THIRTY
Ursula ran up the stairs, barely noticing the weight of her basket. After months of carrying wood up the stairs, her strength had increased so much her arms barely ached at all any more. Add that to all the snow she'd had to shovel every morning to reach the woodpile in the first place...she was lucky her arms had been thin to start with, or all her gowns would need wider sleeves.
"This is the last of the duck confit. I know it's your favourite, so we have eaten a lot of it, but I was sure there were more the last time I looked," she said, then stopped. "What in heaven's name are you doing?"
"Getting up," Bernard said. He beckoned her closer. "After ten weeks, I'm allowed to get out of bed and walk. I'm supposed to do it with a crutch, but unless you can find me one, I hoped you
