Page 12 of The Gift of Seeds
“Not only can you go into the sweet shop, Sugarplum Dreams, and pick up readymade treats, the owner, Julia Ritter,has tables where you can sit with friends and take tea or chocolate with whatever pastries or candy you’ve selected.”
Perhaps if Lovie lived here, she and Hester would patronize the sweetshop, drinking chocolate and eating cake. But she couldn’t imagine going by herself or making a friend she felt comfortable enough with.
Once again, her awkward thoughts must have shown on her face.
Delia rose and started gathering the dishes. “Here, we’re blathering on, and you must be exhausted, longing to lie down and rest.”
Hester grabbed for a plate. “Please, let me wash these and return them….” She trailed off, realizing that she didn’t know where her visitors lived.
Reverend Joshua and Delia exchanged looks. “We’ll be by on Sunday to drive you to church this first time, so we can introduce you around.”
Hester shrank back against the chair. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly impose.”
Micah bounced in his seat. “Youmustcome with us, Miss Smith. Then I can ride up on top with Sam.”
“No imposition at all.” Reverend Joshua gave Hester his kind smile. “You don’t mind going early, do you? We like to arrive about half an hour before the service, to set up and greet first arrivals. My parents are usually there before us.”
This family is steamrolling me with kindness.For a second, she imagined herself lying flat on a St. Louis road after having been run over by the steam-powered vehicle.
How can I possibly refuse?Hester forced a smile. “That would be lovely.” Once they arrived at church, no doubt the Nortons would be busy with their duties, and, hopefully, she could slip unnoticed into one of the last pews before most of the congregation arrived.
All morning,the awareness of his new neighbor’s imminent arrival made Dale keep his ears pricked for the sounds of life next door, even as he stayed out of sight in the greenhouse situated behind his home. He pinched off some dead leaves of his strawberry plants, the last of the season’s berries still too green to pick.
Hearing the hoofbeats of horses made him curious enough to walk along the opposite side of his house from the Smiths to peer around the corner. Some foliage blocked his sight and, snail-like, he moved out into the yard toward a Blue Spruce, prepared to instantly pull back into his shell. He trod on some dead leaves, wincing as the crunching sound echoed through the quiet.
Across the street, the dazzling hues of an aspen stand blazed golden among the green conifers. Puffs of breeze shivered the leaves, the light sound a contrast to the heavier bronze ones of an ancient cottonwood about forty feet farther into the woods, the smaller suckers of the parent tree screened from his sight by the firs.
He watched the Norton-Bellaire coach deposit a smiling Delia Bellaire in a beautiful green dress. She carried a basket into the Smith house, while Reverend Joshua, his son, Micah, and their coachman Sam, hauled in several wooden crates.
They’repreparing a welcome party, no doubt.
Well, not a party, given the reason for her arrival. Just extending a kind welcome.
Then Reverend Joshua and Micah left in the coach. As the vehicle passed, Sam saw him, flashed a knowing grin, and called out, “Hey, Mr. Marsden!”
Embarrassed to be caught watching instead of helping with the preparations, Dale ducked his head. Yet, not quite willing to leave and miss what was happening next door, he started gathering up the fallen autumn leaves, their golden or ruby colors faded, brown edges curling. He let out a slow sigh, thinking how soon the trees would shed all their glory, leaving barren branches, with only the firs showing any green.
Once he’d gathered the dead leaves and deposited them onto the compost pile, he took shears to the last of the gray-green foliage of the purple-flowered catmint he used as ground cover around the other plants and between the meandering paving stones. The plants’ lemony-mint scent made Dale grateful he hadn’t cultivated the type that stank like musty skunk.
Lost in his tasks, he forgot all about Miss Smith until the sound of the coach approaching with the new arrival made him drop the shears and dart behind the spruce. He could tell that Sam spotted him, for the man winked and, again, sent that knowing look his way.
Sheepishly, Dale watched as the coachman set the brake, tied off the reins, and climbed down to open the door and hand out the newcomer.
A small foot in a sturdy boot showed first and then the rest of the woman enveloped in a traveling coat. She wore a rather battered looking black hat and stared straight ahead, so Dale couldn’t see her face. As if unsteady, or perhaps overcome with emotion, she stopped, clinging to Sam’s hand.
The driver showed the woman an expression of empathy and, in a gentlemanly way, held her steady until she found her balance. The man couldn’t be a bigger contrast to Dale, the coward hiding in the trees.
Miss Smith was smaller than he’d expected, slight, even. Hardly the image of the large, overbearing harridan he’d been imagining. Still, as he knew from experience with his sisters andmother, a diminutive woman could still have a personality both critical and forceful, at times even cruel.
When everyone but Sam went inside, the coachman motioned Dale over.
Reluctantly, he left the safety of the yard, hoping that no one in the house next door would look out the window, see them talking, and invite him inside.
“I have something for you.” Sam sent an uneasy glance toward the woods. “I didn’t want to leave the horses to mosey over and knock on your door.”
Perhaps in response to Sam’s earlier knowing look, an imp of mischief jumped into Dale, for he had the unusual impulse to tease the man. “Hmmm, yes.” He gave the coachman a solemn nod in apparent agreement with his fears. “Panthers. Moose. Bears. Outlaws. Indians.”
The man’s eyes widened with each word, until the last two, when he burst out laughing, showing his infectious grin. “Pulling my leg, Mr. Marsden, you are.”
