January 27th 1863
After repeating her prayers last night, Nannie Belle said “Mama does God make the angels stop singing and playing on their harps to listen to me?”
Her aunt Eliza told her the other day that we were all made of dust. She wanted to know this morning if God kept shapes of children and babies to put the dust in and make them.
She is the most singularly nervous child I ever saw. A band of music is a perfect terror to her. She shrinks from going out and is afraid to go to sleep for fear of dreaming bad dreams. God bless my precious child and make her strong and well soon. I see more and more plainly every day by how slender a thread her life hangs.