“You just weren’t sure if I would finish this year, right?” His voice was light and teasing.
“Ja. I decided that at least the plowing would be ready for next spring’s planting.” His banter had a way of loosening her reserve. But once the words were out, she squirmed with the boldness of them.
“And I am quite sure even wiggly Snowdrop could have guided the horses more steadily than I have.” He reached down and scratched the belly of the pup stretched out near him. Gretchen knelt next to him and added her fingers to the belly rub, causing one of the dog’s hind legs to kick the air in delightful abandon.
“You’ve done better than the dog could have,” Annalisa offered.
“Well, then, that settles it. I’m good for something around here after all.”
“I couldn’t have plowed it myself.” Not with Gretchen underfoot, and not with the heaviness of the unborn baby.
At her confession, his eyes sought and captured hers. The gentleness there told her that her words had pleased him.
His gaze held her captive, and something warm passed between them. It was a kind of warmth she’d never felt with Hans, but had once dreamed existed between a man and a woman. It was strange, but not unwelcome.
As her pulse tapped like a downy woodpecker on the roof, she turned away, glancing at the quail on the table. The sight mocked her, reminding her that she’d neglected to prepare his midday meal, something that would have angered Hans and garnered his silent contempt.
Flustered, she started forward, not sure what it was about Carl that made her forget herself. “I’m sorry for the delay in preparing your meal.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’ve been too preoccupied to think about food.” He crouched next to the boiling sap and pumped the fanning mechanism that looked somewhat like a bellows. The logs glowed a bluish white as several flames flickered to life.
Even from the side, his face had a chiseled handsomeness, almost like that of a prince out of one of the fairy tales Gretchen loved. He was certainly the kind of man who must have drawn the attention of women wherever he’d gone.
Of course he wasn’t drawing her attention.
Her gaze lingered on the dark shadow of stubble that covered his jawline.
She was only curious. That was all.
The distant clatter of a wagon and the splashing clomp of hooves jarred her. Even though the path to her farm and her
parents’ lay adjacent to the winding river road that led to Forestville, they seldom had visitors in the spring when the roads were difficult to travel on.
Gretchen scampered across the room, and Snowdrop followed, barking at the sudden commotion. Annalisa hurried outside after them, draping her scarf over her head. Even though the woolen yarn was damp and scratchy, she tied it tightly under her chin and bent to do the same to Gretchen’s.
Annalisa breathed in the heavy but comfortable scent of woodsmoke that clouded the air around the cabin amidst the same cold drizzle that had been falling all morning.
As the wagon bumped through the ruts and drew nearer to the cabin, she could see the lithe straight form of her sister, Idette, driving the team. Several of the children she’d gained in marriage to Leonard sat in the wagon bed, their heads bobbing up and down with each lurch of the wheels.
“Guten tag,” Annalisa called. It had been too long since she’d seen her sister. “You missed Sunday services last week.”
Idette tugged on the reins, and the wagon came to a creaking stop next to Annalisa. Idette didn’t return her smile. Instead she looked straight ahead, letting her scarf cover one side of her face.
The three children in the wagon peered over the wooden slats with tired, sullen eyes.
“Leonard wants me to drive to town today to the general store for supplies he needs,” Idette said in an overly sharp voice.
Annalisa glanced to the sky, to the ominous clouds. If they didn’t get snow before the day’s end, they would get freezing rain. It would coat everything in ice, making the ride even slower and more dangerous.
“Can you wait until tomorrow?” Annalisa asked. “Leonard doesn’t need the supplies today, does he?”
Idette’s expression turned as sullen as those of her children’s. “I came to see if you have anything to sell.”
“Ja.” Annalisa knew she was overdue for her own trip into Forestville. She had eggs and butter and maple syrup to sell. But since Carl had needed Old Red for the plowing, she’d had to delay her weekly trek.
“I have room in the crates.” Idette tilted her head toward the wooden boxes in the back of the wagon, where she’d packed straw around her goods to protect them during the jolting ride.
The door of the cabin swung open, and Carl stepped out.
Annalisa bit off her reply. It would be safer if Carl didn’t know her business, if she kept her earnings private. That way, her meager savings would stay secure.
“Feels good out here,” he said. Without his coat and hat, he dragged in a breath of the cold air. “I don’t know how you can stand being in front of that boiling sap hour after hour.”
Idette’s gaze darted to him sideways, but she still didn’t move.
Even so, Annalisa could see the flicker of interest that sparked in her sister’s face. Idette hadn’t met Carl yet, since Leonard didn’t allow her to go visiting, but she’d no doubt heard plenty about Carl. In their small immigrant community, news traveled quickly.
“So who’s our visitor?” Carl asked, laying his hand on Gretchen’s head. “She sure looks like family to your mama and you.”
“
Tante
Idette.” Gretchen peered up at Idette with the admiration she’d always shown her aunt.
But Idette didn’t acknowledge Gretchen. In fact, over the past months, Idette had seemed to forget that Gretchen even existed. And she seemed to have forgotten how to smile too.
Annalisa knew Idette’s marriage to Leonard had forced her to grow up too soon. And over the past six months it had become
increasingly clear that Idette wasn’t happy with her new husband, and that he didn’t like her either.
But that was the nature of marriage, wasn’t it? The union was a practical partnership, a coming together for survival and for having children. Love, mutual affection, even attraction—those emotions were reserved for stories, not real life.
In fact, Annalisa had learned that not even happiness was a guarantee. Misery, frustration, anger—those had been her constant companions. And apparently they’d become Idette’s as well.
“Well, Tante Idette,” said Carl, offering her a smile, “I must applaud anyone who dares to drive a wagon on the miserable stretches of land you all call roads.”
For the briefest instant a smile hovered over Idette’s lips. But then it disappeared like a ghost in a mist.
“I need to go.” Idette lifted the reins. “Do you want me to take anything for you or not?”
Annalisa glanced sideways at Carl. Did she dare give anything to Idette now, with him looking on?
“Come inside for a little while,” Annalisa said, wishing they could talk together like they had in the days before they’d become burdened with marriage. “The weather’s too fickle. Leonard can wait until tomorrow for you to go.”
The muscles in Idette’s thin cheek flexed. Then slowly she turned her head and pushed the scarf back, revealing the side of her face.
Annalisa sucked in a breath. “What happened?”
An egg-sized purplish bruise surrounded Idette’s eye. And an angry red gash cut a jagged path across her temple.
“What happened?”
Idette repeated through clenched teeth. “I’ll tell you what happened.” Humiliation and anger welled up in her sister’s eyes.
And even before she said anything more, Annalisa knew what Idette would tell her.
“I told him I didn’t want to go today, that the roads were horrible and the weather awful.” Idette spat each bitter word. “And this was his answer.”
Next to her, Carl uttered an oath under his breath. He gently pulled Gretchen against him, shielding her from Idette’s battered face.
Pain ripped at Annalisa’s heart, tearing it with such force that she couldn’t breathe for a moment. She could only stare and try to understand how such a thing could happen to a girl as sweet and funny and beautiful as Idette.
Idette’s eyes pooled with tears, as if she was wondering the same thing—wondering what had become of the life she’d once known.
“Ach, liebchen.” Annalisa stretched out trembling fingers to her sister, wanting to comfort her but not knowing how.
Idette swiped at her eyes and gave a curt shake of her head. “I must go now.”
Before Annalisa could stop her or say anything more, Idette flicked the reins and the team lurched forward. At the same time she pulled her scarf back over her face as if somehow she could make the bruises disappear.
A gust of wind lashed at Annalisa. She hugged her arms across her chest to ward off a chill, but the shivers came anyway.
“Her husband is the worst kind of riffraff,” Carl said.
She nodded in silent agreement. Hans had been calloused, uncaring, and had treated her no better than one of his beasts. He’d never considered her needs. He’d wasted their money and had cared nothing for the daughter he’d fathered. And no matter how hard Annalisa had tried to be a good wife, he’d never loved her in return. He’d never shown her any affection.
But he’d never beaten her. She could give him credit for that.
If only she didn’t have to get married again . . .
The chill seeped deeper, making her insides quake.
Her groom would arrive soon—maybe in a fortnight or a month. What if he was like Leonard? What if he was worse? How could she bear it?
She straightened her shoulders and set her lips firmly together. She would bear it as she always had. And eventually Idette would learn to bear her burden too.
They always did.
Chapter
7
Guilt gnawed at Carl’s stomach.
He’d always been an honest man. And living a lie—hiding his true identity—was beginning to kill him.
At least he wanted to believe the deception was making him weak—not the fact that even after two weeks of plowing and harrowing, he was still the feeble, wobbly-kneed nobleman he’d always been.
“Hold up,” he called to the horses as he lowered himself onto a stump, his bones creaking like a rusty crank. His body ached in parts he hadn’t known existed. “After a full day’s work, I’m surprised the two of you aren’t ready to fall over.”
Old Red swished his tail and cast Carl a sympathetic glance—or so he wanted to believe. The horse understood his pain and weariness. Because certainly nobody else did.
Everyone else could work from before sunup until the darkness of night and not seem to be the least affected by the long day of labor. Whereas he could hardly plod back to the cabin for the supper Annalisa fed him every evening. Then he’d stumble
back to the Bernthals’ barn, throw himself in the hay, and sleep until Uri nudged him awake again the next morning.
He was sunburned, his hands still blistered and raw, and he was filthy beyond recognition.
“I don’t know how I can withstand much more of this, Lord,” he said aloud. At least in the fields he could pray without anyone hearing his complaints. “I think I’ve taken on much more than I bargained for.”
After the last Sunday service at the Lutheran church outside of Forestville, Pastor Loehe had graciously given him paper and pen, and he’d finally been able to write a letter to Fritz Diehl in Chicago inquiring about more suitable work options. Pastor Loehe had offered to post the letter, although Carl was sure the pastor wouldn’t have been so eager to help had he known Carl’s intention of leaving.
And yet, he reasoned, if they knew who he really was, they’d send him away as fast as they could.
He was doing the right thing in making plans to move on. He wasn’t meant for the life of a common laborer. He was destined for greater accomplishments, for better things, for the noble life to which he’d been born.
The coolness of the evening air soothed Carl’s hot face. The strong earthiness of the freshly turned soil lingered in his nostrils and under his dirt-encrusted fingernails. Above him, the sky was streaked with the leftover traces of the sun that blessedly signaled the end of his workday.
He glanced at the cornfield where he’d left the plow and to the acre after acre of rich soil he’d tilled. As hard as the work had been, his chest swelled with pride at the satisfaction of a job well done. “I have to admit, Lord. I never would have imagined when you saved my head from the guillotine that I’d be working myself to death here in America.”
Old Red snorted and stamped the ground.
“Yes, I know your stomachs are growling.” Carl pushed himself up from the stump, his back hunched, his knees bowed like those of an old man. Slowly he straightened, stretching each aching muscle. “I’m famished too.”
He gazed at the hovel of a cabin, where Annalisa would have a simple meal waiting for him after he tended to the animals—which he was finally learning to do. His heart gave a thump of anticipation at the thought of stealing glances at her as he ate and played with Gretchen.
Annalisa would try not to look at him, but every once in a while, if he got lucky, he’d catch her stealing a glance at him too.
He grinned at the picture of her ducking her face away, acting as if she wasn’t paying attention to him.
But at the sight of a strange horse tied outside the cabin, his grin faded.
Who could possibly be visiting this late in the day? And how had he missed the sound of the visitor’s arrival?
He narrowed his eyes, trying to identify the horse through the deepening shadows.
None of the neighbors would come calling after sundown unless something bad had happened. Or unless Annalisa’s groom had finally arrived . . .
All the clamoring in his body ceased.
The utter stillness of the cleared field, of the surrounding woodland, of the descending coolness of night—everything was too silent. Not a bird, insect, or even the wind made the slightest sound.
Had her cousin Dirk finally arrived?
Carl surveyed the fields that spread out before him and on the past two weeks of hard labor. Was this to be his last day on the farm? Would Dirk step in now and pick up where he left off?