A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(21)

“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.”

Carl sloshed the scant grainy coffee left in the bottom of his mug. Before he could drain the last cold drop, Annalisa was at his side, coffeepot in hand. Without a word she poured the steaming liquid.

Her features were soft, relaxed, almost peaceful. And even more lovely than before. Was she as relieved as he was that they’d avoided marriage?

He wanted to look into her eyes, to the emotions whispering secrets there. Her gaze darted away, and she would have scurried back to the other women congregated by the stove, but he snagged her sleeve, holding her in place.

Her eyes widened and finally met his.

What did he want from her? Why had he stopped her? “Thank you.” He lifted his mug and grinned, trying to cover his forwardness. “I cannot tell you the last time I had hot coffee.”

She hesitated as if she didn’t know how to respond to his courtesy.

What would it take to make her smile—really smile—at him?

She nodded, then took a step away. But he couldn’t stop watching her as she retreated to the safety of the other women.

When she peeked over her shoulder at him, his heart did an odd flip.

“I think perhaps Carl can help Annalisa,” Pastor Loehe said.

The words forced Carl’s attention back to the men at the table. Pastor Loehe glanced between Carl and Annalisa, his brows raised and his eyes filled with new interest.

“This might be a very good idea, Herr Pastor.” Peter held up his plate and waved it toward his wife. She rushed to retrieve it from him. “Annalisa can provide his meals in exchange for his days of work. And we will provide his lodging in payment for evening chores.”

Carl’s stomach twisted with panic even though he’d known helping the widow had been part of Matthias’s plan. “Yes, but I don’t know about farming—”

“Not to worry,” Peter boomed. “I was a miner and would have stayed one all my life, but I’ve learned how to work the land and now look at me. I have my own house and will soon pay off my farm.” He waved around at his log cabin hovel as if it were a palace. “Here I’m free. I’m nobody’s slave. I stand on my own feet and can make something of myself.”

From what Carl could tell, they were still as poor as the poorest peasants he’d ever seen.

“You’ll need to give him wages, don’t you think?” Pastor Loehe asked. “You wouldn’t be able to hire a local for just room and board. You must give him some money too.”

“Herr Pastor, you know we have no extra—”

“I don’t want any money,” Carl said quickly, assuaging his guilt. “You’re doing me a great favor by offering me shelter in my time of need. Besides, my efforts to help you will be somewhat inadequate and undeserving of any pay.”

Somewhat inadequate? Carl could only shake his head. He’d be a terrible help. But they’d discover that soon enough.

As their plans became more detailed, and involved too many farming terms he didn’t understand, he could only squirm in his chair and pray he’d locate Fritz Diehl quickly. Even though Carl had already gotten his initiation into the life of a poor man during the past months of travel, now in Forestville, among real peasants, he felt as out of place as a satin patch on homespun.

Finally, he stood and stretched.

“You’ll sleep in the barn loft.” Frau Bernthal handed him a quilt and nodded toward the open door and the dark spring evening beyond.

Annalisa had a scarf wrapped around her head and was in the process of bundling a blanket around Gretchen’s poor excuse for a coat.

What did Annalisa think of the plans her father had made for her? No one had asked for her input. She deserved to have some voice in the matter. After all, it was her farm in jeopardy, and would be so even more once he touched his hand to its soil.

Without so much as a glance in his direction, she took Gretchen’s hand and stepped out into the blackness.

He managed to fumble out his gratitude to Frau Bernthal for both the blanket and the meal. Then he slung his coat over his shoulders and followed Annalisa outside.

The chill in the air was a welcome relief to his overheated face. And the freshness of the air, with the hint of damp earth, was a pleasant change from the stuffy sourness inside.