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Hello from Seattle!

My last newsletter asked for recipes for my next release and the response was overwhelming! Thank you very much for all of your family recipes. I can’t use that many in the book itself, but will probably put a section in the back of all the recipes I received.

As I’m preparing to send Ella off to college in August and Emerson is about to finish her first year of high school, I’ve been thinking about seasons. Soon, Cliff and I will have an empty nest and the next part of our adventures as a couple will begin. So much of my identity is wrapped up in being a mother and stepmother. I can remember like it was yesterday when I was the mother of babies and now they’re almost fully grown women. It’s hard for me to understand how time went so quickly. I know I’m not the only mother who has felt this way.

Speaking of empty nests, Cliff and I are planning on moving out of Seattle once Emerson graduates from high school. We’re currently searching for our next place to live. We have some places in mind and will be taking some trips this year to visit them and whittle down our list. On April 24th we’re leaving for a two-week trip around the Pacific Northwest. I’ll keep you posted on what we see! If you’re interested in photos and updates of our trip, please follow me on or sign up for my newsletter .

I have a super fun announcement! Moonstone, my psychic in the Blue Mountain Series, is going to have her very own advice column. You can send a note to: [email protected] to ask her a question! She’ll do her best to answer each one and she may include some letters in future newsletters or blog posts.

Have a wonderful few weeks. Much love to you and yours!

Happy Spring!

Here in Seattle the cherry trees, daffodils and tulips are blooming. I enjoy my daily walk so much this time of year. I’ve been trying to get out every day for fresh air and to clear my head after getting my word counts in.

Once I hit the three-thousand words written mark, I can quit for the day and do my exercise or catch up on the hundred other things on my list. Being a writer is not just writing! Regardless, getting outside is great motivation to stay #ButtInSeat.

I hope you’re enjoying spring as much as I. What’s blooming in your part of the world?

Big changes are coming up for my day-to-day routine. Emerson, my fourteen-year-old is returning to real school four days a week. This means we have to be out of the house by seven a.m. We’re not used to rising so early since we’ve been in lock-down for over a year. Hopefully, I won’t fall asleep at my desk.

Ella, my eighteen-year-old had her wisdom teeth out a few days ago. The drugs they gave her made her really funny. Frustrated that we couldn’t understand her with the gauze in her mouth, Ella started using sign language. Sadly, neither the nurse nor I had any idea what she was saying, other than the thank you sign. On the drive home, Ella started going on and on about how I don’t have enough first aid supplies in the house and that she’s the only one who cared about that in the entire family. What makes that even funnier is that Cliff has two of everything, including first aid supplies.

Calling For Family Recipes!

If you’re familiar with my Emerson Pass Series then you’ve met Lizzie, the Barnes�� family cook. In The Patron, coming May 18, 2021, Lizzie’s box of recipes will be found by one of her descendants. The only problem? I need recipes.

So, dig out those family secret recipes and send them my way. You’ll be credited in the back of the book along with whatever fun family anecdote you want to share. For fictional purposes, they’ll be included in the story itself as Lizzie’s recipes. Want to join the fun? Send your recipe to [email protected] and be sure to tell us why it’s special to you.

To be eligible for consideration, please subscribe to my newsletter or join me in my Facebook group Patio Chat . I can’t wait to get these recipes!

Dear Reader,

I’m so excited to introduce you to the Webster and Paisley families. This prologue will be included in the novel that releases on March 23, 2021.

Blue Twilight is the fifth Blue Mountain book and the first one set in Logan Bend. If you haven’t read the other four of these romantic mysteries, no worries. This one can be read as a standalone. Although, if you enjoy Blue Twilight, the rest of the series is available, starting with .

I hope you enjoy Carlie and Cole’s story as much as I loved writing it. Don’t forget to order your copy of !

Much love,

Tess

Prologue, 1989

In the years afterward, I came to think of that evening of the Logan County Fair as Blue Twilight. The transition from the light of day to the dark of night. Awash in the pink-grapefruit-hued light of the setting sun, I had no idea of what was to come. Life held only promise to me then. I knew nothing of the night. My sister and I thrived in the long days of summer like newly budded roses, dewy with youth and beauty. I believed the world was good and nothing bad could touch the people I loved. How wrong I was.

The highlight of summer for Beth and me had always been the county fair. Since we were small my father had taken us, leaving my mother at home for what she referred to as her Calgon night. Each holding on to one of our father’s hands, we’d weave through crowds to see the 4-H animals, the winning pies, quilts, and art. Of particular interest for my father was the new car on display, which we found boring but knew that if we were patient, the best part of the evening would come. The rides.

He’d buy us each ten tickets and then sit with his friends while we got our fill. I was too scared to go without Beth, so we always rode together. Our favorite was the Ferris wheel. It was the view that we loved, squealing with glee as the magic wheel lifted us high enough to see the entire fairgrounds, then dipped low only to climb once more to the glorious top. All the while music would play. The kind of music that made anything was possible. Our lives were ahead of us, after all. Nothing but promise.

Now, though, we were sixteen and seventeen, and being seen at the fair with our father was absolutely not done. We were here without my father for the first time. He’d fretted, but in the end had agreed that Beth could drive us in the family station wagon to meet the Paisley brothers.

I stood in line at the Booster Club’s burger stand with Beth and the Paisley boys. Smoke from the grilled meat wafted into the warm summer air and intermingled with dust kicked up from the hundreds of people traipsing through the fairgrounds. I loved this scent of summer, along with river water drying on rocks, coconut sunscreen, my mother’s roses, and dad’s charcoal grill. These were the staples of my young world.

The line for overly priced and mediocre food was long, and my stomach rumbled with hunger. Beth, me, and the three Paisley brothers, huddled together as the line inched forward slowly. I didn’t care. I’d stand here next to Cole Paisley the rest of my life if I could.

Cole Paisley. My confidant and best friend. The person I could tell anything to except for the most important thing. Athletic and bronzed with wavy hair that curled just right at the nape of his neck. Eyes the color of the river in the winters, somewhere between green and gray. Lover of books. The object of my undying yet unreciprocated love. Since we were eight years old, Cole and his twin brother, Drew, had been the center of my heart.

“Carlie, what do you want?�� Luke Paisley draped an arm around my sister’s shoulders. “My treat. I got my paycheck today.�� Luke and my sister were going to be seniors when school started next week. The high school quarterback and the head cheerleader were the envy of every kid in town. Blond and tanned, they fit together like two genetically blessed bookends.

“I’ll have french fries,�� I said, smiling shyly at Luke. “But Dad sent us with money. He told me to tell you that you’re not to blow your hard-earned cash on my sister.��

“Your dad’s the best.�� Luke smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. Mr. Paisley was not the best or anywhere near it. The bruises on the boys�� backs and arms were proof of that.

“What do you want, doll?�� Luke asked Beth.

“Nothing. I feel kind of off.�� Beth glanced at me, then quickly looked away. A jolt of alarm charged through me. Something was wrong. My sister never turned down the chance to have a milkshake and fries. She liked to dip the fries in the blended ice cream. Our mother was the kind who didn’t like for us to have desserts. Her idea of a sweet was dates rolled in sesame seeds or carob oatmeal balls. We looked forward to fairground junk food all year.

“Do you feel sick?�� I asked my sister.

“My stomach’s bothering me.�� Beth twisted a strand of her hair around one finger. She always did this when she was nervous or upset. An ominous dread crept up my spine. I shook it off. Mom always said I had too much imagination for my own good. That’s why I had to have a lamp on at night even though I was practically grown. In the dark, I could swear there were bugs on the walls. When I turned on the lights, though, it was only the purple flower pattern of the wallpaper.

“You want to sit down?�� Luke asked Beth. “I can bring you something.��

Beads of perspiration dotted Beth’s perfect nose. “No, I’m fine.��

“Are you warm?�� I asked.

“A little, yeah,�� Beth said.

“Maybe you’re dehydrated,�� Drew said. Cole’s identical twin brother stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his 501s and squinted at Beth from under his fringe of dark blond hair. “Coach Richards says that can make you feel sick to your stomach.��

Not many could tell the twins apart. They were constantly being mistaken for the other. But not by me. Yes, they were unnervingly similar. However, I could tell them apart just like that. I’d been able to from the first day they stumbled into Logan Bend Elementary School in third grade. It wasn’t their appearances that differed but their insides. They shared athleticism, but Cole was gentler and quieter than his outgoing, fun-spirited brother. Cole liked to work with wood and assisted his mother in her garden. Drew preferred social activities. In the hallway or lunchroom at school, he was almost always at the center of the sound of laughter. I adored all three of the Paisley brothers. But it was Cole I loved. Until last summer, when I suddenly realized I was in love with him, I’d thought he was just my favorite person. Now, though, I knew. He was the only one I wanted. Probably forever and ever.

“I might be dehydrated,�� Beth said, faintly. “Luke, will you get me some water when you order for us?��

“You got it, doll.�� Luke’s eyes were the same color as his brothers��, but his hair was a lighter shade of yellow and he wasn’t as thickly built. He was light on his feet and whip-smart. One day he would be a doctor. I felt certain of it.

“What happened to your glasses?�� Cole asked.

“Glasses?�� I asked, not understanding the question.

“I mean, why aren’t you wearing them? Can you see?�� Cole asked as he peered at me. Fringed with dark lashes, his eyes had the power to make my stomach do cartwheels.

I could see all right, and Cole happened to be my favorite sight.

“Did you lose them?�� Drew asked. “I lost my retainer, and my mom had a total cow.��

“No one wants to hear about your disgusting retainer,�� Cole said.

Drew grinned and tapped his teeth with his fingers. “But look at these beauties. I have to keep them perfect for the ladies.�� They were indeed straight and gorgeous, just as Cole’s and Luke’s were. Their mother worked at the orthodontist’s office in town. They’d been able to have braces for no cost. My mom told me that Mr. Paisley had been out of work for as long as she could remember. The burden of the household finances was on Mrs. Paisley.

Cole rolled his eyes. “What ladies are you talking about?��

“Oh, they want the Drewster. Trust me.��

I giggled. Drewster. Where did he come up with this stuff?

“Only when they think you are me,�� Cole said.

“Completely false. Everyone knows I’m the fun one.�� Drew winked at me. “Right, Carlie?��

“Um, I don’t know.�� I looked away, not wanting to answer any questions about the differences.

Drew was right about the ladies�� adoration. Every girl in town wanted one if not all three of the Paisley boys. Boys envied them. Girls wanted them.

“Beth, you’re not looking so hot,�� Luke said. “Should I take you home?��

“No, I’m all right,�� Beth said, sounding weak. “But if I feel worse, will you guys take Carlie home? I don’t want to ruin the night for all of us.��

“Totally,�� Luke said.

“Will Dad be mad?�� I asked Beth. Our father hadn’t wanted us to ride with the Paisleys�� in Luke’s run-down car, afraid we’d have engine trouble and get stuck on the side of the road.

“If I do go home because I don’t feel well, he can’t be mad,�� Beth said. “He’ll know you wanted to stay.��

Luke pointed to a picnic table where a family was getting up to toss their empty cartons. “You guys, grab the table. I’ll order and bring it to you.��

“Cool,�� Drew said. “Don’t forget drinks. I’m dying of thirst.��

“Got it,�� Luke said.

Beth handed Luke a five-dollar bill. “For Carlie’s dinner.��

“What’s going on? Are you really sick?�� I whispered to Beth as we headed toward the empty table.

“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s probably the heat and being on my feet all day.�� Beth was working at our local gift store and had just finished a shift before we headed out earlier. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a second.��

“All right.�� I studied her for a second. She looked pale. Not wanting to act like Mom, I had to stop myself from feeling her forehead. She pressed my hand with her own. Clammy and cold despite the warm evening.

I watched her as she walked across the aisle toward one of the fairgrounds restrooms. She wore shorts and a tank top that showed off her curves and longs legs, but she seemed to be walking weird, as though her body hurt. What was going on with her?

*To finish reading the FREE Blue Twilight Short: The Prologue 1989, click .*

The Spinster (Emerson Pass Historicals, Book 2)

Josephine

The letter from Phillip Baker came on paper as thin as our pond’s ice after a first autumn freeze. Perhaps that delicate paper should have been a clue as to what was to come. How my life would change. One could not skate on ice that thin. How right I was.

I read his correspondence twice, thinking through his offer. With a lightness in my steps that did not match my heavy heart, I walked to the window of my parents�� sitting room. A first snowfall had blanketed the valley where my father’s estate dwelt between two Colorado mountains. Our winter wonderland had come late this year. A brilliant, sunny, crisp fall had gone on for months. Given all that the last few years had bestowed upon us, we gratefully enjoyed every moment.

We’d survived the days and days of worry over my twin brothers fighting in France and the threat of the Spanish flu to the troops. Then, a second wave�� the deadliest wave�� of the Spanish flu had plundered the world. A third in the fall, threatening us once more. Emerson Pass had managed to remain isolated enough that we’d been spared.

Finally, though, it seemed as if the world would return to our lives before the war. Papa and Mama had seemed to be able breath again for the first time since the boys had enlisted, not yet seventeen, having lied about their age. Our dear friend Isak Olofsson had also survived. All three were home now. Not quite the same, but physically intact.

Not all of our boys returned to Emerson Pass. We’d lost Francis Lane. I hadn’t known him well, but he was part of us. A soul lost. Buried in a cemetery across the seas. A young man who would never know what it was like to marry, have children, grow old.

And I’d lost Walter Green. He was not one of us. No one but I mourned him here. I had enough grief for a whole town.

The first letter from Phillip Baker had come in the fall of 1918. I could remember every word.

My name is Phillip Baker. I’m not sure if Walter ever mentioned me in his letters, but we knew each other for a brief time when we were children and then by coincidence, were assigned to the same unit for basic training and sent to France together. I’m writing to tell you that Walter was killed in action last week. I was aware of your correspondence with him and that you would want to know. I’m sorry. He died bravely and without any suffering.

Just a month before the end, he’d been killed in action. The promise of our future together snuffed out before it began. I’d had only two weeks with him. Two weeks of bliss. Now I had only the memories. They would have to sustain me for the rest of my life. I would be a spinster. A librarian spinster and auntie to my six siblings�� children.

I touched my fingertips to the cold glass. Snow fell steadily outside the windows. In Colorado, we had at least a dozen words to describe snowflakes. Today it was a dry, fat flake. Good for skiing, according to Flynn and Theo. A new sport they’d fallen in love with after their time in Europe. They’d come home determined to bring skiing here to Emerson Pass. The sport of the future, Flynn had declared. A way for our town to continue to grow and flourish. Shops would be built around the visitors. They’d seen it in the Alps. It would work here too, they’d told Papa. He’d agreed to let them use part of their trust for the investment in their future. They were now happily planning away for the new version of our town. They’d cleared trees on the northern mountain for runs and built a lodge from the logs. In the spring, they would complete the pulley for the ski lift. By next winter, if all went well, skiing would have come to us for good.

I returned to the letter, reading the neat handwriting.

November 20, 1919

Dear Josephine, I hope this letter will find you well. I’m also hopeful that you’ll remember who I am. If not, I’ll be mortified. Since returning from the war, I’ve been in New York City. Unfortunately, I became very ill last year with the Spanish flu. While convalescing, I remembered your descriptions of Emerson Pass from the letters you wrote to Walter. (He often read passages to me and the other men.)

Your descriptions of the wildflowers, sky, and trees have convinced me to travel west in pursuit of my own place of belonging. I’ve decided to take a leap of faith and come to Colorado, perhaps to settle for good. I’m writing to see if I might visit you and your family? I ended up with your letters and the books you sent. I feel guilty that I haven’t sent them to you before now, as I’m sure you’d like to have them.

My request and trip may sound strange to you, but there’s nothing or no one keeping me here. I grew up in an orphanage and have never truly had a home.

We all looked forward to your letters, as Walter shared many stories of you and your family with the rest of us lonely boys who, sadly, had no one writing to us. From your stories, I feel as if I know you all. I’d be honored to bring your letters, novels, and photograph and to meet you and your family.

I’m also hopeful that your father and brothers might have ideas for me in regard to work. Before the war, I apprenticed with a cabinetmaker. If they know of anything, I’d be pleased to hear of it.

If you’re amenable to my visit, I thank you kindly and look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Phillip Baker

His request to visit wasn’t the strange part. I found it odd that he made no mention of Walter, other than to say he’d shared my letters. An image of Walter laughing during one of our picnics flashed before my eyes. His sunny head of hair and light blue eyes had transfixed me from the start. He’d had an infectious smile that made me feel dizzy. I’d met him in Denver while I was attending a librarian conference. He’d been passing through on his way to report for duty. Our meeting had been pure chance. He happened to be out that warm evening while I walked in the park with colleagues. I’d thought at the time it was destiny. I now knew it was the day that led to my broken heart. Did I wish I’d never met him and be spared the pain of losing him? I couldn’t answer that question.

I pressed my forehead against the glass. If only the coolness would numb the rest of me. Even for a few minutes. To feel like my old self instead of a worn-out, dried-up spinster. I would be twenty-three on my next birthday. Most women were married with a child by this age.

“What is it, Jo? Why did you sigh?�� Papa asked from behind his newspaper.

I hadn’t realized I’d sighed. Papa knew me too well. After everything we’d been through together, it was no wonder. I turned from the window and stepped nearer to the couch where he and Mama Quinn were having their tea. “It’s a letter from Walter’s friend. The one who wrote to tell me of Walter’s death.��

“Yes, we remember.�� Mama’s eyes immediately softened with sympathy. “What does he want?��

“He wants to come out here for a visit and possibly to stay. My letters were a travel brochure, I guess.��

Papa lowered the paper onto his lap. “How interesting.�� His English accent, according to my friends, remained as strong today as it had been when he came to America so many years ago. I, however, could not hear it. He sounded only like my beloved Papa.

“Does he have a wife and family?�� Mama folded her hands together on her lap. I’d pulled her from reading. The novel, My Ántonia, was face-open on the couch next to her. Her fair hair was arranged in waves pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Younger than my father by fifteen years, she was blessed with delicate, even features and a heart-shaped face.

Just over ten years had passed since she’d arrived to open the first school of Emerson Pass and my father’s heart. Almost immediately she’d become the heart of our family. All five of us thought of her as our mother. Since their marriage, two little sisters had come, bringing our total to seven. Papa called us “The Lucky Seven.��

“He has no family of any kind,�� I said. “In fact, he was raised in an orphanage. I have the feeling he’s in need of a fresh start and work. He thought Papa might have ideas for him.��

“How sad. We’ll help him in any way we can.�� Mama set her teacup onto its saucer and fixed her kind brown eyes upon me. “Unless there’s a reason you wouldn’t want him to come here?�� The anxious way she looked at me lately filled me with guilt. Papa, Mama, and my sisters had been worried about me. I hated knowing I caused them concern. My job was to be the responsible, steady eldest, not the sad, mopey mess I’d become.

“No, not at all,�� I said. “Should we invite him to stay with us? Just until he can figure out what to do next?��

“Yes, we’ve room for him if he doesn’t mind bunking with the boys.�� Papa drained the last of his tea and set aside his cup. “I’m keen to help any man who fought in that terrible war.��

“He says he trained as a cabinetmaker.�� I hugged my middle as I walked over to the fire that roared in the hearth, crackling and snapping. “He says Walter shared the contents of my letters with him and the rest of the boys. I find that�� perplexing.��

“Which part?�� Mama asked.

“That he shared them. My letters were intimate, meant for only one pair of eyes.�� I looked down at my hands to keep from crying.

“Darling, it doesn’t really matter,�� Papa said softly. “If your letters brought them some relief, isn’t it an honor?��

“I suppose.�� I sat in one of the armchairs and watched the fire. One end of a log looked like the nose of a fox.

Mama smoothed her hands over the top of her day dress made of crimson organza. “Phillip must stay for Christmas.��

“Yes, I agree,�� Papa said. “He shouldn’t be alone for the holidays. We’ll take care of him until he can get on his feet. The boys can show him around town, do a little carousing.��

“Alexander, carousing?�� Mama raised her eyebrows and looked properly mortified. “Our boys do not
carouse.��

Papa didn’t answer, but his eyes twinkled as he gazed at her. My chest ached with both gratitude and sorrow. Their love pleased me. Yet it also brought to light what I’d lost. I’d hoped Walter and I would share a life as they had.

Mama returned her gaze to me. “Jo, what’s troubling you?��

“We don’t know Phillip,�� I said. “What if he’s awful?��

“I doubt he will be,�� Mama said. “He was so kind to write to you about Walter’s death.��

“That’s true. If he’s Walter’s friend, he must be all right,�� I said.

“We didn’t really know Walter,�� Papa said.

I sucked in my bottom lip to hold back a retort. Never in my life had there been any discord between my parents and me. However, they hadn’t approved of my whirlwind courtship with Walter. Which was in no way his fault. He hadn’t had time to come home with me and meet my family. “He was here such a short time. There wasn’t an opportunity for him to court me properly. He planned to, when he returned from the war.��

“Yes, of course, darling. We understand,�� Mama said in a soothing voice.

“Yes, yes, quite right.�� Papa followed up too hastily. No one wanted to upset me these days. I missed when my family treated me normally. Now it felt as if I were a fragile piece of china no one wanted to break.

“May I read the letter?�� Quinn asked.

I nodded and handed it over the tea set. She unfolded the letter and began to read.

“Sweetheart, have a biscuit,�� Papa said to me. “You’re looking much too thin.��

I obeyed, not having the energy to disagree, and put a cookie, which Papa called a biscuit, on a plate. He poured a cup of tea and set it on the table front of me. He believed most problems could be solved after a cup of tea. Given my troubled mother’s death when I was nine, I’d known differently for a long time.

Mama folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. She had a strange look on her face, somewhere between puzzled and intrigued. “I think it might be good for you to have him here.��

“You mean to tell me stories about Walter?��

“Not that exactly,�� Mama said. “He’s someone of your own age group. Perhaps he will become a new friend?��

Mama and Papa exchanged a glance I couldn’t decipher.

“I don’t need friends. I have Poppy and my sisters.�� Poppy and I had grown up together. Their parents had died when Poppy was young and her older brother, Harley, had raised her while acting as groundskeeper and gardener. Poppy had been away for the better part of two years, working as an apprentice to a veterinarian in cattle country. I’d missed her more than I’d thought possible. She had just always been there and now she was off to her own adventures. “Poppy will be back in a few weeks. But I shall be a good hostess, don’t worry.��

“Regardless, we can’t let a hero be alone during what’s supposed to be the merriest time of the year.�� Mama had the biggest heart in the world, rivaled only by my sister Fiona, who seemed to think it was her job to look after every single person in the world.

“I’ll write him this evening and ask if he’d like to stay with us,�� I said.

All four of my gaggle of sisters rushed into the room. Those who thought only boys were loud had never met my sisters. Harley had taken them into town in the sleigh to ice-skate for the afternoon. The pond in the center of town had frozen solid for the first time this season just last night.

“You won’t believe what Delphia did,�� Cymbeline said, without concern over interrupting the adults.

Delphia, in preparation for the admonishment, tore a cap from her mushroom of blond curls and glared at her older sister. “I didn’t do it.��

At sixteen, Cymbeline lorded over the younger ones. Fiona, thirteen, was the protector. Adelaide, or Addie as we called her, was quiet and shy and obedient to bossy Cymbeline’s wishes. Four-year-old Delphia, bless her, had the same fire as Cymbeline. From the time she could talk, she was having none of the dictatorship.

“She challenged a boy twice her age to a race,�� Cymbeline said. “And when she didn’t win, she knocked him to the ground.��

Delphia’s bottom lip trembled. “I didn’t.��

“The whole thing was an accident.�� Fiona placed her hand on Delphia’s head. “She slid into him because she was going so fast. Anyway, she learned it from you, Cym. You’re always racing boys.��

“That’s different.�� Cymbeline’s color heightened, making her even more beautiful than the moment before. God help us all, she was stunning and looked more like a woman than a girl. Mama always said we only had two types in this family. Fair and blond, like her, me, and the two youngest girls. Or dark hair and deep blue eyes, like Papa, the boys, Cymbeline and Fiona.

“Come here, little one,�� Papa said to Delphia.

She trudged over to him. He pulled her into his lap. “Tell me what happened.��

She looked up at him with angelic eyes. “It’s what Fiona said. I was going fast, pretending that a monster was chasing me, and then I ran into him.��

“Did you say you were sorry?�� Mama asked.

“Yes, that’s not the problem,�� Cymbeline said as she grabbed a cookie from the plate. “She said she was sorry and then she planted a kiss on him. On his cheek.��

I had to cover my mouth with my hand to hide my smile.

“His cheeks looked like an apple,�� Delphia said. “I just had to kiss one.��

I caught Mama’s eye. She seemed to be trying not to laugh but kept it together enough to say, “Delphia, you mustn’t ever kiss a boy.��

“But why?�� Delphia blinked her big blue eyes.

“Because it’s not proper,�� Mama said.

I noticed Addie was shivering. “Come here, doll. I’ll warm you up.�� I tucked her into the chair next to me and rubbed her cold hands between mine. Addie was quiet and serious like me. I adored her.

“Mama and Papa kiss all the time,�� Delphia said.

“They’re married.�� Cymbeline plopped into armchair next to me. “You don’t understand anything about how the world works.��

“Cym, don’t say it like that. She’s just a little girl.�� Fiona went to stand in front of the fire with her hands behind her back.

“I’m your baby,�� Delphia said as she gazed up at our father. “Right, Papa?��

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to kiss boys.�� Papa put his chin on her head and looked over at me with eyes that danced with humor. Mama always says it was his dancing eyes that drew her to him. I knew exactly what she meant. “You’re my baby, which means you can’t love any boy but me.��

“I won’t do it again.�� Delphia let out a long-suffering sigh, as if all the fun in the world was taken from her.

“Besides the unfortunate incident with the apple cheek,�� Mama said, “what else happened?��

“That ridiculous Viktor Olofsson was skating with all the girls, one after another.�� Cymbeline shook her dark curls. “He had the nerve to ask me.��

“What did you say?�� I asked, knowing the answer, but teasing her anyway.

“Jo, don’t be daft,�� Cymbeline said. “I would never let that big oaf touch my hand.��

He was a large man but most certainly not an oaf. Although his shoulders were thick and wide like a Colorado mountain, he was a gentle, intelligent soul who I suspected had a deep and long-lasting crush on Cymbeline. “I think he’s like a hero in a storybook. Brave and strong.�� I’d once seen him pick up a wagon off a man’s leg when the horse had bucked and broken free, leaving his owner under a wheel. With almost white hair and light green eyes, he looked like the Vikings in one of the history books I had in the library.

Cymbeline’s eyes flashed as she stuck out her plump bottom lip and scowled. Strangely, her sour expression did nothing to disguise her beauty. “He’s such a show-off, doing tricks on the ice.��

“You do tricks on the ice,�� Fiona said, not unkindly but more as a fact. “All the same ones Viktor does.��

Her observation was correct. If Viktor learned a trick on the ice, Cymbeline practiced until she’d conquered it.

Mama had confided in me more than once that she was afraid Cymbeline would never be satisfied living in a man’s world as we do. If she’d been old enough, I had no doubt she would have volunteered to be a nurse in the war effort overseas.

“Well, be that as it may,�� Mama said, “we have exciting news. Jo’s acquaintance, Phillip Baker, is coming to stay with us for the holidays.��

“The one who wrote to you about Walter?�� Fiona asked.

“The same,�� I said. “How did you remember?��

Fiona shrugged. “I remember everything about my family. Anyway, it wasn’t like I could ever forget that day.�� Her eyes glistened. “I shouldn’t like to ever see you that way again, Jo.��

I held out my hand to her. “Come here, sweet sister.�� She sat on the arm of my chair and I patted her knee. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll never give my heart to anyone else. I’m the spinster of the family.��

Day Six
Bronte

Dear Ellis,

I’m so very sorry to hear that you’ve caught this awful virus. I can’t help but feel slightly alarmed that your doctor won’t even see you. What kind of world are we in right now? I just stared at the computer screen for a good five minutes after receiving your email. Please, please take care of yourself. I’m going to make you a chicken noodle soup and leave it in your lobby. I’ll ask my mother to ask Clancy to pick up for you and set it in front of your door. The recipe is from my grandmother. She always swore it cured all illnesses. I can tell you that it did not cure Mom’s cancer. That had to be left to chemo, sadly.

Anyway, I’ll go now so that I can run out to the grocery store. I need things anyway, so don’t worry that I’m doing it just for you. That said, even if I didn’t need things, I would still go.

I’ll send you another email when I’ve sent the soup over.

XO

Bronte

Day Six
Ellis

Dear Bronte,

I’m sorry it’s taken me all day to respond to your last email. I’m afraid I have bad news. I woke up this morning with a fever and dry cough and all the other symptoms of this virus. I called my doctor and he said not to come in unless I start to have trouble breathing. There are no tests and he doesn’t want me infecting other patients.

I’m not sure how I got it other than it must have been on my last day in the office. I haven’t felt well enough to inquire after the others. This is the first that I’ve been able to move from the couch.

I’ve been laying here feeling rather sorry for myself. It’s hard to go through this life alone, isn’t it? I wish I had someone to look after me. Like my father before me, I’m a baby when it comes to being sick.

Sending this now��

Ellis

Day Six, Bronte’s Journal

I haven’t received an email back from Ellis today. Usually I have one in my inbox by morning. I’m vacillating between there’s something wrong or that I said the wrong thing in my last email. It’s been so long since I’m been even close to romance that I don’t know if I’m doing things right. He just seems so genuine that I let my guard down. Maybe that was the wrong thing.

I hate dating. Not that this is dating, really.

I’m so unsure about everything. I wish I could be confident like my mother. She’s currently in the living room messaging back and forth with Clancy, Ellis’s elderly neighbor. Given the way Mom is giggling, I’m guessing he’s old in years only.

Should I write to him and ask if he’s okay? Or, do I just let it go and admit that my usual bad luck with men remains?

It’s nearing dinner and I need to get started. I’m already sick of my own cooking and wish we could order takeout. I don’t want to risk it though.

Ugh. I truly hate this.

Day Five
Bronte

Dear Ellis,

I’m sorry to learn of the death of your girlfriend. I can only imagine how gut-wrenching it must have been to get that news. There’s not much I can say, really, is there? I always wonder what to say when I see posts on Facebook about the death of loved ones. I always say how sorry I am while realizing just how inadequate those words are for the grieving.

I would love to go on a date with you. Do you think we’ll ever be released from our homes? Right now it feels like this will go on forever. I’m trying to stay positive, but it’s hard. I miss my students and the comfort of routine. I still wake at 5:30 every morning, even without the alarm being set. My body doesn’t know that we’re in isolation.

As far as where I’d like to go on a date…let me see…a walk on Alki beach sounds nice. That is, if it’s not too cold and windy. I’m a fair weather walker, I’m afraid. My favorite eating out type of place is definitely sushi. Whenever I eat out, I like to pick something that I can’t make at home. There’s a sushi place downtown Seattle that has the most wonderful fish. It’s very expensive, though, so I’ve only one a couple of times. I was planning on going there for my birthday dinner next week. My mom sold one of her paintings last month and put the money aside so she could take me to dinner there. I guess that, like so many events, will have to wait.

Thank you for your offer to pick items up at the grocery for us. We have everything we need at the moment. Two women living together don’t require much. Since the cancer, my mother doesn’t eat much. I try and make tempting meals for her but her appetite just isn’t there. I’m going to make a chocolate cake for her today. She loves cake.

The grey weather does get me down, especially now. I hope we’ll have a few nice days soon. Maybe we could take a walk together, making sure to keep six feet apart? But then, how would we communicate? Do you have advice for any online courses to learn sign language? Can you read lips?

You won’t believe it, but my mother and your neighbor have been emailing. Last night, I heard her giggling and looked over to see her reading her email. Mr. Clancy Smith is quite the charmer if the blush on Mom’s cheeks were any indicator. I do hope he’ll stay safe. I don’t even want to know what he wrote that made her blush!

My little students have been sending me email messages (via their mothers). They mostly say how much they miss me and school and their friends. One little boy named Stevie wrote to me this morning. He’s a rascal. One of those boys who cannot sit still. I adore him. He just has so much energy. He’s the type of child who needs five recesses instead of only two. I suspect he’ll grow up to be an amazing athlete.

Here is a copy and paste of what he wrote:

Dear Ms. West,

I didn’t know I liked school until we can’t go anymore. If we ever get to come back, I promise to be a better boy and not wriggle so much. My mom said today that she didn’t know how you do it with twenty kids. She can barely keep up with one. I heard her ask Daddy to get extra wine when he went to the store. I miss you. Love, Stevie

P.S. My mom is typing this because I don’t know how.

I chuckled over the wine part. It’s hard for parents right now. Some of them are working from home and trying to help their children with school. I wish I could give them all a hug.

I have to go now and get that cake in the oven. What’s your favorite cake? Mine is carrot cake. I think it’s the cream cheese frosting that does it for me.

Stay safe. Write soon.

Bronte

P.S. If you’d ever like to message back and forth, let me know. It might be fun.

Day Five
Ellis

Dear Bronte,

Thank you for sharing so much of yourself with me. I’m humbled by your vulnerability. I’m not the kind of man who shies away from talking about the real stuff, so to speak. Because of my disability, I’ve spent much of my life isolated from other people. I suppose that’s given me more time alone with my thoughts.

Being sensitive and empathetic are two wonderful qualities. I’m certain that everyone lucky enough to be in your life benefits greatly.

I know exactly what you mean when you say hope is dangerous. Especially in these times. Even before Corona virus, the world seemed depressing and uncertain. People can be so unkind. The planet’s being destroyed because of human greed. Sometimes it seems the liars and cheaters are the ones who come out on top.

However, there is always hope. As bad as things are, there’s always good too. There are many kind people out there making a difference in big and small ways every single day. Sadly, we seem to notice the bad more often than the good.

I have been in love. When I was in my mid-twenties, I met a woman named Alice. She was the receptionist at my first programming job. Alice was outgoing and bubbly, which worked well given my shyness. Crazily enough, she knew sign language because her brother was deaf. She asked me out for a drink one evening and we talked and talked. Over the next few months, we fell in love. She was a wonderful person, funny and smart. We never seemed to run out of things to say to each other.

About eight months later, I bought a ring and planned to propose to her at her favorite restaurant. She was on the way to meet me when she had a massive brain aneurism and died. Her death devastated me. It was as if the sunshine had been taken from the world. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to open myself up to anyone again.

Between then and now, I’ve dated several women for periods of time, but never anyone I’d want to marry. But like you, I’ve played it very safe. However it is that you lose someone, death or betrayal, has lasting repercussions. Perhaps you and I are finally ready to move on? Could it be that we’ve been waiting for the right person to pull us out of the safety zone?

You asked about regrets. I don’t have any, really, other than waiting so long to reach out to you. I was so afraid of rejection that I couldn’t put myself out there. I’m so glad I did, finally.

What do I think about now that the world’s slowed down? I’ve been thinking about how lonely my life has been. Being alone every day without interaction with coworkers has made it abundantly clear that I need a life outside of work. I’m like you, Bronte. I want that house and garden and children. I want someone to grow old with. We’re not meant to be solitary creatures. I have been way too solitary.

When this is over, where should we go on our first date? If it were up to you, what would the perfect date be? I’d enjoy a walk on Alki beach and then dinner out somewhere. I miss restaurants. My favorite meal out is Mexican, but I am also a lover of macaroni and cheese. I’m familiar with the Beecher’s from Costco. There’s one in my freezer right now.

If you’d like to go out, that is? Would you?

This rain has not stopped all day. Does the gray and rain bother you? Some days I don’t mind. The apartment feels cozy and warm. Today, though, I wish it would stop so I could go out for a walk.

Please let me know if you or your mother need anything. I’ll be going out to the store tomorrow. I could leave the bags for you in your lobby.

My favorite color is blue. Any shade, really, will do.

With affection,

Ellis

Day Four
Bronte

Dear Ellis,

Sigh. Paris. And your parents�� love story. More sighs. Thank you for sharing part of your life with me. I’ve never been to Paris but I’d love to go someday. I always think, ‘next year, I’ll go��. My first choice would be a trip through Europe. But I live on a tight budget and just when I save some money, there’s an unforeseen expense. Someday, though!
I haven’t travelled much. I’ve done road trips to various places here in the states, including most of the Pacific Northwest. I went to college in Bellingham at Western Washington University. My roommate and I would often go up to Vancouver, BC. I love it there.

My dreams? They’re simple, even though I’m not. My mother describes me as sensitive and empathetic, which is a nice way to say that I’m highly emotional. It’s like I don’t have enough skin and I feel every single thing all the time. Not just my own feelings but those of others. I used to dislike this about myself but as I grow older I’ve come to understand it is a gift. I notice more than the average person and feel things deeply. This quality makes me a good teacher. A good daughter and friend, too? I don’t know.

What do I want?

Isn’t that the most important question of all?

I dream of a house in the suburbs on a quiet street with a cherry tree that blooms bright pink in the spring. Oh, and a porch or patio with rocking chairs where I could sit and watch the garden grow. What a garden it would be with climbing roses, masses of flowers that spill out of pots and hanging baskets. Maybe some blueberry bushes with fat, sweet fruit to put in cereal or make into pies?

I’d like a man to sit next to me on that patio, holding my hand as we grow old together. So yes, if I’m truthful, I dream of that one person who could be my best friend for life. And children. Maybe two, so they don’t have to be an only child as we were.

As I write this, I’m cringing. I don’t allow myself to dream much. Dreaming and hoping are dangerous. On the other end, when dreams turn to sand in your hands, despair replaces hope. It’s been a long time since I let myself imagine a life other than the one I’m currently living. During my childhood and teenage years I had big dreams. Adulthood has a way of killing those, though. Right? Or is it just me?

Your question has evoked so many thoughts! Frankly, things I haven’t pondered for a long time. I’ve been living, of course, but very safely so as not to get hurt. Routines and discipline. Taking care of Mom and my students. Safe, safe, safe.

I know why. I can tell you the exact moment when I changed. I was just out of college and fell in love with a man who later broke my heart. The pain I experienced when he ended our relationship was debilitating. That term ‘broken heart�� came about for a reason. The pain in my chest was as if my heart had truly been broken in two. I promised myself I’d never love any man again. I believed that love was for others. Not for people like me. Not for those without the needed layer of thick skin.

This is all too much for a casual correspondence, isn’t it? I’m sorry. But it’s best you know exactly who I am.

Okay, on a lighter note. My favorite meal? I can’t decide. I love food. Especially comfort food like mashed potatoes and gravy, spaghetti with meatballs, homemade chicken noodle soup. If I had to choose, I guess I’d say macaroni and cheese made with Beecher’s cheese. They sell one already made at Costco that you just have to heat up in the oven. Mom and I can eat off that for a week.

My favorite color is yellow. To me, it’s the happiest, most encouraging color.

And now some questions for you. Have you ever been in love? Has your heart ever broken? What do you think of now that the world has slowed down? Does the break from the relentless pace of life evoked memories or regrets?

I’ll understand if you don’t write back. However, I hope I haven’t scared you off and that you will. Ah, there it is. That dangerous thing called hope.

Bronte