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He blew out a breath and looked back along the road. “We passed a farmhouse about a mile ago. Hopefully, someone there can help.”
The idea of walking so far was discouraging, but to get out of the rain, Julia thought she’d do just about anything. She looked toward the wagon. “What about... ?”
“I’ll bring the horse,” he said. He put the rope in her hand. “You’re bringing the goats.”
Chapter Twelve
The two humans, one horse,and three goats trekked down the muddy road. The sounds of crunching footsteps on the wet gravel and the pattering of rain were accompanied by the occasional bleat.
Julia had found it difficult to manage all three goats at once and had finally tied the kids’ ropes to their mother’s. They seemed content to follow along if she could keep the mother moving. But the goat apparently had other plans, tugging the rope toward every patch of shrubs they passed. And when she did, she pulled her two babies and Julia along with her.
“Come along, Honey. No stopping,” Julia said. She dug her heels in and held the lead firmly. The rope was slippery, and one of the baby goats stumbled as it splashed through a muddy puddle. All of this would be much easier if it were not raining.
“Honey?” Luc asked.
“Oui. It is the English word forle miel. I thought she was rather honey-colored,” Julia said. “At least, most of her.” She used both hands to pull the goats. “And in English, it is also a term of endearment.”
Luc grunted. He walked steadily with the horse, rain dripping from his hat rim.
“Do you think Alice will like the name?” Julia asked. The goat stopped again, pulling Julia’s arm backward.
“Watching you lead those animals, I’m surprised you’re considering any kind of endearment.”
“It’s not their fault it’s raining,” she said, pulling the rope over her shoulder and holding on to it with both hands. She leaned forward as she walked, using her leg strength to keep the animals moving.
When she glanced at Luc again, she thought his lips twitched. No doubt he wanted her to ask for help, but she would not. The goats were her responsibility. And she could be just as stubborn as Honey.
They reached the farmhouse at last, stopping at a break in the low wall that led into a well-tended garden. Julia made certain to keep the goats back, near the road, away from the herbs and flowers. Asking someone for assistance while one’s animals destroyed their yard seemed a poor idea.
The mother goat found a patch of grass beside the wall to munch on.
The baby goats found their mother.
Luc squinted, looking at the house and the vineyard beyond. A stone building with a wide door that appeared to be a barn stood on one side of the garden.
She glanced at him, wondering what he was looking at. “What is it?”
“Young vines,” he said.
“They do look small.”
Luc nodded. “In the spring, they are cut back to the main stem before the sap starts to rise. That is why they look small. But the stems, they are slender. From America, I imagine.” He tied the horse’s lead to a metal ring in the wall.
“Why would the vines be American?” Julia asked. She leaned back against the stone wall, letting the rope slacken as the goats ate. Her arms ached from pulling them. The rain continued steadily, but it had lightened to a drizzle.
“American vines are resistant to the phylloxera aphid,” Luc said. He pulled the knot tight and patted the horse. “Though it’s still unproven, it’s thought American vines caused the blight in the first place. Wine growers brought the vines from California for grafting, and they were immune to the pests that killed the European vines.”
“It must have been terrible,” Julia said. From what she’d heard of the blight, it had plagued the vineyards since before she was born, ruining many who had been in the wine business for generations.
“It was,” Luc said. “A vine in the middle of a healthy vineyard would yellow and die without warning. Then the others around it would do the same. It spread fast, and nothing could stop it.” He took Honey’s lead rope from Julia and tied it to a ring on the other side of the wall’s opening.
“You remember it?”
“The most devastating years were in my father’s and grandfather’s time. But the effects are still felt in Provence.” He offered Julia his elbow.
“Are we pretending to be married again?” she asked.
“If you’re amenable to it. I don’t know these people.”
