MB02 - A Noble Groom (20 page)

Ward shrugged his wide shoulders and then stepped off the plank sidewalk onto the dirt street. “Once I get the information I need about you, I have the feeling you might be willing to help me a little more.”

“Don’t count on it,” Carl called as Ward started across the street.

But the whistle of another steamboat at the waterfront drowned out Carl’s words and any reply Ward might have given. Carl was left watching the man’s back and the tight pull of his coat across his shoulders.

One thing was certain. He couldn’t send a telegraph to Matthias for money. He couldn’t chance Ward finding out anything more and tracking down his family. If Ward learned all that had transpired to bring him to America, he’d unquestionably turn him in to the duke, or use the information to blackmail him.

Even now, if Ward decided to contact Fritz Diehl in Chicago, Fritz would likely unwittingly divulge much more information than Ward needed to know. Of course, Carl hadn’t told Fritz anything about being a condemned murderer. He’d planned to explain everything once he arrived in Chicago.

But still, there was no telling what Ward would do next.

Carl could only pray he hadn’t suffered all the deprivation over the past months, only to end up in the duke’s hands again. If
he wanted to stay safe, he was going to have to be more careful, stay quiet and lay low. He couldn’t afford to jeopardize anything now that he’d made it as far as he had.

Annalisa’s feet and back were sore, but she was happier than she had been in a long time.

Carl walked next to her. He held the reins leading Old Red and matched his pace to hers.

She wasn’t sure what had brought such lightness to her heart. Was it the thoughtfulness of the man next to her? The fact that he was dashing and handsome? The brightness of the afternoon? Or the lack of all the worries that normally burdened her?

“I’m surprised these so-called roads haven’t scared everyone out of this wilderness and back to Detroit.”

“That’s because we have more here than we ever did in the Old Country,” she said, tilting her face to the May sunshine. Each day the rays grew warmer, as if to say that summer was rounding the bend and would soon be upon them with a fury of heat.

As long as the sunshine and heat gave her a good crop, that was all that mattered.

“Did you suffer much while you were growing up?” Carl’s voice was strained. “Was life terribly hard with you having so little?”

The wagon behind Old Red hit another deep rut in the road. It clattered like it was falling apart board by board. Annalisa hadn’t expected Gretchen to sleep through the bumpy ride home even with the thick bed of hay, but the long day in town had exhausted her.

“We had our share of hardships,” she said, thinking back to her childhood—the endless days of labor and the constant
threat of hunger and disease. “But we didn’t have more than what you or anyone else has faced.”

He didn’t say anything.

“And it was no worse than here.” She glanced at him sideways. His hat cast a shadow over his face. Even so, she could see the tightness of his normally carefree features. “At least here we’re getting something out of all our toil. In the end, we’ll own land and be able to have more than ever possible in Essen.”

He was quiet for another long moment. “That’s why the farm is so important to you? Because you’ll own it?”

She nodded. “Ja. Here we can make something of our lives and give our children a better future.” At least she hoped. But first she had to pay off the farm loan. And hopefully, now that they’d gotten most of the crops planted, she would be well on her way to seeing that happen.

Carl didn’t respond.

“Don’t you want a better life too?” she asked. “Maybe you’d like to try to own land here in America?”

She would never have dared to ask Hans such a personal question. But with Carl, she was learning she could share openly, that he wanted and even initiated their conversations.

“I don’t know what my life will hold,” he said hesitantly. “But I’m hoping that maybe soon, after your groom arrives, I’ll be able to move to Chicago and perhaps teach there.”

His words pricked her with disappointment. Didn’t he want to stay? After all the work he’d done, hadn’t he grown accustomed to farming? Didn’t he find the wild land captivating, like she had?

For several minutes they walked without speaking. The clanking and rattling of the wagon filled the space between them. The dust of the dirt road swirled around them, along with her unspoken questions. She may have grown braver in talking with him, but the hard set to his lips was enough to silence her.

She inhaled deeply of the air laden with the blossoming maple flowers in the trees that shouldered the road.

Her stomach growled with the constant hunger she battled. It wouldn’t be long before they’d be eating fresh produce from the garden.

The baby gave a thump as if to agree that it was past time for a meal. If she’d calculated correctly, she only had about a month left before the baby came.

She put a hand to her lower back and pressed the aching muscles. The baby was getting heavier, and the walk to town and now back home had taken more effort than she’d anticipated. Nevertheless, she’d been delighted when Carl had arrived that morning and asked her if she wanted to accompany him. The way he’d asked her—the light in his eyes—had made it too hard to say no, even if she’d wanted to, which she hadn’t.

He’d told her that her mutter had decided Uri had too much work to be spared a trip. And of course they needed to sell the turkeys before they began to decompose or before a wild creature found their makeshift river icebox.

She’d had butter and eggs to sell, and she’d needed to restock the flour, sugar, coffee, and kerosene. She’d gone through the supplies much quicker now that she was feeding Carl. Always when she visited the general store, she took a moment to stop and smell the spices—the nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, and other tantalizing scents. She dreamed about the day when she’d have enough money to buy whatever spices she wanted for her baking.

“At least these poor excuses for roads have dried up,” Carl said, his voice containing its normal hint of humor. “Those mudholes earlier in the spring were rather dangerous.”

“The men have talked of turning this into a corduroy road at some point.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to convince him of the virtues of their community.

“And pray tell, what exactly is a ‘corduroy road,’ or dare I even ask?”

“They’re made by splitting logs in half and laying them next to each other across the road, particularly in the deepest mudholes.”

He grinned. “Now, that sounds one hundred percent better than the current situation.”

She watched his face, trying to gauge if he was serious or sarcastic. “We’ll be able to take our harvest to market much easier.”

“I suppose even if the corduroy road jars your bones apart, at least your horses won’t get lost in mud puddles.” His eyes glittered with flecks of mirth. “And I suppose you wouldn’t need to worry about any more late-night swims either, would you?”

“If I had a magic horsey like Gretchen’s, then I wouldn’t have to worry about walking at all.”

He laughed.

The warmth of his laughter soaked into her like a fresh spring rain. What was it about him that brought out her smile and a kind of playfulness she’d never known before?

The path to her farm was around the next bend, and she slowed her footsteps to make the time with him last just a little longer. After years of avoiding Hans as much as possible, she didn’t quite know what to do with her new feelings—the freedom of being around a man and actually enjoying his company.

Carl’s pace slowed too as they neared the farm. Was he reluctant for their time together to end?

“Thank you for your willingness to keep me company today,” he said. “But I think I’ve worn you out.”

She was weary, but only because the baby was getting so large. She couldn’t blame the roads this time.

“I was selfish to ask you to come along,” he said, “when the
ride is so unbearable and the walk tedious to one in your condition.”

“You made the walk so lovely I hardly noticed my aches.” Once the words were out, she didn’t know what had come over her to make her so bold. She pretended to watch the scampering of two baby red squirrels around the trunk of a nearby tree as they chased each other and chattered.

“I had a lovely day too,” he said softly. “But of course, how could it be anything but lovely when I’m with such a lovely lady?”

“Mama?” Gretchen’s sleepy face peeked over the edge of the wagon bed.

“A lovely lady and her princess.” Carl smiled at Gretchen.

His compliment brought Annalisa much more pleasure than she cared to admit. She turned toward her daughter, hoping to hide the effect of his words. “Ready to get out and walk, liebchen?”

Before she could lift Gretchen, Carl reached for the girl. Gretchen went to him with open arms.

Instead of immediately depositing her on the ground, he lifted her above his head and twirled her around. “I think you’re a flying fairy princess.”

Gretchen laughed and extended her arms to make wings.

Annalisa watched the delight in both Carl’s and Gretchen’s faces. He wasn’t playing with her out of obligation or to flatter her. Nein. He truly liked the young girl. Annalisa could see the joy in his face, and it brought an aching happiness to her heart.

When he delivered the flying princess back to solid earth, she looked up at him with her wide, innocent eyes. “Would you be my papa?”

“Ach, nein.” Embarrassed, Annalisa quickly twisted Gretchen away from Carl. “Nein, liebchen. You can’t ask such a thing of Carl.”

“But don’t we need a papa?” Gretchen’s delicate features tightened with confusion.

“Ja. But he’s coming on a ship from Saxony. He’ll be here soon.”

“Why can’t we have Carl as papa instead?”

“Because . . .” She didn’t dare look at Carl. “Because we can’t.”

“But—” Gretchen started, but Annalisa pressed a finger against the girl’s lips and silenced her with what she hoped was a stern frown. She knew her answer was unsatisfactory, but how could she explain to Gretchen the complexity of the situation when she herself didn’t know all the answers. She only knew Vater had decided everything many months ago. She had no way to reverse the plans now that they’d been set in motion.

And besides, even if she’d wanted to change the plans, Carl had once informed her he wasn’t a farmer and never would be. And hadn’t he just told her he was making plans to leave them, to go to Chicago and teach?

“I think I’ll walk ahead and give Uri his hard-earned turkey money.” Carl’s voice held a resignation that confirmed her thoughts. “But I’ll be back to take care of the horse and barn chores.”

She nodded and avoided meeting his gaze.

Without another word he continued toward her parents’ farm.

She led Old Red and Gretchen back to the cabin and began unloading the butter crocks that she would refill for the next trip to town. And as she worked, she tried not to think about Carl’s silence with Gretchen’s childish declaration, or his silence when Frau Pastor had wished they could find a way to keep him.

She’d only managed to carry in one load of crocks when the door banged open and Carl stumbled inside, breathless as if he’d just run the distance back from her parents’ farm.

“They’re flying a white flag.” He gasped the words out.

She froze, his declaration chilling her down to her bones.

His eyes held a fear that mirrored her own.

Typhoid fever.

Neither of them spoke the dreaded words. But from the worried wrinkles across his forehead she knew he was thinking them too.

“Was anyone sick this morning when you left?” She tried to stay calm, but her heartbeat was pattering as hard as a heavy spring rain against the roof.

“I didn’t notice anything, but I usually only see Uri and your vater before I leave. And they seemed fine to me. Neither complained of being sick.”

“What of Mutter or Eleanor?” She hadn’t seen either since the previous Sunday at church.

“I don’t know.”

For a long moment the only sound was Snowdrop’s happy yipping outside and Gretchen’s return banter. The sunshine spilled inside the cabin, but it suddenly seemed too bright, too jarring, too warm.

Annalisa took a deep, steadying breath of the familiar woodsmoke that lingered in the air. There was no sense in panicking yet. Likely her family would weather the illness just fine. They were healthy, strong, and such a disease wouldn’t ravage them the same way it would someone weaker.

“You won’t be able to go back until the flag is down,” she said.

He nodded solemnly.

“Perhaps you can stay with our neighbor, Herr Mueller.” She wanted to offer to make a bed for him in the barn, but propriety demanded that he stay with another neighbor.

The lines creasing his forehead deepened. “Perhaps I shouldn’t
have taken you and Gretchen into town today. What if you were exposed?”

“We’ll be fine.” She hoped.

But Carl’s eyes weren’t reassuring.