by Diane Wylie
“Perhaps, when this becomes a distant memory we can work together again, Jacob,” Stephen forced more cheer in his voice than he felt.
A thumping and sniffing sound accompanied Ruby’s arrival. “Are you absolutely sure we have to leave, husband?” Tears ran down her face unchecked. “We have good friends here.” She looked at Jacob. “Please tell dear Mary goodbye for me.”
“I will, Mrs. Elliott,” he responded then turned away. “I’ll just take these out…” He headed toward the front door, luggage in hand.
“What about my birds and the rabbits?” Pounding on the front door made Ruby cry out, alarmed. Stephen watched as Jacob opened the door, admitting the rotund figure of their neighbor, Mr. Rathbone. He waddled toward them, huffing and puffing.
“Elliott…what is this I hear? You did some m-magic trick—to a wagon? Nearly…killed…children? Men are on their way here!”
“Get your budgies, Ruby. We’ll leave the rest for Jacob to take care of,” Stephen said and headed for the boxes stacked in the hall. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rathbone, we’ll have to talk while I work.”
By the time he finished packing the Ford, settling Ruby and the birds, and preparing to leave, he had related the whole story—with a few minor alterations to maintain the stone’s secrets—to his neighbor. Stephen locked the front door and hurried to the car with a red-faced Rathbone following.
“You do understand why we have to leave? I’ve been falsely accused before and locked up for it. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve saved the children from harm, that is all.”
“But how did you—” the man sputtered.
Stephen cranked the car and it rumbled to life. Ruby sat in the passenger’s side, dabbing her eyes with a hankie. He climbed in and looked back at his neighbor and his fine brick Philadelphia house, wondering if he would ever see either again.
“Magic,” he finally answered, touching the Companion Spirit, his secret talisman hidden under his shirt. “Goodbye, Mr. Rathbone.”
Chapter Seven
1911
San Francisco, California
Stephen stared into the mirror. His reflection showed shaving lather covering half his jaw. The same face he had seen for years stared back at him—the same straight brown hair, the same blue eyes Ruby said held a hint of mischief, the same straight nose and squared chin. Leaning in he looked closer. None. Not one wrinkle or one gray hair in sight. How could this be possible?
At first he had been proud to be so young-looking. Turning fifty had been a big enough blow to his ego. But now he was even older and his appearance was still the same. Now he found it unsettling, even disturbing. To add to the mystery, he still felt thirty-five. He bounced a little on the balls of his feet. No, his knees didn’t hurt and neither did his back. Both had bothered Michael in the years leading up to his death. Waking up and swinging out of bed wasn’t a problem. Never had been. His poor wife rose slowly and actually shuffled around a bit before her joints loosened up in each morning.
The mirror didn’t lie. Running the razor over the surface of his skin, he finished the job and washed off the lather.
“It’s taken me a long time to adjust to your appearance without a beard, Stephen, but I think I quite like it.” Ruby sat on the edge of the bed, slowly donning her stockings. Her back was hurting today. He would rub it for her later, but now he had to talk before he burst.
Dropping to his knees in front of his wife, he took her hands in his. She looked startled and tired.
“Oh, Ruby, my love. I know I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I am so sorry for dragging you out of Philadelphia.”
A small wistful smile creased her face. “I know, dearest, but we had to go. We couldn’t let the mob hurt you. You saw what the newspapers were saying. They labeled you a ‘dangerous man’ who dabbled in ‘black magic.’”
Weariness overwhelmed him suddenly and he put his head in her lap, wrapping his arms around her waist. “It became an obsession with me, the stone and the magic. I didn’t stop to think about how my actions were affecting you and Cal, and Michael as well. The limelight and the applause drew me like a moth to a flame…and it does still. I crave it. I want it. Badly.”
The wetness from his eyes soaked into her dress. The touch of her hand brushing through his hair gave some small comfort. “I was responsible for Cal’s death and for ruining our lives.” The confession poured out of him like the purging of an illness. “All these years and I never once considered anyone else’s needs, just my own. Can you ever forgive me?” Why he suddenly came to this conclusion he wasn’t sure. The time had finally come to get it off his chest. He choked back a sob.
“I don’t know if I can, husband.” Ruby’s voice fell on his ears with a faint and dream-like quality. “I’ve tried to be a good wife, have I not? I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. My husband was the famous ‘Illusionist.’ He was handsome and wealthy and did his best to love us. Was it really so awful he loved magic more? Maybe it is only a foolish woman who would love a husband and a son more than herself?”
Raising his head, he looked at Ruby’s face. She stared straight ahead, her gaze unfocused as she continued to talk.
“How much is a woman supposed to sacrifice for her husband before it becomes too much? Her son? Her home? Her happiness? Her…self?”
“Ruby?” It took a moment, but her gaze finally connected with his and he could see her make an effort to come back to the present.
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
She tilted her head, looking confused. “You never spoke this way before. It is not a wife’s place to say such things.”
Again he took her cold hands in his. “We are husband and wife. You could have told me.”
“What difference would it have made? I reaped the benefits from your magic as well, how could I complain about it? Your passion for the show and the damnable Mayan stone is undeniable. I can see the effect it has on you, even if you cannot. Cal could see it too, and he wanted it for himself. You didn’t kill him, Stephen. His desire to have what you had caused his death.”
Tears were still leaking from his eyes and running down his face and neck as he gazed at her sad face.
“He wanted to be rich and famous and forever young, just like you.”
Her statement, made so matter-of-factly hit him like a blow to the stomach. Forever young? Has this happened to me? Everything in him screamed in denial. Impossible! No one stayed young forever.
“Are you so unhappy, Ruby?” he asked quietly, unable to fully comprehend her last declaration.
She looked at him with surprise. “Does that matter? You are my husband. I would do anything for you.”
Shame filled him. All these years he had devoted little time thinking about his wife’s happiness. He assumed she enjoyed working with him on stage, even after they lost Calvin. Of course, she had been devastated after that fateful night. Both of them mourned the loss of their son for a long time. Ruby never really recovered her spirit and her enthusiasm for the magic had definitely waned.
“My love, I am sorely humiliated to realize how selfish I have been. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? How can I make you happy again?” Getting up off his knees, he sat beside her on the bed and took her left hand in his. When she openly gazed from his face all the way down to his belly button, he remembered he had not finished dressing.
“You can’t,” she said flatly. “I have lost my son and my youth. While you have lost Cal, you have not lost your youth. Already the neighbor across the hall has taken me for your mother, not your wife. Look at yourself, Stephen. Your body is as muscular as ever; you do not suffer from joint pain or back aches like I do. There is not a gray hair on your head while mine is nearly all gray now. She shook her head. “You most certainly do not appear to be a fifty-eight year old man!”
“Ruby, there is no reason you cannot still wish for happiness, no matter what your age. You are younger than myself and wil
l most likely out live me. Most wives do.” He brought her hand up to his mouth and lightly brushed her knuckles with his lips. “As a matter of fact, I know I can make you happy in our marriage bed.”
This made her smile. “This is true. Perhaps there is an advantage to having a younger husband.”
He sobered as if a bucket of cold water had landed on his head. “What am I going to do, Ruby? I am truly not young. You and I both know this. What will become of me?”
“I don’t know, husband, but I do know we will handle it together, as always. This fact has not changed.”
Out of habit, Stephen touched the center of his chest and found only skin. A momentary panic filled him until he saw the black velvet pouch lying on the nightstand.
“After all these years the cursed stone draws you still,” Ruby said, her voice small and sad.
Standing, Stephen went to the armoire and pulled out a pressed shirt, donning it. Her attitude toward his talisman honestly irritated him. Truly, she didn’t understand its importance.
“I’m sorry, Ruby. I’ve tried for almost two years to stay away from magic.” Turning to face her again, he watched her buckling her shoes. “Our money is almost gone. You and I both know we can’t survive on the income I would get as a carpenter. Enough time has passed. I could perform again, if I do it here in California and change my name.
Ruby glanced his way then averted her gaze. She smoothed her chestnut-brown day dress, buttoned the cuffs of her long-sleeves, and donned her taffeta hat. “I’m going out to the market.”
“Would you like me to drive you?” I plan on picking up supplies to begin making props again.” Stephen put the leather thong over his head and tucked the velvet pouch into his jacket front.
She shook her head. “I prefer to walk. There is much to think about.”
A few hours later Stephen made his way up the stairs to the rooms they rented in a Victorian-style house, which had been damaged in the 1906 earthquake and beautifully restored. He asked their landlady to let him use some space in the carriage house to construct new props. Already ideas for a totally new show filled his head. An escape trick, of course, and perhaps the magic bullet-catching stunt would draw in the crowds again. If Ruby was willing to train some new parakeets, he was sure they could keep the birds in the room. Surging up the stairs, two at a time, he couldn’t wait to share his thoughts with his wife. If he took her desires into consideration, he could make her happy again.
“Are you here, Ruby love?”
A cough was the only response. Stephen hurried through the small sitting room and flung open the door. A small figure lay huddled under the blankets.
“Ruby! Are you ill, dearest?”
Closing the door softly, he moved into the dim room. Outside the window, the sun descended in a fiery ball. Striking a match, he lit the gas lamp on the wall before going to the bedside.
“I’m cold,” she whispered.
“We’ll fix that.” Stephen went to the armoire, pulled out every blanket he could find, and covered his shivering wife. Placing a hand on her soft cheek, he nearly gasped aloud.
“My Lord! You’re so feverish! I’m sending for a doctor. I’ll be back momentarily.”
He ran back down the stairs and found Mrs. Martin, the landlady. She quickly sent her young son to bring back the local doctor then accompanied Stephen back upstairs.
“I’ve brought Mrs. Martin to help, sweetheart.” Stephen bent over the bed, his heart pounding with panic. He had no idea how to help a sick person. Ruby had rarely been ill and she had always cared for Calvin through his childhood illnesses. If only magic could restore health.
Her slender fingers gave his a squeeze. “Thank you, my love. I’ll be better soon,” she said and was promptly seized by a fit of coughing.
“Here, Mr. Elliott, give her a spoon o’ honey. Me mam always recommended honey for a cough,” Mrs. Martin said, passing him a spoon.
With a shaking hand, Stephen dipped the spoon in the honey jar the woman held out. Slipping his arm under Ruby’s head, he put the sweet stuff into her mouth. She swallowed it and subsided against the pillows, mustering a small smile.
“Here, sweetie. These might help.” Mrs. Martin gave Ruby a hot water bottle and a mustard plaster for her congested chest.
“You were not sick this morning, my darling. When did you begin feeling poorly?” Stephen sat beside her on the bed after seeing the landlady out.
With a hoarse sigh, his wife rolled on her side, sniffling a bit. She raised weary, red-rimmed eyes to him. “About half way through my marketing, right by the produce stand, my bones began aching and my chest tightened. I came home right away and got into bed.”
“My poor, Ruby.” Stephen wiggled down to lie face to face with his wife. “You should get some sleep now.”
She nodded and readily closed her eyes. For a long time he watched her chest rise and fall, listening to the small wheeze in her breathing. How he could have left her alone to go off and pursue his ambitions once more? What a selfish, selfish man he was.
A rapping at the door woke him from dreams of disappearing rabbits and shimmering ghosts. With a glance at his wife, he rose from the bed as stealthily as possible, so as not to wake her.
The tall slim man on the other side tipped his bowler. “Mr. Elliott? I’m Doctor Peterson. I understand you sent for me?”
“Yes, please come in. My wife is very ill.”
The doctor made him wait in the sitting room while he examined Ruby. Unable to sit, Stephen paced the width and breadth of the cozy room many times before the physician eventually emerged from the bedroom.
“You are quite correct, Mr. Elliott, your wife is very sick. She had some abnormal sounds in her breathing, which I attribute to acute bronchitis. Keep her warm and strictly confined to bed.” From his black bag, he pulled out several brown and blue-colored bottles.
Although Stephen tried very hard to pay attention to the directions the doctor gave, the words became a blur of “tincture” and “menthol” and “dissolved.”
“Please, Dr. Peterson,” Stephen fumbled at a table for a pencil and paper, “would you please write down the instructions? I am too distraught to remember.”
“Certainly, sir.” He accepted the items. “Mr. Elliott, while this illness can be quite severe, with luck Mrs. Elliott will recover. Would you have a female relative to nurse her?”
“I will be taking on the job, Doctor, so please give me thorough instructions.” This crisis had come at him unexpectedly and he must bolster his confidence to handle this alone. Ruby had to recover and he had to make it happen. His insides quivered. This catastrophe fell on his shoulders alone. No sleight of hand or concealing smoke could help him now.
For the next few days, Stephen read the instructions many, many times and followed each one to the letter, getting Ruby to take her medicine as directed. Still, her cough grew worse and the fever did not abate.
Mrs. Martin came by several times a day bringing hot soup and bread for both of them.
“Ruby, please eat,” Stephen begged. He held out a spoonful of broth and vegetables.
“I’m not hungry.” Her voice was a mere whisper of sound.
With his other hand he brushed a damp curl from her hot forehead. “Please eat it anyway, for me.”
Obligingly, she took a few spoonfuls before turning away. Despair nearly choking him, Stephen left the bowl on the table and stood looking down at his wife. Dark circles colored the skin under her eyes. She appeared so terribly pale and weak. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. What can I do? She’s not recovering. Fear made him want to cry, scream, or vomit.
Putting a hand on the stone’s pouch out of habit, he walked to the window. Outside the sun shone brightly, as usual here in San Francisco. It didn’t seem right to see the flowers bloom and hear the birds sing while his Ruby faded away before his very eyes. Why didn’t he have the magic needed to get her well?
Fingering the hard lump of stone hidden in the
velvet, a sudden thought hit him. He pulled out the Mayan charm. In the daylight it would not react. The rounded eyes and small oblong mouth set in a half smooth, half textured square rock had not changed in the past twenty-two years despite frequent handling.
Carrying it in his palm to Ruby’s bedside, he kneeled next to the bed. Gently touching her fevered cheek, he called her name softly.
When she raised her heavy lids to meet his gaze, he pulled out his last argument. “I’ll do it, Ruby. I’ll get rid of the stone, for you, sweetheart. I’ll throw it in the ocean.” Groping under the blanket, he found her hand. “You have to fight this illness. No more magic. I’ll go back to being a carpenter, if you’ll please, please just try harder. I’m begging you!”
She shook her head, just a tiny motion. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t do it. The stone is too much a part of you now, Stephen. Besides, Cal wouldn’t want you to. You must not stop doing magic. Our son loved it so.”
Her eyelids slid closed, but her fingers curled around his weakly. Each breath rattled in her chest and it frightened him beyond measure. The whole thing was living nightmare. Any minute now she would rally and go back to the vital, healthy person he lived with for so many years. Perhaps he would die instead, his heart ached so badly.
“Oh, please, please, my love. Please try harder. You need to eat and drink more.” Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed each knuckle and offered her a glass of water.
With obvious effort, she opened her eyes to gaze at him again and took a tiny sip. “Don’t cry, darling.” The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “You are my magician. All the girls will be so jealous, my handsome one.”
He sent for a different doctor. The man examined Ruby, handed Stephen the same set of medicines, and left looking grim.
After another terrible night spent forcing medicine in her mouth and listening to her awful cough, Stephen had Mrs. Martin’s son bring a third doctor. This physician gave a more ominous pronouncement. Ruby’s bronchitis had become pneumonia. The physician handed over the same brown and blue bottles.