"Reuben wasn't the kind who would walk away in the middle of the night without a good-bye to anyone," Mike said.
"People are not always who or what they seem," she said so quietly that Mike was sure she was hiding something.
"I know that Reuben wouldn't have left like that," Mike said. "He would have waited to say good-bye to me.
Mrs. Friedrich touched his arm with her fingertips, and for a moment her face softened. "I'm sorry. Mi-
chael," she said. "Now, please do not ask any more questions. You will only be causing trouble."
Mike gulped against the tightness in his throat and picked up a platter to carry to the kitchen. Whether Mrs. Friedrich was trying to deceive him or thought she was telling the truth, Mike didn*t know. She might have been repeating the explanation her husband had given her. But it didn't explain Reuben's book of poems wedged behind the tool chest, and it didn't explain the newly turned earth hidden in the woods.
He had no chance to talk to Marta until that evening after supper. "Come outside with me," he whispered.
She nodded, grabbed her shawl, and hurried out the back door. When they had reached a safe distance from the house, Mike stopped, and Marta held out a hand, an eager smile on her face.
"You have a note from Corey?"
"No," Mike said. "I haven't seen him since he was here yesterday."
Marta's shoulders slumped. "Then why did you bring me out here in the cold?"
"To ask you about Reuben," he said.
"What would I know about Reuben?"
"The room he slept in is bare. Did you clean it? Did you see anything he might have left behind?"
"That's a strange question."
"But it's something I need to know. Did you look in the cupboard? Were any of his clothes there?"
Marta gave an impatient sigh and answered, "I cleaned his room and gathered the quilts and linens from his bed to wash them, and yes, I dusted out the cupboard. Believe me, if Reuben had left any of his possessions, I would have found them."
"Didn't he say good-bye to you?"
"No," she said. A small wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "I wish that he had, because I would have
thanked him for holding his tongue about Corey coming to call." Suddenly her eyes became soft with sympathy, and she reached for Mike's hand. "Oh," she said, "you are hurt because he didn't tell you he was going."
"How do you know he left?" Mike asked.
"How? Because Mrs. Friedrich told me he had gone. What do you mean?"
"Did you see or hear him leave?"
She shrugged. "No, but that's because I'm a sound sleeper."
"Don't you think it's strange that he left in the middle of the night?"
Marta began to look uncomfortable and shifted from one foot to the other. "I think you should know the truth," she said, "but don't let on that I told you. Reuben didn't leave because he wanted to go. Mrs. Friedrich admitted to me that Mr. Friedrich was so angry with Reuben that he sent him away."
"Would Reuben have left without his book of poems?" Mike asked.
At this Marta smiled. "Of course not. I sometimes thought that book was attached to the man's left hand."
Mike hesitated. He didn't know how much to tell Marta. If he showed her the book and told her about the newly dug spot in the woods, what would she do? He had to know how she would react before he could explain. "I'm afraid for you," he said.
Her eyes widened. "What do you mean by that?"
Mike clutched her arm and pulled her down so that he could whisper in her ear. "On the way to church, Mr. and Mrs. Friedrich were talking about you. I don't understand all that they said, but they were worried about your loyalty to them."
Marta straightened with a snap, nearly knocking Mike off his feet. "Oh, they were, were they!"
"I'm telling you because Mrs. Friedrich said she had
talked to you, and that's all that could be done, but Mr. Friedrich said no, there was something else he could do."
"Fm sure he thinks there is," she said, her words so angry they sparked like hot coals.
"Marta," Mike asked, "does this have something to do with Ulrich?"
"Yes!" she said. "It certainly does!"
"Did you know Ulrich? Were you there when—?"
Marta's face was flushed with anger as she snapped, "Did 1 know Ulrich?" Her laugh was so brittle and hard that Mike shuddered. "Unfortunately," she answered, "I was Ulrich's wife!"
Before Mike could close his gs^ing mouth, Marta had run ahead of him into the house.
All week, Mike felt as though he were living inside of a nightmare. Marta refused to answer his questions, hushing him and sending him away, and bits of urgent, whispered conversations shivered through the house like lost ghosts. Slowly Mr. Friedrich's anger seeped away, but he was often deep in thought. What is he seeing inside his mind? Mike wondered, remembering the angry words and the shovel.
As Mr. FYiedrich's anger abated, Mrs. Friedrich began to relax. "Michael, Michael, why do you not eat?" she asked at nearly every meal. "I thought you liked the dishes 1 made."
"1 do," Mike answered. He made a valiant effort to clean his plate, but he swallowed each bite with difficulty.
At night he lay awake, sorting over the little he had learned. At times he convinced himself that Reuben had simply packed his things and left, as Mr. Friedrich had ordered him to do; but at other times deep shadows slithered through his thoughts, and he shivered with fear, knowing for a certainty that Rwiben's body lay
buried in the woods. Sometimes in his dreams he saw Reuben's face so clearly that he tried to reach out to him, but the face always disappeared, and Mike awoke, whimpering with fear.
Early Friday morning, Mike was more exhausted than usual. As he rested his head against the warm flanks of the cow he was milking, he wondered how he would last through the day. Then Mr. Friedrich announced, **We have begun our chores early, because we are going to St. Joseph today."
To St. Joseph! Mike jumped with such eagerness that the cow turned to stare at him and switched her tail in his direction. Katherine Banks was in St. Joe! He would find a chance to tell Mrs. Banks all that had happened. He knew she'd listen to what he had to say. "Will I go, too?" Mike asked, barely able to breathe until he heard the answer.
Mr. Friedrich studied him for a moment before he said, "If your work is finished in time, you may go."
"Could I mail my letters there?"
"I have already told you that I would mail them for you."
Having heard the touch of impatience in Mr. Friedrich's voice, Mike said no more. He kept a sharp watch on Gunter, afraid that Gunter might have planned something to keep him from going to St. Joe. Every now and then Mike found Gunter sneaking quick looks at him, a nasty smile flickering on his lips.
But after a hearty breakfast the family piled into the wagon, Mike again alone in the wagon bed with only Reuben's book of poems in his pocket for company.
"Doesn't Marta want to go with us?" he asked.
"Marta has her duties here," Mrs. Friedrich answered.
Would Marta see Corey again? Mike wondered. Would she decide to leave the Friedrichs? It would be terrible to lose another fiiend. Then no one would take his side.
He*d miss Marta, but he also hoped for her sake that she'd go.
Mike was so eager to get to St. Joe that the ride seemed to take twice as long as it should. But soon he could see clusters of houses, and the taller buildings rose above the treetops. He clung to the edge of the wagon, watching the people in other wagons, the horseback riders, and the foot traffic in the streets as they rode into town, and he jumped to his feet when Mr. Friedrich pulled his team to a halt in front of Banks General Store. Mike saw Mr. Amos Crandon just entering the store and shivered. No! Forget Mr. Crandon. This was Mrs. Banks's store, and Mike could hardly wait to greet her!
Katherine Banks saw Mike at the same time he found her, and she hurried from around the counter to sweep him up in a warm hug.
She stooped and held his
face in her hands. "How are you, Mike? Is everything going well for you?"
Mike couldn't answer. He just dove into her, tightly wrapping his arms around her waist.
She rufQed his hair. "I have something for you, Mike—a letter from Frances Mary."
"Grand!" he said, then gasped at the twinkle in Kath-erine's eyes. "You know?" he asked.
"Her secret was discovered. She's happily back to being a girl," she said. "Come with me. I'll give you her letter, and let her explain."
"I have something to tell you," he said as she handed him the letter. "Something private."
A customer called to her, "I can't find the bolt of cotton sateen."
Before she hurried to help, Katherine said to Mike, "We'll make some private time. Just give me a few minutes."
Mike found a quiet place on the floor between the
tables piled with bolts of cloth and hats and fiirs and read his letter from Frances over and over again. He gobbled her words as though he were starving and they were food. Oh, how desperately he missed his brothers and sisters!
Mike finally realized that someone was standing over him and looked up to see Gunter. "Go away," Mike told him.
"Papa wants you," Gunter said. "Better hurry, or he'D be angry."
With a sigh Mike tucked the letter into his coat pocket and scrambled to his feet. He tried to go down the narrow aisle, but Gunter squeezed into him, roughly shoving him backward.
"What's the matter with you?" Mike demanded.
Gunter turned and said, "Papa's at the counter," then backed off and ran ahead of Mike toward his father.
As Mike joined them, Gunter tugged at his father's sleeve. "Papa!" he pointed at Mike. "I saw him steal a knife! A fine, large pocketknife!"
Everyone in the store stopped and stared at Mike.
"I didn't steal a knife!" Mike insisted. "I didn't steal anything!"
"Look in his pocket! His left coat pocket!" Gunter shouted.
Mr. Friedrich, his face dark with anger, grabbed Mike's arm in one hand and dove into his pocket with the other. He pulled out a slender pocketknife, its blade encased in a sheath of steel.
Mr. Crandon stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Didn't I say so?" he asked the people around him. "Once a thief, always a thief! The boy has proved me right."
Sick with misery, Mike realized that Gunter had figured out how Mike had switched Mr. Friedrich's gold watch and had tried the switch himself with the knife. /
shoiUd have thought about it when he shoved into me! he thought. / should have kept my wits about me and suspected what he'd do! Mike looked from face to face, crying out, "Gunter put that knife into my pocket!"
"Lies! More lies!" Mr. Friedrich thundered.
Mr. Crandon nodded. "Michael Kelly's a thief and a Uar."
"I have a pocketknife of my own. I wouldn't take another," Mike shouted.
"Be quiet!" Mr. Friedrich ordered. "We want to hear nothing more from you. A pickpocket once and always! I should not have tried to reclaim you! You belong back in New York and in prison!"
As Mr. Friedrich began to drag Mike through the store toward the wagon, Katherine Banks cried out, "Wait! Let Mike explain!"
But Mr. Friedrich shouted at Mike, "What else have you stolen? What else might be in your pockets?"
Mike twisted around, trying to break Mr. Friedrich's painful grip, and shouted at him, "Reuben Starkey's book is in my pocket! The book you tried to hide after you kiUed him!"
Mr. Friedrich'S eyes bulged like the eyes of a pond frog, and his mouth fell open. Oidy a gurgling, gasping sound came out.
Mrs. Friedrich yelped and plopped down on a nearby bale of unbleached cotton cloth.
Pushing her way from around the counter, Katherine Banks pried Mr. Friedrich's fingers from Mike's arm. At the same time, a tall man stooped to poke his face into Mr. Friedrich'S, demanding, "What's this about a murder?"
"Who's Reuben Starkey?" someone asked.
"The Friedrichs' hired man," someone else explained.
"He's that book-reading river man," the tall man added.
Everyone began to talk at once. "When did this happen? Did the boy see it? Someone should get the marshal!"
*The marshal's out of town," Mr. Crandon said. He hooked his thumbs into his vest pockets and began to bluster. "Why are we listening to this boy—a known liar and thief?"
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The color began to come back to Mr. Friedrich's face. ^That's right!" he shouted. "We do not need the marshal! The story is nothing but lies! I did not kill Reuben! I have never killed anybody!"
"Be quiet, please!" Katherine shouted over the babble of voices. "Mike wouldn't make this accusation without a good reason. Td like to hear what he has to say."
Mike was so frightened he could hardly talk. He had to clear his throat and try again before he could blurt out what he had seen and heard the night Reuben had disappeared.
"A stupid boy, waking from dreams. He has mixed them with reality," Mr. Friedrich grumbled. "He told you that he fell asleep again on the floor. That's why he didn't see Reuben leave the bam or see him pack his belongings and leave my property."
Mike tugged Reuben's book from his pocket and held it high, where everyone could see it. "This book of poems belongs to Reuben. He was never without it. Reuben would never have left his book behind!" He faced Mr. Friedrich as he added, "I found it where you hid it behind the tool box in the bam!"
"Reuben gave me that book!" Mr. Friedrich shouted.
"I don't believe it!" Mike shouted back.
"It was for you, you Dummkopfl He asked me to give it to you!"
Mike stared at him for an instant and hugged the book to his chest. *Then why didn't you?" he asked.
"Because you have no need to fiD your mind with that foolishness. / will decide what you will read and learn."
He reached out for Mike, but Mike backed away, saying, "I found a newly spaded place in the woods, with brush laid over it to hide it. It's big enough, big enough for—"
Mrs. Friedrich gave a little shriek, and the tall man
eloped a hand on Mr. Friedrich's shoulder. "Big enough to bury a man?" he asked Mike.
"I think so," Mike nodded.
Mr. Friedrich sputtered, "Let go of me, Ned Gosnell! Michael doesn't know what he is talking about! Yes, I buried something, but it was not Reuben! It was—what it was is no one's business!"
"I think you had better tell us, Mr. FViedrich," Kather-ine said.
He studied the faces turned to his and flushed red with anger. "Very well. It was my own property, my money and my valuables which I hid from—from Corey Blair!" Mr. Friedrich quickly looked down at the floor, and Mike knew he was lying.
"Corey Blair?" a short, stocky man asked. *This is a mighty strange tale. I know the Blairs well, and their boys may be a little headstrong, but they're all good, law-abiding citizens. Corey Blair wouldn't steal Friedrich's money."
"Maybe some of us should go take a look at that dug-up place in Friedrich's woods," Ned said. "How about you, Tom?"
The stocky man nodded. "I'll come."
"And you, Amos?"
Mr. Crandon took a step backward. "I—uh—have pressing business to attend to."
"You—you—^none of you have the right!" Mr. Friedrich stammered.
Katherine took Mike's hand. "I think it will be better if Mike, for the time being, stays with me."
"No!" Mr. Friedrich said. "Andrew MacNair has put me in charge of Michael's welfare, and there he will remain until I decide otherwise!"
"I disagree!" Katherine said,
Mr. Friedrich grabbed Mike's left hand and whirled.
pulling him from the group. Quickly Mike stretched out his right hand and shoved the book at Katherine.
"ril keep it for you," she said quietly. "And Vl send for Andrew."
Mike was shoved into the bed of the wagon as Gun-ter leapt to the wagon seat. Mrs. Friedrich was half-lifted to the seat where she slumped, fanning herself vigorously. Ned and T
om rode their horses next to the wagon. Mike was glad they were along.
Mike's thoughts were as scrambled as broken eggs. He didn't know what to believe. Could Reuben really have left him the book of poems because he didn't have a chance to say good-bye? Or had Mr. Friedrich made up the story to save his own skin? And the closer they came to that spot in the woods, the closer they came to knowing what Mr. Friedrich had buried there.
When they arrived at the farm, Ned and Tom tied their horses to a post. Gunter was told to care for the Friedrich horses. Two shovels were brought from the bam, and Mike was marched up the hill with the men, Mr. Friedrich's large fingers digging mercilessly into his left shoulder.
They paused at the site Mike had described under the hickory trees. Carefully Ned pulled aside the brush to reveal the patch of tamped earth. "There it is," he said. "Nothin' left but to see what's buried there."
Mr. Friedrich slapped the handle of one shovel into Mike's trembling hands and gave him a push that nearly knocked him off balance. "You are responsible for this," he snarled. "You can be the one to dig."
Tom gave Mr. Friedrich a disgusted look and took the other shovel into his own hands. The loose earth flew aside in huge clumps as he worked next to Mike, and before long the metal edge of Tom's shovel thumped as it hit something hard.
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Mike held his breath as dirt was scraped away to reveal a wooden box a little more than a foot square in size, its comers trimmed with brass, its hinged lid fastened tightly with a padlock.
"Couldn't fit a man into a box that small," Ned said.
"Of course you couldn't!" Friedrich snapped. "I told you what is in the box! My valuables!"
"Better take a look, just to make sure," Tom said.
Mr. Friedrich's chest puffed out. "You can take my word for it," he demanded.
"The marshal's gonna ask what we seen," Ned told him. He pointed at the padlock. "Have you got a key for that with you?"
"I—I lost the key."
Ned bent and hefted the padlock. "It's not a very strong lock. I can break it open with the shovel."
Caught in the Act Page 11
