The Fiddler's Secret

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  From her years in Chicago, Libby felt sure that many of the toys were imported from England, France, and Germany. In spite of the condition of its streets, St. Paul had grown far beyond being a frontier town. No wonder Auntie enjoys shopping here!

  Now Franz explained about the theft of his violin. The shopkeeper felt sure he had seen it that morning.

  “A good violin is like a painting,” he said. “It has an autograph, a signature of its own.”

  “If we found your violin, how would we know it was yours?” Libby asked Franz.

  “I’ll show you,” the shopkeeper answered. From the wall he took down a violin and turned it over. “This one is made of choice wood.” Lightly he passed his hand over the back of the instrument. “See the grain in the wood? The beautiful pattern? But the wood of his violin is unequaled for beauty.”

  “How can I describe it?” Franz shrugged his shoulders. “The back is smooth and flowing—like a river, it is. Yes, that is it.”

  Franz turned back to the shopkeeper. “And the sound?” he asked, as if wanting to make sure there was no doubt. “You played the violin?”

  “The highest quality. Better than any of my own good instruments. The best of any violin I have played. I couldn’t give the man the amount of money he asked. I offered him everything in my store, but he wanted gold, not trade.”

  “What about the violin?” Libby asked, hardly breathing. “Where is it now?”

  “I’m sorry,” the shopkeeper told Franz. “I had no idea the man was a thief, but even so, it pained me to send him on. I told him about a man who came in with the Red River oxcarts. You can find him at Larpenteur’s Lake. He has saved his gold for many years, and he just sold his furs for this season. I knew he might have the amount of gold needed.”

  “The thief who brought the violin here. Can you describe him?” Caleb asked.

  “Tall. Brown hair. Blue eyes.”

  Libby and Caleb looked at each other. Tall, brown hair, blue eyes? Countless men might fill that description.

  “Brown hair, not blond?” Libby asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Did the pawnbroker lie to us? Libby wondered. His description fit half the Swedes in Minnesota.

  “Did the man have a beard or mustache?” Libby asked.

  The shopkeeper shook his head. “But he had a red mark on his neck, just below the jawline on the left side.”

  “So!” Franz exclaimed. “The thief plays the violin?”

  “Yes, he plainly had an area of roughened skin from the chin rest of the violin.”

  The shopkeeper held out his own violin to Franz. “Please,” he said. “Do me the honor of playing on my humble instrument.”

  Franz took the violin and stepped away from Libby and Caleb to where there was more room. Standing behind the counter, he faced them and the door. When the shopkeeper sat down to listen, Franz raised the bow.

  From the first notes, Libby knew he was playing the Hungarian Rhapsody she had heard on the Christina. As the music rose like the soaring of eagles, Franz closed his eyes and seemed to dream of a country far away.

  Just then Libby felt Caleb’s hand on her shoulder. For an instant he tightened his fingers as though warning her. Then Libby heard the sound.

  A man had entered the shop. A man who walked quietly over to where the shopkeeper sat. Libby turned just slightly and felt glad for Caleb’s warning.

  Feeling that she had drawn his picture only moments before, Libby recognized the man. As she saw the cruel lines around his mouth, a shiver went down her spine.

  In the next moment Mr. Trouble looked directly at Libby. His eyes widened with surprise, and Libby knew that he recognized her.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Norstad,” he said. His words were polite, but the coldness in his face cut through to her heart.

  As if he wished to buy something, Mr. Trouble walked over to a counter. Watching him, Libby started shaking.

  CHAPTER 10

  Thieves!

  As Libby edged closer to Caleb, she saw the fiddler’s eyes. No longer lost in his music, he watched the man’s every movement.

  When the shopkeeper asked, “May I help you with something?” Mr. Trouble shook his head and headed for the door. His hand on the knob, he turned back to stare at Libby once more.

  The moment Mr. Trouble left the shop, Libby leaned over the counter. As she covered her face, her hands trembled. Through her fear came one thought. Why does he want the picture I drew of him?

  Franz stopped playing. “What’s wrong?”

  But Caleb spoke to Libby instead. “You’re okay, he’s gone.” Caleb spoke softly, and Libby knew he was trying to comfort her. “Stay here with Franz. I want to see where Mr. Trouble goes.”

  “Who was that man?” Franz asked when Caleb hurried out.

  With an effort Libby pulled herself together. “Suspect number three. Mr. Trouble. Tall. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Cruel lines around his mouth. Do you know him?”

  Franz shook his head. He turned to the shopkeeper. “Is he the man who offered you the violin?”

  “I’ve never seen him before. But there is something I want to offer you. Do you need a place to stay?”

  Franz looked at Libby. “When the Christina leaves St. Paul, yes, I do. But without a violin, I have no way to earn my living.”

  “While you search for your violin, I’ll loan you my best one. I’ll introduce you to men and women who can give you work. The people of St. Paul will be honored to have you live among us.”

  Caleb returned and reported that Mr. Trouble had given him the slip. “Even if I found out where he’s staying, we can’t prove anything,” Caleb said.

  On their way back to the Lower Landing, Libby and Caleb talked with Franz about it.

  “There were three men on the Christina who could have taken your violin,” Libby said. “The man who works in the pawnshop is short. Two other men are tall. You just saw one of them—Mr. Trouble, who got upset when I drew his picture. The other man stood in the shadows during your concert. Did you recognize him?”

  “His face? I could not see it.”

  “Is there anyone who might want to get even with you?” Caleb asked.

  The fiddler drew back. “Here in America?” Franz shook his head, but the mask went down over his face.

  After Franz left them, Libby and Caleb took Samson for a walk along the riverfront. There they could talk without anyone hearing them.

  “The fiddler is hiding something,” Libby said.

  “You’re sure?” Caleb asked. “I feel I can trust Franz.”

  “I trust him too. But there’s something he doesn’t want us to know.” Libby paused, trying to think how to explain. “It’s like there’s something really important in his life that he’s afraid to talk about.”

  Caleb stared at her. “I think you’re on to something. What could it be?”

  “To start with, he’s a famous violinist. He doesn’t tell us, but that isn’t hard to guess.”

  “He probably plays with a well-known symphony,” Caleb said. “But if that’s true, why doesn’t he tell us?”

  “Maybe he’s humble.”

  Caleb disagreed. “You can be humble but still tell people what your work is. You just don’t brag about it. I think it’s something more.”

  “Let’s think about what we know about him,” Libby said. “We already know he has a young son. Today he talked about a wife and daughter. He’s come to America—”

  “That’s it!” Caleb exclaimed. “He’s come here to America, but why? Why did he come here? And why doesn’t he have his family along? That’s where he always stops talking.”

  “And he never talks about what country or city he’s from. Maybe he’s running away from an argument with his family.”

  Caleb shook his head. “Franz isn’t the kind that holds a grudge. He’s too soft down inside. He says what he thinks, but if he had an argument, I think he’d work it out.”

  Libby agreed with Caleb. “But
what could his secret be? He wears tattered clothes as if he’s poor.”

  Caleb pounced on that. “As if he’s poor. Do you think he is?”

  Libby shook her head. “Not really poor. Not like people who have no food to eat. I think he had a lot of money once, but now, for some reason, it’s gone. Do you suppose Kadosa is his real name?”

  “You know, I wondered the same thing. If we question even that, what could his secret be?”

  Libby didn’t like the feeling it gave her. “Lots of immigrants change their names when they come to America. Yohansson to Johnson, for instance.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” Caleb said, “and neither are you.”

  When Pa returned from taking Annika out for dinner, he whistled coming up the stairs. As he rocked back and forth in his big chair, Libby sat on the low stool beside him. It was Libby’s favorite time of the day—the moments when she and Pa talked together.

  “You know, Libby, there’s something I’ve been thinking about for quite a while. Someday the railroads will replace us—”

  “Replace steamboats?” The idea startled Libby.

  “More and more railroad lines are reaching the banks of the Mississippi. Right now they bring us business. But the time will come when railroads stretch from sea to sea. When the iron horse replaces steamboats, I’ll need another way of life.”

  The idea of such a thing happening was so new to Libby that she couldn’t even imagine Pa being anything else. But her father went on.

  “After all that happened earlier this summer, I’ve had a good season. I’ve paid off my crew, and there’s money left over. Now, while I have it, I want to invest that money in land.”

  “As speculation?” Knowing Pa, Libby found that hard to believe.

  “As a way of planning ahead. A way of working toward a secret dream. I want to take a look around and see if I can find land on a river bluff. Though I might need to leave steamboats, the river will never leave me. If that time comes, I want trees and hills and a view of the river. Enough land to cut wood and grow crops and live—”

  “And have a family?” Libby asked.

  Reaching out, Pa drew Libby close in a hug. “We are a family. A never-give-up family. Remember?”

  “A family that doesn’t give up on each other, even when things are hard.” Remembering Annika’s reaction to her matchmaking, Libby felt afraid to say more. Then she took a risk. “More of a family, I mean.”

  “Yes. More people in our family.” A smile lurked in Pa’s eyes. “Let’s start by seeing what Annika thinks about your idea. Would you like that?”

  “If you mean marrying Annika, I would like that,” Libby said. “But I think you need to convince her.”

  As Pa sighed, the smile in his eyes disappeared. “She needs convincing, all right. She’s a mighty independent young woman. I think a part of Annika is running scared.”

  “I think so too,” Libby said, but deep down she had a very big wish. I hope Pa never finds out I told Annika to marry him.

  Glad that Mr. Trouble was off the Christina, Libby took her blankets back to her room and made her bed there. If Mr. Trouble was the one who looked through her belongings, he was gone now. Out of her life. Or so Libby believed.

  That night Libby went to bed with a singing heart. Long after everyone else on the Christina was quiet, she still felt excited about Pa and Annika. Just thinking about them, Libby turned around and around on her corn-husk mattress.

  When she heard Pa going down the stairs to see if all was well, Libby decided that sleep wasn’t going to come. Getting up, she dressed quickly and went out to sit on the hurricane deck. From her favorite place, she had a good view of the nearby warehouses, the bluff along the river, and the city of St. Paul.

  Soon Libby pulled on a sweater. The cool night after a warm day reminded her that this was Minnesota Territory. Autumn would come, then the real cold. Maybe Annika will be with us, and we’ll be far away.

  The riverfront was quiet now. The moon rode high, covered by a line of clouds. Above Libby, the line of warehouses stood out, a deeper black than the night sky.

  For a long time Libby sat there. Then, as she started to stand up and return to her room, she heard a sound. What is it? Muffled footsteps? The creak of a harness?

  In the street at one end of the warehouses, Libby sensed a movement. Leaning forward, she peered into the darkness.

  Then she saw it: a horse-drawn wagon backing onto the narrow ledge of land this side of the warehouse. The wagon stopped next to the back door. Soon another wagon joined the first. Then a third wagon crowded into the narrow space.

  A man climbed down from each wagon. Two were tall and one was short. All three quietly slipped in through the door.

  Why? Libby wondered. What are they doing?

  A moment later they began coming back out. Each man carried something heavy on his shoulder. As the moon broke free of the clouds, Libby saw what it was. A pack of furs!

  Thieves! Libby thought as she watched them load the wagons. Thieves stealing the furs!

  Just then Libby heard the Christina’s gangplank go out and quiet footsteps pass over to the riverbank. In the dark area near the boat, two men started toward the wagons.

  More thieves! What can I do?

  As Libby stood up to tell her pa, she remembered he wasn’t in his cabin. By the time she found him, the thieves would get away.

  Then Libby caught sight of the nearby bell. In one moment she was there, taking hold of the long rope between the bell and pilothouse.

  CHAPTER 11

  Riggs!

  With one tug of the rope, the bell rang out. The clanging sound filled the night, and the Lower Landing came alive. Again and again Libby rang the bell.

  On the Christina deckhands raced up the stairs to see what was wrong. Near the warehouse the thieves leaped into their wagons. As men from the Christina raced toward them, Libby stood at the railing, watching. Just then two policemen rounded one end of the building.

  At the other end of the warehouse, the thieves cracked whips over their horses. Rattling and swaying, the wagons entered the street. The policemen tore after them, but the thieves got away.

  When all the excitement was over, Libby walked slowly to her father’s cabin. Filled with discouragement, she waited for Pa to come in. I tried, she thought. But it wasn’t enough.

  It was Caleb who came first, and he asked, “Libby, how do you manage to get in so much trouble?”

  Libby stared at him. “Caleb Whitney, I was trying to stop the thieves. I wanted to warn the police, the people who owned the warehouse, anyone who would listen.”

  “You warned people, all right. You got everyone on the whole waterfront awake. But the thieves got away before Jordan and I could see who they were.”

  “That was you along the riverfront? Well, I’ll tell you who they were. Two were tall, and one was short enough to be the pawnbroker.”

  Caleb barely listened. Instead he asked, “Couldn’t you think of another way to get help?”

  Libby bowed her head. Closing her fists, she gripped them until her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. Not for anything in the world would she let Caleb see her cry.

  But he wasn’t finished yet. “Libby, you made yourself a marked person again. Those thieves know who you are. They know there’s only one captain’s daughter on the Christina.”

  Like water, a flood of anger poured through Libby. But when she looked up, she saw Caleb’s eyes. “You’re scared, aren’t you?” she said.

  “How can I not be scared? From the minute you came to live on this boat, your pa asked me to look out for you.”

  “So-o-o-o,” Libby said. “I’m part of your job.”

  Caleb groaned. “No! I mean yes! Oh, you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.” Libby’s anger was back, and this time it spilled over. “I thought we were friends. I thought you liked having me help with the Underground Railroad, that you trusted me—”

 
Suddenly Caleb whirled around and stalked off. At the door he turned back. “Libby, you make me so mad I could spit!”

  Then he was gone.

  As the door slammed behind him, Libby giggled. So! Even the great Caleb Whitney can get upset!

  Then her giggling gave way to sobs. Half a minute later, she remembered Caleb’s scared eyes and started laughing. But when she once more started weeping, she sobbed as if she would never stop.

  Just then Caleb flung open the door and pushed Samson inside. “Keep him with you,” he warned. “I can’t be your nursemaid all the time.”

  “I don’t want you to be my nursemaid any of the time!” Libby called after him. But Caleb was gone for good.

  In Pa’s cabin the next morning, Libby finished telling him what had happened during the night. Cup of coffee in hand and still taking it easy, Pa looked through the window to Jackson Street. “There’s Joe Rolette!”

  With quick strides a man was hurrying down the steep bluff, headed straight for the Christina.

  “Who’s Joe Rolette?” Libby asked.

  “The representative from Pembina—by the Canadian border where the oxcarts come from. Because of men like Joe and his partner, St. Paul takes an active part in international trade.”

  Already Pa was looking for his tie. “Joe is also the man who stole the bill that would have moved the capital of Minnesota from St. Paul to St. Peter. He walked off with the bill and hid out in a St. Paul hotel till it was too late to take a vote.”

  Libby giggled. No doubt the people of Minnesota Territory took it seriously, though.

  “Joe uses sled dogs to come to St. Paul in winter. Libby, where’s my toothbrush?”

  “It’s not on your washstand?”

  “And my comb? That’s not here either.”

  Libby hurried over to look. Pa was so orderly she had never seen him search for his belongings.