Lily Rose stood by the door. “I just returned from the quarry. The work is proceeding nicely.”
Martha waved her into the room. “Thank you for going out there, I know it’s not your favorite thing to do without me.” Her glance went back to her father. “He looks peaceful, doesn’t he? I’d hate for him to be in turmoil and pain.”
Her companion looked down at Father, her hands clasped in front of her waist. “I’m sure the powders from the doctor help to keep him from feeling too much. That must be why he’s sleeping so much. To allow his body to heal.”
Nodding, she studied her father’s face. “I hope that’s true. The thought of him suffering makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry.”
Nurse Krueger’s voice washed over her from the corner of the room where she kept vigilant watch. “It’s true, miss. His body is resting so he can heal. His face doesn’t show that he’s in any pain.”
She’d have to be satisfied with that. The nurse understood things far better than she did. “Thank you, Nurse.”
Lily Rose stepped closer. “Martha”—her voice was soft—“I believe your father would want you back out at your dig site. There’s not anything you can do for him here.”
“I know.” Always the voice of reason. If anyone understood her passion for what she did, it was her companion. And her support of late had been a real source of comfort. But ... leaving her father while he was bedridden?
That seemed ... selfish and wrong.
“But you feel guilty for abandoning his side. I see it on your face. Why? It wasn’t your fault he fell down the stairs. Your parents are getting older. We don’t live forever, you know.”
There was a coldness to Lily Rose’s words that shivered down Martha’s spine. The older woman might be right, but it felt so uncaring.
Still, Martha couldn’t deny the warring emotions inside. Wanting to be back out on her dig—so much was at stake. Yet she also felt like she needed to be here. “I feel guilty that I haven’t spoken to him much lately. I’ve been so busy, that ... well...”
“Your father wouldn’t want you wallowing about that, and you know it. You’ve spent more time at his side the past several days than you have in years, but that’s not your fault.” She squeezed Martha’s shoulder. “Your parents have their life, and you have yours. You’re blessed that they have given you the freedom that they have. They love you. You love them. But it’s time to get back out there. You’ve worked two long years out at the quarry. It’s too much to allow it to go by the wayside now and let the other team win.” Lily Rose raised her brows and sent her a challenging look. “I don’t have to remind you about the deadline.”
“No. You don’t.” Selfishly, she wanted to do exactly as her companion suggested. Fatherwouldwant her to be out there and get the exhibit with the Jankowski name on it. But if her father passed and she was out at the quarry, how would she feel? What would Mother say? Would people think she was a bad daughter? “I appreciate your encouragement, I do. But I need some time to think on it.”
Her companion let out a little huff, a sure sign she wasn’t pleased, but she nodded. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t even look up. Kept her eyes on Father.
Last week at church, she’d seen a little girl with her father. They’d held hands as they walked into the great big building and shared sweet laughter and private looks with each other. During the service, the child had climbed up into the man’s lap and laid her head on his shoulder. He hadn’t admonished her that it wasn’t proper. Hadn’t pushed her away. Instead, he’d patted her back and rocked ever so slightly from side to side until she fell asleep.
It had been a wonder to Martha. She’d never seen such a thing in public like that. Oh, she’d read about it in books, but those were stories. This had been real. Right in front of her eyes.
Martha’s mother had shaken her head at the display of affection and even commented on it over Sunday dinner. Apparently, the family was new in town. From Atlanta. And even though they were quite wealthy, it didn’t keep her mother from frowning on their behavior.
All these years, she’d longed for a closer relationship with her parents ... or someone....
Anyone.
She vaguely remembered waiting at the front window for her father when she was little. For an hour or more each day. Most of the time, he never came. Mother or Nurse McGee would drag her from the window and insist she do something else.
On the rare occasion when he did return, she had trouble recognizing him because so much time had passed. The spring she turned six was filled with her favorite memories of Father. He’d taught her to dig. They spent time playing outside and reading stories at bedtime.
Then he’d gone on another dig. Three months later, he returned a completely different man.
His wounded body made him limp, and scars marred his face.
But it was deeper than that. At six years old, she’d had trouble connecting with him again.
The absence of her father for three months was an eternity for a little girl. His face no longer held the charm and appeal of a papa. He’d become distant. Sorrowful. And just a father.
Oh, he was still a handsome man.
And over time when she was little, she’d recognized him for who he was. There were plenty of daguerreotypesaround their home to remind her of what he’d looked like before the scars. But they never spent time together anymore. No more stories. No more surprises. No more digging. Her sessions sitting and waiting beside the window no longer happened.
After a few years, those daguerreotypes were replaced with the one photograph Father had allowed since the accident. Martha had been sixteen, and Mother had insisted on an updated family photograph before she went to Yale. Martha could barely look at the photo, even now.
