Annabelle closed her eyes. They were supposed to be her family’s dearest friends. And once upon a time, before Henry had left with Annabelle’s heart, Annabelle and Polly would sit and giggle and admire some of the miners. What had Polly done with the shawl she’d been knitting for Annabelle’s wedding trip?
It hardly mattered. There was no wedding, no wedding trip. Henry had gone without Annabelle, all because Annabelle had chosen to nurse her ailing family when the sickness hit. The worst part was, Henry hadn’t even said goodbye. Polly had been the one to break the news of Henry’s departure.
How could she face her friend now?
She opened her eyes and looked up at Joseph.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night, so I’m tired. Of course we can stay.”
“What happened to your breakfast?” Gertie pointed at the plate Joseph had cleaned up but hadn’t found a way to dispose of yet.
Annabelle stared at the ground. “I’m sorry. I got distracted, and I was clumsy.”
She was trying so hard not to offend anyone. To not wrap them up in what was obviously her grief alone. But nothing she did was right. This was why she’d stayed away. Why she couldn’t come back. Everything in her hurt, but everyone else had moved on.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Gertie knelt beside her and put a hand on her forehead. “You’ve looked awfully pale since you got here.”
“Nothing a night in my own bed won’t cure.” She gave another half smile, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She would do this. She would make it through the rest of the day in the mining camp, and everything would be just fine.
Her father joined Gertie in front of Annabelle. “She did faint in the middle of Harrison Avenue yesterday. We all thought it was because her corset was too tight, but perhaps she is coming down with something.”
The concern in her father’s face undid her resolve. She couldn’t let him think that his last remaining child was in danger, too. He’d lost so much, and even though she was trying to be brave for his sake, she couldn’t have him thinking she was ill.
“Truly, I’m fine.” She stood, and at the same time, all the tears she’d been trying to hold back came rushing out. “I just want to go home. I don’t want to be here, where everything reminds me of everything I have lost.”
The only good thing about crying like this was that she couldn’t see anyone’s faces to read their expressions. Especially Joseph’s. Why his was the most important, she didn’t know. But as much as she’d like to save face in front of him, the dam had been breached, and she couldn’t stop any of it.
“I miss Susannah. I miss Peter. I miss Mark and John. I miss Mother. And I’m tired of pretending that it’s fine. It’s not fine.”
Nugget wrapped her arms around Annabelle’s legs. “It’s all right, Miss Annabelle. You can cry just like I did when I was missing my mama. It’s all right to miss your mama.”
The little girl’s kind words sent Annabelle to blubbering like a fool. She had said that very thing to Nugget. It’s all right to miss your mama. But she had no idea just how powerful those words were until someone said them to her.
Gertie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her. “Oh, dear heart, I should’ve thought about that. Of course a young lady would miss—”
Annabelle tried to shrug off the embrace. “Please, Gertie, I can’t.”
But Gertie only squeezed her tighter, and the tears kept rolling down Annabelle’s cheeks faster and faster.
“You have to face this, my girl. You lost your mother, yes, but you have a lot of people who love you. You don’t have to lose us, too.”
Gertie’s words throbbed in Annabelle’s ears. Was that what she’d done? In shutting herself off from everything, could she have been making it worse?
Annabelle straightened, and moved out of Gertie’s embrace. This time, the older woman let her go. Annabelle turned and looked at her father, who held out a handkerchief.
“Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go on like that.” She blew her nose, an action that would horrify her mother, but she supposed her mother would be horrified by a lot of things she’d said and done lately.
Her father wrapped his arms around her. “No, don’t be sorry for your tears. I suppose I haven’t been very good at helping you grieve.”
He kissed the top of her head, the way he did when she was little, and held her tight. “Your mother would have known how to talk to you, but I...I don’t know what to say. I miss her more than you can imagine.”
Annabelle looked up. Examined the lines in her father’s face, noting for the first time that they’d deepened in recent months.
“You never told me.”
“I was trying to be strong for you.”
His words mirrored her own. Annabelle blinked away the tears. “And I was trying to be strong for you.”
Her father pulled a letter from his pocket, the familiar script staring out at her. Aunt Celeste.
“Your aunt has been begging me to let you visit. The Simms family offered to escort you, but I...”
A long sigh shook his body. “I haven’t been able to let you go. You’re hurting so much, and I can’t let you leave broken.”
“I’m always going to be broken if I’m here.” She looked around, noting that Joseph had taken the little girls closer to the fire, where they played with their dolls, and Joseph amiably chatted with Gertie and Polly.
She wanted to be able to interact with them. To talk like they did in the old days. But those days were gone, and nothing would ever be the same.
“No,” her father said softly. “You’re always going to be broken if you leave without fixing this.”
But he didn’t understand. It wasn’t hers to fix. Annabelle hadn’t broken
