“Is it your habit to attend church on Sundays?” William asked casually, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze lingering on her face, searching for glimpses into her upbringing.
Ana paused, the spatula hovering above the pan. The question stirred memories of mornings arrayed in scratchy collars and tight braids, mother’s whispered prayers swallowed by father’s stern decree. “We used to,” she said softly, placing the eggs onto plates. “But not for many years.”
Ana settled into the chair across from William, her fingers tracing the wood grain of the table as she gathered her thoughts. “When I was little,” she began, her voice a mere whisper against the hushed stillness of the room, “we would go to church every Sunday, and Mother would dress us in matching dresses. She loved that we were triplets and wanted us to always look alike.” She glanced up at him, her eyes reflecting a pool of memories. “But that all changed when I turned five.”
William’s furrowed brow betrayed his surprise. He set his fork down gently, a silent invitation for her to continue.
“Father decided it was best if we stayed away from...from everything outside our home,” Ana said, a shadow passing over her features. “We never saw the inside of a schoolhouse. Mother taught us while Father worked. He didn’t want us knowing how to read and write, but Mother said we would be pleased that we could.”
“Isolated,” he murmured.
“Sometimes,” she confessed, “we would find moments of freedom.” A wistful smile curled the edges of her lips. “While father worked the fields, my sisters and I would slip through the creaky back gate and dance beneath the sky, pretending we were part of a world that didn’t know our names.” She shook her head. “Two years ago, we made it into town. We talked to everyone we saw and had a wonderful time. Until Father found us.” She didn’t have to add that being found was not a good thing for any of them.
William watched her, a mingling of admiration and concern etched into the lines of his face. He wanted more details, but he wasn’t sure it would be right to ask. Instead, he’d let her open up about her past in her own time.
“Your cooking,” he said, breaking the silence, “it’s quite remarkable, Ana.”
She offered a small smile, tucking a stray lock of fiery hair behind her ear. His compliment warmed her, an ember of pride glowing within.
“Thank you,” she replied.
He watched her for a moment, then cleared his throat gently. “I usually attend church on Sunday mornings,” William ventured, his gaze steady. “Would you... would you care to join me today?”
“I would like that very much,” Ana answered, her voice barely above a whisper. She liked the idea of going to church again, as she had when she was small.
As she gazed at William, a torrent of memories surged forth. Church had been a place of shared whispers and laughter with Izzy and Rosie. It had been a haven until it wasn’t. Now, the anticipation of seeing her sisters there, amidst the flock of faithful, electrified her spirit.
“Then we shall go after breakfast,” he said, a gentle nod sealing the plan.
Ana turned away, hiding the tremor of excitement that coursed through her. Oh, how she hoped her sisters would be there. It was strange not knowing where they were. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d been unaware of her sisters’ location.
Ana and William walked side by side to the church. The town was small, and William seemed to walk everywhere he went. Surely, he had a buggy for out of town calls though.
The wooden doors of the church loomed ahead, familiar in their imposing stature. It was here they had spoken vows, words that still echoed in her mind like a lingering promise. She glanced at William, his profile etched with the same resolve she found in his voice every time he spoke of healing others.
“Good morning, Dr. Mercer,” called a soft voice as they stepped into the cool sanctuary of the church. Gertrude Hannigan stood near the entrance, the pastor’s young wife, cradling her infant close to her chest. The baby cooed, a sound pure and untouched by the world’s harsh whispers.
“Ana, this is Gertrude Hannigan,” William introduced with a slight tilt of his head. “She’s the pastor’s wife.”
“Mrs. Hannigan,” Ana greeted. Gertrude offered a smile warm enough to ease the tightness in Ana’s chest, the baby’s fingers curling around her mother’s thumb.
“Welcome to our community,” Gertrude said, shifting the baby to one arm. “Let me introduce you to some of the other ladies.”
Ana nodded, following Gertrude’s lead as they weaved through clusters of townspeople. Names and faces blurred together, each introduction adding a bit more confusion to Ana’s mind. The women’s voices were a low hum, punctuated by the occasional high-pitched laugh that seemed almost foreign to Ana’s ears. Being in a crowd like this after so many years of solitude...it was overwhelming.
Izzy and Rosie, her sisters, stood together at the back of the church. Their presence was a beacon, and it was calling her to them. Ana’s heart lurched, her feet moving before her mind could catch up.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, though it was unlikely Gertrude heard her over the chatter. Ana navigated through the sea of Sunday bests, the rustle of petticoats whispering secrets.
Her sisters turned as she approached, their faces lighting up with recognition and a shared joy that no distance or time could diminish. She spread her arms wide, and the three of them embraced. All at once she was home. It was strange that home to her wasn’t a place. It was her sisters.
Ana’s fingers intertwined with those of her sisters. Rosie’s eyes shimmered with the same strength that had always defined her, and Izzy’s gentle smile offered solace in its familiarity.
“Charles Jordan,” Rosie whispered, her voice tinged with a mixture of pride and something more guarded, “He has a kind heart.” The name was etched into Ana’s mind, alongside the image of her sister, now intertwined with another’s fate.
Izzy spoke next, her words soft as the drape of lace over a Sunday dress, “And I am by Albert Thoreau’s side. He’s a good man. And extremely smart. I’m fortunate to be his wife.”
The church bell tolled, a somber reminder that life’s dance continued beyond the sanctuary of sisterhood. Ana released her hold, her touch lingering like the last rays of twilight against the horizon.
