Betsy lives for the Fourth of July—not just the day itself, but the whole season of community gatherings that surround it. Her dress, sewn from fabric she found in her grandmother's attic trunk, carries the jubilant spirit of summer celebrations and strawberry socials. She's the one who organizes the children's parade down Main Street, teaching them to march in time with the band.

Every morning, she ties golden ribbons in her hair—a ritual passed down from her mother who said they catch wishes on the wind. As twilight falls on summer evenings, Betsy appears with her basket of sparklers, pressing one into every hand she passes. "Make a wish while it burns," she tells each person, young and old alike. She knows that tiny handheld stars create more magic than the grandest fireworks when shared between neighbors.

Her favorite moment comes when the whole town square fills with dancing light—dozens of sparklers writing hope across the darkness. Betsy reminds us that freedom shines brightest when we each hold a piece of it, that democracy itself is like a sparkler passed hand to hand, each person keeping the light alive for the next.