#winter:r2

[lallyinthesims]

Each morning, Tank Grunt rises before dawn, determined to fulfill the promise he made to his wife: "There'll be a roof over our heads before the first snow falls."

It had seemed a simple enough vow when autumn was still warm, now, with icy winds beginning to whistle across the fields, it has become a race against the season itself. From sunrise until dusk, Tank cuts timber, hauls beams into place, and hammers shingles into position one by one. His military discipline refuses to let him stop, even when his hands blister and every muscle protests.

One evening, the last shingle is finally nailed into place, and Tank climbs down the ladder and looks up. He means only to sit beside the fire for a few minutes before returning to his tools, but exhaustion overtakes him. When Lilith comes looking for him, she finds him prone on the ground and folds her arms.

She sighs, kneels beside him, and brushes a strand of hair away from his forehead. No one has ever worked this hard for her before; ever poured so much of themselves into making her happy. Her eyes drift upward toward the nearly finished roof. Every board, every nail, every blister exists because he loves her. 

When  he finally stirs awake, blinking in confusion at the dying fire, Lilith is still sitting beside him.

"You fell asleep." Tank rubs his eyes.

"I was only resting my eyes." Lilith smiles, and before he can say another word, Lilith kisses him beside the workbench that has occupied so much of his time these past weeks. When they part, she rests her forehead against his.

"Thank you for loving me enough to work yourself half to death, but if this hammer moves before morning, I’ll hide it.”  Right on time, the first snow begins to fall.

With the roof complete, Tank’s attention turns to the next task: a proper fireplace. He hitches the wagon and makes his way to the quarry, where blocks of limestone are cut for foundations, chimneys, and hearths, where he finds Benjamin Long overseeing the day's work. Neatly cut blocks of stone are loaded into the wagon and begin the slow journey back to the Grunt homestead. Tank carefully lays each stone himself, mixing mortar and checking every line. Lilith watches from the doorway more than once, marveling at his patience.

When the final stone is set and the mortar has cured, Tank stacks several split logs inside the new hearth, strikes a match, and the flames catch almost immediately. Lilith steps closer, taking in the crackling fire, the sturdy hearth, and the man standing proudly beside it.

"You built all of this." Tank shrugs modestly, but Lilith continues. "My whole life, I've wondered what it must feel like to have someone choose you first." Tank meets her eyes before she can continue. 

"I would always choose you." Lilith kisses him before he can say anything more; the knowledge that every beam and every stone has been placed there by Tank's own hands makes the moment feel all the more special. They enjoy the privacy of their newly completed home as the first fire crackles steadily in the hearth –  a house and marriage built from the ground up.

[lallyinthesims]

As winter passes, the Grunt homestead begins to feel less like a construction site and more like a place to put down roots. Lilith wakes before sunrise and pours herself a cup of coffee. Standing outside the front door, she watches the morning light creep across the property.

Fresh tracks weave where rabbits have crossed directly into their crude crate trap during the night. For so many years, Lilith had wondered whether she would ever belong anywhere, now she watches smoke curl from her chimney while her husband still sleeps, and she smiles into her coffee.

By the time Tank joins her, the two have already planned another day's work; there is always another improvement to make. Tank sets about building them a proper bed, once again setting a date that he’ll have it done by Christmas, carefully planing each board and fitting every joint as though he expects it to last a century.

Outside, Lilith checks the traps, and is met with several hares that have found their way into the traps overnight.

"Sorry, but we have to eat," she murmurs to them.

Around noon, Lilith slices fresh bread and prepares simple sandwiches filled with cold rabbit, sharp cheese, and a little mustard, gifted from her grandparents’ store. Tank wipes the sawdust from his hands before sitting down beside her.

Once lunch is finished, Tank pulls on his coat, explaining he has to fetch something in town, while Lilith explains she, too, has an errand in town.  Angela has invited her to meet at the tea house, and while she isn’t sure what to expect, Lilith hopes for the best. She bundles herself against the cold and starts down the snowy road, then spots General Buzz bent over his tools, working on the old wagon Tank has been insisting he should just sell. 

"Afternoon!" Lilith calls, andd Buzz straightens just enough to glance in her direction, nodding curtly. “Don’t work too hard.” 

"I'll stop when it's fixed." Lilith lifts a gloved hand in farewell and continues toward town, never imagining it will be the last time she sees her father-in-law alive.

The warmth inside Mama Hick's Tea Parlor is a welcome relief after the bitter cold outside, and the former Pleasant sisters embrace before settling into a cozy corner table, each with a steaming cup of tea between them. Finally, there is no family drama demanding their attention, instead they simply talk, which is new. 

Angela tells stories about newlywed life with Jason and Jodie, laughing as she admits married life has been everything she hoped for, except for one unexpected complication.

"I traded one little sister for another," she says with an exasperated sigh.

"I thought you two got along."

"We do...for about five minutes at a time." Lilith cackles into her teacup as for once Angela can complain about her housemate to the one person who understands exactly what it's like to grow up with an opinionated sister. Lilith counters with stories of Tank's endless building projects. Angela reaches across the table and squeezes her sister's hand, and for the first time possibly ever, the Pleasant sisters are not squabbling as girls; they are simply two married women, sharing tea while snow falls beyond the frosted windows.

[lallyinthesims]

The remainder of the day finds Buzz in an absolutely foul mood; the argument with Ripp lingering long after his son storms out of the house. Buzz tries to occupy himself with chores; he checks on the chickens, he splits firewood, he checks on the last of the hay. 

None of it helps.

By mid-afternoon, he stands beside the old wagon near the shed that’s had a creaky wheel for weeks. There is something satisfying about hard labor when one is angry, and Buzz sets about making repairs with more force than is strictly necessary. 

The wagon gives a groan, and then another, and before the General can react, the aging support beneath the axle gives way and the entire wagon lurches violently. The wheel crashes sideways, followed by the frame, and Buzz Grunt finds himself pinned beneath several hundred pounds of wood and iron.

For a few moments he struggles against the weight of the wagon, muscles straining as the wheel pins him to the frozen ground, but then the fight begins to leave him. As the farmyard grows strangely quiet, his thoughts turn not to his military career, but instead his boys. Tank, stubborn and dependable. Ripp, infuriating and restless. Buck, still young enough to need his father more than he realizes.

For the first time all day, the anger drains out of him, and he stops struggling. Cold air blows across the farmyard, and the Grim Reaper approaches without hurry, black robes trailing through the snow. The Reaper extends a hand, and the old General accepts it.

In Freedom Hollow, folks speak in whispers of Saint Bethany of Tea, the mysterious bringer of death whose jar predicts the exact moment when a soul will exit this mortal coil. Whether Saint Bethany of Tea serves the Watcher directly or merely travels the roads between life and whatever comes after is a matter for philosophers and reverends. 

Returning home from the schoolhouse with cold cheeks and a stack of lessons beneath one arm, Buck immediately notices the abandoned tools scattered near the wagon, and a knot forms in his stomach. The sight beyond confirms his fears, and he does the only thing he can think to do and runs for Tank. Then he waits in the impossibly empty farmhouse, staring at the door. 

It is well after sunset when Ripp finally returns, the anger from that morning long since fadedand replaced by the lingering warmth of his evening with Ophelia and the secret vows they exchanged. 

One look at his younger brother's face is enough to wipe the smile from his face, and Ripp's stomach drops.

"What happened?"

"I found him out by the wagon." For a moment Ripp simply stares. “Tank already went into town to fetch Nervous.” Ripp takes a ragged breath and pulls his brother into a hug, telling him he did well to get Tank. 

An hour later, a wagon lantern appears through the darkness outside; the undertaker has arrived. After a few moments, Nervous explains the arrangements, speaking gently as he outlines the practical matters that inevitably follow a death: a casket, a burial; the sort of details nobody wishes to discuss but everyone eventually must.

When the conversation concludes, Nervous extends his hand, and Ripp takes it, the last conversation he shared with Buzz echoing unpleasantly in his memory.

[lallyinthesims]

The snow blankets the roof Tank worked tirelessly to finish on Christmas morning. Inside, the mantle above the fireplace is dressed in fresh evergreen boughs and sprigs of holly that Lilith gathered herself from the woods a few days before: modest, but cheerful.  

Progress on the house has slowed tremendously since General Buzz's passing. There are still shelves to build and furniture to finish, but every spare moment now seems to belong to settling the estate, helping Buck and Ripp, or simply mourning. As they eat together in the warmth of the fire, Tank stares thoughtfully into his breakfast.

"The least he could've done was leave me a few coins in his will," he mutters, shaking his head. "Would've made finishing this place easier." Lilith reaches across the table and rests her hand over his.

"Perhaps, but no amount of coins could ever buy what you've built with your own hands." Tank looks up, and Lilith gives hiss hand a gentle squeeze.  "A rich man could pay someone to build a house," she says. "But this is a home you built because you love me." 

"I suppose that's worth more than an inheritance."

After they dress for the day, Tank cannot seem to stay still. Finally, he can’t keep the secret anymore. 

"I finished it." Lilith blinks. "Our bed."

Tank rips down the canvas he’d kept hanging with the excitement of a little boy. There, against the wall, stands a beautifully finished wooden bed, sanded smooth and carefully fitted together.

Tank sits on the edge of the straw mattress, testing the bedframe one final time, and waves for Lilith to join him. For a few quiet moments, they simply sit together, shoulders touching, and then Lilith turns to him, eyes shining.

Without another word, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him. One thing leads to another, and before long the newly finished bed receives a christening by its very grateful owners.

Later, as they lie together beneath the quilts, Lilith cannot stop smiling. 

"Worth the effort?" he asks as she stares into his eyes. 

"Every splinter."

"Merry Christmas, Lilith."

[lallyinthesims]

Later in winter, as the days grow shorter and the cold settles more deeply into everyone’s bones, Cassandra arrives in the late afternoon, cheeks pink from the cold. There is something brighter about her now, something settled, perhaps.  Mortimer greets her with a warm hug; it is not a long visit, but Cassandra has a mission. 

“I hoped you and Alexander might join Pascal and I,” Cassandra says at last. “For Christmas Day.” Mortimer considers briefly before nodding in agreement. 

Inside, however, the mood is far less composed. Alexander is in the midst of a thoroughly teenage outburst; something small, but magnified to great importance. A misplaced tool, a failed contraption, or simply the weight of the day; whatever the cause, it results in a sharp slam of the pantry and a muttered string of complaints not meant for polite company.

Birgitte looks over from her place beside the hearth. She sets aside her work without hesitation. 

“That will do,” she says firmly, though not unkindly.

Alexander bristles at first, as boys his age often do, but Birgitte does not yield. She speaks to him plainly, steady and grounding, redirecting his frustration into something manageable. There is a quiet authority in her tone, something not unlike a mother’s, whether she claims the role or not. Gradually, the storm passes.

That evening, Birgitte prepares supper. Steak, seared and hearty, fills the kitchen with a rich, comforting smell. The table is laid well, and the supper is shared, and mid-meal, with no knowledge of Alexander’s earlier outburst, Mortimer turns. 

“Your sister has invited us to spend Christmas Day with her,” he says. Alexander looks up, some of his earlier mood still lingering, but not enough to overshadow the news. He agrees with a simple, "All right," but his heart sinks a little at the idea of a Christmas away from Goth Manor.

[lallyinthesims]

Winter settles firmly over Freedom Hollow, frost gathering on the edges of every windowpane. Above the clinic, Kaylynn Langerak keeps the Doc’s small apartment in order. She moves briskly through the space with a broom and cloth, determined to keep the place feeling lived-in rather than merely used. When her work is finished, she lingers.

Doc Lothario appears at the top of the stairs not long after, vest half-buttoned, expression already knowing. What begins as a passing remark turns easily into something more familiar between them, Kaylynn making a “house call” of her own before returning downstairs, leaving the doctor in notably high spirits.

Below, the clinic is alive with activity. Vidcund Curious works steadily at his table, surrounded by bottles, powders, and handwritten notes. He measures with care, crafting tonics for winter coughs, salves for chapped hands, and other mixtures whose purpose he explains only when asked directly.

Patients come throughout the day, breath still visible in the air as they step inside. Peter Ottomas with aching joints, Jennifer Burb seeking relief for one of the girls’ fevers, Alvin Futa needing something for a lingering chill. Coins are exchanged, remedies dispensed, and Doc offering confidence as much as cure.

By afternoon, Jan Tellerman arrives. She carries tension that seems to sit in her shoulders and spine, her posture too rigid to be comfortable. Doc listens as she explains, nodding before gesturing toward the examination table.

His hands are skilled as he works to ease the tightness from her back and shoulders. What begins as treatment slowly becomes something much more personal. Jan exhales, tension unwinding under his touch, her composure softening just enough to reveal the strain she carries.

“Dinner,” Doc says when she rises, as though it were the next step in her treatment. “The Dining Room. This evening.”

That night, the warmth of the Dining Room replaces the sharp cold outside. Conversation comes easily,  and when the evening draws to a close, neither seems inclined to end it just yet.

Outside, they pause beneath the dim glow of lantern light, and when Doc suggests returning to the apartment above the clinic, Jan does not refuse.

[lallyinthesims]

Nervous has never been particularly fond of silence. One winter morning, he shuffles into the kitchen, lights the stove, and prepares himself a simple bowl of porridge. Much like Nervous himself, the meal is plain and entirely unremarkable.

As he sits at the table eating breakfast, his eyes drift toward a sack of flour resting beside the counter, and a few moments later, the flour sack has been carefully positioned in the chair opposite him. Nervous stares at it; the sack fails to stare back. Several minutes pass before he realizes he is carrying on a conversation with baking supplies; and despite it, he isn't convinced the flour isn't listening.

The graveyard requires constant attention regardless of season, and much of the day is spent tending plots, clearing snow from pathways, straightening headstones, and ensuring everything remains presentable; Nervous has always believed the dead deserve dignity.

By evening he returns home, where several customers stop by to discuss arrangements and browse his selection of caskets. Among them is Calista Fuchs, who spends a considerable amount of time asking questions about wood types, brass fittings, and delivery arrangements.

Nervous is always slightly unsettled when people shop for coffins with the same seriousness others devote to furniture, but business is business.

Nervous decides he has earned a pleasant evening, and heads to the Billiard Hall. Unlike the saloon, which caters to ranchers, laborers, and anyone seeking a strong drink after a long day, the Billiard Hall carries itself with slightly more refinement. Nervous rather likes it.

After helping himself to a glass of nectar, he takes a seat at one of the poker tables and joins a game already in progress. The other players greet him politely, none appearing particularly concerned about the undertaker's chances.

Perhaps it is luck, or skill, or perhaps years spent speaking with ghosts have given him insight into human nature. Whatever the reason, one hand after another falls his way until, by the end of the evening, Nervous finds himself leaving the table with noticeably heavier pockets than when he arrived.

The victory puts him in an excellent mood.

As he makes his way toward the exit, he nearly collides with Cyd Roseland. 

"Nervous."

"Cyd."

For a few minutes they linger near the entrance making small talk while snow drifts past the windows. After a moment, the conversation turns toward Christmas.

"Got plans?" Cyd asks.

"Just keeping an eye on the graveyard. The dead don't take holidays." Cyd laughs. "And perhaps I'll make myself something nice for supper…maybe add butter to my porridge." Cyd mock places a hand over his heart.

"Easy there! It’s Christmas, not a royal banquet." This earns a laugh in turn from Nervous. 

As their chat continues, Nervous finds himself paying a little less attention to the conversation and a little more attention to the man himself. Cyd's smile is warm, his laugh infectious. Even the way he leans casually against the billiard table seems unfairly charming. For the first time, Nervous wonders what it might be like to have someone waiting for him at home. Someone to share breakfast with, to spend Christmas beside.

Someone who isn't made of flour.

[lallyinthesims]

Winter sunlight filters pale and cold through the windows of the little church in Freedom Hollow, the pews filling slowly with family and those closest to the occasion: Jason and Angela’s wedding day. 

Reverend Goopy makes small talk with the guests, hands folded neatly over his Bible while he quietly prepares for the ceremony ahead. Nearby, the Pleasant family gathers together in a cluster of muted conversation and nervous anticipation. Mary-Sue fusses endlessly with details no one else notices, while Daniel Pleasant attempts to appear calm despite looking vaguely overwhelmed by the reality that his two eldest girls will both soon be wives.  Lilith sits, Tank beside her, exchanging the occasional knowing look whenever Mary-Sue begins unnecessarily straightening Daniel's already-straight tie, while the Oldies chat with Ruth in the front pews.

And near the front of the Church, for perhaps the first time in his adult life, Jason Larson looks genuinely nervous. Beside him stands his sister, smiling supportively while quietly teasing him beneath her breath whenever he adjusts his collar for the fourth or fifth time. Then the church doors open, and Angela enters, winter light catching softly against her veil as every eye in the room turns toward her at once.

“Marriage,” Reverend Goopy begins, his voice carrying softly through the little church, “is not merely affection spoken aloud on pleasant days. It is work shared in hard winters. It is faith kept when tempers are short and cupboards are lean.”

“A good marriage is built much like a homestead,” he continues. “Board by board. Prayer by prayer. Day by day. And if tended with care, it becomes a shelter strong enough to weather any storm the Lord sees fit to send.” Angela glances toward Jason then, and he squeezes her hands gently in response.

The ceremony itself is simple but heartfelt. Vows are exchanged, and when the Reverend finally pronounces them husband and wife, the kiss that follows is met with warm applause echoing through the little church.

Afterward, everyone gathers at the Pleasant home, where celebration quickly overtakes the lingering chill of the day. Mary-Sue has prepared a beautiful roast fowl for the occasion, served alongside various vegetables from John’s farm (sent as an apology for the Burb’s inability to attend the ceremony due to preparation for the winter). The house hums with conversation and laughter as coats are shed and plates passed between family members.

Herb pulls out a bottle of wine he’d ordered just for the occasion, and Angela and Jason raise goblets from Mary-Sue and Daniel’s very own wedding that have remained in storage for years, awaiting just an occasion. The room quiets.

“To Angela,” Jason says, looking toward his new wife with unmistakable but still surprising affection. “I mean to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve to be your husband.” Angela beams as the room cheers, and the pair toast to the hope of a promising future.

Afterward, when Jason leans in to kiss her, it is deeply affectionate; the sort of kiss that makes even Daniel Pleasant glance politely away for a moment.