As she handed the sketch to the mother, a great swelling of joy welled up inside Libby. I did it! I did it! I did it! I sold a drawing!
When the family walked away, Libby looked up to find Caleb. She had no idea when he had come on deck. “Did you see that?” Libby asked. “I can’t believe it!”
“I can.” Caleb’s blue eyes shone with excitement. “I saw your drawing, and it was good—really good!”
Hearing his praise, Libby could barely speak. If Caleb says something, he means it. Maybe I truly will be an artist someday!
“And you know what?” Caleb asked. “I have a feeling that your drawing ability will help us free Jordan’s family. I don’t know how, but let’s think about it.”
Only then did Libby remember. She had been so busy drawing that she forgot to look for Riggs.
When the Christina put in at LaCrosse, Wisconsin, Libby invited Elsa to go for a walk. Samson followed them down the gangplank.
Near the place where the Black River and the LaCrosse River flowed into the Mississippi, Libby found a stick and threw it out. “Get it, Samson!”
Leaping into the air, the dog caught it in his mouth. When he brought the stick to Libby, she flung it out again.
Soon Elsa took up the game, throwing out the stick for Samson. Each time he brought it back, he dropped it at Elsa’s feet, then waited for her to tell him, “Good dog!”
Wanting to make it harder for Samson, Libby threw the stick farther than ever before. As her throw went wild, the stick landed in the cold, black water of the Mississippi.
Instantly Samson raced after it. At the edge of the river, he gathered his front paws together and dived into the water. Paddling quickly, he reached the stick and caught it up in his mouth.
When he brought the stick to Libby, she laughed. “You sure aren’t afraid of water!” This time she deliberately threw it into the river. Again Samson retrieved it, paddling as though he enjoyed the ice-cold water.
“Make it even harder,” Caleb said when he joined them. “Samson will like you for it.”
Searching along the riverbank, Caleb found part of a branch that had washed up on shore. After showing it to Samson, Caleb flung it far out.
“Why isn’t he cold?” Elsa asked as she watched Samson swim.
“He’s bred for this,” Caleb told her. “Newfies have two coats of hair, the long outer one you see and a shorter inner one.”
“What did you call him?” Elsa asked.
“A Newfie. Sea captains keep Newfoundlands on their ships to rescue men if they fall overboard.”
Soon Samson returned the branch, laying it at Caleb’s feet. For a time Caleb let him swim, and Samson played like a child in the water. At last Caleb’s low whistle brought the dog in.
In spite of Elsa’s sweater and coat, her lips looked blue with cold. Holding her arms, she hugged herself against the sharp spring wind.
Seeing Elsa’s pale cheeks, Libby felt uneasy. “Let’s go back,” she said. As they traveled north, the cold seemed increasingly hard on her friend. Yet Elsa had no place to get warm. The crowd of deckers always kept her away from the stove in the deck room.
When they reached the small space where the Meyer family stayed on main deck, Elsa used Libby’s quilt to cover her head and shoulders. Only the front of Elsa’s blond hair and her too-white face showed. Whenever she spoke, her teeth chattered with cold.
I’ll take her to the stove in the main cabin, Libby thought. Then she remembered. That stove was only for first-class passengers.
But Libby pushed the thought aside. Pa talked about courage. Maybe it’s courage to take Elsa there.
Feeling concerned for her friend, Libby made up her mind. Elsa is only one person. It’s not like I invited all one-hundred-and-fifty deckers.
“C’mon,” Libby said. “I’ll take you to the main cabin. There’s a stove that will keep you warm.”
Elsa hung back. “But, Libby, that’s for people who pay full fare.”
“So?” Libby asked.
Elsa looked embarrassed now. “We didn’t pay full fare. We didn’t even pay full deck fare. Father is working his way carrying wood.”
“I know, I know.” Libby had seen what happened when they came aboard. I can take Elsa to the main cabin anyway, she thought. No one will ever know.
“Smooth your dress,” she told Elsa. “Act like you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t like it, Libby. I’ll be all right here on deck. Your quilt helps a lot.”
Without another word Libby started toward the wide steps at the front of the boat. Looking half afraid and half eager, Elsa laid aside the quilt and followed Libby.
Partway up, the broad steps divided into two narrower stairways. Elsa walked on the thick red carpet as though she were Cinderella going to the ball.
When they reached the boiler deck, Libby opened the double doors into the main cabin. She had grown used to the cabin’s unusual beauty, but Elsa stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with awe.
“This one room is almost as long as the whole boat!” she exclaimed.
Now, between meals, the large dining room was divided in its use. On a carpeted section at one end, a group of women sat in a circle talking. Unless invited into the women’s half, men were expected to stay at the other end. Instead of carpeting, their section had a wood floor for the men who missed the spittoon when spitting tobacco.
Large oil paintings hung on the long sides of the cabin. Like a moth attracted to light, Elsa was drawn to them.
“Here,” Libby said quickly, trying to steer her friend to the stove in the women’s section.
But Elsa had forgotten about getting warm. Paying no attention to Libby, she headed for the nearest painting.
Standing beneath the first one, Elsa stared up at it. “Ohhh!” she said, barely breathing.
When she moved on to the second painting, she again stood beneath it, gazing upward. “Beautiful! Beautiful!” she exclaimed, her words heavy with a German accent.
Just then Libby saw a woman looking at Elsa. Leaning forward, she touched the arm of another woman. When both of them turned to watch Elsa, Libby knew she was in trouble.
“Elsa!” Libby spoke in a low voice. “Forget the paintings. Go stand by the stove.”
Instead, Elsa hurried on. As she gazed up at the next painting, Libby saw the second woman poke a third, then a fourth. Soon the entire group of women was watching Elsa.
When she turned to Libby, Elsa saw the women. A red flush spread across her face. “Let’s go, Libby,” she whispered.
Libby was glad to leave, but it was too late. Just then Mr. Bates passed through on the walkway between the men’s and women’s sections. One of the women motioned to the first mate. Though Libby could not hear, she had no doubt what was being said.
With Elsa close behind, Libby walked as fast as she dared toward the large main door. Bates caught up with her there.
“So, Miss Libby,” he said. “Do you think you can break the rules just because you’re the captain’s daughter?”
Elsa’s flush deepened. She understands, Libby thought, and that shamed her even more.
Without either of them speaking, Libby and Elsa hurried down the red carpeted steps. After the beauty of the main cabin, the dirt and crowding on the main deck seemed even worse.
I guess that wasn’t courage, Libby thought. Now that Elsa knows how first-class passengers live, being a decker will be even worse.
Then Libby had an idea.
CHAPTER 12
Green-Eyed Caterpillar
I’m going to ask Pa if Elsa can have lessons with Caleb and me,” Libby told Granny the next morning.
“In Pa’s cabin she’ll be warm at least part of the day.”
Then it dawned on Libby. “Elsa reads German. How do I teach her English?”
“Start the way you did with Jordan,” Granny said. “Be sure she knows the English alphabet.”
Once again Libby gathered up food and tucked it inside her coat. “Thanks, G
ranny,” she said. Bending down, she dropped a quick kiss on the older woman’s cheek.
When Libby delivered the food, she sat down to talk. “Every day Caleb and I have school together,” she told Elsa. “My pa teaches us. Would you like to have class with us?”
This time Elsa was on guard about Libby’s idea. No more going where she wasn’t wanted just because it was warm. Not for Elsa. Her pride was too great.
Pride? Libby wondered. Or an independent spirit? Whatever it was, Libby didn’t want to destroy it.
“Is all right with your father, the captain?” Elsa asked carefully.
“Pa says, ‘Invite Elsa to school. If she wants to learn, we will teach her to read and write English.’”
“English?” A smile broke across Elsa’s pale face. Turning to her parents, she spoke rapidly in German.
Mr. Meyer listened, then nodded. “You go. In America you must know more English.”
“Yah.” Even Mrs. Meyer seemed to understand. “You teach it to us.”
As Libby led her friend from the crowded space, Elsa’s hand felt cold to the touch. But her face glowed with excitement.
When they reached Captain Norstad’s cabin, he was not yet there. Caleb sat with Jordan along one side of the table. Libby and Elsa sat down across from them.
Elsa already knew the English alphabet well. As Libby wondered what to do next, she listened to Caleb. He pointed to Samson lying outside the door.
“Dog,” Caleb said. He sounded the d. “D-d-d. Da-og. Dog.”
Carefully he printed the letters. On another slate Jordan copied the word.
In that moment Libby decided what to try. For Elsa she drew a picture of Caleb, then pointed to him. “Boy. B-b-b. B-oy.”
“Boy,” Elsa repeated, then copied Libby’s printing.
Soon Libby began drawing more difficult ideas—her father with his captain’s hat on. “Captain,” she printed.
When Caleb kept teaching easy words, Jordan stopped him. “I wants to write my name.”
Caleb sounded out Jordan, then printed it.
As soon as Jordan could write his first name, he wanted to know how to write his last name, Parker. Again Caleb showed him.
When Jordan finished printing, he held up his slate. With great pride he showed them what he had done. “Jordan Parker,” he read aloud, as though unable to believe what he saw.
Suddenly he laughed. “I wish my daddy and my momma could see me now!”
Caught up in his excitement, Elsa laughed too. The happy sound warmed Libby.
I did a good thing by bringing Elsa here, she thought. That must be the kind of courage Pa means.
But just then Caleb looked across the table at Elsa. As though seeing her for the first time, Caleb studied Elsa’s face.
In spite of being too thin, she had a special kind of beauty. Here, where she was not chattering with cold, Libby saw her white-blond hair and deep blue eyes in a new way.
“You are free now?” Elsa asked Jordan.
Jordan stiffened. He glanced at Caleb, as though wondering what to say. Caleb answered for him.
“Elsa, what does your family believe about slavery?”
“My father says ‘No man should be slave!’” Pretending she was Mr. Meyer, Elsa slammed her hand on the table. “‘Ach!’ he says. ‘No man should be unfairly treated!’”
Elsa’s blue eyes sparkled with laughter. “So!” She spoke directly to Jordan. “Are you afraid to tell me that you have run away?”
Jordan’s gaze met hers. “I ain’t afraid to tell you, but I’m wishin’ you don’t have to know.”
“In my country—” Elsa shrugged as if she, too, knew what it meant to be poor and unfairly treated. “My family left it behind. We have hope for something better.”
Caleb leaned forward. “Elsa, when your family gets to Minnesota Territory, where will you live?”
“My father wants to find land near Red—” Elsa paused as if wanting to make sure of the name.
“Red Wing,” Caleb said quickly. “A town above Lake Pepin. Then we’ll see you again. After you get off the boat, I mean. The Christina often stops at Red Wing.”
Oh, it does, does it? A feeling of dread clutched Libby’s stomach. She didn’t like the way Caleb looked at Elsa. Is that what he’s planning—to see her often?
Libby didn’t like that idea at all. She wished she hadn’t brought Elsa to her Pa’s cabin. Now Caleb would see her whenever they had school.
An empty feeling grew in the pit of Libby’s stomach. Sometimes it meant she was going to throw up. Now the feeling came from one thought. It’s all right if Elsa and Caleb are friends. But what if he really likes her?
During class that afternoon, Caleb leaped up from the table. “We’re almost there! Reads Landing, here we come!”
The village lay at the foot of Lake Pepin. Libby and the others followed Caleb to the window. Already they could see paddle-wheelers tied up in the open water at Reads Landing. Libby started counting the steamboats.
“There are at least ten!” she exclaimed. “Will we be racing all those boats?”
“Probably more,” Caleb told her. “Some are waiting at the town of Wabasha.”
Wabasha was the village just below Reads Landing. To Libby’s surprise, Caleb didn’t seem at all concerned about the odds against them. He just looked forward to the race.
As though held in the palm of a hand, Reads Landing was surrounded on three sides by tall bluffs. On the fourth side lay the river. The minute the gangplank went down, Libby, Caleb, and Elsa left the Christina. As they walked along the riverfront, Libby studied each steamboat.
Some came from great distances—as far away as Cincinnati and other places on the Ohio River. Yet nothing could convince Libby that any of them—not even the big, newer boats—were as beautiful as Pa’s.
Soon the three of them started up one of the steep streets. From high on the hill they looked across the roofs of houses and hotels to the steamboats and tall smokestacks that Libby loved.
I wish I had my paints along, she thought. If there was time, she would come back by herself.
From an earlier trip, Caleb knew about an overlook upstream and closer to the river. “It might still be a long wait before the ice goes out,” he said.
Libby knew it was dangerous trying to get through the ice. Usually the river above and below was free of ice for two weeks before the lake. “How do captains know when it’s safe to go through?” she asked.
“They don’t always know.” Caleb pointed to a narrow line of water between the riverbank and the ice. “When the river starts rising, that open space gets wider. Sometimes boats try to go through, but it’s too shallow. If the wind shifts, the ice smashes the boat.” Caleb smacked his hands together.
A soft breeze lifted Elsa’s white-blond hair. In the crisp air, her pale cheeks had turned rosy with color.
She’s beautiful! Once again jealousy stirred within Libby.
As they walked back, she barely saw the large steamboats tied side by side along the riverfront. Like a green-eyed caterpillar, one thought wormed its way into her mind. I wonder if Caleb is sweet on Elsa.
When they reached the Christina, Libby learned that the famous captain Daniel Smith Harris hadn’t arrived. A big part of Libby felt glad. If the four-time winner wasn’t part of the race, Pa would have a better chance. Yet Libby knew her father had looked forward to seeing his friend.
The next morning, Libby woke with a start. The Christina was moving! Did that mean the race was on?
Quickly Libby dressed and hurried out to the hurricane deck. Far above, the tall stacks belched smoke. On the decks below, passengers crowded the railings, straining for the best view.
With paddle wheels churning the cold, dark water, the Christina steamed upriver to the great wide spot called Lake Pepin. “Maybe this is the day the lake will open!” Libby exclaimed when Caleb sat down beside her on the deck.
“I just want your pa to win!” he said. “Think how exciti
ng that would be!”
Libby hardly dared dream about what winning could mean to her father. All summer long the Christina went back and forth between St. Louis and St. Paul. If Pa won the race, the Christina could dock in St. Paul during the entire season without paying.
As the Christina drew near the great mass of ice blocking the river channel, Libby watched closely. In the early morning light, the ice looked gray and soft and spongy. But the ice was stronger than it looked.
Three other daring boats were ahead of them. One was the War Eagle, and Libby saw Captain Kingman wave to Pa. Another was the Galena with Captain Laughton. His pilot, Stephen Hanks, grinned down at Caleb.
“Is he a friend of yours?” Libby asked.
“Talked to him last night,” Caleb said. “He’s first cousin to a senator from Illinois. Man by the name of Abraham Lincoln.”
Just then the Christina slowed her paddles and butted her bow against the ice. The jolt passed through the boat and into Libby. On the deck below, the crowd cheered.
Again and again the Christina’s pilot stopped, reversed the paddle wheels, pulled back, then started forward again. Again and again the Christina butted into the ice. Finally it divided, making a narrow pathway. When the Christina steamed into the open water, the crowd raised a shout.
Before long the ice closed again. No amount of pushing against it would break it open. Finally Captain Norstad gave the order to return to Reads Landing. As the Christina backed stern first out of the narrow channel, Libby felt the sharp knife of disappointment.
Caleb looked just as discouraged. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said.
But Libby knew that the other boats had already gone out every day for a week.
As two days passed into three, passengers on the Christina grew impatient. On her way to visit Elsa, Libby saw groups of men talking together on the deck. Mr. Meyer was one of those who asked questions.
“Above Lake Pepin the river is open,” said one of the men. “Smaller boats that usually travel on just the Minnesota River come from St. Paul to Red Wing.”
“Yah?” Mr. Meyer asked. “And how do we get to Red Wing?”
“There’s a trail around Lake Pepin,” the man answered. “If we walk to Red Wing, we can book passage to St. Paul. Or we can go wherever we want. We’ll beat the other passengers to the best land.”
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