Page 28 of The Gift of Seeds
“Marsden,” Inga corrected.
“Marzden.”
“Good-bye, girls, and Happy Christmas!”
A chorus of “Happy Christmas” trailed out the door.
Dale couldn’t help but grin at the encounter.
Mrs. Ritter raised her eyebrows, as if to say she’d never seen Dale in such good spirits. But she merely said, “As you heard, I anticipated your yearly order and have thepetit foursalready boxed.”
“I appreciate that.” An idea came to him. Dale gave her the money, not caring about the total, only a certain kind of change. “However, if among my change, you could give me seven dimes?”
Her green eyes twinkled. “Seven dimes for seven Swensens, indeed.”
From her cashbox, she counted out his change, separating out the dimes.
Dale slipped the coins into his pocket and took the rest of the change from her and placed the money into his opposite pocket.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Marsden.” She picked up the two boxes ofpetit foursand handed them to him. “I have a feeling this New Year will be a good one for you.”
Pondering her unexpected goodbye, he made sure not to forget to wrap his two hot stones with rags before placing them into his pockets. He stepped into the chilly air without feeling the discomfort for he was still warm from the encounter with the Swensens.
He found Hank Canfield wearing a knitted cap and using several clothespins to fasten a blanket like a cloak around Inga and Krista, who were perched atop a brown horse.
Dale didn’t know Canfield except by sight. But he went right up to the man, gesturing to pull him aside. “The girls mentioned not having a Christmas because Santa doesn’t go to their mountain house.”
“Ah.” Canfield leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t you worry. Elsie, uh, Miss Bailey, has made them all hair ribbons. And my friends and I have carved wooden cup-and-ball toys. Got a ham, bag of coffee, and two jars of cherry preserves in my saddle bags. I think at Christmas time, even stiff-necked-with-pride Swensen will accept presents for his children.”
Dale surreptitiously showed Hank the seven dimes. “Can you find a way to slip these into the children’s stockings? One each.”
Hank shrugged. “Anna Swensen told me that she was decorating today, including hanging up the stockings. If I can find an excuse to get them all out of the room, I can drop the dimes in. The stockings will still look empty, and the money will be a surprise. If not tonight, then when I sneak over my gifts tomorrow night and hand them off to the parents to put in the stockings.”
“Thank you.” Dale gave him the coins.
“Can’t promise Swensen won’t return the money. He accepts some limited aid from me. But I must be wily, so as not to dent his pride. Guess I can tell him the dimes aren’t from me and refuse to tell him about you.” Hank chuckled. “I can just see him grinding his teeth in frustration. But I seriously doubt he’ddisappoint his daughters by taking their coins away. That family is as poor as church mice, but mighty rich in love.”
Dale glanced at the girls waiting so patiently in the cold and thought back to his epiphany in the store.How vulnerable am I willing to be?
“To make the money more palatable to him, tell Mr. Swensen that I grew up with spiteful, unkind sisters and….” Dale swallowed. “And to witness the tender interactions of his daughters….” He patted his chest. “Did my heart good. No,betterthan good. Tell him,I’mthe one in his debt. And I can’t thank him and his good wife enough for raising their girls with sweet love and gratitude for each other.”
Canfield looked into Dale’s eyes for a few serious seconds. “If I mount, will you hand up the girls to me? Tuck blankets around them? Sure would be a big help.”
Dale nodded. Throughout the process of getting the girls situated on the horses and ready to go, the openness in his chest didn’t ebb, like he’d half-expected it to.
Canfield saluted him. “Merry Christmas, Marsden.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Marsden,” Inga called. The others echoed, their voices muffled through their scarves.
“Happy Christmas, to you all.” Dale waved goodbye. He pulled his own scarf tighter around his face and watched them ride down the street, feeling lighter than he could ever remember being.
CHAPTER 9
Hester left the mercantile, thankful the store had been too full of Christmas buyers for the Cobbs or the other customers to pay her any heed. Once outside the store, she pulled her neck scarf tighter on her face to protect her nose from the sharp wind and adjusted the strap of her heavy burlap bag higher on her shoulders.
Thrusting a hand into her pocket, she clenched her fingers around the hot stone, which she’d slipped into a tiny, knitted cozy. Luckily, she’d been able to heat this one and its mate on the mercantile’s potbellied stove.
Seeing a group of warmly clad young riders coming toward her from the direction of the livery, Hester stepped far to the side of the road to let them pass. Four boys, well, three of them almost young men, rode by with a blond girl in their midst, her dress kilted up to display trousers underneath. They talked and laughed, obviously a close-knit bunch.
