Page 13 of The Gift of Seeds
“Dale,” he corrected. “Can’t joke with a man who calls me mister.”
Inside, Dale marveled at this unaccountably comfortable interaction with someone he’d only known by sight. “I’ll have you know I’ve never seen panthers, bears, outlaws,orIndians on this street. But once a moose with enormous antlers—” he raised his arms head-height and, with wide fingers, stretched them, to indicate the size “—sauntered down the street, acting as if he owned the road.”
“A moose that sizedoesown the road,” Sam muttered. He jerked a thumb toward the coach. “Reverend Joshua told me to tell you they kept your flower arrangement at Mr. Smith’s grave until everything wilted.”
He went to the side of the coach, reached inside, and removed a towel-wrapped parcel, flipping over one edge to expose the vase, before handing over the bundle.
Dale took the vase and gave back the towel. “Thank you.” He stressed the two words, hoping the man understood he meant for the return of the vaseand, more importantly, the unprecedented chance to laugh and joke with someone, who now felt like he might, just might, become a friend.
CHAPTER 4
Toward the end of the Norton’s kind welcome tea, Hester had to fight to suppress her yawns. Apparently, she wasn’t successful.
With an understanding smile, Delia rose and began to gather the nearby plates.
“You’re exhausted, dear Miss Smith. We’ll get out of your hair so you can rest.”
Feeling drained to her bones, Hester was too tired to protest. She desperately craved being alone. Still, she held on to her manners. “I never dreamed relative strangers would go out of their way to so warmly introduce me to my new home.”
Reverend Joshua handed his teacup and saucer to his wife. “This was especially important to us, knowing you’d be alone with your grief. We can’t take away your pain. But we wanted to let you know we are here to offer what comfort we can.”
“Oh, youhave…” Hester trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
He folded the napkin around his silverware. “And, of course, we will continue to keep you in our prayers.”
As far as Hester knew, no one but those few closest to her had ever prayed for her before. The thought of the Norton’s prayers did bring her a sliver of comfort.
Delia stacked the plates, silverware, teapot, cups, and saucers into a basket, tucking the napkins around them.
While she packed, Hester removed the tablecloth, folded it, and handed the neat square to Delia.
The woman glanced around, obviously doing a sweep to see nothing was left behind. “The towel and soap are my gift to you.” She smiled and patted Hester’s shoulder. “Woman to woman.”
Tears pricked Hester’s eyes. Good tears, this time. Yet, still, Hester wouldn’t let them fall. She placed a hand on her heart but couldn’t find words to express her gratitude for the generosity this family had shown her.
Delia seemed to understand, for after another shoulder pat, she set the basket on the table, tucking the edges of the tablecloth around the dishes.
A minute later, Sam entered and scooped it up to take out to the coach. He sent Hester a sympathetic nod. “You know you can call upon the Nortons or myself when need be,” he said in a rumbly voice.
Hester clasped her hands to her chest, too moved by his kind offer to say anything.
Before they left, Sam and Reverend Joshua hauled crates and Micah the bushel of foodstuffs gifted by the Nortons down into the cellar.
Hester resisted following them. She wanted to take her time and explore the rest of her home by herself.
Once she shut the door behind her visitors and the sound of wheels and hoof beats receded, Hester went down the short hall on the right, ending in three doors. Two led to the bedrooms, one on each side, with the middle being a door opening to the side yard.
She stopped to peruse a charcoal sketch on the wall, done by one of Jimmy’s fellow loggers. He’d paid twenty-five cents for the picture and framed the edges in plain wood. The image showed a tree-covered mountain, without, Jimmy had written, the barren patches, dotted with stumps, caused by their logging.At another time, she promised herself,I’ll take down the artwork and study the details.
First, she opened the outer door, where a small, sheltered porch held a washtub, tucked into the corner. A few steps into the yard, a small pump for water stood next to a barrel, pebbles scattered around to keep the ground from getting muddy.
She knew, when Jimmy was home, his snowshoes hung on a wall peg on this porch, which made her realize they must be in the house, wherever the Nortons had put them when they returned his possessions.
A peek into Jimmy’s bedroom gave her the answer, for the snowshoes were propped against a wall, on the side of a bed neatly covered in the brown-and-navy afghan she’d crocheted three years ago.
Hester couldn’t bear to go inside. Her bedroom, she knew, lay to the right. She closed Jimmy’s door, stepped across the hall to open her door, and entered.
In the middle was her bed, a new mattrass resting on top. Jimmy had made her bedframe. The simple wood design was burnished smooth, and she touched the frame, trying to sense his love for her. But all she felt was emptiness.
