Midnight Rescue (7 page)

“Not many fugitives go back to the state where they’ve been slaves,” Caleb warned. “At least your mother lives in a different place from where you were. Her master doesn’t know you.”

Jordan’s troubled gaze met Caleb’s. “But can I do what I needs to do? Can I rescue my people?”

For a long moment Caleb did not answer, as if he knew
the seriousness of whatever he said. At last he spoke. “When Libby’s pa wants to make sure I’m not just rushing off on my own, he looks me straight in the eye. He asks, ‘What is God telling you to do?’”

Jordan’s gaze fell away. Stretching out his fingers, he stared at his right hand, then his left. Slowly he turned them over to stare at the palms. Then he studied his feet.

“In the Good Book, Moses be a big man,” Jordan said, still looking at his feet. “He take his people out of Egypt.”

“Out of suffering,” Caleb answered quietly.

“Out of slavery.” Jordan’s voice was still thoughtful. “These hands—these feet,” he said slowly. “Long time ago the Lord told me, ‘Jordan, I gives you strong hands—strong feet. I gives them to you so you kin lead your people out of slavery. But I gives you something else—something you is goin’ to need even more.’”

When Jordan lifted his head, tears shone in his dark eyes. “The Lord, he told me, ‘Jordan, I gives you a big heart—a big enough heart to lead your people to freedom.’”

As though embarrassed by his tears, Jordan tried to wipe them away. But tears filled his eyes again and ran down his cheeks.

When Caleb leaned forward, his gaze never left Jordan’s face. “Your heart
is
big enough to bring your people to freedom,” he said. “The freedom of your people means more to you than your life. It might cost you your life.”

In the silence Libby heard only the slap of the paddle wheels against water. A long steady look passed between Caleb and Jordan.

“If you want me, I’m still planning to help you.” Caleb held
out his hand, renewing the promise he had made a few weeks before.

This time Jordan did not hesitate. Halfway between the boys, their two hands met.

Then Caleb stood up. “C’mon. I want to show you something.”

He led Jordan and Libby to Captain Norstad’s cabin. There Caleb opened the large Bible owned by Libby’s father. As he turned the pages, Caleb explained.

“A man named Paul was facing some hard things. God told him, ‘My grace is sufficient for you.’”

“Sufficient?” Libby asked. “What’s that?”

“Enough. God says, ‘My grace is enough for you, Jordan, for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ When you’re weak, that’s when my power is big enough for you.’”

As always, Libby felt surprised by the way Caleb could explain things. From the moment she met him, Libby had known there was something different about Caleb. When she discovered what he did with the Underground Railroad, she thought it was that. But soon she learned there was another reason for Caleb being strong.

“The hard things Paul faced helped him learn about God’s power,” Caleb explained. “Paul said, ‘When I am weak, then am I strong.’”

In the time since Jordan came on board, Caleb had been teaching him to read. Now Caleb pointed to each word. Jordan stared at them as if trying to match the words with what he heard.

“I is weak, all right,” he said. “I is mighty scared. And God’s grace is enough for me?”

Caleb nodded.

“Long time ago I learned that word,” Jordan answered. “Grace be the Lord’s love and favor, even though I ain’t deservin’ of it.”

As though forgetting his worries, Jordan straightened, standing tall in the proud look that reminded Libby of royalty. “Our colored preacher told me I is not a slave. I is created in God’s image. I is His child!”

Once more Jordan looked down at the pages of the Bible. “All my life I been wantin’ to read the Good Book. I been wantin’ to see all them good promises for myself. Show me again.”

This time it was Jordan who pointed to each word, repeating what Caleb told him. Soon Jordan said, “Stand back! I is reading to
you
.”

Pointing to each word, Jordan read the promise. “‘When I am weak, then am I strong.’”

As though wanting to prove that he understood what he read, Jordan lifted his head and faced Caleb. “When I is weak, Jesus makes me strong!”

At Prescott, Wisconsin, where the waters of the St. Croix flowed into those of the Mississippi River, the towboat dropped its lines. From there to Pepin, where the river again widened into a lake, the lumber raft would drift on the current, guided by the oars of the Red Shirts.

As the
Christina
drew near the landing at Prescott, Libby spoke quickly. “I want to help too,” she told Jordan. “I want to help you rescue your family.”

For a long moment Jordan sat quietly, thinking about it. When he spoke, his voice was low but sure. “There be all kinds of people workin’ with the Underground Railroad. Free blacks,
white men and women, boys and girls. But I ain’t never heard of no white captain’s daughter tryin’ something that hard. To go into Missouri—” Jordan shook his head. “Not unless there be a mighty big reason. But I thanks you for wanting to try.”

Listening to Jordan’s quiet voice, Libby knew his mind was made up. Even so, she didn’t want to accept his words.
If I try really hard—if I do everything perfect, I’ll convince both Caleb and Jordan that I can help bring his family to freedom.

Three-story warehouses stood along the waterfront at Prescott. Before continuing up the Mississippi River to St. Paul, large steamboats often unloaded their freight there for storage. Then smaller steamboats took the freight on to Stillwater and other towns along the St. Croix River.

When Libby went into the large general store at Prescott, she found it filled with men who came off the rafts to buy supplies. All of them wore the red shirts that would help someone rescue them if they fell into the water.

Seeing the crowd of men, Libby started to back out. Then the storekeeper asked, “Can I help you?”

While living in Chicago, Libby had taken drawing lessons from a well-known artist. Already Libby had used up the drawing paper she had bought in St. Louis. Now she was glad to find more paper, and pencils as well.

As she paid her money, she noticed a man near a table filled with red shirts. Dressed in gray pants, white shirt, red and blue jacket, and a cap, he seemed out of place—too well dressed compared with all the rafting men who crowded the store. Yet to Libby’s surprise he picked up a red shirt.

While the storekeeper wrapped Libby’s package, she
looked around. If the store carried any other color of shirt, it was nowhere in sight.

Soon the man in the red and blue jacket stepped into line behind six or seven men waiting to pay for their purchases. As Libby watched, the man glanced around as if checking to see who stood behind him.

The artist part of Libby wondered about his quick, almost secret glance. During art lessons, she had learned to notice how a person looked.
If I were going to draw that man, what would I do?
Curious now, Libby moved over next to the door and stood there as if waiting for someone.

The man was about six feet tall and strongly built. For some reason he seemed familiar.

But who do I know in this area?
Libby wondered. In Stillwater she had met Nate and the farmer who helped them after the accident. For just a moment she had talked with a few other people. None of them fit this man’s description.
Maybe I’m jumpy because of the escaped prisoner
, Libby thought.

Reaching the counter, the man put down his money. When the store owner gave him change, the man turned just enough to find Libby staring at him. As their gaze met, he lifted his hand, touched the visor on his cap, and politely nodded. Then, taking his time, he left the store.

When Libby followed him outside, she watched to see if he would board the
Christina
. Instead, he headed for a different steamboat, a small one of the kind that operated on the St. Croix River. Libby watched until the man started up the gangplank.

All the way back to the
Christina
, Libby thought about it, comparing the escaped prisoner to the man she had just seen.
When the prisoner went over the fence, he had a halfshaved head. The hair he had left was light brown, but Libby could not see the color of his eyes. This man wore a cap that sat low on his head. From beneath the visor, a strand of light brown hair hung down over his forehead. His eyes were blue.

The whole thing bothered Libby, and she didn’t understand why. Then, as she started up the gangplank, she thought she knew. In Stillwater it had taken only one look to know that the prisoner was doing something wrong. But the man in the store seemed just the opposite. He had met Libby’s gaze as though he had no guilty conscience. Only one thing had caused her to look twice—that quick glance over his shoulder.

Maybe I imagined it
, Libby thought.
He seems to have nothing to hide
.

Even so, she felt uneasy about the man.
What should I remember?
she asked herself.
My feeling that something was wrong? Or his acting as though everything was all right?

When Libby reached the gangplank she found roustabouts—men who loaded and unloaded the boat—carrying heavy sacks of grain onto the
Christina
. As Libby’s stomach growled with hunger, she realized it was still a long time until lunch. Taller than most girls her age, Libby sometimes wondered if she needed extra food just to fill her up. She only knew there was nothing wrong with her appetite. She was always hungry!

Libby decided to find Caleb’s grandmother. When Libby first came on board, she called her
Granny
. More and more, Libby thought of her as
Gran
, the way Caleb did.

As head pastry cook, Gran worked in the galley just in front of one of the large paddle wheels. Her gray-white hair was pulled back and twisted into a knot at the top of her head.
Smile wrinkles surrounded eyes that made her seem young.

As always, Gran’s kitchen was spotless. She took one look at Samson and said, “You can’t come into my kitchen.”

Samson looked up with his great brown eyes as though begging for food. Just the same, he seemed to know Gran was boss. Flopping down on his stomach, he lay as close to the door as he could get without crossing the threshold.

The kitchen smelled warm and good with the scent of baking cookies. As Gran took a pan out of the oven, Samson watched every move she made. With his long tongue hanging out, he waited.

“Want to help?” Gran asked Libby as she often did. When Gran turned a pan over to her, Libby shifted the cookies onto a cooling rack.

Working quickly, Gran slipped another pan into the oven. This time of the year the
Christina
often carried three hundred people, counting both passengers and crew. Feeding all of them three times a day kept Gran and her helpers busy.

As soon as the cookies were cool enough, Gran filled a plate. “Why don’t you share them with Caleb and Jordan?” she suggested.

Libby found the boys near the gangplank watching the roustabouts. Over the winter, farmers had filled the Prescott warehouses with wheat to be shipped by boat to the railroad at Dunleith, Illinois.

“Present from Gran,” Libby said as she set down the plate on a crate where Caleb sat.

The oatmeal cookies were larger than most cookies. Libby eyed the plate. There were three for each of them, and one
person would get four. She wouldn’t mind if she was the one getting four.

I should have sneaked a cookie coming here
, she thought. Picking up one of them, she bit into it. “Mmmm,” she said. “Gran’s the best cook in the whole world.”

The cookie was still warm in the middle, and Libby felt sure she had never tasted anything better. “Help yourself, Jordan,” she offered.

As he took a cookie, one of the deckhands spoke to Caleb. For a moment Caleb listened, then told Libby, “Be right back.”

When he returned five minutes later, Caleb said, “Now I’ll have one of those great cookies.”

But when Libby reached for the plate, it was empty!

CHAPTER 6