Page 21 of The Gift of Seeds
“Yes.” She forced a smile and moved on, wondering if they’d thought her unfriendly.
Perhaps, I’m being too hard on myself. Lovie often said so. After all, I did challenge myself to talk to some people, and now I’ve participated in a conversation.Yet, Hester knew the truth. She wouldn’t have spoken a word unless the Fosters initiated the introduction.
She made herself walk on past a rundown log cabin, and then a few open lots. As she approached Main Street, on the right, Hester spied a false-fronted building. A bathhouse, she could tell by the sign, painted brown with green trim like her cabin. A couple of cowboys with dusty faces sat on the edge of the narrow porch, perhaps awaiting their turn.
Turning her head away, Hester quickened her footsteps, lest they think she was interested in stopping and chatting. Then she had to hold her breath as she passed the noxious outhouses of a saloon. Even at this time of day, she could hear raucous laughter and tinny piano music coming from the building.
Reaching Main Street, she slowed, reluctance building inside, causing her heartbeat to quicken. Walking the noisy streets of St. Louis with people all around and none of themnoticing her was far easier than strolling down the quiet dirt road.
She paused for a moment to breathe and watched an older man ride past, followed by a woman and her half-grown daughter in shabby coats and carrying baskets strolling arm-in-arm.
A surrey with mud-crusted wheels, kicked up dust. The red-headed driver nodded politely at Hester.That must be one of the doctors Cameron.Jimmy had described them as redheads. The doctor was beyond her before Hester could gather her scattered wits and nod back.
A petite older woman, graying hair pulled back in a tight bun, paused, studied Hester, and then gave her a gentle smile, which crinkled the wrinkles on her face. Her clothing was simple and made of good fabric. She hastened over and held out a hand. “You must be Miss Smith. I’m Mary Norton. My son, Joshua, told me about your arrival.”
“Oh, yes, I….” Uncertainty stopped her.
The woman’s handclasp was as warm as her smile, making Hester relax somewhat and extend a smile of her own. “Reverend Joshua and his wife and dear Micah and Sam were kind enough to welcome me. Mrs. Joshua Norton said it was all right to address her as Delia,” Hester rushed out, her tone awkward and uneven.
“Reverend Norton and I are so blessed to have my son and his wife to aid in the ministry to our community. As you’ll come to see, we are not so formal in Sweetwater Springs.” She apparently checked herself. “At least, most of us aren’t.”
“So I’ve been informed,” Hester said in a wry tone.
“But calling two ministers’ wives as Mrs. Norton is one too many. Dear Delia doesn’t take using her given name at all amiss. She is, indeed, the most accommodating of ladies. We are blessed to have her in our family.”
Hester thought back to the exchange of smiles between Reverend Norton and his bride. Delia Norton seemed very happy with her lot.
“As couples, we seem to be described by most as ‘the elder Nortons’ and ‘the younger Nortons.’” Mrs. Norton’s blue eyes conveyed a youthful gleam, which then turned compassionate. She patted Hester’s arm. “I want to offer my condolences on the death of your brother. We don’t see much of the loggers, given that the camp is too far away for them to make it to church on Sundays. Unless on the off season, of course.”
“I-I do understand. My brother wrote to me….”
“He so looked forward to your arrival, my dear. I spoke with Mr. Smith a few times, although not long conversations, of course, given his obvious shyness. But he did tell me he observed the Sabbath at the camp with reading his Bible and in prayer. Sometimes, when the weather was good, a few of the men gathered together in the woods, and one would read from a book of sermons, and they’d sing a few hymns.”
Hester remembered a similar description from one of Jimmy’s letters. “They’d sit on tree stumps—” she said eager to talk to someone who’d known her dear brother “—and each man would pick a hymn.” She smiled at the recollection. “As you observed, my brother wasn’t one for talking. Nor am I. But he did love to sing. He had a beautiful tenor.” Her throat closed on her reminisces, realizing she’d never again hear his voice raised in song.
Seeming to sense Hester’s reluctance to share further, Mrs. Norton glanced toward the mercantile. “Are you going to the mercantile?”
Hester let out a sigh. “I must. Even with what Jimmy already stocked in the cellar and the generosity of your son and daughter-in-law, I must lay in more supplies. Apples, for example. I do love applesauce and dried apples.”
“Oh, perfect time, my dear Miss Smith, for the apples have just started coming in. We already have so many that they are practically spilling out of the rectory windows.”
“You have an orchard?”
“Oh, my, no. But plenty of our parishioners have trees and some have orchards. They customarily give us the fruits of their labor, both for us to use and to pass on to those less fortunate. You should see my pantry! I have more jars of food than the two of us could use in five years. I’d be delighted to share.”
Pride rose up, along with an instinctive need to reject the woman’s offer.
Mrs. Norton patted Hester’s arm. “Not to imply that you lack financial means, Miss Smith. But you are a new arrival in town and coping with an aching loss. There’s so little we can offer in the way of comfort to one newly bereaved and the act of giving food, along with our prayers, of course, does make us feel a little less helpless.”
As Mrs. Norton explained more, Hester allowed herself to receive the gift of comfort, generously given. “I’d love to accept some apples.” She made a note to purchase cinnamon and repay the Nortons’ generosity with an apple pie. The rest of the ingredients were already on her shopping list.
Then Hester remembered what else she might be able to contribute. “Mrs. Norton, do you know of any family with a man about my brother’s size in need of clothing and boots? Jimmy didn’t have much. But I’ll make sure anything I donate will be clean and mended.”
Mrs. Norton pursed her lips before letting out a sigh. “Theneedisn’t the problem so much as getting people to accept what they perceive ascharity, which hurts their pride.”
Given that just a few minutes ago, Hester had almost refused the offer of apples for the same reason, she could understand.
“However, Reverend Norton and I will gladly accept whatever of Mr. Smith’s you choose to donate. We keep a closet stocked with all kinds of clothing for when someone comes to us for help. Also, we can often get people to accept handouts for the sake of their children. So, if there’s a young man in a family or they can cut down clothing to make something new for a younger one…especially if they want something decent for a son to wear to school or church, why, I accept.”
