Escape Into the Night (10 page)

Libby opened her mouth. She wanted to say, “Because I saw a slave auction.” But she saw Caleb’s look. In Saint Louis he had dared her to tell her father. If she did, Caleb would never trust her again.

Libby’s thoughts raced.
How can I explain without telling Pa what happened?

Finally she drew a deep breath. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” Scared now, as well as nervous, she stumbled over the words. “I’ve changed my mind about some of the things I said.”

Again Captain Norstad glanced toward Caleb, then back to Libby. Before her father’s clear eyes Libby’s gaze fell. Someday she would tell him what she now believed about slavery. But not now. Not yet.

When Pa didn’t ask her to explain, Libby felt relieved. Just the same, there was something she knew. When they reached Alton, Illinois, that afternoon, she’d be on deck. She would watch every move Caleb made.

As though she had just heard his whisper, she remembered the words: “Alton. Tomorrow night. The
Christina
.”

CHAPTER 9

L
ate that afternoon Libby and Caleb stood on the hurricane deck of the
Christina
. A few miles above the place where the Missouri River flowed into the Mississippi, Libby caught her first daytime view of Alton, Illinois.

In the rugged hillside on the right bank of the river were large gray buildings with a long wall. “Is that a castle?” Libby asked.

“The Illinois state prison,” Caleb told her.

Tall warehouses hugged the shore. Above them, church steeples pointed to the sky. Somehow they offered comfort to Libby, as though here were people who believed in something. The thought surprised her, for often she felt uncertain about her own beliefs.

When the
Christina
nosed into the flat rock that formed a natural wharf, Caleb hurried down to the main deck. To make sure that she saw whatever he did, Libby followed him.

By now, the setting sun cast long shadows across the river into the town. As the shadows lengthened, the crew started unloading freight. In the growing dusk a watchman placed a torch in an iron basket hung out beyond the bow of the boat. As the pine torch flared up, burning coals dropped into the water.

Like other steamboats her size, the
Christina
used about twenty-five cords of wood during every twenty-four hours of travel. That meant stopping at least twice a day to take on more fuel. The process was called
wooding up
.

In the eerie light of the flickering torch, men began carrying wood from great piles along the river. Up and down the gangplank they hurried with three-foot-long logs balanced on their shoulders. Passengers earning the price of their ticket worked along with the crew, stacking the wood near the furnaces or on deck.

As a cold March wind blew across the water, Libby shivered. Pulling her coat around her, she thought about the wood stove in the cabin. Though its welcome warmth drew her, Libby felt unwilling to leave the deck. What was supposed to happen this night?

Now and then she caught a glimpse of Caleb carrying wood along with the men. When nearly every available space was filled with wood, Libby knew they needed even the place where she stood. She started toward the steps.

Ahead of her, a man carried two heavy logs on his shoulder. Realizing that he could see on only one side, Libby stepped out of his way. Just then the man stepped the same direction, crashing into Libby.

As one of the logs tumbled onto the deck, she leaped back. The heavy piece of wood just missed her feet.

Suddenly Caleb was there. “You’re in the way,” he said. “Why don’t you watch from the steps?”

“That’s where I’m trying to go!” Shaken by her narrow escape, Libby again started in that direction. Partway there, she turned back to see who the wood carrier was.

Just then Caleb stepped between Libby and the man. “You all right?” Caleb asked.

“I’m all right!” Libby exclaimed. But she had no doubt that she could have been badly hurt.

When she reached the stairs, she again tried to get a glimpse of the man’s face. By now his back was toward her and his new-looking pants dragged on the floor. Because his cap was pulled down and the collar of his coat turned up, Libby couldn’t see even the hair on his neck.

With one quick movement Caleb picked up the dropped log and added it to the man’s load.

“No wonder he couldn’t see!” Libby called to Caleb.

Glancing toward Libby, Caleb grinned, then leaned close to talk to the wood carrier. Without turning even slightly, the man nodded.

Inside, Libby felt a nudge.
There’s something familiar about him. What is it?

Leaving the stairs, she hurried forward. Again Caleb moved between her and the wood carrier. Before Libby could reach the man, he walked away.

“C’mon, race you to the cabin!” Caleb said. “Let’s get in out of the cold!”

His sudden friendliness surprised Libby. In the large, main cabin Caleb found a place in the circle of people surrounding the wood stove. Nearby, Libby took another opening and stretched out her hands to the warmth. After the cold wind, the heat of the stove felt good.

Soon one of the female passengers spoke to Libby. “Aren’t you the captain’s daughter?”

“Why yes, I am,” Libby answered, feeling pleased.

When she finished talking with the woman, Libby glanced around.
Caleb! Where is he?

A rush of anger flowed through Libby. It wasn’t hard to figure out that Caleb had used his chance to disappear. And Libby wasn’t willing to let anyone turn her into a fool!

Then a bigger question entered her mind.
What is Caleb trying to hide?

From one end of the
Christina
to another, Libby searched for Caleb. She felt sure she would find him in the engine room on the main deck. The great steam engines were there, as well as the large furnaces that heated the water to make the engines run. Yet Caleb wasn’t there, nor in the blacksmith shop.

Finally Libby made her way to the dessert and pastry kitchen. Located in front of one of the huge boxes that housed a paddlewheel, the galley was spotlessly clean.

Granny was kneading bread, but the warm scent of bread dough didn’t fit with the way Libby felt.

“Your grandson is the strangest boy I’ve ever met!” she blurted out.

“Strangest?” Granny’s blue eyes studied Libby. “What do you mean?”

“Caleb just asks questions. He never gives answers!”

“About what?” Granny asked.

“You’re just like him!” Libby exclaimed.

“And what does that mean?” Granny gathered up a great mass of dough, turned it around, and folded it over.

“I think I saw a young slave come on board,” Libby answered. “But when I asked Caleb about it, he wouldn’t tell me. In fact, he sneaked away.”

“Without telling you anything?” Granny punched the dough.

“Not a thing!”

For an instant Granny seemed to relax. Then Libby decided she had imagined it.

“So you think Caleb is strange?” Granny asked.

“With any other boy I’ve met I could ask anything. All I had to do was smile.” Libby put on the smile she often practiced in front of a mirror.

“And the boys would tell you,” Granny finished.

“Whatever I wanted to know.”

“And Caleb doesn’t.” With the ease of long practice Granny shaped the dough into a large ball and set it in a wooden bowl. For some reason she seemed very satisfied with herself—and with Caleb too.

But then Granny surprised Libby. “Do you know how to make bread?”

Libby shook her head. “In Chicago our cook always did it.” At lunch and dinner on the boat, Libby had seen how everyone wolfed down the good bread. Libby liked it, too, but had given only a passing thought as to where it came from.

“I’ll show you how,” Granny said. “You’ll be good at it in no time.”

She wrapped a large apron around Libby. Soon Libby had it covered with flour. At Auntie Vi’s she would have called this
work
and stayed far from it. Here with Granny it seemed like fun.

More than once, the dough stuck to the board, and Libby’s hands felt clumsy and awkward. Finally she started to get the feel for what she should do. By that time she was curious about
Granny and why she and Caleb were here on the
Christina
.

“Caleb’s father was my son,” Granny said softly. For a moment her busy hands stopped moving. “When he and his wife died, Caleb came to live with me.”

“
Both
of his parents died?” Libby asked.

“Within a few days of each other. They died of cholera.”

Libby knew about that dreaded disease. Sometimes it wiped out entire families—or left only one or two members of the family to struggle on with life.

“Caleb was only four years old. For a while we stayed where I lived after my husband died. Then I needed to earn more—to set money aside for Caleb growing up. We came here.”

For a time Libby was silent, punching her dough until finally Granny said, “That’s enough. You don’t want to kill it.”

Libby laughed, but she was thinking about Caleb. “I still say he’s the strangest boy I ever met.”

“No,” Granny said, and her voice was soft again. “You just have to understand Caleb. You need to understand what he believes in.”

“What
does
he believe in?” Libby asked.

Granny only smiled. “I think you need to ask Caleb.”

There it was again—something mysterious about the boy. From Granny, Libby learned that he was fourteen, almost fifteen, only one year older than she. Libby also knew how Caleb looked. Blond hair that fell over his forehead, close to his blue eyes. Almost the same height as she was, but stronger and quick.

Beyond that, Libby knew almost nothing. What was it about Caleb that she couldn’t understand? Whatever it was, Libby knew she’d get no more information from Granny. In that, too, Granny and Caleb were alike.

“Have you fed your dog tonight?” Granny asked.

Libby shrank back. No, she hadn’t. How did Granny know about that?

“I saved some leftovers for him,” Granny said as she went to find the bowl. “Tell you what. You come down here every morning and every night. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Thanks, Granny.” Libby scooped up the bowl. Once again she felt embarrassed. Embarrassed that she had forgotten about her own dog. Embarrassed that she had so much to learn.