The Swindler's Treasure

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  From the floor next to his chair, Reverend Freeman picked up a carpetbag. “We have worked many months to collect this great amount of money,” he reminded Jordan again.

  As if suddenly struck by the seriousness of what he had promised, Jordan’s gaze met that of the pastor’s. “Yassuh. I’ll be very careful, sir.”

  Reverend Freeman held out the carpetbag. “Take the money home with you now. Keep it safe, and bring it back tomorrow morning. After we take our last collection, we will send you on your way.”

  His dark eyes solemn, Jordan took the carpetbag and shook Reverend Freeman’s hand. Then Jordan walked back to where Libby, Caleb, and Serena were sitting and led them outside.

  They were a block away from the church before Caleb spoke. “Jordan, you can’t do this.”

  Jordan stiffened. “I can’t do what?”

  “You can’t carry all that money to Chicago.”

  Jordan stopped in his tracks. “You are telling me what I can do?”

  “I am telling you that what you’ve promised to do is very dangerous. It’s too big a job.”

  “All those men in the church said, ‘Jordan, you are the one to do this.’”

  “But I know you better than any of them,” Caleb answered. “I say you can’t do it!”

  Jordan lifted his head. “You are forgetting something, Caleb Whitney. If I can lead my momma and my sisters and my brother out of slavery, I can do anything!”

  “Anything?” Caleb asked as though on guard.

  “Anything!” Jordan declared. “It ain’t just anybody who can do what I did. I am going to keep on doing those big, hard things no one else can do.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Caleb stared at Jordan as if he didn’t like what he heard. “Last time I saw you, you were saying humble things about God helping you. Remember?”

  Libby remembered, all right. Long ago Jordan’s mother had named him after the Jordan River, believing that he would lead his people across the Mississippi into the Promised Land of freedom. To Libby it still seemed a miracle that Jordan had escaped his own cruel master, then led his mother, brother, and two sisters out of slavery.

  But Jordan was angry now. “You’re forgetting how I led my family in the rain and heat and cold. You are forgetting that my family is here because of what I did!”

  Startled, Caleb stepped back, as though he no longer knew his friend. “What did you say you have done?”

  “I brought my family out of slavery!”

  “You brought them here?” Caleb asked.

  Jordan threw back his shoulders. “I brought them here.”

  “Not God?” Caleb spit out his words. “God didn’t help you one bit?”

  Jordan blinked. Clamping his mouth shut, he spun around and stalked away.

  Turning back, Caleb faced Serena. Gone was the happy smile Libby had seen only a short time before. Instead Serena’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “You are wrong!” she told Caleb.

  As though unable to believe Serena’s words, Caleb stared at her.

  “You are wrong!” Serena said again. “My brother can do anything!”

  CHAPTER 5

  Peter James Christopherson

  Without another word Serena raced after Jordan. Together they hurried down the street. Without speaking, Libby and Caleb watched them go.

  Jordan was almost a block away when he suddenly stopped and turned. His shoulders sagging, he walked back slowly. Caleb and Libby met him halfway.

  The anger was gone now from Jordan’s eyes, but the sureness was still there in the way he held his head. “You are my friends,” he said quietly. “You are still my best friends. It would mean something to me if you came to church tomorrow mornin’.”

  “When the people pray for you?” Caleb asked.

  Jordan nodded. As he stretched out his hand, Caleb took it, then clapped his friend on the shoulder. Jordan tried to grin, but the troubled look in his eyes did not go away.

  When Jordan and Serena left for home a second time, Caleb stood there, as though still shaken by Jordan’s words. “I’m scared, Libby,” he said finally. “I’m scared about Jordan carrying that much money.”

  “Scared that he won’t make it to Chicago?”

  “Scared about a lot of things. Jordan’s master, Riggs, might still be looking for him. Wherever there have been posters, slave catchers know about the big reward on Jordan’s head. Just because he’s been safe in Galena for a few months doesn’t mean he’ll be safe when he starts traveling again.”

  Safe. Will Jordan ever be safe? Libby wondered.

  During the summer, she and Caleb had vacation from Pa’s school lessons. Yet now, like a memory half forgotten, Libby remembered the words he had taught them from the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

  “The pursuit of happiness,” Libby said. “Will Jordan and his family ever be able to pursue happiness without someone pursuing them?”

  “There’s one thing that scares me more than anything,” Caleb answered. “Jordan seems to think he can do big things for God without God’s help.”

  With heavy steps Caleb started back to the riverfront. Walking beside him Libby also felt discouraged. Their visit with Jordan certainly hadn’t turned out the way they hoped.

  Libby was about to speak when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning quickly, she saw a boy in a blue shirt. For an instant he smiled, then disappeared on a side street.

  “That’s the boy that Samson saved,” Libby told Caleb. “I wonder if he lives around here.”

  But Caleb had no more answers than Libby. Even after she reached the Christina, the boy’s smile haunted her. As much as she wanted to forget the way he looked, she couldn’t.

  To Libby’s surprise Jordan showed up at the Christina an hour later. He no longer carried the carpetbag. At first he walked around between the piles of freight on the riverfront. Then, as if he were part of the crew, he rolled a large barrel up the gangplank. After leaving it on the deck, he headed up the stairs. Libby and Caleb followed him into the captain’s cabin.

  With the windows and door shut, Jordan told Captain Norstad his problem. “Me and Momma—” Jordan stopped to correct himself. “Momma and I have done our best to find out where my daddy is. We ain’t heard even one word about him.”

  “Sit down, Jordan,” the captain said and motioned toward the table where Libby and Caleb had their school lessons.

  But Jordan sat on the edge of his chair. “Caleb said you know of a way to find my daddy.”

  “I do,” the captain told Jordan. “But it might bring harm to your entire family.”

  Jordan leaned forward. “If Daddy is a slave, how can we be happy being free?”

  Jordan’s words echoed those of his mother, but Libby wondered about them. She remembered the overly confident Jordan she had seen only an hour before. Did he really understand what he was saying?

  Captain Norstad’s gaze searched Jordan’s face. “If we look for your father—doing more than what we’ve already done in asking questions—do you realize the danger?”

  Jordan nodded.

  Captain Norstad glanced toward the windows, then lowered his voice. “We can find your father by going to the courthouse in the county where he was sold. His name would be listed there, and the name of his new owner.”

  A flash of light filled Jordan’s face. “That ain’t going to be hard,” he said with that sure-of-himself voice again.

  “But it will be hard,” the captain warned. “It will be very hard. And you can’t be the one going. Someone else needs to ask for you.”

  “I ain’t got no liking for someone else doing it for me,” Jordan answered.

  “Then we won’t do it at all,” Captain Norstad answered.

  “I want to go myself. I won’t have no tr
ouble.”

  “Jordan …” Captain Norstad’s eyes were dark with concern. Libby felt sure Pa was going to warn him. But just then Caleb stood up, as if about to take a stroll around the room.

  Instead, he stopped next to the door. With one quick jerk he opened it. In the hallway Libby saw a flash of movement as a boy started to run.

  But Caleb was faster. Through the open door, Libby saw him catch the boy’s arm. A minute later Caleb returned, pulling the boy behind him.

  The child looked nine or ten years old. His blond hair fell down over his eyes, reminding Libby of Caleb. To her surprise it was the boy she had seen three times now—the boy Samson had saved from being run over.

  “He was listening,” Caleb explained. “Standing outside the door as if trying to hear what was going on.”

  “Is that true?” Captain Norstad asked the boy.

  Instead of answering, he looked from one to another, his blue eyes wide with fear.

  “Why are you on the boat?” the captain asked.

  As though knowing that Captain Norstad had spoken, the boy stared at his face. But he looked puzzled and afraid.

  Then Samson stood up from where he lay next to Libby’s feet. Walking over to the boy, he lifted one great paw as if to say hello.

  For the first time the boy smiled. Taking the paw, he shook it, as though giving his own hello. As he threw his arms around Samson’s neck, Libby again noticed his ragged shirt.

  “Well, they seem to know each other,” Pa said, and Libby explained what had happened. After the near accident, the boy had followed them to where they talked with Jordan, and now here to the Christina.

  “But he never talks to us,” Libby said.

  As though afraid that he would frighten the boy, Pa left his chair and knelt down next to him. “What is your name?” he asked.

  The boy kept hugging Samson, as if he hadn’t heard.

  Suddenly it dawned on Libby. “He can talk, but he doesn’t hear! He must have lost his hearing after he learned how to speak!”

  Snatching up a slate and a slate pencil from the table, she, too, knelt down next to the boy. Quickly she wrote, then held the slate directly in front of him. “Can you hear?”

  After one glance at the words, the boy shook his head.

  “No wonder he didn’t get out of the way!” Libby exclaimed. “He couldn’t hear the horse and buggy coming. Or the driver yelling at him!”

  Again she wrote. “Who are you?”

  To her surprise the boy smiled and said, “My name is Peter James Christopherson.”

  Picking up the other two slates on the table, Caleb gave one to Captain Norstad, then sat down on the floor next to Peter. Jordan sat on Caleb’s other side. That spring Jordan had asked Caleb to teach him how to read. Every time Caleb wrote something, Jordan watched, as though wishing that he knew enough words to write to Peter.

  Libby filled her slate. “How come you have such a long name?”

  “Don’t let my size fool you,” Peter answered. “I’ve got plenty of brains.”

  Caleb grinned at Libby. “He’s not going to let you get the best of him.”

  Taking a cloth, Libby erased her words, then wrote again. “Where do you live?”

  “With a man who doesn’t like me.”

  “A man who doesn’t like you?” Libby glanced toward Pa, not sure that Peter understood what she had asked. Holding out her slate, she again pointed to the words. “Where do you live?”

  In reply Peter tapped the words on her slate. “I told you.” Taking the slate pencil, he drew a round face with the corners of the mouth pulled down.

  “He understood, all right,” Caleb said. “I wonder who this man is.”

  “Ask Peter why the man doesn’t like him,” Pa said.

  Peter’s answer came at once. “He’s mean.”

  “To you?” Caleb wrote.

  Peter nodded, as though there was no doubt about it.

  “Why?” Caleb asked.

  “I am not his boy. He does not like to take care of me.”

  “Then who takes care of you?” Libby wrote.

  “I take care of myself.”

  Pa groaned. “Ask him more. Who is this man? His uncle? His neighbor?”

  To each question Peter shook his head. Finally he said, “The man took me in because my parents died, and I didn’t have a place to live. Can I live with you?”

  Pa took a slate. “Libby is my daughter,” he wrote, then pointed to her.

  Peter nodded.

  Again Pa wrote. “Will you take me to the man you live with? I want to talk with him.”

  Again Peter nodded.

  In a few more minutes, Captain Norstad finished talking with Jordan. “I’ll do my best to find your father, Micah Parker,” the captain promised before Jordan left. Then Captain Norstad followed Peter down the stairs and off the boat.

  Sitting at her favorite place on the hurricane deck, Libby watched them until they disappeared from sight. The entire time they were gone, she kept thinking about Peter’s smile—that strange, heartwarming smile that seemed so lonely it made her ache inside.

  When Pa returned, Libby and Caleb were both on the hurricane deck where they could look down on the gangplank. Peter had a bag on his back and carried a small carpetbag. It made Libby wonder if that was all Peter owned.

  Pa’s arms were filled with packages. Soon Libby heard Pa’s steps on the stairway. She and Caleb followed Pa to his cabin.

  Pa set down the packages on the table. “Clothes for Peter,” he explained. “I left him in the pastry kitchen with Caleb’s grandmother, so I could talk with you.”

  Pa looked as shaken as Libby had ever seen him. “Peter is an orphan, all right. The man he’s living with is self-centered, uncaring, and cruel.” Pa’s eyes were wet as he told about it. “I don’t know how Peter manages the way he does.”

  “The man is cruel?” Libby asked.

  “And rude. When we got to the house, Peter said, ‘Wait a minute while I talk to him.’ Peter went in while I sat down on the step. The man he lives with never came to the door. Instead he sent a note.”

  Pa laid a piece of paper down on the table. Libby read the words:

  I never wanted Peter in my life. I’m tired of taking care of him. He can go with you for a few trips. For now he’s yours.

  Libby caught her breath. “Peter’s right. The man is mean. I wonder why he took Peter in the first place?”

  As Caleb finished reading the note, he turned it over. “Look! Here’s more.”

  Tell Peter to remember what I taught him.

  “To remember what he taught him?” Libby asked. “What does the man mean?”

  As if wanting to shake off the memory, Pa shrugged his shoulders. “I knocked several times, trying to get him to talk with me, but he wouldn’t come to the door. Finally I decided that if someone asks why I have Peter, I’ll have this paper.”

  Pa picked up the piece of paper. “I’ll keep it in a safe place. For now I just want to get Peter away from that awful man. I want Peter to grow up living in the sunlight.”

  So upset that he could not sit still, Pa started pacing around the cabin. It was the way he thought best, Libby knew, and so did Caleb. Without speaking, they waited.

  When Pa turned back to them, his mind was made up. “For as long as he’s on board, let’s be a family for Peter.”

  “A never-give-up family?” Libby whispered. “A family that sticks together, even when it’s hard?”

  “A never-give-up family.” Pa’s voice was rough with emotion. “We’re going to love Peter, most of all. We’re going to let him tell us what he’s thinking, to break out of that world of silence that he’s in. We’re going to help him become all that he can be—not for our sake, but for his.”

  Pa’s eyes sought Libby’s. “Okay, Libby? Is that all right with you?”

  CHAPTER 6

  The Big Search

  Relief washed through Libby—the relief that something good was going to happ
en to Peter. He would be cared for, fed, and clothed. But it was more than that. After having all the dresses she wanted, Libby had learned how unimportant clothes really were.

  With a flash of memory, she thought back four months to the night when her Auntie Vi said, “I’m ready to give up on that girl!”

  Give up on me? Libby had felt the pain of those words. From that pain had come her wish for a never-give-up family—a family that believed in her, even if she wasn’t perfect.

  Since then Pa had shown Libby that he loved her no matter what happened. Could she and Pa give that kind of love to Peter?

  Libby looked at Pa. “I’ve always wanted a younger brother. Even if it’s just for a few trips, he could be like a brother.”

  “I’d like a brother too,” Caleb said.

  Libby stared at him in surprise. Caleb always seemed so sure of himself and what he wanted. She had never thought about his being an only child too.

  The next morning Libby and Caleb set out for the church, with Peter walking between them. On his first night with them, Libby had sewed a small bag for holding a slate. Inside the bag she sewed two narrow pockets for slate pencils.

  When she gave the bag to Peter, he taught Libby her first words of sign language—thank you. Placing the tips of the fingers of his right hand at the front of his lips, he moved his hand outward, as if blowing kisses to a baby.

  Now Peter walked proudly with the new bag slung over his left shoulder, ready to offer the slate if he didn’t understand what Libby and Caleb were saying. But Peter was busy teaching them. When he came to a flower, he pointed to it, then showed them the sign. A block farther on, he signed the word for bird.

  Peter was such a good teacher that it made Libby curious. Taking the slate, she stopped at the side of the street long enough to write to him. “What did the man you stayed with mean when he said, ‘Tell Peter to remember what I taught him’?”

  As Peter read Libby’s words, a shadow seemed to pass over his face. But Peter only said, “He taught me to sell candles on the street. I earned money that way.”

  When they entered the church, Libby was surprised to see that they were late. Then she realized what had happened. Peter had talked the whole way, which slowed them down. Slipping quietly into the back row, Libby, Caleb, and Peter sat down.