Leapholes

by James Grippando

  "I think he likes me," said Hezekiah. He retied the other horses to the tree and led the big one away from the camp, along the riverbank. When they were a safe distance away from the posse, Hezekiah stopped.

  "Isn't this stealing?" said Ryan.

  "If Old Man Barrow can whip me like an animal and think nothing of it, God will surely forgive me for taking one of his horses. Now help me up."

  The horse had no saddle, but riding bare back was preferable to the long walk home. Ryan gave the old man a shove, and Hezekiah was up quickly. He offered Ryan a hand and pulled the boy up behind him. With a gentle kick, Hezekiah brought the horse to a light trot. Ryan held on to him, but after a few minutes of riding, it felt more like he was holding up Hezekiah. Back at the river he had momentarily seemed like his old self. Clearly, that had been nothing but adrenalin. The sudden surge of strength had since passed, and Hezekiah was again slipping into his weakened state.

  Ryan retreated into thought as they started back across the prairie toward the sod house. All he could think about was the posse, old man Barrow, and the determination of Legal Evil. It genuinely scared him.

  He wondered if Hezekiah was up for the fight.

  Chapter 32

  On the back of a lively thoroughbred, the ride back to the sod house took hardly any time at all. Ryan and Hezekiah dismounted and came through the front door to find Hannah's baby asleep in the young mother's arms. Ryan spoke softly, so as not to wake the infant, but the news was too good for Hannah to remain quiet.

  "Illinois! We're in Illinois!" That was all she could say for about thirty seconds, grinning east to west. Miraculously, Baby L'new slept right through the excitement.

  "Are you sure?" asked Abigail.

  "No doubt in my mind," said Hezekiah. "We're east of the Mississippi River and just a couple miles south of the St. Louis-Vincennes Trace."

  "Praise be," said Abigail. "Now that I know where we are, I can line up my contacts on the underground railroad. I can get you, Hannah, and her baby as far as Chicago, if need be."

  "That might well be necessary," said Hezekiah.

  Hannah looked confused. "Why do we have to go anywhere? Illinois is a free state. We's free, right?"

  Hezekiah spoke gently, trying not to scare her. "Ryan and I spotted a posse on the Illinois side of the river. Slave catchers don't stop at borders, Hannah. It's best if we get as far away from Old Man Barrow's farm as we can."

  "Is he coming for us?" she said, her eyes widening with fear. She held her sleeping baby close and added, "He can't come for my baby, can he?"

  Hezekiah didn't answer directly. "Like I said, it's best to keep moving. If they catch us, they can take us back to slavery. That's the law."

  "But not my baby, right? Little L'new was born right here in Illinois. He's born into freedom, right? He's no one's slave. No one can take him. Nu-uh, no way. Not this precious little boy." She rocked him in her arms, filling his tiny ear with a mother's loving whispers.

  Hezekiah watched her, saying nothing. From the look on the old man's face, Ryan knew there was something Hezekiah couldn't bring himself to tell her.

  "Where's Jarvis?" asked Hezekiah.

  Abigail said, "He's been gone quite awhile now. Left right after you did. Said he was gonna try and find us some water."

  Suddenly, they heard shouting outside. Ryan opened the door and saw Jarvis running toward the sod house, shouting, "Hezekiah! Hezekiah!"

  Jarvis hurried inside and slammed the door shut. He was breathing heavily, on the verge of hyperventilation. He was trying to say something but couldn't.

  "What is it?" demanded Abigail.

  "The… posse." It was all he could manage to say.

  "What about the posse?" said Ryan.

  He struggled to catch his breath, then finally blurted out the rest. "They're coming!"

  Hezekiah opened the door, and Ryan was right behind him. It was impossible to see across the prairie in the darkness, so

  Hezekiah dropped to his knees and put his ear to the ground. Ryan did likewise, and the sound terrified him. It was very faint, more like a vibration than a noise. But it confirmed their fears: Horses were coming.

  "How far away are they?" asked Hezekiah.

  "Three, four minutes, tops," said Jarvis. His breathing was finally under control. "I spotted them when I was up by the stream. Ran here as fast as I could."

  "Good thing you did," said Abigial. "What do we do now?"

  Tears were streaming down Hannah's face. "We can't let them have my baby."

  A pained expression came over Hezekiah's face. "There may be no way around that."

  "No, don't you say that. Don't you dare say that. My baby is free." Hannah rose from her bedroll on the floor and handed Abigail her child. "You take him to Chicago. This posse, it can take me and Hezekiah, but I won't let them have my child."

  "I can't take your baby," said Abigail.

  "Yes, you take him. I don't want him growing up to be no slave. He's free."

  Abigail tried to back away, but Hannah pushed her baby into the abolitionist's arms. "Go on, take him, please!"

  Reluctantly, Abigail took the child. The moment she did, Hannah fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably, as if a part of her had just died. It was almost too agonizing for Ryan to watch. It wasn't easy to comprehend a mother's decision to give up a child she loved more than anything in the world. But Ryan had seen those recaptured slaves paraded down Main Street. He'd seen them drink from the mule's water bucket. He'd run from the plantation with Hannah and Hezekiah. He'd seen the marks of a bullwhip across Hezekiah's back. Because of all that, he understood how unselfish Hannah was being.

  Hezekiah took the infant from Abigail and placed him back in his mother's arms. "Giving your baby away won't solve anything, Hannah."

  "'Course it will," she said. "It's all I can do for my son."

  "You just don't fully understand the situation," said Hezekiah.

  Ryan stepped into the doorway and listened to the night. The horses were still in the distance, but he no longer needed to put his ear to the ground to discern their thundering hooves. The rumble was in the air.

  Ryan asked, "If there's something you need to say, Hezekiah, go on and say it. I think Hannah has a right to know."

  The old lawyer closed his eyes. Clearly, he was about to utter something unspeakable. It seemed to take every ounce of his strength, but finally the words came. "We've found the place. This is where the brood follows the dam."

  Ryan felt chills down his spine.

  Abigail said, "Now what on God's green earth are you talking about?"

  Hezekiah said, "It's the law of the land as laid down by the United States Supreme Court. The brood follows the dam. It means that if the mother is a slave, it doesn't matter if her child is born in a free state. The 'brood' is the child. It follows the 'dam,' which is the mother. If the mother is a slave, the child is born a slave. It doesn't matter where the child is born."

  "So, even if my baby was born in Illinois, he's still…"

  "A slave," said Hezekiah. He shook his head in disgust, then glanced at Ryan. "This is where Legal Evil lives."

  Hannah was stunned into silence, no tears left to cry. But there was no time to console her. Everyone in the room could hear the unmistakable pounding in the distance, the drum of galloping horses on the prairie. The posse was closing in. All eyes turned to Hezekiah, their last hope.

  Unfortunately, Hezekiah appeared to be on the verge of collapse. As Old Man Barrow and his slave catchers drew closer, Hezekiah fell weaker. Ryan had seen the gashes on Hezekiah's back. Mere flesh wounds, however, could not account for his loss of strength. Perhaps he had suffered some kind of internal injury. Or maybe Legal Evil was sucking the very life out of him.

  Abigail said, "Don't y'all have any more of those leapholes, or whatever you call them?"

  "No," said Ryan. "None."

  Hezekiah was looking even older than his years. He hobbled toward Ryan and said, "You have to
find another leaphole."

  "How do I do that?"

  "Find another Legal Eagle, one who was alive in 1857."

  "I don't even know where to look."

  Hezekiah closed his eyes. His expression tightened as he retreated into thought. This close to Legal Evil, he was a mere shell of the Legal Eagle he once was. He was losing his powers of concentration, and he could give Ryan only bits of information.

  "Go to Springfield, Illinois," he told Ryan. "Look for a stovepipe."

  "What does that mean?"

  Hezekiah shook his head, as if trying to focus. But his mind simply couldn't conjure up anything more helpful. "That's all the information I can get for you, Ryan."

  The ground was beginning to vibrate beneath their feet. The posse was at full speed, bearing down on the sod house, probably less than a minute away. Hezekiah was struggling. Even so, it was clear from the determination in his eyes that a renewed sense of purpose had come over him. He gave Hannah a quick hug and told her that her baby deserved to be free.

  "Promise me you'll raise him well," he said.

  She nodded, confused by his words.

  Then he looked at Ryan and said, "You find that leaphole. That's your only way home."

  Before Ryan could ask what he was talking about, Hezekiah was out the door. Somehow the old man found the strength to run from the sod house and hop on the stolen horse.

  "Hezekiah, stop!" shouted Ryan.

  He glanced back and said, "It's me they want, Ryan. So it's me they'll get. You take Hannah, her baby, the others. You take them far away from here."

  "But-"

  "Yee-ha!" he shouted to the horse.

  "Stop, you'll be caught!" cried Ryan.

  The old man only waved and smiled. In seconds the thoroughbred was speeding away at full speed. Out of leapholes and with no way to get home, Hezekiah was headed straight for the posse.

  Ryan watched in despair as the old man disappeared into the darkness. Hezekiah's voice rang through the night as he called out to the slave catchers. He was taunting them, daring them to come and get him. And then Ryan realized exactly what he was doing. Hezekiah wanted them to follow him. He was drawing the posse toward him, away from the young mother and her new baby. It was working. The posse was turning away. The slave catchers were chasing Hezekiah.

  Ryan understood the plan, but that didn't make him feel any better.

  "He's gone," said Ryan, not wanting to believe it. "Hezekiah is gone."

  Abigail came to him. The two of them stood quietly in the darkness. They were unable to tear their eyes from that fading blur in the night. It would be their last memory of an old lawyer named Hezekiah.

  "That man sure lives up to his name," said Abigail.

  "What do you mean?"

  "'Hezekiah.' It's Hebrew. It means 'God gives strength.'"

  A flood of images suddenly ran through Ryan's mind- the first time he'd met Hezekiah, their amazing trips down the leapholes, and Ryan's argument to the Court of International Justice with Hezekiah at his side. But no single memory stood out. It was as if his mind were shutting down and his feelings were taking over. He felt sad, to be sure, but he was stronger than ever.

  Above all else, he felt proud to have known Hezekiah.

  "Come on," he told Abigail. "Hezekiah left us a job to do. Let's get Hannah and her boy back on the railroad." He started toward the sod house, then stopped. Jarvis was on horseback, ready to ride.

  Ryan said, "Where'd you find the horse?"

  "It was a gift. From the posse."

  For a moment, Ryan couldn't speak. "What did you say?"

  "You heard me," said Jarvis. "Don't worry, I got nothing against Hannah and her baby. I didn't even tell Old Man Barrow that she's here. Hezekiah was right. He's the one Barrow really wants. So Hezekiah's the only one I gave him."

  "You snake. You turned in Hezekiah?"

  Jarvis smiled thinly. "You didn't really think I was out fetching water in the middle of the night, did you?"

  Ryan's blood was ready to boil. "You followed me and Hezekiah to the camp, didn't you? You told the posse where Hezekiah was. That's how you knew they were on their way."

  "Such a clever boy. You know, you should be a Legal Eagle."

  "I should have known not to trust you. Ever since I saw you on the slave owners's side of the street in St. Louis, stuffing your mouth with ribs and chicken. How much did Old Man Barrow pay you? What was the price on Hezekiah's head?"

  Jarvis patted the bulging pouch of silver on his belt loop. "Quite a handsome price, I'd say. Anyway, good luck to you, Hannah, and her baby. Sure hope you keep your promise to Hezekiah and bring her to safety up north. Meanwhile, I'll be speeding on horseback to Springfield. I aim to find that stovepipe Hezekiah told you about. I'd bet every ounce of this silver that I get my hands on that leaphole before you do."

  "Is that your plan? Leave me here?"

  Again, he just smiled. "Have fun in the nineteenth century, Ryan. It's where you and Hezekiah belpng."

  With a deep, sinister laugh, he turned on his horse and galloped into the night.

  Chapter 33

  Ryan and his troop traveled all night. Hannah couldn't walk so soon after giving birth, but Abigail's underground railroad connections were already paying dividends. They borrowed a horse and wagon from an abolitionist who ran a tavern along the St. Louis-Vincennes Trace. Then they headed north. Hannah and her baby rode in comfort (nineteenth-century comfort, that is) all the way to Litchfield. Ryan, of course, hadn't forgotten what Hezekiah had told him about finding another leaphole.

  They were halfway to Springfield. Just before sunrise, they found the house with the oil lamp burning in the window.

  "That lights the way," she said. For many years, lamps were used all along the secret routes of the underground railroad to tell runaway slaves where it was safe to stop.

  The Litchfield abolitionist was an old woman named Whitmore who baked the most delicious walnut bread Ryan had ever tasted. They ate their fill and then spent the daylight hours sleeping in the cellar. At nightfall, they were back in the wagon headed north again. Around midnight, Hannah's baby started to cry. And cry. And cry.

  "What's wrong with him?" asked Hannah. She was riding in the back, trying to console her child.

  "Ain't nothin' wrong with him," said Abigail. "He's two days old. That's what babies do when they got something to complain about."

  "I don't know what he's fussin' about," said Hannah. "He ain't wet, and he ain't interested in eatin' none."

  Ryan recalled how car trips seemed to put his little sister Ainsley right to sleep, but a wooden-wheeled wagon on a rutted dirt road was an entirely different ride. "Maybe it's all this bouncing around in the wagon that has him so upset," said Ryan. Let's stop a minute and see if he'll fall asleep."

  Ryan steered them off the road. The wagon stopped behind a cluster of elm trees. Traveling with a runaway slave was risky any time of day, so it made no sense to be out on the open road if they weren't moving. They had to be on constant lookout for slave catchers.

  "I'll take the south watch," said Ryan as he climbed down from the wagon.

  "I'll take the north," said Abigail.

  The two of them walked back to the road and then split. They positioned themselves about twenty yards apart, Ryan looking south for slave catchers, Abigail looking north. The wagon was completely hidden from view in the forest, but Ryan could hear Hannah's voice in the wind. She was singing her baby to sleep. Every time she stopped singing, however, the newborn started to cry again. Putting little L'new to sleep was going to take longer than expected.

  Alone in the moonlight, Ryan's thoughts turned toward Hezekiah. He missed him, and it turned his stomach to think that he was back in the unmerciful hands of Old Man Barrow and his slave catchers. Hezekiah didn't deserve to be a slave. No one deserved that. Even criminals were protected from "cruel and unusual punishment," and Hezekiah was hardly a criminal. He was a hero who had sacrificed himself for his fr
iends. For that, he would live the rest of his days in slavery. Ryan didn't know whether to feel sad or angry. He felt both.

  His emotions, however, were more complicated than that. They stemmed from something deeper than the fact that Hezekiah was gone. Ryan wished he could feel the same sense of pride about his own father.

  That hurt more than anything.

  Ryan scanned the forest around him. The wagon was surrounded by tall, straight trees. In the darkness, they reminded him of iron bars. Prison bars. If he squinted, he could almost see his father standing behind those bars in the orange jump suit, his eyes filled with sadness, as he looked Ryan in the eye and said, "I didn't do it, son."

  Ryan shook his head, trying to free his mind of the image. But he couldn't fight it. He hadn't slept well since losing Hezekiah. He was mentally and physically exhausted. His thoughts kept bouncing back and forth from Hezekiah's being hauled away by slave hunters to his father sitting alone in some prison cell. Slowly, against his own will, his thoughts took an even deeper turn toward his father. Ryan didn't want to go there, not even in his memories, but in his mind's eye he was reliving that awful day when the police had come to take his father away.

  A swirl of blue lights swept the yard outside Ryan's bedroom window. He peered out from behind the curtain and saw two squad cars pulling into the Coolidge driveway. The car doors flew open, and men in dark blue police uniforms raced up the walkway.

  Next came the pounding at the front door, the firm knock of authority.

  Ryan hurried from his room and stopped at the top of the stairs. His father was already at the door. "What's going on, Dad?" said Ryan.

  "Just go back to your room, son."

  Ryan started down the hall, but he didn't return to his room. He ducked around the corner and kept watching and listening as his father opened the door.

  Two police officers flashed their badges, along with an older man who was wearing a white shirt and red tie with the knot loosened at the throat. He looked like one of those detectives on television. "Is Dr. Coolidge at home?" he asked.