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Chapter Four

Ana sat across fromWilliam at breakfast on Monday morning. "William," she began, "I've been thinking...I would like to make myself a new dress for church." She was almost afraid to ask, thinking about the way her father had beaten her mother when she'd asked for money to buy fabric for dresses for her and her sisters.

William looked up from his plate. A slow smile spread across his face, the kind that instantly put Ana's worries to rest. "That sounds like a splendid idea, Ana," he said, nodding. His hand reached for the leather pouch by his side and he counted out several coins, laying them before her with care. "This should cover your needs for the household, and a little something extra for your dress."

"Thank you, William. That's more than generous." She tucked the coins into her apron pocket, feeling the weight of them against her thigh.

"Later today, after lunchtime, I shall meet my sisters at the general store." Her gaze met his. "We wish to choose the fabric together."

"Of course," he replied, his voice steady. There was no hesitation, only the clear understanding of family bonds. "I know you're all close. Enjoy your time with them."

Ana nodded, a small smile creasing her lips as she imagined the colorful bolts of fabric. She'd never been able to come and go as she pleased, but William seemed to think allowing her to spend time out of the house was a normal thing to do. She wasn't sure what to do with all the freedom he offered.

William closed the discussion on the household budget with a nod, his hand lingering on the edge of the table as he stood. "I'll be back for lunch," he said, glancing toward the kitchen. The scent of fresh bread still hung in the air—a comforting reminder of their morning meal shared. "If you're pressed for time, Ana, do not fret. A sandwich will suffice."

Ana watched him don his coat, the lines of concern etched lightly upon his brow easing with her assurance. "You needn't worry about going hungry," she replied. "Three meals a day is what I promised, and three meals a day you shall have."

He paused at the door, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, a silent acknowledgment of her steadfast resolve. But Ana's thoughts were already drifting to the dress. Never had she been allowed to choose fabric and make a dress for herself. Her father had done all the shopping, and her mother would make the most of whatever he'd brought home for them.

"Today, though," she continued, "the new dress takes precedence. There's no mending more pressing than preparing to look decent for Sunday's sermon."

As the door clicked shut behind him, Ana let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Alone again, the silence settled around her. She turned back to the window, the glass cool beneath her fingertips, and gazed out at the world awakening beyond.

She had always had her sisters beside her. It was odd to be truly alone, and she wished she could have them with her all the time. She knew it would be good to learn to be alone, but she wasn't certain she was ready.

Memories of a life once filled with the constant hum of her sisters' voices tugged at the edges of her mind—three lives intertwined, now unraveled into separate threads. And as she prepared for William's return, she clung to the thought of that reunion. They'd seen one another briefly the day before, but none of them had been able to truly share her thoughts with the others. She needed to know her sisters were safe. She needed them to know she was safe.

*****

ANA HURRIED THROUGHthe streets of Hope Springs, along the dirt road that meandered like a dried-up riverbed. She held William's money close—a sum for her own whims and the needs of their household—and with it, a sense of autonomy that both thrilled and unnerved her.

The general store was just ahead, and there, beneath the awning, Isabelle and Rosabelle waited.

"Finally," Izzy said as Ana approached.

"Thought you'd never come," Rosie added.

They entered the store together, making a beeline for the table piled high with fabric. There were so many colors and textures begging to be touched and transformed.

"Something modest, yet fetching," Ana mused aloud, fingers tracing over calico and gingham. She felt that she should get the same fabric as her sisters, as they'd always dressed alike, but they were no longer three parts of one whole. They were each married and must show their individual tastes.

"I like this one," Izzy said, her hand resting on a pattern of delicate ivy on a field of cream.

"Or this." Rosie held up an identical design, but where Isabelle's choice was soft and gentle, hers was a dusky rose, grounded and unassuming.

"William said I could choose." Ana's voice held a note of wonder, though no one knew better than her sisters the weight of the word ‘could'.

"Then we shall all have the same," Rosie declared with a nod that settled the matter. "In different hues, reflecting each of us."

"Reflections of the same soul," Izzy whispered, and they cut three lengths from similar bolts—cream for Izzy, rose for Rosie, and a vibrant green for Ana.

Ana smiled. "Now we'll have the same pattern, but won't look like we're trying to look exactly alike."

With their purchases bundled in their arms, they stepped back outside. For now, they were together again, and soon, they would be able to share secrets. All felt right with the world again.

"I need to stop at the butcher to get meat for supper. Do you mind?" Ana asked her sisters.

When Izzy and Rosie both shook their heads, she hurried into the butcher shop. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, she pointed to a cut of meat. It was practical, enough for William and her both. Tonight, she would cook supper in her new home, a ritual of domesticity that was both foreign and familiar.

"Will you show us where you live now?" Izzy asked as they exited the store, her voice soft as the cream fabric tucked under her arm.

"Of course," Ana replied, leading the way. Her sisters trailed behind her. They didn't speak until they reached her home, and Ana unlocked the door to lead her sisters inside.

"Let's bake cookies," Rosie suggested. "Tea would be lovely."

Ana looked at her sisters, stunned for a moment. "I guess we're allowed to cook and bake whatever we want now, aren't we?"

Izzy nodded. "I made a meal for supper last night, and it was so odd that I could choose whatever I wanted and not worry about Father's wrath. It's a whole new world, feeling this much freedom. And yet..."

"It still feels like we should be watching over our shoulder for anger," Rosie finished for her sister. "I don't know how long it's going to take to really feel like we're free, but we're going to get there. All three of us."

Soon, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of sugar and butter, all the ingredients forming golden discs on the baking sheet. They sat around the table, sipping tea from mismatched cups, the rich taste mingling with the sweetness of the cookies.

"William is kind," Ana mused aloud, a confession wrapped in layers of uncertainty. "He speaks little, but his silences aren't cold."

"Albert is a good man filled with strong opinions," Izzy shared. "I'm afraid to disagree with him, even when I think he's wrong."

"Strength, Izzy," Ana whispered. "You'll find your place beside him."

Rosie's needle pierced the green fabric, her stitches perfect. "My husband, Charles, well, he's more like a puzzle. Each piece revealing itself slowly, methodically. He doesn't talk much, at least not to me."

Ana shook her head. "Did either of your husbands insist on a wedding night?"

Izzy nodded, blushing. "Albert did, but it wasn't bad. Just...different to have someone touching me that way."

Ana frowned. "William was fine with waiting. He doesn't show strong emotions about anything...except this one man he keeps arguing with. I have no idea what they argue about because he has me wait across the street."

"That's odd," Rosie said. "Do they argue often?"

"Twice now. Men are so confusing. I wish they could think like we do."

Izzy smiled. "I agree. But I wish Albert would share fewer opinions. I might be able to find out why William keeps arguing with someone if you'd like."

Ana shook her head. "No, William should be the one to tell me."

Ana threaded the needle with a deft hand, her movements sure and practiced. The sisters' conversation had dwindled to a comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional clink of a teacup being set down.

"Father won't just let us vanish," Ana said suddenly, her voice softer than she intended. The thread trembled slightly in her grasp as she considered the possibility.

Izzy's laughter was a gentle chime. "He has his hands full with the farm. He won't leave it to find us."

"What if he hires someone?" Rosie asked. She shuddered delicately. "I have no idea what he would do about this kind of defiance."

Izzy frowned. "We're not girls anymore. We made our choices."

Ana's chest tightened at Izzy's dismissive tone. She knew Izzy was right, yet the fear of being chased by the past—a past that included a father who viewed his daughters as nothing more than punching bags—worried her more than she cared to admit.

"Father won't believe we made the right choices," Ana murmured, but her words were lost in the rustle of fabric.

The clock on the mantel struck, its chimes signaling the encroaching evening. Izzy stood first, smoothing the folds of her skirt. "Time to start supper. I need to get home," she said, her tone laced with a hint of reluctance.

Rosie also stood to gather her things, but her movements were slow, as if trying to stretch the minutes into hours. Rosie smiled at the other two. "Can we meet again around the same time tomorrow?" she asked, her hand resting briefly on Ana's shoulder.

"Please," Ana said softly.

Izzy nodded, and then she and Rosie left, leaving Ana to start supper for herself and William.

Ana watched through the window as her sisters' figures receded along the path, their heads close together in shared confidences. The house felt emptier, the air stiller. She returned to her unfinished dress, the fabric pooling in her lap.

With each stitch, memories wove themselves into the seams—their laughter echoing in the rafters of the barn, the warmth of bodies huddled together during cold nights, the collective strength they found in each other. Now, they had separate lives, and Ana said a quick prayer, thanking God for helping them all to be near one another.

Finally, Ana set aside her work. Her hands felt cold without the comfort of her sisters' presence. A deep longing settled in her heart, a yearning for the simplicity of yesterday, for the certainty of sisterhood.

Soon, the kitchen was warm, and the scent of roasting meat filled the small space as Ana moved with quiet efficiency. Potatoes sizzled softly in a pan, their edges crisping to a golden hue. She set the table, placing two plates with care.

When William stepped through the door, his presence seemed to chase away the shadows that had filled her with her sisters gone. He washed up at the basin, his hands deliberate and thorough, the physician in him never resting. They sat together, knee to knee, at the small table. Ana offered him a guarded smile, serving the food she had prepared.

"Smells wonderful," he said, his tone earnest, appreciative. They ate, the silence between them comfortable, companionable. It was a simple meal, but it tasted good, and she was pleased with it.

As the meal came to an end, William helped clear the table. The melancholy of solitude that had gripped Ana's heart eased under his quiet attentiveness. Together, they moved to the sitting area by the fire.

There, they talked of daily trivialities—the weather, the townsfolk, the minor ailments he'd treated.

And then, as if guided by an unseen hand, their conversation lulled, and they found themselves caught in a gaze that lingered too long. William reached out, his fingers brushing against hers, a touch that sparked a warmth that spread up her arm.

"Ana," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you've been a blessing I didn't know I was missing." His eyes searched hers.

Before she could think, before the doubts could resurface, their lips met. The kiss was gentle, a question asked and answered in the same breath. Ana's pulse quickened, her body awakening to a sensation she had never known she could command. Desire, bold and unbidden, coursed through her, leaving her breathless, astonished by the depth of her own longing.

They parted with cheeks flushed. William's hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. Ana closed her eyes, leaning into the touch, memorizing the feel of him, the rightness of this moment.

"Thank you for supper," he said, his voice low, carrying a weight that held more than gratitude for the meal.

"Thank you for...everything," Ana replied, her words trailing off into the crackling of the fire. "I'm so thankful it doesn't bother you that I want to spend time with my sisters. Being triplets who weren't allowed to leave our home, we're used to always being together, and this is a big change for us."

"I would never dream of keeping you from your sisters." The look William gave her seemed filled with unspoken words, but she understood. How did you respond when someone tells you they've lived their whole life in isolation?

Much later, Ana put away the last of the dishes that she'd allowed to drip dry. William had excused himself, his footsteps fading toward the bedroom they now shared—a room that seemed both sanctuary and uncharted territory.

She paused at the doorway, hand resting against the frame. The memory of the kiss lingered on her lips. She had never imagined the waves of desire she felt with that kiss.

Ana watched William, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and felt a pull, a yearning to close the distance between them.

She approached the bed hesitantly, the wooden planks beneath her feet creaking in protest. Quickly changing into her nightdress, she slipped beneath the covers, the coolness of the sheets a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from William's body.

"Goodnight," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

"Goodnight, Ana." His reply held a note of something unspoken, a resonance that vibrated through the stillness.

Ana turned onto her side, facing away from him, staring into the darkness. Her mind replayed the evening in fragments—the laughter that danced around the supper table, the way William's eyes crinkled when he smiled, the feather-light touch of his lips.

After a long moment, she said, "I liked it when you kissed me. I hope we'll do that again."

He wasn't sure if he imagined her words, or if she'd really spoken them. Either way, he'd be kissing her again. And soon.

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