Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
T he closer the train came to Sweetwater Springs, the harder grew the ball of grief in Hester’s chest, weighing heavier than a stone. Before Jimmy’s death, she’d imagined this trip over and over again, especially the joyous reunion with her brother. Throughout the lonely and tedious years of working for Mrs. Ransome, she’d clung to the hope of their long-planned-for future.
The farther the train carried her from her familiar environment, the more Hester questioned her decision to follow through with their plans. She should have sold Jimmy’s house, used the money and her savings to buy a little home in St. Louis near Lovie. The thought of Lovie’s tearful goodbye hug made dampness prick her eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry , she told herself for about the hundredth time since receiving Reverend Joshua’s letter.
As she had numerous times throughout the journey, to keep up her spirits, Hester reminded herself of Jimmy’s descriptions of Montana’s beauty, the wide-open spaces, the grandeur of the mountains, the abundant trees and plant life, and most important, the log house that her dear brother had built with such love and hope. She wouldn’t have him, but she’d live surrounded by the work of his hands and heart.
That will have to be enough.
With a triple toot of the horn and a whoosh of brakes, the train slowed to a stop in front of a brown depot sporting yellow trim and surrounded by a wide wooden platform, just as Jimmy had described.
A woman traveling with two children and another man seated near the front gathered their belongings and hurried from the train. Through the window, Hester watched the family eagerly unite with a bearded man who must be the husband and father, while the single man rushed off as if he knew exactly where to go.
One step at a time , she sternly told her faltering self. Get off the train and go find the stationmaster. After making sure her black felt hat was firmly pinned in place, she stood, straightening her shoulders as if preparing to face battle.
When Hester started down the narrow train steps carrying her satchel in one hand, her eyes clouded with tears, blurring her surroundings. But she tilted her face upward, so they wouldn’t spill over. The sky was a clear, distant blue, the air autumn crisp, albeit with a lingering smokey smell from the train.
She took a breath and brought her gaze level. Here in her past imaginings, her beloved brother would be waiting, pacing the width of the platform in his impatience for the train’s arrival. When she disembarked, she would have cast reserve aside and thrown herself into his arms for a tight, warm hug—one longed for over these lonely years.
Hester glanced into the shadows of the depot, half hoping to see her brother step out and flash his familiar gamin grin, even though she knew he wouldn’t. With one gloved hand, she wiped away the dampness from her eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
Feeling suddenly weak, she clung to the metal rail and made herself look away, to where a man stood with a boy.
Seeing her, the two surged forward with identical expressions of concern. The man, who looked to be in his thirties, wore an elegant suit with a clerical cravat. He and the boy shared the same crystal-blue eyes, and from Jimmy’s descriptions, she was sure they must be Reverend Joshua and Micah Norton.
“Welcome, Miss Smith. I’m Reverend Joshua.” He touched the brim of his bowler and took her satchel, handing it to the boy before holding out a hand to help her down to the platform, clasping tightly when she tottered on shaky legs. He waited until she steadied before releasing her.
Micah gave her a big grin, his eyes sparkling. “We’ve come to escort you to your home, Miss Smith. Maman is already at your house, making everything ready.”
“Oh,” Hester fluttered a hand. “I didn’t expect…”
“Of course, we’d see to your arrival,” Reverend Joshua said with a warm smile. “Now tell me what luggage you’ve brought.” He glanced over at the train, where a solitary trunk was just unloaded by a porter. “I presume that’s yours.”
She nodded.
“Anything else?”
Hester shook her head.
Reverend Joshua gestured to a big Negro man, standing next to a pair of shiny brown horses hitched to a coach, and then pointed to Hester’s trunk.
The man nodded and hurried up the stairs, his light steps a contrast to his bulk.
“Sam has money to tip the porter to help him load your trunk onto the coach.”
“Oh,” Hester fumbled for her reticule. “I can’t allow you….”
Reverend Joshua gently moved aside her hand. “You’ll have to take up the issue with my father-in-law, Andre Bellaire. But I can tell you, you will lose. As I wrote in my letter, he is the most generous of men and delights in using his financial abundance to assist others. He was most insistent on paving the way for your arrival. He would have been here today, but his heart isn’t strong. He wasn’t looking well this morning, so my wife, Delia, insisted he stay in bed with a book.”
“Mr. Bellaire is, indeed, most generous.” Hester’s throat was so tight, she could only whisper.
“My wife has stocked your cellar with some food, so you’ll have no need to shop or cook right away.”
Micah gave a little bounce. “ Maman practically bought out the mercantile.”
Feeling overwhelmed, Hester couldn’t help shrinking back. “Oh, dear. I don’t want to be beholden.”
“Nonsense, Miss Smith.” Reverend Joshua frowned at his son. “Micah exaggerates.”
The boy took obvious umbrage at his father’s reproof. “ Grandpere said so.”
“Of course, he did,” Reverend Joshua chuckled “I suppose you didn’t notice that mischievous glint in his eyes—” he glanced at Hester. “My father-in-law’s giveaway when he’s teasing his daughter.”
The undeniable bond between father and son reminded Hester she was now all alone in the world. One tear threatened to spill over and drip down her cheeks. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
Mortified, she whispered, “Oh, dear me, I’m so sorry,” and blinked several times to hold back the wetness, even as her nose clogged. She fumbled to take out the handkerchief tucked in her sleeve.
Reverend Joshua briefly touched her shoulder, and then handed her a square of snowy linen, embroidered with his initials in one corner. “No need to apologize, Miss Smith,” the minister soothed. “Such emotion is natural, given your fatigue from traveling and your state of mourning.”
Hester turned her head to delicately blow her nose, and then wondered what to do next. She could hardly thrust the used handkerchief back at him. She quickly folded the fine linen fabric into a small square.
Reverend Joshua gestured toward her hand. “Keep it, Miss Smith. I have plenty and give them out bountifully when there’s need. You’ll find mine all over Sweetwater Springs,” he said in a playful tone.
Micah patted her arm. “ Grandpere says nothing can match his arrival in Sweetwater Springs.” The boy obviously tried to lift her spirits. “He had a heart attack on the train and almost died!”
Hester gasped, shock momentarily pulling her from sorrow.
Apparently emboldened by her change of expression, Micah blithely continued the story. “ Grandpere says it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Well, besides discovering Maman , of course.”
Hester stared, feeling her eyes widen, and wanted to hear more. But indulging in vulgar curiosity would be ill-mannered. She took a step away, looked around for her luggage, and swayed, still feeling weak.
“After all that shaking on the train, it’s a wonder passengers can walk at all when they disembark.” Reverend Joshua reached for her hand and tucked her fingers around his arm. “The stationmaster will see to your luggage, and I’ll escort you to the carriage. Micah and I will tell you the tale of the Bellaires’ dramatic arrival in Sweetwater Springs.”
Hester had never experienced the comfort of leaning on a man’s arm and couldn’t find words to express her gratitude for his support. Before she knew it, they’d descended the stairs and, after a nod to the smiling Negro driver and a quick, “This is Sam,” Reverend Joshua helped her into a shiny coach, all the while telling the most astonishing story.
Sometimes Micah added interjections—of Mr. Bellaire traveling West from New Orleans with his newfound daughter, Delia; while on the same train, widowed Reverend Joshua and Micah were returning from missionary work in Africa, intending to join the elder Nortons at their church in Sweetwater Springs; how a heart attack landed the Bellaires in Sweetwater Springs; of Micah befriending the invalid while he recovered at the banker’s house; of Reverend Joshua and Delia falling in love; of building a house and putting down roots in the community.
Caught up in the dramatic story, Hester barely noticed the town she traveled through.
Reverend Joshua only paused the narrative a few times to point out the mercantile or the church.
They turned from the main road, venturing down several blocks, to turn right on another street. Along one side lay mostly weed-filled plots of land with an occasional four-square house, log cabin, or some cobbled-together structures. The land on the opposite side of the street was mostly natural—a forest of conifers, ash, maple, birch, and other trees showing splendid autumn colors.
The coach passed a foursquare, clapboard house surrounded by a lush front garden, enclosed by a white picket fence. She knew from the blue paint this home must belong to her neighbor Dale Marsden. Sam pulled the horses to a stop in front of a snug log cabin.
“Here we are,” Reverend Joshua said, his tone gentle.
Hester leaned closer to the window to see a wider view, taking in the narrow porch, with a lone chair on one side. The door and the trim of the two windows were painted forest green. She sat back and managing a smile for father and son. “Just as I envisioned.”
“I believe your brother recently painted.”
“We had several letters back and forth discussing the color. He was eager to finish before the logging season started.”
Sam opened the door and reached out a strong, brown hand to help her down.
Hester set her hand in his and stepped to the ground. She looked up to thank the coachman, and the compassion in his dark eyes made a lump rise into her throat. To her shame, she couldn’t force out the words and hoped her nod conveyed her appreciation.
To catch her equilibrium, Hester allowed herself to cling to Sam’s hand for a few extra seconds, glancing away to admire the vivid yellows and reds of the marigolds in the front beds of the house next door. James hadn’t written much about his right-hand neighbor, Dale Marsden— just his description, that he kept to himself, and their few encounters. The man had a large, beautiful garden, which she’d looked forward to seeing with her own eyes. But not under these circumstances. Familiar grief squeezed her chest.
“Will you be all right to walk, Miss Smith?” Sam asked, his deep voice holding a hint of the South.
Hester nodded. A polite lie, really. I’ll never again be entirely all right.
Sam released her, and she tottered a few steps on the dirt path leading toward the house, before stretching her walk a bit to place her feet on the flagstones, spaced widely to match Jimmy’s longer legs. Vaguely, she was aware of Reverend Norton and Micah falling in behind her.
She stopped to look at a bare-branched sapling planted in the middle of the left side of the front yard and a memory struck her from one of Jimmy’s last letters.
“I’ve planted you a fruit tree, Hess. Guess which kind?”
She’d written back, guessing. Cherry? Apple? Pear? Couldn’t be apple, because his neighbor had already given him one for the back yard. Jimmy never had a chance to respond. She might not know the answer for several years.
A vibrant young woman in an expensive green dress burst out of the door and hurried over.
“And here’s my wife,” Reverend Joshua murmured, his tone affectionate. “My very own whirlwind.”
“You’re here.” With a warm smile and sparkling hazel eyes, Delia Norton clasped Hester’s hand. “Dear Miss Smith,” she said with a melting Southern accent “—welcome to Sweetwater Springs.”
In gratitude, Hester squeezed Mrs. Norton’s hand before releasing her. I’ve been touched more in the last half hour than I have in months. Only Lovie and her children, and lately Kitty….
“As soon as I heard the train whistle, I put on the tea kettle,” Mrs. Norton chattered. “I’m sure you must be desperately in need of refreshment. Is Earl Grey suitable?”
Mrs. Norton’s exuberance unlocked Hester’s speech, making her aware of her thirst. “Earl Grey would be lovely. Thank you kindly, Mrs. Norton.”
“Call me Delia. As my husband probably told you, we avoid confusion with my in-laws in going by Reverend Joshua and Delia, instead of Reverend and Mrs. Norton.” She linked her arm through Hester’s and towed her up the rest of the path toward the house. “There’s warm water for washing, and I brought my own soap, so you wouldn’t have to subject yourself to the manly aroma of Mr. Smith’s bay scent.”
“I made that bay soap to send to Jimmy.” Hester shook her head, unable to go on.
Delia stopped suddenly and, with an understanding expression, looked into Hester’s eyes. “Although we were unable to attend the gravesite service, my mother-in-law and I came here beforehand to fetch Mr. Smith’s best clothes for his burial,” she said in a kind tone. “Along with Alice Cameron, the doctor’s wife, we used your soap to wash his body before we dressed him.”
Tears pricked Hester’s eyes, and she forced them not to fall. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Delia squeezed Hester’s arm. “Come. You must be anxious to see your new home.”
They walked up a stone step to the covered porch and through the open door. Only dimly was Hester aware of Reverend Joshua and Micah following them.
Once inside, she had to blink several times to clear her eyes.
The kitchen area stretched out on the left—a row of cabinets, a dry sink with a round white basin inside and a matching pitcher on the edge, a high, narrow counter on which to prepare meals, and a black stove. A clean towel decorated with violets was folded next to the pitcher, with a disk of round purple soap on top. A small shaving mirror hung on the wall above the sink.
In the middle of the room between the kitchen and the parlor area, a square table was set with gold-rimmed white china on an embroidered flower tablecloth. Several white cloths covered some serving plates.
Beyond the table toward the back of the house was a parlor area. Several handmade wooden chairs were grouped in front of a stone fireplace, with a carved wooden mantlepiece she knew her brother had made several years ago.
Delia released Hester at the same time as Reverend Joshua reached out a hand. “Let me take your coat, Miss Smith.”
Unaccustomed to aid from a gentleman, Hester awkwardly slid her arms from her coat. “I’ll probably need to air it outside for a few days to get out the smell of soot.” She made futilely to wipe the wrinkles from her black skirt.
“A week at least.” Delia’s tone was heavy with experience. “Then, you’ll wipe it down with a damp cloth and let it air some more.” She made a shooing motion at her husband. “Joshua, why don’t you drape Miss Smith’s coat over the chair on the porch? While you’re at it, will you and Sam please bring in her luggage?”
Reverend Norton’s eyes twinkled. “Always willing to be of service, my dear.” The minister went outside with Hester’s coat.
Such solicitousness made Hester uncomfortable. Even at Lovie’s house, she was treated as one of the family and expected to see to herself.
She moved over to the dry sink, unpinned her hat, and checked in the mirror to make sure her hair remained smoothly tucked into a tight bun. Lifting the soap to her nose, Hester sniffed, expecting to smell lavender but instead caught the faint scent of violets. How lovely. Quickly, she washed and dried her hands and face. Carefully, she folded the towel and returned it back to the sink.
Delia gestured toward the table, covered with a cloth, embroidered with violets along the edges. “I didn’t want to leave you with washing up to do. So, I brought my own linens and dishes. Oh, and by the way, I’ve made sure all Mr. Smith’s bedlinen and towels have been laundered.”
“You didn’t have to do that!”
Mrs. Norton went on as if Hester hadn’t spoken. “As far as I could tell, the clothing he had here was clean, and what was sent back from the logging camp, was smudged with smoke to make sure to kill the lice, before we washed them.”
Hester repressed a shudder. Jimmy had often complained about the lice-infected camp and the measures he took—bathing in a hot spring and holding his clothes over a fire—so as not to carry any lice back home. “So thoughtful of you. Lice, ugh.”
Micah loped inside with her satchel, followed by the men carrying her trunk.
Hester waved toward a narrow hallway on the other side of the table. “Thank you, gentlemen. My bedroom is the one on the right.”
After the three returned, they went to the sink and washed up. Then Sam, with a reassuring smile for Hester, sauntered outside.
Mrs. Norton gestured to Hester to sit, and then took the chair across the table. Micah joined his mother, leaving Reverend Joshua to take the seat beside Hester.
Only four settings. Hester glanced behind to see if Sam had reentered the house. But through the open door, she saw him rubbing the nearest horse’s head.
Delia followed her glance. “Sam is welcome to join us. He just prefers to keep an eye on the horses. He’s convinced, without his vigilance, some dangerous creature will attack our team.” She took a plate from on top of her own, which Hester hadn’t noticed, filled it with several sandwiches and gave it to Micah. “Come back for Sam’s tea.”
While Micah took the plate outside, Delia reached for the teapot and began to pour. Once finished, she handed Hester a plate of dainty sandwiches cut into triangles that looked too good to eat.
“The woods are too close for Sam’s liking.” Reverend Joshua sent a fond smile in the coachman’s direction. “He’s a city boy.”
Delia scrunched a face at her husband. “Don’t disparage those of us who grew up in cities,” she teased. “Coming from St. Louis, Miss Smith is probably a city girl, too. You don’t want to offend her.” Delia placed several sandwiches on the plate and handed it to Micah.
Hester was long past being a girl, but she wished she was brave enough to join in their banter. She and Lovie sometimes indulged in such playful conversations. Still, she wanted to clarify that she wasn’t so easily affronted. “I know Reverend Joshua wouldn’t be offensive.”
His eyes twinkled. “Oh, I can offend. But I save those type of conversations for when I must chastise sinners.”
Delia gave a little shake of her head. “Don’t listen to him, Miss Smith. My husband rarely chastises anyone, even when there’s the need. Instead, like his father, he tries to persuade .”
Hester had heard many chastising sermons from the pulpit and wondered how a minister could possibly preach without doing so.
Micah scooted in to rejoin them at the table.
Delia took a sip of her tea. “Mr. Smith had made some winter preparations, but not enough to last you until next spring.”
“Jimmy had no need if he was going to spend most of his time at the logging camp.” Hester’s words came out in a hoarse whisper. “I’ve brought some items, spices, some jars of my friend’s flavorful pickles, salamis….”
Delia nodded in obvious approval. “Always good to have a taste of home when you move to a different state. Still—” She sighed “—sometimes I miss fresh seafood—crab and crawfish and oysters….” She sent a stern look at her husband. “Don’t you dare tell Papa. He’d find a way to bring me some—probably by renting a refrigerated train car.”
Reverend Joshua laughed. “I can see him doing so.”
Hester could never recall seeing a minister laugh. They always seemed to wear an air of solemnity. She looked forward to hearing Reverend Joshua preach.
“Did you leave close friends behind in Saint Louis,” Delia asked.
“My best friend married a farmer, who lives out of town. I visit, visited—” she stumbled over the tense “—as often as I could. I learned to milk a cow and avoid the hens pecking at my hands when I gathered eggs.”
“Then, you’ll be well prepared for life in Sweetwater Springs,” Delia said gaily. “You’ll have a cow and hens in no time.”
Her words reminded Hester of her plans with Jimmy and squashed her good feelings. She couldn’t imagine dealing with livestock on her own.
Her expression must have reflected her inner turmoil.
Reverend Joshua turned his attention away from watching her to glance around the table. “Shall we say grace?” While they bowed their heads, he recited a simple prayer, which included a blessing for Hester’s safe arrival.
Her throat closed. The kindness of these people was overwhelming, and so different from anything she’d experienced except with Lovie’s family.
After Reverend Joshua concluded the prayer, Hester made herself inhale a deep breath, or else she’d be choking on her food, and take a sip of tea. The act of eating the sandwiches, one cucumber and one of a tasty fish paste that she couldn’t identify, along with the tea warming her tight stomach, made her relax.
After the sandwiches, Delia extended a plate of tiny, square cakes, and encouraged her to have more than one. “We can’t take credit for these petit fours ,” she told Hester. “There’s the most delightful sweetshop in town.”
Hester tasted the exotic miniature cakes, tiny enough to finish in one bite, although she daintily took two, savoring the crunch of the icing and the chocolate flavor inside. She had a deft hand at baking cookies, pies, and big cakes but nothing so exquisite.
“Not only can you go into the sweet shop, Sugarplum Dreams, and pick up readymade treats, the owner, Julia Ritter, has tables where you can sit with friends and take tea or chocolate with whatever pastries or candy you’ve selected.”
Perhaps if Lovie lived here, she and Hester would patronize the sweetshop, drinking chocolate and eating cake. But she couldn’t imagine going by herself or making a friend she felt comfortable enough with.
Once again, her awkward thoughts must have shown on her face.
Delia rose and started gathering the dishes. “Here, we’re blathering on, and you must be exhausted, longing to lie down and rest.”
Hester grabbed for a plate. “Please, let me wash these and return them….” She trailed off, realizing that she didn’t know where her visitors lived.
Reverend Joshua and Delia exchanged looks. “We’ll be by on Sunday to drive you to church this first time, so we can introduce you around.”
Hester shrank back against the chair. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly impose.”
Micah bounced in his seat. “You must come with us, Miss Smith. Then I can ride up on top with Sam.”
“No imposition at all.” Reverend Joshua gave Hester his kind smile. “You don’t mind going early, do you? We like to arrive about half an hour before the service, to set up and greet first arrivals. My parents are usually there before us.”
This family is steamrolling me with kindness. For a second, she imagined herself lying flat on a St. Louis road after having been run over by the steam-powered vehicle.
How can I possibly refuse? Hester forced a smile. “That would be lovely.” Once they arrived at church, no doubt the Nortons would be busy with their duties, and, hopefully, she could slip unnoticed into one of the last pews before most of the congregation arrived.
All morning, the awareness of his new neighbor’s imminent arrival made Dale keep his ears pricked for the sounds of life next door, even as he stayed out of sight in the greenhouse situated behind his home. He pinched off some dead leaves of his strawberry plants, the last of the season’s berries still too green to pick.
Hearing the hoofbeats of horses made him curious enough to walk along the opposite side of his house from the Smiths to peer around the corner. Some foliage blocked his sight and, snail-like, he moved out into the yard toward a Blue Spruce, prepared to instantly pull back into his shell. He trod on some dead leaves, wincing as the crunching sound echoed through the quiet.
Across the street, the dazzling hues of an aspen stand blazed golden among the green conifers. Puffs of breeze shivered the leaves, the light sound a contrast to the heavier bronze ones of an ancient cottonwood about forty feet farther into the woods, the smaller suckers of the parent tree screened from his sight by the firs.
He watched the Norton-Bellaire coach deposit a smiling Delia Bellaire in a beautiful green dress. She carried a basket into the Smith house, while Reverend Joshua, his son, Micah, and their coachman Sam, hauled in several wooden crates.
They’re preparing a welcome party, no doubt.
Well, not a party, given the reason for her arrival. Just extending a kind welcome.
Then Reverend Joshua and Micah left in the coach. As the vehicle passed, Sam saw him, flashed a knowing grin, and called out, “Hey, Mr. Marsden!”
Embarrassed to be caught watching instead of helping with the preparations, Dale ducked his head. Yet, not quite willing to leave and miss what was happening next door, he started gathering up the fallen autumn leaves, their golden or ruby colors faded, brown edges curling. He let out a slow sigh, thinking how soon the trees would shed all their glory, leaving barren branches, with only the firs showing any green.
Once he’d gathered the dead leaves and deposited them onto the compost pile, he took shears to the last of the gray-green foliage of the purple-flowered catmint he used as ground cover around the other plants and between the meandering paving stones. The plants’ lemony-mint scent made Dale grateful he hadn’t cultivated the type that stank like musty skunk.
Lost in his tasks, he forgot all about Miss Smith until the sound of the coach approaching with the new arrival made him drop the shears and dart behind the spruce. He could tell that Sam spotted him, for the man winked and, again, sent that knowing look his way.
Sheepishly, Dale watched as the coachman set the brake, tied off the reins, and climbed down to open the door and hand out the newcomer.
A small foot in a sturdy boot showed first and then the rest of the woman enveloped in a traveling coat. She wore a rather battered looking black hat and stared straight ahead, so Dale couldn’t see her face. As if unsteady, or perhaps overcome with emotion, she stopped, clinging to Sam’s hand.
The driver showed the woman an expression of empathy and, in a gentlemanly way, held her steady until she found her balance. The man couldn’t be a bigger contrast to Dale, the coward hiding in the trees.
Miss Smith was smaller than he’d expected, slight, even. Hardly the image of the large, overbearing harridan he’d been imagining. Still, as he knew from experience with his sisters and mother, a diminutive woman could still have a personality both critical and forceful, at times even cruel.
When everyone but Sam went inside, the coachman motioned Dale over.
Reluctantly, he left the safety of the yard, hoping that no one in the house next door would look out the window, see them talking, and invite him inside.
“I have something for you.” Sam sent an uneasy glance toward the woods. “I didn’t want to leave the horses to mosey over and knock on your door.”
Perhaps in response to Sam’s earlier knowing look, an imp of mischief jumped into Dale, for he had the unusual impulse to tease the man. “Hmmm, yes.” He gave the coachman a solemn nod in apparent agreement with his fears. “Panthers. Moose. Bears. Outlaws. Indians.”
The man’s eyes widened with each word, until the last two, when he burst out laughing, showing his infectious grin. “Pulling my leg, Mr. Marsden, you are.”
“Dale,” he corrected. “Can’t joke with a man who calls me mister.”
Inside, Dale marveled at this unaccountably comfortable interaction with someone he’d only known by sight. “I’ll have you know I’ve never seen panthers, bears, outlaws, or Indians on this street. But once a moose with enormous antlers—” he raised his arms head-height and, with wide fingers, stretched them, to indicate the size “—sauntered down the street, acting as if he owned the road.”
“A moose that size does own the road,” Sam muttered. He jerked a thumb toward the coach. “Reverend Joshua told me to tell you they kept your flower arrangement at Mr. Smith’s grave until everything wilted.”
He went to the side of the coach, reached inside, and removed a towel-wrapped parcel, flipping over one edge to expose the vase, before handing over the bundle.
Dale took the vase and gave back the towel. “ Thank you .” He stressed the two words, hoping the man understood he meant for the return of the vase and , more importantly, the unprecedented chance to laugh and joke with someone, who now felt like he might, just might, become a friend.