*****
THE AUTUMN AIR HELDa chill as Izzy made her way to Ana’s house. Rosie walked beside her. They moved with purpose, their breaths visible in the cold.
Once inside Ana’s warm, modest home, they found little Lillian Mercer, swaddled and nestled in a handmade cradle that creaked gently with the rhythm of her slumbering breaths. Izzy’s fingers grazed the infant’s cheek, marveling at the innocence of the baby.
“I hope she grows up with more freedom than we had,” Izzy whispered, more to herself than to Rosie, as they set about their tasks—warming milk, stitching tiny clothes for the unexpected baby.
“She will. Ana will see to it,” Rosie replied.
They worked in tandem, caring for Lillian until Ana’s return at noon. They would spend the afternoon together caring for the baby, and then Izzy and Rosie would return to their homes.
Later that evening, Izzy felt the familiar prick of unease as Albert’s question cut through the quiet.
“Isabelle, why are you never here when I return?” Albert’s voice was tinged with confusion and a hint of frustration, his gaze searching hers for an answer.
“Ana needs help with Lillian,” Izzy said finally. “Rosie and I...we share the burden.”
Albert’s brows furrowed. He was used to managing everyone and everything in his life. And his wife has been helping her sister with a baby, he’d barely known existed? How was that even possible?
“Share the burden,” he said. “Is she still helping William in the infirmary every morning? I can’t see another reason for her to need someone to mind her child.”
“She is. Every morning. He keeps telling her what a wonderful nurse she is.” She shrugged. “Rosie and I enjoy our time with the baby. We don’t mind helping. But then I’m not home as much, but to be honest, I didn’t think you cared.”
He froze for a moment. “Why would you think that?”
“You’re not the warmest person I’ve ever known.”
Albert frowned. “I hope that doesn’t make you doubt your place in my life.”
“Of course, it does,” she said softly. She didn’t know where she found the will to walk away from him, but it came from somewhere deep within. She didn’t need him to see how very vulnerable she was.
*****
ALBERT LOOKED THROUGHthe meager supply of brushes the general store had in stock. He would probably have to place a special order because they never had the brushes he needed in stock when he needed them. Thankfully, they had a catalog he could look through and choose his brushes from.
“Albert?”
He turned at the sound of his name, finding the kindly face of Dr. William Mercer peering at him from the end of the aisle.
“William,” he greeted. “I trust all is well with you and Ana? And the baby?”
“Yes. It’s been hard for us to learn the baby’s rhythms, and I’m afraid Ana does more than her share of the work.” William replied with a nod. “And congratulations! I know you and Izzy are excited!”
Albert frowned, having no idea what his friend was talking about. “Congratulations? For what may I ask?”
William laughed, shaking his head. “For the baby!”
Albert blinked at the other man for a moment. Izzy was expecting? “Thank you, William,” he managed.
Albert walked home mechanically. He was surprised at his wife’s silence. Why hadn’t Izzy told him? It made no sense to him. They were happy. Why wouldn’t she want him to know she was expecting?
The question gnawed at him. Was it fear that silenced her, or doubt?
When he reached his front porch, he sat down abruptly on the porch swing. Inside, he imagined Izzy bustling about her day, her secret nestled deep within her, growing alongside their unborn child. How could she hide this from him? She knew he wanted children!
After what could have been hours or mere seconds, he stood, walking into the house and finding his wife in the kitchen with Martha. “Izzy,” he began, “we need to talk.”
Her movements ceased, and she turned to face him. In her eyes, he searched for an anchor, a lifeline amidst the turbulent seas he found himself in.
“Of course, Albert,” she answered. “What is it?”
Instead of answering immediately, Albert took her hand and pulled her from the kitchen into the parlor.
