Midnight Rescue (30 page)

A
sharp wind rattled the windows, sounding just as angry as the voices. Libby Norstad’s deep brown eyes held a question:
What’s wrong?

The sound came from somewhere outside the
Christina
’s dining room. Pushing back her deep red hair, Libby listened.
Men’s voices
, she decided.
Among them, Pa’s
.

As she hurried out to the wide stairway at the front of the steamboat, the voices grew louder. At the bottom of the steps, Libby’s father, the captain of the
Christina
, stood on the main deck. With him were two men.

“But Mr. Dexter is helping me,” one of them said. From his accent Libby knew he was an immigrant.

The other man was well-dressed, red-faced, and angry looking. Pa turned to him.

“Mr. Dexter?” The captain’s quiet voice held a ring of steel that told Libby he was angry too. “Mr. Edward Dexter?”

Already a crowd had gathered around to listen. Feeling concerned for Pa, thirteen-year-old Libby sat down on the steps to watch.

“Your reputation has gone ahead of you, Mr. Dexter,”
Captain Norstad said. “Up and down the Mississippi River, respectable captains have told you to get off their boat. And I’m telling you now!”

“No! No!” the immigrant cried. “Look what Mr. Dexter is doing for me!” As though unable to believe his good luck, he held up a well-stuffed sack.

“Mr. Iverson, when did you buy your land?” Captain Norstad asked.

The immigrant’s face shone with pride. “For one year I have worked. I have cleared a field. I have planted corn. I have built a house—and a barn for my cow.”

Digging into the sack, Mr. Iverson held up a fistful of paper money. “Now I will buy more land.”

Captain Norstad took one bill, then two, then five or six. Turning them toward the light, he studied the bills carefully. “You are selling the farm you have?” he asked.

“If a man is willing to work, the streets of America are paved with gold! I will take this money and buy a bigger farm.”

The captain’s “No!” sounded like an explosion. “Look at this!” He held a dollar bill close to the immigrant’s face. “Look at the name of the bank on this greenback! This is wildcat money!”

“Wildcat?” Mr. Iverson peered at the bill. “We have no wildcats on my farm.”

“It’s called wildcat money because it comes from a bad bank!”

Captain Norstad turned to Mr. Dexter. “You are offering him money printed by a bank with a reputation as awful as your own.”

“No! No!” the immigrant exclaimed again. “Mr. Dexter is
giving me twice as much money as I paid for my farm. A good return on my hard work, yah?”

“It is not a good return,” the captain answered. “He is giving you money that is worth nothing!”

“You mean counterfeit?”

“Just about,” the captain said. “The United States government doesn’t print money now. It gives permission to state banks to print the money.”

“So!” Mr. Iverson declared. “American money is good money.”

“Sometimes good. Sometimes bad.”

“Bad? If America says print the money, why bad?”

Captain Norstad sighed. “I wish I knew your language, so I could explain better. If you take this money to a bank and say, ‘I want to buy a new farm,’ they would look at you and say, ‘These paper bills are not worth a cent. The bank that printed this money has no gold in it.’”

“Yah?” Mr. Iverson looked even more confused. “I don’t understand what you say.”

“It’s simple.” Captain Norstad spoke slowly. “Edward Dexter is a swindler.”

“Ha!” Dexter scoffed. “The captain wants to keep you from getting rich. This is between you and me.”

With troubled eyes Mr. Iverson looked from one man to the other. In that third week of May 1857, countless immigrants were traveling to their new homes in America. Often they found it hard to know whom they should trust.

Captain Norstad paid no attention to Dexter. “Do you have a wife?” the captain asked Mr. Iverson.

The immigrant nodded. “I go to meet her now. She is
coming on train from the Old Country.”

“Do you have children?”

“One girl and two boys. They will be proud of what their papa has done in America.”

“No!” Captain Norstad shook his head. “They will think, ‘An evil man made a fool of my papa.’ Do you want your wife and your children to have no house?”

“No house?” Fear filled Mr. Iverson’s eyes. “I have worked hard to make a home in America.”

Captain Norstad pointed to Edward Dexter. “This man will rob you of your home.”

“Yah?” Still Mr. Iverson looked uncertain. “You are telling me the truth?” Again the immigrant looked from one man to the other. “Who should I believe?”

“The captain doesn’t want you to make a lot of money,” Dexter said quickly.

“Yah, it is a lot of money,” the immigrant answered. “I can do many things for my family with this much money.” He stretched out his hand toward the swindler. “We shake on it.”

But Captain Norstad stepped between the two men. “No, you won’t. I will not let you shake on it.”

At the top of Mr. Iverson’s open trunk lay a large Bible. The captain pointed to it. “You believe the words of this book?”

“Yah, it is truth.”

“If I put my hand on your Bible and say, ‘This man is a swindler,’ would you believe me?”

“You would make your words so strong?”

“May I?” Captain Norstad asked.

Mr. Iverson nodded. As if expecting Captain Norstad to be struck dead, the farmer stepped back.

With a careful touch Captain Norstad reached down. As his hand rested on the Bible, his face showed how much the book meant to him. “I am telling you the truth,” he said. “This man will cheat you of your land. His money is worthless.”

“He is trying to make a fool of me?” the immigrant asked. “To take what I have?”

The captain nodded.

Still looking into Captain Norstad’s eyes, Mr. Iverson reached down. With one quick movement, he put his hand over the captain’s hand as it rested on the Bible. “I believe you.” Without another word Mr. Iverson held out the bag filled with wildcat money.

His eyes blazing with anger, Edward Dexter snatched the bag. Holding up his clenched fist, he shook it at the captain. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get even with you!”

Libby felt a chill down her spine. No doubt about it: Edward Dexter was a dangerous man. But her father acted as if he hadn’t heard the swindler’s threat.

“Pack your bags!” the captain said to Dexter. “In twenty minutes we’ll reach Fairport, Iowa. You’re getting off there.”

“You can’t do this to me!”

“I already have. Be here on the deck, or I’ll send my crew after you. I’ll stand at the gangplank till you get off this boat.”

As though wondering if anyone would help him fight the captain, the swindler looked around. At the edge of the crowd stood Jordan Parker, a runaway slave who worked for Captain Norstad. For a moment the swindler’s gaze rested on Jordan, as though memorizing every detail of his appearance.

Quietly Jordan edged back into the crowd, but Libby knew it was too late.
Dexter will remember
, she thought, the fear
within her growing.
If he guessed that Jordan is a fugitive, Dexter will know there is a big reward on his head
.

Through fugitive slave laws, Congress had strengthened the right of slave owners to hunt down and capture fugitives, even in free northern states. Owners often hired slave catchers—rough, cruel men—to bring back runaways.

In that moment Libby remembered Jordan’s family. If Dexter somehow discovered they were hiding on the boat, Pa could go to prison, or lose the
Christina
, or both.

Libby shivered.
Will Edward Dexter try to get money any way he can? Pa seems to think so
.

When the swindler stalked away, the crowd broke up. Libby ran down the steps to her father. Moving over to one side of the deck, Pa stood where he and Libby could talk without other people listening.

The knot of dread in Libby’s stomach was growing. “What if Dexter finds a way to get even? He knows that the
Christina
stops at every town on the Mississippi River.”

Pa sighed. “As captain, I could have arrested Dexter if he passed counterfeit money. But he did something legal, even though it’s wrong.”

As the
Christina
steamed toward the next town, Libby kept thinking about the swindler’s clenched fist. “Dexter can wait for us. He knows where you’ll be before you get there.”

“Sometimes there’s a cost to doing the right thing,” Pa said.

“And a reward?” Libby didn’t want to think about what might lie ahead.

“The reward is knowing you’ve done what’s right. I run a family boat. I can’t let someone do whatever he wants.”

A strong light glowed in her father’s eyes. Looking at him,
Libby felt proud of the kind of person he was. Yet, like a warning deep inside, Libby also felt uneasy about the swindler’s threat.

While the
Christina
tied up at Fairport, Captain Norstad watched the stairs. Suddenly he spoke to Libby. “Quick! Move away so Dexter doesn’t know you’re my daughter.”

As Libby joined the passengers waiting to leave, the swindler reached the bottom of the stairs. In each hand he held a carpetbag—a cloth bag with two handles. Acting as though he owned the boat, Edward Dexter walked around the people waiting in line.

When he reached the captain, the swindler tipped his hat and strolled down the gangplank.

Strange
, Libby thought.
Dexter doesn’t look angry
.

Pa looked as puzzled as Libby felt. As the swindler hurried away, Pa stared after him.

A short distance from the river, Dexter turned around to face the
Christina
. For a moment he stood there, as if studying every line of the beautiful white steamboat. Like a cat licking his whiskers, the swindler seemed pleased with himself.

As though it were still happening, Libby remembered the man shaking his clenched fist at Pa. Now the expression on Dexter’s face frightened Libby even more.

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