The Fiddler's Secret

by Lois Walfrid Johnson

  From where she stood, Libby could see the thin ice breaking along the side of the bow. The fast-moving current swept away whatever pieces remained.

  Libby didn’t need Caleb to tell her that the ice would get worse. Instead he said, “Your pa wants to stay in St. Paul until he finds Annika. I don’t think he’ll get the chance.”

  “Oh, Caleb, don’t say that.”

  Caleb was serious. “We better think of everything we can do to find Annika fast. If we don’t, your pa isn’t going to see her.”

  In spite of their warm coats, they soon needed to go back inside Pa’s cabin. There Jordan looked around again, as if for the last time. His glance took in Libby and Caleb. “Remember how you started teachin’ me to read?”

  “Let’s not say goodbye yet,” Caleb said quickly. He, too, seemed to dread the farewell with Jordan. Over the months the boys had become best friends.

  “We’ll see Annika soon,” Libby said in the silence that followed. The rest of the way to St. Paul, that thought held her. But then Jordan and his family, Libby, Caleb, Pa, and Peter gathered on the main deck.

  “If you go somewhere else, be sure to leave word at the Winslow House in St. Anthony,” Pa told Jordan’s father as he clapped him on the shoulder. “When we’re back in town, we’ll look you up.”

  As Jordan reached out for a handshake, Pa put an arm around his shoulder instead. Then Caleb and Peter said goodbye, and Jordan turned to say, “Thanks for everything, Libby.”

  Libby’s goodbye to Serena was hardest of all. Her shining eyes and quiet smile reminded Libby how much she was losing.

  “Thanks for being my friend,” Libby told Serena. “See you next spring.” She didn’t want to admit this could be a final goodbye.

  Then Micah Parker and his wife, Hattie, their sons, Jordan and Zack, and their daughters, Serena and Rose, walked down the gangplank into their new life.

  “I’ll miss Jordan and his family,” Peter said. “I wonder how they’ll get along.”

  “They’ll be all right,” Caleb signed, then wrote on the slate. “They’ll find work and the church at St. Anthony.” But Caleb looked even more upset than Peter to see Jordan leave.

  When Peter and Pa left, Libby stayed near the gangplank, watching the Parker family start up Jackson Street. “It hurts to love people, doesn’t it?”

  “Sometimes,” Caleb said.

  “Like now?” Libby asked, thinking about how much Jordan meant to Caleb.

  “Like now. And if someone you like doesn’t pay much attention.” Caleb glanced sideways at Libby as though telling her something he was afraid to say directly.

  Libby looked up at him. To her surprise she really was looking up. In the past few months, Caleb had grown at least two inches and she hadn’t even noticed.

  “I’m sorry, Caleb,” Libby said, then felt at a loss for words. How can I tell him what he really means to me? Just trying to think of the words was hard. But it seemed Caleb wanted to know.

  “Being friends is helping each other,” Libby said. “You’ve done that a lot for me.”

  And I usually objected, she told herself. Most often I’ve thought Caleb was just doing what Pa asked him to do—watching out for me.

  “When I grow up—” Caleb started, and it sounded funny—as if he were still a little boy.

  Caleb grinned, and the awkwardness between them vanished. “When I’m older, I’ll be able to say all the things I think. Especially the things I think about you.”

  Libby giggled. As much as she liked Caleb, she felt relieved that it was more comfortable to talk with him again.

  Then Caleb turned serious. “Friends talk about things that are important to them,” he said. “Is that scary to you, Libby?”

  “It’s scary to me, Caleb. But if that’s what it means to be a friend, I’ll practice.”

  The minute that Pa could leave, he was off to find Annika. As Libby watched him hurry down the gangplank, Caleb said, “The music store isn’t far from here. Let’s see if Franz is still there.”

  Though it appeared that the economic panic had robbed the store of business, its doors were still open. Inside they found Franz. They soon learned that he had not recovered his stolen violin.

  “I want to write to my family,” Franz said. “I want to tell them my plans. But I need to find my fiddle first.”

  Because of the bad weather, Libby and Caleb could not stay long. On the way back to the Christina, they talked about the violin.

  “Why hasn’t someone found it in all this time?” Libby asked. “Does that mean it’s gone forever? Taken someplace where Franz will never see it again?”

  The idea bothered Libby. If that were true, it would be no use to continue searching. For Libby, doing nothing was the worst choice of all.

  A few minutes after she and Caleb reached the Christina, Pa came up the gangplank.

  “Annika isn’t at the place where she was staying. The woman of the house said Annika moved out the end of September.”

  The south wind had a bite in it, but Pa stood on the deck with an open coat and no hat. Now he ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s like we thought, Libby. Remember how both of us knew that something was wrong?”

  Her heart in her throat, Libby nodded.

  Pa shook his head as though unable to believe the bad news. “The woman said Annika found a temporary place, but then moved on from there. That’s all she knew. I went to the school where Annika taught. She lost her job, and no one can tell me what happened to her. She just dropped out of sight.”

  As if suddenly realizing how cold it had become, Pa shivered. “Because of all the speculation, St. Paul was hit especially hard by the panic. There’s little work and even less money. People say the city emptied out almost overnight. If Annika isn’t teaching, what is she doing? Does she have enough food? Is she staying warm?”

  Again Pa shivered and for the first time seemed to realize his coat was open. As he buttoned it, the captain from a nearby steamboat called to him. “Heading out soon?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Temperature’s dropping fast. If Pepin closes, we’ll be locked in here all winter.”

  Pa nodded, though Libby doubted he heard. Instead, he glanced toward the men loading freight. The return trip would be light, Libby knew. There were also few passengers. Most of the people heading south had left long before.

  For a moment Pa’s gaze lingered on the nearly empty waterfront. When he looked back to Libby, pain filled his eyes. “I can’t leave without knowing what’s happened to Annika.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Ice Storm

  Let’s give it two hours,” Pa said. “Let’s search as much as we can.”

  “I’ll go to the Pioneer and Democrat office,” Caleb offered. “People at a newspaper know what’s going on. I’ll stop at the police station too.”

  “I’ll find Miss Bishop,” Libby said just as quickly. As Peter joined them, she signed Annika’s name.

  “I’ll ask at the stores and warehouses closest to the river,” Peter answered.

  “And I’ll go to every hotel and boardinghouse within walking distance.” Pa’s voice was quiet but strong. Libby knew he was forcing himself to stay in control. This time he remembered to put on his captain’s hat. But he still wore no gloves, as if nothing mattered but Annika.

  Just watching him, Libby grieved. The pain in Pa’s heart matches the pain in his eyes.

  With her hurt for Pa growing by the minute, Libby set out to find Miss Bishop. When Libby reached the house, she knocked several times. Finally the lady next door came out to talk.

  “You’re looking for Harriet? She’s been gone since early September. Can’t tell you where. She wrote a book, you know. Maybe she’s traveling, talking to people about St. Paul.”

  Libby groaned. Her feet dragging, she headed back to the boat.

  The rain started as a mist so fine that at first Libby thought she was seeing things. By the time she walked up the gangplank, her coat felt h
eavy with water. The wind still came from the south, but Libby had no doubt that in Minnesota Territory a November rain would soon mean ice.

  Caleb was the next one to return, then Peter, and finally Pa. Long before the two hours were up, they gathered around the wood stove in the main cabin. All of them stretched out their hands toward the stove, but the heat did little to warm their hearts. Not one of them had learned anything about Annika.

  Libby knew there was nothing more to say. The look in her father’s face shook Libby to the center of her being.

  Soon the chief engineer came into the cabin. “The temperature dropped ten degrees in the last hour. If we don’t go now, we’ll be here for the winter.”

  Having no choice but to leave St. Paul, Pa straightened his shoulders. “We’ll leave the minute you’re ready.”

  When the engineer hurried out, Pa turned to Libby and the boys. As though forcing himself to remember what was needed, he looked at each of them. “Thank you, Peter,” he signed.

  Peter wrapped his arms around Pa’s waist and hugged him. As Pa stretched out his hand, Caleb put his own hand over Pa’s. When her father’s arm went around Libby’s shoulder, she gave him the tightest hug she could. Then he hurried away, and Libby knew he wanted to be alone.

  Going outside, she sat down on the wide steps at the front of the boat. Soon deckhands took in the lines, and the Christina slipped out into the river.

  Libby stared at the black waters of the Mississippi. Her long wool stockings and her warmest coat, scarf, and mittens did little good today. The cold crept into her bones. Yet the ache she felt inside was worse.

  Once again she watched the pan ice floating down the river. The giant lily pads seemed larger now. Crossing her arms, Libby hugged herself, but she could not keep away her fear. Where is Annika?

  In answer to her question, Libby again remembered the verse Pa gave them the day Annika visited their class. With all her heart Libby tried to believe the words her mother had written in her Bible. Instead, Libby cried out in her spirit. All things, God? How can You possibly bring something good out of something this awful?

  The cold rain slanted at an angle now, reaching under the overhang of the deck above. Libby felt glad there were no immigrants there, no children trying to stay warm. The empty deck made her lonesome for past friends—the runaway slave Emma and her baby, little Henry. The German immigrant Elsa. Jordan and his sister Serena. And now Annika.

  Most of all, Libby’s heart ached for Pa. With her hurt for him came more anger toward God. How could You let Annika get lost? How can You be a good God, a kind God, when You treat Pa this way? All things, God? How can You possibly bring something good out of something this awful?

  Libby was shaking with cold when Caleb found her there. “Come inside where it’s warm,” he said. He led her to the large main cabin. As Libby huddled close to the stove, he asked, “What’s really bothering you, Libby?”

  As always, Libby felt afraid to talk. Then she remembered her promise to Caleb. Friends tell each other the things that are important to them.

  “It’s all my fault!” Libby wailed.

  “What’s your fault?”

  “That Annika is lost, that Pa had to leave without seeing her.” Starting with the words she had overheard in August, Libby explained. “Annika told Pa that I wasn’t ready for a mother. She said if she came on board now, it would seem as if I snapped my fingers and poof! Like magic I had a mother.”

  When Libby finished talking, Caleb’s eyes had that teasing look Libby knew too well. “Maybe Annika was right. Maybe there’s a few things you need to change. Like hiding around a corner listening to your pa and Annika.”

  “But I can’t change that now!” Caleb’s words upset Libby even more. “What if Pa never has the chance to get things straightened out? How can I live the rest of my life knowing that he lost Annika because of me?”

  “Because of you?” Caleb asked. “Who do you think you are, God or something?”

  Lifting her head, Libby tossed her curls. “Of course, I don’t think I’m God!”

  Caleb’s voice changed, as if he really wanted to help. “Maybe you weren’t ready for a new mother then. But you didn’t cause the storm. And you didn’t get Annika lost!”

  Libby stared at him. “You said maybe I wasn’t ready for a mother then. Does that mean I’m ready for a mother now?”

  Caleb shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Maybe. Libby rolled the word around in her mind, then in her heart. Caleb said maybe.

  Caleb leaned forward. “Libby, wherever Annika is, God is with her.”

  With his words, the weight Libby had carried since August dropped from her. For the first time all day, she felt warm with hope. Her angry questions changed to a prayer letting God in. Won’t You help us? Please, won’t You help us?

  As the Christina continued downriver, Pa called them together for school. When they gathered around the table in his cabin, Libby studied her father’s face. He needs something to think about besides Annika.

  In the small upper room it was growing colder all the time. Libby’s breath hung in the frosty air. Whenever she turned a page, she needed to take off her mitten.

  Like the rest of them, Pa wore his warmest jacket, gloves, and scarf. He looked exhausted, something Libby never saw. He seemed to be walking in his sleep.

  Pa had barely begun teaching when the wind rattled the windows. Like a spray of small stones, bits of ice struck the glass. In that moment Libby heard the change. The rain had turned to sleet, pelting the glass. But the sleet also brought Pa back to his usual self.

  “We’ll have to make a run for it,” he said as calmly as if he faced an ice-bound Lake Pepin every day. “Take your books down to the main cabin. Push a table closer to the stove. It’s too cold for you here.”

  As the boys left the cabin, Libby stood up and walked over to her father. “Pa,” she said. “‘They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.’”

  Tears welled up in his eyes. “Isaiah 40:31. How did you know?”

  “Caleb told me.” Reaching around her father’s chest, Libby gave the biggest bear hug she could. Then she patted his back the way he did for her when she was a little child.

  When Pa stood back he looked into her eyes. “You’re grown up now, Libby. You’re all grown up.”

  A moment later he picked up his captain’s hat, set it straight on his head. At the door he turned back. “Thank you, Libby. Thank you.”

  When Libby stepped out on deck, the wind had swung around, coming from the northwest. Soon after they passed Red Wing, the Mississippi River widened into a lake twenty-two miles long and one to three miles wide. Because the current was slower, Lake Pepin always froze sooner than the river above or below it.

  Behind the boat the river looked choppy, as troubled as Libby felt about their trip through the lake. Closer to shore and ahead of the Christina, the water was smooth, even glasslike. That look of glass told Libby the water was freezing.

  Pushing aside her dread, she went into the large cabin. At first she managed to study. Then Libby began seeing water instead of pages filled with numbers. Though she tried hard, she couldn’t shut out the frightening pictures that passed through her mind.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to forget the boat she had seen last spring. Thrown by wind and ice against Pepin’s shore, the steamboat had leaned sideways and filled with water as passengers scrambled to get off.

  Finally Libby put on her coat and wound a long scarf around her head and neck. Stepping outside again, she stood at the railing. The sleet had stopped now, but a half-inch layer of ice had formed over the surface of Lake Pepin. As Caleb came to stand beside her, Libby asked, “It’s closing in, isn’t it?”

  Caleb nodded as though not wanting to admit the truth.

  “What if the ice catches us?”

  “Don’t ask,” he said. “You won’
t want to know.”

  Then Libby remembered. Caleb had been with Pa last winter when the Christina was caught by unseasonable ice farther downriver. Pa seldom spoke about that time. Libby only knew that he had to have the hull rebuilt.

  “This is only November thirteenth! People in St. Paul said that if the river closes, it’s the earliest on record.”

  Libby’s words made Caleb impatient. “Records don’t count,” he said, sounding more upset than he wanted to admit. “What counts is whether we get through safely.”

  Standing there, Libby wondered if the ice had grown thicker even as they spoke. As she watched, the ship’s carpenter crept out on the forward deck. At the starboard, or right, side of the boat, he dropped onto his stomach. There he looked down over the guards, the boards that extended out over the hull.

  “What’s he doing?” Libby asked.

  “Checking for ice damage.”

  A moment later the carpenter checked the port, or left, side of the boat and called to a deckhand. “It’s taking her paint!”

  Libby’s stomach tightened. Like a young child, she wanted to be with her father. “Let’s go up to the pilothouse.”

  On the side deck, sleet had coated the boards, making them slick. “Hang on,” Caleb warned as they started up the stairs.

  Libby wrapped her mittens around the ice-coated railing as if her life depended on it. On the hurricane deck, she felt the full blast of the cold wind. There in the open, the ice was so slippery that Caleb dropped to his hands and knees. Libby followed him, crawling across the deck.

  One after the other, they crept up the stairs to the pilothouse. Caleb opened the door with glass in the top half, and hung on with all his strength. While Libby crawled inside, he held the door against the draft, then closed it without breaking the glass.

  Fletcher, the pilot, stood at the side of the great wheel with Pa next to him. Besides being owner of the Christina, Pa was also licensed as a pilot, but he helped only as needed. His quick smile welcomed Libby and Caleb. Then he turned once more to lock his gaze onto the lake ahead.