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.”
