A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(49)
Carl took a step away from Annalisa. She was as good as married. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up misleading and hurting her too.
That was the last thing he wanted to happen.
Chapter
10
Carl finished reading the letter again and released a deep breath. He leaned back against the cool, wood slats of the general store and let the welcome news settle over him.
Fritz Diehl had finally written back and invited him to Chicago. He’d sounded excited to hear from him and offered him a place to stay. Even better than that was Fritz’s news that Northwestern University was looking for science and math professors, that although the College of Technology had recently closed, the university would still be able to use a man of Carl’s highly qualified educational background.
Carl couldn’t hold back a grin. He wanted to take off his hat, toss it in the clear blue sky, and let out a whoop. But on the bustling main street of Forestville he knew he’d only draw too much attention to himself. And he wasn’t ready to divulge his good news to everyone yet—if ever.
How could he explain why he was qualified enough to teach at a university? He certainly couldn’t tell Annalisa and her family that he’d had years of expensive schooling at some of the best universities in Europe.
He glanced at the eastern edge of town, to the docks and beyond to the wide murky waters of Lake Huron. A crisp May breeze blew off the water, bringing with it a strong fishy scent. The smoky billow of an approaching steamboat and its long accompanying whistle tugged at his limbs as if to draw him to the waterfront.
He glanced over his shoulder into the store window, to the dim interior where Annalisa was still doing her business with the proprietor. Gretchen stood quietly by her side, her wide eyes taking in the long wooden counters that stretched along both sides of the store, with drawers and bins built into them for spices, ground sugar, coffee, flour, and seeds.
The shelves behind the counters were stocked with even more items for the little girl to gawk at—dishes, pots and pans, bottled medicine, bolts of colorful material, shoes and boots, and all the many things Carl wished he could buy for Annalisa and Gretchen. They were the kinds of items he’d always taken for granted.
But here, in the middle of nowhere, pretty dishes, new shiny shoes, and soft calico were luxuries.
If only he had his usual allowance from his father . . .
He’d love to buy Annalisa and Gretchen everything they needed. He could just imagine the admiration in their eyes if he was to walk into the cabin, his arms loaded with all kinds of beautiful purchases for them.
He glanced across the street to the false storefront above one of the buildings that read First Bank. Did he dare send a telegraph to Matthias asking him to wire money?
If he did, he’d be able to make sure Annalisa was well taken care of before he left Forestville for Chicago and his new job. Besides, maybe he could discover what had happened to Dirk and why he hadn’t arrived yet.
They hadn’t received any news yet. But even if Matthias had written to explain Dirk’s delay, everyone knew the mail system was unreliable, that letters were often lost, that there were long delays—especially with an ocean’s length and half a continent for the letter to cross.
“Ah, Mr. Richards,” someone called in English.
Striding toward him down the plank sidewalk was a bulky well-built man, dressed in fine clothes and wearing a black derby hat that was as smooth and spotless as Carl’s had once been—in the days before he lived in a constant state of sweat and filth.
At the sight of the man’s yellowish skin and pockmarked complexion, Carl’s muscles tightened and he pushed away from the siding. “Ward.”
The businessman lumbered toward him.
Carl straightened to his full height and wished he’d taken the time to don his own clothes, which were of a much finer quality than Hans’s hand-me-downs.
“Heard you got a letter from Chicago.”
“My letters aren’t any of your business.”
“I make everything about this town my business.”
“So I guess you think you’re the king here? That you can boss everyone around and make them do whatever you want?”
Ward nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“Well, it’s time you learned you cannot always take what you want.” The words echoed through Carl’s mind, reminding him of Uri’s criticism of Ward and his father—how he’d lumped them together as the same kind of calloused, uncaring businessmen who were only out to do whatever benefited them, without thinking about the needs of others.
“Maybe you can help me, Mr. Richards.” Ward stopped in front of him. “I heard you’re a schoolteacher. And I can see that you’re an intelligent man. Maybe you can help your people understand how beneficial the sawmill will be—not only for the boards they’ll need as they expand their farms but also for the seasonal work the mill can provide.”
The gleam in Ward’s eyes was the same he’d seen all too often in his father’s eyes. His father had always had the philosophy that if he had to destroy a few lives and homes for the sake of progress and industry, then so be it. They would all have to make sacrifices for the advance of technology and the increase in wealth.
Carl had never paid much attention to his father’s methods, had always accepted them as an inevitable part of the way of doing business. But he’d never been on the receiving end of such tactics before. Never thought about the lives and homes his father was wrecking . . . the same way Ward planned to wreck Annalisa’s.