A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(16)

Annalisa pressed a hand against Uri’s cheek. Unfortunately the boy had witnessed all too often the way Hans had treated her. And he’d loathed Hans’s gambling and drinking and how she and Gretchen had gone without many of the things they needed as a result.

Over time, Uri had become more sullen and angry toward Hans so that near the end, Hans had complained to Vater about the boy’s lack of respect. Of course, Vater had then proceeded to take a switch to Uri’s backside until it was red with welts.

No child of Peter Bernthal was ever allowed to disrespect or disobey an elder.

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Uri’s brow. The difference in their ages had made him more like one of her children than a brother.

“You’re a good boy.” She could only pray he’d stay that way, that he would grow into a man like Herr Pastor.

She made her way to the cabin, knowing she couldn’t keep Vater waiting, especially once he finished his chores. He’d be ready for his evening meal, but Mutter would want to have the wedding first.

Annalisa squeezed into the best dress she owned. The dark, plain linen was worn and frayed around the edges, but it was clean. She unplaited her long braid and brushed the wavy strands into a knot at the back of her neck.

As she washed her face and then dried it with her apron, she tried to ignore her trembling fingers. She wasn’t nervous. What did she have to be nervous about? She knew what to expect now—in the darkness of the night when her husband would silently smother her with his sweaty body, sate himself, and then push her away.

Even so, her fingers shook and her stomach quivered. And she whispered a silent prayer that the kindness her new groom had already shown wouldn’t disappear, especially toward Gretchen.

The heavy clop of horse hooves against the muddy ground outside the cabin drew Annalisa to the door. She donned her knit shawl—the one she saved for special occasions—and pushed open the door.

For a moment she blinked, the slant of the late afternoon sunlight blinding her.

“Mrs. Werner, I’m tired of waiting,” a man boomed at her in stilted Deutsch.

She didn’t need to see the face to know who it was. The gravelly voice belonged to only one person. Mr. E. B. Ward.

The wind wound through the dangling fringes of her shawl, making her shiver.

She lifted a hand to her eyes to shield them, giving her a full view of Ward’s face.

From atop his well-groomed mare he glared down at her. His hat was too small for his large head and revealed his pitted skin that had a yellowish tint. The yellow had seeped into the whites surrounding his eyes.

He spoke again, but this time in English.

She’d learned enough of the foreign language when she’d attended school in Detroit. But she’d seldom had occasion to use the English since moving to Forestville and could only pick out a few of Ward’s words—men, work, good.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” she said in her native tongue. “I won’t sell the farm to you.”

He shook his head and muttered under his breath. He glanced around, as if making sure they were alone. He then started hoisting his bulky body from the horse.

Her heartbeat thudded against her chest, sending danger signals throughout her body. What if Vater had been right? What if Ward had murdered Hans in order to get the farm? If the land-hungry businessman overpowered and killed Hans, what would stop him from doing the same to her?



She reached for the door, her fingers making contact with the crude handle.

Should she retreat into the cabin and get away from him while she had the chance?

But how could she hide when Uri and Gretchen were still in the barn? If only she could grab the hunting rifle that hung above the door.

Ward jumped the last distance from his horse, and his boots slapped the mud. Beads of sweat formed across the skin of his pockmarked forehead. He wiped the moisture with his sleeve and took a step toward her.

She pushed the door open. Over the past several years she’d grown quite proficient with the gun, as hunger had been a persistent teacher.

“Mrs. Werner.” He spoke again in German. “The sawmill will provide extra work for your people. It will help make jobs.”

Perhaps the sawmill would provide extra income for the farmers, such as during the winter months when the traps were empty and the supplies in the stores ran low. But Vater claimed selling Ward the land would only give him too much power. They’d left Saxony to get out from under the control of Baron von Reichart, and they couldn’t let that happen now with Ward.

“Put the mill somewhere else,” she said.

“I plan to build it right here on this land. Along the river.”

Her grip on the door handle tightened. “You can’t take it from me. I have my husband’s loan papers.”

His yellowish eyes flashed with anger, and he retorted in loud English.

She squared her shoulders. This was her land. She wouldn’t let this man scare her from it.

“Are you having trouble, Annalisa?” Uri called from the barn door.



“Get out of here, son,” Ward barked. “This isn’t any of your business.”

Uri started across the muddy barnyard, a shovel tucked under his armpit like a weapon. His features were creased with proud determination. “I think you’re the one who needs to do the getting out of here.”