The Fiddler's Secret

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  Jordan stepped back, staring. “Mr. Thompson, I don’t want to be disrespectful like. But are you telling me the truth?”

  “I’m telling you, those Republicans in St. Paul are working on it. I don’t know if they’ll get it. If they don’t come to a compromise with the Democrats, Minnesota Territory won’t become a state.”

  Jordan shook his head, still not believing. “Mr. Thompson, five months ago I ran away from my master. Five months ago these friends of mine started teachin’ me to read and write.”

  Jordan glanced toward Caleb and Libby. “And five months ago I earned my first nickel. You look like an honest man, Mr. Thompson, but havin’ the right to vote is mighty hard to believe.”

  Mr. Thompson’s smile reached his eyes. “Jordan, when I offered my hand, you took it. Were you trusting me then?”

  As Jordan nodded, his gaze clung to the man’s face.

  Again Mr. Thompson offered his hand. Without blinking, Jordan met it with his. A wide grin spread across his face.

  “What’s your daddy good at?” Mr. Thompson asked.

  “He’s the best man with horses you’ll ever find.” Jordan’s voice was sure and strong. “People say, ‘Why, that Micah Parker, there ain’t a horse alive that he can’t ride. There ain’t a horse anywhere that he can’t train.’ And they’re right!”

  “If you want to bring your family here, look for work,” Mr. Thompson said. “A number of our people work at the Winslow House.”

  “In St. Paul?” Jordan asked.

  “There are two hotels called the Winslow House. One in St. Paul, and one about ten miles from here in St. Anthony. That’s the hotel I’m talking about. Some of the people who work there live at Fort Snelling. Others live in the basement of the hotel till they build their own houses.”

  “Build their own houses?” Jordan’s voice was filled with awe.

  “And, Jordan, there are seven colored families starting a church.”

  Jordan straightened in the tall, proud look that reminded Libby of royalty. “My momma and my daddy, my sister Serena, my brother, Zack, my little sister Rose, and me—” Excitement filled Jordan’s eyes and face. “We could be the eighth family!”

  “Hope to see you sometime,” Mr. Thompson said as he started back up the ladder. “Till then, let yourself be free.”

  Again Libby wondered what he meant. But as they left Mr. Thompson, Jordan said, “I just got a taste of freedom that makes me want to do my best in everything!”

  When Libby and the boys returned to the Christina, they found the fiddler waiting for them.

  “I think the pawnshop will be open by now,” Caleb told him. “The thief might go there. It’s a good place to get rid of something stolen.”

  Peter decided to stay behind. “I need to help your pa,” he told Libby. “He said I could be his cabin boy.” Peter made it sound so important that Libby felt curious.

  As they set out, Caleb explained to Franz and Jordan that a pawnshop was a place where people borrowed money. If a man needed a loan, the pawnbroker would give that man the money in exchange for something to prove he’d pay the pawnbroker back.

  “If I had a watch,” Caleb said, “I’d give it to him. But the pawnbroker wouldn’t give me what it’s worth. He would also charge high interest. If I couldn’t pay up, I wouldn’t get my watch back.”

  “I know what you mean,” Jordan said. “A thief sells something for less than it’s worth. But he makes enough money to keep on stealin’.”

  Caleb grinned. “You got it!”

  As they entered the shop, a bell on the door jangled. The pawnshop was a large, dimly lit room with two closed doors along one side. On the opposite side was a rack of coats. Nearby, a glass case held watches and jewelry. The back half of the room was closed off to customers by a wall that looked like a metal cage.

  When a short, thin man came out from behind the cage, Libby stared at him. With his hair slicked down and his collar high, the man seemed to have no neck.

  Trying to think why he seemed familiar, Libby stepped back while Caleb asked questions. Like Libby, Franz looked around, and Jordan stared through the cage-like wall.

  “A man trying to sell a fiddle stopped by just a few minutes ago,” the pawnbroker said in answer to Caleb’s questions. “He didn’t think I offered him enough money, so he left.”

  “What did the man look like?” Libby asked quickly.

  “Tall. Blue eyes. Blond hair like his.” The man tipped his head toward Caleb.

  Glancing beyond him, the pawnbroker caught sight of Jordan. Suddenly Jordan stepped back. Why? Libby wondered. Did he recognize the man?

  In that instant Jordan and the man stared at one another. And Libby knew who the pawnbroker was.

  The man on the Christina’s main deck. The man who threatened Jordan! The man who knows Jordan is Micah Parker’s son!

  CHAPTER 9

  Mr. Trouble

  Within three seconds Jordan was out the door. As Caleb, Franz, and Libby started out for the levee, she took one quick look around to be sure no one else could hear. Then the anger in her heart broke through. “When he was on the Christina, the pawnbroker told Jordan that he knows Riggs. But we don’t know where Riggs is.”

  Of one thing Libby felt sure. “And now that pawnbroker said the man who brought the violin to him is tall. Blue eyes. Blond hair like Caleb’s. But can we trust that description?”

  More upset by the moment, Libby spit out her words. “That man—that pawnbroker—is evil all the way through. I’m sure he would do anything someone asks him! Even if it’s really wrong!”

  “You might be right, Libby,” Caleb said. “He sure doesn’t look like someone I’d want to meet in a dark alley.”

  A few steps farther on, Franz stopped in his tracks. “Why did Jordan run away from the pawnshop?” he asked.

  As if wondering how much to tell, Caleb seemed to think about it. Finally he said, “We don’t trust the pawnbroker.”

  “Because Jordan is a fugitive?” the fiddler asked.

  Caleb was in a spot now. Libby knew Caleb wouldn’t lie, but what could he say? What could he do about the fugitive slave laws? Even on free soil such as Minnesota Territory, slave catchers had the legal right to gather a group of men, arrest a runaway, and bring him back to his owner.

  The fiddler studied Caleb’s face. “You are afraid to tell me? Don’t you think I know that Jordan is a runaway slave?”

  Still Caleb didn’t answer. A moment later they passed an opening between buildings. As if he had been waiting for them to come by, Jordan stepped out.

  Franz looked from Caleb to Libby to Jordan. “We don’t have your kind of slaves in my country,” the fiddler said. “But we have another kind of person held in bondage. I will protect you, Jordan, the way you protected me on the Christina.”

  Your country, Franz, Libby wondered. Where is it?

  Before she could ask, Jordan drew a deep breath of relief and offered his thanks.

  Caleb said more. “Is there any other way we can help you?”

  As though a mask had slipped down over the fiddler’s face, he shook his head. “If you find my violin, it is gut. I will be grateful forever.”

  He’s afraid again, Libby thought. He’s trying to say we can trust him. At the same time, he doesn’t trust us. I wonder why?

  Libby felt sure it had something to do with Shadow Man. Since the concert, Libby had kept looking for the man in the long black coat. Because his hat shadowed his face, Libby wondered if she would ever recognize him. But she wanted to cry out to Franz. Caleb, and Jordan, and Peter, and Pa, and me. We’re different! You can trust us!

  Knowing that, Libby felt the warmth of having a family that gathered together, caring about her. Caring about people like Jordan and his family and the others who came for shelter on the Christina.

  Then, remembering all that had happened, Libby suddenly thought about the people she couldn’t trust.

  My head feels tired, she thought. Confused. Ho
w can I sort it all out?

  Again Libby thought about the three men who had been on the Christina—the three men who frightened her. The three suspects.

  One. Libby said to herself. Shadow Man. The tall man in a black overcoat at the concert in the main cabin.

  Two. The short, thin man with the high collar. The man on the main deck who said he knew Jordan’s owner, Riggs. The man they now knew as the pawnbroker. Jordan saw him and fled.

  Three. The tall man on the first-class passenger deck. The man with cruel lines around his mouth. The man whose face I drew. The man who wanted that drawing. Who probably searched my room. Mr. Trouble.

  Then Libby had still another puzzling thought. To make matters worse, who was the person looking in the window of Pa’s cabin when they had school?

  Soon after their return to the Christina, Annika found Libby. “Would you like to go with me to find Harriet?” she asked. Known as St. Paul’s first schoolteacher, Harriet Bishop was also Annika’s friend.

  “Did you find out where Miss Bishop lives?” Libby asked as they crossed the riverfront.

  “No, but everyone knows her. We won’t have any trouble.”

  As it turned out, the search proved more difficult than either Libby or Annika expected. While it was easy to get directions, it was difficult to follow them. Directly up from the Lower Landing was Jackson Street, and a creek ran alongside it.

  After backtracking to the bridge over the creek, they discovered streets that twisted around until both of them felt confused. Whenever she came to an open view, Annika looked toward the river to be sure they headed in the right direction. Often the construction work on streets forced them to make long trips around. As the August sun beat down upon them, Libby grew more and more tired.

  “They must have had a good rain before we came,” Annika said finally. Holding up her skirt, she walked around another mud hole.

  After coming up the Mississippi in low water, neither of them wanted to complain about rain. But even Annika seemed overwhelmed by the mud. “There’s a tree with a bit of grass under it. Let’s sit down and rest.”

  The shade was welcome to both of them, and soon Annika asked, “Libby, what was your mother like?”

  Libby smiled. “Kind. Fun. You know how Pa asked us to think about what we want most? What we care about? Ma wanted to help people. Auntie wants things. That’s one of the reasons Pa had me come back to live with him.”

  Now Libby felt grateful for that hurtful night in Burlington, Iowa, when Pa made up his mind. “At first, after Ma died, Pa knew I was too young to live on the boat without a mother. Then he knew he had no choice but to have me with him.”

  “What happened?” Annika asked.

  Libby hesitated. She had changed so much in five months that she didn’t like telling Annika what she had been like. But maybe Annika needed to know. “I was turning into a spoiled brat.”

  “Hmmm.” Annika had that look of mischief again. “I wonder how that came about. But I guess you aren’t a spoiled child anymore.”

  “I guess,” Libby said. But sometimes she wasn’t real sure.

  A little later when they found Miss Bishop, she invited them in for afternoon tea. “Annika! In all my life, I never expected to see you here!”

  Annika’s warm laugh showed her delight in surprising her friend. “When you encouraged me to become a teacher, you didn’t have any idea that I’d follow you?”

  Annika had been twelve years old when Miss Bishop talked to her about being a teacher. But Annika had never forgotten it.

  Libby knew that Harriet Bishop had come to St. Paul as a Baptist missionary. Her dark hair waved softly around her face, falling in tight, long curls to her shoulders. Her clear eyes gave Libby the feeling that Miss Bishop usually knew where she was going and how to get there.

  “What was it like when you first came?” Libby asked.

  “There was no bookstore within three hundred miles. My school was a ten-by-twenty-foot log house with a bark roof. It had three windows and a door so low I had to stoop to go in. At one time the building was used as a stable.”

  Miss Bishop’s eyes filled with laughter. “A friendly chicken wandered in and out. The nine children in my class spoke three different languages. But I could not have been happier if I had been royalty. I felt I would not trade what I was doing with any person who lived.”

  Miss Bishop offered Libby and Annika lemonade and cookies, then sat down. “We’ve come a long way since then. In a couple of weeks, we’ll dedicate the first school building built by the city with public funds. It’s even built of stone.”

  “And now you have an island named after you!” Annika said. “You’ve also written a book. Congratulations!”

  After a time Miss Bishop leaned forward, saying, “Annika, it’s good to just talk. But what can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to teach in the area. Do you know of an opening?”

  “You just came up the river?”

  Annika nodded.

  “You’re sure you can handle our long, cold winters? Being cut off from the rest of the world?”

  “I don’t know,” Annika said honestly. “I’ve never lived in the kind of winters everyone describes. Just walking your streets is difficult.”

  “Ah yes, our streets.” Miss Bishop smiled and offered Libby another cookie. “They also get very filled with snow. And it can be lonely here.”

  “But you survived,” Annika said.

  “With the Lord’s help. When it was really difficult, I remembered how He led me here. Is God asking you to come?”

  Annika nodded. “I believe He wants me in St. Paul this winter.”

  “Then I’ll see if there’s an opening somewhere. Can you come back tomorrow?”

  When she said goodbye to Miss Bishop, Annika’s eyes shone, but Libby felt afraid for her. With each step through the muddy streets, Libby’s worry grew. Finally her words spilled over. “Please, Annika, won’t you come with us instead?”

  The teacher shook her head.

  “We’ll go south where it’s warmer,” Libby promised. “People say that in St. Paul it gets so cold you can freeze your nose.”

  Annika laughed. “I’ll watch out for that.”

  “I’ll worry about you this winter.”

  “No, you won’t.” Annika circled a low spot in the street. “You’ll be just fine without me.”

  Libby offered the smile she had practiced on the boys in Chicago. “Pa would like to have you come with us.”

  A grim schoolteacher’s look entered Annika’s face, but Libby hurried on. “If you married Pa, life would be much easier for you.”

  One step away from a mud puddle, Annika stopped. “Libby, isn’t your father able to speak for himself?”

  “Oh yes!” Libby exclaimed. She opened her mouth, trying to make things better, but no words came.

  In the next instant Annika stepped into the puddle. It was deep—so deep that muddy water splashed up, covering Annika’s dress as high as her knees. Just in time she caught herself from falling.

  “Oh, Annika!” Libby moaned as she helped the teacher to drier ground. Libby wanted to hide her head in shame. “I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!”

  Annika sighed. “Yes, Libby, it is. But I forgive you. Let’s forget about it, all right?”

  Libby nodded, but now something else bothered her. “There’s mud on your cheek.”

  Taking out her handkerchief, Annika scrubbed her face. As they started walking again, she said, “Libby, there’s something I’m wondering about. If I married your pa, how do you think you and I would get along?”

  “You’d be my friend,” Libby answered quickly.

  “Sometimes I would be your friend—someone to talk with. But I would also be your mother.”

  Gone was the mischief Libby often saw in Annika’s eyes. “I would not replace your mother, Libby. No one could do that. No one should do that. But there would be times when I’d have to act like a mother.”

  �
��You mean get after me?”

  “Correct you,” Annika said. “I would need to tell you what you’re doing wrong so you’d learn to change. Are you ready for that?”

  Libby found it hard to believe there would be such a time. She and Annika were friends. Libby was sure that would continue forever. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll behave.”

  But Annika only smiled.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence. To add to Annika’s embarrassment, Pa was standing on the main deck when she and Libby hurried up the gangplank. As always, Pa looked tall and handsome in his captain’s uniform. He also looked clean.

  Annika tried to slip around him, but Pa stopped her. “You’ve discovered the St. Paul streets.”

  Clearly embarrassed, Annika nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” Pa said.

  “So am I.” Then Annika laughed. “Well, it’s just my pride that’s hurt. I’m glad I found the mud after talking to Harriet Bishop, not before.”

  “You were looking for work?” Pa asked quickly. “I wanted to talk with you again about teaching on the Christina.”

  “Never mind,” Annika said. “Libby already has.”

  Pa’s look told Libby all she needed to know. Her father did not appreciate her help. Suddenly Libby felt as if she were the one with mud on her dress. Or rather, her face.

  “Miss Berg,” Pa said. “It would be my pleasure if I could take you to see the less muddy sights of St. Paul. We could even have dinner at a fine hotel.”

  Annika smiled. “Thank you, Captain Norstad. I would like that very much. I’ll be ready as soon as I find some good, clean water.”

  Libby soon learned that Franz had heard about a St. Paul music store that also sold toys. Jordan wanted to find the Winslow House, the hotel in St. Anthony that Mr. Thompson said might give him work. While Jordan stayed behind to find a way to St. Anthony, Caleb, Libby, and Franz set out. As they walked through the streets, he told them about his wife and daughter.

  When Libby stepped inside the music store, she saw all kinds of wonderful things hanging on the wall. A large brass instrument, a cello, a pendulum clock, and a china doll. On a counter nearby was a small merry-go-round with carved wooden horses.