Jody Hedlund

by A Noble Groom

  Then he came toward her, his eyes hungry, his footsteps certain, his eyes trained on one place—her lips.

  The rain trickled down her face and her neck. Her body trembled with the strange need for his fingers to follow the path of the rain.

  He stopped in front of her, and his breath came from deep within his chest. His gaze didn’t waver from her lips, even when he reached up both hands—one on either side of her face—and intertwined them into the long damp strands of her hair.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  His fingers dug deeper into her hair, drawing her to him, and she was helpless to do anything but fall against him.

  He dipped his head toward hers, and his lips came down on hers decisively, without faltering, almost as if he’d made his decision to kiss her and wouldn’t let anything stop him.

  The warmth of his mouth enveloped hers, crashed into her, and swept her away. She reached her hands to his chest and clung to him to keep herself from collapsing.

  His fingers threaded into her hair, locking them together, and his lips pressed against hers with all the strength that emanated from his body.

  She’d never kissed a man like this before, never known such kissing was even possible, never known she could find so much pleasure in it.

  As forcefully as the kiss started, he wrenched away just as purposefully. “What am I doing?” His chest heaved up and down against hers. He didn’t relinquish his grip on her. His mouth was near enough that if she wanted, she could easily dip into him and offer him her lips again.

  Every nerve in her body urged her to push against him, to continue what they’d begun. The pulsing in her blood told her that she would find more pleasure in his arms, that she’d only gotten a taste of what would come.

  Did she dare consider Idette’s suggestion?

  He wouldn’t resist. She could see the desire rippling across his face, turning his eyes darker than wet soil.

  All she had to do was kiss him again, and again, and again. And if she did, he wouldn’t be able to resist carrying her to the bed.

  Then he would marry her.

  She knew he would. He was too kind and honorable to do anything less.

  Even so, she balked at the thought of tricking him into marriage. What good would come out of a marriage based on deception and manipulation?

  And how could she live before Gott with such a sin on her conscience? If He’d been too busy for her before when she’d tried to be good, wouldn’t He give up on her altogether if she willfully enticed Carl?

  His gaze danced around her face before it came to rest once again on her lips. When he bent his head, he gave a soft groan before letting his lips move against hers.

  She responded again, wanting—needing—him.

  His kisses made a trail from her lips to her throat.

  She leaned back and gave him access to the tender skin of her neck. The rain pattered against her lips, and she could almost taste the sweetness of love.

  She loved him.

  Did she dare say it to him? Could she tell him she loved him? Would he feel the same?

  He lifted his head, and this time his eyes met hers. The dark passion questioned her as if he sensed her turmoil.

  This was it. The moment that could secure her future and the moment that could give Gretchen and Sophie a loving papa. The truth was she’d do just about anything for her daughters.

  She could lead him to the barn, to a secluded spot, and could keep on kissing him. If she did, she would have her prince charming and a fairy-tale love. They would live happily ever after.

  But would they really?

  Even as the question slipped into her mind, it pounded her conscience as loud as the clatter of thunder.

  Would Carl be happy—truly happy—in a marriage she had contrived? If she enticed and entrapped him, wouldn’t he eventually come to resent her?

  The fact was, he didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t want to stay in Forestville. He didn’t want to be a farmer.

  She would be condemning him to a life he didn’t want. And although he’d joined in the farming life for these past months without complaining, she’d seen the restlessness within him, the longing to do more than tossing hay onto a rack.

  He was ready to leave. He’d been ready for a while. And she knew he’d only lingered because he was so kind and didn’t want her to lose her farm.

  Ach. She loved him too much to make him remain out of obligation. If he stayed, she wanted it to be because he loved her, and for no other reason.

  Slowly, she shook her head.

  Confusion swirled through the depths of his eyes.

  She stepped back, breaking contact with him. Reluctantly he released his tight grip.

  She took another step away, putting an arm’s span between them. She couldn’t sin against Gott. And she knew he wouldn’t want to either if he were thinking straight.

  His chest heaved with the passion of the moment, and she was surprised to find that hers was heaving too.

  She lifted her eyes to his, wanting to hear him say he loved her, wanting to know that he cared about her as much as she did for him.

  Instead he flung his head back and forth as if waking himself from a deep slumber. He crammed one hand into his damp hair. Confusion made creases across his forehead, and his eyes clouded with guilt.

  “I’m sorry, Annalisa.” His voice was hoarse.

  Was he sorry for kissing her, or sorry he couldn’t return the love that was written all over her face?

  “I’m so sorry.” And when he stared off at the distant field, she had the feeling he was giving her an answer—only it wasn’t the one she wanted.

  He gave a half sigh, half groan. Then, without bothering to retrieve his hat, he started down the path away from her, kicking at a loose stone. He didn’t stop to look back at her, not even once, even though her heart begged him to.

  After he was finally gone, she released the sob that had swelled within her chest. She collapsed to the ground. Just as suddenly as the rain had started, it ceased, refusing to give them the sustenance and the outpouring they so desperately needed.

  What had she done by letting him walk away?

  But even as the regrets taunted her, she knew she could have done nothing less than let him go.

  She loved him too much . . .

  Another sob tore at her throat.

  Chapter

  16

  Balancing an apple pie in one hand and a blackberry pie in the other, Annalisa approached the long table made of boards that Carl had erected in the barnyard.

  She avoided looking at him as he sat with the other men, relaxing in the evening shade of her new barn. They’d spent the day erecting the building, and the women had helped her in preparing a feast to celebrate the occasion.

  Although she was grateful to have the new barn before the onset of winter, its completion also meant harvest season was nearing an end. And that Carl’s departure was drawing closer.

  Of course, he would stay to help with the potatoes and the corn. In the distance, the stalks swayed in the breeze, rattling loud and harsh. The ears were smaller than usual, and she dreaded peeling back a husk and hearing the telltale squeak that would indicate the corn was finally ready for harvesting.

  The rain they’d received the previous week hadn’t been enough to revive the crops. She wanted to put off harvesting the corn for as long as possible with the hope that somehow the rains would come and she’d have enough corn to pay off her loan.

  But deep within, especially in the dark of night, she couldn’t help thinking that she would be better off selling the farm to Ward. She’d heard rumors that he’d recently returned from Detroit, and although he hadn’t paid her a visit, she had a feeling it would only be a matter of time before he harassed her again.

  After destroying her barn and nearly killing Carl, she shuddered to think what he was capable of doing next.

  The fact was, she was losing her farm. She couldn’t ignore the inevi
table forever. With the drought, she’d need a miracle to pay off the loan.

  And she couldn’t put off Carl’s leaving either.

  She tried not to think about the day when he would walk away and never return. She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that it was for the best.

  But her entire body throbbed with an ache that wouldn’t go away.

  “Oh, dearie.” Frau Pastor, in her wide-brimmed hat, bustled toward her and took one of the pies. “I think these men agreed to come help with the barn raising just so they could get a taste of your pie.”

  Annalisa couldn’t muster a smile. She wanted to blame her listlessness on the busyness of the day after having been up half the night baking bread and pies. She’d spent the better part of the morning peeling potatoes after she’d beheaded and plucked two of her plumpest hens.

  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.

  Frau Pastor greeted each of the men with one of her blossoming smiles. But her face beamed when Herr Pastor straggled to the makeshift serving table with Carl after most of the others had been served.

  “I need a piece of Annalisa’s pie.” Herr Pastor rubbed the leftover crumbs from his supper out of his wiry beard.

  “Of course you do, dear-heart.” But when Frau Pastor glanced at the empty pie pans, she gasped and her eyes filled with dismay.

  “Oh no, don’t tell me I’m too late for Annalisa’s pie?” Herr Pastor turned to Carl. “She makes the best pie in these parts.”

  Carl shifted Sophie in his arms and nodded. “I agree.” But he avoided looking at Annalisa and instead examined the remains of the raisin cake as if he’d never seen a cake before.

  “I can’t bear to think of you going home without a piece of Annalisa’s pie.” Frau Pastor fumbled under the table and retrieved the piece of blackberry pie Annalisa had cut for her. “You take mine.”

  She handed her husband the plate.

  He took it and his eyes softened. “You’re a wonderful wife.”

  She giggled and waved her hand as if to dismiss his comment.

  But when he leaned in and puckered his lips, she didn’t hesitate to close the distance and give him a loud, wet smooch.

  Annalisa couldn’t keep from staring with both fascination and admiration. Was it possible to have a loving marriage? Of course, she longed for Carl. But if she couldn’t have him—if he wouldn’t stay—then could she stand strong and wait until she found another man, one who would treat her with respect and kindness? Did she have to settle for a stranger or any man Vater chose for her? Didn’t she have some say in the matter?

  Sophie chirped with the beginning of a hungry cry, one that forced Annalisa’s attention to the chubby face of her baby. From there it was all too easy to lift her gaze to Carl’s face and to find
him watching her, as if he’d been studying her reaction to Frau Pastor’s display with her husband.

  There was something in his eyes that seemed to ask her if she remembered their kiss.

  Ja, she did remember. How could she ever forget it?

  “Ah,” Frau Pastor said, wagging her finger at Carl and smiling. “I can see you want to give Annalisa a kiss.”

  Carl grinned sheepishly. “You’re much too observant.”

  “Well, young man”—Frau Pastor reached for his cheeks and pinched them—“you really must do something about the situation. Anytime I’m around the two of you, it’s a little bit like walking into a firestorm. The air practically sizzles with your attraction for each other.” Heat swarmed over Annalisa’s face. “You just need to marry the girl and put an end to both of your misery.”

  “Now, now, wife,” Herr Pastor scolded gently.

  “Oh, it’s true, dear-heart, and don’t you deny it. Those two love each other and need to get married.”

  Annalisa fidgeted with the serving fork in front of her and wished she could climb under the table and hide.

  “We could have a wedding tonight,” Herr Pastor said, taking a bite of his pie. “You just say the word.”

  Carl didn’t say anything.

  Was he considering Herr Pastor’s offer? Annalisa was tempted to lift her gaze again and look into his eyes to find his answer. But instead she fixed her attention on Sophie’s tiny kicking feet.

  Hadn’t he already given her his answer? He’d made it clear when they’d kissed that he couldn’t return her love.

  “Come now, young man.” Frau Pastor took a swipe at a glob of filling left in one of the pie pans. “What do you say? You know you want to marry Annalisa and stay here with us.”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Herr Pastor with his mouth full, “some of us were recently talking about how we need to build a school next. Then during the winter months you could bless this community with your teaching skills.”