“Then once you collect the sap, you boil it?” he asked after they’d resumed their journey through the woods toward the cabin.
“Ja, the boiling down takes much time and heat.” She slowed her pace to match his, her weary back appreciating the slow gait and break from the heavy weight.
His coat pulled taut against his shoulders, evidence of the strain of the load. But he didn’t complain. “How much syrup is left once the moisture is boiled away?”
“Very little.” But even a little was something to sell in town and money added to her crock. She hadn’t been able to recover what Hans had taken on the day she’d found him dead, but she kept holding on to the hope that if she continued saving, then one day she’d have enough to pay for an education for her children.
Of course, the amount in her crock was a pittance. The pennies couldn’t begin to compare to what she still needed to pay off the farm loan. Even so, she was determined to stow away a little here and there whenever she could.
But that was her secret, and one she would never share with her new husband.
When they reached the clearing and came within sight of the one-story log cabin, the barn beyond it, and the cleared land, she took a deep breath of the brisk spring air. The deep snows had begun to melt, leaving behind splotches of crusty gray snow across the barren listlessness of the land. The vibrant green of the wilderness was still weeks away from making an appearance. Until then, they lived in a colorless world—not the best time of year to make a good impression on a newcomer.
She peeked sideways at Carl. What did he think of his new home? Was he disappointed?
But he was sloshing the colorless liquid within the bucket, seemingly unconcerned about the farm that spread out before him. He stuck his finger into the sap, lifted it to his tongue, and tasted it. “Off the top of my head I’d venture to say the sap is made of iron and sodium . . . maybe potassium?”
His words were as foreign to her as English.
“I wonder if there might be a way to shorten the evaporation process,” he continued, “and reduce the amount of time the sugaring process takes.”
She glanced at the sap, having no idea what he was talking about.
“I’m guessing the boiling point needs to reach at least one hundred degrees Celsius? Perhaps several degrees more than that?” He stared straight ahead, but he was obviously not seeing anything but numbers and calculations.
For a long moment she didn’t know what to say to him, how to answer without looking like the poor uneducated peasant girl that she was. Ja, Vater had allowed her to attend the free public school in Detroit during the time they’d lived there. But that hadn’t been long enough to learn to read and write well. And she’d certainly never heard anything about evaporation and boiling points.
At the tiny yelps coming from the front of the cabin, Gretchen gasped and wiggled her hand free of Annalisa’s grasp. “Mama, Snowdrop needs me.”
A furry bundle strained and jumped against the dirty rope that bound him to a stake in the ground near the cabin, wagging his tail and prancing at the sight of them.
Gretchen started to run, cutting across the vegetable garden that would soon need planting. Her legs could hardly keep up with her body, and her clunky boots threatened to trip her.
Annalisa followed her daughter, not sure who was more anxious for the reunion—the new puppy or Gretchen. And when the little girl dropped to her knees in front of the slobbering, quivering mass of black fur and wrapped her arms around him, Annalisa smiled—a real smile, one that came from all of the motherly love stored deep in her heart.
Frau Pastor had brought them the puppy earlier in the week. Annalisa had been hesitant to take another mouth to feed. They were already thin and hungry from winter, and their provisions were long gone. She was having a difficult time finding enough food for the two of them, and she didn’t need to worry about a growing puppy too.
But Herr Pastor and his wife had insisted she keep it, telling her the puppy would soon grow into a helpful watchdog, one that would keep her safe. As a woman alone, and with dangerous men like Ward to deal with, she could use all the help she could get.
“Mama, can we untie Snowdrop?” The dog’s tongue lapped at Gretchen’s nose. She giggled, and the sweet sound danced in the air, filling the moment with something infinitely precious, a memory that would stay imprinted in Annalisa’s mind forever.
The thump of the bucket against the muddy ground next to her sent the smile scurrying back into hiding. Gretchen’s smile faded too.
Carl cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms. Then he examined Gretchen and the muddy paw smears that now covered her skirt and coat.
Annalisa stiffened and braced herself for the rebuke he was sure to give, not only about Gretchen’s carelessness with the mud but also the fact that animals were not meant to be coddled. Everyone knew that farm animals were not pets. They were there for one reason and one reason alone—much like a farmer’s wife—to do the work necessary for survival.
He crouched next to Gretchen and scratched the top of the puppy’s head. “She’s named Snowdrop?”
Gretchen nodded.
He cocked an eyebrow at Annalisa.
“He is only a puppy.” She wanted to defend Gretchen’s affection of the tiny beast. What harm would come from letting her daughter enjoy the dog? Couldn’t Carl see how much fondness she already had for the creature? He wouldn’t deny her that, would he?
“He? I’d venture to say he’s less of a Snowdrop and more of an Inkblot.” He scratched the dark-furred puppy behind each ear, earning a number of drooling kisses across his hand.
When he glanced up at Annalisa, his eyes twinkled. “Wouldn’t you say?” His lips curved into a dashing smile.
Her insides fluttered, and she caught her breath, speechless.
He combed his fingers through the dog’s curly hair until they came to the knotted rope. But all the while his deep brown eyes didn’t let go of hers.
“Unless, here in America, snowdrop means black instead of white.” He worked at loosening the knot, but still he didn’t release her gaze.
“Nein.” The feathery tickles in her stomach moved up her chest. “Gretchen picked the name Snowdrop because in the story the enchanted mirror would always tell the queen that Snowdrop was the fairest in the land.”
“Fairest in the land,” Gretchen echoed, stroking her little fingers across the puppy’s back.
“Ah, yes. Another of the tales by the Brothers Grimm.” He slipped the rope off the puppy’s neck and then held him up. His legs dangled and his tail waggled. “A fitting name indeed for a young pup who is quite fair, if I may say so myself.”
At his words Snowdrop gave a playful yip.
“He obviously agrees with me.”
Gretchen giggled.
The tension in Annalisa’s body melted like a pat of butter on a slice of warm bread.
Who exactly was this man? And why was he being so kind?
Carl handed the squirming puppy back into Gretchen’s waiting arms and then straightened.
She glanced away toward the sagging fence that surrounded the chicken pen. He would only lord it over her later if he knew the strange reaction he was eliciting within her.
“As delightful as it’s been to carry your bucket of maple sap,” he said, “I really must be on my way.”
She wanted to smile at his playfulness, but instead she ducked her head.
“I’d be indebted to you if you could point me in the general direction of Peter Bernthal’s farm. I’ve a letter from Matthias to give him.”
The warmth in her heart stole into her limbs. So he really was her groom, the man sent by her uncle to marry her and help her with the farm.
Somehow she managed to send him on his way without making a fool of herself. As she started on the many chores she needed to do before nightfall, she attempted to put the stranger out of her mind. Even so, her thoughts kept straying back to him and the knowledge that she would soon
marry him.
She was not the least surprised when Uri came running to the barn door not more than an hour later. “Mutter says to come right away.”
Annalisa wanted to pause, but she forced herself to finish tossing a shovelful of oats into Old Red’s trough. The image of the stranger’s handsome smile and dark, captivating eyes sent a warm spring breeze through her stomach.
She wasn’t excited. Nein. She was only anxious to secure the husband she needed so that she could get her crops planted on time.
“She sent Eleanor to fetch Pastor Loehe.” Uri climbed onto the rail of the horse’s stall. As the youngest of her siblings, and as Vater’s only remaining son, Uri was like the puppy—coddled much more than he needed.
“Mutter says I’m to finish your chores so you can change into your Sunday dress.” The boy jumped into the stall and rubbed his hand on the horse’s chest.
Old Red’s ears pricked up as Uri ran his hand along the curved neck into the mane.
“Then you’ll need to muck Old Red’s stall.” She brushed a loose lock of hair from the boy’s forehead. “And milk Mathilda.”
“You have to get married tonight.” In the dimness of the barn, Uri peered up at her with serious eyes, as if trying to gauge her reaction to the news.
“Ja. I know.” Even if she’d been able to put off the inevitable during the winter, she couldn’t delay it any longer. She needed a husband now more than ever. Who else would hold the heavy plow and drag it through the hard ground? Who else would be able to shoulder the harrow and be able to withstand the long hours and grueling days of planting?
She couldn’t disobey Vater. Especially not when he’d gone to the trouble to find her as good of a groom as possible, one from among his own kin.
Besides, what other destiny was there for a woman like her?
But Gretchen, on the other hand . . .
She glanced to the corner pile of hay, where the little girl had curled up and fallen asleep with Snowdrop. Strands of hair had come loose from her braids and swirled in a shaft of sunlight around her head like a halo.
She could give Gretchen more options someday, couldn’t she? And the new baby?
Her hand stole to her round abdomen, and she caressed the life growing inside her. She wanted to give so much more to her children than she’d had.
Uri pulled a withered wormy apple from his coat pocket and held it out to Old Red’s muzzle. The horse’s nostrils whooshed before he stuck out his tongue for the treat. “I hope Carl will be kinder to you than Hans was. Maybe you’ll be happy.”
“Maybe.” She wasn’t expecting happiness. Not anymore. But she wouldn’t disappoint Uri with the truth.
The soft nicker of the gelding was followed by its loud crunching. Uri gently stroked the short fine hair on the horse’s forehead. “I’ll do my best to make sure he’s kind.”
Annalisa pressed a hand against Uri’s cheek. Unfortunately the boy had witnessed all too often the way Hans had treated her. And he’d loathed Hans’s gambling and drinking and how she and Gretchen had gone without many of the things they needed as a result.
Over time, Uri had become more sullen and angry toward Hans so that near the end, Hans had complained to Vater about the boy’s lack of respect. Of course, Vater had then proceeded to take a switch to Uri’s backside until it was red with welts.
No child of Peter Bernthal was ever allowed to disrespect or disobey an elder.
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Uri’s brow. The difference in their ages had made him more like one of her children than a brother.
“You’re a good boy.” She could only pray he’d stay that way, that he would grow into a man like Herr Pastor.
She made her way to the cabin, knowing she couldn’t keep Vater waiting, especially once he finished his chores. He’d be ready for his evening meal, but Mutter would want to have the wedding first.
Annalisa squeezed into the best dress she owned. The dark, plain linen was worn and frayed around the edges, but it was clean. She unplaited her long braid and brushed the wavy strands into a knot at the back of her neck.
As she washed her face and then dried it with her apron, she tried to ignore her trembling fingers. She wasn’t nervous. What did she have to be nervous about? She knew what to expect now—in the darkness of the night when her husband would silently smother her with his sweaty body, sate himself, and then push her away.
Even so, her fingers shook and her stomach quivered. And she whispered a silent prayer that the kindness her new groom had already shown wouldn’t disappear, especially toward Gretchen.
The heavy clop of horse hooves against the muddy ground outside the cabin drew Annalisa to the door. She donned her knit shawl—the one she saved for special occasions—and pushed open the door.
For a moment she blinked, the slant of the late afternoon sunlight blinding her.
“Mrs. Werner, I’m tired of waiting,” a man boomed at her in stilted Deutsch.
She didn’t need to see the face to know who it was. The gravelly voice belonged to only one person. Mr. E. B. Ward.
The wind wound through the dangling fringes of her shawl, making her shiver.
She lifted a hand to her eyes to shield them, giving her a full view of Ward’s face.
From atop his well-groomed mare he glared down at her. His hat was too small for his large head and revealed his pitted skin that had a yellowish tint. The yellow had seeped into the whites surrounding his eyes.
He spoke again, but this time in English.
She’d learned enough of the foreign language when she’d attended school in Detroit. But she’d seldom had occasion to use the English since moving to Forestville and could only pick out a few of Ward’s words—men, work, good.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” she said in her native tongue. “I won’t sell the farm to you.”
He shook his head and muttered under his breath. He glanced around, as if making sure they were alone. He then started hoisting his bulky body from the horse.
Her heartbeat thudded against her chest, sending danger signals throughout her body. What if Vater had been right? What if Ward had murdered Hans in order to get the farm? If the land-hungry businessman overpowered and killed Hans, what would stop him from doing the same to her?
She reached for the door, her fingers making contact with the crude handle.
Should she retreat into the cabin and get away from him while she had the chance?
But how could she hide when Uri and Gretchen were still in the barn? If only she could grab the hunting rifle that hung above the door.
Ward jumped the last distance from his horse, and his boots slapped the mud. Beads of sweat formed across the skin of his pockmarked forehead. He wiped the moisture with his sleeve and took a step toward her.
She pushed the door open. Over the past several years she’d grown quite proficient with the gun, as hunger had been a persistent teacher.
“Mrs. Werner.” He spoke again in German. “The sawmill will provide extra work for your people. It will help make jobs.”
Perhaps the sawmill would provide extra income for the farmers, such as during the winter months when the traps were empty and the supplies in the stores ran low. But Vater claimed selling Ward the land would only give him too much power. They’d left Saxony to get out from under the control of Baron von Reichart, and they couldn’t let that happen now with Ward.
“Put the mill somewhere else,” she said.
“I plan to build it right here on this land. Along the river.”
Her grip on the door handle tightened. “You can’t take it from me. I have my husband’s loan papers.”
His yellowish eyes flashed with anger, and he retorted in loud English.
She squared her shoulders. This was her land. She wouldn’t let this man scare her from it.
“Are you having trouble, Annalisa?” Uri called from the barn door.
“Get out of here, son,” Ward barked. “This isn’t any of
your business.”
Uri started across the muddy barnyard, a shovel tucked under his armpit like a weapon. His features were creased with proud determination. “I think you’re the one who needs to do the getting out of here.”
Annalisa knew she should run to him, shush him, and make him go back into the safety of the barn. But his shoulders were squared with the strength of the man he was quickly becoming, and his choppy steps were decisive. She wouldn’t be able to sway him. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“You folks are the stubbornest people I know.” Ward tripped over the German words.
She was thankful for the language barrier between them. It offered some safety from having to speak too much or too long to the man.
Uri stopped beside her and lifted the shovel. “Go on. Get out of here.”
Ward shifted his arm just enough to reveal a pistol tucked into a holster beneath his coat.
“I’ve made it my job to protect my sister from anything or anyone who tries to hurt her.” Uri didn’t budge, and the shovel in his hand didn’t waver.
Annalisa lifted her hand to the boy’s shoulder, wanting to pull him back into her embrace and hide him behind her skirts. Instead, she squeezed his tense muscles, hoping he would stop before he pushed Ward too far.
Ward eyed the boy with a sneer.
Uri was strong but wouldn’t be a match for a man like Ward. For that matter, she wouldn’t be able to fight him either if he decided to attack her. She’d end up dead, just like Hans.
And then who would give Gretchen a better life?
Was the fight against Ward really worth what it could cost her?
“Come along.” She tugged Uri away, back toward the barn.
He jerked away from her, and his wiry body sprang toward Ward like a trap about to close its steel teeth. He swung his arm, angling the sharp edge of the shovel toward Ward’s head.
“Nein, Uri!” She lunged for the boy and grabbed his arm, holding him back before the sharp edge cut into Ward.
Jody Hedlund Page 5