Return to Exile

by Lynne Gentry

  In the shaft of moonlight that sneaked between the buildings, Maggie could see the men better. They had hoods over their heads. Big white eyes shone from their sooty faces. They laughed—deep, growling laughs—and raised their hands.

  Maggie whipped around. The other two men were doing the same thing. She inched her back against Junia’s.

  One of the men moved in. He circled them slowly. His smile was missing more teeth than G-Pa’s cook. “Too young to sell.” His breath smelled like the nasty fish sticks G-Pa cooked on nights Mommy stayed late at the hospital.

  Another man stepped in close. “We could rent them out.” He reached for Junia.

  She slapped at his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

  The man grabbed Maggie’s wrist. He spun her around and pinned her arms to her side. “Or we could just eat you both.”

  “Stranger!” Maggie screamed at the top of her lungs. “Stranger danger!”

  30

  THE NIGHT AIR PRESSED against the urgency driving Lisbeth toward the tenements. The city was quiet except for the distant rumble of supply carts and the buzz of flies circling decomposing corpses. Rancid bran dumped in the streets for the roaming pigs and the tang of garum—the fermented fish sauce favored by the plebs who frequented the taverns and cheaper eating houses—added to the nauseating smells. But the dominating odor: urine.

  Lisbeth tied a cloth across her nose. If they didn’t get the sewage problem cleaned up and fast, typhoid would make the measles plague look like a bad cold.

  “Stay close.” Cyprian led the way.

  He’d insisted on going without a torch to keep from attracting unwanted attention. Lisbeth followed Pontius. Ruth followed her. Barek brought up the rear, his hand on the hilt of a concealed ­dagger.

  Once they passed the market, the broad avenues of the patrician neighborhoods narrowed into the slum district where meeting an oxcart would force a person to squeeze into the nearest doorway until the vehicle passed. Simmering onions, most likely scavenged outside the city walls to flavor watery broths, scented the darkened streets with a bitter hopelessness. Few could afford a carrot for their soup let alone meat, or oil for their lamps. The tenement buildings were black as the hole in the Cave of the Swimmers. Lisbeth wished she’d thought to bring the flashlight tucked in her backpack. If it weren’t for the pale moon, they wouldn’t be able to see their hands in front of their eyes.

  A few men warmed themselves at a small fire ring. When the ruffians noticed the newcomers on their turf, they left the fire and started toward the little search party.

  Lisbeth braced for an attempted mugging.

  Nearby screams echoed off the cramped buildings. “Stranger danger!”

  “That’s Maggie!” Lisbeth sprinted past Cyprian at a dead run. “Maggie! Mommy’s coming! Hang on, baby!”

  Tracking Maggie’s desperate pleas, Lisbeth vaulted over dead bodies. She could tell from the frantic pitch, her little girl was trapped. Lisbeth rounded a corner and skidded to a stop. Four men had Maggie and Junia surrounded.

  “Maggie!” Without taking time to catch her breath, Lisbeth lowered her head and charged.

  Her head smashed into the back of the nearest man and sent him sprawling onto the pavement. She wheeled and went for the bulbous nose of the man restraining Maggie by the shoulders.

  “Let go of my daughter!” She thrashed him with her bare hands. “Let her go!”

  In the middle of the struggle, Cyprian arrived, dagger drawn.

  “Release them!” Cyprian raised the dagger. “Now!”

  The man turned Maggie loose and drew a knife.

  Maggie flew across the alley. “Daddy!”

  Pontius and Barek arrived. Weapons drawn, they charged toward the scum choking Junia. The man saw them coming and shoved Junia toward them and ran. One after another, the other men, even the one with the knife, backed away and disappeared into the shadows.

  Hot anger pumped through Lisbeth’s veins. She didn’t know whether to hug Maggie or chew her out. She opened her arms. “Maggie!” Maggie released her hold on Cyprian’s legs and ran to her. “Are you okay, baby?”

  “She’s not a baby,” Junia said. “She was kicking and biting and screaming like a madwoman.”

  “I remembered ‘stranger danger,’ Mommy.” Maggie smiled, her lip bloody.

  “Yes. Yes, you did.” Lisbeth scooped her up and kissed her cheek again and again, amazed that her daughter was letting her hold her so tightly.

  Ruth arrived, huffing and out of breath. “Junia!” The girl ran to her and began to sob. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

  “Let’s get these spoiled brats out of here”—Barek waved his dagger—“before those plebeian scumbags come back with their friends.”

  “But what about Perpetua?” Maggie pleaded.

  “Who?” Lisbeth asked.

  “Junia’s doll. We came for her, and we’re so close we should get her. Right, Junia?”

  “I guess.” Junia wiped her nose. “I don’t remember for sure where I lived.”

  Lisbeth quickly surveyed the surroundings. Six years ago, she’d spent several terrifying days in this apartment complex tending Junia. She would never forget the tiny room where both of Junia’s parents had died or this very path that had led to the well where she’d fetched water for Junia’s vaporizer. “That’s Junia’s old apartment there. But I don’t want to risk any more trouble. Let’s go.”

  “No, Mommy. Please.”

  “Pontius and I will stand guard,” Cyprian said. “Barek, run and look under the bed.”

  “No. Someone could be living there.”

  “Barek, please,” Ruth said. “We’re here. What could it hurt to knock?”

  “I could die for a doll; that’s what it could hurt!” Ruth’s son wheeled and stormed off.

  Shortly, they heard a soft knock and then the careful creak of a door. A few minutes later Barek shot out of the apartment, a dirty-faced doll clutched in his hand. “Place was deserted, except for the rats.” He crammed the doll into Maggie’s arms. “Here, brat.”

  “Mommy, why did you bring the cranky one?”

  “Let’s go, Maggie.”

  “I’m tired.”

  Lisbeth attempted to lift Maggie to her hip, but with her adrenaline spent, her legs had turned to jelly.

  “I’ve got her.” Cyprian scooped up Maggie and her doll. He ran the back of his finger along Lisbeth’s chin. “You’ve got a cut.”

  It felt good having Cyprian here, helping carry the burden of their daughter. Papa’s help had been a godsend, but for the first time since Maggie was born she didn’t feel so alone. Being a single parent was tough. She wouldn’t wish the demands of it on anyone.

  Lisbeth wiped at the blood. “I’m fine.” She glanced at Ruth, who had watched the brief exchange between her and Cyprian with a strange expression, more of a longing for what she’d lost than what she now had. Lisbeth lowered her chin and stepped back. “Come on, Ruth. I’ll help you get Junia home.”

  She and Ruth did their best to keep up as their party hurried through the narrow streets. As they neared the market the sound of supply carts clattering over the uneven pavers grew louder.

  Somewhere ahead of them, the crack of an oxen whip sounded. The snap of chains and panicked shouts followed. Hooves thundered over the cobblestones. Lisbeth looked up to see a frightened ox. Horns down, he charged straight toward them.

  “Run!” Lisbeth grabbed Ruth’s hand, but Ruth’s attempt to redistribute her bulk slowed her response. “Ruth! Move!”

  The giant animal plowed into Ruth. The velocity ripped her from Lisbeth’s grip. Ruth flew through the air. Lisbeth and Junia slammed into the wall.

  Powerless to stop what happened next, Lisbeth watched Ruth hit the pavement directly in the ox’s path. Hands clamped across her belly, she churned beneath a thousand pounds of thrashing, stumbling animal. A paper doll in a shredder. The ox failed to regain its forward momentum and went down hard, burying Ruth under its t
awny hide.

  Lisbeth snapped to her feet, screaming, “Ruth!”

  “Mother!” Barek ran toward them with his weapon drawn.

  Sharp, cloven hooves sliced the air. In an instant, the animal’s powerful hind legs found footing in Ruth’s middle. Agonizing screams ripped through the alley. The beast hauled his great weight upright, then spun in circles, searching for which way to go.

  “Over here!” Cyprian waved his cloak like a matador.

  Barek ripped his cloak off. “No, over here!”

  The skittish ox bellowed and pawed the pavement. He cut right, then left, raising and lowering his massive horns. Cyprian moved in closer, his cape the only thing between him and the angry animal. He tossed his cloak. Before it could cover the ox’s head, the bull turned on a dime and galloped off in the opposite direction, his head high and his freedom call echoing in the alleyway. The breathless cart driver arrived, screamed at the horror that was Ruth, and then raced after his property.

  Lisbeth and Cyprian ran to the center of the street. Ruth lay like a crumpled bag of old clothes, her body crushed into a spreading pool of blood. Lisbeth’s knees gave out.

  “Help her,” Cyprian begged Lisbeth as he dropped beside Ruth. “I’m here, Ruth.” He dug through the fabric of her bloody cloak and found her hand. “You’re all right.”

  “Mother!” Barek peeled himself off the wall. “Oh, God! There’s so much blood.”

  Lisbeth’s breath came in panicked, gulping sobs. “Ruth!” A search for a carotid pulse produced a faint throb. “She’s alive.” She swept Ruth’s hair away from her face. “Stay with me, Ruth.”

  “Mommy!”

  Lisbeth whirled to see Maggie and Junia standing beside Barek, their faces white, eyes filled with terror. “Get the girls out of here, Barek.” She ripped off her cape. Moving Ruth was irresponsible, but leaving her friend to die in the street was out of the question. She would need surgical help to save Ruth. “Tell Mama to prepare for an incoming C-section.” Lisbeth wadded her cape in preparation for stanching a massive bleeder once she turned Ruth over. “Move it!”

  “Go, Barek.” Cyprian’s raw voice rose above the thrum of fear in Lisbeth’s ears. “Pontius and I will bring your mother home.”

  “Give me your cloak, Cyprian.” Lisbeth checked for broken bones as Cyprian ran and retrieved the heavy cloth from where he’d dropped it in the street. “You take hold at her head. Careful with her neck.”

  Cyprian dropped to his knees at Ruth’s head.

  “I’ll need yours, too, Pontius.” Pontius kneeled at Ruth’s feet.

  Lisbeth spread Pontius’s garment on the stones. She moved in beside Cyprian and placed her hands on either side of Ruth’s head. Neck stabilized, she gave the order, and Cyprian and Pontius gently rolled Ruth onto the makeshift stretcher. Cyprian gasped. Blood quickly saturated the tunic stretched over Ruth’s belly.

  “Lift on three,” Lisbeth ordered.

  Cyprian and Pontius gently moved Ruth’s battered body.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “The baby.”

  “I’m here, Ruth.” Lisbeth tucked Cyprian’s cape around the bulge of Ruth’s stomach.

  Ruth caught Lisbeth’s hand, her grip weak but sure. “Save my baby.”

  “I will, Ruth. I will.” Lisbeth pushed down the fear pounding in her chest and ordered them to move out. “STAT!”

  By the time they arrived at the villa, Barek had worked himself into a lather. He paced the courtyard with a torch. “This way,” he said, and led them into the villa through a back entrance.

  Mama had emptied Lisbeth’s backpack. Combining their supplies, she’d turned the kitchen into a fairly sterile operating theater. Cyprian and Pontius hefted the cape and gently slid Ruth onto the clean, wooden table.

  “Mother!” Barek pushed to Ruth’s side.

  “Get that torch out of my way, boy,” Mama ordered.

  Barek backed into a corner of the room, his face ghostly pale in the flickering light.

  Cyprian’s face had also drained of color. He gathered Ruth’s hand into his and whispered, “Tell me what to do to help you.”

  “Pray.” A tear trickled from Ruth’s eye. “It’s too early for the baby. I’m sorry, I should have listened to you.”

  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” He kissed her hand.

  “Our bodies disappoint us in this life.” Ruth’s breaths were labored and becoming more and more unproductive. “But in the next … we will be glorious. I’m sure of it.”

  “Don’t talk.” He kissed her lips lightly.

  “Mother.” Barek crammed the torch in a wall sconce and surged forward. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m sorry this has all been so hard for you, my son.” She reached for him. “We’ll see each other again.” Ruth grimaced, and a gush of fluid spread between her legs. “Promise me you’ll hold tightly to these people. They love you.” She squeezed his hand. “And tighter to our hope.”

  “I think her water just broke,” Lisbeth whispered to Mama.

  “Cyprian, I’ll need hot water … lots of it.” Mama gently nudged him aside. “Go. Take Barek with you.” The men each kissed Ruth one last time. As soon as they were out of the kitchen, Mama began issuing orders. “Administer the mandrake.”

  “What about a presurgery antibiotic?”

  Mama shook her head. “You only have two rounds left.”

  “Ruth has to have a round.” Lisbeth punched tablets from the Z-Pak. “Swallow these.” After Ruth swallowed the pills, Lisbeth broke off a piece of the fetid bark. “Chew on this, Ruth.”

  Mama cut away Ruth’s tunic. Lisbeth bit back a gasp. A huge gash had opened Ruth’s middle from below the sternum to her belly button. Mama carefully swabbed around the jagged wound with a fresh batch of her homemade antiseptic wash.

  Ruth weakly motioned for Lisbeth to remove the bark protruding from her mouth.

  “What is it, Ruth?”

  “You have been”—Ruth pulled Lisbeth close and spoke through the pain—“and will always be my friend.”

  “Oh, Ruth. I don’t deserve—”

  “Take care of my baby.”

  “I won’t have to. You’re going to be fine.”

  “There are many things you can control, Lisbeth of Dallas. Death is not one of them.” Ruth smiled. “Promise you’ll love my children.”

  “Ruth … I—”

  “Promise.”

  “Of course. I promise.”

  “And that you’ll bury me beside my Caecilianus.” Ruth would not allow the bark slipped between her teeth until Lisbeth nodded her assent.

  “Nobody’s burying anyone today.” Lisbeth placed her hand on Ruth’s shoulder. “Please, Ruth, chew.”

  Ruth closed her eyes and made an effort to move her lips, but the analgesic was slow and ineffective. Her blood loss was already great, and she was hemorrhaging at an increasing rate.

  Mama picked up the scalpel. “We can’t wait any longer.”

  Find a loophole. Think of something. God, perform a miracle. Lisbeth grabbed Ruth’s hand. There was no better course of treatment. “Hang on to me, Ruth.”

  The ox’s horn had ripped open the peritoneal cavity but not the uterine wall. Once Mama was in, Lisbeth gently placed Ruth’s hand on the table and picked up a pair of hooks to hold back the abdominal layers while Mama cut through the thin layers of the muscular sac protecting the baby. Ruth’s torturous screams rattled the dishes stacked on the shelf.

  Mama worked frantically to reach the baby. “The head.”

  Lisbeth swallowed bile rising in the back of her throat. The little skull had a deep, hoof-shaped indentation. Mama dropped her scalpel in a bowl of hot water and reached in and lifted out a tiny boy. Perfect, except for the massive injury to the back of his head.

  Mama listened to his motionless chest with the stethoscope.

  Lisbeth sucked in deep breaths to calm the panic spreading from her stomach. “Breathe, little fellow,” she whispered.


  Mama gave a useless shake of her head and handed the dead infant, no bigger than a small eggplant, off to Lisbeth. “We’ve got to save Ruth.”

  Lisbeth stared at the still body, silently counting tiny fingers and toes. Images of holding Maggie for the first time flashed in her mind. Pink. Alive. Kicking. A magical moment that had forever changed her world.

  Lisbeth gently wrapped the miniature version of Cyprian in a blanket and carefully covered the boy’s face. She placed him in a basket and returned to the operating table.

  Between the shock from blood loss and the mandrake, Ruth was too loopy to ask after her son. Thank God. She did not want to be the one to deny Ruth a reason to live.

  They worked through the night. Mama shouting orders and doing her best to repair damaged organs. Lisbeth digging through their scant supplies as fast as she could and praying.

  It was astounding how much blood a woman could lose in childbirth, especially when things went wrong. And tonight, everything had gone wrong. What would have been a simple, easy delivery in a few weeks had turned into a nightmare.

  Dawn crept through the shutter slats, shedding light on the truth. Despite everything they had tried, life was quickly ebbing from Ruth.

  Mama wiped her brow with the back of her hand, then peeled off her gloves. “We have to let her go.”

  Lisbeth wrapped her fingers around Ruth’s limp hand, wishing she could somehow will her own strength into her friend. She watched Ruth’s chest, counting the expanding gap of seconds between the rise and fall of her respirations. Ruth gasped, went rigid, then slowly released her last breath.

  Grief constricted Lisbeth’s airways and shredded her protest. “No.”

  Mama gently closed Ruth’s eyes and covered her face with a cloth. Drenched in blood and exhausted, she stepped back from the table, dropped her head into her hands, and wept.

  Lisbeth stared at the damage her return had inflicted. The kitchen was a mess of soiled rags and discarded medical instruments. Mama’s strong resolve had dissolved into an emotional wreck. And despite the brightening of the sun, the room had the darkness that comes when pure light is snuffed out.