Chapter Five

Ana moved quietly aroundthe infirmary, her hair pulled back in a practical braid, a stark contrast to the pallor of illness and injury surrounding her. She was a constant presence at her husband's side, assisting William as he made his rounds.

"Hand me the gauze, Ana," William's voice was soft but firm, breaking the hush that enveloped the space.

As William tended to a miner with a gash across his brow—a souvenir from a minor tunnel collapse—Ana's gaze lingered on the man's weathered face. She wondered about the life that had etched itself into his skin, about the dreams that lay beneath. The miner winced as the needle pierced flesh but gave a grateful nod toward Ana as she held his hand steady, her own fingers surprisingly calm.

"Almost done," William murmured, the furrow in his brow softening as the final stitch was placed. He looked up at Ana, his eyes reflecting a quiet appreciation. She offered him a small, reassuring smile in return, sensing the weight of his world on her shoulders—a weight she had willingly accepted.

Once the miner was bandaged and resting, Ana turned her attention to the ledger on William's desk. Her fingertips traced the lines of numbers and names, a record of the day's healing and heartache. Each entry was a life touched, and she handled the billing with a methodical precision that belied the emotion each figure represented. She mentally thanked her mother for all the arithmetic she and her sisters had been forced to do, thankful she could do the math necessary to keep her husband's books.

The scent of antiseptic and the muted sounds of recovery filled the air as Ana worked. A melancholy settled over her, born of the realization that for all the good they did here, there was always another name to add to the list, another wound to mend.

She closed the ledger, the soft thud echoing slightly in the stillness, and glanced at William. He was washing his hands, the water dripping in a slow, rhythmic patter against the metal basin.

"Thank you, Ana," he said.

"Of course, William," she replied.

Ana watched the clock's hands crawl toward noon, their relentless march a reminder of time slipping away. "I need to head home and get lunch ready for you."

William nodded. "I'll be home soon."

Once home, Ana made sandwiches out of the fresh bread she'd baked early that morning. She added bacon to each sandwich before placing them on the plates and carrying them to the table.

Just as she was pouring coffee for each of them, William walked in the door, looking tired. "I hope sandwiches are all right," she said.

William entered the kitchen. His smile was weary—a slight upturn of lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, of course." He washed his hands, carefully scrubbing them all the way up to the elbow.

"Your lunch is ready," she said.

"Thank you, Ana." He moved to the table, sitting down and waiting for her to join him.

"Will you need me this afternoon?"

"No, I shouldn't think so." He took a bite of the sandwich. "Very good," he said. "You've been a great help this morning but go spend some time with your sisters. They'll be eager to see you."

"All right," Ana replied, nodding slowly. "If anything changes, I'll leave a note on the door for them."

"Unlikely," he assured her.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, and he ate quickly. "I need to get back to work."

"Have a good afternoon," she said.

The door closed behind him, and Ana was left alone in the silence that followed.

The room felt larger, emptier now that William had gone back to tend to his patients, the echoes of their morning together lingering like phantom caresses. She felt so alone with him gone. Thankfully her sisters would be there soon. Being alone was becoming a big part of her life, and she didn't like it one bit.

Ana moved with quiet purpose, setting a tray with freshly baked cookies and steeping tea. She laid out the delicate cups, their rims kissed by silver leaf.

Her sisters arrived just as she poured the tea. Their presence filled the space with a soft hum of conversation and the rustling of fabric as they settled around the table, each working diligently on their dresses, fingers dancing nimbly over seams and stitches.

Izzy, her hands cradling a teacup, broke the tender silence with a whisper that seemed both out of place and entirely fitting amidst the lace and linen. "I must confess," she began, her cheeks flushed, "Albert and I made love again last night... and something magical happened."

Ana's needle paused mid-air, her heart quickening at the revelation. Izzy's eyes sparkled with an inner light. "I can't quite describe it, but it was good—a feeling that words can't capture."

Izzy leaned forward, her voice a tender urging. "Don't wait any longer," she implored, "experience it for yourselves."

Ana folded her hands in her lap, the unfinished hem of her dress forgotten. Her thoughts drifted to William, to the tentative bond forming between them, a bridge constructed of shared silences and unspoken understandings. Could there be a magic waiting for them too, beyond the careful politeness and the chaste kisses?

Izzy's words resonated in the quiet of the room, a promise or perhaps a challenge. And Ana knew, with a clarity that pierced through the fog of her melancholy, that life—like the act of making love—was not meant to be observed from a distance, but to be lived, embraced, and savored in all its complexity.

Ana picked up a needle, and her fingers moved with the rhythm of practice as she stitched the delicate fabric of her dress, but her mind was elsewhere. Beneath her calm exterior, emotions swirled like leaves caught in an unseen whirlwind.

"William kissed me," she said suddenly. Her sisters paused, their own needles halting in mid-air.

"Really?" Rosie's question was a soft exhalation, a mixture of surprise and yearning.

"Last night," Ana continued, her gaze fixed on the tiny stitches. "We were talking, and our eyes met, and the next thing I knew we were kissing." She couldn't help the faint color that rose to her cheeks. The kiss had been brief, a fleeting connection.

"Was it..." Izzy hesitated, her eyes searching Ana's face for a hint of the magic she herself had experienced.

"Sweet," Ana replied, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. "Gentle."

Rosie resumed her sewing, her hands steady but she looked sad. "Charles has yet to kiss me," she admitted quietly. She didn't look up, afraid to see pity in her sisters' eyes. "I don't think he harbors any affection for me."

"That can't be true," Izzy offered, her tone encouraging.

"Very," Rosie agreed. "Charles is always there, a constant presence of quiet strength and unwavering respect. Perhaps love wasn't meant for me, but kindness is its own form of companionship, and for that, I'm grateful."

Ana reached across the table, placing her hand over Rosie's. The touch was silent solidarity, a shared understanding that even in the solitude of their arranged marriages, they were not alone. They had each other, and the hope of finding their own unique happiness.

Ana bid farewell to her sisters shortly before time to start supper. She turned to the stove. Carrots and potatoes sizzled gently in the skillet. As she cooked, she couldn't stop thinking about what Izzy had said about something magical happening when she made love with her husband. Could something magical happen for her and William as well?

Only now did it dawn on Ana—the glaring absence of passion in her own union. Her heart fluttered, a caged bird against the ribs of composure she had so carefully constructed. Rosie had mentioned she hadn't even been kissed. She was glad that she and William had done that once. Now they just needed to do it more.

After finishing the dishes, she found William in the sitting room. And though she was nervous about bringing up the topic of lovemaking with him, she was excited at the prospect of experiencing whatever Izzy had that she couldn't explain.

"William," she began, "I've been thinking..." She paused, the words lodged in her throat.

He looked up. "Yes, Ana?" he prompted.

"About us," she continued. "I believe...it may be time we considered becoming more intimate." Her cheeks flushed with the boldness of her declaration.

He regarded her, a furrow of surprise etching his brow, not expecting such blunt speak from his sweet wife. And yet, there was a warmth there, too.

"Are you certain, Ana?" His voice was soft, the question not one of reluctance, but of care.

Ana nodded. "I want to understand," she confessed, "to experience... whatever it was that made my sister's Izzy practically glow with satisfaction today."

"Very well," he replied, his hand reaching out to enclose hers.

The bedroom was dim. William stood watching as Ana's delicate fingers workedat the buttons of her blouse, an act so innocent and yet charged with the unspoken anticipation of what lay ahead.

"Ana," he began, his voice betraying a hint of the surprise that had settled in his chest. But he was a man of flesh and blood, with the same desires as any other. He stepped closer, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

Her breath caught, a soft gasp slipping from her lips as she gazed up at him.

He reached out, his touch tentative but sure, guiding her hands away from her task to rest within his own. Together, they finished the unbuttoning.

His fingers traced the lines of her collarbone, reverent and unhurried, mapping the geography of a land he vowed to cherish.

"Are you afraid?" he asked, his voice low.

"A little," Ana confessed.

"Then we'll take this slow," William assured her.

The bed creaked beneath their weight. Her heart thundered enough she was surprised he didn't hear it, as she allowed herself to be guided down onto the patchwork quilt.

His hands moved all over her, and she gasped at how good they felt against her bare flesh. And though the nervous flutter in her belly persisted, there was comfort in the careful way he honored her, his touch painting strokes of affection and reverence.

She found pleasure in the closeness, in the whisper of his breath against her skin, the strength of his arms holding her. It was a different joy than she'd imagined. It was somehow quieter. And while she enjoyed what they did together, a part of her seemed to be watching, searching for the rapture Izzy had spoken of with such fervor.

But as the night deepened, and they lay entwined, she realized that they had crossed a threshold together.

Their breaths mingled in the quiet space, his steady and hers still catching from time to time. Ana lay nestled in the crook of William's arm, her head resting against the solid rise and fall of his chest.

A soft sigh escaped her as she closed her eyes, the warmth of him seeping into her bones. She had been brave, stepping into the unknown with a man who was kind, whose eyes held stories she longed to hear. He had been so gentle, so patient, as if understanding the weight of her unspoken fears.

But in the depths of her being, a faint echo of longing stirred—a yearning for the elusive magic Izzy had found in the arms of her own husband.

She shifted in his embrace, and he tightened his hold.

As she drifted toward slumber, she found a flicker of hope. Perhaps in time, the pleasure her sister spoke of would find her too. For now, it was enough to feel the steady heartbeat of the man beside her, to know that they were creating a life together.

Ana's last conscious thought was thinking she must get more details from Izzy about when the magical thing had happened. Making love with William had been sweet, but not quite as magical as she'd hoped. But as she fell asleep, she decided she'd happily do it again, even with no magic. She could tell she'd pleased him, and that mattered.