“My sweet girl, even when the Lord feels the farthest away, He is as close as the breath in your lungs. Remember what we read last week? In the book of John?”
Martha nodded, the soft fabric of Phoebe’s dress soothing her cheek. “God loved the world so much He sent Jesus to die for us.”
“And?”
“And if I seek Him and believe in Him, He will give me eternal life.”
“That’s right. Never forget, no matter what comes your way in life, Jesus loves you so very much.” Phoebe pressed a kiss to Martha’s head. “And I do too.”
Martha soaked in the warmth of the words. The last of her tears slipped down her cheeks but she swiped them away. When Phoebe talked about God, it always made sense, like He was in the room with them. But ...
Did God hear her like He heard Phoebe? She just wasn’t sure.
“It’s time for bed.” Phoebe squeezed her once more then let go and stood. “Wash your face and get in bed. I’ll set the window seat to rights.”
Martha nodded and made her way to the washstand in the opposite corner of her room. She poured a bit of water in the basin and cupped her hands in the tiny pool. The water was lukewarm and soothed her puffy eyes. She plucked the towel from the hook on her wall and patted her face dry. Her limbs felt heavy as she climbed in bed and pulled the coverlet up to her chin. Snuggling into her pillow, she watched Phoebe move from lamp to lamp, dousing the flames until the lamps by the bedroom door and Martha’s bed were the only lights flickering.
Her governess smoothed the damp tendrils of hair away from Martha’s brow and smiled. “Will you be able to sleep tonight?”
She nodded, her eyelids already heavy. “Thank you for listening.”
“Anytime.” Phoebe turned the lamp down low and settled in the chair next to Martha’s bed. She always stayed until Martha was deep in sleep. Sometimes Phoebe was in the same chair when Martha awoke the following morning.
No longer able to keep her eyes open, she listened to the soft rustle of pages.
Phoebe began to read. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?”
The words wrapped around her with a peace she didn’t know was possible, and she succumbed to sleep.
1878•DENVER
Martha rubbed the small coin in between her fingers as she paced her room. Where was Phoebe? She should be here bynow. Martha needed to prepare for breakfast and appear at the table promptly, or there would be words from Mother.
Martha sighed. Mother’s words had grown much harsher of late. Because she was supposed to understand how to be a lady by now.
She glanced at the clock again. It was not like Phoebe to be even a minute late. How could she be fifteen whole minutes delayed?
With a huff, Martha yanked her bedroom door open. She scurried down the long hallway, past the grand staircase that led down to the main hall. Turning left, she headed toward the attic stairs and pulled the door open. Martha took them two at a time. “Phoebe? Are you up here? Mother is going to be furious that I’m late this morning. What excuse should we gi—”
The word stuck in her throat as she entered Phoebe’s small room.
Empty drawers hung open. All of Phoebe’s little touches, the doily on the nightstand and the miniature of her and her mother, were gone. Martha’s gaze darted around and focused in on Phoebe. The older woman stood at her bedside, folding a dress into her small suitcase. Tears slid down her face.
Martha ran to her, almost knocking the two of them to the floor with the force of her hug. “What is this, Phoebe? Where are you going? Why are you packing? Why is everything empty?”
Her governess pulled her arms out from Martha’s stranglehold and gave her a short hug. “I have to leave, dear one.”
Blood rushed from Martha’s cheeks. Panic prickled the back of her neck. This couldn’t be happening. “What?No.You can’t leave.” A sob choked her throat. “Why are you leaving me?”
“My mother is sick.” Phoebe’s voice cracked. “She needs me to care for her. I received the letter just this morning. She wrote to hasten my return home.” Gently, she pried Martha’s arms from her waist with a soft squeeze. “I am sorry you foundout this way. I planned to come see you once my packing was finished.”
Everything inside her went numb. It was like the woman’s voice was wrapped in cotton, so distant and fuzzy. “Your mother is sick? Is she dying?”
Phoebe winced at the boldness of the question.
Martha covered her mouth for a moment. “I’m so sorry. That was not polite for me to ask.”
A deep sigh eased out of Phoebe, her face ashen. She turned and placed her hands on Martha’s shoulders. “It was not polite, that is true. But I know it was from your heart. Your care for me and my family is evident. That means a great deal to me.” She paused and clamped her lips together. They trembled. “I do not know if my mother is dying. Just that she is very ill. And I am quite worried about her.” A noise from the stairs made Phoebe jump.
