Caught in the Act (13 page)

"Megan's right," Mike murmured, so comforted that he inunediately went to sleep.

In the morning Mike ate a hearty breakfast, even though Mr. Friedrich spoke to no one, and Marta slanuned down the bowls of porridge so hard that cream sloshed over the edges. Gunter glowered at his food, which didn't

keep him from gobbling it as though he were in a race, but Mrs. Friedrich just nibbled at her breakfast, stopping often to pat at her lips or eyes with her wrinkled napkin.

Mike could hardly wait to talk to Reuben.

He had no sooner folded his napkin beside his plate when Mr. Friedrich threw his own napkin down on the table and shoved back his chair, the legs screeching against the wooden floor. "You have learned how to milk the cows?" he asked Mike.

"Yes, sir," Mike answered, "but Reuben usually—"

"Today you and Gunter will do it," Mr. Friedrich said.

Mike stared at Gunter, who didn't look up. "But this is Monday, and Gunter has school."

"Gunter will miss school for a while. I need his help. With Reuben gone, we'll have extra work to do, so be quick about it."

"Reuben g-gone?" Mike stammered.

"That's what I said. Now hurry."

"But where—?"

Mr. Friedrich stomped from the room, and Mrs. Friedrich leaned across the table to murmur to Mike, "Hans is upset enough. Please don't ask him any questions about Reuben. It will only make him more angry."

Mike could hardly breathe. "What happened to Reuben?" he whispered.

"What happened to him? What a strange question," she answered. "He simply left us."

"Reuben wouldn't go without saying good-bye to me," Mike said.

"Well, he did." Gunter sneered. "Why should he care about saying good-bye to you, a copper-stealing guttersnipe?"

Mrs. Friedrich's hands fluttered helplessly. "Gunter, please. Boys, won't you hurry? Hans needs your help. You don't want to make him more upset than he is now, do you?"

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Mike slid from his chair and went into the kitchen. He wished that Gunter would hurry outside, because he had to talk to Marta, but Gunter trailed behind Mike, slowly and methodically putting on his cap, coat, and gloves.

Mike decided to ignore him and asked Marta, "Did Reuben tell you he was going to leave?"

"No," she said, and for a moment she looked wistfiil. "He was not the best company at meals, with his nose always in that book of his, but he was a good, gentle man with a ready smile, and I'm sorry he has gone."

Tears burned behind Mike's eyes, and he roughly rubbed them away. "He'd tell me good-bye," he said. "I know he would."

Gunter, who had opened the back door, made a face at Mike. "You're wrong," he said, "because he didn't!"

Mr. Friedrich bellowed from the bam, "Gunter! Michael! Get out here now!"

Mike made a dash for the bam, determined to talk to Marta later. Had the argument he'd overheard been the reason for Reuben's sudden departure? Had Mr. Friedrich made him go?

Mike worked twice as hard as usual that moming because Gunter—once his father was out of sight— dawdled as much as possible and let Mike do most of the work. Mike didn't care. He ignored Gunter. He had too much to think about. He went over and over what he had seen and heard last night, and each time the picture that stood out strongly was the one of Mr. Friedrich carrying the shovel. An ugly suspicion stmggled to enter Mike's thoughts, but he fought it away with hard work.

The chores went fast, in spite of Gunter's lagging. Mike was thankful when Gunter rode off with his father, who had business with a mill owner, and Mike was left to slop the pigs and hogs and clean the chicken coop.

As he washed out the feed bucket, he realized that he

had finished his chores, but Gunter and Mr. Friedrich had not returned. If he were quick about it, he'd have a few minutes of his own. There was something he had to see.

Mike ran to the cabin where Reuben had lived. The door was fastened with a padlock, but he could peer through the window. A chest, in which Reuben probably had kept his clothing, stood open, and Mike could see that it was empty. The bed was stripped, with only a bare straw mattress lying on the rope slings that held it. There was another room, beyond a partition, and Mike also inspected it through its window. It, too, was completely bare and spotlessly clean. Both rooms looked as though they had never been lived in.

So Reuben had gone, taking his few possessions with him. Mike slid to the ground, resting his head and arms on his knees. He had gone without saying good-bye.

But what had Mr. Friedrich been doing with the shovel?

Mike heard the horses and quickly scrambled to his feet. He ran away from the cabin as fast as he could and went to meet Mr. Friedrich, who had dismounted. Mike took the reins from him and led the horse into the bam, where he removed the saddle and bridle and rubbed the animal down.

From the comer of his eye, Mike saw Gunter make a few quick passes at the sweat on the neck of the horse he had been riding, then lead the animal toward one of the stalls. Mike straightened and said, 'The poor horse needs more care than what youVe given him."

"Do it yourself," Gunter said. He dropped the horse's reins and ran from the bam.

"Hey!" Mike grabbed for the reins before the horse took it into his head to bolt and fastened them securely. He had his hands full with both animals to care for, but

he didn't mind. Tl>e work was routine and gave him time to think.

His mind recreated the scene from last night. Mr. Friedrich had raised his fist and lunged toward Reuben. But what had happened then? Mike had seen many a fight on the streets of New York City, and they were rowdy, noisy affairs, with huffing and panting and grunts, as fists smacked loudly into jaws and bodies went flying, only to scramble up and clash again. No, there had not been a fight in the bam.

What about the shovel?

A man could be struck down and killed with the blade of a shovel.

Mike gasped and leaned for a moment against one of the stalls to support his wobbling legs. He'd tried to warn Reuben. Mr. FYiedrich had killed a man before. Who was to say he wouldn't kill again?

Mike studied the bam. He wasn't sure what he was searching for, but everything looked as it normally did. There were no signs of a stmggle and—he gulped—^no signs of blood. He put the horses into their stalls and climbed the ladder. He didn't know what he expected to find in the hayloft besides a broader view of the bam.

He lay on his stomach at the edge of the loft and stared down at the rumps of the horses and what he could see of the cleanly swept stalls for the cows. The tack was neatly in order, and the tools were stored where they belonged.

His eyes passed over the scene, and at first the small, dark red spot that protmded from behind the tool chest at the far end of the bam didn't seem important. But something made him look back. That tiny, dull red lump reminded him of something. Mike slid and scrambled down the ladder and ran to the end of the bam. His heart banged and thumped loudly enough for anyone to hear. As he reached behind the tool chest, his fingertips

felt the familiar outlines of a book, and he tugged at it, pulling it out from where it was wedged.

Mike held the book in his hands and slowly opened the cover. There, at the top of the first page, was written in a firm hand, Property of Reuben Starkey,

Mike groaned aloud, positive now that his suspicions were correct. Reuben wouldn't have left without his book of poems. It was a possession that meant everything to him.

Mike knew now there was only one explanation. Mr. Friedrich had murdered Reuben!

Frantically Mike shoved the book into the pocket of his coat. Mr. Friedrich must never know what he had uncovered.

Stumbling and gasping for breath, Mike ran in the direction Mr. Friedrich had taken the night before. When he reached the woods he flung himself facedown on the ground and lay without moving until his breathing had slowed and the pain was gone from his chest. He managed to climb to his feet, but his knees shook as he slowly walked into the woods, carefully searching the ground, praying he wouldn't find what he was looking for.

He parted a stand of small hickory trees and stepped through, discovering at his feet a tangle of twigs and brush that had been spread over the ground. He knelt to brush them aside and found a rectangle of tamped-down earth that recently had been spaded. Mike crumpled to the ground in despair and cried for his friend Reuben until all tears were gone and his body shuddered with dry sobs.

Finally he sat up, rubbing the tears and dirt from his

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face with the sleeves of his jacket. What should he do? Who could help him?

Ma? She was too far away to help. Frances? She had told him, "If ever you need me, Til come." But there was no quick way he could reach Frances. Now that this had happened, would Mr. Friedrich ever let him try to reach his family again? "Nobody can help me," he whispered.

As Mike tried to fight his feelings of hopelessness, Megan's voice came into his mind as clearly as though she were near him. "You have no proof, Mike. You don't know enough about what happened. It's not fair to Mr. Friedrich to jump to conclusions."

Mike nodded. That was true. He must ask careful questions. He must wait and watch. At the first clang of the beU that signaled the noon meal, Mike shivered. How could he return to the house to face Mr. Friedrich? It was easy to imagine how angry Mr. Friedrich would be if Mike were late, so he dusted himself off and raced back.

Mr. Friedrich was still in a terrible mood. He gulped great bites of food, muttering between mouthfuls about the problem of trying to find an extra farmhand. "With winter approaching not many men will be out looking for jobs," he complained.

"You will find someone." Mrs. Friedrich was obviously trying to calm him. "Maybe when we go to St. Joe for supplies."

"Until then, Papa, Mike can do Reuben's jobs." Gun-ter spoke between mouthfuls. "Reuben trained Mike, didn't he? Mike should earn his keep."

Mike found the courage to ask, "Why did Reuben leave?"

Mr. Friedrich scowled at Mike and replied, "Because he was an ungrateful, deceitful wretch!"

Mike choked back angry words and tried to remain calm. "Where did Reuben go?" he asked.

"How should we know?" Mr. Friedrich shouted.

"No more talk of Reuben," Mrs. Friedrich begged. "Let's be silent and finish our meal."

Mike tried to eat, but he couldn't. This time not even Mrs. Friedrich seemed to notice. He was thankful when Mr. Friedrich heaved himself to his feet and they all could leave the table.

As usual, Gunter followed his father to avoid helping. Before Mrs. Friedrich could leave the room, however, Mike touched her arm. He glanced toward the door to make sure that Mr. Friedrich was not within earshot and whispered, "Please tell me what you know about Reuben."

"He is gone. That's all I know," Mrs. Friedrich murmured. "Do not talk about him again."

"But I need to know what—what happened to him," Mike stanunered. In a rush the words came out. "We were chums. I know he wouldn't have left without saying good-bye to me."

Mrs. Friedrich, her eyes also on the door, took Mike's hand and bent to whisper to him. "Reuben was rude to Mr. Friedrich. He spoke back to him. He lied to him. Without a word of apology, he packed his belongings and left. His behavior shocked all of us."

"Reuben wouldn't lie, and I can't believe that he'd be rude."

"Hans told me this himself," Mrs. Friedrich said.

"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."