Free A Family for the Farmer by Laurel Blount Page B

fix it.
    Emily checked Abel’s instructions again and added another scoop of food. Even preparing the goat food was more involved than she’d imagined. She measured out some brown powder from the bucket marked Goat Minerals and sprinkled it over the bucket. Then she tossed in a handful of black sunflower seeds, a sprinkle of baking soda and a couple of teaspoons full of a probiotic powder. This was more complicated than mixing up a batch of muffins in the kitchen at Café Cup.
    Which brought up another stressful point. Mr. Alvarez had been extremely displeased to discover that she was going to have to take so much time off work. He’d made it clear that Emily shouldn’t expect him to hold her job until the autumn. If he had a vacancy, maybe she could come back to work, but he was making no promises.
    The possibility that she was going to find herself jobless in Atlanta again had shadowed her thoughts all day. That had been one of the toughest times in her life. She still remembered the feelings of desperation and hopelessness.
    But God had met her during those dark days. Emily reminded herself of that as she plunked the pail of food and several flakes of hay into a battered child’s wagon that had been in use at Goosefeather Farm for as long she could remember. And God wouldn’t let her down now.
    â€œCome on, guys. Let’s go feed the goats!” Emily forced enthusiasm into her voice, but the twins still groaned before getting to their feet.
    â€œCome on, Pheebs. We might as well get this over with,” Paul said gloomily.
    Pulling the heavy wagon along the bumpy red clay path was harder than Emily remembered, and the twins were dragging their feet. The shadows were lengthening quickly as they walked down to the goat pasture, and Emily was glad she’d thought to snag the plastic flashlight from its shelf beside the barn door. She switched it on, and it reluctantly sputtered a little circle of dim light ahead of her. Uh-oh. She shook it, and the light flickered on and off. At least it was sort of working. It probably needed new batteries, but hopefully it’d hold out long enough to see them back to the farmhouse.
    â€œHear that noise?” she called cheerfully to the twins, who were trudging behind the wagon. “That’s the tree frogs down by the creek! There must be hundreds of them this year!” Her observation met with a stony silence.
    As they started down the last hill, a new sound broke through the twilight, and Emily stopped short, listening. The wagon she’d been pulling continued down the slope and banged sharply into the back of her calves. It hurt, and she felt frustration rising in her like a wave. She was dirty, sticky, hot and tired, and all she wanted to do was take a bath and collapse into bed. She did not need a weird noise right now.
    â€œMama, that frog sounds sick,” Paul said worriedly. “And big.”
    â€œThat’s not a frog, Paul. I think it’s a goat.” And unless she missed her guess, it was an extremely unhappy goat. Something was wrong. She left the wagon where it was and sprinted the last few yards to the goat pasture.
    In the dimming light she could make out the figures of several goats standing outside their little barn. Nothing seemed to be wrong with any of them, but they were intently focused on the dark doorway to the shed.
    She soon found out why. From its depths came a guttural cry that made the hairs prickle up on the back of her neck.
    Okay, there was a goat in there, and something was definitely wrong with it. The shed looked dark and spidery and generally icky, but she was going to have to go in there and try to deal with whatever the problem was. That’s what responsible farmers did.
    She really hated farming.
    â€œStay right here by the fence, you two,” she told the twins. “I’m going to check on the goat, and I’ll be right back.”
    â€œBut I don’t want to stay