Midnight Rescue (14 page)

A
s if the suction was growing stronger, the raft moved faster and faster. Working frantically, the Red Shirts swept the oars. But the long poles did little good.

Suddenly an outside log on the raft broke loose. As the chain of logs broke apart, more logs spun off. One after another they shot out in all directions.

Then an entire section of the raft split away. The man who stood on it jumped across the widening stretch of water to a larger piece of raft. With the Red Shirts no longer able to steer, the raft slipped directly into the path of the upcoming boat.

On the
Christina
warning bells clanged. More and more logs broke loose. Again Fletcher blew the whistle.

Our hull!
Libby thought in panic. In spite of Fletcher’s efforts, the
Christina
was coming up on a piece of raft. Even one of the huge logs could break a hole in the wooden hull. In a matter of minutes, the
Christina
would fill with water and go down.

In the next instant Fletcher spun the wheel hard to the right. Trying to find a way around the logs, he sought open water between them and the nearby shore.

Just then the upcoming boat poured on steam. Swinging out around the logs spreading in all directions, the boat managed to slip past them.

“That steamboat is leaving!” Libby cried out. “The pilot caused the accident, and he’s leaving!”

Fletcher was so busy avoiding logs that he paid no attention. Beads of perspiration broke out on his lips as he steered so close to the shore that Libby feared they would run aground.

As the first log bumped against the hull, Libby’s stomach tightened. From where she stood, Libby heard only a soft thud, but she knew the impact could be much worse than it sounded.

Then came another thud and another. Desperately Fletcher worked to keep from bearing down on the remaining sections of the raft. Desperately he worked to keep from striking the men trying to steer the broken segments toward shore.

When at last Libby felt the difference in thuds, she breathed deeply. Now she could see what was happening. The
Christina
had slowed enough so the logs began drifting downstream, away from them.

On the wheel Fletcher flexed the fingers of his hands, then tightened them again. As the
Christina
drew close to one of the larger segments, he leaned out the window to listen.

Far below Captain Norstad stood on the forward deck. He called to one of the men. “Want some help?”

Instantly the anger in the man’s face disappeared. Libby knew the anger was for the other steamboat, and she felt the same way. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if she would be too late for the peddler in Keokuk.

“Thank you, sir!” the Red Shirt called back. “Any help you’d like to give.”

“Let’s round up the big sections first,” Captain Norstad called. “At least you’ll save some of the logs.”

Starting with the large broken segment closest to them, Fletcher steered the
Christina
, gently nudging the edge of the raft with the bow. As that part of the raft rode the water toward another segment of logs, men reached out, grabbing hold. Working quickly, they bound the two segments together.

Careful to not come too close, Fletcher guided the
Christina
slowly ahead. Wherever the pilot could reach a section of logs with the bow, he did. When the largest sections were rounded up, the Red Shirts made them fast along the shore.

Some of the individual logs had drifted against the riverbank, catching on trees. Other logs had escaped downstream. Libby had no doubt that without the
Christina
’s help the man responsible for the raft would have lost thousands of dollars. Even so, his loss would be great.

When at last the
Christina
had done all she could, Fletcher waved to the men.

“A million thank-yous!” a Red Shirt called out. A cheer went up from the rest of them.

Before long Captain Norstad entered the
Christina
’s pilothouse. “Good work!” he said, clapping Fletcher on the shoulder.

Libby felt proud of both Fletcher and Pa. They had done the best they could in a bad situation. But on her way down the stairs, Libby thought about Caleb and Jordan again. Jordan’s plan would fall apart if their timing wasn’t right.

When she reached the large main cabin, Libby stared at the clock. It was even worse than she feared.
What if the peddler doesn’t wait? What if he thinks no one is coming?

Carrying only a small bag on her back, Libby left the
Christina
at Keokuk, Iowa. Pa walked beside her up the steep hill to the marketplace. There, in the center of town, Pa tipped his head toward a peddler’s wagon.

The wagon was eight or ten feet long. The high sides and covered top were large enough to protect the great number of boxes, drawers, and shelves that held whatever the peddler wanted to sell. On the almost flat top were more wooden boxes. Buckets, brooms, and all kinds of farming tools hung wherever possible.

The peddler stood next to his wagon, talking with whoever came by. But he gave no sign that he had seen Libby or her father.

Captain Norstad kept walking, passing by on the other side of the street as if the wagon was of no interest to him. Half a block farther on, Pa said, “The peddler is well known in this area. People like him. Most of them don’t know he also works for the Underground Railroad.”

When Libby glanced back she saw the peddler putting away his wares. She and Pa were at least a block away when the peddler climbed up to the seat at the front of the wagon.

At the next corner Captain Norstad turned. Two blocks beyond that, on a quiet, treelined street, Libby was surprised to see the peddler’s wagon had gone around them on another street, then stopped. “God go with you, Libby,” Pa said softly as they drew near to the wagon. “Be careful, won’t you?”

Half scared and half excited, Libby nodded. After talking with Gran, it wasn’t hard for her to guess how hard this must be for Pa.

“I’ll be very careful,” she said. “We’ll do our best to meet
you in Burlington four days from now.”

The man waiting on the high wooden seat had a long gray beard and gray hair that hung down over the collar of his coat. Reins in hand, he seemed ready to leave on a moment’s notice.

“Paul, this is my daughter,” Pa said softly.

“I’ll take good care of her, Captain,” the man promised.

As Libby climbed up to the high seat, the man lifted his hat toward Pa. Beneath bushy eyebrows, his eyes were sharp and alert. “The Lord bless and keep you, Captain.”

When Paul called “Giddyup!” to the horses, Libby twisted around to look back. The place where she sat was under an overhang to protect the driver in all kinds of weather. Through a small square opening in the end of the wagon, she watched Pa disappear in the distance. Until then Libby hadn’t realized how hard it would be to leave him. But she had the feeling that Pa and the peddler had been friends for a long time.

“Did you have trouble?” Paul asked as he and Libby passed out of town.

“A raft broke loose. Logs scattered all over the river. Pa needed to stop and help.”

“Did the logs hurt the
Christina
?”

Libby shook her head. “But it could have been really bad.”

“I was told to look for Caleb and a fugitive,” Paul said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Libby grinned. “I wasn’t expecting me either.”

She explained about the escaped prisoner and the need for a change in plans. When she told Paul about Jordan’s plan for a midnight rescue, Paul said, “I’ve been to the Weaver farm often.”

After a time Paul asked about Caleb. “Is he all right?”

“As far as I know, Caleb is safe.” In spite of their differences, Libby liked and admired him. Her voice grew soft with even the mention of his name.

As though sensing the change in Libby’s voice, Paul glanced her way. “We’ve made lots of trips together, Caleb and I.”

“Do you know him well?” Libby asked. She wanted to learn everything she could about Caleb.

Paul smiled. “I know him the way a man knows a man, instead of the way a man knows a boy. Caleb grew up too fast. But he’s earned the respect of everyone who knows him.”

Strange
, Libby thought. She had always felt that Caleb seemed older than his age. But every now and then something else broke through—the fourteen-year-old boy that was there, after all. The boy who teased her and knew how to have a good time.

Then a tight knot formed around Libby’s heart. Once she had felt sure that Caleb liked her. Now she didn’t feel sure about anything.
Caleb knows how I failed. He didn’t want me along
.

When Libby described the place where Caleb wanted to meet, Paul said, “I know exactly where he means. If all goes well, we can still be there by one o’clock or so.”

For a while Paul followed the red arrows painted on trees to mark the way. When the road led them close to a good-sized river, Libby learned it was the Des Moines. The wide stream flowed at a southeast angle to join the Mississippi River below Keokuk. Libby knew that every creek and river they needed to cross would be a barrier on their way back from northeastern Missouri.

Soon Paul began telling Libby about his life as a peddler—how he wandered up and down the often muddy roads in all
kinds of weather. All through the spring, summer, and autumn, he sought out people who needed what he wanted to sell. Only in winter did he stay home to protect his horses from trying to get through deep snow.

During the day Paul stopped at every farmhouse he passed. At night he wrapped his blanket around him and slept under the wagon.

“And you, Libby?” Paul’s long gray beard rose and fell in the breeze. He wanted to hear about her life on the
Christina
.

To her own surprise, Libby soon felt comfortable with Paul. After the dangerous things that had happened on the boat, she welcomed this peaceful time. Whenever Libby tried to think ahead, her stomach knotted with nervousness.

At St. Francisville Paul got down and led the horses onto a ferry. When the wagon rolled off the ferry on the other side of the Des Moines River, he said, “We’re in Missouri now.”

In the flat bottomland next to the river, the soil looked black and good. As the land became more hilly, Libby and Paul rode past great stretches of timber.

“It’s hard work,” Paul said, and Libby wondered what he meant. He stretched out his hand to the woods.

“Oak, maple, and walnut trees. Cottonwood and birch along the streams. It’s God’s country, but hard work to clear. Lots of southern people settled here—owners bringing their slaves along. Down south slaves were used to gentler ways—picking cotton instead of clearing land. It gives them an extra reason for running.”

Gentler ways
. Libby thought about Paul’s words. To her the land was beautiful. She liked the tall trees, the road leading up a hill, then sharply down. She liked the valleys, the deep
ravines, the yellow buttercups along the creeks. But she didn’t have to cut down the trees, clear out the stumps, and plant a crop.

Now Libby could barely see enough. Wherever she looked, there were wild flowers under the trees. Paul told her their names—violets and sweet William, boy britches and May apples.

Like the budding of flowers after a long winter, hope stirred within Libby. Would this be springtime for Jordan’s family?
Maybe—just maybe, I can do something to help them after all
.

But then Paul stopped the horses in front of a large poster nailed to a tree. The top line of letters was large enough for people to read as they passed by.

When Paul climbed down from the wagon, Libby followed him. In smaller letters, she read the rest of the notice:

As though she could not believe what she read, Libby felt sick inside. “The description fits them perfectly. That’s Jordan’s mother and Serena and Zack and little Rose!”