Page 18 of The Gift of Seeds
Then she unscrewed the top of the jar of stew and dumped some of the contents into a bowl. The stew smelled heavenly. Even though she wasn’t hungry, Hester couldn’t resist a taste, scooping up a bit of meat and carrot. The flavor matched the smell, and she wondered if Mr. Marsden had made the stew himself.
Carefully, she forked out the meat, carrots, and potatoes, dropping them into another bowl.
Carrying the second bowl to the dry sink, Hester poured some water inside to rinse away the gravy.
Back at the table, she cut the meat into tiny pieces and mashed the potatoes and carrots, stirring everything together. She crouched and set the bowl down in front of the dog.
Hester expected the starving creature to lunge for the food, but instead, the dog daintily stepped forward and began to eat—rapidly, to be sure. But not in big, gulping chunks.
While the dog ate, Hester hastened to the side porch, picked up the washtub, and brought it back inside, setting it close to the kitchen window so she’d have plenty of light. After pouring the hot water into the tub, she took the kettle and the pitcher back outside to fill them from the pump.
By the time she returned, the dog finished licking the bowl clean. Then, she lay down, never taking her eyes off her new mistress.
After going back and forth to the pump several times, Hester finally had enough warm water in the tub to bathe the dog, with more in the pitcher and the kettle to rinse her. “I’m afraid it’s going to be lye soap,” she informed the dog. “We’ll need to kill any fleas on you, although hopefully by this time of year, they’llmost likely be dead. I promise to be careful not to get any soap in your eyes.”
She picked up the dog and carefully put her in the tub.
Upon feeling the water, the dog splayed her legs but didn’t fight Hester to escape.
Slowly, Hester lowered her all the way until the top of her legs were submerged. “See. that’s not so bad.” Using Jimmy’s tin mug, she scooped water over the dog’s body. Dirty water trickled down. The animal shivered but allowed Hester’s treatment.
“You need a name.” She studied the dog’s limpid, brown eyes. “What do you think of Lucy? That’s always been my favorite name. So pretty. Not like the Puritan one my parents saddled me with.”
When Lucy was mostly wet, Hester lathered her body and legs. “Good girl,” she praised, tilting the dog’s head to dampen everywhere but the eyes and nose. Keeping the head up, she gingerly soaped and then dipped her hand several times in the fresh water to skim back the soap. “Let’s wait a few minutes to make sure your fleas die off.”
After the time passed, Hester thoroughly rinsed the dog, then lifted her from the tub to wet her legs, trying, but not quite succeeding, in holding Lucy away from her body to keep her apron and dress dry.
Once she set Lucy on the floor, the dog shook water all over Hester.
“Oh, you!” She sputtered and then chuckled, picking up the towel she’d placed nearby to dry her face. “Next time, I’ll be prepared for you to do that.”
Sopping wet, the poor animal looked like skin and bone. After toweling off the dog, Hester fed her again. On the floor in front of the stove, she made a pad with her oldest blanket, and then patted the space, encouraging the dog to sit. “Once you’re dry, I’ll comb you.”
She stood and removed her soaked apron. “I’ll have to change my dress, too, and hang this one to dry. I probably smell like dog. Good thing tomorrow’s wash day.”
Lucy grinned and pawed at the blanket, arranging the folds to her satisfaction, before, with a doggy sigh, curling up.
“You’re safe,” Hester said to her in a soft voice.
The dog watched her but didn’t raise her head.
Probably exhausted, the poor thing.
Never having had a pet, Hester didn’t expect the wave of love flooding her chest. “I promise, sweet girl, you’ll never go hungry again.” A familiar lump rose in her throat, although not from grief this time. “You’re home, Lucy.”
Hester took a long breath of satisfaction.And so am I.
That night,Dale had a hard time falling asleep. His mind was too full of the unwelcome changes that had taken place next door. While so far—under his coverlet, he crossed his fingers for luck—Miss Smith seemed like shemightbe a quiet and amiable neighbor, he couldn’t help how she’d stirred up old memories, best left buried.
The woman didn’t look anything like his pretty, elegant older sisters or mother, but she was petite like them. Heck, she wasfemalelike them. He tossed and turned before, finally, dropping into a restless sleep and dreamed.
Ten-year-oldDale played with a stray puppy he’d found on the way home from school—skinny and flop-eared and full of happy wiggles when he shared the remains of his lunch with her. On tiptoe, he carried the dog through a back door into the house, grateful that his mother, grandmother, aunts, older sisters, and some cousins entertained their suitors with tea andboring conversation on the front veranda. He intended to go up to his room by way of the servants’ staircase, when his sister. Clarise, spotted him.
Clarise was his closest sister closest in age. To her immense and often expressed frustration, at age fourteen, she was too young to be courted. Clarise looked like an angel—many people said so—with her long-lashed, sky-blue eyes and sugar-sweet smile. Curly blond hair fluffed around her classically lovely face, escaping from a thick braid, usually tied with a fat ribbon. She moved with grace, and, when she wanted, her manners charmed.
Most people, including their mother, saw only Clarise’s beauty and failed to notice the spitefulness of her spirit.
But never Dale, who often fell victim to her taunting. He’d learned to avoid her pinches and pointy elbow jabs, at least, most of the time. He knew, at the slightest excuse or sometimes no excuse at all, but a lie, Clarise would be tattling on him to their mother, which would mean a whipping. Depending on his supposed infraction and his mother’s mood, she might beat him bloody. He had the scars on his back and legs to prove it.
