MB02 - A Noble Groom by Jody Hedlund Read Free Book Online Page A

man smiled or teased her and Gretchen, she would be wise to remember those initial feelings wouldn’t last. They hadn’t with Hans.
    When Hans had come courting her in the first months after her family arrived in Forestville, she’d found herself waiting for him, longing for him to look at her. And whenever he’d fixed his intense gaze upon her, she’d quivered in anticipation.
    Of course, at sixteen she hadn’t known what Hans’s look had meant. Naively she’d believed his attraction symbolized devotion and affection. She’d dreamed that after their wedding he would sweep her off her feet and ride away with her to their new home, where they would live happily ever after.

    What a dummkopf she’d been.
    It had taken one night—her first—with Hans to realize what he’d wanted from her.
    After three years of marriage, no matter how hard she’d worked to earn his love, she’d never been able to please him.
    And she’d come to fully understand that true love didn’t matter, that it didn’t exist.
    She’d do best not to forget it.
    “So how does all this sap-collecting work?” He stopped in front of one of the collection pails, lowered the bucket, and began examining the hole, the spout, and the tree, as if he wished he could cut it open and see inside.
    She hesitated, but at the genuine interest in his face she gave him a brief explanation, the one Frau Pastor had given to her. It was the same method the natives had used for centuries to collect the sweet liquid that flowed in the maple trees every spring for only a few short weeks.
    “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 payoff 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