A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(91)
With farming, the progress was tangible. Even if the work was never-ending, he’d always been able to take stock of how much he’d accomplished and how far he still had to go.
His time in Forestville had helped him to take stock of his life as well. He wasn’t so proud of the man he’d once been. Perhaps in the days to come he’d be able to be a better man.
“Heard what you did for Annalisa Werner,” called one of the old men from the spot of shade in front of Burkhardt’s Meat Market. “Mighty nice of you to pay off her loan like that.”
Carl nodded at the man. The news had apparently traveled around Forestville. At eleven o’clock on a Monday morning he’d expected to be able to do business in town without drawing too much attention.
But he’d been wrong.
Already, several older men and townspeople had stopped him, wanting to know if he really was Baron von Reichart’s son. And then after he’d gone to the bank, it hadn’t taken long before everyone knew about what he’d done for Annalisa—even though he’d asked the loan officer to keep his transaction confidential.
Of course the deal wouldn’t be official until the wired money came through from Matthias. But in Carl’s mind the deed was as good as done. Matthias’s telegram had assured him the duke had restored the funds he’d seized and that he had enough to cover Annalisa’s farm loan.
Carl stepped into the dusty street away from the lumber mill. The wind swirled the dry earth into a haze, covering the sun in a thin veil. If the busybodies knew every move he’d made since setting foot on Main Street, he had no doubt they’d soon spread the word that he’d paid off the loan on the supplies for Annalisa’s barn too.
The few remaining coins in his pocket jangled.
The money Matthias had sent for his fare back home had covered the cost of the boards and other barn supplies. But now he was practically penniless again, with just a few coins to his name.
His father had promised him additional money upon his return. In fact, in Matthias’s letter, his father had promised his monthly allowance along with an increase. But the thought of the easy money didn’t tempt Carl. Not the way it once had.
Yes, he was grateful to his father for clearing his name. Apparently his father had demanded that Carl’s reputation be exonerated in every public way and his privileged status among society restored. And although his father had indicated he would replenish his lab and all of his equipment, he’d also insinuated that it was time for Carl to begin learning more about the family business. After all, Carl would someday be in control of his father’s many mines and steel mills.
Matthias’s letter had explained that the duke’s real assassin had struck again, and this time had been caught in the act. Carl didn’t want to imagine what his father had done to elicit a confession from the assassin for the first offense that had incriminated Carl. His father hadn’t kept the medieval torture apparatuses purely for their historical value.
Nevertheless, Carl was a free man. And Matthias said his father was anxiously awaiting his return home.
“Heard you’re leaving town,” the old farmer in the shade called out.
“I’m heading out on the Clayton Belle in an hour,” he called back. He might as well spell out his plans since everyone in town would likely know sooner or later anyway.
“Where you going?”
“I’m hoping to work my way to Chicago.” If he couldn’t find a teaching job at the university, he’d find honest hard work so that he could begin to save his own money.
He’d told himself over and over that he wasn’t staying in America because of Annalisa. She and her family had made it clear they could never forgive him, that they despised him and never wanted to see him again.
And he didn’t blame them.
Fresh shame burned his back, and a trickle of sweat rolled down, making his shirt stick to his skin.
“Well, it’s too bad you couldn’t marry Annalisa and stay here.” The old farmer spit out the piece of long, dry grass he’d been chewing on. “There’s some of us who don’t hold a man’s past against him. Figure this place is as good as any to make a fresh start and a new life, for rich and poor men alike.”
Pastor Loehe had said something very similar when Carl had stumbled to the pastor’s doorstep last evening in despair. Even knowing the truth about who he was and his deception, the pastor had opened his home to him, fed him a meal, and given him a bed for the night.
They’d talked late into the evening, and Pastor had urged him not to be too hasty in leaving Forestville, but to give Annalisa some time to adjust to his true identity and to forgive him.
But Carl had only shaken his head. She hated him now. And it wouldn’t matter if she ever adjusted. Peter would never let him step foot on her land—not without riddling his body with bullets.
“Forestville is a good place to make a fresh start,” Carl said, nodding his gratitude to the farmer. He was surprised by how much his body resisted the thought of leaving the community. “But I think there are some hurts that run so deep, even time and distance cannot heal them.”
Peter would never be able to forgive him. He didn’t deserve Peter’s forgiveness for his father’s sin or for his own. And it didn’t matter that Pastor Loehe had disagreed and had accused him of running away from his problems.