A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(28)

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.”

Her smile broke free. And even though she didn’t laugh, he could see the hint of laughter dancing in her eyes.

He had the feeling she wasn’t used to smiling, much less laughing.

“I suppose after my performance today, you’d like to hand me back over to the duke?”

“Maybe I will.” As soon as her return jest was out, she ducked her head, almost as if she feared his response.

Couldn’t she see how much he enjoyed bantering with her? “If you must return me to the duke,” he persisted, “then at least persuade him not to put me back in the dungeon.”

Her gaze jerked up, and her smile faded. “You were in a dungeon?”