Mike heard a crack of a twig in the woods nearby and looked up sharply, but he didn't see anything. Probably a squirrel or a rabbit, he decided, and tumed back to Reuben. "Wouldn't it be safer to work on one of the big steamboats?"
"Steamboat hands have their problems, too," Reuben replied. "Each man to his own choice, and mine is the
flatboat." He sighed. 'Wwr einen Sommer gonnt, ihr Gewaltigenr
Mike stared at him. **What does that mean?"
"Only one summer grant me, you nughty ones! It's German. Holderlin—^my mother's favorite poet. My mother was German. Holderlin loved his country so much."
"Are you German like the Friedrichs?" Mike asked.
"Not like them. But my heritage stems from their country."
Mike heard a small noise again, but it was farther away. He listened again. Maybe a deer, from the sound of it. Too heavy for a smaller animal. The gentle noises of the country were so different from the ones he knew so well in the city, but one by one Mike was beginning to recognize them.
Reuben's long legs bent like a pretzel as he scrambled to his feet. "Up, up," he said, "and back to work. You keep tying while I get one of the mules to help us cart these bundles to the shed."
The rest of the day Mike worked hard to keep up with Reuben. There were the animals to care for and feed, tools to mend, the vegetable garden to hoe, and wood to carry to the outdoor bin and those beside the fireplaces. When Marta finally rang the bell to call the men to supper, Mike was so exhausted he wanted only to fall into bed.
"Don't anger Mr. Friedrich," Marta whispered to Mike. "Wash up—all the way to the elbows—comb your hair, and come to the table." She winked and gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Be quick about it, too!"
Mike splashed his face and arms with water, shivering as he scrubbed hard with the lump of lye soap. In a way, he hated to remove all the warm, comfortable smells of the cows and bam and fresh-chopped wood and meadow grasses. This country life wasn't half bad, if you didn't mind a more-than-generous share of hard work.
Mike wondered how his brother Danny was faring. Did he have cows to send to pasture and bring back to the bam at night? Wouldn't it have been grand if they could have worked side by side? But instead they'd been parted, and he didn't know when he'd ever see his brother again.
Mike thought about the couple who had chosen Danny and Peg. They looked pleasant and he hoped they were good people, but he didn't know enough about them to tell for sure. Would they make a good home for Danny and Peg? Would they know how badly Danny had missed Da, and how much he needed the love of a father? If Danny ever needed his big brother, would he be able to let Mike know? Mike rubbed hard at his face with the linen towel. He knew enough to hurry without a warning from Marta and pushed thoughts of his fanuly to the back of his mind.
Throwing a longing glance toward his comfortable bed, Mike ran from his room and down the stairs, arriving in the dining room before the others. He overheard voices in the parlor.
"But they were. Papa." It was Gunter, insisting. "I couldn't hear all they said, but I certainly recognized German words. Reuben was speaking to Mike in German!"
Mike was startled. It hadn't been a deer. The noise he had heard in the woods had been Gunter, spying!
"Michael! You are here already!" Mrs. Friedrich spoke loudly, and there was sudden silence in the next room. Mr. Friedrich, Gunter close behind him, appeared in the doorway. They stared at Mike with such deep suspicion that Mike frantically tried to think of the right thing to say.
"I got here first, which probably means I'm the hungriest!" He tried to sound cheerfiil and hoped his laughter didn't sound as false to them as it did to himself.
"Why did you not come into the parlor to join us?" Mr. Friedrich demanded.
"In the parlor? Oh, is that where you were?" Mike asked. He saw the muscles in Mr. FYiedrich's jaw begin to relax.
"Be seated," Mr. Friedrich barked, apparently satisfied that Mike hadn't overheard Gunter. Mike gladly slipped into his chair.
Mike folded his hands for Mr. Friedrich's prayer. He tried to concentrate, and at first he did, but as Mr. Friedrich droned on and on, Mike's thoughts focused on the mealtimes his true family had shared in New York City. He could picture everyone seated around the table.
Ma would bow her head to say the blessing, sometimes reaching out to tap a hand that was trying to snatch a crumb. Mike couldn't figure out how Ma could see with her eyes closed, but she never missed a trick. Their meals together—even though since Da had died the portions were often too small to fill their stomachs— were usually noisy, cheerful times, with each of the Kellys having something to say and not always waiting for a turn in which to say it.
Mike saw Ma's ready smile as she helped Petey, the youngest Kelly. He thought of Peg, who never could seem to sit still, even while she was eating, and Danny, with his mischievous grin, and Megan, with her gentle ways, and Frances Mary, who tried to be as grown-up as Ma, but who could easily collapse into a fit of giggles anytime Mike had a mind to make silly faces.
Suddenly Da's sunburned face, with the laugh crinkles around his eyes, came into Mike's mind so strongly that he clenched his hands together tightly. O/i, Da, he thought, the troubles began when you left us! Why did you have to die?
The memory hurt so much that Mike's stomach ached, and tears rushed to his eyes, some of them escaping before he could rub them away.
"Michael." Mr. Friedrich was calling his name.
Mike immediately came back to the present, terrified that Mr. Friedrich would be angry again. But the man was actually smiling.
"I see that your heart was touched." Mr. Friedrich nodded with self-satisfaction. "I believe there is hope for you if you will keep in mind the fearful picture I have just described of the afterlife that waits for those who wiU not mend their wicked ways."
Mike nodded. He pulled a cotton handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, hoping he could cover the surprise that must have shown on his face. That was a narrow squeak!
Marta carried in a huge tureen filled with a thick soup, and dark wheat bread and butter to go with it.
Mrs. Friedrich's eyes twuikled as she watched Mike eat. "Do you like my soup, Michael?" she whispered.
Mike closed his eyes, savoring the deep, rich taste of the mingled vegetables, spices, and beef. "It's far too good to be called soup," he murmured.
She giggled. 'There's warm gingerbread to follow, and, just for you, the rest of last lught's spiced peaches."
Gunter raised his head from his soup plate. "I want peaches, too."
'There is only enough for one portion," Mrs. Friedrich said, "and Michael shall have it. He must fatten up and grow strong and tall."
Gunter glared at Mike, but Mike didn't care. He was too sleepy now to worry about Gunter, and those peaches had been awfully good. He did notice that during the rest of the meal Gunter wore a scowl. Gunter's expression grew darker when Mr. Friedrich finally laid his fork on his empty plate and said, "Get to bed now, Gunter. With school tomorrow, you must get an early start."
"School?" Mike's eyes flew open, and he sat up eagerly. At last! Andrew MacNair had told them they'd have schooling, and Mike couldn't wait until it started.
"We have a schoolhouse, just two nules away," Mrs. Friedrich began to explain. *The teacher is a fine young woman who boards with—"
"Enough!" Mr. Friedrich interrupted. "Michael will not be going to school."
Mike forgot to be cautious and blurted out, "But we were told that we were to get schooling until we were fourteen."
Mr. Friedrich shrugged. "You wiD be sent to school— someday. To leam one thing at a time is better than trying to fill the mind with too much at once. For now you must be trained in the work to be done on the farm."
"But I could do both!" Mike insisted. "FU work hard. I promise!"
"We will not talk again of schooling until you're used to your new home and duties," Mr. Friedrich said. Without another word he pushed back his chair and left t
he dining room. Mrs. Friedrich followed. Gunter paused only to smirk at Mike, then hurried to join his parents. Mike could hear the boards groan and snap under their weight as they started up the stairs.
Maybe Mr. Friedrich wovid change his mind if I told him that I can already read, and I won't need to spend too much time studying, Mike thought. He began to follow them, but stopped when he heard the low growl of Mr. Friedrich's whisper.
"Oh, no!" Mrs. Friedrich whimpered. "AU these years youVe been afraid they would send someone after you. Do you think that Reuben—"
"Quiet!" Mr. Friedrich snapped, and Mike slid back against the wall, melting into the shadows.
He slipped into the dining room and stood by the table, trying to piece together and understand all the strange facts he'd heard: Ulrich, the one who had died, had been a thief. For some reason Mike still didn't know.
Mr. Friedrich had been afraid for a long time that someone would be sent after him. Mike's nund raced. There could be only one reason for this fear—Mr. Friedrich had murdered Ulrich.
Horrified at his conclusion, Mike caught his breath. Now Mr. Friedrich suspected that Reuben was the one who was after him. Was it only because Reuben had spoken German? Was Reuben really after Mr. Friedrich? No, Mike told himself. Reuben just knew German poetry.
But Mike realized he had to talk to Reuben about Mr. Friedrich's suspicions. If Mr. Friedrich had killed one man—
Mike squared his shoulders. He was wasting time talking to himself. He had to help with the dishes and get himself to bed. He reached for a bowl but stopped as a deep yawn shuddered through his body.
Marta swung into the room and began to stack the plates. She took a look at Mike. "You're asleep on your feet," she said. "Go on to bed."
"m help you," Mike said, and he picked up the bread platter and the butter dish to carry to the kitchen.
"Hans Friedrich is a hard man," Marta said with a sigh, as she placed the dirty dishes on the table. "He should send you to school."
Mike looked up, surprised. "You heard?"
"There isn't much that Marta misses." Mike turned to see Reuben sitting in a chair in the dim light next to the fireplace.
"I like to know what goes on in this house," she said. "You'd know, too, if you could ever get your long nose out of that book." She shook her head in wonder as she turned to Mike. "Would you believe that Reuben reads while he's eating?"
"I can believe that," Mike said. "That's what I did with my book at home."
Marta studied him. "Do you really know how to read?"
"Yes," Mike said proudly. "Da and Frances taught me.
"Can you cipher?" Reuben asked. As Mike looked puzzled, Reuben explained, "Add and subtract figures."
"A little."
"Then perhaps while we work I can teach you some of the science of mathematics, besides giving you an introduction to the language of poetry." Reuben held up his worn poetry book as though it were a treasure.
Marta made a face. "If youVe like me," she said to Mike, "you won't understand that poetry at all." Her eyes crinkled with laughter as she added in a conspiratorial tone, "I don't know why those poets couldn't just say what they had to say in plain words we could all understand."
Mike's answer didn't get out as his words were swallowed by another gigantic yawn.
"Go to bed," Marta said. *The day begins only too early around here, and you look more than ready for sleep."
"I'll bid you good night, too," Reuben said, and left the kitchen before Mike could warn him of anything.
The moment the door had closed behind Reuben, Mike said, "Marta, if you know what goes on in this house, then you must know why Mr. and Mrs. Friedrich are afraid."
Her eyes opened wide, and her lips parted as though she had something to say, but before she had the chance Mike asked, "Why would someone from Germany be sent after Mr. Friedrich? You know, don't you?"
Marta grasped Mike by the shoulders and held him tightly, her face so close to his he could feel her warm breath on his skin. "Never ask me such questions again! What happened in Germany is over! It is not something to talk about! And it is nothing for you to know!"
"Just tell me one thing." Mike was insistent. "You've
told me that you're not afraid of Mr. Friedrich, but that's not all the truth, is it?"
The despair on Marta's face was all the answer Mike needed. He pulled away and hurried up the stairs before she spoke.
In his room, with the door tightly closed, Mike raised the lower sash of his window, pulled off his shoes, and threw back the quilt on his bed. But when he saw what lay in his bed, he jumped back and clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a cry. Sprawled in the middle of the bed was the hideous squashed body of a large pond frog.
Quickly, Mike shot a glance to each side, then stooped to look under the bed; Gunter was not in the small room, and there was nowhere else to hide. Mike gingerly picked up the ugly mess by the toes of one leg, carried it to the window, and tossed it outside.
Mike pulled the window down, scrubbed at his hands in the basin of water, and used the comer of his towel to rub at the place where the frog had lain. Everyone knew that if you touched a frog you could get warts. Just to be safe, he scrubbed his hands again.
Mike placed the towel over the spot and was so exhausted that he stumbled into bed. He tried to push the frog out of his nund. Stupid Gunter! Did he think he'd upset Mike for more than an instant with that sickening frog? Gunter wasn't even smart enough to come up with anything but dumb, childish tricks.
Mike tugged the puffy down quilt up to his ears, grudgingly admitting to himself that he had been caught again by one of those tricks. He shivered as he wondered, what would Gunter try next?
While Gunter went to school, Mike learned more about farm work. Days passed quickly, and at night Mike collapsed into bed after supper. On Saturday night the high-backed iron tub was pulled into the kitchen in front of the stove, and everyone took a bath in turn. On Sunday Mike rode to church with the Friedrichs, and Malta set off on foot toward her own church.
All this time, Mike kept a sharp eye on Gunter whenever he was nearby. He knew that at times Gunter spied on him and Reuben, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He told Reuben about the conversations he had overhead, but Reuben shook his head and reminded him that an active imagination could cause Mike more trouble than he'd bargained for. *The only German I know is from Holderlin's poetry and from some of my mother's *01d Country' expressions," Reuben added.
"Don't you see how Mr. Friedrich stares at you, with his eyes all narrow and tight?" Mike demanded. "He acts
so strangely and suspiciously toward you, surely you must be aware of it."
"All I know about Mr. Friedrich is that he*s a frugal, hardworking man," Reuben said. "And that's all I need to know. Whatever problems a man has are his own business and no one else's."
Mike ducked his head at the reprimand, but Reuben's attitude did nothing to lessen his fear of Mr. Friedrich.
Often Mike caught Gunter glaring at him through slitted eyes with such hatred that he stayed on guard, waiting for Gunter's next mean trick.
At the same time, Mike had to battle his own jealousy toward Gunter, who was sent to school in spite of his complaints that it was a waste of time, that the teacher didn't like him, and that Ezra, the youngest Blair boy, had knocked him down and bloodied his nose because he'd seen Gunter snitching a large slab of molasses cake from someone's dinner pail.
Gunter's lower lip curled down in a pout when he told the story. "I was just having fun. Ezra didn't give me a chance to explain."
*Those Blairs are a bad lot," Mr. Friedrich said. "Well, I hope you gave him as good as he gave you."
"I couldn't," Gunter muttered. "He's stronger, and the other boys were on his side."
"Oh, my poor Gunter," Mrs. Friedrich had said, sighing. "Maybe you should tell the teacher how those boys are bullying you."
At the time it was all Mike could do to keep from laughing aloud. The
next morning, when he told Reuben the story as they worked to mend the fence in the high pasture, he did laugh, loudly and freely.
"Be careftd of that Gunter," Reuben said. "It will make your life easier if you don't cross him."
"I'll be careftd," Mike said. But at that moment nothing about Gunter,could really worry him. The air was
chill, but the sun was high and bright, and a sweet, sharp fragrance rose from the knee-deep golden grasses and clover. Bruna ran through the meadow, jumping and snapping at a bright butterfly.
Mike carefully helped to steady the support that Reuben had tightly wedged against the fence post while Reuben drove the post into place with heavy blows from a mallet. When they had finished, Mike stepped back and slowly turned to look out at the patches of forest and meadow, which lay before him in a gold and green patchwork.
"I wonder if this is anything like Ireland," he said. "Ma often said that Ireland was the most beautiful place on the earth, and Tm thinking that this place must be close to it."
Reuben wiped his sleeve across his forehead and snuled. "There's much in this world that's beautiftd, Mike. Fve heard there are mountains to the west that are higher than you can imagine, and rivers with water so clear you can see fish hiding on the bottom sands."
"Have you seen these things?" Mike asked.
"No, but they're there for the viewing."
"Will you go to those mountains and rivers someday?"
Reuben laughed. "Fll go back to my old and treacherous friend, the Missouri, which is sometimes so muddy that a few foolhardy souls have tried to walk on it."
Mike smiled. "Fd like to see the mountains. Fm going to travel farther west some day."
"Then do so," Reuben said. ''Wings have we — and as far as we can go we may find pleasure: wilderness and woody blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood which with the lofty sanctifies the low.''
Caught in the Act Page 5
