Fear undulated off Phoebe like the ripples after a stone was plunked in water. What was going on?
“Please, I don’t have time to chat right now.” Phoebe’s gaze shot to the door, her voice firm and louder than before. “Let me pack, and I will come see you in a minute.” She turned back to her bag and started pressing folded dresses into it.
Martha took a step back. Was Phoebe ...dismissing her?
She trudged her way back downstairs to her room, tears clouding her vision. She threw herself on the bed and sobbed into the pillow. What was she to do? How could the one person Martha trusted and needed leave her? It wasn’t fair. Couldn’t Phoebe see that she was needed here? With her?
Even as the thoughts swirled, her face grew hot.
She was being selfish. She was not caring for Phoebe as Phoebe had cared for her. What had she called that rule? The Golden Rule? Martha sniffed and pressed her hands to her eyes. “Whatsoever ye would that men do to you, do ye even so to them.” She sat up and hugged the soggy pillow to herchest. It wasn’t fair, but Martha could see that her attitude was wrong. Despite her broken heart, she needed to support her only friend.
Her bedroom door creaked open. Martha glanced up then stood quick as she could. She placed the pillow in its proper place and tried to wipe all the tears from her eyes and face. “Hello, Mother.”
Victoria Jankowski glided into the room with silent footsteps, her skirts barely making a sound as they brushed the plush carpet. Even after years of practice Martha hadn’t mastered the same feat. It was as if even walking was to showcase her mother’s elegance and wealth.
Mother frowned, studying Martha’s ensemble. “You are still in your nightgown.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I am, Mother. Phoebe was late and then I found her packing. She’s leaving to see her sick mother and—”
“Yes, yes. I know. Are you unable to dress yourself?” Mother arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps it is good that woman is leaving, since your dependence upon her keeps you from even the simplest of tasks.”
Martha’s cheeks heated. She lowered her gaze to the carpet. “I am sorry. The news of Phoebe’s departure upset my morning. I will dress and meet you for breakfast.”
Two fingers slid under Martha’s chin and tipped it upward. Martha knew better than to meet Mother’s eyes, so she kept her gaze down.
“I had hoped that after breakfast, you would be suitable for morning calls. It is time to teach you the running of the household. But I cannot have you greeting guests with puffy eyes and a sad countenance.” Mother dropped her hand and sighed. “You will not make a scene this morning. You will say your good-byes. After your governess leaves, you will report to me in the front drawing room. Instead of morning calls, we will review the setting for a proper tea service.”
Martha kept her eyes focused on the cabbage roses swirling in her carpet as Mother moved toward the door.
“Do try not to disappoint me further this morning.” Mother’s words were smooth and soft, but the warning was clear.
With a click, the door closed.
Martha’s knees buckled, and she plopped down on the bed. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she balled her fists and pressed them against her face until the temptation to weep passed. Bearing the brunt of Mother’s constant disapproval was awful. Surely it would be easier if Mother would just strike her. Of course, Mother would never hurt her that way.
Besides, maybe Mother didn’t know how deep her words cut at times. She was always so focused on two things: ensuring with Father that the Jankowski family business kept running and making Martha the perfect socialite. Because above all else, the family namemust be upheld.
Martha stood and went over to her wardrobe, selecting a pretty, pale blue dress suitable for tea service. She slipped the dress on, its soft waves swirling around her legs. Soon she would be wearing full-length gowns. Maybe Phoebe could—Martha shook her head. It was so natural for her thoughts and heart to turn to her governess.
Her friend.
What would she do now without Phoebe? Her friend always followed Mother’s orders to teach and raise Martha with all the society accomplishments, but she did so with warmth and care. And she encouraged Martha as she tried to learn everything from the proper dinner setting to playing the pianoforte and harp. Indeed, Martha’s talent at the pianoforte had blossomed under her governess’s tutelage. It was the one area where Mother complimented her.
Now Phoebe was leaving.
Martha would be all alone.
Her bedroom door opened. She tensed, anticipating Motheragain. Instead, Phoebe bustled through the door, looking smart in a dark gray traveling dress and matching hat. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she approached Martha.
“I am so sorry for the sudden nature of my departure,” Phoebe whispered, and Martha threw her arms around the woman’s waist.
“I need to apologize.” Martha sniffed. “I was so rude to you earlier. Please accept my heartfelt wishes for your mother’s speedy recovery.” Martha forced herself to give a slight smile to the woman who had meant so much to her. Even Mother would not fault that bit of social grace.
“Thank you, but I would much rather have your prayers.” Phoebe squeezed her again then stepped back. She cupped Martha’s tear-stained cheek in her gloved hand. “Do not forget all our chats, Martha. I know the situation with your parents is difficult, but the Lord is with you. You can call on Him. He loves you.”
Her words were like salt in the wounds of Martha’s heart. How she wished she had the same peace that encompassed her friend! “I will try not to forget. And I will pray for your mother. When do you think you will be back?” The question escaped on a whisper.
Phoebe dropped her hand, her frown deepening. “I will not be returning.”
