MB02 - A Noble Groom (24 page)

Even after almost three months of living among this farming community, he still hadn’t gotten used to the deprivation. He didn’t know how one could unless one was born into it.

Of course the experience of living and working among the peasant laborers had given him a new appreciation for their hard work and for the subsistence level at which they lived. He couldn’t keep from thinking about all the times he’d passed by the laborers working his father’s fields and how he’d never once stopped to consider the hours upon hours of toil they underwent every day.

They’d always made the work look so easy.

Now he realized firsthand just how difficult and deprived their lives were.

He shifted his sore hindquarters and stared at the bent wires and levers he’d added to the washboard. Guilt whispered in his ear again.

What if his father had been wrong in his treatment of his workers? What if he’d been calloused and uncaring? Should he have listened to the complaints and made more of an effort to improve the working conditions of the miners?

At the clomping of hooves on the hard-packed path, Carl swiveled his head just as Annalisa had done to see who might be visiting. The white scrap of material still hung from a post near the cabin door. Visitors were rare, but the disease had isolated them even more.

He hadn’t had to worry about Ward coming out and attempting to coerce Annalisa again. And he hadn’t had to think about her groom showing up and surprising him. But it wouldn’t be long before they’d be able to take the flag down—as long as Annalisa didn’t get sick first.

The clatter drew nearer until they could see the form of a lone man through the covering of maples.

Could it be her groom at last? If he’d just arrived off the steamer, then perhaps he wouldn’t know what the white flags meant and that he needed to stay away.

Should he call to the man and warn him?

Carl’s weak limbs shook with the effort of lifting himself to the edge of the stump. A sick weight pressed against his middle. As much as he was relishing the time alone with Annalisa, he knew he needed to move on, at the very least respond to Fritz’s letter and let him know he’d be on his way to Chicago soon.

Annalisa’s face had lost its softness, replaced by a wariness, as if she was dreading the arrival of an outsider too.

The man waved his arm in greeting.

Annalisa waved back. “It’s only Herr Pastor.”

As the rider drew nearer, Carl forced himself up. By the time he was standing, he was sweating and breathing hard. But he straightened his back and made himself stand tall. He needed to regain his strength, and he couldn’t do that if he kept lounging around in the grass.

Pastor Loehe reined in his mount. He nodded first at Annalisa and then at Carl. “Frau Werner. Herr Richards. I wish I could say that it’s a good day, but it’s not.”

Annalisa’s face paled. “Gretchen?” The word came out as a terrified whisper.

Herr Pastor gave a sad smile and rubbed a hand across his bristly white beard. “Oh, she’s fine. Don’t worry about her. Other than missing you, she’s very happy, and so is my wife. I haven’t seen her this happy since our daughter married and moved to Iowa.”

Carl didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. But at the news of Gretchen’s good health, he sagged in relief.

“No, the little darling is doing just fine.” Herr Pastor’s face drooped with the kind of weariness that said he’d seen too much sorrow recently.

“Can you stay and have a piece of pie?” Annalisa asked.

“No, I must be going. I only stopped to inform you . . .” His voice cracked, and he swiped his hand across his eyes. “I just came from your father’s home.” The old pastor shook his head. “And I helped to bury your mother.”

“Nein!” Horror widened Annalisa’s eyes, and she quickly cupped a hand over her trembling lips.

Carl took a wobbly step toward her.

“I’m so sorry, Annalisa,” Pastor Loehe said hoarsely.

Tight lines etched her face, outlining her shock.

“I’ve had to bury too many of our congregants over the past couple of weeks.” Pastor Loehe again wiped a hand over his eyes brimming with tears. “And with every funeral I pray it will be the last.”

Annalisa swayed.

Carl strained to reach her side. And even though sweat broke out on his forehead from the exertion, and his legs felt like they would give way, he slipped an arm around her waist, praying his weak body would hold her up.

She didn’t resist his touch. In fact, she leaned in to him, supporting him as much as he was her.

“The others?” she finally asked, her voice quaking.

“Uri is recovering. And your sister is much better too.”

“And Vater?”

“He’s as strong as an ox. The illness didn’t touch him.”

From the droop of his shoulders, Carl could see that being the bearer of bad news was taking its toll on the kind old man.

After the pastor rode away, Carl didn’t relinquish his hold on Annalisa, and she made no move away from him.

“I’m sorry, Annalisa,” he whispered.

She stared at the road, dust swirling in the air.

“I know it’s not easy to lose a mother.” His own mother had died when he was but ten years old.

“I didn’t expect her to go,” Annalisa managed to say. “She was always so healthy.”

Carl tightened his arm around her waist.

“She wasn’t an affectionate woman. And she had a very hard life. But she was a good mutter.”

“I’m sure she was very good. Look how well you turned out.”

Annalisa bit her trembling lip.

He squeezed her and pressed his lips against her head. She leaned into his gentle kiss, which was nothing more than a comforting gesture, he told himself. The rigidness of the first time he’d held her was gone. He liked to think she was more comfortable with him after the past several weeks of talking together and living in such close proximity. But he suspected the shock of the news had weakened her usual reserve.

If only he were stronger. Then he’d really hold her. But his legs wavered with the effort of standing.

Her body turned rigid, and she gave a sudden cry. The agony of it went straight into his heart like the tip of a bayonet.

Another cry slipped from her lips. She wrenched away from him and doubled over.

He didn’t know what to do for her. How could he comfort her? He reached for her, attempting to pull her back into his arms.

But before he could gather her, she collapsed to her knees. She gripped her lower abdomen and struggled to breathe. Her face was contorted with the same pain he’d noticed during those times when she’d had one of her false contractions.

He lowered himself to a knee next to her. Was she sad or was she merely having another contraction. “Annalisa?”

She took a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She started to nod, but her breath was cut off and she cried
out louder. He reached for her hand and clasped it. Her fingers tightened as the contraction wracked her body.

When it passed, her grip loosened, but she was breathing heavily.

A new kind of worry struck him. “Do you think we should get you into the cabin, just in case?”

She shook her head and rubbed her belly as if by doing so she could keep the baby inside. “I can’t have the baby now . . . not without my mutter . . .”

He glanced to the cabin and saw the white scrap of cloth flapping in the breeze. “No. I don’t think you can have the baby quite yet.” Not while the flag was still flying, not when the other women of the community would be afraid to come and help.

“Maybe if I walk around . . .” She gasped and clutched her middle. The fear in her eyes sent a fresh surge of anxiety through him.

She screamed and her fingers bit into his.

“Oh, Lord, help us.” Whether they were ready or not, she was going to have the baby.

“Mutter!” she cried out. “I can’t do this without my mutter!”

He couldn’t just sit there. He had to find some way to ease her pain, to bring her comfort. “Pie? Perhaps a piece of pie might help?” He glanced around. “Or what about a strong cup of coffee? Or milk? That’s it—I’ll go milk the cow.” Although he had no idea how to milk the cow and knew he was babbling.

Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Won’t you get Mutter for me? Bitte?”

He wiped his thumb across the trail of her tears. “If I could, I would get the whole world for you.”

She gasped for breath through the contraction. When it subsided, he caressed her cheek. “Tell me who to fetch, and I’ll go. Anywhere.”

She rested her hot face against his hand.

He didn’t know how he’d possibly have the strength to even saddle Old Red, but he knew he had to get help for her before it was too late.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

He fought against the sudden urge to run away.

“Promise you’ll stay by my side.”

“I promise.” He wiped away another of her tears.

Lord, help him. Help them both . . .

Chapter
13

Annalisa writhed in the bedstead. Sweat drenched her body and plastered her hair to her face in a tangled disarray.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said between gasps. After several hours, she could feel her strength waning.

Carl sat on the edge of the bed. Deep lines creased his forehead. His eyes flashed with fear, which she knew he was trying to hide from her, but she’d seen it nonetheless.

“Please, Annalisa, don’t give up.” He pressed a cup against her mouth and tipped it, forcing more water between her dry lips.

She took a sip, then closed her eyes to wait until the next contraction wracked her body. When she’d given birth to Gretchen, the birthing pains had been more gradual, not so painful all at once.

If only Mutter were there.

Sorrow slipped around Annalisa’s chest, mingling with the pain of her birthing, taking away all the anticipation she’d had for the new baby.

Mutter wouldn’t be coming to help her—would never be there ever again.

Another spasm hit her, and she tried to hold back a scream. But with each agonizing cinch, a cry tore from her lips and filled the small cabin.

“Gott, help me!” Her stomach gurgled with the need to vomit, as she already had several times.

Carl reached for her hand. “I would trade places with you if I could.” Misery laced his voice.

He’d done everything just as she’d instructed him from what she could remember Mutter having done during Gretchen’s birthing—giving her spiced ale, warming water for the baby, and finding clean linens. Without the midwife, who would have brought a birthing chair, Carl had helped her position herself and had cushioned her with fresh hay.

He pressed a cool cloth to her forehead. “I must get help. I have to ride to town and get Frau Pastor. She’ll come. I know she will.”

“You’re still too weak to ride.”

“I have to try . . .” His voice cracked. “I cannot sit back and watch you suffer this way.” But even as he stood, he began to sway.

“I’ll be fine . . . Really, the pain is normal . . .” She shook her head at him, huffing through another contraction.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed. The unshaven scruff and unruliness of his hair, the thinness of his cheeks, and the dark circles under his eyes all testified to the fact that he still wasn’t well, that he should be the one in bed, not her.

“I cannot bear to see you in so much pain,” he said, gently sliding a hand over her cheek.

His attention was so sweet. She knew she should send him away, that no man should have to witness the intensity and pain a woman went through during childbirth. He was worrying altogether too much.

But she didn’t want to be alone, couldn’t bear the thought of having to go through the experience without anyone by her side.

When he bent his head toward hers and let his lips touch her forehead, she could almost believe that he truly cared about her.

“Annalisa.” He pressed another kiss to her hot skin, this one against her temple. “Please keep trying. I don’t want to lose you, and Gretchen doesn’t either.”

At the mention of Gretchen’s name, fresh strength enveloped her. Women died in childbirth all the time. Wasn’t that why Idette had married Leonard? Because his wife and baby had both died during the birthing, leaving him all alone with the other children?

Annalisa would not let that happen to her. She couldn’t leave her daughter to fend for herself.

Another wave of agony gripped her, and a cry slipped from her lips even though she tried to hold it in.

Carl began praying aloud with earnest pleas.

She cried out silently with her own prayer, not sure if Gott would hear her, but hoping He was at the very least listening to Carl.

“Take away her pain, Lord,” she heard Carl say. “Please take it away. Give it to me instead.”

Even through her agony, she almost smiled. “The pain’s worth it,” she said, as the squeezing subsided in her abdomen.

“I want to kill Hans for doing this to you.”

This time her smile broke free. “Women have been giving birth like this since the beginning of time.”

He shook his head, and disbelief filled his dark eyes. “I’ll never put my wife through such pain.”

She gave a soft laugh. “We can’t have the beauty and miracle of new life without going through the hardship.”

Her words made her pause. She couldn’t have anything that
was truly worthwhile without fighting for it—her farm, her family, and perhaps even love.

Maybe she hadn’t fought hard enough for love in the past. Maybe through all the pain and heartache she needed to keep fighting and believe in true love.