𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘎𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘚 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘉𝘜𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕 | ʀᴅʀ

Chapter Twenty

1893: New Hanover

Rosalie sat on a log before the fire, strumming her guitar. The top half of her hair was pulled back into a French braid, a few pieces of hair hanging in her face, the rest of her curls tumbling down her back. Her father's black cowboy hat was perched on her head.

She hummed softly as her fingers plucked at the strings, nodding as she played the gentle folk melody. The birds chirped overhead, and the logs crackled in the smoking fire before her. The heat of the flames was a pleasant sensation for the chilly morning.

She was quite relaxed despite the hectic last few weeks. It was times like these that she thought of her father—how he would sit and strum the instrument, playing some song he couldn't remember the name of. He always looked the happiest when he had music, as though the song filled him with something that nothing else could, the melody lifting his spirits instantly despite whatever was troubling him.

Her father's love of music had been passed down to Rosalie too, and as she sat there, strumming the same guitar he did all those years ago, she could understand why such a warm smile would tug at the corners of his lips each time he plucked the strings. Playing took her away from everything in front of her and the troubles that kept her up at night. It was a pleasant distraction.

Rosalie missed her father so much.

"You play beautifully," Abigail said, sitting beside her on the log with a steaming, tin cup of coffee in her hands. She sipped from it and crossed her ankles.

Rosalie stopped her playing, resting her hand on the neck of the guitar. She smiled at her.

"Thank you. I've been playing since I was a kid, even though it was much too big for me then. I could hardly hold it in my lap." She said, thinking back on how she would try to balance the oversized instrument on her thighs. Her father would laugh at how ridiculous she looked and her face would get all red.

"I love music," Abigail sighed wistfully, her eyes somewhere else as she recalled the memory. "I learned to play the piano when I worked in a bar as a girl. Men gave me money if I played a song they liked n' gave 'em a smile. Pigs they were, but the money was nice." She said.

"The piano has a beautiful sound. I have an old friend who played, but I never got to hear it," Rosalie replied. "Always nice when there's a pianist in the saloons."

His ability to play the piano was one of the first things George mentioned about himself when they were getting to know one another. The subject of music was what led him to return her father's guitar to her, despite the wild goose chase he had to undertake as her father, Henry, had sold the instrument years ago in New York for some quick money during one Winter when they had gotten particularly desperate. She knew how hard it was for him to sell the guitar, as it was a wedding present from her mother to him, but it was crafted with fine wood and custom design, so it fetched a hefty price. They lived off that money for a good while, so it wasn't unfounded either.

Rosalie was undeniably grateful for George and the lengths he went to return it to her. Having an outlet to play music and escape from everything was something that kept her sane amidst all the madness of the past few years, and even in her life now, as Mac was driving her insane, along with her being worried sick over Arthur.

Speaking of Mac, he still had hardly spoken or looked at her after her foolish attempt to kiss him. In the end, maybe it was a good thing that Abigail showed up before she could do something she couldn't take back, but the rejection and coldness Mac gave her now still hurt. She let all the silly words from the girls get in her head and make her believe he liked her. Not that it mattered if he did or not, as she still wasn't sure about her own feelings. Kissing Mac when she didn't know how she felt for certain wouldn't have been fair to him, and certainly not to her, as it would have made for a confusing situation.