A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(52)

Gretchen laughed and extended her arms to make wings.

Annalisa watched the delight in both Carl’s and Gretchen’s faces. He wasn’t playing with her out of obligation or to flatter her. Nein. He truly liked the young girl. Annalisa could see the joy in his face, and it brought an aching happiness to her heart.

When he delivered the flying princess back to solid earth, she looked up at him with her wide, innocent eyes. “Would you be my papa?”

“Ach, nein.” Embarrassed, Annalisa quickly twisted Gretchen away from Carl. “Nein, liebchen. You can’t ask such a thing of Carl.”



“But don’t we need a papa?” Gretchen’s delicate features tightened with confusion.

“Ja. But he’s coming on a ship from Saxony. He’ll be here soon.”

“Why can’t we have Carl as papa instead?”

“Because . . .” She didn’t dare look at Carl. “Because we can’t.”

“But—” Gretchen started, but Annalisa pressed a finger against the girl’s lips and silenced her with what she hoped was a stern frown. She knew her answer was unsatisfactory, but how could she explain to Gretchen the complexity of the situation when she herself didn’t know all the answers. She only knew Vater had decided everything many months ago. She had no way to reverse the plans now that they’d been set in motion.

And besides, even if she’d wanted to change the plans, Carl had once informed her he wasn’t a farmer and never would be. And hadn’t he just told her he was making plans to leave them, to go to Chicago and teach?

“I think I’ll walk ahead and give Uri his hard-earned turkey money.” Carl’s voice held a resignation that confirmed her thoughts. “But I’ll be back to take care of the horse and barn chores.”

She nodded and avoided meeting his gaze.

Without another word he continued toward her parents’ farm.

She led Old Red and Gretchen back to the cabin and began unloading the butter crocks that she would refill for the next trip to town. And as she worked, she tried not to think about Carl’s silence with Gretchen’s childish declaration, or his silence when Frau Pastor had wished they could find a way to keep him.

She’d only managed to carry in one load of crocks when the door banged open and Carl stumbled inside, breathless as if he’d just run the distance back from her parents’ farm.



“They’re flying a white flag.” He gasped the words out.

She froze, his declaration chilling her down to her bones.

His eyes held a fear that mirrored her own.

Typhoid fever.

Neither of them spoke the dreaded words. But from the worried wrinkles across his forehead she knew he was thinking them too.

“Was anyone sick this morning when you left?” She tried to stay calm, but her heartbeat was pattering as hard as a heavy spring rain against the roof.

“I didn’t notice anything, but I usually only see Uri and your vater before I leave. And they seemed fine to me. Neither complained of being sick.”

“What of Mutter or Eleanor?” She hadn’t seen either since the previous Sunday at church.

“I don’t know.”

For a long moment the only sound was Snowdrop’s happy yipping outside and Gretchen’s return banter. The sunshine spilled inside the cabin, but it suddenly seemed too bright, too jarring, too warm.

Annalisa took a deep, steadying breath of the familiar woodsmoke that lingered in the air. There was no sense in panicking yet. Likely her family would weather the illness just fine. They were healthy, strong, and such a disease wouldn’t ravage them the same way it would someone weaker.

“You won’t be able to go back until the flag is down,” she said.

He nodded solemnly.

“Perhaps you can stay with our neighbor, Herr Mueller.” She wanted to offer to make a bed for him in the barn, but propriety demanded that he stay with another neighbor.

The lines creasing his forehead deepened. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken you and Gretchen into town today. What if you were exposed?”

“We’ll be fine.” She hoped.

But Carl’s eyes weren’t reassuring.



For two days Annalisa watched Gretchen for any sign of sickness. And with every ache in her own head or muscles, she tensed. She couldn’t afford to get sick, not with the baby soon to be born, not when she had Gretchen to take care of, not with the rest of the garden that needed planting and the corn that needed sowing and the weeds that needed pulling and the berries that would soon be ready for picking and preserving.

And she had to finish the dandelion jelly.

Annalisa dipped her fingers into the bowl of flaxen petals. They were as soft as the down of a baby chick. Hopefully she’d have enough to make several jars so that she could keep one and sell the rest.

And I don’t want to keep one just so that Carl can taste my jelly, she thought. I want one jar for Gretchen. Ja, she liked watching the pleasure in Carl’s face when he ate, and she devoured his compliments. But that wasn’t why she wanted the dandelion jelly . . . was it?

With a flick of her hand she dumped the petals into a pot of boiling water. Then she stirred the wilted yellow flowers in the water, inhaling the bubbling waft that smelled like freshly cut grass.

Through the open door Gretchen’s chatter was clear and sweet, followed by Carl’s low response to the girl. She had no doubt that Gretchen was watching him repair the crooked fence around her garden. Gretchen had already completed her morning chores, including making the bed. Except . . .