MB02 - A Noble Groom (5 page)

“Heaven forbid my father should take a stand against the duke on my behalf.”

“He’s risking his life for your escape.” Matthias shoved at the door again, opening it further.

A tangle of weeds and vines covered the exit, concealing the door from the outside. But the opening was wide enough to let in a draft of the bitter winter air. It slithered up Carl’s legs and torso and then wrapped around his neck as it had earlier, as if to remind him that if not for Matthias’s bravery and faithfulness, he would have felt the stinging blade of the guillotine cutting through his flesh.

“Thank you, Matthias.” He pushed down the disappointment at his nonexistent relationship with his father. This was hardly the time and place to dwell on bygones. “You put your life at risk for me too. And I’m grateful.”

Matthias extinguished the torch, plunging them into darkness. “You must run now. And don’t stop until you’re far beyond the boundaries of Essen.”

Carl took a deep fortifying breath and moved to the door and into the tangle of lifeless shrubbery.

Matthias’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

He turned and found himself enfolded in Matthias’s arms in a tight embrace. “Godspeed.”

Carl squeezed his faithful servant. “Good-bye.” And with that one word he knew he was also saying good-bye to his home and the way of life he’d always known.

His chest constricted.

“Now go! Make haste.” As suddenly as Matthias had hugged him, he just as abruptly shoved him away.

Carl stumbled forward.

“Oh, one more thing.” Matthias’s call followed him, and it contained an urgency that hadn’t been there before. “Don’t
ever tell Peter—my brother—who you really are, that you’re the baron’s son. If he learns your true identity, he’ll kill you.”

“What?” Carl wanted to stop, to yell at Matthias for making such foolhardy plans.

But Matthias pushed him through the shrubbery so that he stood exposed by the moonlight in the middle of the scant woodlands bordering the river behind the castle.

Long shadows spread out around him like the ghosts of long-dead knights, waiting to pounce on him and drag him back to the dungeon.

The barking of a lone dog in the distance and the frigidness of the air sent shivers of fear up his back.

“You’re free,” Matthias whispered behind him. “Now run. Run for your life.”

Chapter
3

M
ARCH
1881
F
ORESTVILLE
, M
ICHIGAN

At the snapping of a twig Annalisa turned with a start, and the story of “Lily and the Lion” died on her lips.

Her gaze combed the woods. The bare branches allowed her to see a fair distance in all directions. In late March the trees were gray and dull, brittle from the long winter and still devoid of leaves except for a few withered clusters that had forgotten to let go in the fall. The only sign of life within the towering maples was the sap that had begun to flow.

“More, Mama.” Gretchen looked up at her, eyes wide with expectation. Even with a knit scarf covering her head and ears and a double layer of clothes, Gretchen’s teeth chattered and her thin body shook. The spring sunshine didn’t lend any warmth to the lingering winter temperatures.

But the story had accomplished its purpose and kept Gretchen from thinking about how cold she was and the fact that her threadbare coat wouldn’t keep even the smallest mouse warm.

Annalisa scanned the rough path that hardly counted as a road. And she peered to the wisp of smoke rising above the treetops, above her parents’ farmhouse.

Vater had warned her about going out alone, especially since Ward had visited a month ago and again pressured her to sell him the farm. Everyone knew he wanted to build his sawmill on the prime spot on her land and that he needed to do it before the spring river drive, before the rivers thawed and the lumber camps to the north began moving their logs to market.

She’d refused him just as Hans had done in the fall.

Even though Ward had left peacefully enough, Vater had told her not to go out unless Uri was with her. Plenty of the farmers still blamed Ward for Hans’s death. But they’d had no solid evidence for bringing charges against him. And there were those—like Vater—who would think the worst of a wealthy, powerful man like Ward even if he’d been an angel in disguise.

“
Bitte
.” Gretchen danced on one foot, then on the other in the boots Idette had found among the outgrown belongings of her stepchildren. The boots were too large, but at least Gretchen had something. “Bitte. More story, Mama.”

Annalisa glanced to the far edges of the acreage.

She had nothing to fear except her own wild imagination. She was safe, especially by the road. And she was close enough to her parents’ home to cry out for help if anything or anyone threatened her.

But nein. Nothing would happen. Hadn’t she managed fine all winter? To be sure, she’d labored hard during the past six months since Hans had died, even with Uri and Eleanor coming to check on her and help her almost daily.

And she’d been safe. Nothing had happened.

Besides, with the freezing temperatures at night combined with the past several bright sunny days, the sap had begun to
flow. She needed to empty her buckets before the load became too heavy to carry.

“Tell me more, Mama. More,” Gretchen pleaded.

“Ja, liebchen.” Annalisa turned back to the tin pail hanging from a spout in the tree. She rose on her tiptoes again and strained to see inside, but the roundness of her growing abdomen got in the way.

Perhaps she’d bored the tapping holes a bit too high. At least she’d done them on the sunniest sides of the trees and had avoided the northern exposure and any trunk defects. She’d also managed to make the holes almost a finger’s length in depth.

But she still had much to learn about collecting sap and boiling it into maple syrup.

“Now, let’s see.” The baby inside her gave a slight kick as if anxious to hear the rest of the story too. Annalisa rubbed her hand over her protruding stomach, grazing a tiny bump of a foot. “Where was I?”

“Lily must leave her papa to go to the lion.”

“Ach, ja. You’re right.” Annalisa hefted the pail away from the spout. Her arms and back strained under the weight. “So, the papa’s very sad and says, ‘My dearest Lily.’” Annalisa spoke in a deep fatherly voice. “‘I won’t let you go because the wild lion will tear you to pieces and eat you.’”

Gretchen gave the appropriate gasp.

At her daughter’s enthrallment, Annalisa’s lips curved into a smile. “But Lily’s a brave and good young daughter. And she tells her papa, ‘Dear Papa, the word you have given the lion must be kept. I’ll go to the lion and soothe him. Perhaps he’ll let me come safely home again.’”

Annalisa poured the sap from the smaller bucket into the larger container she’d brought along for collecting the liquid.
Just the thought of carrying the heavy bucketful of sap back to the cabin made her tired.

“So, the next morning, Lily asked the way she was to go.” Annalisa hung the empty tin pail back onto the spout and then reached for the handle of the bigger collecting bucket. “Finally she took leave of her papa and went forth with a bold heart into the woods to face the lion.”

With a huff Annalisa lifted the bucket, grasping it with two hands, trying to get a firm grip. It was heavier than her load earlier in the day.

“Gretchen,” she said, already short of breath. “You’ll need to help Mama carry the bucket.”

Gretchen didn’t say anything or make an effort to move.

“Be a good girl.” Annalisa hefted the bucket.

A strange voice came from behind her, speaking in Deutsch. “I don’t think the father should have let Lily go off alone to face the lion, do you?”

Annalisa gasped, dropped the bucket with a thud, and spun around to face the intruder.

A man leaned casually against a nearby silver maple, a bag tossed over his shoulder.

Who was he, and how long had he been listening to her story? Annalisa reached a hand for Gretchen and tugged the little girl against her skirt.

“If Lily had been my daughter, I wouldn’t have allowed her to go.” The stranger lifted a fashionable derby from his head, revealing dark hair that was the same rich brown as freshly plowed soil.

“No,” he continued, “if I’d been Lily’s father, I would have sacrificed my life and gone in her stead.”

The words stopped Annalisa. A vater sacrificing his life for a mere daughter? What kind of man would do such a thing?
Certainly not her vater. Sure, Vater loved her. But she was only a girl and could never be like a son to him, no matter how good she was.

She couldn’t keep from peering at the stranger’s face, at the angular lines of his cheek and chin and the softness of his eyes. Although his skin was covered with a scruff that lent him ruggedness, there was a paleness to his skin that contrasted with the leathery sun-bronzed faces of most of the farmers she knew.

If he wasn’t a farmer, then why was he here? Was he working for Ward?

As if sensing her discomfort, the stranger pushed away from the tree and straightened. “The Brothers Grimm are fine storytellers, but occasionally I find myself wishing for a slightly different version of a story or two.”

Even if Annalisa had been able to think of an intelligent response, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to form any words.

He took a step toward them. His trousers were in need of a washing, but the filth couldn’t hide the fact that the linen was finer than anything she’d seen before. Nor could it hide the silky gloss of his vest and cravat. And the thickness of his wool coat was something to be envied.

He had to be someone of means who was working for Ward.

She clutched Gretchen’s arm and backed away from him, praying he couldn’t see the trembling in her legs. “Herr—uh—”

“Just Carl.”

She hesitated at the familiarity. “Bitte, tell Ward our answer is still the same. We won’t sell the land.”

Confusion flickered across his face. He scratched his head and then replaced his derby. “If I knew Ward, I would consider it a great honor to deliver the message. But since I’ve only just
arrived by steamboat to Forestville this afternoon, you’ll have to forgive me for postponing the delivery until I’m more familiar with the area.”

He’d only just arrived? By steamboat?

For a long moment the only sound was the hollow drip of sap hitting the bottom of the tin pail she’d hung back on the spout.

Was this her groom? The cousin her uncle Matthias had sent? They hadn’t yet received a letter from Uncle Matthias. In fact, they had no indication he’d even received Vater’s letter that Herr Pastor had penned in the fall after Hans’s funeral.

But who else would travel by steamboat to Forestville this time of year—if not her groom? After these many months, now that it was spring, it wasn’t out of the question that this man could be her new husband.

She scanned him again, this time starting at his fine leather boots and working her way up his body. He was of medium build and height. Not brawny, but certainly he would manage the rigors of the farm chores well enough—she hoped.

He had a pleasant face, with dark eyebrows framing wide questioning eyes that were the same earthy brown as his hair. He didn’t look familiar, like any of the young distant cousins she’d known back in Essen. But after so many years, how would she recognize any of her relatives?

He offered her a roguish smile—almost as if he sensed her perusal and was enjoying it.

“So,” she finally said, “Matthias has sent you?”

“Yes. Do you know of him? I’m looking for his brother, Peter.”

She nodded but she couldn’t get her tongue to work.

His smile widened, revealing straight teeth, and his eyes lit with a hint of mischief. If he were her groom, at least he wouldn’t be hard to look at.

As soon as the thought tumbled through her mind, she ducked
her head with the embarrassment of it. She groped for the heavy sap bucket and hefted it again.

“Come with Mama,” she said to Gretchen, turning away from her husband-to-be.

She knew she had no choice but to get married again. Even though she’d relished the peacefulness of the winter—not having to worry about any more of Hans’s gambling, or controlling her and making demands, or using her for his own pleasures—she’d known the peace wouldn’t last forever.

She was realistic enough to understand she couldn’t farm her land without help. Already she was behind the others, who had begun to prepare their soil for sowing the spring wheat. While the other farmers were building fences and clearing more land and sharpening their equipment, she was making maple syrup.

And syrup wouldn’t plow the hard soil. Syrup wouldn’t repair the fences that would keep the foxes from stealing chickens. Syrup most certainly wouldn’t pay off the loan by the October thirtieth deadline.

Ja, she had to get remarried if she had any chance at all of planting and harvesting an abundant crop—a crop that would hopefully help her earn the balance of what she still owed on the farm loan, which was a little over one hundred dollars. Even with a decent crop, she would be hard-pressed to pay off the remainder when it came due.

If only Hans hadn’t been so wasteful.

She lumbered a few awkward steps. The bucket bumped her leg painfully. She tried hefting it higher.

“Wait.” Carl charged to her side. “Since I cannot do the honor of delivering your message to Ward this afternoon, the least I can do is carry your bucket.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“Oh, I can see that.” An edge of humor tinged his voice. “But
since I’ve always dreamed of carrying a large vat of . . . of . . .” He peered into the bucket and raised his eyebrows as if trying to identify what was inside.

“Maple sap.” Gretchen supplied the words.

“Yes.” He showered a bright smile upon the little girl. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to tote an enormous bucket of maple sap.”