Escape Into the Night Read online

  “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

  The Hiding Place

  As 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?”

  “Deacon always does his best with whatever he does,” Mrs. Trowbridge told her. “This is the second night, but you have to give him time. You need to eat and sleep.”

  Emma shook her head. “Not till my baby is in my arms.”

  “I want you to eat,” Mrs. Trowbridge said. “And
Jordan has some questions for you.”

  Mrs. Trowbridge handed the bowl of soup to Jordan, then moved back. When Mrs. Trowbridge left the room, Emma once more closed her eyes. As if trying to shut out her pain, she swayed back and forth, praying.

  Jordan set down the bowl but stayed on his knees in front of the girl.

  “Emma!” His voice was sharp. “Hear me now! The Lord, He done heard your prayers!”

  Emma stopped rocking. Her eyes opened. “He did?”

  “He did!” Jordan told her again. “Now you jist begin thankin’ Him!”

  “Jordan? You lie to me?”

  “Has I ever lied to you before?”

  Slowly Emma shook her head. “Back on Old Massa’s plantation you done speak the Lord’s words. When my husband ran away, you told me big Henry be safe in Canada. And a man wrote a letter that say big Henry is!”

  A light broke over Emma’s face. “If you tell me my baby is safe, I believe you, Jordan Parker! I believe you cuz you knows the Lord!”

  Closing her eyes again, Emma lifted her arms toward heaven. “Glory! Thank you, Jesus!”

  Tears blurred Libby’s sight. Emma seemed like a new person.

  “Oh, Lord!” She was wailing now. “You brought us out of Egypt!”

  “Thank you, Lord!” Jordan joined her. “These arms—these arms will hold her baby again!”

  Suddenly Libby felt scared. How could Jordan make such a promise? What if he were wrong? Emma’s grief would be even greater.

  But Emma had no doubt as to whether Jordan spoke the truth. Suddenly she lowered her arms and opened her eyes. Reaching out, she picked up the bowl of soup. “I will eat so I be strong when I holds my baby!”

  Taking the spoon, Emma lifted it to her mouth, as if she hadn’t eaten for days. When the bowl was empty, she handed it to Jordan. As though no one else was in the room, she spoke directly to him. “But I ain’t got good news for you.”

  Jordan leaned forward, hanging on to every word.

  “When Old Massa sold your momma and me, we made big plans. We plan to follow the North Star to the peoples with broad-brim hats. We plan to cross over the Jordan to the Promised Land.”

  As though not wanting to say more, Emma stopped.

  “Go on, girl!” Jordan exclaimed.

  “Your momma and me—we planned to leave together. Together we has four good hands and four feets. Together we could take your sisters and your brother and my baby. With four hands and four feets we sure could reach the Promised Land.”

  “But what happened?” Jordan asked, as though not wanting to delay the bad news any longer.

  “On the night we planned to run, I took everything I has—” Emma held up a big handkerchief tied into a bag. “I went to your momma’s cabin. I was in the cabin when a poundin’ come on the door. I crept back in the corner and hid in the dark. Man at door say, ‘That girl Emma, she’s run. You git up to the Big House, Hattie. Massa want to talk with you.’”

  “And then?” Jordan asked.

  “He drags your momma out of the cabin and don’t see me there in the corner. When they left, I knows I couldn’t go back to the Big House. They would beat me and—” Emma groaned. “I crept through the dark—through the dark to the cabin where my baby was. White man stand there at the door. A man waitin’ for me.”

  Emma didn’t need to finish. Jordan bowed his head, hiding his face within his arms.

  “Momma?” he asked at last. His voice was muffled. “What happen to Momma?”

  “I don’t know.” Emma spoke slowly. “I think she be working at the Big House.”

  “And Serena? My sister Serena? My brother Zack? And baby Rose?”

  “With your momma, I think.” For a time Emma sat quietly, as if she could say no more.

  Then Jordan asked, “How does I find the place where Momma is? What did you see on the way here?”

  When Emma told Jordan everything she remembered, she said, “I was goin’ to help your momma with my extra hand. Your momma can’t cross the rivers alone—not with three young’uns.”

  Suddenly Jordan’s strong shoulders trembled. Great sobs rose from deep within. As he tried to hold them back, his body shook. Only one sound escaped his lips—a moan of pain.

  When at last Jordan raised his head again, his face held no trace of tears. A strange new look—a strength that Libby didn’t understand—seemed to glow through his brown skin.

  Jordan wasn’t seeing her or Caleb. He wasn’t even seeing Emma. Instead he looked up, raising his face to heaven.

  “Let my momma go!” he pleaded. “Let my people go!”

  When Mrs. Trowbridge returned, she had more food—this time for the rest of them.

  Jordan ate hungrily, as though planning to store up for a long time. When he finished, he eased his body against the wall. His long legs and bare feet stretched out in front of him.

  With his head back against the wall, Jordan closed his eyes. At first Libby thought he had fallen asleep. Soon she knew better.

  When Jordan opened his eyes, he spoke to Caleb. “I is goin’ back,” he said. “I is goin’ back for my momma and my sisters and my brother Zack. I is goin’ to be my momma’s hands and bring them out.”

  “You can’t go,” Caleb said. “Not now.”

  “Not now? I has to go. The longer Momma stays—”

  “Every slave catcher in the country is looking for you. You’ve got a two hundred dollar price on your head! They all want that reward!”

  “I take the swamps. I take the woods.”

  “Those slave catchers are crawling all over the swamps and woods, just seeing if they can find you under a rock!”

  “I be under a rock, all right!” Jordan looked directly at Caleb. “And not one of them men will find me!”

  “You can’t go back,” Caleb told him again.

  “I will,” Jordan said. “I has to.”

  “Not now.” Caleb’s blue eyes met Jordan’s strong brown gaze. “If you do, everything you’ve done by escaping will be lost.”

  “Momma told me I would lead my people out. The good Lord told me I would lead my people out.”

  “You will, Jordan,” Caleb answered. “But it has to be when God tells you to go. Is He telling you now?”

  Jordan groaned. “Why you have to bring the Lord into it? It’s me tellin’ me to go. It’s my worry for Momma and my sisters and my brother that’s tellin’ me to go.”

  Again Jordan groaned. But he said no more about leaving that night to find his family.

  When Mrs. Trowbridge came for the dishes, she showed Libby the hiding place at one side of the bedroom. Just under the roof the narrow room stretched from one end of the house to the other. Though only three or four feet high, it had enough space to hide several people.

  On her hands and knees, Emma crept into one end of the hiding place. Jordan and Caleb crawled into the other end. Mrs. Trowbridge pushed blankets into the opening, then told Libby what to do.

  “Our children usually sleep in this bedroom, but they’re gone tonight. Keep the entrance to the hiding place open to let in the heat. But close it up the minute you hear someone knock on the door downstairs.”

  Across the front of the opening, Mrs. Trowbridge set two small boards. At the top of each board were heads of nails pounded though the wood to look as if they were nailed into something. Yet one nail was loose. Mrs. Trowbridge used it to hold the boards, then set a shelf in place.

  On the shelf Mrs. Trowbridge put three books. When she moved back, the combination of boards and shelf became a built-in bookcase.

  After making sure that Libby knew what to do, Mrs. Trowbridge opened the hiding place again. “The heat from our stove will come right up the steps,” she said. Again she left for downstairs.

  As Libby lay down on the bed, she felt sure she would never fall asleep. Worry filled her mind, scattering her thoughts every which way.

  If someone knocks on the door, Mrs. Trowbridge needs to answer. What if a slave catcher comes with a
search warrant? What if he runs up the steps before I get the shelf in place? What if I can’t remember how to do it?

  Libby’s fingers shook, just thinking about it. She dreaded the sound of loud knocking on the door. She hated the thought of quickly lighting a candle and closing up the hiding place.

  Then something else bothered Libby even more. Why does Caleb need to hide? He’s not a fugitive. Or is he?

  Yet in the deep darkness before dawn it wasn’t pounding on a door that woke Libby up.

  CHAPTER 17

  Skunk River

  In the dark, early morning hours Libby heard hoofbeats coming closer, still closer. As the hoofbeats stopped next to the house, Libby felt something creep past the spot where she lay.

  “Who’s there?” Libby cried out.

  “Emma!” a voice answered.

  Together Libby and Emma crawled toward the stairway. At the top of the steps they waited. Without making a sound, they listened.

  The outside door opened and closed. Then a baby’s voice whimpered.

  Emma leaped up. “It’s my baby!”

  As she raced down the stairs, Libby followed close behind. Only one candle lit the room at the bottom. In that light Libby saw a man place a bundle of blankets in Emma’s arms.

  “My baby!” she cried. “Little Henry!” As though she would never let him go, Emma clutched the bundle to her chest. Crooning softly, she rocked back and forth.

  Suddenly she stopped. Her eyes wide with fear, Emma knelt down and laid the baby on the floor. Frantic with haste, she pulled aside the blankets, as if wondering whether she had the right child.

  At last she saw her baby, dressed only in a diaper and a cotton shirt. Emma stared at his face. Quickly she checked each hand, each finger, each foot, each toe. Then she rested back on her heels.

  Instead of fear, her face shone with love. “You is mine, little Henry—and you is good!”

  Gently she folded a blanket around the baby. Layer by layer she wrapped him, leaving only his face uncovered. Then she gathered him into her arms and put her face close to his.

  Once again she began to rock, swaying from side to side. For Emma there was no one else in the room.