Escape Into the Night (17 page)

This time Mr. Kimberly nodded. “I know it.”

As Caleb leaned forward, the light of hope lit his face. “So you’ve seen the woman I mean?”

“No,” Mr. Kimberly answered. “But I’ve seen a young woman from the same place. Her name is Emma. She came alone.”

“No one else was with her?” Caleb sounded puzzled.

“Emma had a desperate time. Someone else had planned to run away with her, but she was forced to leave alone. She even had to leave her three-month-old baby.”

“Her
baby
?” Libby blurted out.

“Emma could barely speak of it,” Mr. Kimberly told her. “I don’t know what happened that her escape plan went wrong. She had no choice but to keep coming. On the smaller rivers she crossed on the ice, but the Des Moines River was breaking up.”

“Where is Emma now?” Caleb asked.

“I sent her to Denmark.”

“A town close to the Iowa border,” Caleb explained to Libby. “Asa Turner’s town. Remember when I told you about him?”

Libby remembered, all right. Father Turner wanted the men who came to Iowa to choose wives who felt proud to wear a jean dress or checked apron. In Saint Louis Libby had bought her jean cloth, but she hadn’t finished sewing her skirt.

Caleb turned back to Mr. Kimberly. “You sent Emma to Deacon Trowbridge’s house? Maybe she could tell me more about Hattie Parker.”

“I believe thee might learn—”

In that instant a loud knock sounded on the back door. Caleb’s quick glance searched the room, as though making sure nothing would give them away.

“Go into the dining room,” he told Libby. “Take your dishes along. Stay out of sight.”

As Mr. Kimberly walked slowly to the door, the knock changed to a loud pounding. Standing in the dining room, Libby watched Caleb through the doorway into the kitchen.

Still holding his glass of milk, he tipped back his chair. For all the world it looked as if Caleb were just having a late-night snack.

Moments later, Libby heard the door open. “Good evening, friend,” Mr. Kimberly said. “What dost thou want?”

“An escaped slave who entered your house.”

Libby recognized the voice.
Riggs, there on the doorstep!
Filled with dread, she stepped back, farther into the dining room.

“He’s a tall boy,” Riggs said. His voice sent shivers down Libby’s spine. “About fifteen, sixteen years old.”

“I have been asleep in my bed,” Mr. Kimberly answered. He sounded as calm as if he met such a cruel man on his doorstep every day. “I saw no slave enter my house.”

“I’ll search,” Riggs said, his voice bold. “I’ll find him.”

“My wife and son are in their beds,” Mr. Kimberly answered. “Thee must not frighten them.”

Frantically Libby looked around the dining room. All she could think about were the evil lines in the slave trader’s face and his cruel eyes.
Where can I hide?

Then she glanced back through the doorway to the kitchen. Looking as calm as he had on the road, Caleb was still eating.

“I know you!” Riggs said suddenly.

Caleb tipped his head, as though politely saying hello. “We met on the road.”

“No! Somewhere before!” Riggs answered.

But Mr. Kimberly spoke again. “Thee hast no search warrant. I wish thee good night.”

To Libby’s surprise she heard the firm closing of the outside door. Riggs was shut out, and she was shut in! Yet when Libby returned to the kitchen table, she found herself shaking.

Once more Mr. Kimberly sat down. Across the candlelight he faced Caleb with a stern look in his eyes. “Why hast thou taken a chance by coming to Salem?”

With respect Caleb listened, honoring his host.

“It is dangerous for thee to come here!”

Caleb nodded. But when he answered, he sounded years older than he was. “You have learned, my good Friend, that we don’t always choose which dangers we want.”

For a long moment Mr. Kimberly’s gaze met that of Caleb. Then he glanced toward Libby. “And this friend thou hast brought with thee?”

“Libby is new to our ways,” Caleb said.

Libby wondered if he was warning the Quaker gentleman about her.
You can trust me!
she wanted to cry out.
I won’t give away your secrets!

But Caleb gave her no chance. “Will you forgive me for bringing danger to your house?” he asked Mr. Kimberly.

The man’s slow smile reached even his eyes. “Forgive thee for doing the Lord’s work? There is no need. But I feel concerned for thee and for thy grandmother.”

“You are right to feel concerned,” Caleb answered. “I do too.”

Another long look passed between them. Then Mr. Kimberly reached out to lay his hand upon Caleb’s. “I will pray daily for thy protection.”

When Caleb spoke again, it was to ask for fresh horses.

“I will do my best for thee, but I cannot promise. Our need is great right now. Can thou walk if thou must?”

Caleb nodded. “We’ll leave as soon as it’s dark again.”

As Libby listened to them talk, she washed up the dishes. Already she was learning. Not a dish could be left that would give away extra visitors. But there was something else she had discovered by watching Samuel.
If a slave catcher asks Pa whether he’s seen a fugitive, he can honestly say no. It’s Caleb who usually sees them. It’s Caleb who takes care of them
.

For the first time Libby understood the relationship between Caleb and her father.
Without talking about every fugitive who comes, Pa agrees with what’s happening. Caleb knows him so well that he knows Pa approves
.

When Mr. Kimberly left them, Caleb set a bowl of soup, bread, cheese, and a glass of milk on a tray. Quickly he moved the table and rug and opened the trapdoor. Jordan blinked up at them from the dark hole beneath the floor.

“C’mon,” Caleb whispered. “Riggs is through searching for a while. You’ll be more comfortable in the basement.”

Libby followed the boys down the steps to a room with a fireplace. As though Caleb had often been there before, he started the fire.

“You’ll be safe here now,” he told Jordan.

Sitting cross-legged, Jordan devoured the soup and sandwiches. When he finished eating, he lay down between the blankets left for whatever fugitives came to the house.

As Libby and Caleb returned upstairs, the morning sun crept above the horizon. They found Mrs. Kimberly in the kitchen. She gave Libby a Quaker bonnet and told her to use it later. Then she led Libby upstairs to her own bedroom.

“Thee may rest here,” she said.

Mrs. Kimberly had put clean sheets on the bed, and Libby sank down into them. She had time for only one or two thoughts about the Lewelling and Kimberly families and all the people who had passed through this house. Then Libby turned over and fell asleep.

When she woke, she felt strangely mixed up. Was it the gray light just before dawn? Then she realized a day must have passed.

For a few minutes Libby lay there, remembering all that had happened. The longer she thought about it, the more scared she felt.

What will we find out about Jordan’s mother? she wondered. Why is it dangerous for Caleb to come to this small town in Iowa?

CHAPTER 16

A
s night covered the land, Libby and Caleb again ate in the kitchen. Libby felt sure that it was Mrs. Kimberly who cooked the good food. Yet she was nowhere in sight when Samuel took food to the basement for Jordan.

In the darkness before the moon came up, Caleb and Jordan slipped outside. Carrying the bonnet from Mrs. Kimberly, Libby followed the boys. As they passed through the orchard, Caleb often stopped in the shadows under the trees. More than once, he looked around and listened.

By the time they reached the barn where they had brought the horses, Libby felt like a shadow. Already she had learned to slide in and out of whatever building she entered.

Behind her, not even the barn door creaked. Were the hinges well-oiled for times like these?

The horses and wagon they had used the night before were no longer there. Instead, a fresh team of horses stood hitched to a wagon filled with hay. To Libby’s surprise, both Caleb and Jordan burrowed under the hay.

“Put on thy bonnet,” whispered a man wearing Quaker garb.

When Libby tied the strings beneath her chin, she knew
that the deep brim hid her face.

The elderly Quaker motioned her toward the high front seat. As soon as she sat down, he opened the doors of the barn. Quickly he led the horses out, shut the doors, and took his place beside Libby. When he flicked the reins over their backs, the horses moved into the street.

As the wagon rolled out of Salem, Libby felt surprised by the warmth of the night. After the chilly days on the
Christina
, the warmer temperature felt good. When they were safely out in the country, their driver told Libby what to do.

When they reached the village of Denmark, Iowa, the elderly Quaker stopped his horses near a stone house on the edge of town. Following his instructions, Libby walked up to the door.

“A friend of mine needs to see you,” she said to the woman who answered her knock.

“Then bring him at once,” the woman answered.

When Libby returned to the wagon, the boys slid out from under the hay and hurried to the door.

When Caleb lifted his cap, the woman saw his face. Here, too, he was known.

“Come in quickly,” she said, and they all slipped inside.

“We’re looking for Emma,” Caleb whispered to Mrs. Trowbridge.

With light, quick steps she led them up a flight of stairs. At the top was a children’s bedroom lit by one candle. Near an opening along an outside wall sat a black girl not much older than Libby.

Emma’s hair was cut short and curled close to her head. Holding her arms as though hugging herself, she swayed back and forth.

“Emma,” Mrs. Trowbridge said gently.

As the candlelight fell upon the girl, Libby saw her lips moving. Drawing closer, Libby heard the words. Soft and low, Emma repeated them over and over.

“Lord Jesus, Jesus! I asks you for my baby. Jesus!”

Afraid to break into the girl’s prayer, Libby waited. But Jordan knelt down in front of Emma.

“Emma,” he said softly.

She seemed not to hear. Still swaying, she kept on praying. “My baby, Jesus. My baby.”

Jordan raised his voice. “Emma!”

This time she heard. As though coming back from a distant place, her eyelids slowly lifted. Her large black eyes looked deep and troubled.

“Jordan?” she asked. “Jordan Parker? You still in this world?”

Jordan’s rich laugh filled the room. “Yes, I still in this world. And so is you!”

“But not my baby!” The sorrow in Emma’s voice cut like a knife. “I ain’t got no idea where little Henry is!”

Mrs. Trowbridge knelt down next to Jordan. On her knees she leaned close to Emma’s face, as though wanting her full attention.

“Remember what the deacon said?” Mrs. Trowbridge asked, as if she had told Emma many times.

“Tell me please. Tell me again.”

“He said, ‘Any mother has the right to keep her baby.’ And do you remember what he did? He strapped on his six-shooter. He mounted his horse, and he left.”

“To find my baby. It was night, black night, when he left. Why ain’t he back?”