Page 24 of The Gift of Seeds
With pride in her step, Hester followed the woman on a tour through the store.
CHAPTER 8
December 23rd
In the month of December, Hester flung herself into holiday preparations. She cleaned almost every inch of the house, baked oatmeal cookies, gathered pine boughs to line the windowsills, made several fat candles, spiced with cinnamon to set around the living area, and even nerved herself up to go far enough—about one hundred feet—into the forest to find a fir tree small enough for her to chop down with Jimmy’s axe and set into a bucket of water.
She’d popped corn and threaded the puffy kernels into a long chain, winding it around the branches. She tried to hum carols, while adding her other decorations. But her throat closed up, and, in silence, she added the three precious glass ornaments given to her over the years by Lovie, as well as the straw stars made by her children. In the sparse patches, she’d tied red ribbon into bows around spindly limbs.
She’d thought having her very own tree would bring her pleasure, not more sorrow. But the single present under the tree,a brown paper parcel from Lovie, served as a reminder. For the first time in her adult life, no package from Jimmy sat next to her friend’s gift.
With the extra time on her hands from only having to fend for herself in a house a fourth of the size of Mrs. Ransome’s, Hester had resurrected some of the old skills she’d learned at the orphanage, including quilting and tatting, finding a quiet fulfillment in creating. She’d sent off a package to Lovie with lace collars for herself and her two daughters and hemmed monogrammed handkerchiefs for Hiram and their sons. She took pride in imagining the family gathered around the tree and opening her gifts on Christmas.
As Christmas Eve approached, in anticipation of attending church for the festive service, Hester hung up her best winter outfit near the back door to air out the smell of mothballs. She’d never had a dress so fine and was glad she’d finished sewing the gown before she left St. Louis.
From time to time, she cast admiring glances at her dress—navy blue wool with the faintest of green plaid threaded though. The sleeves weren’t puffed like the height of fashion, but she’d made them a little fuller than usual. Now, with all her preparations finished, time hung heavy on her hands.
I’ve gotten what I always wanted—my own home—where I’m not at anyone’s beck and call. But I never imagined I’d be so bitterly lonely.
As if sensing her low mood, Lucy rose from her blanket near the fireplace, stretched, and sauntered over, placing her head on Hester’s leg.
She stroked the dog’s forehead, feeling grateful for her sweet companion, no longer skinny and now looking the picture of doggy health.
Lucy made the little whining sound that meant she needed to go out.
“How ’bout we go outside for a romp?” Yes, a romp was just what she needed to shake the dismals away. Lucy’s presence had proven contrary to Hester’s belief that she’d never laugh again. The dog’s playful antics had coaxed smiles, giggles, and, memorably, a few burst-out-loud laughs.
“Only for a short time, girl. It’s freezing cold out there.”
Lucy was eager to accommodate her, wagging her tail and then dashing to the side door, back to Hester, and then to the door again.
She stood and followed, taking her outerwear from the wall pegs, bundling herself into a heavy coat, a knitted cap for her head, a shawl to tie over that, a scarf, and mittens. Under her dress, she already wore a quilted petticoat and thick knitted stockings. She pulled on footless stockings to go over the tops of her boots and up to her knees, where she tied them tight with the crocheted strings she’d used to gather them tight.
As soon as Hester opened the door, Lucy ran out. She picked up the short stick leaning in the corner that she’d smoothed with Jimmy’s whittling knife, shoved the end into her coat pocket, and hurried out after her pup.
She strode past the water pump in the barrel and then the outhouse and into the main part of the yard, to see the dog racing around the perimeter, where her prior repetitions had carved a track in the snow.
Dark clouds hung heavy on the horizon. Even through her warm clothes, the cold wind chilled her. She sniffed the damp, heavy air.We’ll have more snow this evening.She wrapped her arms around her upper body.Hurry up, Lucy.
Supposedly having ascertained that no danger threatened her territory in the form of squirrels, birds, or any other creature needing to be chased off, the dog made another, slower perambulation to sniff every interesting spot. Having completed her routine, she found the perfect place to do her business.
Once finished, she kicked some snow over the mess and scampered straight to Hester along another path she’d worn in the snow. With a doggie grin and wagging tail, she did a play bow.
Today, though, Hester couldn’t muster a customary return smile. Still, she couldn’t deny her faithful companion the pleasure. She pulled the throwing stick from her pocket and tossed it into a pile of snow.
With a happy yelp, Lucy scampered after the stick, digging into a mound. Snow flew around her. She grabbed the stick and returned to Hester, her face bearded white, a sight that always made Hester laugh.
But not today.
This time, she threw the stick toward the back edge of her property line. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Mr. Marsden watching from his window. She didn’t turn her head to look, knowing from experience that he’d duck out of sight.
Not that I can blame him when I do the same.
Lucy returned with the stick, ready for another throw.
“Sorry, girl. Too cold.”
Hester turned to go into the house, and then realized she should stock up on firewood.God only knows how long the storm will last.
