A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(60)

“I cannot sit around and do nothing, not when there’s so much work to be done.”

“You’ve been busy.” She looked pointedly at the improvements he was making to her washboard sitting in the grass next to him.

He’d needed something to tinker with, and after watching her scrub the sheets earlier and seeing the exertion each item required, he’d quickly concluded she needed another one of his inventions—anything to take some of the hard physical labor out of the washing.

The problem was—as it had been with most of his creations on the farm—he was working with such limited supplies. At home he’d had any and every material and chemical at his fingertips. But now . . .

He looked over at the barn, then the tiny cabin. Annalisa had very little, and he was forced to make use of scraps and anything he could find.

Even after almost three months of living among this farming community, he still hadn’t gotten used to the deprivation. He didn’t know how one could unless one was born into it.



Of course the experience of living and working among the peasant laborers had given him a new appreciation for their hard work and for the subsistence level at which they lived. He couldn’t keep from thinking about all the times he’d passed by the laborers working his father’s fields and how he’d never once stopped to consider the hours upon hours of toil they underwent every day.

They’d always made the work look so easy.

Now he realized firsthand just how difficult and deprived their lives were.

He shifted his sore hindquarters and stared at the bent wires and levers he’d added to the washboard. Guilt whispered in his ear again.

What if his father had been wrong in his treatment of his workers? What if he’d been calloused and uncaring? Should he have listened to the complaints and made more of an effort to improve the working conditions of the miners?

At the clomping of hooves on the hard-packed path, Carl swiveled his head just as Annalisa had done to see who might be visiting. The white scrap of material still hung from a post near the cabin door. Visitors were rare, but the disease had isolated them even more.

He hadn’t had to worry about Ward coming out and attempting to coerce Annalisa again. And he hadn’t had to think about her groom showing up and surprising him. But it wouldn’t be long before they’d be able to take the flag down—as long as Annalisa didn’t get sick first.

The clatter drew nearer until they could see the form of a lone man through the covering of maples.

Could it be her groom at last? If he’d just arrived off the steamer, then perhaps he wouldn’t know what the white flags meant and that he needed to stay away.



Should he call to the man and warn him?

Carl’s weak limbs shook with the effort of lifting himself to the edge of the stump. A sick weight pressed against his middle. As much as he was relishing the time alone with Annalisa, he knew he needed to move on, at the very least respond to Fritz’s letter and let him know he’d be on his way to Chicago soon.

Annalisa’s face had lost its softness, replaced by a wariness, as if she was dreading the arrival of an outsider too.

The man waved his arm in greeting.

Annalisa waved back. “It’s only Herr Pastor.”

As the rider drew nearer, Carl forced himself up. By the time he was standing, he was sweating and breathing hard. But he straightened his back and made himself stand tall. He needed to regain his strength, and he couldn’t do that if he kept lounging around in the grass.

Pastor Loehe reined in his mount. He nodded first at Annalisa and then at Carl. “Frau Werner. Herr Richards. I wish I could say that it’s a good day, but it’s not.”

Annalisa’s face paled. “Gretchen?” The word came out as a terrified whisper.

Herr Pastor gave a sad smile and rubbed a hand across his bristly white beard. “Oh, she’s fine. Don’t worry about her. Other than missing you, she’s very happy, and so is my wife. I haven’t seen her this happy since our daughter married and moved to Iowa.”

Carl didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. But at the news of Gretchen’s good health, he sagged in relief.

“No, the little darling is doing just fine.” Herr Pastor’s face drooped with the kind of weariness that said he’d seen too much sorrow recently.

“Can you stay and have a piece of pie?” Annalisa asked.



“No, I must be going. I only stopped to inform you . . .” His voice cracked, and he swiped his hand across his eyes. “I just came from your father’s home.” The old pastor shook his head. “And I helped to bury your mother.”

“Nein!” Horror widened Annalisa’s eyes, and she quickly cupped a hand over her trembling lips.

Carl took a wobbly step toward her.

“I’m so sorry, Annalisa,” Pastor Loehe said hoarsely.

Tight lines etched her face, outlining her shock.

“I’ve had to bury too many of our congregants over the past couple of weeks.” Pastor Loehe again wiped a hand over his eyes brimming with tears. “And with every funeral I pray it will be the last.”

Annalisa swayed.

Carl strained to reach her side. And even though sweat broke out on his forehead from the exertion, and his legs felt like they would give way, he slipped an arm around her waist, praying his weak body would hold her up.