Elizabeth woke from the type of dream that had no clear edges, nothing as concrete as people or places – a dream of endless searching but never finding, its aftermath only frustration and weariness.

She tried to open her eyes but the light that slanted across them was bright enough to be blinding, so she rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. She was on the floor, lying on the quilts that Abigail had quietly brought into Rosemary's room in the early hours of the morning.

Elizabeth looked up at the small bed and she could see that Rosemary was still asleep. After hours of crying as Elizabeth held her in the light of the rising sun, Rosemary's grief had given in to exhaustion. Elizabeth had continued to hold her for a time, afraid she might wake up; but finally, she had slipped out of the bed and onto the floor to fall into a fitful sleep herself.

Rubbing her eyes, Elizabeth looked at the clock. A little after four in the afternoon, and now that she could see more clearly she realized that they hadn't closed the curtains that were needed to shade the room against the strong afternoon sun that came through even in the winter. As quietly as she could, Elizabeth sat up and drew herself to a wobbly standing position, reaching out for the chair for support. She couldn't remember ever being so tired.

Closing the curtains almost all the way, Elizabeth peered outside at the street below. Life went on as usual, with people walking, wagons rumbling by, children playing, mothers meeting each other to share stories on the boardwalk.

As if nothing had happened. As if Jack Thornton hadn't died.

But as Rosemary had said over and over, Jack had died on the 19th, nearly two weeks ago. In fact, Rosemary couldn't stop saying it. "When I wrote my letters, while I planned the party, while I thought of fireworks and water towers and paper streamers... he was already gone." She couldn't get over that she hadn't known somehow, that some part of her hadn't died with him in the freezing Northern Territories, that she had blissfully gone on with her life while Jack's life ebbed away.

Out on the street in the first few minutes of the new year, Rosemary had cried into Nathan's red serge until he nodded to Elizabeth and had turned her toward Abigail's. Elizabeth had come up on her other side, and they had walked her, still crying, to a table in the cafe, where she sat, refusing to go to bed.

Lee had followed them, feeling helpless and desperate to offer some service, until Rosemary had cried out suddenly, "Charlotte! Someone has to find Charlotte!" Lee had taken her hand and simply said, "Where is she?" When Rosemary answered, "Aberdeen," Lee had looked at Nathan. "Go to the Mountie office there and they'll take you out to her. I'll wire ahead." Rosemary had looked at Lee and managed to choke out, "Thank you," and Lee knew that nothing that heaven or earth threw at him would stop him until he'd found Jack's mother and had brought her back to Hope Valley.

And still, Rosemary had refused to sleep. She dispatched Hickam to find out where Tom Thornton was in Hamilton so that a wire could be sent. She begged Nathan to tell her everything he knew and he'd produced the wire that held all the information he had.

More news had arrived by stage in the early morning, in the form of a file addressed to Nathan with the name Constable Jack Thornton on the outside. Jack's personal effects, including some of Rosemary's own letters, nearly filled a small burlap sack. Most of the letters were unopened, having been received while Jack lay in the grip of the sepsis that would finally take him, brought on by a gunshot wound to the abdomen that never healed as infection set in. One letter had been opened and Rosemary had pulled it frantically from the envelope, wondering which set of words had found their way to him. She had deemed its contents the most trivial of news and had said over and over if only she'd known, if only. If only.

Finally, just before the sun came up, Rosemary had allowed Abigail to take her upstairs on the pretense of washing her face and getting her out of her corset, while Elizabeth and Nathan held each other downstairs, giving and taking strength in the only way they knew how, in each other's arms.

Abigail managed to get Rosemary into her nightgown and had convinced her to lie down. When Abigail needed to begin the day's baking, Elizabeth had taken her place, holding Rosemary until she'd finally given in to sleep. Nathan had gone to his office but soon realized there was nothing more to be done until Charlotte and Rosemary decided where Jack was to be laid to rest. Finally, Nathan gave in to his own exhaustion and went home, where Rebecca and Allie were having a late breakfast. With instructions to wake him if he was needed, Nathan finally found some fitful sleep himself.

It was the first day of 1911, and the year hadn't started as any of them had planned.

Lee and his Mountie escort found Charlotte after she had been riding the fences on her tiny ranch in Aberdeen. When she saw a Mountie and a stranger at her front porch she searched their faces.

What she found there told her all she needed to know.

"When?" she said, her eyes like steel and her voice stoic. The only indication Lee had that she was upset was the slightest quiver of her chin.

"December 19th, ma'am," the Mountie said, "Up in the Territories."

"How?" Charlotte asked, reaching out to hold the front porch rail. Lee moved toward her with a hand, and Charlotte shot him daggers with her eyes as she tilted her head in warning. "I'm fine," she said, and Lee moved back, nodding.

"Gunshot wound, ma'am," the Mountie replied.

"And where is my boy now?" she asked, a tiny tremor in her voice giving the first indication of her distress.

"Cape Fullerton, ma'am."

Finally, Charlotte turned to Lee. "And who are you?" she asked. Her tone wasn't unkind, just businesslike. Lee had a feeling that if she let go, she would never stop, so he made sure he kept any sympathy or pity out of his voice. He understood what he was seeing, because it was how he himself dealt with grief. He wanted to give Charlotte no reason to break down.

"I'm Lee Coulter, a friend of Rosemary's, Mrs. Thornton. She asked me to come and get you," Lee said, raising his chin and looking her right in the eye.

At Rosemary's name, a crack started in Charlotte's armor, and Lee understood that as well. She couldn't touch her own grief right now, but Rosemary's might break her. Lee saw her eyes begin to glisten and he said quickly, "I have a wagon."

"I'll ride," she said, and she looked at the Mountie. "Anything else?" He shook his head.

She started toward the front door and opened the screen. She stopped there for a moment, remembering her manners. Without turning around, she said, "I'm grateful to you both." She turned and said to the Mountie, "You've done your job well, Constable. Thank you." Then she turned to Lee. "I'll get a few things and we'll be on our way. I appreciate you coming to get me." Then she opened the front door and let the screen door slam as she walked through.

Lee knew that she would go to a room where she could be alone, and Charlotte Thornton would fall apart. He nodded to the Mountie and shook his hand. "Thank you, Constable. I'll take it from here."

Lee sat down in the weathered wicker chair on the front porch and exhaled. He knew he might be here for a while, and he looked out at the late afternoon sunlight on the trees, feeling the lack of sleep begin to catch up with him. Two cups of strong Mountie coffee in the Aberdeen office had clearly not been enough to offset the long night, and now it would be another six hours before they'd be back in Hope Valley.

Hope Valley, Lee thought. A town filled with widows.

And now one more.

Elizabeth and Nathan sat in the first pew of the church watching the single flickering candle on the schoolroom desk as it danced and sent patterns of light on the walls. They'd come here to be alone, to be together, to pray, to grieve, to ask for God's grace for Rosemary and for Jack, each now on their separate journeys.

Rosemary had been drawn into the nurturing arms of the widows. The women who understood, who knew what to say, whose own grief had given them pathways that Elizabeth couldn't walk with her. And although Nathan knew those roads well, he also knew that this was work best done by women, by the wives who had also lost their husbands.

Every now and then, a tear would slip down Elizabeth's cheek and she would reach up and wipe it away. If she wasn't quick enough, Nathan would do it for her. He held her securely under his arm as she leaned against his heart, taking comfort in its steady beat and the warmth of his chest.

Neither of them had slept well, and what they wanted more than anything was to stretch out on the wooden church floor, the floor that they had built along with the rest of the town, and just fall asleep in each other's arms. But even in the strangeness of this day and the one before it, they knew that would be unacceptable, scandalous, misunderstood. Impossible.

"I want to get married," Elizabeth murmured into the soft cotton of Nathan's shirt. She'd said it so softly that he hadn't heard her clearly, so he leaned down, trying to find her eyes.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and sparkling in the candlelight. "I want to get married," she said, more forcefully, louder. This time Nathan heard her perfectly.

"So do I," he said, searching her eyes for a hidden meaning. He reached down and took her left hand, holding the ring between his fingers.

Now Elizabeth sat up so that she could look directly at him. It was dark, but as the candle flickered she could catch the blue of his eyes just inches from her own. "I want to get married now," she said, her mouth set in a firm line. "We never know... what can happen. It can happen in an instant." She put her hand on his face and stroked his cheek gently with her thumb. "I want everything with you, all of you, and if anything happened... what a waste it would be..." She knew she wasn't making sense, but she couldn't say it any clearer, so she simply repeated herself. "I want to get married. Now."

Nathan understood. And he understood because he had been feeling the same thing. How life can turn. How a sister can disappear. How a father can disappoint. How a child not yet born can lose a father.

His face was so close to hers that they only had inches to move before their lips were joined, and all the sadness and duty and fear and wakefulness of this horrible new year fused them together in a shared need that they'd been afraid to express until now. Their arms went around each other and they held on as if for dear life, breathing in the heat that they created when they kissed this way, deeply, absolutely, losing themselves in each other.

Nathan's hand went to the back of her neck, threading through her long curls until he found her skin, warm and soft under his fingers. He pulled her closer, pressing more urgently against her lips with his own, and she responded, framing his face with her hands, knowing that he understood and shared her need.

"When?" he said against her lips, and he pulled away slightly. "Now now?" he whispered, and Elizabeth laughed softly, catching her breath against his cheek, her senses overwhelmed.

"Not this minute," she said, her breath ragged, "But... soon." She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "No one even needs to know. Rebecca will watch Allie. We can go to Benson Hills, or Union City, or Buxton. I don't care. I want to be your wife. I want you to be my husband. None of the rest of it matters, Nathan. I love you."

He smiled his crooked smile and said, "Okay." Then he laughed softly and buried his face in her neck, breathing in the lavender there, soft and warm and fragrant. "Okay," he murmured, brushing his lips under her jaw, across her cheek and finally resting again on her mouth.

"Okay," she said. Elizabeth laughed again before closing her eyes and allowing herself to fall weightlessly into Nathan's kiss with a soft sigh.