Out of the Ruins

by Karen Barnett

  Abby peeked under the lid with a grin. “Aunt Mae?”

  “Certainly not me. I can cook, but it never smells like this. Usually a little more like charcoal.”

  “Mama will be pleased. She’s been resting this morning and we haven’t gotten anything ready for the noon meal yet.”

  “Chicken?” Davy dug his chin into Robert’s neck, bouncing on his back.

  “Sure smells like it.” Robert raised Davy higher so he could see into the depths of the hamper.

  “Aunt Mae always makes fried chicken on Saturdays.” Abby replaced the red-checked cloth and closed the lid. “You’ll join us, won’t you Robert? You don’t need to get back right away?”

  He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. Do you think you could share with me, Davy?”

  The boy shimmied down his back, landing on the stone walk with a thud. He grasped Robert’s hand and tugged him toward the door. “So long’s you don’t eat too much.”

  Robert lifted the basket from Abby’s arm. “I promise.” His eyes met hers, a smile dancing between them.

  Prickles danced up and down Abby’s spine as she escorted the doctor into the house, heading directly into the small kitchen. “Papa left for home yesterday. He can only leave the orchard in the hands of neighbors for so long. After a while he gets all twitchy, like the trees are calling him.” Papa’s gone, Mama’s upstairs—what will we talk about?

  Robert placed the hamper on the table. “I imagine you might feel the same.”

  She pictured her strong, reliable trees in their perfect lines—so unlike people and their peculiarities. “I do miss them.” Abby opened the lid, the heady scent engulfing her with its promise of greasy goodness. She closed her fingers around a silver fork, transferring the juicy morsels to a platter. “But, I couldn’t leave Cecelia.” She wiped her fingers on a clean rag, careful to keep her eyes focused on her work, lest her face betray other reasons keeping her here.

  “I’m glad you chose to stay. I appreciate your help in the laboratory.” He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jacket. “If you do much more, we’ll have to put you on the payroll. You’re practically a trained technician.”

  Abby bobbled the tray, nearly sending the chicken diving for the floor.

  Robert stepped to her side. “Here, allow me.”

  She released the heavy platter into his hands with a grateful nod. The basket boasted other goodies—fresh German potato salad, canned peaches, a lemon cake and—of course—molasses cookies. Thankfully, Davy had disappeared upstairs and wasn’t yanking on her apron demanding a taste. She bundled the items into serving dishes and set the table, ignoring Robert’s gaze. If she thought too much about it, she was sure to drop something.

  Footsteps hammering down the back staircase made her start. Davy burst into the kitchen, eyes round. “I can’t wake Mama!”

  “You shouldn’t be . . .” The expression on her brother’s face swept the words from her mind. “What do you mean?” Without waiting for his answer, Abby dropped the bowl of potato salad on the table and hurried up the steps. She wiped her hands on her apron before touching the cool metal doorknob.

  “Mama?” Abby crept into the shadowed room and bent over the huddled shape on the bed, her mother’s shoulder and hip forming rounded lumps under the quilt. Mama’s eyes remained closed.

  “Are you awake?” Abby brushed the backs of her fingers against her mother’s cheek. Heat.

  Mama opened her eyes and blinked slowly, her eyes glassy and feverish. “Barely. I don’t feel myself, though.”

  Abby sank down on the edge of the bed. “How long have you been feeling poorly?”

  Clearing her throat, Mama winced. “Last night. My throat feels like I’ve been swallowing glass.”

  “You’re burning up. Dr. King is downstairs—I’ll have him come take a look at you.”

  Her brows lowered into points over her nose. “No, don’t bother him. It’s just a sore throat.”

  Abby forced a smile and patted her mother’s shoulder. “What fun is having doctors in the family if you can’t pull in a favor once in a while?”

  Pushing higher on the pillow, Mama’s face pinched. “Gerald is family. Dr. King shouldn’t feel responsible for us.”

  “After the number of hours he has spent with Cecelia, I’m sure he’d disagree.”

  Robert ran his fingers along Mrs. Fischer’s neck, the swollen lymph nodes obvious to the touch. He nodded to Abby. “You should try to get the fever down, if you can. Keep her cool as much as possible.” He stood, stepping out of her way.

  Abby took his spot on the edge of the bed, mouth in a pinched frown. “Is it serious?”

  “Probably just a mild infection. But it would be best if she remained in bed for a few days. There’s been some influenza about town lately. You’ll want to be careful.” He watched as Abby dipped the cloth in the basin and wrung it out.

  Mrs. Fischer shifted under the covers. “What about Cecelia?”

  “I’ll take care of her.” Abby spread the cloth on her mother’s forehead.

  Robert leaned against the dresser. “It might be best if you kept your distance as well, Abby. Wait a day or two before visiting. Make sure you’re not coming down with it, too.”

  She sprang from the bed. “I feel perfectly fine.”

  “Just as a precaution. Cecelia couldn’t withstand an infection in her condition.” He took a step backward as the force of Abby’s glare pressed against him. “She will be well looked after, I promise. And I’ll make sure Gerald stops by tomorrow to see how you are all getting on.”

  She set the basin on the floor and gave her mother’s arm a pat. “We’ll let you get some rest, Mama. I’ll be back in a while to check on you.”

  Robert edged back toward the door as Abby rose and stormed in his direction. He followed her out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” she sputtered, making her way down the stairs to the kitchen. “I don’t have an infection and I can’t leave Cecelia alone in the hospital for days on end just to prove it.”

  “You’d rather march in there and get her sick?”

  The lunch remained as they’d left it. Abby flopped down into a chair and took a sip from a glass of water. “Of course not.” She scowled down at the food.

  Robert sat beside her, her pouting lips tugging at his heart. “She’ll get plenty of attention. I’ll come by and keep her company whenever I get a free minute.”

  Abby leaned back against the chair with a groan. “It’s maddening.”

  “I know.” Robert studied the waiting meal. The aromas of the food had mellowed with cooling, but still tempted his stomach. He gestured to a crumb-speckled gap on the tablecloth. “Am I mistaken, or is a dish missing?”

  Glancing around the bright kitchen, Abby frowned. “Davy? Where are you?”

  The chair opposite Robert edged backward, the legs squeaking as they slid across the tile floor. A small face appeared over the top edge of the table, round cheeks dotted with brown spots. “Here I am.” The fragrance of molasses drifted through the air.

  Robert chuckled, glancing at Abby. “I thought you were the only one in your family with freckles.”

  Abby stood, glowering. “I am.”

  Davy swiped a hand across his face, brushing away the evidence.

  A gray tabby cat wound through a white picket fence, stopping to roll in the sunshine at Robert’s feet. Robert’s neck ached as Davy, perched on his shoulders, leaned forward to watch, his weight pressing against Robert’s head.

  Abby crouched down to stroke the purring feline, her fingers riffling through the striped fur on its belly. It pawed at the edge of her navy blue skirt, as if drawing her close enough to scratch its ears. Abby features softened. “Aren’t you sweet?”

  Robert’s heart lightened, as if the words were for him. Suggesting a walk had been the ideal diversion to take Abby’s thoughts off of her mother’s illness. They hadn’t traveled far, but already th
e fresh air had brought new life to her step. As soon as she rose, he guided her down a side street filled with elegant homes fronted by lush gardens.

  Abby had already pointed out a dozen varieties of trees and flowers, her lilting voice putting names to flowering vines Robert had long appreciated, but never bothered to identify. Her enthusiasm brought a smile to his lips and gave him the energy to walk on, even as Davy’s heels kept kicking him in the chest.

  “You know every flower, don’t you?” He watched her touch a blooming honeysuckle adorning a garden gate.

  She laughed, the sound matching the birdsong in the trees. “Not all of them. But they’re sort of like old friends. This city is all brick and automobiles, horses and noise.” She sighed, with a gentle shake of her head. “I don’t belong here.” Abby ran her hand along the fence, reaching out to touch a blossom dangling from a trailing rose bush. “But when I see these familiar faces, it’s like a bit of home has followed me.”

  Robert admired how the rosy blush on her cheeks matched the flower in her hand. Before he could stop himself, his hand lifted to touch her face.

  Her eyes rounded and she turned her cheek ever-so-slightly into his hand.

  His breath caught in his chest. What am I doing? “I’m sorry. You had a little—a little bug or something, there.” He caught Davy’s boot in his hand before it could clunk down against his chest for the sixteenth time.

  Abby blinked, brushing a hand across her cheek. “A bug?” Her face flushed. “Did you get it?” Her head tilted to the right, her skin catching the warm glow of the afternoon sun.

  Temptation swelled in his gut, his fingers itching to caress her cheekbone, just under those amazing brown eyes. He swallowed, keeping his hands safely locked on the boy’s ankles. “Yes. It’s gone.”

  She nodded, a faint smile touching her lips. “Thank you, Dr. King. You’re a good friend.”

  As Abby took a last sniff of the trailing blooms, Robert turned away, focusing his eyes on the brown cobbles at his feet.

  “I should walk you home. Gerald will be wondering what’s happened to me.” Even with his eyes averted, Abby’s beauty played havoc with his resolve. He took a deep breath to clear his head, but the fragrance of the roses wrenched his thoughts back to the woman by his side.

  Friends.

  Thursday, September 28, 1905

  Robert leaned against the tall wooden desk, the long corridor silent except for the quiet footfalls of the night nurse on her dawn rounds. He struggled to focus his weary eyes in the dim light, but the numbers continued swimming about the paper. A lump formed in his throat. “These can’t be right.” He pushed a hand against his forehead, trying to will away the exhaustion threatening to consume him.

  The past four days had been a flurry of activity. Though he had promised to spend every free moment at Cecelia’s bedside, he’d still managed to sneak away to spend time with Abby as she nursed her mother at home. And together with rounds, research, patients, and tinkering with the equipment—it left little time for sleep.

  Late last night, while bent over the dismantled X-ray machine, he’d finally admitted he’d been lying. Both to himself and to Gerald. Touching Abby’s face the other day had confirmed his worst fear. A spark of electricity had coursed through his hand and his heart—as if a static charge had been building inside him for weeks. The touch freed the charge and shocked him into awareness.

  Unless he’d completely misdiagnosed the situation, she was fond of him as well. She smiled more often at him nowadays, her eyes sparking with bottled-up electricity. Every time they spoke, she shared a little more of her soul, like a bud uncurling into full bloom.

  The question now was, should he tell his best friend?

  The image faded as Robert glared at the paper, willing the figures to change before his eyes. He dug his fingers against his neck muscles, tense from leaning over the X-ray machine, rewiring, testing, and rewiring again.

  And now, looking at the test results—it might be all for naught.

  A young orderly hurried past, flashing him a bright smile. Robert crushed the paper in his fist and turned to the duty nurse waiting at the desk. “Run them again.”

  Her lips thinned to a scratch, wrinkles forming around her mouth. “I ran them twice, Dr. King.”

  Steam boiled up from the furnace in his stomach. “I don’t care if you did it ten times. Run them again.” He flattened the paper against the desk and stormed toward the office. He hadn’t worked all night to learn Cecelia wouldn’t be fit for treatment today.

  And from the look of those numbers—maybe not ever.

  12

  Saturday, September 30, 1905

  The fog-drenched air hardly stirred and yet the withered oak leaves shivered under Abby’s touch. She glanced toward the tree’s roots, imprisoned under a geometric pattern of cobblestones. “You poor thing. I know how you feel.”

  Abby gave the tree a final pat before she strode up the hospital steps. She retrieved a handkerchief, prepared to cover her nose against the familiar odor of ammonia. If she hurried, she would have time to visit Cecelia before her morning treatment.

  Six days without seeing her sister had seemed like an eternity, even with Robert coming to call each day. As much as Abby detested San Francisco, she’d begun to dread the day when her family would leave. Thoughts of Robert consumed her mind—the zeal in his eyes when he spoke about his work, the way he carried Davy high upon his shoulders, the touch of his hand on her cheek. She shook herself. Stop being such a fool. Every ounce of common sense had dissolved the day she met this man. She hadn’t come to San Francisco in search of romance.

  But it was a dizzying, delightful feeling.

  She’d never had many friends beyond Cecelia—much less romantic interests. Romance involved talking. And yet, sharing with Robert had grown easier with time. He never laughed at her choice of words or belittled her for having strong opinions. He was strong and reliable, like one of her trees. Would this relationship also bear fruit? The idea tickled her insides.

  Abby stifled a yawn as she crossed the gleaming tile floor. She’d stayed up late reading the final chapters of a novel she had purchased from a bookstore on Market Street, the story of a stolen dog returning to its wolf roots in the wilds of Alaska and the Yukon. After she’d finally closed her eyes, she dreamt of running free through a forested wilderness.

  A group of nurses stood clustered around the door to the ward like a flock of pigeons. Something is wrong. Abby’s pace slowed, the hall stretching endlessly before her.

  Gerald exited the room, sending the nurses fluttering back to their duties. He walked toward her, eyes fixed on the clipboard in his hand. When he glanced up and saw Abby, he paused—his brows drawing low, matching the downward turn of his mouth.

  “What’s going on? What’s the matter?” Abby’s breath vanished from her lungs, a strangled vacuum growing in her chest.

  Gerald placed a hand on Abby’s shoulder, steering her in the direction of his office. “Cecelia has taken a turn for the worse. She’s running a fever and her white blood cell count is rising.”

  She pulled him to a stop. “What does it mean?”

  Gerald exhaled. “It means the cancer is fighting back.”

  “And the X-rays?”

  “We’re making adjustments.” He shook his head. “Maybe you can lift her spirits. I think you might be the medicine she needs right now. Robert and I will compare notes and decide how to address this new development.”

  Abby nodded and hurried down the hall to her sister’s room, nearly colliding with Robert as he walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

  He grasped an elbow to steady her, his face a grim reflection of Gerald’s. “Abby, it’s good to see you.” The lines around his eyes lessened as he smiled in greeting. “Let’s see if you can work your sisterly magic on our patient.”

  “I’ll do my best.” She glanced past him, imagining her sister on the other side of the door.

  “And maybe we
can take another walk this afternoon? I’d like to speak with you in private.”

  The tension in her chest eased, her arm tingling in his grip. “I’d enjoy an outing.”

  After a gentle squeeze to her arm, he hurried down the hall.

  Abby pushed through the door, the air in the ward smelling stale and lifeless. The pallor of her sister’s skin triggered an ache within Abby’s stomach. She dug for courage. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

  Cecelia closed her eyes and rolled to her side. “Why must everyone ask me that?”

  Abby placed her hands on her hips. “Six days since I last saw you and this is how you greet me?” She walked around the bed and pulled up a chair. “Are you hurting?”

  Cecelia’s lip trembled for a moment before she pressed them tight together. “I’m tired. I don’t want to read today.”

  “It’s too bad because I was going to let you choose between continuing the sappy Sweetheart, Will You Be True or digging into this incredible book I found titled Call of the Wild.” Abby leaned forward, tucking the blanket around Cecelia’s shoulder. “True love or wild dogs—as if I had to guess which one you’d prefer.”

  Without opening her eyes, Cecelia shifted under the covers and grimaced. “Neither.”

  Abby leaned back against the chair. She’d only missed six days. What had happened?

  Even as Cecelia cleared her throat, her voice rasped. “How’s Mama?”

  “Much better, though her throat is still bothering her. She wishes she could come.”

  “Better if she doesn’t.”

  Abby slid to the edge of her chair and laid her palms on the bed. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so poorly. But Robert and Gerald will sort it out. They’ll just dial up the X-rays a little more.”

  Cecelia buried her head deeper into the pillow. “They’ve tried. It’s not helping like it did before.” She opened her eyes, pinning her sister with a steady stare. “It isn’t going to work, Abby.”

  Abby sucked in a quick breath. The whites of her sister’s eyes were veiled in a yellowish cast. Abby’s mind reeled, searching for something to steady her flailing emotions. “But Robert—”