The Fiddler's Secret

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  CHAPTER 6

  Libby’s Drawing

  Even to herself, Libby couldn’t explain what had happened. One question stayed in her thoughts: Was someone trying to listen in?

  “Hey, Libby!” Caleb waved his hand in front of her face. “We’re here, you know, not out there.” He tipped his head toward the windows.

  Libby gulped as she realized everyone was waiting for her. When she spoke, Libby stumbled over her words. “I want to be strong.”

  Caleb snickered. “But you are strong. Stronger than any girl I know!”

  Libby glared at him. Giving a boy a bloody nose wasn’t quite what I had in mind.

  Then a big fear popped into her head. Caleb Whitney, don’t you dare tell Pa what I did!

  “What do you mean by being strong?” Pa asked.

  Now Libby was doing exactly what she didn’t want—having to talk about her feelings in front of everybody. But she had no choice. “I want to be able to handle things, even when they’re hard.”

  “I’m glad, Libby.” Pa’s smile warmed her heart. “Being strong is something every one of us needs.”

  Pa turned to Caleb. “What did you decide?”

  Libby waited, expecting Caleb to talk about being a newspaperman. When he spoke Caleb’s voice was quiet but sure. “I want to know God better.”

  Know God better? Libby couldn’t believe her ears. Aw, come on, Caleb. How can you say something like that—something so big and important—in front of everyone?

  For a moment Pa was so moved that he couldn’t speak. Finally he said, “Caleb, of all the things you might want, that is the very best.”

  As Pa looked around the room, his gaze stopped at each of them. “I suspect all of us want to know God better, and we don’t know how to say it.”

  That’s for sure. Libby liked Caleb. She especially liked what he stood for, but sometimes he seemed so …

  Libby tried to think what it was. So spiritual. Sometimes Libby wondered if Caleb was real—why he didn’t do the kind of stupid things she always stumbled into. It was scary to see someone only a bit older than her do things so well.

  For a time they worked on their lessons. Then Pa asked them to listen again. “It’s important that each of you know what you want in life. What you care about most will shape everything you do. That’s why I need to tell you something.

  “Because you decided what you want most—what you believe in—you might have a time of testing. All kinds of things can happen that make you wonder if you made the right choice. You might even think, ‘Do I really believe what I said?’

  “If that happens, you need to make another choice. Are you going to throw away what you care about—to say it doesn’t matter? Or will you decide it does matter, and you’re going to stick to what you believe? That’s when you need to ask God to help you.”

  Libby’s stomach tightened. It sounded too much like a hard assignment in school. I don’t want to be tested.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Pa spoke again. “Let God wrap His arms of love around you.”

  Libby knew what that meant. Letting God love her was like being a little girl again. Having Pa hold her on his lap. Or feeling Ma’s arms around her, even when she felt afraid.

  I can handle that, Libby decided. Crossing her arms over her chest, Libby hugged herself to remember God’s love. In that moment her fear disappeared.

  When Annika finished writing for Peter, she looked at Pa. The concern in his eyes didn’t go away.

  Then Peter spoke up. “We should have a secret sign.”

  “What do you mean?” Pa signed.

  “You know how the early Christians helped each other?”

  Pa knew, but he let Peter tell them. “When I was little, Mama and Papa told me how Christians hid in the catacombs of Rome. Other people were scared to go there because that’s where people were buried. But Christians weren’t scared. They were safe there. And they had a secret sign.”

  With two quick strokes, Peter drew a simple fish on the blackboard. “The early Christians spoke a different language than we do.” He explained that the five letters in their word for fish stood for five words: Jesus Christ, God’s Son, Savior. The fish helped Christians recognize one another.

  Pa’s smile was gentle. Careful to not spoil the fish Peter had drawn, Pa wrote on the board, “Your mother and father taught you well, Peter.”

  “It can be our secret sign,” Peter insisted. “When we draw a fish, it means that one of us has been there.”

  But Libby felt uneasy again, even afraid. She didn’t like Peter’s game. It seemed too serious, too much like something they might need to use.

  Once more she looked toward the windows. Just then something caught her attention. Something half seen out of the corner of her eye.

  Libby glanced toward Caleb, then realized that Pa blocked Caleb’s view of the window. What is it? How can there be a shadow with the fog hiding the sun?

  Libby jumped up and hurried over to the window. When she looked out, there was no one in sight. Trying to cover up her strange move, she turned and pretended she was helping Annika.

  But later as they left Pa’s cabin, Caleb asked, “What was wrong with you? It’s like you were half here, half not here.”

  “You think so, huh?” Embarrassed again, Libby put away her plan of telling Caleb what was wrong. Not for anything would she do it now. “Maybe I saw more than all of you!”

  Standing at the railing with Caleb, Libby turned her back to him. At least things had gone well with Annika. If she wants to marry a man of God, she sure would have one with Pa.

  Then Libby remembered. Pa didn’t tell us what he wants. That was all right because Libby thought she knew. But what does Annika want?

  Again Libby felt uneasy. A time of testing ahead? Pa never goes looking for trouble. He wouldn’t warn us unless he thought it was important.

  Libby drew a deep breath and felt a gentle wind touch her arms. The breeze was blowing the fog away. As the sun appeared, she noticed a small stream flowing into the backwaters. Then the Christina’s engines started, and Libby heard the flutter of wings. Two large, dark brown birds flew up from along the creek.

  “They’re eagles!” Caleb exclaimed. When he pushed the blond hair out of his eyes, Libby knew her anger about his teasing was gone.

  As the eagles spread their great wings, Libby saw their white heads and tail feathers. Rising higher and higher, the eagles soared against the bright blue sky. Libby watched until they disappeared from sight.

  “I wish I could fly like that,” she said softly.

  Just as softly came Caleb’s answer. “You can. That’s your pa’s verse.”

  Libby looked at him, not understanding. What do you mean, Caleb? she wanted to ask.

  When he didn’t say more, Libby thought about the verse her mother had underlined. The verse she had marked with Elizabeth, Libby’s name. And the verse Pa had given in class—“All things work together for good to them that love God.”

  Like a stream of living water, the words flowed through Libby’s mind, bringing comfort. I love You, Lord. So that means Your promise is for me. But does Pa also have another special verse?

  Standing there, she searched the sky. How can I fly like an eagle? Soar up in the clouds?

  “What do you mean, Caleb?” she finally asked. “What is Pa’s verse?”

  Turning, Caleb faced the stream from which the eagles had flown. “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength,” he said softly. “They shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

  In that moment Libby’s wish during class became a prayer. Help me be strong, Lord. I’m scared of hard times. But if they come, help me remember that You love me. That You can work things together for good. And help me to run, walk, soar with the wings of an eagle.

  After lunch Libby found Caleb, Jordan, and Peter on the main deck. She also noticed Mr. Kadosa. “There’s the fiddler,” Libby
said. “Let’s go talk to him.”

  The musician sat on a large crate near the edge of the deck, looking out over the river. Libby walked up behind him. “Mr. Kadosa?”

  When he did not turn, Libby raised her voice. “Mr. Kadosa?”

  Still the fiddler paid no attention.

  Is he hard of hearing? Libby wondered. Not wanting to touch his arm or shoulder the way she would with Peter, Libby walked around in front of the fiddler. “Mr. Kadosa?” she said again, facing him now.

  The fiddler jerked to attention. “Good afternoon!” he said, greeting her warmly.

  For the first time Libby saw his face in the sunlight, and he looked younger than she thought. Just below the jawbone on the left side of his neck was a small area of red, roughened skin from the chin rest of his violin.

  “I’m Libby,” she said. “Captain Norstad’s daughter.” She pointed to each of the boys. “Caleb Whitney. Jordan Parker. Peter Christopherson. We want to thank you for your wonderful concerts.”

  “Concerts?” he asked. “More than one?”

  “We heard both of them. The one on the deck and the one in the main cabin.”

  “Tell me,” the fiddler said. “Which one did you like best?”

  Libby smiled. “The one on the deck.”

  Mr. Kadosa smiled too. “I gave to them the fun.”

  Just then Peter moved forward. “Do you have a family?”

  When Mr. Kadosa started to answer, Peter held out his slate. “Please. I can’t hear.”

  Taking the slate pencil, the fiddler began to write. “I have a boy as nice as you, but he is younger.” Mr. Kadosa held up his hand and spread his fingers wide.

  “He’s five years old,” Peter said.

  The fiddler nodded, then erased his words on the slate and wrote again. “I teach him to play the violin. He makes many screeches.”

  Mr. Kadosa held his hands over his ears and made a face. Peter laughed.

  “But my son will learn,” Mr. Kadosa wrote. “He will learn as I learned.” Pointing to himself, the fiddler forgot to write. “He become gut.”

  Good, Libby thought. Mr. Kadosa’s son will become a good fiddler.

  “Please,” Mr. Kadosa said as Libby and the boys started to leave. “Call me Franz.”

  Strange, Libby told herself. I know Mr. Kadosa is a concert violinist. Probably the best violinist I’ll ever meet. But I heard him first as a fiddler, and that’s how I think of him.

  Even so, Libby felt more puzzled than ever. She had wondered if the fiddler had a secret. Now he didn’t seem mysterious after all.

  When Libby went to her room, she found Samson lying in one of his favorite places, right outside her door. From five months of experience, Libby knew that sometimes Samson parted his mouth in a grin and said “Wooof!” from deep in his throat. By contrast, Wellington was a yappy little dog.

  As Peter followed Libby up the stairs, his terrier followed him. With one look at Samson, Wellington stiffened. In the next instant, he planted his four spindly legs for battle. At the terrier’s sharp bark, Samson lifted his head.

  Wellington backed away, then danced around to one side of the large Newfoundland. Samson turned his head, and the small dog started barking in earnest. Yap, yap, yap!

  Still watching the terrier, Samson stood up. That made Libby nervous. “Hold your dog!” she told Peter, then remembered he couldn’t hear.

  But Peter seemed worried, too, and scooped Wellington up in his arms. A minute later the terrier jumped free. Landing on the deck, he took up his battle position. Circling Samson, he yapped with every move.

  Just then Caleb and Jordan came up the stairs. “What’s going on?” Caleb asked.

  Seeing the small dog stand off against the big one, Jordan grinned. “I’m bettin’ on Wellington.”

  “No!” Libby exclaimed, unwilling to believe her dog could lose. “Samson’s being careful. He doesn’t want to hurt Wellington.”

  At that Caleb laughed. “How many for Wellington? How many for Samson?”

  Planting his four paws, Samson lifted his head. From deep in his throat came a low woooof!

  Wellington backed away. Looking relieved, Peter glanced at Libby. Just then the terrier ran straight for Samson.

  Samson stood his place. As the terrier circled around him, Samson waited. But his head moved left to right, and his eyes followed the smaller dog.

  Yap, yap, yap!

  Again Samson raised his head. Backing away, Wellington faced his opponent.

  Samson waited. Once more the smaller dog rushed in. Suddenly Samson put one giant paw on Wellington’s back and pushed the small dog to the deck.

  Instantly the terrier’s barking changed to whimpers. As Wellington yelped and squirmed, Samson held him there.

  After a moment Samson lifted his paw. Wellington yipped again, leaped up, and scampered away.

  When Peter caught him, the little dog shivered and tucked his nose into the crook of Peter’s elbow. The next time Wellington lifted his head, he did not bark at Samson.

  Later that afternoon Libby took out her pencils and drawing paper. While living in Chicago, she had taken lessons from a famous artist. Whenever she could, Libby practiced. Now she perched on top of a barrel and sketched deckers. She started with the children, then drew a mother or father.

  Remembering Pa’s school lesson, Libby looked for immigrants. Often they wore a piece of paper pinned to their shirt or dress. The paper helped other people tell an immigrant when to get off a boat or train.

  As Libby drew, she listened. What do they want? she asked herself. What do they really want? Often Libby couldn’t understand enough of their language to know.

  She was hard at work when she heard a rude voice. “Hey, there!” Libby looked up to see Jordan crossing the deck.

  “You, boy!” the man called.

  Jordan froze. His shoulders stiff, his face gone blank, he turned to see who was calling.

  A short, thin man stood behind him. With his hair slicked down and his collar high around his chin, he seemed to have no neck. But he spit out his words as if he owned the whole world.

  Then the man’s eyes widened with surprise. “I know you! You’re Micah Parker’s son.”

  For one instant Jordan cringed. Then, almost without drawing a breath, he straightened, standing tall. “Yessuh, I am Micah Parker’s son,” he answered respectfully. “And proud of it.”

  “Then you better run scared because I’m going to tell your owner where you are!”

  Jordan’s fists tightened. “You sayin’ I should run scared?” As his gaze locked on to the man’s eyes, Jordan leaned forward, hovering over the shorter man.

  Suddenly the man stepped back. He wasted no time leaving, but Jordan’s words followed him.

  “Tell my owner where I is. And tell him I am not afraid. Tell him I be Micah Parker’s son, and I is not livin’ scared!”

  As the short, thin man disappeared, Libby smiled. In that moment Jordan had forgotten all the fine English he had worked so hard to learn. But he hadn’t forgotten who he was.

  Then Libby remembered Pa’s warning, and her good feelings faded. Jordan had passed the first test, but Libby couldn’t help but wonder if there were more ahead.

  After a while she walked up the wide stairway to the area on the boiler deck where first-class passengers took their exercise. In a shaded, out-of-the-way place, Libby sat down.

  Soon her gaze rested on a man who stood alone. Though he leaned over the railing, peering down at the water, Libby could see most of his brown hair and the right side of his face. With quick lines she started to sketch.

  When she finished the drawing, Libby realized it was good—very good. She had tried to be honest in showing the hard lines around the man’s mouth. His face rang a warning bell in Libby’s mind. Is there something wrong in his life?

  Just then the man glanced her way and saw her pencils and paper. His eyes darkened with anger.

  In the next instant Libby pulled other pag
es over the sketch, but it was too late. The man knew she had drawn his picture. For some reason that upset him.

  Libby gathered up her pencils, got to her feet, and walked away. At a wall that would hide her from sight, she glanced back. Whoever the man was, he still watched her.

  In spite of the warm day, Libby felt cold all over. Who is he? she wondered again. Is he a crook and afraid he’ll be recognized? The expression in his hard face frightened her.

  Mr. Trouble, that’s what I’ll call him.

  CHAPTER 7

  Where Is It?

  Libby went straight to the Christina’s office. “I’d like to put one of my drawings in the safe,” she told the young clerk who worked there. As he opened the safe, he looked curious but made no comment.

  He doesn’t dare ask why, Libby thought, wanting to giggle. He knows I’m the captain’s daughter.

  By the time she finished eating the evening meal, the sun had dropped low in the western sky. Libby went to her room in the texas, the boxlike structure at the top of the boat where many crew members had their rooms. Long shadows fell across her bed, but Libby could still see her way around.

  The first thing she noticed was that her drawings were out of order. Then she knew someone had opened her large trunk. Next she found a drop of wax on the floor. Here on the texas, far away from water and help, Pa did not allow her to use a candle. Yet there was no mistaking the wax.

  Someone was here while I was gone. Someone entered my room, my private place. Whoever that person is, he looked through my things, searched everything I own. It has to be the man I saw on deck!

  At first Libby felt angry. She wanted to scream, to cry out, to sob. That man wanted the sketch I drew. Why? Who is he? What is he trying to hide?

  Then Libby knew something even worse. Whoever he is, he knows I can recognize him. That I can show the drawing to others.

  Without wasting another moment, Libby went looking for her father. She found him and Annika sitting on the hurricane deck, talking together. Libby stopped, not wanting to break in.