“Good old ‘920.’ ” Miss Cameron clapped her palms together like a schoolteacher calling a class to order. “God must have held it together with his bare hands. So many other brick buildings crumbled in the quake.”
A policeman hovered near the door and greeted the missionary like a long-lost friend. “Miss Cameron, you must be quick. The firemen are laying dynamite just down the block. They will be here shortly.”
Her eyes darkened, her brows pinching together. “They’re going to dynamite our Mission house?”
“They are planning on taking out the whole block. They want to stop this thing before it reaches the mansions on Nob Hill. So, you must make haste, Miss. I’ll keep watch here.”
Face stony, Miss Cameron caught up her skirts and raced up the stairs. Abby and the two women followed. By the flickering glow from the window, Miss Cameron dug through a desk drawer, tossing packets of papers onto the blotter.
Kum Yong appeared in the doorway with a handful of pillowcases.
With trembling hands, Abby scooped papers from the desk, helping the women stuff the cases full.
The policeman’s voice rang out from below, “Make haste, Miss Cameron! They are bringing the dynamite!”
Abby rushed to the window. A group of firemen clustered around the front steps. “I think we’d better leave now. Do you have what you need?”
Miss Cameron rose to her feet, papers clutched to her chest. “Yes, I believe so.” She stood in silence, her gaze traveling about the room. “This building was a gift from God. May we never forget His loving-kindness.”
The firemen waited at the front door, axes balanced on their slumping shoulders.
After thanking the policeman, Miss Cameron turned to the firemen. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your hard work today. We will be praying for your safety.”
One of them shook her hand, his face grim. “Thank you, Missus. I am truly sorry about your building.”
She placed her other hand on top of his grimy one. “I am thankful my daughters are safe. God has been gracious to us.” She stared down the hill toward the glowing flames. “What is the news of Chinatown?”
He glanced at his boots. “It’s gone, ma’am.”
Her shoulders sagged.
As they stepped outside, Kum Yong crouched down and retrieved something from the ground, slipping it into her pocket as another explosion rocked the ground.
Abby gripped the edge of the building to steady herself.
Miss Cameron gave one last lingering look at the building before leading the group back into the night.
33
6:00 a.m.
Dawn light, tainted rusty-orange by smoke, spilled in through the open window. Robert blinked and glanced about the unfamiliar room, disoriented by his troubling dreams. Where am I?
Jerking upright with sudden realization, Robert’s head spun sending his stomach roiling. He gripped the edges of the mattress as his center of balance tipped, threatening to dump him onto the floor. Robert lowered himself to the pillow with a groan, grinding his knuckles against his temples. After closing his eyes for a brief moment, he pushed himself to his elbows and waited for his equilibrium to settle.
With a deep breath, he pushed himself vertical, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
A tap rang out from the door. “Robert, you awake?” Gerald’s muffled voice spoke through the room.
Robert grunted and cleared his throat. “Yes.”
The door swung open and Gerald crossed the threshold, jamming his arms into his coat sleeves. “Get some sleep after all? How are you feeling?”
Dropping his head forward into his hands, Robert groaned a second time. “Like I fell under a cable car and then performed surgery all night.”
Gerald laughed. “Probably not too far off from reality, my friend. He crossed the room and dropped down on the end of the bed, setting the mattress bouncing.
“Quit rocking the boat.” Robert didn’t lift his head.
“Why don’t you stay here. Get some rest and let your head heal. My mother would be more than happy to spend the day fussing over you.”
Robert raked his fingers through his hair. “No. I’m coming. As soon as the room stops spinning.”
With a chuckle, Gerald rose and headed for the door. “When you’re ready, Mother’s laid out a spread of food. You ought to stay over more often—I haven’t seen a breakfast like this in years. And it’s quite a feat, considering she had to cook outside. You look like you could use some black coffee.”
The idea of food sent Robert’s stomach into a new series of gyrations. He leaned forward, stretching his back as he felt around the floor for his shoes. His head clamored to return to the pillow, but he bunched his muscles and pushed up to his feet, stumbling over to the window. Colossal columns of smoke billowed from the city, jacketing the morning sky with haze.
He pressed his hand to the window, his nausea replaced by cold fingers of dread. Not only had the fires not abated, they had spread, consuming the city block by block during the night. Where would it end?
Was Gerald’s home safe? Would any of San Francisco be spared from the gluttonous flames?
He snatched his tie and jacket from the chair. Too much time had wasted already.
6:30 a.m.
“Abby.” A hand gripped her shoulder. Abby opened her eyes, gritty with sleep, her knees clenched into her stomach. The flames and the heat of her dreams fled, replaced by Kum Yong’s face. “Abby, wake up.” She clutched Abby’s shoulder, giving it a second shake. “You were dreaming.”
Abby sat up and rubbed her eyes.
Kum Yong plopped down. “Nightmare?”
“Yes. Too much talk about fires, I think.” Abby swallowed, the burning sensation in her throat subsiding.
Sunlight poured in the high windows of the church. The dark night and the fiery dream faded and Abby stretched arms toward the ceiling, pulling the kinks from her frame. Dirt and sweat caked both skin and clothes. Her toe, tipped with an angry red blister, peeped out from a large hole in her stocking. She flexed her swollen ankle, drawing a circle in the air with her toes. Ignoring the discomfort, Abby pulled on her shoes, and fastened the buttons.
Kum Yong joined the other Chinese girls as they spoke in hushed tones and gathered their things. One of the babies fussed.
Abby closed her eyes for a moment and the images of the night before flooded back. Wiggling her cold fingers, she hooked them under her arms to warm.
Kum Yong finished gathering her things and settled onto the bench beside Abby. “Reverend Guthrie says the fire is traveling this way and it’s not safe to stay here any longer. Lo Mo has decided we’ll walk around the fires and make our way to the waterfront. We will take a ferry across the bay.” She placed her hand on Abby’s arm. “Will you come with us?”
“No, I have to find my family. My Mama must be worried.”
Kum Yong nodded. “I’ll pray for you and your family.” She reached into her pocket and drew out a small red chunk of brick, rubbing it between her fingers.
Abby leaned over to look. “What is that?”
“It’s a piece of the Mission house. Last week, Lo Mo taught us about the prophet, Samuel. When the Israelites’ enemies were attacking, Samuel prayed. God sent thunder and frightened the armies away. So the people wouldn’t forget how God had helped them, Samuel set up a stone—Lo Mo called it an ‘Ebenezer.’ She said it meant ‘stone of help.’ Samuel said, ‘Thus far has the Lord helped us.’ ”
Kum Yong rolled the small stone between her fingers. “Last night, when I realized the Mission would be destroyed, I decided to save a piece of it. I don’t want to forget what God did for me there.” She closed her fingers over the chunk of brick and pressed it to her heart. “This is my Ebenezer.”
“Like the hymn?” Abby slid closer to her friend. “My sister always sang, ‘Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by Thy help I’ve come . . .’ ”
Kum Yong’s eyes brightened. “It’s my favorite—‘Come T
hou Fount of Every Blessing.’ We sing it all the time.”
An ache took hold of Abby’s heart. “It was my sister’s favorite, too.” Her voice faltered.
Kum Yong looked up, her dark eyes burning with intensity. “I’ll use the stone to remember you as well.”
The words tugged at Abby. “Thank you.” She studied the young woman’s face. Is this what real friendship is? Will we ever see each other again? Abby touched Kum Yong’s hand. “Can we still be friends when this is all over?”
Kum Yong’s face lit up like a street full of electric lights. “Abby, I promise—I will be your friend forever.” She opened her arms.
Abby’s heart pounded, as if it had grown too large for her ribs. She fell into Kum’s arms, wrapping her arms around the woman’s lithe back. Meeting Kum Yong had been like gaining a sister; a small gift to chase away the crushing loneliness of the past few months. Brought together by an earthquake and fire—what could possibly tear them apart?
34
7:30 a.m.
The sea of humanity spread out before him like whitecaps on the bay. Everywhere he looked, Robert spotted Abby—or at least someone who resembled her. He pushed through the crowd, stepping around piles of belongings. Robert turned a slow circle, staring out into the crowd, hoping to see a familiar brown-haired beauty.
Gerald pushed through and joined him, his gaze swiveling from one side to the other. “No sign.” He pushed the derby to the back of his head with a sigh. “I’m going to wander down to the east side, why don’t you take the west? We’ll meet back at the automobile in an hour.”
“And what if we haven’t found them?”
“I need to check in at the hospital. The fires are moving dangerously close to the area—not to mention my own neighborhood. If they don’t get them under control by this evening, I’m not sure what’s going to happen.”
Robert stepped over a pile of books. “What will these people do? Where will they get food and water?”
“The army is already moving in to offer assistance. And the Red Cross. The real fear is going to be disease. This type of setting is ripe for a typhoid outbreak.”
A swarm of boys dashed past, hurdling over obstacles in their play.
Robert took a deep breath. “If you don’t see me at the car, go on without me. I’ll meet you at the hospital later.”
His friend pulled a watch from his pocket and gave Robert a quick slap on the shoulder before picking his way east through the park.
Robert eased through the crowd, heading for the lower reaches of the property where army tents sprouted like toadstools. He was thankful to see someone taking control of the melee. Who knows how long these people would remain itinerant. How many had already lost homes? How many more would follow?
“Help! Oh, please, help!” A woman’s shriek sent a shockwave through the camp. A ripple of inquisitive murmurs rose like a frightened flock of starlings.
Pressing between jam-packed bodies, Robert hurried toward the sound, heart quickening.
A young woman crouched over an elderly man, his peppery hair flopping to the side. The woman looked up, her face beseeching the crowd, hat ribbons hanging limp across her shoulders. “Please, help. I can’t stop the bleeding!” She pressed a wad of cloth against a jagged wound in the man’s leg, red stains spreading up the man’s torn trousers.
The man clutched at his leg, a grimace scouring his face. “I’ll be all right, Mary Ann. Don’t make such a fuss.”
Robert lowered himself to his knees, pressing against the woman’s hand. “Keep a steady pressure. Don’t lift the bandage to check.”
He beckoned to a sallow-faced woman hovering nearby. “Can you find some clean linen? We’re going to need more bandages. And water.”
She gasped and nodded, hurrying off.
“Thank you.” Tears streaked the young woman’s face, her voice shaking. “He’s my father. Are you a doctor?” She wiped her face against her sleeve.
Robert sat back on his heels. “Yes, I’m Dr. King. What happened?” He reached for his bag.
“I’m Mary Ann Marshall. My father was injured in the quake. We got the bleeding stopped last time, but just now . . .” A sob choked off her remaining words as blood dampened the rags under her fingers.
The older man scowled. “I tripped is all. But it’s bleeding again.”
Robert handed her another cloth. “It must have reopened the wound. Once we get the bleeding stopped, I’ll take a look. It might need some stitches.”
The gray-haired woman returned with armful of fabric. “I got an old sheet I could cut up. It’s worn, but clean. Will it do?”
Robert nodded. “Perfect. Thank you.” The bleeding slowed, and Robert risked a quick peek at the laceration, wincing at the extent of the damage. “You should have seen to this before now.”
“Yeah, well. No time until now.” The girl’s father grunted.
After removing the old bandages, Robert wiped the area clean, thankful he’d brought his small medical kit along. He threaded the needle and made quick work of the sutures, the patient managing to lie motionless despite the discomfort.
A pleased ripple coursed through his stomach as he examined the fine, even stitches. How long had he taken to do Abby’s? He leaned back, letting his shoulders relax as he returned the curved needle and forceps to their folds in the leather bag. His physician father would be proud. He’d regaled Robert with stories of war-time surgery, but the past two days had been Robert’s first experience practicing medicine outside the cozy confines of the hospital and office.
“Now, be sure you keep it clean and dry.” He turned his gaze from father to daughter. “Conditions here are less than optimal, but you want to prevent infection.”
The man grunted, sitting forward and eyeing the puckered skin under the row of knots. “How long do they have to stay in?”
Robert wiped his hands on a rag, frowning at the bloodstains sullying the shirt he’d borrowed from Gerald. “At least ten days. If you see any signs of infection, see a doctor. Don’t delay.”
The daughter smiled, pushing back golden hair from her face. “We will. Thank you. I am so thankful God sent you here to us.”
Pushing to his feet, Robert scooped up his bag. “Yes, well, I’m glad, too. Good luck.”
He brushed stray blades of grass from his knees and settled his hat onto his head, grimacing as it pressed against the lump on the back of his skull. He glanced up at the sun, already climbing high into the sky. He’d missed his meeting time with Gerald. And I’m no closer to finding Abby and her family.
9:15 a.m.
Abby limped into Golden Gate Park on sore, tired feet. The grounds swarmed with people, like bees on fields of clover. Dull-eyed men and women sat on trunks and blankets while children raced around in circles, darting between heaps of possessions.
Abby moved among the throng, searching for a familiar face. Thousands of voices speaking quietly to each other created a humming vibration in the early morning air.
A young girl in a too-small dress plowed into Abby’s legs, tears cleaning paths down her dirty cheeks. She looked up with haunted eyes, curly brown hair tangled and matted. The child stepped back in fear before turning and disappearing into the multitude.
Abby stood frozen in place, overwhelmed with longing for her own mother. Taking a deep breath, she pushed on, her hope fading with each unfamiliar face. She crossed the park from one corner to the other, stepping around trunks, boxes, and blankets.
The whole city must be hunkered down here. She stretched up on her toes, trying to see over the heads of people gathered nearby. After several moments, she rocked back onto her heels and pressed hands against her hollow chest. Too many people. Too close. She wandered to the edge of the park and found an empty spot near the road. Sinking to the ground, Abby dropped her head onto her knees, allowing the tears to flow. A gentle breeze lifted wisps of loose hair. “What now?” She murmured the words into her arm.
Her stomach growled at the
smell of food cooking. It took all of her composure not to sniff the air like a hungry dog. Miss Cameron had invited her to share the meager breakfast, but Abby had declined. The missionary had done too much already.
Abby pulled Great Aunt Mae’s journal from her pocket, flipping through the pages. A subtle change in the handwriting caught her eye. The words grew larger and more slanted, as if written in a hurry.
June 5, 1856
I’m moving! Can you believe it? My Aunt Joyce and Uncle Harold wired the foundling home in St. Louis and invited me to live with them in Cincinnati. I’ve never even met these people. My uncle is a teacher and the headmistress says they are good Christian folk. If my Aunt and Uncle are good Christians, maybe they can explain why God did what He did.
“Abby?”
A man’s voice caught Abby’s attention and her head jerked upward, the sudden motion causing the crowd to swim before her eyes. “Papa?” The word croaked from her parched throat. She glanced around the sea of bodies, heart fluttering in her chest as she held her breath. No, Papa is home in San Jose.
“Abby?” The voice grew louder.
She snapped the journal closed, jumping to her feet. Her heart raced, thumping against her ribs.
A familiar figure strode up the hill away from her. The man’s coat was draped over one shoulder, his shirt and vest stained, a round black hat perched at an awkward angle on his head.
“Robert?” A gasp of recognition tore through Abby. She pushed past three women standing in a tight huddle.
Robert turned, his brown eyes widening and a grin crossing his unshaven face. He stretched out both arms.
Abby flew into them, latching on as if Robert were a life preserver in a storm-tossed sea.
He crushed her in a bear hug, the momentum lifting her off her feet. “I can’t believe I finally found you!”
She pressed her face against his shirt, breathing in his warm scent. “What are you doing here?” The pitch of her voice had risen by at least an octave, sounding foreign to her own ears.
“Gerald and I have been searching for you and your family. We were concerned when we found Maple Manor abandoned.” He pulled off his derby and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. His tie hung loose and the collar of his shirt stood askew.
Out of the Ruins Page 21
