Caught in the Act

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  "Very well," Marta said, "but only until I make my decision."

  "What does that mean?" Mr. Friedrich demanded of Marta.

  "My private thoughts are my own," she said and disappeared into the house, Mrs. Friedrich rushing after her.

  Mike admired Marta's courage. FYances would have been just as brave, he thought, and for a moment he pictured his sister flouncing through the door with the same toss of her head. But Marta couldn't stay for long. She'd have to leave this house.

  Marta didn't know that her life was in danger. Mike would have to find a way to talk to Marta privately and tell her what he had overheard.

  Suddenly Mike found himself being pulled back into the bam. "Be quiet," Reuben whispered. "All his anger hasn't been spent. He'll be looking for someone to vent it on, and I don't want it to be you."

  "Gunter!" Mike heard Mr. Friedrich yell. "Have you done your studies? Why are you wasting your time when there are things to be done?"

  "But Papa!" Gunter whined, and Mike could hear the fi-ont door slam behind them.

  "1 have to talk to Marta," Mike whispered to Reuben. "I think she might be in danger."

  "Not now," Reuben said. "Nothing is going to happen to Marta. She's well able to take care of herself."

  "But—"

  "Listen to me," Reuben told Mike. "Go quietly into the house through the back door and change your clothes. Try not to be noticed. We'll go into the woods, and I'll read to you. We'll have an hour or so of rest before it's time to take care of the evening chores."

  Mike hesitated. "Do you really think that Marta will be safe?"

  "Yes," Reuben said. "I do."

  "How much do you really know about Mr. Friedrich?" Mike asked.

  "No more talk about Mr. Friedrich." Reuben's voice

  was firm. "If you want to go with me, then do as I say."

  "Right," Mike said, and he raced toward the house.

  The afternoon was a pleasant one. Reuben seemed to taste the words as he read them aloud. His voice was as soothing as water sUpping over stones or wind hunmiing through the pines. Mike didn't understand everything the poets meant to say, but even later, as he tended the animals, the words rested comfortably in his mind.

  But at supper Mr. Friedrich still sinmiered with anger, and Mike was careful not to do anything that might cause that anger to boil over like thick soup in an undersized pot.

  Mike was grateful when supper had ended and he could go to his room to get ready for bed. He opened the window only an inch, wanting the fresh air but none of the chill that too much of it would bring. Mindful that Mr. Friedrich's hanunering at his door would come only too soon, Mike scrunched down under the quilt and tumbled quickly into sleep.

  He knew he had not slept long when the grumble of angry voices woke him. At first he wondered if they were again part of a bad dream, but as he groggily sat up he knew it was a real argument he was hearing, and it was coming from the direction of the bam.

  Moving quietly to keep the floorboards from creaking, Mike crept to the window and knelt with his arms on the sill, looking out into the night.

  The bam door was open. Mr. Friedrich and Reuben stood just inside. Mr. Friedrich's long shadow waved and wobbled grotesquely in the flickering lantern light. "You woolgathering book reader!" Mr. Friedrich shouted. "You are not worth what I am paying you! I am feeding a pack of leeches who turn on me, who take advantage of my good nature."

  Mike couldn't see Reuben or hear his answer except for the low murmur of his words. Was Reuben angry, too?

  "Yes, I mean Marta, and the boy, too!" Mr. Friedrich snapped.

  Again Reuben spoke, the sound of his words clipped, his answer short.

  "Oh, I know all about you!" Mr. Friedrich's voice grew even louder. "I know why you're here, what youYe after! Well, it won't do you any good!"

  Still Mike couldn't hear what Reuben was saying, but in answer Mr. Friedrich raised a fist and shook it. "You dare to talk to me like that?" He moved farther into the bam, out of sight, but his shadow jerked violently as though it were lunging toward someone. Mike strained and heard the sound of a dull thump.

  Now Mike strained with all his might, but heard nothing more. The bam was silent, and even the shadow had disappeared. Mike shivered and waited, scarcely able to breathe as he stared at the bam.

  The moonlight grew stronger, and soon Mr. Friedrich appeared again. In one hand he carried the lantem. In the other he held a shovel. He began to walk toward the hill. Suddenly, as though he were aware that someone was watching, he looked up at the house. Mike ducked so quickly that he banged his forehead against the win-dowsill. He crouched below the window, mbbing his aching head and hoping that Mr. Friedrich hadn't seen him. He waited for the sound of the back door closing.

  When the sound didn't come, he slowly, carefully, raised his head until he could see out of the window. Mr. Friedrich was not in sight. Neither was Reuben.

  Mike watched at the window until his eyes grew too heavy to keep open. He felt himself dozing and forced himself to stay awake. With the bam door open and Mr. Friedrich outside somewhere, Mike knew that whatever

  had taken place wasn't over. He forced back the worries and fears that tried to crowd into his mind, not allowing himself to guess at what had happened.

  It was painful to stay awake. His head was so heavy that his neck was sore and his eyes burned, but Mike refused to give up.

  When the clang of metal woke him, Mike realized he had been sleeping in a crumpled heap on the floor. For how long? He scrambled to his knees and saw Mr. Friedrich pick up the shovel he must have dropped, then enter the bam. In a few moments he emerged, shut and barred the doors, and walked toward the house.

  Mike scurried to get back into bed before Mr. Friedrich came into the kitchen. If he heard footsteps over his head, he'd know that Mike was awake. Shivering, Mike huddled under the quilt, his feet chunks of ice. What had Mr. Friedrich done? Where was Reuben? Why would Mr. Friedrich be using a shovel so late at night? Mike tugged the quilt over his head as though it would shut out all the terrifying answers.

  He wished he could talk to someone. He thought of his sensible and practical sister Megan. She'd chase away all his wild, irrational fears and tell him, "You know your imagination sometimes gets the best of you, Mike. In the morning you'll work with Reuben just as you have been doing. If it will make you feel better, then tell him about the argument you overheard. He'll probably quote some line of poetry about it, and you'll know there was nothing to be afraid of."

  "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 Reub
en?" 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?"

  uo

  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.