MB02 - A Noble Groom (14 page)

What kind of man was this Dirk anyway? Would he be worthy of a woman like Annalisa?

Carl called to the horses, and they started forward, but not nearly fast enough. His hurting feet found a surge of new energy, and he led the horses over the uneven ground.

Annalisa wouldn’t marry a man she didn’t know, would she? Wouldn’t she want to get to know this Dirk first?

Even as the question tumbled out, the answer came quickly on its heels. Annalisa had almost married
him
the day he’d arrived, when everyone had mistaken him for her groom. He’d chuckled over the mistake in the days since then. But at that moment, with the prospect of Dirk’s arrival, Annalisa’s willingness to marry a complete stranger didn’t seem humorous anymore.

His muscles twitched with a sudden urgency. Why would Annalisa want to marry someone she didn’t know or much less love? She would only end up miserable, the way his mother had.

No one deserved a loveless marriage. Not even someone as desperate as Annalisa.

By the time Carl passed the smokehouse, his breath came in gasps. Even the horses snorted from the exertion.

He didn’t bother to take them to the barn and attend to their needs. He knew he wasn’t being fair to the beasts, but a strange fear prodded him. He left them by the well, sprinted the last distance to the cabin, and shoved open the door, letting it bang against the inside wall.

It took a moment for him to adjust to the dim interior of the cabin. He spotted Gretchen first, huddled in a corner on the bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, silent sobs wracking her body. She cradled Snowdrop at an odd angle, almost as if the pup were dead.

Then his gaze landed upon Annalisa, who sat stiffly in the
chair at the table. A bulky man stood beside her, gripping her arm and pulling it behind her back.

The pinched tightness of her face told Carl she was in pain, and the flash of fear in her eyes begged for his help.

At the sight of Carl, the man took a quick step away from Annalisa and released her arm.

First, confusion rolled through Carl. Then hot anger. The aging man with the flabby middle and yellowed pockmarked face couldn’t be Dirk. And even if he were, he had no right hurting Annalisa as he’d obviously been doing.

“What’s going on here?” Carl’s body tensed with the need to walk across the room and put his fist into the man’s face. “Why are you hurting Annalisa?”

“I wasn’t hurting her,” the stranger said in stilted German. His fingers slid to his side, to the ivory handle of a pistol at his waist.

Before the man could draw his gun, Carl grabbed the rifle from the rack above the door, swung it around, and aimed it at the man’s chest, his finger already on the trigger. “I served my time in the military. I even fought in the Battle of Wörth back in ’70. I’ve had to kill, and I won’t hesitate to do it again if you so much as lay another finger on Annalisa.”

He wouldn’t tell the stranger that he’d thrown up all over himself the moment he realized the bullet from his gun had felled an enemy, that he’d crouched like a coward behind the dead body of a fallen comrade rather than have to shoot anyone else. That he’d sobbed as the bloodied bodies had piled up around him. And that he’d been grateful for the gunshot wound to his arm that had finally freed him from the battle.

“I’m doing business with Mrs. Werner.” The man’s German was atrocious.

“Not anymore,” Carl replied in English. “Not ever again.”

The man’s jaundiced eyes widened, as if he hadn’t expected him to speak perfect English. “And who are you?”

“I’m here to help Mrs. Werner. And if I ever see you on her land again, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your heart.”

At his fluent English, surprise flitted across Annalisa’s face. She would probably wonder how a poor simple teacher would be able to speak impeccable English after such a short time living in America. He certainly wouldn’t be able to tell her that he’d resided in England for many years, studying at several universities there and then tutoring children of wealthy lords.

A common man wouldn’t have had the resources or the privilege for such opportunities.

The stranger stared at him with narrowed eyes as if understanding that Carl was not the usual, poor immigrant farmer. Carl guessed the man wasn’t a typical farmer either. With his spotless trousers, shiny shoes, and heavy girth, the man was clearly not working the fields. Whatever his business, Carl had the feeling the man was used to bullying the immigrants and getting what he wanted.

Well, not today. Not with Annalisa.

Carl lifted his chin and gave the man the kind of hard glare he’d seen his father give many laborers over the years—the kind of look he hoped shouted authority and pride. Whoever this man was, he was certainly Carl’s inferior in status and wealth, and Carl had no reservations in making sure the man knew it.

“Get out of here.” Carl took a step closer, keeping the rifle trained on the man. “And in the future, if you have business that needs attending, you do it with me.”

The man’s eyes sparked with anger, the kind that said he didn’t like Carl’s interference—not in the least.

“I don’t know who you are or where you’re from,” the man said, picking up an official-looking document from the table
and folding it, “but I don’t have too many enemies around these parts.”

Annalisa sat frozen in the chair, her face pale.

“My enemies don’t seem to stick around for very long.” The man tucked the sheet into the inner pocket of his coat. Then he leveled a deadly look at Carl. “If you get my meaning.”

Carl was tempted to tell the stranger he wouldn’t be around long anyway. Instead he snorted, the way his father always did when he was scoffing someone, and then he stepped back and nodded toward the door. “I don’t let my enemies stick around very long either. If you get
my
meaning.”

The man glared at Annalisa and once again spoke in stilted German. “Don’t think this is over.”

She didn’t move.

Carl’s grip on the gun tightened with the urge to do something to the stranger now—before he left, while he had the chance to teach him a lesson. If he didn’t do something more forceful, he had the feeling the man would likely come back to torment Annalisa.

Yet what could he do besides shoot him? And the Lord knew how much he wanted to avoid doing that. He might want to punch the man in the face, but he didn’t want to kill him.

“This
is
over,” Carl said, wishing he were a stronger man so that he could physically pick up the stranger and toss him outside. “Get out now before I change my mind and decide to put a few pieces of lead into you.”

Carl didn’t breathe until the man stepped outside into the darkness that had pushed away the last traces of daylight. Carl shoved the door closed and locked it. Then with urgent footsteps he crossed to Annalisa.

“Did he hurt you?” He lowered himself onto one knee beside her.

She rubbed her shoulder and the arm the man had wrenched behind her back. “Nein.” But her face was drawn.

“Are you sure?”

The blue of her eyes was laced with the dark purple hues that came after sunset.

He couldn’t keep himself from reaching out for her. Something deep inside him needed to protect her and make her world better. He brushed his fingers against her shoulders and then ran them down her arms.

She trembled.

He started to pull back, but she leaned closer, her eyes darkening. Gratefulness swirled in the depths. But there was something else too—something that stopped him and tightened his gut with warmth.

His fingers lingered on her arms.

“
Danke
,” she whispered.

Before he could stop himself, he circled his hands around her and drew her against his chest, gathering her as close as her rounded abdomen would allow.

She hesitated and held herself rigid as if she’d never been embraced and didn’t understand what to do.

“I don’t know who that man was,” he whispered against her hair, “but I was tempted to murder him when I saw the way he was hurting you.”

“He’s E. B. Ward, and he was trying to force me to sign my land over to him.” She shivered.

Was she afraid of E. B. Ward, or of him? She had to know by now she had nothing to fear from him, that he wasn’t the kind of man who would hurt a woman.

He gently brushed the light feathery strands of her hair that had come loose from the long plait she wore.

Her body remained stiff.

“Why does this Ward want your land?” He pressed his face into the silkiness of her hair and took a deep breath of the lingering sweet scent of maple syrup. “I cannot imagine him out plowing the land anytime soon.”

“Nein. He wants to build a sawmill, and the land along the river provides a perfect spot.” She didn’t move, as if she hardly dared to breathe.

He knew he should let go of her, that he was making her uncomfortable. But he couldn’t—not without attempting to show her she didn’t have to be afraid of him. “And he thinks he can just take the land from you because you’re a woman?”

She nodded. “He offered Hans money, but it wasn’t enough. And Hans didn’t want to move. He thought maybe he could build the sawmill for himself. . . .”

Her voice faded with an edge of bitterness. Carl couldn’t help wondering how Hans had treated her and if she had loved her husband. What had their relationship been like?

She never spoke of him. And she carried with her an air of sadness. He’d assumed she was still mourning her husband’s loss.

But maybe he’d beaten her down and driven the joy of living from her, like Idette’s husband.

Annalisa started to move away from him. But he gently tugged her closer. “You’re safe now. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” He relished the soft tickle of her hair against his jaw and the warmth of her body so near his.

For an eternal moment, she didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. But then she released a soft sigh and with it her shoulders relaxed. She sagged against him as if she’d finally breathed out all of her resistance to him.

He dragged in a deep, contented breath. He’d broken through the stiff reserve she’d built around herself, much like the thick wall surrounding his father’s schloss.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her trembling ceased. And although she didn’t wrap her arms around him in return the way he wanted, at least she was beginning to trust him—or at least he hoped she was.

“Mama?” Gretchen’s heartbroken call came from the bed.

With a gasp Annalisa pulled back.

He released her and helped her to her feet.

They’d both forgotten about the girl. Had Ward hurt her too?

Carl’s fingers tightened into hard fists with the need to punch the man’s flabby stomach.

Annalisa stumbled across the room to the bed. Gretchen was still in the corner, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She hugged Snowdrop to her chest, but the normally squirmy puppy didn’t move.

“Is Snowdrop hurt?” the girl asked through a broken sob.

Annalisa sat down on the edge of the bed and gathered Gretchen into her arms. The puppy flopped like a rag doll. Annalisa put a hand to the pup’s nose and rubbed his head. But he gave no sign of life.

Carl approached the bed and scanned the girl for any signs of injury. Seeing none, he uncurled his fist and took a deep breath. If Ward had hurt Gretchen, he would have had no other option than to chase the man down and teach him a lesson.

“Make Snowdrop wake up, Mama,” Gretchen pleaded. “Bitte, Mama. Bitte.”

Annalisa shook her head and then glanced up at him. Desperation flashed across her face. “The dog was barking at Ward and snapping at his heels. . . .”

Carl could just picture the scene—the puppy sensing Gretchen and Annalisa’s fear and doing all he could to protect them from the intruder.

“Before I could put Snowdrop outside, Ward kicked him. In
the head.” Annalisa scratched the curly black fur on the dog’s head.

Gretchen’s sobs tore at Carl’s chest. “Guess I should have put a bullet in that miserable man after all.” He lowered himself to his knees, forgetting all the aches in his weary body.

He didn’t know the first thing about doctoring animals. But he couldn’t sit back and do nothing for the pup, not with Gretchen’s tears and not with Annalisa’s eyes pleading with him.

Lord, please don’t let the dog die,
he silently prayed. Then he took the puppy, stretched him out on the bed, and bent his ear to the animal’s chest. At the faint thump of a heartbeat Carl lifted his head. “He’s still alive.”

Gretchen gulped down a sob and sat forward, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Will he live?” Annalisa asked.

Carl rubbed his hand up and down the dog’s torso. “I’m praying he will.”

“Pray too, Mama?” Gretchen climbed off the bed and kneeled next to Carl. Her face barely reached the edge of the bed.

“Yes, you and your mama pray too.”

“Pray, Mama?” She patted the spot next to her.

Doubt flickered across Annalisa’s face, almost as if she didn’t believe that prayer would make much of a difference.

“Remember,” he said softly, “if God clothes every blade of grass—every one of the millions of sprouts that come up in the spring—then I think He’ll show some concern for this puppy’s life.”

She hesitated.

“He tells us that we can bring every kind of request before Him, no matter how insignificant it might seem.” Carl rubbed the puppy’s belly, feeling for damage to any organs or bones. He’d learned that God might not always answer his prayers the
way he wanted. But the telling of his concerns usually brought a peace and a perspective that were better than a direct answer and perhaps part of the real reason for praying.

From the way Annalisa arched her brow, he wasn’t sure if his platitudes cut through her doubt, but she slid off the bed and knelt next to Gretchen anyway.

“Let’s pray.” Her words were soft and unconvincing. But she folded her hands and bowed her head. Gretchen did the same.

At the sight of the two blond heads bent in prayer, Carl’s heart tumbled. What would it be like to have his own wife and daughter? To kneel next to them every morning and evening and lead them in prayer?