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As he drifted into a light doze, her words nestled into his mind. For better or worse, Chatternwell was his home.

William sat in the back of the local church, in the very last pew. It was nearest the door, so it would allow him to leave quickly after the service. In other words, he could reduce how many of his neighbors he would need to engage with. When they visited him in his smithy, he could feign politeness for the sake of business. But after a church service, people were more garrulous. Friendly. They invited him to their homes for Sunday dinners. If he left in haste, he would offend fewer of the townsfolk and be able to return to his smithy to work without interference.

Although this could have been any given Sunday, William realized in a vague sense that he was dreaming, because his ankle was miraculously healed. The last thing he could recall was falling asleep in his front room, and the soft sound of Caroline breathing deeply as she slumbered.

He tilted his head in an attempt to hear the vicar’s words. For some reason, they were garbled, as if coming from a great distance, but he could just make out the word manger. This must be Christmas service! If he had not injured himself, he would have attended this very day.

The vicar droned on, William scarcely able to hear any of it from the back of the church. He stood dutifully and sang hymns, sitting back down but prepared to run for the door as soon as he possibly could. Glancing up at the windows high behind him, William noted that the sky was overcast and it was snowing lightly.

Rustling in the pews ahead of him brought his attention back to the altar. People dressed in their Sunday best were beginning to stand, chattering to each other. The service must be over! Springing to his feet, he made for the exit, jamming his hat on his head as he opened the door to stride out into the wintry landscape beyond.

“Mr. Jackson!”

The voice was directly behind him—he could not pretend he did not hear. He continued to walk on, but threw a glance over his shoulder. “Dr. Hadley, how are you this fine Christmas Day?”

The doctor nearly ran to keep pace with him as William’s longer legs ate up the distance down the path to the roadway. “I am well, Mr. Jackson. It is good to see you in fine health, sir!”

William threw a smile at the older man. He did not wish to offend Dr. Hadley, who he had to admit was a good sort. The doctor had taken care of the town’s people for decades, accepting trade when they had not the means to pay. William reached the road and started toward Market Street, his boots crunching on freshly fallen snow as the doctor hurried to keep up with him.

William would relent his pace, but if he did, then more of his neighbors would engage him in conversation, and he wanted to build the new lock he had been thinking of. If it worked, the device could make him a fortune. Perhaps allow him to sell the smithy and live on its proceeds.

Beside him, Dr. Hadley was huffing in his effort to keep up. “Mr. Jackson, I would be remiss if I did … not invite you to our Christmas feast … I promised Mrs. Hadley I would!”

William halted. They were some distance from the church, and most of the parish was still inside. “That is very kind of you, Dr. Hadley. Tell your wife thank you, and bid her all the best wishes for the holiday season.” He knew the doctor was merely being polite by extending the invitation. They had no true bonds between them. William had cultivated no friendships since his return from the war. These people would barely notice if he left town.

Dr. Hadley’s face fell, his hat tilting to one side in his dejection before he reached up to straighten it. “You will not attend?”

“I would love to taste Mrs. Hadley’s Christmas pudding, but I am afraid I am otherwise committed. Please, enjoy your feast and do not concern yourself with me. You have other guests to attend, I am certain.”

“Yes, but …”

William gestured back to the churchyard before doffing his hat. “Your wife is looking for you. Season’s greetings, doctor.”

When Dr. Hadley turned to locate his wife, William took the opportunity to walk away and turn in to Market Street.

Soon he was in his smithy, wearing his leather apron and studying a page covered in pencil drawings. He needed to heat the coal in his forge, and he could begin his work on the lock. He could, of course, have worked on this any day, but he had planned to work during the solitude of the holidays to keep his memories at bay.

Just as he placed the graphite pencil down on the counter, the sound of humming began in the distance. Slowly, the humming grew in volume, and William realized he was to receive a visitor at the moment that the smithy door clicked and swung open. He knew who it would be before she came into view, but, nevertheless, he was startled by her entrance when she appeared.

Her hair was glowing, lit from behind by weak sunlight, and she wore the frivolous cloak with the fur-lined cuffs that fell to the floor. She looked like an angel sent from heaven to scold him for working on this blessed day, but her expression was benign, and she smiled gently when she caught sight of him.

‘Fear not,’ said he, for mighty dread

had seized their troubled mind;

‘glad tidings of great joy I bring

to you and all mankind.’

It was eerie, her staring directly into his eyes as she sang the verse.

He stepped back, his eyes widening with irrational fear at what she was to show him this time. She walked in, shutting the door and approaching him at the counter. With hazel eyes twinkling, she gazed up at him and asked, “Why are you working on Christmas Day, William?”

“I … that is … there is no one for me to spend it with.” As he said the words, he wondered if it was true in light of Caroline’s appearance once more in his dreams. Revelations from the earlier nightmare had proved that his philosophy about tamping down his emotions had been an error. Was she to reveal another aspect of his life to question?

Caroline held out her hand. Once again, it was clean, delicate, and perfect. His own were covered in soot from drawing near the forge, and he was certain he bore smudges on his cheeks and forehead, but there was no point in balking. He held out his dirty paw to clasp it.

“Chatternwell is a good town filled with good people.”