Midnight Rescue (18 page)

Finally Libby could lie still no longer. Leaving her shoes in the wagon, she climbed down. “I’m going,” she told Paul. “If the dogs start barking—”

“They’re in the barn,” Paul said. “All except one. I’ve come so often that he knows me. He’s Jonathan’s pet.”

Staying within the shadows, Libby crept around the back side of the house. There she waited until her eyes grew used to the darkness. Then, rounding the corner, she moved silently to the open porch and the stairway to the second floor.

On the steps Libby clung to the handrail, keeping to one side in the hope that the steps would not creak. At the top, the upper porch lay in shadows. Unable to see where she was, Libby felt her way around.

Paul was right. Two doors led into the house. Which door was the right one?

If I knock on the wrong door, I’ll give everything away. I’ll wreck all that Jordan wants to do. I’ll spoil the way Paul covers up that he’s working for the Underground Railroad
.

Standing there, Libby felt cold with fright.
Even if I get the right door, there might be other women in Hattie’s room. What if I do everything wrong? What if I fail?

Unable to make up her mind, Libby moved into the deep shadows in a corner of the porch. As she started to pray, she remembered Jordan’s words.
“Just because you done one thing wrong don’t mean you is goin’ to do everything wrong.”

His words gave Libby courage. Still praying, she decided to wait. Minutes later, one of the doors opened. In the darkness Libby could barely make out who it was. Serena carrying little Rose.

Without stirring, Libby waited until Serena reached the bottom of the steps. Then she rapped softly on the door.

When Jordan’s mother opened it, Libby whispered, “I’m Jordan’s friend.” Slipping through the opening, Libby closed the door behind her.

From a table Hattie picked up the stub of a candle. Holding it up, she studied Libby’s face. “You is Jordan’s friend?”

In the light Libby saw the wonder in Hattie’s deep brown eyes. But Libby also saw the questions. Quickly she told Hattie what had happened, then said, “Your son Zack is to be sold in the morning.”

A soft moan escaped the woman’s lips. A moan quickly silenced.

“If you want to take your family away tonight, the peddler will help you,” Libby said.

“Jordan will be there?” Hattie asked.

Libby had to be honest. “Jordan was supposed to be here many hours ago. We don’t know what’s happened to him.”

“All day long I been prayin’ for him,” Hattie said. “All day long I been feelin’ uneasy.”

“If you want to go now,” Libby said, “Zack could be far away by morning.”

As the candle sputtered, she again saw the fear in Hattie’s face. But then Hattie straightened. Closing her eyes, she stood without moving in a way that reminded Libby of Jordan. Hattie’s stillness grew long, and Libby knew she was praying.

When Jordan’s mother opened her eyes, she spoke softly, but there was no doubt that she had made up her mind. “I ain’t supposed to go,” she said.

“Why?” Libby whispered.

“It ain’t just leavin’ here that counts,” Hattie told her. “We needs to go miles and miles crost land, and swamps, and rivers. It ain’t just anybody who can lead our people to freedom.” Hattie’s brown eyes showed her anguish. “Long time ago the good Lord called my Jordan to lead our people out. If I goes now, he won’t know where I is. If he ain’t able to find me and Serena and Zack and little Rose—if he worry about where we is, my Jordan will search till he gits caught.” Hattie drew a long trembling breath. “I is stayin’ here till Jordan comes.”

“You’re sure?” Libby asked.

“I be sure.”

Deep inside Libby felt even more afraid for Hattie.
If Jordan doesn’t come—if Zack is sold in the morning—

As though understanding Libby’s thoughts, Jordan’s mother spoke again. “I ain’t goin’ to tell Serena what you said. If Massa Weaver question her, she be unable to tell him anything.”

“I’ll leave before she comes back,” Libby said quickly.

“I thanks you, Libby,” Hattie said softly. “I be prayin’ all night for my family.”

When Libby slipped out on the porch, she heard soft steps on the stairway below. Quickly she stepped into the shadows. Still holding little Rose, Serena passed Libby, not two feet away.

In the wagon again, Libby could not sleep. Dread of what the morning might bring lay heavy upon her.

CHAPTER 13

I
can’t possibly make a drawing of the family
, Libby told herself. Until now she had only tried sketches of individuals. She couldn’t think of anything more difficult than doing a whole family and their house besides. As frightening as that was, it seemed easy when compared to helping Jordan’s family escape. During his years of slavery, Jordan had thought about countless ways to rescue his family. Since becoming a fugitive, Jordan had often talked with Caleb about what to do.

Now it seemed as if nothing was going to work. Frightening questions kept popping into Libby’s mind.
What if Zack’s new owner comes before Jordan gets here? And what if Jordan gets here and can’t do anything?

For the first time in her life, Libby hated the gray light before dawn.
Jordan’s mother must dread the rising of the sun!

Before daybreak Libby crawled down from the wagon. She and Paul walked to the big house together. When Libby went into the kitchen to get breakfast, she found Mrs. Weaver and Hattie already there.

Mrs. Weaver’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. Yet
her “Good morning, Libby,” sounded cheerful, as if nothing had happened.

Nearby, Hattie stood tall and straight with her hair short and curled close to her head. With sure hands she spooned up two bowls full of grits. Giving no hint that she had seen Libby during the night, Hattie acted as if it were an ordinary day.

Then Libby looked closer. Hattie’s face was not peaceful, as Libby first thought. Instead, she wore the same blank look Libby had seen in her son Jordan. That look hid every thought, whether joy or pain. It hid every attitude, even anger and fear. By now Libby knew that slaves used that look for protection—to hide feelings it would hurt them to show.

As Libby picked up the two bowls, Mrs. Weaver spoke to Hattie. “When we finish eating breakfast, I want you to pack a big basket of food. Take it down the road to Mrs. Lawrence. I hear she’s doing poorly.”

Halfway to the door Libby stopped and glanced back at Mrs. Weaver.
She doesn’t want Hattie around when her son is sold
, Libby thought.

As though someone had kicked her in the stomach, Libby felt the pain. But Hattie’s eyes held that same blank look. Not even a slumped shoulder gave away the pain she felt about the thought of losing another son.

When Libby brought the two bowls of grits outside, she and Paul sat down on the kitchen steps. From there they could see what was happening behind the house.

Near one of the slave cabins, a skinny eight-year-old boy sat on the ground. Alone and shivering with the coolness of the morning, he ate his grits slowly, as if wanting to make them last.

Libby glanced toward Paul. “Zack?” Libby whispered.

“I think so,” Paul answered softly.

Then Zack stood up. As if hating each step, he walked toward a shed for storing tools. With a hoe over his shoulder, Zack followed the older slaves to the cornfield behind the house.

Moments later the sun edged above the horizon, but darkness filled Libby’s heart. With every passing moment her dread of what the day would bring grew stronger. As though matching her mood, clouds began building up beyond the woods on the far side of the field.

Standing up, Libby looked through the kitchen door. When she found no one inside, she told Paul that Mrs. Weaver had asked Hattie to take a basket of food to a neighbor.

“What if Jordan comes, and he can’t even
find
his family?” Libby asked.

Paul shushed her, and Libby lowered her voice still more. But she still felt upset. “Zack one direction, Jordan’s mother another, little Rose—” Libby broke off. “Where’s little Rose?”

“In one of the slave cabins. The old woman you saw yesterday takes care of her during the day.”

“What do we do?” Libby whispered.

“Pray.”

Pray
. As doubt crept into Libby’s mind, she remembered Gran and Pa saying,
“God go with you, Libby.”
She remembered Jordan’s mother praying all night. And she thought about Jordan praying,
“We thanks You, Jesus, that when we is weak, You makes us strong.”

When I am weak, then am I strong?
The words echoed in Libby’s thoughts.
Maybe it’s good to feel weak, so I let God help me.

Unable to sit still any longer, Libby stood up. “Do you have
a board I can use?” she asked Paul. “Something I can set up for an easel so I look like a real artist?”

As soon as Paul put together an easel, Libby carried it to the front of the house. Then she set her drawing paper in place.

Looking up at the house, Libby drew light, quick lines. After deciding where she wanted each person to be, she returned to the peddler’s wagon. Paul was packing everything away, preparing to leave.

Just then Libby saw a farm wagon far down the road. “Maybe it’s Caleb and Jordan!” Libby whispered.

A minute later she decided she was mistaken. The person who held the reins wore a straw hat pulled low over his eyes. The young man beside him wore a suit, white shirt, and a hat.

Still closing up shelves, Paul moved around to the other side of his wagon. When Libby followed him, the tall sides of the peddler’s wagon stood between her and the house.

As Libby watched, the farm wagon drew closer. It had lower sides than the Stillwater wagon. In the back end Libby saw a large trunk and the cloth bags with handles that people called carpetbags.

Then Libby realized there was something familiar about the people after all. While Jordan held the reins, Caleb leaned back as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “It
is
Caleb and Jordan!” she whispered to Paul.

Libby wanted to shout, “They’re really here!” Instead she quietly asked, “What if Zack’s new owner comes right now? What do we do?”

Within a few minutes the horses reached the driveway. As they started the turn, a corner of the wagon tipped, leaned at
a crazy angle, and dropped down. One of the wagon wheels rolled off into the field.

“Oh
no
!” Libby groaned. “What else can go wrong?”

As she and Paul watched, Caleb and Jordan climbed down to inspect the wheel. While Jordan rolled it toward the wagon, Caleb stalked up the driveway. In a suit and hat he looked at least three years older than he was.

When Libby moved forward to catch a better look, she realized that Mr. Weaver had come out on the front porch.

“Good morning,” Caleb called to him, politely lifting his hat. “We’re having a bit of trouble.”

“I see that.”

“My boy says he knows how to fix it,” Caleb said. “The nut came off the wheel.”

“I keep nuts on hand,” Mr. Weaver answered. “Maybe I can help you out.” Then he glanced toward Paul. “Come to think of it, my family and I are about to sit for a picture. The peddler will have exactly what you need.”