Page 23 of The Gift of Seeds
Lucy daintily took the piece and then crunched it in two bites. Tail wagging, she looked to him for more.
He swung one leg over and gave her another piece, finally pulling over his other leg to perch on the fence. This time, he tossed her some scrambled egg, which she caught in midair.
“Here you go, Lucy girl.” He placed the pan on the ground. “I’m going to do work for your mistress.”
The dog gave him one glance before digging into the food.
While she was busy, Dale carried the mallet and wedge over where the rounds of tree trunks squatted on some planks near the covered wood stack. As he walked, dried weeds crunched under his feet. Coming to a stop, he eyed the trunk discs and figured he could manage chopping two, perhaps three rounds in the time he had, depending on the stubbornness of the wood.
He shifted one round from the planks to the dirt-mixed-with-woodchips ground. He set the second round on top of the first, bent to look for cracks, and maneuvered the tip of his wedge into the most likely one, pounding the head several times, driving it deeper to stay without his holding it in place.
Then he stepped back a bit, making sure Lucy was safely at a distance, set one foot forward, and in a familiar rocking motion, lifted the mallet and started pounding the wedge, settling into a steady cadence. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface. Still, the round proved stubborn, and he put a little more power into his swings, enough so his breath became audible, until a piece split off from the round.
Dale bent to toss aside the chunk, breathing in the resin scent of fir, and then moved his wedge and repeated the process, over and over. With the first round finished, he wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead. Pulling out the watch, he checked the time.
Yes, he could fit in breaking up three before he needed to stack the woodpile, putting older wood on top to disguise the newly split pieces. He grinned and wondered if Miss Smith would notice and what her thoughts would be if she did.
His stomach grumbled, wanted to be filled. Dale smiled. He was no longer troubled by thoughts of Miss Smith’s wood lasting through the winter.Because I’ll make sure her supply does.
As Dale strode to the wall, grabbing up his licked-clean frying pan, he realized, for the first time since he’d learned of James’s death, he felt good—in a peaceful way. He hadn’t known directly—albeit secretly—that helping someone in need could feel this way.Something to ponder after I’ve eaten a second breakfast.
You should be safe,Mrs. Norton had said. Hester didn’t feelunsafewhen she stepped into the mercantile. After all, she wasn’t really entering into the cave of a dragon. But she didn’t precisely feel welcomed by the stout woman across the room, who stood behind the counter and assessed her through narrowed eyes.Well…maybe she is a dragon.
Hester was used to respectful treatment when she had to shop. All the proprietors knew she worked for the well-to-do Mrs. Ransome. And she always paid on time and treated everyone from the owners down to the sweepers with respect—something she’d observed wasn’t always the case with other customers.
Mrs. Cobb made no effort to hide her scrutiny of Hester’s apparel. She sniffed, fingering the gold bar brooch pinning a froth of lace to her collar under her double chin, and smoothed down the fine brown wool of her dress.
Hester knew she looked neat and presentable in her second-best black uniform, softened by the lace collar and cuffs she’d tatted while still at the orphanage and carefully preserved ever since. Growing up as an orphan, Hester endured plenty of those judgmental looks about her shabby clothing.
But, as Mrs. Holtz often reminded them, the orphans were warmly clad and clean, which was all a body needed to be. The matron would go on to say they should hold their heads high, remembering many children whohadfamilies weren’t so lucky. Their families were poor, their clothes threadbare and oftensoiled. Sometimes, they didn’t even wear shoes except in the harshest months of winter.
With Mrs. Holtz’s voice in her head, Hester took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of brine from the pickle barrel near the door. She held her head high and slowly moved forward, trying to soften her footsteps on the polished wooden floor. She spared a glance for the array of baked goods on a rack against the wall and the first row of freestanding shelves on her other side.
Speaking with the Fosters and Mrs. Norton had boosted her confidence. Even though she quaked inside, Hester forced herself to venture all the way toward the counter and give Mrs. Cobb a smile. “I’m Hester Smith. James….” She swallowed hard. “ThelateJames Smith’s sister, newly come to establish myself in Sweetwater Springs.”
Mrs. Cobb’s expression smoothed from judgmental to one of professional solemnity. “I’m sorry for your loss. Mr. Smith was always a good customer. Polite. Never became annoyed because I didn’t stock items he wanted or complained about the prices. Always paid on time.”
Hester was so desperate for any information about her brother that she grasped on to those meager words. “Thank you, Mrs. Cobb.” The gratitude in her tone was quite genuine.
Mrs. Cobb looked surprised by Hester’s response and nodded in acknowledgment. “Is there anything in particular I can help you find?”
Hester pulled her list from one of the burlap bags and handed it over.
As Mrs. Cobb perused the paper, one plump hand clamped on the edges of her record book. “Was Mr. Smith your older or younger brother?” she asked in a seemingly idle tone.
“Five years younger.”
“I had a younger brother named James. We called him Jimmy.”
“Yes,” Hester said, almost eagerly. “My brother was Jimmy to me.”
The shopkeeper lowered the list, and for a second her eyes looked haunted. “My brother will perpetually remain five.”
Hester’s breath caught. As bad as Jimmy’s death wasnow, she couldn’t imagine not having experienced all the years she’d known him. In that moment, a strange sense of empathy engulfed her. “Thank you for telling me.” She reached across the counter. Daringly, she lightly touched the back of the shopkeeper’s clenched hand. “I imagine that’s a pain that never quite goes away.”
The woman’s face briefly softened. “That is true.” She released her grip on the record book only to fiddle with the corner. Then, as if retreating to her regular self, she sniffed. “Let me show you where the items on your list are located.”
As the shopkeeper bustled around the counter, Hester let out a slow breath. She’d bearded the dragon in her cave and found that Mrs. Cobb’s fire didn’t burn as harshly as she’d feared.
