Martha pulled her face out of the pillow, a hiccup rattlingher ribs. “Did you see Father? What happened to him? Why does he look like that?”
Nurse sighed and patted her hand. “Those bone digs your father has done can be dangerous. All kinds of things can happen. Rockslides, floods, bandits.” She pressed her lips together and looked at Martha with a sad smile. “But you know it doesn’t matter what a person looks like on the outside. It’s the inside that counts. Besides, he gave you this pretty coin. Right? He was thinking of you while he was away.”
“It is a pretty coin.” Martha sniffed, plucking it out of Nurse’s hand. The ridges pressed into her palm as she traced the designs again. Father’s lucky coin. How lucky could it be if his face had so many scars and he now walked with a stick and a limp? Her fingers closed over it, pressing it deeper into her skin. Maybe it was lucky because it kept him alive. And he’d given it to her.
Her stomach rumbled, and Nurse laughed. “There you go, Miss Martha. No more tears. Dry your eyes and let’s have tea. There’s a good girl.” She patted the little girl’s shoulder.
Martha walked to the table, the tantalizing smell of raspberry too hard to resist. Nurse McGee was right. Father had given her a lovely present. His own lucky coin. She would keep it close, always.
Everything was going to be fine.
1877•DENVER, COLORADO
The sky was as dark as the strip of black velvet Mother sometimes wore around her neck. The stars twinkled against the darkness like the marcasite in rocks. Martha sighed, her cheek resting against her hand. It was almost bedtime, and Phoebe would be in soon to read with her and put her to bed. She loved her governess and their evening routine.
However, she missed her father.
He was the one who began the tradition of reading to her, but it had been years since he’d come to read her a story. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the rumble of his deep voice against her shoulder as he readAlice’s Adventures in Wonderland. His silly high-pitched voice for the White Rabbit and the perfect snobbish and abrasive voice for the Queen of Hearts were vivid memories. Happy memories and silly tales.
There had been no made-up voices since his accident. The scars had not only taken away his smile, but his zest for life. Gone was the man who’d taught her about digging for fossils. The man who gave her small tools that fit her small hands. The man who loved to tell her stories.
But she didn’t need a bedtime story anymore. She would be twelve next year. Mother said she was a young lady. Young ladies didn’t read stories.
Martha agreed a little bit. She didn’t like the little rhyming tales for children. However, reading was still one of her favorite things to do. And novels were her favorite. Thankfully, Phoebe loved to read almost as much as she did. They were halfway throughLittle Women, and Martha was eager to see where life would take Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.
Her bedroom door creaked open, and Phoebe’s head popped around the corner. Her brown eyes creased at the corners with her smile. “What are you doing, dear? You should be in your nightgown.”
Martha got up from the window seat and looked down at the wrinkles in her green dinner dress. It was a good thing Mother had already gone to her room. Martha would get another reprimand for being so disheveled. “I was just looking at the stars. They’re very clear tonight.”
Her governess crossed the room and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I love looking at the stars too. Maybe, once we’re ready for bed, we can have one more look.” She wiggled her eyebrows, and Martha let out a giggle.
“Yes, please!”
Fifteen minutes later, Martha was snuggled on the cushions of her window seat. Phoebe was opposite her, the large black Bible she always read from at bedtime on her lap.
“The stars do look spectacular tonight. They remind me of a verse from the book of Psalms. ‘He telleth the number of the stars; he calleth them all by their names.’” Phoebe glanced at her. “Isn’t that fascinating to think about? God knows the name of every star.”
Thatwasfascinating. Martha traced a pattern on the windowpane, and sudden tears burned her eyes. She sniffed and glanced at her favorite person in all the world.
The older woman held a lace handkerchief out to her, eyebrows dipped low over her eyes. “What is it, sweet one?” Phoebe’s voice was soft and low.
“I don’t know!” The words burst out of her. “I miss my father. He doesn’t come say good night to me anymore. Mother is so busy with her society friends that I never get to see her.” She wiped at her eyes and blew her nose into the scrap of cloth. It smelled like lavender, Phoebe’s favorite.
Phoebe shifted across the window seat to sit next to her and took her hand. “It’s okay to miss your parents. They are very busy, but I’m sure they love you very much.”
“Everything has changed so much since he came back all ...” She choked back the words even as the tears fell. With another sniff, she looked down at her nightgown. Soft pink flowers dotted the light cotton garment. It had ruffles down the front, just like one she’d seen Mother wear. It was her favorite. “I’m sorry for crying, Phoebe. I know it’s not ladylike.”
Her governess squeezed her hand then let go. “Tears are nothing to apologize for, dear. Sometimes, when it’s just you and the Lord, tears are a precious gift.”
Martha chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. “God doesn’t think crying is for babies?”
“Of course He doesn’t! Now, does this mean that we weep and scream and make a scene all the time? Certainly not. But—” Phoebe stood and picked up her Bible. She settled back in her chair and opened it, flipping the thin pages until she found her place. “Here is what God’s Word says. Psalm fifty-six. ‘Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?’ God sees your tears, Martha. And He hears your cries.”
Martha leaned back into the window seat and frowned. “I don’t cry that much.”
Phoebe chuckled. “That is true. But anytime you do cry, you can go to Jesus. Tell Him what hurts your heart. Share your fears. Ask Him to help you in your life. He is listening, and He wants you to know Him.”
“Sometimes He feels as far away as my parents,” she whispered, her chin trembling again. Her governess wrapped loving arms around her and squeezed her tight.
