Page 53 of If the Boot Fits

“Leave the water, but grab one of the gunnysacks.” She pointed to a spot near the porch where they’d stacked a pair of bushel baskets topped with a few sacks.

Samantha retrieved a sack and hurried to deliver it.

Mrs. Ellis ignored the sack and reached for Samantha’s hand instead. “Look, Miss Dearing. So much bounty.” Emotion choked her voice.

“Please, you must call me Samantha.”

Mrs. Ellis smiled at her through misty eyes and squeezed her hand. “I’d like that. And you must call me Bess.”

Samantha nodded, feeling slightly misty herself. She’d seen the love and warmth that flowed through the Ellis family, had admired their closeness and their willingness to sacrifice for one another. This woman was the family’s heart, the source and perpetuator of that envious warmth. To have her respect as Jack’s teacher was a blessing, but to be offered her friendship—it touched a place inside Samantha that longed for the nurturing affection she’d never received from her own mother.

“Look.” Bess gestured to the yellow vines crawling over the ground in front of them. “They’re perfect!”

Samantha gazed at the plot, failing to see anything close to perfection. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

Bess smiled and reached for one of the vines in front of her. “Only on the surface. Watch.”

She pulled on the vine, and as it released its loose hold on the earth, up came the roots and a pair of red potatoes. A gentle tug was all it took to separate tuber from plant.

“There’s another one!” Samantha pointed to a potato visible in mound of dirt left behind.

Bess laughed. “Oh yes, I imagine there’s at least two or three more under the soil here. After we pull up the vines, we’ll take a fork to the ground and see how many we can uncover. I bet we can fill at least two of these large sacks. Maybe more.” She nodded to a vine in front of Samantha. “Give it a try.”

Catching the excitement, Samantha bent at the waist and tugged on the plant closest to her. When the roots released their grip, Samantha nearly toppled backward, but she was too delighted by the potatoes dangling from her plant to care. She shared a grin with Bess.

“You made this possible, Samantha,” Bess said. “A full harvest of potatoes. Once they’ve dried and cured, they will last us through the winter. And we’re finding other produce as well.” Her gaze scanned the rest of the half-acre plot. “Summer squash, beans, cabbage, tomatoes, beets. The corn is dried out, but it can be used to feed our animals or even ground down for grits. The pumpkin seeds I planted in May have put out vines, too. They’ll need some nurturing, but I think we can revitalize them enough to have pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving.” She grinned. “It’s Fergus’s favorite.” She spread her arms wide. “There’s so much here. Yes, there’s rot, weeds, and plants too withered from neglect to produce, but beneath the bad is a wealth of good if one is willing to look for it.”

Bess peered at her in a way that added extra weight to her words, as if she were talking about more than just her garden.

“I’m willing.” The simple words reverberated through Samantha’s chest like a sacred vow.

Bess grinned, a twinkle entering her eyes. “I thought you might be.”

An image of Asher rose to Samantha’s mind, and when Bess winked at her as if she’d just borne witness to said image, heat flamed Samantha’s cheeks.

Bess patted her shoulder and nodded toward the plants, graciously giving Samantha something to focus on besides her embarrassment. “Pull up all the vines and set aside the potatoes as you go. When you finish, I’ll show you how to use the digging fork to unearth the rest. Then we’ll brush off the worst of the dirt and pile them in the gunnysacks. Too much sun turns them green, so we’ll want to have them stored before we stop for lunch.”

Samantha accepted her assignment and dug potatoes for the next hour. It took some practice to get comfortable with the fork, but by the time she finished the last row, she’d found a rhythm. And a pair of blisters.

When it came time to round up the potatoes into their gunnysack pen, Fergus offered to help, holding the mouth of the sack open while Samantha emptied her apron load. A few strays escaped each time, but Fergus and Jimmy took charge of those. Until Ida Mae called her son to the pump to wash up for lunch.

“Jimmy, come see Mama.”

The toddler squatted down in the potato patch, a mulish look on his face. “No. Help Gus Gus.”

Fergus rubbed the boy’s back. “You were a good helper, Jimmy, but you better obey your mama. We can do more together later.”

“No! Help Gus Gus now.”

Fergus glanced at Samantha, his eyes pleading for ideas. She held up a potato and tipped her head toward Ida Mae.

Fergus nodded. He pulled a potato from the open sack and held it out to Jimmy. “Here. Can you help me take this to your mama? Help Fergus?”

Jimmy took the potato and threw it on the ground. “No!”

Fergus looked to Samantha for more inspiration, but all she could do was shrug. Toddlers were rarely logical creatures. Especially when nap time loomed.

Thankfully, Martin jogged into the fray and scooped Jimmy off the ground. “I got you, little man.” Holding him securely under his arms, he let the boy’s legs dangle as he swung him around. Much zig-zagging commenced along with train sounds and an occasional spin. When the two finally made it to the pump, Jimmy was giggling.