Chapter Nine

It was with a senseof great loss that Izzy said goodbye to Albert's parents as they returned home to New York City. She was surprised at how close she felt to both of them after their visit.

She hadn't expected to like his father at all, but she'd found him warm and kind. As they drove off, she had tears in her eyes, and she told Albert she wished they could stay longer, though she was surprised.

He'd put his arm around her and pulled her to him. "We'll see them again. Perhaps next time, we can take the train to New York City."

She smiled. "I'd like that a lot. I've never been anywhere but the little house we lived in and here."

He shook his head. "I wish I could understand why your father kept you and your sisters under such careful control."

"I don't even care why," she said softly. "The man was cruel, and I never even want to think about him." She said the words with more passion than she'd shown in their months together, and he looked at her with surprise. She seemed to truly despise her father.

He hoped that she understood all men weren't like him.

*****

IZZY AWOKE WITH A START, her stomach churning like a tempestuous sea. She clutched the edge of the bed, steadying herself against the waves of nausea that threatened to sweep her away. For several days now, sickness had greeted her at dawn, an unwelcome visitor persisting with cruel punctuality.

She rose and made her way to the washbasin. Splashing her face with water did little to ease the queasiness that knotted her insides. There was no more denying it. She needed answers, and the only place she could seek them was at the infirmary.

Dr. William Mercer, her brother-in-law, was already tending to a miner with a bandaged head by the time Izzy arrived. Dr. Mercer excused himself from his patient with a nod, his brow furrowed in concern as he caught sight of Izzy's pallor.

After Izzy described her symptoms to William, he told her, "You're expecting."

The words were meant to be joyous, but they landed like stones in Izzy's stomach. A baby. Her mind raced with the implications, the weight of responsibility, the fear of the unknown. Most of all, there was Albert, her husband, whose world seemed so distant from the one she inhabited.

She left the infirmary with her secret cradled close to her heart, the knowledge of life growing inside her made her both hopeful and frightened. As she walked through the quiet streets, the town of Hope Springs carried on unaware, its residents caught in the throes of their daily struggles for survival within the confines of a world that demanded resilience.

Back at home, she watched Albert from across the room. She only felt close to him at night, in the privacy of their bedroom. Would he welcome the child as a blessing or see it as a burden? Could she carve out a place for herself in his life that was more than just a convenient arrangement?

For now, she held her silence, allowing the truth to simmer within her as she contemplated the future. The decision to wait was hers alone. It felt good to be in control of something, and when she told him she was pregnant was something she could easily control.

*****

THE NEEDLE DIPPED ANDrose, swift as the swallows that skirted the eaves of Ana's home. Izzy's fingers worked with a quiet urgency, stitching tiny garments for an infant that fate had deposited on Ana's doorstep like a parcel with no return address. Lillian, they had named her, a moniker plucked from the air as though it had always been destined for the child with no history.

"Every baby deserves a fresh start," Ana had murmured. They sat side by side, the rhythm of their sewing a silent pact against the chaos that brewed beyond these walls. "We have asked and can't find where she came from, so we're going to keep her. After seeing so many childbirths, I don't want children of my own."

Yet, as the sisters created, Albert dismantled. The clink of coin and scratch of quill on paper echoed through his study, each signature severing ties to the empire he'd built. His ledger lay open, its columns a testament to an existence measured in profits and losses. But the numbers held no sway over him now. They were just figures numbers. He'd proven to his father that he could be a successful businessman, and now he was ready to go on with his life as he wanted.

"Albert, are you certain about this?" Charles asked, looking concerned.

"Certainty is a luxury of the naive," Albert replied, not looking up from the document he was signing. "I've seen myself through my father's eyes—a businessman without a cause. A puppet dancing on inherited strings."

"But your businesses—they're your life's work."

"Work that holds no meaning," Albert said. "Let them go. I'm tired of living to please someone else."

No one seemed to understand Albert's need to sell the businesses and live life the way he wanted to live, but he had a feeling Izzy would understand. He couldn't think of anyone's opinion who would matter more to him.

*****

"ALBERT IS SELLING ALLhis businesses." Izzy told her sisters as they sewed with Lillian in her cradle.

"Will he be all right?" Ana asked.

"I think so," Izzy responded, her thoughts straying to the baby she carried. "Or perhaps we are all just pieces on a board, moved by hands we cannot see." She shook her head. "Sometimes I feel like I'm a character in a novel, and the writer spends all his time thinking about ways to torment me."

Rosie laughed. "You know that can't be true. Or he'd be controlling all of us, and everything we think and do."

"He is a crazy man, isn't he?" Ana asked, laughing with Rosie.

Izzy just continued to stitch a gown for the baby. But she wasn't as certain as her sisters that her theories were wrong.

*****

THE CANVAS STRETCHEDacross the wooden frame, as blank and barren as Albert's future seemed to him. Izzy watched her husband from the doorway of their parlor, now repurposed into an impromptu studio with a makeshift easel standing at the center.

"Albert," she began, her voice steady but soft, carrying the weight of her concern. "You've let your talents go dormant, buried under ledgers and deeds that strangle your soul."

He did not turn to face her, his gaze fixed on the emptiness before him. A sigh shuddered through his frame, betraying the turmoil within.

"Businesses...they are just things," she continued, stepping forward. "But painting, it's who you are. It's your breath, your blood. Your mother made a point of asking me to encourage your art while she was here. She hates that you gave it up to please your father."

His chuckle was a hollow sound, more bitter than amused. "What is a legacy to a man who feels he has lost his grip on the world?"

"Your art could be your rebellion—your declaration of freedom," Izzy insisted, closing the space between them. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing the coarse fabric of the unused canvas. "Create something beautiful, something from inside you. Don't worry if anyone will ever see it or love it. It's for you, not for them!"

Albert turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers. He thought back to the time when the sun coming up had been something he'd wanted to paint. Now it was simply something that told him it was time to get out of bed and start his day. He needed to get back to the man who wanted to paint.

"Perhaps," he murmured. He was glad she was encouraging him and not upset that he was changing his entire life.

Time passed—the days stretching into weeks—and the parlor began to fill with the scent of oil paints and turpentine. Albert's hands, once idle except for the signing away of his empire, moved with purpose across the canvas. Strokes of color bled life into the fibers, each hue a testament to a passion rekindled.

Izzy found herself watching less and participating more, handing him brushes, and mixing colors. Each day, Albert spent more time before his easel, the businessman fading as the artist took form.

As the paintings multiplied, leaning against the walls of the parlor-turned-studio so did a sense of peace that neither had known before. In the quiet moments, they found they genuinely liked each other and the people they were becoming.

"Thank you," he said one evening.

"For what?" Izzy asked, although she knew.

"For seeing me," Albert replied.

Every day as they grew closer, Izzy thought about telling him of the child she carried, but she still didn't know how he felt about her, and she needed to know that he cared for Izzy and not just the mother of his unborn child.

*****

IZZY HESITATED AT THEthreshold of the parlor, her fingers lightly brushing against the frame of a painting that caught the soft, morning light. It depicted a lone tree atop a knoll against the tempestuous sky above it. For some reason it spoke to Izzy in a way that few other paintings did.

"Albert," she began, her voice carrying a quiet strength that belied the unease churning within her, "might I give this one to Rosie?"

He paused his back to her, a silent figure amidst the chaos of paints and paint-smeared rags. Finally, he turned, his eyes tracing the lines of the painting as if seeing it for the first time. "Yes," he consented.

"Thank you." Izzy's gratitude was genuine but heavy with the weight of unspoken fears for her sister.

Later, as Izzy held the wrapped canvas in her arms, she found Rosie sitting alone on the porch of the house she shared with Charles. The boards creaked underfoot, announcing Izzy's presence before words could.

"Rosie," Izzy said softly, extending the package toward her sister.

Rosie looked up, her smile a practiced curve that didn't quite reach her eyes. She accepted the gift, fingers trembling as they tore through the paper to reveal the image beneath. For a moment, there was only stillness, the kind that comes before the storm.

Then, as if the dam of her composure had been breached by the sight of the solitary tree standing strong against the darkening heavens, Rosie's smile faltered, gave way to tears that streaked down her cheeks like rain on window glass.

"Isabelle..." Her voice cracked, and she clutched the painting to her chest as though it were a lifeline. "It's...it's like he saw right into my soul."

Izzy reached out, her hand resting on Rosie's shoulder with a gentle firmness. "You're not alone in this, Rosie," she murmured.

*****

THE AUTUMN AIR HELDa chill as Izzy made her way to Ana's house. Rosie walked beside her. They moved with purpose, their breaths visible in the cold.

Once inside Ana's warm, modest home, they found little Lillian Mercer, swaddled and nestled in a handmade cradle that creaked gently with the rhythm of her slumbering breaths. Izzy's fingers grazed the infant's cheek, marveling at the innocence of the baby.

"I hope she grows up with more freedom than we had," Izzy whispered, more to herself than to Rosie, as they set about their tasks—warming milk, stitching tiny clothes for the unexpected baby.

"She will. Ana will see to it," Rosie replied.

They worked in tandem, caring for Lillian until Ana's return at noon. They would spend the afternoon together caring for the baby, and then Izzy and Rosie would return to their homes.

Later that evening, Izzy felt the familiar prick of unease as Albert's question cut through the quiet.

"Isabelle, why are you never here when I return?" Albert's voice was tinged with confusion and a hint of frustration, his gaze searching hers for an answer.

"Ana needs help with Lillian," Izzy said finally. "Rosie and I...we share the burden."

Albert's brows furrowed. He was used to managing everyone and everything in his life. And his wife has been helping her sister with a baby, he'd barely known existed? How was that even possible?

"Share the burden," he said. "Is she still helping William in the infirmary every morning? I can't see another reason for her to need someone to mind her child."

"She is. Every morning. He keeps telling her what a wonderful nurse she is." She shrugged. "Rosie and I enjoy our time with the baby. We don't mind helping. But then I'm not home as much, but to be honest, I didn't think you cared."

He froze for a moment. "Why would you think that?"

"You're not the warmest person I've ever known."

Albert frowned. "I hope that doesn't make you doubt your place in my life."

"Of course, it does," she said softly. She didn't know where she found the will to walk away from him, but it came from somewhere deep within. She didn't need him to see how very vulnerable she was.

*****

ALBERT LOOKED THROUGHthe meager supply of brushes the general store had in stock. He would probably have to place a special order because they never had the brushes he needed in stock when he needed them. Thankfully, they had a catalog he could look through and choose his brushes from.

"Albert?"

He turned at the sound of his name, finding the kindly face of Dr. William Mercer peering at him from the end of the aisle.

"William," he greeted. "I trust all is well with you and Ana? And the baby?"

"Yes. It's been hard for us to learn the baby's rhythms, and I'm afraid Ana does more than her share of the work." William replied with a nod. "And congratulations! I know you and Izzy are excited!"

Albert frowned, having no idea what his friend was talking about. "Congratulations? For what may I ask?"

William laughed, shaking his head. "For the baby!"

Albert blinked at the other man for a moment. Izzy was expecting? "Thank you, William," he managed.

Albert walked home mechanically. He was surprised at his wife's silence. Why hadn't Izzy told him? It made no sense to him. They were happy. Why wouldn't she want him to know she was expecting?

The question gnawed at him. Was it fear that silenced her, or doubt?

When he reached his front porch, he sat down abruptly on the porch swing. Inside, he imagined Izzy bustling about her day, her secret nestled deep within her, growing alongside their unborn child. How could she hide this from him? She knew he wanted children!

After what could have been hours or mere seconds, he stood, walking into the house and finding his wife in the kitchen with Martha. "Izzy," he began, "we need to talk."

Her movements ceased, and she turned to face him. In her eyes, he searched for an anchor, a lifeline amidst the turbulent seas he found himself in.

"Of course, Albert," she answered. "What is it?"

Instead of answering immediately, Albert took her hand and pulled her from the kitchen into the parlor.