“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.
