Out of the Ruins

by Karen Barnett

  Abby closed her fingers over the cold metal, her heart lurching. She gazed down at the mother’s hand, now bare. I’m sorry. We’ll see she’s cared for. Abby squeezed the ring in her palm. She didn’t want to put it in her pocket, it might fall out on their journey, but she couldn’t wear a dead woman’s wedding band.

  Robert watched her fumble with it. “Would you like me to hang onto it?”

  “Yes, please.” She placed it in his outstretched hand with a shudder.

  Robert tucked the ring into his vest pocket. “We should probably move on.”

  Abby ran a hand along the baby’s dirt-smudged cheek. “Will she be okay? Is she injured?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “There is a lot of bruising, but I don’t think she has any broken bones. I don’t see any signs of internal injuries, but . . .” He shook his head. “I just don’t know.” Robert wiped his face with his sleeve and cleared his throat.

  Abby rocked the baby in her arms, her throat tight.

  Robert’s shoulders lowered as if exhaustion pushed them down. “We’ll take her to Gerald and see what he thinks. There’s nothing else we can do—the hospitals are overwhelmed. She’ll probably have a better chance with us.”

  His words echoed in Abby’s ears and heart. “There’s nothing else we can do.” Do they teach them that phrase in medical school?

  “We can pray for her.” Robert’s face loomed over her, his eyes grave.

  The words pierced Abby’s heart. Would it hurt to utter one little prayer? She swatted the temptation away. The baby’s life was in her hands, not God’s. Abby stepped backward. “You can,” she whispered. “Not me.”

  37

  4:10 p.m.

  The sun burned, a fiery red ball blasting through the veil of smoke that clung to the city, but too high in the sky to be an actual sunset. Robert pressed his knuckles against his nose, certain he’d never be able to erase the scent of the incinerating city from his memory. The cinders floating on the breeze reminded him of the story of God’s manna. But these ashes were no blessing from God—more akin to the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

  Abby stumbled along by his side, her eyes fixed on the tiny shape clutched in her arms.

  A shiver ran down his spine. As tired and bedraggled as they were, they must resemble a young family on the run from the flames. His mind wandered for a moment imagining Abby as his wife. He longed to take her into his arms and promise her Mrs. Fischer and Davy would be safe, but the longer they spent walking, the more concerned he grew. The fires were moving too fast.

  As they turned the corner, Gerald’s street stretched out before him, the row of fine homes standing defiant against the smoke-filled horizon. A rock lay in Robert’s gut. The flames could reach the neighborhood before dark. There was no question of staying.

  Abby looked up. “We made it.” A shaky smile graced her lips bringing new light to her dirt and tear-smudged cheeks.

  “Just another of our long walks, eh, Miss Fischer?” He rallied a smile despite the emotions swirling in his chest.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’d love to get off my feet for a few minutes.”

  Robert nodded, pushing open the gate and holding it for her to step through, the gangly roses spilling over the fence a reminder of lighthearted times long past.

  Abby halted on the bottom stair.

  “What is it?” He hurried up the walk to her side as she stared up at the door.

  Instead of being greeted by Mrs. Larkspur’s open arms, a crisp piece of white stationery fluttered in the breeze.

  “Not again.” Abby hung her head.

  Robert groaned. He took the steps two at a time and tore the sheet from its tack. Mrs. Larkspur’s genteel script matched the woman’s grace, her gentle words reading as clearly as her own voice.

  Dearest Clara,

  Gerald is insisting on my leaving the city until the crisis passes. He is escorting me down to the ferry and I will be crossing the bay to Oakland and staying with my brother’s family. If you and the children are able, come join us there. I will be watching for you. Gerald will return to the hospital, I fear.

  I am informed the fires are heading this way. I am praying you and the children are safe. I told Gerald I wouldn’t leave the city like this, but he has threatened to carry me off against my will. I know our Heavenly Father is watching over you and I will be on my knees interceding with Him until I hear word. I am thankful Abby is with you. You are fortunate to have capable hands to help during this time.

  Remember Clara, “God is our refuge and strength. A very present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1.

  With my love and prayers,

  Your loving Aunt,

  Mae Larkspur

  Robert skimmed the note three times, his stomach sinking lower each time.

  Abby tucked the baby higher up against her chest, like a child clutching a doll. “Tell me they’re safe. Please.”

  He plodded down several steps. “Gerald’s sent his mother across the bay. The letter is addressed to your mother—apparently, she hasn’t been here.”

  Abby turned and sank onto the steps, her head falling forward. Her straw hat wobbled on its perch.

  Crouching on his heels, Robert took a deep breath. “We will find them. I won’t leave you, don’t worry.”

  Her shoulders trembled, face hidden. “Why do you feel so responsible for my family? Where does it end?”

  Robert touched her arm. “I care about you. You know I do.”

  She tipped her head back, meeting his eyes. “I blamed you for Cecelia’s death.”

  His chest ached. “I know.” He sat beside her, careful his shoulder did not brush hers. “I was eager to prove myself. The thrill of the research, anticipating an earth-shaking medical discovery . . . it was my only focus.”

  He searched for words. “I wanted to be the hero. I convinced your family to subject Cecelia to the treatment, even though I knew it would likely fail in the end.”

  She looked down at the baby, running a finger down the tiny arm. “And now?”

  Robert set his hat on the step beside him and ran fingers through his hair, passing lightly over the lump on the back of his skull. “I didn’t expect to fall in love with you.”

  Her head jerked up, brown eyes round with surprise.

  He stood, climbed the stairs, and paced back down before turning to look at her, heat growing under his collar. The tremble in her lower lip made his skin crawl, yet the emotions pounding in his chest refused to be ignored. “I mentioned before I was fond of you.”

  She straightened. “Yes, but . . .”

  “It was inappropriate at the time, because I was your sister’s doctor.” He hesitated. Was it any more acceptable now? Hadn’t her sister perished under his care? “I tried to keep silent. I knew you blamed me. But I can’t deny my feelings.”

  Abby’s face flushed under her freckles and she turned her eyes away.

  Her silence cut like a scalpel. Robert took a step back, struggling to regain his control. “But I’ll understand if you don’t return my affections. Frankly, I’d be surprised if you did.” He retrieved his hat from the step and turned away. Robert exhaled, his hopes dissipating into the air along with the smoke.

  “I can’t, Robert.” Abby’s voice shook.

  Rather than facing her, Robert closed his eyes. He tapped his hat against his thigh. “We should gather some supplies. We can’t stay here long, I’m afraid.”

  The wooden steps creaked under Abby’s shoes as she rose. “I’m sorry, Robert. I wish things could be different.”

  Me, too.

  Abby turned the doorknob and stepped inside the quiet house, cold and lifeless without Aunt Mae’s vitality. Even the air tasted stale.

  Robert followed her inside, pushing the door shut behind him. “We’ll need food and water. And some milk for the baby, if there is any. Then we’ll head for the hospital and see if Gerald has returned.”

  Abby shivered. Does he think Mama an
d Davy are at the hospital? Or worse?

  “Or I could take you down to the ferry.” Robert’s eyes narrowed. “You could join Mrs. Larkspur in Oakland while I continue the search.”

  “I am not leaving without Mama and Davy.”

  Robert opened his mouth as if to reply, but he refrained. He nodded and strode off to the kitchen.

  Abby took a deep breath, the weight of his confession crushing against her shoulders. Did he really say he loved her? Her emotions jumbled like the tangle of debris in the streets. When she fled from the ruins of her grief, she’d cast Robert aside. Had she loved him, or had she used him as a replacement for God?

  Stepping into the parlor, she sank down into the same fine chair as yesterday morning. It seemed like another lifetime. Leaning her head against the high back, she remembered her Aunt’s words: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”

  “I wish I had a faith like hers,” Abby whispered to the baby. “A refuge sounds pretty good right now. ‘A very present help in trouble’—we could definitely use some, couldn’t we?”

  She pictured Robert’s face, his chocolate-brown eyes earnest and pleading. Her heart had leaped in response, but she knew it was all for naught. How could she love a man who had failed her so deeply? She lowered one hand to her lap, her fingers resting on the bulge in her pocket. Aunt’s journal.

  She pulled it from her pocket and set it on the end table. Aunt Mae had obviously expected her story to teach Abby something about God’s faithfulness. But like Robert, God had failed her as well.

  Abby closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over her. How she would love to sit here and let sleep provide a temporary escape. Her arm ached from holding the slumbering child. She shifted against the soft chair. If she weren’t careful, it’s exactly what would happen.

  Forcing her eyes open, her gaze settled on the journal. A few of the delicate pages hung askew. Freeing one hand, Abby opened the book to straighten them. The familiar handwriting beckoned.

  September 1, 1856

  I started school today with my cousins. It’s strange to have family again. And such a big one! They are all so noisy sometimes I can’t hear myself think. But when Uncle Harold says, “Let’s pray” in his deep voice, everyone goes silent as a church mouse. I sit quiet with the others, but I don’t pray. I gave it up months ago.

  September 21, 1856

  My new “sister,” Lydia, is only one year older than me and it already feels like we’ve known each other forever. We talk about everything. The other night we were sharing secrets. Hers was about a trick she pulled on a boy at school. When she asked me for a secret, I told her about how I don’t pray since He doesn’t listen anyway. Her eyes went all big and round. The next thing I knew, she rushed off to tell her mother. Lydia’s not much good at secrets.

  Abby shook her head, remembering how she and Cecelia used to trade secrets. Abby staggered to her feet. There wasn’t time for those kinds of thoughts. Clutching the tiny baby in one arm, she climbed the stairs and dug through the linen closet. Locating a few clean towels, she tiptoed through the hall to Aunt Mae’s bedroom, feeling like an intruder in the deserted house.

  Spreading one of the towels over the quilt, she laid the sleeping baby down, placing pillows to each side. Too young to roll off, anyway, I suppose.

  She picked up the pitcher from the washstand and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Abby stared in surprise at the upstairs tub, already filled with water. Aunt Mae must have heard about the water problems and stocked up. Abby dipped the pitcher into the tub, enjoying the silky feeling of the water against her dusty skin.

  Returning to the bedroom, Abby bathed the child with a wet cloth. The infant fussed, her tiny voice shaking, fists clenching. She sucked in a deep breath and kicked both feet, bringing knees up to her round stomach.

  Abby smiled in response, the knot of worry in her chest lessening. She has some strength after all. Abby removed the stained shirt and soiled diaper, the dark purple bruises making Abby queasy. After a quick wash, she wrapped the baby in clean towels. The child stared up at her with round blue eyes. So tiny and helpless.

  “My mama is gone, too,” Abby murmured to the infant. “Well, not gone. Just missing—I think. I hope.” Lifting her into her arms, Abby rocked her gently. “I’m sorry about your mama. But there must be someone else out there looking for you. If not . . .” She paused. “Well, we’ll figure it out later.”

  The baby’s eyes closed. After a few moments of watching her sleep, Abby laid her in the center of the big bed while she carried the washbasin back to the bathroom. She stopped and stared at the full tub. For a brief moment, she considered shedding her clothes and stepping into the lovely water. She leaned over and touched the still surface, skimming her fingertips like a water strider on a quiet pond. The cool water beckoned, her skin growing itchy and hot.

  A sound of cabinets closing downstairs in the kitchen brought her to her senses. With a groan, she filled a basin, dunked the washcloth into the water, and held it up to her face. Running it across her skin, she wove it under her hairline, letting the water dribble down the back of her neck. The coolness reminded her of wading in the creek back home. She rolled up her sleeves and plunged her arms in to the elbows, washing the ugly combination of soot, sweat, and dirt from her skin.

  With a deep breath, Abby withdrew her dripping hands from the basin and ran them through her hair. Grimacing at her reflection in the tiny mirror, she braided her hair, pulling the strands snug. She wound it into a knot and secured it to the back of her head with some pins from a basket on the counter. She hung the towel on a hook and cast one last wistful glance at the big bathtub.

  After checking if the baby still slept, Abby climbed the rickety steps to the attic and searched through an old cedar-lined trunk until she located some baby clothes and some knitted blankets.

  Abby dressed the baby, wrapping her in a soft blanket. Cradling the infant in her arms, Abby took a deep breath before trailing down to the kitchen to face the handsome doctor.

  Robert was laying out some food on the table. He smiled at Abby, his eyes lingering. “You look refreshed.”

  She lowered the infant into his waiting hands and suppressed a smile as he gazed at the child with warm eyes. Spotting a small picnic basket, she stepped into the pantry and eyed the shelves. Not wanting to spend another day wandering with no provisions, she picked through Aunt Mae’s stores, packing enough food for a day or two. She glanced over her shoulder to where Robert stood, his back to her, resting the babe against his shoulder. Where would they stay tonight? She moistened her lips. If they couldn’t locate her mother or Gerald . . .

  She couldn’t imagine the alternative.

  Turning back to the pantry shelves, Abby pulled Aunt Mae’s spare apron from its peg and tied it behind her back. The pocket bulged. She reached in and withdrew the enormous ivory bow from Cecelia’s gown. It’s still here. She lifted it to her cheek, rubbing her face against its glossy softness. Closing her eyes, she pictured Robert’s face, his brows knit together in concentration as he stitched the wound on her finger. How embarrassed I was of my silly dress; now look at me. She glanced down at her stained shirtwaist and torn skirt. Tears stung her eyes as she shoved the bow into her skirt pocket next to Aunt Mae’s journal. Some memories were too precious to discard.

  Abby wandered into the kitchen, gathering necessary supplies. Her hand settled on Aunt Mae’s knife block. She slid the sharp blade from its place, her fingers closing around the familiar handle. Wrapping it in a dishtowel, she added it to the basket.

  Robert sat down, the baby curled against his shoulder. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Abby glanced at the food on the table. Was she hungry? She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and then it had been only a few bites. “Yes. I’m starving.”

  “Then come join us.”

  She set the basket on the floor, circled the table, claiming the seat across from Robert.

  He rea
ched a hand across the smooth surface. “Shall we bless the food?” His raised brows made his dark eyes look even larger than normal.

  She grasped his hand and lowered her chin, fixing her gaze on his fingers. A tiny white scar ran along one knuckle. The warmth of his touch sent a tingle up her arm. Before he reached the end of the prayer, she closed her eyes so as not to be caught staring.

  Abby handed Robert a plate, growing hungrier with every passing moment. She spooned up a helping of applesauce, adding it to her dish along with a slice of ham, a biscuit, and a slice of cheese. It took effort to keep from bolting the food down, but Abby smiled as she watched Robert lift large spoonfuls of the applesauce to his mouth.

  He swiped a napkin across his lips. “I hope Mrs. Larkspur won’t mind us helping ourselves.”

  “She won’t. Nothing brings her more joy than feeding people.”

  Robert chuckled. “And there are few things that bring me more joy than eating her cooking.”

  “I know what you mean. It tastes even better today.” Abby gathered the baby in her arms and tried spooning some milk into her mouth, but the infant gagged and turned away, squalling.

  Robert reached for a clean napkin and dipped it in the glass. “Try this.”

  Taking the dripping cloth from his hand, Abby touched it to the baby’s lips. The child closed her mouth on the fabric, but pushed it back out with a pink tongue.

  Robert cleared his throat. “We should probably get over to the hospital. We can leave the baby there and Gerald can help us find your family.

  “Leave her?” Abby bristled at the words.

  “She might have injuries we don’t know about.”

  She set her jaw. “I’ll take her to the hospital, but I won’t leave her there.”

  Robert narrowed his eyes. “She’s not your kin, Abby. You can’t just keep her. They will need to find her family.”

  “I’m not your kin, and yet you are helping me.” Her words snapped in the quiet house.

  He took another biscuit and shrugged. “It’s completely different. We are friends. And you are my best friend’s cousin.”