Mysterious Signal (11 page)

A
s though someone had tipped him off, Dexter stood in the path, waiting and watching. After a few minutes he started toward the barn. He was halfway there when the large double doors opened.

Caleb?
Libby wondered.

But Caleb was nowhere in sight. Instead, the driver walked out, alongside his horses. With one glance at Dexter, he left the doors open, climbed to the high seat, and called, “Giddyup!”

When the horses drew close, Dexter had to step out of the way. Yet he seemed to count each barrel. As the wagon passed into the street, Dexter turned to the barn.

Through the open door, Libby saw stalls for horses off to one side. At the back of the wide space where wagons unloaded hay, two barrels sat on the dirt floor.

Dexter had reached the barn when Annika hurried out of the house to ask, “May I help you with something?”

Dexter stopped in his tracks. “Just wondering about those barrels.”

“The barrels,” Annika answered. “Oh yes, the barrels.” She sounded as if she was stalling for time. Walking over to the barn, she closed one door. “Are you a barrel lover by any chance?”

The question seemed to throw Dexter off balance. For a moment he hesitated, then said, “Yes, I like barrels. Could I see how yours are made?”

Annika laughed. “Oh, you’re trying to tease me. You wouldn’t really want to see our barrels. They’re just extras for the people who live here.”

Closing the second door, Annika dropped the wooden latch in place. “It’s good to meet you, Mr.—” She paused, waiting.

Instead of giving his name, Dexter lifted his hat. “Good day, miss.”

As he turned toward the street, Annika started for the house. Yet she stood on the side steps, waiting, until he was a block away.

I wonder if he’s going for a search warrant
, Libby thought.
Annika made sure he stayed interested in those barrels
.

When Annika calmly entered the house, Libby turned away from the window.
Peter
, she thought.
I’ve got to find him this minute
.

To Libby’s relief Peter was sitting at the kitchen table. When Libby saw the late breakfast Annika was making, she sat down at the table next to Peter. Seeing how happy he looked, Libby put off telling him about Dexter. Instead, she watched Annika work.

Libby felt curious about her. “Where is your husband?” she asked.

Annika stiffened. “My husband?”

Uh-oh!
Libby thought.
I asked the wrong question
.

Then Annika smiled, and the tension between them broke. “I haven’t married,” she said.

“But you’re so pretty,” Libby blurted out.

“I’m only twenty-six. Plenty of time to get married yet.”

Still, Libby wondered about it. She knew girls who had married long before they were twenty-six.

When Libby didn’t answer, Annika laughed. “You’re wondering if I’m an old maid.”

Libby felt uncomfortable now. That was exactly what she had been thinking.

Annika’s eyes turned serious. “I don’t want to marry unless I find a man of God—a man who loves and cherishes me the way I want to cherish him.”

Libby had never heard someone put it like that before. Sure, Pa was a Christian. And Ma had been one too. But to give that as a reason for getting married?

Annika’s breakfast was as mouth-watering as it looked. In spite of all she had eaten the previous evening, Libby heaped her plate with pancakes, eggs, and ham, then took a second helping. She always had a good appetite. Now since she looked like a boy, she felt free to eat like one.

Libby ate till she was stuffed, then gobbled even more. Remembering what Caleb said about using a napkin, Libby thought of a boy in her Chicago classroom. Whenever he drank milk, he had a white mustache. Libby didn’t know how to get a mustache without spilling milk down her front. But she could do what he did. Lifting her arm, she wiped her sleeve across her mouth.

No longer able to put it off, Libby knew she had to tell Peter about Dexter. When she touched his hand, Peter looked up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, searching her face.

Libby signed Dexter’s name.

A scared look leaped into Peter’s eyes. “Here?”

Libby took the slate. “He was outside.” Starting with the night before, she wrote quickly, telling Peter about the two men.

Peter stopped her. “You said one was Dexter. Who was the other?”

Libby shrugged her shoulders. She remembered the heavy thuds of the man’s footsteps. Standing up, she stomped her way across the floor. But Peter still had a question in his eyes.

Sitting down once more, Libby took Peter’s hands and plunked them on the table as if someone were walking. This time Peter seemed to understand.

Picking up the slate, Libby wrote again. “Dexter came back this morning. He looked in the barn.”

As Libby wrote, Annika came around behind Libby and watched. Finally Annika asked Libby for the slate.

“You don’t need to be afraid, Peter,” she wrote. “If Dexter comes back, he won’t find you, no matter how hard he searches. You can hide in the secret room I showed you upstairs.”

When Peter smiled, the fear left his eyes. “I think I’ll just stay around the house today.”

“Now,” Annika said to Libby, “since Peter can’t go outside right now, will you carry in some wood for me?”

As usual, Annika looked right at Libby when she spoke.
She doesn’t know my name
, Libby realized.
Come to think of it, no one has mentioned it in front of her
.

When Annika showed her the woodpile, she asked Libby to take from the section of smaller pieces cut for the cookstove. As Annika went back into the house, Libby stared at the wood and wondered what to do.
If I hold the wood close to me, I’ll get all dirty
.

With her hands on both sides of the wood, Libby picked up three small, round unsplit logs. Heading for the house, she carried them out in front of her. But when Libby reached the porch, she needed to set down the wood in order to open the door.

Again she picked up the wood. Still carrying it out in front of her, Libby dropped it into the bin near the cookstove. When she looked up, Annika was watching her.

On the third trip Annika stopped her. “Why don’t you carry a bigger load? It will save you trips.”

This time Libby picked up four pieces. As she carried them between her hands, one piece fell on her foot. “Ow, ow, ow!” she cried out.

As she hopped around on one foot, Annika came outside. Giving Libby no sympathy, she only said, “Let me show you a better way.”

Using her right hand, Annika loaded wood onto her left arm. “This is how boys do it.”

“The way boys do it?” Libby asked weakly.

Annika smiled. “Don’t you think I can tell that you’re a girl?” Carrying an armload of wood, Annika started toward the house.

Libby sighed. After cutting off her hair and trying so hard, she had been found out. She could only be glad it wasn’t Dexter who had seen through her disguise.

This time Libby stacked wood on her arm the way Annika showed her. She had to admit it was easier, and she could even open the kitchen door. But when Libby entered the kitchen, she asked Annika, “How did you know?”

Laughter filled the teacher’s eyes. Picking up a napkin, she daintily patted her lips.

“That’s all?” Libby asked. “That’s the only way you knew?”

“Well, no,” Annika admitted. “You’re doing a good job. But the way you talk doesn’t fit the way you look. You’ve had a good education, haven’t you?”

Libby nodded. In spite of her best efforts to ignore Auntie Vi’s teaching, Libby had turned into more of a lady than she thought. Now she felt foolish about all the ways she had tried to act like a boy. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I knew you must be doing it for a good reason,” Annika answered gently. “I wanted to help you—to protect you.”

“You did.” Libby thought back to the bath and having her own private room. She had felt protected and cared for. “Thanks.”

Annika smiled. “Don’t mention it. But if you go outside at night, please lock the door when you come back.”

By the time Libby finished carrying wood, she had decided she didn’t want to lose the basket again. If she made two more money belts, she and Caleb could divide Pa’s money between them.

Still wearing the dirty, wrinkled overalls and shirt, Libby returned to the first store and bought another yard of cloth. Once again she had dirt on her face and the tongues hanging out of her shoes. Again she used her father’s money, received bills in change, and used one of those bills to pay at the second store.

Instead of giving her the bootlaces she asked for, the storekeeper glared at her from where he stood behind the counter. “I thought it was you!”

“Me?” asked Libby, startled into speaking. After being found out by Annika, Libby had decided to work harder at not talking.

“Yes, you! The good-for-nothing boy who bought laces this morning!”

“Sir,” Libby said politely, “what is wrong with buying bootlaces?”

“There is nothing wrong with buying bootlaces! But there’s plenty wrong with not paying for them.”

Libby felt bewildered. “But I did pay for them!”

The shopkeeper took a long look at her from the dusty shoes to the dirty overalls and shirt, to the bent-out-of-shape hat. Libby felt the hot flush of embarrassment leap into her cheeks.

“Thought you could get by with it, did you?” the shopkeeper asked.

Libby gulped. Had he discovered her disguise? How could she possibly explain she was trying to protect Peter from a crook?

As she tried to think what to say, the man held up the bill she had given him. “This is just exactly like the one you passed off this morning!” Picking up another bill, the shopkeeper waved both of them in her face. “Where did you get these bills?”

“I got them in change at the last store where I shopped!”

“A likely story!” Coming around the counter, the man peered down at Libby. “How could someone like you have so much money that this is your
change
?”

Suddenly Libby felt afraid. She could not possibly tell the shopkeeper that she had carried a picnic basket filled with money all the way from Springfield.

“You gave me counterfeit money this morning!” the shopkeeper exclaimed.

“Counterfeit?” Libby barely breathed. Never in her life had she felt so humiliated.

“Taking goods from a hardworking shopkeeper like me! And giving me worthless money for payment!” The man’s face was red with anger. “Well, you won’t get by with it!”

As he leaned close, Libby jumped back. Filled with panic, she started to run. But when she reached the door, the shopkeeper was there ahead of her.

Libby tried to pass him, but he grabbed her arm. When she pulled away, he tightened his grip.

“Let go of me!” Angry now, she was frightened too.

The more Libby struggled, the tighter the man held her arm. Dragging her along behind him, he passed through the open door and started down the street. “I’m taking you to the city marshal!”

Libby groaned.
The police? With Pa a million miles away? Who can possibly help me?

Walking so fast that Libby had to run to keep up, the shopkeeper pulled her along behind him. For two whole blocks the man dragged her along a busy street. With each step Libby took, she saw heads turn.

“See that naughty boy?” one woman asked her son. “That’s what happens if you steal!”

Finally Libby discovered it was easier to stop struggling. By now her arm was not only sore. It was bruised. And she was only calling attention to herself.

When they reached the police station, the shopkeeper flung open the door. As Libby followed him inside, she had a quick look at three cells. Rough-looking men filled two of them. The third cell was empty. Just seeing the one chair and
cot behind the bars made Libby feel sick.

Her stomach turned over.
I’m going to throw up
. For the first time she felt sorry about the big breakfast she had eaten.
I’m so scared I’m going to throw up all over this place. And if I do …

As she made plans for how she could throw up on the shopkeeper, he jerked to a halt in front of a desk. Looking into the eyes of the city marshal, the shopkeeper drew himself up. As his chest expanded, he finally let go of Libby’s arm.

“Marshal Croon, I am bringing you this young thief to stop his life of crime,” the shopkeeper said. “This morning he gave me a counterfeit bill. When I realized what it was, he had already left. But I knew I had found the person who is passing counterfeit bills around our law-abiding city.”

“That so?” asked the marshal. “And how did you catch him?”

“Just now he came back to my store. Returning to the scene of his crime, he was. He even tried to buy more bootlaces.”

“Hmmm.” The sharp eyes of the marshal studied Libby. “Stranger in town, aren’t you?”

Libby nodded, feeling even more uncomfortable with her dirty, wrinkled shirt and too-short overalls. More than that, she felt afraid.
One look at me, and he thinks I’m a thief
.

Then Libby felt frantic.
What if the marshal discovers I’m wearing a disguise? He will certainly believe I passed counterfeit money!

“And where do you live, young man?” the marshal asked Libby.

“On a boat.” Libby’s voice was small.

“A boat?” The shopkeeper snorted. “In the middle of the Illinois prairie you live on a boat?”

“Yes, sir,” Libby answered, but her eyes were on the marshal.

“And where are your parents?” he asked kindly.

“Ma died over four years ago,” Libby answered. “My pa—I’m not sure where he is right now.”

“See?” asked the shopkeeper. “A homeless waif. A good-for-nothing boy. Passing counterfeit money to rob me of my livelihood!”

Marshal Croon leaned forward, looking straight into Libby’s eyes. “Is that true, young man?”

Again Libby felt sick. Afraid to open her mouth, she shook her head.

“Speak up!” urged the shopkeeper. “Admit it now. Tell him you’re working for a ring of counterfeiters! Tell him—”

“Just a minute!” The marshal held up his hand.

But Libby could think about only one thing.
What if he puts me in a cell with one of those awful-looking men?