Midnight Rescue (11 page)

L
ibby’s heart pounded. Whirling around, she stared at the two people standing near the door from the engine room. In the dim light it was hard to see their faces.

Then one of them spoke. “What you doin’, Libby?”

Libby sagged with relief. Even her knees felt weak. “You scared me, Jordan. I’m bringing blankets for your family.” Though they had never talked about it, Libby felt sure that Jordan knew about the hiding place for runaway slaves.

“I thanks you, Libby,” Jordan said.

When Caleb stepped forward, Libby felt angry. “You’re following me around now?”

It upset Libby. If Caleb and Jordan found it so easy to figure out what she was doing, what about someone else—someone who shouldn’t know?

Libby picked up the quilts, tossed them into the hold, closed the hatch, and swung the machinery back into place. With Samson trailing behind her, she stalked off.

“Wait, Libby,” Caleb called.

“What for?” Already Libby had forgotten she was going to set things straight with Caleb and Jordan. Instead of helping
her hide the quilts and blankets, the boys had watched and followed her, scaring her besides.

As she reached the door to the deck, Caleb caught up. “We need to talk,” he said.

“I need to talk,” Libby said. “You need to listen. But this isn’t the time.”

“Yes, it is,” Caleb said. “We’re leaving soon.”

“To start the rescue?” Libby had both dreaded and looked forward to that moment.

When Caleb took the lead, Libby followed him up to the hurricane deck. It was still quiet there and the three could sit down and talk.

“You first, Libby,” Caleb said.

Though it was just what she wanted, it was not the way Libby wanted it. With her heart still pounding, she began to explain. “That man on the deck last night—the one who threw a rope around Jordan—”

“You saw him?” Caleb asked. “We were just going to tell you about him.”

“I’m sorry, Caleb,” Libby said. “I’m sorry for losing my temper, for saying the wrong things, for talking too loud.”

But Libby knew this was much bigger than the argument between the two of them. Caleb wasn’t just any boy. Since the age of nine, he had risked his own safety for what he believed about the freedom of slaves. He had built up a reputation as someone other people could trust.

As a lump formed in Libby’s throat, she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, most of all, for betraying a secret.”

Fighting against tears, Libby turned to Jordan. “I’m sorry,
Jordan, for giving you away. For hurting your chances to rescue your family.”

“I forgives you, Libby,” Jordan said simply.

“You forgive me?” Libby asked. “Just like that?”

“Yes’m. Just like that.”

“But that man who threw the rope around you—it was my fault, Jordan. He must have heard me talk. How can you forgive me?”

“I ain’t got no choice,” Jordan answered.

I ain’t got no choice
. Like a spinning wheel the words went round and round in Libby’s head. As if she were still standing there, she saw Jordan at the auction where he was sold as a slave. She remembered the names he was called. In the weeks between then and now, she had come to a better understanding of how much those names hurt.

Unable to shake the grief in her heart, Libby remembered another time—when Caleb washed the great open wounds of the whip marks across Jordan’s back. That was the day when Jordan told them what his daddy had taught him.
“Jordan, hatin’ robs your bones of strength, makes you blind when you needs to fight. If you forgive, you be strong.”

Now Jordan leaned forward, as if wanting to be sure Libby understood. “Long time ago my daddy say, ‘It ain’t how people treats you on the outside that counts. It’s what you is on the inside. You gots to be sure that be good, ’cause you can’t run away from yourself.’”

Libby stared at him. “I can’t run away from myself?”

“Wherever you is, you is the person you is goin’ to be with.”

Libby thought about it. “I don’t have any choice about being
with Libby Norstad.” It almost struck her funny. “I
have
to be with myself!”

Jordan grinned. “You got it!”

In that moment Libby felt as if a weight had fallen off her shoulders. “Okay,” she said. “I can’t run away from knowing that I did something wrong.” Libby looked from Jordan to Caleb. “But I want to be different. I want God to help me start over again.”

As Libby stood up to leave, she noticed a well-dressed man standing along the rail. He seemed to be looking out across the river. But Libby had been so busy talking that she hadn’t noticed when the man came on deck.

What did he hear?
Libby wondered, feeling frantic again. It wasn’t hard to tell that he had been listening.

By the time Libby reached the texas deck she remembered Caleb’s words. “We’ll be leaving soon,” he had said. Like a toothache Libby felt her disappointment that she wouldn’t be going along.

Inside her room Libby found the newspaper she had dropped on the floor the night before. Taking the scattered pages, she spread them out on the floor to read.

Once again she saw the article about their accident. Nearby was another article, one Libby had missed.

Libby gasped.
That’s the man I saw in the store at Prescott! That’s exactly what he was wearing. So he has to be the person who threw the rope around Jordan last night!

Her heart in her throat, Libby snatched up the newspaper and raced out of the room.

When Libby found Pa in his cabin, he too had bad news.
A man had just reported a three-piece suit and a white shirt missing.

Libby frowned.
That well-dressed man who came on deck while I talked to Caleb and Jordan. That man was wearing a three-piece suit. But so are a lot of other men on board.

“Let me guess,” Libby said. “It’s a suit like any first-class passenger would wear.”

Pa grinned. “As Jordan would say, ‘You got it!’”

“If only I could have caught a better look at the prisoner’s face,” Libby said. More than once she had tried to remember what the man looked like when he came over the wall. She had been too far away to see even the color of his eyes.

When Libby showed Pa the newspaper article, he said, “I’m not surprised. At least we know who we’re looking for.”

After a search of the
Christina
, Libby found Caleb and Jordan in the baggage room with each of them sitting on a large trunk. As she drew near they stopped talking, and Libby felt sure they were making plans.

Libby handed Caleb the newspaper. When she sat down, Caleb read the article aloud. Jordan looked over his shoulder, as though hoping he could match Caleb’s words with words he had learned to read.

“Uh-oh!” Caleb exclaimed when he finished. “Maybe I did you wrong, Libby. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sam McGrady picked up our cookies as he came on board.”

“I got the feelin’ I know that man already,” Jordan said. “And I sure don’t like that rope of his.”

“He must be the man I saw in the store at Prescott,” Libby said.

“If you’re right, you’re the only one on board who knows what he looks like,” Caleb told her.

Libby hadn’t thought about that. “You mean I’m the only one who can identify him?”

“Yup,” Caleb answered. “And he sure knows who you are with your red hair.”

“My
auburn
hair.” As Libby tossed her head, her long hair swung around her shoulders. But Caleb had something more important in mind.

“We’re just making final plans to rescue Jordan’s mother.”

Libby jumped to her feet. “I’ll leave so you can talk.” For the first time she felt glad that Jordan and Caleb would make the trip without her. At least Jordan would be off the boat, away from Sam McGrady. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a safe trip.”

But Jordan stopped her. “Hold on there, Libby. Me and Caleb was talking about something.”

Libby looked from one to the other.
Arguing, you mean
, she thought. When she sat down again, Jordan held out a slate.

“Caleb taught me how to write
Burlington
,” Jordan said proudly. He erased the name and drew a line that stood for the Mississippi River. Next to that line Jordan put a dot, then a
B
for Burlington.

Farther down the Mississippi, Jordan carefully printed a
K
next to a dot for Keokuk, Iowa. Then he drew a line for the Des Moines River. Inland from Keokuk, he put a third dot, and the letter
C
.

“Cahoka,” Jordan said. “In northeast Missouri. That’s where Momma is—on a farm in Clark County. Old Massa sold Momma up north from where I was. I ain’t never been where Momma and my sisters and my brother are.”

Libby waited. Where was this all going to lead? She only knew that on their trip upriver Caleb had gone into Burlington, Iowa. For a while he and Gran had lived there, and Caleb had contacts with the Underground Railroad.

“I talked to some people I know in Burlington.” Caleb’s voice sounded stiff, as if he really didn’t want to tell Libby what was going on. “I asked them to have a peddler’s wagon in Keokuk when we came back down the river.”

But now Caleb and Jordan agreed that the risk was too great. Sam McGrady would find it a simple matter to follow the high square sides of a peddler’s wagon.

“I got a new plan,” Jordan told Libby. “Me and Caleb needs to get off in Burlington.”

“We’ll get horses to ride,” Caleb said. “If someone tries to follow us, it won’t be as hard to get away from him. We’ll travel on land while the
Christina
goes down the river.”

Caleb spoke quickly now, and Libby knew they were running out of time. “On the other side of the Des Moines River, we’ll get a farm wagon and look like anybody traveling through.”

But there Jordan disagreed. “I has to be your driver,” he said to Caleb. “You has to be my owner.”

A quick flash of something Libby didn’t understand crossed Caleb’s face. But when he spoke, she heard the grieving in his voice.