Chapter Two
The shrill whistleof the locomotive pierced the mountain air as they stopped in Hope Springs. Anabelle’s pulse raced as she stepped onto the wooden platform, her boots clacking against the planks. The scent of coal smoke and pine lingered, a harsh yet comforting reminder of the new world she was about to embrace. Her sisters stepped off beside her, and she reached out for Izzy’s hand, knowing Izzy and Rosie were already clutching each other.
Her eyes roved over the crowd. Most were unfamiliar, etched with the lines of lives she had yet to know or understand. But then she saw him—a man carrying a little black bag that screamed doctor to her. She felt her heart skip a beat as their eyes met.
He did not smile nor wave. His gaze simply held hers. She felt as if he was giving her an unspoken promise to make the next portion of her life better than the first.
The platform around them thrummed with life, yet at that moment, the clamor receded into a distant murmur. For Ana, this meeting was the first breath above water—a glimmer of something resembling hope amid relentless uncertainty.
Dr. Mercer’s hand reached out to her. As she placed her palm in his, the solid weight of his grasp spoke of strength.
“Dr. Mercer,” Ana began, her voice a soft note against the whispering winds, “these are my sisters, Izzy and Rosie.” She gestured to the two figures standing a respectful distance away. “Each is set to marry here in Hope Springs,” she continued.
Ana stepped forward, her hand still clasped in Dr. Mercer’s. Thoughts of her sisters faded as she left the platform with her future husband. She looked all around her at the small, quiet town. Children were playing in the streets and dust-covered miners strode toward their homes.
They hadn’t walked far when they reached the church. Its wooden doors stood open, inviting the couple inside, where the air was still and silent. Stained glass filtered the sunlight into colors that danced upon the aisle where futures were forged.
“Miss Winslow,” the preacher’s voice was gentle, yet it held the weight of the moment, “are you prepared to enter into this holy union?”
Her heart caught. The question seemed to fill every corner of the church. Glancing toward the doorway, she thought of her sisters, each stepping onto their own paths, away from her side. They had been together every day of their lives, and now, even though they’d be in the same community, they would no longer share a room and always be together.
“Yes,” she whispered, the word a fluttering bird in the vast sky of the church. It was an affirmation of survival, of the need to belong somewhere, with someone, even if it was a stranger whose kindness was the only thing she could yet call familiar.
Dr. Mercer’s thumb brushed her knuckles—a silent vow beyond the words they exchanged. They turned to face each other, his kind eyes searching hers.
“Then by the power vested in me,” the preacher intoned, his voice rising with conviction, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
As the phrase settled over them, Ana felt frightened for a moment. She was bound now to this man, this town, to a life she had yet to discover. There was no time for farewells to her sisters or the life she once knew. She was his now, and he was hers.
They emerged from the church, the door closing behind them with a soft click, sealing the covenant just made. Ana looked up at the Rockies. In the quiet, amongst the fading day, she sensed the stirrings of hope. Hope that he would love her. Hope that he was kind. Hope that he wasn’t anything like her father.
Dr. Mercer led Ana away from the church. There was a row of cottages that seemed to line the street.
“Here we are,” he said, stopping before a house. Ana’s breath caught at the sight, the charm of the home tugging at a place deep within her—a place she hadn’t realized was hollow until now.
As far as she remembered, she’d only been in two homes in her entire life. The one where she grew up as well as Elizabeth Tandy’s mansion. And now, she would step into the home she would share with her husband and raise a family in.
He turned the key in the lock and opened the door wide, his hand sweeping in a gentle arc, inviting her into their life together.
Ana crossed the threshold, her gaze sweeping across the parlor. The furnishings all looked comfortable, and she could see herself sitting in front of the fire. A quilt lay draped over a rocking chair, patches of faded fabric speaking of hands that had once worked the needle with care—hands that were no longer there.
“Welcome home, Anabelle,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied. “Most people call me Ana.”
She turned from the fire. Her fingers trailed along the back of the settee, the fabric worn smooth by time and touch.
“May I?” She gestured to the wooden seat by the hearth, seeking permission in this space that was theirs—but still his.
“Of course,” Dr. Mercer assured her. “Everything here is as much yours as it is mine.”
Settling into the chair, Ana allowed herself a moment to simply be—to listen to the crackle of the fire, to feel the cushion yield beneath her, to know that this, too, was life. Not a life she had envisioned, but one that held great potential.
“I thought we could eat at the restaurant in town this evening,” he said. “I need to stop by the infirmary for a few minutes, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to cook after your long journey, and I don’t cook for people.” He still held his doctor’s bag, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d take it to bed with him.
“You can cook but you don’t cook for people?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Trust me. No one wants to eat anything I’ve made myself. I’ve grown a tolerance for my own cooking over the years.”
