Free The Fiddler's Secret by Lois Walfrid Johnson

I’ve always had a home, a safe place
.
    Forgetting everything else, Libby watched the people leave the
Christina
. Young and old. Single and married. Couples with no children. Parents with few or many children. Some with little baggage, others with much. All with one look. They were eager to begin a new life.
    The fiddler stood among them. Waiting in line, Franz held a carpetbag in one hand and his violin case in the other. Ahead of him a woman with two children balanced a large cloth bag on her shoulder. In spite of the warm evening, she wore a heavy black coat.
    As she started onto the gangplank, the woman reached down, took the hand of the youngest child, and motioned for the other girl to follow. Halfway across the gangplank, the older girl looked down at the dark water and froze.
    Caleb started over to help, but Franz set his belongings on a crate and hurried forward. Taking the child’s hand, he led her safely across.
    Other immigrants streamed forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Libby caught a quick movement. Then the crowd shifted, and Libby saw Franz again.
    â€œTank you, tank you,” the woman said as she reached the levee.
    â€œYou’ll be fine now?” he asked. “You have someone to meet you?”
    â€œYah, my husband, he meet me here.” The woman pointed to the piece of paper pinned to her coat. It read
St. Paul, Minnesota Territory
. “My husband, he come here to work, save money to bring us to America.” She touched the blond hair of the youngest child. “This one he has never seen.”
    Franz wished the woman well and hurried back across the gangplank to the
Christina
. When he reached the crate where he had left his violin and carpetbag, his smile disappeared. Suddenly he cried out. “My violin! It is gone!”
    As Libby whirled around, a tall man slipped through the door into the cargo room.
    â€œCaleb!” Libby called, and the two tore after the man. In the dimly lit area they raced between piles of freight, following the sound of running footsteps.
    Before long the footsteps stopped. Libby and Caleb stopped to listen. From one side of the boat, Libby heard a door close.
    Caleb leaped into action. Libby followed him through the cargo area to the engine room. On the far side Caleb flung open the door. When he and Libby came out on the side deck, it was empty.
    Together they raced along the deck back toward the front of the boat. When Caleb rounded the corner, he stopped so suddenly that Libby crashed into him. Together they scanned the crowd of immigrants still waiting to leave. Not one person moved quickly, as though trying to flee.
    Caleb frowned. “Whoever that thief is, he’s mighty bold.”
    â€œDid you see his face?” Libby asked.
    Neither of them had managed to get a good look. Angryat his failure to catch the man, Caleb pounded his fist against his hand.
    To Libby’s relief Annika was no longer talking to Oliver White. He still stood next to his trunk, waiting for the crowded front deck to clear. Looking concerned, he asked, “Did you find anything?”
    Caleb shook his head. Moving between the deckers, he and Libby made their way over to Franz.
    â€œWhere is it?” he asked. “Where is my violin?”

CHAPTER 8
The Pawnshop

    I t is my work!” the fiddler cried. “The way I earn my living. But it is more!”
    Growing more frantic by the minute, Mr. Kadosa ran his fingers through his hair. “From one father to the next my violin has come. Now I teach it to my son. It is—” He paused to think of the word. “It is great value.”
    â€œVery valuable,” Caleb said.
    Suddenly the fiddler broke into a language Libby didn’t recognize. Just as suddenly he broke off to speak in English. “I come to America because people said it is the land of opportunity. I say it is the land of thieves!”
    â€œOh no!” Libby exclaimed. “Because one man steals