Read Online The Fiddler's Secret by Lois Walfrid Johnson - Free Book Online Page B

Libby had ever heard, the sound terrified her. Leaping up, she ran to her father’s cabin.
    â€œIt’s the Red River oxcarts,” he said, meeting her at the door. “Don’t be afraid.”
    â€œOxcarts?” Libby whirled around. Ahead, she could see nothing but an island and the buildings on the bluffs.
    â€œTwo-wheeled carts filled with furs,” Pa explained. “They come from Pembina, way up at the edge of Minnesota Territory, near the Canadian border. The drivers don’t use grease on the axles. It’s wood turning on wood. People say they hear the squeal for miles.”
    Libby believed it. Though she couldn’t see the carts, the noise was so loud that Pa had to talk above it.
    Going to the railing, he stared upstream. “Usually the drivers reach St. Paul in July. I wonder why they’re here this late in the season?”
    Pa turned to leave. “There might be a hundred carts or more. I need to talk to the passengers. They’ll be frightened too.”
    Libby went back to Peter. By now the
Christina
was close enough for them to see the steamboat landing. Peter still tried to hold Wellington in his arms, but the dog wiggled and squirmed, yipping continually.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with him?” Peter asked.
    Libby pointed to the dog’s ears, made a face showing pain, then covered her own ears with her hands.
    â€œDo you have an earache?” Peter asked. “Does Wellington have an earache?”
    Libby took Peter’s slate. “Oxcarts,” she wrote. “High squeal. Hurts Wellington’s ears. Mine too.”
    Libby motioned toward the streets of St. Paul. “Watch,” she signed. “Maybe we’ll see them.”
    Four other steamboats had already tied up at the Lower Landing. Mr. Fletcher, the pilot, guided the
Christina
to the flat area of land that was the levee.
    Beyond the waterfront a dirt street led up the steep bluff. There Libby saw the oxcarts pass by. Their wheels were huge—five feet high or so. The drivers walked beside their oxen.
    As the
Christina
’s deckhands threw out the lines, Libby hurried down to the main deck to watch. She found Caleb standing near where the gangplank would go down. Seeing him there told Libby that he, too, was eager to visit St. Paul.
    The line of first-class passengers waiting to go on shore were backed up the stairway. Near the steps on the side away from the gangplank, Oliver White stood along the wall. On the deck next to him was his large trunk.
    I wonder how he got back there
, Libby thought, surprised that he hadn’t pushed his way to the head of the line. Then Libby saw that Mr. White was talking with Annika.
    Uh-oh!
Libby thought.
I hope they aren’t becoming friends
. She disliked even the thought.
    The squeal of oxcarts went on and on. Then, to Libby’s relief, it finally stopped. Through the opening between warehouses, she saw men start to unload their carts.
    The moment the
Christina
’s gangplank went out, the first-class passengers streamed across. Waiting their turn, deckers stood with baggage ready and children in hand. The tired, worn look Libby had often seen on the immigrants’ faces was gone. Instead, their eyes were full of hope, their voices eager. The sound of several languages filled the air.
    In the long twilight after sunset, a man carried a young boy across the gangplank. Once clear of the crowd, the man set the boy on his feet and pointed down.
    â€œMinnesota Territory,” he said. “Sure and if we aren’t in the land of opportunity.” Dropping to his knees, the man kissedthe ground. His son dropped down beside him.
    Libby couldn’t imagine herself kneeling in the dirt, touching her lips to the trampled soil of the landing. Yet as she looked around, a woman did the same thing. When she rose to her feet again, excitement lit her face.
    I’ve never really understood
, Libby thought.
With both Pa and Auntie,