“I’m sure most are just doing what they must to survive.” Judith looked at Kenzie and smiled. “What of Micah? Were you able to find him or George Lake?”
Caleb looked at Kenzie, as did they all. She felt her cheeks grow hot. The trouble with being a fair-skinned redhead was that every bit of embarrassment showed up on her face in bright hues of crimson.
“I’m sorry. I asked around about Mr. Lake, but no one has heard a thing. The area around the factory and his home were both destroyed. As for Micah, the doctor in charge of the hospital where we last saw him told me he hadn’t seen Micah since that first day. I can’t imagine him not letting his parents know where he is, but what with the chaos and so many wounded, he probably doesn’t feel he can leave his work.”
“It seems rather selfish to let his loved ones worry,” Camri interjected. “I can’t imagine his poor mother has slept a wink.”
“Well, at least we know he survived the quake,” Caleb countered.
“But he might have been injured in the fires or some of the collapsing buildings. You showed me that article, and he could be—” Camri stopped and looked at Kenzie. “Never mind. I’m sure you’re right and he’s just busy.”
“You haven’t seen how the makeshift hospitals are operating. There’s a lot of confusion. Doctors are even writing on patients themselves to note medications and circumstances. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.” Caleb’s brows came together as he frowned. “And I hope to never see anything like this again.”
Kenzie tried not to react in any obvious way. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of fear where Micah was concerned. He thought he was invincible. He thought he had all the answers and could do most anything he put his mind to. His pride very well might see him dead, and where would that leave his poor family?
Caleb continued sharing information from his talk with Judge Winters, but Kenzie barely registered the words. She was determined for the sake of her own peace of mind and her parents’ that she would steal away from the warehouse and go down to the remains of the chocolate factory. If Cousin George was still alive, he would no doubt be there, sifting through the debris, looking for anything he might salvage, just as other business owners were doing. She imagined he would see the earthquake and fire as yet another attempt to sabotage him. The poor man was suspicious of everything and everyone as a potential threat to his chocolate empire.
When she glanced up, she found that Patrick and Caleb were once again leaving. She had no idea where they were bound, but she was going to wash up and do what she must. Since she’d already told Camri she’d post the notes on the board at the relief camp, it would be the perfect cover for her additional activities. With Camri and Judith bidding their men good-bye, Kenzie hurried to her room and did what she could to tidy up her appearance. With her hair combed out and pinned and a clean blouse donned, Kenzie found her straw hat and positioned it in place. She secured it with a long ornate hatpin her mother had given her on her eighteenth birthday. The end of the metal pin was decorated with a white porcelain rose detailed in hues of pink.
She sighed. She missed her mother and father, missed so much about her old life in Missouri. “But I can’t go back there. Arthur’s there.” The words were uttered before she realized it.
Kenzie glanced around to make sure no one had overheard her whisper Arthur’s name. Arthur Morgan—the man she might have married but for his failure to show up at the church.
Only a few weeks ago, she had written him at Camri’s suggestion. It felt good to tell him all that she thought of him—what he’d done to her, how she hoped they might never cross paths again. There had been a sense of putting the entire matter behind her when she’d posted the letter, but from time to time little things would stir up memories of him.
“Go away, Arthur. You have no more power over me. I won’t let you defeat me.”
She marched to her cot, picked up her coat, and then headed out. She had no room in her heart or mind for Arthur, and she was determined to no longer be bound by the pain he’d caused. The notes she’d written awaited her on Caleb’s office desk. She’d written several, in case each of the relief camps had a board. Her final stop was to take some tacks from Patrick’s workbench. With these in hand, she made her way out the back door, hoping to avoid dealing with Camri and Judith. If they saw her leaving, they might try to stop her or suggest one of them accompany her, and then she’d have a difficult time with her secondary purpose of going to the chocolate factory.
She came around the side of the building only to find Judith and Camri. Several of the residents were with them, and all seemed to have one problem or another. Kenzie hoped Camri’s attention would be so fixed on the issues at hand that she could slip past them. But it was too much to hope for.
“Where are you heading?” Camri asked.
Kenzie pulled on her coat. “I’m going to post our notes at the relief camps. I shouldn’t be long.”
“One of us should probably come with you,” Camri said, looking at Judith.
“No, that’s quite all right. You’re needed here, especially since the army is bringing supplies.”
“She’s right,” Judith said. “We’d nearly forgotten.”
Kenzie gave a little wave. “I’ll try not to be long. I’ll help you get it all organized when I return.” She hurried toward the street to avoid any further protest Camri might make.
She needed to find Cousin George.
Dr. Micah Fisher pulled the sheet over the deceased man’s face. He was weary of death. Weary of life. He’d lost track of the days and knew only that he’d been working around the clock with just a few minutes of stolen sleep. The only thing that sustained him was thoughts of Kenzie Gifford. He needed to see her—to know that she was all right—to hold her in his arms. He knew she wouldn’t welcome his attention, but right now that didn’t matter. The world had gone mad, and Kenzie was his only sane thought.
Many of the hospitals had been destroyed, and doctors were performing treatments wherever they could set up a decent place to work. Micah had gone back and forth between several of the makeshift establishments, but mostly he went out on the streets and to the relief camps at the urgent pleading of people he saw along the way. There were so many injuries, so many hopeless situations. He spent nearly as much time praying with dying souls as he did patching up their wounded bodies.
“Doctor, here.” A voice broke through his thoughts.
He glanced up to find a young woman cradling a babe in one arm and extending a sandwich to him with the other. “That soldier over there told me to bring you this.”
Micah took the sandwich. When had he eaten last? “Give him my thanks, please.” He looked only a moment at the unevenly sliced bread separated by a thick slab of ham, then devoured it. Nothing had ever tasted quite so good.
He gathered his bag and went to the pot of water he’d earlier instructed one of the soldiers to boil. Seeing the water was ready, Micah took out his instruments and dropped them into the pot. Cleaning anything was difficult, but he still did his best to keep some semblance of order and procedure. It was a well-known fact that proper sanitation was absolutely necessary, yet many doctors paid it little heed. Here, in a building that had once manufactured shoes, Micah was fairly certain sterilization was never a top concern.
“Doctor, we need you over here,” a nurse called.
