Race for Freedom (7 page)

Not long after, Caleb joined them. He grinned at Elsa, then spoke to Libby. “Your pa wants us to do our lesson before we leave St. Louis. He said we should visit the courtroom where Dred Scott made his first appeal for freedom.”

“What did you find out about Riggs?” Libby asked as she and Caleb left the
Christina
.

“There isn’t a Riggs on either the first-class or decker list,” Caleb told her. “But I’m not surprised. It doesn’t seem likely that he would use his own name.”

A scared feeling tightened Libby’s throat. “What should we try next?”

“We have to search until we find him. Or at least till we’re sure he’s
not
with us.”

Again Libby thought about the three hundred people on board. “That’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“I know,” Caleb answered. “But we can try. The best place to look is in the main cabin at mealtimes.”

Libby agreed, but she was the only one who could do it. Both Jordan and Caleb ate elsewhere. Yet there was a problem, even for her. There were two serving times for every meal. “If Riggs eats at a different time, I won’t see him.”

“That might be exactly what he does,” Caleb answered as they crossed the cobblestone levee. “Or Riggs might change times, just to throw us off. He has to know we’ll be looking for him.”

A short distance beyond a row of proud new buildings lay the St. Louis County Courthouse. As Libby and Caleb drew close to the steps, she looked around.

Today no one had gathered to auction slaves, but Libby remembered their last visit. Here she and Caleb had seen Jordan the first time. Tall and proud, he had stood at the top of the steps. In that terrible moment of being sold as a slave, Jordan had reminded Libby of royalty.

“Where is he?” she asked, and Caleb knew who she meant.

“Still hiding,” he answered. “Jordan won’t show his face till we’re far from here.”

“Did he want to come with us?”

“He said, ‘Caleb, you look inside that courthouse real good. I wants to see it through your eyes.’”

“Where’s he hiding?” Libby asked.

Caleb brushed her question aside. “You know I can’t tell you.”

But Libby couldn’t shake off her wondering about Jordan. “Is there some way you could get a message to his mother?” she asked. “Could you possibly tell her that Jordan is free and planning to come after her?”

“It would be awfully dangerous,” Caleb answered. “But there are a lot of free blacks who help runaways. Maybe Jordan knows of someone who can get a message through.”

As Caleb pulled open the large door of the courthouse, he seemed deep in thought. Since the age of nine, Caleb had worked on the Underground Railroad. Now Libby wondered,
How many fugitives has he helped
?

In a long hallway, Caleb asked directions to the place where the first two Dred Scott trials were held. He and Libby learned that the large courtroom had taken up the entire west wing. Because the ceiling needed more support, that part of the building had been divided into a corridor and two smaller courtrooms.

“Dred Scott is a small man,” Caleb told Libby. “Less than five feet tall, from what people say. But he’s taken on a big fight.”

In one of the courtrooms, Libby tried to imagine what it had been like for Dred Scott. For almost nine years, he had lived in a free state and a free territory.
How did it feel to be a slave and stand before the high, long desk where the judge sat? What was Dred Scott thinking about as he asked for the freedom he so strongly believed should be his?

As Libby and Caleb went back outside, Caleb was silent, as though not wanting to talk. It surprised Libby, for usually Caleb took little time to think things through. Then he acted quickly.

When at last he spoke, Caleb spit out his words. “A person like Dred Scott—a person like Jordan to be called
property
! How could the Supreme Court of the United States make such a decision?”

Sparks of anger lit Caleb’s eyes. “If the federal Supreme Court had made a different decision, they could have changed history. They could have said, ‘Our country believes in freedom for
everyone
!’ Instead, their decision is driving slavery and antislavery people farther apart!”

Caleb isn’t afraid to think things through
, Libby decided. Her discovery came as a surprise, and she liked him better for it. More than once, Libby had called Caleb the strangest boy she knew because he was unlike anyone else she had met. Then his grandmother told her, “To understand Caleb, you have to understand what he believes in.”

Now his beliefs made Libby uneasy.
Where will his thinking lead Caleb? What might it cause him to do?

When they returned to the
Christina
, Caleb left Libby without a word. Later she searched for him because there was something that still bothered her. She found him nailing the cover on a large box. “Caleb?” she asked. “I need to talk to you.”

When he drove the last nail into the box, Caleb dropped down on a keg. Libby found a nearby crate. Her scared feelings tightened her throat as she asked, “What would be worse than Pa going to jail?”

CHAPTER 6

C
aleb stared at her. “Don’t you know, Libby? Don’t you have any idea?”

Libby shook her head. “No, Caleb,” she said softly.

“I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll tell you. It would be far worse if your Pa gave in.”

“Gave in?” Libby asked, not sure what Caleb was talking about.

“Your pa stands for something,” Caleb said. “He stands for good things—the right things. If he gave in on what he believes, a lot of other people might do the same thing.”

“What do you mean?” Libby asked.

“Your pa believes that every person should be free.”

Libby nodded. She knew that.

“But he doesn’t believe it just with his head,” Caleb went on. “He believes it with his heart. Your pa believes in helping runaway slaves, even though it costs him something.”

“Costs him
something
!” Libby exclaimed. “It could cost him a lot!”

“Yup!” Caleb agreed with her. “It could cost him everything.”

“Everything?”
Libby whispered. Her tongue frozen by fear, she stumbled over the words. “Do I understand what you’re saying?”

“Maybe.” Caleb’s blue eyes met hers, and he did not look away.

“Are you saying that Pa could give his life for what he believes?”

“Some people have.”

“Elijah Lovejoy,” Libby answered. “That newspaper editor from Alton, Illinois.”

Caleb nodded. Elijah Lovejoy was Caleb’s hero, a newspaperman who stood up for what he believed.

To Libby there could not possibly be anything worse than having something happen to Pa.
He’s my whole life!

As tears welled up in Libby’s eyes, she turned away, not wanting Caleb to see. Instead, he surprised her. “Libby,” he said softly, “I love your father too.”

Libby turned back. Tears blurred her vision, and she could not speak.

“When my parents died, I lived with Gran,” Caleb explained. “She needed to earn money to support both of us. Your pa gave Gran a job as head pastry cook on the
Christina
. He even gave me a chance to earn money as a cabin boy.”

Caleb leaned forward as though wanting to make sure Libby understood. “Your pa is kind, Libby. He’s the kindest man I know. That’s why he cares so much about what happens to slaves.”

Already Libby had learned about the unusual arrangement between Caleb and her father. Because they believed the same way about slavery, Pa trusted Caleb to help runaways. Without talking about every fugitive that came to the
Christina
, Pa agreed with what Caleb did to protect them. That in turn protected Pa when slave catchers tried to question him.

Libby swallowed hard against the fresh torrent of tears that would destroy her. Again she turned away.

“Look at me, Libby.” Caleb sounded much older than his fourteen years. He waited until she met his gaze. “Your pa does his best to be careful. He doesn’t take any foolish chances. But you’re forgetting something. It’s God who takes care of him.”

God
? Libby thought.
How can God be enough protection for Pa?

“Your Pa is like a father to me, Libby.” Caleb’s voice was soft now. “Like a real Pa. If something hurts him, it would hurt me too.”

Libby swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “Thanks, Caleb,” she said, choking on the words.

As she headed for the stairs, great sobs tore at Libby’s throat. By the time she reached the texas deck, she could barely see the way. Inside her room Libby threw herself facedown on the bed.

No! Nothing will happen to Pa!
Sobs ripped through Libby’s body.
He’ll stand up for what he believes, but nothing will happen to him!

By the time Libby stopped crying, dusk had settled around the
Christina
. The beautiful white steamboat had put out from St. Louis without her even noticing.

Libby stumbled to her feet and splashed water over her face. Her skin was blotchy and her eyes swollen, but she was glad that Caleb had explained.

At the sound of scratching, Libby looked through the window. Samson stood on the other side, and Libby opened the door. Dropping to her knees, she threw her arms around his neck.

When Pa had given her the Newfoundland, she hadn’t wanted the monstrous dog. Now he seemed like the best friend in the whole world. As though understanding that Libby felt upset, Samson stretched out his long tongue and tried to lick her face. Libby edged back. “Oh, ick!”

Samson’s wide grin stretched from ear to ear. In spite of the comfort he gave, Libby’s thoughts leapfrogged ahead.
Where does Jordan hide
? she wondered for the one hundredth time.
If I could find his secret place, I’d know where any fugitive might be
.

In the middle of the night, Libby woke up feeling cold right into her bones. Shivering, she pulled her quilts over her head, curled up into a ball, and tried to go back to sleep.

Yet sleep would not come to her. Even here, high on the texas deck, she felt a slight vibration from the paddle wheels. What was it like for Mr. Meyer, sleeping on the woodpile and feeling the vibration in every bone?