How was it possible for any man to love a woman with that kind of devotion?
“In our sinfulness,” Carl continued, “we’ve diminished God’s original plans for love and marriage. But that doesn’t mean we have to give up on love altogether.”
Maybe she had given up on love. Maybe she had relegated it to fairy tales. But she was safer that way. She’d experienced too much disappointment and frustration in those early days with Hans, and she’d only be setting herself up for more pain if she started to believe in fairy-tale endings again.
“You might be right about Jacob and Rachel and what God intended.” She started the comb through his hair again. “But it’s not possible for me. And not for anyone I know.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. She let her fingers linger in his hair.
“I wish you could find real love, Annalisa,” he finally said softly. “Maybe your new groom will be the kind of man who will give you the love you deserve.”
“I don’t expect it. I’ve also learned that it’s not necessary, that there are more important things in surviving.”
“But survival becomes much more bearable when joy and love are a part of our lives.”
She shook her head. “You’ve seen this kind of love, in your parents’ marriage perhaps?”
He guffawed. “My mother was a tender, beautiful woman with a spirit like that of a dove. She was given in marriage to my father as part of a business agreement. He didn’t know her or care about her. And he never took the time to develop affection for her.”
“Such a union is not uncommon.” She had only to think of her marriage to Hans. He’d needed a woman to help him run the farm, to plant the vegetable garden, to prepare his meals, to milk the cow, and to bear him sons who could help with the farm. “There are many who must marry for practical reasons.”
“Ah, yes.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. “The practical marriage. I would rather wander the earth the rest of my days than marry someone I don’t know or love.”
His words pierced her. Did he despise her because she must marry a stranger? “My needs aren’t important anymore. I must think of my children now.” She started to pull away.
But he reached up and captured her fingers. He quickly shifted so that he faced her. “I’m sorry.”
His hand surrounded hers with a warmth and gentleness that sent a shiver up her arm.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was thoughtless and unkind to you in your current predicament.” An errant strand of hair hung across his forehead. “Can you forgive me?”
The cock of his head, the sincerity in his eyes, and the handsomeness of his features were too hard to resist.
“Please. If you don’t forgive me, you’ll leave me in eternal torment.”
She studied his fingers holding hers, the familiar stain of soil creasing the grooves of his hand, making them rugged—even more attractive. “I suppose I can forgive you—since I wouldn’t want to be the cause of your eternal torment.”
One of his ready grins sprang to his lips. “You’re too kind.”
“You’re too convincing.” And too irresistible. Before she knew what she was doing, she brought her free hand to his forehead and combed the loose strand back.
His smile faded, and his eyes darkened.
Shocked at her boldness, she stepped back.
But he didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. Instead he lifted her captured fingers to his lips and grazed the full softness of them against her knuckles.
She knew she ought to tug her hand away, to put a proper distance between them. She may not have experienced desire with Hans, but she knew where such feelings could lead if left unchecked.
He tipped her hand forward and pressed his lips again, this time to her wrist. The heat of his breath bathed her skin, making her insides tremble.
What would his lips feel like against hers? Hans had kissed her once—on their wedding day. But the brief, dry contact hadn’t elicited any emotion, not the way Carl’s kisses against her hand were. If she was near to swooning from a mere kiss on the hand, how would his kiss to her lips affect her?
His eyes widened, turning them into dark puddles, as if he was thinking the same thing.
A terrified squeal split the silence.
Annalisa jumped and pulled her hand free. Her gaze darted first to the bed, where Gretchen was still tucked under the blankets, eyes closed in peaceful slumber, then to the hearth where Snowdrop was resting.
The pup raised his head and stared at the door. He gave a low growl.
She took a breath, her heart thudding. All that mattered was that Gretchen was safe.
Another shrill squeal sounded, clearly coming from outside.
Carl pushed up from his chair and grabbed his coat.
Snowdrop rose and gave another growl, one more menacing.
Her mind scrambled to make sense of the noise.
The squealing turned vicious and mingled with snarling and snapping. Carl’s brow rose.
“I think it’s the sow.” She crossed to the door and grabbed the rifle from the rack. “Something’s attacking the sow.”
But before she could open the door, Carl had blocked it with his body. “Let me go out and see what it is.”
She shook her head. “I can’t lose her. She’ll soon farrow, and I must have the piglets.”
He held the door closed with the toe of his boot.
“I’m not a weak woman. And I can handle the gun.”
“I know you can. But as you said, you have to think about your children.” He looked pointedly at her swelling abdomen. “And I have no one. It won’t matter if I get hurt.”
She hesitated.
The pig squealed again, this time angrily.
His fingers circled the rifle just above her hold. His gentle gaze pleaded with her. How could she say no to him, not with
such tender concern written on his face? She loosened her grip and stepped back.
He tucked the gun under his arm, reached for the lantern, and opened the door.
A whoosh of cold air sent shivers over her skin.
He nodded solemnly and then stepped outside into the darkness.
“Be careful,” she called after him.
He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “If I don’t come back tonight, you can rest assured I saved your pig’s life and became the marauding creature’s supper instead.”
“Nein. I would much rather lose the pig than you.” Even as the words tumbled out, she wished she could pull them back.
He was already halfway across the farmyard, holding the lantern high. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her blatant declaration.
“Stay in the cabin,” he called. “I would much rather lose the pig than you too.”
Chagrin pushed her back inside. She closed the door and leaned against it. “What am I doing?”
She couldn’t understand the gusts of emotions raging through her. All she knew was that she must stop letting such feelings get the best of her.
The bang of the gun echoed in the clear night air, followed by a flurry of squealing and Carl’s shouting. Then silence descended.
She pressed her ear against the planks of the door and listened for him, but the rapid thud of worry drowned out all else.
Had he been hurt? She flung open the door. “Carl?”
The lantern sat on a stump near the barn. The rays cast eerie fragments of broken light. But the dimness didn’t reach the outside pen.
Had the wild animal carried Carl away?
She strained to see through the darkness and for a long
moment couldn’t breathe. The chill in the air and the unnatural quietness sent a shiver up her spine.
The sow gave an unhappy snort, letting Annalisa know she had survived but had been displeased with the ordeal.
“Carl?” she called again, louder.
“I thought I told you to stay inside.” He rounded the corner of the barn, and the light illuminated his face, revealing frustration.
“I didn’t hear your voice anymore.” Her shoulders sagged with relief. “I thought maybe you were hurt.”
“That was the biggest bear I’ve ever seen.” He peered into the dark shadows, keeping the rifle pointed and ready to fire.
“You’re unharmed, then?”
“Other than nearly dying of fright, I’m perfectly fine.” He shot her a glance. “Why are you outside? Go back in where you’re safe.”
“We have nothing to fear now. The bear’s gone. You’ve scared it away for tonight.”
He searched the edges of the darkness as if to be sure she was right. “Just when I begin to think America is tolerable, I realize once again how out of place I am here.”
His words reminded her that he wasn’t like the other men, not even like any schoolteacher she’d ever known. “Do you miss your home terribly?”
“Well, let’s just say I’ve never had to scare enormous bears away from pigs where I come from.”
“Then you don’t like the farming life?”
He gave a short laugh that was devoid of his usual humor. “I’m not a farmer, and I never will be.”
At his words, disappointment whispered at her. She didn’t know why she cared if he liked farming or not. He would soon leave to make a life of his own somewhere else. She’d never see him again.
And if he ever decided to stay, there could never be anything between them, not when she was pledged to marry another man, a man who was leaving everything and coming to America specifically to help her save the farm.
There was no sense in dreaming of anything else. Her life had always been ordered by one man or another, and that was just the way of it.
For her, fairy tales would have to stay just that—fairy tales.
Chapter
9
Carl pressed his back against the tree and tried not to move.
Uri sat next to him and didn’t even blink.
The thicket was overgrown, and in early May tiny buds were finally beginning to make an appearance. Even with the foliage to camouflage them, Carl had learned the turkeys had keen vision and that even the slightest movement would spook them.
“Is he coming?” Carl whispered, peering through the woods for the gobbler Uri had called.
Uri gave him a dark glare for his transgression. Talking wasn’t allowed either.
Carl had to suppress a grin. The boy took the spring turkey hunting way too seriously. In fact, the boy took
everything
much too seriously.
The sunshine breaking through the overhead canopy of branches touched Carl’s head with warmth. With the vivid green coming to life around him, and the crispness of the air, he could almost find satisfaction in his situation. Almost.
Particularly because the spring sowing was nearly done.
He’d spent the past two weeks harrowing the land with a heavy sharp-toothed wooden frame, dragging it across the plowed land, attempting to break up the larger clumps of earth. And when he’d finished the harrowing, he’d slung a heavy bag of seeds over his shoulder and walked the fields, scattering seeds by hand. Then he’d had Old Red drag a wide branch across the ground to spread earth over the seeds.
He’d also planted fifteen hills of cabbage and twenty hills of potatoes, something that had taken great effort as he’d had to work around the stumps. He still needed to plant the corn. But Uri had told him that they would wait until the danger of hard frost had passed, which was still a fortnight away.
In the meantime, Uri had agreed to let him try turkey hunting. With the hens already on their nests, the gobblers weren’t needed anymore. They could take them without harming the turkey population.
Carl could only smile once again at the image of himself sitting in the woods, making ridiculous yelps, clucks, whines, and purrs that were supposed to lure the gobblers within shooting range. What would his father think of him now if he could see him? That he’d gone crazy?
What about Matthias? Perhaps his old servant would regret sending him to America if he could only see the depths to which Carl had sunk.
Uri made another loud call, a boxy cluck that came deep from his diaphragm. At least Uri’s calls actually imitated a female turkey. Carl decided his sounded more like a sick cow.
After a moment of silence, the gobbler returned the call. In the distant shrubs the bird’s head popped up, and he strutted toward them.
Over the past several days, Uri had killed four, while Carl had
only managed to bring down two. So they’d agreed he could shoot the next bird.
Carl waited, losing all the humor he’d found in the moment. It was time for him to get serious and shoot the turkey. He had to concentrate and do everything just right. One little mistake and their hours of waiting would amount to naught.
The turkey stepped behind a tree. Carl used that moment to shift the barrel resting on his knee and adjust the stock against his shoulder. As the turkey reappeared, Carl aimed at the neck and waited until the gobbler strutted and extended his head. Then he pulled the trigger.
The bang was quickly followed by the turkey dropping with a jerk. Carl jumped up with the same excitement that coursed through him with each success. It wasn’t that he was fond of killing animals, and if he’d been back home, he would have left the task of hunting and butchering to the servants just as he’d always done.
Servants. Would he ever have servants again? His stomach rumbled at the thought of the feasts he’d once taken for granted. Now look at him. He glanced down at his dirty hands. He had to scrounge for his food like a beggar or go hungry.
With slow, heavy footsteps, he started after Uri toward the turkey. He hadn’t expected to stay so long—nearly six weeks. He’d hoped to hear from Fritz Diehl by now. But he hadn’t received any correspondence from his classmate.
Perhaps he needed to come up with another plan, another place to go. As much as he’d enjoyed tinkering with Annalisa’s fences and farm equipment, he was ready to move on, to get back to work on some of the projects and inventions he’d been developing for years.
Carl knew he had to leave, even if Dirk didn’t come. He had more important, more noble things to accomplish than farming. Didn’t he? He couldn’t stay indefinitely.
No, he’d only stay until after he helped plant Annalisa’s corn.
A few days ago, after her return from town, he’d seen her sneak the coins she’d earned from her eggs and butter into a crock under her bed. She’d obviously felt the need to hide her savings. He guessed whatever she had was meager at best, and now he wanted to help her earn more before he left. He’d even resort to ridiculous displays of imitating turkeys if it would aid her efforts to save money.