Part One - If Hearts Could Fly

 

Chapter One 

Rose Lambe gazed out the window longingly. It was a bright, warm, sunny day and the dense, heavy atmosphere of the cotton mill proved an oppressive contrast to the blue, summery sky. Oh, to be out of doors on a day like this! Though the mist hung low and thick in the winter, summer was a welcome break from the overcast gloom of the city. Although she rejoiced that Thomas and Minnie were benefiting from the beautiful day, she earnestly wished she could join them. 

She was grateful nonetheless. Mrs. Deacon had promised to take the children to the park and Thomas had squealed at the prospect. Minnie had wailed into Mummy's skirts that she wanted to work the mill just to be with her. 

"Come, Minnie," Rose had coaxed, gently pushing some stray curls and tucking them behind her daughter's ear. "You and Thomas are going to have a wonderful time at the park, as kind Mrs. Deacon has offered to take you. Have fun. And enjoy yourselves. You'll do that for me, won't you? It would make me ever so happy."

Minnie swept her moist cheek with the back of her hand and nodded.

"That's my brave girl." 

And Rose planted a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Mrs. Lambe, did you hear me?" 

Jerked back into the present by the stern, loud voice of the mill overseer, Rose stood and nodded.

"Forgive me, Mr. Smith, I was... " She paused in search of the right word. "... I was thinking." 

"Well, you can think while you work," Mr. Smith responded. "It's a skill of multi tasking that you'll have to master if you hope to continue your employment in my mill. Now." Mr. Smith's brow furrowed. "Did you hear my instruction to get back to work or were you so engrossed in your thoughts that you reckoned lunch break lasts all afternoon?" 

"No, of course not, Mr. Smith. I apologise. I'll get back to work at once."

Rose smoothed her skirt and bowed to the overseer, whose scrutinous gaze was growing intimidating.

"Don't mind him, Mrs. Lambe." A friendly colleague, Dorothy Harpham, helped Rose feel at ease. "I wouldn't worry. He's just a tad cross when his employees aren't nose to the grind stone all day long." 

"Rose, please." She smiled. "And thank you, Mrs. Harpham."

"Well, if I'm to call you Rose, then you're to call me Dorothy. Our Christian names are always reserved for the friendliest of terms." She winked. "Let us hereby seal our mutual affection... Friendship for Dorothy and Rose!" 

"Friendship for Dorothy and Rose!" Rose repeated. "Hear, hear!"

Chapter Two

 Rose was an optimist - without a doubt.

 She would always count her blessings and there was always something to be grateful for. But sometimes the pang of missing someone sorely and the pain of tragic loss overwhelmed her and she couldn't confidently affirm that every cloud had a silver lining. 

This very someone was her husband, Peter. 

Peter Lambe had been a loving, devoted, supportive husband and father. Thomas and Minnie had adored him. He was playful, kind, hospitable and generous. Anyone who knew Peter Lambe could testify that he was one of a kind. 

Then he was gone.

Rose missed him and at times, she yearned for him with all her heart.

 Now she was employed at the cotton mill, having to work so that she could provide for herself and her young children. Her neighbours were ever so supportive, but it was a challenge to raise her little ones alone. 

The evening after Mrs. Deacon had taken the children to the park, Rose collapsed on an armchair, exhausted. 

"Are you tired, Mummy?" It was Thomas, rubbing his eyes and clutching his blanket. 

"Yes, Thomas, but you mustn't worry about me. Back to bed now, dear. You've had a busy day too."

"The park was fun. But it would be even funner if you were there with us, Mummy." 

Rose's heart flooded. This adorable little boy of hers. 

"Some other time," she reassured him. "I promise." 

The next morning, Dorothy Harpham met Rose in the doorway and stopped her with a mischievous grin. 

"Some new employees, Rose. Handsome and clever and ever so keen to meet you." 

"How did they..." 

"Oh, I may have mentioned you a little " 

Rose raised her eyebrows. "A little?"

"Okay," Dorothy conceded. "I confess I described you with rapturous detail and my, oh my, did young Mr. Stainton appear smitten!" 

"Dorothy!"

"Now, now, don't be cross. I know you're lonely and you ache for your deceased husband, but new friends can help soothe and assuage, can they not?"

Rose couldn't help but smile. 

"Very well. You may introduce me. Mr. Stainton, did you say?"

"Indeed. He says he's fond of poetry. More of a hobby, he says, ever so modest. Now." Dorothy held her friend's shoulders and gave her a thorough, sweeping gaze. "You look stunning, Rose, my dear. As always."

They entered the large room, in which the cotton mill employees toiled industriously. Dorothy took the lead and Rose followed meekly, secretly keen to make the acquaintance of this handsome, intriguing poet. 

"Mr. Stainton." His back was turned, so Dorothy tapped him on the shoulder. "May I introduce Mrs. Lambe. Rose, this is Robert Stainton." 

A kind, clean-shaven countenance turned to face them, erupting into a wonderful smile that touched Rose's heart. She bowed and flashed a sweet smile of her own in return.  

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stainton." 

"Robert, please. And the pleasure is all mine." He took her hand and kissed it softly. 

"I'll leave you two to it." And Dorothy did as she said she would, winking at Rose as she left. 

"I... hear you are fond of poetry?" Rose began, eager to maintain a substantial conversation with this eye-catching, friendly gentleman. 

"Yes, I am. I used to write brief verse as a child and it became a favourite pastime. Do you care for poetry, Mrs. Lambe?"

"My husband used to say I must have been born with a poetic soul." She smiled wistfully. "Because I would leave him little notes of 'brief verse' as you put it to brighten his day and remind him I love him."

"What a wonderful idea! Were these notes original?"

"Some were. Others weren't, such as 'roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet and so are you.'" 

Robert grinned. "Would you care to share one of your original pieces?" 

"I'd be happy to." 

Rose retrieved a scrap of paper and a pencil from her pocket and scribbled for several seconds.

"Here," she said at last, her eyes shining, wet with tearful sincerity. 

Robert took the note and unfolded it. 

"I knew from the moment we met. 

The stars were bright, our fate was set.

And though we've much to do as yet

I loved you from the day we met."

Robert looked up and smiled. "That's beautiful."

"Thank you."

"Write me some more." He saw Rose's look of bewilderment and hastily added, "I beg your pardon, ma'am. I appreciate it must be personal. Something you cherish having been between you and your husband."

Rose looked up into his kind eyes and felt - for a moment - as though some of what she had with Peter could be recaptured here and now, with Robert. 

Then she shook her head. Peter was irreplaceable. What the married couple had experienced together could never be matched. Both their wedding bliss and their journey of married intimacy had been unforgettable. Surely she could never even hope - surely she could never dare to dream... that she could love again?

 Adore another? Embrace another? Marry another? 

"Forgive me." Rose feigned interest in the tasks at hand. "I best get back to work. Mr. Smith won't be pleased. Good day to you, Mr. Stainton." She bowed and turned, hastening to her station, where a hard-working Dorothy expressed her curiosity.

"Your cheeks are flushed, Rose, my dear. And there's a twinkle in your eye." 

"Perhaps they are." She smiled faintly. "Perhaps there is." 

Chapter Three 

That afternoon, when Rose got home from work, there was an envelope propped up on the table. 

"I wonder who that's from," she muttered to herself as she made her way past the table and into her room. At the far end of the room, there was a chest of drawers. Rose opened the bottom drawer. And took out a small box. 

"Let's take a look at these, Peter." She lifted the lid and settled down on her rocking chair. "You kept every single one." 

Rose unfolded and kissed each note tenderly. 

"Rose!" a voice called from the door. 

"Coming, Mrs. Deacon!"

She stood to welcome her children - and their babysitter - back home. 

"How was your day?" Rose asked as Minnie dove head-first into Mummy's skirts. 

"I missed you," she whispered and Rose held her close. 

"And how about you, young man?" 

"We chased pigeons in the park again, Mummy!" Thomas grinned from ear to ear. "We chased loads of them! And they flew away!" 

"Sounds wonderful, Thomas." His mother smiled. "Mrs. Deacon, I can't thank you enough."

"No need to thank me, Rose, darling. Any time." She leaned forward a little as she spoke. "They're bundles of joy, your children are. Utterly delightful." 

Rose nodded. "I thank God for them daily."

That evening, when the children were sleeping, Rose opened the envelope. Having read it through twice, she laid it on her lap and shut her eyes tight. 

"Help us, Lord," she prayed. "Please. Help us."

(To be continued...)