“Thank you, Uri.” He clamped the boy on the shoulder after they’d gathered the turkey and reached the edge of the river. “We’ll ride into town together tomorrow and see if we can sell our turkeys.”
“I’d give you all the birds to sell for Annalisa if I could.” Uri’s young features were earnest and so much like Annalisa’s. “But if I don’t bring home a profit from the birds, Mutter won’t let me hunt. She’ll find something else for me to do that will earn money.”
“You’re already very generous. I wouldn’t have shot any turkeys—not even a dead one—without your help.”
Uri hopped across the rocks along the river’s edge until he came to a deep pool they’d built out of stones as a storage place for the turkeys in the ice-cold water.
The stream cascaded into a natural falls, and the crashing spray that rose up wafted with the coolness and freshness of the spring air. He had to admit, he’d never breathed such pure air in Essen, where the smoke from the coal mines and steel factories shrouded the city.
“You’re growing into a strong young man.” Carl handed Uri his turkey so that the boy could tie it underwater with the others. “Do you remember the Old Country, or were you too young when you made the crossing?”
“I was about the same age that Gretchen is now. And the only thing I remember is how Vater wept the day Erik died.”
“Erik?”
“My older brother. My vater’s pride and joy.” A trace of envy edged the boy’s voice. He straightened. His fingers were red from being submerged in the cold water. He blew into them before plunging them back under.
The warm sunshine slipped behind a cloud. “What happened to your brother?”
“He was killed in a mining accident.”
Carl’s heartbeat came to a bumpy halt.
“Vater always says that he and some of the other miners had been complaining about several tunnels that were crumbling and had asked Baron von Reichart to make improvements.”
He wanted to stop the boy from saying any more, but he knew he deserved to hear every wretched detail.
“But the baron ignored them like he always did.” Uri straightened and blew into his hands again. “A week after their petition, one of the tunnels collapsed, trapping and killing over a dozen miners. Erik was one of them.”
No wonder Matthias had warned him that Peter would kill him if he learned about his true identity.
Uri bent into the water again, and Carl was relieved the boy couldn’t see the horror etched in his face.
He swallowed the sickness pushing up from his stomach into his throat. “So your father blames the baron for Erik’s death?”
“He hates the man. Especially because after the death, when he went back to the baron to confront him, the baron laughed and told him that if he didn’t like the mining conditions, he didn’t have to work there.”
Carl covered his face with his hands, trying to block out
the image of his father telling his laborers that if they weren’t satisfied with their pay or work environment, then they should go to America. How many times had he heard his father say that over the years?
Never before had Carl given much thought to his father’s words. He’d always believed like his father that the miners were too demanding and needy, that Saxony had a surplus population and the laborers would be better off going to America anyway.
But now . . .
Now he knew such laborers personally. He’d lived among them. He’d seen how hard they worked. He’d experienced firsthand the deprivations and difficulties they faced. They were resilient and determined. And they labored day after day, week after week, without complaining or giving up.
He’d obviously been wrong in his beliefs about the peasants.
Even so, weren’t they better off in America? Hadn’t Peter himself claimed that here they were free, that they could stand on their own feet and make something of their lives?
Perhaps Carl’s father, the baron, had been right to send them to America to a better life.
Carl wanted to defend his father’s position, but the words stuck in his tight throat. And for some reason, the guilt only raged louder.
“So when the Superior Mining Company’s agent came to Essen,” Uri continued, “looking for miners who would go to America to work in their upper-Michigan mine, my vater and forty other miners agreed to move, especially because the company was willing to help with the cost of the move.”
“If your father came to mine, how did he end up here as a farmer?”
Uri dried his hands and began jumping the maze of stones
back to the shore. “When we arrived in Detroit, the men learned that the winters to the north were more severe and they feared for our survival there.”
Carl gulped a deep breath, hoping to shed the guilt on his face before Uri took notice of it. He couldn’t bear to think of how much the boy would despise him should he learn his true identity. And Annalisa . . .
She would hate him too.
They all would. Especially now that he’d earned their trust. They’d welcomed him into their community. When he’d had no place else to go and no one else to turn to, they’d sheltered him. Fed him. Given him honest labor.
What would they say if they learned he’d deceived them? That he was their enemy? That his father was the one who had killed their beloved brother and son?
Carl turned away from Uri and took another breath, trying to bring a semblance of calm to the tumult pounding his insides.
“We spent almost two years in Detroit.” Uri jumped onto the bank. “Then Vater and the other men got word from Jacob Buel’s agent that he was looking to sell some of his land near Forestville. None of the men had the money to buy outright. But Mr. Buel’s a kind man. He offered to parcel the land out on loan, but only as long as each man could pay him the cost at the end of five years.”
“And the five years is ending?”
“This summer. He’ll let us have until fall, until after the harvest. And any farmer that can’t finish paying the loan must leave. He was clear that he’d give no exceptions.”
“That seems a little harsh.” It wasn’t Annalisa’s fault her husband had died. If Jacob Buel were a kind man, he would see that her circumstances were unavoidable, that she was doing all
she could. “What if one of the farmers is close? Wouldn’t he extend the deadline another year?”
Uri grabbed his rifle and glanced along the shore, to the island in the middle of Mill Creek, and then up and down the river, his eyes alert. “Mr. Buel has already shown us great kindness. And all the hardworking farmers will have no trouble paying what they owe. Some have already done so.”
“Then you’re saying Hans wasn’t a hard worker?”
A scowl creased the boyish features. “Hans was the worst kind of dummboozle.”
Something in the depth of the boy’s eyes was as murky as a test tube full of explosive chemicals. “So does that mean you were best friends with him?” Carl asked, hoping he sounded playful.
Uri’s scowl deepened. He kicked a rock and sent it into the river. “Hans made Annalisa’s life miserable. So I did my best to make his the same way.”
Carl grinned. “I’d hate to be on your bad side.”
“If you keep treating Annalisa kindly, I’ll keep helping you. But if you hurt her in any way, then I’ll hurt you.”
Carl socked Uri in the arm. “Aw, come on. You need to relax a bit. You’re too intense about too many things.”
Uri turned his attention to the island. “I see that Ward’s men have been out here again.”
The island was surrounded by debris left from the recent river drive—smaller logs, branches, and piles of leaves. As far as Carl could see, everything was as it had been the other times they’d come. Besides, now that the river hogs had driven the logs from the banking grounds down to the mills in Forestville, Ward didn’t need Annalisa’s property—at least for the time being.
Ward hadn’t been back since the night he’d tried to force her to sign over her land. Carl could only hope he’d scared
him away for good. He’d made a point of sharing the news of Ward’s attack with Pastor Loehe and everyone else he’d seen. At the very least, Carl hoped Ward had gotten some censure from community leaders for his attempt to coerce Annalisa.
“He wouldn’t come out this time of year, would he?” Carl asked.
Uri pointed to one of the tall beech trees on the island. “See the black X there?”
Sure enough, one of the trees had an X marked on its trunk. “Are you sure it wasn’t there before? Why would Ward’s men be out now that the logging season is over?”
“Because he still wants the land.”
“Doesn’t he get the message that Annalisa isn’t going to sell to him? Why won’t he just leave her alone?”
“Because rich people think they’re entitled to take whatever they want. And they don’t care who they hurt in the process, as long as they get their way.”
A rebuttal pushed for release, but Carl bit it back. He couldn’t say anything to defend the wealthy—not to Uri, not now after hearing about Erik’s death and his own father’s role in it. What if his father and Ward were more alike than he wanted to admit?
“There has to be a way to stop Ward,” Carl said as they started back through the woods.
Uri’s footsteps crunched in the brush. He whipped the new growth aside with the butt of his rifle as if even the spring growth conspired against him.
Carl plodded behind him, knowing he would soon be breathless trying to keep up with the boy’s pace. Even though Carl had grown hardier and stronger over the past month, he still struggled over the ground covered with dead logs and slashings, and against the branches flying back and slapping him.
“There is only one way to stop Ward,” Uri said over his shoulder. “Kill him.”
Carl guffawed.
But from the proud tilt of Uri’s head to the hard set of his shoulders, Carl had the impression the boy wasn’t jesting. Carl’s easy laugh died and his humor evaporated, replaced instead with pity. Uri was in need of laughter and fun and the freedom to be a boy without all the worries of survival and adulthood pressing in on him.
“Uri,” Carl said, “you’ve learned how to be a man. Now it’s time for you to learn how to be a boy. And I think I’ll need to teach you that.”
Uri didn’t say anything but continued as nimble as a young buck through the tangle of woods.
When they reached the clearing and came out by the wheat field, they could see Annalisa kneeling in the vegetable garden, her skirt pulled tight against her ever-expanding waist. Gretchen played in the grass nearby, chasing Snowdrop in carefree abandon.
Over the past several days, the sunlight had brushed the land like a painter, turning the dull, yellowed grasses, withered from winter, into a vibrant green that sprang up with renewed life. Snowdrop stopped his game of chase and rolled in the grass, burying his nose in it as if the new life was too hard to resist. Gretchen dropped next to him and scratched his back. Sunlight glinted off her bare head and swirled in wisps of loose hair.
When she saw them approaching, she jumped up and skipped toward them. Even though she gave Uri a smile, her big blue eyes were on Carl, filled with the same adoration she’d had since he’d revived Snowdrop.
“How’s the princess this morning?” he called to her.
She giggled.
A sweet ache wound through his heart. Was this what it felt like to be a parent? To have the love of a child, freely given without any reservations?
He’d avoided marriage and commitment for so many years, wanting to evade the pain he’d seen in his parents’ marriage. But in the process had he missed the beauty of fatherhood?
Annalisa glanced up. Catching sight of them, she sat back on her heels and wiped her sleeve across her forehead.
Maybe that was why she was willing to enter into a marriage of convenience and lay aside her own joy—because she’d loved her child more than herself, because she wanted Gretchen and her new baby to have happiness even if she couldn’t. Had he been wrong to think she shouldn’t marry a stranger? Were there callings higher than one’s own pleasure and satisfaction?
“Would the princess like a ride on her horsey?” He stooped.
Gretchen nodded, and the love shining from her eyes melted him completely.
“Then, my lady, I’m at your beck and call.” He gallantly waved his arm toward his back. “Your horsey awaits.”
She climbed on and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Slowly he stood and handed his gun to Uri, who gave him a nod. The approval in the boy’s eyes made him wonder if perhaps he had as much to learn about being a man as Uri had about being a boy.
He carried Gretchen across the distance toward Annalisa, who arose and swiped her hands together, brushing off the dirt.
“You can call me the master turkey hunter now,” he said, stopping in front of her.
A smile flitted across her lips.
He’d come to covet her smiles, especially when one went into her eyes.
“I didn’t know horses could hunt turkeys.” She wiped a strand of stray hair off her nose, leaving a smudge of soil across her freckles.
“Mama, remember? He’s a magic horse,” Gretchen said from his back.
He winked at Annalisa. Her smile widened and moved to her eyes, just the way he liked, making the blue turn the color of the lilacs blooming along the edge of the field.
“The magic horse shot another turkey this morning, bringing my total to three.”
“Then I guess you
are
becoming a master hunter.” Genuine admiration graced her features. He was sure she knew exactly how hard turkey hunting was, how sensitive the birds were to every movement and noise, and what a feat it was for him to shoot any at all.
His chest swelled at her pleasure. “I’m going to town tomorrow with Uri to sell them.”
A shadow flitted across her face, and her smile disappeared.
What had he said wrong? “I’ll be sure to get the supplies we need for fixing the pig’s pen.”
The sow had farrowed eight piglets the past week. She was in the barn for now, but eventually the pigs would need more space. Carl would have to repair the fence the bear had torn off before they could use the outer pen. At least fixing the fence was one farm chore he could manage. In fact, by the time he finished designing it, Annalisa would find herself with a much-improved bear-proof fence.