MB02 - A Noble Groom (19 page)

“I’ll get anything else you need,” he offered.

She nodded, but wariness had clouded the warmth.

“We won’t stop at Saxonia Hall,” Uri said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Carl watched the play of emotions on both of their faces, and
he had the sudden feeling they were judging him for something Hans had done. “Look,” he said, holding Gretchen with one arm and reaching his fingers toward Annalisa’s nose and the dirt smudge. “I’m not Hans. Whatever he did, however he lived his life, I won’t follow in his footsteps.” Gently he wiped the pad of his thumb across the dirt.

She gave a quick intake of breath, but she didn’t move away from him.

“I’m my own man,” he said softly. “You can be sure I’ll make my
own
mistakes.”

The rumble of a wagon and the clomp of horses’ hooves demanded their attention.

“Yoo-hoo!” Frau Loehe’s call rang out like a yodel. As she came out from the cover of the maples, her horses were galloping much too fast. She clutched the reins with one hand and her wide straw hat with the other.

For an instant, Carl wondered if he was going to have to make a fool of himself by attempting to jump aboard her wagon seat in an effort to stop her horses.

But with another yodel she brought the team to an abrupt halt next to them.

“Guten tag!” she said breathlessly with a smile that rivaled the width of her hat.

“Frau Pastor, what a surprise,” Annalisa said.

“I can’t stay, dearies.” The woman’s large clothes hung loosely about a body that had likely filled out every pleat of fabric and then some during the times of year when they had an abundance of food. But as Carl had quickly learned, springtime was when the food stores ran low and everybody was hungry and thin after the long winter.

When he’d realized how little food Annalisa had, and that she was using it to feed him, he’d wanted to refuse eating any
more of her meals. But she’d insisted, claiming it was his payment for all the work he was doing.

“I’m bringing Annalisa the dandelions I’ve collected so she can make some of her dandelion jelly everyone raves about.”

Annalisa shook her head. “I think you’re the only one who
raves
, Frau Pastor.”

“I’m sure I’ll rave too,” Carl said, gently lowering Gretchen back to the ground. “Annalisa has a talent for making something tasty out of practically nothing.”

At his words Frau Loehe tipped up her hat and leveled a hard stare at him, the kind of look that penetrated deep inside. Uri, standing nearby, eyed him too, as if trying to understand him.

Carl tried not to squirm. But under their scrutiny he felt every bit like a student being tested by his
magister
on his Latin verb conjugations.

Frau Loehe pursed her lips together, making deep grooves around her mouth. Could she see that he’d been deceiving them about who he was?

The urge to run away shoved at him, yet he forced himself to stand tall and give her a smile for good measure.

In an instant, the frown flipped, and her face was wreathed with the same grin as before, as if she was satisfied with what she’d seen in him. “Well, aren’t you just a dear-heart?”

“I hope so.” He liked Frau Loehe, especially for her protectiveness of Annalisa.

“He seems like a very sweet man, Annalisa,” the woman said. “Too bad we didn’t just get you married to him that day when we thought he was your groom.”

Annalisa didn’t say anything but instead stared at the tip of the boot she was twisting back and forth in a thick patch of grass.

He knew he should say something to lighten the moment, to
put her at ease, to reassure her that he didn’t agree with Frau Loehe, but his usual wit seemed to have abandoned him.

Frau Loehe stretched behind her, heaving and huffing as she reached for a couple of tin pails. “Be dearies.” She sat up, motioned to him and Uri, and adjusted her hat, which had slipped to one side. “Fetch the pails of dandelions for Annalisa.”

“Of course.” Carl stepped to the wagon bed that was filled with an assortment of crates and buckets. Uri followed his lead.

“Oh, you really are a dear-heart.” She reached for Carl’s cheeks and pinched them.

He lifted a pail of bright yellow florets. “Seems to me you’re the dear-heart for bringing such a plentiful supply of flowers.”

Frau Loehe giggled like a girl. “Oh, I do like him, Annalisa. I wish we could find a way to keep him.”

Once again Annalisa was silent.

Did she want him to stay? Or was she ready for him to go? He didn’t want to look into her eyes and give her any false hope. Instead he reached for Gretchen and patted her head.

Frau Loehe glanced at the girl and then back to Carl before groping for the reins she’d left dangling.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for a little while, Frau Pastor?” Annalisa said quickly, her cheeks a fetching shade of pink.

“I’ll come back for a taste of that jelly soon.” Frau Loehe gave a shake of the reins. “But for today I must be moving along. I’m spreading the warning from farm to farm to be on the watch for typhoid fever.”

“Typhoid?” Annalisa’s voice dripped with dread.

Frau Loehe nodded solemnly. “They’ve had an outbreak over in Minden City. And just today several of our Forestville families have hung out the white flag.”

Annalisa shuddered and reached for Gretchen, hugging her against her skirt.

Carl’s chest constricted at the thought of Annalisa or Gretchen getting sick. “Are we at risk?”

“I don’t think so,” Frau Loehe said. “The families with the outbreak are farther to the west. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t let everyone know they need to be on the lookout for symptoms—fever, headache, poor appetite, and aches and pains.”

He knew. There had been several outbreaks of typhoid while he served in the military during the Franco-Prussian War. The illness had ravaged the army. He and his friends had joked that they were more likely to die from typhoid than from a bullet or a cannon blast.

“And you know,” Frau Loehe continued, “if anyone exhibits the symptoms, you need to put out a white flag of your own to warn visitors that you have a contagious disease.”

“We’ll be fine.” Annalisa clutched Gretchen’s shoulders, her knuckles turning white.

Carl wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her or Gretchen. His muscles contracted with the need to keep them safe—safe from Ward, safe from losing their farm in the fall, and safe from disease. In fact, the need to protect them swelled and pressed against his chest with such power he almost sagged to his knees.

What was happening to him that he cared so much?

He’d warned himself not to get too close. He’d only cause them all grief if he didn’t maintain a proper distance from her and keep their relationship purely platonic.

Hadn’t he learned from his past mistakes, especially with Lord Faust’s wife? He’d tried to establish an appropriate distance with Lady Celia, had nothing more than a simple friendship. But somehow he’d failed to communicate his boundaries. She’d grown more attached to him than he’d realized. In the end, she’d tried to entice him into her room. When he’d refused, she pouted
and pleaded with him. Then she’d gotten angry and threatened him. Finally she’d gone to her husband and told lies about him.

Carl took a step away from Annalisa. She was as good as married. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up misleading and hurting her too.

That was the last thing he wanted to happen.

Chapter
10

Carl finished reading the letter again and released a deep breath. He leaned back against the cool, wood slats of the general store and let the welcome news settle over him.

Fritz Diehl had finally written back and invited him to Chicago. He’d sounded excited to hear from him and offered him a place to stay. Even better than that was Fritz’s news that Northwestern University was looking for science and math professors, that although the College of Technology had recently closed, the university would still be able to use a man of Carl’s highly qualified educational background.

Carl couldn’t hold back a grin. He wanted to take off his hat, toss it in the clear blue sky, and let out a
whoop
. But on the bustling main street of Forestville he knew he’d only draw too much attention to himself. And he wasn’t ready to divulge his good news to everyone yet—if ever.

How could he explain why he was qualified enough to teach at a university? He certainly couldn’t tell Annalisa and her family that he’d had years of expensive schooling at some of the best universities in Europe.

He glanced at the eastern edge of town, to the docks and beyond to the wide murky waters of Lake Huron. A crisp May breeze blew off the water, bringing with it a strong fishy scent. The smoky billow of an approaching steamboat and its long accompanying whistle tugged at his limbs as if to draw him to the waterfront.

He glanced over his shoulder into the store window, to the dim interior where Annalisa was still doing her business with the proprietor. Gretchen stood quietly by her side, her wide eyes taking in the long wooden counters that stretched along both sides of the store, with drawers and bins built into them for spices, ground sugar, coffee, flour, and seeds.

The shelves behind the counters were stocked with even more items for the little girl to gawk at—dishes, pots and pans, bottled medicine, bolts of colorful material, shoes and boots, and all the many things Carl wished he could buy for Annalisa and Gretchen. They were the kinds of items he’d always taken for granted.

But here, in the middle of nowhere, pretty dishes, new shiny shoes, and soft calico were luxuries.

If only he had his usual allowance from his father . . .

He’d love to buy Annalisa and Gretchen everything they needed. He could just imagine the admiration in their eyes if he was to walk into the cabin, his arms loaded with all kinds of beautiful purchases for them.

He glanced across the street to the false storefront above one of the buildings that read
First Bank
. Did he dare send a telegraph to Matthias asking him to wire money?

If he did, he’d be able to make sure Annalisa was well taken care of before he left Forestville for Chicago and his new job. Besides, maybe he could discover what had happened to Dirk and why he hadn’t arrived yet.

They hadn’t received any news yet. But even if Matthias had written to explain Dirk’s delay, everyone knew the mail system was unreliable, that letters were often lost, that there were long delays—especially with an ocean’s length and half a continent for the letter to cross.

“Ah, Mr. Richards,” someone called in English.

Striding toward him down the plank sidewalk was a bulky well-built man, dressed in fine clothes and wearing a black derby hat that was as smooth and spotless as Carl’s had once been—in the days before he lived in a constant state of sweat and filth.

At the sight of the man’s yellowish skin and pockmarked complexion, Carl’s muscles tightened and he pushed away from the siding. “Ward.”

The businessman lumbered toward him.

Carl straightened to his full height and wished he’d taken the time to don his own clothes, which were of a much finer quality than Hans’s hand-me-downs.

“Heard you got a letter from Chicago.”

“My letters aren’t any of your business.”

“I make everything about this town my business.”

“So I guess you think you’re the king here? That you can boss everyone around and make them do whatever you want?”

Ward nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, it’s time you learned you cannot always take what you want.” The words echoed through Carl’s mind, reminding him of Uri’s criticism of Ward and his father—how he’d lumped them together as the same kind of calloused, uncaring businessmen who were only out to do whatever benefited them, without thinking about the needs of others.

“Maybe you can help me, Mr. Richards.” Ward stopped in front of him. “I heard you’re a schoolteacher. And I can see that you’re an intelligent man. Maybe you can help your people
understand how beneficial the sawmill will be—not only for the boards they’ll need as they expand their farms but also for the seasonal work the mill can provide.”

The gleam in Ward’s eyes was the same he’d seen all too often in his father’s eyes. His father had always had the philosophy that if he had to destroy a few lives and homes for the sake of progress and industry, then so be it. They would all have to make sacrifices for the advance of technology and the increase in wealth.

Carl had never paid much attention to his father’s methods, had always accepted them as an inevitable part of the way of doing business. But he’d never been on the receiving end of such tactics before. Never thought about the lives and homes his father was wrecking . . . the same way Ward planned to wreck Annalisa’s.

“The only way I’m going to help you,” Carl said, “is to make sure you understand that you need to leave Annalisa Werner alone.”

His words were clipped and arrogant. But he knew it was the best way to make Ward listen to him. The man was probably accustomed to scaring the farmers whenever he came around. Ward needed to know that there was at least one farmer he couldn’t intimidate—him.

“I’ve been watching you, Mr. Richards.” Ward narrowed his eyes, but not before Carl caught sight of the anger flashing there. “And I think you’re hiding something.”

The blood flow to Carl’s heart came to an abrupt stop. What did Ward know? Had one of the immigrant farmers told Ward about his predicament, about how he was hiding from the Duke of Saxony?

Out of the corner of his eye, through the glass storefront, Carl could see that Annalisa was finishing her business. He
certainly didn’t want her to come outside and hear Ward’s accusations—particularly because they were true.

He swallowed and tried to make his voice nonchalant. “You obviously have too much free time on your hands if you’re spying on me.”

“I can tell you’re not one of them,” Ward persisted. “And I aim to find out who you really are.”

Carl forced a smile, one he hoped was cold. “If you’ve got nothing better to do, then go ahead. Waste your time.”