The town was abuzz with rumors of who had carved those two fateful letters on the willow. L + H. Some speculated that the initials belonged to Lucille Smith and Henry Wentz, others speculated that the two letters had been carved into the bark of the tree by some children who just wanted a laugh. Lillian and Harold, however, kept their identities as the lovers who carved the initials a secret.

Every night until the nights became unbearably cold and the leaves had changed colors and dropped off the trees did Lillian and Harold keep their trysts.

Now, it was Yuletide. White snow blanketed the fields and sparkled in the rare days of sunshine in that December. Sleigh bells could be heard in the distance, and the sun sunk in the sky at an incredibly early time.

It was now Christmas Eve, and Harold gazed out the window longingly. He wanted to propose to Lillian that day, but he had no ring to give her. Perhaps he would see her at the Christmas ball that evening. With Jack Frost visiting the land, the two lovers were shut up in there houses in an unbearable physical disconnection.

He slammed his hands down on the window sill and then turned away from it. He could no longer stand how long they had been separated. If only he had a ring to give her...

Harold's mother sat in a rocking chair by the fire, her fingers flying as her needle went in and out of the fabric, it's tail of string trailing with it. She stopped rocking for a moment and set her needlework down onto her blanket-covered lap. She sighed loudly.

"You've been so distressed of late. What ever is the matter?" his mother asked.

Harold looked down at his feet, which had been stuffed into a comfortable pair of slippers. "It's about Lillian Matthews."

His mother raised an eyebrow and her small mouth was opened into a perfect circle. Then, she shook her head to recollect herself, and she said, "What do you have to do with Lillian Matthews? I thought she hated you."

Harold looked up at his mother, a slow smile spreading across his face, while she continued to look at him in confusion. Lillian had hated him, but that was when they were still school children. Clicking her tongue, she stood up from her rocking chair.

"We started to meet with her by the old willow tree in early April," Harold told her, "I want to marry her. Oh, ma, I love her so much."

She smiled. But then she frowned slightly. "We haven't enough money for you to get a ring for her." She looked down at the simple band with only a tiny diamond set in it. A twinkle returned to her gaze and she slid it off.

Harold's eyes widened. "But that's the only thing you have left of father--"

"I want you to give it to Lillian, tonight, at the Christmas ball," his mother cut in with a smile, "and be sure to get her father's blessing." She held it in between two of her fingers and waited for him to grab it.

"Are you sure, ma?" Harold asked.

"Quite sure. Now, go get ready for the Christmas Ball. I daresay it will take at least an hour to get there."

***

The Christmas ball was an annual event held by the Joneses that was always the talk of the county. This, however, was the first time Harold had ever been invited, and, luckily, Lillian and her family were invited every year.

As the merriment commenced, and gay music filled the room, Harold began to seek Mr. Matthews in the clusters of people. When he spotted the older man's greying hair, Harold dodged around those who were dancing and those who were talking. Along the entire way, Harold muttered polite 'excuse me's.

Finally, Harold reached Mr. Matthews, who had a glass of champagne that looked tiny in his large hand. He was laughing merrily as he spoke to a few other men who were around his own age.

Harold tapped Mr. Matthews on the shoulder lightly. "Excuse me, sir," he said.

Mr. Matthews turned to Harold. A smile was on his face and he chuckled. "Harold, my boy, just the man I wanted to see."

"Uh, thank you, sir," Harold said nervously.

Mr. Matthews patted his hand on Harold's right arm and lead him to a relatively secluded spot at the edge of the large room.

"My daughter talks an awful lot about you, Harold Sallow, and claims that she is in love with you," Mr. Matthews said as he took another sip of his champagne. "Now, my boy, what did you want to speak to me about?"

Harold's breath hitched, listening to the buzz of the people and the sound of a classic Christmas song playing. "I wanted to ask for Lillian's hand in marriage. I plan on proposing to her tonight," he said, lowering his voice slightly.

Mr. Matthews raised his eyebrows slightly. Harold began to feel a sudden amount of panic and fear. Lillian's father was sure to say no, especially since Harold wasn't rich or prosperous like he was.

A grin grew on Mr. Matthews's face.

"You have my consent."