A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(90)

“I might lose it anyway.” She had no illusions that her corn crop would bring in the rest of the money she would need to pay the loan. Perhaps if she added the pittance she’d saved in her crock under the bed . . .

She hadn’t wanted to consider dipping into her precious savings for her daughters. But even if she used every last penny and sold her pigs instead of slaughtering them, she’d likely still not have enough.

“If you lose it,” Vater said, “then at least you’ll have Dirk to take care of you.”

From the seriousness in Vater’s face, she knew he only wanted to make sure she was well taken care of. How could she resist his good intentions? And yet everything in her rebelled at the thought of marrying Dirk—at least so soon. “I just want to wait to get to know Dirk before I marry him.”

“What’s there to know? He’s our family, one of us. He’s a good man, which I can’t say about the lying, deceiving baron’s son.”

She wanted to say something in Carl’s defense. Even if he had lied to them, he was a good man. There was no denying his kindness and generosity. He’d worked for her all summer without a mention of repayment. Of course, they’d given him his room and board and sheltered him during his time of need. But she wouldn’t have been able to find another man to do the work Carl had done without paying him a fair wage.

“Besides,” Vater continued, “the sooner you have a husband, the safer you’ll be. If you’re alone, Ward will think he can bully you.”

She shuddered to think Ward might return and try to force her to sign the deed over to him. She wouldn’t have Carl around to rescue her this time.

But would marrying Dirk keep her safe? “I don’t think any of us are safe from Ward. We all saw what he did to Hans.”

Uri, who had been whittling while seated on a branch up in the maple, tossed down the half-shaved stick and jumped to the ground. He stuck his hands into his pockets and muttered under his breath.

The wind pushed at Annalisa and whipped her skirt. Its strong hand urged her to move away from Dirk, to let it direct her where it would.

Vater glanced off into the distance as if weighing all the words she’d spoken.

For a moment she allowed herself a spark of hope that perhaps he would consider her concerns and validate her needs as a woman.



“Nein,” he finally said, shaking his head. “Nein. You must marry Dirk. We’ll send Uri for Herr Pastor tomorrow and have the wedding in the evening after we’re done with the day’s work.”

Her heart crashed with the same clatter as a bucket at the bottom of a dry well.

Without another word, Vater turned and crossed toward the barn.

She couldn’t find the words to stop him and contradict him. Her hands shook, and Gretchen’s fingers wrapped around hers tightly. She squeezed back.

How could she marry Dirk? Especially when she was still so completely in love with someone else . . .

No matter how much Carl had hurt and deceived them, she hated to admit it but she still loved him. It didn’t matter that she would never see him again, that they were worlds apart and separated forever.

She still loved him.

And she didn’t know how she’d ever be able to love anyone else.





Chapter

19





Carl stepped out of Jacob Buel’s lumber mill and jingled the coins in his pocket—all that was left of the money Matthias had sent him. The meager amount would pay his steamship fare to Detroit, but after that he’d be on his own.

On his own.

The thought made him pause and tremble just a little. He’d never really had to make his own way before—not without help, not without his father’s money, not without his family’s influence to hold him in good stead.

But after a night on his knees in prayer and with a great deal of soul-searching, he knew he was doing the right thing. For once, he needed to start living his life without looking to his father or Matthias to bail him out of trouble.

He’d somehow find a way to earn the fare he’d need to get to Chicago and to his friend Fritz and the work there.

He glanced to the wide endless water of Lake Huron and took a deep breath. Throughout the morning the scent of smoke had grown stronger—likely from the fires that burned to the west—so that now he couldn’t catch the usual scents of wet sand and sea grass that lingered in the air around Forestville. Strangely the lake’s edge was silent of the usual sea-gull cries. In fact, there weren’t any of the birds as far as he could see.

Dockhands were loading the Clayton Belle and readying her for the return trip to Detroit. She sank low in the water, heavy with the harvest from local farmers.

Carl was tempted to walk over to the workers, lift one of the coarse bags they were slinging across their shoulders, and ask them if they knew how much of his sweat covered the grain, if they realized just how much energy and hard work had gone into producing each bag.

And yet how could the dockhands know?

He’d never known the extent of labor and sweat that men exerted to work the earth and bring about the grain of life. Not until he’d had to do the work for himself had he come to understand the effort required.

But he’d also begun to realize the satisfaction that came after swinging a scythe all day and looking back over the cut field, at the swathes lying on the ground drying. Or the bare meadow after all the hay had been cleared.