The Fiddler's Secret by Lois Walfrid Johnson

“Now you’re makin’ fun of me. There isn’t any colored man who votes.”
    Mr. Thompson smiled. “Not yet, but that’s part of what the problem in St. Paul is about. The Democrats and Republicans are supposed to be writing a state constitution together. Instead, they’re so upset with each other, they’re meeting in separate conventions. The new Republican Party wants to give us colored men the right to vote.”
    Jordan stepped back, staring. “Mr. Thompson, I don’t want to be disrespectful like. But are you telling me the truth?”
    â€œI’m telling you, those Republicans in St. Paul are workingon it. I don’t know if they’ll get it. If they don’t come to a compromise with the Democrats, Minnesota Territory won’t become a state.”
    Jordan shook his head, still not believing. “Mr. Thompson, five months ago I ran away from my master. Five months ago these friends of mine started teachin’ me to read and write.”
    Jordan glanced toward Caleb and Libby. “And five months ago I earned my first nickel. You look like an honest man, Mr. Thompson, but havin’ the right to vote is mighty hard to believe.”
    Mr. Thompson’s smile reached his eyes. “Jordan, when I offered my hand, you took it. Were you trusting me then?”
    As Jordan nodded, his gaze clung to the man’s face.
    Again Mr. Thompson offered his hand. Without blinking, Jordan met it with his. A wide grin spread across his face.
    â€œWhat’s your daddy good at?” Mr. Thompson asked.
    â€œHe’s the best man with horses you’ll ever find.” Jordan’s voice was sure and strong. “People say, ‘Why, that Micah Parker, there ain’t a horse alive that he can’t ride. There ain’t a horse
anywhere
that he can’t train.’ And they’re right!”
    â€œIf you want to bring your family here, look for work,” Mr. Thompson said. “A number of our people work at the Winslow House.”
    â€œIn St. Paul?” Jordan asked.
    â€œThere are two hotels called the Winslow House. One in St. Paul, and one about ten miles from here in St. Anthony. That’s the hotel I’m talking about. Some of the people who work there live at Fort Snelling. Others live in the basement of the hotel till they build their own houses.”
    â€œBuild their own houses?” Jordan’s voice was filled with awe.
    â€œAnd, Jordan, there are seven colored families starting a church.”
    Jordan straightened in the tall, proud look that reminded Libby of royalty. “My momma and my daddy, my sister Serena, my brother, Zack, my little sister Rose, and me—” Excitement filled Jordan’s eyes and face. “We could be the eighth family!”
    â€œHope to see you sometime,” Mr. Thompson said as he started back up the ladder. “Till then, let yourself be free.”
    Again Libby wondered what he meant. But as they left Mr. Thompson, Jordan said, “I just got a taste of freedom that makes me want to do my best in everything!”

    When Libby and the boys returned to the
Christina
, they found the fiddler waiting for them.
    â€œI think the pawnshop will be open by now,” Caleb told him. “The thief might go there. It’s a good place to get rid of something stolen.”
    Peter decided to stay behind. “I need to help your pa,” he told Libby. “He said I could be his cabin boy.” Peter made it sound so important that Libby felt curious.
    As they set out, Caleb explained to Franz and Jordan that a pawnshop was a place where people borrowed money. If a man needed a loan, the pawnbroker would give that man the money in exchange for something to prove he’d pay the pawnbroker back.
    â€œIf I had a watch,” Caleb said, “I’d give it to him. But the pawnbroker wouldn’t give me what it’s worth. He would also charge high interest.