Dressed only in her undergarments, Abby knelt at her mother’s feet like a small child.
Mama sighed and glanced down, eyes filling. Reaching out a hand, she touched Abby’s head. “When will you start taking care of your hair, Abigail? You should be brushing until it shines. Every single night. Turn around.”
Unsettled by the glazed look in her mother’s eyes, Abby adjusted her position, the wood floor biting against her knees, and leaned back against her mother’s legs. The familiar admonishment had been a standard in her home for years, but now she couldn’t remember the last time her mother had uttered the words.
The strokes of the brush yanked against her hair, the bristles grinding against her scalp. “Mama, where are Cecelia’s dresses?”
The rhythm of the brushing faltered before continuing. “Aunt Mae took your sister’s things to the attic.” The words barely stirred the air. “She thought it better for us not to be faced with them.”
A burning sensation gripped Abby’s chest. She reached out and grabbed her mother’s wrist, halting the brush mid-stroke. “What if I want to see them?”
Mama sat back in the chair, lowering the brush to her lap. “It’s past time for bed, Abigail. You can finish brushing in your room.”
Abby rose up on her knees. Placing her hands on Mama’s, she blinked back tears. She gazed at her with new eyes—taking note of lines and shadows she’d never noticed before, as if losing Cecelia had aged her overnight. “Good night, Mama.”
Abby struggled to her feet, her long white underskirt twisting around her ankles. She yanked it out of the way of her feet. If she were to fall, she wasn’t sure she’d ever wish to rise. Pacing back toward her room, she paused at the steps leading up to the attic. Bits and pieces of their life—locked behind closed doors. If only she could lock her feelings away so easily.
17
Thursday, October 19, 1905
Abby gripped her brother’s hand as they strolled through Golden Gate Park. Davy tugged against Abby’s arm every step of the way, her elbow aching like a rusty hinge. The morning air, thick with fog, dampened the wisps of hair escaping from her half-hearted attempt at style. Leaving the pebbled walkway behind, she set out across the grass, Davy’s feet doing double-time while hers dragged. The green of the park mocked her homesickness. She didn’t want manicured lawns and man-made ponds—the imperfect attempts of city-dwellers to enrich and embrace the natural world. If she couldn’t have her peach trees, she wouldn’t have any.
“Hurry up, Abby.” Davy squeezed her fingers. “Uncle Gerald’s meeting us at the lake.”
Sighing, she quickened the pace. “It’s Cousin Gerald, Davy. He’s not your uncle.”
“He says he bought me a new boat.”
“Yes.” Abby bit her tongue rather than spew any harsh words. Davy had spoken of little else all morning, his relentless voice drowning all other thoughts until she consented to escort him to the park. She took a deep breath, wiggling her shoulders to release the tension building in her neck. Two weeks had passed since Cecelia’s funeral and life had settled into a predictable pattern of meals and sleep.
Gerald strolled by the stream, a wooden sailboat clutched under one arm.
Davy yanked his hand free and raced forward to meet him.
Her breathing eased, seeing her cousin without his good-looking shadow. Every time she laid eyes on Robert, a new thorn pressed into her heart.
“Hello, little man.” Gerald’s face brightened as Davy scampered up and grabbed onto his trouser legs.
Abby slowed her pace as Gerald walked her brother down to the creek’s bank and set the small vessel afloat. She settled on a bench, wrapping her hands around her knees.
Not content to let the mild current power the craft, Davy pulled off his socks and shoes and waded in to push it along. Gerald climbed the rise and sat beside Abby, his long legs stretched out before him.
They sat for a long time without speaking, watching Davy splash in the chilly water.
Abby breathed slowly, conscious of the air filling her lungs and departing. Ever since witnessing Cecelia’s final labored breaths, the process seemed a little less assured.
“Is there word from your father?” Gerald’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“He says a few factories are hiring, but he wants to finish preparing the farm for sale.” The words tasted like sawdust.
“My mother and I are delighted your family is staying in the city. I know it’s little comfort to you, however.”
Abby swallowed the snide remarks on her tongue. “It’s very kind of you to let us stay on at Maple Manor. It’s probably best for Mama. She’s always missed city life.”
Davy stumbled, plopping onto his seat in the shallow water. He struggled to his feet, short pants dripping.
Gerald chuckled. He turned to her, his blue eyes crinkling around the corners. “I realize you’re not content to live in San Francisco, Cousin, but you must admit there are some benefits. Plays, operas, ballets, libraries, museums—endless opportunities. We’ll introduce you to some of the finer aspects of city life.” He cleared his throat. “After some time has passed, of course.”
“There’s not enough time in the world for me to feel like doing anything of the sort.” Abby adjusted her hat, resetting the pin through her loose bun.
Gerald patted her arm. “In time. I understand you and Robert grew close while caring for Cecelia. Perhaps he would enjoy seeing the sights with us.”
Acid burned in Abby’s throat. “No, thank you.”
Gerald’s brow furrowed. “You can’t blame him for what happened, Abby. He worked harder than anyone to save her.”
Tears burned in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn’t tell her cousin she had almost missed saying good-bye to Cecelia because she was too busy kissing Robert in the park. She shrugged off the remembrance, but not before her lips tingled in defiance.
“There comes a point when the suffering becomes too dear and there is no hope in sight—”
“Stop.” Abby pushed up to her feet, brushing a blade of grass from her skirt. “I have no desire to relive it.”
Gerald stood. “What about Robert? How long will you punish him?”
“Punish him?” Her throat squeezed. “Who is being punished here? He received everything he wished—his precious little experiment. What about me? I lost my sister and my home. I lost everything.” She took two stumbling steps backward. “I never want to hear Robert King’s name again.”
Abby marched to the edge of the stream. Davy had fallen forward, every stitch of his clothing now drenched. “Davy Fischer, get out of that muddy water!”
Davy glanced up, a pout dragging down his lower lip. “My boat!”
Locking hands on her hips, she shot him a glare. “You’re supposed to be sailing the boat, not bathing.”
Gerald stepped to the bank. “Come on, little man. Enough for today.”
Her brother splashed through the water, droplets flying, as he pursued the toy bobbing against a small footbridge.
Abby walked out on the rough wooden surface, her footfalls ringing hollow. Bending down, she stretched her arm toward the craft, lingering just out of reach. She lowered herself to her knees and leaned forward.
“No—I’ll get it!” Davy thrashed through the water, spraying her before crashing down on one knee and bursting out in howls.
Abby groaned. She stretched, her fingers closing on the top of the boat’s sail, but the bow remained firmly wedged under the bridge. Twisting her arm, she tugged at the mast. The sail popped loose from the toy, tilting her off-balance. Arms flailing, Abby pitched forward, the muddy water closing over her head and rushing into her nose and mouth. She pushed up to her hands and knees in the muck, spluttering.
Cries silenced, Davy stood frozen, jaw hanging. Gerald rushed forward and grabbed her arm, helping her back onto the footbridge. “Are you all right?”
Abby shivered on the wooden deck, water running down in rivulets, her sodden
shirtwaist and skirts sticking to her body. She shoved the boat under her arm and reached a hand up to straighten her hat, mud dribbling from the brim. “I’m perfect, Gerald. Just perfect.”
Robert glanced out the tall windows of Gerald’s third-story downtown office, the glorious view of Market Street obscured by the fog. Seven-year-old Janie Stevens sat on the high table, thin legs kicking a steady rhythm as they dangled in the air. Her mother hovered nearby, shiny red hair tucked under an enormous feathered hat.
Lifting the electric lamp, Robert shone it into the child’s eyes and watched each pupil contract in turn. He placed the light on the table and ran careful fingers across her skull from back to front. He lightened his touch when he reached the goose egg on her forehead, hidden by a fringe of brown curls.
Robert perched on a stool and rolled his shoulders to loosen the aching muscles. “It looks like you survived another spill, Janie. But I think you ought to avoid riding your brother’s bicycle without his permission.”
The girl lifted her chin, wearing her bruises and scrapes like badges of honor. “He said he’d take me for a ride and didn’t.”
Mrs. Stevens crossed her arms atop her pregnant belly and tapped her foot. “Now Lucas doesn’t have a bicycle for his delivery job, and you nearly broke your skull. When are you going to learn to act like a lady?”
Janie giggled, touching the swollen lump on her forehead. “Never, I hope.”
Robert smiled as the irritated mother whisked her child from the office, his thoughts wandering back to Abby. Even dangling from a tree branch, the same glint of independence had shown in her eyes.
He stretched his back, grunting as the vertebrae popped. He hadn’t slept well in weeks. His mind—his dreams—wouldn’t allow it.
Robert scratched a few notes on Janie’s chart before returning it to the oak cabinet in the back office. He peeked out into the empty waiting room, stomach rumbling. He hadn’t even had time for lunch.
The door swung open, Gerald stepping in from the outer hall. “Is the coast clear?” His blond hair fell forward, unusually ruffled.
Robert let him pass before hurrying to lock the door. “Yes, no thanks to you. Where have you been all day?”
Gerald’s shoes squished across the hard floor. “Doing a little sailing.” He hung his hat on the coat tree, settled down in the desk chair, and stripped off his shoes and socks.
Gathering some paperwork from the desk, Robert scowled. “I’m taking care of your patients so you can go boating?”
“Isn’t that why I have an assistant? So I can wrangle a day off once in a while?” Gerald draped his dripping socks across the top of the radiator. “I took my cousin Davy to the park. We had a little accident with his toy boat.” He raised his eyebrows. “You think this is bad, you should see Abby.”
Robert froze at the mention of her name. If only.
Gerald flopped into the chair and propped his bare feet on the desk, a smirk crossing his face. “She was spitting like an alley cat after someone tossed a bucket of water on it.”
Robert sorted the papers and returned them to the cabinet, careful not to respond. If he opened his mouth, he knew his voice would betray his feelings—emotions he had vowed to forget.
His friend leaned back, hands behind his head, his gaze piercing. “She’s grieving, Robert.”
Robert reopened the drawer, shuffling through more papers even though he could no longer see the words and figures.
Gerald sat forward. “She’s going to need your friendship, if nothing else.”
Robert slammed the drawer shut. “What do you want me to do? She won’t even see me.” A potted plant atop the cabinet wobbled.
“Don’t let her drive you off. Abby needs to know you still care, no matter what.”
Running a hand through his hair, Robert shook his head. “She doesn’t want me around. She’ll never forgive me. Frankly, I’m not sure I deserve to be forgiven.”
Gerald sprang from the chair and paced across the room, his feet slapping against the tile floor. “What are you talking about? You cannot take blame here. You don’t deserve it and you have no right to it. Cecelia lived months longer than expected because of your research. The experiment was a success, Robert.”
Robert’s stomach twisted. “A success?”
Lines formed on Gerald’s forehead. “She was my cousin. I hated to watch her die. But we did what we could, and what we learned will help other patients.”
“How can I even think of other patients? Every time I see you or Abby, my heart breaks all over again.”
Gerald paused. A tentative smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Why do you think I stayed out of the office all day?”
Robert leaned against the cabinet, arms folded across his chest. “Because you’re lazy and you’d rather watch your assistant do the work?”
His friend shot him a withering glance. “Because you needed to get back up on the horse before you forget how to ride. Tomorrow, you go back to the lab. I’ve got two more patients waiting for your X-ray expertise.”
Robert’s knees weakened and he slumped into the chair. “What?” His voice trembled. “No.”
“The hospital board has heard about our work. They’ve granted us $4,000 to continue the research and patients are already lining up.” Reaching for his still-damp shoes, Gerald pulled them on over his bare feet.
Robert sat forward. “Four thousand?”
“This is what you wanted. Remember? Are you going to shut down the research because you lost one patient? How about the others who are in need of this technology?”
“It wasn’t just one patient. It was Cecelia. I pressed you into taking the case, and—”
“And you were right. The X-rays bought her some additional time.” Gerald rubbed a hand across his chin. He lifted the socks from the radiator and rolled them into a ball. “I ache for my cousin and her family, but we still have work to do. It would dishonor Cecelia’s memory to give up now.” He tucked the socks into his coat pocket before heading for the door. Pausing on the threshold, he glanced back at Robert. “So, tomorrow, I’ll handle the office appointments. You will meet with the patients at the hospital. And thank the board for their generosity.”
Robert rested both elbows on the desk pad, letting his head fall forward into his hands.
Abby leaned against the bay window frame and gazed at the evening sky only half-listening as Great Aunt Mae spouted words of comfort. Gerald’s home had an enviable view of the sunset, nearby homes and chimneys silhouetted against the brilliant pink and purple, as if the sky pulled on its finest nightclothes.
Teacups rattled as Aunt Mae gathered the remnants of their dessert. “I’m sure the Lord understands our grief, but I imagine He wants—”
“I really don’t care what He wants.” Abby sighed.
Aunt Mae lowered herself into a gold mohair chair, her mouth agape. “Abigail!”
Abby bit her lip. She shouldn’t have spoken the callous words to her religious-minded aunt, but her heart refused to be silenced. “He took my sister. And my home.”
Aunt Mae rose from her chair, padded up behind, and laid a hand on the small of Abby’s back. “God has a plan for you, dear. And right now, it includes San Francisco. We don’t always understand the Lord’s will for us, but His plan is always perfect.”
Burning coals lodged in Abby’s chest. Hadn’t Cecelia said something along those lines on the day she died? Her death had ripped a hole in the fabric of their family—of their lives. No divine plan could stitch it together again. Abby turned from the window, her eyes scrutinizing the fine room with its wine-colored damask paper, a bouquet of dried roses tucked into a blue-green Bristol vase, a patterned rug cushioning their steps. The space had been designed to protect the inhabitants from the pressures of the outside world. And yet, its shelter was but a façade. Abby balled her fists, the tips of her nails digging into the tender flesh of her palms—growing softer every day she spent away from her trees. “Do you really bel
ieve He willed this?”
The amber light cast a rosy glow upon Aunt Mae’s face, softening the lines hiding around her mouth. “What I know is I couldn’t survive my grief without the Lord’s strength.”
Abby pulled away and sank into a nearby chair. “If this is God’s plan, I don’t want anything to do with it.”
A strained silence fell over the room. Aunt Mae remained at the window, as if searching the clouds for words of comfort. “Give it time, child. You’re hurting now—we all are. But give God time to show you His will. He can bring good from bad, blessings from curses. If anyone understands, it’s me.”
Letting her head fall back against the cushion, Abby gazed at the older woman’s stooped shoulders, her age-speckled hand braced against the back of a tall chair. The words made no sense, bouncing off of Abby’s raw heart, but she didn’t ask her aunt to explain. The last thing she wanted was more talk of God’s will. “I should return home. I can help put Davy to bed.”
Aunt Mae nodded, the glow fading as the sun lowered in the sky. “I have a book I want you to read. But I’m not going to give it to you just yet. After a little time has passed, perhaps.”
Abby retrieved her hat and shawl. The evening air had taken on a chill as of late and she couldn’t wait to wrap the knitted garment around her shoulders and close herself up against the world.If Aunt Mae’s book was about God, Abby certainly was in no hurry to read it.
18
Robert spread his fingers and pressed his hand to the table, using a broom handle to reach the X-ray control panel. He’d been spoiled by Abby’s capable assistance in the lab. He needed a better system for controlling the device while testing the radiation strength. But it would entail another long night of wiring. “I should have been an electrician.”
A woman’s voice floated in the open doorway. “Doctor or electrician, they’re both in high demand these days.”
Robert jerked his gaze upward, half-expecting to see Abby traipsing through the door.
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