Beyond the Ashes Read online

  Davis’s two buddies ducked out and hurried in the opposite direction.

  Gerald turned to his patient. “I’d advise you to be scarce for a while. Your injury doesn’t appear to be serious, but you should avoid any further blows to the head until it’s fully healed.”

  Davis ran a hand through his hair and reached for his derby. “Trust me, Doc, me and my thick skull are going to hightail it over to Oakland until this all blows over. Millie will have to find another fella to play the fool. After surviving the quake and the fires, I don’t want to get bashed by a jealous husband.” He jammed the hat onto his head with a wince. “Though for a gal like her, it’s almost worth it.” He disappeared out the door, leaving the room in an eerie silence.

  Ruby released the breath she’d been holding, her ribs so tight it felt like her corset was made of rusty metal bands.

  Gerald closed the door and leaned against it, leveling a steady gaze at her. “Are you all right?”

  Her stomach churned. She cleared her throat and turned her back on the doctor’s intense blue eyes. She slid the shears free from her sleeve and returned them to the case. “Well, it certainly made for an interesting afternoon. Thank you, Doctor, for arranging this fascinating look at some of San Francisco’s more colorful characters.” Ruby’s voice shook, but she managed to cover it with a tart tone.

  “Our rescuer spoke to you by name. You failed to introduce me.”

  She gripped her sides. “I saw no opportunity.”

  Gerald crossed the floor, gathering up the soiled bandages and dropping them in the laundry pile. “So, who was he?”

  Ruby’s thoughts wandered back to the handsome Irishman, the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. She hadn’t failed to notice the man’s muscled arms when he’d gripped Johnson’s shoulder. Did the Lord’s work require such strength? “Abby introduced us at the Golden Gate camp. His name is Patrick Allison. Reverend Allison.”

  “I’ve heard of the man.” Snapping open his medical bag, Gerald nodded. “It explains why Johnson was so quick to listen. I suspected either respect or fear motivated him.”

  “Fear?”

  “I’ve heard rumors of a criminal element taking control in these camps. I didn’t think lawlessness would be a problem here at the Presidio, but you never know.” He glanced back at the door. “Allison looks more like a hooligan than a man of the cloth.”

  Ruby jutted her chin. “I didn’t take you for one who judged on appearance.”

  He gathered his instruments with a grimace. “I don’t care to be. But we can’t be too careful these days.”

  Ruby thought back to her first impressions of the minister. She’d also misjudged the man. If she met him again, she’d treat him with a little more respect. Her skin prickled, the idea of a third encounter a tad too intriguing. Ruby ran a quick hand over her arms. No. She’d decided at Charlie’s gravesite she wouldn’t risk her heart a second time. Not for a kind, good-looking doctor with eyes the color of the California sky, and certainly not for a rather charming supporter of the disenfranchised.

  But it didn’t hurt to look, now and again, did it? Her gaze flitted back to Gerald as the physician organized the tools in his bag. Sunlight from the window glinted off the golden strands in his hair. Her throat ached. Yes, it does hurt.

  * * *

  Gerald folded the stethoscope and put it away. The way Ruby had brightened at the clergyman’s smile sent a sickening sensation through his chest. Gerald exhaled, pushing away the odd response. It’s not as if he had any claim on the woman. Still, he wouldn’t mind seeing a lady’s face light up at his appearance. He’d never had the effect on anyone except a few elderly female patients.

  He shut the clasp on the leather case and hoisted it under his arm. Danger lurked in these camps. Robert and Abby had the disagreement on a weekly basis. Gerald scowled. Bringing Ruby had been a vain attempt to exhibit his talents and good deeds. He’d put her in a perilous position, and Patrick Allison defused the situation with hardly more than a word and a grin. Gerald’s shoulders fell. He should be grateful to the man for his assistance. Why did it feel more like a punch to the gut?

  * * *

  When they arrived home, Ruby joined Mrs. Larkspur in the kitchen while Gerald disappeared into his study. Ruby sighed as she sank into a chair near the window. The buttery yellow walls glowed in the late afternoon light, the air scented with fresh-baked rhubarb pie. “You shouldn’t cut into it just for me, Mrs. Larkspur. Why don’t you save it for supper?”

  “Nonsense, child.” The lines around her mouth deepened as she smiled and adjusted the gold wire glasses lower on the bridge of her nose. “I made several. And who says I’m cutting it for you? A responsible cook should taste the products of her kitchen and ensure they meet the fine standards of the house.”

  Ruby pulled the teacup and saucer closer to the table’s edge, the bone china rattling in her shaky grip. “I can’t argue with such wisdom.”

  “Nor should you. It’s impolite to disagree with your elders.” Mrs. Larkspur tempered her curt nod with an impish grin. “After the day you’ve had, you certainly deserve pie. And ice cream—if we had any. You’ll have to settle for tea.”

  If Ruby stayed at the Larkspur home much longer, her clothes would need to be altered. Her corset lacing already showed signs of strain.

  Gerald’s mother placed the dessert plates on the table, serving out two generous triangles. “I can’t imagine what you must think about our fair city, between seeing it in shambles and having some ruffian point a weapon at you.”

  Rather than the wild-eyed Mr. Johnson, Ruby found her memory lingering on Gerald’s protective stance and Reverend Allison’s startling intervention. “The situation alarmed me, but I suppose one must expect such behavior when people are crammed together in less-than-optimal living conditions.”

  “Yes, our family has been fortunate. Not a day passes I don’t thank the Lord we’re not staying in one of those ramshackle cabins. I’d already been living here with Gerald a few months before the quake struck. Clara’s family was staying in my old house. When we fled the fires, I didn’t know what the future held.” Mrs. Larkspur sank into the seat opposite Ruby. “My home didn’t survive. For years Gerald had urged me to sell, but the house held memories.” Her gray eyes shimmered like watered silk. “I’d been dillydallying, I suppose.”

  “Will you rebuild?”

  “I don’t believe so.” She sniffed, touching a finger to her lashes. “I suppose it was God’s way of telling me my son was correct.”

  Ruby pressed her lips together. The Larkspurs were quick to ascribe God credit for everything. She controlled her own life—not God. He could help, certainly, but she held the reins.

  Mrs. Larkspur reached for a fork. “Actually, I wished to get your opinion on something. I’ve spoken to Gerald about deeding the lot to Abigail and Robert as a wedding present. They wouldn’t be prepared to build on it right away, of course. But I’m getting older, and I’d rather see it settled now. You know your brother better than I. Do you think he would welcome such a gift?” She leaned down and slipped a morsel of piecrust to Otto.

  The dog circled about the women’s shoes, lapping up the crumbs.

  Property in San Francisco? Ruby lowered her cup to the saucer before her trembling betrayed her misgivings. Robert was putting down roots here in the city. He had no plans to return home to Sacramento. Hadn’t Abby already confirmed as much? Still, the thought echoed around her chest. “What about Abby’s parents?”

  After a bite of pie, Mrs. Larkspur ran a napkin across her mouth. “They haven’t found a buyer for the farm, yet. If you ask me, Herman has no desire to part with it. He’s done well for himself working in the reconstruction effort, I’m wondering if he’ll earn enough to keep it. Gerald thinks they may decide to move back, in time.”

  Ruby leaned forward. “Back to the farm? Is Abby aware of this?”

  “I don’t believe so. And we don’t know anything. Herman’s been tightlipped sin
ce Cecelia’s passing. I think he’s afraid to disappoint anyone again.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Mrs. Larkspur’s chin puckered. “Herman’s always had such belief in his own abilities. Even though he started out with nothing, he worked hard with an eye toward progress. When Cecelia took ill,he thought he could fix it. Hire enough doctors, buy all the right medicines—whatever it took. But he was left with nothing but heartache. And bills. We know Cecelia went on to great reward, but her family endures the pain of her absence. Herman learned some things are in God’s hands, not our own.”

  If Ruby could’ve fought for Charlie’s life, she’d have done the same. She blinked back tears, determined to keep her emotions in control.

  Mrs. Larkspur fell silent, gazing toward the window. After a long moment, she turned back to Ruby. “What of the house property? Do you believe your brother would accept it?”

  Ruby ran a hand around her lace collar. “I’m not certain I understand him as well as I once did. Perhaps Gerald would know better.”

  Footsteps sounded behind them. “On what topic am I so knowledgeable?” Gerald walked into the room, a grin lighting his face. “Pie? I’m just in time.”

  His mother rose to retrieve another plate. “We were discussing Robert and Abby’s wedding gift.”

  “Aha.” His smile faltered. “Wedding gifts. Not usually a man’s arena.”

  Mrs. Larkspur swatted him on the shoulder. “The property, Gerald. You haven’t forgotten already?”

  “Of course. I’ll try to find a way to broach the subject with Robert.” He took a seat at the far end of the table.

  His mother set the plate down in front of him. “Please, be circumspect.”

  “Always, Mother. Always.”

  Ruby lowered her gaze to the empty plate. She needed to plan her own future before this wedding commenced. Three choices remained—return to Sacramento, search out her own place to live, or find herself as homeless as the San Francisco refugees. The way her face flushed every time Gerald approached, it might be ill-advised to remain under the man’s roof a moment longer.

  17

  Gerald adjusted the Crookes tube and checked the control panel, dropping Robert’s evening report to the desk. Tension curled around Gerald’s neck, and he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge it. The figures didn’t lie—the radiation readings fluctuated at an alarming rate. He couldn’t risk burns and X-ray dermatitis in their already fragile patients. Why is the equipment malfunctioning?

  Gerald switched on the system. Everything appeared normal, but he’d need to assess the levels before authorizing any further treatments. He laid his arm on the raised table, spreading his fingers in preparation for the test. A thirty-second dose should only make the skin mildly pink, the standard erythema dose. He paused, studying the lesion on his blue-stained palm. A whole month and the methylene blue didn’t seem to be making any difference. Would extra X-ray exposure help the healing or worsen it? He switched hands. Why borrow trouble?

  An angry buzzing captured his attention. Gerald jumped back just as the tube popped, the flash stinging his eyes. Not another one. Spots danced on the insides of his lids as he blinked to clear his vision. Gerald glared at the glass cylinder as the telltale white smoke curled inside its confines. These tubes were too expensive and unpredictable. Robert had a good head for invention, perhaps he could make some modifications. Heat radiated off the glass, so Gerald powered down the machine, waiting for it to cool before changing the part.

  His young partner was a fantastic doctor, an astute researcher, and gifted when it came to supervising the technology. What was Gerald? Little more than a simple physician. He sighed. Next time he picked an assistant, he needed to choose someone who wouldn’t surpass his abilities in a few short years.

  The one advantage of being the senior partner—he could still issue instructions and expect Robert to follow them. Gerald scribbled a note and left it on the table, weighted down with one of the broken coils. He’d leave this mess for the young expert and go check on Miss Feinstein. He’d rather spend his time on a living person than a pile of wires and circuits.

  * * *

  Ruby filled the water glass and held it for Dee. She tried not to favor specific patients, but the woman’s droll sense of humor had made her a delight to serve during this past month. Dee’s relentless teasing of the doctors brought light to the serious ward. Until this week.

  Dee managed a few sips before the liquid dribbled over her cracked lips and onto her chin. She leaned back against the pillow, a puff of air rushing from her lungs. “Thank you.”

  Ruby dabbed a cloth against the woman’s neck, catching the trickle of water before it escaped. “Would you like another pillow? Maybe if we set you up a bit higher, you’d have an easier time?”

  A wan smile crossed Dee’s face. “No. But could you . . . sit?” The wheezing interrupted her words.

  Setting the glass on the bedside table, Ruby sank into the chair beside the bed. Her heart ached for her friend. “Are you in pain?”

  In the past week, the woman had faded, her sallow skin drawing paper-thin across her cheekbones, shadows circling her dull eyes. Dee glanced away, her lack of words an answer in itself.

  Ruby leaned forward. “Perhaps I could ask Dr. Larkspur for additional morphine.”

  Dee clutched at the edge of the blanket. “No. Just makes me . . . sleep.”

  What more could she do? Ruby’s gaze traveled the room, settling on the ragged Bible, a regular feature at Dee’s bedside. “Would you like me to read to you?”

  Dee nodded, her jaw hanging open as she struggled for air.

  The black leather cover felt worn and soft in Ruby’s hands. She opened to a ribboned bookmark, the onionskin pages crackling as they settled into place. “You’re reading in Job?” She ran her finger down the page, stopping at the first available chapter.

  Dee shifted under the covers. “Yes.”

  Ruby resisted the temptation to flip to a more pleasant section of Scripture. Why read about suffering when Dee already endured such pain? Shouldn’t she be providing messages of hope? Ruby cleared her throat. “My breath is corrupt, my days are extinct, the graves are ready for me. Are there not mockers with me?” Ruby’s heart cringed at the harsh words, her gaze wandering from the page.

  Gerald stood in the doorway, his attention traveling the ward. He paused on Ruby and Dee at the end of the long room.

  Prickles crept up Ruby’s neck. She should be on rounds, not spending her time reading. The other patients needed her, too.

  Dee lay still, little more than a lump under the blankets, glazed eyes turned to the window.

  Ruby turned her focus back to the book. What could be more important than offering comfort to a dying woman? It seemed more effective than the morphine she’d provided earlier. “My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart. They change the night into day: the light is short because of darkness. If I wait, the grave is mine house: I have made my bed in the darkness.” She pulled the Bible to her chest. “Dee, are you sure this is the section you wish to hear? I could read a comforting psalm, or a chapter of Corinthians instead—”

  “Allow me.” Gerald approached, stopping in front of the bed.

  She stared at the doctor’s outstretched hand for a moment before passing the Bible to him.

  He crossed to Dee’s side. “Job understood suffering, didn’t he?” Gerald’s voice barely stirred the quiet air in the ward. “And God recognized his pain.”

  Dee offered a faint smile. “God spoke to him. Even when Job questioned.”

  Ruby leaned back in her seat, her throat dry. Is it why Dee was drawn to the passage? Because she doubted?

  “How about I read part of God’s response?” Gerald turned the page. “Then the Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said, ‘Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou
me. Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast understanding. Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? Or who hath stretched the line upon it? Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? Or who laid the corner stone thereof; When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?’ ”

  Ruby struggled with the meaning of the words. Job was hurting, and God responded by speaking of His might? Wouldn’t it have been better if He’d come with a healing touch?

  Dee’s lids fell closed as Gerald recited the words, the lines smoothing from her face. “That’s my . . .” she struggled to speak, “my God.”

  Gerald closed the book and touched Dee’s arm. “He laid the cornerstones of the world. God knows beginning and the end of every story. He is all-powerful, and He hasn’t forgotten you.”

  The woman nodded. She coughed, clasping a hand to her throat.

  Ruby jumped to her feet, reaching for the water glass.

  The doctor slid a hand behind the woman’s back, helping her to sit forward as Ruby lifted the glass to her lips.

  Dee took a small sip, her coughs quieting. “Thank you . . . both.”

  Gerald eased her back onto the pillow. A furrow crossed his brow as his shoulders rounded. “Rest. Nurse Marshall can read more to you later if you’re feeling well enough.”

  Dee closed her eyes. “No X-rays?” she whispered.

  “Not just now, I think.”

  Ruby stepped back. Gerald’s words echoed through her chest, as if a great emptiness resided there. One didn’t need to be a doctor to see the woman’s struggles would soon pass, X-rays or no.

  Gerald turned away, touching Ruby’s arm as he passed. “May I speak with you?”

  Ruby took a final glance at Dee, but her friend appeared relaxed, perhaps even asleep. “Of course.”