A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(12)

With a huff Annalisa lifted the bucket, grasping it with two hands, trying to get a firm grip. It was heavier than her load earlier in the day.

“Gretchen,” she said, already short of breath. “You’ll need to help Mama carry the bucket.”

Gretchen didn’t say anything or make an effort to move.

“Be a good girl.” Annalisa hefted the bucket.

A strange voice came from behind her, speaking in Deutsch. “I don’t think the father should have let Lily go off alone to face the lion, do you?”

Annalisa gasped, dropped the bucket with a thud, and spun around to face the intruder.

A man leaned casually against a nearby silver maple, a bag tossed over his shoulder.

Who was he, and how long had he been listening to her story? Annalisa reached a hand for Gretchen and tugged the little girl against her skirt.

“If Lily had been my daughter, I wouldn’t have allowed her to go.” The stranger lifted a fashionable derby from his head, revealing dark hair that was the same rich brown as freshly plowed soil.

“No,” he continued, “if I’d been Lily’s father, I would have sacrificed my life and gone in her stead.”

The words stopped Annalisa. A vater sacrificing his life for a mere daughter? What kind of man would do such a thing? Certainly not her vater. Sure, Vater loved her. But she was only a girl and could never be like a son to him, no matter how good she was.

She couldn’t keep from peering at the stranger’s face, at the angular lines of his cheek and chin and the softness of his eyes. Although his skin was covered with a scruff that lent him ruggedness, there was a paleness to his skin that contrasted with the leathery sun-bronzed faces of most of the farmers she knew.

If he wasn’t a farmer, then why was he here? Was he working for Ward?

As if sensing her discomfort, the stranger pushed away from the tree and straightened. “The Brothers Grimm are fine storytellers, but occasionally I find myself wishing for a slightly different version of a story or two.”

Even if Annalisa had been able to think of an intelligent response, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to form any words.

He took a step toward them. His trousers were in need of a washing, but the filth couldn’t hide the fact that the linen was finer than anything she’d seen before. Nor could it hide the silky gloss of his vest and cravat. And the thickness of his wool coat was something to be envied.

He had to be someone of means who was working for Ward.

She clutched Gretchen’s arm and backed away from him, praying he couldn’t see the trembling in her legs. “Herr—uh—”

“Just Carl.”

She hesitated at the familiarity. “Bitte, tell Ward our answer is still the same. We won’t sell the land.”

Confusion flickered across his face. He scratched his head and then replaced his derby. “If I knew Ward, I would consider it a great honor to deliver the message. But since I’ve only just arrived by steamboat to Forestville this afternoon, you’ll have to forgive me for postponing the delivery until I’m more familiar with the area.”

He’d only just arrived? By steamboat?

For a long moment the only sound was the hollow drip of sap hitting the bottom of the tin pail she’d hung back on the spout.

Was this her groom? The cousin her uncle Matthias had sent? They hadn’t yet received a letter from Uncle Matthias. In fact, they had no indication he’d even received Vater’s letter that Herr Pastor had penned in the fall after Hans’s funeral.

But who else would travel by steamboat to Forestville this time of year—if not her groom? After these many months, now that it was spring, it wasn’t out of the question that this man could be her new husband.

She scanned him again, this time starting at his fine leather boots and working her way up his body. He was of medium build and height. Not brawny, but certainly he would manage the rigors of the farm chores well enough—she hoped.

He had a pleasant face, with dark eyebrows framing wide questioning eyes that were the same earthy brown as his hair. He didn’t look familiar, like any of the young distant cousins she’d known back in Essen. But after so many years, how would she recognize any of her relatives?

He offered her a roguish smile—almost as if he sensed her perusal and was enjoying it.

“So,” she finally said, “Matthias has sent you?”

“Yes. Do you know of him? I’m looking for his brother, Peter.”

She nodded but she couldn’t get her tongue to work.

His smile widened, revealing straight teeth, and his eyes lit with a hint of mischief. If he were her groom, at least he wouldn’t be hard to look at.

As soon as the thought tumbled through her mind, she ducked her head with the embarrassment of it. She groped for the heavy sap bucket and hefted it again.

“Come with Mama,” she said to Gretchen, turning away from her husband-to-be.

She knew she had no choice but to get married again. Even though she’d relished the peacefulness of the winter—not having to worry about any more of Hans’s gambling, or controlling her and making demands, or using her for his own pleasures—she’d known the peace wouldn’t last forever.

She was realistic enough to understand she couldn’t farm her land without help. Already she was behind the others, who had begun to prepare their soil for sowing the spring wheat. While the other farmers were building fences and clearing more land and sharpening their equipment, she was making maple syrup.