The Swindler's Treasure (5 page)

H
is legs flying, Samson streaked along the street. Reaching the boy, the dog pushed him out of the way. Seconds later the horse and buggy clattered past.

When Libby caught up to her dog, the boy still lay on the ground. As he started to sit up, Libby got a better look at him. Now that she was closer, Libby saw that he was shorter than Caleb and thinner, too—maybe nine or ten years old at the most. Yet with his blond hair, he could be Caleb's younger brother.

Looking after the buggy, the boy moved his hands and fingers, gesturing wildly.

Her heart still pounding, Libby dropped down on her knees. “Why didn't you get out of the way?”

Instead of answering, the boy stared up at her. Thinking that she was making him even more afraid, Libby tried to calm herself. “I'm glad you're okay,” she said.

Like Caleb's, the boy's eyes were blue, but now they seemed filled with questions, or fear, or both.

“What's your name?” Libby asked.

But the boy threw his arms around Samson. “Thank you, thank you,” he mumbled into the dog's ear.

When the boy stumbled to his feet, Libby wanted to comfort him. “It wasn't your fault, but you need to walk facing the traffic so you can see if someone comes too fast. You need to listen.”

Still petting the dog, the boy kept talking to Samson. When the dog licked the boy's hand, Libby saw the ragged edge of his blue shirt. Both of his pant legs had holes at the knees. Watching the boy, Libby wondered what to do. He didn't seem hurt, but why didn't he answer her?

Then from the street ahead of her, Libby heard Caleb calling. Still wondering if she was doing the right thing, Libby started out. When her dog didn't follow, she called to him. “C'mon, Samson!”

The dog started after her but kept turning back. Finally the boy waved to him as though saying goodbye, and the dog seemed more ready to follow Libby.

“What happened?” Caleb asked when Libby reached him. He had taken a different side street from the river.

Libby still felt shaky from the close call. As she told Caleb about it, she again looked around. The blond boy stood by the side of the street, watching them.

“He's okay?” Caleb asked.

“He seems to be,” Libby said. “But I couldn't get him to talk to me. Samson pushed him out of the way just in time.”

“We should find his parents,” Caleb said. But when he and Libby started back, the boy ran in the opposite direction and disappeared between buildings.

Caleb stopped. “For some reason he seems afraid of us—like he doesn't trust us.”

Libby agreed. That seemed the best description of the whole strange thing.

Deciding they should go on, Libby and Caleb turned onto Main Street. New brick buildings stood tall and beautiful along the winding road. On one side of the street, a high bluff rose directly behind the business places.

Caleb led Libby to a steep stairway. By the time they came out a block higher, Libby was panting from all the steps. Above them, still higher up, large homes with tall board fences clung to the side of the bluff.

“You're sure you know where to go?” Libby asked.

“Yup. Jordan's mother works for a man who was a steamboat captain. When he fell on hard times, his wife turned their mansion into a boardinghouse.”

When they came to the mansion, Caleb went around to the back. The person who answered the door sent them to the carriage house. In the lower half of the building, horses and buggies were kept.

Caleb led Libby up the flight of steps on the outside of the building. At the top of the stairs was a landing. There Caleb knocked on the door.

Serena opened it. When she saw them there, a smile spread across her face, reaching her dimples. To Libby's surprise she looked them straight in the eyes instead of keeping her gaze down.

“You wish to see Jordan?” Serena asked, as if she had been trained to answer the door.

When Caleb nodded, Libby spoke quickly. “And we want to see
you
.”

Serena giggled. “I am here.” Proudly she stretched out her hand to the two spotlessly clean rooms. “This is our home.”

“It's your very special home,” Libby answered, remembering the dirt floor in the one-room cabin where a slave family lived. “Except for your father, you are together.”

Again Serena's smile lit her eyes. “Jordan has gone to a meeting at our church.”

“And your mother?” Caleb asked. “Captain Norstad wants me to talk to her.”

“Momma is working,” Serena said. “She is a cook—a very good cook. The lady of the house says Momma is the best cook she ever had. And I clean for them.”

“You earn money cleaning?” Libby asked.

“I earn money,” Serena said proudly. “Every day I dust the furniture. The lady of the house says I am the best cleaner she ever had. When I finish work, she gives me and Jordan—”

Serena stopped and corrected herself. “She gives Jordan and me school lessons. Jordan says he's going to learn to talk like Mr. Frederick Douglass.”

“Frederick Douglass?” Libby asked, but Caleb knew right away who he was.

“Mr. Douglass is a former slave. He speaks to people all over the country. He traveled to England, speaking there too. Jordan wants to be like him?”

Serena nodded. “Jordan says, ‘Now that I is free to learn, I want to sound like I have schooling.'”

“How
is
Jordan?” Caleb asked.

“He helps with the horses. The man of the house says—”

“That Jordan is the best horseman he ever had!” This time Libby giggled.

“Yes'm!” When Serena smiled, a dimple showed in her cheek.

“And your brother Zack?” Libby asked.

“He fishes. He catches big ones.” Serena held out her hands as if the fish were monstrous. “And Zack takes care of little Rose when Momma and I work.”

Libby smiled, remembering Zack's best friend. The boy had wanted Zack free to go fishing instead of having to work from dawn to dusk.

“Can I talk to your mother, even though she's working?” Caleb asked. “Captain Norstad wants me to ask her a question.”

“About my daddy?” The laughter vanished from Serena's eyes. “Momma and Jordan haven't got any word about him. When someone comes to the boardinghouse, the man of the house asks questions for us. He listens. We listen. We haven't got any word.”

“And Jordan?” Caleb asked. “Can we talk to him?”

“I'll take you to him.”

On their way to the church, Serena told them about the congregation the free blacks of Galena had started some time before. “We have been having bake sales and doing whatever we can to earn money,” she explained. “People like our cooking. Every Sunday we take a special offering. That's what the meeting is all about.”

“To decide how to spend the money?” Libby asked.

Serena shook her head. “That was settled long ago. That's why we have worked so hard. Tomorrow we are making one more collection. Then someone is going to take all that money to Chicago.”

“Why Chicago?” Libby asked.

“John Jones is there,” Serena answered as though that explained everything.

“Who is John Jones?” Libby asked.

“A free black,” Caleb told her. “He's a tailor and has done very well in business. He and his wife use their big house as an Underground Railroad station. They've taken in countless runaways. He'll probably use the money to buy fares for fugitives who need a boat ride to Canada.”

To Canada
. Libby had often wondered how fugitives found which boat would help them cross Lake Michigan. And how did captains hide those fugitives from slave catchers?

When they reached the church, Serena led them inside. In the one small room, several men sat on the wooden chairs set up for a meeting.

Sitting in the fourth row back, behind the men, Jordan was the youngest one there. When he saw Libby and Caleb come in, he raised his hand in a quick wave. A grin spread across his face.

The men were still doing business. “It's a mighty big amount of money,” said one of them.

“I ain't earned that much in my whole life,” answered a heavyset man as Libby, Caleb, and Serena sat down near the door. “We can be right proud of what we've done.”

“Proud and careful,” another man answered. “We can't take any chances about what happens to that money.”

A white-haired gentleman stood in front of the others, leading the meeting. “The person we send has to carry our gift without anyone knowing how much money he has. He needs to find a safe way to travel so that no one stops him.”

Raising his arm, Jordan waved his hand. “I can do it!”

The heavyset man turned to stare at him. “You're mighty young for a job like this.”

“I am young,” Jordan admitted. “But I can do it. I led my momma and my sisters and my brother out of slavery.”

“That ain't the same as carryin' money,” a man growled.

“But I can do it!” Jordan insisted. “I know I can.”

At the back of the room Libby looked at Caleb. Being careful not to let Serena see, Caleb shook his head, then whispered in Libby's ear, “No, he can't!”

“What's your plan, Jordan?” asked the white-haired leader.

“Reverend Freeman,” Jordan said. “I can travel in the dark of night. I can travel in the heat of the sun. I can get the money to Chicago.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I can walk. I can catch a wagon. I can sneak on board a train.”

Reverend Freeman shook his head. “No sneaking for the work of God. If we send you on a train, we give you money for it.”

If we send you
. Libby's stomach tightened with the dread she felt. How could the church leaders possibly send Jordan? He had never handled money in his whole life.

Then she thought back to the difficult days of May.
Jordan saved the money Pa gave him for working as a cabin boy. Jordan used the money to help his family escape. On the ferry he even paid the fare for Caleb and me. Maybe—just maybe—

Suddenly Libby felt glad for Reverend Freeman's white hair.
Maybe he's lived long enough to know if Jordan can really do it
.

“Jordan, we all know how you led your momma and your brother and your sisters out of slavery,” Reverend Freeman said. “We respect you for it. But don't forget, Chicago is all the way across the state of Illinois. Are you
sure
you can get the money there?”

“I am sure,” Jordan answered respectfully. “I can get the money there.”

But Reverend Freeman wouldn't let it go at that. “Carrying money offers special temptations,” he said. “Temptations about what you could do with all that wealth.”

Jordan straightened in the tall, proud look that reminded Libby of royalty. “Reverend Freeman,” he said, still respectful. “I ain't weak.”

“Jordan, we believe you are a man of God. It is God you honor if you carry this money to Chicago. It is God's money, and you will be helping His people.”

Around Jordan the room fell silent as each man turned to look at him. At last someone asked, “Be there any other volunteers?”

When no one answered, Reverend Freeman said, “Then we pray about it.”

As one man after another bowed his head, Libby bowed hers also. With all her heart, she wanted to believe in Jordan. But worried thoughts filled her mind.
Caleb doesn't think Jordan can do it. These men—these leaders of the church—are seeking God's help. Does God ever make a mistake? Or could the men make a mistake in knowing what God wants?

Feeling all mixed up, Libby hoped that someone older and wiser than Jordan would be chosen.

When the men finished praying, Reverend Freeman asked them to speak before he gave his own thoughts. One by one the men said, “Jordan be the person to go.”

At last the minister spoke. “Jordan, we have chosen you to take up the call of the Lord. He has called you to keep this money safe, to help our people reach freedom.”

From the floor next to his chair, Reverend Freeman picked up a carpetbag. “We have worked many months to collect this great amount of money,” he reminded Jordan again.

As if suddenly struck by the seriousness of what he had promised, Jordan's gaze met that of the pastor's. “Yassuh. I'll be very careful, sir.”

Reverend Freeman held out the carpetbag. “Take the money home with you now. Keep it safe, and bring it back tomorrow morning. After we take our last collection, we will send you on your way.”

His dark eyes solemn, Jordan took the carpetbag and shook Reverend Freeman's hand. Then Jordan walked back to where Libby, Caleb, and Serena were sitting and led them outside.

They were a block away from the church before Caleb spoke. “Jordan, you can't do this.”

Jordan stiffened. “I can't do what?”

“You can't carry all that money to Chicago.”