Out of the Ruins

by Karen Barnett

  Abby maintained her grip on Robert’s waist, gazing up at him. Despite his unwashed state, he’d never looked more handsome.

  He reached out a hand and brushed her cheek, his eyes unreadable.

  A rush of heat climbed her neck. She let go and stepped back. I must look a fright. She pushed the loose strands from her face and tucked them behind her ears.

  “I think your cousin has already left for the hospital. I’ll walk you back to his house. Where are your mother and brother?”

  “I—I don’t know” Abby hesitated. “By the time I made it home, they’d already left. I haven’t been able to find them.”

  Robert’s brows squeezed together. He gripped her arm, the warmth of his fingers evident through her sleeve. “You been wandering since you saw us downtown?”

  Abby nodded. “I had no idea they’d evacuate the area.”

  Robert groaned. “I knew I should have walked you home. I’ve had a hard time thinking of anything else since you left.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh, and your mother? She must be frantic.”

  A sick feeling gripped Abby’s stomach. “Yes, I am sure she is. And I feel the same about her and Davy.”

  His gaze searched the crowd. “Well, I’m not leaving you again. We’ll find them.”

  Sudden warmth rushed through Abby. She brushed back her hair a second time, tucking it under her hat. Two days ago she would have bristled at his attention, but after an exhausting day followed by a sleepless night, she wanted nothing more than to fall into his strong arms. Not because of him. It’s just good not to be alone. “You said you were going to Gerald’s house? Maybe my mother went there, too.”

  “She wasn’t there this morning, but maybe she is by now. It’s a good place to start, anyway.” He turned his gaze toward her, the deep brown of his eyes a temporary refuge.

  Abby’s heart fluttered and she forced herself to look away from his face. How quickly the feelings return. The bloodstains on his shirt drew her eye. She reached out a hand, but caught herself before touching him. “Are you hurt?”

  He glanced down. “It’s not my blood.” He brushed at the stains. “I was helping someone.” His red-rimmed eyes, framed by dark circles, suggested the hours he’d probably spent treating the wounded.

  This time she didn’t resist. Abby stepped forward and gripped his arm, laying her head against his shoulder. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” She shouldn’t give him the wrong idea, and yet, she couldn’t bear to draw away.

  His hand wrapped around her back, his chin settling against the top of her straw boater, causing the loose locks to tumble free of their hiding place. After a deep breath, he spoke. “Shall we go?”

  Abby pushed the unwanted feelings into her stomach and stepped free of his arm. She trailed after Robert as he picked his way through the muddle of scattered belongings and wove through the crowd. She dared not take her eyes from his back, fighting the urge to grasp the back of his vest like a baby elephant clinging to its mother’s tail. Anything to keep from being left behind in this circus.

  35

  9:45 a.m.

  Robert yearned to take Abby’s hand as they reached a more open area of the park, but forced his into his trouser pocket. He cast a sideways glance at her, noticing how she continually tucked a lock of hair under her flowered hat. It reminded him of the time he’d seen her dangling from the tree limb, hair flying every direction.

  The moment she’d flung herself into his arms, he felt two inches taller. And yet, the look of discomfort on her face when she’d drawn away suggested her actions were motivated by fear and exhaustion rather than any change of heart. Lying to himself would serve no purpose.

  He fastened his vest over the worst of the dried bloodstains and pulled on his coat. Certainly she wouldn’t care to be seen with him looking like a vagabond. He tucked his medical bag under one arm and held the other out to her. “May I?”

  She paused her steps, her brown eyes rounding. “Yes, of course.” Her arm felt stiff like a tree branch as it looped around his own. She chewed on her bottom lip, lines forming around her eyes.

  He paused, Abby’s hand on his arm, and stared out at the assembly gathered on the open lawns of Golden Gate. Families huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. Folks sorted through their belongings, bemoaning what had been left behind.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t bring towels,” a nearby woman dug through a case. “How will we get by without towels?” Two small boys in short pants pushed and shoved each other behind her back.

  Robert turned his head to keep from laughing and caught the twinkle in Abby’s eye. The boys didn’t much seem to care about their mother’s towel anxiety.

  A nearby moan drew his attention. Robert slowed his steps, spotting a woman curled on her side on a quilt, a tortured-looking man hovering over her. Not again. Not now.

  Abby’s hand tugged at his arm. She looked back at him, her brows pinching in question. “Robert?” She turned, eyes widening as the woman’s moans rose in pitch like an animal-like howl. “Do you think she needs help?”

  A wild-eyed man bent over the woman’s prone form. “Lillian? What do I do?” He leaned down, his lips pulled back from his teeth and deep grooves lined his forehead. The woman moaned and rolled to her back, exposing a large pregnant belly.

  Lifting a hand to shade his eyes, Robert watched the scene from a distance. What an awful place and time to have a baby. Three young children squatted close by, two girls and a boy. The younger two were crying and the older sister, who looked only to be about ten, wrapped her arms around them.

  “Are you going to help her?”

  Abby’s words spurred him into motion. Robert strode to the campsite, taking in more information with every step. The mother had obviously been laboring for some time judging by the sweat dampening her bodice and face.

  Everyone’s eyes fixed on him as he kneeled at the woman’s side. “My name is Dr. King. May I be of assistance?”

  The red-faced man exhaled loudly, his shoulders slumping. “Oh, thank you, Lord!” He seized Robert’s hand and shook it. “I’m James Davis. My wife here has been fighting the pains for hours now. I talked to the army doctor, but he’s too busy over at the med tent.”

  Robert set his jaw. No help from the army, then. “Is she full-term?”

  The man shook his head. “Not quite. Lillian should still have a few weeks to go, but with all this—” He raised a shaking hand and gestured toward the surrounding chaos. “And losing our home.” His head fell forward, his chin jutting forward. “It’s been too much. You know, Doc?”

  “I understand.”

  Lillian lay still, panting, beads of sweat meandering across her brow. Her glazed eyes focused on her husband’s face as he spoke, then she turned to stare into Robert’s. “You look so young.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Not much more’n a boy yourself.”

  Abby hovered just outside the camp, a haunted look on her face.

  Robert crouched at the woman’s side. “I’m older than I look, Mrs. Davis. We’ll get you through this.” He glanced to where the three children huddled together. “Are those your children?”

  She rolled her head to the side. “Yes. They shouldn’t see me like this.”

  Mr. Davis sprang to his feet and began herding the children to the next campsite.

  “So, you’ve had three healthy births. This isn’t your first.”

  Her face pinched, eyes closing as she clutched her belly. “Right.” She squeezed out the word.

  Robert glanced up at Abby. “Will you assist me? I need to examine her.”

  Abby’s mouth opened, like a fish gasping for air. “I know nothing about childbirth.”

  Mrs. Davis twisted to her side, her dress stretched tight across a huge belly, her face contorting as she drew her knees upward into a tight knot.

  Robert rolled up his sleeves. “You were always a good helper in the lab. I need an extra set of eyes and hands. Don’t worry, I will te
ll you what to do.”

  Abby kneeled on the ground, face white.

  Robert smiled, hoping he appeared confident and in control. “I thought you were a farm girl. I figured you would have had lots of experience.”

  Abby shot him a withering look, settling both hands into her lap. “We raised peaches.”

  Abby kneeled at the woman’s head, her heart fluttering. What did she know about childbirth?

  “I’ll be right back. I need to find some supplies.” Robert pushed up to his feet. “Just keep her calm.”

  Abby stared at the laboring mother. A baby—in this madness? She pushed a trembling hand against her own stomach. “Hello, Mrs. Davis. My name is Abby.”

  “Call me Lillian.” The mother panted.

  “My friend, Dr. King, is going to help you. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

  “It’s too early. Baby . . . isn’t due yet.” Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. “I’m thirsty . . .” Lillian groaned, turning away.

  The three children had escaped from their father’s attention and hovered nearby. They had the same dark hair and green eyes as their mother. Their round faces pulled at Abby’s heart. They must be so frightened. She reached a hand out to the oldest. “What are your names?”

  They stared in silence, tears sparkling on their freckled cheeks.

  Another girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, arrived from the next campsite. “I think the girls are Katie and Nora. Isn’t that right?” A lilting Irish accent colored her speech.

  One girl nodded while the other chewed on a fingernail. The taller of the two pointed at the boy. “He’s Norman,” she whispered.

  The teen girl crouched down. “My name is Harriet. Can I help somehow?”

  Abby breathed out, relief flooding over her. “Yes, thank you. Would you take the children over to your camp? And see if you can find Mrs. Davis some water?”

  A smile brightened Harriet’s face. She took the girls’ hands, Norman trailing behind. “I think my auntie packed some cake in our hamper. Should we check and see, Katie?”

  Lillian arched her back and moaned. “Not here. All these people watching. I don’t want my baby to be born in a park. It isn’t supposed to be this way.” She gripped onto Abby’s fingers.

  Abby freed one hand and fished around in a nearby basket filled with laundry. Drawing out a petticoat, she dried the mother’s tears. “It’ll be fine.” She leaned close and forced a smile. “Just think of the stories you can tell him of the day he was born.”

  Lillian hiccupped, her tears morphing into a soft laugh. “My sweet baby, born in a park after an earthquake.”

  “That’s right,” Abby rubbed circles on the woman’s back, like she had so many times for Cecelia.

  Harriet reappeared with a tin cup full of water. “The little kids are with my auntie. And she has a big jug of water the doc can use, if he needs it.”

  Abby waved her to the mother’s other side. “Lillian, let me help you sit up a little.” She reached her hands under the woman’s back.

  Harriet held the cup as Lillian gulped down several mouthfuls.

  Robert reappeared. “Not too fast, now,” he warned. “It may come back up.” He turned to Abby. “Why don’t you tuck some of those laundry bundles under her back, so she can stay a little upright?” He crouched by Lillian. “Your husband said the baby wasn’t due yet. How early is it?”

  “About five or six weeks, I think.”

  Robert’s eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a line.

  Abby’s throat closed. He’d looked so confident earlier. She leaned close to speak into his ear, but a squeeze from Lillian’s hand drew her back.

  A look of horror crossed the mother’s face, her jaw clenching. “It’s coming—the baby is coming.”

  Robert jumped into action. An air of calm determination replaced the lines across his forehead. He reached his hand up and squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “You can do this, Lillian. We’re here to help. All right?”

  She nodded, eyes wild. “Not much choice now.”

  Robert’s gaze flickered between Abby and Harriet as he moved down to the woman’s feet. With Abby on one side and Harriet on the other, a tight circle formed around the laboring mother, crowding out the rest of the camp. He spoke with conviction. “Are you ready, ladies?”

  “Of course.” Harriet beamed, obviously pleased to be included.

  Abby swallowed, imagining all the places she’d rather be. At Robert’s direction, she sat behind the mother, supporting her back and shoulders and clutching one hand.

  The rest of the world faded away while Lillian strained. Abby watched over her shoulder, mesmerized by Robert’s intense eyes as he coached the woman along.

  Harriet’s voice kept up a chanting litany. “You are doing fine. Just fine. All over soon.”

  The crowd faded into the background and Abby barely noticed as women hurried over from neighboring camps, bringing towels, blankets, and water. Harriet wet a handkerchief and mopped the mother’s brow.

  Sticky perspiration trickled under Abby’s dress, her corset digging into her ribs.

  Beads of nervous sweat shone on Robert’s face as well. He swung an elbow upward, swiping his forehead, and knocking his derby askew.

  Lillian bore down with a grunt, leaning hard against Abby.

  The tiny baby slid headfirst into Robert’s hands and a wild grin lit up his face. “And there we go—it’s a boy!”

  Lillian’s chest heaved as she relaxed.

  Abby wrapped arms around the woman’s shoulders, squeezing. “You did it!” Her heart thudded. Abby wiped her forehead with sleeve cuff and looked into Robert’s face.

  His smile had vanished. His brows lowered and he turned, the child cradled in his hands.

  Abby’s breath caught in her chest, the air growing strangely still, as if all sound had been ripped away. She craned her neck for a glimpse. The baby, fitting perfectly in the palms of Robert’s hands, looked like blue porcelain. The tiny form lay motionless with a thick coating of blood and fluid.

  Robert turned the baby over in his palm and rubbed hard on the infant’s back.

  Lillian tensed, struggling to lean forward. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with my baby? Why isn’t he crying?”

  Abby’s throat tightened. Please, no.

  “Doctor?” The mother’s voice spiraled up pitch. “Doctor?”

  Harriet grasped Lillian’s hands as all eyes focused on Robert.

  His concentration didn’t stir from the infant. He pushed to his feet and turned away, supporting the infant with one hand and wrist. He reached for a towel.

  Harriet rose up to her knees, pulling the young mother’s hands toward her. “Listen here, everyone. Don’t panic. Pray. It’s time to pray.”

  Abby kept her gaze fixed on Robert’s back, barely hearing Harriet’s words between Lillian’s gulping sobs.

  Harriet bowed her head and entreated God for the child’s life, her voice trembling.

  Lillian wept. “God please . . . please . . . save my baby.”

  Abby squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could stop the women’s prayers reverberating in her empty heart. How many times had she begged Him for mercy? She pushed up onto her knees and wrapped protective arms around the shaking mother. She laid her cheek against Lillian’s damp hair. Not again.

  The prayers continued, words pouring from their mouths like water from a spring. Nearby people joined in until Abby could no longer hear distinct voices, just murmured pleas rising into the sky.

  A sudden squalling cry cut through the din. Lillian gasped, head jerking upward and colliding with Abby’s cheekbone.

  Robert grinned as he held up the howling baby, tiny fists flailing in time with his cries.

  “Praise God, praise God . . . ” The words of the crowd began as whispers, but rose to cries of acclamation and erupted into cheers.

  Abby sat back, her rear smacking hard against the ground.

  2:15 p.m.
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  Abby gazed down at the little red-faced bundle cuddled in her arm, every muscle in her body melting like butter. The infant gazed at her with steely-blue eyes and blinked. He scrunched his face into a yawn so massive it seemed as if it might detach his tiny jaw. She pulled the blanket back from his little arm, touching the miniscule fingers, marveling at the intricate details of baby fingernails on baby fingers. A tremble raced through her.

  Had it been a miracle? The baby’s mother insisted it had been, as did Harriet. As Abby stroked the feather-soft skin, her heart ached to believe.

  And if her sister had lived—she would.

  She gave Baby Albert a last pat and settled him back into his mother’s arms, the little fellow’s siblings looking over Lillian’s shoulders.

  Robert tapped her arm and gestured with his head away from the group. Abby pushed to her feet and followed, casting one last glance back at the group.

  “We need to go. It’s getting late and we still haven’t found your family. There are more folks streaming into the park.” His face grew grim. “Seems the fires are still spreading and this place is already bursting at the seams.”

  Abby brushed loose blades of grass off of her skirt. “Of course. I can’t wait to find Mama and Davy. And to see Gerald and Aunt Mae.” She wrinkled her nose. “And a bath wouldn’t hurt either.”

  He rolled his sleeves back down and fastened his cuffs. “I found a bucket to wash up, but I wouldn’t mind a bath either.” He glanced around. “Of course, it’s more than most of these folks will get tonight.”

  The air hung heavy with the scent of smoke. Abby looked out at the skyline and sighed. The past few hours had nearly washed away all thoughts of the ongoing disaster. Now it all rushed back—earthquake, fires, dynamite, missing family. She shuddered. Would life ever be normal again?

  Of course not. It hasn’t been normal for a long time.

  She checked her pocket for Aunt Mae’s journal. Her fingers wrapped about the comforting bulge, the stories contained within flooding her thoughts. Maybe there’s no such thing as normal. She followed in Robert’s wake as he snaked through the campsites and finally reached the edge of the park.