The Gift of Seeds (A Montana Sky Christmas Novella)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

A fter the best night’s rest he could remember having, Dale woke up with an idea—brilliant or foolish, he wasn’t quite sure. He threw back the covers, jumped out of bed, and rushed to the stove.

Crouching and opening the door of the firebox, he stirred the banked ashes until some embers glowed orange, grabbed a handful of shredded birch bark, which he formed into a nest, and dropped it on top. He added kindling, blowing on the whole pile, until tiny flames did their duty of sparking the kindling to light.

After placing some split wood in the firebox, he stood, sliding the kettle of water over to boil. Only then, did Dale realize the room was much too cold to be moving around without more layers on, and it was really too early on Christmas morning to disturb anyone. His idea would have to wait.

Ruefully, he hobbled to his warm bed and huddled under the covers. He should have taken the time to put on his slippers, for even with thick stockings, his feet were not pleased he allowed them to become chilled.

Chuckling at his own whimsey, Dale allowed himself to relax, thinking through last night’s profound encounter with Hester Smith. Her pain. Her tears. Afterwards, the clouds in her blue eyes had elicited a need to comfort her. Watching those clouds clear had made a few lingering icy spots inside him melt.

They’d eaten soup and stuffed themselves with apfelstrudel , to the point where both tacitly agreed to sit in the chairs by the fire, because mustering the energy to move wasn’t doing justice to the specialness of the dessert. They’d alternated between watching the flickering flames in comfortable silence and talking until the cinnamon candles burned down to the point Hester had to get up and remove them from the pine boughs for safety’s sake.

That signaled the reluctant realization that a gentleman should return to his abode, rather than keeping a lady up until Christmas Eve passed to Christmas day. Good thing we don’t have close neighbors to notice and spread gossip.

Soon, the room heated enough for him to rise and prepare for the day. After washing up, Dale cut an apple into quarters and found himself singing, “Good King Wenceslas.” He did have a nice baritone, or so he’d been told. The compliment was usually accompanied by an expression of surprise that such a rich sound came from a man who didn’t seem robust .

He stopped singing long enough to eat half the apple as his breakfast. When he went upstairs, he started again with “Jingle Bells.” In preparation for his brilliant or foolish plan, he dressed in his good suit and paid more attention to combing and slicking back his hair than he’d done for last night’s aborted attempt at attending church.

Once downstairs, he wrapped Clarise’s tan, red, yellow, and green plaid scarf in the plain green fabric that had encased the supple leather gloves sent by his oldest sister, Agatha. He tied the present closed with Clarise’s twine, which he felt Sam would like better than Agatha’s splashy red-and-gold ribbon.

After bundling up in his outerwear, he tucked the gift into the pocket of his overcoat, dropped the two apple quarters into the other, and headed out into the cold morning.

Today looked to be another beautiful day, with the heatless sunshine making the sky a vivid blue arch overhead and the snow crystals sparkle. In the bright places he had to squint.

The walk wasn’t long, perhaps twenty minutes, because the Norton-Bellaire mansion was on the same street, just on the opposite side. The way was made easier by sleigh tracks, relieving him from having to trudge through snow up to his knees. He’d certainly heard enough sleighbells yesterday to know that almost everyone who owned a sleigh was taking advantage of the holiday.

Dale didn’t approach the three-story mansion, instead heading down the drive that led to fancy stables on the back corner of the property, built with the same rough pinkish-brown quartzite bricks as the house. He pushed open one of the broad wooden doors, just enough to slip through.

Sam, in a stall grooming one of the coach-horses, stopped mid-whistle from a mangled expression of “Joy to the World” and set down a brush. “Mr. Marsden.”

Dale shot him a stern look.

The man chuckled. “ Dale .”

Curious horses looked over their stall doors, including the two black Falabellas peeking over their short ones. One black miniature horse nickered.

Dale inhaled the smell of horses and hay, with a pang for the days when he used to ride and drive. He hadn’t been inside a stable in years.

“You’re a fair bit early for the wedding.”

“Wedding?”

Sam’s eyes glowed, and he beamed a broad smile. “Mr. Andre and Miss Rose. Surprised us with the news this morning and sent me driving off to the elder Nortons to fetch them here.”

As if buffeted by a surprising wind, Dale rocked back on his heels, feeling so very pleased. “That’s certainly a change from a few days ago.”

“A change from many, many years ago. Mr. Andre fell in love with Miss Rose when we lived in New York. I won’t go into why they didn’t marry. That’s their business. But it’s put some hurt on the hearts of Tilda, Rufus, and me to know a man so caring could not have what he cared about most.”

Dale only knew the Bellaire housekeeper and butler by sight. But they sounded just as loyal to their employer as Sam was.

“Tilda’s in a right frenzy. She and Rufus and I grew up with Mr. Andre in ’Nawlins. We be his pa’s slaves, but Mr. Andre would sneak off to play with us. Git us all in trouble with the overseer.” He chuckled. “Lucky us, the man had a soft spot for Mr. Andre and never told his father.”

Dale’s whip scars twanged in imaginary solidarity for what the three youngsters would have endured after shirking their work.

“When Mr. Andre turned twenty-one, his pa gave us to him, and he promptly set us free, causing a family explosion the likes of what you never want to see.” His jaw tightened. “That’s when Mr. Andre fled to New York to work with his dour Scottish grandfather, and we escaped with him.”

“So, you’re like family. Then you’ll be at the wedding?”

“I think Tilda will ease up on the frantic preparations long enough to at least allow us to watch through the doorway.”

“Why hasn’t a fine fellow like you ever married?” The curious question, so unlike him, slipped out before Dale could hold back the words.

Sam’s expression shadowed. “I’m a one-woman lovin’ man. I had me a young sweetheart. Back in ’Nawlins, she worked as a maid in the big house.”

“What happened to your sweetheart?”

“One of the other plantation owners took a fancy to her and made Mr. Andre’s father an offer he couldn’t refuse. The other plantation was too far to visit on foot. We moved to New York.” He shrugged. “Then came the war.”

The sadness in Sam’s eyes, so at odds with his usual cheerful demeanor, made Dale regret asking.

“She’s probably married.”

“Not everyone marries,” said one old bachelor to the other, even as he promoted a romantic reconnection for Sam and his sweetheart.

“After Mr. Andre sold his New York house and returned to ’Nawlins, I’d thought to inquire about her. But he was only there a bit when he found Miss Delia and claimed her as his daughter.” His eyes warmed with remembrance. “That caused another family explosion, although not quite as big as the first one. Mr. Andre was wealthy and had sent money after the war so the city house and the plantation could be saved, and the family could go on as if almost nothing had changed.”

Unspoken was the hint that Delia Bellaire Norton must be illegitimate, which if the knowledge became common would cause a scandal and a lot of hurt. Honored by Sam’s trust, he vowed to keep the information a secret. Neither Hester nor Delia deserved to be scorned for an accident of birth.

“There is this organization called the US Postal Service ,” Dale drawled, not beyond giving Sam a little nudge. “You could write to your sweetheart at that plantation. Maybe she’s still there. Or someone can forward the letter to where she moved.”

Listen to me giving romantic advice.

“Maybe she’s dead.” Sam shook his head, as if not even wanting to imagine the worst.

Knowing he had to tread lightly, Dale shrugged. “Maybe. But you’ll know the truth and won’t have to live with wondering. If she’s died, maybe someone will write back and tell you about her life.”

“Neither she nor I knew how to read. None of us slaves were allowed to learn. In New York, Mr. Andre hired the three of us a tutor, who schooled us for years. That’s how—” Sam made his Southern accent as sticky sweet as honey “—we can sound so highfalutin when we want.”

Dale refused to allow the man to sidetrack him. “Like you, she might have learned to read. If not, I’m sure she can find someone to read the letter to her.”

“Maybe so.” He didn’t sound very convinced.

Dale let the man be. For now. He had his own lady friend to focus on. And I’d best get to it. “Your Mr. Andre said I could borrow the Falabellas and the little sleigh.” Dale made a sharp elbow gesture. “Actually, he poked at me to do so.”

Sam gave him a sage nod. “For Miss Smith.”

Dale wanted to roll his eyes.

How could two men, relatively strangers, see a relationship with a woman I’ve barely acknowledged, much less spoken to, and try to cobble us together?

“What gave you that notion?

Sam touched a finger to the side of his nose. “I just had a feelin’ about you two.” He tilted his head in the direction of the little horses, his look sly. “I figured you’d need all the help you can get.”

True. “But first.” Pulling the gift from his pocket, he held it out.

Sam looked from the present to Dale, his eyebrows rising in bewilderment. “For me? Why?”

“You’re the first man, besides James Smith, with whom I’ve felt one iota of companionship.” Dale let out a rueful chuckle. “Perhaps in ten years of glacially slow interactions, Smith and I would have become good friends.” The thought caused a pang of grief for the neighborly comradery that would never be. But he’d make sure this friendship developed.

Sam held out a hand to accept the present and untied it. Reverently, he wound the scarf around his neck. “I’m a ’Nawlins man.” Grinning, he gave the front of the scarf a proprietary pat. “I’ll never get used to winters.”

His delight was so infectious, Dale couldn’t help but grin back. If Clarise knew what joy her gift brought a former Negro slave and her despised younger brother, she’d scream with vexation.

Dale glanced at the little black horses. He pulled out the apple quarters. “I’ve brought Christmas offerings.”

Sam winked. “Well, then, seems like you’re off to a good start.”

Dale fervently hoped the rest of this day would go even better. For a man unaccustomed to adventures, he was taking a big risk.

Hester woke early with a surprising sense of well-being. She and Lucy went about their morning routine, albeit, with two fires burning and omelets and apfelstrudel for breakfast. She opened Lovie’s present to reveal a lovely navy-and-green shawl, which would go perfectly with the dress she made before coming to Montana.

As instructed, she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and imagined her dearest friend giving her a big hug. Wait until I write her about what happened yesterday. She’ll be as surprised as I was that the reclusive neighbor I’d complained about in my letters turned out to be the soul of kindness.

Dale hadn’t said anything about visiting her again. She couldn’t help wishing he would. Don’t get your silly hopes up , she chided and settled in front of the fireplace with her tatting.

Outside, Hester heard the sound of sleighbells, the first ones of what she assumed would be many more as people took to the streets to visit their friends. Curious, she put down her lace work and walked to look out the window, just in time to see Dale driving Andre Bellaire’s black Falabellas. With a flutter of nerves, she watched him pull the miniature horses to a stop in front of her house.

When he exited the sleigh, beamed a smile, and waded up the snowy walkway, gladness rose in her, like the owl at dusk who soared skyward.

Hester waved, grateful she’d given in to vanity last night and put her hair in curl papers to pull back in a softer style than the braided bun she usually wore. Telling herself it was because of Christmas, she’d also donned her new dress and looked as presentable as was possible for a plain spinster.

A knock sounded on the door.

Lucy started barking.

Hester hurried over, gently shoving her aside to open the door.

Dale stood there, his blue eyes full of mischief. “I believe there’s a lady residing in this household who petitioned Saint Nicolas for a sleigh ride with miniature horses,” he intoned.

She burst out laughing. “I thought St. Nick had a white beard.”

Trying not to smile, Dale ran a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “I’m just one of his many Christmas elves. Now about that drive?”

Hester ushered him inside. “I’ll just put on my outerwear.” While Lucy entertained their visitor, she went toward the back door to hasten into a coat, scarf, hat, and mittens. Once back in the kitchen, she stooped to give Lucy a quick goodbye pet, and then left with Dale.

At the end of the porch, he touched her arm and gestured toward the walkway, the snow marred only by his footsteps from today and last night. “Let me go first to break more of a path.” He stomped ahead of her.

She could only, decorously, lift her skirt a few inches, and the hem still dragged over the top of the snow. But not as badly as if he’d not partially cleared a way.

Dale waited by the nearest Falabella.

Hester slowed, taking tiny steps until she stopped in front of the miniature horses. “They are darlings,” she breathed, bending to pet both. “What are their names?”

“Sam and I were too busy talking about Andre Bellaire and Rose Collier’s wedding today?—”

Gasping, she straightened and gave him a little push. “When did they become engaged?”

“Must have been last night or this morning.”

“How wonderful. He’s the nicest man!”

Dale’s eyes twinkled. “As I started to explain, there’s an important reason Sam didn’t tell me their names.” He gallantly waved toward the sleigh. “We mustn’t keep them waiting in the cold.” He helped her into the seat, went around to the other side, and climbed in next to her.

Their close proximity, snugged shoulder to shoulder, made Hester flush. Even as Dale spread a blanket over her lap, she couldn’t meet his eyes.

With a “ha” and flick of the reins, they started off at a trot.

Under the blanket, Hester clenched her hands together and kept her head turned to her right, pretending to admire the scenery. Once she snuck a glance at Dale, but he stared rigidly ahead.

They passed by a group of carolers, and Dale paused the horses to hear them finish singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and start on “Good King Wenceslas.” He laughed. “I was belting out that one this morning. Must be a sign.” He burst into song, keeping his voice modulated so it sounded intimate, only for her.

His beautiful baritone pulled her gaze toward him. Hester listened with shining eyes, until he nudged her shoulder in an obvious attempt for her to chime in, and her stomach tightened.

Bravely, she took a gulp of air and started with a thready soprano that strengthened as she grew more comfortable. Together, their voices rose in harmony with the other carolers.

When they finished the song, Dale raised a hand in farewell to the singers and flicked the reins.

The little horses started forward.

“Come caroling with us next year,” a man called out after them.

This time, Hester raised her hand in a maybe wave. The invitation was a step forward in becoming part of the community.

They snuck glances at each other and smiled. Singing together seemed to have ended all constraint they might have felt before.

Dale kept the Falabellas to a walk. “I’m not so good at this conversing…especially with a woman.”

“You seem to be doing just fine.”

“I’ve spoken more to you in one night than I have with all the people in the last ten, maybe twenty, years combined.”

“I’m not talkative, either. I had to speak at my work, of course. And, of course, always with Lovie and her family.”

“Last night when you told me about her, I couldn’t help envying you the support of a life-long close friendship.”

“Leaving my dear friend and her family to come here was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“I admire your courage.”

Hester blushed but didn’t look away.

“These last few months,” he said, “I finally started coming out from behind my walls, even if I moved as slowly as a somnolent tortoise. I think the change insidiously began with Reverend Joshua’s announcement that you’d be arriving to live in your brother’s house.”

She nodded.

“But after yesterday—” he gave her a quick smile “—I feel I’ve changed into a hare.”

Hester laughed, light and happy, the sound unlike any she’d made since young childhood with her father. “Certainly not a lazy one like in Aesop’s Fables.”

He shot her a look of mock offense.

Another laugh escaped. Then she sobered. “Life has been bitterly lonely the last couple of months.”

Dale nodded to a couple strolling arm-in-arm. “I didn’t mind the solitude. Being alone felt safe.”

“We’re surprisingly alike. Both wounded and shy.”

He leaned closer. “I’m proposing that we?—”

Proposing? Alarm flared through her. We barely know each other. And to tie myself to a man….

Dale must have seen her reaction for, he leaned back and scrutinized the Falabellas and the empty street in front of them. “What I think I’m saying is…I’d like if we allowed ourselves to get to know each other. To grow comfortable in each other’s presence. To continue opening up and confiding in one another and build trust. A collaboration of two lonely souls is what I was about to propose.”

She let out a slow breath. Tortoise steps, I can do . “And also, we can garden together.”

He gave her a fond smile. “That’s a given.

“As excited as I am to have my own garden, one I’ve been dreaming about for years, truth be told, now that I’m here, I’ve been rather overwhelmed by the idea of doing everything on my own.”

“I remember feeling daunted when I started out with only an empty plot.”

“Last night,” Hester said with a shy duck of her head, “you gave me hope.”

“As you did me.” He guided the horses toward the middle of the road to avoid a boy pulling a sleigh. “Now, winter, too, will be a season to be celebrated. And when spring comes, I promise you won’t have to garden alone.”

She let out a happy sigh. “That would be lovely.”

“Over the next few years, I want to build a conservatory on the back of my house, move the greenhouse I currently have to another spot. Grow exotic flowers and fruit trees.”

She sucked in a breath, her eyes wide with admiration. “Ahhh, how wonderful!”

Dale lifted his chin in the direction of the Falabellas. “I scoffed when Andre Bellaire told me these miniature horses are magical.”

“Magical how?”

“That they add a sparkle… to their riders.”

She studied the pair. “I had no idea.”

He couldn’t help chuckling. “Something compelled me to borrow the sleigh today, even though I firmly turned down Andre when he offered.”

“He offered to take me for a ride, too.”

“Well, after you ran away from him?—”

“I did not .” She blushed and elbowed his side.

“Well… you fled pretty quickly.”

Her cheeks turned even hotter.

He seemed not to notice her discomfort. “Andre hinted to me that I might want to take you for a ride. I thought such an idea was preposterous. At the time, I’d barely spoken to you.”

“I probably would have run away from you, too.”

He chuckled. “How my life has changed in less than forty-eight hours.” Dale halted the Falabellas in front of her house and set the brake, taking the reins in one hand and holding out the other.

Hester took his hand. Even through the leather gloves, the strength and warmth she felt reassured her. “I was nervous when we began this ride. But the more we talked, the safer I felt. You know my worst secrets. I want to build a…a relationship. But more at the speed of a tortoise than that of a hare.”

Dale waited until she met his gaze. “Being a tortoise suits me just fine, Hester. We’ll spend the winter talking and dreaming. In springtime, we’ll plant our gardens. In summer, we’ll watch them grow.”

“And we’ll weed,” she added. “Probably lots of weeding.”

“Weeding makes the plants grow stronger.” Dale released her hand, only to slide off her mitten. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the bare skin, before pulling up her mitten again and looking into her eyes. “And as our flowers bloom, so will we.”

She let out a happy sigh, filled with dreams of the future.