A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(50)

“The only way I’m going to help you,” Carl said, “is to make sure you understand that you need to leave Annalisa Werner alone.”

His words were clipped and arrogant. But he knew it was the best way to make Ward listen to him. The man was probably accustomed to scaring the farmers whenever he came around. Ward needed to know that there was at least one farmer he couldn’t intimidate—him.

“I’ve been watching you, Mr. Richards.” Ward narrowed his eyes, but not before Carl caught sight of the anger flashing there. “And I think you’re hiding something.”

The blood flow to Carl’s heart came to an abrupt stop. What did Ward know? Had one of the immigrant farmers told Ward about his predicament, about how he was hiding from the Duke of Saxony?

Out of the corner of his eye, through the glass storefront, Carl could see that Annalisa was finishing her business. He certainly didn’t want her to come outside and hear Ward’s accusations—particularly because they were true.

He swallowed and tried to make his voice nonchalant. “You obviously have too much free time on your hands if you’re spying on me.”

“I can tell you’re not one of them,” Ward persisted. “And I aim to find out who you really are.”

Carl forced a smile, one he hoped was cold. “If you’ve got nothing better to do, then go ahead. Waste your time.”

Ward shrugged his wide shoulders and then stepped off the plank sidewalk onto the dirt street. “Once I get the information I need about you, I have the feeling you might be willing to help me a little more.”

“Don’t count on it,” Carl called as Ward started across the street.

But the whistle of another steamboat at the waterfront drowned out Carl’s words and any reply Ward might have given. Carl was left watching the man’s back and the tight pull of his coat across his shoulders.

One thing was certain. He couldn’t send a telegraph to Matthias for money. He couldn’t chance Ward finding out anything more and tracking down his family. If Ward learned all that had transpired to bring him to America, he’d unquestionably turn him in to the duke, or use the information to blackmail him.

Even now, if Ward decided to contact Fritz Diehl in Chicago, Fritz would likely unwittingly divulge much more information than Ward needed to know. Of course, Carl hadn’t told Fritz anything about being a condemned murderer. He’d planned to explain everything once he arrived in Chicago.

But still, there was no telling what Ward would do next.

Carl could only pray he hadn’t suffered all the deprivation over the past months, only to end up in the duke’s hands again. If he wanted to stay safe, he was going to have to be more careful, stay quiet and lay low. He couldn’t afford to jeopardize anything now that he’d made it as far as he had.



Annalisa’s feet and back were sore, but she was happier than she had been in a long time.

Carl walked next to her. He held the reins leading Old Red and matched his pace to hers.

She wasn’t sure what had brought such lightness to her heart. Was it the thoughtfulness of the man next to her? The fact that he was dashing and handsome? The brightness of the afternoon? Or the lack of all the worries that normally burdened her?

“I’m surprised these so-called roads haven’t scared everyone out of this wilderness and back to Detroit.”

“That’s because we have more here than we ever did in the Old Country,” she said, tilting her face to the May sunshine. Each day the rays grew warmer, as if to say that summer was rounding the bend and would soon be upon them with a fury of heat.

As long as the sunshine and heat gave her a good crop, that was all that mattered.

“Did you suffer much while you were growing up?” Carl’s voice was strained. “Was life terribly hard with you having so little?”

The wagon behind Old Red hit another deep rut in the road. It clattered like it was falling apart board by board. Annalisa hadn’t expected Gretchen to sleep through the bumpy ride home even with the thick bed of hay, but the long day in town had exhausted her.

“We had our share of hardships,” she said, thinking back to her childhood—the endless days of labor and the constant threat of hunger and disease. “But we didn’t have more than what you or anyone else has faced.”

He didn’t say anything.

“And it was no worse than here.” She glanced at him sideways. His hat cast a shadow over his face. Even so, she could see the tightness of his normally carefree features. “At least here we’re getting something out of all our toil. In the end, we’ll own land and be able to have more than ever possible in Essen.”

He was quiet for another long moment. “That’s why the farm is so important to you? Because you’ll own it?”

She nodded. “Ja. Here we can make something of our lives and give our children a better future.” At least she hoped. But first she had to pay off the farm loan. And hopefully, now that they’d gotten most of the crops planted, she would be well on her way to seeing that happen.

Carl didn’t respond.

“Don’t you want a better life too?” she asked. “Maybe you’d like to try to own land here in America?”

She would never have dared to ask Hans such a personal question. But with Carl, she was learning she could share openly, that he wanted and even initiated their conversations.