Caught in the Act (2 page)

"Why must you talk of Ulrich?"

The sharp fear in Mrs. Friedrich's voice jabbed Mike to wakefulness, but he kept his eyes closed, afraid to open them.

"This boy is a thief, as Ulrich was," Mr. Friedrich replied.

"Please, Hans, do not compare them. Give this boy a chance to prove—"

"A chance? Ulrich had every chance, yet what good did it do him?"

"Papa! When you talk of Ulrich, you get so angry it frightens me," Gunter whined.

Mrs. Friedrich began to whimper, too. "Remember, Hans, what your anger has lead to in the past," she said.

"Do not admonish me, Irma," Mr. Friedrich sputtered. "It is important that you understand my plans."

But Mrs. Friedrich hadn't finished. "No matter what he had done, Ulrich should not have died."

"Hush!" The word came out like an explosion.

The wagon seat creaked as someone turned to look at Mike. It was all he could do to lie quietly, pretending sleep, and swallow the cry of terror that rose in his throat. Who was Ulrich? And how had he died?

"He didn't hear, Papa. He is still asleep," Gunter reported.

Mike strained to listen again, but the Friedrichs lowered their voices. Because of their heavily accented speech, Mike could grasp only a word or two. What had Mrs. Friedrich meant when she said that no matter what he had done, Ulrich should not have died? Had someone killed him? Why? Mike was sure of only two things: Ulrich was a thief who had died because of what he had done, and Mr. Friedrich thought Mike was just like Ulrich. Mike's heart started pounding. He wanted to leap from the wagon and run, as fast as he could, back to St. Joseph and the safety of Andrew MacNair. But the Friedrichs would catch up with him, and then they would call him not only a thief but a runaway.

He tried to make himself relax and breathe evenly so it would be easier to think. Since he did not really know

what had happened tx) Ulrich, and considering that his own situation was not good, it would be foolish to panic. The best plan would be to try to live with the Friedrichs, as Mr. MacNair and Mrs. Banks expected him to do, but to keep his eyes open and stay on the alert.

The wagon stopped so suddenly that Mike rolled against the end of the wagon bed, banging his knees and elbows. He sat up with a start to gape wide-eyed at a large house and an even larger bam. Who would have thought the Friedrichs were swells?

The two-story house gleamed with fresh white paint. Its windows sparkled in the late-afternoon light, and even the deep orange marigolds that lined the front of the house had been planted in tidy rows. The front door and the shutters were a bright blue, and at the windows Mike could see lace curtains. Beyond the house and bam stood the privy and some large and small outbuildings. Impressed, Mike whistled through his teeth.

Mrs. Friedrich awkwardly climbed from her perch, but Gunter remained on the wagon seat with his father.

"Out with you!" Mr. Friedrich called to Mike, who managed to grab his small packet of belongings and scramble from the wagon before it started up again with a jerk.

Two spotted mutts came running to sniff at Mike. "Wulf! And you, Bmna! Be gone with you!" Mr. Friedrich yelled. They quickly tumed tail, dodged the hitching post, and ran around the comer of the bam.

"Come, Mike! Hurry!" Mrs. Friedrich said. "Hans wiU want his food ready and on the table as soon as he has taken care of the horses. I know how hungry he'll be."

Mike ran to catch up. "Fm hungry, too," he said. "We haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Ach!" she cried, "I should have thought. Well, no matter now. We'll have your stomach filled soon enough."

Just as they reached the door at the side of the

house, it was opened by a tall young woman with blond braids wound into a crown on top of her head. The sleeves of her cotton dress were rolled high on her tanned arms, and her stiff white apron nearly covered her faded skirt, which brushed the floor. She stood aside to let Mrs. Friedrich pass, but she looked Mike over carefidly.

"You bring home a minnow, not a fish," she said and winked at Mike.

"Hush, Marta!" Mrs. FYiedrich hissed and glanced quickly toward the bam. "Mr. Friedrich was upset enough because I had caused us to be late and the larger boys had been taken. If he hears you say that, it will only mean more trouble."

Mike*s mouth opened in amazement as he glanced around the room. The kitchen was only a little smaller than the room that had been the Kelly family's entire home in New York City. The copper pots and cooking tools that hung on the wall gleamed in the light from the fire in the huge fireplace. And just a few steps from the fireplace was a large wood-burning stove! Two gigantic cupboards stood against the far wall next to a broad working table. A smaller table was placed near the side window, and on it was a blue bowl that held a clump of bright marigolds. A faint odor of lye soap clung to the bleached-wood floor. Mike had never seen anything to match this. How he wished he could show it to Ma and Megan and Frances. Wouldn't their eyes pop!

Mrs. Friedrich tugged off her coat and gloves and untied the ribbons on her hat that had become buried between her chins. "We must hurry and get supper on the table," she insisted.

"Since it's a cold supper, it's all but done," Marta said calmly. She looked at Mike but continued to speak to Mrs. Friedrich in the same rhythmic accent the rest of the family shared. "What is the name for this young carrottop?"

u

Mike took a step forward. He knew at once that he liked Marta and her firiendly smile, in spite of the fact that she had called him a minnow and a carrottop.

"Fm Michael Patrick Kelly," he said, "but everybody calls me Mike." He turned to Mrs. Friedrich, who was smoothing down the folds of her voluminous dark skirt, and added, "I didn*t know you had a daughter, ma*am."

Marta darted a sharp glance at Mrs. Friedrich and gave a wry smile. "Hardly a daughter," she muttered, but before Mrs. Friedrich could answer there was a loud stamping of feet on the outer stoop. In a moment a tall rangy man entered the room. The angles of his face were sharp against his ragged dark hair, and his eyes were deep-set under his brows. Mike guessed him to be nearly forty.

"Mrs. Friedrich," he acknowledged, then turned to Marta with a bow. "You heard me knock the soil from my boots, Marta, so now you won't be able to complain that I dirtied your clean floors." His gaze came to rest on Mike.

"Reuben, you haven't met young Michael Kelly," Marta said. "Mike, this is Reuben Starkey."

Reuben's eyebrows shot up. "This small twig is the boy you went to St. Joseph to fetch? The one who is to help work the farm?"

Mrs. Friedrich put a hand on Mike's shoulder and pursed her lips. "No matter that he's small. Michael is a poor, wretched orphan, and we have rescued him from a dreadful life."

Reuben's eyes lit with a mischievous twinkle. ''Poor naked wretches, wheresoever you are, that bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,'' he said.

Mike couldn't stand it any longer. Talking about him as though he weren't even there! And saying such rotten things! "You've got no right to call me a naked wretch!" he told Reuben. "I've got all my clothes on, same as you!"

"I didn't mean to offend you, Michael. I was merely

quoting from a play by WUliam Shakespeare," Reuben said.

"Reuben's had schooling," Maita explained. "He's always reading poetry."

Reuben held out a hand. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Michael."

Mike shook hands with Reuben. "I'm glad to meet you, too, Mr. Starkey." Mike turned to examine the room and nodded with satisfaction. "I see how it is now," he said. "I knew this house was too big for just one family. How many famiUes live here?"

Marta put an arm around Mike's shoulders and pulled him closer to the fire in the big fireplace. "Reuben is the hired hand. He lives in a cabin out behind the bam. I have a room under the stairs, because I am working as the Friedrichs' serving girl."

"Oh, Marta"—^Mrs. Friedrich's hands fluttered nervously—"you are like family."

"I am a serving girl," Marta said. "I came with the Friedrichs from Germany to this country and agreed to work to pay for my passage."

Marta's words were resentful, and Mike felt tension in the room. He tried to change the subject. "Will I live in a cabin, too, like Reuben?"

"Of course not," Mrs. Friedrich said. "You are to live with us as a son. You will have your own room upstairs. It's a very nice room, and I'm sure you'll find no fault with it."

Mrs. Friedrich didn't sound convincing, and—behind her employer's back—^Marta rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders at Mike. He didn't understand why.

But Mrs. Friedrich's attention had shifted to Reuben. "Why aren't you in the bam helping Mr. Friedrich with the horses?" she asked.

'There's little more to do for the horses," Reuben

said, "so I thought Fd use the opportunity to meet my new helper."

Mrs. Friedrich sighed. "If only you had the same industry as Mr. Friedrich, how much more you could accomplish."

Reuben made a little bow and said, *There could only be one like Mr. Friedrich."

Mike saw the twinkle in his eyes, but apparently Mrs. Friedrich didn't. "Yah," she said. "You are right." She made a little shooing motion with her hands. "Well, go with you—^back to the bam, where you can be of help."

As Reuben left, Marta said, "Fll show Mike his room now. It will give him a chance to take off his jacket and wash before he eats."

"Yes," Mrs. Friedrich murmured. "Of course." Glancing toward the back door, she urged, "But hurry, both of you! When Mr. Friedrich comes in, we must all be ready to sit at the table."

Mike's room was small, compared to what he had just seen, only large enough for a bed with a plain wooden bedstead, a slatted chair, and a low, red-painted chest. On the chest rested an oil lamp, a china pitcher filled with water, and a bowl. Curtains hung at the window, and Mike lifted them to see the bam, its big doors opened wide.

"Your room is not much," Marta said, "but I made sure that you had one of the best down quilts on your bed."

*The room looks grand to me," Mike assured her. He pushed down on the bedding, his hands almost disappearing into the thickly mounded quilt. "Oh!" he said. "Fve never felt anything so soft!"

"Marta!" Mrs. Friedrich called sharply.

"Mrs. Friedrich is afraid of her husband," Mike blurted out.

"Oh, the man is all noise," Marta said. "He likes to

bluster like a cold north wind." She sniffed. "Mrs. Friedrich should have stood up to him from tFie very beginning. A wife should never cower in fear."

"Aren't you afraid of him?" Mike asked.

"No, I am not," Marta said, but Mike had heard her hesitate. "He has tried to shout at me, but I told him if he did it again I would leave. He knows I mean what I say, and Tm a hard worker and honest, so he doesn't want me to go."

"And you have to pay for your passage."

She smiled. ^That's been taken care of. Tm staying on until someday I find a good man to marry. Then I'll have a home of my own." She ruffled Mike's hair and teased, "It's too bad you are not ten years older, with your own farmland and horses and cows. Unfortunately, a poor orphan could never be a good marriage prospect."

"I'm not an orphan," Mike said. "I have a mother. After Da died. Ma couldn't take care of us all, so she sent us west to find homes where we'd have better lives and enough food to eat. She wanted to help us, so she—she gave us away."

For just an instant Marta's blue eyes clouded with pity, and she reached out to touch Mike's shoulder. But Mrs. Friedrich called from below the stairs, "Marta! Where are you?"

Marta whispered to Mike. ^There's no doubt you'll get plenty of good food here. Mr. Friedrich is known as a stingy man, but not when it comes to what goes into his stomach. Come. Forget the washing. We'd better hurry."

"Wait!" Mike said. "You've already been kind to me, so I hope you'll tell me something I've got to know." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Please tell me, did Mr. Friedrich—did he ever kill someone?"

Marta gasped and took a step backward. "Why do you ask me that?"

"On our way here from St. Joseph I overheard them talking about someone called Ulrich who was dead."

Marta bent to clasp Mike's arms, holding him so tightly he wanted to cry out. "Whatever you do, never again mention Ulrich's name!"

"But Mr. Friedrich said I was just like Ulrich. Please teU me. Did he kill him? If he killed Ulrich he could—"

"That's enough!" Marta's face turned gray.

"Marta!" Mrs. FYiedrich called, even more insistently.

Marta released Mike and, racing from the room, clattered down the stairs. Mike followed, trying to keep up with Marta's quick steps. At the foot of the stairs she grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway toward the dining room, where Mrs. Friedrich waited, her hands clasped at her waist. With one quick movement Marta smoothed down Mike's hair, ran through the room, and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

The dinner table, which was covered with a fine white cloth, was laden with platters of sliced cold meats, heaping baskets of bread, and bowls that contained foods Mike had never seen. His stomach growled, his mouth began to salivate, and he leaned eagerly toward the table. He could hardly wait to eat. This was a feast he'd never even imagined could exist.

In less than a minute, Mr. Friedrich, with Gunter following, strode into the room. Mr. Friedrich contentedly patted his rounded stomach and murmured, "Fine, fine. The meal is ready."

He pulled out a chair at the head of the table and plopped into it, flicking out a large napkin and laying it across his lap. Mrs. Friedrich took the chair at the opposite end of the table, and Gunter lazily slid into a chair at the side. There was only one chair left. But there were three people for it—Marta, Reuben, and Mike—and Mike was puzzled. Where were they all supposed to sit?

"Who's the chair for?" Mike asked. "Reuben? Marta?"

"Reuben is only hired help," Mrs. Friedrich murmured, "and Marta prefers to eat in the kitchen."

Mr. Friedrich barked, "Sit down quickly, or leave the room!"