The Fiddler's Secret (12 page)

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.

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.”