Midnight Rescue

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  Reaching the counter, the man put down his money. When the store owner gave him change, the man turned just enough to find Libby staring at him. As their gaze met, he lifted his hand, touched the visor on his cap, and politely nodded. Then, taking his time, he left the store.

  When Libby followed him outside, she watched to see if he would board the Christina. Instead, he headed for a different steamboat, a small one of the kind that operated on the St. Croix River. Libby watched until the man started up the gangplank.

  All the way back to the Christina, Libby thought about it, comparing the escaped prisoner to the man she had just seen. When the prisoner went over the fence, he had a halfshaved head. The hair he had left was light brown, but Libby could not see the color of his eyes. This man wore a cap that sat low on his head. From beneath the visor, a strand of light brown hair hung down over his forehead. His eyes were blue.

  The whole thing bothered Libby, and she didn’t understand why. Then, as she started up the gangplank, she thought she knew. In Stillwater it had taken only one look to know that the prisoner was doing something wrong. But the man in the store seemed just the opposite. He had met Libby’s gaze as though he had no guilty conscience. Only one thing had caused her to look twice—that quick glance over his shoulder.

  Maybe I imagined it, Libby thought. He seems to have nothing to hide.

  Even so, she felt uneasy about the man. What should I remember? she asked herself. My feeling that something was wrong? Or his acting as though everything was all right?

  When Libby reached the gangplank she found roustabouts—men who loaded and unloaded the boat—carrying heavy sacks of grain onto the Christina. As Libby’s stomach growled with hunger, she realized it was still a long time until lunch. Taller than most girls her age, Libby sometimes wondered if she needed extra food just to fill her up. She only knew there was nothing wrong with her appetite. She was always hungry!

  Libby decided to find Caleb’s grandmother. When Libby first came on board, she called her Granny. More and more, Libby thought of her as Gran, the way Caleb did.

  As head pastry cook, Gran worked in the galley just in front of one of the large paddle wheels. Her gray-white hair was pulled back and twisted into a knot at the top of her head. Smile wrinkles surrounded eyes that made her seem young.

  As always, Gran’s kitchen was spotless. She took one look at Samson and said, “You can’t come into my kitchen.”

  Samson looked up with his great brown eyes as though begging for food. Just the same, he seemed to know Gran was boss. Flopping down on his stomach, he lay as close to the door as he could get without crossing the threshold.

  The kitchen smelled warm and good with the scent of baking cookies. As Gran took a pan out of the oven, Samson watched every move she made. With his long tongue hanging out, he waited.

  “Want to help?” Gran asked Libby as she often did. When Gran turned a pan over to her, Libby shifted the cookies onto a cooling rack.

  Working quickly, Gran slipped another pan into the oven. This time of the year the Christina often carried three hundred people, counting both passengers and crew. Feeding all of them three times a day kept Gran and her helpers busy.

  As soon as the cookies were cool enough, Gran filled a plate. “Why don’t you share them with Caleb and Jordan?” she suggested.

  Libby found the boys near the gangplank watching the roustabouts. Over the winter, farmers had filled the Prescott warehouses with wheat to be shipped by boat to the railroad at Dunleith, Illinois.

  “Present from Gran,” Libby said as she set down the plate on a crate where Caleb sat.

  The oatmeal cookies were larger than most cookies. Libby eyed the plate. There were three for each of them, and one person would get four. She wouldn’t mind if she was the one getting four.

  I should have sneaked a cookie coming here, she thought. Picking up one of them, she bit into it. “Mmmm,” she said. “Gran’s the best cook in the whole world.”

  The cookie was still warm in the middle, and Libby felt sure she had never tasted anything better. “Help yourself, Jordan,” she offered.

  As he took a cookie, one of the deckhands spoke to Caleb. For a moment Caleb listened, then told Libby, “Be right back.”

  When he returned five minutes later, Caleb said, “Now I’ll have one of those great cookies.”

  But when Libby reached for the plate, it was empty!

  CHAPTER 6

  Rope Tricks

  Hey, Libby, what did you do—eat the whole plateful?” Caleb asked.

  Libby stared at him. “I only had one cookie.”

  Caleb held up the empty plate. “How can such a skinny girl have such a good appetite? We have to think of a good name for you. How about something having to do with your red hair?”

  That made Libby even more upset. In her Chicago school the boys had a hundred nicknames for her red hair. She was going to stop this nonsense right now.

  As though she loved her red hair more than anything in the world, Libby pulled forward a long strand. Here on deck the sunlight brought out the gold highlights.

  “I do have nice hair, don’t I?” she asked, as if Caleb had given a compliment. “But I did not eat more than one cookie. You slipped those cookies off the plate when I wasn’t looking.”

  “Me? I didn’t have one,” Caleb insisted.

  “It’s okay if you ate them all,” Libby said. “Just be honest about it.”

  “I am,” Caleb answered. “I did not eat one cookie. Ask Jordan. He’ll tell you.”

  “Oh, I get it.” Libby was growing frustrated. “Jordan, you ate all of them behind my back.”

  But Jordan shook his head. According to him, he too had eaten only one cookie.

  Libby looked from one to the other. “You’re teasing me,” she said. “You’re just pretending you don’t know where the cookies are.”

  “We didn’t take them,” Caleb insisted. His blue eyes looked as innocent as a baby’s.

  Suddenly Libby giggled. “Now if Samson were here—” Libby turned to see the great black dog crossing the deck toward them. “He’d swallow a plateful of cookies in one big chomp!”

  Libby stared at him. The dog had no crumbs on his muzzle. “Samson, you didn’t!” Still, his long tongue reached out as though licking his chops. “Maybe you did!”

  Instead of going to Libby, Samson surprised her by edging close to Jordan. On the way upstream the two had gotten to know each other. It looked as though the dog was still protecting Jordan. After the tall boy petted him, Samson walked over to Libby.

  As soon as the sacks of wheat were loaded, the Christina put out into the Mississippi River for the trip to Dunleith, Illinois. Below Red Wing the river again widened, this time into Lake Pepin. Here too, Libby saw a towboat pulling a log raft. According to Caleb the tow would leave the raft at Reads Landing. From there the raft would again drift on the current to Winona, Minnesota, or LaCrosse, Wisconsin, to Clinton or LeClaire, Iowa, or as far away as Hannibal or St. Louis, Missouri.

  During the evening meal, Captain Norstad spoke to Libby in a low voice. “One of the passengers is missing his pocket watch.”

  “Are you wondering what I’m wondering?” she asked. The man who boarded the Christina at Stillwater had never been far from her thoughts.

  “The passenger said that the chain holding the watch had a loose link. Maybe the chain gave way. The man could have lost the watch when he got off the boat at Prescott.” But when Pa’s honest eyes met Libby’s, she knew he was trying to talk himself into something he didn’t really believe.

  When supper was over, Libby followed Pa up to his cabin. There she told him about the man she had noticed in the Prescott store. “I saw him start up the gangplank of another steamboat,” she said.

  Now Libby realized she should have been more careful. The man could have started up, but also might have come back down and boarded the Christina instead.

  “If the man wore the red shirt now, he’d be easy to spot,�
�� Pa answered. “Going downriver all the loggers ride the rafts. But when we come back up, we have all kinds of Red Shirts on board. They need the ride to the St. Croix River.”

  Hoping to learn if the man was on board, Pa and Libby walked through the Christina. When they found no one who resembled the escaped prisoner or the man Libby had seen at Prescott, she felt relieved. But then Libby remembered. Anyone who wanted to stay out of sight could just hide behind large pieces of freight or slip into another part of the boat.

  In the end, Libby wondered if their search had been a waste of time. Though Pa didn’t say it, he looked as if he felt the same way.

  “Do you know what bothers me?” Libby said finally. “If the man who climbed on board at Stillwater is still here, he seems mighty clever. And dangerous too.”

  Even so, Libby felt strangely comforted just from talking to Pa. It helps telling him what bothers me, she thought. Nothing feels quite as scary.

  Always Libby felt proud of her father, and this was one of those moments. When she looked up into his dark brown eyes, she saw Pa’s love for her. It reminded Libby of his promise before she came to live on the Christina. “I want a never-give-up family,” she had told him. “A family that sticks together, even when it’s hard.”

  “That’s the kind of family I want too,” Pa had answered. “We can be that family for each other.”

  “With just two people?”

  Pa nodded. “If we don’t give up on each other.”

  Now Libby slipped her hand inside Pa’s. “I like being part of a never-give-up family,” she said softly.

  “More trouble,” Pa said to Libby the next morning. The Christina had tied up at Dunleith, across the river from Dubuque, Iowa, to transfer the heavy sacks of wheat to railroad cars. When the Christina again headed downstream, Pa took Libby along when he talked with Caleb.

  “A passenger is missing a coat and hat,” Pa told them. “That’s not something he could drop or lose like a watch. Either the escaped prisoner is on board or we have another thief.”

  “What do the hat and coat look like?” Libby asked.

  “The coat is long and black. The hat is black felt.”

  “That’s exactly what most of the first-class men on this boat are wearing!”

  “I know.” Pa sighed. “And I’m sure the thief knows it too. But there’s something I want the two of you to do. I believe the thief is entering the first-class cabins while the passengers are eating. My officers and I need to be at our table as we usually are. If we aren’t there, the thief probably won’t try anything.”

  “We’ll keep watch during meals,” Caleb said quickly.

  “But every cabin has two doors,” Libby said. “The thief could use either door.”

  On the boiler deck where first-class passengers had their rooms, one door opened onto the deck around the outside of the Christina. The other door opened to the large main cabin where meals were served. This huge room stretched from one end of the boat to the other with the passenger rooms along the sides.

  Captain Norstad asked Libby and Caleb to keep watch on one side of the boat. “I’ll get someone else for the other half,” he said. “Stay together and keep moving.”

  At Galena they made a quick stop to pick up bars of lead for the St. Louis market. Soon after the Christina continued down the river, the bells signaled mealtime. As passengers left their rooms for the main cabin, Libby and Caleb started walking. Quickly they passed along the outer deck, through the dark hallway behind the large paddle wheel, and back along the deck again. When they reached the double doors at the forward end of the boat, they looked into the dining room. Along the walls were the inside doors to the passenger rooms.

  Except for the serving people, everyone was seated. Those who served the food all wore white coats. If anyone else stood up, Libby and Caleb would be able to spot that person at once.

  “That makes our job easier,” Caleb said. Turning around, he started back the way they had come. Without speaking, Libby followed behind.

  “What’s the matter?” Caleb asked as they reached the paddle wheel again.

  When Libby did not answer, Caleb tried to look into her eyes. But Libby glanced away.

  “Are you still mad about the cookies?” Caleb asked. “I can get more from Gran.”

  What a silly thing to be mad about, Libby thought suddenly. She looked up, ready to make peace with Caleb. But just beyond him, in the area where passengers walked for exercise, she saw a newspaper blowing about on the deck. Running toward it, Libby snatched up the pages.

  When Libby saw a headline on the first piece of paper, she gasped. Darting here and there, she snatched up the other pages before they blew overboard. When she had them all, she started arranging them by page number.

  “You’re forgetting what your pa said,” Caleb told her. “We’re supposed to be watching for a thief.”

  “You watch,” Libby said. “It’s the Stillwater paper! Someone must have brought it on board at one of our stops.”

  The minute Libby had the pages in order she looked back down the long corridor outside the passenger rooms. “No one there. It’s safe,” she said.

  Returning to the first page, Libby checked the date. “It’s the paper that came out yesterday, right after we left!”

  “C’mon, we need to keep walking.” But now Caleb was interested too.

  Then Libby found it—the article she had dreaded. “Right on the front page,” she said. “Right there where everyone will see.”

  As she started reading, Caleb looked over her shoulder.

  ANOTHER ACCIDENT ON STILLWATER HILL

  Though not on Nelson’s Grade, site of another accident, this week’s near tragedy points to a growing problem—our need for railings on steep hills.

  The article went on to tell what happened, but Libby barely read the description. Instead, her eye jumped ahead to the name Jordan Parker.

  “There!” Libby pointed. “See what the paper calls him? A cabin boy on the Christina. And there. It tells about Jordan’s accident on the way to St. Paul.”

  Caleb took the newspaper from her.

  “You said you didn’t tell the reporter about Jordan!” Libby exclaimed.

  “I didn’t,” Caleb answered calmly.

  “But there it is! Right there.” Libby nearly poked a hole through the paper. “How could you, Caleb? With all you’ve done to protect Jordan, how could you do this now?”

  “I didn’t,” Caleb said again.

  “Then who did?”

  Caleb thought about it. “Nate could have said something, but we didn’t tell him what happened to Jordan on the way to St. Paul.”

  Somehow that upset Libby even more. “I know,” she said. “A reporter is like a detective. He gets some information from one person, and more information from someone else. Then he puts all the pieces together.”

  “Oh, Libby, calm down,” Caleb said.

  Instead, Libby’s voice rose in anger. “You gave Jordan away! You got his name put in the paper when he’s a runaway slave!”

  “It doesn’t say anything about Jordan being a fugitive.”

  “But someone might stop him from bringing his family out of slavery! Someone might fit it all together, just like the reporter fit pieces together. Jordan has a big reward on his head!”

  “Shhh!” Caleb warned. “You’ll be the one to give Jordan away.”

  Suddenly Libby looked up. Beyond Caleb, near the corner of the wall behind him, something moved.

  Not something, Libby thought. Someone.

  Instantly she took off, racing down the deck after the person. In the dark hallway between the paddle wheel and the passenger rooms, the person disappeared.

  When Libby reached the nearest room, she pounded on the door, but no one answered.

  Libby pounded again. “Do I have the right one?” she asked as Caleb caught up.

  Just then the door opened. A little old lady peered out. “Yes?” she asked, her voice quivering with fright.


  “I’m sorry,” Libby said quickly. “I’m mixed up.”

  Racing along the corridor, she raised her hand, ready to knock at the next door.

  Angry now, Caleb stopped her. “Libby, you can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll scare every real passenger on your pa’s boat. And the thief you want to catch won’t answer.” Taking her hand, Caleb dragged Libby away.

  When they reached the front of the boiler deck it was still empty. Caleb led Libby over to the railing. There he stopped.

  “I want to tell you something.” Caleb’s voice was cold with fury. “We have just missed catching the thief your pa wanted us to find. That was probably him looking for something more to steal.”

  Standing there, Libby felt her throat tighten. Though she didn’t want to admit it, she knew Caleb was right.

  “What’s more, I did not give Jordan away. I did not give his name, and the reporter said nothing about Jordan being a fugitive.”

  Again Libby knew Caleb was right. She turned away, unable to bear Caleb’s angry eyes. But he wasn’t through.

  “Except for those people we trust, not one person knows that Jordan isn’t a free black. No one knows that he’s a fugitive—that there’s a reward offered for him. But you talked so loud that anyone who wanted to listen could hear. If the man who heard you is already a thief, it won’t be hard for him to figure out what to do.”

  From deep within, sobs rose in Libby’s throat. She wanted to cry out, telling Caleb how sorry she was. But when she turned back to him, only angry words spilled out. “Caleb Whitney, I don’t care what you think!”

  “I’m going now,” he answered, his voice still cold with anger. “I’m looking for your father’s thief, though I’m sure I won’t find him.”

  Without speaking, Libby followed Caleb around the boiler deck. Yet she knew it would do no good. Even worse, Caleb would not even glance her way.

  When at last the two servings of dinner were finished, Libby clutched the newspaper to herself and hurried to the stairs. By the time she reached her room on the texas deck, tears blinded her eyes. Caleb hates me, she thought. But that wasn’t the worst. Libby now hated herself.