The Fiddler's Secret

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  CHAPTER 2

  Secret Face

  Seconds later, Libby felt a jolt run through the boat. Timbers snapped. Flying pieces landed with a thud. Frightened voices cried out. From the pens near the stern, cows bawled and sheep bleated.

  In the wake of the other boat, the Christina rocked up and down. Riding wave after wave, she swung out against her lines. Then the slap of paddles and sound of engines moved farther and farther away.

  On the boiler deck where Libby lay, first-class passengers spilled out of their rooms. From the main deck below, people called out in different languages. Still frozen by fright, Libby felt she could not move.

  After what seemed like hours, she lifted her head. “Annika?”

  The teacher lay with her head covered and face down.

  “Annika?” Libby pushed herself up to a sitting position. “Are you okay?”

  Annika sat up. “I’m fine, Libby.” Reaching out, she squeezed Libby’s hand. “It was a close call, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m glad you ran.” Libby’s teeth chattered, and her body trembled. She was still shaking with fright when Caleb Whitney reached them.

  “Libby!” Caleb knelt down on the deck beside her. “Are you hurt?”

  Even in the fog and darkness, Libby could see Caleb’s blond hair and the worry in his blue eyes. Five years ago Pa had asked Caleb’s grandmother to be head pastry cook. Caleb had lived on board ever since.

  “Were you here when the boat passed?” he asked.

  Libby nodded, still too shaken to speak. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to hide how scared she felt. “One minute before, Annika and I stood at the railing, close to the stern. That’s where it hit, isn’t it?”

  Caleb nodded. “How did you get here?”

  Libby forced herself to smile. “We ran.”

  “Are you all right, Annika?” Caleb asked as he helped her up.

  “Thanks to Libby.” Annika pushed back the hair that had fallen over her eyes.

  Libby was angry now. “How could any steamboat captain keep running with the fog the way it is?”

  “He must have a very good reason.” Caleb studied her face. “You really are scared, aren’t you?”

  Libby swallowed hard. “The deckers—the passengers on the main deck. Even if the boat didn’t hit them directly—” Libby stopped, afraid to put her thoughts into words.

  “I know.” Caleb’s voice was too quiet. “I was there when the boat hit. There’s more than a hundred people on that deck. The jolt could have knocked a lot of them into the water. As far as I can tell, no one fell in.”

  As Caleb gave Libby a hand up, her gaze met his. “You’re just as scared as I am,” she said.

  “Not quite.” Caleb’s face held no fear, but Libby knew her friend well. When Caleb helped runaway slaves, he couldn’t take the risk of one wrong expression. For a fugitive it might mean the difference between life and death. Caleb had learned to hide his feelings.

  “Pa?” Libby asked, still shivering.

  “I haven’t seen him yet.” Pulling off his jacket, Caleb gave it to Libby.

  She was glad for its warmth. “It was so hot today, it’s hard to believe it’s cold now.”

  “That’s what brings fog,” Caleb reminded her. “The river is still warm. If a wind comes up or the sun burns off the fog, your pa will go on.”

  In spite of Caleb’s jacket, Libby shivered again. Then she felt glad. “Pa runs a good ship, doesn’t he?”

  Caleb’s grin was real now. “The best. I don’t want anything to hurt him.”

  His words were so similar to what Libby had thought about Annika that it gave her a strange feeling. Having something happen to his passengers would hurt Pa very much. Whoever they were, whether rich or poor, slave or free, he cared about them.

  As the Christina’s bell rang again, the high notes of a fiddle pierced the fog and darkness. The happy sound set Libby’s feet moving. “Let’s go see who’s playing. Maybe we’ll find Jordan and Peter.”

  On their way to find the fiddler, they returned to the stern to see what had happened. On the channel side of the boat, a long piece of railing was splintered. At the place where Libby and Annika had stood, the railing was torn away, leaving a large hole in the deck.

  Annika took one look and quietly said, “Thank you, Libby.” Gazing up at the nighttime sky, she spoke again. “Thank You, Lord.”

  A moment later Pa found them. In his captain’s uniform he looked tall and handsome. Yet what meant the most to Libby was the kind of father her pa was. For as long as she could remember, Libby had been proud of him.

  Seeing her there, Pa looked relieved. He’s checking on me, Libby thought, feeling warm inside. He cares about me.

  Then Pa’s gaze passed on to Annika. “Good to see you, Miss Berg. You’re all right?”

  Annika smiled. “I’m fine, Captain Norstad.”

  Libby felt pleased that Pa was concerned about Annika too. After their bad start, maybe they would be good friends.

  “Thanks to Libby, I’m fine,” Annika added. When she told the story, Pa’s face turned white.

  “And this is where you stood?” Pa motioned to the hole in the deck. “Come here, Libby. Let me give you a big hug.” As Pa’s arms went around her, Libby felt safe again.

  A moment later the ship’s carpenter and his crew joined them. “We have a lot to be grateful for,” Pa told them. “No one was hurt, and the damage could have been much worse. Block it off here so no one falls over. Then go down and work on the main deck.”

  Leaving Pa behind, Libby, Caleb, and Annika took the stairs in the middle of the Christina to see the rest of the damage. On the main deck, the passing boat had ripped open the animal pens. At least twenty feet of the guard, the part of the boat that extended out over the hull, was torn away.

  Near the stern an owner hung on to a rope around his cow’s neck. Another man worked to keep his sheep away from the edge. Libby knew it was a miracle that no one had been hurt.

  The fiddler was still playing, and Libby, Caleb, and Annika followed the sound of his music. At the front of the boat they found Peter sitting at the top of the wide stairway overlooking the bow. Libby’s Newfoundland, a great black dog named Samson, lay beside him.

  Jordan Parker sat two steps below. A runaway slave, he had found safety on the Christina and stayed on to work for Pa. When Caleb sat down next to Jordan, Libby and Annika squeezed in beside Peter.

  To Libby, Peter Christopherson seemed like the younger brother she had always wanted. An orphan who lost his hearing through illness, Peter had lived on the Christina for about a month. Now Libby felt so glad to see him that she gave him a quick hug. Peter looked surprised, then grinned.

  “Are you okay?” Libby asked, using signs.

  “I’m okay,” the blond ten-year-old answered in the way he had of always taking care of himself. Peter had learned sign language at the school for the deaf in Jacksonville, Illinois. Now Libby and the others were learning sign language from him.

  Peter had learned to speak before he lost his hearing when seven years old. “You too?” he asked Libby.

  She nodded but inside didn’t feel so sure. Whenever her mind jumped back to those moments just before the other boat hit the Christina, she trembled. The sound of pounding hammers reminded Libby of her close escape.

  On the main deck, a lantern hung just beyond the bottom of the stairs. Its soft light pierced the before-dawn darkness and fog. The fiddler stood nearby, his bow dancing over the strings.

  Around him the deck passengers sat on crates and barrels or stood wherever there was room. Crammed into whatever space they could find, the deckers tapped their toes in time to the music.

  Annika tipped her head toward the fiddler and whispered, “He’s really good.”

  Young and slender, the fiddler had dark hair that nearly reached his shoulders. He stood near an immigrant’s trunk, but Libby wondered about it. Is it his? Something doesn’t quite fit.

  In a moment whe
n the deckers moved back, giving more room, Libby stood up to see the fiddler better. Caleb and Jordan followed her, seeming as curious as Libby felt.

  From her new place on the deck Libby could see the fiddler’s mustache, straight nose, and high cheekbones. She could also see that his white shirt looked tattered. Strange, she thought. Deck passengers were usually short of money, but the immigrants among them worked hard and kept their clothes mended.

  Maybe the fiddler doesn’t know how to mend his clothes, Libby thought. Maybe he’s traveling alone.

  Libby’s mind leaped to Pa. Traveling alone. It’s been years since Ma died. All that time Pa’s been alone.

  Looking toward the steps, Libby saw her father. As he started down, he smiled at Annika, stopped for a moment to talk with Peter, then continued down the steps.

  While the fiddler played on, Pa moved from one group of people to the next. Often he stopped to talk with an immigrant family. More than once Pa pointed to a child, then to the edge of the deck. Each time Pa motioned as though to keep the child away, a father or mother nodded. Though Pa didn’t speak their language, they seemed to understand.

  At last Pa returned to the bottom of the stairs. Standing near the wall where the lantern hung, he watched and listened.

  The fiddler’s bow moved faster and faster, attacking the strings with short, quick movements. In the fog and darkness, his melodies reached out to the people who listened. Catching the rhythm of the music, they clapped along with him.

  Then, as the fiddler played, he began to dance. Wherever they could, passengers pushed back more freight. In the small open space the fiddler stomped his feet, whirling about.

  When a little girl stood up, people crowded back still farther, making room. Her bare feet flying across the boards, the girl twirled and turned. An even smaller boy climbed onto a crate and jumped up and down with the music.

  As the fiddler stepped back out of the circle, his music swept on, light and free. Other dancers filled the space.

  Clapping with the deckers, Caleb and Jordan stomped their feet and called out for more songs. Peter watched the two boys to catch the rhythm, then joined in the clapping.

  Sometimes the fiddler plucked the strings. Other times he bowed two strings at once. From one happy song to the next he went, his music driving back the fog and darkness.

  Looking around, Libby knew the night had changed. Already the deckers had left their terror behind. Though the fog still closed them in, the deck rocked with music and laughter.

  Only once did Libby see the fiddler’s gray-blue eyes. He knows, she thought. He knows the music sends away their fear.

  Yet strangely, Libby felt uneasy about the man. His face holds a secret. Who is he? Why is he here?

  Puzzled by her uneasiness, Libby kept watching the fiddler. Why do I think he has a secret?

  Then she noticed something else. Though his tattered clothes made him seem poor, he hadn’t put out a hat to collect money.

  For some time Pa waited, as though not wanting to rob the deckers of their fun. When the fiddler stopped playing, the crowd cheered and clapped. Only then did Pa step forward.

  “Please,” Pa invited. “Will you play for my first-class passengers?”

  When the man looked as if he didn’t understand, Pa pointed to the fiddler and his fiddle. Then Pa pointed up the wide stairs to the large main cabin that served as the dining room.

  The fiddler shook his head. “Nein!” It sounded as if he were saying nine, but Libby knew it was the German word for no.

  “I would be greatly pleased if you would do this for me,” Pa answered. “My passengers love fine music and would be honored to have you play.”

  The fiddler shook his head. “It is not gut!”

  Hearing the word good, Libby listened to the man’s accent. Though he used German words, Libby wondered if he came from Germany. For some reason the fiddler didn’t sound quite like her German friend, Elsa.

  “Come.” Pa drew the fiddler away from the passengers who were listening. “I’m not asking you to play for nothing. I’ll pay you for your concert.”

  For an instant the fiddler wavered, as though trying to make up his mind. Again Libby felt uneasy. There’s fear in his eyes, I wonder why.

  CHAPTER 3

  Big Bullies

  The fiddler motioned to his tattered shirt. “My clothes?”

  “If they bother you, you can wear some of mine,” Pa answered. “We’re about the same size.”

  “Nein!” the fiddler exclaimed, even more strongly than at first.

  Backing off, Pa smiled. “Wear whatever you like. You look fine the way you are.”

  Strange! Libby thought. I’ve never seen Pa do that. His first-class passengers were well clothed, well traveled, and well educated. The people Pa hired to entertain them were always dressed well unless playing a part. But Libby knew her father. He would not want to embarrass the fiddler.

  “You will be my special guest,” Pa said.

  This time the fiddler nodded. “I will come.”

  “Tonight? After our evening meal?”

  The fiddler smiled. “I will play a concert your passengers will remember forever.”

  Pa turned to where Caleb and Jordan still sat on the steps. “Spread the word. Tell the first-class passengers we’ll have the best concert they’ve ever heard.”

  The fog had changed to a milky white when Libby sat down to breakfast in the large main cabin that was the dining room. As though Caleb’s grandmother also wanted to help people forget the accident, she had outdone herself on the food. When Libby caught a glimpse of Gran in the doorway, her cheeks were flushed with the heat of the oven. But Gran’s cinnamon rolls and one-of-a-kind breakfast had never been better.

  After breakfast Libby found Caleb and Jordan on the main deck. Sitting down on a crate next to them, she said, “I wonder why the fiddler is going to Minnesota Territory.”

  Jordan grinned. “Probably for the same reason I’m going. To see what’s there.”

  Libby felt curious. Both she and Caleb had expected Jordan to stay in Galena, Illinois. After years of separation because of slavery, everyone in his family was there. “Why are you going to St. Paul?”

  Jordan dropped his voice to a mysterious whisper. “To spy out the land.”

  “Like the spies in the Bible who went to the Promised Land?”

  At his birth Jordan’s mother had named him in the belief he would lead his people out of slavery across the river to the Promised Land of freedom. For many slaves that meant the Ohio River. For others, such as Jordan’s family, it meant crossing the Mississippi River and the state of Illinois to reach Canada.

  “Do you mean your family would move to St. Paul?” Libby asked.

  “Depends on what I find. My momma and daddy like livin’ in Galena, but it’s fearful close to where we were slaves.”

  “But Minnesota Territory? Pa said that slave owners go to St. Paul and Stillwater to escape the heat in summer.”

  “Aw, Libby, don’t you get all worried now.”

  “I mean it. People from the South like the cooler weather.”

  Jordan grinned. “It’s been five months since I ran away from Riggs. He’s got so many slaves he’s forgotten me.”

  “Five months since he told you a slave never got away from him alive,” Libby answered. “Right this minute there could be men like him on the Christina. Men who know about the reward on your head. They could be coming north to take their families home. Couldn’t they, Caleb?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Caleb pushed his blond hair out of his eyes. “There’s one thing sure. On the trip back down the river, Jordan will have to be extra careful.”

  Libby still felt uneasy. “It’s only August seventeenth. Lots of time for hot weather still.” But Jordan only shrugged his shoulders.

  He’s brave, I know, Libby thought as she left the boys and went up to the hurricane deck. More than once she had admired Jordan’s bravery. But sometimes he has so much coura
ge that he runs straight into trouble!

  As the morning sun burned off the fog, the Christina headed upriver again. When the side-wheeler tied up at a small town, Libby looked down from her favorite viewing spot to see what was going on.

  Roustabouts, or rousters, had begun unloading freight. On the riverfront nearby, three boys were teasing a small dog. When he leaped out of the arms of the youngest boy, the dog dodged this way and that, trying to get away.

  Soon the biggest boy cornered the dog next to a pile of freight. Picking him up, the bully held the dog so tightly that he squealed with fear. Squirming and twisting, he struggled to get away.

  Angry at the cruelty she saw, Libby headed for the steps. When she reached the main deck, she found Peter ahead of her.

  As he hurried down the gangplank, he called to the boys. “Stop it!”

  The biggest boy whirled around. Still holding the dog, the boy stalked over. More than a head taller, the bully glared down at Peter. “Who do you think you are?”

  “Stop hurting that dog!” Peter answered without giving away that he hadn’t heard one word.

  Instead, the boy walked over to the river. There he dunked the dog in the water, then rolled him in the brown, sandy mud of the riverbank. Still squirming, the dog yelped with fear. The more he struggled, the tighter the bully held him.

  “Stop it!” Peter exclaimed. Rushing forward, he tried to take the dog from the bully. Instead, the older boy stepped back. The two other boys moved behind Peter, surrounding him.

  By the time Libby reached them, she was so angry that she had lost all fear. “Put that dog down,” she commanded.

  “A girl now!” the biggest bully sneered at Peter. “So a girl has to rescue you!”

  The bully pointed at Libby. Peter caught his meaning and flushed. “I can handle this,” he told her.

  Libby refused to leave. She glared at the biggest bully. “Let go of that dog, or else!”

  The boy laughed. “Or else what?”

  As though expecting the dog to bite Libby, the bully set him down in front of her. Instead, the dog danced out of arm’s length, planted his spindly legs, and barked at the bully. Yap, yap, yap!