After more relentless searching through the other side of the city, Rosalie found Arthur passed out at the bar in some backwater saloon near the ports.

It was dim and dusty inside, and mostly empty, the sunlight filtering in through the shutters clamped tight over the windows. She didn't know why out of all places he chose this one. Maybe it was in the hope of no one finding him… but she was here to get him despite what his wishes may have been.

Rosalie walked over to the bar with a deep sigh, her boots thumping against the wooden floorboards. She tilted her head under her hat as her face twisted into a frown, eyes skimming over Arthurs's body slumped against the bar counter.

The bartender blinked at the sight of her. "Can I help you, miss? It's a bit early for a drink." He said, wiping out the inside of a glass with a rag.

It certainly was a bit too early for a drink. It was only the early afternoon. There were probably some people who hadn't even had lunch yet.

"I'm just here to pick up my friend," Rosalie said, stopping beside Arthur.

The bartender huffed. "'Bout time someone did. He's been here since last night, drank up almost all the whiskey we got… I ain't sure how he stomached all that, but he did. I reckon it'll be a painful rest of the day for him. Bound to have a headache." He said with a disapproving shake of his head.

Rosalie grimaced and glanced at Arthur as the bartender walked away.

Arthur's face was pressed against the counter, drool dribbling out of his mouth and leaking onto the polished wood. His neck was bent at an uncomfortable angle, and she was sure he would have a neck ache along with that headache later too. His hat was smooshed against the counter and awkwardly bent off his head.

With another sigh, Rosalie shook his shoulder. "Arthur. Arthur, hey." She said, trying to wake him up.

Arthur didn't budge though, letting out deep snores reminiscent of a hibernating bear. Rosalie shook her head and gave his shoulder a rather firm shove. "C'mon, I can't carry you back to camp, so you gotta get up."

He still didn't move, his fingers twitching slightly as he let out another deep snore.

Rosalie scoffed. He was worse than her snoozing uncle Kurt who could sleep through a thunderstorm. She had to say it was impressive, though it could have been a result of the heavy drinking.

"Arthur, c'mon, you gotta get up!" Rosalie said a bit louder this time, shaking him by the shoulders. His head dropped against the countertop with a painful thump. She cringed, not wanting to think about how it would only add to his ongoing headache later that day.

"You want a glass of water?" The bartender asked, pouring her a cup and setting it on the bar.

"I'm not exactly thirsty," Rosalie said, giving him a sideways look as she shook Arthur again.

Arthur still didn't budge, snoring away like the big bear he was. It was cute at first, but now she was getting fed up. How the hell was he sleeping through this? She was jealous in a way—it would be nice if she could sleep through the world around her like that.

"Not for drinkin', miss. But for pourin' on him." The bartender said with a shrug. "When people don't wake up like your friend here we just toss a glass of water on 'em and that does the job. Usually, that's before we throw 'em out, but your friend is lucky you showed up to take him home."

He tossed the towel over his shoulder and leaned against the bar. He twiddled with the end of his thick, brown mustache with a twinkle in his eye. "Say, he your boyfriend, miss?" He asked.

Rosalie snorted. "No."

The bartender flashed her a smile. "Well, uh, pretty thing like yourself… quite a shame. You wanna go out for drinks with me tonight?" He asked.

Rosalie blinked at him, her hands on Arthur's shoulders from trying to shake him awake.

Was this guy really asking her out right now? Couldn't he tell she was in the middle of trying to wake Arthur from his stupid deep slumber?

The bartender was kind of a gangly fellow anyway. Not her type.

"Uh… no thanks. I'm… uh… I'm not staying in town long." Rosalie said, giving Arthur another shake, hoping he would finally wake up so she could leave this awkward situation.

"Well, that don't matter to me. He ain't your boyfriend, so why can't you go out with me just for tonight?" The bartender asked his question innocently as he tilted his head.

Rosalie grimaced, her gaze flicking between Arthur's snoring frame and the awkward-looking bartender. "Um… well, okay… I lied, he's my boyfriend, and he'll get real mad if he finds out I'm hanging out with anyone else." She lied, glancing at the glass of water, and then at Arthur again.

"But you said he weren't?!" The bartender cried in protest, his brows furrowing.

Rosalie made a face. "Well, we just try to keep our relationship on uh… the down low… I don't like making a big fuss about my romantic feelings." She lied, realizing how stupid she sounded as soon as the words came out of her mouth.

Sheesh, what was this guy's problem? He seemed pretty nonchalant at first, so for him to be asking her out for drinks now was kind of strange. Especially because he acted like she kicked him in the balls after lying about Arthur being her boyfriend.

Rosalie grabbed the water glass and tossed it at Arthur. The water splashed him, slapping his face and soaking his neck and shoulders.

Arthur shouted in surprise and jumped back, sliding off the stool and falling to the ground with a thump. He groaned from the floor, lying on his back. Pressing his hands to his face, he continued to groan like a baby startled from his nap, his hair sticking to his forehead, and the top half of his blue, pinstriped shirt completely soaked.

Rosalie stood over him with a deep sigh, her hands on her hips as she looked at him underneath the brim of her hat.

Arthur slowly pulled his hands away, blinking up at her. He gave a defeated sigh of his own and let his hands fall to the ground above his head, looking up at the ceiling with a pitiful expression.

"Glad to see you're finally awake," Rosalie said, still looking down at him. "We're leaving tomorrow, remember?" She asked with a raised brow.

Arthur grimaced. "'Ion care 'bout none of that right now." He said as he slowly sat up with a deep groan and rubbed his hands across his face. "I feel like shit."

Rosalie snorted and hooked her arm around his, helping him get to his feet as he stumbled. "Yeah, well, you look it too. But I came to take you back to camp, cowboy. Where's Boadicea? I didn't see her outside."

She was right. Arthur really did look like shit. His skin was pale, eyes sunken in with heavy bags. His entire demeanor reeked of heartbreak, his shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. He smelt horrible too, and she was sure he had thrown up at least once already during the night from his heavy drinking.

Arthur grimaced and grabbed his hat off the counter. "She ran off, I think. I dunno. This ain't the first place I had a drink at… so… I ain't got a clue. She's probably back at camp by now or somethin'. She's a smart horse, so I ain't worried."

Rosalie glanced at him in concern for his nonchalant attitude.

"You're not worried where Boadicea is? She's like your little princess." Rosalie said, giving him a side eye as they walked to the door.

Arthur waved her off and held a hand to his forehead. "She'll be fine."

"Mmkay." Rosalie made a face.

"If you change your mind about drinks this evenin', jus' come on back here!" Called the bartender, waving at her as they opened the door to leave. His eyes were wide and eager, hopeful that she would return.

Rosalie had absolutely no intentions of doing that, but she still waved back with a forced, polite smile as she shut the door behind them. The grin slid off her face the moment the door shut.

On the front deck of the saloon, just the two of them now, it was Arthur's turn to give her a sideways look. "Drinks? With the bartender?" He asked, walking down the steps toward Blitz.

Rosalie rolled her eyes and followed after him. "While I was in the process of waking you from your slumber, sleeping beauty, he was trying to make a move on me. Said you were my boyfriend so he would leave me alone, but that still didn't work, obviously."

Arthur gave her an incredulous look. "Boyfriend?"

Rosalie shrugged and put her foot in the stirrup, swinging herself atop the saddle. She gave Arthur an apologetic look. "Sorry, a little insensitive due to the uh… circumstances in which you're drinking…" She trailed off awkwardly, realizing she was being pretty callous about the subject of Mary calling off the engagement, as he had drunk himself stupid over it.

Arthur frowned but didn't say anything, boosting himself to sit behind her on the horse. He was quiet as he held onto her sides to keep himself atop the horse. Rosalie did her best not to blush at the contact, or at how close he was sitting to her. His hands felt huge against her sides, and she could feel the heat of his palms through her shirt.

Rosalie tilted her head down, using her hat to shield her face from him so he couldn't see how red she was, and kicked Blitz into a trot, taking him through the street out of town.

She felt real stupid getting all hot and bothered by his touch. He was only holding onto her so he didn't fall off the horse for God's sake—it wasn't as though he had any other thoughts about touching her. His lack of chit-chat made it clear enough to her that he was deep in thought.

Rosalie didn't expect him to be in the mood to talk much anyway. From Mary's teary-eyed blubbering, she expected Arthur to be in just as bad of a state if not worse, and was surprised Arthur didn't put up more of a fight at the sight of her. Rosalie halfway expected him to start swinging.

Maybe he got all, or at least most, of his anger and sorrow out last night in the form of endless glasses of whiskey.

Whatever it was, she wouldn't complain about it being easy.

They trotted along in silence, Blitz's hooves clicking against the cobblestone as they rode through the street. It was nearing the end of summer now, so it was hotter than it had been through the season. Rosalie's shirt stuck to her body from all the sweat, and Arthur's warm hands against her sides didn't help either. She was extremely uncomfortable.

God, Rosalie was glad they were leaving Lemoyne. She hated the thick, hot air and longed for the dry heat that settled over you like a warm blanket. New Austin or Texas would have been better than this.

Secretly, Rosalie was looking forward to winter and hoped for snow in West Elizabeth. Though they'd probably have to go far into Ambarino for that. It didn't stop her from wishing for a white blanket to cover the area around her and chill her cheeks until they turned red.

She missed the thick snow up north. It was always cold, especially around Christmas in New York. Since her birthday fell on New Year's, she had many fond memories of playing in the snow on her birthday and her father finding any high place he could so she could watch the fireworks. He'd hold her tight and point at them in the sky as they went off up above in bright, colorful bursts.

Rosalie missed the cold, and she missed the fireworks, but she missed being wrapped in her father's arms most of all.

She did her best to push that thought out of her head as soon as it came, her hand coming to fiddle with her mother's gold cross around her neck.

Finally, they were outside the city, trotting through the swampy area littered with tall, stringy grass and other marsh plants.

Rosalie was glad for it, as she urged Blitz into a faster pace, relieved that she no longer had to watch out for stray civilians who might throw themselves in front of her moving horse.

The hot sun beat down on them, with the occasional bird cawing overhead. They rode in silence, Rosalie content in her own thoughts and not wanting to poke the bear. She thought it would continue that way until they reached camp when Arthur spoke up.

"I still can't believe she called it off," Arthur said suddenly.

Rosalie glanced at him over her shoulder, blinking at his words.

How was she supposed to respond to that? She didn't expect him to bring up Mary on his own, and she wasn't planning on asking him anything about it. The last thing she wanted was to be pushy.

It wasn't like she wanted to talk about Mary all that much anyway.

"I thought… ah, I dunno, I really thought that she and I were gonna marry." Arthur continued, his eyes glazed over and far away as he sifted through his thoughts. "I ain't never really thought I would find myself a woman. Someone who liked me. I mean, I ain't much to look at. A big, ugly ol' brute like me who's dumber than rocks? I dunno… When Mary said she liked me for the first time, I was dumbstruck. Hell, I probably looked like a fish outta' water."

He let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. "I thought she had to be jokin'. Pullin' my leg or somethin'. Pretty thing like her? Bein' sweet on me? It seemed like it was too good to be true." He said, his voice getting quiet.

The reality of his situation seemed to be settling in. He was riding away from New Orleans, away from Mary, and he would probably never see her again.

Rosalie's heart broke for the way he was talking. Not only because it was apparent to her that Arthur seemed to think so low of himself, but also because of the strong love he still had for Mary. He spoke about her with such loss it was making Rosalie's stomach churn.

"She kept talkin' to me about settlin' down. She would say things like, 'when I leave the gang' as if it was somethin' expected of me. That I was gonna do it without us even talkin' it out first." Arthur's hands on Rosalie's sides flexed, as though he was shifting in discomfort behind her. Rosalie could only imagine the pitiful face he was making as he spoke out loud.

"But I couldn't do it. Leave Dutch, Hosea, John… you? I told her I couldn't leave what I had, and she didn't have to tell me that comin' with us was out of the question." He said. "I jus'... I jus' keep thinkin' that I really blew it. That, and how unfair all this… all this shit is. Why couldn't I be different? A normal, law-abidin' citizen who would have a good, upright job."

Rosalie wanted to tell him he was an idiot for thinking so low of himself, that she had already wanted him before they arrived in New Orleans. She wanted to tell him that she almost kissed him all those weeks back in Tennessee. How exhilarating and just... fun it was to dance and laugh with him; a real feeling of happiness since her father and uncle's death.

Would things have been different if she'd kissed him then? She didn't know, and it truly didn't matter now. If she thought about the 'ifs' for too long her heart would hurt even more. Perhaps it would have all blown up in her face if she had and her friendship with Arthur would have been irreparable.

"I can't tell you that I know how you're feeling, or that I know what to say to make you feel better," Rosalie began slowly, her brows knitting as she tried to come up with the right words. "But just know that… that forcing yourself to live a life that wasn't meant for you… that's probably the worst thing you can do. Mary would have known you were miserable eventually and resented you for it, or you would have gone mad on your own. In a way, it's good that… it's good that you were able to recognize that you can't force something to be."

Rosalie's heart hurt at her own words, thinking about George, and how he had given her his mother's ring. He told her his mother was adamant about him giving it to a woman who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with—someone who he would share real, deep love and companionship with, as she didn't get to experience such a thing herself.

But Rosalie wasn't meant for George. Why he loved her, she had no clue, but she knew well enough that her lifestyle and personality were not suited to one of a high society, wealthy man. It was better they were honest with themselves, and each other, before they locked themselves into a life and role they wouldn't be able to get out of.

Not without irreparable damage, at least. Eleanor's former husband who ran away with a mistress because he couldn't take it was proof enough.

Arthur sighed. "You say you ain't got any experience, but you sure talk like you do."

Rosalie shrugged. "It isn't with a man I love, but… I guess I have some experience in being honest with myself about how I want to live my life. George Langley proposed to me."

Arthur made a noise of shock. "He what?!"

"I just now realized that I never told you," Rosalie said with a snort at how absurd this conversation was. "Because you weren't around much, I just never got around to telling you. Everyone else knew. Had a talk with Hosea... he helped me work through it, and I knew I couldn't stay here with George after that."

She shook her head. "Me as a high society woman... As you said before, me in a fancy dress and parading around expensive garden parties is like putting me in a straitjacket. I'd be miserable." She said.

Rosalie glanced at him over her shoulder. "Not sure the life with Mary would be as drastic as mine would have been if I married George, but it still would be a change from the life you have now. I think… if you took the time, and really thought about who you are, and what the life is that you need, and you realized the one with Mary didn't fit that mold, then you did the right thing."

Arthur was quiet. Rosalie looked ahead and adjusted her grip on the reins, trying to distract herself from the throbbing in her chest from thinking about George for too long, and the fact she was giving romantic advice to the man she was practically in love with.

He then sighed deeply, leaning forward and supporting some of his weight against her back. Rosalie stiffened at first, surprised that he was leaning into her for some sort of comfort. She quickly relaxed, not wanting to give him the impression that she didn't want him touching her.

"I say we have some beers together later. Or a shot of whisky. Or both," Arthur said over her shoulder.

Rosalie laughed. "Yeah, okay, cowboy. I think we can manage that."

They rode up to camp, everything loaded into the wagon except for their tents. They were ready for their departure to West Elizabeth the next morning, and they would be leaving Lemoyne behind. Rosalie was sad about leaving some of the people behind, but she wouldn't say she was sad about leaving the state.

Rosalie hitched Blitz outside of camp, and sure enough, Boadicea was there near the other horses grazing on the grass.

Arthur slid off the saddle and walked over to the brown mare. He rubbed her neck and spoke to her in a soft voice. "Hey there, girl. Sorry, I left ya'. But you knew where to go, didn't ya'? You're a smart girl."

Rosalie patted his shoulder as she walked past, heading over to her tent. John, who was sitting with a book perched in his lap, blinked at the sight of her, but realized Arthur wasn't with her. Dutch, Hosea, and Susan all sat around the fire too, relaxing a bit before they had a long few days of travel ahead.

"Did you find him?" John asked, closing his book.

"Yeah, he's over there," Rosalie said, pointing over to where Arthur was talking to Boadicea. "I wouldn't say he's in a great mood, though. So don't piss him off."

Susan crossed her arms. "Was I right about the saloon?" She asked with a raised brow.

Rosalie flashed her a sheepish grin. "Yeah, you were. The only problem is that there are a ton of saloons all over the city… I searched about half of 'em before I gave up and hunted down Mary Gillis. They weren't together, but at least I knew he was probably off drinking somewhere after speaking with her." She said.

Hosea raised a brow, glancing at Arthur. Realizing he was out of earshot, he turned his attention back to Rosalie. "Did Mary call off the engagement?" He asked.

Rosalie nodded. "Yeah, she did. Found him passed out in a bar near the ports. Dusty old place, so I have no idea how he ended up there… regardless, he had been drinking all night. So don't be surprised if—"

There was sudden coughing and the sound of someone throwing up across the way. They all looked over, grimacing at the sight of Arthur emptying his stomach onto the ground next to Boadicea, his hand braced against a tree.

"If that happens," Rosalie said with a deadpan expression.

John made a face. "Eww…"

Susan shook her head with a deep sigh and returned her attention to the sewing needle in her hand. Hosea took a drag from his cigarette and frowned, sharing a look with Dutch.

Dutch stood up with a deep sigh and began walking over to him. "I'll go talk to the boy."

With attention diverted from herself, Rosalie turned on her heel and continued over to her tent. She pushed the flaps aside and crawled in, making sure her things were all packed and situated for them to leave.

Rosalie had been packed for a few days now, ahead of schedule, but her father's guitar case remained untouched, sitting beside her bedroll. Along with that, was the box full of her mother's stuff sitting on the ground next to it.

She hadn't taken a look at the items inside since receiving them from her grandfather. There hadn't been any time, but also, in part, because she was afraid to read the letters. Once she opened the box, she knew it would be hard to resist the urge to read each one—but was she mentally strong enough to do it?

She would be reading letters in her father's voice, in his handwriting, letters he never intended for her to read. These were meant for her grandfather's eyes. Whatever he wrote in there was not meant for her—though Charlie said he wanted her to have them now and encouraged her to take them.

Whatever those letters contained, her grandfather thought they would help her heal. Maybe that was enough, then.

With a deep sigh, Rosalie took off her hat and tossed it on the bedroll. She popped open the guitar case and swung the strap over her shoulder, situating the instrument there, before tucking the box of her mother's things under her arm.

Stepping out of the tent, she made her way across the clearing, choosing to distance herself from the camp, fearing this would be a rather emotional display. She found a nice spot on a hill, overlooking a small, marshy pond in the distance where some coyotes were squealing and playing with each other.

Rosalie sat down crisscrossed and settled the instrument in her lap. She smoothed her hands over the black, shiny wood, before resting her chin on the side of the guitar, peering down at the box. Her fingers came to absentmindedly trace the curling, white ivy painted onto the wood by her mother.

Her life didn't feel real sometimes. She wished desperately she could show her father his guitar, now back in her possession as it should be, instead of sitting in a dusty shop somewhere, sold because they needed money for food and travel. She longed to see his face as she strummed the strings or tell him how she taught a little girl who only knew German to speak English. That she could speak it fluently again, after years of rolling her eyes when he forced her to practice it around him.

Henry would tell her language was one of the most important ways to maintain that connection with her culture, and that it was the best way for him to feel like he was teaching her about how he grew up, who his parents were, and what made them the way they were.

Whether she liked it or not, much of her personality was due to her German ancestry, as it influenced the way her father and uncle were raised, and how they raised her.

Rosalie wished she didn't take his lecturing for granted.

She reached up and tuned the knobs at the end of the guitar, before strumming the strings idly, her gaze still locked on the wooden box.

Would he be proud of her for who she had become over these last few months, and the person she would grow to be in the coming years? Rosalie knew he wouldn't be proud of her vengeance or the dirty, violent grief she found herself in after killing Cormac, but she hoped he would understand why she did it. It wasn't to soil his image, but to give him some sort of justice for the way he was ripped from her without care by an evil, evil man.

Maybe the desire for vengeance was something Dutch had imposed on her, or maybe it wasn't. That was something she would be contemplating for probably the rest of her life, but it didn't matter all that much anyway, since she had killed Cormac. It was done with.

Rosalie stopped playing, her hand wound around the neck of the guitar as she looked down at the box. The corner of her mouth twisted as she drummed her fingers against the instrument, before she leaned forward and opened the box, fishing the pile of letters from the bottom.

The first was a very frayed, old envelope. Rosalie pulled the letter from inside and unfolded it carefully, her fingers shaking as she undid it.

January 3rd, 1866

Dear Mr. Montgomery,

I'm sure you are not receiving this letter fondly, as you think of me as the rotten man who took your daughter away from her comfortable life, and from you. For that, I don't blame you, as now I sit with my guilt over the matter, feeling I have been rightfully punished for doing so.

I felt it was only right for me to write and tell you of Addie's passing. She was pregnant, as you know. She didn't tell me she had been sending you letters, but I knew it anyway. She never was very good at keeping things from me, despite her mischievous nature.

I'm still in shock. My hands can barely hold the pen as I write. My daughter, only three days old, sleeps in the bassinet beside me, while her mother is buried at the Cathedral nearby. If you wish to visit Addie at any time, she is buried at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. I haven't been yet. It's too hard.

You do not wish to hear about my guilt, but I felt it was only right to tell you about Addie's passing and that she gave birth to our healthy, beautiful baby girl. Addie named her 'Rosalie', though she intended it to be from the French name, 'Rosalee', our beautiful new year rose. I thought you would like to know her name.

She was born with a small head of curly, blonde hair. The midwife thought it was strange for a baby to have so much hair, but saw it as a passing gift from her mother, noting Addie's wild curls.

If she hadn't met me, Addie would still be alive, with you, and perhaps married to some wealthy man. She would have been offered a better life than I would have given her.

I have deep sorrow over the loss of the love of my life, and as I look out the window at the falling snow, my heart is heavy with grief, and I fear my life will never be the same without her.

Henry Klein

Rosalie sniffed, her eyes becoming blurry with tears as she read the last line, the messy dabbles of ink at the bottom, and droplets of some sort of liquid leading her to believe either he, or her grandfather had cried over the letter.

The guilt her father felt over her mother's death… Rosalie knew he loved her mother with so much adoration that it pained him to speak of her most of the time, but the way he wrote about Adelaide… it made Rosalie's chest tighten with grief.

She carefully folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope, moving to the next.

January 1st, 1870

Dear Mr. Montgomery,

I'm not sure what possessed me to send you another letter, but as I watched Rosalie play today beside the fire in the small loft we've settled in New York, I realized how much it pains me to see her with Addie's face, and how I continue to wrestle with my sorrow. I miss her every day.

I'm sure you feel much the same.

Today is Rosalie's fourth birthday, and I see pieces of Addie in almost everything she does—from her smile and giggles to the way she jumps out from behind things in an attempt to scare me. She has her mother's wild spirit and bright eyes.

Though, it frightens me sometimes how similar she is to Addie, and unfortunately, also to myself. She will get herself into heaps of trouble with her mother's mischievous nature and my stubbornness. Despite how afraid I am of what she will get up to in the future, I want you to know that she is doing well, and that I would lay down my life for this little girl before I let any harm come to her. She will be kept safe.

I am determined to give her as much love as I can, although I know I will never be a mother or provide her with the care she would have received from Addie. I cannot replace two parents, but I intend to give her the love of two and more.

I hope that someday, she will find a man who can provide her with love and protect her in ways I can't when I am long gone, ways I couldn't with her mother. I hope he will do a better job of caring for her than I did with Addie. I won't pretend I was the best husband or that I could provide her with every luxury, but there's no doubt in my heart that I loved Addie with my soul.

I hope Rosalie will find someone who loves her just as deeply.

I do not think I will send you another letter, and I still do not know what possessed me to write this one. Perhaps it's the nostalgia of the snowfall and the chill against my cheeks, or simply my unrelenting guilt.

Henry Klein

Rosalie was full-on sobbing, the letter held tightly between her hands as her eyes skimmed the page. The love and adoration he expressed, not only for her, but for her mother, was unlike anything she had ever seen. Her father, not the most affectionate or eloquent man, still had always doted on Rosalie, especially when she was a little girl, devoting all his time to her and ensuring her well-being.

To hear the way he spoke about Adelaide... it only made Rosalie's tears rush down her face even more.

The final letter was different from the others, the paper crisp and appearing more expensive. Unlike her father's chicken scratches, this handwriting was delicate and curly, bubbling over the page with a pretty hand.

Rosalie's sniffles died down at her confusion, her brows knitting as she fished out the letter, her eyes skimming the page, and becoming more confused at the feminine handwriting.

November 17th, 1866

Daddy,

I hope you're still not mad about me leaving. I miss you every day and think about you and Sissy often. I know Eleanor is upset about me taking her gloves, but I couldn't help it. She knows those were originally mine anyway, so you can tell her to stick it if she says anything about me being a no-good thief.

I've already told you I'm pregnant, but the midwife says I'm due soon, around Christmas or New Year's. Wouldn't that be wonderful? My own Christmas present. We've moved up North to Boston, and it's much colder here than in Lemoyne. Henry says the snow will fall soon, and I'm so excited to see it. We barely get snow in Lemoyne, and he says it falls much heavier here and covers everything in a white blanket.

I hope she likes the snow. When I say she, I mean Rosalie. Of course, we don't know the gender yet, but I'm convinced it's a girl. Henry thinks so too, but the midwife says not to set my heart on either gender too much, since it could go either way.

I admit I'm frightened, as some of the other women here say childbirth is very painful. But Henry keeps me comfortable and eases any anxieties I have. I have faith it will be fine, and things will go the way it is supposed to.

Oh Daddy, I know you disliked him so, but Henry makes me so happy. I've never been loved the way he loves me. I've never met a man who cares so much for his woman in my life, and the other ladies even whisper about how jealous they are. It makes me giggle, and I'm glad to know he's mine. I wish you could see how much he cares for me instead of being afraid.

Though, I think I understand now why you were scared. I often think about my baby and the world around us. The world isn't kind, and sometimes I find myself crying over the thought of any harm or pain that could come to her. My heart breaks for any pain she may come to endure.

I just hope that she finds someone who cares for her as deeply as Henry cares for me. He keeps me safe and makes sure I have everything I need. I know if she finds companionship in someone like that, she'll be safe, even when Henry and I are long gone.

In short, I'm safe, and happy, though a bit scared, I have faith.

Please tell Momma I'm sorry I haven't written to her. I don't have the courage for that yet.

Yours,

Addie Klein

Out of everything she had expected, Rosalie did not anticipate reading a letter from her mother. Her grandfather either forgot it was in there or had conveniently left it out for her to find on her own. Rosalie still didn't know much about her mother, but this letter provided her with more insight than she had ever had in her life.

The tone in which she spoke… It was so teasing and light, but also filled with so much love and adoration. To read her mother's thoughts, and have a glimpse at who she was from her own words and not just from other people was a real gift.

The tears weren't as fervent as they rushed down her cheeks, but she still cried. She cried for the love her parents shared and the hopes they expressed for her future, for someone to care for her as deeply as they cared for each other.

Rosalie hoped she would find someone to be in her corner like that too, and that she would live a life that her parents would approve of.

Her grief still felt like an open wound, but she hoped with time she would heal, and she would learn to forgive.

FIN

A/N:

Part one is complete... wow, I am in shock right now.

Thank you all so much for the kudos, the love, and the comments I've received for this fic. It means the world to me, and this story has very quickly become my favorite one I've written. I hope you all have loved reading about Rosalie, and all the other characters that were in this fic, such as George (which I've heard has become a fan favorite. This surprised me!) as much as I loved writing them.

There will be part two titled 'Forgiveness and Retribution'. Keep on the lookout for it, but I'll also post here when it is out. Or, you can join my discord! It'll be linked here, where we talk about the fic and I'll announce there when it's out too.

/NYBnhBZ7yn

Thank you all again for your love and support. I appreciate it so much.