Gathering the kitchen things, Abby prepared a meager breakfast. She found three plates and filled them with bits of bread, hard-boiled eggs, and cheese. She pulled a box up next to Mama’s chair and balanced a plate on it, setting her own and Davy’s on the grass.
“Come on, Davy. We’ll have a breakfast picnic.”
He dashed over and flopped down next to the food. “Do we say grace?” Davy glanced up at Mama from under the brim of his straw hat.
Abby’s skin crawled at the blank stare in her mother’s eyes. She didn’t even acknowledge Davy’s question.
“Grace, Mama? Grace?” He pushed up to his knees and leaned against her chair.
“Just eat, Davy!” Abby hissed.
Davy’s face pinched, but he gobbled every bit of food from his plate before returning to his rock pile near the maple tree.
Abby tucked the food into a crate and organized their supplies.
Mama shifted in her seat. “Abby, have you tried the telephone?”
“You already did. It wasn’t working.” Abby’s stomach tightened.
“We really should check on Aunt Mae.” Mama continued rocking, her eyes glazed and unfocused. “Why don’t you pack up some food and walk down the hill and check on her?”
“All right. Will you and Davy be fine without me?” Abby set down the box she held and reached for her hat. The hair rose on her arms at the idea of walking the streets by herself so soon after the quake, but it appealed more than sitting here staring at the house and worrying. Besides, Gerald could have news of the rest of the city. He and Robert might be busy if there were many injuries. Her heart squeezed. There’s nothing wrong with being concerned for Robert’s welfare. Wrapping up some of the breakfast food, she tucked it into the cloth bag.
“Take Davy with you,” Mama added as Abby turned to leave.
Davy crouched on his heels near the fence, stripping the leaves off the branch of a boxwood hedge.
Abby sighed and called to him.
His little straw hat shifted as he shook his head. “No. I want to stay.”
Abby hurried out the gate and latched it behind her. “He doesn’t want to come. I’ll be back soon.”
Mama didn’t reply, the chair creaking as she rocked.
Abby hurried down the alley before Mama could insist Davy accompany her. She certainly didn’t want to haul him all the way to Aunt Mae’s and back.
23
6:30 a.m.
Abby slung the bag over her shoulder as she hurried down the alley toward O’Farrell Street, freedom lightening her steps. The steady breeze tugged at her hat and she lifted her face to the morning sky, gazing around at the nearby houses, pleased to see how little damage had occurred to the sturdy wooden structures. The tall, narrow homes lining the street towered over her like a company of soldiers awaiting orders
People brushed past, their faces tense. A small dog raced along a fence, yelping at Abby through the boards.
To the east, a wisp of yellow smoke rose into the morning air. She remembered watching the fire wagons with Papa and Davy and it brought a wave of longing for her father’s presence. If only he hadn’t chosen this week to make the final preparations on the farm. She adjusted the heavy bag on her shoulders as the ground rumbled slightly under her feet once more. This isn’t over.
She waited on two passing wagons before crossing the street. A large crack meandered up the roadway, cobblestones lying at odd angles, like an ocean wave frozen in stones. Picking up the edge of her skirt, Abby stepped over the crack. A loose cobble shifted under her shoe and she pitched forward, falling hard on hands and knees. Staggering to her feet, she wiped the tiny bits of gravel and a sliver of broken glass from her palms before examining her torn dress and shredded stocking.
Rubbing both palms against her skirt, Abby glanced back to the east. A towering plume of smoke rose from the skyline, billowing upward, moving and changing in the early morning light.
Abby hurried up the street to the west, battling against a sudden desire to run back to her mother and hide behind her skirt like she did when she was a little girl. She brushed the thought away and pressed on toward Gerald’s house.
6:35 a.m.
Robert perched on the corner of his desk while Gerald leaned uncomfortably close, shining a bright lamp in his eyes. His friend reeked of sweat and dirt, his vest hanging unbuttoned over a stained, white shirt.
“Pupils match and react to the light. You might have a mild concussion, but I don’t think it’s serious. Normally, I’d tell you to go to bed and rest a couple of days.” Gerald straightened, looking about the ward with a scowl. “But somehow I doubt you’re going to listen.”
“I’m not sure if I have a bed to go back to. I haven’t been home yet.” Robert pressed the cold cloth against the back of his head.
“I drove by your apartment building. It appeared to be standing, and it’s more than I can say for some areas of town.” Gerald pulled back Robert’s celluloid collar, peering at his neck. “You look like a porcupine—splinters all down your neck and shoulder. Take off your shirt.”
Robert lowered the compress, the throbbing in his head unchanged by the pressure. “What of your family?” He shrugged off his suspenders, unbuttoned his shirt, and yanked it off, grunting with the effort.
“Mother is fine—a bit shaken up, of course.”
Twisting the fabric between his fingers, Robert hesitated. “And your cousins?”
Gerald placed his hand on the top of Robert’s head, motioning him to tip it forward. He dabbed at the wound with a piece of gauze, and reached for a pair of forceps. “Herman is out of town—signing the final papers on the farm. I haven’t heard from Clara yet. The telephone lines are down all over town. I’ll try and get out there next.”
“You’ll be needed here.” Robert sucked in his breath as Gerald probed at the wound, picking out bits of debris.
Gerald dropped the bloodstained cloth into a basin. “As will you, if you’re fit. You don’t require sutures. It’s just a bad scrape and a goose egg. How does your head feel? Do you want morphine?” He extracted a splinter from Robert’s skin.
Robert bent his neck to the left and right in an attempt to loosen the muscles. “I think I can make do with some aspirin powder and a clean shirt.”
“Hold still, would you?” Gerald dropped a fragment of wood into the garbage. “Once things are stable here, we should run down to the office and collect all the paperwork and equipment we can salvage.”
Robert paused. “Why would we do that?”
Gerald dropped the forceps on the table and swabbed alcohol across Robert’s neck and shoulder. “A fire is burning in the financial district. Broken gas lines, I imagine. I’d hate to lose all the patient records.”
Pushing to his feet, Robert swayed for a moment before staggering across the room, his shirt clutched in his hand. Memories of the crumbling wall made his chest tighten as he approached the window, but curling brown smoke chased the image from his mind. “Earthquake, and now a fire? How much more can we endure?”
7:30 a.m.
The elegant three-story home stood undamaged, its unbroken windows greeting Abby like an old friend. Great Aunt Mae swung the door wide and beckoned her inside. “Mercy, child! Look at your face! Are you hurt? What about your mother and brother? Did the house stand? I have been so frightened for you all!”
Abby touched the scratch on her cheek, hesitating in the front hall. “No, I’m fine. We’re all fine.”
Great Aunt Mae swooped around like a small, fluttering insect, her grasping hands pulling Abby into the parlor. The elderly woman’s words spilled over, filling the quiet room. “I’m relieved. This house did so well, I think it’s safe to be inside, don’t you?” She took Abby’s hat, disappearing back into the entry hall.
Abby turned, examining the fine room with a careful eye. With the exception of a few paintings sitting on the floor and some missing vases, one wouldn’t even know the house had been disturbed.
; Aunt Mae returned, skirts swishing. “Sit, child, sit!” She waved a hand at a chair as she lowered herself onto the settee. “Tell me how things are at home.”
Giving her soiled skirt a quick shake, Abby perched on the edge of the expensive mohair chair, tucking her dust-coated shoes as far back as she dared. “Everyone is in good health, Aunt. Some things were knocked over, but—oh, the chimney is down and there are some broken windowpanes.” Her words tumbled out in a disorganized mess.
“I am so relieved you are all safe.” Aunt Mae leaned back against her chair. “I thought of you poor things alone there during this disaster and I just knew I wouldn’t rest until I had word. I tried to get Gerald to go to you at once, but he’s been busy here at the house and then he ran off to the hospital. He said young Robert was there doing rounds. He wanted to collect him and get down to their office ahead of the fires.”
Robert . . . fires . . . Abby twisted the words together.
“Can you believe my son went up on the roof right after the quake?” Aunt Mae lifted an age-speckled hand to her throat. “I thought I would die of fright. As if the shaking hadn’t already unnerved me, Gerald has to go and climb the roof? He said he wanted to get the loose chimney bricks down before we got another shake. I suppose it makes sense, but—mercy! I was terrified the shaking would return while he was still up there. I spent the whole time on my knees—”
As her aunt chattered, Abby fidgeted, distracted by an itch growing under the edge of her corset. Shifting on the edge of the chair, she bit her tongue, waiting for her aunt to take a breath. When the pause arrived, she blurted out, “Mama sent food.”
Aunt Mae’s face broke into a wide smile. “Clara’s always been the sweetest girl. Let’s take it into the kitchen. I don’t dare light the stove, but I think it is fine to eat in there. I have been so busy sweeping up broken bits, I hadn’t even thought about food yet.”
Abby stood, brushing a hand across the chair to remove any dust, and followed Aunt Mae. “Does Gerald think the fires will reach his office?”
“It’s hard to say. The smoke down there looks bad. And there are so many wooden buildings—just waiting to burn, really. He’s more worried about losing his patients’ records than his equipment. He has all of his former partner’s records—and the man practiced in San Francisco for more than thirty years—plus his own, so it’s a load of paper. I imagine he and Robert will be very busy over the next few days. I hate to think how many injuries there could be.” The lines deepened around her eyes.
Aunt Mae set the package of food on the table. “Let’s clean up your cut, first.” She motioned Abby to one of the high-backed kitchen chairs. “It’s unfortunate Robert isn’t here. He did such a nice job patching you up last time.” Aunt Mae pulled another chair close, so they were knee-to-knee. She pressed the cool compress against the scratch, taking Abby’s chin in her hand as she worked.
Abby examined her aunt’s soft gray eyes, the gentleness of her touch bringing the first moment of ease in the day. Abby let her chin rest in the older woman’s grip.
“We’re very fortunate, Abigail.” Her eyes, usually so quick to laugh, darkened. “I keep thinking about it.”
Like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights, Abby met her gaze, but set her jaw. I will not talk to her about this. Not today.
“It could have been so much worse. God has shown us great love. We’ve been shaken, but we still stand firm.”
Resentment bubbled in Abby’s stomach like a teapot. He can keep His love, if this is what comes of it. She busied her mind with other thoughts: Mama’s pumpkin pie, wading in the stream, walking barefoot in the grass—anything but Aunt Mae’s voice. This was no time to argue.
“God has spared us much heartache today.”
Abby’s self-control snapped like a twig under Aunt Mae’s foot. “How kind of Him. What about these past months? Why couldn’t He have spared us their heartache?” Tears stung her eyes. Rather than pulling away from Aunt Mae’s grip, she forced her neck stiff as an iron rod.
Aunt Mae dropped the cloth and placed her palm on Abby’s hair, framing her face between two trembling hands. “We can’t always understand God’s ways, child. But your family has endured enough grief for a while. I am thankful we’ve been passed over this time.”
Abby squeezed her eyelids shut to block out Aunt Mae’s soul-piercing gaze, hot tears sneaking past their locked gates.
Releasing Abby’s chin, Aunt Mae nodded. “We read in the Scriptures, ‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.’ ” She dropped her hands to her sides. “The Psalms always say it best.”
Abby’s chest ached. She fought to swallow, burying her words deep within. “I should get back home.”
Aunt Mae’s brows pinched together, adding years to her already worn face. Thoughts seemed to dance behind those gray eyes, as if eager to be spoken—perhaps even more Bible verses. Instead, she remained silent and patted Abby’s knee before lifting a crooked fingertip in the air. “Wait just one moment, I have something for you.”
She rose with a creak of the chair, pushing one hand against her lower back while she gripped the edge of the table for support.
A cold tendril clutched at Abby’s heart as she watched her aunt totter on unsteady feet out of the kitchen. The woman could seem so full of energy at one moment, and so old and feeble the next. Abby sighed, melting into the seat, letting her head fall back. The ceiling in the kitchen resembled a broken eggshell. Her eyes traced the jagged lines as footsteps moved back and forth upstairs.
Rising, she walked to the front hall, retrieving her hat and pinning it in place, frowning at her reflection in the hall glass.
Aunt Mae hobbled down the stairs, gripping the rail with one hand and a small leather-bound book pressed to her bosom with the other. “I know how much you love books, Abigail. I think you should read this. I’ve been meaning to give it to you for some time now.”
Abby wrapped her fingers around the soft, worn cover. She nodded her thanks to Aunt Mae and tucked it into her skirt pocket as she turned to the front door, the view out the small pane windows beckoning her.
“Dear, I know you are in a hurry to get back to your mother . . . ” Aunt Mae paused as if carefully considering her words.
Abby kept her grip on the cool metal knob, muscles tensing at the expectation in her aunt’s voice.
“I hate to ask this of you,” Aunt Mae fiddled with the lace on her sleeve. “I know you need to get home.”
Abby’s heart dropped. Her aunt never lacked for words. “What is it?”
Sliding a hand under her Abby’s arm, Aunt Mae pulled her away from the door. “When I was upstairs I discovered Gerald had forgotten the suture kit from his doctor’s bag. He must have removed them last night for cleaning. I think in his rush to leave, he forgot to put them back in. Do you think it would be too much trouble for you to take it to him?”
Abby imagined the long walk downtown to Gerald’s office and then back to Maple Manor. At least it will get me out of here. “Of course I will.”
Relief pooled in her aunt’s eyes. “I know he will be so grateful.” She thrust the package into Abby’s hands. “He should be at the office. If for some reason he’s not there, you might check at the hospital.”
“I’ll find him.” Abby stepped out onto the front porch, adjusting her hat and glancing up at the expanding plumes of smoke.
Great Aunt Mae placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry if I upset you before, dear. I am praying for you.” She squeezed, her fingers pressing against Abby’s collarbone. “Your heart is wounded, but if you let Him, He will heal it.”
Abby tried to draw away, but Aunt Mae held her fast.
“One more verse and then I will hold my tongue. He wants to give you ‘beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of pra
ise for the spirit of heaviness.’ It’s from Isaiah.”
Abby stepped free. “Good-bye, Aunt Mae.”
“May God go with you, child.” Aunt Mae stepped up on her toes and threw her arms around Abby’s shoulders, planting a kiss on her cheek.
A flood of unwanted emotion surged upward from Abby’s stomach. For the briefest moment, she considered melting onto her aunt’s shoulder in a puddle of tears. How easy it would be. Instead, she stepped out of Aunt Mae’s clinging arms, hurrying down the stairs.
As she walked, the warmth of her aunt’s embrace lingered on her skin, like being cuddled in a soft quilt. Her words echoed in Abby’s mind: “May God go with you.”
24
7:45 a.m.
Robert pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to ease the pressure behind his eyes. No time to waste, too many patients.
A breath of air tickled the back of his neck from the line of broken windows in the long hall—like a child proudly showing off a row of missing teeth. He lifted his arm to block a sneeze, the scent of smoke and dust tickling his sinuses.
“Am I gonna be all right, Doc?” The old man resembled a granite statue, his gray beard blending with the thick coating of dust clinging to his skin. He clutched an arm to his chest. “I’m a bricklayer. I need both my arms, or I won’t be able to work.”
Robert grasped the limb, the bones of the forearm shifting under his fingers, the man’s face wrinkling like tissue paper at the movement. He longed for an X-ray of the fracture, but the laboratory lay buried under rubble, the machinery a complete loss. “I’ll set the bone and splint it for now, Mr. Roderick. Try not to move it more than you must. You should come back in a few days and let us take another look.”
The man’s bushy white brows pulled low over his rheumy eyes. “I got to get my daughter and grandchildren out of the city, Doc. We live south of the Slot, you know. It’s going up in flames.”
Robert shook his head. The cable-line running down Market Street, known as the Slot, served as an unofficial divider between the working classes in the south and the businessmen to the north. It seemed unlikely, however, the fires would remain bound by these man-made divisions. He gestured to a couple of nurses who stood nearby and they moved into position to help Mr. Roderick brace himself.
Out of the Ruins Page 16
