A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(76)
The other women brought platters of food too—sauerkraut, stewed tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, sweet pickles, ham baked in cider, and potato dumplings.
The seams of Frau Pastor’s blouse stretched over her bulging girth, a testament to the fact that even with the drought, they’d had plenty to eat.
“Your pie always puts everyone else’s to shame.” Frau Pastor broke off a bit of the flaky crust and popped it into her mouth. “You just go right ahead and cut me the first piece. Then I can save it for later.”
Annalisa sliced into the pie. She’d picked more than a hundred quarts of blackberries in the shaded woods along the edges of her land. The berries had been smaller than usual, but at least they’d grown through the drought. Although she’d sold some in town, she’d made jam with most of them, in addition to making apple butter, collecting nuts, preserving tomatoes, and pickling beets.
She’d tried to keep herself busy with the endless work of storing up food for the coming winter so that she wouldn’t be tempted to think about Carl’s kiss.
His kiss . . .
At the thought, her insides melted like lard in a hot skillet.
Her efforts had been in vain. She couldn’t stop remembering the way his lips had claimed hers, and the passion she’d seen in his eyes. He’d desired her. Just thinking of it now brought a quivering to her middle.
Over the past week, they’d both pretended nothing had happened, that everything was the same as it had always been. But each time she was around him, every nerve in her body felt alive with longing for him.
“He’s such a dear-heart,” Frau Pastor said.
Annalisa didn’t have to glance up to know who she was talking about. But she couldn’t resist; she looked anyway.
Carl was cuddling Sophie. He bent to place a kiss on her bonneted head. He didn’t seem to notice that he was the only man holding a baby. And he didn’t seem to care that the other men were witnessing his display of affection for the tiny baby girl.
“That man will make a good father.” Frau Pastor took her piece of pie with a smile. “I don’t know why he can’t be the father to your children, dearie. It’s obvious he loves them.”
Annalisa swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and focused back on the pie, letting the tanginess of the apples and the waft of cinnamon soothe her.
Carl had brought her the small packet of cinnamon during his recent trip to town to get the boards for the barn. As usual, he’d managed to slip extra money into her crock without her seeing him do it.
Why did he have to be so noble and yet so unavailable?
“He’s good with the girls,” Annalisa admitted. “But he doesn’t love them. Not enough to stay.”
Frau Pastor covered her slice of pie with a dish towel and stowed it under the table.
“I don’t think we’re good enough for him.” The words slipped out before Annalisa could stop them. “I’m only a poor, simple widow. Not even worthy of Gott’s attention.”
Frau Pastor stood, bumping the plank table in her haste. Beneath the brim of her large straw hat, her forehead wrinkled into a hundred lines. “Oh, dearie, dearie. Don’t say things like that.” Frau Pastor reached for her hand and clasped it between her plump ones. “Don’t you know that the Lord has reserved a place in His heart for poor widows?”
Annalisa couldn’t respond past the embarrassment tightening her chest.
“Yes, He really does love young widows like you, Annalisa.” The woman’s voice was earnest, and her grip tightened. “He calls himself a defender of widows. And He says that He watches over the fatherless and the widows.”
“I’m no one special,” Annalisa whispered. “Why would He care about me when He has more important people to look after?”
“Oh, dearie, He loves the humble, the weak, and the outcasts. They were the ones He regularly chose to work through and bless. Even women. Especially women—like Sarah and Ruth and Esther and many others.”
Annalisa’s rebuttal died as she tried to remember all the Bible stories she’d heard over the years. Ja, Frau Pastor was right. Gott had cared about many women.
“We have a big God, dearie, and He has enough love for everyone. Now don’t you ever forget that.”
Annalisa nodded, knowing she needed to believe Frau Pastor’s words. After all, she was the pastor’s wife. She had more wisdom than most.
“Yoo-hoo!” Frau Pastor yodeled and waved at the men and then at the women who’d congregated near the cabin. “Time for dessert.”
The men rose and stretched. Some set aside their pipes. Others spit out their chewing tobacco. From the seriousness of their expressions, Annalisa guessed they were talking about the drought again and the news that had reached them about the fires burning in several places throughout surrounding counties.
Hopefully they could cast aside their worries for the rest of the evening. It wouldn’t be long, after the sun began its slow descent, that Herr Mueller would pull out his treasured accordion for dancing inside the new barn.
As much as she wanted to avoid the frivolity, she knew it was a custom. One of the men would climb to the top rafters, take a swig of whiskey, swing the bottle around his head three times, and then throw it to the ground. They would give three cheers and then begin the dancing.