Carl nodded at the man. The news had apparently traveled around Forestville. At eleven o’clock on a Monday morning
he’d expected to be able to do business in town without drawing too much attention.
But he’d been wrong.
Already, several older men and townspeople had stopped him, wanting to know if he really was Baron von Reichart’s son. And then after he’d gone to the bank, it hadn’t taken long before everyone knew about what he’d done for Annalisa—even though he’d asked the loan officer to keep his transaction confidential.
Of course the deal wouldn’t be official until the wired money came through from Matthias. But in Carl’s mind the deed was as good as done. Matthias’s telegram had assured him the duke had restored the funds he’d seized and that he had enough to cover Annalisa’s farm loan.
Carl stepped into the dusty street away from the lumber mill. The wind swirled the dry earth into a haze, covering the sun in a thin veil. If the busybodies knew every move he’d made since setting foot on Main Street, he had no doubt they’d soon spread the word that he’d paid off the loan on the supplies for Annalisa’s barn too.
The few remaining coins in his pocket jangled.
The money Matthias had sent for his fare back home had covered the cost of the boards and other barn supplies. But now he was practically penniless again, with just a few coins to his name.
His father had promised him additional money upon his return. In fact, in Matthias’s letter, his father had promised his monthly allowance along with an increase. But the thought of the easy money didn’t tempt Carl. Not the way it once had.
Yes, he was grateful to his father for clearing his name. Apparently his father had demanded that Carl’s reputation be exonerated in every public way and his privileged status among
society restored. And although his father had indicated he would replenish his lab and all of his equipment, he’d also insinuated that it was time for Carl to begin learning more about the family business. After all, Carl would someday be in control of his father’s many mines and steel mills.
Matthias’s letter had explained that the duke’s real assassin had struck again, and this time had been caught in the act. Carl didn’t want to imagine what his father had done to elicit a confession from the assassin for the first offense that had incriminated Carl. His father hadn’t kept the medieval torture apparatuses purely for their historical value.
Nevertheless, Carl was a free man. And Matthias said his father was anxiously awaiting his return home.
“Heard you’re leaving town,” the old farmer in the shade called out.
“I’m heading out on the
Clayton Belle
in an hour,” he called back. He might as well spell out his plans since everyone in town would likely know sooner or later anyway.
“Where you going?”
“I’m hoping to work my way to Chicago.” If he couldn’t find a teaching job at the university, he’d find honest hard work so that he could begin to save his own money.
He’d told himself over and over that he wasn’t staying in America because of Annalisa. She and her family had made it clear they could never forgive him, that they despised him and never wanted to see him again.
And he didn’t blame them.
Fresh shame burned his back, and a trickle of sweat rolled down, making his shirt stick to his skin.
“Well, it’s too bad you couldn’t marry Annalisa and stay here.” The old farmer spit out the piece of long, dry grass he’d been chewing on. “There’s some of us who don’t hold a man’s
past against him. Figure this place is as good as any to make a fresh start and a new life, for rich and poor men alike.”
Pastor Loehe had said something very similar when Carl had stumbled to the pastor’s doorstep last evening in despair. Even knowing the truth about who he was and his deception, the pastor had opened his home to him, fed him a meal, and given him a bed for the night.
They’d talked late into the evening, and Pastor had urged him not to be too hasty in leaving Forestville, but to give Annalisa some time to adjust to his true identity and to forgive him.
But Carl had only shaken his head. She hated him now. And it wouldn’t matter if she ever adjusted. Peter would never let him step foot on her land—not without riddling his body with bullets.
“Forestville is a good place to make a fresh start,” Carl said, nodding his gratitude to the farmer. He was surprised by how much his body resisted the thought of leaving the community. “But I think there are some hurts that run so deep, even time and distance cannot heal them.”
Peter would never be able to forgive him. He didn’t deserve Peter’s forgiveness for his father’s sin or for his own. And it didn’t matter that Pastor Loehe had disagreed and had accused him of running away from his problems.
Carl figured that putting distance between himself and those he’d hurt was the only sensible option. It wouldn’t ease the constant ache in his heart at the thought of leaving Annalisa and the girls, but at least he wouldn’t have to chance seeing them or thinking about them all the time—which was what would happen if he stayed.
He tipped up his hat and scanned the buildings along Main Street. “Unfortunately I need to leave on the
Clayton Belle
. But before I leave, I have one last piece of business to attend to.”
He crossed the swirling dust of the street and peered up at the big, bold letters painted across the second floor of a building.
E. B. Ward
.
He couldn’t leave town without issuing one last warning to Ward—the warning to leave Annalisa alone. The man needed to know the land was finally Annalisa’s, that in a matter of days she would own it free and clear, and there was nothing more he could do to take it from her.
“What in the name of all that’s holy?” The old farmer pushed himself up from the crate he’d used as a seat and stared openmouthed toward the western edge of town.
A doe and her fawn hobbled down the street, heedless of the townspeople who had halted to watch. They meandered at a steady pace, their noses tilted up and sniffing the air.
Carl didn’t stop to make sense of the unusual sight. Instead he opened the door of Ward’s office and entered. He’d made a mess of things with Annalisa. The least he could do was make sure she was safe before he left.
The thin clerk he’d met the last time was bent over a drawer and paging through a stack of papers. For a moment, even with the opening and closing of the front door, the clerk continued to browse through the documents as if he couldn’t be bothered.
Carl pressed his lips together and started toward the man.
The clerk glanced at him sideways and then quickly rose and took a step back. “Ah, Mr. Richards . . .” The man’s voice shook. “Or should I say Baron von Reichart the third?”
“Go get Ward for me.” Carl pinned the man with a hard glare. Obviously the news about his identity had reached Ward. The clerk stumbled backward and plastered himself against the edge of the desk.
Carl didn’t care if he scared the clerk witless. He figured the more intimidation the better where Ward was concerned.
The clerk pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his perfectly dry brow. “Ward isn’t here.”
“That’s not true.” Carl tipped the brim of his hat higher so the man could see the seriousness of his expression. “I saw him enter the front door of this building about an hour ago.”
“He just left. He was in a big hurry.”
Carl closed the distance, letting his boots tap a hard, hollow rhythm across the floor.
“I’m telling the truth.” The clerk bent over backward in his attempt to move away from Carl.
“Where did he go?”
“He didn’t mention anything to me.”
Carl didn’t stop until he was standing directly in front of the clerk. “You better start talking. Now.”
“I don’t know anything,” the clerk squeaked.
“I don’t believe you.” Carl grabbed the man’s crisp white shirt and balled it into his fist.
The clerk’s eyes darted to the door. “All I know is that one of his friends from the bank came in and mentioned you were in the process of paying the remainder of Mrs. Werner’s loan.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then he said he was going to be out of the office for a few hours, and he left.”
Carl’s thoughts whirled with a gust of dread. Had Ward gone out to visit Annalisa already? What if the man thought he still had a chance to threaten Annalisa into signing over her land to him, before the money arrived and the loan payment became official?
And what if Annalisa gave in this time? With the drought, the poor crops, and the prospect of losing the farm, maybe she’d just agree to sign everything over to Ward.
But what if she didn’t?
His mind reeled with the picture of her sitting at the table, Ward wrenching her arm behind her back, and the pain that had tightened her features.
What would Ward do to her this time?
Carl released the clerk and pushed away from him. “How much of a head start does Ward have on me?”
The man took his watch out of his pocket and with shaking hands attempted to read the time. “I think he’s been gone for about twenty minutes.”
Carl stalked to the door, flung it open, and strode outside. Twenty minutes was too long, especially since Ward had a horse and he didn’t.
He had to get to Annalisa. And fast.
It didn’t matter if Dirk was there or not.
She needed
him
.
“Lord, I guess I won’t be running away today after all.” If he rode out to Annalisa’s farm, he’d miss his passage on the
Clayton Belle
.
Had Pastor Loehe been right? Did he need to stay and make things right somehow? Was he running again because he was afraid?
His boots slapped the dusty plank sidewalk. “Anyone got a horse I can use?” he called to a group that had congregated outside the general store.
But no one glanced at him. Instead they stared and pointed at the far end of Main Street. Several foxes and hares had wandered into town. The creatures didn’t seem to notice each other but were hurrying toward the water’s edge, where more wild animals, both large and small, had gathered.
“I need to borrow a horse!” He didn’t have time to gawk with the others, even if it was true that the wild creatures were fascinating.
A rattling wagon, pulled by a frothing, frantic-eyed horse, came careening down the country road toward town. “Run for it!” screamed the man driving the wagon. “Fire’s a-comin’!”
Carl peered beyond the man to the west, searching for flames. Amidst the hazy grayness of the sky, he couldn’t see anything different from earlier in the day.
“Make a run for the lake!” the wagon driver shouted, glancing over his shoulder. “All the land in the western part of the county is on fire!”
The townspeople outside the store began to shout questions at him. More people trickled out of the businesses that lined the street.
“The fire’s coming in a storm!” The man brought his wagon to a creaking halt. “It’s uprooting trees, blowing down buildings, and throwing fireballs.”
His face was smudged with smoke and sweat, and his hat was coated with a layer of gray ash. In the back of his wagon sat two young children, huddled on either side of a woman who was grimy with ash and sweat too. Their eyes were wide, their faces frightened and dirty.
“How far away is the fire?” someone called.
“Is it headed this way?”
Even as the man tried to answer them, a gust of wind slapped Carl and rained down soft white flakes like the first dusting of snow in winter—except the flakes weren’t cold or wet.
They were hot and dry.
Carl’s blood turned to ice.
Ashes.
Someone pointed to the west and shouted. A black cloud had formed on the horizon. For a moment, Carl wanted to believe it was only a thundercloud, one of the towering ones that would finally bring a downpour and put an end to the drought.
But the fear on the face of the wagon driver told him he’d be a fool to think that anything other than a holocaust was descending upon them.
Desperation clawed at his chest. He needed to get to Annalisa and the girls. Now. The thought of anything happening to them—either from Ward or the fire—made him sick to his stomach.
“Lord, why did I ever leave them in the first place?” Why? What had ever possessed him to think he could live without them?
Even if she hated him, couldn’t he find a way to win her affection again? He couldn’t leave without at least trying, could he?
He sprinted forward, weaving in and out of the growing crowd. He couldn’t run the four miles to Annalisa’s. There wasn’t enough time. He wasn’t sure if he’d have enough time even with a horse.
But he had to try.
“Frau Loehe!” He waved at the pastor’s wife in her wagon, bumping along the road at the edge of town, and ran toward her.
She yanked her team to a halt. “Oh, dearie . . .” Beneath her wide-brimmed hat, her eyes pooled with tears.
He knew he should ask her what was wrong and console her, but he couldn’t contain his panic. “I need one of your horses.” Without waiting for her permission, he started unhitching the horse closest to him.
“I’m hearing reports about fire in Minden Township.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “My dear husband went visiting parishioners there today.”
The sky overhead had grown hazier, covering the hot sun with a gauzy blanket. And yet, even with the shade, the air had become thicker with heat and the waft of smoke.
“I’m sure Pastor will take good care of himself. He’s a smart
man.” Carl’s sweat-slickened fingers stumbled over the chain. “In the meantime, he’d want you to head down to the lake with the others. You’ll be safe there.”
She peered down Main Street, which had become crowded with animals, people, and the possessions they hoped to save from the oncoming fire. Their frightened shouts filled the air.
The old-timers still talked of the fire ten years earlier in 1871 that had swept through the area and had burned Forestville to the ground. He didn’t doubt many of them were remembering the inferno, how they’d had to wait it out in the lake and watch as their homes and businesses were consumed by the fire.