Race for Freedom (13 page)

As close to the doorway 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

A
ll 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 paper 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
.

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!