The home we find is smaller, Cosima had looked at it twice before approving it. I remained a silent partner in the decision, after all - this was Cosima's home. There was not much choice, but remaining at the Morgan farmstead was untenable. It was far too big a farm for two women to run alone. And the memories made it difficult to want to stay. Our new home has enough land to be getting on with, for a good garden, some horses and some smaller livestock. It doesn't need to be big, as Cosima had reminded me. There are only the two of us, and Rose. It is enough. And for two widows to maintain alone it will be plenty.

We paint the wooden boards a light gray colour, repair the barn with help from our neighbours. I find I have delivered enough babies for enough people to get more help than we truly need. Things are done when we need them to be. We keep enough horses and chickens. Along with a handful of goats and sheep. Cosima manages the small flock with a pair of sheepdogs she's given to train. I manage what I can between attending births and caring for Rose. We do not make much money, but we survive. And that is enough. Cosima's former in-laws occasionally send gifts, or money, for Rose's use. As do her parents. And we make the best of it.

It is not too far from town. And although my cousin had not been pleased with me leaving abruptly to follow after Cosima, he has been nothing but helpful in assisting in the sale of the old Morgan farm and helping Cosima find this house. He also continues to provide us with some food, often sending one of his older children with a basket of vegetables, or some meat or cheese wrapped in paper. While I had resumed my midwife duties nearly immediately upon my return, I know that I will not always be paid. Or paid well. We squirrel the money I am able to earn away in the house and use it as needed. Cosima tries to keep our books carefully - we will never have the plenty she knew with Charlie. But we have enough in savings that we do not fret constantly about how we will survive. If it is only the three of us - it can be enough.

Joseph says nothing of my bond with Cosima. And says nothing about Charlie's timely death. I think he knows, but we are both content to let that fact sit in silence. He is clear that I will not be returning to live under his roof, but then again, I no longer want to. Cosima and I settle into our house slowly but surely. There is a bed in the spare room for me. But I am never in it. I sleep each night next to Cosima. And slowly, slowly my fear goes away. I ease myself into this life, this love. This reality was once not more than a dream, a passing fantasy. And I enjoy it. Fully.

Rose grows, and thrives. I watch her grow, observing as she looks more and more like Cosima. We have our own bond and I let myself mother her. I let myself love her. I let it be enough and know that she loves me back fiercely. By the time she is running, there is no doubt in my mind that we are bonded.

Cosima grins at this, seeing Rose growing feisty and strong. Seeing my attachment to her blossoming. At times, I feel a pang to have another child. I even fantasize about it when Rose is still small, but I keep these thoughts to myself. It is an impossibility I learn to live with. I have Cosima , and we have Rose .

I beam as I watch Rose run from the house to the small barn, eagerly shrieking and following Cosima. Her babyness still not quite gone, words jumbled from the mouth of a young child. There's nothing missing, I assure myself. Not for me, or Cosima. And I pray there won't be for Rose either.

It is not all perfect. Marguerite never forgives me for not marrying Gérvais. Gérvais makes one last attempt, proposing to me directly in front of Cosima and Rose late that first summer. Thankfully he makes no mention of the one day I went to see him. I would not want to explain that away to Cosima, and I think, in the end, he says nothing in an effort to not shame me. I tell him I will never leave Cosima to be his wife, and he eventually accepts it. Our bond is known to him, if not understood. And he admits he is unwilling to house Cosima and her daughter alongside me - what he believes would be my condition for acceptance of his offer. I suspect he begins to understand the depth of my attachment, if not its nature. He marries someone else, a girl of 20, the following summer. And sure enough, they have baby after baby after baby in the next few years. Most caught into my own hands. And that could have been my fate. I think. If I didn't love Cosima so much. He treats his wife well, and I never see odd bruising on her, or hear her speak badly of him. I believe he is happy; that we both are better off. With women who love us .

I fend off two subsequent proposals before Rose is four, both from widowers. One from a man my parents know in Trois-Rivieres. Both men seeking a woman to help raise their existing broods, and enlarge them with children of her own. I reject them both, claiming that I can no longer have children. It may be a lie, but it is true enough. I think. I wouldn't. Not again. Not now.

Cosima bristles each time, and I do my very best to reassure her I will never leave her. I recite marriage vows to her, several times over the years. Vows that she laughs off at first and then stares solemnly back at me after. I try to learn them in English, try to make sure she understands. But while she loves me, she doesn't recite them back. Perhaps it is silly. Frivolous, when we cannot make such a commitment publicly.

Cosima refuses the only subsequent marriage proposal she ever receives when Rose is not yet three years old. From an old friend of Charlie's who seems to think he is doing her a favour. Her response is so potent, so aggressive that no one ever asks her again. As she said then, she has no intention of bleeding out after giving birth and leaving her child motherless. She accused the man of being after her house, and what he thought was left of Charlie's money. And he may well have been, but I am relieved to seek the back of him as he leaves in a rage at Cosima's rejection.

We do change, but we grow together I think. My love for Cosima certainly never falters. The day Marie-Louise jokingly refers to her as my wife has me blushing and flustered, unable to mutter a coherent response. Marie-Lousie speaks only of our successful shared maintenance of a household, but my reaction seems to stun her into silence where she'd expected a laugh. And perhaps that too is for the best. She never brings it up again, and for that I am grateful. She too, does not understand.

Rose is five years old before she asks about her father. I watch Cosima tense in response, stopping her washing to gaze at her child. A child with a perfectly reasonable question. I step in, without thought.

"He died, Rose, when you were a baby. He got sick." I tell her as simply as possible, the same lie I have been repeating for years. It is the story Rose must know, and repeat. But the fact we never speak of him, perhaps that is wrong for her. Could we fictionalize a more palatable version of her father? Someone Rose could think about having in her life without having to deal with the harsher realities.

But to my great surprise, little Rose nods, accepting this. Her life is a happy one, I tell myself. She has the love and attention of Cosima and myself. She has opportunities for education, Cosima's parents would offer that much for their only grandchild. She may become something beyond either of us. Someone whose life would be much bigger than our town. She can already read, an effort that both Cosima and I have put time into. She will be more than either of us could have imagined, I think.

I reassure Cosima with the same words late that night tucked up into our bed. "Rose knows no different, Cosima. This… this is her are her mother. We love her, we care for her."

"She is going to ask more questions. Especially once she starts school." Cosima tells me, even as she's pushing her body close to mine. "She is going to ask about Charlie. I don't know what to tell her!"

The truth, I think, doesn't seem to be a viable option in this scenario. It would be too great a burden, even after we'd omitted the darker parts. The parts that no child should hear.

"And we will find… something to tell her. You can let me tell her." I respond. I coax my beloved with kisses. We've always shared a bed, something Rose doesn't really notice now. But someday… someday she may look back on us as an oddity. And perhaps by that time, it will not matter. She'll be grown, and will likely keep the secret either out of a desire to protect us, or out of shame. I hope for the former, and that is all that can be done about it.

But he doesn't come up again, not for some time. And I feel Cosima breathe a sigh of relief when days pass with no further mention of Charlie. She calms, and returns to her usual chores, her reading, her education of Rose in preparation for school.

Rose's next pronouncement makes us both struggle not to laugh.

"I don't want to get married." Rose tells us over supper several days later. "I want to live with you forever." She's old enough now to have seen many weddings, seen me sneak out of the home at all hours to help deliver babies into the world. Though unlike Marie-Louise, I do not tell her that I bring the baby to the mother in my bag. I feel Rose's grip on reality is more important than protecting her from the acknowledgement that pregnancy exists. I do not know what we'll tell her after but, as of yet, she hasn't asked.

And Cosima slyly hides a smile into her napkin. Spinsterhood, to Cosima, is a perfectly reasonable choice. At the very least, we will not be rushing the child out the door. She is a child, and will be allowed to remain one until after her 20th year at the very least.

That is the year we have a photograph taken of the three of us. Cosima, Rose and myself. It hangs proudly in our home, a truth that people will not easily see right in front of their eyes. Cosima also sends it to her family, who… tolerate our odd arrangement, reasoning that widows need company. And that Cosima doesn't wish to risk death with a third pregnancy and birth. I do not now if I will ever meet them, but Cosima mentions me in her letters, and they know I am with her.

Either way, our home is happy, I think. Cosima seems pleased enough with our lives together. And we work hard, but I lay next to her in bed each night. And feel the comfort of that. That much never goes away even as our desire for each other continues - waxes and wanes through the months and years. And I find contentment easily. I feel… complete.

For a long time, I worry. That we will be seen through. That Cosima and I will be revealed as unnatural deviants, as something horrible. That Rose will hear whispers about it as she grows. I hold my head high, and pretend that there is nothing to remark on. That anyone who would whisper such a thing is insane. But, six years pass, and I hear nothing. Not even from Joseph or Charlie's old hired hands. And that, that is all they see of us. Two devoted friends, raising a child, and eeking out a decent living.

In the end, to the town, we are simply known as Cosima and Delphine.

FIN