MB02 - A Noble Groom (6 page)

Gretchen gave him a hesitant smile in response.

“I’ll actually be quite disappointed if I cannot experience this once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.” His grinned turned lopsided and made Annalisa’s heart do a funny flip.

She lowered the bucket to the ground, quite sure he was teasing her, but completely unprepared for how she ought to respond.

“If you deny me the opportunity, I may have to hide myself behind that big tree and have a good cry.” He cocked his head toward the largest oak near the road.

Gretchen’s eyes widened.

He winked at her.

“Mama will let you carry,” she said earnestly. “Won’t you, Mama?”

Annalisa’s grip on the handle loosened. The thought of giving up her burden was tempting. Her tired muscles wouldn’t mind the break.

The look in his eyes pleaded with her to allow him this offer of assistance.

Her stomach did another flip. “I suppose just this once.”

His grin spread.

She glanced away, trying to prevent the smile that tugged at her lips. “Especially since we can’t have you crying behind trees.” He would be her husband before the day’s end anyway. What difference would it make if he came back to the cabin and saw his new home? That’s likely what he wanted.

“I can see that you’re a wise woman.” He lifted the bucket and stumbled under the weight of it. “And you’re obviously strong too. This is
very
heavy.”

This time she couldn’t keep from smiling.

He fumbled at the handle and repositioned his grip.

“Have you changed your mind already?” The teasing question slipped out unbidden. At the brazenness of her words she caught her breath, reached for Gretchen’s cold fingers, and wrapped them in her own. She tugged the girl forward, moving ahead of her groom before he could see the strange effect he was having on her.

She led Gretchen around a lump of muddy snow that had hidden from the sun in the shadows and had escaped thawing. The thin soles of her boots squelched in the dampness of the decaying leaves. Their moldy odor rose with each step, shaming her, reminding her that marriage was a serious and unpleasant affair.

She wanted to believe this stranger was truly helping her out of the kindness of his heart, but she’d learned long ago that men—husbands—didn’t go out of their way to be helpful unless they wanted something in return.

No matter how much this man smiled or teased her and Gretchen, she would be wise to remember those initial feelings wouldn’t last. They hadn’t with Hans.

When Hans had come courting her in the first months after her family arrived in Forestville, she’d found herself waiting for him, longing for him to look at her. And whenever he’d fixed his intense gaze upon her, she’d quivered in anticipation.

Of course, at sixteen she hadn’t known what Hans’s look had meant. Naively she’d believed his attraction symbolized devotion and affection. She’d dreamed that after their wedding he would sweep her off her feet and ride away with her to their new home, where they would live happily ever after.

What a dummkopf she’d been.

It had taken one night—her first—with Hans to realize what he’d wanted from her.

After three years of marriage, no matter how hard she’d worked to earn his love, she’d never been able to please him.

And she’d come to fully understand that true love didn’t matter, that it didn’t exist.

She’d do best not to forget it.

“So how does all this sap-collecting work?” He stopped in front of one of the collection pails, lowered the bucket, and began examining the hole, the spout, and the tree, as if he wished he could cut it open and see inside.

She hesitated, but at the genuine interest in his face she gave him a brief explanation, the one Frau Pastor had given to her. It was the same method the natives had used for centuries to collect the sweet liquid that flowed in the maple trees every spring for only a few short weeks.

“Then once you collect the sap, you boil it?” he asked after they’d resumed their journey through the woods toward the cabin.

“Ja, the boiling down takes much time and heat.” She slowed her pace to match his, her weary back appreciating the slow gait and break from the heavy weight.

His coat pulled taut against his shoulders, evidence of the strain of the load. But he didn’t complain. “How much syrup is left once the moisture is boiled away?”

“Very little.” But even a little was something to sell in town and money added to her crock. She hadn’t been able to recover what Hans had taken on the day she’d found him dead, but she kept holding on to the hope that if she continued saving, then one day she’d have enough to pay for an education for her children.

Of course, the amount in her crock was a pittance. The pennies couldn’t begin to compare to what she still needed to pay
off the farm loan. Even so, she was determined to stow away a little here and there whenever she could.

But that was
her
secret, and one she would never share with her new husband.

When they reached the clearing and came within sight of the one-story log cabin, the barn beyond it, and the cleared land, she took a deep breath of the brisk spring air. The deep snows had begun to melt, leaving behind splotches of crusty gray snow across the barren listlessness of the land. The vibrant green of the wilderness was still weeks away from making an appearance. Until then, they lived in a colorless world—not the best time of year to make a good impression on a newcomer.

She peeked sideways at Carl. What did he think of his new home? Was he disappointed?

But he was sloshing the colorless liquid within the bucket, seemingly unconcerned about the farm that spread out before him. He stuck his finger into the sap, lifted it to his tongue, and tasted it. “Off the top of my head I’d venture to say the sap is made of iron and sodium . . . maybe potassium?”

His words were as foreign to her as English.

“I wonder if there might be a way to shorten the evaporation process,” he continued, “and reduce the amount of time the sugaring process takes.”

She glanced at the sap, having no idea what he was talking about.

“I’m guessing the boiling point needs to reach at least one hundred degrees Celsius? Perhaps several degrees more than that?” He stared straight ahead, but he was obviously not seeing anything but numbers and calculations.

For a long moment she didn’t know what to say to him, how to answer without looking like the poor uneducated peasant girl that she was. Ja, Vater had allowed her to attend the free
public school in Detroit during the time they’d lived there. But that hadn’t been long enough to learn to read and write well. And she’d certainly never heard anything about evaporation and boiling points.

At the tiny yelps coming from the front of the cabin, Gretchen gasped and wiggled her hand free of Annalisa’s grasp. “Mama, Snowdrop needs me.”

A furry bundle strained and jumped against the dirty rope that bound him to a stake in the ground near the cabin, wagging his tail and prancing at the sight of them.

Gretchen started to run, cutting across the vegetable garden that would soon need planting. Her legs could hardly keep up with her body, and her clunky boots threatened to trip her.

Annalisa followed her daughter, not sure who was more anxious for the reunion—the new puppy or Gretchen. And when the little girl dropped to her knees in front of the slobbering, quivering mass of black fur and wrapped her arms around him, Annalisa smiled—a real smile, one that came from all of the motherly love stored deep in her heart.

Frau Pastor had brought them the puppy earlier in the week. Annalisa had been hesitant to take another mouth to feed. They were already thin and hungry from winter, and their provisions were long gone. She was having a difficult time finding enough food for the two of them, and she didn’t need to worry about a growing puppy too.

But Herr Pastor and his wife had insisted she keep it, telling her the puppy would soon grow into a helpful watchdog, one that would keep her safe. As a woman alone, and with dangerous men like Ward to deal with, she could use all the help she could get.

“Mama, can we untie Snowdrop?” The dog’s tongue lapped at Gretchen’s nose. She giggled, and the sweet sound danced in
the air, filling the moment with something infinitely precious, a memory that would stay imprinted in Annalisa’s mind forever.

The thump of the bucket against the muddy ground next to her sent the smile scurrying back into hiding. Gretchen’s smile faded too.

Carl cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms. Then he examined Gretchen and the muddy paw smears that now covered her skirt and coat.

Annalisa stiffened and braced herself for the rebuke he was sure to give, not only about Gretchen’s carelessness with the mud but also the fact that animals were not meant to be coddled. Everyone knew that farm animals were not pets. They were there for one reason and one reason alone—much like a farmer’s wife—to do the work necessary for survival.

He crouched next to Gretchen and scratched the top of the puppy’s head. “She’s named Snowdrop?”

Gretchen nodded.

He cocked an eyebrow at Annalisa.

“
He
is only a puppy.” She wanted to defend Gretchen’s affection of the tiny beast. What harm would come from letting her daughter enjoy the dog? Couldn’t Carl see how much fondness she already had for the creature? He wouldn’t deny her that, would he?

“He? I’d venture to say he’s less of a Snowdrop and more of an Inkblot.” He scratched the dark-furred puppy behind each ear, earning a number of drooling kisses across his hand.

When he glanced up at Annalisa, his eyes twinkled. “Wouldn’t you say?” His lips curved into a dashing smile.

Her insides fluttered, and she caught her breath, speechless.

He combed his fingers through the dog’s curly hair until they came to the knotted rope. But all the while his deep brown eyes didn’t let go of hers.

“Unless, here in America, snowdrop means
black
instead of white.” He worked at loosening the knot, but still he didn’t release her gaze.

“Nein.” The feathery tickles in her stomach moved up her chest. “Gretchen picked the name Snowdrop because in the story the enchanted mirror would always tell the queen that Snowdrop was the fairest in the land.”

“Fairest in the land,” Gretchen echoed, stroking her little fingers across the puppy’s back.

“Ah, yes. Another of the tales by the Brothers Grimm.” He slipped the rope off the puppy’s neck and then held him up. His legs dangled and his tail waggled. “A fitting name indeed for a young pup who is quite fair, if I may say so myself.”

At his words Snowdrop gave a playful yip.

“He obviously agrees with me.”

Gretchen giggled.

The tension in Annalisa’s body melted like a pat of butter on a slice of warm bread.

Who exactly was this man? And why was he being so kind?

Carl handed the squirming puppy back into Gretchen’s waiting arms and then straightened.

She glanced away toward the sagging fence that surrounded the chicken pen. He would only lord it over her later if he knew the strange reaction he was eliciting within her.

“As delightful as it’s been to carry your bucket of maple sap,” he said, “I really must be on my way.”

She wanted to smile at his playfulness, but instead she ducked her head.

“I’d be indebted to you if you could point me in the general direction of Peter Bernthal’s farm. I’ve a letter from Matthias to give him.”

The warmth in her heart stole into her limbs. So he really
was
her groom, the man sent by her uncle to marry her and help her with the farm.

Somehow she managed to send him on his way without making a fool of herself. As she started on the many chores she needed to do before nightfall, she attempted to put the stranger out of her mind. Even so, her thoughts kept straying back to him and the knowledge that she would soon marry him.

She was not the least surprised when Uri came running to the barn door not more than an hour later. “Mutter says to come right away.”

Annalisa wanted to pause, but she forced herself to finish tossing a shovelful of oats into Old Red’s trough. The image of the stranger’s handsome smile and dark, captivating eyes sent a warm spring breeze through her stomach.

She wasn’t excited. Nein. She was only anxious to secure the husband she needed so that she could get her crops planted on time.

“She sent Eleanor to fetch Pastor Loehe.” Uri climbed onto the rail of the horse’s stall. As the youngest of her siblings, and as Vater’s only remaining son, Uri was like the puppy—coddled much more than he needed.

“Mutter says I’m to finish your chores so you can change into your Sunday dress.” The boy jumped into the stall and rubbed his hand on the horse’s chest.

Old Red’s ears pricked up as Uri ran his hand along the curved neck into the mane.

“Then you’ll need to muck Old Red’s stall.” She brushed a loose lock of hair from the boy’s forehead. “And milk Mathilda.”

“You have to get married tonight.” In the dimness of the barn, Uri peered up at her with serious eyes, as if trying to gauge her reaction to the news.

“Ja. I know.” Even if she’d been able to put off the inevitable during the winter, she couldn’t delay it any longer. She needed a husband now more than ever. Who else would hold the heavy plow and drag it through the hard ground? Who else would be able to shoulder the harrow and be able to withstand the long hours and grueling days of planting?

She couldn’t disobey Vater. Especially not when he’d gone to the trouble to find her as good of a groom as possible, one from among his own kin.

Besides, what other destiny was there for a woman like her?

But Gretchen, on the other hand . . .

She glanced to the corner pile of hay, where the little girl had curled up and fallen asleep with Snowdrop. Strands of hair had come loose from her braids and swirled in a shaft of sunlight around her head like a halo.

She could give Gretchen more options someday, couldn’t she? And the new baby?

Her hand stole to her round abdomen, and she caressed the life growing inside her. She wanted to give so much more to her children than she’d had.