The Swindler's Treasure (15 page)

Finally Mr. Dimmock nodded, as if satisfied that he could trust them. “When I was seven years old, I lived across the street from the cemetery. I knew that Mr. Lovejoy had been killed by a mob. I saw his friends come to the cemetery.”

Again Mr. Dimmock glanced around, as though making sure that no one could hear. “Can you meet me at the cemetery half an hour before sunset?”

When Caleb agreed, he spoke quickly. “One more thing. We have a friend who's a runaway slave. Can we bring him too?”

“A runaway slave?” A quiet smile lit Mr. Dimmock's face. “That's the kind of person Mr. Lovejoy died for. I think he would like to have a fugitive visit his grave.”

As the sun slanted down toward the western horizon, Libby and Caleb walked to the Rock House, where Jordan was hiding.

“I heard people talking about Miz Priscilla today,” Jordan said the minute he saw them. “Did you know she rows the bishop of the AME Church across the river? And she gathers up slaves for church meetings.”

Jordan grinned. “Once slave owners in Missouri let her take three hundred slaves to Illinois so they could hear preaching about Jesus.”

That afternoon Priscilla Baltimore had stopped to ask Jordan more questions about his daddy. At sundown she would cross the Mississippi to search for Micah Parker.

“Miz Priscilla said that if we left here, we should walk as if we belong together,” Jordan told Caleb as they headed toward the cemetery. “We should walk as if you're saying I belong to you. I am all right.”

Half an hour before sunset the three of them entered the cemetery. As they walked slowly around, Jordan tried to read the gravestones. Caleb helped him sound out the easier names and words.

Within a few minutes, Mr. Dimmock strolled across the street and stopped at a stone near the entrance. Soon he moved on.

Passing close to Caleb, he spoke in a low voice. “Follow me.”

A short distance away, Mr. Dimmock stopped. Turning, he faced a road that ran from the entrance of the cemetery to an area farther back. Gravestones stood on either side of the road.

When Caleb, then Libby and Jordan, turned to face the same direction, Mr. Dimmock spoke quietly. “I believe the grave is somewhere beneath that road.”

As Libby stared at the dirt path, tears welled up in her eyes.
No marker, not even a cross
. Though Mr. Dimmock had warned them, she felt upset.

Then he spoke again. “The time will come when we can mark Mr. Lovejoy's grave. But first we will have war—civil war. Neighbor will fight against neighbor and brother against brother.”

War?
Libby dreaded even the sound of the word.

For a time all of them stood without speaking. Then, as Libby glanced sideways, she saw Caleb's face. It was all he could do to keep from breaking down. A hurt look filled his eyes—a look of grieving for a hero he could never meet in person.

As though Thomas Dimmock sensed what Caleb was thinking, he spoke quietly. “Someday the world will know that Elijah Lovejoy died for the freedom of slaves. Someday there will be a monument here—a monument that honors the first American martyr for freedom of the press.”

As Libby blinked away her tears, Jordan bowed his head. His lips moved, but no sound came, and Libby knew he was praying.

When at last he looked up, Jordan stood tall. Though his gaze still rested on a spot in the road, his eyes shone with pride.

Then Caleb straightened his shoulders, as if he had decided something. Finally he spoke. “A good road goes somewhere.”

“Yes,” Mr. Dimmock answered. “A good road helps all of us.”

“I want to make sure I'm on the right one,” Caleb said.

With darkness falling around them, Libby and Caleb walked with Jordan back to the Rock House. On the long return trip to Major Hunter's, Libby thought about all she had seen and heard.

It had been their search for stolen money that started all this—money taken from Pa and from Jordan's church. But now Libby had only one thought.
Money doesn't seem very important compared to Elijah Lovejoy's life
.

When they reached the lodging place, Mrs. Hunter met them at the door. “I saved dinner for you because I thought you'd be late.”

“Peter?” Libby asked, suddenly remembering. “Is he here?”

When Mrs. Hunter told them no, Libby's heart lurched with fear. “It's dark, and Peter hasn't come back,” she said to Caleb. “I told you we shouldn't leave him alone.”

By now they had discovered a shortcut—a more direct way to cross the hill to what they called the swindler's house. As Caleb and Libby hurried through the streets, her dread grew with the darkness.

“Pa told me to look out for Peter,” she said. “I'm sure not doing a good job of it.”

Caleb tried to calm her down. “Just wait till you see what's happened to Peter.”

But Libby was growing frantic. “What if the swindler found him and knew that Peter could identify him?”

Even Caleb had no answer for that.

When they reached the swindler's house, nothing seemed to have changed. Curtains still covered the windows. Weeds filled the flower gardens. No candle or lamplight glowed from within. Libby and Caleb walked straight to where they had hidden twice before. Peter was nowhere. When they circled the house, there was not one trace of him. Clouds had covered the sky and whatever light there was.

“I can't believe I did this to Peter,” Libby said. “I can't believe I went off and left him on his own.”

“He's used to being on his own. He even told you to stop treating him like a baby.”

“But where is he?” Libby's voice broke. “I'm scared, Caleb. Really scared!” Filled with panic, Libby couldn't begin to think what to try next.

CHAPTER 12

T
hrough long practice in working with the Underground Railroad, Caleb had learned to hide his feelings. Yet he looked upset as he walked over to the edge of the yard. Below where Caleb stood, the ground dropped sharply away in the steep wooded hills of Alton.

When Libby came to stand beside him, she saw lightning bugs blink their lights. On that last night of July, the yellow lights flashed here, then there. Libby had always liked to watch lightning bugs, but now she was in no mood to enjoy them.

Farther away, lamps glowed from the windows of homes. Then Libby noticed another kind of light on a street below them. The light bobbed around, and at first Libby wondered if she was seeing more lightning bugs. Then she decided,
No. The light moves strangely, but it doesn't go out. Someone is holding a candle
.

“Caleb,” Libby said. “See that light down there? It looks like someone is weaving around.” She could think of no other explanation for the way the light moved back and forth.

“Whoever it is, he's walking in a zigzag,” Caleb answered. “If it's a man who would scare Peter—”

In that moment Caleb made up his mind. “There's no one here at the house. Let's see if Peter took that way back to Hunter's.”

Walking fast, Libby and Caleb hurried down the steep hill. Whenever they lost sight of the strangely moving light, they began to run.

As they started to catch up, Libby realized that whoever held the candle had to be quite short. Then, against the dark night, she saw a darker outline of the person.

“It's Peter with a lighted candle!” Libby exclaimed. Though relieved to find him, Libby felt angry. “There is he, disobeying again.”

“But he's not on the
Christina
,” Caleb pointed out. “Let's not scare him. He can't hear us coming. We shouldn't jump out at him from the dark.”

Breaking into a run, Caleb left the road to circle around Peter, then came out where the boy could see him. Soon after Caleb and Peter met, Libby caught up with them.

Taking the slate, Caleb began writing. “Is something wrong?”

Clearly puzzled, Peter shook his head. “A man came up the street,” he said. “I waited to see if it was the swindler. By the time I could leave, it was dark.”

“Are you all right?” Caleb wrote.

“Can't you see me?” Peter asked. “Of course I am!”

Caleb looked at Libby, as though not sure what to do. But Peter solved the problem for them. Realizing that Libby was worried, he held up his candle.

“I had brain fever when I was seven years old. My parents had it too. That's how they died. And that's why I'm deaf.”

Peter spoke quietly, as if he still didn't want to tell them what was wrong. “I have trouble with my balance in the dark. Even with a candle, I can't walk straight.”