Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
A fter Andre Bellaire and Rose Collier left, restlessness made Dale reluctant to sit again in the chair and try to get lost between the pages of a book. Thoughts of his conversation with Miss Collier intertwined with those of his next-door neighbor. He wondered if Miss Smith was going to church tonight. Should I offer to escort her?
Maybe if he started by leaving a little gift, he could watch and see if she opened her door to go to church. If she picked up the gift and read the note and smiled, he’d step forward and offer to walk with her. Walking in the dark, even with partial moonlight and carrying a lantern, would be frightening to a lady unaccustomed to nighttime in Sweetwater Springs. Well, probably any lady, even those born in town, would feel uneasy.
Regardless, then, I should escort her. I can offer to carry a lantern, so she doesn’t have to.
A gift might ease his way. If Miss Smith still objected, he’d tell her he’d walk fifty feet behind, both close enough to watch over her and far enough that she should feel safe. After all, they were going to the same place.
What kind of gift?
Something appropriate for a lady. One of his gardening books, maybe. But what if she already possesses that particular volume? He remembered her expression of wonder, when she looked at his purple mums, and the answer came to him. Seeds, of course!
He could put them in an envelope and include a note. Find something nice to wrap it into. He strode from the kitchen and down the hall to the parlor, thinking.
Dale always had an embarrassment of riches when it came to Christmas presents. Even though he lived estranged from his family, they didn’t really believe he was estranged from them. So, his mother and his sisters, cousins, and aunts sent him gifts. He received a plethora of handkerchiefs, stockings, gloves, scarves, and, sometimes, hats.
In the parlor, the cloth-wrapped gifts, tied with fancy ribbon, sat on one of the marble end tables, with a couple situated on the floor. All except for the one from Clarise, who always wrapped her present in a brown paper bag secured with twine.
Dale refused to have a tree. Growing up—the Christmas tree laden with glass ornaments from Germany, tiny presents, angels, tinsel, marzipan, and candles—he’d wished for many years that the holiday would be as perfect as the tree. But the reality was far from his vision of a merry family Christmas.
If one of the others received a gift that was better or prettier or more expensive than hers, his sisters and cousins bickered and sulked. His mother soon developed a headache, or claimed to, and grew testy. His two aunts fled from the children into their rooms with a book and spiced apple cider. His grandmother drank too much of the mulled wine and passed out, snoring in her chair.
Dale had no idea what holidays were like in his family now. He knew from letters that they all gathered on Christmas Eve. But that told him nothing about the type of holiday they experienced.
He looked through the present pile, discarding the one from his mother, and setting it unopened on the floor. She seemed to believe he was still living the life of a gentleman and would send new shirts or sometimes a new vest, cufflinks, and, over the years, enough watch fobs to make him jingle if he wore them all at once. Not that he wore the ostentatious bits of jewelry.
He’d put a stop to new suits by informing her his size had changed—even though he was still as thin as ever—and refusing to divulge any different measurements. Although last year, she’d sent him a heavy coat.
Just like every year on his birthday, his mother sent him a bank note, more than enough for a first-class train ticket home. Until she’d passed away, his grandmother also sent him money.
The first year they did that, he gave back the funds with a polite thank-you and mentioned that he didn’t need anything and wouldn’t be traveling. Then his mom and grandma returned the money. After bouncing the money back-and-forth for almost a year, he gave up.
Dale didn’t know nor particularly care whether they sent gifts because they had some shreds of remorse for how they’d treated him. Or maybe his mother pretended to all her acquaintances that she was “mother bountiful” to her undutiful son. He did not return the favor by sending presents to his family. They were all financially well-off and didn’t need anything from him.
Instead, he mailed polite thank you-notes and deposited half the gift money in his bank account. The other half he gave to the Nortons to use in their various charities. He usually kept one shirt or whatever other clothing item he might need and donated the rest to the Nortons to give away.
He liked to think of something good coming from his horrible family to help those in need. Canny Mrs. Norton, with her sweet demeanor and gentle smile, could make the impoverished people who were most adamant against receiving charity, no matter how much in need of clothing or food they were, by patting their arms and saying, “Someday, when you’re in a better position, you’ll be able to give to others when they are in need.”
He picked up the brown paper parcel from Clarise. She tended to send him expensive gifts she knew he wouldn’t want. Last year, she’d sent a hideous yellow-and-orange-plaid scarf made of beautiful soft wool. Maybe this year she sent one in pink. That would suit Miss Smith beautifully.
But when he opened the package, he saw another scarf—a tan one, which wouldn’t be bad if it wasn’t plaid, with lines of rust, gold, and forest green crossing through it.
Actually, not a bad look—for another man. But certainly not for a lady.
But he lucked out with Annabelle’s gift, a dusty blue scarf made of fine wool, and definitely not plaid. Perfect for anyone with blue eyes, such as his neighbor. He hoped she’d like it.
Tightness still made Hester’s chest ache. She didn’t know how long she’d sat in the chair, trying to catch her breath and calm her mind—at least somewhat. She unrolled her sleeves, not caring that her arms were still floury and sticky from the dough.
I can’t sit here all night. It’s Christmas Eve. If I won’t go to church, at least I should do something to acknowledge the holiday.
She glanced around for inspiration, carefully avoiding the mess on the kitchen table, and settled on the candles amid evergreen boughs in the windows. It was too early, really, to light the candles, but doing so provided an excuse to rise and move.
After taking a long matchstick from the tin by the stove, Hester opened the door of the firebox and stuck the match into the fire. With a small hiss and smell of sulfur, the matchhead lit.
She walked to light the candles in the window, inhaling their cinnamon scent, mingling with evergreen fragrance of the fir boughs. If she’d stayed in St. Louis, by now she’d be at Lovie’s, for Mrs. Ransom traveled to her sister’s home for the holiday, leaving Hester free to visit Lovie’s farm. For three precious days, she basked in the warmth and love of family.
By now, they’ll be in the middle of their usual joyous celebration. A big dinner. Opening presents. Going to church. Doing all the traditional things they did every year. She’d have little ones to hold and read to. Older children who always wanted to hear stories of Hester and Lovie’s time in the orphanage. Hiram’s family would stop by, bringing loud cheer with them.
Her gaze fastened on the lone parcel under the tree. On impulse, she decided to open the gift. She retrieved the present, in the process getting a lungful of pine and cinnamon from the sticks she’d hung as decorations, and then went to sit by the fireplace in a more comfortable chair.
After unpeeling the first layer of brown paper, she came upon Lovie’s letter and set aside the parcel to lean closer to the fire so she could see to read.
My dearest Hester,
I can’t believe this will be the first Christmas I’ll spend without you since we both arrived at the orphanage within a few months of each other. I knew our parting would be difficult without being able to see each other every few weeks. But I didn’t realize how lost I’d feel without my orphanage sister. The children miss their Aunt Hester, and even my rather reticent Hiram has made a few forlorn remarks about your absence.
I know over the years that you’ve remarked how much you appreciated our friendship and even sometimes marveled that I’d be your close friend when there were so many more outgoing and pretty girls to befriend. What I didn’t quite realize or express to you was that you’ve always been my anchor. You were the one, who, despite your shyness, reached out a kind hand to a grief-stricken girl, whose whole family had been wiped out in one fell swoop of a wagon accident. You managed to convey your understanding of my pain, for you’d experienced your own losses. How I envied you still having a brother, when my own three were gone! But soon, Jimmy became like my little brother, too. You’ve been my family, dearest Hester, and you always will be, even though we’re so far apart.
Please know that this present contains more than just the gift enclosed. When you wear your present, imagine that you’re wrapped in a hug from your loved ones.
I won’t wish you a Merry Christmas, Hester, because I know this holiday has been far from happy. But I will wish you many blessings and a Joyous Noel for all the years to come.
Your sister of the heart, Lovie
Her eyesight blurred. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t…” She ground out the words, feeling her heart shuddering and pounding, her clenched fists trembling.
I made the wrong decision. I should have stayed in St. Louis with Lovie.
Despair pulled her down like a whirlpool, helplessly lost to the swirls of heartache. Still, she did not cry, although her eyes stung with the effort to hold back her tears.
Lucy rose to her feet, faced the front door, and barked.
Hester glanced over. In the dimming light, she didn’t see anything, but she heard movement on the porch. A bear, maybe. Too full of pain and frustration and remorse, she couldn’t bring herself to be afraid. Maybe I’ll open the door and let the bear eat me.
But Lucy’s wagging tail precluded that possibility.
Enough curiosity threaded through her despair to push her to her feet and shuffle to the door. Hester checked out the window but didn’t see a sign of bear or human. She grabbed the gray shawl hanging on a peg next to the door and wrapped the ends around her shoulders before cracking open the door.
She took the candle from the window and stepped outside, pulling the door almost closed behind her and holding up the light to see. Her gaze fell on a parcel sitting on top of the snow in front of the door. In disbelief, she crouched to touch it, feeling wool under her fingers.
Setting the end of the candle in the snow, she unwrapped what seemed to be a finely-made blue scarf. Within was an envelope with Miss Smith written across the outside.
With trembling fingers, Hester opened the letter and pulled out a piece of stationery, in the process scattering some seeds across the snow. She read:
When winter is darkest, seeds give the hope of spring.
Dale Marsden
The storm of feelings Hester had tightly held in all day, really—since Jimmy’s death—burst forth. With a cry of pain, she crushed the letter, seed envelope, and scarf to her chest and toppled forward into the snow. The candle fell over, and the flame extinguished. Sobs erupted, and she pressed her face into her knees.
She heard the sound of snow-muffled footsteps.
“Miss Smith!” Dale Marsden raced over, dropping to his knees next to her. “Miss Smith.”
Hester didn’t lift her head. “I have no hope,” she wailed.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Hester could hear the distress in his voice. “ You didn’t.” More sobs followed her words.
He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
Like a child, she turned her face to his chest and wept, only dimly aware of Lucy’s barking in the house.
His other arm came around her to enfold her tight. He lowered his cheek to the top of her head and let her cry.
And cry she did. Months, maybe years of tears.
After a while, he gave her shoulder a little jiggle. “Come, my dear Miss Smith, you’ll become chilled.”
“Hester.” She wavered out her name. “Call me Hester.”
“Hester, let me take you inside.”
She uncurled and sat up, the wetness of her face almost freezing. Shivering, she allowed him to help her stand, while she still held his gift clasped against her chest.
His arm stayed around her.
“My seeds.” She pointed to the dimly seen dots scattered in the snow.
“I have more.” He opened the door and ushered her inside.
Lucy waited by the door, her eyes concerned. She jumped up, pressing her front paws onto Hester’s thigh.
With her free hand, she petted the dog. “I’m all right, sweet girl.”
Apparently reassured, the dog dropped, sniffed Mr. Marsden’s legs, and wagged her tail.
“Let’s get you close to the fire.” Without releasing Hester, he guided her toward the fireplace and settled her into a chair. “You’re shivering.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. Removing his coat, he draped it over her front.
Hester set his gift on the floor beside the chair, mopped her eyes and blew her nose, avoiding his gaze. She folded the square and handed it back.
“Keep it.” He cupped his hand over hers. “I have the feeling you’re not done.”
After a long, slow breath, she tucked the handkerchief into the cuff of her sleeve.
“Your hands are like ice.” He went down on one knee to rub her hands. “My intention was never to upset you.”
“Your gift is beautiful ,” Hester said fiercely. “I was feeling so lonely and discouraged. I’m sorry to be such a watering pot.” Embarrassed, she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “Here, I’ve been trying to be so strong. But with missing my brother, trying to single-handedly bake something that needs more than two hands. Missing my best friend and her family, with whom I should be celebrating right now.”
“Hester.” He gave her hands a little pull to draw her attention. “Only a woman of incredible strength would uproot her life, undertake a solitary journey to an unfamiliar Western town, face her loss head-on, and make a new life for herself.”
More tears dripped down her cheeks.
He squeezed her hands and released them, reaching up to wipe away her tears with his thumbs. Then he tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Crying doesn’t mean you’re weak . It means you’re sad…so very sad.”
Hester mustered a smile. What a kind, dear man. “Mr. Marsden?—”
“Dale,” he corrected. “I do believe we are on a first name basis now, Hester.”
“ Dale. You need to go. You’ll be late for church.”
“What about you?” He rose to his feet.
She returned his coat to him. “No one will notice my absence.”
“I would have.” He smiled down at her. “And, most certainly, the Almighty would have.”
Instead of leaving, as she expected, he settled into the other chair across from her, appearing as if he had no desire to go anywhere. “I think, well, like me, you’ve made yourself small and unimportant.”
She scoffed. “I am small and unimportant.”
“Then you haven’t been listening very well to Reverend Norton’s and Reverend Joshua’s sermons.”
“Pot!” She retorted with a smidgen of humor. “Calling kettle!”
He chuckled. “I guess God will notice we’re not there, even if no one else does. But I also think the Christ Child born this day would understand we are having our own, very different kind of service.”
We are?
“You brought me a Christmas present. Why…?” Hester trailed off. She could hardly ask him why he’d been so unwelcoming. “I hardly ever saw you.”
Dale swallowed and slanted her a quick glance before looking away. Now he was the one who couldn’t meet her eyes. “To my shame, I haven’t been neighborly. You see, you…you scared me.”
Me? Too dumfounded to speak, Hester touched her chest. What about me could possibly be frightening?
He took a breath, as if gathering his courage, before looking at her. “My father died when I was three. I have no memory of him. I lived in the family mansion with my maternal grandmother, mother, four sisters, one maiden and one widowed aunt, and three female cousins.”
Eleven women. Hester could only gape at him.
“The women in my family are all officious and overbearing.” He firmed his jaw. “In the case of one sister, cruel, even. But my mother was the worst. Grandmother Hilda tended to pick, pick, pick at me. But my mother used hands, whips, once even a fire poker—a heated one.”
Hester gasped.
“Both had impossible standards for all of us, but since I was the long-awaited son and heir?—”
“You carried everyone’s hopes and expectations.”
“And their expectations of manliness had nothing to do with my expectations. To avoid lectures and criticism and whippings, I learned to dodge my family as best as I could and say very little.”
Pulled in by his story, she leaned forward, feeling empathy for his plight.
“I was supposed to take over my father’s law practice, which had been quite competently run by two of his partners. But I wanted to work with plants. At college, I secretly took several horticulture classes. Soon after I graduated, my great-grandmother died. With an inheritance from her freeing me from the need to conform to my family’s expectations or else be punished, I ran away to Montana. I wanted to build a life away from people—especially women who made me feel… awkward, wrong, even unsafe. Ridiculous, I know, for a grown man.…”
Hester eyed him in disbelief at his vulnerability. “Do you feel unsafe with me?”
He sat back, tapping his chin. “How surprising.” A slow smile dawned on his face.
His reaction coaxed one from Hester in response.
“What about you? Were you always reserved?” he asked.
“Of cour…” Before she could finish, the memory came to her. Her father, tall, or so he seemed to her, laughing. Hair windblown. Running across a field to get a kite airborne. Hester at about age five or six and some neighborhood children following him like quacking ducklings, shrieking with laughter.
Hester inhaled a sharp breath. I hadn’t remembered.
He watched her, silently waiting.
“My mama was quiet. She had beautiful smiles, though. Papa was a salesman. Wasn’t home very often. But when he was, why, he swept us up in big hugs. Brought us candy. Danced my mother around the room. Then he was gone. And I don’t know why.
“This caused you to become reserved?”
“Perhaps….”
“How did he die?” With this question, Dale looked straight at her.
The compassion in his blue eyes emboldened Hester to admit the shameful truth. “I don’t know if he did die.” She looked down and twisted the handkerchief. “Mama no longer smiled. I asked her once when Papa would be home, and she started to cry. I never asked again.” She met his gaze.
He frowned, his brow crinkling in thought. “And you always wondered.”
She couldn’t hold his gaze, lowering her eyes. Her stomach clenched. Can I really reveal my secret? The outrageous thought went against every nerve in her body.
Go on. Tell him the truth. “The—the news got out that they’d never married. Mama was his mistress, and Jimmy and I were illegitimate. The neighbors scorned and shunned us. The children threw rocks at me and called me us bastards.” Her throat tightened.
Hester darted another glance at him, expecting to see the familiar look of condemnation. But. Instead, she saw only compassion in his eyes.
“Mama must have been terribly ashamed, as well as broken-hearted. Then she took sick. I suspect grief laid her low, and she didn’t have the will to… to….”
He reached over, took her hand, and squeezed.
His touch brought enormous comfort, far more than the simple gesture deserved. “So, to answer your original question, I was always shy. But after… I retreated into myself.”
“Without parents to protect you, a retreat makes sense. I’m so sorry you experienced?—”
“We both were children who suffered.”
After hearing his story, sharing her shameful secret, and feeling his empathy instead of his condemnation, Hester felt light, liberated, and full of an odd sort of anticipation.
Dale glanced out the window and then back at her. “Too late to go to church. Since we’re missing the service, perhaps you’d like to share supper with me.”
“I froze chicken soup that I can heat. The potatoes and egg noodles make it quite hearty.”
“Sounds wonderful. Before we eat, what do you say I help you finish your baking?”
She flashed a smile. “I was actually making you an apfelstrudel in thanks for keeping my woodpile stocked.”
“I’m caught out.” He gave her a roguish grin.
“I can’t believe I didn’t notice! I’m not used to using wood, you see. Only coal.”
“I enjoyed helping… thinking about surprising you.” He stood. “I don’t know what apfelstrudel is, but I’m looking forward to dessert.” He held out his hand to help her up.
She hesitated.
“I’m supposed to be the recipient of your apfelstrudel ,” he said in a teasing tone. “After tempting me with the idea of such a delicious dessert, you wouldn’t deny me. That would hardly be in the Christmas spirit.”
Smiling at his playfulness, Hester put her hand in his, feeling his strength and the squeeze he gave before letting go. I like this man. Too, too much. Feeling her cheeks flush, she set his gift on the chair and hurried over to the washstand. “You’ll need to roll up your sleeves and wash your hands and arms,” she said, demonstrating. “The water is probably cold by now. I’ll heat some.”
“Don’t worry about me. Cold is fine.”
Realizing her arms still had traces of flour and dough, she quickly scrubbed up, before drying her hands. She turned to find Dale staring down at the table. He touched one of the cross-stitched mended tears on the sheet. “I have one that looks as pitiful as this.”
“Humph.” She made the sound more teasing than critical. “Men!”
“Yep. Probably would be good to give boys sewing lessons, so we bachelors would be better at fending for ourselves. Cooking lessons, too, for that matter. Although, I did learn a few things from my great-grandmother Ada that have stood me in good stead.”
“Like what?”
He moved to wash and dry his hands. “Growing up, she hadn’t been wealthy and when she visited us, she’d go into the kitchen, push aside our cook, and prepare her favorite meals. I was her valiant companion and cooking assistant.”
“Well, your stew was excellent. I had a taste before giving the meal to Lucy.”
His cheeks reddened. “Thank my great-grandmother.”
Dale’s bashful reaction only made him more endearing. Hester hesitated, taking a step back and even more mental strides away from the man. No sense becoming romantically attached, only to get hurt.
He tapped one finger on the table. “That’s a lot of dough. How big will this apfelstrudel be?”
“I can’t believe what I did. Oh, how silly of me!”
He cocked his head in a questioning motion.
“Without even thinking, I made the size I was used to—one that would feed a lot of orphans. With a smaller amount of dough, I could have managed the shaping on my own. That maelstrom of tears wouldn’t have happened.”
“Scanty portions?” he asked in tone of mock outrage. “You’d deny me the opportunity to eat my weight in strudel?” He puffed out his belly and patted it.
Hester couldn’t help but laugh at Dale’s silliness.
His eyes glinted with good humor, and then turned serious. “You do realize those tears were bound to come out at some point.”
“But not all over you!” she retorted.
“I can wash clothes. But right now, I’m more interested in starting on this elephantine dessert.”
Say yes , she encouraged herself. Yes, to help from others. Yes, to friendship. Yes, to the courage to reach for what I want.
“Let me add some water to our monster dough,” she teased. “It’s probably a little dry by now. Then we’ll see how well you contain the creature.”