Caught in the Act (3 page)

Mike dived into the remaining chair. He reached out a hand for his fork but stopped in embarrassment, tucking his hands out of sight on his lap, as Mr. Friedrich began to intone a long, involved blessing. In his prayer he somehow managed to ask for forgiveness for Mike, the sinner, who must atone for his evil ways. Humiliated, Mike felt his face burning. He knew Gunter was staring at him. If only he were big enough to take Gunter on! Behind the bam would be a good place. He*d roll Gun-ter's sneaky grin in the dirt, he would, until Gunter yelped for mercy.

Mr. Friedrich's loud "Amen" startled Mike and brought him back to the present. He was thankful that the prayer was finally over. The blessing Ma had always said was much more to Mike's liking. It was short and to the point and had no room in it for speaking ill of others.

Marta came to help serve, and Mr. Friedrich's plate was filled first. Then Gunter's. Then Mike's. Mrs. Friedrich was served last. That didn't seem right to Mike. Ma had always put the food on the table, then sat next to Da, and Da had reached for the choicest bits, putting them on Ma's plate and serving her first.

No one spoke as they ate. The three Friedrichs bent over their plates, rapidly shoveling food into their mouths. Occasionally Gunter belched, but neither of his parents seemed to notice. It certainly hadn't been like that at home!

Mike put the Friedrichs out of his mind. The food was more important. He tasted strange new dishes such as sliced potatoes mixed with a sweet-spicy sauce that smelled of onion and fried pork drippings. To his sur-

prise, Mike loved it. When he put a bite of a golden spiced peach into his mouth, he closed his eyes and sighed with delight. He had never tasted anything so wonderful.

Mr. Friedrich helped himself and Gunter to seconds, emptying the bowls. He didn't offer more of anything to Mike, but Mike didn't mind. His stomach was so full that the waistband of his trousers dug into it.

"Good, good," Mrs. Friedrich murmured as she glanced at Mike's empty plate. "You have a good appetite, Michael. You'll soon begin to grow big and strong like Gunter."

Marta took the plates from the table, but no one moved. Mike wondered why but didn't dare to ask. Was Mr. Friedrich going to pray again?

But Marta brought in steaming cups of coffee and pitchers of milk, and she set a golden-crusted pie in front of Mr. Friedrich. He proceeded to cut large wedges, transferring them to small plates, which he passed to the others at the table. Mike couldn't imagine how he could possibly eat another bite of food, but the fragrance of lemon and sugar tickled his nose, and he took just one bite.

It was so wonderful and creamy, with its chewy topping, that Mike gobbled the entire piece, then leaned back in his chair, his belly stretched too tightly for him to bend forward. Ma had known what she was talking about when she'd said they'd have good food in the West. He'd write and tell her about all these delicious things he'd had to eat. He'd describe—

Mike stopped short, guiltily thinking of the boiled potatoes and cabbage that Ma would have for her noon meal. It didn't seem fair that Ma couldn't share all this. If he only had the choice, he'd rather have Ma and his brothers and sisters and potatoes and cabbage than everything else in the whole world. The shame of what he

had done tx> separate his family smothered him like a fog. If he hadn't been arrested as a copper stealer, none of them would have been put on the Orphan Train. If Mr. Friedrich wanted to point out Mike as a sinner again, Mike would heartily agree with him.

But instead, Mr. Friedrich shoved back his chair and rose, giving a last swipe at his lips with his napkin before tossing it back on the table.

Mike quickly stood, too.

"You will help Marta clear the dishes from the table," Mr. Friedrich told Mike.

"Yes, sir," Mike said, glad to know what he was supposed to do next.

"Then you will help her to wash and dry them and put them away."

"GirFs work," Gunter snickered.

"It's work that needs to be done," Mr. Friedrich said. "Michael is properly grateful that we have taken him in to feed and clothe him and provide him with a fine home." His eyes narrowed as he stared down at Mike. "You are grateful, are you not?"

"Oh, yes, sir! I am!" Mike said.

"So you will work hard to repay us for our kindness."

Mike nodded. "I understand the agreement, Mr. Friedrich."

"Agreement?" Mr. Friedrich made a face of disgust. "We will hear no more of agreements." He leaned so close that Mike could see the red veins in his eyes and said, "I told you that I know how to handle boys. Remember?"

"Yes." Mike gulped.

"Very well. A boy who has been in trouble needs to be kept so busy he will not have time to get into further trouble. Good, hard work is a fine thing for any boy, but especially for you, Michael." Mr. Friedrich stepped back.

"Now—get to work with the dishes. Marta will welcome your help."

As Mr. and Mrs. Friedrich walked into the hallway, Mike turned to the table and picked up the nearest dish—^the serving plate that held a large remaining wedge of the pie. Holding it carefully, he began to walk toward the kitchen, but he had gone only a few steps when his elbow was struck with such force that the plate flew out x>{ his hands and smashed on the floor.

Gunter leapt away from him, shouting, "Papa! Come quickly! Mike threw the pie on the floor!"

Mr. and Mrs. Friedrich rushed back into the room. Marta appeared in the door to the kitchen, her eyes wide and startled.

Mike glared at Gunter, but he wasn't going to be a snitch. "It was an accident," Mike said. "Gunter saw what happened. I—I dropped the plate. I didn't mean to."

"It wasn't an accident!" Gunter said. "Mike thought that I had left the room, but I was watching. He threw the pie on the floor on purpose!"

"No, I didn't!" Mike cried. "Why would I?"

"He's a bad boy. Papa. Now he's calling me a liar," Gunter complained.

Mr. Friedrich shook his head sadly. "You have made a bad start here, Michael, and I had such hopes for you. I see that turning you from your former evil ways is going to be much harder than I had thought."

This was more than Mike could stand. "I'm not evil!" he shouted. "I didn't throw the pie plate on the floor. I'm sorry that I dropped it, and I'm sorry the plate is broken, but I didn't do what Gunter said I did."

Mr. Friedrich took a firm grip on Mike's arm. "We will go out to the bam, where I keep a leather strap," he said.

"Oh, Hans! No!" Mrs. Friedrich whimpered. "This is

only his first day!" Behind her back, where only Mike could see him, Gunter's smirk turned into a broad grin.

"A good beating will help Michael to learn how to behave," Mr. Friedrich said to his wife. *Trust me, Irma. I know now how to handle a boy like Michael."

Mike, his arm aching from Mr. FYiedrich's tight grip, had to run to keep up with the man's long stride. He was sick with fear, and hot, angry tears ran down his cheeks. "Oh, Ma," he sobbed, "Ma!" even though he knew there was no way that his mother could hear or help him.

Mike woke with a start the next morning to a loud thump on his door. "Out of bed! Quickly now! We will have no lazy boys lying about when there's work to be done!" Mr. Friedrich called.

Mike tried to jump out of bed, but he grabbed the bedstead for support, groaning as pain throbbed through the raised welts on his back and legs. The memory of the beating returned with a rush, and his eyes blurred with tears. He'd never been hit like that before. Occasionally he'd felt the sharp tap of a swell's walking stick or the flick of a cabbie's whip when he'd darted in someone's way, and he was used to the threats of bullies, but he'd always been able to outsmart them.

What was he going to do now?

He raised his head and brushed the tears from his face. **Mike, my lad," he said to himself, "you'll have to think sharp and fast, because it's sure that

you'll not be accepting another beating like that ever again."

The moon had gone down, but it was still far too early for the sun to rise. Darkness pressed against the window. Mike, his eyes accustomed to the dimness, did not light the lamp. He poured water from the pitcher to the basin and splashed his eyes well. He didn't want them to know that he'd been crying. Wincing with each movement, he managed to dry his hands and face and pull on his clothes. He ran his comb through his hair, and in just a few minutes clattered down the stairs.

He ran toward the lights in the dining room, stopping abruptly just inside the door. Already the Friedrichs were eating.

Mrs. Friedrich patted at her mouth with her napkin and gave Mike a timid smile, but Mr. Friedrich, without raising his head, said, "After this, if you are late, you will eat in the kitchen with Marta and Reuben. For now, sit down quickly.''

Mike hurried to his chair and put his napkin on his lap. Marta bustled into the room and placed in front of him a plate of sausages, ham slices, biscuits, hot fried apples, and two eggs, which stared at him like a pair of golden eyes.

*Thanks," Mike whispered to Marta and eagerly reached for his fork. The soreness in his body didn't keep him from being hungry.

But a large hand came down over his, and Mr. Friedrich glowered. "That one word was your prayer?"

"No, sir," Mike said. "I was thanking Marta."

"Then let us hear your prayer."

Mike bowed his head and said the blessing Ma and Da had taught him. As he came to the end, he looked up at Mr. Friedrich, hoping the man would now let him eat. The wonderful smells of the food were making his stomach rumble with hunger.

Finally the hand was pulled away. Mr. Friedrich said, "That will do," and went back to his food.

Mike bent over his plate and ate as greedily as the others. Occasionally he sneaked little side glances at them. None of the three seemed interested in him at all, not even Gunter. No one spoke of Mike's punishment the night before. Mike would have decided it was only a nightmare, except the ache in his back and legs proved the beating really had taken place.

Mr. Friedrich suddenly pushed his chair away from the table and stood. Before Mr. Friedrich could find fault with him, Mike dropped the last bite of biscuit on his plate and scrambled from his chair.

"Michael, today I am going to turn you over to Reuben Starkey," Mr. Friedrich said. "You will be in his charge." His eyebrows dipped into a scowl, and he tapped the back of his chair impatiently. "Unfortunately, Reuben can be a woolgatherer when he should be tending to business, but now that harvest is over, he's my only fannhand." He blinked, as though suddenly recalling that Mike was standing there, and continued. "Reuben knows he is to teach and train you in the jobs you will do on the farm to keep you busy and out of trouble. He will report to me on your progress, and if you have been lazy and shirked your chores, we will see that it does not happen again."

Mike's chin lifted, and he thought. If it's beating me you're thinking of, then you've got another thing coming, because I'm not going to let that happen to me a^ain!

He realized that his face must have revealed his feelings, because Mr. Friedrich looked a little puzzled and said, less firmly, "Michael, our ways may seem different to you, but this is because you have not had a proper upbringing. No one has taught you that the devil makes use of idle hands, so it is up to us to teach you.

On a well-run farm there is much to do. You will work hard, but this will help to make a man of you." He paused. "I am a just man, Michael. I will not punish you unless you need punishment."

Mr. Friedrich stopped speaking and seemed to be waiting for something, so Michael, fighting a boiling resentment, muttered, "Yes, sir." Mr. Friedrich didn't know anything about his upbringing!

Mrs. Friedrich's hands fluttered as she squeaked, "Michael, you must say, *Thank you, Mr. Friedrich.'"

Mike thought again of the bam and the strap. He had to live with these people. He'd have to follow their rules. He gripped his fists together behind his back, digging his nails into his hands. *Thank you, Mr. Friedrich," he echoed.

Mike glanced quickly at Gunter, but Gunter yawned widely and seemed completely uninterested in Mike. Maybe the beating Mike had suffered had been enough to satisfy Gunter. Mike hoped he'd have no more trouble from that tub of lard. In his mind he began to hum his sausage song and had to press his lips together to keep from laughing aloud.

"Get your coat and go to the bam," Mr. Friedrich said to Mike. "Reuben will be waiting for you."

As fast as he could, Mike raced up the stairs, snatched his jacket from the bedstead, and tore out to the bam. Light was beginning to streak the eastern sky, but the air was so cold it stung like a slap. He gasped and mbbed his arms, trying to get warm.

Wulf and Bruna ran toward him, their eyes wary, but Mike stopped and held out the backs of his hands for them to sniff Satisfied, they accepted him and trotted at his side as he entered the bam.

The huge bam was almost as clean as the house, with the milk pails gleaming, the hamess hanging over the rest of the tack in tidy rows, and the farm tools neatly stored at the far end of the bam. But here the

smell of lye soap was overpowered by the fine, warm, sour smell of hay, which was piled high overhead in the loft and heaped on the floors of the stalls for the horses and cows.

Reuben was pouring a foaming bucket of milk into a large, gleaming milk can. As Mike came in, he looked up and swept a thick shock of black hair from his eyes. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, Mr. Starkey." Mike tried to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Is that the best they could give you for a warm coat?" Reuben asked.

"This is what I came in, sir," Mike said.

"You can forget the *sir' and the *Mr. Starkey,'" Reuben told him. He put down the bucket and strode over to join Mike. "Since we're going to work together, why don't you call me Reuben, and I'll call you Michael?" He reached out to shake his hand.

"Mike."

"Mike it is. Now, we'll see to finding a coat for you. It's time to take the cows to pasture, but they can wait." Reuben's long legs carried him swiftly out of the bam.