Chapter Nine
Ana joined Dr. WilliamMercer in the infirmary every morning, before spending the afternoons with her sisters. It felt good to be helping her husband but still being allowed to spend a few hours every day with her sisters. Slowly she was getting used to spending time away from her sisters, though it was much harder than missing their mother. Mother had given them as much time as she could, but her evenings had been with Father. She and her sisters had rarely not been in the same room together.
William moved with ease among the patients in the waiting room. Ana watched him, feeling the weight of responsibility on her shoulders—the same weight he bore with such grace.
Ana listened to the soft groans of the ill. Each morning unfolded like the pages of a well-worn journal, details penned in the careful script of routine.
“Hand me the bandages, please,” William said.
Ana complied, her fingers brushing against his as she passed the linen strips. Their eyes met briefly. In these shared glances, she found affirmation of her growing skills and a kinship born from serving side by side.
They moved from patient to patient, a dance of compassion choreographed by necessity. She applied salves with delicate precision, wrapped wounds with newfound confidence, and offered soothing words that she hoped might ease more than physical pain. William observed her progress, his nods more telling than any spoken praise.
Ana had never had any desire to be a nurse, but she found she was good at it, and she enjoyed it more than she could express. She didn’t know if she simply liked working with her husband or the nursing itself, but either way, she enjoyed the time she spent in the infirmary.
The infirmary buzzed with life. Miners with coughs, children with scrapes earned in youthful exuberance; women worn thin by the rigors of frontier existence—they all came and went, their stories etching themselves into Ana’s soul.
With each passing day, her hands grew surer, her resolve firmer. She learned the language of healing, of caring by watching William, who saw healing as more of an art than a science.
When the clock signaled the end of her morning vigil, Ana would bid farewell to the infirmary and its occupants. She often told stories of her mornings to her sisters in the afternoons, but she was always careful not to give any names or descriptions of people because that felt unethical to her.
*****
THE NEEDLES DANCEDbetween their fingers, threads weaving bonds as tight as the stitches in the linen. Ana, Izzy, and Rosie sat in a circle, surrounded by the soft hum of afternoon light. Their conversations meandered through the complications and joys of married life.
“Albert becomes more distant with each ledger he buries himself in,” Isabelle’s voice was a whisper.
“Charles’s ambitions stretch far beyond the mountains,” Rosabelle added, her tone touched by the shadow of doubt, “sometimes I worry he’ll take me away from here. From the two of you.”
Ana listened to her sisters and offered advice when it was asked for. Though she knew no more of marriage than either of them.
*****
ANA HELD A WOMAN’Shand, calloused from years of toil, as life burst forth in a cry—a cry soon echoed by another. Twin boys, their arrival doubling the joy in the room. Ana watched, her emerald eyes reflecting a kindred fascination. She knew the bond of sharing a womb.
Later, when the new mother rested and the twins lay swaddled side by side, Ana lingered. She traced the delicate features of the newborns. In the quiet of the infirmary, Ana felt the weight of many lives—those lost, those just beginning.
She thought of her Mother, her absence an ever-present pang in Ana’s chest. The pain was a dull blade, but standing there, watching over these new souls, she found solace. It was as if each delivery, each tiny heartbeat, filled the empty spaces left behind.
Dim candlelight flickered across the modest supper table as Ana set down her fork, the metal tines chiming faintly against the porcelain.
“Ana,” William began, “I must commend you. The aptitude you’ve shown in the infirmary—it’s quite remarkable.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, William,” she replied, her words floating like leaves on a still pond. “I appreciate how patient you are with me. I could never learn without your guidance.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But a fine nurse needs more than just instruction. She needs intuition and compassion...You have both.”
Ana felt a flush of pride warming her cheeks. “Thank you for saying so.”
*****
THE NEXT MORNING, ASthe sun cast long shadows over Hope Springs, Izzy wandered into the infirmary, her face pale. Her hand rested on her abdomen, a subtle cradle for her discomfort.
“Ana,” she murmured, her voice lacking its usual vivacity. “My stomach... it’s been turning all morning.”
“Let’s have you lie down,” Ana said. She guided Izzy to a cot.
As Izzy settled with a quiet groan, Ana’s thoughts drifted to the many women she’d seen in these beds. There was a silent kinship among them, a shared vulnerability that transcended the walls of the infirmary.
