MB02 - A Noble Groom by Jody Hedlund Page B

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 hayeverywhere, 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