The little girl wrapped her arms around Frau Bernthal’s skirt and peered up at the woman with a smile that could have brought noonday sunshine into midnight darkness.
At the sight of the girl’s dainty face, Carl straightened. She was the same sweet urchin he’d met on his way to the farm. Which meant the girl’s mother was likely not far behind.
He quickly combed his fingers through his gritty hair, wishing he’d had the time to wash up and change his clothes. Instead he
swallowed his frustration. He’d had one set of clothing since the day he’d left the prison cell, and although he’d tried to clean them as best he could, they were liable to stand up and walk away from him in protest if he didn’t find a way to have them laundered soon.
Frau Bernthal patted the girl’s head. “Where’s your mama? She’s very late.”
“I’m here, Mutter.” The young woman he’d met earlier stepped through the door.
“What took you so long?” Frau Bernthal’s creases returned, along with the defeated edge to her voice.
“Ward stopped by again . . .” The woman turned her head, caught sight of him, and her eyes rounded, giving him full view of the beautiful purplish-blue he’d noticed when he’d met her before in the woods. The shade was vivid in contrast to the creamy paleness of her skin and the light smattering of freckles across her nose.
Something sparked in her eyes—a mixture of interest and fear—as if she didn’t know what to think of him.
“So, I see we meet again.” He offered a smile.
Although he could clearly see from her rounded abdomen that she was expecting a baby, he couldn’t keep from noticing once again that she was a lovely woman.
“I have to say, we didn’t officially meet,” he continued, trying to put her at ease. “Unless of course you go by the title Frau Maple Syrup.”
“I’m Frau Werner. Annalisa Werner.”
“And I’m Carl Richards.” He put his arm to his waist and bowed as if he were the grand duke and she a duchess.
“I’m Gretchen.” Annalisa’s daughter let go of her oma and turned to him.
“Ah, I was expecting something like Raindrop.” He turned
to the little girl and bowed to her. “But I like Gretchen much better. It’s a lovely name for a princess.”
Gretchen giggled and attempted a bow in return.
Annalisa’s lips curved ever so slightly into the beginning of a smile. But he guessed she wasn’t accustomed to smiling often. Her expression was much too somber—like her mother’s.
Nevertheless, his gaze lingered on the curve of her lips. And he wished he could find a way to bring a full smile there, one that brought both laughter and joy.
When she caught the intensity of his gaze, she visibly stiffened and any trace of a smile vanished.
He wanted to reach up and slap himself across the face. What was he doing? She was a married woman, and here he was bordering on the same over-friendliness that had gotten him in trouble in England with Lord Faust’s wife during his time tutoring her children.
To be fair, Lady Cecilia had flirted with him. He’d tried to keep his distance from the woman, especially near the end when she’d become more insistent in gaining his affection.
Carl took a step back and straightened.
Annalisa busied herself shedding her coat and hanging it on a peg in the wall near the door. She’d tidied up and put on another dress. She’d even changed her hair out of the girlish braid she’d worn earlier and had swept the golden strands into a loose knot that only added to the attractive aura of womanhood that surrounded her.
He tore his attention away from her and focused instead on Gretchen.
While he was in Forestville, he’d have to make sure he kept his distance from the lovely Annalisa.
He was relieved that in a matter of minutes a large burly man
entered the house. Carl didn’t need anyone to tell him who the man was. He could see the resemblance to Matthias right away in the wide shoulders and thick torso.
“So,” the man boomed, “you finally made it.” With footsteps that were as loud as his voice, Peter crossed the room and held out a hand. “It’s about time.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Carl accepted the handshake and tried to ignore the missing finger, the skin stained with the soil of the land, and the sweat that plastered the man’s hair to his forehead. And he tried not to think about Matthias’s parting warning—that Peter would kill him if he discovered his true identity.
An inner voice whispered at him to run—run far away, that he couldn’t deceive this man and take advantage of his kindness. He slipped his hand into his vest and pulled out the letter Matthias had instructed him to give to Peter. The paper was wrinkled and dirty from the months of travel.
He handed it to Peter. “Here’s a letter from Matthias—”
“Not now.” Peter took the paper and passed it to the white-haired man behind him. “Herr Pastor, you can read it to us all after supper.”
Carl hesitated. His conscience urged him to tell the truth now. At the start. Maybe they would accept him anyway no matter what had happened in the past. After all, he wasn’t his father. “But—”
“We’ll have plenty of time to catch up later.” Peter slapped him on the back and steered him toward the pastor. The overpowering sour odor of the man’s armpits accompanied him with each step. “I’m hungry. Let’s hurry up with the legalities and then we can eat.”
Somehow Carl found himself pushed next to Annalisa so that they were standing side by side in front of the short man that Peter had called Pastor.
“I’m Pastor Loehe.” The man leveled a serious look upon Carl as if trying to peer past him into the deep places inside.
“I’m Carl,” he said hesitantly, wondering if the pastor could see the deception written there.
“Well, Carl, I’ll be praying you’ll see what a treasure you’re getting today.” He smiled at Annalisa, and the kindness in the man’s eyes seemed to melt her reserve for a brief instant.
She nodded at the pastor and her eyes filled with gratefulness.
“Let’s start,” Peter called from behind them. “I’m not like Laban with his daughter Rachel. We don’t need to wait seven years.”
The cabin had somehow become crowded with more people, and in the jostling Carl’s arm brushed Annalisa’s shoulder. He leaned into her and whispered, “I don’t think he’ll starve if he has to wait seven minutes, do you?”
She looked straight ahead at the pastor and didn’t reply, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
“Quiet!” Peter’s command brought the chattering to an abrupt halt.
Pastor Loehe opened his Bible and began flipping through the worn pages.
“Make it short, Herr Pastor,” Peter said. “We don’t need this to be fancy.”
Carl glanced around at the smattering of faces in the small room only to find that they were all looking at him—and Annalisa.
Unease made a knot around his hungry stomach. Something wasn’t right.
The pastor cleared his throat and began reading, “‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered.’”
What was going on?
“‘Love keeps no record of wrongs,’” the pastor continued. “‘Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.’”
Carl’s mind whirled with dizzying speed, and he tried to make sense of what was happening. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost guess he was at a wedding ceremony.
He stiffened. Was he at a wedding?
Annalisa’s fingers gripped the edge of her apron so tightly they’d turned white. Was Annalisa getting married? Was
she
the young widow Matthias had told him about?
The pastor closed his Bible and looked at him directly. Admonition gleamed in the man’s eyes, warning him, censuring him, and pleading with him all at the same time. “I hope you’ll take these verses from Corinthians seriously and faithfully practice them every day.”
Certainly they didn’t think
he
was the groom Matthias was sending, did they? “No. No, I cannot practice them every day.”
The pastor’s eyes widened, and Annalisa sent him a sideways glance.
“I mean, I
can
practice them. I
want
to practice them. . . .” The room felt suddenly hot and stifling. He reached for his cravat and tugged it away from his heated skin.
“What are you babbling about?” Peter’s thunderous voice came from behind him.
“I think we’ve had a misunderstanding.” Carl glanced at the open door. Never before had running away sounded as pleasant as at that moment.
“There’s no
misunderstanding
.” Peter tripped over the word, as if it was too big for his limited peasant vocabulary. “Pastor, let’s cut out all the talk about love and get to the important part.”
The pastor’s whiskery brows furrowed together. “Love is important too, Peter.”
“Not today. Not now.” Peter’s big hand landed on Carl’s shoulder. “Not when Annalisa’s farm is at stake.”
As if sensing Carl’s desire to flee, the burly man squeezed him and held him in place. “We better do the vows, Herr Pastor. I think our guest is as ready to be done with this as I am.”
One of the pastor’s hairy brows rose. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and in the face of this company . . .”
Inwardly Carl groaned. He had to put a stop to this charade now, before he ended up married.
“. . . to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God.”
The pastor shifted to face Carl squarely. “Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s holy ordinance? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; forsaking all others keep thee only unto her for as long as ye both shall live?”
Carl closed his eyes.
Lord, help me.
What had he gotten himself into?
“Spit it out.” Peter gave him a shove.
“I’m sorry.” It was too late to run. Carl steeled himself and opened his eyes. “I cannot marry this woman.”
Annalisa’s startled gaze swung to his. In the depths of her lovely eyes he saw relief. But he also caught a glimpse of something else. Was she hurt?
Did she think he was refusing the offer because something was wrong with her?
“Why in the name of Balaam’s donkey can’t you marry my daughter?”
“I’m sure your daughter would make any man a wonderful wife.” Carl held Annalisa’s gaze, hoping he could convey his apology at causing her pain. “I can see she’s kind and gentle—
and very beautiful. Any man could easily love, comfort, and honor a woman like her. . . .”
Her eyes widened.
“Then you marry her. Let’s go.” Peter twisted him back toward the pastor.
Carl wrenched free of the man’s grip. “I cannot marry Annalisa because I’m not her groom.”
The room grew silent enough to hear the lice he’d caught on the ship begin their daily symphony in his hair.
Peter scowled. “What do you mean you aren’t her groom? Did my brother Matthias send you or not?”
“Yes, Matthias sent me. But not to marry your daughter. Only to help her until one of your cousins—Dirk—is able to save money for the travel fare.” Peter stepped back and regarded him with a deepening frown. “If you aren’t the cousin sent by my brother, then who are you?”
Carl glanced around the room and his stomach churned.
The warm welcome that had been on the faces of Annalisa’s family and friends had evaporated, replaced by narrowed expressions filled with distrust.
Peter’s eyes glinted with a sharpness that reminded Carl of the edge of a sword. The man certainly seemed capable of murder.
Carl extinguished the flame burning in his conscience. He’d better follow Matthias’s advice and keep his identity a secret—at least for the time being.
Besides, he wouldn’t stay long. He’d write to Fritz Diehl and soon be on his way to Chicago. What difference would it make if they didn’t know who he really was?
“Well?” Peter asked. “Who are you? And why are you here?”
“I tried to tell you. It’s explained in the letter Matthias sent.”
“Herr Pastor, let’s read the letter then.”
Pastor Loehe pulled the letter out of his Bible, carefully unfolded the crumpled page, and began to read.
Carl had already read the letter a dozen times and knew every word Matthias had written. His faithful manservant hadn’t exactly lied. He’d shared the fact that the duke had unfairly sentenced Carl to death by the guillotine for a crime he hadn’t committed, and that Carl needed a safe place to hide until the duke forgot about him. But Matthias had been silent about the fact that Carl’s family was as powerful and wealthy as the duke.
When the pastor finished, Peter stepped forward and clamped both his large hands on Carl’s shoulders. His eyes brimmed with surprising compassion. “Anyone who’s an enemy of the duke is a friend of mine.”
“Thank you—”
“I know what it’s like to live under the injustice and tyranny of the wealthy noblemen. They don’t care about the common man like us. They would enslave us like the Egyptians did the Israelites if we let them.”
“Perhaps not all would do so. I’ve met some kind noblemen—”
“I’ve never met a rich man I haven’t hated.” Peter spat the words. “They’re all alike—greedy, selfish, and cruel.”
Carl bit back the words of defense he wanted to utter. He’d only get himself in trouble by arguing.
“Matthias was right to send you to me.” Peter wrapped his arm about Carl’s shoulder. “You’ll hide here with us.”
“I won’t need to stay long.” He’d have to write the letter to Fritz Diehl very soon. He couldn’t take advantage of Peter’s kindness, not when the man would hate him if he discovered who he really was.
During the meal that followed, Carl did his best to deflect the
questions about their friends and family. Of course he wouldn’t know their kin, not when he’d never had need to associate with those below his station. He found himself having to perpetuate even more deception, until his guilt urged him to run.
“What shall we do for Annalisa?” Pastor Loehe sat back in his chair after he’d scraped the last drop of gravy from his plate. “Since her groom is still not here, she’s going to need some help with the plowing and sowing until he arrives.”