A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(18)
If he could manage to locate Fritz, his old friend would certainly be willing to shelter him and perhaps even help him find suitable work.
Carl tapped the table again. He ought to move on to Chicago before making plans with Matthias’s family.
But he’d told Matthias he would come and help the family until Dirk arrived. How could he let down his faithful servant? The dear man had risked his life to free him.
He’d also spent the last of his travel fare buying passage on the steamboat that had brought him from Detroit up Lake Huron to what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. And now, for the first time in his life, he was completely broke, without even a pfennig in his pouch.
Besides, he was rather tired of running. That’s all he’d been doing since leaving Essen three months ago.
“Well, Frau Bernthal, I believe that whatever you have cooking in that pot is calling my name.” Carl pushed away from the table and rose, breathing in the rich aroma of stewed venison, which only served to remind him how hungry he was and how long it had been since he’d last had a filling meal.
She glanced at him over her shoulder with somber eyes—eyes that looked as if they’d seen too much sorrow during her years. “We’ll be waiting on the others,” she said, casting an impatient frown toward the door.
He thought of asking her if perhaps he could help with the task at hand. But how could he possibly help her? He studied the tidy kitchen that apparently also served as a sitting room. The crudely built table with its benches and two chairs filled the center of the room, hardly leaving room for the tall worktable, the wood-burning stove, and the corner shelves that held an assortment of rudimentary cooking ware and dishes.
In the opposite corner, a ladder rose into a dark hole in the low ceiling, up to what he assumed was a bedroom. Beyond the kitchen was a smaller room; he could see the end of a bedstead as well as a spinning wheel and loom.
He’d passed a large barn on the way up to the house and guessed it to be full of animals that needed some kind of tending.
What could he do? He didn’t know the first thing about taking care of domesticated beasts.
He ran his fingers across the thick soft wool of his coat. His heart urged him to put it back on and flee. But his stomach and mind warned him not to be a fool. He’d be safe in Forestville, Michigan. The duke would never look for him among a small farming community. He’d expect him to head to a big city like New York or Chicago.
“Guten tag, Oma.” A little girl burst through the door and skipped toward Frau Bernthal.
The woman turned, and for the barest instant her face lost the deep creases of worry and sadness. She didn’t smile, but a light flickered to life in her eyes and spread to her countenance, smoothing it like the surface of a peaceful pond.
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.