Page 15 of The Gift of Seeds
As for her next-door neighbor, Mr. Marsden hadn’t bestirred himself to pay a call, which hurt her feelings a bit. After all, as an inhabitant, it was his duty to introduce himself to new arrivals and welcome them to the neighborhood.
Mrs. Ransome had certainly hastened with alacrity to meet anyone new within several blocks, returning to eagerly spread gossip about them to her friends.
If I had a new neighbor, I would have dropped off a pie or some cookies, even if I didn’t stay and chat.
Of course, the man might not cook or bake.
But he could have done something.
She let out a sigh.I’ll go to town, to the store. Make myself talk to people.
Even as she told herself to get up, Hester couldn’t move from her chair.Maybe not people, then. Maybe just one person.The mercantile was run by the unpleasant Cobbs. Anecdotal tales of the shopkeepers were common in Jimmy’s letters. Purchasing supplies would involve interacting with one or both—a daunting task.But doable, surely. I must be able to shop, when need be.
All right, then.Hester straightened her shoulders and gathered the meager bits of her courage.Today, I will face the Cobbs. Another day, I can worry about talking to other people.
CHAPTER 5
The mild morning enticed Dale into the garden. Pulling worn leather work gloves onto his hands, Dale tackled the pile of rocks waiting to be stacked into the ever-growing wall around his property. The task was tedious, although necessary, because every time he dug new ground, he also excavated rocks.
In some ways, laying the rocks on the low wall was like working a giant puzzle, fitting the shapes carefully together, sometimes, only to undo what he stacked in favor of a different pattern. Then he’d repeat the task until the rocks fit as best he could contrive. Often, he cheated, using a hammer and chisel to chip off a protuberance to make the stones fit better.
If he lived in the city, he’d need to build the walls as thick and high as a castle’s. But here in Sweetwater Springs, the townsfolk stayed away from him, and he stayed away from them. They seemed to respect his need for solitude, neither faulting him for his deep reserve nor attempting to drag him into social activities.
Well, except for necessary visits to the mercantile or his once-a-month church attendance, where he’d go early, tuck himself into a back corner, and wait to leave until he was surefew people lingered outside. He knew he should attend weekly. But if he had his druthers, he’d rather not attend at all, quietly reading the Bible or his book of sermons at home. So, he compromised. He figured the Almighty would understand. After all, the Lord had fashioned him to have a reclusive nature.
Movement from James Smith’s house made him step behind a Blue Spruce, which, having been planted as a tiny seedling ten years before, was just big enough to hide him if he bent his knees a bit. As if Miss Smith could hear him from so far away, he took shallow breaths, inhaling the scent of pine, and hoped she hadn’t caught sight of him ducking away.
Miss Smith left the house carrying two burlap bags with thick shoulder straps. She was going shopping, perhaps. Depending on what she purchased, those bags would be heavy on the walk back.
Shame flushed through him. A gentleman and kindly neighbor would offer to escort her and help carry the bags from the mercantile to her home. But his deeply established reticence held him back from moving an inch.
Dale wondered how Miss Smith would fare with the disagreeable Cobbs. After his first visit and their barrage of noisy questions, he always had to nerve himself up to deal with them, shopping as seldom as possible. Not that they’d ever been overtly rude. After all, a customer who always paid in cash instead of using credit was valued. But he saw judgement in their eyes.
Miss Smith paused to admire his garden beds.
He shuffled around the tree to keep the spruce between them. Then curiosity led him to slightly lean toward the side to watch her.
With an exclamation of pleasure, she stooped to lift the cheerful head of one of his purple mums—the product of several years of experimentation.
As she examined the flower, a look of wonder came over her face. She stood and cast a smiling glance at his marigolds.
Her dreamy expression made something tug in his stomach. Dale had no doubt he often sported a similar look when he studied the beautiful blooms in his garden.
Then, with an audible sigh, her smile fell away, and she turned and moved on.
That odd tug had him slightly leaning sideways to watch her move down the street. Something about the way she walked, head down, shoulders slumping, looked all too familiar, and he couldn’t help wondering if she was lonely.A stranger to Sweetwater Springs. Bereaved. Learning to live the simpler and harder life in a small Western town, with an unfriendly neighbor.
The thoughts resonated with some familiar feelings Dale staunchly refused to name, knowing how fiercely he valued his privacy and peace. He’d take aloneness over a bevy of browbeating relatives, all who’d always sought to control the only rooster born into the midst of the clucking hens.
Doubt crept in.She is only one woman. Perhaps she was as reserved as her brother. I can be helpful.
Dale hardened his resolve. He couldn’t allow himself to form an acquaintanceship with Miss Smith. What if he tried to be neighborly, only to find he’d opened the door to another critical, interfering female? The very thought brought up old pain.No, better to remain safe.
But still, as he watched the woman, Dale couldn’t help feeling he was in the wrong.
Not at all excited aboutshopping in her new town, Hester slung the straps of the two burlap, grocery bags over one shoulder and hoped the walk back wouldn’t be too difficult. In St. Louis, she was used to delivery services, venturing out only when she needed to closely examine something before purchasing the item.
As she passed her neighbor’s home, she stopped to admire his garden, a beautiful blend of trees, shrubs, and flowers protected by a neat rock wall. A clump of purple mums caught her eye, and, astonished, she bent to examine the unusual color. She inhaled and exhaled, breathing in the spicy scent of the cheerful orange and yellow marigolds, and let out a sigh of envy.Next year, she promised herself.I might not have purple mums. But I certainly have plenty of marigold seeds.
