Out of the Ruins

by Karen Barnett

  Robert shuffled across the intersection, his gait stiff as if he favored one foot.

  She hurried after him. “Robert, wait!” A flush spread across her cheeks. Ladies didn’t call out in public. It wouldn’t do to look too eager. Abby checked her pace and straightened her posture.

  As he turned, a smile broke across her face. Her feet skipped forward, despite her best intentions. “I’m glad to see you!” She slowed at the sight of his somber expression, chiding herself for her exuberance. Stop acting like a child.

  “Abby—I was just thinking about you.” His brows scrunched downward and his eyes closed for a brief moment. “I mean, I was thinking of our lunch . . .” He scraped his shoe along the curb. “I was just over at the Square, and . . .” He blew out a breath between his lips and shook his head.

  His expression reminded her of Davy when he’d been caught eating jam with his fingers. She glanced at the spreading green lawns, a large white mansion perched at the apex of the hill. “It must have a lovely view.”

  He chuckled, the lines on his face slackening. “It’s no Golden Gate, I’ll admit. But when you’ve been trapped in the basement all night, it’s like a corner of Eden.”

  “You’ve been here all night?” No wonder he looked so rumpled. Her stomach squeezed. “Is there a problem with Cecelia?”

  He glanced toward the hospital. “I assume it’s where you are heading?”

  She nodded.

  “May I escort you?” He offered his arm.

  Her gloved hand trembled as she placed it in the crook of his elbow. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He patted her fingers, sending the quiver streaking up to her shoulder. “Your cousin asked me to make some adjustments to the X-ray machine. It took a little longer than expected.”

  She managed a full breath—Cecelia hadn’t taken a turn for the worse. “I enjoyed our lunch.” Abby ventured, determined to attempt some of her sister’s boldness.

  Darkness passed across his face, like a cloud covering the sun.

  Abby’s stomach sank. Why did I say that?

  He cleared his throat, picking up the pace toward the hospital. “Yes, yes. So did I, of course.”

  Abby swept her gaze forward, blinking several times to clear the sudden stinging sensation in her eyes. I am a fool. He doesn’t feel the same way. I imagined the whole thing. She bit the inside of her cheek, loosening her grip on his arm. “But it really shouldn’t happen again. I need to focus on my sister’s health.”

  “Quite right. I thought the same myself.”

  Her heart sank lower, her emotions circling like water draining from a basin.

  Robert reached a hand into his pocket and withdrew a watch. “But you shouldn’t spend every moment by her bedside.”

  “You’re a fine one to speak—didn’t you just mention you stayed here all night?” Raw, her words tumbled past her tongue before she could evaluate them.

  “It’s why I went for a walk. It’s always a good idea to step out for fresh air.”

  A delivery truck rattled past, kicking up swirls of choking dust in its wake. “I’m not sure there is fresh air anywhere in this city. Outside of Golden Gate Park, anyway.”

  He frowned. “There are some nice areas around the hospital for walking. You just have to know which direction to travel. There are some unpleasant neighborhoods I wouldn’t recommend.”

  Abby shrugged. “I can take care of myself.”

  Pausing at the corner, Robert froze her with a long look. “Nonsense. I won’t have you out walking in dangerous areas.”

  She placed a hand on her hip. “You were the one suggesting I walk.”

  “Not unattended.”

  Shaking her head, Abby clamped her lips shut. No use wasting time conversing with this man who acted like a suitor one moment, a protective brother the next.

  “Let me know when you want to walk. I’ll escort you. I should get out more often than I do.” A strained expression crossed his face. “In fact, I’d be honored to show you around.”

  Abby paused, turning her back to the hospital entrance and searching Robert’s face. He changes tracks faster than a streetcar. Is this how it works with all men? I don’t know how Cecelia stands it.

  Someone collided with her from behind, sending Abby careening forward into Robert’s chest. She grabbed his arms to steady herself as a flush of heat climbed her neck.

  Robert placed his hands on her shoulders, but his gaze fixed on someone behind her.

  Abby pivoted on her heel, spotting a young Chinese woman sprawled on the stone steps. The woman’s chest heaved as tears dotted her cheeks, her white blouse and matching loose trousers flecked with blood. Abby reached out to help the woman to her feet, sticky blood on her hands. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, no.” The woman panted, swinging her head to the side, a long skinny braid flipping over one shoulder. She pointed down the street with a trembling hand. “Miss Cameron need help. But the nurse, she said no Chinese allowed.”

  Robert took Abby’s elbow and guided her back a step. “I’m sorry, but the Chinese are supposed to go to the Dispensary in Chinatown, or to City and County Hospital on Potrero.”

  The woman grabbed his sleeve. “Need help now. Yoke Hay ran in front of the cable car. She’s bleeding.” She lifted her bloodstained hand as evidence. “Miss Cameron is coming.” She gestured down the street to where a tall, elegant woman hurried toward them, a young child cradled in her arms.

  Robert pried his sleeve from the young woman’s fingers. “Two blocks that way,” he pointed. “California Street. The cable line will take you all the way to Chinatown.”

  “Robert,” Abby gasped. “How could you?”

  He turned, lines furrowing his brow. “I’m sorry, but it’s hospital policy.”

  Gripping the injured child to her chest, the older woman’s cheeks shone pink from running. “Kum Yong, did you find help?”

  The Chinese woman frowned at Robert and Abby, glancing back at the closed hospital doors. “No one will help, Lo Mo. No Chinese allowed.”

  Abby stared at the sobbing child. The little girl, younger than Davy, howled as she pressed a hand to the side of her head, blood streaming down her tiny arm. “Robert, you can’t leave them out on the street.”

  The second woman straightened, hoisting the girl higher in her arms. “This is ridiculous.” Her feathered hat bobbed in indignation, her Scottish brogue tickling Abby’s ears. “Out of my way, I’ll have a word with the hospital administrator.”

  Robert sighed. “I’m a physician. Can I be of service?”

  Her expression softened. “You are? Will you help my daughter?”

  He stepped close to peer at the child, but the girl buried her face in the lady’s shoulder, the sage-green jacket now stained with blood.

  “Yoke Hay, hold still and let the doctor examine you.” The woman frowned.

  Robert glanced up at the imposing brick building. “Come with me. We’ll sneak in the side entrance. I think we can get all the way to my office without anyone seeing us.”

  A blaze of heat surged through Abby’s throat. “They shouldn’t have to sneak anywhere. This is outrageous.”

  “It’s the only way.” Robert guided them around the building and into a dim delivery entrance.

  The young woman fell in step beside Abby. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Abby studied her round face. She’d seen very few Chinese in her small community, though she’d read many newspaper stories about them. “My name is Abby.”

  The dark eyes brightened. “I am Kum Yong.” She nodded to the woman cradling the crying child. “That is Miss Donaldina Cameron. She runs the Mission house.”

  Abby gripped the handrail of the steep stairway leading to Robert and Gerald’s second floor office. “And the little one?” She hesitated.

  “Yoke Hay. She’s only five. I should have been holding her hand. It’s my fault. She dropped her paper and it blew into the street. She went after it before I coul
d catch her.”

  Robert checked the second-floor hallway before guiding the women out of the stairwell. “We’d best hurry before we attract attention.” Robert gestured to his office door, motioning for Miss Cameron to enter.

  The women piled into his office and he shut the door behind them. Rolling up his sleeves, he reached into a cabinet and withdrew a handful of bandages.

  The young girl cringed, clinging to Miss Cameron’s arms in silence, her eyes massive above her wet cheeks. Kum Yong crouched in front of the pair, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She chattered to the girl in Chinese, the foreign words dropping from her tongue like notes of music. The girl turned to Kum Yong, bobbing her head in response.

  Miss Cameron pulled her close, murmuring a few more Chinese words into her ear as she braced Yoke Hay’s small head against her chest.

  Abby pondered the odd group. An unmarried woman with a Chinese daughter?

  Robert leaned down and examined the girl’s wound. He ran his fingers across her head and gazed into her dark eyes. “It doesn’t look serious. Just a superficial abrasion.”

  “Thank You, Lord.” Miss Cameron sighed, holding Yoke Hay still while Robert worked. “It could have been much worse.”

  “So much blood.” Kum Yong grimaced.

  Robert lifted the girl’s bobbed black hair away from the cut as he cleaned the area and bandaged the wound. “Head injuries often bleed profusely.”

  Abby filled a washbasin and helped Kum Yong rinse the blood from her hands.

  A rapping on the door caught Abby’s attention and everyone froze. The door swung open and a redheaded nurse stared into the room, mouth agape. “Dr. King? What is going on here?”

  Abby stepped in front of Kum Yong as Miss Cameron turned her body to shield Yoke Hay from view.

  Robert cleared his throat, rolling down his shirtsleeves and attaching his cuffs. “Can I help you, Nurse Maguire?”

  The woman frowned, the white cap pulling forward on her curls as her brow scrunched. “Your patient, Miss Fischer, wants to speak with you. I told her I would check to see if you were in.” She craned her neck, twisting to see behind Abby.

  “I’m finishing up, here.” Robert lifted his coat from the back of the chair. “Abby, why don’t you go with Nurse Maguire? Tell Cecelia I’ll be along directly.” He shot Abby a meaningful glance.

  Abby straightened. “Yes, of course.” She stepped in front of the wide-eyed nurse, blocking the doorway. “Please, lead the way.”

  The nurse stepped back from the door and sauntered down the hall. “He’s not supposed to be treating patients in his office. It is why we have examination rooms. Every patient needs to be checked in.”

  Abby smiled. “I’ll make sure to remind him.”

  The white-aproned nurse deposited her at Cecelia’s door with a sniff, flouncing away down the hall to the main desk.

  The odd situation vanished from Abby’s thoughts the moment she spotted Cecelia sitting upright in the bed, lowering her feet over the sides. “What are you doing?”

  “Going to the chapel to pray.”

  A wash of conflicting emotions swept over Abby. “Let me get the nurse. We’ll get the wheelchair and take you down there.”

  “I want to walk.”

  Abby’s throat clenched. “Why not pray here? What’s the sudden urge to go to the chapel?”

  Cecelia’s eyes filled with tears. “I need to get out of this room. Can’t you understand?”

  Reaching out a hand to grasp her sister’s arm, Abby nodded. “Of course. If you feel up to it.”

  “I’m going.”

  Abby reached for her sister’s dressing gown. “I’ll get Robert. He can help.”

  Cecelia pushed her arms through the sleeves of her gown and tied the ribbon around her neck, her complexion fading as she sat perched on the edge of the bed.

  “Don’t move,” Abby ordered.

  Her sister shot her a withering look, but remained seated.

  Robert leaned on the desk, deep in conversation with the beautiful red-haired nurse.

  Abby rushed to his side, ignoring the pointed glare from Nurse Maguire. “Dr. King, we need you.”

  His head jerked up and he followed Abby back to the ward, arriving in time to see Cecelia tottering to her feet, clutching at the bedrail for support.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Robert grasped her arm, steadying her on her feet.

  “Prayer. Chapel.” The words wheezed from her chest.

  “No. Absolutely not.” He lowered her to the edge of the bed.

  She stared up at him with round blue eyes, lines forming on her glistening brow. “My choice.” Cecelia pulled the gown tight around her waist.

  Robert frowned. “It’s too far. I’ll get the chair.”

  Cecelia pushed up to her feet a second time, beckoning to Abby with a hand. “I’m walking.”

  Gripping Cecelia’s arm, Abby blanched at the sensation of her fingers pressing against her sister’s bones through the thin sleeves of her dressing gown.

  Robert’s face darkened, but he crossed to her opposite side and slid his arm around Cecelia’s back. “Take it slow and easy. Short steps.”

  Abby placed her other arm behind Cecelia for additional support. The brush of Robert’s sleeve against her own sent an uncomfortable prickle across her skin.

  Cecelia slid a foot forward, a sheen gracing the contour of her brow, her golden braid dangling over one shoulder. Breaths came in short puffs through her parted lips as she dug her fingers into Abby’s arm.

  The odd-looking group hobbled down the hall about a hundred yards, pausing every five feet, before Robert shook his head and leaned Cecelia back toward his body. Sweeping her up in his arms, he ignored her protests. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. But at this rate, you’ll be too weary to pray when you get there.”

  Abby stepped aside, her relief like a fresh breeze from the bay. She watched as Cecelia laid her head against Robert’s shoulder, placing her hand against his chest. Abby couldn’t resist touching Robert’s elbow in appreciation.

  He winked at her over Cecelia’s head. “Next stop, prayer chapel.”

  Robert balanced her featherweight body against his shoulder as Abby pushed open the door to the dimly lit room. He sidled up the center aisle and lowered Cecelia into the front pew. Crouching on his heels, Robert took Cecelia’s hands. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

  Cecelia’s chin trembled. “Are you a praying man, Robert?”

  He glanced behind her to where Abby stood fidgeting in the aisle, her gaze darting to the door. Returning his attention to his patient, he nodded. “Sometimes—not as much as I should, perhaps—but I do. Don’t go telling everyone. I’m supposed to be a man of science.”

  A smile blossomed on Cecelia’s face. She reached out and touched his shoulder, like a queen bestowing knighthood. “Glad to hear it.” Her breathing had eased upon arrival as if the chapel provided much-needed energy. “Abby doesn’t pray very much, I’m afraid.” She rolled her eyes back toward her sister. “But, when she does, God listens.” She smiled at Robert, dropping her hand to her lap. “After all, He sent us you, didn’t He?”

  Robert glanced between the two sisters, a hot flush climbing his neck. “Yes, well . . .”

  Abby sat beside her sister. “I don’t know why you had to come all the way to the chapel. You’ve never been concerned about the locations of your prayers before.”

  Cecelia sighed. “It’s not the location. It’s the bed.”

  Robert pushed to his feet. “Maybe I should step out and let you two talk.”

  “Take Abby with you.”

  “What?” Abby’s eyes rounded.

  Cecelia turned to her sister. “Abby, I need to have a little chat with God. Just us.”

  Abby stood, hands on hips. “Just so you’re praying to get better.” She marched down the aisle to the exit.

  Robert watched her leave, an ache growing in his chest. “You owe it to her to
keep fighting, you know.”

  Cecelia’s gaze drew back to the cross hanging over the altar. “My future is safe in the Lord’s hands. It’s my sister and my family who need our prayers. I’d appreciate it if you prayed for them.”

  A tremor cut through him. “I will. But my focus is finding a cure.”

  The light trickling through the stained glass dotted her hair with color. “Oh, Robert.” She sighed, the corners of her mouth turning downward. “I pray someday God will show you your true purpose.”

  11

  Saturday, September 23, 1905

  Robert eased the automobile under the shade of the maple tree in the Fischer’s backyard, cutting the power to the engine and relaxing as the sputtering motor lapsed into silence. Dapples of sunlight drifted through the red and orange leaves, casting a golden glow over the afternoon. The sound of childish laughter rang out as Davy Fischer scampered down the wooden stairs and out into the sunshine.

  Abby stood in the doorway, a graceful hand cupped over her brow as she watched the boy play. After a moment, she closed the door and settled down on the top step, a book clasped in her hands.

  Robert took a deep breath, the peaceful scene chasing away his anxious thoughts. Reaching over the seat, he retrieved a basket from the floorboard. Gerald’s mother had entreated him to deliver the supplies and one did not dare refuse Mrs. Larkspur—not if you hoped for a sliver of peach pie at dinner.

  He lifted the basket, the aroma of fried chicken wafting through the woven strips of rattan. Inhaling the heavenly fragrance, Robert’s stomach gurgled in response. He hooked the wooden handles over his arm and walked down the path from the alley into the yard, raising his hand in greeting.

  Davy paused in midstride, changed directions, and raced toward him at top speed.

  Robert laughed, setting the food behind him before hoisting the boy into the air.

  Closing her book, Abby stood, eyes bright with smiles. “Dr. King—we weren’t expecting you.”

  Robert boosted Davy to his back. “First names, now—you promised.” He steadied the boy with one hand and reached down for the basket. “Besides, I come bearing gifts.”