The Gift of Seeds (A Montana Sky Christmas Novella)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

T he mild morning enticed Dale into the garden. Pulling worn leather work gloves onto his hands, Dale tackled the pile of rocks waiting to be stacked into the ever-growing wall around his property. The task was tedious, although necessary, because every time he dug new ground, he also excavated rocks.

In some ways, laying the rocks on the low wall was like working a giant puzzle, fitting the shapes carefully together, sometimes, only to undo what he stacked in favor of a different pattern. Then he’d repeat the task until the rocks fit as best he could contrive. Often, he cheated, using a hammer and chisel to chip off a protuberance to make the stones fit better.

If he lived in the city, he’d need to build the walls as thick and high as a castle’s. But here in Sweetwater Springs, the townsfolk stayed away from him, and he stayed away from them. They seemed to respect his need for solitude, neither faulting him for his deep reserve nor attempting to drag him into social activities.

Well, except for necessary visits to the mercantile or his once-a-month church attendance, where he’d go early, tuck himself into a back corner, and wait to leave until he was sure few people lingered outside. He knew he should attend weekly. But if he had his druthers, he’d rather not attend at all, quietly reading the Bible or his book of sermons at home. So, he compromised. He figured the Almighty would understand. After all, the Lord had fashioned him to have a reclusive nature.

Movement from James Smith’s house made him step behind a Blue Spruce, which, having been planted as a tiny seedling ten years before, was just big enough to hide him if he bent his knees a bit. As if Miss Smith could hear him from so far away, he took shallow breaths, inhaling the scent of pine, and hoped she hadn’t caught sight of him ducking away.

Miss Smith left the house carrying two burlap bags with thick shoulder straps. She was going shopping, perhaps. Depending on what she purchased, those bags would be heavy on the walk back.

Shame flushed through him. A gentleman and kindly neighbor would offer to escort her and help carry the bags from the mercantile to her home. But his deeply established reticence held him back from moving an inch.

Dale wondered how Miss Smith would fare with the disagreeable Cobbs. After his first visit and their barrage of noisy questions, he always had to nerve himself up to deal with them, shopping as seldom as possible. Not that they’d ever been overtly rude. After all, a customer who always paid in cash instead of using credit was valued. But he saw judgement in their eyes.

Miss Smith paused to admire his garden beds.

He shuffled around the tree to keep the spruce between them. Then curiosity led him to slightly lean toward the side to watch her.

With an exclamation of pleasure, she stooped to lift the cheerful head of one of his purple mums—the product of several years of experimentation.

As she examined the flower, a look of wonder came over her face. She stood and cast a smiling glance at his marigolds.

Her dreamy expression made something tug in his stomach. Dale had no doubt he often sported a similar look when he studied the beautiful blooms in his garden.

Then, with an audible sigh, her smile fell away, and she turned and moved on.

That odd tug had him slightly leaning sideways to watch her move down the street. Something about the way she walked, head down, shoulders slumping, looked all too familiar, and he couldn’t help wondering if she was lonely. A stranger to Sweetwater Springs. Bereaved. Learning to live the simpler and harder life in a small Western town, with an unfriendly neighbor.

The thoughts resonated with some familiar feelings Dale staunchly refused to name, knowing how fiercely he valued his privacy and peace. He’d take aloneness over a bevy of browbeating relatives, all who’d always sought to control the only rooster born into the midst of the clucking hens.

Doubt crept in. She is only one woman. Perhaps she was as reserved as her brother. I can be helpful.

Dale hardened his resolve. He couldn’t allow himself to form an acquaintanceship with Miss Smith. What if he tried to be neighborly, only to find he’d opened the door to another critical, interfering female? The very thought brought up old pain. No, better to remain safe.

But still, as he watched the woman, Dale couldn’t help feeling he was in the wrong.

Not at all excited about shopping in her new town, Hester slung the straps of the two burlap, grocery bags over one shoulder and hoped the walk back wouldn’t be too difficult. In St. Louis, she was used to delivery services, venturing out only when she needed to closely examine something before purchasing the item.

As she passed her neighbor’s home, she stopped to admire his garden, a beautiful blend of trees, shrubs, and flowers protected by a neat rock wall. A clump of purple mums caught her eye, and, astonished, she bent to examine the unusual color. She inhaled and exhaled, breathing in the spicy scent of the cheerful orange and yellow marigolds, and let out a sigh of envy. Next year , she promised herself. I might not have purple mums. But I certainly have plenty of marigold seeds.

She continued walking, glancing over at the woods across the street, and, once again, remembering Jimmy’s promise to take her berry picking.

A brown face peeked from behind a tree in the woods across the street. If Hester hadn’t been looking in that direction, she would have missed the animal. With a gasp and an uptick of her heartbeat, she skittered back a few steps, narrowing her eyes to see better. Surely, a bear wouldn’t be so small.

The creature shifted into view. A dog!

She wasn’t familiar with dogs except for Hiram and Lovie’s shepherd, who served as a watch dog and companion of the children. “Well, hello, there,” she called in a friendly, high-pitched voice.

Crouching, she snapped her fingers. “Come here, sweetie.” Boy or girl ? She couldn’t tell from this distance.

The medium-sized, brown-and-black dog had upright ears and wary brown eyes. It crept out a few feet, staying low to the ground in fear.

“It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.” Hester wondered if she should return to her house for some food to coax the dog over. But her lack of meat was one reason for the trip to the mercantile. Hester doubted salami would be good for the dog’s digestion.

She gently slapped the side of her legs. “Come here, sweetie.”

Slowly, after several minutes of coaxing, the animal approached with low, slow steps, although the whippy tail started to wag. The dog was painfully thin, ribs showing, the shaggy brown coat matted and filthy.

Hester sat on a nearby rock to be closer to the ground and held out a hand. The dog rose and approached, tail wagging so hard its hind end shook back and forth.

Hester leaned closer, allowing the dog to sniff her. “Hello, there. Are you lost?”

Seemingly reassured, the dog gave her hand a tongue swipe.

Chuckling, she rubbed a hand over the head.

This dog can’t possibly have belonged to Jimmy. Her brother had lamented that he couldn’t have a pet because he spent much of the year living at the logging camp.

She glanced around, as if to spy the dog’s owner walking nearby. But the street was deserted.

Her neighbors on each side were both reclusive bachelors. The wood cabin on the other side belonged to a friend of Jimmy’s—a fellow logger. He, too, worked to establish his home for a family, only he planned to bring home a bride, not a sister.

No sense asking him. He’ll be at the logging camp.

Several large empty lots lay on each side of her neighbors. No other houses in sight.

She’d have to nerve herself up to approach the other house, the foursquare clapboard owned by Dale Marsden. She knew the man was an avid gardener, although she’d never caught sight of him working in the yard.

The dog lifted a paw, as if wanting to shake.

Charmed, she took the paw, feeling the roughness of the pads under her fingers. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink and maybe a bath. But first, let’s check next door to see if Mr. Marsden knows about your owners.”

She picked up the dog, the bony body lighter than expected, and snuck a peek underneath. A girl.

Carrying the animal, who truly smelled awful, Hester pushed open the slightly canted gate with her hip and walked up the brick path. She kept her head turned away to inhale the spicy scent of the marigolds instead of the stinking pup.

She stepped up to the porch. A lone rocker sat next to a side table. It must be heavenly to sit here and rock, perhaps sipping a cup of tea, and gaze out on the front garden, enjoying the beauty. She sighed, knowing it would be several years of labor before her yard looked liked this. And without James to do the heavy digging…. Despairing grief squeezed her again.

Perhaps sensing her mood, the dog wiggled in her arms and licked her chin, making her smile. “You sure are a sweet one, even if you do stink to high heaven.”

She braced herself up to cross to the square vestibule, shift the dog in her arms enough to knock on the door, and wait. Her heartbeat sounded louder than her knock.

From the side yard, a thin, stoop-shouldered man slowly crossed his porch and moved over to her, stopping about six feet away.

The shyness in his eyes, his best feature, really, big and blue and darkly lashed, made her rapid heartbeat relax somewhat—a relief, really, or else she might not be able to speak at all. Still, her words stammered out. “Mr….Mr. Marsden, I’m Hester Smith. Jimmy’s sister, your neighbor.”

The man swallowed and nodded.

Hester hefted the dog. “Are you by any chance missing this one? Or are any of the neighbors?” She anxiously awaited his response.

The woman walking up his pathway to knock on his door put Dale into a dilemma. Should he retreat from behind the tree that he’d kept scooting around as Miss Smith approached, or should he continue to hide?

But as he studied the dog she carried, he found his feet taking him around the periphery of the tree, stepping onto the porch from the side, and moving over to stand by her. Bestirred by sympathy for the thin brown-and-black creature, Dale found it far easier to look into the dog’s brown eyes instead of the woman’s.

With the pounding of his pulse in his ears, Dale could barely hear her ask if he or any of the neighbors knew the dog. He swallowed and took a breath. “I’m not familiar with this one. I can tell you that none of the neighbors have a dog like this. Looks like it’s?—

“She. The dog’s a she .”

“From the looks of her , she’s been on her own a while, poor thing.” Still avoiding the woman’s gaze, Dale reached out and rubbed the dog’s head, the contact making his throat ease so he could get more words out. “Good thing you found her. With winter coming, she’d have perished from cold and hunger or provided food for a starving cougar or other creatures.”

“Oh, I couldn’t keep her.” Even as she spoke the words, Miss Smith clutched the dog to her chest and smiled lovingly down at her.

Dale couldn’t help chuckling, finding that as long as the woman wasn’t looking at him, he could talk. “I think it’s too late for that, ma’am. I do believe she’s already yours.”

She let out a sharp breath and briefly met his eyes, before lowering hers. “Why, yes. I do think you’re right. Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Marsden. I must be off to the mercantile because I haven’t any meat in the house.” Carrying her prize, the woman scurried off down the walkway.

“Wait!” he called.

She turned, her eyebrows raising in inquiry.

“I have some leftover stew you can have.”

Her eyes widened, and a tremulous smile crossed her face. “Oh…oh, that would be lovely.”

Something warm swirled in his midsection. He hurried inside and into his kitchen, where earlier he’d set out the stew to heat for his supper. Then he took a Mason jar from the cupboard and, with a spoon fished out meat, potatoes, carrots, along with a few peas. Then he slid in a sturdy bone. He left the gravy and onions in the pot.

After screwing the lid on the jar, he strode back outside. “Beef stew.” He handed her the jar. “Not highly spiced. I’m a salt and only-a-pinch-of-pepper kind of man. The potatoes and carrots won’t hurt her. But the onions will. Best rinse off the meat and vegetables and just give her those. I added a large bone for her to chew on later.”

“Thank you for your kindness.” With a luminous smile, Miss Smith gave the dog a little bounce. “And this one will surely feel thankful once she gets your stew in her stomach.” She turned and hastened off. But contrary to her earlier heavy steps and slumped shoulders, this time, obvious happiness gave a lift to her stride.

For a moment, Dale watched her go, thinking about his family. He couldn’t ever remember one of those women thanking him, even after his numerous attempts to try and please them. Haranguing and mocking his efforts, yes. Punishment, certainly. What he did was never good enough. At some point, he stopped trying. And then he fled to freedom.

But not freedom from fear.

Despite a cooling breeze, that odd feeling of warmth swirled from his stomach and around his chest. Dale lingered in the doorway, watching his new neighbor hurry home. To his surprise, their interaction had felt…pleasant. And giving her the stew eased some of his guilt for his lack of neighborliness.

He shut the door, took a deep breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding, and thought about the softness in Miss Smith’s eyes when she looked at the dog. Somehow, she seemed a little less intimidating.

Perhaps, living next to a woman won’t be as bad as I thought.