Freedom at the Falls Read online

  In memory of Elbert Sloan, who never learned to read

  Freedom at the Falls

  © 2018 Focus on the Family. All rights reserved.

  A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188.

  The Imagination Station, Adventures in Odyssey, and Focus on the Family and their accompanying logos and designs are federally registered trademarks of Focus on the Family, 8605 Explorer Drive, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of Focus on the Family.

  All Scripture quotations have been taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. Copyright © 2001 by CrosswayBibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  With the exception of known historical figures, all characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations.

  Cover design by Michael Heath | Magnus Creative

  For Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data for this title, visit http://www.loc.gov/help/contact-general.html.

  For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-800-323-9400.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at [email protected], or call 1-800-323-9400.

  ISBN: 9-781-58997-979-6

  ISBN 978-1-68428-185-5 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-68428-186-2 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-68428-184-8 (Apple)

  Build: 2018-09-21 15:46:05 EPUB 3.0

  Contents

  Chapter 1: The Imagination Station

  Chapter 2: The Slave Catcher

  Chapter 3: Sally

  Chapter 4: Willie

  Chapter 5: The Lincoln Special

  Chapter 6: Mrs. Lincoln

  Chapter 7: Lunch

  Chapter 8: The Trunks

  Chapter 9: The Mistake

  Chapter 10: The Whip Cracks

  Chapter 11: The Tickets

  Chapter 12: Grace Bedell

  Chapter 13: The Telegram

  Chapter 14: Murray

  Chapter 15: Niagara Falls

  Chapter 16: A Surprise

  Secret Word Puzzle

  The Imagination Station

  Patrick and Beth hurried down the stairs at Whit’s End. Beth’s galoshes squeaked on each step. The cousins entered the workshop where Whit created his inventions.

  Tables and boxes filled the room. Computer parts and small engine motors lay on the tables. Stacks of recycling materials leaned against the walls.

  The Imagination Station was one of Whit’s inventions. It stood in the corner. This one had been made from a Model T car.

  Whit was standing behind a long, wood workbench. “Hello,” he said. “Are you ready for a President’s Day adventure?”

  “I remember meeting George Washington in an Imagination Station adventure,” Patrick said.

  “Yes,” Whit said. “You met him at Yorktown in 1781. It was at the end of the American Revolution.”

  “That adventure was scary and fun at the same time,” Beth said. “I’ve always wanted to meet Abraham Lincoln. I’d like to feel his whiskers.”

  Whit laughed and said, “A little girl about your age asked Mr. Lincoln to grow a beard. It was just before he took office as president in 1861.”

  Whit stroked his own chin and then said, “That gives me an idea.”

  “Are you going to grow a beard?” Patrick asked.

  Whit shook his head. He said, “How would you like to help Honest Abe with a little problem?”

  “Yes!” the cousins shouted.

  “What are we going to bring him?” Patrick asked. “A tall black hat?”

  “No,” Whit said. “Mr. Lincoln already has a stovepipe hat.” He reached under the table and pulled out a black bag. The fabric was shiny and slick.

  Whit handed the bag to Patrick.

  Patrick lifted it. “It’s not heavy,” Patrick said.

  “And it’s not fragile,” Whit said. “But don’t lose it. Mr. Lincoln will want it.”

  Beth saw a smile tug at Whit’s lips. The inventor’s eyes twinkled mysteriously.

  “Are we ready?” Beth asked.

  “Not yet,” Whit said. “I also have something for Mary.”

  “Who’s Mary?” Beth asked.

  Whit said, “Mary Todd Lincoln is the First Lady, Mrs. Lincoln.” He pulled a disk of polished wood out of his apron pocket.

  Whit held it up for Beth to see.

  The disk was a little larger than a quarter. It was cut from a cross section of a branch. Beth could see the tree rings and the bark around the edges. The disk had a bird design on it. There was a small hole at the top. A thin white ribbon was threaded through the hole to make it a necklace.

  Whit said, “Keep the necklace hidden until you see its twin.”

  “I don’t understand,” Beth said. “Isn’t this for Mary?”

  “You’ll know the answer to that in good time,” Whit said.

  Beth heard a noise. She turned toward the sound. She saw Patrick sitting inside the Imagination Station. He was in the driver’s seat, the bag on his lap.

  Beth hurried to the Model T. She sat in the passenger’s seat. A white bird feather was on the seat. This is left over from the last adventure, Beth thought.

  “Where’s Eugene?” Beth asked. “Did he ever come back from his tour with Mr. Tesla?”

  Whit nodded and said, “He’s fixing the time glitch with Mr. Tesla’s help. He isn’t happy being nearly eighty years old.”

  Whit waved goodbye. Beth and Patrick waved back.

  Patrick took hold of the steering wheel. He turned the wheel with a jerk.

  The car seemed to surge forward in the workshop. But everything Beth saw through the windshield blurred. She saw only a million dots of color spinning.

  Then the dots broke apart. They sprayed out of the machine like water droplets.

  We’re driving through time, Beth thought.

  And then suddenly, everything went black.

  The Slave Catcher

  Patrick opened his eyes. He and Beth were standing on a wooden platform. In one hand he held a train ticket.

  A grown-up bumped against him. Others pushed to get on a train. A noisy crowd surrounded them.

  “There are American flags all over the train,” Beth said. The steam locomotive’s smokestack looked like a parade float. A brass band was playing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” The platform was too crowded for Patrick and Beth to see the band.

  The Imagination Station faded and then disappeared.

  Patrick looked down. The black bag was at his feet. He poked it with his toe. He was wearing shoes with tiny black buttons on the side. He was also wearing a gray wool cloak. Under it was a loose-fitting, light-brown suit.

  He looked at Beth. She wore a fancy green dress with white trim. The petticoats made the dress billow out like a parachute. A green velvet cloak hung over her shoulders. The cloak’s hood covered her head.

  The early morning sun shone brightly, but it was still windy and cold.

  “Patrick,” Beth said, “I have two train tickets for Saturday, February 16, 1861. The trip goes from Cleveland, Ohio, to Buffalo, New York.”

  “Two tickets?” Patrick said. “Then we have an extra one.” He held up his own ticket.

  Beth said, “Maybe the extra ticket is a mistake.”

  Patrick looked at the ticket. “You’re right,” he said. “This one is
for the Black Rock Ferry into Canada.” He shrugged and stuffed the ticket into his pants pocket.

  A discarded page of newspaper blew in his direction. It wrapped around his shin. Patrick pulled it off. He read the headline out loud: “‘Supporters in Buffalo Await Lincoln’s Arrival.’”

  “What else does it say?” Beth asked.

  Patrick skimmed the article. “This is Mr. Lincoln’s inaugural train,” he said. He looked at Beth. “Does inaugural mean the beginning of Mr. Lincoln’s presidency?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s it,” she said. “Presidents have to give an inaugural speech when they take office.”

  Patrick read more of the article. “He’s been on the train about a week so far,” he said. “He has another week of stops. Then he gives the speech on March fourth.”

  “Then I say we board this train!” Beth said. “Maybe we’ll get to meet Mr. Lincoln.” She handed one of the tickets to Patrick.

  Other people pressed around them. The passengers were mostly men. They looked important in their dark suits and brimmed hats.

  A pile of luggage was heaped in front of a car that was right behind the coal car. It had a wide, sliding door. One railroad crewmember was loading bags into the car.

  “That’s the baggage car,” Beth said. “Let’s board one of the passenger cars.”

  A hiss of steam left the locomotive’s smokestack.

  “The engine is starting!” Patrick said. He picked up the bag and hurried toward the train.

  Beth lifted her skirt a few inches and hurried after him.

  The cousins headed toward a narrow door at the end of the second passenger car. They climbed three metal steps to a small platform outside the door. They each offered their ticket to a man in a black cap.

  The man said, “You’re just in time. Welcome to the Lincoln Special. I’m Conductor Nottingham.” He took the tickets from each cousin’s hand. He used a ticket punch to mark them. Then he handed the tickets back.

  Patrick put his ticket in his pocket. Beth slipped hers into her cloak pocket. The cousins stepped inside the train.

  Nottingham shouted, “All aboard!” and shut the door.

  Patrick looked for a place to sit. But businessmen filled every velvet-covered bench. They were talking and laughing together. Servants had to stand and were gathered at the back of the car.

  A small wood-burning stove was in the center of the car. It gave out heat and a little smoke.

  “Where do we go?” Patrick asked. He set Lincoln’s bag on the floor near the stove.

  “Let’s ask the conductor where Mr. Lincoln is,” Beth said.

  Patrick scanned the passenger car. Nottingham was talking to the servants at the back.

  Across the aisle, a rugged-looking man leaned against one wall. The man had blond hair. He wore a long leather coat with a star-shaped badge. The fabric of his pants was thick. His brown boots went nearly to his knees.

  “Maybe the man with the badge knows,” Patrick said, pointing to him. The cousins moved toward the man.

  The man saw them coming. He opened his jacket and reached inside a pocket.

  Patrick glimpsed a revolver in a holster on the man’s hip. A coiled whip also hung from his belt. Patrick wondered if the man was a sheriff.

  The man pulled out a folded poster. He opened it so Patrick and Beth could see it.

  The scared face of a teen slave stared at them. Patrick read the words above the picture: “Wanted, Isobel Culver, also known as ‘Sally.’”

  Below the picture were these words: “Reward: $450 for information leading to her capture.”

  Patrick was stunned. He read the man’s badge. It said, “Runaway Slave Patrol.”

  The man said, “Sally escaped from a good home in Lexington, Kentucky. I got a tip that she’s on this train. I’ll give you part of the reward—fifty silver pieces—if you help me find her.”

  Patrick shook his head. “No,” he said, “not for a million dollars.”

  Beth’s stomach flip-flopped. She felt ill. She had never dreamed she would meet a slave catcher.

  “My name is Holman Jones,” the man said. “What are you staring at, miss?”

  Beth felt confused. “I’m sorry for being rude,” she said. “But aren’t we in the North, where slavery is illegal?”

  “That’s right. We’re in Ohio,” Jones said.

  “Then go back to the South,” Patrick said. “No one can own a slave in Ohio.”

  The man chuckled. “This badge doesn’t mean I can own a slave in Ohio,” he said. “It means I can capture runaway slaves—legally. Then I return them to their owners.”

  “For money,” Patrick said.

  “That’s right, young man,” Jones said. “I get paid for lawful, hard work. Slaves are property. If someone stole your horse, you’d want it back, wouldn’t you?”

  Beth crossed her arms and glared at Jones. “A person is not an animal,” she said.

  Jones laughed. “Of course not,” he said. “A good slave is worth more money than a horse!” His eyes narrowed. “For instance, what if you were a runaway slave?” He poked Beth in the shoulder with his finger. “I could take you back to your master and get a reward.”

  “You couldn’t do that!” Patrick said. “She’s not a slave.”

  A sinister smile formed on the slave catcher’s lips. “Who’s to say?” Jones asked. He looked Beth over. “You could be of mixed race. Your hair is as black as a Negro’s.”

  He reached over and fingered a lock of Beth’s dark hair.

  Beth slapped his hand away. Her face flushed red with fury. “And what if I am of mixed race?” she said. “God loves everybody the same. And that’s what counts.”

  “You sound religious,” Jones said. “Like a Quaker.”

  Beth knew Quakers were Christians. She guessed they were against slavery from what Jones said. She said, “I’m glad to sound like a Christian. You sound like the devil, full of lies.”

  Jones sneered at Beth. He briskly walked over to a group of men. He showed them the poster.

  Beth’s temper was still fired up. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. At the same time, she felt Patrick nudge her.

  Beth turned toward him. “I don’t care if using that word is bad manners,” she said. “He does sound like the devil.”

  “It’s not that,” Patrick said. He looked ill.

  “Then what?” Beth asked, confused.

  “Mr. Lincoln’s bag,” Patrick said. “I lost it.”

  Sally

  Beth took Patrick’s hand. “We’ll go back to the last place you had it,” she said. Beth led him toward the stove. She said, “Show me where you put the bag.”

  Patrick tapped a spot with his shoe.

  “Are you sure?” Beth asked.

  “Yes,” Patrick said. “Maybe Mr. Nottingham picked it up.”

  “We can ask,” Beth said. “He’s done talking now.” They went to him.

  The conductor said, “All personal items are stored in the baggage car. It’s toward the front of the train. It’s still unlocked. You’ll have to go through the smoking car first.” He bowed to Beth, nodded to Patrick, and left.

  The cousins crossed over a connection platform. Patrick pushed open the door of the next passenger car. A cloud of smoke billowed out. He fanned away some of the smoke with his hand. Then he stepped inside.

  The seats were full in this car too. As many as a dozen men stood, holding on to railings or bench backs. The entire car smelled of cigar smoke.

  Patrick saw several men he thought were reporters. They were sitting and scribbling in notebooks.

  The cousins passed through the car. They crossed over the platform connecting the smoking car to the baggage car.

  Patrick looked around inside the baggage car. On one wall was a large sliding door. On the opposite was a stack of trunks, wooden crates, and carpetbags. Above it was a row of windows.

  He picked up the nearest black bag.

  “Wait,” Beth said, �
�how do you know that’s the right one?”

  Patrick looked around the baggage car again. One other black bag was perched near the top of the heap.

  “This one feels like the right weight,” Patrick said. “But I’d better check that one just to make sure.”

  Patrick stepped on a trunk to reach the bag. He lifted it, but the bag was too heavy. He dropped it, and the luggage stack moved. A flowered carpetbag tumbled down and revealed a small hideaway. Patrick couldn’t believe what he saw.

  “Sally?” he said.

  Beth stepped on top of a crate so she could see the runaway.

  The teen climbed out of the hideaway space. Beth thought she was much prettier in person than on the poster.

  Sally was wearing a plain, long brown dress. It had a high neck and long sleeves. Her skin was a beautiful light brown. A few freckles dusted her cheeks.

  “You must have met Holman Jones if you know my name,” she said in a soft voice.

  Patrick stepped off the trunk. “Jones is on the train,” he said. “He’s showing the poster with your face on it to all the passengers. He’s offering money to anyone who helps find you.”

  Sally seemed to shrink at the news. “Are you going to tell him where I am?” she asked.

  “No!” Beth said, stepping off the box. “Don’t worry. We won’t turn you in. We’ll even help if we can.” Beth introduced herself and Patrick.

  Then Beth noticed that Sally was wearing a necklace. It was identical to the one Whit had given to her. The twin. She gasped.

  Beth pulled out her own necklace from underneath her dress.

  Sally smiled sweetly, showing straight white teeth. She said, “Which one of you is the conductor?”

  Beth didn’t know what she was talking about.

  And it seemed Patrick didn’t either. “Conductor?” Patrick said. “I don’t work for the railroad.”

  Sally’s forehead creased in a slight frown. “Aren’t you with the Underground Railroad?” she asked. “That necklace is a secret signal.”