The snowstorm soon came and went. Rose barely noticed the time they were stuck indoors, as she had so much fun helping her father carve wood while her mother criticized their work.
She would occasionally cheer Rose on, but mostly, she complained about how slowly they worked or about the wood shavings that littered the room.
Rose found herself smiling more, regardless of the circumstances. Her mother seemed to be doing better, and Rose was glad she got to spend this time with them.
"Tha storm is finally over," her mother said over the sound of Rose stirring the pot.
Rose stood over the fire as she prepared lunch. The aroma of the broth filled the room. It was made with dried vegetables and dried meat. It wasn't much but enough to make a hearty meal.
"Yes, Mot'er. I was worried about the roof while the storm raged. It kept snowing so hard, and the wind—" Rose winced as she heard the howling again, as though the wind had answered her words.
"Fear not. Do ye not trust yer fat'er's skill? Tis 'ouse could survive a blizzard."
"Yes, Mot'er," Rose replied with a laugh, scooping some of the thick broth. She had added ground corn to help thicken it.
She placed it in front of her mother, who peered suspiciously at it. Rose tried not to laugh. She had cooked all the meals in the house for as long as she could remember, yet for some reason, her mother almost always had this reaction when served.
"Let me feed ye," her husband offered.
"No need, Fat'er. I am not ready to eat now," she replied, scooping some broth into a wooden spoon and blowing on it.
They took turns feeding her mother. It wasn't that she couldn't help herself, but Rose's mother ran out of strength easily, and neither of them wanted her to push herself more than she could bear as she would never complain, even if she was in discomfort.
"I can feed miself, ye know tha, rig't?" her mother complained as Rose brought the spoonful to her lips.
"Aye, aye," Rose said in response. This was a typical line from her mother. "Besides, I enjoy feeding ye."
Rose smirked, and her mother immediately took offense. She knew Rose was implying she was a child who needed taking care of, but before she could reply, Rose wasted no time filling her mouth with the broth.
Rose held her smile while her father did his best not to laugh out loud, knowing that would only make the situation worse.
Rose fed her mother gently, watching how slowly she was eating. This bothered her. Regardless of the herbs and how talkative her mother was now, there was no denying she was slowly slipping away.
"I am full," she said, turning her head aside to refuse the spoon filled with food.
Rose's heart squeezed. "You only ate half," Rose commented.
"Well, wit 'ow often ye feed me, I just mig't burst soon."
Rose tried to laugh at the joke, but it felt dry. "I will get you water to drink," she said instead.
Her mother simply nodded, watching her daughter closely as she walked away. She didn't miss the way her shoulder hung nor did she miss that her smile didn't reach her eyes.
Rose didn't want to think about sad things, but it was hard not to. It was especially hard when small moments like this reminded her of the inevitable.
When Rose returned with the water, she did her best to keep her expression bright. Helping her mother drink, she wiped away the excess that slipped down the sides of her mouth.
"It mig't 'ave been delicious," her mother said.
This time, Rose genuinely laughed. "It wouldn't cost you to give me a proper compliment about my cooking," she teased.
"It just mig't," her mother grinned, leaning back.
Rose shook her head as she walked away. She dished her food and quietly sat on the bench to eat.
Pieces of wood were scattered across the room, along with several wood shavings and sawdust. This room was the only one with a fireplace and therefore the ideal place to work.
Rose tried her best to clean them up, but she had no plans to toss them out. Once dried, they would help with starting fires, and they needed as many as possible.
"Now tha' tha snow is over, ye can step out," her mother was saying.
Rose didn't bother responding, assuming her mother was talking to her father. She simply munched on her meal, trying not to think too deeply about things she couldn't change.
"Rosie," her mother called.
"Yes?" Rose lifted her head, a little startled.
"I said tha snow is over, so ye can leave tha 'ouse. Yer fat'er 'as 'is job and 'as no reason to leave for at least a few days. Ye don't 'ave to stay cooped in wit me. I know ye like tha snow."
Rose narrowed her eyes. "When I was five," she replied. "I like being inside the house now. It's warm here."
"I don't t'ink ye 'ave to worry about the cold anymore. Ye 'ave yer expensive fur coat. Tha' can stand against a blizzard."
"Mot'er," Rose said, trying very hard not to laugh. "Ye think everything can withstand a blizzard." She shook her head and continued eating.
"I am serious," her mother said. "Ye can go to tha lake ye like."
Rose tried not to wince. She knew her mother meant well and was trying to cheer her up, but Rose didn't need her to. She was fine.
"Thank you, Mot'er."
Her mother narrowed her eyes at Rose's tone. "Yer daug'ter isn't listening to me," she reported to her husband.
"Listen to yer mot'er, Rosie," her father scolded.
"Fat'er!" Rose gasped in disbelief. "Are you siding with Mot'er now?"
"I am on yer side," he said, glancing from his wife to his daughter.
Rose didn't miss her father's sly actions, so she asked, "Mine or Mot'er's?"
"Yers," he said while looking at his wife.
"Fat'er," Rose called out. "Ye can't keep doing that."
"Doing wha'?" he asked, feigning innocence.
Rose couldn't hold back her laughter anymore. "Fine," she said simply, appeasing her mother.
She wasn't exactly going out, but it wouldn't be bad to get something from the market. Perhaps she should also pay a visit to the merchant's wife, Razel.
She had written the letter her parents sent to her, and the other letters she hadn't received. Rose wasn't sure why she never got them. She didn't want to think the crown prince had prevented them from reaching her, but she wouldn't put it past him—especially after she heard that Ander had made the trip to the capital to look for her.
Rose shoved the thoughts aside. Whether Ander had spoken truth or lies no longer mattered. Neither he nor what he did was her concern anymore. After all, it didn't explain how it all led to this, and it certainly didn't justify it.
"Ye will go out?" her mother asked eagerly.
"To the market," Rose replied. "It will be nice to get something fresh to cook for Mot'er, and I'd like to see Madame Razel."
Her mother nodded in agreement. "Aye, give my greetings."
"Yes, Mot'er, but I am not going right now. I 'ave to do the dishes first."
"As long as ye go, I don't mind."
Rose shook her head and packed up the dishes. She didn't think her mood was so bad that her mother thought she needed to leave the house. Her mother was a worrywart who constantly fussed over her while accusing Rose of doing the same.
Rose did the dishes easily with the water she stored. With the heavy snow and the wood Thomas brought, they didn't run out of water, and Rose didn't have to leave the house to fetch some. It could have stayed this way for a while, but her mother seemed determined that she go outside.
Rose knew it would be easier to give in than to try convincing her otherwise. Her mother was as stubborn as a mule once she had her mind set on something.
After the dishes, Rose took some coins from her father, put on her coat, picked up a basket to carry on her arm, and made her way out of the house.
Rose winced as she stepped outside. The aftermath of the snowstorm still lingered, but the cold felt no harsher than the usual winter chill. She adjusted the coat and the scarf around her neck, which also served as a head covering.
She trudged through the snow, muttering under her breath about being pushed out of the house by her parents. The snow gave way beneath her boots, each step making the path a little easier than the last. Soon enough, Rose found herself smiling as she made her way toward the market.
She decided to visit Madame Razel first before going to the market even though her house was farther. Rose figured it would be easier that way than hauling the things she bought to and from the merchant's house.