A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(53)

Annalisa’s stirring came to a jerking halt. The small crate under the bed had been shifted to an odd angle and wasn’t in its usual face-out position.

Had Gretchen moved it?

Annalisa let the wooden spoon slip into the honey-colored liquid and rushed to the bedstead.

She trembled as she slid awkwardly under the bed, her bulky middle hardly allowing her to fit anymore. But she knew that she could because she’d put her earnings in her crock just two days ago, the very evening they’d returned from their trip to town.

Her fingers shook as they made contact with the hidden crock.

Oh, Gott, bitte, she prayed. “Bitte, bitte, bitte. Not Carl.” Please, please, please. Not him. Not like Hans.

She’d wanted to think that maybe God had been smiling down upon her of late, but maybe she’d been mistaken.

Slowly she wiggled her way out from underneath the bed, knelt and poured out the coins. With nausea rolling through her stomach she counted every penny, making small stacks on the floor.

She hadn’t been able to save much since Hans had taken her money and gambled it away before he died. Over the hard winter she’d needed most of her earnings to buy supplies. But she’d managed three dollars and twenty-five cents, which was a good start. If she saved a little at a time, someday it would all add up to enough that perhaps she could send Gretchen to school.

In the Old Country, girls were allowed very little schooling, if any. Only boys could become teachers. But here in America she could give Gretchen and the new baby so much more than she’d ever had. If she worked hard and saved enough . . . and if she could keep her earnings from being stolen.

Her hands shook, and she almost tipped over the last stack of coins.



When she finished counting, she sat back on her heels and stared at the money. Four dollars? Had she added wrong?

She wasn’t very good at figures, had only learned just a little arithmetic during her time at the Detroit school.

With her pulse pattering faster she recounted the stacks. Once again her sum came to four dollars exactly.

How was it possible? She stared at the money, tempted to count it again. Had she miscalculated when she’d returned from town? But even as her mind scrambled to make sense of the extra coins, her heart cinched at the realization of what had happened.

She pushed herself up, the weight of the baby making her efforts cumbersome. She lumbered to the door and stopped at the sight of Carl in the yard.

The tight pinch around her heart moved into her throat. Tears stung her eyes.

Carl Richards was a good man. A very good man.

She couldn’t speak to him yet, not past the ache. Instead she leaned against the doorframe and gave in to the indulgence of watching him without his knowledge. He’d taken off his hat, and sunlight glinted on his dark waves, reminding her of the thickness and the forbidden pleasure she’d found in combing her fingers through the strands.

Longing pushed into her aching throat. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to have him pull her into his arms and to rest her cheek against his shoulder again.

She didn’t know how he’d discovered her hiding spot, but he had. Instead of taking from her, he’d given of the little he had.

And he’d done it in secret, likely thinking she wouldn’t realize he’d added to her money, not knowing how carefully she kept track of how much went into the crock.

Should she thank him?

He’d repaired the garden fence and now stood next to the clothesline, nailing slanted boards into the posts. In his spare time he always seemed to find something to make or fix. She never knew exactly what he was doing until he finished and showed her how the new contraption worked.

Gretchen had followed him, and he’d enlisted her help in holding the rope while he worked, taking care it didn’t touch the ground and become soiled.

“And the English word for hund is dog.” He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt so that his bare arms showed. They were still white, but the muscles rippled with each stroke of the hammer.

“Dog,” Gretchen repeated.

“Mein hund folgt mir,” he continued. “In English we say, My dog follows me.”

Gretchen spoke the English words effortlessly.

Was Carl teaching her even though she was a girl?

She’d wanted Gretchen to learn the native language. Her daughter would have a much easier time fitting in and would have more advantages if she could speak English, especially at an early age. But Annalisa didn’t know enough to teach her.

She pressed trembling fingers against her lips, overwhelmed by his kindness.

A distant rattle of a wagon drew Annalisa’s eyes to the path that led from the road to the cabin. Her muscles tensed, and worry chased away the sweetness of the moment.

She held her breath and whispered a silent prayer that it wasn’t her groom.

Not yet.

She didn’t want him coming yet.

Every day when she awoke, she couldn’t keep from wondering if today would finally be the day he arrived. She knew it had to be any day, any hour, any minute. He was long past due.

Perhaps something had happened to him. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Or what if he’d become too ill to come. In either case, she expected that he or his family would write to them if he was unable to travel.

As the rattle passed by the farm and grew faint, she breathed out her relief.