Inspired by a true story, Rosemary in Bloom by Khristy Reibel explores faith, forgiveness, enduring love against all odds, and the difficult decisions that strong, smart women on the home front had to make during World War II.  Here is an exclusive excerpt from the novel:

1942

Rosemary

As the first light crept through the open window, a subtle outline of the bedroom took shape. A cardinal began its morning call, bringing the world out of its slumber. Rosemary lay, staring at the ceiling, and wished she could fall back into her dream and drift into blissful unawareness. The mysterious dream man had just been about to kiss her when she awoke. But the sun was relentless. The room lightened in gradients. She looked over at her older sister, Virginia, her lips pursed in sleep, unaware of the dawning day.

Rosemary sighed. The sound of Virginia’s breathing and the birds’ chirping both lulled her to sleep and prodded her out of bed. A warm August breeze rustled the curtains, providing little relief from the heavy humidity that coated everything with a sticky film. A typical summer day in Illinois.

Rosemary tossed her arm over her head and willed herself back to sleep, if only for a few more minutes. She wanted to be kissed, to feel his lips on hers. She hoped he looked like Cary Grant when the dream haze cleared. As she nestled into her pillow, she heard the rhythmic clacking of steel wheels along a metal track. The morning coal train rumbled towards Rosemary’s house, rolling to drop the coal off at Owen’s Glass factory. It was a constant reminder of the work she needed to do.

Rosemary’s white foot stuck out from under the light cotton sheet draped over her. She squeezed her eyes closed, concentrating on her dream. She felt a tickle on the bottom of her foot. Her eyes snapped open, and she jerked to a sitting position. Her brother stood at the end of her bed, grinning like a mischievous schoolboy, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Why do you do that, Junie?” she grumbled. Everyone called him Junie, short for Junior—William Junior. He acted like a child, rather than an eighteen year old.

“Ssshhh!” He held his finger to his lips, tilting his head toward Virginia. She had returned home from the night shift at Owen’s, where they worked. Virginia was twenty-two and had moved home with her two small children to get away from an abusive husband. That was a year ago and she was still trying to get on her feet. All of the children worked except Jack, the youngest. He was still in school. Rosemary had quit school in March when she turned sixteen to help support the family. Money was scarce. Their father was in a sanatorium, recovering from tuberculosis. With the children to support and no income, their mother was forced to send them off to work, one by one.

Rosemary rolled her eyes and turned away from Junie, looking out at the pale clouds creeping across the sky. She didn’t want to think about her father being sick, the responsibilities heaped on her shoulders. She just wanted to dream.

“Come on, you grouch. We’ve got to go get the coal before we go to work,” Junie whispered and slapped at her legs.

Rosemary threw back the sheet and crawled out of bed. She pulled on denim dungarees and a button up white shirt. She looked in the mirror above the chest-of-drawers. Her ash blonde hair was mashed against her head on one side and curling in all directions on the other. She shook out her hair and wrapped a blue bandana around her head, tying it at the crown.

After lacing up a pair of work boots, she walked into the living room. Junie held out a wicker basket as she walked to the front door.

“I don’t know why we need to do this today, it’s going to be so hot,” Rosemary said as she took the basket from her brother.

“Well, it gets cold in the winter, Rosie,” Junie said, trying to coax her into a good mood. She rolled her eyes, her favorite expression of exasperation.

They crossed the gravel street and walked into the park. The tall grass swirled around Rosemary’s ankles, the dew soaking the cuffs of her pants. The sun crept over the oak trees in the distance, burning off the humid haze. She glanced at the tennis courts to the right of their path, longing to be playing tennis rather than collecting coal. A single drop of sweat dripped down the back of her neck. It was going to be another scorching day.

She and Junie reached the tracks. The coal had fallen from the overflowing boxcars. Rosemary bent and picked up the fist-size pieces.

“Make sure you get as much as you can—not just the big chunks,” Junie called.

Rosemary grimaced, mimicking her brother behind his back. She hated this chore. Her hands got dirty; the coal dust collected under her fingernails. Her mystery dream man would never kiss her if she had coal dirt under her fingernails. But then again, the man was only a dream; there was no guy in Rosemary’s life right now.

She walked back and picked up the smaller pieces that she had passed up. She deftly separated the coal pieces from the rock gravel. Her mind wandered. Why didn’t she have a guy? Rosemary snorted—with the war on, all the young men were itching to kill some Jerries and Japs. They were all leaving. She didn’t want to take a chance of falling for someone and having him leave her and get killed. But that didn’t stop the men from haunting her dreams.

She stood up and placed her hands on her back, stretching like a cat, tilting her face to the sun. Junie was a hundred feet down the tracks. She watched his blond head bobbing up and down as he picked up the coal lumps and dropped them into his basket. His white cotton undershirt was soaked already, clinging to his back.

She just knew that he was going to get it into his head to go and sign up for the war. He wanted to be a hero, to serve his country. Stupid war, Rosemary thought. Every day there was something else on the radio about the invasion of Africa, the battles in the Pacific, at Guadalcanal and the losses, the losses of American boys. The Jerries and the Japs—they were insatiable, bulldozing over smaller, weaker countries.

Rosemary shivered in spite of the heat. She couldn’t bear the thought of her brother going over there—or any guy that she had feelings for. The killings, the suffering, the horrors. No one should have to see that!

She turned her attention back to the tracks, to the giant foxtails wilting in the thick summer air, their furry stamen flopped over. The tall leaves of the Orange Day lilies fanned out, supporting the delicate orange petals. A few volunteer corn plants popped through the gravel, their yellow tassels bursting from the top of the green leaves. Morning Glory ivy twisted its way around the volunteer corn and sprawled out, its white blossoms breaking the greenery. At the grass line, the point where the crabgrass threatened to overwhelm the gravel, Rosemary spotted tall, thin stalks of green with bushy tops.

“Junie!” she said. “Look, wild asparagus!” She ran over and broke off a shoot. She munched on it, savoring the sweetness of the starchy stalk. Junie shook his head, chuckling at her.

“That’s not coal.”

“Oh so what? We can get more coal tomorrow—asparagus we can eat today!” she said and crunched down on the stalk again.

“Come on, Asparagus Head, let’s get back home so we can get ready for work,” he hefted his basket onto his hip and turned towards the house. Rosemary threw a wistful look over her shoulder at the rising sun, the tall oak trees, the winding ivy. She longed to remain outdoors, to feel the sun cover her pale skin with brown freckles. But this was not her life. She hurried to catch up with Junie and return home.

Related: Read an interview with Khristy Reibel, author of Rosemary in Bloom