Caught in the Act (11 page)

Terrified, Mike cried, "I didn't! I wouldn't do a thing like that. I know those are prize cattle."

Mr. Friedrich stopped, turned, and glared at Mike. "We have work that must be done," he said. "We wiU not talk of this matter until tonight."

"You're going to beat him. Papa, aren't you?" Gunter asked.

Mike gasped, but Gunter continued, "And send him back to New York, where he belongs!"

"Get to work, both of you," Mr. Friedrich ordered. He reached for the mules' lead, and Mike ran, stumbling over the broken earth, to the spot where he had been removing stones when the bell had rung. He worked without stopping until Marta rang the bell to call them to dinner.

When Mr. Friedrich bowed his head for the blessing and loudly prayed for guidance in his treatment of Michael, Mike slumped in his chair. His hands and feet were numb, and chills shook his backbone as Mr. Friedrich wondered aloud as to the wisdom of keeping a boy who continued his evil ways without a shred of repentance.

Over and over Mike thought. He can't send me back! Not to Tombs Prison! He can't! The food could have been boiled hay, for all Mike knew. He was so frightened he could barely taste or swallow.

After dinner the four returned to the north field and worked until the sun had disappeared behind the western hills. It was dark by the time the cows were brought back to the bam, so they fed and cared for the animals by lantern light. Mike ached with exhaustion as he stumbled toward the basin of water at the back stoop and shed his gloves and coat.

As Mike reached for the lump of lye soap, Mr. Friedrich's hand clamped on his shoulder and pulled him back. "We have something to talk about," he said. "I have made my decision."

Reuben and Gunter turned, their eyes on Mr. Friedrich. Mike could see that Reuben was wary, but Gunter's expression was gleeful. Mr. Friedrich waved an impatient hand at them and said, "Wash quickly and go inside. This has nothing to do with either of you."

Gunter began to splash noisily, but Reuben said, "Mike is just a boy."

"Who is in my care, not yours!" Mr. Friedrich interrupted. "You heard me—go inside!"

Mike took a deep breath and tried to stand as tall as he could, even though Mr. Friedrich's hand was like a heavy weight pushing him down. "Mr. Friedrich, I did not open the gate to let your cattle out."

"Don't lie. It only makes your offense worse."

"Fm not lying. Fm telling the truth."

"Gunter saw you at the pasture when you should not have been there."

"That's right" Gunter said.

"I wasn't at the pasture. I was filling the wood bin for Marta. Gunter told me she asked for more wood."

"We will see about that," Mr. Friedrich said. He bellowed, "Marta!" so loudly that Mike winced.

The door flew open, and Marta, still wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, poked her head outside. "What is the matter? What do you want?" she asked.

"The answer to a question," Mr. Friedrich said. "This morning, did you tell Gunter that more wood was needed here in the bin?"

She looked puzzled. "No," she said. "There was plenty of wood in the bin. Mike filled it yesterday evening."

"But Gunter said^" Mike began.

*That's enough," Mr. Friedrich snapped. "All of you—^go

inside the house." He whirled, nearly dragging Mike off his feet, and marched rapidly back to the bam. In the lantern light his shadow swept ahead like a monstrous giant.

Inside the bam, Mr. FYiedrich put down the lantern and studied Mike. "I have decided not to send you back to New York, Michael. I have accepted the responsibility of teaching you to live a good, moral life, but you are making my task a difficult one. It is hard for me to understand why you cannot see the evil of your ways."

"Fm not evil!" Mike cried. He winced as Mr. Friedrich's fingertips dug into his shoulder, but anger gave him the courage he needed to continue. **Let me tell you what happened—why the cattle were let out of the pasture."

"Very well. I will listen. I pride myself on being a just man."

Mike had a different opinion about that, but he was desperate for a chance to explain. "Gunter wants you to send me back to New York. He made up that story about Marta wanting extra wood in the bin so that Fd be away from my regular chores without an excuse. And he also lied about seeing me at the pasture, because he's the one who unlatched the gate so the cattle could get out."

"You are calling my son a liar?" Mr. Friedrich's face darkened with fury, and he puffed up like a fat rooster ready to fight.

"Fm telling only the tmth," Mike said.

His hand still clenching Mike's shoulder, Mr. Friedrich reached to a nail on the nearby wall and pulled down the short leather strap that was hanging on it. "I made a mistake before," he said. "I was too lenient. 1 will not make that mistake again."

"No!" Mike stmggled. "You can't beat me! I didn't do anything wrong!"

But Mr. Friedrich raised the strap and brought it down with a crack on Mike's legs.

"No!" Mike shouted again. As he bent and twisted, trying to escape, the blow was so painfid that tears blurred his eyes.

"Stop!" Reuben's voice from the doorway startled both Mike and Mr. Friedrich, who straightened and turned.

*This is not your affair," Mr. Friedrich snapped.

"I am not going to let you beat Mike," Reuben said.

Mr. Friedrich's words came out in a slow hiss, "And I am not going to let a hired hand—or whoever you are— interfere with the way I raise a boy in my care."

"You do not raise a boy by beating him."

"My father raised five sons, and he could be proud of each of them. He never spared a beating when it was necessary. I should have remembered this, before it was too late."

"How could a beating ever be necessary? It is simply a large, strong man causing pain to a boy too small to fight back."

"You are wrong. As my father said, a beating is one sure way of teaching a child to behave properly. And any boy of mine—" Suddenly Mr. Friedrich stopped speaking.

Reuben was insistent. "You'll only teach this boy that some day he can be large and strong enough to hurt someone else who is defenseless."

"You have no right to say these things!" Mr. Friedrich's voice rose, and the red rims around his eyes widened. "You say you live as a laborer. You drift from job to job, never amounting to anything. I am a hardworking, prosperous citizen who has earned his position."

Reuben shook his head sadly. ''Those who have wealth mvst he watchful and wary. Power, alas! naught hut misery hringsr

"What do you mean?" Mr. Friedrich demanded. "Are you threatening me?"

"I was simply quoting Thomas Haynes Bayly."

"Who is Bayly? Is he the one who has sent you here? What does he want from me?"

"Sent me here?" Reuben looked puzzled. "Bayly is long dead, but when he was alive he was a poet, a man of great observations."

"Ach! Poet!" Mr. Friedrich spat his contempt.

Reuben took a few steps forward, holding out a hand. "If there was a lesson to be learned, Michael has already learned it. Come now, Mr. Friedrich. You are hungry, and your supper will be cold."

"For your information, I am always watchful," Mr. Friedrich muttered. His eyes narrowed, and he peered at Reuben with suspicion, then dropped his hand from Mike's shoulder.

Mike quickly stumbled off, trying to knead away the pain that throbbed from the spot where he'd been gripped so tightly.

"Hang up the strs^. You won't need it again," Reuben told him.

Mr. Friedrich glanced at the strap, then at Mike, as though he didn't remember why Mike was there. He blinked a few times and grumbled, "Michael, you wiU go to bed without your supper, and there will be no more nusbehavior on your part." Without another word he flung the strs^ to the ground and strode from the bam.

Mike took Reuben's hand and looked up at him. *Thank you," he whispered.

"I'm sorry he hurt you," Reuben said.

"I was telling the truth," Mike said. "I hope you believe me."

Reuben nodded. "I do." He picked up the lantern, leading Mike toward the house. The night air was cold and smelled of rotting leaves and rain, so they quickened their steps.

"He thinks someone sent you after him," Mike said. "He's afraid of you. Do you know why?"

"No." Reuben shrugged, "rm just a quiet, hardworking man who is waiting to go back to the river I love. He knows that."

"He suspects that you're someone else." Mike stopped and tugged at Reuben's arm. Fear trickled down his backbone like drops of icy water. "I think IVe figured out what happened! Mr. Friedrich murdered someone named Ulrich in Germany, so he ran away to the United States. All along he's been afraid someone would come after him, and now he thinks you're the one. He's killed someone before, Reuben. What if he decides to kill you, too?"

Reuben put a hand on Mike's shoulder. "You have no proof of any of this. It's all what you imagine to have happened. Haven't you ever heard the expression, *Give a man the benefit of the doubt'?"

"Why won't you Usten?"

Reuben smiled. "I've listened. I'll think about your advice, and in turn I'll give you some of my own. Those who must live with Gunter should be watchful and wary, too."

Mike saw the twinkle in Reuben's eyes, but he answered seriously. "That I'll be, never fear. Gunter will never again get the better of me."

Later, Mike climbed into bed and burrowed his face into his feather pillow to shut out the tantalizing smells of the food the others were eating. As he thought of what Gunter had done to him, anger sizzled like a burning log inside his chest. Into the darkness he vowed, "Gunter will get his due, and I'll find out what Mr. Friedrich is afraid of, no matter what."

u

"Get up!" Mr. Friedrich shouted. "Be quick about it!" Mike groaned as the hammering on his door awoke him from sleep. He rubbed his fingers through his hair as he tried to remember exactly what he had heard during the night. There had been an argument. Loud voices—Reuben's and Mr. Friedrich's. Had they been part of his dreams, or had they been real?

Mike shook away the trailing edges of sleep and confusion. He leaned over the basin, splashing cold water on his face and rubbing it briskly with the towel.

As usual, a lantern glowed from inside the barn. On Sundays the animals had to be tended even earlier than during the week. Mike quickly dressed and slipped from the house to join Reuben. Although his stomach rumbled loudly from hunger, he'd eat later in the kitchen with Reuben rather than suffer through a miserable meal with Gunter and Mr. Friedrich. He understood now why Marta preferred to eat in the kitchen.

1 Reuben was pouring fiill buckets of nulk into the large milk can when Mike entered the bam. He smiled a good morning at Mike and worked at his usual steady pace, so Mike decided that the argument he had heard was just part of his troublesome dreams and let it vanish from his mind.

After Reuben and Mike forked clean hay into the stalls, they went to the kitchen, where Marta dished up heaping plates of ham and biscuits swinuning in a thick milk gravy for them. "If you want more, there is plenty," she said, and went back to work cleaning squash and stringing beans, all the while humming to herself.

The salty, creamy fragrance that rose from the plates tickled Mike's nose and made him suddenly aware of his hunger. Without pausing, he gobbled down every bite of the food and mopped up the last puddle of gravy with a warm biscuit.

When Mike finally dropped his fork onto his plate, Marta rested a hand on his shoulder and snuled at him. "You did not get a bath last night, so Mr. Friedrich wants you to bathe all over with the water in your basin." She winked and lowered her voice. "Don't look so horrified. IVe heated some water over the fire. Take the kettle with you and—here—this extra towel. The others are busy dressing for their trip to the church. They won't see you with the kettle, if you hurry."

Mike grinned his thanks, grabbed the kettle, and raced up the stairs.

He seemed to be always racing, always running, always being jarred from sleep, and he wished for just one quiet, peaceful moment.

He stripped off his clothes and scrubbed all over. The room was chilly, but the hot water and soap felt good. Mike dressed in trousers, shirt, and a jacket that Gunter had long ago outgrown. The trousers were much too full, so he pulled them in tightly with the piece of rope he

used for a belt. The shirt had been washed so often that the material was thin, and the sleeves of the jacket were too long, but Mike didn't mind. The shirt was soft, and he could tuck his hands inside the long sleeves to keep them warm. He pulled on his socks, boots, outer coat, cap, and gloves and clomped down the stairs, with the empty kettle hidden under the towel until he was safely in the kitchen.

"Hurry, hurry! Be off with you!" Marta opened the door and shooed him from the kitchen with a gentle push. *The Friedrichs are all in the wagon, ready for their ride to church. If you were any later, they wouldn't wait for you!"

The wagon was already under way. Mike hesitated. It wasn't his fault if they wouldn't wait, was it? Then he could sit by the kitchen fire and talk with Marta and Reuben and maybe hear more river stories and even some poetry. And it wouldn't surprise him a bit if ...

'*Do you want to be in even more trouble than you are now?" Marta hissed.

"No!" Mike answered. He raced toward the wagon and managed to scramble up the back, then flopped into the empty wagon bed as the wheels jounced and shuddered through the ruts on the drive. As the horses made a sharp turn to pull the wagon onto the road, Mike struggled for balance but was tossed onto his back. He squirmed into a fairly contfortable position and lay back contentedly with his head on the palms of his hands, looking up at the threads of gray and white clouds that scudded over a pale sky. Reuben had said there was a difference in the sky over land and the sky over water. There was so much that Reuben had seen that Mike would like to see, too.

"Sit up properly," Mr. Friedrich's voice boomed.

Obediently Mike did, clinging to the side of the hard wagon bed. He wished there were a folded quilt in the

wagon to cushion the hard jolts on his backside, but there was nothing besides a large hamper of food, a large folded piece of canvas, and himself. He tucked the canvas underneath his bottom, but it was every bit as firm and uncomfortable as the wagon bed.

"Marta is a stubborn girl," Mr. Friedrich said to his wife. "I think she refuses to go with us to church just to show she is angry with me for not allowing Corey Blair to see her."

Mike held his breath, listening intently.

"Do not think hard of her," Mrs. Friedrich said. "Marta is more comfortable in her own church than she is in ours."

"She should respect my wishes," Mr. Friedrich said. *That is all she needs to concern herself with." He paused for a moment, then added, "I am worried that she will not be as loyal to us as she should be."

"I—I have talked to her." Mrs. Friedrich's voice rose as she nervously clutched at her husband's arm. "We must trust her. There is nothing else we can do."

Mr. Friedrich turned to give his wife a long, hard stare before he said, "Oh yes, there is something else."

"Hans! What do you mean?"

"Never mind," he said. "This is not the time to talk about it. We will talk of something else."

He began to discuss a new cream separator he had heard of, and Mike leaned back against the side of the wagon and tried to concentrate.

Was Marta in danger, too? If Mr. Friedrich couldn't trust her, what was it he had in mind to do? Mike shuddered. He wished Marta would stay away from Corey, but he knew she wouldn't. He'd seen the way she'd bustled about the kitchen this morning. He'd heard her hununing to herself. Was he the only one who guessed that Corey would ignore everything that Mr. Friedrich