by Lily Cahill
It was what had made it so difficult for her to embrace her powers. She had not wanted to see herself as anyone other than the girl her father had raised in his image.
But her father was not God. He was not a prophet. He was merely a man made of flesh and bone, as all men were. He was just as infallible as anyone else, and his extreme views were just that: extreme. It was clear to Henry that Ruth was starting to see that logic and to move out of her father’s sphere of influence, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think that would be an easy or instantaneous transition. Edward Baker had been her world for the first twenty-two years of her life; even if she never spoke to him again, he still would have raised her, shaped her worldview. It was impossible to ignore his importance to Ruth.
Which made the knot in Henry’s stomach tighten even more. He was okay having crossed that professional boundary. He saw now that no matter how well-intentioned he’d been, he had been fooling himself. There was no him without her. He needed her like oxygen, like water, like food and rest and shelter. She was essential to him now.
But what if she regretted their actions? What if she blamed him for taking something she hadn’t wanted to offer? She’d consented. But there was a different between how one felt in the heat of the moment and how one felt afterward. Things that seemed good because they felt good no longer felt as powerful in the light of day.
Had he corrupted Ruth?
Guilt washed over him as he stared down at her beautiful face. She looked so calm, so peaceful. He wanted to preserve this moment and keep it forever. What if it was the last one he ever had? How could he go back to waking up every morning when he knew what it was like to have her face be the first thing he saw?
He shouldn’t have slept with Ruth. No matter how wonderful of an experience it had been, no matter how urgent it had felt in the moment … she was bound to be unhappy with him. He should have set up boundaries, made sure she was comfortable and safe. She’d only just run away from her dad, she was upset—
His stomach felt like a rock.
He needed to fix this. He couldn’t lose Ruth—not now when he had finally admitted to himself how important she was to him.
By the time Ruth stirred, Henry had gotten dressed, sliced up some fruit, and made her toast. The sandwiches and celery had gone bad overnight, and he tossed them out. He’d wanted to set up a nice table for her, something pleasant to wake up to, but he hadn’t the time. It was getting late, and he needed to get to the clinic soon.
She walked into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and disheveled. Her hair was a bird’s nest, curly and flying out from around her head. She’d slipped back into the dress from last night. It was torn and dirty, and it made Henry frown. She shouldn’t have to wear something like that.
“I couldn’t find you,” she said, sounding put out.
Henry winced. He would have held her all morning if he’d been able, but he couldn’t skip work. He had to start making plans—all of that wishful thinking about Ruth remaining in his home now felt just like that: wishful thinking. They still needed to go talk to Matt Harris, and Henry had to make amends with his grandfather. Once things between them were settled, he would stay with Dr. Pinkerton in his apartment while he and Ruth waited to get married.
This was assuming Ruth wanted to marry him.
He ruffled his hair and motioned to the table. “I have to get going soon, and I wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”
Ruth’s face split into a yawn. She looked adorable. It made his heart clench.
She smiled at the breakfast as she ambled forward, picking a grape off the plate and popping it into her mouth. “Well, this is nice. I don’t think anyone has ever made me breakfast before.”
Ruth said it so casually, as if it had never once occurred to her to imagine anyone cooking her breakfast. He’d hardly done anything, had wasted too much time worrying to give her what she really deserved.
He swallowed around the nervous lump in his throat. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, standing stiffly as he watched her take a bite of toast. “How are you feeling?”
“Hungry!” She took a larger bite and collapsed into a waiting chair. When he didn’t sit down, she looked up at him with a frown. “Aren’t you joining me?”
Henry shook his head, trying not to feel guilty when he noticed a hurt look flutter across her face. “I have to get to the clinic, but I ….” The words were stuck in his throat, refusing to emerge. He took a deep breath. He had already ruined everything. He needed to make sure she felt safe and wanted, and that she knew this was not just a fling for him. “I wanted to tell you that I’ll be, well ….”
She frowned and discarded the rest of her breakfast. “What is it?”
“I know we didn’t exactly plan on last night happening like it did.”
Her face blanched, and he wanted to kick himself.
“And it was wonderful! I really care about you, Ruth, and I want to help you, but I ….” He ran his fingernail along a split in the wood tabletop. “People can’t find out you’re staying here. If they do, they’ll think—”
“They’ll think something that is entirely correct,” Ruth said. Her tone was difficult to read. She sounded very matter of fact—neither happy nor upset. Was she all right? What she hiding her emotions from him?
“I don’t want to risk your reputation, and if your father finds out where you are, he won’t be happy. You’ll be in even greater danger.”
His words were sound, practical. He knew this was what most people would have viewed as the “right” thing. It would help Ruth feel safe from both her father and the judgment of strangers. Why, then, did it feel so wrong to be separated from her?
“It’s not forever. I just think—until we find a way to protect you using the law, you should stay here, in my house. But I shouldn’t.”
She spoke in that same, strangely dead tone. “And where will you be?”
“I’ll spend some time with my grandfather.”
“But you’ve been fighting with him.”
He fought to keep his face neutral. “Well, I need to make amends. He hasn’t been well lately, anyway, so it will be good for him to have someone around who can take of him a bit.” He frowned. “Even if he refuses to admit he needs the help.”
Her eyes were far away as she nodded. “That makes sense.”
She was upset. That had to be it. Ruth had not been this distant with him since those first few, stilted meetings. It made his heart ache. He didn’t want to hurt her. But this was the best plan for keeping her safe, and he would do anything to make sure that happened.
He hoped she would understand that.
Moving forward, he bent down and placed a kiss on the top of her head. His hand cupped her cheek, and he ran his thumb over the soft skin there. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were dry. Maybe he was being too dramatic.
“I’ll come back tonight for a while, all right? And we’ll go to Officer Harris, like we talked about.”
Ruth leaned the weight of her head into his palm. “All right.”
It was difficult to tear himself away from her, but he managed it. “I’ll see you soon.” He hesitated and then added, “I love you.”
And then he walked out the front door.
His heart felt heavy with each step he took away from the house. Ruth hadn’t seemed relieved when he’d mentioned his plan—she had just appeared to be calm. It was disconcerting. He’d have to talk to her when he stopped by that night to grab a few of his things. She was his priority now.
He reached the end of the block when he saw Briar Steele frowning at her empty mailbox. It reminded him: He still hadn’t heard back from the lab about Ruth’s blood test results. He needed to call them. Even if they hadn’t been able to process things for him yet, they should be able to confirm whether or not the sample had arrived.
Briar lifted a hand, and Henry waved back. He thought about what Ruth had said, that Briar had gone out of her way to help with Ruth’s hair cu
t, and stopped in his tracks.
The girl had already turned to head back inside when Henry called out, “Hey, Briar! Wait!”
She halted and turned. “Did you need something?”
He jogged the distance between them. This was too personal a matter to announce to the world. “I need a favor.”
“I’m listening,” she told him, eyebrow raised.
“You can’t tell anyone—”
“No one would believe me if I did. What’s happened?”
Henry dropped his voice as low as it could go. “Ruth is at my house.”
Briar’s eyes flew wide. “Dr. Porter! She is not that kind of girl!”
“No, no—not like that. Her father did something, he—I can’t explain it, it’s not my story to tell. But she wasn’t safe, and she came to me. Can you get her some clothes? Just something to tide her over. She didn’t have time to bring anything. I’ll pay you back if you have to spend any money, and—”
“Did he hurt her?” Briar sounded suddenly serious, expression dark and cloudy. “Is she all right?”
“She’s okay, I think. I don’t ….” He huffed out a frustrated sigh. It was so difficult to know, right now, what was going on in Ruth’s head. Was she all right? “Can you help her?”
“Of course.” Briar nodded. “I’m happy to.”
He breathed out a sigh of relief. This, at least, felt like the right thing to do. “Thank you. There’s a gate in the backyard fence that doesn’t lock. Just go through there and knock at the back door. Ruth can let you in there without anyone seeing you.”
Briar was already heading back toward her house. She called over her shoulder, “Got it!”
Henry waved again and then started walking quickly toward work. He was running late, and he needed to have a conversation with his grandfather.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ruth
Ruth lay along the length of the couch, trying not to cry.
Everything about last night had seemed so perfect when she’d awoken that morning to the sound of Henry banging around in the kitchen. The gash on her leg ached and her feet were itchy with pain, but it didn’t matter. She was in Henry’s house. She was Henry’s now.
She had another source of pain, a stretched soreness that emanated from her center. She didn’t mind. In fact, she sort of liked it. It made her feel mature, womanly. Proof it had really happened.
Her whole body had felt relaxed and loose in a way it never had before, and she’d smiled at the ceiling as she thought of what had happened just before they’d fallen asleep: She’d told Henry she loved him, and he’d said he loved her in return. He was kind and awkward and endearing, and he was teaching her to embrace parts of herself she’d always turned away from. And she was glad for all of it, for every inch of him.
Then she’d walked into the kitchen, and he’d declared he was moving out of his own house while she was there.
It was like a slap in the face. What they had shared had felt monumental for her. There was no going back from it. She had committed herself to him, body and soul—and now he couldn’t even stand to look at her.
Tears flooded her eyes again and she stubbornly pushed them away. It didn’t make any difference now. There was no use crying over it.
Her father’s voice had been echoing in her head all morning, ever since Henry had left. Wear your skirts long, Ruthie, or boys will take what they want from you, and it will be your fault for tempting them. And, Boys are weak, so you have to be strong.
Ruth felt like she was being flooded in guilt, drowning in it. It was so thick in her chest she could hardly breathe around it.
She’d been sure he loved her the way she did him—so why was he pushing her away, now when she needed his reassurance? Was it like her father had said, that all boys wanted one thing, and once they had it they stopped putting up appearances?
Sexual intercourse before marriage was a sin. She had no excuses except that she loved him—so much more than she’d even known it was possible to love someone. She’d had no regrets until Henry had made her feel as if they’d done something shameful. Now she felt steeped in them.
Where was she supposed to go from here? There was no easy path. She couldn’t head back home. Her father had been ready to lock her up, starve her, get the “demon” out any way he could. If he found out what she had done, that she was now some sort of … fallen woman? Her last few hours would be awful and painful, and she didn’t think she deserved to die. She wanted to live to be better.
Her childhood home was an impossibility, but so was staying here. She refused to let herself be held under the sway of another person who did not respect her. She would not escape one toxic environment just to run into another. Ruth sat up and rubbed determinedly at her watery eyes. The guilt was still there, and the worry, but resolve was there as well.
She loved Henry so much her heart ached, but she would not disrespect herself by waiting for him to feel the same.
Ruth got to her feet. She needed to clean herself up and write Henry a note. She was not going to just disappear on him. He deserved to know what was going on, and how she was feeling. The next steps were still fuzzy in her mind. She had no money, no job, no way out—and yet she couldn’t stay. It was impossible. All she needed was a clue, a sign of what she should do next—
There was a knock at the back door.
Ruth froze. The back door was in the kitchen, and the knocks were coming persistently, but … who would be looking for Henry when everyone knew he worked every day at the clinic? Why would they go to the back door? Had someone seen her last night? She’d been so careful, but—
The banging continued.
Tentative, Ruth padded toward the door on bare feet. There was no peephole or glass pane, so she stopped by the kitchen window and quickly peeked out from behind the curtain.
Briar Steele and June Powell were standing side by side on Henry’s back porch.
Before she could make any sort of decision, June walked through the closed door, a slight wince on her face. She turned and unlocked it for Briar, who came in a moment later, a bag over her shoulder. They hovered at an awkward distance from each other, clearly not comfortable being together.
“I told you,” Briar said, harrumphing as she held her bag closer to he body. “I didn’t have any reason to lie about this.”
June nodded, curt but civil. “Right. I’m sorry I doubted you.” When June turned to Ruth, her expression was screwed up with concern. “Ruth, are you okay? What’s going on? I haven’t seen you since the fundraiser.”
“You walked through the door. I heard you could do that, but ….” Hearing it and seeing it were two different things. Her mouth kept opening and closing like a fish. “And how did you know I was here?”
Briar picked up on her confusion, smiled kindly. “I ran into Henry this morning, and he told me.”
Ruth felt like her stomach had plummeted to the floor. “He told you?”
“I won’t tell!” Briar said, too quickly, and then shot a guilty look toward June. “Well, except for her. I just thought you might need a friend right now.” She brandished the bag in her arms. “And we brought you presents!”
June directed Ruth toward the kitchen table and sat a bag in front of her. “I raided my mother’s closet,” she confided, laying several dresses on the table. “I tried to pick the least ridiculous things. She’ll be less likely to notice that they are gone.”
Ruth fingered a dark blue dress. There were enormous fake pearls sewn into a belt around the waist, but it was otherwise fine. Nicer than anything she had ever owned.
“I know they’re not perfect,” June continued, “but they’re clean, and they’ll last you until you and Henry are married.”
Ruth reeled back from the table. “Married?”
June frowned. “Isn’t that the plan?”
“I don’t know,” Ruth said. She sounded distant in her own ears. “We haven’t talked about it.”
Briar butted forw
ard, moving in front of June. “I brought you something, too.” She grinned and set her bag on Ruth’s lap. “Go ahead, look inside.”
Confused and overwhelmed, Ruth looked down into the bag—and then snapped her eyes back up to Briar’s face. The girl looked like the cat who got the cream; she was beyond pleased with herself, that much was obvious. Inside the bag were the fabrics Henry had bought her all those weeks ago, needles and thread, and a pair of her shoes.
“How?” Ruth sputtered, staring down at them in shock. She hadn’t looked at them in a while, afraid she’d be tempted to use them. “These were in my room, back home. Briar, what did you—”
“Broke into your house,” Briar said, shrugging carelessly.
“But—”
June interrupted. “I only have a few more minutes before I have to get back to the bank.” She moved around Briar so she could sit next to Ruth and then grabbed Ruth’s hand. “But I don’t want to leave until I know you’re all right. What happened?”
Despite all her earlier resolve, Ruth could feel the tears rushing back. It was all so much at once, and she couldn’t process it. She took a shaky breath and then hiccuped into tears.
Briar dropped down on the other side and placed a hesitant hand on Ruth’s shoulder. “Ruth?”
Ruth sniffed. She wanted to tell June, but … there was no reason not to tell her. Briar already knew about her powers, and June herself was powerful. She could be brave. She could trust them.
“I can … do things. Like you, June.” Fear vibrated beneath her skin, but she kept going. “Not exactly like you, I mean, but … I have a power.”
June’s eyes darted to Briar, and Ruth shook her head.
“She caught me once, she already knows.”
“Show her,” Briar said gently.
Standing on shaky legs, Ruth went to the cupboard and got down a glass. She filled it with water all the way to the brim and then handed it to June, who stared at it curiously. Ruth sighed. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this.