Chapter Eight

Rosie's fingers werechilled to the bone, yet she couldn't help but smile as she stood beside Charles amid the park where they'd decided to hold the Christmas festival. The park was a flurry of activity with townsfolk hammering and hoisting booths into place, their breaths visible puffs in the frosty air.

"First Friday and Saturday of December," Rosie confirmed. "It'll be perfect timing for folks to buy gifts and celebrate."

"It will," Charles replied. He glanced at a parchment in his hands, the list of vendors and attractions. "The booth revenue should be substantial. I'm surprised at the sheer amount of craftspeople we have."

"Plus, with my sisters and I baking up a storm, we'll have a nice little nest egg for the town's expenses." Rosie's thoughts flitted to the mountain of cookies and pies they'd plan to create. "And we can make this a yearly thing with no extra cost to the town because we will have the booths made."

"Ah, don't forget the tree-lighting ceremony." His eyes twinkled with anticipation, a flicker of boyish excitement that rarely surfaced. "And the snowman contest. Many children have told me they intend to win."

Rosie chuckled, imagining the creativity the children would show in the contest. She couldn't wait to be a judge.

Together, they ambled through the park, their boots crunching on the freshly fallen snow that blanketed Hope Springs like a pristine white quilt. Rosie could almost hear the laughter and music that would soon fill the air, the scent of pine and cinnamon heavy on her senses.

"Looks like we might have to spill over into the schoolyard," Charles mused, gesturing toward the space already brimming with booths. "We're running out of room here."

"Isn't that thrilling?" Rosie's heart leapt. The fair was growing. "The children will love having part of the fair right on their playground."

"Thrilling," Charles agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"Imagine the schoolyard aglow with lanterns and the sound of carols drifting from the chapel..." Rosie trailed off, lost in the vision of the vibrant celebration.

"Rosie, I believe this Christmas fair will be the most memorable event yet," Charles said.

As they continued their walk, Rosie felt the hope within her grow brighter. She silently prayed that working together would bring her and Charles closer together. She loved the man, and it was time he realized he loved her.

*****

ROSIE'S FOOTSTEPS ECHOEDthrough the empty church as she approached the pastor, who was tidying up the pews. The scent of beeswax and old wood filled the air, mingling with the faintest trace of incense left over from Sunday service. She cleared her throat gently to announce her presence before speaking.

"Pastor?" Her voice sounded steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. "I've come to ask if you'd be willing to announce our Christmas Fair from the pulpit? We're planning it for the first weekend of December."

The pastor looked up from his task, a kind smile softening his features. "Of course, Rosie," he replied, setting aside his cloth. "I'll make sure to mention it two weeks prior, and again the week right before. I think this is an event that will bring the whole community together. After the sabotage in the mines this year, we need it."

"Thank you so much," Rosie said, relief washing over her. She beamed at him, her gratitude genuine. The fair would need all the town's support to succeed.

Later that afternoon, Rosie found herself in the warm embrace of Ana's kitchen, where the comforting smell of baking bread and cinnamon wafted through the air. Ana and Izzy were gathered around the sturdy oak table.

"All right, ladies," Rosie said, "it's time to discuss the fair. We need to bake, and we need to bake a lot. Every penny counts toward improving the town."

"Can't we just buy the sweets?" Izzy groaned, leaning back in her chair with a dramatic sigh. "You know I turn the kitchen into a disaster every time I try to bake."

Ana rolled her eyes, already donning her apron.

"Fine," Rosie relented with a chuckle, shaking her head at her sister's antics. "But you can't just sit pretty while we do all the work. You have nimble fingers, Izzy. How about you knit some of those lovely socks of yours? They'll sell like hotcakes."

"Knitting I can do," Izzy said, perking up immediately. A triumphant smile curled her lips as she reached for her yarn basket. "I'll make enough socks to warm the toes of half the county!"

"Then it's settled," Rosie declared, smiling at each of her sisters in turn. "We'll fill our booth with the fruits of our labor—be it baked or knitted—and make this fair one to remember. Charles and I have even talked about making this an annual thing."

Rosie lifted baby Lillian into her arms, the tiny bundle of joy squirming with an infectious giggle that tickled Rosie's heart. The little one's eyes sparkled, her chubby fingers clutching at Rosie's blouse as if anchoring herself to this moment of affection. Cradling Lillian close, Rosie's thoughts drifted like snowflakes on a calm winter morn.

She yearned for a child of her own, a sweet life she could hold and cherish, just as she did with Lillian. But the longing in her soul was tempered by the stark reality of her marriage bed. Charles was a good man, but their union lacked the intimacy they needed to start a family.

"Isn't that right, my precious one?" Rosie cooed, brushing a kiss atop Lillian's soft head. "Auntie Rosie would love a little troublemaker like you." The babe responded with a toothless grin, oblivious to the weight of unspoken dreams cradled in her aunt's arms.

With Lillian now settled, Rosie donned her coat and stepped outside. The air was crisp, nipping at her cheeks as she made her way home through Hope Springs, past storefronts adorned with garlands and bows, all preparing for the upcoming Christmas fair.

"Even my sisters," Rosie mused, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. "Blessings upon blessings, while I..." Rosie shook her head. She couldn't start feeling sorry for herself. It wasn't in her nature.

*****

ROSIE APPROACHED THEentrance of the post office, her breath clouding the chill air. She nodded to Mr. Whitaker behind the counter, his spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he squinted at the mail.

"Good afternoon, Rosie," he said, shuffling through the stack of letters with a practiced hand. "Seems there's something here for you and your sisters."

"Thank you, Mr. Whitaker," Rosie replied, accepting the envelope with a polite smile. The script was elegant, the name unfamiliar—curiosity pricked at her, a welcome distraction from the weight of her thoughts. It was addressed to her Ana, and Izzy.

"Any idea who this might be from?" she asked casually, turning the envelope over in her hands.

"Can't say that I do," Mr. Whitaker answered, pushing his glasses up. "We get all sorts of mail here. Could be anyone."

"Of course," Rosie said, tucking the letter into her coat pocket.

Stepping back out into the crisp afternoon, Rosie took the longer path home, winding through the park where children laughed and chased each other, their cheeks rosy from the cold. Their innocent joy was a balm to her soul, and for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to share such laughter with a child of her own.

She walked into the house and realized she had a few minutes before she needed to start supper. Rosie removed her coat and settled into the chair by the hearth, where embers glowed softly beneath the ash. The room was quiet, save for the occasional pop of wood and the whisper of her skirts as she unfolded the mysterious letter.

"Who are you?" she whispered to the name etched on the page, her voice imbued with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. Her fingers traced the loops and flourishes of the handwriting as if they might reveal the secrets hidden within the folds of parchment.

Taking a deep breath, Rosie broke the seal. The paper crackled as she unfolded it, the words awaiting her hungry gaze like the first delicate snowflakes of winter, ready to transform the landscape of her life.

*****

ROSIE'S HANDS MOVEDmechanically, stirring the pot of stew that simmered on the stove. Across the kitchen table, Charles was immersed in ledgers and papers, his brows drawn together in concentration as he attended to the business of their small but growing town.

"More salt?" she asked, feeding him a spoonful.

"Uh? Oh, yes, please," Charles replied absentmindedly, not looking up from his work.

She complied, although her thoughts were far from the seasoning of their evening meal. She couldn't stop thinking about the letter. She wanted to share with her sisters immediately, but she wasn't sure if Charles would think less of her if he knew, so she would wait until she saw them the following afternoon.

"Are you feeling quite all right, Rosie?" Charles finally glanced up. "You're quieter than I've ever seen you."

"Merely a headache," she lied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear in a failed attempt at nonchalance. "I'll be fine after some rest."

"Of course," Charles agreed, though his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before returning to his work.

Dinner passed in silence, save for the clinking of utensils against plates. Rosie pushed her food around, appetite lost to the gnawing curiosity and dread the letter inspired. Charles, ever absorbed in the planning of the Christmas fair, spoke only to outline tasks for the coming days, his voice a distant hum in her ears.

"Goodnight, my dear," Charles said, standing to extinguish the lamps. "Let's hope your head is clearer in the morning."

"Goodnight," Rosie said, her lips curving in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, the weight of the unread words pulling her down with each step.

Once ensconced in bed, the only sound was the rustle of sheets as she withdrew the letter from its hiding place beneath her pillow. Her fingers trembled as she lit the lantern.

With bated breath, Rosie unfolded the letter, holding it close enough that the ink might as well have been etched upon her soul. The lantern's glow flickered across her features as she read the message once more.

Rosie lay awake for hours, thinking about how she would need to share its contents with her sisters the next day, though she wanted to run to them and show them immediately. Their husbands would not approve, she was afraid, and neither would hers.