Page 45 of The Gift of Seeds
Dale wanted to roll his eyes.
How could two men, relatively strangers, see a relationship with a woman I’ve barely acknowledged, much less spoken to, and try to cobble us together?
“What gave you that notion?
Sam touched a finger to the side of his nose. “I just had a feelin’ about you two.” He tilted his head in the direction of the little horses, his look sly. “I figured you’d need all the help you can get.”
True.“But first.” Pulling the gift from his pocket, he held it out.
Sam looked from the present to Dale, his eyebrows rising in bewilderment. “For me? Why?”
“You’re the first man, besides James Smith, with whom I’ve felt one iota of companionship.” Dale let out a rueful chuckle. “Perhaps in ten years of glacially slow interactions, Smith and I would have become good friends.” The thought caused a pang of grief for the neighborly comradery that would never be. But he’d make surethisfriendship developed.
Sam held out a hand to accept the present and untied it. Reverently, he wound the scarf around his neck. “I’m a ’Nawlins man.” Grinning, he gave the front of the scarf a proprietary pat. “I’ll never get used to winters.”
His delight was so infectious, Dale couldn’t help but grin back.If Clarise knew what joy her gift brought a former Negro slave and her despised younger brother, she’d scream with vexation.
Dale glanced at the little black horses. He pulled out the apple quarters. “I’ve brought Christmas offerings.”
Sam winked. “Well, then, seems like you’re off to a good start.”
Dale fervently hoped the rest of this day would go even better. For a man unaccustomed to adventures, he was taking a big risk.
Hester wokeearly with a surprising sense of well-being. She and Lucy went about their morning routine, albeit, with two fires burning and omelets andapfelstrudelfor breakfast. She opened Lovie’s present to reveal a lovely navy-and-green shawl, which would go perfectly with the dress she made before coming to Montana.
As instructed, she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and imagined her dearest friend giving her a big hug.Waituntil I write her about what happened yesterday.She’ll be as surprised as I was that the reclusive neighbor I’d complained about in my letters turned out to be the soul of kindness.
Dale hadn’t said anything about visiting her again. She couldn’t help wishing he would.Don’t get your silly hopes up, she chided and settled in front of the fireplace with her tatting.
Outside, Hester heard the sound of sleighbells, the first ones of what she assumed would be many more as people took to the streets to visit their friends. Curious, she put down her lace work and walked to look out the window, just in time to see Dale driving Andre Bellaire’s black Falabellas. With a flutter of nerves, she watched him pull the miniature horses to a stop in front of her house.
When he exited the sleigh, beamed a smile, and waded up the snowy walkway, gladness rose in her, like the owl at dusk who soared skyward.
Hester waved, grateful she’d given in to vanity last night and put her hair in curl papers to pull back in a softer style than the braided bun she usually wore. Telling herself it was because of Christmas, she’d also donned her new dress and looked as presentable as was possible for a plain spinster.
A knock sounded on the door.
Lucy started barking.
Hester hurried over, gently shoving her aside to open the door.
Dale stood there, his blue eyes full of mischief. “I believe there’s a lady residing in this household who petitioned Saint Nicolas for a sleigh ride with miniature horses,” he intoned.
She burst out laughing. “I thought St. Nick had a white beard.”
Trying not to smile, Dale ran a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “I’m just one of his many Christmas elves. Now about that drive?”
Hester ushered him inside. “I’ll just put on my outerwear.” While Lucy entertained their visitor, she went toward the back door to hasten into a coat, scarf, hat, and mittens. Once back in the kitchen, she stooped to give Lucy a quick goodbye pet, and then left with Dale.
At the end of the porch, he touched her arm and gestured toward the walkway, the snow marred only by his footsteps from today and last night. “Let me go first to break more of a path.” He stomped ahead of her.
She could only, decorously, lift her skirt a few inches, and the hem still dragged over the top of the snow. But not as badly as if he’d not partially cleared a way.
Dale waited by the nearest Falabella.
Hester slowed, taking tiny steps until she stopped in front of the miniature horses. “They are darlings,” she breathed, bending to pet both. “What are their names?”
“Sam and I were too busy talking about Andre Bellaire and Rose Collier’s wedding today?—”
