby remembered a slight rasp when the man spoke, but that could mean he had a cold. Or swam in cold water. His voice had a strange rasp—almost like he was hoarse,” she said.
As though needing to tell himself the man wasn’t someone who would spoil the rescue of his family, Jordan began talking. “When I was just a little boy Momma told me, ‘Jordan, your daddy and I, we name you for what you is goin’ to do.’
“‘What you mean, Momma?’ I wanted to know.
“‘You is goin’ to lead our people out of slavery,’ Momma said. ‘You is goin’ to lead our people to the Promised Land.’”
Long ago Libby had learned about Moses leading the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt. Forty years later, Joshua brought them across the Jordan River into Canaan, the Promised Land.
“Over and over Momma told me till she didn’t need to tell me no more,” Jordan went on. “I knew for myself that what Momma said would be true. I been tellin’ myself I is goin’ to rescue my people. But now I is scared, Caleb. Real scared.”
For the first time the impossibility of what Jordan planned seemed to overwhelm him. “I is so scared that I has a hard time believin’ I can do what I needs to do.”
“Not many fugitives go back to the state where they’ve been slaves,” Caleb warned. “At least your mother lives in a different place from where you were. Her master doesn’t know you.”
Jordan’s troubled gaze met Caleb’s. “But can I do what I needs to do? Can I rescue my people?”
For a long moment Caleb did not answer, as if he knew the seriousness of whatever he said. At last he spoke. “When Libby’s pa wants to make sure I’m not just rushing off on my own, he looks me straight in the eye. He asks, ‘What is God telling you to do?’”
Jordan’s gaze fell away. Stretching out his fingers, he stared at his right hand, then his left. Slowly he turned them over to stare at the palms. Then he studied his feet.
“In the Good Book, Moses be a big man,” Jordan said, still looking at his feet. “He take his people out of Egypt.”
“Out of suffering,” Caleb answered quietly.
“Out of slavery.” Jordan’s voice was still thoughtful. “These hands—these feet,” he said slowly. “Long time ago the Lord told me, ‘Jordan, I gives you strong hands—strong feet. I gives them to you so you kin lead your people out of slavery. But I gives you something else—something you is goin’ to need even more.’”
When Jordan lifted his head, tears shone in his dark eyes. “The Lord, he told me, ‘Jordan, I gives you a big heart—a big enough heart to lead your people to freedom.’”
As though embarrassed by his tears, Jordan tried to wipe them away. But tears filled his eyes again and ran down his cheeks.
When Caleb leaned forward, his gaze never left Jordan’s face. “Your heart is big enough to bring your people to freedom,” he said. “The freedom of your people means more to you than your life. It might cost you your life.”
In the silence Libby heard only the slap of the paddle wheels against water. A long steady look passed between Caleb and Jordan.
“If you want me, I’m still planning to help you.” Caleb held out his hand, renewing the promise he had made a few weeks before.
This time Jordan did not hesitate. Halfway between the boys, their two hands met.
Then Caleb stood up. “C’mon. I want to show you something.”
He led Jordan and Libby to Captain Norstad’s cabin. There Caleb opened the large Bible owned by Libby’s father. As he turned the pages, Caleb explained.
“A man named Paul was facing some hard things. God told him, ‘My grace is sufficient for you.’”
“Sufficient?” Libby asked. “What’s that?”
“Enough. God says, ‘My grace is enough for you, Jordan, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ When you’re weak, that’s when my power is big enough for you.’”
As always, Libby felt surprised by the way Caleb could explain things. From the moment she met him, Libby had known there was something different about Caleb. When she discovered what he did with the Underground Railroad, she thought it was that. But soon she learned there was another reason for Caleb being strong.
“The hard things Paul faced helped him learn about God’s power,” Caleb explained. “Paul said, ‘When I am weak, then am I strong.’”
In the time since Jordan came on board, Caleb had been teaching him to read. Now Caleb pointed to each word. Jordan stared at them as if trying to match the words with what he heard.
“I is weak, all right,” he said. “I is mighty scared. And God’s grace is enough for me?”
Caleb nodded.
“Long time ago I learned that word,” Jordan answered. “Grace be the Lord’s love and favor, even though I ain’t deservin’ of it.”
As though forgetting his worries, Jordan straightened, standing tall in the proud look that reminded Libby of royalty. “Our colored preacher told me I is not a slave. I is created in God’s image. I is His child!”
Once more Jordan looked down at the pages of the Bible. “All my life I been wantin’ to read the Good Book. I been wantin’ to see all them good promises for myself. Show me again.”
This time it was Jordan who pointed to each word, repeating what Caleb told him. Soon Jordan said, “Stand back! I is reading to you.”
Pointing to each word, Jordan read the promise. “‘When I am weak, then am I strong.’”
As though wanting to prove that he understood what he read, Jordan lifted his head and faced Caleb. “When I is weak, Jesus makes me strong!”
At Prescott, Wisconsin, where the waters of the St. Croix flowed into those of the Mississippi River, the towboat dropped its lines. From there to Pepin, where the river again widened into a lake, the lumber raft would drift on the current, guided by the oars of the Red Shirts.
As the Christina drew near the landing at Prescott, Libby spoke quickly. “I want to help too,” she told Jordan. “I want to help you rescue your family.”
For a long moment Jordan sat quietly, thinking about it. When he spoke, his voice was low but sure. “There be all kinds of people workin’ with the Underground Railroad. Free blacks, white men and women, boys and girls. But I ain’t never heard of no white captain’s daughter tryin’ something that hard. To go into Missouri—” Jordan shook his head. “Not unless there be a mighty big reason. But I thanks you for wanting to try.”
Listening to Jordan’s quiet voice, Libby knew his mind was made up. Even so, she didn’t want to accept his words. If I try really hard—if I do everything
perfect, I’ll convince both Caleb and Jordan that I can help bring his family to freedom.
Three-story warehouses stood along the waterfront at Prescott. Before continuing up the Mississippi River to St. Paul, large steamboats often unloaded their freight there for storage. Then smaller steamboats took the freight on to Stillwater and other towns along the St. Croix River.
When Libby went into the large general store at Prescott, she found it filled with men who came off the rafts to buy supplies. All of them wore the red shirts that would help someone rescue them if they fell into the water.
Seeing the crowd of men, Libby started to back out. Then the storekeeper asked, “Can I help you?”
While living in Chicago, Libby had taken drawing lessons from a well-known artist. Already Libby had used up the drawing paper she had bought in St. Louis. Now she was glad to find more paper, and pencils as well.
As she paid her money, she noticed a man near a table filled with red shirts. Dressed in gray pants, white shirt, red and blue jacket, and a cap, he seemed out of place—too well dressed compared with all the rafting men who crowded the store. Yet to Libby’s surprise he picked up a red shirt.
While the storekeeper wrapped Libby’s package, she looked around. If the store carried any other color of shirt, it was nowhere in sight.
Soon the man in the red and blue jacket stepped into line behind six or seven men waiting to pay for their purchases. As Libby watched, the man glanced around as if checking to see who stood behind him.
The artist part of Libby wondered about his quick, almost secret glance. During art lessons, she had learned to notice how a person looked. If I were going to draw that man, what would I do? Curious now, Libby moved over next to the door and stood there as if waiting for someone.
The man was about six feet tall and strongly built. For some reason he seemed familiar.
But who do I know in this area? Libby wondered. In Stillwater she had met Nate and the farmer who helped them after the accident. For just a moment she had talked with a few other people. None of them fit this man’s description. Maybe I’m jumpy because of the escaped prisoner, Libby thought.
Midnight Rescue Page 4
