Rose came downstairs and went into the kitchen to make tea. It was always how she began her day, she didn't drink coffee. She was still in her pajamas, because she figured she had some time left before it was time to head to Church, but she had done her hair and makeup. She only wore makeup if she was going to work or to Church, the rest of the time she didn't bother. But Church ladies could be vicious.
She wished she could say she wasn't typically up this early, but work robbed her of it. One day she wouldn't be a bank teller anymore, and that day she would sleep in until 9 a.m. every day, which, yes, wasn't particularly 'late,' but it sure beat being up and at 'em before 7. She really should start going around to the nearby night clubs again, maybe one of them was hiring a lounge singer and would actually hire her this time. Or restaurant was looking for a pianist. But if they didn't pay as well, then where would she be? The twins were in school, Poppy was dreaming of being a chef, and the Inn just wasn't getting as many patrons because of the recession--people weren't going on vacation, and the locals weren't going to spend money when some of them were at risk of losing their farms.
"Ah, there's no use fretting about, Rosie," she said to herself. Since coming to the United States, it was a habit she developed, putting on an extra thick accent and speaking to herself like that. She kept a whole village in her head, that way, and sometimes it made her laugh enough to take her out of whatever mood she was slipping into, and other times it provided just the right amount of comfort. In her usual voice, which, mind you, still had an unmistakable accent, she said, "no use fretting at all..."
Glancing up at the time, Rose sighed. The Dunhams would be here soon. That wasn't a bad thing, she liked them well enough, but it meant she could get dress. Selene (who did not know Rose called her Selene when she wasn't around) once came in while she was still in her pajamas, and she reacted just about as well as Luka did when he caught her in her bra. But it was another beautiful day, and Rose couldn't feel too badly, and she sang a little bit to herself as she waited for the kettle to heat up. Rose was almost always singing. Or humming. Or whistling.