Mysterious Signal (17 page)

Libby grinned. “Sometime we’ll tell you the whole story. Best of all, we made it back on time. You’ve got three whole days to get from here in Quincy up the river to Galena.”

With Samson following close behind, Libby raced up to her room in the texas, the boxlike structure named after the state recently added to the Union. When Libby first came to live on the
Christina
, she thought her room was the smallest on earth. About seven or eight feet wide and six feet long, it had doors on two sides. Now the room was home.

Taking Annika’s signal quilt from the pillowcase in which it was wrapped, Libby spread it out on her bed. As she smoothed the cloth, her fingers traced the dark blue pieces that formed a ladder to heaven but also a trail of escape.

Jacob’s ladder
, Libby thought, loving the story of the fleeing man who received a special dream from the Lord.
The Underground Railroad. Safety
. It felt good just seeing the quilt in her room. It felt even better being back on the
Christina
.

For a moment Libby thought of changing into a dress. Then her curiosity about Pa’s plans for Quincy won out.

With Samson trailing behind, Libby went to see Annika. It had taken only a moment for her to set down her two carpetbags. As the teacher made herself at home, Libby felt surprised. She herself had brought a trunkful of clothes when moving from Chicago. But Libby knew without asking that everything Annika had brought along was in those two cloth bags.

There was something else about Annika that Libby thought of only now.
I’m sure that Annika heard what Auntie told me. She also saw what Auntie was doing. But Annika didn’t say a word about it. She just tried to help me
.

Leaving Annika, Libby went out on the deck. Here at the end of the railroad line, roustabouts, or rousters, were loading freight brought across land. Sitting down on the wide steps overlooking the forward deck, Libby watched all that was going on. Flopping down beside her, Samson wiggled close for Libby to scratch behind his ears.

A man stood on shore, watching the loading of barrels and crates. He called out, “Careful, careful!” to a rouster who treated the barrels roughly.

Once, Libby would have taken the barrels for granted.
Now because of Mr. Pinkerton’s offer of barrels, she watched each one of them. From somewhere in her memory, Libby recalled that Quincy was a big barrel manufacturing city with a number of coopers. Had Pa and Caleb gotten their heads together, working out a new way to safely transport fugitives? Or were these the barrels specially built by Allan Pinkerton?

On the deck below Libby, Caleb stayed close to the gangplank, as though he, too, was just watching. It took only one man to roll some of the large barrels up on the deck. Libby felt sure those were empty ones. Or perhaps they held something that wouldn’t be hurt if rolled. It was the barrels that were carried up the gangplank that interested Libby the most.

When two strong rousters picked up a barrel marked
Fragile
, Libby leaned forward. Fragile because of glass or expensive china? Or fragile because a human being hid inside?

When she saw the care with which the men set down the barrel, Libby felt sure it held Jordan. Since runaway slaves usually escaped across the Mississippi River to Quincy, then traveled northeast to Chicago, it seemed unlikely that anyone but Jordan would come the opposite direction, west to the river.

Caleb waited until more barrels were set down next to the one Libby thought might hold Jordan. Then, strolling over, Caleb tipped a barrel just enough to turn it slightly. Libby could only guess why. Was he making sure the breathing hole was open, not set too close to another barrel?

As the crew brought in the
Christina’s
lines, Libby forgot about the barrels. To her surprise the steamboat headed south. It made Libby curious.
Why is Pa going downstream, back down the river, when he’s in a hurry to get to Galena?

When Caleb sat down next to Libby she asked him about it.

“It’s shallow where we’re going,” he said. “Boats usually tie up where the train comes in. But your pa has a lot of German immigrants on board. As a special favor, he’ll let them off close to Calf Town.”

As though Pa’s decision was the most natural choice in the world, Caleb pointed to the bluff at least one hundred feet above the river. “German settlers pasture their cows there.”

Caleb’s years as a conductor in the Underground Railroad had taught him to hide his feelings, especially in times of danger. Yet Libby was starting to know him well enough to sense something deeper. Caleb’s quiet, covered-over excitement warned her. Growing more curious by the moment, Libby began looking for anything out of the ordinary.

By now it was dark, and Libby suspected Pa had planned it that way. When the
Christina
tied up, deckhands lit huge torches—iron baskets filled with pine knots and hung out over the bow. From there the cinders dropped safely into the water. As the gangplank went down, German immigrants gathered up all their possessions. With family members carrying a trunk between them, they headed down the gangplank.

When they reached the riverbank, many of the immigrants knelt down on the shore, giving thanks to God for their safe journey. Relatives and friends joined the new arrivals, greeting them warmly. Soon a trail of people wound their way up the limestone bluff.

Still on the wide front steps of the
Christina
, Libby tucked herself close to the wall. There in the shadow Libby could see all that was going on without being seen. Directly in front of where the steamboat had tied up was a large sawmill.

By the light of the torches, Libby looked into a mostly
open shed with a sign,
J. K. Van Doorn and Co
., on it. The large rotating saw was now still. Nearby were great piles of logs that had floated down the river from lumber camps in Minnesota Territory and the state of Wisconsin.

Other piles held sawn wood—lengths of lumber, or donnage, that steamboats took on board in case they needed to make repairs. Still other piles held wood to fuel the great furnaces of the steamboats that passed by.

Leaning forward, Libby studied the sawmill. From here Mr. Van Doorn would be able to see any fugitive who swam across the river from Missouri. But here, too, in what was called the free state of Illinois, there were differences of opinion: people who were against slavery and people who would return slaves to their owners in order to collect the reward money.

If fugitives come
—and Libby felt sure they did—
where do they hide?

The open shed with the roof over the large saw looked innocent enough. So innocent that people would not suspect Mr. Van Doorn of sheltering runaway slaves. Already Libby had learned that many towns had hiding places in the wood piled high for steamboats. But here, where the traffic of fugitives was no doubt heavy, would the woodpiles be enough? And would they be safe?

Just then Libby remembered Caleb’s words about Avery Turner, the farmer who lived five miles north of Quincy.
“He puts barrels along the river. Runaway slaves swim across and hide in the barrels till it’s safe to take the straight road to the Turner farm.”

Now that Libby knew what to look for, the hiding places were easy to spot. Barrels of all sizes—some big enough to
shelter even the largest man—were pushed without any order along the outer posts of the shed. Some barrels stood upright with pieces of wood sticking out of them. Other barrels lay on their side in just the right position for a tired fugitive to crawl in and go to sleep. With lids lying about, they offered shelter from rain and cold and most important of all, from curious, hate-filled eyes.

Waiting places
, Libby thought.
Until Mr. Van Doorn takes fugitives to the next station. Or until a helpful steamboat captain such as Pa comes along?

Now rousters walked up and down the
Christina’s
gangplank. Leaving with empty hands, they returned with full arms. But soon Libby saw men she did not recognize carrying lumber. Other men carried wood to the furnaces and did not return.

Runaway slaves!
Libby knew the men would hide in the furnace room for as long as it was safe.
Will Pa use the extra barrels to help them on their way? If fugitives climbed into the largest barrels, Pa could let them off at a port with a direct railroad line to Chicago. Or Pa could bring them up the river to St. Paul
.

Then, just as Libby decided that everyone who wanted to be on board was hidden away, a shadow next to the sawmill moved. Moments later a young Negro woman stood up. The loose cloth of her sack dress could not disguise that she would soon be having a baby. Yet she ran to the shelter of a great mound of logs.

There the fugitive looked around, then moved on. From woodpile to woodpile she moved, drawing ever closer to the
Christina
. In an open stretch of ground the torchlight caught
her face and the frightened look in her dark brown eyes.

Libby strained to see.
She’s too big to fit into a barrel
.

Then the woman reached the pile of wood closest to the gangplank. Keeping the logs between her and anyone who might watch, she ducked down. Moments later she peered over the top, looking around, then disappeared again.

As the minutes grew long, Libby guessed what was wrong. In spite of the woman’s need to find shelter, she was afraid to walk up to the boat. Afraid she would be caught here on the banks of the Mississippi, after finally reaching Illinois soil.

Libby’s heart leaped out to her.
She needs to know if it’s safe
.

Safe
. Only a short time before, Libby had felt safe when Pa’s arms went around her.

Suddenly Libby knew what to do.

CHAPTER 14

T
he signal quilt. The safe quilt Annika gave me!
In the next instant Libby was on her feet. Without a second thought she flew along the outer deck to the stairs leading upward.

With Samson bounding behind her, Libby raced up the steps. When she reached her room, she snatched the signal quilt from the bed and hurried out to the hurricane deck. As she stood at the highest railing on the
Christina
, Libby remembered that anyone who watched from shore could see what she was doing.

Dexter!
Libby thought.
What if he’s somewhere about?

Then she pushed the thought away. Wanting to catch the woman’s attention, Libby opened the quilt as though airing it. Once, twice, three times she snapped it in the breeze, then hung it over the railing.

Libby didn’t have long to wait. The fugitive behind the logs stood up for a better look. Then the torchlight caught her face, and she dropped out of sight.

Afraid that there wasn’t enough light for the woman to see the Underground Railroad pattern, Libby lifted the quilt again, shook it, and draped it over the railing. In the light of the moon
the white pieces of cloth stood out against the dark red and blue. Straight as railroad tracks, the white trail led across the quilt.

When the young woman slipped out of hiding and started for the boat, Libby flew down the steps to the main deck. By the time the fugitive started up the gangplank, Libby waited at the top. With one motion of her hand, Libby welcomed her on board.