Out of the Ruins Read online

  He laughed. “I knew you were a horseradish and onion kind of girl from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

  Smelly? She flushed. “In the tree, you mean?”

  “Exactly. You didn’t look like the typical bland, unadventurous style of woman.”

  Abby licked the last traces of flavor from her lips. Was that supposed to be a compliment? Mama would be horrified.

  She cleared her throat and smiled, hoping she didn’t have mustard on her teeth. “Definitely not.”

  Robert fidgeted, the weight of Gerald’s glare pressing him further into the seat.

  “What were you thinking?” His mentor towered above the oaken desk, fingertips whitening as he flattened them against the blotter. “Gallivanting about town with my cousin?”

  “We only went to lunch.” Robert tugged on the celluloid collar threatening to close about his throat.

  Gerald paced the length of the room, raking fingers through his blond hair until he resembled a cornered porcupine. “Didn’t they teach you about the importance of professional distance in medical school?”

  Robert leaned back, the swivel chair creaking in protest. “What is this about? You’re worried about the case? There’s no professional distance here—the patient is a member of your family, for goodness sakes.”

  Gerald halted. “And it’s exactly why I have left most of the work in your hands, while I handle the appointments at our downtown office. You need to maintain objectivity, because I cannot.”

  “What objectivity? You’re my friend and my boss. If I botch this, I’m in danger of losing both.” Robert lifted The Practical Application of Röntgen Rays from the corner table. He tapped the book’s cover. “This is where my heart lies. You know it’s so.”

  “It’s not your heart I’m worried about. Abby is a special young woman. I won’t have her trifled with.”

  Robert dropped the book onto the desk, the muscles in his neck knotting. “What do you take me for? We’ve worked together for over a year—have I given you reason not to trust me?”

  Gerald’s scowl withered. “No, but—”

  “I understand your fear, but I’m not trying to seduce Abby. Yes, she’s a beautiful and intriguing young woman, but I only want to be her friend.” Robert stared out the window, his pulse quickening. God, let it be the truth.

  Gerald exhaled, as noisy as a fireplace bellows. “Robert, you thrive on respect and admiration. Abby is vulnerable right now and you’ve ridden to the rescue. If she elevates you on a hero’s pedestal, you’re going to have a nasty fall back to reality.”

  “You make me sound like some idol to be worshiped.” Robert frowned. “I don’t believe you know your cousin as well as you think. She’s no fool.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Gerald ran his hand back through his hair, smoothing it. “She’s a very determined young woman. Cecelia wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He shook his head. “And if she’s already set her sights on you, I’m afraid it may take an act of God to change her mind.”

  Warmth flashed through Robert’s chest before dissolving and leaving a hollow ache in its place. He scrubbed a hand across his face. What have I become?

  Abby clenched the brass railing, bracing herself as the cable car rolled to a stop. Bunching her skirt in one hand, she managed to hop to the street without twisting an ankle or falling on her face.

  Rather than catching the connecting line to take her down to O’Farrell, Abby set out on foot. Sweat dampened the silk chemise hiding under her corset. Stopping for a breath, she unbuttoned her jacket to let the bay-freshened air cool her body. If it weren’t for the cacophony of vehicles and voices, she could almost imagine herself climbing the hill behind the orchard, escaping into the shady grove of trees for a quiet moment. Soon enough. Cecelia’s improving every day.

  Abby whacked her reticule against her hip to get herself moving. Maple Manor lay just beyond and Mama needed her help with Davy. It was impossible to leave her brother—the one-man demolition team—alone for more than a few moments in the borrowed house. Her stomach fluttered. Why had she traipsed off to the park with Robert and not even considered coming to collect Davy?

  Robert. His name tickled the edges of her mind, but Abby shook it away. She didn’t have time to lose herself in romance.

  Maybe when Cecelia is well. The tingle running up her back took her by surprise. Never before had a man waltzed his way into her head and heart. But then, she’d never met someone like Robert. Like a vine, thoughts of him coiled through Abby’s every waking moment.

  She pushed through the gate at Maple Manor, closed it behind her, and leaned upon the wooden slats. And he’d never met someone like her. Or so he said.

  Maybe Cecelia was correct—perhaps meeting Robert was part of God’s plan for her. One prayer and God dumped a miracle right into Abby’s lap. And a man at her feet.

  Abby hurried up the walk toward the house, vowing to pray a little more often.

  10

  Robert picked up Cecelia’s hand and slid his fingers to her wrist, noting the heat radiating from her flushed skin. Her pulse raced under his thumb. “Did the nurse put cool compresses against these burns?”

  Cecelia grimaced. “Yes.”

  He checked her other arm, examining clear to her shoulder, his stomach tightening. Gerald will be furious. “You received a bit too much radiation this morning, I’m afraid. How do you feel?”

  She pulled the dressing gown sleeve over her reddened skin. “It will be fine.”

  He lowered his voice and stooped close to the bed. “You need to be honest with me. I can’t help if you’re hiding things.”

  She turned her gaze to the window, lips firm.

  Robert lifted her chart and stared at the numbers. He’d been vigilant, even with Abby underfoot, stealing his attention. Cecelia should not have reacted to the low level of radiation unless the machinery had malfunctioned. He rifled through the papers, observing the patient from the corner of his eye.

  She clenched the edge of the blanket and released it, repeating the action every few seconds. “Don’t tell Abby.” Cecelia’s voice crackled in her throat.

  The dread in his stomach hardened to stone. “What can’t I tell her?”

  She fixed him with her gaze. “It’s not working. The X-rays. They were for a while, but they’re not anymore.”

  He sat in the chair beside the bed, resting his hands on the mattress. “What makes you think so?”

  She bit her lip. “I can feel it. And it’s not just today.” She glanced down at her hand, lifting it from the covers. “It’s not the burn.” She let it drop to the mattress and winced. “I feel like I’m swimming in an undertow. It’s pulling me further from the shore every day. For a time I felt stronger and I could push against the current, but I can’t anymore.”

  Robert leaned back against the chair, her words like a punch to the gut. “We’ll run some more tests. Check your blood. Maybe you’re a touch anemic.”

  “If you must.” She sniffed, a faint smile brushing her lips, a light appearing in her eyes. “Enough of that. Tell me about lunch.”

  “Hunger is a good sign.”

  “Not my lunch, you simpleton. Tell me about your lunch with Abby.”

  A prickly heat crawled over his skin. “I just had this discussion with Gerald. Like I told your cousin, it was a friendly lunch, nothing more.”

  Cecelia’s smile faded to a pout. “I’m not Gerald. And you’re interested in her, I can tell. Your face lights up whenever she’s here.”

  Robert pushed up to his feet, the chair sliding on the tile floor. “Hmm. You must be feverish, delirious.” A smile dragged at the corners of his lips.

  She reached for his hand, her forehead pinching at the sudden motion. “She cares for you—I’ve never seen her like this. Don’t be embarrassed, please. I don’t have time to waste on pretense.” Cecelia squeezed his fingers.

  For a woman suffering with chronic leukemia, Cecelia’s grip crushed like a vise. He matched her i
ntense gaze and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I cannot become entangled with the sister of a patient, no matter my personal feelings.”

  She released her grasp and her eyes darkened. “I won’t always be your patient, Robert. And when I’m gone, I don’t want you to let her get away.” She touched his sleeve with a gentle brush of her thin fingers. “Promise me.”

  The piercing blue of her eyes tore into him, burning the words into his heart. How could anyone refuse her—dying or no? He swallowed, letting the internal battle rage. If there were no barriers to his pursuing a relationship with Abby—would he? His heart jumped in response, answering the question before his head could interfere.

  But if Cecelia were gone, it would be due to his failure. Would Abby even want him?

  No.

  His throat closed. As long as Cecelia lived, she would stand in their way. And if—when—she passed. . . . He turned his head away, disliking the bubbling concoction brewing in his stomach. The truth of Gerald’s words rang in his ears. Abby didn’t care for him—she idolized him for what she thought he could accomplish. Robert swallowed, trying to push past the lump swelling in his throat.

  He picked up Cecelia’s chart from the edge of the bed. “We’ll shorten tomorrow’s treatment to give your skin time to heal. No matter what you think you’re feeling, everything else points to the fact the X-rays are doing their job. The coil malfunctioned—gave you too big a dose. I’ll fix it, so it won’t happen again. But don’t you start giving up on me.”

  She leaned back against the pillows, new shadows circling her eyes. “I’m not giving up on you, Robert King.”

  Robert retreated to the safety of the X-ray laboratory. Perhaps if he buried himself in electrical wires and Crookes tubes, he could forget the chaos reigning in his heart.

  Gerald pulled the casing apart, running a hand down the wires. “I don’t understand what happened. I checked it myself.”

  “And I double-checked it.” Robert brushed a loose hair from his forehead.

  Gerald’s neck corded as he tugged the wiring loose. “What’s this?”

  Stepping to his friend’s shoulder, Robert peered down into the box. Black soot smeared across Gerald’s fingertips. “Burnt wires?”

  A crease formed between Gerald’s brows. “Did you see anything during the treatment? A flash? Smell anything burning? Popping?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Robert fingered the scorched remains. “There should be an emergency cutoff when something like this happens.”

  Gerald dropped the lid, the metal crashing against the floor like a cymbal and exposing the delicate entrails of the machine. He pulled a wire cutter from the table and shoved it into Robert’s hand. “Yes, there should be. And until there is—my cousin comes nowhere near this machine.”

  “She’s due for another treatment in the morning.”

  Shoulders hunched, his mentor headed for the door. “Then you’d better get to work.” As his footsteps faded, silence fell across the room.

  Robert gazed down at the mess of wires, head suddenly aching. Clenching the cutters, he banged the tool against the metal casing. He had gone to medical school to fix people, not wires. He rolled his head back against his shoulders, staring at the ceiling. God, help me.

  Abby sat on the porch stairs, watching Davy play in the tiny patch of a backyard, gathering rocks from the flower beds and lining them up on the stone wall like a platoon of soldiers.

  A leather-bound journal lay in her lap, the empty page mocking her. She’d never had trouble writing her feelings before. She lifted the pen and placed it against the page, editing her thoughts before the ink began to flow.

  Cecelia is looking so much better, I can scarce believe it. Gerald and Robert keep increasing the X-ray treatments. I hope this amazing technology will send her cancer fleeing back to the pits of hell where it belongs.

  She tapped the end of the pen against her lips. She probably shouldn’t have written the last part.

  Robert took me to lunch yesterday . . .

  Her hand stopped, the ink blotting against the page. How much should she say?

  Davy kneeled in the flower bed, excavating the soil with his fingers. Had Robert played like that as a boy? She pushed the thought away, pressing the cap over the pen and closing the journal. I’m turning into a lovesick fool.

  “Abby?” her brother called, his high-pitched voice grating on her nerves.

  She stood, shielding her eyes with a hand. “What is it?”

  “Can you help me find more rocks?” He stood, the pockets of his short pants bulging with stony treasure.

  She joined him, the soft earth squishing beneath her hard-soled shoes. Back home she might have pulled them off, along with her stockings, to relish the joy of the soil between her toes—but the city pressing in around her made Abby self-conscious.

  Crouching down by an azalea, Abby ran her hands over the dirt, picking some small stones from the soil and piling them on a nearby brick. “How many more do you need?”

  “Just more. I want to make an army.”

  Abby laughed. “We all want more don’t we? We’re never happy with what we have.”

  He looked at her, his blue eyes round, mouth puckered.

  “Never mind.” She gazed around the meticulously groomed garden patch. Not the best hunting ground. “Come on.” She reached out dirt-covered fingers. “There’s plenty of time before bed. Let’s walk down to the vacant lot on the corner. I’m sure there’s plenty more there.”

  He crowed, dancing a jig with chubby legs, pants sagging under the weight.

  She helped Davy unload his pockets, leaving the stones in a pile on the brick walk.

  Mama pushed open the back gate, her eyes downcast and cheeks flushed.

  Abby’s chest tightened. “What’s happened? Why have you returned early?”

  Mama closed the gate and leaned against it. “Cecelia was so tired, I decided to let her sleep.” She removed her hat, the feathers bouncing with the motion like birds on a twig. “She didn’t seem herself.” A shadow crossed her face. “Dr. King said the new level of treatment might be tiring her. He’s going to run some tests overnight.”

  Abby took Davy’s hand in her own. “I’m certain, whatever it is—Robert will sort it out.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Mama adjusted the hatband, stroking the glossy black plumes. “He’s such a bright young man. We’re blessed to have him and Gerald helping us.”

  Abby followed Davy through the gate. Blessed. Her soul launched, like a maple seed twirling away onto the breeze.

  Robert strode down the endless corridor, crimping his fingers against his shoulder to ease the tension taking up permanent residence. After another six hours of leaning over the wearisome machine—rewiring, testing, and rewiring again—his muscles craved movement. He pushed open the heavy hospital door, the fresh air blasting away his lethargy and sending a jolt of energy through his system, nearly as effective as the mud-black coffee they brewed in the hospital kitchen. The glaring morning sun caught him off guard and Robert lifted a hand against its glory. He pushed his hat forward, ducking his head from the glare.

  A brisk walk might revive him enough for morning rounds. Robert hastened down the granite steps, aiming for Lafayette Square, a self-prescribed touch of grass and flowers the ideal remedy to desperation caused by overexposure to wires, radiation, and sickness.

  Robert paused at the corner, waiting as a milk wagon trundled past on Laguna Street, the swaybacked horse barely lifting its head as it dragged the heavy load. Poor beast. He’ll soon be relegated to the glue factory and replaced by an engine.

  A steamer maneuvered around the slower vehicle, the engine chugging and hissing as if laughing at the decrepit animal. Robert hurried across the street and into the square, relishing the contrast as his shoes sank into the spongy lawn.

  He made two spirited rounds about the hilltop property, breathing deeply, before settling onto a stone bench. A granite angel kneeled in
the center of a small rose garden, head bowed into clasped hands. Robert gazed down the hill to the bay as the mingled scents of greenery and exhaust brewed the unmistakable fragrance of the city. He leaned forward, balancing his elbows against his knees and letting his head droop.

  The weariness of the morning sent a wave of longing through him. Back in Sacramento, Mother would be dishing out bowls of steaming oatmeal, dotted with butter and brown sugar, his sisters rushing about in their never-ending preparations of dresses, ribbons, stockings. When he’d lived at home, he couldn’t wait to escape the crushing insignificance of the morning routine.

  What he wouldn’t give now for five minutes surrounded by its tender familiarity.

  He shook himself, chasing away the thought. Four years of medical school and two years of practice—a tad late for homesickness.

  Leaning back against the bench, an overgrown shrub bumped his hat, shoving the derby forward over his eyes. Swiveling, he grasped the twig and prepared to snap it off, but as the velvety leaves tickled his fingers, his thoughts turned to Abby, beautiful in a gown of the same yellowish-green. Surrounded by the grapevines and roses of Gerald’s backyard, she’d looked like a fairy hiding in the shadows, preparing her palette of spring colors.

  Robert sprang to his feet, thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. There was no point dwelling on wishes that could never come to pass. Abby Fischer would forever be off-limits. He needed to convince his heart of it. His dreams revolved around science, research, and medicine. He couldn’t afford the distraction of fanciful ideas.

  A dull ache grew in his throat.

  Robert strolled to the edge of the square, jamming his hands into his pockets as he waited for three more wagons to lumber past. As he crossed the road, his left shoe sank into a pile of horse manure. Robert grimaced and scraped it against the cobbles.

  At least motorcars don’t defecate in the street.

  Abby spotted Robert as she hopped down from the cable car, her heart quickening at the sight of his broad shoulders.