Annalisa tried to tell herself she didn’t care if he listened to her story, that she would act like he wasn’t there. But the strong scent of lye had accompanied him into the cabin, along with the sweetness of the elderberry plant that was one of the main ingredients of the salve.
How could she concentrate with her senses attuned to every detail of his presence?
“Rapunzel didn’t know what to think of the strange man,” she continued, “but he began to talk to her like a friend. He told her that his heart had been stirred by the sound of her singing and that he could have no rest until he saw her.”
“Friendship is always good, isn’t it?” Carl asked.
“Did you unlock your lips so soon?” She didn’t want to glance at him and instead focused on Gretchen’s hair and ran the comb through it.
“You’re right,” he said. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him pull out the make-believe key and lock his lips again, earning another giggle from Gretchen.
Annalisa pretended she wasn’t paying attention to him. “So, the prince and Rapunzel talked more and more. Until Rapunzel finally lost her fear of him. She began to actually grow quite fond of him, until one day he asked her if she would take him for her husband.”
“If it is the talking that helps develop fondness,” Carl said, “then I shall have to do it more often.”
“Shhh.” Gretchen put her finger to her lips and locked them as if to remind him of his game.
Annalisa’s belly quivered with fresh warmth. Did he crave her fondness? Was he likening her to the shy Rapunzel and himself to the prince? And did he really want friendship with her, a simple woman?
She told a little more of the story, tucked Gretchen under the thick woolen blankets, and kissed her forehead.
As Annalisa busied herself serving Carl his supper, she tried not to let him glimpse her face for fear he would see her interest there.
“Looks like I’ll be ready to start the planting soon,” he said between bites. “Uri said he’d come over the first day to show me how to do it.”
He wiped his bread across his tin plate, cleaning off every drop of the watered-down gravy left from the quail. He finished the last piece of crust, then pushed back from the table. “Thank you for the meal.”
She was finally getting used to his daily gratitude. She only wished she had the supplies to make him something really delicious—like one of her pies.
But it would still be many weeks, at least June before she would be able to find fresh berries. He’d be gone by then. And her groom would be sitting at the table instead.
Carl rose and reached for his hat and coat.
She gripped the comb she’d used in Gretchen’s hair. The thin wooden tines poked into her palm.
He slipped his arms into his coat and hesitated. “I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness tonight. Without the infernal itching, I’ll sleep as peacefully as Gretchen.” He nodded toward the little girl asleep in the middle of the bed.
Annalisa held up the comb. “We’re not quite finished yet.”
He took one look at the comb, shed his coat, and lowered himself back into the chair. “Ah, yes, I suppose we need to make sure all the eggs are out too.”
Her stomach quivered. Could she really comb his hair?
He ran his fingers through the damp locks on his forehead. Then he turned his gaze upon her as if waiting for her to get the deed over with.
She shoved aside her doubts and approached him. She lifted her hand above his head—above the dark, thick hair she’d admired. Her fingers trembled, poised and ready to dig for the remains of any lice or eggs that had escaped the bath. Did she dare touch him?
Even though the flames on the hearth flickered low and weren’t putting out much heat, she suddenly felt too hot.
She forced herself to lower her shaking fingers until the soft thickness grazed her skin. Then before she lost her courage, she plunged in deeper, letting his hair fall through her fingers.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
She jerked her hand back. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His voice was low.
Her stomach quivered again.
“I promise I’ll sit still and be a good boy.” He gave a lopsided grin.
She wasn’t worried so much about what he’d do as she was about her reaction to him. Tentatively she touched his hair again, this time starting at his scalp and working toward the ends.
His hair was much softer than she’d anticipated. She let her fingers linger on the feathery edges. She dragged the comb through again and followed with her fingers, searching for any signs of life. And although she knew she needed to concentrate to find the minuscule eggs, her mind wouldn’t focus on anything except the fact that she was running her fingers through a man’s hair.
She couldn’t imagine having shared such an intimacy with Hans.
“So tell me about Hans,” Carl said, as if she’d spoken the name aloud. His voice sounded tight.
She paused. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“I’m in intense pain. But in a very pleasurable way.” He leaned back, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes. “What was your husband like? He wasn’t the same kind of idiot as Idette’s husband, was he?”
“Nein. He didn’t hit me.” She combed again, and not even the worry for her sister that she’d harbored since the girl’s last visit could take her mind away from Carl’s hair. She let her fingers grow bolder and move deeper.
“Then he was a kind husband?”
“Not many men concern themselves over the feelings and opinions of a wife.” Carl had to know the laws that existed in the Old Country—the laws that gave men great power over their wives, that allowed them to keep a woman in her place in whatever way worked best. Hadn’t he heard the old saying: Women and eggs, the more you beat them, the better they get?
Hans hadn’t used his fists against her, but she couldn’t say that he’d ever been kind.
“He wasn’t an easy man to live with,” she said.
“So you didn’t have a loving marriage?”
“Ach. True love and happily-ever-afters are the stuff of fairy tales.”
“We don’t have to confine true love to stories.”
“That’s the only place I’ve ever seen such love and affection.” Sure, Herr and Frau Pastor seemed to have a more cordial and respectful relationship than most, but that kind of love happened in the stories and rarely occurred in real life. “Just because many marriages aren’t loving doesn’t mean that’s the way God intended for them to be.”
“I don’t think God cares.” Her words came out more bitter than she intended. From what she’d been able to tell, God was like all the other men in her life. He wasn’t interested in her. She was too insignificant to deserve His attention.
“Sure, He cares.” He spoke with a confidence that made her pause. “God instructs husbands to love their wives so much that they would be willing to give up their very lives and face death for them. If that isn’t a passionate and deep fairy-tale love, I don’t know what is.”
Her fingers stilled, lost in the depths of his wavy locks.
“You remember the story of Jacob and Rachel from the Bible?”
She nodded.
“Jacob was so in love with Rachel that he was willing to work seven years for his uncle Laban to pay the bride price. And because his love for her was so strong, the seven years seemed like only a few days.”
How was it possible for any man to love a woman with that kind of devotion?
“In our sinfulness,” Carl continued, “we’ve diminished God’s original plans for love and marriage. But that doesn’t mean we have to give up on love altogether.”
Maybe she had given up on love. Maybe she had relegated it to fairy tales. But she was safer that way. She’d experienced too much disappointment and frustration in those early days with Hans, and she’d only be setting herself up for more pain if she started to believe in fairy-ta
le endings again.
“You might be right about Jacob and Rachel and what God intended.” She started the comb through his hair again. “But it’s not possible for me. And not for anyone I know.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. She let her fingers linger in his hair.
“I wish you could find real love, Annalisa,” he finally said softly. “Maybe your new groom will be the kind of man who will give you the love you deserve.”
“I don’t expect it. I’ve also learned that it’s not necessary, that there are more important things in surviving.”
“But survival becomes much more bearable when joy and love are a part of our lives.”
She shook her head. “You’ve seen this kind of love, in your parents’ marriage perhaps?”
He guffawed. “My mother was a tender, beautiful woman with a spirit like that of a dove. She was given in marriage to my father as part of a business agreement. He didn’t know her or care about her. And he never took the time to develop affection for her.”
“Such a union is not uncommon.” She had only to think of her marriage to Hans. He’d needed a woman to help him run the farm, to plant the vegetable garden, to prepare his meals, to milk the cow, and to bear him sons who could help with the farm. “There are many who must marry for practical reasons.”
“Ah, yes.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. “The practical marriage. I would rather wander the earth the rest of my days than marry someone I don’t know or love.”
His words pierced her. Did he despise her because she must marry a stranger? “My needs aren’t important anymore. I must think of my children now.” She started to pull away.
But he reached up and captured her fingers. He quickly shifted so that he faced her. “I’m sorry.”
His hand surrounded hers with a warmth and gentleness that sent a shiver up her arm.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was thoughtless and unkind to you in your current predicament.” An errant strand of hair hung across his forehead. “Can you forgive me?”
The cock of his head, the sincerity in his eyes, and the handsomeness of his features were too hard to resist.
“Please. If you don’t forgive me, you’ll leave me in eternal torment.”
She studied his fingers holding hers, the familiar stain of soil creasing the grooves of his hand, making them rugged—even more attractive. “I suppose I can forgive you—since I wouldn’t want to be the cause of your eternal torment.”
One of his ready grins sprang to his lips. “You’re too kind.”
“You’re too convincing.” And too irresistible. Before she knew what she was doing, she brought her free hand to his forehead and combed the loose strand back.
His smile faded, and his eyes darkened.
Shocked at her boldness, she stepped back.
But he didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. Instead he lifted her captured fingers to his lips and grazed the full softness of them against her knuckles.
She knew she ought to tug her hand away, to put a proper distance between them. She may not have experienced desire with Hans, but she knew where such feelings could lead if left unchecked.
He tipped her hand forward and pressed his lips again, this time to her wrist. The heat of his breath bathed her skin, making her insides tremble.
What would his lips feel like against hers? Hans had kissed her once—on their wedding day. But the brief, dry contact hadn’t elicited any emotion, not the way Carl’s kisses against her hand were. If she was near to swooning from a mere kiss on the hand, how would his kiss to her lips affect her?
His eyes widened, turning them into dark puddles, as if he was thinking the same thing.
A terrified squeal split the silence.
Annalisa jumped and pulled her hand free. Her gaze darted first to the bed, where Gretchen was still tucked under the blankets, eyes closed in peaceful slumber, then to the hearth where Snowdrop was resting.
The pup raised his head and stared at the door. He gave a low growl.
She took a breath, her heart thudding. All that mattered was that Gretchen was safe.
Another shrill squeal sounded, clearly coming from outside.
Carl pushed up from his chair and grabbed his coat.
Snowdrop rose and gave another growl, one more menacing.
Her mind scrambled to make sense of the noise.
The squealing turned vicious and mingled with snarling and snapping. Carl’s brow rose.
“I think it’s the sow.” She crossed to the door and grabbed the rifle from the rack. “Something’s attacking the sow.”
But before she could open the door, Carl had blocked it with his body. “Let me go out and see what it is.”
She shook her head. “I can’t lose her. She’ll soon farrow, and I must have the piglets.”
He held the door closed with the toe of his boot.
“I’m not a weak woman. And I can handle the gun.”
“I know you can. But as you said, you have to think about your children.” He looked pointedly at her swelling abdomen. “And I have no one. It won’t matter if I get hurt.”
She hesitated.
The pig squealed again, this time angrily.
His fingers circled the rifle just above her hold. His gentle gaze pleaded with her. How could she say no to him, not with such tender concern written on his face? She loosened her grip and stepped back.
He tucked the gun under his arm, reached for the lantern, and opened the door.
A whoosh of cold air sent shivers over her skin.
He nodded solemnly and then stepped outside into the darkness.
“Be careful,” she called after him.
He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “If I don’t come back tonight, you can rest assured I saved your pig’s life and became the marauding creature’s supper instead.”
“Nein. I would much rather lose the pig than you.” Even as the words tumbled out, she wished she could pull them back.
He was already halfway across the farmyard, holding the lantern high. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her blatant declaration.
“Stay in the cabin,” he called. “I would much rather lose the pig than you too.”
Chagrin pushed her back inside. She closed the door and leaned against it. “What am I doing?”
She couldn’t understand the gusts of emotions raging through her. All she knew was that she must stop letting such feelings get the best of her.
The bang of the gun echoed in the clear night air, followed by a flurry of squealing and Carl’s shouting. Then silence descended.
She pressed her ear against the planks of the door and listened for him, but the rapid thud of worry drowned out all else.
Had he been hurt? She flung open the door. “Carl?”
The lantern sat on a stump near the barn. The rays cast eerie fragments of broken light. But the dimness didn’t reach the outside pen.
Had the wild animal carried Carl away?
She strained to see through the darkness and for a long moment couldn’t breathe. The chill in the air and the unnatural quietness sent a shiver up her spine.
The sow gave an unhappy snort, letting Annalisa know she had survived but had been displeased with the ordeal.
“Carl?” she called again, louder.
“I thought I told you to stay inside.” He rounded the corner of the barn, and the light illuminated his face, revealing frustration.
“I didn’t hear your voice anymore.” Her shoulders sagged with relief. “I thought maybe you were hurt.”
“That was the biggest bear I’ve ever seen.” He peered into the dark shadows, keeping the rifle pointed and ready to fire.
“You’re unharmed, then?”
“Other than nearly dying of fright, I’m perfectly fine.” He shot her a glance. “Why are you outside? Go back in where you’re safe.”
“We have nothing to fear now. The bear’s gone. You’ve scared it away for tonight.”
He se
arched the edges of the darkness as if to be sure she was right. “Just when I begin to think America is tolerable, I realize once again how out of place I am here.”
His words reminded her that he wasn’t like the other men, not even like any schoolteacher she’d ever known. “Do you miss your home terribly?”
“Well, let’s just say I’ve never had to scare enormous bears away from pigs where I come from.”
“Then you don’t like the farming life?”
He gave a short laugh that was devoid of his usual humor. “I’m not a farmer, and I never will be.”
At his words, disappointment whispered at her. She didn’t know why she cared if he liked farming or not. He would soon leave to make a life of his own somewhere else. She’d never see him again.
And if he ever decided to stay, there could never be anything between them, not when she was pledged to marry another man, a man who was leaving everything and coming to America specifically to help her save the farm.
There was no sense in dreaming of anything else. Her life had always been ordered by one man or another, and that was just the way of it.
For her, fairy tales would have to stay just that—fairy tales.
Chapter
9
Carl pressed his back against the tree and tried not to move.
Uri sat next to him and didn’t even blink.
The thicket was overgrown, and in early May tiny buds were finally beginning to make an appearance. Even with the foliage to camouflage them, Carl had learned the turkeys had keen vision and that even the slightest movement would spook them.
“Is he coming?” Carl whispered, peering through the woods for the gobbler Uri had called.
Uri gave him a dark glare for his transgression. Talking wasn’t allowed either.
Carl had to suppress a grin. The boy took the spring turkey hunting way too seriously. In fact, the boy took everything much too seriously.
The sunshine breaking through the overhead canopy of branches touched Carl’s head with warmth. With the vivid green coming to life around him, and the crispness of the air, he could almost find satisfaction in his situation. Almost.
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