"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 t
he 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
had told him and would visit Marta while the Friedrichs were gone?
As his mind wandered he thought about himself. Sooner or later Mr. Friedrich would begin to wonder how much he knew about what they had done, and Mr. Friedrich would come up with a plan to get rid of him. Who'd miss a poor, homeless boy? No one—even Andrew MacNair—would question whatever they said about him. "How sad," the Friedrichs would sigh. "Poor Michael fell into the well and drowned." Or, "That ungrateful boy ran away. Where did he go? We have no idea." Mike shuddered, in dread fear for his life. And Reuben? Marta? How was he going to manage to save any of them?
Mike's mind was still in a turmoil when he heard other horses and voices and realized they had arrived at the church grounds. Dutifully he climbed from the wagon and followed Mr. Friedrich and Gunter at a safe distance into the church. Gunter sat on the bench to the left of his father, and Mr. Friedrich pulled Mike down on his right. On the other side of the church Mrs. Friedrich— smiling and murmuring—seated herself with the women.
Mike liked the singing. He found himself aching with longing to hear Ma's strong, full voice. Oh, if she were only here, wouldn't everyone in this building know it and be glad for it!
Mr. Friedrich nudged him sharply with an elbow, and Mike sang louder, stumbling through the unfamiliar hynm. Thankful when they had reached the last note, he flopped into his place on the bench. He tried not to daydream during the rest of the service, well aware of Mr. Friedrich's sharp elbow, but his thoughts kept skittering. The preacher spoke about loving thy neighbor, which Mike decided he agreed with. He liked the Blairs, although he couldn't understand why they believed in slavery. Mike thought he knew how it felt to be a slave. He threw a quick
glance sideways at Mr. Friedrich, hoping the man couldn't read his thoughts.
But it turned out not to be just neighbors like the Blairs the preacher was talking about, but everybody. RidicaUms! Mike thought. There was no way he wanted to love the judge who had threatened him with Tombs Prison, or Mr. Crandon, or Mr. Friedrich, or Gunter. Sure and the preacher might have a fine idea of what heaven would be like, but the man didn't know the Friedrichs very well or he'd think twice about that business of loving everyone.
When the service was over, people met outside, clustering in groups to talk and laugh. Mike noticed that although a number of the women were friendly with Mrs. Friedrich, not too many of the men came to talk to Mr. Friedrich. Two girls with pigtails down their backs stared with curiosity at Mike, but they stuck out their tongues when they saw Gunter and ran away giggling.
Some of the women had already spread cloths on the ground and were putting out bowls of food from the baskets they had brought, but Mr. Friedrich glanced impatiently at the sky, which was muddying to a darker gray, and strode over to the cluster of women around his wife. He touched the brim of his hat to them, then reached for her arm and pulled her from the group. "We will start home now. I want to get back before it begins to rain."
"But we haven't eaten," Mrs. Friedrich complained.
"We will eat in the wagon."
Mike saw Mrs. Friedrich look at her friends with longing. "I look forward to this time to talk." Her eyes lit up. "I just discovered that Evelina Pritchard and her husband will be blessed with their first little one in late spring."
"We have no time for gossip," Mr. Friedrich snapped. "I have no liking for a long ride in a downpour."
It took only a few moments for Mrs. Friedrich to say good-bye to her friends. Mike climbed back into the wagon bed, and Gunter hoisted the basket up to the front seat.
To bolster his courage as they drove down the road toward home, Mike began to hum under his breath, "Three fat sausages, Gunter in the middle ..." His stomach began to rumble so loudly he wondered if they'd think it was thunder, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to smother the laughter that welled up inside him.
Mr. Friedrich turned his head and motioned to Mike. "Here is your share. Come up here and get it."
Mike crawled to a spot just behind the wagon seat and reached up for a cloth bulging with food. He opened it on his lap and moistened his lips as he looked down at a feast of apples, molasses cake, and cold meat. Balancing himself against the dips and lurches of the wagon, he eryoyed every bite of his meal.
Although the sky grew darker, it had not begun to rain by the time the horses turned into the Friedrichs' front yard.
"We could have stayed," Mrs. Friedrich complained. "Alma had a new length of blue silk cloth, sent to her by her parents in Virginia. I wanted to hear about it and how she would style her dress."
Suddenly Mr. Friedrich pulled up the horses so sharply that they all had to fight to maintain their balance. "Hans!" Mrs. Friedrich cried. "What are you doing?"
Mike shuddered at the tone of Mr. Friedrich's voice, which was every bit as low and threatening as the sky, as he demanded, "Whose horse is that?"
Mike climbed to his knees to peer over Gunter's shoulder at the horse that was tied to the hitching post. He immediately recognized the spotted gray and gasped.
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j
Of course—^they had come home long before they had been expected.
Gunter let out an explosive giggle and said, "Ps^a, you know who owns that horse! It belongs to Corey Blair!"
Reuben came from the house to tend to the Friedrichs' horses and wagon, the dogs at his heels. Mike followed Reuben back to the bam to lend a hand and to be far from Mr. Friedrich when his fury erupted. Even from the bam he could hear the argument as it spilled from the house into the front yard. He couldn't resist pee
king from just inside the door to see what was happening.
Mr. Friedrich shook with anger. "I gave an order!" he shouted at Corey. "You disobeyed me!"
"No mle says I got to obey you!" Corey yelled back.
*This is my property!"
"But Marta ain't! We can see each other anytime she wants."
"She is a fool to waste her time with a young scalawag like you!"
Corey's voice lowered, and he leaned threateningly toward Mr. Friedrich. "You got no right to talk like that. You better be careful, Mr. Friedrich."
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"Or what?" Mr. Friedrich blustered. "Or you and your ruffian brothers will come to steal and bum my property as you do with the Kansas settlers?"
Corey took another step forward and raised a fist.
Mrs. Friedrich, who had come onto the porch with Marta, gave a little shriek. "No, Corey!" Marta shouted. "Don't pay attention to what he says! Go home now! Please!"
There was silence for a moment as the two men stood like frozen statues in the yard. Then Corey untied the reins of his horse and climbed into the saddle. As the horse galloped onto the road, Mike exhaled with a whoosh, then heard a noise behind him and realized he hadn't been the only one holding his breath.
"A man with a violent temper is a dangerous man," Reuben murmured. Mike knew he wasn't talking about Corey.
At that moment Mr. Friedrich exploded in Malta's direction. "You tried to deceive me! I will not allow you to do that!"
Marta only gave a flip of her skirt and said calmly, **Very well. I will pack immediately. Reuben can drive me to St. Joe. It will not take long for me to find a fanuly who will appreciate the hard work 1 do."
Mrs. Friedrich grabbed Marta around the shoulders and clung to her. "You can't leave us!" she shouted. "Hans! Think about what you are saying!"
"I am the one who gives the orders here," he grumbled.
"Hans!"
Mr. Friedrich sputtered for a few moments, then seemed to get himself under control. "Marta," he said, looking up at her, "1 want you to stay."
Caught in the Act Page 9
