Chapter Ten

Rosie's sleeves wererolled up to her elbows, and flour covered the apron tied snugly around her waist. She shaped the dough into whimsical shapes, her hands deft and practiced. Carrie stood beside her at the counter, her more delicate fingers carefully adding frosting to a batch of cookies.

"Rosie," Carrie said, "I never did have children of my own. You can't imagine how it warms my heart to finally include Malcolm's daughters as part of my family." She glanced up from her meticulous work, her eyes glistening. "I'm so happy you're letting me help with this and be a part of your life."

Rosie paused, her hands stilling on the pastry. She looked over at Carrie, seeing the genuine joy etched into her features. "I'm so glad, Carrie. We're blessed to have you in our lives too," Rosie said sincerely. "Our mother was good to us in every way. When the man we thought was our father said we couldn't go to church, Mother read scripture to us and prayed with us. When he said we couldn't go to school, she taught us to read, write, and do arithmetic. She taught us history. She let us go to the stream in the summer so we could cool off. She broke many of his rules for us. The only thing she didn't do was tell us that we had another father who loved us." Rosie shook her head. "I can't love her any less for it because I saw her take many beatings that were meant for me and my sisters. How could I blame her for anything? Do I wish we'd had both of our parents our entire lives? In more ways than I can say. Am I angry with her for it? No. We don't need a mother in our lives in the same way we need a father, but we are all pleased to welcome a new one into our lives."

As the evening wore on, the kitchen table became laden with an assortment of baked goods, each more inviting than the last.

Finally, Malcolm and Carrie donned their coats and prepared to leave. They shared satisfied smiles as they surveyed the bounty laid out before them. Rosie stepped into Carrie's arms. "Thank you so much for helping our little town with me. You have no idea how much I enjoyed spending this time with you."

"Thank you for this evening," Malcolm said, his voice rich with gratitude. Carrie took his arm, and together, along with Charles, they stepped out into the crisp night air.

After returning from walking his in-laws to Albert's house, Charles appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the frame. He watched Rosie as she tidied up, her movements efficient yet graceful.

"Rosie," he said, catching her attention. She turned to him. "Today was a resounding success. And your father, he's quite a man. Kindness seems to run in the family."

Before Rosie could respond, Charles closed the distance between them and gently kissed her cheek. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a flutter through her heart.

"Goodnight, Rosie," Charles said softly, his gaze lingering on hers just a moment longer than necessary. He quickly went up to bed, leaving her touching her cheek where his lips had been.

Rosie hesitated outside Charles's bedroom door, her fingers trembling as they traced the wood grain before she rapped softly.

Inside, Charles sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees. His posture spoke volumes, the weight of the world seemingly perched upon his broad shoulders.

"Charles?"

He looked up and there was no mistaking the surprise in his eyes as he met her gaze. "Rosie? Is everything all right?"

"May I?" She gestured to the space beside him.

"Of course." He straightened, making room for her.

Rosie sat and turned to face him. "Charles, I've been thinking," she began. "Perhaps...it would be best if I went back to Massachusetts with Malcolm and Carrie. I can't help but feel that I'm not what you wanted in a wife."

"Rosie," he stammered, looking surprised, "why would you say such a thing?"

"Because," she whispered, "you seem so far away, even when you're right beside me."

"Rosie," Charles said. "I think you're perfect. Everything about you—the way you care for others, your strength, your laughter—it's more than I ever hoped for."

"Then why—" she started, but he placed a finger over her lips, silencing her.

"Because," he said, "I have been distant, and it's not fair to you. It's just that..."

"Charles, if we are to make this work, we must be honest with each other," Rosie said, her hand covering his. "I want us to be real, to share every part of our lives, not just live under the same roof as strangers."

"Rosie," Charles whispered. "You deserve that. We both do."

"Then let's start now," Rosie urged.

Charles paced the room. "Rosie," he finally said, "I think I owe you more than I've told you."

"What haven't you told me?" she asked.

"Rosie," Charles began, "I've been carrying burdens I haven't wanted to share. But seeing you, knowing you...it makes me want to try. To try and let go of those fears that have shackled me."

Rosie reached out, her hand finding his.

"Tell me, Charles," she whispered. "I'm right here with you. And I'm not going anywhere."

"Rosie," he began, "my late wife did everything she could to control me. If I did something that made her happy, she would allow me to have marital relations with her. If we fought, there would be no relations."

Rosie watched him, her eyes warm and comforting.

"Every day was difficult. I loved her, but she killed that love rather quickly." A pained chuckle escaped him. "When she passed from pneumonia, it was as though the air cleared for the first time in years. And I felt guilt for feeling that relief, Rosie."

In the flickering light, Rosie's hand reached out, finding his arm. He had to know he had her unwavering support. "Charles," she said, "there's no shame in feeling relief at her death. I felt relief when my mother died, not only because she'd been ill, but because it meant my sisters and I could leave there."

Charles nodded.

"Your heart, it's been through the wringer, but here you are—opening up to me," Rosie continued. "That takes more courage than most men can muster. I'm here for you, Charles, to stand by your side and help you in any way I can."

A mix of emotions swirled within him. The laughter that bubbled up now held a trace of genuine mirth, born from the absurdity of finding solace in the heart of a woman who was supposed to be nothing more than a means to an end.

––––––––

THEIR KISS WAS SLOWat first, but quickly became passionate. Clothes were shed, fluttering to the wooden floor of his bedroom. As they came together, the warmth of their bodies entwined, she understood the magic her sisters had talked about that happened with their husbands.

Afterward, as he held her, Charles whispered, "I love you so much, Rosie."

Rosie lifted her head and looked into his face. "I love you, Charles. I don't believe I could express how much."

*****

THE FOLLOWING EVENINGat Izzy and Albert's house, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread. Laughter and conversation bubbled around them, but Charles found himself with his gaze anchored to Rosie. She was radiant, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue that matched her name.

"Charles?" Albert nudged him gently. "You planning to join us here anytime soon, or is the view from whatever cloud you're on too enchanting to leave?"

"Apologies, Albert," Charles replied with a sheepish grin, tearing his eyes away from Rosie for a fleeting moment. "It seems I've discovered something worth getting lost in."

"Ah, love," Albert mused, clinking his glass lightly against Charles's. "Makes even the most grounded of men float away."

"Yes," William chimed in from across the table, raising his own glass in salute. "To floating away."

As the night unfolded, Charles savored each glance exchanged with Rosie, each subtle touch beneath the tablecloth, all the while marveling at how vastly his world had expanded since allowing his emotions to surface.

*****

LATER, AFTER THE LAUGHTERfrom the dinner table had dwindled into a contented murmur, Malcolm sat with his hands clasped, his gaze flitting across the faces of his daughters and their husbands.

"Girls," he began, his voice catching slightly. "Carrie and I have been talking, and there's something we need to share."

Rosie felt a flutter in her chest. She exchanged a quick, searching glance with her sisters, Ana's fiery curls bobbing as she leaned in, Izzy's elegant poise unshaken but her eyes alight with curiosity.

"Carrie and I..." Malcolm continued. "We've grown quite fond of this place, of being here with you all. The thought of returning to Massachusetts without you is more than we can bear." He paused, looking down at his weathered hands before meeting their eyes again. "Would you mind terribly...if we decided to settle here, close to our family?"

For a moment, the room was silent. Then, as if by some unspoken signal, the Winslow sisters turned to each other, their expressions a complex tapestry of joy, surprise, and an inkling of mischief that only siblings could share.

"Yes," they answered in unison.

"Truly?" Malcolm's eyes misted over.

"Of course, Father," Rosie said, her voice warm with affection. "This town could use more good people like you and Carrie."

"Besides," Ana chimed in, her grin wide and impish, "Hope Springs has never seen a batch of cookies quite like Carrie's. You'll both fit right in."

"And it will be good for Lillian to grow up with a grandfather close by. And the babies on their way," Izzy added softly.

"Seems Hope Springs is quite the magnet," Charles remarked. "Attracting all sorts of treasures."

"Very true," William agreed, his tone carrying the weight of his medical wisdom. "I've always said, ‘Family is the best medicine.'"

"Especially when it comes with Carrie's cookies," Albert said.

"Then it's settled," Malcolm said, his voice buoyant with relief and newfound purpose. "Hope Springs, prepare for two more eager hearts to call you home."