Prologue

Highgate, Virginia, 1881

Evelyn drew her coat around her, the cold wind making every part of her body that was uncovered – hands, ears, the back of her neck – sting with its icy touch. She breathed out her breath a plume before her. It was winter in Highgate, and sleety rain drove into her face, the wind relentless as it blew through the small town.

“I need to get home,” Evelyn murmured to herself as it began to rain, the sharp droplets hitting her cold skin like needles.

She bit her lip, bracing herself as she marched through the rain toward her home. She lived a short distance from the church and the seamstress’ shop where she used to work. In Highgate, everything was a short distance from everything else. Or, at least, it had been, until the construction of the railway station, though Evelyn never went to the new part of town – there were only fancy stores and an inn there, and she had no need for such things. She shook her head at the thought of such extravagances.

All the money she had went toward caring for her sick mother.

The house where she had grown up, and where she still lived, was on her left. It was a small structure, just four whitewashed walls and a tiled roof that was slick with rain. A white wooden fence surrounded it, the paint worn and peeling now. A small path led up to the front door, which was set above three sturdy stone steps. As she neared it, she felt her body start to grow weary. The cold sapped her strength. She was so tired – she’d woken early to care for her mother, who had a particularly bad coughing spell that morning. Now, she went slowly to the door, the few steps taking all her strength.

She opened it and stumbled across the front step into the house. The sudden warmth made her cheeks flush and her ears and fingers start to tingle, then burn. She breathed in, smelling the comforting scent of firewood and tea, and under it the lingering smell of sickness.

“Frances?” Evelyn said in a soft voice.

“Evelyn!” A woman’s bright, welcoming voice called out in reply. “Wonderful! You’re back. Your mother’s feeling much better. I just made her some tea.” She paused, looking at Evelyn with compassion. Her tone softened. “Come and sit down. You look like you could use some tea too, and something to eat. There’s some bread, too – I baked it fresh this morning!” Frances said, the words coming out in their usual chatty tumble as she bustled around the kitchen. Frances Brookton was their neighbor and a godsend. She regularly helped Evelyn care for her mother.

“Thank you,” Evelyn said, feeling relieved. She had been worried about food, though her pride meant she would never admit it to anyone. There was not much money left in their savings – just enough for a few weeks of food. Anything they could be given was a blessing.

“Now,” Frances said kindly. “Don’t you move. Stay sitting for a while. You look worn out, my dear. And your cheeks are so flushed. It must be so cold out there.”

“It is bitterly cold out there,” Evelyn agreed. It was a wet, cloying cold and she hated it. Her mother always fared badly in such terrible weather. The physician – the last time they could pay for one – had advised them to move somewhere dryer, thinking that it would ease her mother’s breathing. But how could they when they could barely afford to eat?

“I’ll leave you in peace and head home,” Frances said, moving towards the front door to fetch her cloak. “But remember, I’m just next door if you need me.”

“Thank you, Frances,” she said softly. Her fingers tightened where they rested in her lap, a strange mix of gratitude and indebtedness filling her. “But you are already helping so much by sitting with Mama.”

“Oh, Evelyn, it’s my pleasure. I would feel terrible if you couldn’t go to Church. I know what solace it is for you.” Frances said, with a wave of her hand.

“It is,” Evelyn said. It was more than solace – it was her world. Going into the church, being in the pew, and hearing the pastor speak of God’s Word uplifted her soul and made it possible to go on. She’d been living with her mother’s sickness for five years since she was fourteen, and the words of God were all that bolstered her sometimes.

“Well, then,” Frances said, settling the matter. She had a soft oval face and brown hair, covered by her bonnet which she tied tightly under her chin. “I’ll be off. And remember – the Church is there to help you, and not just in matters of your faith.”

Evelyn stiffened. “I know, Frances,” she said gently. Their neighbor had tried to convince Evelyn many times to go to the pastor and ask for financial assistance, but she could not bring herself to do it – she felt that there were too many homeless and destitute people in the community, many suffering far worse than them who needed it more.

Evelyn smiled at Frances, sensing that the woman was more than a little concerned for her. “Thank you, Frances, truly. And thank you for the bread. I appreciate it so much.”

“You’re a dear, Evelyn, take care,” Frances said kindly.

“I will. Thank you,” Evelyn said again.

She watched as her neighbor went out into the cold morning. She sat alone for a moment at the table, her hands and feet still burning with pain from the cold. She felt so tired.

She shut her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. Her mother needed her. She stood and went to her mother’s bedroom. The space was small and sparse, the only furniture was a bed with a thick coverlet on it, a plain wooden chair, a bedside table, and the fireplace. Evelyn was grateful that they had a fireplace there, and – for the moment at least – enough wood to warm the room.

“Mama?” she said, hurrying to the bedside. “how are you feeling?”

Her mother smiled up at her. She had the same long oval face that Evelyn herself had, and, in many respects, they looked alike – the same long pale hair, the same almond shape of their eyes. Unlike Evelyn’s blue eyes, her mother’s eyes were hazel. And their mouths were different – Evelyn had her father’s wide grin, while her mother’s mouth was more of a rosebud shape.

“I’m much better,” her mother said gently. “Truly, I am. The tea Frances made helped.”

“Good, Mama,” Evelyn replied. She sat down by her mother’s bedside and took her hand. She winced, feeling how fragile it was. The illness took all her mother’s strength. She was worn and strained, the lines around her mouth much deeper than they ought to have been at her age. She was still young – just forty-five. But she looked much older, her hair white rather than the honey-blonde of Evelyn’s, which it had been when she was younger.

Evelyn didn’t want to ask her mother if she’d managed to eat yet. Her mother was in pain, and sometimes trying to swallow hurt her. And if it made her cough, it was terrible. The coughing sapped all the life from her and left her exhausted.

“Was it a good sermon?”

Evelyn nodded. “Yes, Mama, it was, Pastor Ridley talked about God’s Plan for us all.” She swallowed hard. The pastor had also talked about Christ’s birth, and how He was born as mankind’s savior – it was three months until Christmas, but she didn’t want to think of that.

Every year, she thought about the possibility of losing her mother at Christmastime, and how terrible it would be. The thought of not having her mother there to celebrate it with her was just too painful to consider.

She held her mother’s hand and heard her breathing change, dropping into the shallow rhythm of sleep. Her mother tired so easily nowadays – it terrified Evelyn. She seemed to be struggling so hard to live. It felt as though every day, a little more of her mother slipped over into the realm of the angels, a little less of her soul remaining in this world.

Please, don’t take her yet.

She knew it was foolish, in some ways, to pray when God had His plan for each person. If it was God’s plan that her mother passed, she could not ask Him to change it. But she wanted so badly for her mother to linger here, just a little while longer. Just another month or two. Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask for…?

She swallowed hard. She tiptoed out of the room so as to not wake her mother and went back into the kitchen. There was a stash of money in the drawer, and she opened it, counting the coins. There were so few. She reckoned they had enough for two weeks’ groceries, maybe a little more.

“I don’t know what to do.” She could hear the desperation in her own voice.

She breathed out raggedly. Just that morning, she had quit her job at the seamstress’ shop. She could no longer keep working because her mother needed full-time care now. How were they going to survive? She had no other way of making money. She drew another breath, seeking calm.

I just need to pray.

She could already sense the tightness leaving her throat, calm descending.

She shut her eyes, finding the quiet place in her heart where she knew, with complete conviction, the Lord would hear her words.

A verse came to her mind. Therefore, I tell you, whatever you have asked in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it shall be yours.

It was from the Book of Mark. It was one of her favorite verses. She knew, without doubt, that whatever she prayed for, God would find the answers she sought. He could do anything.

“Lord,” she said aloud, keeping her voice soft so that her mother could not be disturbed by it from the bedroom. “Please. Find a way for me to earn money. And please, keep Mama well. I thank you for all that you have granted me.”

She felt the peace of those words settle in her heart. She knew that God would hear her. He would find a way forward for her and her mother.

Chapter One

Highgate, Virginia, December 1881

Evelyn stood to hurry to church, absently smoothing down her skirt – she felt anxious, both about being late and about the weather. It had stopped raining, but it had started to snow. She could hear Frances in the bedroom, talking to her mother, and she knew that, for the next hour or two, her mother was safe. That was good, and made her feel less anxious, since Mama had been up late at night coughing, and she’d fallen asleep only in the early hours of the morning. Evelyn drew on her cloak, wishing that it was a little better suited to the harsh weather, and hurried outdoors.

The freezing air hit her as though it was a physical thing. Her fingers ached and her feet, in the worn-out leather boots she wore, were aching too from the cold that seeped into them from the snow-laden street. It was not far from the church, but every step was painful. She breathed in again, feeling her spirits lift as she got closer.

The town looked festive.

Candles burned in most of the windows, and garlands of pine and other green leaves were hung up to decorate the houses. The air smelled of spices like nutmeg and cinnamon, and Evelyn could imagine the Christmas baking happening in many of the houses. She felt her stomach twist painfully with hunger. She had eaten a sandwich for dinner the previous evening, and the same for lunch. There was almost nothing to eat in the house except for the bread she could bake, and she needed to buy more flour.

It was going to be a harsh Christmas in their household.

Eventually, she reached the church, her heart swelling as she approached its sanctuary, the wide open doors welcoming her like a familiar friend.

Evelyn went inside, enjoying the sudden warmth of the space on her cheeks. The relief of being inside the church’s calm and peaceful walls swamped her for a minute. She stood in the doorway for a second, basking in it, and then went towards the pews.

The congregation was not large – their pastor often joked that they had a fair-weather congregation, and it did seem so because most of the townsfolk were absent. Evelyn recognized all six of the people who had, so far, arrived.

She slipped in beside Mrs. Pritchard, who owned the small haberdasher’s shop, and who she knew well. The older woman’s face lit up, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes crinkling with a smile when she saw Evelyn.

“Why, good morning!” Mrs. Pritchard greeted her. “I haven’t seen you in the shop for a long time.”

“No,” Evelyn agreed, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “I haven’t been in for a while.”

She chatted quietly with Mrs. Pritchard while they waited for the rest of the congregation to arrive and the sermon to begin, but her mind was not really on talking. She thought about the desperate need she had for some sort of money to buy food. They’d starve if she didn’t come up with a solution soon.

“Ah! There’s the pastor,” her friend said, making Evelyn turn to look toward the front of the church.

She leaned back on the pew, relaxing a bit. She always looked forward to the sermons. Pastor Ridley – younger, at forty-five, than their previous pastor, sleek-faced and comfortable – was a profoundly good man. He helped the community’s poor a great deal, and, even more importantly to Evelyn, he always had wise advice and kind words for all who needed them. She admired his faith and the way he interpreted scripture. She looked over to see his wife, Sue, near the front of the church. She was handing out the songbooks.

Evelyn took one when the small pile reached her. She knew almost all the hymns by heart, and she always enjoyed them. She looked over to the front, where Pastor Ridley was beginning the service.

“With little over a month before Christmas, I think it would be appropriate today to consider the gift that the Lord gave us in the form of the life and teachings of His Son, Jesus Christ.”

Evelyn inclined her head in agreement. She appreciated the sentiment – she wanted to focus on all the good that God had given to mankind, and not think about her own problems. Just for a little while.

She listened to the sermon with interest and bowed her head with the prayers.

God, she said inwardly, adding her own prayer as the pastor spoke. Please show me a way to help get Mama and myself out of this difficulty.

She felt, again, that same deep conviction that, without doubt, God would provide.

She looked up as the pastor said Amen, and all the congregation stood to sing the hymn. She stood with them, her rich, low voice blending with the sound of the others in song.

“That was a fine sermon,” Mrs. Pritchard said to her as they stood at the end of the service. “Makes one think, doesn’t it, about the true meaning of Christmas.”

“Indeed, it does.”

As Evelyn walked to the doors of the church, she found herself wondering about Christmas – what it meant, and what it had come to mean to her. She realized how she had been seeing it as a marker in time – another year without her father; another year of precious time with Mama.

It is so much more than that.

She looked around the church, which was decorated with boughs of evergreen leaves, woven with red ribbon, and heard the laughter and lighthearted chatter of the congregation around her as they made their way toward the doors. Christmas was a time to celebrate – a time to remember how blessed one was and to enjoy the gifts God has provided.

She walked up to the doors, wrapping her cloak around her and preparing herself for another trip out into the cold. As she did so, she noticed the pastor’s wife standing there. The older woman smiled at her, brown eyes bright in her heart-shaped face, hair a mass of brown curls in the candlelight.

“Evelyn,” she greeted her warmly. “It’s good to see you. Here…please, take this small gift.” She passed her a package, wrapped in newspaper.

“Thank you,” Evelyn said, feeling her heart soar. It had been a long time since anyone had given her a gift. “Truly, I appreciate it.”

“I know, Evelyn,” the pastor’s wife said gently. “It’s always so nice to see you here in Church. Take our good wishes to your mama.”

“I will,” Evelyn agreed.

She thanked the pastor’s wife again and went out into the snow.

It was too cold in the street to stop – she had to keep walking if she was going to stay even a little warm. It was only when she got back into her kitchen, her fingers aching from the cold because she had no gloves, that she stopped to examine the contents of the newspaper-wrapped package the pastor’s wife had given her.

Chestnuts.

She felt her heart lift. A feeling of joy filled her, mixed with sadness. They had always roasted chestnuts at Christmastime when her father was alive. She could recall the sweet, nutty taste, the sensation of the warm nuts in her mouth, and the laughter.

I miss you, Papa.

An image of her father’s face filled her mind – he had a bony, angular face and wise brown eyes, his hair receding a little, and merry wrinkles from years of smiling lining the skin of his face. She swallowed hard. Her father had insisted that she should live well. He had told her to strive for a better life for herself. He had made her promise to look after herself and not to focus only on helping her mother, letting her life slip away while she did so.

Evelyn felt her heart ache. She loved her mother and looking after her was an honor, and yet she knew that her father was not entirely wrong when he said that God had put her on this earth for another purpose. She should not lose herself entirely in the role of nurse.

But how am I to keep that promise?

She had no idea.