Leapholes

Chapter 34

Springfield was the state capital of Illinois.

Ryan was convinced that it was also the stovepipe capital of the world.

Their borrowed wagon had crossed the city limits around five a. M. Abigail linked up with a fellow abolitionist who was willing to hide Hannah and her baby. Ryan was dead tired, but he couldn't afford to waste time sleeping. Jarvis already had a serious head start on finding the leaphole back to the twenty-first century. They'd both heard Hezekiah say that the key to finding it was to go to Springfield and look for a stovepipe.

He might as well have said go the beach and look for a grain of sand. Ryan had never seen so many stovepipes. Of course, never before had he searched for one in the middle of the nineteenth century.

"What exactly do you want me to look for?" asked Abigail.

"I'm not sure. Any stovepipe that looks out of the ordinary to you, point it out to me."

Abigail was not entirely comfortable with the whole concept of leapholes. However, she couldn't deny their inexplicable trip from Missouri to Illinois with Kaylee's help. Suffice it to say that she'd seen enough to help Ryan in any way she could.

From Ryan's standpoint, a pair of nineteenth-century eyes couldn't hurt his search through old Springfield.

They continued down Main Street. Black stovepipes protruded from every rooftop. In 1857, pot-bellied stoves were in practically every home, every store, every office. Coal or wood burned in the stove, heat filled the room, and smoke went up the pipe. Ryan looked around, confused and overwhelmed. He was determined to honor the promise he'd made to Hezekiah: He would bring Hannah and her baby north to safety. But he couldn't let Jarvis find that leaphole before he did. The race was on, and he had no idea where the finish line was.

Hopefully, neither did Jarvis.

They were about to cross the street when Ryan suddenly shoved Abigail into a narrow alley.

"What is it?" asked Abigail.

"I just saw Jarvis."

"Where?" she asked.

"Just ahead, at that restaurant on this same side of the street. He's having breakfast with a man outside on the terrace."

"You sure it's him?"

"Have you ever seen another human being with a face as flat as his?"

"Good point. Who's he talking to?"

"I don't know. But I'd sure like to find out."

"We can't let him see us. If he does, he'll know Hannah's in town. He might try to turn her in."

Ryan thought for a moment. "Let's see if there's a rear entrance to the restaurant. Maybe we can sneak up from the backside and get a closer look at him and his friend on the terrace."

They continued down a back alley. It was so narrow that their shoulders practically rubbed against the red brick walls on either side. The back end smelled like most alleys. Funny, but garbage always seemed to smell the same, whether it was yours or your neighbor's, whether it was from the nineteenth century or the twenty-first.

They rounded the back corner and found a rear entrance to the restaurant. Ryan entered first. Abigail followed. As it turned out, the restaurant was only on the front terrace, outdoors. The inside of the building was a general store.

"Can I help you find something?" asked the store owner. He was a kindly old man wearing a white apron and pince-nez eyeglasses that clipped to his considerable nose.

"No, thank you," Abigail said softly. "Just looking around."

"Take your time," he said. Then he grabbed his broom and started sweeping the floor.

Pretending to browse, Ryan and Abigail worked their way toward the front of the store. It was a mild spring day, and the front windows facing the terrace were open. The store was packed with merchandise. The aisles were not the perfectly straight, tidy aisles of modern-day supermarkets. Ryan and Abigail moved in almost zig-zag fashion to the front. They went from shelves of canned goods, to stacks of cornmeal, to a variety of things that were part of life before the Civil War. Ryan saw drip candles, bottled ink, and whale oil for lamps.

They stopped near a display of new chimney sweepers, then stopped. Standing just ten feet away from the open window, they couldn't see Jarvis, but they could hear his voice. It was coming from the outside terrace.

"What's he saying?" whispered Abigail.

"Can't hear."

"You think he found that leaphole you two are looking for?"

"Don't know." Ryan strained to listen, but Jarvis's voice was just noise. "I need to get closer."

Ryan checked over his shoulder. The store owner was still busy sweeping the floor. Quickly but quietly, Ryan stepped toward the window. Jarvis and his guest were seated at a small table on the terrace, just on the other side of the open window. Ryan hid behind a tall stack of jarred preserves, so they couldn't spot him. He could see them, however-and he could hear every word they were saying.

Abigail came to his side and whispered, "That man he's talking to is a federal marshal."

Ryan noted the badge on his vest. He was gnawing on a fatty slice of bacon. "I just don't think I can do it," the man said.

"Sure you can," said Jarvis. "All I'm asking you to do is arrest him, that's all."

"But on what charge?"

"I did some research over at the courthouse," said Jarvis. "The Fugitive Slave Law of 1850 makes it illegal to interfere with a slave owner's right to recover a runaway slave. Every chance he gets, this boy is interfering with Old Man Barrow's lawful right to recover his property."

Ryan went cold. The boy he was talking about was him.

Abigail whispered, "He's trying to get you arrested for aiding runaways."

Outside, the federal marshal took a long drink from his coffee mug. It was either too hot or too bitter, judging from the sour expression on his face. Then he looked at Jarvis and said, "Won't work."

"Why not?"

"Technically, you're right. The Fugitive Slave Law does spell out some pretty severe penalties for people who help slaves escape. But the fact is, that part of the law just isn't enforced all that much in this part of Illinois. Not anymore, anyway. People around here just don't support it."

"But the law is still on the books, right? You could enforce it."

"I could. But why would I?"

Jarvis was silent for a moment. Then he removed a little bag from his belt loop and placed it on the table. It was the bag of silver that Old Man Barrow had given him for turning in Hezekiah.

"Why wouldn 't you?" said Jarvis as he pushed the bag toward the marshal's side of the table.

The marshal looked at the bag, saying nothing. It was as if the men came to a silent understanding. He took the bag of silver and tucked it into his pocket. "Well, maybe just this once I could enforce it."

"Good man," said Jarvis.

"Just so you understand," said the marshal. "Ain't no judge or jury who's gonna convict this boy for helping runaway slaves."

"All I want you to do is keep him behind bars for a few days. Just long enough to keep him out of my hair awhile."

Abigail leaned toward Ryan and whispered, "Just long enough to keep you from finding the leaphole before he does, is what he means."

"Let's go " whispered Ryan. "I heard enough."

"What are you two sneaking around about?" said the store owner.

The old man's accusatory tone startled both of them. As they backed away from the stack of preserves, Abigail tripped. She fell in the direction of an even bigger stack of jars behind them. Ryan tried to catch her, but the disaster was unavoidable. Abigail went down. Eight-dozen jars of sweet preserves came crashing to the floor with her. Many of them shattered, leaving gobs of sticky jam everywhere.

"You'll pay for those!" shouted the store owner.

The front door flew open, and the marshal rushed inside to check on all the racket. Jarvis was right behind him.

"That's him, that's the boy!" shouted Jarvis^But as the words left his lips, both he and the marshal stepped right into the slippery mess of spilled preserves. Their feet went out from under them, and they landed hard on the messy floor.

"Run for it!" shouted Abigail. She and Ryan raced out the front door.

"After him!" said Jarvis. But the marshal was too groggy to stand, having banged his head on the floor in the fall. Jarvis shook him, and the man groaned. He sat up and rubbed his head, still unable to climb to his feet. Jarvis grumbled and gave chase alone, his shirt and pants dripping of strawberry jam.

Ryan and Abigail rounded the corner. They continued at full speed down a side street. Jarvis was about twenty yards back, right on their trail. They cut behind a carriage and then around a team of horses. The alley beside the hotel looked like a good place to hide. They ducked behind a wagon and waited in silence.

A minute later, they saw Jarvis hurry past on the street. He didn't even look in their direction.

"He missed us," Ryan said with relief.

Abigail said, "We need to get Hannah out of town. This is getting too dangerous."

"But I can't leave Springfield until I find that leaphole."

"That's impossible. The minute you show your face on the streets, that federal marshal is going to arrest you for aiding a runaway slave."

Ryan knew she was right. Jarvis had totally fixed the race in his favor. Then something occurred to him. "I need a lawyer," he said.

"I don't see what good that'll do you. That marshal took a bribe. The best lawyer in the country couldn't keep him from arresting you."

"That's not why I need to find a lawyer. I was thinking about Hezekiah's clue. He said go to Springfield and look for a stovepipe. Then we'll find a leaphole. But maybe we've got it backwards."

"What do you mean?"

"The only person who would have a leaphole is a Legal Eagle. We should find the best lawyer in town, and then look for the stovepipe."

"How do find the best lawyer?" said Abigail.

"Reputation, I guess."

Abigail considered it. "There's only one lawyer I've ever heard of from Springfield. He! s pretty well known. Three years ago he ran for U. S. Senate."

"Did he win?"

"No. But he bounced right back and sought his party's nomination for vice president at last year's national convention."

"Did he get it?"

"Actually, he got clobbered."

"Doesn't sound like much of a Legal Eagle to me."

"Oh, but he's real well liked, especially by folks who are against slavery. I believe his office is right above the federal courthouse. His name is-"

"Ryan Coolidge, you're under arrest," said the federal marshal at the end of the alley. Jarvis was standing right beside him. The marshal's uniform was still covered with jam, but he also had a gun. It was aimed right at Ryan.

"I thought your name was L'new," Abigail whispered through her teeth.

"That's a whole 'nother story," Ryan replied.

The marshal jerked his gun forward. "Quiet! Put your hands up over your head."

Ryan and Abigail raised their hands, but Ryan didn't keep quiet. "Is this your idea of justice, Marshal? Arresting people on bogus charges for a bagful of silver?"

The marshal's face was suddenly as red as his jam-smeared shirt. "What-uh. What are you talking about?"

"Don't play stupid with us," said Abigail. "We saw you take that bribe from Jarvis."

"That's right," said Ryan. "And the whole world is going to know about it, too. Unless you're prepared to gun us both down, right now."

Abigail cast a sideways glance, then whispered, "Not sure I would have put it quite that way, Ryan."

"Shoot them," said Jarvis.

"Now wait just a minute," said the marshal.

"You gotta shoot 'em. You just heard that little weasel say he was going to tell everyone about the bribe. Shoot him!"

"I can't just shoot a boy and a woman in cold blood."

"Then give me the gun. I'll do it."

Ryan said, "Have you gone crazy, Jarvis? Why do you hate me so much? I never did anything to you."

"Never did anything?" said Jarvis, groaning. "You are so clueless. For seventeen years I was a loyal apprentice. I did everything Hezekiah ever asked me to do. I studied, I worked overtime. I was just counting the days until Hezekiah would retire and name me his replacement. And then what does that ingrate do in the end? He says I'm not Legal Eagle material. He decides he's going to pass the baton to some school kid named Ryan."

"That wasn't my fault," said Ryan.

"I don't care whose fault it was." Jarvis turned to the marshal and said, "Now, give me that gun."

"No," said the marshal.

"Give it to me, or I'll take it from you."

The marshal pulled back. "I'm not getting involved in your jealous game of revenge."

Jarvis was suddenly on top of the Marshal like a T-Rex on lunch. Abigail screamed as the two men wrestled to the ground. They were punching and kicking, each trying to control the gun. Ryan started left and then right, but no matter which direction he moved, the gun seemed to be pointing right at him.

"Ryan, run for it!" shouted Abigail.

"I can't just leave you!" said Ryan.

"Go! You've already kept your promise to Hezekiah. I can take Hannah and her baby from here. It only gets easier as we go north."

Jarvis and the marshal were still locked in a wresting match. Ryan caught Abigail's eye, and he wished there were time for a proper goodbye. But there wasn't.

"Just git!" shouted Abigail.

Without another word, Ryan sprinted past Jarvis and the marshal. He burst from the tight alley as if it were the last day of school, and he hit the street at full speed. He wasn't sure where he was headed. Abigail had never said the name of that well-known lawyer from Springfield. But she did mention where his office was.

At the corner, Ryan stopped a well-to-do gentleman who was dressed smartly in a business suit. "Sir, can you tell me where the federal courthouse is?"

"Yes, of course. It's in the Tinsley Building. That redbrick building on the next corner."

Ryan could see it from where they were standing. He smiled a little, but then he glanced back toward the alley, and his excitement faded.

Jarvis emerged from the alley, the apparent victor in the battle with the marshal.

A half-second later, the marshal stumbled into the street and took aim with his revolver. "Stop, or I'll shoot!"

Jarvis kept running. The marshal was ready to squeeze off a shot, but a stagecoach rolled past, followed by a wagon. "He's got a gun!" shouted someone, which sent screaming pedestrians scurrying in every direction. There was too much traffic to let bullets fly, too high a risk of hitting innocent bystanders. The marshal gave chase on foot.

Ryan dashed off toward the Tinsley Building. This was his only chance to escape. He was betting everything on the hope that the best lawyer in town was a Legal Eagle. All he had to do then was find the stovepipe. His focus was on the building, totally on the redbrick building.

He didn't see the horse-drawn carriage coming from his right.

The horses neighed and the carriage twisted. It wasn't a direct hit, but Ryan took a hard tumble and landed face down in the street. He pushed himself up and shook off the dizziness. Jarvis was barreling down on him. Ryan turned and ran as fast as he could, but Jarvis was gaining ground. The gap closed to within two steps. He could hear Jarvis breathing heavily behind him. Ryan did a gut-check, reached inside for the afterburners, and started to pull away.

Just ahead, the sign on the door read Law Office. Ryan knew that he was in the right place. Courtesy dictated a knock, but he couldn't let Jarvis catch up. The door was unlocked, and Ryan burst inside. A man rose from his desk and said, "Can I help you, son?"

"I'm looking for a lawyer."

"This is the courthouse entrance. The law office is on the third floor."

Before Ryan could thank him, the door floor open. Jarvis entered with a flurry. Ryan scurried up the tight wooden stairwell. He whipped around the turn at the second floor. He was halfway up the stairs to the third when he felt the firm grasp of a huge hand around his ankle. Jarvis had him.

Ryan kicked like a mule, which sent Jarvis tumbling back down the stairs. He landed with a crash at the bottom step. At the top of the staircase, a door opened. Standing in the doorway was a very tall, thin-faced man.

"What's all the noise out here?" he said.

Ryan climbed to the top of the steps, and salvation came into view. Resting on a chair in the foyer next to the man's coat was a black hat. It was a tall, thin hat. A stovepipe hat.

Ryan took a good look at the man. He was clean shaven, which confused Ryan for a moment. But then he remembered that the beard had come only after the presidential inauguration. "You're Abraham Lincoln," said Ryan.

"Yes, I am. And who are you?"

Ryan grinned and said, "I'm the happiest person on earth."

Jarvis was charging back up the stairs. "Stop that kid! He's a lawbreaker."

Ryan had no time to explain, almost no time to think. Lincoln's hat was resting on the chair. Its opening was round and black and seemingly bottomless-just like the open end of the leapholes in Hezekiah's jar back at his office. Ryan dug into his pocket for the spent leaphole-the one that had brought him from Hezekiah's office to St. Louis. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, but he remembered that Kaylee had used her spent leaphole when activating a return leaphole. It was the only way back to the starting point.

Jarvis was just three steps away when he dove for Ryan's ankles. On impulse, Ryan lunged toward the hat. As he soared across the threshold, a seed of doubt sprouted in his mind. What if this doesn't work? But his thoughts turned to Hezekiah and the old legend of the rainmaker's shackle, and all doubt evaporated. He buried his hand in the hat's opening. The power pulsated in his hand. Like lightening, it surged up his arm and throughout his entire body. Perhaps it was the power of Lincoln's leaphole. Or perhaps it was just the urgency of the situation. In a single flash of orange light, Ryan was sucked into the opening without delay.

The futile cries from Jarvis were just an echo in the distance. "Ryan Coolidge, don't you dare leave me here!"

Right away, Ryan realized that this was no ordinary leaphole. This had to be some kind of supercharged, highspeed reverse legal leaphole. It was only befitting of one of the most courageous lawyers the world had ever known. At first, he experienced only the intense vibration of forward motion, as if he were being launched into another universe. Wind and heat caressed his cheeks, a surge of pure energy. The blinding light ahead was like staring straight into a spotlight. The noise was as deafening as a freight train. In fact, he could hear the clacking of iron wheels on rails. The noise grew louder and louder. The oncoming spotlight became more and more intense. Around him, outside the beam of light, there was only darkness. It was as if he were speeding through a tunnel. Suddenly, he heard the familiar steam whistle of a locomotive. He was on a train. This was indeed a railroad, and then Ryan realized what was happening.

The leaphole had found a real underground railroad.

The steam whistle blew again. The locomotive sped off even faster. Ryan was hanging on by his fingertips for a spectacular journey. In a flash, the train whipped through the nineteenth century. Snippets of history flashed in the darkness. It was all happening so quickly that Ryan could barely process the images, but he recognized some things. He saw soldiers falling as men in blue and gray uniforms clashed at Gettysburg. Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders were charging up San Juan Hill. With another flash, he was suddenly into the twentieth century, passing the Wright Brothers and their first airplane.

Then, in an even bigger flash, the sounds of the old steam locomotive gave way to the rumble of an even greater force. It hardly seemed possible, but the speed intensified. Ryan was aboard a roaring diesel engine. He could barely hold on as he zipped past the horrors of war in Europe and the Pacific. He sailed over a sea of civil-rights marchers on the Washington Mall, and then past the space shuttle on its journey to outer space. Ryan was both frightened and exhilarated. In some ways, he didn't want the trip to end. But he could feel the train gathering momentum. He braced himself for something even faster than diesel.

Finally, he was hanging on for dear life on a speeding bullet train, barreling toward home in the twenty-first century.