Rosemary was just finishing up her shopping when Ned put a letter in front of her. "Just came in," he said, raising an eyebrow. Ned tried not to be a busybody, but this was definitely unusual.

Having every day for the last week given Elizabeth a letter from Airdrie, Alberta, with this very same handwriting, Ned's curiosity was more than piqued.

Rosemary frowned. There was no name in the return address, but she had no doubt who the letter was from.

"Oh, my," she said, looking up at Ned. "I... I can't imagine... " She got a look of resolve on her face and said, "Well, there's only one way to find out!"

The truth was, she thought it would be good to clear this up once and for all right now so that tongues wouldn't start wagging. Already, Florence was leaning toward them from the operator's station.

Rosemary started reading, making little sounds of comprehension as she did so.

April 15, 1917

To: Mrs. Rosemary Coulter, General Delivery, Hope Valley, Alberta

Dear Rosemary,

Firstly, I want to thank you for being such a good friend to Elizabeth. She talks of you often in her letters, and you are a comfort to her in many ways. Your enthusiasm at the announcement of our engagement has given her great joy.

I'm sure she has told you that I expect to be here in Airdrie for another two weeks, but it's becoming clear to me that I won't last that long. I miss Elizabeth, Allie, and Jack terribly and am anxious to get back home in order to share in the celebration of our happy news.

In addition, the work I needed to do here on the ranch has been accomplished much faster than I anticipated and my mother is pleased with the results, so I am free to travel back to Hope Valley at my earliest convenience.

You may wonder why I am writing to tell you this rather than to Elizabeth. I would like to surprise her, and you were the only person I could imagine as my accomplice in that aim.

By way of a little background (and I will trust this isn't too much detail, as Elizabeth has shared that you have enjoyed hearing of the progress of our relationship), Elizabeth and I have a place in Hope Valley that is special to us. It is the dock at the pond.

She may have told you that she goes there to read my letters, and I encourage her to imagine that I am riding up on Bear, as I did one day a while ago when she was there with Jack.

With my next letter, which I will post tomorrow and which should arrive in Hope Valley on Thursday, I would like to do just that. I will ask her at the end of the letter to look up, and I will be there.

At this point in the letter, Rosemary was so overcome , and so vocal about it, that Ned's eyes went wide and he got her a handkerchief. Florence stepped out of her station, looking alarmed. Rosemary fluttered her hand in the air to let them know she was fine, but was unable to tear her eyes from the page in front of her.

I know that you will keep all this in confidence, and it will require some logistical assistance. Of course you may confide in Lee. I would never ask you to keep something from him.

The less I am seen around town, the better. If there is any way you could fetch me at the train station in your car, that would be greatly appreciated. Also, if Bear could be saddled and ready at my row house on Thursday afternoon, I can just ride out and be nearby when Elizabeth arrives at the dock with my letter.

I do realize how much I'm asking of you, and would understand completely if you're unable to fulfill these requests. If I arrive at the station and you're not there, I will proceed on my own to get Bear and hope for the best. I would not blame you in the slightest if you are unavailable or if this is too much to ask.

You may be pleased to know that my injury has healed to a degree that I will be able to take up my duties very quickly upon my arrival in Hope Valley. I understand that my temporary replacement has caused a bit of a stir in town and that you may not be sorry to see him depart.

I look forward to seeing you and Lee again, whether it be at the train station or after. Thank you for your consideration of these requests.

Your humble servant,

Nathan Grant

Now the handkerchief did get some use, as Rosemary dabbed her eyes and sniffled rather dramatically. As she looked up and saw Ned and Florence staring at her in curiosity, she realized she might need to employ some fancy footwork to comply with Nathan's request for confidentiality.

To gain some time, Rosemary blew her nose daintily. "It's a letter from Nathan, of course." Her mind was racing.

"And he... he wanted to let me know... that he... wishes to talk to me about... the dress... that Elizabeth will be wearing for their wedding... which of course, I am designing."

Rosemary looked closely at Ned and Florence, trying to determine how all that was being perceived. Both were nodding in understanding, but still more than a little confused.

Florence spoke first. "And he needed to write that to you because..."

"Because," Rosemary said, forcefully, "He is with his mother right now and she has some very strong opinions!"

Ned said, frowning, "About Elizabeth's dress."

"Yes!" Rosemary said, hoping that at some point in the future, Mrs. Grant would forgive her. "She's the type of person who likes to control these types of things, you know," she said conspiratorially. And then she threw her hands up and said, "Mothers-in-law! They are a trial, aren't they!"

Tilting her head suspiciously, Florence said, "And why did that make you cry?"

Affecting a deeply sympathetic look, Rosemary said, "Oh, because it makes me so sad for Elizabeth," she said, dabbing at her eyes again. "Poor girl, no say in her own wedding dress!"

All three just looked at each other for a moment and then Rosemary said, "Of course, I would appreciate it if you would keep all of this information confidential. I really shouldn't have shared it." She looked directly at Florence. "And if I were to hear that people were talking disparagingly about Mrs. Grant, there would be only one place they could have heard it." She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Since she lives so far away and no one in Hope Valley has met her." Rosemary took a deep breath. "Yet."

Ned and Florence both knew this was not the whole story. But Rosemary had effectively thrown them off the trail.

"Well, I must be off!" Rosemary said suddenly. She handed the used handkerchief back to Ned and said brightly, "Have a lovely day!"

The bell rang over the door and she was gone.

April 15, 1917

To: Nathan Grant, General Delivery, Airdrie, Alberta

My dearest Nathan,

It's been a week since we sat in that lovely churchyard and watched the sun rise over the mountains in Airdrie. I realize that the time with you there takes on a bit of the quality of a dream as the days go by, and without you here to remind me I almost wonder if it happened at all.

I do have a sweet reminder, however, and it sits in plain view on my left hand. Whenever I fear that I only imagined it all, I just look down and know that it's real.

I also have your letters, which are incalculably precious to me. I'm certain you know that since that first one, which arrived three days after I returned to Hope Valley, neither you nor I have missed a day of writing. I know I said I would write every few days, but that's been impossible for me. I've wanted to talk to you every day, and I'm so glad it's been the same for you.

I love all your news of the ranch, and your mother, and Charlie. Please, as always, give them my love.

And though I'm sorry that you've had to make so many of those long trips to town to pick up and post the mail, I'm happy that you and your dear Sunset have had that time to get reacquainted. Indeed, the distance to Airdrie is shortened with a good run, though in the same breath, I also hope you're caring for your injured leg.

I've been thinking about the title of my novel : "A Single Mother On The Frontier." That will have to change, won't it? The frontier hasn't changed, and I am still a mother. But someday in the near future, I won't be single.

I thought I might get some editing done in advance, and I sat down late last night to work through how those changes could be accomplished. What I discovered was a bit of a revelation.

As I started thumbing through the pages I've written, I kept turning them, realizing that no changes were needed. Maybe a word here or there, describing being alone, but none of the overriding concepts, the things that are most important to me about the story, will need altering.

Slowly, I came to the understanding that the writer, the mother, and the woman I am when I'm married to you will be nearly identical to the one I am now. And the reason is this: you've never asked me to be more or less than I am.

You've never wanted me to change. In fact, you have inspired the writer, encouraged the mother, and loved the woman just as she is. It tells me again what an extraordinary man you are, and what a good choice I've made for a husband.

I have heard other women talk about how their husbands-to-be have told them they will no longer need to work after they're married. Or that their daily tasks of motherhood, laundry, getting dinner on the table, etc. would preclude them having the "distractions" of an avocation like writing. I know at times I get stretched a bit thin, but you have always stepped in and made dinner, done the dishes, and helped Allie with her homework. You not only read stories to Jack and put him to bed, you treasure those times with him.

I've puzzled through why this is, beyond your natural tendency to treat everyone you meet, regardless of gender, as a fully-formed human being with talents, dreams and aspirations. I think the answer is Allie. You have been father and mother to her, and I mean that statement in the best of ways. You've had to manage laundry and cleaning and making sure not only that you earned the money to put food on the table, but that you actually placed it there for her to eat.

How very lucky I am to have found you. You are the yin to my yang, my darling Nathan, which is not about you completing me, but about the balance of completeness between us. I see it in the best marriages. Rosemary and Lee come to mind. They celebrate each other rather than trying to mold the other into something they're not.

And oh my goodness, how is that for a tangent? Phew! I hope you're still reading, my love. I'll climb down off my soapbox now. The short version of all of the above?

I love you.

Another thought I had last night; my name. I started life as Elizabeth Marie Thatcher. I then became Elizabeth Thatcher Thornton. I think I will now become Elizabeth Thornton Grant. My son's name will always be Jack Thornton, as you and I have discussed and you have fervently agreed with. In this way, I can honor my son's name and yours. That's how I will also be known as an author, if I am ever known at all. Elizabeth Thornton Grant. I like the sound of that very much, and hope you agree.

Well, it's late, and the last of the essays beside me will not grade themselves, unfortunately. I love that we are a week closer to seeing each other. I can't express how much I want to put my arms around you, listen to your heart beat and just breathe. That simple act with you gives me a calm and peaceful sense of rightness, of being where I should be.

The clock says nearly 11:30, and I wonder if you are already asleep and dreaming. If you are, wait for me. I'm on my way.

With all my love, from your angel,

Elizabeth