Chapter 15

Rosamond shook her head. "You owe me nothing.""Not even a gate latch?""That is a debt of an entirely different nature."He laughed. Then his expression softened. "Rosamond..."She went still; it was the first time he had used her Christian name. He seemed to realize it at the same instant."Forgive me. I should not have presumed.""No," she said quickly. Then, more softly: "You need not apologize."Julian looked at her. "May I call you Rosamond?"She smiled. "Yes.""Then you must call me Julian.""Your mother would be scandalized.""My mother is scandalized by a remarkable number of things."Rosamond laughed. "Very well. Julian."He smiled at the sound of his name. For a moment, it seemed that he might say something more, something important. But the kitchen door opened and Daniel appeared, carrying a basket of firewood."Begging your pardon, miss. Where would you like these?"Rosamond stepped back. "Beside the stove, please."Julian moved aside. The moment passed, yet something remained between them—a promise neither had spoken.That evening, Rosamond found a small parcel waiting beside her chair. It was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a length of green ribbon.She looked toward Julian. "What is—Julian, I told you—""I know. You owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing. But I should very much like you to open it."Rosamond untied the ribbon. Inside lay a little book: an old collection of English poetry, beautifully bound in faded blue leather. She opened it.On the first page was a handwritten inscription:

For Rosamond, who reminded a weary traveler that even winter has its warmth.

She stared at the words. Julian watched her anxiously."I found it among the books I had brought for the journey. I thought you might enjoy it."Rosamond ran her fingers gently over the cover. "It is beautiful.""I am glad."She turned another page, then looked up. "You wrote this?""Yes."Her eyes shone. "No one has given me a book for Christmas since my aunt died."Julian's expression softened. "Then I am honored to be the first."Rosamond closed the book carefully. "I have something for you as well."Julian looked surprised. "For me?"She rose and went to the mantelpiece. From a small box, she took a simple wooden ornament: a little star carved from apple wood and polished until its edges were smooth."My aunt made these one winter," she explained. "She insisted that every visitor who spent Christmas at Willowmere ought to take something home."Julian accepted it; the star rested lightly in his palm. "She made this herself?""Yes."He studied the small carving. "It is lovely."Rosamond smiled. "She would be pleased."Julian closed his fingers around the star. "I shall treasure it."

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