Out of the Ruins

by Karen Barnett

  “Stop it!” Her sister squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the lids together with such force tiny wrinkles formed all around them. “Stop expecting Robert to fix everything.”

  “I don’t . . .” Abby paused, unsure of her answer. Do I?

  Cecelia yanked the blanket higher on her shoulder. “Do you know what I dream about?”

  Abby closed her mouth, glancing down at the weave of the blanket, certain she wouldn’t like her sister’s answer.

  Cecelia’s gaze landed somewhere on the wall behind Abby. “I dream about running.”

  A laugh bubbled from Abby’s stomach, but she managed to swallow it. “Running? Really?” Cecelia hadn’t run since they were little girls, skipping through the meadow holding hands. Even then, Abby had yanked her along. As they grew, Cecelia strolled, parasol in hand, knees unblemished.

  Abby had knees like an old carthorse—rough and scarred.

  Cecelia picked at the threadbare edge of her quilt. “I’m running through the meadow at home. It’s covered in wildflowers. You would know their names.” She coughed, managing two quick barks and a wheeze, the back of her hand covering her mouth. “My hair is down and the wind is whipping it across my back.” A tiny smile hovered around her lips as she lowered her hand to the pillow. “I run and run without ever growing winded.”

  “What are you running from?” Abby leaned forward.

  Cecelia’s gaze fixed on Abby, as if just noticing her presence. “I’m not running away—I’m just running and it feels marvelous.” She sighed. “Like I’m running into Jesus’ arms.” A tiny smile formed at the corners of her mouth, the lines smoothing from her face.

  Abby sat back in the chair. “You can’t start thinking like that again.” Not when we’ve come so far.

  “Whether I live a week, a year, or fifty years—it’s up to God, Abby. Not you, and not Robert.”

  Abby crossed her arms, the room growing stifling. “Why would God bring Robert to us if not to help with your healing?”

  Cecelia rolled to her back. “As it says in Isaiah, ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ saith the Lord. ‘For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.’ ”

  “Meaning what?”

  “It means we don’t always understand God’s plans for us. But they are always better than what we have planned for Him to do.”

  Abby set her jaw. So far, she and God had stuck to their little agreement, and she didn’t intend to let Him weasel out now.

  The icy stone chilled Robert’s fingers as he ran his hand along the carved scrollwork of the bench, striving to keep his eyes off his beautiful companion.

  Abby gazed upward, droplets of fog clinging to her hair. The muted light brushed across her freckled cheeks and illuminated the flecks hiding within her eyes, like gold dust beneath the dark current of a stream.

  Robert reached into his pocket, digging for his watch—anything to keep his hands busy. Taking a walk over to the square had sounded like a good diversion. Now he had second thoughts.

  “What will you do?” She lowered her chin and met his gaze. “More X-rays?”

  He leaned back against the bench. Would there ever be a day when they could simply talk about the weather, the park, the novel she carried in her bag? “Gerald and I have been discussing returning to a more traditional treatment.”

  Her brows creased. “Like what?”

  “Arsenic.”

  Abby’s slender fingers rumpled the fabric of her skirt. “Dr. Greene already tried. It didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, but a combination of arsenic and X-ray radiation might work in her favor. At least for a time.”

  “A time.” She dropped her chin, her hat tipping sideways at the sudden motion.

  He took a deep breath and reached for her hand. “Abby, she’s already lived longer than we anticipated.”

  She stared down at his fingers for a long moment, face unreadable. Glancing up into his eyes, she crinkled her mouth into a weak smile. “If anyone can save Cecelia, you can. Please, don’t give up now.” A sudden breath of wind sent a green hat ribbon fluttering into her face.

  Robert lifted his free hand and brushed it away. “You were wearing this hat the day you came to Gerald’s house for supper. The day I stitched your finger.”

  A pink hue rose among the freckles as Abby smiled, ducking her head.

  He ran a thumb along her knuckles and then lifted her hand so he could see the tiny white scar, a visible reminder of his work.

  She didn’t pull away. “A fine bit of sewing. You can hardly see it now.”

  Robert slid closer along the smooth marble seat, hungry for a whiff of her lilac-scented hair. “I was nervous. I kept hoping Gerald would return and take charge.”

  Abby’s head jerked back, eyes wide. “You?”

  “We’d only just met.” He leaned back to capture a glimpse of her eyes under the brim of her hat. “And I know it’s unprofessional of me to say, but I—I was overcome by your beauty.”

  The color drained from her face. “You’re making sport of me.”

  “I most certainly am not.”

  Her gaze softened. “Don’t flatter me. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “The fact you are unaware of your own beauty is all the more compelling.” Robert squeezed Abby’s hand, a light breeze ruffling the wisps of hair about her face.

  She reached up and smoothed his lapel before running a hand down his arm, gaze flickering between his shoulder and face, her lips parted.

  Robert’s pulse stepped up. He swallowed, unprepared for the onslaught of feelings triggered by her touch. “Abby . . .” He leaned forward, his breath catching in his chest. “I am fond of you. Too fond, I’m afraid.”

  Abby didn’t answer, her brown eyes gleaming. She matched his gaze without wavering.

  “I—I shouldn’t—” Robert pulled her closer and brushed his lips against hers, the taste of her tender lips rushing over him like a summer storm.

  Abby’s quick breath grazed his cheek, her fingertips pressing into his inner arm.

  What am I doing? Robert retreated a few inches, but desire brought him to a standstill, his thoughts muddying.

  She lifted her head, her cheekbone caressing the side of his face and sending his self-control into disarray.

  Robert lifted a hand, sliding fingers up her throat to where her pulse fluttered like butterfly wings against his skin. Patient’s sister. Gerald’s cousin. He lowered his chin until his nose brushed her hair, a stray strand tickling his cheek. He touched his lips to the silky skin just below her ear, wrestling against the urge to bury his face in the curve of her neck and never emerge.

  Her arm, caught between the bench and his side, traveled upward behind his shoulder, her wandering fingers sending a current sweeping down his spine.

  You told Gerald you wouldn’t pursue this. Robert drew back, his gaze trailing past Abby’s entrancing eyes until it lingered on her moist lips. I kissed her. He caught himself before he leaned forward to claim another.

  Abby trembled in his grasp.

  Even with his throat closing, Robert managed to wrench in a breath. There was too much to lose—his job, Gerald’s trust, the research . . .

  His hands shook. Robert yanked them away, pushed up from the bench, and turned his back. He scrubbed a palm across his face, as if to brush away the sensation of her touch. What have I done?

  Abby stood behind him, the rustle of her skirt drawing him back.

  Robert turned, his heart aching as he observed the woman standing before him.

  Her eyes glistened, mouth pinched like a suture drawn too tight. “Is something . . .” her voice faltered. “Did I . . .”

  He set his jaw. “It’s my fault. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  She took a step back, blinking like she’d been thrust into a bright light.

  Robert grasped her arm, unable to catch her hand as she withdrew. �
�I’m so sorry—it’s just—”

  Abby wrenched her arm free, her chin trembling. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” She shook her head, hat ribbons fluttering as she turned and hurried away.

  A sharp pain drove into Robert’s chest. He flopped down onto the bench, the afternoon sun burning through the fog like a glaring eye from heaven.

  Abby fled back to the hospital, locking her gaze on the intricate pattern of red brick cobblestones underfoot rather than risking a backward glance toward the man responsible for the flush on her cheeks. The corset boning crushed against her ribs as she attempted to draw a steady breath. He didn’t know what he was thinking?

  Sweetness rolled across her tongue at the memory of the tender kiss, the feather-soft touch of his lips against hers, the sensation of her muscles unknotting, and the desire to dissolve into his touch. She shivered. A seed had been planted, and now, under these perfect conditions, it had swelled and burst through its seed coat, tiny roots fanning out through her system, drawing life back into itself.

  His hollow-eyed pain cut through, stilling the fluttering in her chest. He regretted kissing me. Abby curled her fingers into her palm. What had she done wrong?

  Cecelia would know. Abby’s throat tightened. How could she bring herself to tell her sister about this incident?

  And I kissed him back. Abby pressed her knuckles against her cheekbones, heat blazing between her fingers. Her lips still tingled from the kiss. What was I thinking?

  13

  Robert’s words lodged in Abby’s heart like a splinter. She pressed a hand against her chest as she rushed back to Cecelia’s room.

  Mama and Gerald hovered near the bedside, the air buzzing with the sounds of their hushed voices. Cecelia lay flat, eyes closed and mouth agape, as if in sleep she struggled for breath. Gerald clamped fingers around her wrist, drawing it upward a few inches. Cecelia’s sleeve slid back, exposing her long, white arm.

  The recollection of the kiss shattered, Abby raced to her mother’s side. “What happened?”

  A grim expression covered Gerald’s face, his light-colored hair rumpled as if he had repeatedly passed his fingers through the strands. “Cecelia’s fever has risen to a dangerous level.” He took a deep breath and turned to Abby’s mother. “We’ll try to bring it down with some ice, but I think her final hours are coming more quickly than we anticipated, Clara. Have you gotten word to Herman?”

  Mama nodded, her face gray, shoulders curved. “But he won’t arrive until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

  “What?” Abby’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. I just spoke with her.

  Gerald lowered Cecelia’s hand to the bed. “Her pulse is erratic. She may not have much longer.”

  Abby stumbled backward with a gasp, bumping against the doorframe. “No . . .”

  He glanced up at her. “Have you seen Dr. King?”

  Her mouth opened, heat returning to her cheeks. “I left him a moment ago, in Lafayette Square.”

  “Go and get him. No, wait—” Gerald cast another glance at Cecelia. “Stay with your mother and sister. I’ll send one of the nurses.” He scooped up the clipboard and hurried from the room.

  Abby touched the blue silk of her mother’s draping sleeve.

  Mama sank down in the chair beside the bed, eyes dull. “Oh, God—why now?”

  Spidery purple veins marred Cecelia’s closed eyelids, her face flushed and cheeks sunken. Her cracked lips parted, faint wheezing breaths rasping in her chest.

  A raven-haired nurse arrived with a bucket of ice. Wrapping the blocks in cloths, she wedged the packs under Cecelia’s arms and around her torso, covering Cecelia with a thin sheet.

  Abby wove her fingers through her sister’s, the warmth in Cecelia’s skin burning into her own.

  Gerald returned minutes later, Robert at his heels, his face somber.

  Other than a brief glance in his direction, Abby kept her gaze downward, pushing away all thought of their recent encounter. Her sister lay dying, and what had Abby done? Distracted her doctor from Cecelia’s bedside when she needed him most.

  Distracted? She’d kissed him. Abby’s mouth went dry, her throat as parched as sun-baked mud. She moistened her lips, fighting an urge to wipe them on her sleeve.

  Mama stood at the opposite side of the bed, her dark blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “There must be something else you can do, Gerald. She was responding so well. What happened?”

  Gerald stood a step behind Mama, his own eyes rimmed with red. “The radiation put the leukemia into a temporary remission. But the blood tests are showing her organs can’t handle the treatment. Her liver and kidneys are shutting down. Clara—” he took her arm, turning her to face him. “Her heart is weakening. She won’t withstand the infection.”

  Abby swallowed. “This is it, then? No more X-rays?”

  Robert’s face darkened. “At this point, the radiation therapy is causing more harm than good.”

  The declaration resounded in Abby’s chest like a voice echoing through a cavern. Her throat clenched until she could barely force out words. “You can’t give up now. You can’t.” She sank to the edge of the bed, directing her gaze toward Robert. “Don’t give up on us.”

  His cheeks puffed with a long exhale, his eyes round and dark. “There’s nothing more—”

  “Don’t!” Abby jumped to her feet, jabbing the air in front of him with a finger. “Don’t say those words. Not to me. Not ever.”

  Gerald’s fingers grazed her arm. “Abby.”

  Abby flung her elbow, knocking away her cousin’s touch. “Take her back to the laboratory. One more treatment. See her through this infection and she’ll get stronger again.”

  Mama’s choking voice cut through the room. “Abigail, stop—” A sob stole her remaining words. She bent down, covering Cecelia with caresses. “Cecelia, honey, open your eyes.”

  Abby bounded toward Robert. “We didn’t bring her all this way to have her die in some cold hospital room. Fix this.” Her body shuddered as she drew gasping breaths. “Do something. Give her one more chance. She deserves it—I deserve it.” She grasped his arms and squeezed.

  Robert reached for her shoulders, as if to draw her into an embrace. “Abby, I can’t. It’s no good.”

  She pushed against him, his words piercing her soul. “Not can’t—won’t. You won’t do it.” A deep pain collected in the back of her throat. She broke away, throwing herself down on the bed beside her mother and sister. Eyes dry, a sob heaved up from her core. Abby clenched her teeth to stop the sound.

  Gerald, his hand on Abby’s mother’s back, gestured with his head. “Robert, take her out, please.”

  “No!” Abby clutched at the bedcovers.

  Robert took her arm and lifted, using his other hand to pry open her grip. “Abby, let’s get some air.”

  She locked her knees as he set her on her feet. “No, please. I don’t want to go. Gerald, please.”

  Robert half-carried, half-dragged, Abby from the room, propelling her forward until the doors of the cancer ward swung closed behind them.

  “You can’t do this!” Abby flung her body against his in a mad attempt to get past. “It’s my sister. I need to be in there. She needs me.”

  “Exactly.” Robert locked his arms around her waist, pressing her back against the wall, his thick brows rumpled. “Cecelia needs her sister. She doesn’t need you to be another doctor. She doesn’t need to be part of some experimental research program. And she doesn’t need a frightened woman ordering people about.”

  As he touched her cheek, the twisted knot in her stomach loosened. Her hand, gripping the loose fabric of his laboratory coat, sensed the rising and falling of his chest. The steady, even rhythm eased the buzzing in her head.

  “She needs to know you will be all right.” His voice faltered, but his earnest gaze did not. “She is going to die, regardless. Don’t waste this moment moaning in the hall, when you should be saying good-bye.”

  A tear drip
ped from Abby’s chin. She hadn’t even realized she was crying.

  The door swung open and Gerald leaned out, his face dark. He eyed Abby for a long moment before speaking. “Cecelia’s awake.”

  A tremor coursed through Abby’s arms, her hand still buried in the front of Robert’s coat. “I can’t let her go.”

  Robert looked down at her, his gaze fervent. He squeezed her shoulders. “You can.”

  Robert leaned into the wall, pressing the back of his head against the cool plaster as Abby followed Gerald through the swinging door. He blew out the breath he had been holding for the last several moments. His stomach roiled.

  The look on Abby’s face had left his heart in shreds no surgery could repair. Robert pressed a palm against his chest, the warmth of Abby’s hand lingering on the smooth fabric.

  I fell in love with my patient’s sister and now the patient is dying. Robert lowered his face to his hands, digging fingers into his hair. Cecelia’s case had been hopeless from the start. The goal of the experiment was to determine the effectiveness of X-rays for cancer treatment. It had never been about saving one woman’s life.

  His head throbbed in rhythm with the taunting voice chanting inside his mind. Fool. Idiot. Charlatan. He’d known Abby Fischer was vulnerable. The woman grasped at hope like a lifeline. And he’d offered plenty, like a salesman selling snake oil in the town square.

  He paced the hall, palms sweating. Abby had captured his heart, and now the rope of her expectations tangled around his ankles, threatening to drag him down into the abyss.

  He’d presented her with hope. She’d responded with love. Who would bear the burden of guilt?

  Abby stole back into the room, listening to her mother’s soft voice as she whispered to Cecelia.

  “My sweet, sweet girl. You rest now.”

  Cecelia’s blue eyes stared out from puffy lids, her unfocused gaze traveling from Mama to Abby.

  Abby sank down, perching on the edge of the bed across from her mother. She reached for Cecelia’s hand. “How . . .” she searched for words to matter to her sister. “How do you feel?”