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 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!

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.