Caleb ran his fingers through his blond hair, as though trying to think what to do. “First we have to keep you safe, Jordan, no matter what Riggs tries to do.”
“If that man I seen last night was Riggs, why didn’t he grab me then?” Jordan asked.
“Because he’s watching all of us,” Caleb answered. “He wants to know what we’re doing, who we take on, how we do it. When he knows that and how to catch Libby’s pa, Riggs will make his move.”
Libby groaned. “Caleb, how can you say such a terrible thing?”
“Because we have to know what we’re up against. If we don’t, Riggs will catch us for sure.”
Then teasing lit Caleb’s eyes. “It’s all up to you, Libby. You’re the one who eats in the main cabin. Maybe you’ll spot Riggs there.”
Libby felt nervous just thinking about it. Pulling forward a long, strand of hair, she twisted it between her fingers. Soon she had her hair all tangled up, but she didn’t feel any better.
When they stopped in Burlington, Libby saw Caleb hurry down the gangplank and disappear. When he returned, Caleb looked pleased with himself.
Soon after, Libby noticed Caleb and Jordan together. But to Libby, Caleb said only, “Jordan and I have figured out how we can get to where his mother is.”
“What do you mean?” Libby asked.
“You’ll see,” Caleb answered.
During the evening meal, Libby searched for Riggs. The large cabin that served as a dining room stretched from one end of the boat to the other. Captain Norstad sat at the front of the cabin with his officers.
Sitting next to her father, Libby ate with only half her attention on her food. With each forkful she thought about Elsa and how much she would like a meal like this. Taking one table at a time, Libby looked around for Riggs.
Again she passed over the women and the tall men, searching for someone short and slender. But Riggs could wear padding, she reminded herself. He might look heavier.
As Libby watched, talk about the upcoming race swirled around her.
“What’s the news from Reads Landing?” asked Mr. Bates, the first mate. The busy steamboat stop lay at the foot of Lake Pepin.
“Minnesota Territory has had the worst winter in years,” Captain Norstad answered. “They’ve had four feet of snow on the ground. When the wind picked up, drifts covered houses and barns.”
“And Lake Pepin?” asked Osborne, the chief engineer. Pepin was a widening in the Mississippi River as it flowed between Minnesota Territory and the state of Wisconsin.
“The lake is still frozen over,” Captain Norstad answered. “Every day more boats arrive at Reads Landing. We’ll have a fine race this year.”
Libby glanced around the table. Each man looked eager for the big event that opened the 1857 season. The race through Lake Pepin was exciting. The first steamboat through the ice-filled waters won the honor of first arrival in St. Paul. Yet the race was also dangerous. Every spring some boats were wrecked trying to get through Lake Pepin.
Now Captain Norstad held out the bait—a sizable reward offered by the city of St. Paul. “Whoever wins the race won’t have to pay a cent all season for using their wharf.”
“We’ll do it, all right!” Osborne grinned, as though thinking about all the ways he could pour on steam.
Bates looked just as eager. “If we’re first, we’ll have even more passengers and freight every trip.”
“We’ll reach Reads Landing on time?” That was young Martin, the mud clerk. “Before the ice goes out?”
No one else would even think of asking such a question. Of course they would make it there on time.
“We won’t miss the opening of the season,” Captain Norstad answered, making no mention of the newspapers or the telegraph reports he checked daily. “If all goes well, we’ll be at Reads Landing in two days. My good friend Daniel Smith Harris might already be there.”
“Captain Harris?” young Martin blurted out. “But he’s won the race four years in a row!”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll win the fifth,” Captain Norstad said calmly. “But if he does, he’s still my friend!”
Libby could hardly wait to reach Reads Landing, to see the famous riverboat captains and be part of the race. But right now she had more things on her mind. As she bit into one of Granny’s delicious rolls, Libby turned to see the men at another table. All of them were too tall to be Riggs.
Just then Bates took a large piece of meat, cut off one slice, and left the rest on his plate. Again Libby remembered Elsa. “Please—” Libby spoke before thinking.
When Bates looked up, Libby swallowed her words. Here in the elegant main cabin she couldn’t ask for someone else’s food. But Libby remembered the Meyer family’s celebration. One herring each. And the one I didn’t eat went back in the bottle.
Libby stared at each plate. Those potatoes, that piece of meat. On deck the people would fall upon those tasty morsels as a meal fit for a king.
Before long the waiter set down thirteen desserts in a circle around Libby’s plate. Six of the desserts were served in tall, slender glasses. The other seven were pies, puddings, and ice creams. Each dish was for her alone.
Until now Libby would have taken a dainty spoonful from every dish, trying each one. Instead she thought about Elsa. The Meyer family carried a long tube of smoked sausage in their trunk. Libby had watched Mr. Meyer carefully slice off pieces. Last night only a small piece of sausage remained.
I’ll talk to Granny, Libby decided.
Toward the far end of the cabin, there were tables Libby couldn’t see. The moment Pa gave her permission to leave, Libby leaped up from her chair. Walking slowly, she studied each of the people she had not seen. Suddenly she spied a gold-headed cane.
Ah! Libby stopped. But the gentleman using it was definitely not Riggs. Libby turned away in disappointment.
Then her keen artist’s eye rested on a man whose back was turned to her. His hair was the right color. The way he sat seemed familiar. As Libby watched, he took a mustache cup from the waiter. Whoever the passenger was, he needed the special cup to hold his mustache above his coffee.
Like a cat creeping up on a mouse, Libby walked closer. When she saw the man’s face, she felt sure. Riggs!
I’ll follow him! Libby decided. I’ll find out where his cabin is. Then Caleb can keep an eye on him.
Moments later the man looked up. As his gaze met Libby’s, she felt sure of something else. I can’t stand here watching. He’ll know exactly what I’m doing.
Slowly she walked away. Outside the main door of the cabin, she stopped and glanced back. The man who looked like Riggs was still watching her.
I’ll sneak around to another door, Libby decided. But when she reached the door on the side of the cabin, the man was gone!
Libby trembled. I was so close! In one minute I lost him! Again she understood what Jordan meant by a shivery heart. What if the man truly is Riggs, and he’s setting a trap for Jordan even now?
Trying to push aside her fear, Libby decided she would feel better if she talked to Caleb’s grandmother.
On her way to the kitchen, Libby ran into Caleb. “I saw Riggs!” she exclaimed. “But I lost him! He caught me looking and must have gone out a different door.”
“He was in the dining room?” Caleb asked.
“Using a mustache cup. Is there any reason a man would wear a false mustache if it weren’t a disguise?” Libby asked.
Caleb shrugged. “He might want to see if other people like it. But if he looked like Riggs, I’m going to search this whole deck right away. I can go into places where you can’t.”
Once again Libby headed for the pastry kitchen to find Granny. Samson followed close behind.
Caleb’s grandmother had gray-white hair pulled back and twisted into a knot at the top of her head. Smile wrinkles around her eyes made Granny seem young. She took one look at Samson and said, “You can’t come into my nice, clean kitchen.”
As close to the d
oorway as he could get, Samson sat down on his haunches. Tipping his head to one side, he watched every move, as though waiting for a tasty scrap to fall.
“Granny, I have a friend,” Libby started out.
“A friend among the deckers, and you want food.”
Libby stared at her. “How did you know?”
“Because Caleb does the same thing. On every trip he finds a friend. Someone who is starving usually.” Already Gran had taken a cloth from the cupboard. Spreading it out on a counter, she began filling it with thick slices of bread and cheese.
“Fruit,” she said. “Your friend needs fruit more than anything.”
Going to a barrel in the pantry, Granny took an apple—one of the apples Libby barely saw when it was cut up and placed in a design on her plate.
Drawing up the four corners, Granny tied the cloth into a bag and handed it to Libby. “Mind you, be careful,” Granny warned. “Don’t let the other deckers see what you’re doing.”
Libby didn’t need to be told. Carefully she slipped the bag of food inside her coat and went out on deck. As she drew near to where the Meyer family were, Libby heard them singing.
Huddled beneath Libby’s quilt, Elsa sat on top of the woodpile. Mrs. Meyer made room for Libby on the trunk, while Mr. Meyer stood nearby. Without a break in their music, each of them smiled at Libby.
Today Elsa seemed even more pale. Yet her eyes lit up as she joined her parents in singing one song after another. In spite of the German words, one of the songs seemed familiar to Libby. Then she recognized the tune of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Libby had never heard it sung with as much spirit.
Leaning close to Elsa, Libby slipped her the bag of food.
Surprise flashed across Elsa’s face. “Danke, Libby,” she said softly. “Thanks so much.”
“I need to go now,” Libby answered. She wanted to give her friend a chance to eat.
Standing up, Libby started off. She was partway to the next deck when she remembered, I forgot to tell Elsa that in two days we’ll be at Reads Landing.
Libby started back. When she rounded the corner near the family’s space, Libby saw that Elsa had crawled down from the woodpile. Using the trunk as a table, she had opened the cloth and divided the food into three portions.
Quickly Libby backed away. Next time I need to bring more. Enough for all three of them.
CHAPTER 11
Cinderella
All the way up to the texas deck, Libby thought about the Meyer family. In spite of their hard life, there was something warm between them—something that brought them together. Elsa’s face had lit up as if the words of the hymn meant everything to her. Were they singing hymns to keep up their courage?
Libby couldn’t explain her feelings, even to herself. Always they seem so close, Libby thought. They’re a real family.
When she found her father in his cabin, Libby sat down next to him at the large, round table. She told him about Mr. and Mrs. Meyer and Elsa, then said, “I wish we could be a family like that, Pa.”
Pa looked at her in surprise. “Libby, we are a family like that. Don’t you remember telling me that you wanted a never-give-up family?”
Libby remembered all right, but that wasn’t what she meant. “I wish Ma were here again. I wish we could laugh and sing and be together.”
To Libby’s great embarrassment, tears choked off her words. Deep inside, she still felt a longing for her mother. Sometimes Libby missed her mother as though it were yesterday that Ma died, instead of four years ago.
Reaching out, Pa gathered Libby into his arms. “I miss her, too, Libby. I still ache with missing her. Is that what you’re feeling?”
Her head against Pa’s chest, Libby nodded.
“Your ma was a very special woman, Libby. One of a kind, just like you.”
Leaning back, Libby looked up into her father’s eyes. “I’m like Ma?”
“More than I can tell you, Libby.”
“How am I like my mother?” Libby was curious now.
“Well, the most obvious thing is your hair. The pretty auburn color—deep red with gold highlights. And your dark brown eyes. But there’s much more. There’s something about your spirit.”
“What’s that, Pa?”
“It’s the way you look at things. When you get knocked down, you get up again. Remember the first night we were back together?”
Libby nodded. During four long years, she had seen Pa only now and then. Pa had felt that she was too young to live on a steamboat without Ma being there.
Now Pa looked her straight in the eyes. “That’s the night you told me, ‘Pa, I want a never-give-up family. I want a family that believes in me, even when I’m not perfect.’”
“We’re that family?” Libby asked.
“We’re that family, even though it’s just the two of us. We’ll stick together even when it’s hard.”
“Pa, will you keep telling me about Ma?”
Her father smiled. “Whenever you like. First, you need to know her secret codes.”
“Ma had secret codes?” Libby asked.
“Remember when you were a runner in St. Louis? I winked at you.”
Libby remembered all right. That long, slow wink had made her think, Pa feels proud of me.
“That was one of your mother’s secret codes. She started winking right after we were married. Sometimes when we were in public, she wanted to tell me, ‘I love you.’”
“Ma did?”
“She always found a way to have fun. Once she was across the room, and there was someone in between.”
Now Libby remembered. “Ma winked one long wink. A lady named Mrs. Blakely was there.”
“A very prim and proper lady,” Pa said. “Mrs. Blakely had the most perfect manners of anyone I ever met. Her husband was part owner of the Christina then.”
“Ma wanted to say ‘I love you’ in front of her?”
Libby’s pa started laughing with just the memory of it. “Your ma winked at me. I saw her and winked back. Mrs. Blakely didn’t see me, but she noticed your mother. She asked, ‘Do you have something in your eye, Mrs. Norstad?’
“‘Why, yes, I’m afraid so,’ your mother said. She couldn’t say it was love she had in her eye.”
Libby giggled. “But the rest of the afternoon, Ma winked at you!”
Suddenly it was desperately important for Libby to know more. “Pa, how else am I like my mother?”
Her father’s arm tightened around her. “When you smile, I see her smile. When you laugh, I hear her laugh,” Pa said gently. “But you’re also your own special person.”
“So what do you mean?” Libby asked. “How am I like Ma?”
“In the very hardest times, your mother would lift her head and toss her long hair the way you do. She’d say, ‘We’ll go on.’ She’d head upstream, even if it was hard.”
More than once Libby had stood at the window in the captain’s cabin, looking down. Always she liked seeing the bow of the Christina cut through water. It wasn’t easy going upstream.
Downstream, yes, it was easy for the keelboats and rafts that still ran the river when it was free of ice. But people had a hard time going upstream until the steam engine was invented.
“Your mother had courage, Libby. When something went wrong, or in times when I was afraid, she had courage.”
Courage is just what I need, Libby thought as she had before. “Pa,” she asked, “how did Ma get courage?”
“True courage is given by God,” Pa answered simply. “God was important to her.”
He could be important to me too, Libby thought. She remembered the words that had seemed so real in the dark hold of the boat. In spite of her terrible fear, that moment had become special. Is that what it means to know God the way Ma did? The way Pa knows God even now?
Then Libby pushed her wondering aside. I don’t need God for everyday things. Just when I’m desperate.
After classes the next morning, Libby took her pencils and p
aper and went to the area where first-class passengers walked for exercise. While living in Chicago, Libby had taken drawing lessons, and she practiced whenever she could. Someday I’ll be an artist, Libby told herself. But today there was something else to be concerned about. If Riggs comes along, I’ll see him right away.
Next to the railing, Libby dropped down on the deck. Here she could look at the scenery along the shore and also watch any passengers. At first Libby sketched the trees they passed. Some of them had the small, bright green leaves of early spring. Then a young girl and her parents came out on the deck.
Soon Libby started drawing the child. One line here, another line there. Before long the little girl took shape. Libby studied her drawing and felt pleased. Just a few more wispy curls around her face.
As Libby held the picture at arm’s length, the father walked around behind her. “What a good likeness of our daughter!” he told Libby. “Please, can we buy it from you?”
“Buy it?” Libby felt surprised that anyone could be willing to pay for what she had drawn. But the man pulled his wife over to see.
“It’s lovely!” she exclaimed. “Do you do this for all the passengers?”
Libby shook her head. “Just special ones. I noticed your daughter playing.”
“It looks exactly like her,” the mother said. “It would be a lovely keepsake from our trip.”
“Please,” the father said again. “Let us buy it from you.” Digging into a pocket, he felt for his money. “Would this be enough?” he asked as he dropped a small gold coin into Libby’s hand.
Enough? Libby stared down at the money. He wants to pay me all that?
Pulling her thoughts together, Libby offered the smile she often practiced in front of a mirror. “Thanks, that will be just fine,” she answered. “Thank you for liking my drawing.”
“Please sign it,” the mother said quickly.
How do I do that? Libby wondered. Then from her excited thoughts came the memory of a painting in her teacher’s house. Taking up her pencil again, Libby added her name. Libby Norstad, 1857.
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