A Dangerous Promise (16 page)

"I can't risk staying on the Mary Belle, since he might still be looking for me," Mike said. "I'll leave the boat and cut across country to St. Joe."

"I'll go with you," Jim said.

"You can't leave your job."

Jim grinned. "I'll never get around to finding all that gold and silver if I stay on the river. Besides, you'll be safer if you've got someone to travel with."

"What about Seth? How will he fill our jobs?"

"That's no problem. He won't have any trouble finding deckhands here in Lexington."

Mike glanced back at the chattering groups of passengers. "I have to leave now. My only chance to escape is if I can hide among the passengers."

"Then now it is," Jim said. He raced Mike to the cabin, where they snatched up their possessions and headed for the main deck. Mike pulled his cap low over his head as he and Jim elbowed into the middle of the crowd. Mike crept behind a plump woman dressed in full hoopskirts, thankful to find such a good shield from the soldiers.

The woman stopped to greet friends, but Mike was able to keep under the cover of the swarm of passengers. At the first opportunity he scooted into a nearby alley and waited. Sooner or later Jim would find him.

It took only a few minutes. Jim leaned against a wall as he said, "You were right about the Rebs. As they headed toward the gangplank, I heard them saying your name. The minute all the passengers for Lexington have gone ashore, they'll probably board the Mary Belle.''

"Was Jiri with them?"

"I don't know."

"We need to get away from here," Mike said.

Jim smiled. "Your leg's a lot better, isn't it? You can move much faster now than you could before."

Mike was hopeful. "It's a good thing," he said, "because I figure we've got at least eighty miles or so to travel. It's a long walk to St. Joe."

Following sheltered back roads that led them away from the river, Mike and Jim made their way northwest. With the small amount of cash they had between them, they bought meals from farm wives and were granted permission to sleep in haylofts. Because they were too young to be soldiers, no one asked if they were sympathetic to the North or the South. And having left Jiri and his company behind them, the boys felt freed of an enormous burden.

On the third night of their journey, a friendly farmer and his wife. Otto and Maud Nieman, shared a late supper with Mike and Jim in their kitchen.

"Do you have family?" Mrs. Nieman asked kindly.

"Yes," Mike answered.

"Are they near? Or are you far from home?"

"Some are in Kansas, some in and around St. Joe," Mike said politely.

"Good," Mrs. Nieman said. "And what about you, Jim? Have you no one at all?"

138

"I'm an orphan," Jim told her.

"Dear boy," Mrs. Nieman murmured, and ladled more stew onto Jim's nearly empty plate.

Mike was just mopping up the rich stew broth with a chunk of bread when the kitchen door opened and a husky young man entered.

"Stanley!" Mrs. Nieman cried, and jumped up to hug him.

"We thought you wouldn't be able to take care of your business so soon," Mr. Nieman told him. "We weren't expecting you back from Lexington until Friday."

Lexington! Mike glanced at Jim with alarm.

"Business went well, so I finished early," Stanley answered. He stared at Mike's hair, then took a long slow look at both Mike and Jim.

"Michael Kelly and Jim Riley," Mr. Nieman said. "I'd like you to meet our son, Stanley Nieman."

"Weren't you recently in Lexington?" Stanley asked Mike.

What has Stanley heard? He knows something! From the expression on Jim's face, Mike could tell that Jim felt the same concern.

"Lexington? That's quite a ways from here." Mike faked a yawn. "If you don't mind, Mr. Nieman, we're tired and we'd like to turn in. You said we could sleep in your hayloft?"

"You're welcome to it," Mr. Nieman assured him.

"We'll help you with the dishes first," Mike offered, but Mrs. Nieman laughed and glanced at her son with loving eyes.

"A^em," she said. "We haven't seen Stanley for two weeks, so we have much to talk about. But you boys come in for breakfast before you leave in the morning. Some biscuits and eggs will give you a good start to the day."

Mike and Jim thanked the Niemans, picked up their knapsacks and bedrolls, and left through the kitchen door.

The moment they were outside, Mike held a finger to his lips and crept under the open kitchen window.

"You're harboring thieves!" Stanley was saying. 'The one with red hair—he not only stole a fine pocket watch from a Confederate soldier, he physically attacked him and broke his leg."

Jim sucked in his breath and shot Mike a glance.

"How could he do that? He's just a boy," Mrs. Nieman complained.

"He's a Union soldier, escaped when he was captured."

"No! He's not old enough to be a soldier. I can't believe that story."

"Ma," Stanley persisted, "I heard it from the Confederate soldier himself. He's offering a reward, and I'm going to claim it."

"Stanley!" Mr. Nieman demanded. "What are you doing with my rifle?"

"I'm going after that pair," Stanley answered. "I'll tie them up and take them back to Lexington. I told you, Pa, I plan on collecting that reward."

"Listen to me, Stanley—" Mr. Nieman began, but Mike and Jim didn't wait to hear the rest. Swinging their knapsacks and bedrolls up on their backs, they ran toward the road that led into the woods.

A shot whizzed by Mike's ear.

Jim put on a burst of speed, yelling over his shoulder, "Hurry, Mike! Faster!"

Another shot! A shell slammed into the dust near Mike's feet, and he ran with all his strength, wincing at the sharp pain in his leg.

"Stanley, stop!" Mike heard Mrs. Nieman scream.

Then, "Ma! Leave me alone!"

Mike and Jim cut into the shelter of the woods, running and hobbling without a stop until they were nearly a mile north of the Niemans' farm. Mike, his chest heaving as he

tried to catch his breath, threw himself down on the ground. Jim flopped beside him.

"Poor old Jiri broke his leg," Jim said, and Mike could hear the satisfaction in his words. "Jiri may want the watch, but it looks Uke he wants you even more."

Mike remembered the aftermath of Wilson's Creek, when Jiri told Corey to shoot him. He shuddered. "When we reach St. Joe, we'll be safe," he told Jim.

Jim stood up and stretched. "Then let's get started," he answered. "No sleep for us tonight. We'd better keep traveling."

For two days they kept to the road, ready to leap into ditches or cornfields or woods at the first soimd of horses' hooves. At last, just before noon they straggled into the town of St. Joseph. Mike was never so glad to see the familiar bustle—shoppers, trappers, families gathering supplies for treks west, businessmen in high starched collars and top hats, riverboat men, and a few children, who sometimes darted dangerously close to the horses and lumbering wagon wheels.

The town was much as it had been when Mike arrived on an orphan train, and his heart began to ache as memories rose like ghosts to taunt him. But at least Ma lived here now, and his friends Katherine Banks and Andrew MacNair. He smiled at the sight of Katherine's store.

"Wake up, Mike," Jim said. "Tell me where we're headed now. Your ma's house? With that reward on your head, it's better that not many people know we're here."

More than anything he could think of, Mike wanted to see his mother, but he shook his head. "First I'll take Billy Whitley's pocket watch to his wife, Aggie. Then I can relax." He scratched his chest and smiled. "And have what I've been longing for—a hot bath."

At that moment the door to Katherine Banks's store

opened, and Katherine stepped out onto the wooden sidewalk with a customer.

"Mrs. Banks!" Mike shouted.

She turned, shading her eyes against the sun, and smiled as she recognized him. "Mike Kelly!"

Mike hurried to join her and introduced Jim.

"Have you seen your mother yet?" Katherine asked. "I know she's been expecting you."

"Not yet," Mike said.

Katherine caught hold of a boy who came scampering past. "Johnny," she said, "run and fetch Mrs. Noreen Murphy. Tell her Mike's here. There'll be a peppermint stick for you when you get back."

"And Mrs. Billy Whitley," Mike told him, pressing one of his few remaining coins into the boy's hand. "She's staying with relations on Chester Street. Do you know her? I'm carrying a parcel to her from her husband."

"I know Mrs. Whitley," Katherine said, and she gave Johrmy directions to the house.

The boy took off in a hurry, and Katherine turned to Mike. "We've heard so much about you, Mike. Tell me—"

But Katherine was elbowed aside by the scowling banker, Mr. Crandon, who was even plumper and pastier than Mike remembered him.

"Someone call the sheriff." Mr. Crandon sputtered. "Mike Kelly should be under arrest!"

Before Mike could speak, Stanley Nieman stepped around from behind Mr. Crandon. "We don't need the sheriff. He's my prisoner."

Terrified, Mike stammered, "I'm nobody's prisoner! I haven't done anything wrong!"

"You're a thief!" Mr. Crandon shouted. "Stole a Confederate soldier's watch!"

A crowd had begim to gather, and Mike could hear mut-terings. "What'd he say about the Confederates?"

"My son's with Price's Missouri State Guard," said a man in the crowd.

"This boy's done something to a Confederate soldier," said another.

"Then he ought to be in jail."

Mr. Crandon suddenly reached out and snatched Mike's knapsack, ripping it from his shoulders. "We'll prove you're lying!" he yelled at Mike. "K you stole the watch, it will be in here!"

To Mike's horror, Mr. Crandon pulled Billy Whitley's watch from its envelope, the papers with it scattering on the ground. "Here! What's this? A second watch?" Mr. Crandon cried, and came up with Todd's watch.

"I can explain!" Mike yelled at him.

As Mr. Crandon upended Mike's knapsack, Mike's Union Army uniform dropped to his feet.

"Look at that uniform! He's a Union spy!" someone shouted.

Stanley reached for the watches, but Mr. Crandon, who looked as if he were trying to appraise their value, quickly moved them out of his reach.

The man who'd said his son was with Price's Missouri Guard spoke up. "We know how the armies handle spies! They're hanged on the spot!"

"Especially Union spies!" someone chimed in, and grabbed Mike's arms from behind.

"No!" Katherine shouted.

Mike saw his mother trying desperately to elbow her way through the rapidly growing crowd.

Stanley made another swipe toward the watches, but Mr. Crandon held them high. "I'll take care of these watches," he said.

"Not mine, you won't!"

A plump woman, her bonnet askew, stepped up on the edge of a horse trough and clung to a lamppost for balance.

"All of you be quiet!" she shouted at the crowd. "I have something to say!"

The angry people on the street turned toward her in stunned silence. The woman cleared her throat, tried to adjust her bonnet with one hand, and said more calmly, "For those I haven't met as yet, my name is Aggie Whitley. My husband, Billy Whitley, is with the Second Kansas Infantry, where this boy—Mike Kelly—served as a drummer until he was wounded at Wilson's Creek. When Mike Kelly was discharged, my husband Billy asked him to deliver his watch to me. He wrote and told me to expect Mike." She pointed. "That gold one with the design etched into it— that's my watch."

Mike spoke up. "The letters Billy sent with it are on the ground where Mr. Crandon dropped them."

Mrs. Whitley drew herself up haughtily and stared down her nose at Mr. Crandon. "I'll thank you to pick them up and give them to me, along with my watch."

Mr. Crandon, huffing a bit, did as she had told him. Then he said triumphantly, "This other watch, though—this was taken from one of our boys fighting bravely for the South."

"No, it wasn't," Mike said.

The crowd began to mutter and bicker, but Mrs. Whitley, who had a fine pair of lungs to Mike's way of thinking, shouted them down. "You heard me out and found that Mr. Crandon was wrong. Now give the boy a chance. Listen to what he has to say!"

Mike tugged free of the arms that held him. He was frightened at the sight of the faces turned toward him, many of them tight with anger, but he took a deep breath and began. "The watch Mr. Crandon's holding belongs to a friend of mine, Todd Blakely," he began. He told the crowd about how Todd had made Mike promise to take the watch to Emily, his sister; about lying wounded in a hollow after the battle was over; and about how Corey had chided Jiri Logan for robbing the dead.

"War's a horror you can't believe unless you're in it with guns blasting around you and wounded men screaming in pain," Mike said. "I saw a Confederate soldier shoot a Union soldier, then hold him in his arms while he cried, 1 shot my pa! God help me, I shot my pa!' "

Mike heard gasps of horror. Nearby a woman whimpered, thrusting a handkerchief to her mouth.

"And it's not just soldiers who live in nightmares. I met a woman whose secessionist husband informs on Union sympathizers, then rides at night with patrols who bum their bams and houses. People are doing evil things to each other —all because of the war."

The crowd was shocked into silence. No one moved as Mike continued. "I tried to serve my country the best way I knew how, and I did until I was shot in battle. If the war goes on for the next few years, I'll enlist again—this time as a soldier. But I'm not a spy, and I'll never be one."

Some of the people in the crowd turned and walked away. Mr, Crandon still held Todd's watch, but he didn't resist as Katherine opened his fingers. The watch in her hand, she said to Stanley Nieman, "Go back where you came from. You'll find no support here."

Ma rushed toward Mike with a hug that nearly knocked him off his feet. "Oh, Michael, Michael, I'm so proud of you!" she cried. She held Mike at arm's length, searching his face while tears trickled into her smile. "You'll stay with me until you're well again," she said.