Page 7 of The Gift of Seeds
Hester raised her eyebrows. “I recallquitea few scolds.”
“Pshaw,” Kitty scoffed. “Yer scolds are like a little bird chirping.” With her fingers, she made bird beak motions. “Breaking a dish would have brought me a hard slap from me mam and no supper. Then recriminations for days…maybe years. Ye didn’t even complain to Mrs. Ransome.”
“Mrs. Ransome has more than enough dishes and won’t miss a few.”
As she spoke, Kitty brushed the loose tea leaves on the counter with the side of her hand into the other hand and then gently shook them into the tea ball, which she placed in the teacup. She took the kettle from the stove and poured hot water into the cup, adding two spoonfuls of sugar, instead of Hester’s usual one half. “Best have extra, Miss. Helps with the shakes. Whiskey would be even better. If we had some, I’d join ye in a wee dram.”
The thought of them tippling together brought another small smile to Hester’s face. “And get us both dismissed.”
“Nah. Even that ole witch wouldn’t begrudge yer a nip at such a time.”
Hester couldn’t bring herself to remonstrate with the girl about her disrespect toward their employer.
Kitty handed the cup and saucer to Hester. “Drink up, now.” She watched, eagle-eyed, for Hester to take a sip and then another.
The hot, sweet tea did seem to help, warming her chilled insides, if not her frozen heart.
“I couldn’t help noticing the train ticket,” Kitty said in a casual voice. “Ye gunna head out west?”
Montana without her beloved brother? Hester shuddered. “I couldn’t possibly go.”
“Begging yer pardon, Miss. But whatcha staying here for? Ye’ve said before that yer brother had a house. Ye wouldn’t even have to pay rent. And I know yer a saver. Just think, ye pry wouldn't have to work, at least not fer a while.”
The thought does have appeal.
“Far as I can tell, ye ain’t got no family or friends, ’cept that Mrs. Ledbetter, who ye visit once a month or so.” She shrugged. “Ain’t right for ye to be so solitary. Me family oft drives me batty, aye. But there’s a lot of us. Boisterous bunch, we are. That’s what the priest called us.Boisterous.”
“I’d be just as solitary in Sweetwater Springs.”
“But ye’d have yerownlife. Not be at Mrs. Ransome’s beck and call. Work in yer garden all day long. Ye could makefriends.”
“I’ve always been too shy to make friends,” Hester admitted, surprised what she was revealing.And I knew they’d cut off the friendship if they discovered my illegitimacy.
Yet wasn’t that what was happening now? Making a friend?How odd.She never would have thought brash Kitty had any depth, much less could provide some balm to the deep pain of her grief.
Her judgment of the girl made Hester feel ashamed.If, and it’s a big IF, I go to Sweetwater Springs, I’ll have to do better.
Whether “better” was possible was a thought for another time.
Once in her bedroom,Hester resolved to write a letter to Reverend Joshua Norton before giving into tears. She needed to thank him for his kindness to Jimmy, but also to let him know that she couldn’t possibly travel to Sweetwater Springs now and perhaps not ever.
That thought brought her up short. Jimmy’s house—their house—would have to be sold, his possessions packed and shipped to her. How could she possibly impose on strangers to carry out the tasks that, by right, fell to her?
Don’t I, at least, want to see the home he created with his own hands, his care for me in each part of the house and yard? I’ve imagined every bit of our home for so long. Can I really turn my back on my dream?
Go, she told herself.If living without Jimmy is too awful, I can sell up and return here. Maybe buy a little house out near Lovie.
Her thoughts skipped around, thinking about all the tasks she’d have to accomplish before leaving, including making a farewell visit to Lovie.Ten days, she estimated, which meant she could use the train ticket, saving herself the cost of the fare.
Before her courage failed her, Hester sat at the little table she used as a desk, pulled out a sheet of stationery, unscrewed the lid of her pork pie, stoneware ink bottle, dipped in her pen, and began to write.
Dear Reverend Norton,
You are correct that the news of James’s death was an unwelcome shock. Thank you for caring for him in his final hours and beyond. Although James was, like me, a reserved person, he was a diligent correspondent. Therefore, I can tell you that he, too, enjoyed your chess games and looked forward to more matches. Though initially hesitant, James also admitted to enjoying your dinner party. Thank you for making the effort to engage him.
Hester paused, rereading what she’d written and hoping she’d given enough of a hint that she was as shy as her brother. If the Nortons knew, they wouldn’t have high expectations for her to be social.
She dipped her pen into the inkwell and continued to write.
