A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(30)

She held her breath and resisted the urge to lift her rifle, even as she had the chilling sensation that someone was on the island, watching her. Yet the only movement was the red flash of a cardinal and the lighter brown of his mate as they fluttered to a lower branch, likely building their nest.

As much as she loved the creek and its beauty, she’d grown to despise the fact that their farmland bordered it. If only Hans had chosen land somewhere else, how different things might have been. The day Ward had approached him about buying the land for the sawmill, Hans had started down the path of destruction. All he’d seen was the opportunity to build the mill himself and become rich through it.

That’s when he’d started taking their hard-earned cash over to Saxonia Hall and gambling. He’d hoped to earn a quick profit off the money so he could begin purchasing the supplies needed to construct the mill.

But all Hans had done was squander their money. And instead of having more to invest in the mill, they chanced losing the land altogether. He’d lost his own life as a result of his foolishness, and now he put hers and Gretchen’s in danger as well.

Annalisa stared hard at the island for a long moment. She stifled another shiver and then tugged Gretchen forward by her hand. “Come with Mama.”

“Another story?” Gretchen skipped to match Annalisa’s pace.

Even though Annalisa couldn’t keep from tossing glances over her shoulder during the walk back to the cabin, she managed to tell Gretchen a story. When she passed by the east field where Carl had been plowing that morning and saw that he’d finally finished, she gave a silent prayer of thanksgiving. But her prayer stuck in her throat when she saw the door of the cabin ajar.

What was he doing inside? What could he possibly need in the cabin?

What if he found her crock with her savings in it? He wouldn’t steal it, would he?

Her mind told her Carl had proven he wasn’t like Hans—not in any way—at least so far. Still, her heartbeat pattered with fear.

“Quickly, liebchen!” She tugged Gretchen faster over the uneven ground, dodging mud puddles and fighting against the wind and drizzle. With each step Annalisa imagined looking into the interior of her clay crock and seeing only dark emptiness. She pictured herself turning it over and nothing falling out. She imagined the past months of savings being gone, of having to start over as she’d had to do whenever Hans had taken the money.

By the time she reached the cabin door and wrenched it open, her breath came in gasps. All the past disappointments poured through the cracks in her heart and pooled there, weighing her down, making her chest ache as it had so many times before with Hans.

Carl was kneeling in front of the fire and looked up at her with guilt upon his features. “I hope you don’t mind I collected your sap.”

The wooden bucket she used to collect sap sat on the floor next to him and was empty.

“I decided to boil it down for you.” He turned back to the fire. He’d taken off his hat, and dark strands of his damp hair stuck to his forehead. He’d also shed his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

Instead of the usual kettle, he’d poured the sap into the rectangular pan she used in butchering. He’d placed the ends of the pan on even stones and had raked the hottest coals from the fire underneath the pan. He’d also made a contraption of some kind that was fanning the fire.

For a long moment, she could only stare at him. That he’d collected sap and carried the heavy load back to the cabin for her was unusual enough. But to begin boiling it for her? Why would he do such a thing?

Of course, the sap wasn’t flowing as much as it had in the beginning. But still, the collecting and boiling had kept her busy in her spare moments.



“Having the heat spread over the larger surface area will speed the evaporation process,” he said, sitting back on his heels and watching the steam rising in a steady white cloud up the chimney.

Gretchen, with Snowdrop in tow, crossed the room to investigate the new boiling method.

“If I had a thermometer,” he continued, “I’d be able to ascertain the right temperature for boiling. As it is, I’ve experimented with varying levels of heat and I think I’ve finally landed upon the correct amount.”

She didn’t know anything about heat levels, but even she could see that the water was evaporating from the sap more quickly than it normally did when she boiled it in the kettle.

He rose to his feet, wiping his sleeve across his perspiring forehead. “And I fixed the latch on the cabin door so that it will lock now.”

She glanced to the door, to the strange lever he’d installed.

“I thought you’d be safer at night if you could lock the door from the inside.” His eyes were dark, the same shade as the thick gravy she hoped to make with the roasted quail. His kindness probed her, begged her forgiveness if he’d overstepped his bounds.

She lowered the fowl to the table and pulled off her headscarf. She didn’t know what to say. Suddenly her fear about him stealing her money seemed silly.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “You’re very kind.”

He let out a breath and smiled. “Then you don’t mind that I’ve let my curiosity get the best of me?”

She shook her head. “I don’t expect you to do extra things for me.”

“I like fiddling around. I’ve always been a bit of an experimenter.” A shadow flitted across the angular lines of his face, and he looked as if he would say more. Instead he pressed his lips together and turned his attention back to the boiling sap.