MB02 - A Noble Groom (11 page)

“I do want to help her,” he said hesitantly. “But I’m not sure I’m the right man for the job.” In fact, he knew he wasn’t the right man. If he was dying after a few hours of work, how would he last the entire day? And the next day?

He was a nobleman, not a peasant farmer. He wasn’t born for a life of hard labor. He was far above such menial work. God had gifted him as a scholar and a learned man. And he should be somewhere else putting his talents to good effort, rather than languishing in a farm field.

But what else could he do for the time being? Where else could he go?

The truth was, as much as he wanted to leave, he couldn’t. Not until he had the chance to make other plans.

Annalisa caressed her stomach, as if she already loved the life growing inside her. Then she reached a hand toward Gretchen,
gently combed the girl’s loose strands away from her face, and bent to plant a kiss on her head.

“Annalisa is a good mutter,” Uri said, following his gaze.

“Yes, she is. A very good mother.”

Gretchen lifted the wiggling bundle of puppy into the air toward Annalisa, and Carl was surprised when after a brief hesitation Annalisa lowered her head and gave the dog a peck on his furry forehead.

The little girl gave Annalisa a smile as wide as the ocean and hugged the puppy, dirty paws and all.

The March sunshine bathed both of their bare heads, turning their hair into golden silk and illuminating the sweet delicacy of their features and the helplessness of their situation—a young woman and her child, unable to shoulder the responsibilities of the farm, and very close to losing everything—unless he stayed to help.

As hard as the plowing was, he couldn’t let Annalisa down. If he didn’t plow her fields, no one would. He couldn’t be the cause of her losing her farm. How could he live with himself if he let that happen?

“If you like her,” Uri said, swinging his narrowed gaze back on Carl, “then why don’t you work harder?”

Carl met the boy’s eyes without flinching. “I would like to work harder, but I’m doing the best I can.”

“I’ve never met a man who worked as slow as you.”

Everything inside urged him to tell Uri the truth—to reveal that he was a nobleman, that he’d never stepped foot onto a farm field in his life, much less worked one. Instead he sighed, knowing he must come up with some semblance of an excuse for his bumbling efforts. “I must admit, I’m not accustomed to the hard labor.”

Uri cocked his head.

If they believed him to be a village schoolteacher, he would undoubtedly have some knowledge of farm life, the seasons, and likely even have experience as a laborer.

What could he possibly say that wasn’t an outright lie?

“I only pray that you will be patient with me, Uri,” he finally said, “and perhaps show compassion by teaching me all you know so that I can help your sister.”

Ahead of the horses, a flock of grackles fluttered about with their iridescent wings, landing upon the turned earth, searching the soil for a ready meal of bugs. Like everything else in this poor-man’s country, even the birds must scavenge for their food.

If only he’d never had to leave his homeland . . .

Familiar despair settled heavily within his chest—the same despair that had plagued him since he’d first received news of the bombing at the duke’s palace.

He reached a hand for the back of his neck and massaged his aching muscles. For the thousandth time that morning he couldn’t keep from asking himself what he was doing here. What had made him believe he could ever carry out this kind of charade?

If he couldn’t fool Uri, how could he fool Annalisa? Wouldn’t they all figure out who he was eventually?

Across the distance, Annalisa turned from Gretchen and peered at him.

He gave her a nod.

She ducked her head, apparently embarrassed to have been caught looking at him.

Her shy innocence stirred warmth in his gut and made him only want to look at her all the more.

She wiped her hands on her apron and began to make her way across the garden. Gretchen and the puppy followed on her heels.

When she chanced another glance at him, he couldn’t make
himself look away. He stared at her boldly, and once again she quickly tilted her face away from him. His blood swirled a degree warmer. He willed her to look up, to meet his gaze, to let him have his fill of admiring her sweet beauty.

But she picked up her basket at the edge of the garden and started toward him, doing her best to keep her eyes trained on each footstep as she made her way through slushy snow around the field.

“You’re very kind to her,” Uri said, glancing between them, as if trying to make sense of what was going on.

“It’s not hard to be kind to someone like her,” Carl said.

Uri stared at Annalisa for a long moment before speaking. “I’ll help you.”

“You’ll show me how to make the horses go straight?” He offered the boy a half grin.

Uri didn’t grin in response. Instead he lowered his gun and pointed it at Carl. “I’ll help you. But if you hurt Annalisa, you’ll wish you’d never come here.”

Carl’s grin spread. “You don’t need to worry. I promise I won’t hurt her.”

At Annalisa’s approach, Uri’s expression softened and he lowered the gun.

She stopped before them, looking everywhere but at Carl. Gretchen’s chatter and the puppy’s excited yips filled the silence between them.

“I shot these for you.” Uri dropped the squirrels at Annalisa’s feet. The pup immediately stuck his nose into one of the stiff carcasses. Uri booted the dog and sent it scampering with a yelp.

Gretchen gave a cry of protest.

“You need to train your dog,” Uri admonished the girl.

Annalisa grabbed the squirrels before Snowdrop could investigate further and tossed them by their tails over her shoulder
as if flinging around dead squirrels was an everyday occurrence. Then she slid a towel off the basket, lifted out a jug, and handed it to Carl.

Too tired and thirsty to resist, he raised it to his parched lips. The cool well water was a blessed relief. After guzzling more than his fair share, he passed the jug to Uri.

Carl nodded at Annalisa and wiped his arm across his mouth. “Thank you.”

She held out two thick slices of brown bread with a piece of cheese wedged between. “For your midday meal.”

Gratefulness swelled in his chest. “You’re an angel.”

Pink blossomed in her cheeks.

He took a ravenous bite and was surprised that something so simple could be so tasty. “It’s very good. Just what I needed.”

At his words she lifted her head almost as if she couldn’t resist looking at him anymore. In the sunshine, her eyes reflected the clear blue sky overhead. Wonder mingled with a thousand questions in the wide expanse of her gaze.

Did she sense he wasn’t who he claimed to be? Was she wondering—like Uri—why he was so weak and a complete imbecile in farming matters?

He took another bite of the bread and cheese and glanced away, to the far fields that were still dotted with stumps.

Lord help him. What could he tell her? He swallowed through a tight throat.

The best course of action was to keep his distance from her and not allow himself to become overly friendly. Maybe then she wouldn’t ask too many questions.

Forcing his aching muscles to perform, he lowered himself to his knees next to Gretchen, making sure to turn his back on Annalisa. “How would you like a story, princess?”

The little girl nodded eagerly.

He held out his hand to her. “Your mama isn’t the only one who knows stories.”

She looked at Annalisa with wide, pleading eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Annalisa nodding.

Gretchen smiled and drew closer, placing her tiny fingers into his.

He nodded at the stumps in the distance. “You know what those stumps remind me of?”

She shook her head.

“Trolls. They look like fat, grumpy trolls.” He pulled her onto his lap and was surprised when she cuddled against his chest. “I’ll tell you the story about three billy goats and a troll that lived under a bridge.”

Gretchen peered up at him with her beautiful baby eyes.

He smiled.

Maybe he could survive his time in Michigan after all. How hard could it be to make it through a couple more weeks?

Carl tossed one more pitchfork full of hay into the horse stall regardless of the scant amount that actually made it to the floor.

His eyes burned from the effort of keeping them open. He couldn’t feel his limbs. And he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to straighten his back again.

But he’d lived through his first day of farm life.

Of course, Uri had to show him how to unhook the plow and how to care for the horses. Carl had never been more disgusted with a chore than he was at shoveling horse droppings out of the stall. Uri had assured him the job needed to be done on a daily basis, along with replacing the soiled hay with a fresh covering.

Carl stood back and surveyed his attempts. He’d spilled hay
everywhere, stepped in manure, and sloshed most of the water out of the pail before he’d been able to dump it into the watering trough. But otherwise he’d managed to complete the work—albeit more work in one day than any sane man should complete in a year.

“I think you feel the same way,” Carl said to Old Red, who’d paused in his munching to stare at him, as if he too were baffled by Carl’s ineptness. “No creature—man or beast—should ever have to do this much work in one day.”

With a weary sigh Carl shuffled toward the door, giving the horse one last glare. “I don’t suppose you have a cane you could spare?”

The steady chop of an ax out in the barnyard beckoned him. Was Uri still working?

Carl shook his head. Did these people ever stop and rest?

He pushed his way out the door, letting the freezing wind bathe his face and wake him.

Through the growing darkness of the early evening, a single lantern hung from the clothesline and spilled light across the barnyard, illuminating the steel of the double-bitted ax as it swung through the air. The blade made contact with the cordwood, followed by the swift crunch of splitting maple.

“Uri, my boy,” he called. “Are you planning to work all night?”

Carl hobbled forward, wishing he didn’t have to hike back to the Bernthals’ and could drop into the hay in Annalisa’s barn instead.

Uri paused in his chopping and turned. Only the rounded abdomen and gentle curves didn’t belong to Uri.

“Annalisa?” Carl straightened and rushed forward, his feet moving at a surprising speed in spite of how tired he was.

She flipped her long braid over her shoulder and watched him approach.

“You shouldn’t be out here chopping wood,” he said, reaching for her ax. “Not in your condition. It cannot be safe for you or your baby.”

She didn’t resist as he took the ax from her. She cocked her head. “It’s no trouble for me,” she said. “I’ve always done the chopping, even when my husband was alive.”

Carl shook his head. “How chivalrous of him.” He mentally measured the length of cordwood that remained near the stump she was using for the splitting. Then he studied the edge of the ax, which didn’t look sharp enough to cut through much of anything.

But what did he know?

If Annalisa could slice the maple without much effort, he could take over the task for her. How hard could it be?

“From now on I’ll chop the wood for you.” He puffed out his chest and gauged the distance between the blade and the wood, along with the velocity he would need for a sufficient impact.

She stood back, giving him plenty of room.

He swung the ax through the air and had to bite back a cry as his aching muscles protested against more work. The blade nicked the bark and sent a piece flying into the air.

It landed in the mud near their feet.

Maybe chopping wood wasn’t quite as easy as Annalisa had made it look. But certainly he could do it if he aimed more carefully.

He steadied the cord of maple. “The wind threw me off.”

In the flickering light of the lantern, Annalisa’s brow lifted but she didn’t say anything.

He wrenched the ax over his aching shoulder, focused on the center of the cordwood, and swung the blade down.

Again he managed to chip off a corner of the wood. But that was it. The rest toppled from the stump.

He let the heavy head of the ax drop to the ground, leaned his weight upon it, and stared at the obstinate piece of wood.

Was he to be incompetent even at something as simple as chopping wood?

He couldn’t look at Annalisa, couldn’t imagine what she must think of him now. After how little he’d accomplished all day, she must wonder who he really was and why he knew so little about simple chores her people took for granted.

“I guess you’d probably like the wood chopped a little bit bigger than that.” He forced a grin and nudged with his foot one of the chips he’d managed to take off.

She nodded. “Yes. A bit bigger would be helpful.”

Only then did he chance a glance at her. She seemed to be fighting back a smile.

“Go ahead. Laugh.” His grin widened. “I deserve it. I can admit—I’m a complete imbecile.”