Then she began: “‘As long as I am an American citizen, and as long as American blood runs in these veins, I shall hold myself at liberty to speak, to write, to publish whatever I please on any subject I please, being amenable to the laws of my country for the same.’”
On the slate Libby explained to Peter, “Mr. Lovejoy wanted to write and publish with freedom. But he also wanted to respect the laws of our country.”
For a moment Caleb was silent. Then, as though thinking aloud, he summed up Mr. Lovejoy’s words. “He wanted to speak, write, and publish what he believed needed to be said? That’s freedom of the press. But he didn’t want to say just whatever he felt like, even if it hurt people? He wanted to be responsible about what he wrote?”
Mrs. Hunter nodded. “He respected a higher law—God’s law. Elijah believed that God has taught us to care about the worth of every human being.”
“He didn’t change his mind when things got hard?” Caleb asked.
Mrs. Hunter shook her head. “He never stopped working for what he believed was right.”
Again Caleb was silent. Finally he asked, “Is Elijah Lovejoy the first American to die for freedom of the press?”
“As far as I know,” Mrs. Hunter answered. “But Elijah died not only for freedom of the press. He died for the freedom of our colored friends. I remember something else he said. ‘I have sworn eternal opposition to slavery, and by the blessing of God I will never turn back.’”
Mrs. Hunter stood up to offer more food. “You know, Caleb, you should meet Reverend Livingston. He’s been a pastor here in Alton, and he’s known as the father of the Colored Baptists in Illinois. He’s coming to see my husband this afternoon. If you’re here at three o’clock, you could talk to Reverend Livingston first.”
“We’ll go now,” Caleb answered, as if suddenly remembering they were supposed to be searching for the swindler. “But we’ll do our best to be back in time.”
Soon Libby, Caleb, and Peter reached the house at the address Miss Priscilla had shown them. Set a short distance away from any other home, it was built on the side of a steep hill. In the daylight the house seemed even more deserted.
After looking around, Libby and the boys found a hiding place behind some bushes. There they had a good view of both the house and the hill leading up to it. The three of them settled down to watch for the swindler.
By the end of the first hour, Caleb was restless. When a second hour passed, he could no longer sit still. Standing up, he started to prowl around the area.
“Stop it, Caleb!” Libby said. “You’ll give us away.”
When Caleb sat down again, Peter began teaching them the finger alphabet. Then he said, “We should have our own secret sign for danger ahead.” Peter showed them how to make a D, then an A.
Peter’s many abilities made Libby curious. “Where did you learn to sign?” she asked on Peter’s slate.
“At the Illinois Institution for the Education of the Deaf and Dumb,” he said.
“In Jacksonville?” Caleb wrote.
Peter nodded. “During school that’s where I live. That’s where I learned to talk with my hands. All my friends are there.”
Caleb leaned forward. “We want to be your friends too,” he wrote.
A grin lit Peter’s face, reaching even his eyes. “You are,” he said.
It was past two o’clock when Caleb started his restless prowling again. “We have wasted a good part of the day just sitting around!”
Libby felt disappointed, but she had to agree. At the same time, she wondered what to do about it. “We don’t have any other leads for the swindler. Where can he be?”
“You think you saw him at the train station—” Caleb began.
“We know we saw him,” Libby answered. “Peter is sure it was the man he saw walking toward the boardinghouse. I’m sure it was the swindler who tried to cheat the immigrant on the Christina.”
By now Caleb was more impatient than Libby had ever seen him. He was used to doing things, not sitting around. “I want to talk to Reverend Livingston,” he said. “If we stay any longer, we’ll miss him.”
When Caleb explained to Peter, the boy said, “I’ll stay and watch for the swindler.”
“Alone?” Libby wrote. She wasn’t sure about that. Pa had told her to be responsible for Peter.
“I’ve taken care of myself a long time,” Peter said. “You don’t have to treat me like a baby.”
Libby felt the warm flush of embarrassment reach her cheeks. That’s what she had been doing, all right. But now she wrote, “You promise to hide from the swindler if he comes?”
“I’ll find you,” Peter said. “If the swindler doesn’t come by sundown, I’ll go to Hunter’s just before dark.”
With that agreement, Caleb and Libby left. She understood Peter wanting to be on his own. She had been treating him like a baby. But halfway back to Hunter’s, Libby started thinking it over.
“Caleb, did we do the right thing?” she asked. “Leaving Peter, I mean?”
“Aw, Libby, stop acting like an old mother hen! You heard what Peter told you.”
Again Libby felt embarrassed. But she could not shake off her uneasiness.
CHAPTER 11
Caleb’s Hero
Soon after Libby and Caleb reached Major Hunter’s lodging place, Reverend John Livingston arrived. When Libby saw the lines of kindness in his face, she knew this father of the Colored Baptist churches in Illinois was a man to be trusted.
When Caleb explained what he wanted to know, Reverend Livingston listened carefully.
“Elijah Lovejoy was my friend,” he said. “Sometimes I could almost hear the Lord saying, ‘John, I am giving you the privilege of running this man’s press. I am giving you the privilege of printing what he says.’”
Reverend Livingston led them into the backyard and to a bench where they could sit down and talk.
“What do you remember most about Mr. Lovejoy?” Caleb asked.
“The kind of person he was. My white brother died because he cared about people like me. Even now, after twenty years, I can’t forget some of the things he wrote. I especially remember him saying, ‘The fittest place for man to die is where he dies for man.’”
Reverend Livingston’s eyes were wet. “Elijah Lovejoy knew Jesus, and Jesus died for every one of us who has ever been a slave.”
Leaning forward, Reverend Livingston looked directly into Caleb’s face. “Mrs. Hunter told me that Elijah Lovejoy is your hero. What do you plan to do about that?”
Caleb stared at him, startled.
When he did not answer, Libby wanted to jump in, to tell the minister about Caleb’s work with the Underground Railroad. But Caleb made no mention of that.
As the silence grew long, Libby’s thoughts raced on. I could tell Reverend Livingston how brave Caleb is. Just in time she realized that would make him uncomfortable.
Then Caleb looked into the minister’s eyes. As though Libby were no longer there, he spoke. “I want to be a man of honor—to do what’s right, even though no one knows about it. I want to do what I know to be true, even when there’s no reward in doing it.”
“Ah!” Reverend Livingston leaned back, smiling as though he had received a better answer than he could have hoped for. “Then, Caleb, I will pray for you every day.”
When they stood up to leave, Caleb had one more question. “Do you know where Elijah Lovejoy is buried?”
“There is one man who might know.” Then Reverend Livingston shook his head. “If he does know, he won’t tell you. But why don’t you talk to a newspaperman named Thomas Dimmock? I’ll give you directions to his house.”
As Libby and Caleb started away, John Livingston spoke again. “If you follow Jordan’s daddy up the state of Illinois, you might go to Jacksonville or Springfield. If you ever need a place of refuge—” The minister was looking at Caleb, but Libby knew what he was saying.
When Libby and Caleb reached the address Reverend Livingston h
ad given them, a man with a full mustache and a well-trimmed beard opened the door.
“Mr. Dimmock?” Caleb asked. “Reverend Livingston gave us your name. Can you tell us how to find Elijah Lovejoy’s grave?”
When Mr. Dimmock glanced back into the parlor, Libby saw a group of men gathered there. Shutting the door behind him, Mr. Dimmock looked up and down the street, then led Libby and Caleb away from the parlor windows.
“Who are you?” Mr. Dimmock asked.
“A cabin boy on the Christina,” Caleb answered. “This is Libby Norstad. Her pa is the captain.”
Mr. Dimmock offered a warm smile to Libby. “I know your father. He’s a good man, a fair man.”
He turned back to Caleb. “Why do you want to see Elijah Lovejoy’s grave?”
“He’s my hero,” Caleb said simply.
“Why is he your hero?” Mr. Dimmock sounded curious now.
“He was a newspaper man. A writer and editor like I want to be. He stood for the things I want to stand for.”
Listening to Caleb, Libby suddenly felt uncomfortable. She couldn’t help but admire him, but deep down she felt scared. How could Caleb say things like that? There was a cost to standing for the right things, a cost Mr. Lovejoy had known well.
Now Caleb’s face was slightly flushed, as though he found it hard to talk this way to a stranger. Yet he looked at the man without wavering. “I don’t know if I can do it, but I want to stand for the things I believe in.”
“I see,” Mr. Dimmock answered, his gaze still holding Caleb’s. “Elijah Lovejoy’s grave is not marked. I suspect there’s just one man who knows exactly where it is. I can only tell you approximately where it might be. You understand there won’t be anything to see?”
Caleb nodded.
“If I take you there, will you and Libby make me a solemn promise?”
“That we don’t tell anyone where you think the grave might be?” Caleb answered.
Mr. Dimmock nodded.
“We promise,” Caleb said instantly.
But Mr. Dimmock wasn’t satisfied with that. “You too?” he asked Libby.
“Me too.” Libby’s voice was solemn.
“You understand the danger of telling even one person?” Again Mr. Dimmock searched their faces.
“We understand that someone might be disrespectful to his grave,” Caleb answered.
Finally Mr. Dimmock nodded, as if satisfied that he could trust them. “When I was seven years old, I lived across the street from the cemetery. I knew that Mr. Lovejoy had been killed by a mob. I saw his friends come to the cemetery.”
Again Mr. Dimmock glanced around, as though making sure that no one could hear. “Can you meet me at the cemetery half an hour before sunset?”
When Caleb agreed, he spoke quickly. “One more thing. We have a friend who’s a runaway slave. Can we bring him too?”
“A runaway slave?” A quiet smile lit Mr. Dimmock’s face. “That’s the kind of person Mr. Lovejoy died for. I think he would like to have a fugitive visit his grave.”
As the sun slanted down toward the western horizon, Libby and Caleb walked to the Rock House, where Jordan was hiding.
“I heard people talking about Miz Priscilla today,” Jordan said the minute he saw them. “Did you know she rows the bishop of the AME Church across the river? And she gathers up slaves for church meetings.”
Jordan grinned. “Once slave owners in Missouri let her take three hundred slaves to Illinois so they could hear preaching about Jesus.”
That afternoon Priscilla Baltimore had stopped to ask Jordan more questions about his daddy. At sundown she would cross the Mississippi to search for Micah Parker.
“Miz Priscilla said that if we left here, we should walk as if we belong together,” Jordan told Caleb as they headed toward the cemetery. “We should walk as if you’re saying I belong to you. I am all right.”
Half an hour before sunset the three of them entered the cemetery. As they walked slowly around, Jordan tried to read the gravestones. Caleb helped him sound out the easier names and words.
Within a few minutes, Mr. Dimmock strolled across the street and stopped at a stone near the entrance. Soon he moved on.
Passing close to Caleb, he spoke in a low voice. “Follow me.”
A short distance away, Mr. Dimmock stopped. Turning, he faced a road that ran from the entrance of the cemetery to an area farther back. Gravestones stood on either side of the road.
When Caleb, then Libby and Jordan, turned to face the same direction, Mr. Dimmock spoke quietly. “I believe the grave is somewhere beneath that road.”
As Libby stared at the dirt path, tears welled up in her eyes. No marker, not even a cross. Though Mr. Dimmock had warned them, she felt upset.
Then he spoke again. “The time will come when we can mark Mr. Lovejoy’s grave. But first we will have war—civil war. Neighbor will fight against neighbor and brother against brother.”
War? Libby dreaded even the sound of the word.
For a time all of them stood without speaking. Then, as Libby glanced sideways, she saw Caleb’s face. It was all he could do to keep from breaking down. A hurt look filled his eyes—a look of grieving for a hero he could never meet in person.
As though Thomas Dimmock sensed what Caleb was thinking, he spoke quietly. “Someday the world will know that Elijah Lovejoy died for the freedom of slaves. Someday there will be a monument here—a monument that honors the first American martyr for freedom of the press.”
As Libby blinked away her tears, Jordan bowed his head. His lips moved, but no sound came, and Libby knew he was praying.
When at last he looked up, Jordan stood tall. Though his gaze still rested on a spot in the road, his eyes shone with pride.
Then Caleb straightened his shoulders, as if he had decided something. Finally he spoke. “A good road goes somewhere.”
“Yes,” Mr. Dimmock answered. “A good road helps all of us.”
“I want to make sure I’m on the right one,” Caleb said.
With darkness falling around them, Libby and Caleb walked with Jordan back to the Rock House. On the long return trip to Major Hunter’s, Libby thought about all she had seen and heard.
It had been their search for stolen money that started all this—money taken from Pa and from Jordan’s church. But now Libby had only one thought. Money doesn’t seem very important compared to Elijah Lovejoy’s life.
When they reached the lodging place, Mrs. Hunter met them at the door. “I saved dinner for you because I thought you’d be late.”
“Peter?” Libby asked, suddenly remembering. “Is he here?”
When Mrs. Hunter told them no, Libby’s heart lurched with fear. “It’s dark, and Peter hasn’t come back,” she said to Caleb. “I told you we shouldn’t leave him alone.”
By now they had discovered a shortcut—a more direct way to cross the hill to what they called the swindler’s house. As Caleb and Libby hurried through the streets, her dread grew with the darkness.
“Pa told me to look out for Peter,” she said. “I’m sure not doing a good job of it.”
Caleb tried to calm her down. “Just wait till you see what’s happened to Peter.”
But Libby was growing frantic. “What if the swindler found him and knew that Peter could identify him?”
Even Caleb had no answer for that.
When they reached the swindler’s house, nothing seemed to have changed. Curtains still covered the windows. Weeds filled the flower gardens. No candle or lamplight glowed from within. Libby and Caleb walked straight to where they had hidden twice before. Peter was nowhere. When they circled the house, there was not one trace of him. Clouds had covered the sky and whatever light there was.
“I can’t believe I did this to Peter,” Libby said. “I can’t believe I went off and left him on his own.”
“He’s used to being on his own. He even told you to stop treating him like a baby.”
“But where is he?” Libby’s voi
ce broke. “I’m scared, Caleb. Really scared!” Filled with panic, Libby couldn’t begin to think what to try next.
CHAPTER 12
Narrow Escape
Through long practice in working with the Underground Railroad, Caleb had learned to hide his feelings. Yet he looked upset as he walked over to the edge of the yard. Below where Caleb stood, the ground dropped sharply away in the steep wooded hills of Alton.
When Libby came to stand beside him, she saw lightning bugs blink their lights. On that last night of July, the yellow lights flashed here, then there. Libby had always liked to watch lightning bugs, but now she was in no mood to enjoy them.
Farther away, lamps glowed from the windows of homes. Then Libby noticed another kind of light on a street below them. The light bobbed around, and at first Libby wondered if she was seeing more lightning bugs. Then she decided, No. The light moves strangely, but it doesn’t go out. Someone is holding a candle.
“Caleb,” Libby said. “See that light down there? It looks like someone is weaving around.” She could think of no other explanation for the way the light moved back and forth.
“Whoever it is, he’s walking in a zigzag,” Caleb answered. “If it’s a man who would scare Peter—”
In that moment Caleb made up his mind. “There’s no one here at the house. Let’s see if Peter took that way back to Hunter’s.”
Walking fast, Libby and Caleb hurried down the steep hill. Whenever they lost sight of the strangely moving light, they began to run.
As they started to catch up, Libby realized that whoever held the candle had to be quite short. Then, against the dark night, she saw a darker outline of the person.
“It’s Peter with a lighted candle!” Libby exclaimed. Though relieved to find him, Libby felt angry. “There is he, disobeying again.”
“But he’s not on the Christina,” Caleb pointed out. “Let’s not scare him. He can’t hear us coming. We shouldn’t jump out at him from the dark.”
Breaking into a run, Caleb left the road to circle around Peter, then came out where the boy could see him. Soon after Caleb and Peter met, Libby caught up with them.
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