A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(45)

“You’re already very generous. I wouldn’t have shot any turkeys—not even a dead one—without your help.”

Uri hopped across the rocks along the river’s edge until he came to a deep pool they’d built out of stones as a storage place for the turkeys in the ice-cold water.

The stream cascaded into a natural falls, and the crashing spray that rose up wafted with the coolness and freshness of the spring air. He had to admit, he’d never breathed such pure air in Essen, where the smoke from the coal mines and steel factories shrouded the city.

“You’re growing into a strong young man.” Carl handed Uri his turkey so that the boy could tie it underwater with the others. “Do you remember the Old Country, or were you too young when you made the crossing?”



“I was about the same age that Gretchen is now. And the only thing I remember is how Vater wept the day Erik died.”

“Erik?”

“My older brother. My vater’s pride and joy.” A trace of envy edged the boy’s voice. He straightened. His fingers were red from being submerged in the cold water. He blew into them before plunging them back under.

The warm sunshine slipped behind a cloud. “What happened to your brother?”

“He was killed in a mining accident.”

Carl’s heartbeat came to a bumpy halt.

“Vater always says that he and some of the other miners had been complaining about several tunnels that were crumbling and had asked Baron von Reichart to make improvements.”

He wanted to stop the boy from saying any more, but he knew he deserved to hear every wretched detail.

“But the baron ignored them like he always did.” Uri straightened and blew into his hands again. “A week after their petition, one of the tunnels collapsed, trapping and killing over a dozen miners. Erik was one of them.”

No wonder Matthias had warned him that Peter would kill him if he learned about his true identity.

Uri bent into the water again, and Carl was relieved the boy couldn’t see the horror etched in his face.

He swallowed the sickness pushing up from his stomach into his throat. “So your father blames the baron for Erik’s death?”

“He hates the man. Especially because after the death, when he went back to the baron to confront him, the baron laughed and told him that if he didn’t like the mining conditions, he didn’t have to work there.”

Carl covered his face with his hands, trying to block out the image of his father telling his laborers that if they weren’t satisfied with their pay or work environment, then they should go to America. How many times had he heard his father say that over the years?

Never before had Carl given much thought to his father’s words. He’d always believed like his father that the miners were too demanding and needy, that Saxony had a surplus population and the laborers would be better off going to America anyway.

But now . . .

Now he knew such laborers personally. He’d lived among them. He’d seen how hard they worked. He’d experienced firsthand the deprivations and difficulties they faced. They were resilient and determined. And they labored day after day, week after week, without complaining or giving up.

He’d obviously been wrong in his beliefs about the peasants.

Even so, weren’t they better off in America? Hadn’t Peter himself claimed that here they were free, that they could stand on their own feet and make something of their lives?

Perhaps Carl’s father, the baron, had been right to send them to America to a better life.

Carl wanted to defend his father’s position, but the words stuck in his tight throat. And for some reason, the guilt only raged louder.

“So when the Superior Mining Company’s agent came to Essen,” Uri continued, “looking for miners who would go to America to work in their upper-Michigan mine, my vater and forty other miners agreed to move, especially because the company was willing to help with the cost of the move.”

“If your father came to mine, how did he end up here as a farmer?”

Uri dried his hands and began jumping the maze of stones back to the shore. “When we arrived in Detroit, the men learned that the winters to the north were more severe and they feared for our survival there.”

Carl gulped a deep breath, hoping to shed the guilt on his face before Uri took notice of it. He couldn’t bear to think of how much the boy would despise him should he learn his true identity. And Annalisa . . .

She would hate him too.

They all would. Especially now that he’d earned their trust. They’d welcomed him into their community. When he’d had no place else to go and no one else to turn to, they’d sheltered him. Fed him. Given him honest labor.

What would they say if they learned he’d deceived them? That he was their enemy? That his father was the one who had killed their beloved brother and son?

Carl turned away from Uri and took another breath, trying to bring a semblance of calm to the tumult pounding his insides.

“We spent almost two years in Detroit.” Uri jumped onto the bank. “Then Vater and the other men got word from Jacob Buel’s agent that he was looking to sell some of his land near Forestville. None of the men had the money to buy outright. But Mr. Buel’s a kind man. He offered to parcel the land out on loan, but only as long as each man could pay him the cost at the end of five years.”