The Gift of Seeds (A Montana Sky Christmas Novella)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

T oward the end of the Norton’s kind welcome tea, Hester had to fight to suppress her yawns. Apparently, she wasn’t successful.

With an understanding smile, Delia rose and began to gather the nearby plates.

“You’re exhausted, dear Miss Smith. We’ll get out of your hair so you can rest.”

Feeling drained to her bones, Hester was too tired to protest. She desperately craved being alone. Still, she held on to her manners. “I never dreamed relative strangers would go out of their way to so warmly introduce me to my new home.”

Reverend Joshua handed his teacup and saucer to his wife. “This was especially important to us, knowing you’d be alone with your grief. We can’t take away your pain. But we wanted to let you know we are here to offer what comfort we can.”

“Oh, you have …” Hester trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

He folded the napkin around his silverware. “And, of course, we will continue to keep you in our prayers.”

As far as Hester knew, no one but those few closest to her had ever prayed for her before. The thought of the Norton’s prayers did bring her a sliver of comfort.

Delia stacked the plates, silverware, teapot, cups, and saucers into a basket, tucking the napkins around them.

While she packed, Hester removed the tablecloth, folded it, and handed the neat square to Delia.

The woman glanced around, obviously doing a sweep to see nothing was left behind. “The towel and soap are my gift to you.” She smiled and patted Hester’s shoulder. “Woman to woman.”

Tears pricked Hester’s eyes. Good tears, this time. Yet, still, Hester wouldn’t let them fall. She placed a hand on her heart but couldn’t find words to express her gratitude for the generosity this family had shown her.

Delia seemed to understand, for after another shoulder pat, she set the basket on the table, tucking the edges of the tablecloth around the dishes.

A minute later, Sam entered and scooped it up to take out to the coach. He sent Hester a sympathetic nod. “You know you can call upon the Nortons or myself when need be,” he said in a rumbly voice.

Hester clasped her hands to her chest, too moved by his kind offer to say anything.

Before they left, Sam and Reverend Joshua hauled crates and Micah the bushel of foodstuffs gifted by the Nortons down into the cellar.

Hester resisted following them. She wanted to take her time and explore the rest of her home by herself.

Once she shut the door behind her visitors and the sound of wheels and hoof beats receded, Hester went down the short hall on the right, ending in three doors. Two led to the bedrooms, one on each side, with the middle being a door opening to the side yard.

She stopped to peruse a charcoal sketch on the wall, done by one of Jimmy’s fellow loggers. He’d paid twenty-five cents for the picture and framed the edges in plain wood. The image showed a tree-covered mountain, without, Jimmy had written, the barren patches, dotted with stumps, caused by their logging. At another time , she promised herself, I’ll take down the artwork and study the details.

First, she opened the outer door, where a small, sheltered porch held a washtub, tucked into the corner. A few steps into the yard, a small pump for water stood next to a barrel, pebbles scattered around to keep the ground from getting muddy.

She knew, when Jimmy was home, his snowshoes hung on a wall peg on this porch, which made her realize they must be in the house, wherever the Nortons had put them when they returned his possessions.

A peek into Jimmy’s bedroom gave her the answer, for the snowshoes were propped against a wall, on the side of a bed neatly covered in the brown-and-navy afghan she’d crocheted three years ago.

Hester couldn’t bear to go inside. Her bedroom, she knew, lay to the right. She closed Jimmy’s door, stepped across the hall to open her door, and entered.

In the middle was her bed, a new mattrass resting on top. Jimmy had made her bedframe. The simple wood design was burnished smooth, and she touched the frame, trying to sense his love for her. But all she felt was emptiness.

Her trunk was tucked against the foot of the bed, with her satchel resting on top. She needed to unpack and make up the bed with the linens and blankets she’d brought. But she wanted to finish exploring first.

Hester left the cellar for last. Opening what looked like a closet door, she saw wooden steps descending into the dim darkness. She was too tired to search for a candle or to go take down the lantern hanging on a peg near the front door and light it. So, she propped the door wide for light and slid a convenient wooden wedge underneath.

There wasn’t a railing, so as Hester climbed down, she kept one palm on the wooden wall. At the bottom, her foot touched the hardpacked dirt of the floor.

Hester took a breath, realizing she’d been holding herself tightly, and looked around. The room was small compared to Mrs. Ransome’s cellar—and lacked the smooth cement floor and stone walls. Laying a wooden floor had been on Jimmy’s list of things he planned to take care of before she arrived.

The crates and basket from the Nortons rested in the middle of the room. An open shelf with a couple of empty canning jars on top ran along one side of the wooden wall. A basket and three wooden crates were underneath, holding potatoes, beets, carrots, and turnips from Jimmy’s garden—on the small side—for he’d harvested them early, before leaving for the logging camp. A braid of onions hung from a hook in the ceiling.

On the adjacent wall, a closed cupboard probably held or would hold flour, cornmeal, sugar…but Hester was too tired to walk over to open the door and check. She should unpack the Nortons’ supplies and arrange them with the few she’d brought and whatever Jimmy had in the cupboard.

Suddenly, Hester couldn’t muster the energy. Her legs weakened, and she sank to the bottom step.

How often had she imagined the contents of this cellar, shelves laden with the fruits of her summer garden and her own industry? The glass jars would sparkle in their jewel colors—quarts of green beans, tomatoes, potatoes, peas. Of cherries and pears. Pumpkin and squash and corn. Beets, plain and pickled. Cucumber pickles, both sweet and tart. Jams and jellies. Applesauce and apple butter.

In her vision, overflowing bushel baskets of apples, potatoes, carrots, turnips, and onions lined the walls. More food than the two of them would need to last out the winter and the spring. Enough to give away to her neighbors—if she ever found the courage to talk to them.

James had promised to take her berry picking and foraging for mushrooms. She’d imagined exploring the nearby forest together, having adventures, or as much adventure as two quiet homebodies could manage.

Now those dreams would never happen. How could he be gone, my dear, dear brother?

The cellar was as empty as her future. Hester clenched her fists. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry,” she said aloud. I can’t keep sitting here. I’ll dissolve into a puddle.

“Fresh air is what I need.” She rose, wearily gathering her skirts, and climbed back up the stairs.

Hester wasn’t sure she was ready to face the barren garden but knew she should confront reality. So, she went out the side door, past the hand pump in the barrel, and stepped across scattered paving stones, leading to a sturdy outhouse.

Beyond the privy, in the gathering dusk, she could see the large, weed-choked yard. She sent a cursory glance at the woodpile stashed under a rough wooden shelter. After a lifetime with coal for fuel, using wood for heating and cooking would take time to become accustomed to.

Hester walked farther into the yard. The hem of her skirt caught on dried weeds, until, hoping the light was dim enough that Mr. Marsden wouldn’t look out the window and see anything amiss, she raised her skirts to her knees, exposing her stockings and sturdy boots to the world.

Edged by stones, the rectangular garden plot lay to her right. Tomorrow, she’d give the area further scrutiny.

To her left near the border of her yard and the neighbor’s, Hester caught a glimpse of something yellow. Curious, she ventured over and spied a few marigolds valiantly blooming among the weeds. She crouched to snap off the stem of one and stood, bringing the flower to her nose. Just as Hester sniffed the spicy scent, she heard a soft whoo and the swish of wings and looked up.

An owl, she knew not what kind, soared over, heading toward the woods across the street.

Wishful thinking, perhaps. But Hester chose to think of the flowers and owl as a loving sign from her brother, bringing a lift to her heavy heart.

Several days later, Hester found herself at loose ends. After the bittersweet pleasure of unpacking her trunk, putting everything away, cleaning, and arranging the cabin to make the space feel like her home, time hung heavy on her hands. She was used to doing, doing, doing, with only short breaks for herself.

On her few days off, she usually visited Lovie—the fare to hire drivers to take her there one of the few extravagances she permitted herself. Sunday morning, she’d return to town with the family to attend church, and, afterward, they all had a meal at a restaurant. Hiram, cheerfully and stubbornly, always insisted on paying for Hester’s meal, and she’d long since given up trying to change his mind.

Now she had empty hours where she could just sit and stare out the window. Although, as pretty as her view of the woodland across the way was, she soon tired of doing nothing.

A couple of times, Hester ventured outside, crossing the street and entering the woods. But she’d been too scared to explore far, fearing getting lost or encountering hostile wildlife. However, she did gather some autumn leaves and pressed them between book covers.

I hadn’t thought living here would be so lonely.

Hester had known when Jimmy was away at the logging camp, she’d be on her own. But she’d envisioned herself happily puttering around the house, ensuring a cozy and cheerful space that Jimmy would enjoy coming home to.

Then again, Hester had thought to arrive in the spring, when she could plant her garden, By this time of the year, she would have been busy doing tasks such as canning the last of the vegetables. She’d also envisioned making jam from berries, apple butter, and cider and drying sliced apples for storage. Of course, she’d need an apple tree that actually produced fruit. Jimmy’s apple tree was just a sapling given to him by the neighbor a few years ago, which he’d proudly planted in the back corner of the yard. But one could always purchase apples.

I could make friends.

The very idea made her stomach curdle. She’d never made friends, even at the orphanage. If it hadn’t been for Lovie’s determination to befriend her and grasp tightly to that friendship with both hands, Hester would have been lost in the sea of orphaned children, Jimmy being too young at the time to be a true companion.

But where will I start? She could call upon the Nortons. But even if she knew where they lived, the idea of paying a visit to the elegant younger couple felt as though she’d be imposing herself, interrupting their busy lives.

As for her next-door neighbor, Mr. Marsden hadn’t bestirred himself to pay a call, which hurt her feelings a bit. After all, as an inhabitant, it was his duty to introduce himself to new arrivals and welcome them to the neighborhood.

Mrs. Ransome had certainly hastened with alacrity to meet anyone new within several blocks, returning to eagerly spread gossip about them to her friends.

If I had a new neighbor, I would have dropped off a pie or some cookies, even if I didn’t stay and chat.

Of course, the man might not cook or bake.

But he could have done something.

She let out a sigh. I’ll go to town, to the store. Make myself talk to people.

Even as she told herself to get up, Hester couldn’t move from her chair. Maybe not people, then. Maybe just one person. The mercantile was run by the unpleasant Cobbs. Anecdotal tales of the shopkeepers were common in Jimmy’s letters. Purchasing supplies would involve interacting with one or both—a daunting task. But doable, surely. I must be able to shop, when need be.

All right, then. Hester straightened her shoulders and gathered the meager bits of her courage. Today, I will face the Cobbs. Another day, I can worry about talking to other people.