Skating with the Statue of Liberty Read Online Free

do.
    Gustave should look to the future, his parents said. Think about America, about the good new life they would have here.
    A-me-ri-ca
, the train wheels started to sing in his ears.
A-me-ri-ca, A-me-ri-ca
. Gustave remembered the way the American flag had looked, waving in the deep blue sky over the train station. The darkness behind his eyes closed in from all sides, and he drifted into sleep.
    —
    Gustave’s head snapped forward, waking him, as the train stopped with a jolt.
    “Where are we?” murmured Maman’s voice. “Not Philadelphia already?”
    “It must be a checkpoint,” Papa said.
    “A border?” asked Aunt Geraldine nervously. “They’re going to check our papers again?”
    “Oh, no. No borders—it’s all one big country,” said Monsieur Benoit. “There must be some mechanical problem with the train.”
    Jean-Paul was awake too, rubbing his eyes. Giselle still flopped, heavily asleep, against Gustave’s side. Beyond the French voices, Gustave heard the Americans talking, sounding indignant at this unplanned stop. In the blackness outside the window, he could see only that they were at a small, dimly lit station.
    The door at the front of the train car opened, letting in a gust of cold air. The conductor stepped in, and behind him came two men with stern faces, one tall and broad-shouldered, the other much more slightly built. All conversation ceased abruptly.
    “Who is Mister Ben-oyt? Mister Arn-owd Ben-oyt?” the bigger of the two men demanded.
    The man’s accent was so strange that it took Gustave a moment to realize that he was saying Monsieur Benoit’s name. A chill ran over him as the conductor pointed toward the French passengers.
    Monsieur Benoit stood up slowly and stepped past Papa into the aisle. Both men walked toward him. The bigger one said something and gestured. Monsieur Benoit held his arms out to his sides. The man examined the flaps of his coat, then patted his hands over Monsieur Benoit’s chest and arms and even down his legs.
    The burly man straightened, his face red, and barkedsomething again. Monsieur Benoit reached up and took down his bags from the rack over the seat. The man examined their exteriors, rubbed at their metal corners, then shook his head and handed them to the thinner man behind him.
    The front door of the car opened again. Two railway men staggered in, carrying Monsieur Benoit’s trunk.
    “Ah!” The burly man squeezed past the thin man and strode toward it. He leaned over.
    “Arn-owd Ben-oyt!” he read out, pointing at the label on the trunk. “Yours?” he demanded.
    “Yes.” Monsieur Benoit spoke the English words quietly. “I am Arnaud Benoit.”
    Huffing, the big man leaned down and scratched at one of the corners of the trunk. The dark paint flaked off. Gustave gasped. Even from his seat, he could see the soft gleam of the trunk’s corner.
    “Gold!” the thinner man said triumphantly. “There it is!”
    Gustave’s heart thudded. Were they all going to be searched?
    The man with the big belly unclasped something from his waist and held it out toward Monsieur Benoit. Light glinted on dull metal. The elderly jeweler held his arms out, and the handcuffs clanked shut around his wrists. He stumbled slightly as the big man pushed him to the side and strode toward the other French passengers, shouting.
    They looked at one another, bewildered. Monsieur Benoit turned around. His face was pale, his hands were shackled awkwardly in front of him, and Gustave sawsweat on his forehead below the brim of his hat. His voice was shaky but still courteous as he translated the command.
    “These gentlemen are from the government, from the FBI. They say that all foreign passengers must get out their papers and bags for inspection. One row at a time. Starting here.”

4
    A low, panicked murmur ran through the railroad car.
    People began to stand and pull at their bags. The thinner of the two FBI agents started patting down another Frenchman from the ship.