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.
As Mike waited for Reuben to return, he looked around. There were half a dozen cows in the bam, big animals that looked at him with huge brown eyes as he came close. The nearest one shifted in her stall, her broad rump swinging in his direction. Mike quickly backed away.
Beyond the cows he could see two large-eared mules, and beyond them the horses that had pulled the wagon. The spotted gray was eating, but the tall black tossed his head up and down and stamped his feet, snorting and blowing loud blasts of air from his nose. Mike gazed at the horses with interest and wondered what it would be like to be perched high on the back of one of them, knees tight against the sweating flanks, hands entwined
in the flowing mane, racing wildly over the hills, splashing through streams, the two of them free with no one to answer to.
''Fear no more the heat o' the sun, nor the furioiLS winter's rages. " Mike jumped as Reuben spoke behind him.
"Heat of the sun? It's not likely, with the sun still not high in the sky."
Reuben held out a warm woolen coat, cap, and knit gloves to Mike. "It's poetry, Mike. Shakespeare again. Have you never read the great poets?" As Mike gratefully struggled into the warm clothes, Reuben looked at him quizzically and added, "Can you read at all?"
"I can read. I even had a book of my own once," Mike said. "It was a dime novel— Seth Jones, or Captive of the Frontier. A grand story, full of adventure."
Reuben smiled. "Not exactly great literature, but at least you can read. Perhaps I can introduce some of the poets to you."
"Do they live around here, too?"
Reuben pulled a small, tattered book with a dark red cover from his coat pocket and tapped it. "They live in here," he said. "When we take a rest. Til read to you from this book. A man is never alone if he's reading the words of great minds."
Mike fastened the last button on the coat and tugged on the gloves. "These are a good fit," he said.
"Mrs. Friedrich has laid by Gunter's outgrown clothes," Reuben said. "In this household nothing is ever wasted or given away freely. FU ask Marta to put some of his clothes into the chest in your room." He reached into a bin and picked up a long switch, handing it to Mike. Then he whistled, and Wulf and Bruna scrambled over each other to reach his side.
"Use the switch on the cows' legs if they get out of line on the way to pasture." Reuben smiled. "You'll find
that the dogs do most of the work, but they're no good for opening or locking gates."
Mike jumped back as Reuben unfastened the gate on the first stall and the cow lumbered out. "I didn't know cows were so big!" He gasped and ducked as the cow's tail swished past his face.
*They won't hurt you unless you get close enough to get stepped on," Reuben said. He went from one stall to another, releasing the cows, who filed toward the open bam door as though they knew what was expected of them. Bruna trotted to one side, Wulf to the other, nudging and occasionally nipping to keep the big animals in line.
"Run ahead and open the gate," Reuben told Mike. Mike ran quickly, glad to get past the cows. He raced up a low hill to a fence made of posts laid in a zigzag pattern. Beyond the fence was a broad meadow, thick with grass and rinmied far off with deep green pines and smaller trees, their gold and orange leaves shinunering in the early morning light. Mike climbed on the gate to open the latch, then jumped down and shoved the gate wide.
As the cows went through, Reuben said, "Make sure that gate is tightly shut. These are prize cattle, which Mr. Friedrich is fond of reminding me of. He'd be mighty upset if they were to get loose and wander down the road."
"Will we go with the cows?" Mike asked.
*The cows will take care of themselves," Reuben answered. "No, you have other tasks to learn. There's water to bring into the house from the well and wood to chop and pile. There'll be plenty of field work, from planting to harvesting, and you'll help care for all the farm animals—the horses, cows, hogs, and pigs, even Mrs. Friedrich's chickens."
"Pigs?" Mike asked. "Where are the pigs and chickens?"
As though to answer him, a rooster crowed near the
bam. Mike turned to look down the hill at the house, bam, vegetable garden, and buildings that were set on the land. "What are all those small houses?" he asked.
Reuben chuckled. *The smallest one, which I'm sure you found right away, is the privy." As Mike nodded, Reuben continued. "To your left is the smokehouse— see, over there. That's where the meat is cured and hung. Nearby is the butcher shed." He continued to point. "At the far side of the bam is the chicken house. See it?"
"Yes," Mike said. "And way over there are the hogs."
"That building just behind the house is an outdoor kitchen to use during the summer's heat. Near it is the well, and the door at a slant to the ground leads to a root cellar where beans, com, squash, potatoes, and all the vegetables and ftxiit that are raised here are stored. Over there's the cabin where I live, with room in it for another hand, although Mr. Friedrich is tightfisted when it comes to pay, and my only other help left the end of last week."
"Is that why I'm here?" Mike asked.
Reuben pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. "Just between you and me," he said, "I do believe that Mr. Friedrich was more interested in finding unpaid help than aiding a poor orphan boy." He shook his head. "Urrfortunately, you're not big or strong enough for some of the jobs."
"But I'm willing to work hard," Mike said quickly.
"I believe you are." Reuben studied Mike's face and added, "I'll teach you, Mike, and help where I can. Your life with the Friedrichs may not be what you had hoped for. Mr. Friedrich demands hard work from everyone, but he pushes himself to work even harder. However, the Friedrichs will give you a warm bed and good food, which is more than many orphans would have."
"I'm not an orphan," Mike said. "I have a ma. She'll always be my ma, and someday I'm going to see her again. I know I will!"
"Determination and hope are good for the soul," Reuben said.
"Did one of your poets say that?" Mike asked.
"No, I did," Reuben said. He put a hand on Mike's shoulder, but Mike winced.
In answer to Reuben's puzzled look, Mike said, "Fm a bit sore in the back, that's all."
"Well, our next chore might loosen those sore muscles. We've got a bam to shovel out and wash down."
"I'm game for it," Mike said.
Reuben smiled and led the way down the hill. "While we're working, we'll talk," he said. "I'd like to hear about your journey west."
Mike breathed quickly as he trotted to keep up with Reuben. He liked Reuben, and he wanted to be his friend. But sooner or later Reuben would hear that he had been a copper stealer. Mike realized he'd rather Reuben heard it from him. "There's a lot to tell," he said.
"There's a lot I already know," Reuben said.
Mike looked up as they entered the bam. "You mean about—about why my ma sent my brothers and sisters and me to the West?"
"Every man has a past," Reuben said. "What counts is his future." He handed Mike a stiff broom made from tightly knotted and tied reeds. "I'll shovel. You sweep. And you can tell me more about that outlaw on the train. I never heard of anyone stealing from an outlaw."
"He had taken Mrs. Banks's ring," Mike said.
"Katherine Banks? Oh, yes. That pretty lady who runs the general store in St. Joseph." Reuben bent to scoop large mounds of hay and dung into a handbarrow. "Tell me all about it."
"It was sometime after we left a place called Hannibal," Mike said. "Everything happened all at once. The train stopped so fast the wheels made an awful screeching noise, and some people started yelling and scream-
ing. There were a lot of men on horseback. One of them poked his long gun into the window of our car, and a bearded man with a gun ran in through the door. He held out a bag and told us to drop our money and jewelry into it. Mrs. Banks asked the outlaw if he'd let her keep the ring her husband had given to her because it meant a lot to her, but he wouldn't."
Mike paused, and Reuben said, "Go on."
"Mrs. Banks looked crushed—about ready to cry—so I—I rushed into the outlaw," Mike explained, ducking his head as he added, "the way Td learned to do it in New York." Reuben didn't respond. Mike stepped around him into the first stall and attacked the scattered dust and dirt with his broom. Finally he continued. "When the outlaw staggered back to catch his balance, I reached into the bag where the passengers had dropped their money. I got the feel of Mrs. Banks's ring, so I grabbed it, along with a fistful of bills. Mrs. Banks was glad to get her ring back, and Captain Taylor—who's a mighty fme man—said he was proud of me, but some of the passengers—^there was one, a Mr. Crandon—^were angry. They said I shouldn't have come on the Orphan Train, since I was a pickpocket who couldn't be trusted. They wanted to send me back to New York."
"And you wouldn't want to go back to New York City?"
Reuben's wide sweeps with the shovel had taken him far ahead of Mike, so Mike rushed to catch up. "No," Mike said. "The judge told me if I was sent back, I'd go to Tombs Prison."
Reuben stopped and stared at Mike. Finally he said, "Then you must never go back."
"I stole because we were hungry," Mike said. "But I promised Ma and I promised myself I would never steal again."
Reuben took Mike's broom and swept the pile of hay
and dust and crumbs onto his shovel and from there into the handbarrow.
"I wish no one had to know about it," Mike said.
Reuben smiled wryly. ''When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state —" He stopped and shook his head. "No, Mike. Wrong poet. YouVe not alone."
"I feel alone."
"YouVe got a friend—right here." With a long finger, Reuben poked his own chest.
Tears came to Mike's eyes, and his throat was so tight it hurt to speak. "Thanks," Mike said. He rubbed hard at his eyes with the backs of his hands.
Reuben's voice was cheerful. "And youVe got a new family who'll come in time to appreciate you, I'm sure. Soon you'll be going to school and playing games with Gunter."
Mike shivered with anger as he thought of what Gunter had done to him. "Gunter hates me and has already caused trouble for me. He's a stinking barrel of tallow!" Mike muttered. "He's a hog. No, he's worse than a fat hog."
"Here, here now," Reuben said. "Nothing good comes from that kind of talk. Get yourself up into the loft. You'll find a rake up there. You can use it to toss fresh hay down into the stalls."
Mike scrambled up the ladder, eager to see the loft. But as he reached the top and peered over the rim, he found himself looking directly into Gunter Friedrich's narrowed, angry eyes.
Mike opened his mouth to speak, but he could only gasp.
"Stinking barrel of tallow, am I? Fat hog?" As Gunter struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the ladder, Mike scrambled and slid to the ground as fast as he could.
Gunter was right behind him. Fists out, he advanced on Mike, but Reuben stepped between them, a strong hand on Gunter's arm. "We'll have no fighting," he said finnly.
"I heard what he called me," Gunter snapped.
"You were spying! That's why!" Mike answered back.
"Was not! Pa sent me up there to spread the hay." He shook off Reuben's arm and glared at Mike, eyes narrowing as he spat out, "So! If you get sent back to New York, you'll go to prison! That's good to know."
Mike fought against the cold chill that shivered down his backbone. "I'm not going back," he said.
"We'll see about that," Gunter said. He turned and stomped out of the bam.
Mike looked up at Reuben and stanunered, "D-do you think he'U teU his father what I said?"
Reuben shrugged. "If he does, it's not enough to make Friedrich send you back."
Mike closed his eyes, whispering to himself, "But he might beat me again."
"He's beaten you? Mr. Friedrich?" Reuben's voice was so sharp that Mike was startled. "Is that why your back was sore?"
&nb
sp; Mike nodded. "I'm afraid of Mr. Friedrich," he admitted.
*The man has a fierce, quick temper," Reuben said. "More than a few times he's tried to take it out on me."
Mike glanced toward the open bam door and lowered his voice. "Do you know if he—if he ever killed a man? Someone named Ulrich?"
Reuben scowled as he thought. "I haven't heard the family talk of anyone named Ulrich, and as for gossip, I pay it no heed. In this country a man can leave his past behind and never look back."
Mike quickly said, "Don't think I sneaked and spied, like Gunter. The three of them talked loudly enough to wake me when we were coming here from St. Joe. They thought I was asleep in the wagon. They talked about Ulrich. He was a thief, but now he's dead. I only heard part of what they were saying, but I know that much. And I suspect that Mr. Friedrich killed him."
"You only heard part of a conversation, yet you're ready to put together a whole story? It nught be as bold and daring as the stories you've read in the dime novels."
Mike saw the comers of Reuben's mouth twitch, and he had to smile himself. "I guess I was letting fear get the best of me," he said, "and I admit I'm always one for a good tale." But, in spite of his brave tone, he shivered. "I am afraid of the man," he murmured. "I don't want him to beat me again."
Reuben squatted, bony knees akimbo, his deep-set
eyes drilling into Mike's. "I'll do what 1 can to help you, but 1 have no influence with Mr. FYiedrich. He doesn't much like me and puts up with my ^unproductive book reading and woolgathering'—as he calls it—^because I'm the only one he can find who will work for his meager wages."
"Why do you work for low wages?" Mike asked. "Aren't there any other jobs?"
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