Chapter Nine

Rosie held Lilliannestled in her arms. Izzy was on the floor, her face a mask of exaggerated enthusiasm as she dangled a knitted rabbit above the baby's head, eliciting gurgles of delight.

"Almost time for Ana to return," Rosie murmured, her gaze shifting between the clock and the letter tucked safely inside her apron pocket. The weight of the unspoken words pressed against her chest, but she remained resolute. She owed it to both her sisters to share the news when they were all together.

Izzy looked up, catching the edge in Rosie's voice. "Everything all right?" she asked, resting back on her heels while keeping one eye on Lillian's flailing hands.

"Fine, just fine," Rosie assured with a swift smile.

"Is it Charles again?" Izzy's brow crinkled with concern.

"No, no, nothing of that sort," Rosie hastened to say, quelling the urge to divulge the contents of the letter. It wasn't the right time—not yet.

The front door creaked open, and there stood Ana, her cheeks flushed from the brisk morning air and her hair escaping the confines of her bun in wispy rebellion. She shed her coat, revealing the subtle swell of pregnancy beneath her dress.

"Goodness, smells like heaven in here," Ana beamed, unwinding the scarf from around her neck.

"Chicken pot pie," Rosie announced, pride lacing her tone. "And apple crisp for dessert."

"Rosie, you spoil us," Ana said as they gathered around the table, clinking their forks against the plates laden with steaming pie. They recounted tales from the infirmary and debated the merits of adding nutmeg to apple desserts.

Once the final crumbs had been swept away, the sisters piled their dishes into the sink. Soapy water sloshed over the sides as Rosie plunged her hands into the suds, passing clean plates to Ana for drying. Izzy, humming a tune, stacked them with precision. They'd done dishes this way together many times over the years, and it felt comfortable.

"Ana, Izzy," Rosie said, "there's something we need to discuss." She dried her hands on her apron.

"Sounds serious," Ana said, matching Rosie's somber expression.

"Yesterday, a letter arrived." Rosie drew the envelope from her pocket, its edges worn from her handling. "It's addressed to all three of us. From Massachusetts."

"Massachusetts?" Izzy repeated, her interest piqued.

"It must be from Elizabeth Tandy!" Ana guessed.

"Let's sit," Rosie suggested, leading them to the sitting area. They perched on the edge of the sofa.

"Before I read it," Rosie took a deep breath, "I want you both to know that whatever it says, we're in this together."

"Always," Ana affirmed, reaching out to squeeze Rosie's hand.

"Of course," Izzy agreed.

With shared nods of encouragement, Rosie broke the seal of the letter, unfolding the future as easily as the creased paper in her hands.

Rosie's hands trembled slightly as she held the letter aloft, the weight of its contents as heavy as lead in her heart. She settled into the high-backed armchair, her eyes glancing over to where Lillian lay, swaddled in dreams. The baby's chest rose and fell in a rhythm that commanded silence and gentleness.

"Shall we?" Izzy whispered, needles poised above the soft blue yarn, a half-finished sock in her lap. Ana, across from her, nodded, her own knitting forgotten for the moment.

"Keep your voices down," Rosie reminded them softly, glancing at Lillian's peaceful face before carefully smoothing out the paper.

She began to read, her voice a hushed murmur that wove around the click-clack of Izzy's knitting needles.

Massachusetts,

October 8, 1898

My Beloved Daughters,

My heart is laden with a multitude of emotions—hope, trepidation, and an overwhelming love—as I endeavor to connect with you, my dear daughters, whom I have yearned to know since I learned of your births.

The story is long, and I hope you will bear with me, as I endeavor to tell it in a way that will not put anyone in a bad light. It begins with a young love, pure and bright, shared between your mother and me in 1876. Our time together was brief but filled with a lifetime's worth of dreams. The night before I joined the army, I asked your mother to be my wife, and she agreed to wait for me.

Upon my return, the world I knew had shifted irrevocably. Your mother, whom I loved dearly, had faced unimaginable hardships, and made choices that she believed were best for her future, and yours as well. It was then I learned of your existence, three precious lives born from the night I asked her to marry me, that I wished I'd not left her alone. I became but a shadow in your lives, wishing that I could be with you as I learned that another had taken my role as Miranda's husband and your father.

The man you have known as your father, I have come to understand, bore a tempest within him, one that oftentimes cast shadows over your lives and that of your mother's. Your mother's choice to stay, driven by circumstances and fierce love for her daughters told me of her strength—a strength I see mirrored in all of you, even from afar.

Today, I reach out not just as a man who once loved your mother, but as a father who has silently held you in his heart, cherished and loved from the moment I learned of your existence. The truth of your parentage changes nothing of your value. I hope there is a future where we can explore what it means to be a family.

I extend to you an invitation, born from a deep longing to right the silent wrongs of the past, to join me in Massachusetts. Here, we can forge new memories, build new bridges, and perhaps find healing in the telling and retelling of our stories.

It is an offering of love, an outstretched hand, and an open heart, waiting, hoping for the chance to be a part of your lives.

With all the love and hope that fills my heart,

Your Father,

Malcolm Ward

Rosie fell silent as the last word hung in the air, her fingers clutching the letter like a lifeline. For a moment, time itself seemed to pause, allowing the enormity of what they'd just learned to settle upon them.

Izzy dropped her needles, the soft thud on the rug barely audible. "Never our father... " she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Ana's brow was furrowed, the line between her eyebrows deepening as she processed the news. "To think all these years," she said, her voice quivering with emotion, "we were raised by a man who didn't share our blood. And now, to discover there's someone out there...who might actually love us."

"Someone who has always loved us," Rosie corrected gently.

"Does this mean we're not who we thought we were?" Izzy asked.

"No, it does not change who we are," Rosie stated firmly. "We are still the women we've grown to be—strong, independent, caring. This...this just adds another layer to our story."

"Another layer," Ana echoed, her gaze distant. "A father who loves us...it's strange to consider. Like discovering a hidden chapter in a book you thought you knew by heart."

"Exactly," Rosie said, a wry smile touching her lips. "And what an interesting chapter it promises to be."

The sisters sat in contemplative silence, each lost in their own thoughts about what they'd learned.

A tear slipped down Rosie's cheek, unchecked and soon joined by others. Izzy sniffled beside her, a damp spot darkening the yarn in her lap. Ana, ever the nurturer, reached out with trembling hands, placing one on each of her sisters' shoulders as her own eyes brimmed with tears.

"Hope Springs is our home now. We can't just leave," Rosie said, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Going back to Massachusetts would be like stepping backward into the unknown," Izzy murmured.

Ana nodded in agreement. "Our roots are here. Our future is here." She rubbed her belly subconsciously, thinking of the new life growing within her.

"Then we'll invite him here," Rosie declared, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "He should see us in our element, where we've flourished despite everything."

"Where we've found love and built our families," added Izzy.

"Exactly." Rosie stood resolutely, the emotional storm giving way to a quiet determination. "Let's write to him together."

The three women gathered around the table. With a fresh sheet of paper before them, they composed their invitation, each sister contributing her own touch.

"Dear Father," Rosie began, her penmanship steady and sure.

"Know that we received your letter with an array of emotions," Ana continued.

"And while it was unexpected, we find ourselves thrilled to know there is a man who has cared for us all this time," Izzy added.

"Please, come to Hope Springs. It would give us great joy to meet you," Rosie wrote.

"Ana is expecting, and so is Izzy," she added, pride lacing her words. "And I'm busy with preparations for the Christmas fair—a true highlight of our town."

"Hope Springs is a place of new beginnings, of second chances," Ana said softly, her gaze distant yet hopeful. "It would mean the world to us if you could share in the life we've built here."

"We hope you can find your way to visiting us here," they concluded together, signing their names.

As Rosie folded the letter with care, the weight of their shared hope settled over the room.

"Imagine," Izzy said, "Our father coming to Hope Springs. He won't know what hit him!"

Rosie couldn't help but chuckle, even as her heart swelled with anticipation. "I think he'll be surprised. But more than anything, he'll see how his daughters have grown strong, even without his love in our lives."

"Strong, beautiful, and utterly indomitable," Ana added, the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile that reflected not just amusement but a profound love for the sisters beside her.

At home that evening, Rosie explained to Charles about her behavior of the night before. "I didn't want you to think less of me, knowing that my sisters and I were conceived out of wedlock, but we decided to tell you, William, and Albert."

Charles nodded. "I think that's the best news you could have received. I don't think any less of you. I knew that you're strong despite your upbringing. I can only imagine how strong you'd be if he'd been in your life."

Rosie smiled and scooted across the couch until she was in Charles's embrace. His words had made her feel so much more confident in her future.

*****

ROSIE CARRIED THE TELEGRAMreceived to Ana's house. Her sisters leaned in closer, their knitted brows mirroring her own as she unfolded the missive. The parlor was quiet except for Rosie's voice.

"December second," Rosie read aloud, her voice steady but her heart pounding like a drumbeat against her chest. "He's coming on December second."

Ana smiled. "That's the first day of the fair!" she exclaimed.

Izzy nodded. "We'll have to make sure everything is perfect for his arrival," she said.

Rosie felt the weight of responsibility settle upon her shoulders, not just for the success of the Christmas fair she'd poured her soul into organizing, but now also for ensuring their father's visit was memorable.

"Let's take turns showing him around," Rosie suggested, already picturing the schedule in her mind. "The fair will be busy, but we can each steal away a little time with him."

"Agreed," Izzy chimed in. "And he can stay at my place. Albert won't mind, and it's spacious enough for privacy."

"Will there be room for all the stories we have to share?" Ana joked.

"Plenty," Izzy assured, her eyes twinkling with warmth. "After all, what is a home without tales of love and hardship, laughter and tears?"

As they discussed the logistics, Rosie's passion for the fair mingled with a newfound desire to connect with the man who had unknowingly shaped their destinies.

"Hope Springs is about to show our father the true meaning of Christmas," Rosie declared, her eyes alight with fierce determination. "And I dare say, no daughter of his could do otherwise."

Their laughter filled the room, a chorus of joy and anticipation for the season of giving, the celebration of community, and the wondrous revelation of family rediscovered.

*****

THE FIRST GOLDEN RAYSof dawn had barely graced the bustling town of Hope Springs when the long-awaited train arrived. Rosie's heart hammered in her chest as she watched a tall, distinguished gentleman step down from the carriage, his eyes scanning the crowd until they came to rest on her and her sisters. Beside him emerged a woman, her elegant poise unmistakable even from a distance.

"Ana, Izzy," Rosie whispered, clutching their hands as they stood shoulder to shoulder, "he's here."

Ana's fiery curls seemed to bounce with her nerves, and Izzy smoothed the front of her dress, an unconscious gesture for composure. As the pair approached, Rosie took a deep breath, steadying herself to be the voice of welcome.

"Mr. Malcolm Ward, I presume?" Rosie extended her hand. "And you must be Mrs. Ward? We're honored by your visit."

"Call me Father," he said, his voice rich and resonant, enveloping her in an embrace that warmed her through. "And this is my wife, Carrie."

"Rosie," she introduced herself, then gestured to Ana and Izzy. "And these are my sisters, Anabelle and Isabelle."

"Such lovely names for such lovely young women," Mrs. Ward chimed in, her smile genuine and kind.

"Thank you, ma'am," Izzy replied, her voice a soft melody of politeness.

"Please, call me Carrie," she insisted.

"Father," Rosie said, eager to fill the silence that followed introductions, "we've planned quite a day for the town fair. There'll be booths selling all manner of crafts and goods, games for the children, and food—so much food!" She spoke with the fervor of someone who had poured her soul into the event. "We thought it best to take turns accompanying you, so each of us can share a bit of our lives here in Hope Springs with you."

"Sounds delightful," Malcolm said, his eyes twinkling with interest.

"Speaking of which," Carrie interjected, her gaze sweeping over the colorful array of stands dotting the fairground, "I would love to help the three of you with your booth. Then you can spend a little more time with Malcolm."

"Truly?" Izzy's surprise was evident. "That would be most appreciated, Carrie."

"Excellent!" Carrie clapped her hands together, a burst of enthusiasm escaping her. "Let's not waste another moment then. Lead the way!"

As Rosie guided their father through the fair, pointing out the various attractions, her mind was ablaze with thoughts. Here was a man connected to them by blood, yet he was as much a mystery as any other stranger.

"Here's our booth," Ana said. They had arrived at the stand adorned with baked goods and knitted wares.

"Allow me to show you how it's done," Carrie said, pulling on her gloves with a grin that mirrored the gleam of excitement in Ana's eyes. It was as if the stepmother they had just met was already welcoming them into her life.

Rosie watched from the corner of her eye as Izzy and Ana, each with their husbands by their sides, approached Malcolm and Carrie.

"Malcolm, Carrie, this is my husband, Albert," Izzy said with a modest pride that resonated in her voice. Albert Thoreau's stature was commanding, his presence a testament to his success, but in front of Malcolm, there was an uncharacteristic boyishness about him.

"An absolute pleasure," Albert extended a firm handshake to Malcolm. "Your daughters have become dear to this town, and you should be proud."

"They are remarkable women," Malcolm replied. Beside him, Carrie nodded, her smile a perfect curve of warmth and acceptance.

"And this is William," Ana chimed in, gesturing to Dr. Mercer who had been hanging back slightly. "My husband and our town's physician."

"Doctor," Malcolm greeted, clasping William's hand. "I understand we owe you a great debt for looking after our girls here."

"Sir, it has been my honor," William said. "They've looked after me just as much."

Laughter rippled through the gathering. Rosie was proud of what she and her sisters had accomplished in the months since their mother's death.

"Rosie, aren't you going to introduce Charles?" Ana asked, turning toward her with a teasing glint in her eye.

"Ah, yes," Rosie murmured, her gaze lingering on the fair's bustling entrance where she knew her meticulous plans were springing to life. "Charles will be along shortly. Town matters, you know how it is."

"Of course," Malcolm said with a knowing nod. "The mayor's work is never done."

"Exactly," Rosie agreed, her lips twitching into a wry smile. "But I'll ensure he doesn't miss out on meeting you."

"Take your time, Rosie," Carrie said. "We'll be here when you're ready."

"Thank you, Carrie," Rosie said, touched by the kindness in her stepmother's voice. It was a strange thing, feeling tethered to these near strangers.

"Besides," Rosie continued, her gaze dancing across the fairground alive with eager townsfolk and vibrant colors, "I've put my heart into this fair. I want to see it unfold from the start. You'll understand when you see it, Father. We all need to get into our booths because the fair is finally starting!"

"Father." It felt strange to look into this kind man's face and equate him with the word, but it had never seemed to fit Mr. Winslow, whom she would never think of as a father again.

"Then let's make sure this fair is one for the history books, shall we?" Malcolm declared.

"This is what I've been working toward for months. It needs to be in the history books!" Rosie said, determination lighting her features.

Rosie felt a surge of anticipation for the day ahead. It was a beginning, not just for the fair, but for the family they were only just starting to build.

Rosie's hands danced over the few remaining pairs of socks at their booth. Thankfully, they had more at Ana's house, and it was just a matter of running to get them.

"Rosie, you've outdone yourself," Malcolm's voice broke through the noise as he approached.

"Thank you, Father," she said. "Hope Springs has never seen a fair quite like this one."

Most of the baked goods were gone, and she knew there would be a great deal of baking that evening. Perhaps even Carrie would join them. The woman seemed to have an endless supply of energy after that long train ride.

"Would you care for a walk? I'm famished, and I hear Mrs. Beasley's meat pies are not to be missed," Malcolm suggested, gesturing toward the food vendors who were still bustling with activity.

"Absolutely," Rosie agreed, securing the money box beneath the counter before stepping out from behind the booth. She watched as Malcolm confidently navigated the throng, heading straight for the stand where golden-crusted pies sat temptingly on display.

"Two meat pies, please," he ordered, handing Rosie one wrapped in a square of brown paper that felt warm against her skin.

"Father, let me show you around." Rosie took a bite of the flaky pastry, savoring the peppery filling that warmed her from inside out. They strolled side by side, her pointing out various attractions: the children's laughter ringing from the makeshift carousel Dr. Mercer had engineered, the choir singing carols off-key but with unmistakable joy, and the miners competing in an arm-wrestling contest, their muscles bulging as they battled for bragging rights.

"Over there," she said between bites, indicating a group of women gathered around a quilt they were stitching together, "that's the community quilt. Each family adds a square. By next year, it'll be large enough to cover the mayor's house!"

Malcolm chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I should hope Charles has no objections to such an ornate covering."

"Charles knows better than to argue with tradition," Rosie quipped, her heart light despite the lingering thoughts of her husband's aloofness. Today was about celebration, about family—both old and new.

"The whole town has pulled together in a way I couldn't have imagined for this event." Rosie said, her words laced with a passion that mirrored the vibrant life of the fair around them. "And now, you're a part of it too."

"Rosie," Malcolm said, "you've done a beautiful job here. I'm so proud of you!"

She met his gaze, noticing a familiar determination there that mirrored her own. "Thank you, Father," Rosie said, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and anticipation for the future. "But we're just getting started."

The meat pie in her hand was half-eaten, its savory warmth a comfort against the chill that crept into the air. As she and Malcolm walked in step, Rosie couldn't help but feel a magnetic pull toward her father.

"Your mother," Malcolm began, his voice faltering with an emotion Rosie hadn't expected to see in him, "she had a laugh that could light up the darkest room." His smile waned, replaced by a somber tightness around his eyes. "I'm sorry, truly sorry, for what you girls had to endure growing up. I would've done things differently if only I'd known."

Rosie glanced at him, seeing the regret etching lines deeper into his face.

"I think we're just relieved that we aren't related to Mr. Winslow. You've obviously heard some of the stories. You came at just the right time." She paused for a moment. "I may take you up on the offer of a visit. With Ana and Izzy expecting, I know they won't, but I'll talk to Charles tonight." Perhaps he'd be happy to see her go. It felt like the right thing to do, and having a father with her would help her.

Malcolm nodded, a look of relief softening his features. They continued to walk through the fair, passing children laughing as they played games and couples strolling arm in arm. Rosie pointed out each attraction, describing how it contributed to the community and the joy of Hope Springs.

"Charles really should be here to see this," Malcolm observed, watching a young couple dance to a fiddler's lively tune.

Rosie's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "He's ensuring everything runs smoothly elsewhere," she replied, her cheeks coloring with a hint of frustration.

"Ah, the burden of leadership," Malcolm mused. "It can make you forget to live a little."

"Perhaps," Rosie conceded.

As the fair began to wind down, Rosie felt a sense of accomplishment; the booth was nearly bare, her efforts having paid off. They had sold off many of the socks, and she would work on baking more that night.

"Thank you for today, for everything," Rosie said, her gaze meeting Malcolm's once more.

"Thank you for inviting me into your life, Rosie," he replied, clasping her hands in his.

"Do you think I could borrow Carrie this evening? We're completely out of baked goods, and I want to have something to offer the people who couldn't make it today. One more day, and this is done!"

Her father nodded. "I think that would be wonderful. I wouldn't mind coming and spending the evening with Charles."

"Of course!" Rosie said. "Let's find her and I'll walk you to my home. I'm sure either Charles or I will be happy to walk you to Izzy's when we're finished. Izzy has the most beautiful house, and that's where you'll be staying."

"Yes, Albert took our things there earlier, but we have yet to see it."

As they walked toward the ranch, Rosie's mind was on Charles and approaching him about going home with her father. He didn't seem to want her around most of the time, so it would be a good solution.