“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.
