Caught in the Act (7 page)

"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.''

"I understand the first part of that," Mike said. "Did your friend Shakespeare write it?"

"William Wordsworth did," Reuben told him. "He was also a poet of great renown."

"That's fine," Mike said. *They should have got along well, with both of them unable to put down words the way they come straight from the mouth."

"William Shakespeare lived many, many years ago, but William Wordsworth died just about the time that you were bom."

"It's sorry I am, but I had nothing to do with it," Mike said. He grinned with mischief, and Reuben chuckled. "I like the poetry. I surely do," Mike said. "And someday maybe Fll understand it all. Tell again the part about the wings. I want to think about it."

The work went fast, and later that evening, after the cows had been put back into their stalls and the first stars were winking in the black sky, Reuben said, "We're through early tonight. You can take your time washing up for dinner."

Mike ran ahead, bouncing into the warm kitchen and smiling at Marta. "If you had wings," he asked, "would you fly to see the oceans and mountains?"

Marta's expression grew somber, and she sighed. "If I had wings," she said, "I think I would fly to see what Corey Blair was up to."

"Has he come back from the Kansas border?"

"I have no way of knowing." Marta shot an angry look in the direction of the parlor. "Mr. Friedrich ordered Corey not to set foot on this place."

Mike sidled toward the door as she spoke. Much as he liked Marta, he didn't want to hear any more about Corey.

He walked down the hallway, heading for the stairs, and had his foot on the bottom stair when he saw light flicker in his own room. As Mike drew back into the shadows the light went out, and someone hurried from Mike's room, quietly shutting the door. Mike hid under the staircase, peering out to see Gunter scrambling as fast as he could down the stairs.

The moment Gimter had disappeared in the direction of the parlor, Mike raced up the stairs and into his room. He picked up his lamp. Sure enough, the glass was warm to his touch. With fumbling fingers he lit the wick, then put the lamp down and studied his room.

Nothing seemed out of place. He had so few things, it was easy to keep track of them. He took off his coat, laid it across the chair, and stood by the bed, steeling himself for whatever dead animal Gunter nught have hidden under the quilt.

Quickly Mike threw back the quilt and was surprised to discover that nothing horrible had been put in his bed. He decided that something must be under the bed. He tossed the quilt back into place, smoothed it out, and bent to peer under the bed. Nothing.

Mike straightened and tried to sort out the puzzle. Gunter had been in his room for a reason. He couldn't have taken anything, because Mike had nothing to take.

Carefully, he examined the chest, but could find nothing out of place. Whatever mean surprise Gunter had left behind, he'd hidden it well. But Mike would find it. He'd take the room apart, if need be. He had to discover what Gunter had been up to.

Mike gripped the edge of the straw-stuffed mattress to lift it ft^om the rope slings on which it lay. As he did, his fingertips touched something cold and hard. Startled, he jumped back, then carefully eased up the mattress to see what was there.

Wedged between the rope and the wooden fi*ame of the bed lay Mr. Friedrich's gold pocket watch!

As Mike stared at the watch, wondering what he was going to do, he heard heav>^ footsteps on the stairs and Gunter's raised voice. "I saw him take it, Papa! I saw Michael steal your watch!"

If the watch were found here in his room, Mike knew he'd be labeled a thief. Mr. Friedrich would send him back to New York where he'd surely go to prison! What could he do? His legs wobbling so they could barely hold him up, he squeezed his eyes shut, desperately searching for the answer. When he opened them again, he knew what he had to do.

Mike grabbed the watch, dropped the mattress down on the bed, smoothed the quilt into place, and threw open the door. He rushed out of the room and onto the stairs with such force that he crashed into Gunter. Gun-ter grabbed for the handrail to steady himself, and Mike stumbled, sitting down hard on the stairs.

Mr. Friedrich's large hand gripped the neck of Mike's shirt and roughly jerked him to his feet. "Get up!" he thundered.

"I didn't mean to be late to supper," Mike said.

"It's not suppertime we are concerned with." His

61

fingers dug into Mike's shoulder so hard that Mike cried out in pain.

Mrs. Friedrich appeared at the foot of the stairs. "What is it? What has happened?" she called and began to puff her way up the stairs.

"Michael tried to steal Papa's gold watch," Gunter announced.

"No! I didn't!" Mike cried.

"Yes, you did! I saw you!" Gunter turned so only Mike could see his face and smirked.

Marta ran up the stairs, squeezing to see around Mrs. Friedrich's shoulder. Reuben was right behind her.

Mike tried to squirm from Mr. Friedrich's grasp. *Tou're hurting my shoulder!" he cried.

"You will feel more pain than that before I am through with you!" Mr. Friedrich grunted.

"But I told you—I didn't steal your watch!"

*Tell me where you hid it," Mr. Friedrich demanded.

"I didn't!"

Gunter stepped forward. "I'll tell you. Papa I saw him hide it under the mattress in his bed."

"Oh, my!" Mrs. Friedrich cls^jped her hands to her cheeks, her face pale with shock.

Marta gasped, her eyes wide with horror, but the expression on Reuben's face didn't change.

^That's not true!" Mike shouted.

"Isn't it? I'll show you," Gunter said. He led the way into Mike's room and lifted the edge of the mattress.

For a moment everyone just stared, until Gunter turned to Mike and furiously screeched, "Where is it? What did you do with it?"

"I told you!" Mike said. "I didn't take it!"

"It's got to be here!" Gunter tore the covers from the bed, then rununaged through the chest, but he came up empty-handed.

Mrs. Friedrich let out a long sigh of relief and said,

'The watxrh must be where it always is when Hans isn't wearing it—on the dresser in our room. Each night he careftiUy winds it and— "

"Be quiet, Irma!" Mr. Friedrich continued to scowl.

"I'll look!" Marta said and slipped from the room before anyone else could speak. In just a moment she returned, her right hand pressed to her chest as she tried to catch her breath, her words tumbling out in a rush. 'The watch isn't where it should be!"