Chapter Three

Ana's fingers trembledslightly as she unpacked the small satchel that all of her belongings were in. She lifted out her garments, each piece folded with care, and placed them one by one into the empty dresser that stood against the wall. She only had two dresses so there wasn't much to put away. She would have to ask the doctor for money to buy fabric to make more, and she prayed it wouldn't upset him. If it did, she and her sisters still had the money their mother had given them for train fare, but she liked the idea of holding that in reserve, just in case something happened.

Ana paused. She took in the modest room with its sparse furnishings and the quilted bedspread. The weight of her past, the loss of her mother, and the ache of separation from her sisters pressed on her chest. For the first time in a long while, she felt the stirrings of peace.

She stepped lightly down the narrow hallway, drawn by the low glow beneath the study door. Dr. Mercer sat there, his figure bent over piles of medical records and journals. His pen moved with steady purpose, and she sensed the silent strength that drove him to continue working for the sake of Hope Springs' residents.

"Mind if I join you?" Her voice was soft.

He looked up, his eyes holding the warmth of a hearth fire. "Please," he said, motioning to the chair beside him.

She settled into the seat, folding her hands in her lap as she observed him return to his work. She needed to get to know him better. What had made him want to be a doctor? What made him work so hard for his patients?

He picked up one of the instruments and showed it to her. "This is a stethoscope," he explained, his voice a calm current in the stillness. "It lets us hear the sounds of the heart and lungs."

He slowly went through each of his instruments and let her touch them. Each item he passed into her care carried its own tale of healing, of hope wrestled from the clutches of illness.

"I'll need you to keep the instruments clean for me, and at times act as my nurse," he said.

"Thank you," Anabelle murmured, "for trusting me with this." She'd always hated that she hadn't been allowed to have a formal education, and she loved that he was teaching her now. Acting as a nurse seemed to be a way she could pay him back for his generosity in helping her escape from her father's clasp.

When he felt she'd learned enough, the two of them made their way to the modest bedroom they now shared. They lay down, side by side.

It felt strange to Ana to be in a bed with anyone but her sisters, but she knew it was her role to share a bed with him, even if she was frightened. She could already see he was a good man, which helped her not worry quite so much.

Sleep beckoned, but Ana lingered in wakefulness, savoring the solace found in her companion's nearness. In the hush of night, amid the ghosts of a day's end, she allowed herself a fragile hope. Perhaps this was the place where she and her sisters would find true joy. Even if they didn't, they were at least beyond the reach of their father and his fists.

"William," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the stillness. His name felt new on her lips.

Dr. Mercer turned to her, his eyes questioning. "Yes, Ana?"

She swallowed hard, her hands clasped together in her lap as if they could steady the fluttering within. "Would it be all right if we—if we waited? To—to consummate our marriage?" The words tumbled out, and she blushed when she heard her voice speak them aloud.

A softness entered his gaze, the edges of his eyes crinkling with empathy. "Of course," he replied, his voice a balm to her racing thoughts. "I never imagined that I would have a wedding night with a woman I'd just met."

Anabelle nodded. "It's very strange," she began again, her voice steadier now, "My sisters— we're triplets. Izzy, Rosie, and I. We've never spent a night apart, always sharing whispers until sleep took us." Her eyes misted over, the memory a stark contrast to the solitude of this new room. "It feels strange, being without them, like a piece of my soul is missing."

William reached out, his hand covering hers.

William's gaze held her own, steady and certain. "We'll find your sisters," he said, his voice low but resolute in the dim light. "I know the men they were promised to. Good, honest men. We're all friends and agreed to send off for mail-order brides together. I'm pleased we all married sisters because that will only strengthen our bond with one another."

"Thank you," she whispered, the weight of loneliness beginning to lift from her shoulders. The promise of reuniting with Izzy and Rosie was one she'd needed to hear.

She nestled deeper into the quilts that adorned their shared bed, drawing comfort from their warmth. Her eyelids grew heavy, the events of the day—the vows exchanged, the journey made—catching up to her at last. She turned slightly, feeling William's presence beside her, a solid, reassuring constant in this new world.

As sleep beckoned, her mind wandered through the streets of Hope Springs, imagining her sisters nearby, laughter mingling with the crisp mountain air. A smile graced her lips as she succumbed to dreams. Here she and her sisters would still be part of one another's lives, and they would be happy.

*****

THE SUN WASN'T UP YETwhen Ana climbed from the warmth of her bed. Her feet touched the cold wooden floor, and she suppressed a shiver as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her slender shoulders. She moved through the quiet rooms, her heart heavy with thoughts of days long past.

The quiet in this house should have felt the same as the constant quiet in the house where she'd grown up. But there, she'd had her sisters whispering with her, and here...she was alone. But there was no waiting for the yells that would punctuate her father's moods. Instead, she could simply move about without fear. Well, she could move about. The fear would eventually leave her. She hoped.

She walked into the kitchen and looked through the cabinets, familiarizing herself with how it was set up. With practiced motions, she stoked the fire in the stove and set a skillet atop it. Eggs lay on the counter, next to a loaf of bread. She cracked them one by one into the sizzling pan.

William, roused by the sounds and smells of breakfast, joined her in the kitchen. His hair was tousled from sleep, his eyes soft with the vulnerability that morning often brings. "Smells delightful," he commented, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he watched her flip the eggs with a deft flick of her wrist.

"Thank you," Ana replied. A small pride fluttered in her chest. She was not used to receiving compliments, and it made her feel like she could stand a little taller.

"Is it your habit to attend church on Sundays?" William asked casually, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze lingering on her face, searching for glimpses into her upbringing.

Ana paused, the spatula hovering above the pan. The question stirred memories of mornings arrayed in scratchy collars and tight braids, mother's whispered prayers swallowed by father's stern decree. "We used to," she said softly, placing the eggs onto plates. "But not for many years."

Ana settled into the chair across from William, her fingers tracing the wood grain of the table as she gathered her thoughts. "When I was little," she began, her voice a mere whisper against the hushed stillness of the room, "we would go to church every Sunday, and Mother would dress us in matching dresses. She loved that we were triplets and wanted us to always look alike." She glanced up at him, her eyes reflecting a pool of memories. "But that all changed when I turned five."

William's furrowed brow betrayed his surprise. He set his fork down gently, a silent invitation for her to continue.

"Father decided it was best if we stayed away from...from everything outside our home," Ana said, a shadow passing over her features. "We never saw the inside of a schoolhouse. Mother taught us while Father worked. He didn't want us knowing how to read and write, but Mother said we would be pleased that we could."

"Isolated," he murmured.

"Sometimes," she confessed, "we would find moments of freedom." A wistful smile curled the edges of her lips. "While father worked the fields, my sisters and I would slip through the creaky back gate and dance beneath the sky, pretending we were part of a world that didn't know our names." She shook her head. "Two years ago, we made it into town. We talked to everyone we saw and had a wonderful time. Until Father found us." She didn't have to add that being found was not a good thing for any of them.

William watched her, a mingling of admiration and concern etched into the lines of his face. He wanted more details, but he wasn't sure it would be right to ask. Instead, he'd let her open up about her past in her own time.

"Your cooking," he said, breaking the silence, "it's quite remarkable, Ana."

She offered a small smile, tucking a stray lock of fiery hair behind her ear. His compliment warmed her, an ember of pride glowing within.

"Thank you," she replied.

He watched her for a moment, then cleared his throat gently. "I usually attend church on Sunday mornings," William ventured, his gaze steady. "Would you... would you care to join me today?"

"I would like that very much," Ana answered, her voice barely above a whisper. She liked the idea of going to church again, as she had when she was small.

As she gazed at William, a torrent of memories surged forth. Church had been a place of shared whispers and laughter with Izzy and Rosie. It had been a haven until it wasn't. Now, the anticipation of seeing her sisters there, amidst the flock of faithful, electrified her spirit.

"Then we shall go after breakfast," he said, a gentle nod sealing the plan.

Ana turned away, hiding the tremor of excitement that coursed through her. Oh, how she hoped her sisters would be there. It was strange not knowing where they were. She couldn't remember a time in her life when she'd been unaware of her sisters' location.

Ana and William walked side by side to the church. The town was small, and William seemed to walk everywhere he went. Surely, he had a buggy for out of town calls though.

The wooden doors of the church loomed ahead, familiar in their imposing stature. It was here they had spoken vows, words that still echoed in her mind like a lingering promise. She glanced at William, his profile etched with the same resolve she found in his voice every time he spoke of healing others.

"Good morning, Dr. Mercer," called a soft voice as they stepped into the cool sanctuary of the church. Gertrude Hannigan stood near the entrance, the pastor's young wife, cradling her infant close to her chest. The baby cooed, a sound pure and untouched by the world's harsh whispers.

"Ana, this is Gertrude Hannigan," William introduced with a slight tilt of his head. "She's the pastor's wife."

"Mrs. Hannigan," Ana greeted. Gertrude offered a smile warm enough to ease the tightness in Ana's chest, the baby's fingers curling around her mother's thumb.

"Welcome to our community," Gertrude said, shifting the baby to one arm. "Let me introduce you to some of the other ladies."

Ana nodded, following Gertrude's lead as they weaved through clusters of townspeople. Names and faces blurred together, each introduction adding a bit more confusion to Ana's mind. The women's voices were a low hum, punctuated by the occasional high-pitched laugh that seemed almost foreign to Ana's ears. Being in a crowd like this after so many years of solitude...it was overwhelming.

Izzy and Rosie, her sisters, stood together at the back of the church. Their presence was a beacon, and it was calling her to them. Ana's heart lurched, her feet moving before her mind could catch up.

"Excuse me," she murmured, though it was unlikely Gertrude heard her over the chatter. Ana navigated through the sea of Sunday bests, the rustle of petticoats whispering secrets.

Her sisters turned as she approached, their faces lighting up with recognition and a shared joy that no distance or time could diminish. She spread her arms wide, and the three of them embraced. All at once she was home. It was strange that home to her wasn't a place. It was her sisters.

Ana's fingers intertwined with those of her sisters. Rosie's eyes shimmered with the same strength that had always defined her, and Izzy's gentle smile offered solace in its familiarity.

"Charles Jordan," Rosie whispered, her voice tinged with a mixture of pride and something more guarded, "He has a kind heart." The name was etched into Ana's mind, alongside the image of her sister, now intertwined with another's fate.

Izzy spoke next, her words soft as the drape of lace over a Sunday dress, "And I am by Albert Thoreau's side. He's a good man. And extremely smart. I'm fortunate to be his wife."

The church bell tolled, a somber reminder that life's dance continued beyond the sanctuary of sisterhood. Ana released her hold, her touch lingering like the last rays of twilight against the horizon.

"Come, let us find our seats," she murmured, turning toward the gathering congregation, her skirts whispering secrets into the hush of the sanctuary.

With each step, Ana felt the weight of her new reality settle upon her shoulders like a shawl woven from the threads of duty and desire. She slid into the pew beside William. It was strange to know her sisters were in the building, but her place was here with her new husband.

Her gaze drifted over her shoulder, seeking the familiar sights of her sisters among the flock. She knew she had to find them again after the service was over.

As the preacher's voice rose and fell about loving thy neighbor, Ana's thoughts danced between the words spoken and those held close to her heart. Each glance backward, a lifeline cast into the past, each hymn sung, a step toward the morrow.

The church doors swung open. Ana stepped into the light, William's hand a reassuring weight upon her back as they descended the wooden steps together. The world outside shimmered with the promise of Sunday repose, and there, waiting at the foot of the church, were Rosie and Charles, Izzy and Albert.

"Shall we?" Charles gestured toward the direction of the local eatery, his voice carrying the lilting cadence of camaraderie.

Ana's lips curved up ever so slightly, a bloom of pleasure at the sight of the men, her William included, falling into easy conversation as they ambled down the road. The gravel crunched beneath their boots, a chorus to the harmony that seemed to unfurl between them.

Eyes bright, Ana watched William exchange words with Albert, who nodded thoughtfully, his face marked by the stern lines of responsibility. Beside them, Charles's laughter rang clear, the sound like water over pebbles, smoothing out the edges of the day.

They arrived at the modest establishment, the same place where Ana had eaten with William the night before. Inside, the scent of fresh bread and roasted meat filled the air, an invisible thread weaving through the hearts of all who entered.

As they settled around a worn oak table, the sisters exchanged glances, a silent language honed by years of whispered confidences. It was not lost on them—the way the townsfolk greeted their husbands with nods of respect, the way the waitress deferred to William's selections, the quiet authority that seemed to emanate from each man.

Ana felt the subtle shift in the room, the unspoken recognition of their husbands' places within Hope Springs. Dr. Mercer, the healer, Charles Jordan, the mayor with hands that shaped the laws of the town, and Albert Thoreau, a wealthy businessman who had found his start in the silver mines surrounding the town.

As they ate, the men carried on an animated conversation, while Ana and her sisters listened, exchanging glances that said as much as the men said aloud.

It was hard to say goodbye to her sisters after they left the restaurant. But Ana had made a promise to meet them at the general store at one in the afternoon the following day. They all needed church dresses, as they had not had anything new in years. They would need to buy fabric, and she hoped there would be time for the three of them to sew together.

Ana walked beside William toward their home. "Thank you for the time with my sisters," Ana said softly.

William smiled. "I'm glad they can continue to be a part of your life here."

As they turned down Main Street, a figure approached—a man who walked with pride, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon like a hawk. It was John Thompson, and he looked angry.

"Ana, would you mind waiting for me across the street by the general store?" William's voice was calm, but the tension in his jaw betrayed an underlying urgency.

Without question or hesitation, she nodded, crossing to where he pointed, her heart fluttering with unease. The distance muffled their words, but not the gravity of their exchange. William's stance was firm, his hand gesturing with restrained emphasis. John's smile never reached his eyes as he leaned in, a whisper of aggression in his poise.

When at last William crossed back to her, his face was a mask of composure. "Who was that?" Ana's voice barely rose above a whisper, her gaze searching his for clues.

"Nobody of concern, Ana." His answer was a gentle brush-off, meant to shield her from the storm brewing beneath the surface. But the weight of his dismissal hung heavy in the air, a specter of things unspoken.

Ana stole glances at William, feeling the resonance of his concealed worries. She yearned to share his burden, to understand the forces that drove him, yet she sensed the protective barriers he erected were not solely for her sake, but for the community he served.

As they neared the home they now shared, the somber reality settled upon Ana's shoulders—a life intertwined with another's, filled with companionship and loss, secrets and silences.