The Swindler's Treasure (14 page)

On the slate Libby explained to Peter, “Mr. Lovejoy wanted to write and publish with freedom. But he also wanted to respect the laws of our country.”

For a moment Caleb was silent. Then, as though thinking aloud, he summed up Mr. Lovejoy's words. “He wanted to speak, write, and publish what he believed needed to be said? That's freedom of the press. But he didn't want to say just whatever he felt like, even if it hurt people? He wanted to be responsible about what he wrote?”

Mrs. Hunter nodded. “He respected a higher law—God's law. Elijah believed that God has taught us to care about the worth of every human being.”

“He didn't change his mind when things got hard?” Caleb asked.

Mrs. Hunter shook her head. “He never stopped working for what he believed was right.”

Again Caleb was silent. Finally he asked, “Is Elijah Lovejoy the first American to die for freedom of the press?”

“As far as I know,” Mrs. Hunter answered. “But Elijah died not only for freedom of the press. He died for the freedom of our colored friends. I remember something else he said. ‘I have sworn eternal opposition to slavery, and by the blessing of God I will never turn back.'”

Mrs. Hunter stood up to offer more food. “You know, Caleb, you should meet Reverend Livingston. He's been a pastor here in Alton, and he's known as the father of the Colored Baptists in Illinois. He's coming to see my husband this afternoon. If you're here at three o'clock, you could talk to Reverend Livingston first.”

“We'll go now,” Caleb answered, as if suddenly remembering they were supposed to be searching for the swindler. “But we'll do our best to be back in time.”

Soon Libby, Caleb, and Peter reached the house at the address Miss Priscilla had shown them. Set a short distance away from any other home, it was built on the side of a steep hill. In the daylight the house seemed even more deserted.

After looking around, Libby and the boys found a hiding place behind some bushes. There they had a good view of both the house and the hill leading up to it. The three of them settled down to watch for the swindler.

By the end of the first hour, Caleb was restless. When a second hour passed, he could no longer sit still. Standing up, he started to prowl around the area.

“Stop it, Caleb!” Libby said. “You'll give us away.”

When Caleb sat down again, Peter began teaching them the finger alphabet. Then he said, “We should have our own secret sign for
danger ahead
.” Peter showed them how to make a D, then an A.

Peter's many abilities made Libby curious. “Where did you learn to sign?” she asked on Peter's slate.

“At the Illinois Institution for the Education of the Deaf and Dumb,” he said.

“In Jacksonville?” Caleb wrote.

Peter nodded. “During school that's where I live. That's where I learned to talk with my hands. All my friends are there.”

Caleb leaned forward. “We want to be your friends too,” he wrote.

A grin lit Peter's face, reaching even his eyes. “You are,” he said.

It was past two o'clock when Caleb started his restless prowling again. “We have wasted a good part of the day just sitting around!”

Libby felt disappointed, but she had to agree. At the same time, she wondered what to do about it. “We don't have any other leads for the swindler. Where can he be?”

“You think you saw him at the train station—” Caleb began.

“We
know
we saw him,” Libby answered. “Peter is sure it was the man he saw walking toward the boardinghouse. I'm sure it was the swindler who tried to cheat the immigrant on the
Christina
.”

By now Caleb was more impatient than Libby had ever seen him. He was used to doing things, not sitting around. “I want to talk to Reverend Livingston,” he said. “If we stay any longer, we'll miss him.”

When Caleb explained to Peter, the boy said, “I'll stay and watch for the swindler.”

“Alone?” Libby wrote. She wasn't sure about that. Pa had told her to be responsible for Peter.

“I've taken care of myself a long time,” Peter said. “You don't have to treat me like a baby.”

Libby felt the warm flush of embarrassment reach her cheeks. That's what she had been doing, all right. But now she wrote, “You promise to hide from the swindler if he comes?”

“I'll find you,” Peter said. “If the swindler doesn't come by sundown, I'll go to Hunter's just before dark.”

With that agreement, Caleb and Libby left. She understood Peter wanting to be on his own. She
had
been treating him like a baby. But halfway back to Hunter's, Libby started thinking it over.

“Caleb, did we do the right thing?” she asked. “Leaving Peter, I mean?”

“Aw, Libby, stop acting like an old mother hen! You heard what Peter told you.”

Again Libby felt embarrassed. But she could not shake off her uneasiness.

CHAPTER 11

S
oon after Libby and Caleb reached Major Hunter's lodging place, Reverend John Livingston arrived. When Libby saw the lines of kindness in his face, she knew this father of the Colored Baptist churches in Illinois was a man to be trusted.

When Caleb explained what he wanted to know, Reverend Livingston listened carefully.

“Elijah Lovejoy was my friend,” he said. “Sometimes I could almost hear the Lord saying, ‘John, I am giving you the privilege of running this man's press. I am giving you the privilege of printing what he says.'”

Reverend Livingston led them into the backyard and to a bench where they could sit down and talk.

“What do you remember most about Mr. Lovejoy?” Caleb asked.

“The kind of person he was. My white brother died because he cared about people like me. Even now, after twenty years, I can't forget some of the things he wrote. I especially remember him saying, ‘The fittest place for man to die is where he dies for man.'”

Reverend Livingston's eyes were wet. “Elijah Lovejoy knew Jesus, and Jesus died for every one of us who has ever been a slave.”

Leaning forward, Reverend Livingston looked directly into Caleb's face. “Mrs. Hunter told me that Elijah Lovejoy is your hero. What do you plan to do about that?”

Caleb stared at him, startled.

When he did not answer, Libby wanted to jump in, to tell the minister about Caleb's work with the Underground Railroad. But Caleb made no mention of that.

As the silence grew long, Libby's thoughts raced on.
I could tell Reverend Livingston how brave Caleb is
. Just in time she realized that would make him uncomfortable.

Then Caleb looked into the minister's eyes. As though Libby were no longer there, he spoke. “I want to be a man of honor—to do what's right, even though no one knows about it. I want to do what I know to be true, even when there's no reward in doing it.”

“Ah!” Reverend Livingston leaned back, smiling as though he had received a better answer than he could have hoped for. “Then, Caleb, I will pray for you every day.”

When they stood up to leave, Caleb had one more question. “Do you know where Elijah Lovejoy is buried?”

“There is one man who might know.” Then Reverend Livingston shook his head. “If he does know, he won't tell you. But why don't you talk to a newspaperman named Thomas Dimmock? I'll give you directions to his house.”

As Libby and Caleb started away, John Livingston spoke again. “If you follow Jordan's daddy up the state of Illinois, you might go to Jacksonville or Springfield. If you ever need a place of refuge—” The minister was looking at Caleb, but Libby knew what he was saying.

When Libby and Caleb reached the address Reverend Livingston had given them, a man with a full mustache and a well-trimmed beard opened the door.

“Mr. Dimmock?” Caleb asked. “Reverend Livingston gave us your name. Can you tell us how to find Elijah Lovejoy's grave?”

When Mr. Dimmock glanced back into the parlor, Libby saw a group of men gathered there. Shutting the door behind him, Mr. Dimmock looked up and down the street, then led Libby and Caleb away from the parlor windows.

“Who are you?” Mr. Dimmock asked.

“A cabin boy on the
Christina
,” Caleb answered. “This is Libby Norstad. Her pa is the captain.”

Mr. Dimmock offered a warm smile to Libby. “I know your father. He's a good man, a fair man.”

He turned back to Caleb. “Why do you want to see Elijah Lovejoy's grave?”

“He's my hero,” Caleb said simply.

“Why is he your hero?” Mr. Dimmock sounded curious now.

“He was a newspaper man. A writer and editor like I want to be. He stood for the things I want to stand for.”

Listening to Caleb, Libby suddenly felt uncomfortable. She couldn't help but admire him, but deep down she felt scared. How could Caleb say things like that? There was a cost to standing for the right things, a cost Mr. Lovejoy had known well.

Now Caleb's face was slightly flushed, as though he found it hard to talk this way to a stranger. Yet he looked at the man without wavering. “I don't know if I can do it, but I want to stand for the things I believe in.”

“I see,” Mr. Dimmock answered, his gaze still holding Caleb's. “Elijah Lovejoy's grave is not marked. I suspect there's just one man who knows exactly where it is. I can only tell you approximately where it might be. You understand there won't be anything to see?”

Caleb nodded.

“If I take you there, will you and Libby make me a solemn promise?”

“That we don't tell anyone where you think the grave might be?” Caleb answered.

Mr. Dimmock nodded.

“We promise,” Caleb said instantly.

But Mr. Dimmock wasn't satisfied with that. “You too?” he asked Libby.

“Me too.” Libby's voice was solemn.

“You understand the danger of telling even one person?” Again Mr. Dimmock searched their faces.

“We understand that someone might be disrespectful to his grave,” Caleb answered.