Escape Into the Night Read online

  So it’s a boy, not a girl, Libby thought.

  “Samson,” her father said.

  “Samson!” Libby exclaimed. “He’s so big, he looks like trouble!”

  “He’s not.” Her father’s wide grin told Libby how pleased he felt. “Samson’s a good dog. He just got carried away.”

  But Libby shared none of his excitement. “How did you find him so fast?”

  “The last time I was in port I met his owners. They’ve taken good care of him. I’m glad Samson was still available.”

  Reaching out, the captain scratched behind the dog’s ears. Samson wagged his tail as though the two were already friends.

  “Look at his coat!” Caleb stroked the dog’s back. “Nice and shiny, the way it should be. Not a burr in it!”

  When he lifted the dog’s great front paw, Caleb found a small stone caught between the webbed toes. As he brushed the stone away, Samson’s tongue reached out to lick Caleb’s face.

  “I bought Samson for you, Libby,” the captain said. “I want you to keep him with you.”

  Libby remembered her father’s talk with Auntie Vi. “This dog is supposed to be my protector?” It seemed ridiculous after the way he almost knocked her over.

  Libby’s father smiled. “God is your real protector, but maybe Samson will help. He’ll be good company for you.”

  “Good company!” Libby disliked even the idea. “I don’t want a dog!”

  “He can stay in your room.”

  “No!” The word exploded from Libby’s lips. “I don’t want this big dog in my little room!”

  From his large, square-looking head, Samson gazed up at Libby as though he wanted to be friends. His brown eyes pleaded with her.

  For a moment Libby felt sorry for the way she had spoken. She almost felt drawn to the dog. Then she pushed the idea away. Who wanted a four-legged friend who drooled and slurped all over your face if you got too close?

  “Samson’s a rescue dog,” Caleb said quickly. “If a sailor falls into the sea, a Newfie goes after him.”

  “Well, there’s no sea around here!”

  “There’s a river,” Caleb was quick to point out.

  “If you ever fell overboard, he’d rescue you,” her father said.

  “He would jump in after me?” For the first time Libby looked at Samson with respect.

  The dog seemed to sense the change in Libby. Coming to his feet, he lifted one great paw, as though to say hello.

  Looking down, Libby once more saw the dirt on her new dress. The white cloth would never again be the same.

  Unable to bear the thought of caring for such a dog, Libby ran for the stairs. Partway up, she glanced back.

  Near the bow of the Christina, Caleb stood next to Captain Norstad. Talking quietly, both of them looked serious, as though they didn’t want anyone else to hear.

  As Libby watched, she again felt curious. I’d give a lot to know what Caleb is saying!

  CHAPTER 4

  The Bad Start

  As the deckhands cast the lines, or ropes, on board, Libby watched from the hurricane deck. With one short blast of the whistle, the Christina slid into the current.

  Far overhead, black smoke billowed from the tall stacks. From the great wheels on both sides of the boat came the slap of paddles against water.

  Libby welcomed those sounds. They brought her back to long-ago days when she and her mother stayed on board. As a little girl, Libby had always felt safe and happy whenever she heard the paddlewheels go around.

  Now she breathed deep. To Libby the beautiful March day seemed a special welcome aboard. Then she felt something slap against her skirt. Samson stood there, wagging his tail.

  Libby’s happiness vanished. “Samson, Samson. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you!”

  Samson’s large brown eyes seemed warm and friendly. But Libby didn’t want to be friends.

  Trying to ignore the dog, she started across the deck. With every step Libby took, Samson trailed close behind. At the short stairway to the texas deck, Libby picked up her pace. So did Samson.

  Outside the door of her stateroom, Libby stopped. “So I’ve got a pest on my hands!”

  As though laughing at her, Samson stuck out his long tongue.

  “You have to stay outside,” Libby told him.

  With a small woof Samson dropped down on his haunches. When he tipped his head, he seemed ready to talk. But Libby shut the door between them.

  Inside her room she found her trunk set in front of the door on the opposite side. The trunk made the room even smaller. Yet to Libby’s great relief, someone had left water in the pitcher on the washstand. She could clean up.

  As Libby pulled off her dress, she found another of Samson’s gifts—black hair all over the full skirt.

  Libby groaned. Samson, you are going to wreck my life!

  When Libby tried to put on a different dress, she discovered a bigger problem—the long row of buttons down the back. Never before had Libby needed to fasten them by herself. The harder she tried, the more awkward her fingers felt. At this rate she’d miss the noon meal.

  Libby was still struggling with the buttons when she heard a knock on the door.

  “Libby?” a soft voice called out.

  “Who is it?”

  “Rachel Whitney. Caleb’s granny. It’s time to eat. Can I help you with anything?”

  Libby flung open the door. Outside stood a woman much shorter than she. Her gray-white hair was pulled back and twisted into a knot at the top of her head. Smile wrinkles surrounded eyes that made Granny seem young.

  “My dress—” Libby said, and the woman went to work on the long row of buttons. “Who did you say you are?” Libby asked.

  “The head pastry cook. When I needed work, your father gave both Caleb and me a job.”

  “Is Caleb all the family you have?” Libby wanted to find out everything she could about this strange boy.

  But Granny only said, “I couldn’t ask for a finer grandson.”

  There it was again. Everyone seemed to think so much of Caleb. Will people ever feel that way about me? Maybe someday I’ll have a big never-give-up family that believes in me!

  Granny held a clean dress over Libby’s head. “If you hurry you’ll still make the officers’ table.”

  As Libby flew down the stairs, she remembered her mother sitting next to her father. Whenever possible, she and Ma had gone with Pa on trips. Even as a young child, Libby had sat at the officers’ table with her parents. Strangely enough, the meals had never seemed long.

  Pa had often teased her mother. And Ma’s laugh—Libby could hear it still. It was like a silvery bell, light and beautiful. Did Pa tease Ma just to hear her laugh?

  Now that memory hurt. Libby wished she could laugh with both parents again.

  By the time she reached the large cabin that stretched from one end of the boat to the other, Libby was out of breath.

  The officers’ table was at the front of the cabin, near the boat’s office. The captain sat looking toward the tables filled with passengers. Captain Norstad’s officers sat with him, according to rank.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Libby said as she slipped into the chair on the captain’s right. Thanks to Granny, at least I have a clean dress, she thought.

  Her father had saved the place of honor for Libby. Beyond her sat the pilot, then Mr. Bates, the first mate she had already met. He still seemed resentful that she was there.

  On the opposite side of the table sat Mr. Osborne, the chief engineer, and beyond him, the ship’s clerk. Libby liked Osborne, the engineer, at once.

  “Glad to have you aboard,” he said and seemed to mean it. “We hope you’ll be happy with us.”

  Soon the talk swirled around without Libby. She ate quickly, trying to catch up to the others. Yet she felt uncomfortable, even at her father’s table. Whenever she glanced toward the first mate, she felt she’d been left outside in a December wind.

  Is he upset because I took
his room? Libby wondered. Or is it where I’m sitting? Because of her, Mr. Bates was one seat farther away from the captain.

  Whatever was wrong, Libby knew she had already made an enemy. Only when they were served dessert did Mr. Bates seem to thaw. Libby kept track of the pieces of mince pie he took. Three in all!

  When the meal was over, Captain Norstad stopped Libby as she started for the door. “We’ll have classes this afternoon.”

  “You mean school?” Libby asked. “I thought I’d get out of that!”

  Her father only smiled. “Come to my cabin. We’ll start right away.”

  At one side of Captain Norstad’s room on the texas deck was a bed. The rest of the cabin served as a sitting room and place to bring guests. The table that had been filled with maps was now empty except for a book, writing paper, and pens.

  Caleb was already there, and Libby chose the chair across from him.

  “Do we have to have school every day?” She was starting to feel it might be easier to live with her aunt.

  Caleb shook his head. “Captain Norstad can’t always teach us. When we’re in port, he sometimes has too much to do.”

  “Good!” Libby exclaimed. “So on those days we get out of school?”

  “We still study, but your father doesn’t have as much time to teach.”

  Libby groaned.

  “Your father makes school fun.”

  “Fun? What an odd person you are, to think learning can be fun!”

  Caleb refused to back down. “When we come to a city, your father tells me its history or something important that happened there. Sometimes he asks me to go into town and write up a report.”

  “About what?”

  “Whatever I see happening. He wants me to understand what’s going on.”

  Just then Captain Norstad entered the room. “Well, Libby,” he said as he opened a drawer filled with papers. “It will be good having you in class.”

  As he sat down, he laid three of the papers on the table in front of him. Yet when he started teaching, he never looked at the papers again.

  “There’s more than one fugitive slave law,” Captain Norstad said. “But there’s one you especially need to know about—the Compromise of 1850. The law threatens huge penalties for anyone who helps fugitives escape.”

  “What are fugitives?” Libby asked.

  “Runaway slaves,” Caleb told her. “Slaves who escape from their owners.”

  “The law also gives slave owners the right to form a posse and hunt down slaves, even in states that are free,” Captain Norstad went on.

  “Northern states, you mean?” Libby asked.

  Her father nodded. “People in the North don’t like the law. Some of the states have passed personal liberty laws that give runaway slaves a jury trial. Other states have told their officials not to help with the capture and return of fugitives.”

  For Libby this was all new information. Why don’t I know about this? she wondered. Is it because Auntie puts away any newspaper Uncle Alex brings home? Doesn’t she want me to understand what’s going on?

  It made Libby curious. Maybe Caleb was right. This might be interesting, after all. “You said there’s a penalty for helping a runaway slave. What kind of penalty?”

  “Big fines,” her father answered. “Being thrown in jail.”

  “But isn’t that only right?” Libby asked. “If someone breaks a law, shouldn’t they be punished?”

  Caleb stared at Libby. “Are you serious? Do you understand what this slave law really means?”

  “I think so.” Inside, Libby didn’t feel so sure, but she wasn’t going to let on to Caleb.

  “You think so?” Caleb leaned forward. “If that law is so great, why don’t the northern states like it? How come they’ve passed more laws—ones that give people their personal liberty? Why do the northern states help people to not return slaves to their owners?”

  “But why don’t people return slaves to their owners?” Libby asked. “Most slaves are treated well. They’re better off with their masters.”

  Caleb groaned. “I never in my life thought I’d hear someone say something so stupid.”

  Captain Norstad spoke more quietly. “Libby, I’m curious. Where did you learn that people are better off being slaves?”

  Before Libby could answer, she heard a knock.

  “Need your help with a passenger, sir,” a man told the captain.

  Halfway to the door, Captain Norstad stopped. “Next time we meet, I want to talk more about this. Caleb, you be ready to tell your side of the issue. Libby, you take yours. Be able to give good reasons for what you believe—not just arguments you haven’t thought through.”

  When her father was gone, Libby told Caleb, “I will gladly debate you. And I will win!”

  “We’ll see,” Caleb answered as though she were a pesky fly.

  Standing up, Libby gathered together the papers describing the fugitive slave law. All she wanted was to put distance between herself and this hateful boy.

  Near the door she stopped. If she weren’t so grown-up, she would stick out her tongue at Caleb. Instead she said, “You’ll be sorry. You’ll find out what a real debate is.”

  Caleb just grinned. That upset Libby even more. As she hurried out, she slammed the door behind her.

  Suddenly Libby stumbled over something. With a whimper Samson scrambled out of her way.

  “Oh, Samson!” Libby wailed. She felt bad about stepping on his paw. “I’m sorry!”

  As the door behind Libby opened, Caleb stuck out his head. “You don’t even take care of your own dog!”

  That’s true, Libby wanted to say. I’ve never had a dog before. But she felt afraid to ask for help. Without a backward look, she stepped around Samson and marched away.

  “Why don’t you let him into your room?” Caleb called after her. “He wants to be with you.”

  Libby whirled around. “There’s no space for him! If Pa wanted Samson with me, he could have gotten a smaller dog!”

  “You’re exactly the kind of girl Asa Turner wouldn’t want brought to the frontier!”

  “Asa Turner?” Libby asked. “Who’s he?”

  “A pastor who lives in the town of Denmark, Iowa.”

  “So?” Libby asked. She was tired of Caleb trying to get the better of her.

  “A while back he asked some young men in Massachusetts to think about coming to Iowa. He wanted them to start churches.”

  “And they did?”

  Caleb’s voice softened, but Libby knew he was still upset with her. “Yup. The men who came are called the Iowa Band. Before they started out, Asa Turner told them, ‘Get wives who will weave, and spin, and milk a cow, and churn butter, and—’”

  “I’m not a wife!” Libby’s anger exploded. “And I’m not planning to be a wife for a good long time, if ever.”

  “Good!” Caleb sounded happy once more, but he wasn’t finished yet. “Father Turner said to bring women who are proud of a jean dress or a checked apron.”

  Libby’s hand slipped down between the folds of her skirt. Feeling the soft, silky cloth, she felt glad that she wasn’t wearing either a jean dress or a checked apron. But was Caleb trying to tell her something important—something about herself?

  In the next moment Libby found out.

  “I still say you’re not the kind of girl to live in this wilderness. Even your hair—”

  “What’s the matter with my hair?”

  “How many hours does it take you to make those long curls?” Caleb sounded curious now.

  Not for anything would Libby tell him. Nor would she tell him that she didn’t know how long she could manage to wear her hair that way. In Chicago she had heated her curling iron by putting it down the glass chimney of a lamp. On the Christina she wasn’t allowed to have a lamp in her stateroom. The danger of fire was too great.

  Reaching up, Libby pulled one of her long red curls. As it sprang back against her cheek, she felt determined to look fashionable,
even along the Mississippi River.

  “You don’t want to tell me?” Caleb’s grin spread across his face. “I can find out from Gran.”

  “Well, go right ahead!” With a toss of her head, Libby opened her door and stepped inside her room. As she started to slam the door, she remembered.

  Caleb thinks I’m the kind of girl who can’t live in the wilderness. I’ll show him! Just in time she held back and closed the door quietly.

  Safely inside her stateroom, Libby flopped down on her bed. In that moment she wanted only two things—to be by herself, and to be one thousand miles from Caleb Whitney.

  As Libby listened, his footsteps moved across the deck, then down the few steps to the hurricane deck. When she was sure Caleb was gone, Libby opened the door and picked up Samson’s water bowl. From the pitcher in her room Libby poured out water.

  Samson’s large paws stretched forward and back as he lay on the deck. Directly in front of his nose, Libby set down the bowl.

  Leaning forward, Samson swished his great muzzle in the bowl. As water sprayed in every direction, Libby jumped away. But when Samson began to drink, she knelt down beside him to watch.

  When the dog finished drinking, he turned his head, as if looking Libby over. As Libby turned back into her room, Samson flopped down across the doorway, as if he had decided to stay.

  Inside the room, Libby opened her trunk. Down at the very bottom lay an envelope filled with paper. Next to it was a cherished pencil her uncle had brought home from a business trip to New York.

  Sitting down close to a window, Libby started to draw. This was something she did well, and Auntie Vi had given Libby lessons from a well-known artist.

  At first Libby’s sketch just seemed like long black hair. Then a head started to take shape, and a body. Finally Libby felt satisfied. It was Samson, all right. He even had patches of white hair on his chest and the tips of his toes.

  As Libby sat back, she heard footsteps cross the deck. Then someone set something down. Moments later, Libby heard the unmistakable sound of Samson slurping his food.

  Libby tiptoed to the door. When she quietly opened it, a startled Caleb looked up. “I was afraid Samson was hungry,” he said.