The older woman simply shook her head, lips pressed into a thin line.
Her father’s breathing was slower than it had been. More labored. With an awful rattle in his chest. What did that mean? She squeezed his hand and clenched her jaw as tight as she could. She had to be strong. But the tears threatened to overwhelm her.
Nurse Krueger stepped out of the shadows in the corner. “Miss ... we’ve called for the doctor, but...”
“Butwhat?You don’t think he’s going to get better? Is thatit?” Why was she taking her emotions out on the one person who had cared for Father?
The nurse stepped closer. “The doctor will be here soon. Let’s not jump to conclusions.” How the woman kept calm in situations like this was beyond Martha’s comprehension. The older woman wrapped Martha in a brief hug.
The touch, the human contact, filled all the cracks and crevices in Martha’s crumbling outer shell. It filled her with a fresh peace.
“Thank you.” She pulled away. “I’m sorry for my outburst.”
“It’s completely understandable.”
Martha scanned the room and saw her mother sitting in a chair in the corner. She stared out the window, a twisted handkerchief in her hands.
Nurse Krueger leaned close to Martha’s ear. “I’m worried about her.”
“Me too.” But what should she do? Should she try to comfort her? Or would Mother shoo her away?
“Hush. Both of you.” Mother snapped out the words. “I don’t need your pity.”
Shuffling sounded at the door and Martha shifted her gaze. Dr. Murton entered with his black bag.
“Miss Jankowski ... Mrs. Jankowski.” He removed his hat and strode over to Father’s bed.
Not a word or acknowledgment from her mother.
Martha stepped back.
So this was how it was going to be. Feeling more alone than she’d ever felt before, Martha watched the doctor change the bandage on her father’s head.
The wound there was much worse than she’d realized. Bile threatened to make its way up her throat. With a hand to her mouth, she forced herself to swallow it down.
Oh, for someone to comfort her. To hold her while she cried.
Tearing her gaze away from Father’s sickbed, she searchedout the chair in the corner, but rather than moving closer to her mother, her feet took her to another large window on the other side of the room.
She’d have to face this by herself.
THURSDAY, MAY16, 1889•DENVER
“You, my dear, will be the queen of all this when you are older. You’ll be able to buy yourself whatever your heart desires.” Papa’s voice sounded so pleased. So happy.
She watched him closely. Glanced around the room at all the chests of jewels and gold coins. The idea of always having whatever she wanted was wonderful.
Then he grabbed her arm and squeezed it tight.
“Ow, Papa, that hurts.” She kicked at his leg and missed.
He dragged her along into the next room. “Your tantrums will do no good against me, my dear.”
With a grunt, she leaned her head over and bit his hand.
“Why, you little—” He sucked in his lips over the last word. His grip tightened.
“Ow!” She stomped her foot. Pitching a fit had always been to her benefit in the past. She’d gotten whatever she wanted.
