Free Hidden in the Trees (Bellingwood Stotries #1) by Diane Greenwood Muir Page B

drew him away from his family and he headed west.
    Andrew waved at his brother in the field as he walked toward town pulling his cart, followed by their dog, Homer. Jason smiled and waved back.
    Their little town was growing. The school year was nearly over and fourteen new students had come into the school in the last month. Four new families had moved into town and one of the fathers was going to be the new blacksmith. Old Mr. Danvers had gotten kicked in the head by a horse when he was shoeing it and he had died a few days later. Everyone talked about how he was smarter than that, but there were stories that he had turned to drinking in the last few years and didn't always have his wits about him.
    The new blacksmith had four daughters. The twins, who were Andrew's age, giggled and whispered all the time. He thought they must be quite dim-witted. One sister was in Jason's class, but Jason hadn't met her yet because he hadn't been to school since he started planting. The oldest sister sat up front by the teacher and talked about how she wanted to be a school teacher as well. She had interesting books and one time caught Andrew staring at the pile of books on her desk. He wanted to open each of them and flip through the pages to see what kind of interesting things a girl her age might be reading, but when she scowled at him, he ducked back to his own desk.
    Andrew pulled his cart up to the bank and ran up the stairs beside the front door to the rooms where Mrs. Watson lived. He only had to knock once and she answered the door.
    "Good morning, Andrew! I'm so glad to see that you have my eggs! I had guests over yesterday and ran out, so I didn't have anything for breakfast this morning."
    He stared at her. Her long brown hair, which was usually pulled back and tied up on top of her head was down and flowing around her neck and shoulders. She was dressed in a brightly colored silky robe, tied at the waist. Underneath, she was wearing loose fitting men's pants and an oversized shirt that was splattered with paint.
    "I'm sorry that I look so funny this morning," she said. "I was up late last night painting. Do you want to see what I was working on?"
    Andrew nodded and followed her into the front room. She took him over to the easel which was standing in front of the main window. He knew that she often painted here because late at night she could still see by the light of the street lamps.
    Mrs. Watson pulled back the cover and he saw the beginning of two horses and a plow. It looked like their horses and plow.
    "What do you think?" she asked.
    "It looks like our new horses," he responded.
    "You're right. It is a painting of your horses. Today I am going to take a walk to your house and spend some time painting your brother in the field. Don't you think it is beautiful?"
    He didn’t think so. To him, beautiful pictures were painted in places far away from Bellingwood, Iowa, but he nodded.
    "Sometimes beauty is in your own back yard, Andrew. You like to read stories and your mother tells me that sometimes you write your own stories, too. You should never forget that some of the very best stories you read are because people see the beauty in what surrounds them."
    "Yes ma'am." He wasn't quite sure what she meant, but he did think about what she said. Maybe there were interesting stories in Bellingwood. He'd have to pay more attention.
    He left her and went on to the General Store. Mr. Ivins was cutting some fabric from a bolt of cloth for Mrs. Lantham, so Andrew wandered around, looking at the section of school supplies. He ran his hand over a leather covered journal. Someday he wanted one of these. For now he was content to write his stories on paper and tuck them into a box he had, but this was what he dreamed about.
    "Good morning, Andrew. Are you here to pick up the parcel from your uncle?"
    "Yes sir. My mother sent this list, too," Andrew replied, handing over the list and the dollar coin.
    "Here's the package," Mr. Ivins said,