Toward the Sunrise (7 page)

By the time she completed the chores, she was dragging from exhaustion. She plunged her hands into a bucket of cold water, scrubbed up, then flopped down on the cot and fell asleep with her shoes still laced up but a smile on her face.

The bleating of goats awakened her.

Waking up was getting easier. Julia would never forget her first morning in the barn, when her muscles had been so stiff from squatting to deliver goats that she’d embarrassed herself when trying to rise from the cot. Her abused muscles refused to cooperate and she fell off the cot, smacked face first onto the barn floor, and sucked in a nose full of straw dust.

Now she rose from the cot with ease and settled into her routine. The first thing she did was go to the other barn and walk among the pens of pregnant goats, looking for signs of imminent labor. She spotted three that looked as if they’d probably deliver today, and by the time she got them moved into the kidding stalls, Sophie had arrived from the main house with breakfast, waving at Julia from across the pasture

“I’ve brought an omelet!” Sophie called out, holding the platter high. Julia left the barn and scampered across the field to the white picket fence.

“Bless you!” Julia said, nearly growing faint at the aroma of melted cheese and fresh herbs. Sophie propped her hip on the other side of the fence, passing her a bottle of milk and a basket of warm blueberry muffins as soon as the plate was scraped clean.

“Anything exciting?” Sophie asked.

“I had triplets last night. Rather, the sweet little Nubian goat with the floppy ears had triplets. I only helped.”

But it had been exciting. Fulfilling. She had always assumed she was meant to be a doctor and treat people, but what about veterinary medicine? The livelihood of farmers like Mr. Hofstad was dependent upon the health of their animals, and there weren’t many people who had formal training in veterinary medicine. Even treating that poor abused dog in Philadelphia had given her an unexpected surge of satisfaction.

She wanted to be a physician, not a veterinarian, but perhaps treating animals was the only option left. She was young and intelligent, and now that the blinding sense of panic she’d felt upon first being expelled had faded, she needed to consider her options. Perhaps God had played a role in what had happened, for how would Mr. Hofstad have managed without her? It was surely a blessing that she’d arrived home at Dierenpark when she did.

Sophie took back the empty bottle of milk and the basket. “Perhaps I can arrange to have some fresh clothes delivered,” she suggested. “Do you have any I can take up to the house for a quick wash?”

“Is this your way of telling me I stink?”

Sophie’s eyes sparkled. “It’s my way of hoping I can provide you with some clean clothes soon. Very,
very
soon.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Sophie, even your insults are oddly sweet and kind.” But she loped back to the barn and gathered up her mound of soiled clothes.

Sophie’s beauty was as lovely and pristine as a summer’s morning, but she winced and her eyes watered as Julia dumped the mound of dirty clothes into her outstretched arms.

“You are an angel of goodness and mercy,” Julia said with a wink.

Sophie averted her nose from the noxious fabric. “I am Wellington at Waterloo,” she gasped. “I am Washington crossing the Delaware. I can endure this until I get these clothes to the laundry, or die trying.”

Julia watched Sophie retreat back through the gates to Dierenpark and disappear down the tree-shaded path. She wished Sophie would leave Dierenpark. Sophie was wasted here. The only thing Sophie truly wanted for her life was the chance to be a wife and a mother, and how was she going to meet anyone trapped in the lonely isolation of an abandoned mansion like Dierenpark?

The urgent bleating of a goat got her attention. There seemed to be some commotion in the back of the pen, and Julia ran back to the barn to wade into the midst of the forty-five female goats yet to give birth. Two does near the back were both antsy and beginning to cause trouble. They pawed the ground and bumped against the wall. These were the signs of labor, and their agitation was making the other goats nervous.

It took some doing to lead them out of the pen without the others wanting to follow. There were only three kidding stalls, meaning she was going to have to double them up. Goats preferred to be alone while birthing, but it wasn’t a requirement.

The goat in the single pen was getting close. The doe had flopped onto the straw and bleated in distress. Julia rushed to her side, mounding some fresh hay up around the doe’s hindquarters.

“Hello, Miss Broeder,” a voice said from the far end of the barn. The voice was smooth, cultured, and familiar.

She whirled around, stunned at the sight of Ashton Carlyle in a goat barn. But there he was, framed in the open doorway, wearing a starched collar, shoes polished to a glossy shine, and a canary-yellow vest so fine its satin gleamed in the dimness of the barn.

She stood and rested her forearms along the top bar of the pen. “Did you get lost? Dierenpark is across the lane.”

The corners of his mouth lifted an infinitesimal degree, but it could in no way be classified as a smile. His nose wrinkled as he scanned the dim interior of the barn. “The only business I have at Dierenpark relates to you, and I was informed I could find you here. If you could wrap up what you are doing, we can meet in the library at Dierenpark to discuss the issue.”

She didn’t take her eyes off him as she hunkered down to continue stroking the goat, who bleated piteously. Feeling down toward the
doe’s pin bones beneath her tail, Julia knew it would probably be only a few more minutes before this doe delivered.

“I’m afraid I’m rather busy,” she said, trying to keep the amusement from leaking into her voice. “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

He seemed annoyed by her refusal to leave the barn and follow him to the baronial splendor of the mansion. Nevertheless, he took a few steps farther into the barn so he could stand beside the kidding stall.

“It occurs to me I may have been hasty in my reluctance to intercede on your behalf with the dean of the college. This is a busy time on my calendar, but if you can be ready to leave on the eight o’clock train tomorrow morning, I will accompany you to Philadelphia in order to launch an appeal of your expulsion.”

She sucked in a quick breath and stood. “You’d do that for me?”

“Yes. However, the smell in this barn is stupefying, so I’d prefer to discuss the details at the mansion.”

She drew a few feet closer so that she faced him across the bars of the pen. “Thank you! I don’t know what to say . . . except that this might be the nicest thing anyone has ever offered to do for me.”

If anything, her words seemed to annoy him more. The corners of his mouth turned down, and he looked impatient. The handkerchief he used to cover his nose was embroidered with his initials.

“Please be prepared to leave Dierenpark by seven o’clock tomorrow morning if we are to catch the train by eight.”

The goat behind her started thrashing. She turned and sank to her knees beside it. “Oh . . . well, I’m afraid I won’t be ready to leave for a while. These goats really need me.”

He seemed flabbergasted. “Do you mean to tell me you are passing up the shot at a college education over some goats? Last week it was a dog, now it is a goat. I can only hope Dierenpark doesn’t suffer an influx of turtles or migratory rodents that might spark another round of sudden altruism on your part.”

She kept rubbing the goat’s flanks, grinning up at him. She was beginning to suspect there might be a wonderful sense of humor beneath all those fancy New York clothes. “What’s the hurry? I probably won’t get readmitted until next semester anyway.”

The goat’s bleats became more urgent, more insistent, like the warning blasts from a fire engine barreling down the street. The goat flexed her hindquarters and held up her tail. The glossy rim of
the amniotic sac appeared at the birth canal. This goat was about to deliver.

She glanced up at Mr. Carlyle. “Do you want to see a goat give birth? It’s about to happen.”

The attorney drew his handkerchief higher. “Thank you, but no.”

A goat in the neighboring pen started bellyaching. The way she whined and nudged her snout against the fence was a sure sign of growing discomfort. It was beginning to cause a problem, because the doe sharing the pen was getting agitated, pacing and banging against the fencing. That goat was likely to cause harm to the other doe if Julia couldn’t get them pacified.

“Would you please go pet that goat?” she asked Mr. Carlyle. “She is kidding for the first time and is nervous.”

Mr. Carlyle still clasped his handkerchief over his nose, but his eyes grew round. “And you think petting will help?”

“Oh yes. Goats are social creatures, and petting will calm her until I can get there. Would you be an angel?” She smiled up at him.

All trace of kindness and compassion evaporated from Mr. Carlyle’s face, but he folded his handkerchief, stepped to the second pen, and cautiously touched the goat’s head with his fingertips. The goat responded, butting her head against his palm, licking him, sniffing.

The air practically turned blue from the salty words of Dierenpark’s famously proper attorney.

“She just wants to get to know you.” Julia laughed, her attention split between the baby kid about to make its first appearance in the world and the sight of Ashton Carlyle trying to touch a goat with as little contact as possible.

The baby’s snout appeared, distracting Julia as she leaned over to guide the new goat into the world. She used a towel to clear the mucus from the kid’s nose.

“Look, it’s a boy,” she said. “What a little sweetheart he is with all those dark patches.”

The doe turned her head to lick the newborn kid clean, but when the newborn should be responding to his mother, he remained motionless. Julia used the towel to pry his mouth open, scooping more mucus out, but still no sign of life.

Okay, be calm
. Although it was hard while this baby goat lay unmoving in the straw. She knew from the farmer’s instructions that if a newborn kid didn’t breathe on its own, she should rub it hard.

“Come on,” she urged, using the towel to briskly rub the sodden newborn’s ribs and belly. “Come on, breathe!” she ordered.

Still nothing. She sensed Ashton moving closer to the pen, leaning over to watch, but she didn’t need any distractions right now. In the past week, she had delivered almost twenty baby goats, and every one of them had lived. This was the first one that didn’t know how to breathe.

It was perfectly formed. It was a beautiful little billy goat with a creamy white coat and patches of dark brown. Four tiny hooves, a cute little tail. She was going to make this goat breathe through sheer force of will.

She reached beneath the kid so she could massage both sides of his ribs at once. He didn’t weigh much, and she lifted him entirely off the straw to rub hard.

“Come on, baby, take a breath.” This was awful, just awful. It didn’t seem fair for this little goat to die before it even drew its first breath.

The single bleat took her by surprise, and she froze. Then another squeak.

Her gaze flew to Ashton, who leaned over the fence with a rapt expression on his face. He met her eyes.

“I think he’s alive,” he whispered.

“I think so, too,” she whispered back, afraid to move. This might be the most amazing moment of her life.

The smile he sent her over the rim of the fence was dazzling. He must have been hit with the same rush of exhilaration that swamped her. Inanely, she noticed how fine and white his teeth looked in the dimness of the barn.

The bleating continued, and she gently lowered the goat to the barn floor, moving aside so the mother could continue licking and prodding her baby. Even now, the kid was struggling to get his hooves beneath him, rolling and experimenting with his weight. It didn’t work. He collapsed into the hay with a mournful squeak, provoking a spurt of laughter from both her and Ashton.

She sat back on her haunches and smiled with the sheer joy of being alive.