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!"
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.
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