Page 5 of The Gift of Seeds
As the minister continued the service, Dale’s mind wandered.
Although he felt some sadness for James’s death, he couldn’t help thinking of his own burial, hopefully many years in thefuture. He suspected the same men would attend, perhaps with their wives, so the occasion would be almost as sparse. None would have a deep connection with him. Their observance of mourning would be dutiful, rather than heartfelt.
The stark image made him uncomfortable, almost empty.Is it right that I’ll make so little impact on the world, then slip away without much notice?
I’m a man of quiet habits.He couldn’t imagine taking any action that would change his future.
Still, to banish the melancholy thought, Dale mentally scolded himself, sounding very much like his mother.I’ll be dead and gone, so who attends my burial won’t matter.
Yet, the emptiness in his heart didn’t ease.
CHAPTER 2
St. Louis
While working outside on the short breaks from her housekeeping duties, Hester wore a broad- brimmed hat to protect her skin. But, from time to time, she raised her face to catch the golden rays of the autumn sun. She loved this time of year when the weather softened from the humid heat of summer and the cold of winter was yet to come.
Technically, Mrs. Ransome owned this plot of land, and the gardener worked the large yard. Yet, Hester felt proprietary about the garden, as if the space belonged to her alone, especially since the gardener often snoozed about this time of day, sitting on an overturned bucket inside the shed and leaning against the wall. His sonorous snores could be heard yards away from the small building.
The garden. Her space. Not her job, but her pleasure to slip away in her free moments and enjoy being outdoors. Many times, deadheading a flower or stooping to pull out a weed, she imagined working like this in herowngarden.I’m close.Next spring!Just the thought made anticipation quicken her heartbeat.
Jimmy had sketched a map of their plot of land, including the trees, pine and aspen, the saskatoon bushes in one corner and the apple sapling, a gift from his neighbor, planted in another. Most importantly, in Hester’s opinion, lay the rectangular area he’d dug up for her garden.
He’d prosaically only planted root vegetables—potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and turnips. But he promised to dig a larger garden and plant more fruit trees when she was there to nurture them. Hester had already chosen the spots. She imagined tapping the drawing.Cherry here. Pear there.
Hester crouched to pull out a dandelion. Instead of tossing it onto the weed heap, she set it aside. She’d dry the weed in her herbal cupboard. A cup of dandelion tea was always good for what ailed you.
A few steps away, lavender edged one side of the path, the stems long and woody with the very last of the summer’s blooms, and the scent barely noticeable. Jimmy had written that he’d laid down a few flagstones, more like steppingstones than a proper path. But he promised to have the whole walkway filled in by the time she arrived.I’ll plant lavender on each side of the front walkway to the house.
“Miss Smith?”
A voice broke through her daydreaming.
“Mail for you, Miss Smith. From Sweetwater Springs.” Kitty, the slovenly Irish maid, pranced down the path, her footsteps crunching on the gravel. She waved a letter and slanted Hester a sly look. “But it’s not yer brother’s handwriting.”
“Thank you.” Not willing to indulge Kitty’s curiosity, Hester didn’t glance at the envelope. She slipped the letter into the pocket of her apron.
“Ain’t ye gunna see what it says?”
“I want to gather a bouquet of mums for the parlor before Mrs. Ransome wakes up.”
Kitty wrinkled her nose, turned, and flounced back to the house.
Hester sighed. The girl, who’d come to work for Mrs. Ransome four months ago, was nothing but a frustration.
When I leave here, I’ll never again have to train another housemaid.
Her fingers itched to open the letter. Instead, Hester took the small clippers from her other apron pocket and cut some of the colorful mums.
But even as her hands stayed busy, Hester couldn’t help wondering who, besides Jimmy would write to her. To keep her growing sense of dread at bay, she tried to think of potential correspondents. Delia Norton, for example, who, with her minister husband, had hosted Jimmy for dinner. She’d told him she looked forward to meeting Hester and perhaps had written to introduce herself.Yes, surely the letter is from Mrs. Norton.
Later in the kitchen,after arranging the flowers in a cut glass vase, Hester thought to make a cup of tea before opening the letter. She got as far as heating the water and spooning tea into the tea ball but gave up after spilling half of the precious leaves onto the counter.
Leaving the tea to be cleaned up later, she sat at the battered wooden table in the center of the room, opened the envelope, and began to read.
Dear Miss Smith,
It is with deep regret and heartfelt condolences that I write to inform you that your brother, James Smith, was killed in alogging accident by a felled tree on October 7th. He was rushed to Sweetwater Springs, and Dr. Fergus Cameron labored over him mightily, while I prayed fervently for the Lord to preserve his life and, when he passed several hours later, to receive his soul.
