Ignited

by Lily Cahill

  There wasn’t a perfect solution. Every course of action had repercussions. This problem was bigger than Ruth and her father.

  Resolve strengthened inside of Ruth. She would not live safely at the expense of herself. She would not cheat herself that way, not anymore. She’d made the break with her father, and maybe there were more breaks to come—worse ones, scarier ones. There was no way of knowing. But if she started running away from her problems now, she was certain she would never be able to stop.

  “What was the good news?” she asked, glancing up at Matt.

  He broke out into a grin. He was only a year or so older than her, but when he smiled like that, he looked much younger. “The good news is that you’re one of us, and no one is going to let anything happen to you.”

  Ruth gaped at him, unable to find the words. June reached out and touched her shoulder, gentle and comforting. She looked around at all three of their faces, taking them in, soaking in the moment. This, she realized, was what it was like to be loved.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Henry

  Henry awoke the next few morning tangled up in the sheets and Ruth’s limbs. It was the best he had ever slept.

  When Ruth had come home from the mine, full of excitement about her first experience there, she’d only had one complaint: Matt Harris was on forced leave and would not be able to help her avoid her father—in any official capacity, at least. Unofficially, he and the rest of the Independents were more than happy to look out for one of their own. Matt, June, and Ivan had sworn they would make sure nothing happened to her, whenever she decided to go public.

  She and Henry had found some wonderful ways to celebrate that particular piece of news.

  The next morning, Ruth cooked them breakfast while he showered and got ready for the day. He slipped downstairs in stocking feet to find her wearing a dress he’d never seen before, plating eggs and toast. It was all so stunningly domestic. A small bit of guilt gnawed at him. He needed to stop being such a coward and go ask his mother for his father’s ring.

  He shook the thoughts away. They weren’t the kinds of things he needed to dwell on, not when Ruth looked so pretty and fresh in a floral dress, smiling at him from across the table.

  As she put a plate down on the table, Ruth sat down beside him. “I had a thought,” she said, biting at her lip. “Can I walk with you this morning? To work, I mean?”

  Henry rubbed the remaining sleep away from his eyes. Was he still asleep? “Do you think that’s a good idea? Someone is bound to see, and I don’t want to—”

  “I don’t care. I don’t care anymore.” She leaned close to press a kiss to his cheek. “The Independents will look out for me. I don’t want to hide like we are some sort of shameful secret. I’m not ashamed.”

  Henry stared at her and then swept his arms around her. “You feel comfortable with this?”

  Ruth nodded, and he grinned.

  “All right, if that’s what you want,” he said. “I would be honored if you would walk me to work.”

  True to her word, when he was ready to go, Ruth slipped into her shoes and walked beside him into town. He had his medical bag in one hand and determinedly slipped his free one into hers, hoping she understood what he meant by the gesture. He was not ashamed, either. They were a united front.

  Ruth made every effort to chat as they normally did, but it was hard not to notice this was a definite shift in their relationship. They loved each other, but it’d been their secret.

  Now, everyone would know.

  Henry didn’t mind that part. Ruth was incredible, Ruth was beautiful, and Ruth was his. One day, she would even bear his name.

  If you ever go get that ring, a terrible part of him muttered. Henry ignored it.

  He was proud of her, but more than anything, he was proud to belong to her. He watched the sun bounce off her dark hair, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. Proud was definitely the right word.

  But he wasn’t completely ignorant of the fact that they were in very different situations. It was different for a woman to outwardly be with a man to whom she was not married than it was for a man to outwardly be with a woman. He was not going to experience the same stigma and shame that would be thrust upon her. If something were to happen, no one would resent him the way they would be bound to resent her.

  To walk by his side, so obviously from his home—it was an incredible act of courage. Henry was overwhelmed by the strength of Ruth’s commitment to him, the depth of her love. He wondered what he had ever done to deserve something so good. He saw a few passersby—Robby from the butcher shop, and old Mr. Jenkins, opening the jewelry store. Their eyes felt weighty, but Henry paid them as little mind as possible.

  When they arrived outside the clinic, the door was already open and Mrs. McClure was sitting at the front desk, going over the day’s schedule. Ruth went on her toes and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to do some shopping in town, I think. It might be nice to use your refrigerator to store food, rather than just as a decoration.”

  “Haha,” he said in mock indignation, fighting a smile even as he admitted, “I don’t shop as often as I should.” He fished his wallet out of his pocket and handed her a few bills. “Pick out whatever you want. Thank you for doing that.”

  “Well, someone needs to make sure you don’t starve.” She gave him a small wave good-bye, backing up a few steps instead of turning around.

  He felt pulled in by her eyes on him, and they kept their gazes locked until she turned and headed for the general store. Henry leaned against the front of the building for a moment, willing his heart rate to slow.

  As he stepped inside the lobby, Mrs. McClure nearly vaulted over her desk. She was impressively agile for someone who was well into her advanced years. “Was that Ruth Baker?” she asked, scandalized. “Did she kiss you?”

  Henry dodged around Mrs. McClure, offering her a charming smile. “Really, Mrs. M. I thought you weren’t a gossip.”

  “It isn’t gossip if it happens ten feet in front of my own eyes!” she called back as he disappeared down the hall and into his office.

  The morning rush calmed at some point after ten o’clock, and Mrs. McClure popped into Henry’s office. “Patrice and I are going to take a five minute cigarette break. Be a dear and sit at the front desk in case anyone walks in?”

  Henry nodded, hoping he looked less reluctant than he felt. A five minute cigarette break usually meant a twenty minute conversation—and what was worse, he was sure to be the center of Mrs. McClure and Patrice’s morning gossip.

  He couldn’t deny Mrs. McClure anything, however, not since he was six and she slipped him hard candies when his grandfather wasn’t looking. He made his way to the front as the pair of them disappeared out the back door, giggling like schoolgirls.

  His grandfather was ensconced in exam room three, and the waiting room was completely deserted. Henry’s eyes darted around. He wouldn’t have another chance like this one unless he stayed late one night, and there was no way to do that without drawing attention to himself.

  He opened up Mrs. McClure’s address book on the corner of her desk, flipping through until he found the name and address of the lab they used to process their tests. They were bound to have received the sample by now, and they might have some news for them. If he was quick about it, no one would ever know he’d made the call at all.

  He picked up the phone—there was no dial tone.

  Dammit. The phone was down again. He hung up and picked up the receiver again. Still nothing. He checked just in case, but the phone was still plugged into the wall. They needed their telephone. What if there was an emergency?

  The back door opened, and Henry could hear the two women cackling as they moved down the hallway. Henry stood, moving so Mrs. McClure could have her seat.

  “Mrs. M,” he said, cautiously. He didn’t want her getting suspicious. “Has the telephone been down all morning?”

  She frowned and picked i
t up. There was no dial tone for her, either, and she hung up with a shrug. “You know the lines haven’t been right since that big fight. Next time it comes up, I’ll call the phone company.” She swatted at him. “Now shoo. I have work to do!”

  He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning the whole time. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you be.”

  Ruth’s blood test results would just have to wait.

  The rest of the morning flew by. Just after Mrs. McClure and Patrice had returned from their smoke break, Dr. Pinkerton had asked if Henry would mind taking over the rest of his morning appointments. He’d looked pale, but had ducked away from Henry’s hands before he could check his grandfather’s forehead for fever.

  “I think you ought to go see a doctor,” Henry said, frowning when Dr. Pinkerton gave him a very pointed look. “You know what I mean. A doctor in a hospital, or at least one who isn’t related to you and therefore very biased about your care.”

  Dr. Pinkerton sighed. “I’m not sure I can go right now.”

  “Why not?” It was obvious that his grandfather was suffering—from what, Henry wasn’t sure, but it was definitely not good. “I don’t mind covering for however long it takes. I would be happy to do that for you, if it means that you have an opportunity to take some time off and talk to someone. You’ve had that cough for weeks, and it’s not any better.”

  “It’s not that. I don’t think anyone can leave right now.”

  Henry frowned. “What does that mean?”

  Dr. Pinkerton shook his head, backing out of the room. “Both you and I are really needed here. Have you not noticed how busy we are? We can’t afford to take much time off, either of us.”

  Henry didn’t know how to respond. No one could force his grandfather to do anything once his mind was made up, but they weren’t drowning in work the way his grandfather seemed to believe. Even if he didn’t want Henry to be near the Independents—a word Ruth had taught him just last night—he could have simply rescheduled any appointments they had for a few days out. No one would begrudge him some time off.

  “Wait, before you go,” Henry said, searching about for something, anything to keep his grandfather in the room. “Have we gotten any calls lately?”

  In the doorway, Dr. Pinkerton shifted about on his feet. “Why do you ask?”

  “I tried to call out,” Henry said, hoping he wasn’t asked who he was calling.

  “So, the call wouldn’t connect?”

  “I couldn’t even reach the operator.”

  His grandfather shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. The phones have been spotty for weeks now, ever since the fight. I’m sure Mrs. M will give the phone company hell when they come back on. Who were you calling, anyway?”

  “A friend. In Denver.” Was that too obvious? He scrambled. “From medical school. Because I went to medical school in Denver.”

  “I do know that, you know.” His grandfather arched a brow at him, but there was still a smile at the corner of his mouth. “So, you didn’t have that work done on your kitchen, after all?”

  Henry blinked. “What?”

  “You said you were having a handyman over.”

  Dr. Pinkerton looked at him oddly, and Henry tried not to groan. Of course—he’d forgotten about his little lie. It was unnecessary, now. “The problem wasn’t as bad as I thought,” he said, forming the words carefully. “And they were going to overcharge me.”

  “Well, I’m glad that’s all it was. Now, would you mind covering the rest of my morning? I’m not feeling well.”

  What happened to being too busy for time off?

  Henry chastised himself inwardly. He would not complain about his grandfather resting, not when he was constantly begging the man to rest.

  “All right. Why don’t you go upstairs to your place and lie down for a while? Patrice will come get you if we need you down here. Otherwise, I’ll handle it.”

  As if she had heard her name, Patrice suddenly appeared, smiling brightly. “Come on, now. It’s time we got you upstairs so you can rest. I’ll walk with you.”

  “I’m perfectly capable,” Dr. Pinkerton grumbled, but took Patrice’s arm nonetheless.

  “I know you are,” Patrice replied. She paused and looked over her shoulder, giving Henry a jaunty wink. “But how else am I supposed to tell you all about Henry’s new sweetheart if I don’t go with you?”

  Henry’s mouth dropped open. “A cigarette break, huh?” He called out. “Traitor!”

  But they were already gone, on their way up the stairs.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Ruth

  Ruth walked into the general store, the money weighing down her dress pocket. She was keenly aware of the fire in her veins, thrumming just under her skin. It seemed to have picked up in intensity, and she recognized it as part of her own nerves. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and felt the fire recede.

  She was learning. She was getting better. She could handle this. And if she couldn’t, she wasn’t without help—the other Independents and Henry were on her side.

  So why did she feel like her bones had rearranged themselves in the night, and why was she looking over her shoulder again and again?

  She knew why, but Ruth couldn’t bring herself to even think her father’s name. Being in public felt like it should have comforted her more than it did. It wasn’t so long ago that her father had slapped her across the face and dragged her out of this very store. Things were different now, though. Now she had embraced her powers, had a support system of people to look out for her.

  He couldn’t touch her. She wouldn’t let him if he tried.

  The thought bolstered her, and she headed straight to the far end of the store, looking for the fresh fruit and vegetables. Everything looked especially good, like it had only just been picked.

  “The corn is particularly nice today,” came a voice from behind her. Ruth nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling around with a hand to her chest. She was already on edge, and having Peter Powell sneak up behind her hadn’t helped.

  For his part, Mr. Powell raised his hands and gave an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Her friend’s father smiled, congenial. June didn’t look much like her dad, but she had the same kind of easy kindness about her. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since ….”

  Not since your father dragged you out of here. The unspoken words hung there between them.

  “I remember,” she said. The silence drew out between them, longer and longer, and Ruth cleared her throat. “How have you been?”

  “Doing well, thank you! We have a new produce supplier, and that’s brought in some business. Especially since we have a new delivery man for our trucks, and he has no idea what he’s doing. Keeps forgetting parts of the order.” Mr. Powell huffed out a laugh. “Still, if that’s the worst thing that’s going on, I’d say things are pretty good.”

  Ruth smiled, the expression feeling more natural on her face. Her breath was coming easier, the tension seeping out of her shoulders. “I’m glad you’re well, Mr. Powell.”

  “Peter, please. I’ve known you since you were this high.” He held up his hand to just above his waist. “I think it’s all right. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re doing okay, too. I heard some really nasty rumors. You were always a good friend to my Junie, so I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Rumors?”

  At that, Peter looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet. “I’m not sure it’s my place ….”

  The fear was suddenly back, sprouting from the deep roots inside of her. She didn’t want to be the center of a tawdry scandal, or to have her life and actions dissected as pieces of gossip, but … knowing had to be better than not knowing. Was this about her powers, her father, her living with Henry? Everything had changed so much so quickly, she wasn’t sure what would be the thing that made her a target for gossip.

  The words came rushing up out of her before she
could stop them. “Please. I need to know. What have people been saying?”

  “No one has seen you in days, and your father has been … less pleasant than usual. He was in here just yesterday, kicking up a fuss, yelling at my June. Calling her the worst names ….” He frowned deeply as his voice trailed off. “We all thought something very bad might have happened to you.”

  “Oh,” Ruth said faintly. She tried to wrap her mind around it. Everyone had assumed the worst—had assumed her father was capable of the worst. How had she been so willfully blind her entire life? How had she never seen what was obvious to the entire town?

  Ruth could feel herself heating up, and she took a deep breath and an awkward half-step toward the refrigerators that lined the wall. A little artificial cool would go a long way. She glanced around, past Peter, to see that everyone else in the store was either watching her out of the corner of their eyes or openly staring. Ms. Applebaum was frowning at her from over at the fabrics, and Mrs. Goodman was inspecting some apples, glancing between her and Peter every few seconds.

  The room suddenly felt a little too close. She reached out and grabbed a few pieces of fruit, not even checking what she was setting in the crook of her arm. She looked at Peter, whose face was screwed up in sympathy.

  “Why don’t I help you check out?” he asked, leading her toward the front. Ruth followed gratefully.

  She hadn’t expected this trip to be quite as overwhelming as it was turning out to be.

  Peter rang up her purchases, and the total seemed cheaper than it probably should have been. He even threw everything in a heavy sack for her, free of charge. As he passed it over the counter, he said, “You come back soon, all right? We won’t have none of your father’s bullying in here.”

  The words were so comforting. She did have some allies, it seemed, and she needed to remember that.

  Head held high, Ruth walked out of the store and headed down the street toward the butcher. People stopped to gape at her as she passed by. A voice to her left said something about how they “saw her walk into town with the doctor—no, no, the young one! And they came from his house!”