Yesterday's Roses

For my husband, Chip, who taught me that the key to making my dreams come true is finding the courage to follow them. Thanks for the wisdom. I love you.

Chapter 1

San Francisco, 1865

They called him “Young Midas.”

Lord!
she thought,
the man certainly looks to be living up to his nickname.
Never in her travels—and Dr. Hallie Gardiner prided herself on having seen a good portion of the world—had she seen anything quite like this house.

House?
she asked herself wryly. Somehow, that word seemed to be a bit of an understatement. This
house
was a grand, castlelike structure with all the homeyness of the Tower of London. Not that the building wasn't lovely. Hallie had to admit there was an overblown sort of charm to the steeply pitched gable roof and jutting towers, rather like something the Brothers Grimm might have dreamed up in a fit of grandiose madness.

At odds with the simple yet stylish London-type brick mansions that composed the rest of the South Park square, the impressive fortress seemed to lord over those lesser residences. Hallie prayed that the man wasn't as overbearing as his home.

For the first time that day, she felt her optimism flag. Even if the size and ornateness of the structure hadn't set it apart, the fact that it was completely surrounded by a stone wall did. It was clear that Jake Parrish was a man who jealously protected his privacy, and that was not a thought she found particularly comforting.

But what choice did she have? The Mission Infirmary for Chinese Women was in desperate need of funds, and she was sure this man could help. She had learned from her ledgers that he had been generous with his past donations. Surely that was a fair indicator of his benevolent nature, wasn't it?

Besides, Hallie reminded herself, she didn't intend to ask him for anything except his financial advice. If she could convince him to help her devise a plan to make the infirmary self-sufficient, she wouldn't have to depend on him—or the goodness of society's fickle hearts—for support. And from the dismal state of the ledgers, the people of San Francisco had been none too charitable of late.

Except for Jake Parrish. That fact and his impressive reputation for having a golden touch were what had brought her here today. He was her last hope to save the floundering clinic. If the Mission Infirmary failed, Hallie would be forced to return to her life in Philadelphia and—

No! She simply couldn't afford to fail!

Ignoring how cold the wrought iron felt beneath her gloved hands, Hallie clutched at the intricately twisted gate bars. Silently, she willed her resolve to be as strong as the metal beneath her trembling grip.

He's just a man,
she reminded herself.
If he's smug, pompous, and condescending, well, you've dealt with that type before. Just smile into his overfed face and try to ignore his jiggling belly.

Hallie gave a nervous laugh at the picture of a toadlike little man all puffed up with self-importance. With humor strengthening her resolve, she gave the gate a fierce tug, determined to take the castle by storm. But, alas, her plan for siege was foiled; the gate was locked.

Puzzled, she consulted the watch pinned to her Zouave jacket. Mr. Parrish's note had told her to call at four o'clock, and it was five of the hour. She stared at the gate for a moment, uncertain as to what to do next. Her plans hadn't included scaling walls and breaching a fortress.

Fighting back her irritation, Hallie waited by the gate, sure that someone would be along to let her in. No one came. When her watch read a quarter after the hour, her patience snapped.

The rudeness of the man!
she raged silently. How dare he keep her waiting at the gate like some kind of beggar! With determination born of desperation, she marched around the perimeter of the wall looking for another entrance. By God, she would find a way in, even if it meant climbing that wall!

Her search was rewarded by the discovery of a wooden servants' gate at the back of the property, which she promptly gave a vicious yank. It didn't budge. Wanting to scream her frustration, she pulled on it again. It was locked.

Wonderful! Now what?
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Hallie studied the gate. It wasn't really that high, and the horizontal supports looked sturdy enough to provide adequate footholds. Perhaps if she—

Oh, no, Hallie!
she lectured herself sternly.
You are not going to climb that wall. You will return to the mission like a proper lady and send His Royal Rudeness a proper note which only hints at your annoyance. You will then wait for another invitation, which you will accept with proper gratitude.

Hallie let out a short laugh at her own absurdity. Since when had she ever done anything that could be considered even remotely proper? Propriety be damned! And before she could talk herself out of it, she was halfway over the gate, her plum merino skirts hiked scandalously high above her knees.

As she straddled the top, fully prepared to plunge to the other side, she was stopped cold by a dreadful thought: What if Mr. High and Mighty kept dogs? The big, mean kind with beady eyes and sharp teeth, the kind people kept to ensure their privacy? Visions of enormous, salivating hounds from hell flitted through her mind, and for a dreadful second she was certain she could hear an unholy baying.

Hallie froze with horror as she visualized the fate sure to befall her should she dare to enter the devil's lair. Anxiously she scanned the grounds for any sign of the dreaded hounds. Except for an occasional rustle of leaves from a nearby eucalyptus tree, all was quiet.

Slowly she let out the breath she'd been holding, feeling foolish for letting her imagination run away with her. Scolding herself for acting like a featherbrained schoolgirl, Hallie stiffened her spine and squared her shoulders, more determined than ever to reach the house with some semblance of dignity.

Unfortunately, the forcefulness of her motions served only to upset her precarious balance. She wavered unsteadily for a moment, flailing the air wildly for something solid to hold on to before tumbling over the gate to land in an undignified heap.

Hallie lay motionless for several seconds, winded from her fall. Gasping for breath, she cautiously began testing her limbs for injury, wiggling first her arms and then her legs. When she was convinced that she had survived the fall unharmed, she eased herself to her feet, muttering a string of unladylike adjectives directed at the occupant of the house.

Her relief at escaping unscathed soon turned to dismay as she surveyed the damages to her appearance. There was a large rip where her skirt had caught on something sharp, and weren't those grass stains on her—well, where she sat? With an exasperated sigh, she pushed her tumbling hair out of her eyes, succeeding only in scattering her hairpins in the process.

Great. Now I look like a wharfside doxy after a barroom brawl.

Well, there was no help for it. She'd gone to too much trouble to turn back now. Cursing herself for an impetuous fool, Hallie twisted her hair up and viciously stabbed it into an untidy heap atop her head with her few remaining pins.

It's all Mr. Jake Parrish's fault,
she thought, sniffing for emphasis as she slapped at the dirt on her skirts. And if he was offended by her appearance—well, too bad! With that thought boiling in her head, she stormed through the heavy foliage, belligerently set on keeping her appointment.

“You no ring bell!” exclaimed the Chinese houseboy.

Hallie stared at the little man, momentarily caught off guard by his unprovoked rudeness.

Braced at the door like the sentry at a citadel gate, the man fixed the trespasser with a menacing stare. “How you get in if you no ring bell?”

“Excuse me?” If she hadn't been so taken aback by his unorthodox greeting, Hallie probably would have been hard-pressed to stifle a giggle. At ridiculous odds with his fierce bearing and threatening scowl, the man was diminutive in stature, at least a head shorter than herself.

He favored her with a long-suffering look and rolled his eyes toward the heavens. “Bell go ding dong. Man come. He unlock gate. Ver-ry simple.” His manner was insultingly like that which one used when speaking to a very young or very stupid person.

An embarrassed flush stained Hallie's cheeks as the meaning of his words became clear. Of course there would have been a bell. Why hadn't she realized that?

“What you want?”

“I'm here to see Mr. Parrish. If you'll—”

“No see Mr. Jake! He no see anyone.” The man began to inch the door closed, obviously considering the matter settled. “You go now!”

“Wait!” Hallie cried, becoming panicked by the very real possibility that she might not get to appeal to Mr. Parrish. “I have an appointment.” To her relief, the houseboy paused.

“'pointment?” He looked at her dubiously.

Unable to stifle her annoyance, she snapped, “Yes. You know—Mr. Parrish send note. I come?”

His scowl wavered at that, and he seemed almost amused by her perfect imitation of his pidgin English. “Hop not told of 'pointment,” he replied, apparently not amused enough to put aside his suspicions. “You go. Come later.”

As he made to slam the door in her face, Hallie's temper flared. “No!” She thrust her booted foot in the door to prevent it from being closed. “I'm Dr. Hallie Gardiner. Mr. Parrish told me to be here at four.
He
invited
me
. Do you understand? I've gone through a lot of trouble to get here, and I intend to see that he honors our appointment.”

The man stopped tugging at the door. “You doctor?”

Hallie could have sworn that relief flooded his face. “Yes. I just told you so. I'm Dr. Hallie Gardiner.”

“You late. Mr. Jake ver-ry mean-headed.”

“I know I'm late. I already explained about the gate.”

“Yes. You no—”

“—ring bell,” she finished for him with irritation. “You've already pointed that fact out to me. Mean-headed? Are you trying to tell me that Mr. Parrish is suffering from a head ailment?”

The houseboy looked at Hallie as if she were the one with a head ailment. Sighing over what he viewed as her lack of mastery of the English language, he flung the door open and motioned for her to enter. “You come now. Hop Yung show you to Mr. Jake.”

The foyer into which Hallie was shown was impressive in size and content. Twin stairways curved into a graceful horseshoe shape, leading to a balustraded second-floor balcony. It was a design calculated to draw the eye upward and ultimately capture the observer in the breathtaking glory of the frescoes adorning the high, vaulted ceiling. Cut-crystal lamps gleamed from the chandeliers high above, capturing the kaleidoscope of light streaming through the stained-glass windows and casting playful rainbows of color on the white walls.

While stunning in appearance, Hallie secretly thought, the design would have been better suited for a theater lobby or a museum entry. The only homey touch was the expensive Axminster carpet in muted shades of blue, rose, green, and ivory, which served to add warmth to the white marble floor.

“Hop Yung, who is that with you?” demanded a strident female voice. There was a no-nonsense sort of tyranny to the utterance that called to mind Miss Dibell, Hallie's first and most domineering governess.

Hallie snapped her head around, fully expecting to encounter a hard-faced shrew who would perfectly match the voice. The only other person in the foyer was a woman who was not only young but ethereally beautiful. Hallie stared in disbelief for several seconds before shifting her gaze to the empty space behind the woman. She half expected the true possessor of that voice to step out of the shadows and resume her verbal barrage.

“Hop Yung! When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. Is that too difficult for you to understand?” The woman turned from Hop Yung and speared Hallie with her cold green gaze. “Just who is this person?” She practically spat the word “person.”

Hallie was caught off guard by the viciousness of the unwarranted attack. For a moment she seriously considered telling these people exactly what she thought of their rudeness and trying to find another way to save the infirmary. But, of course, there was no other way. She'd already determined that dismal fact.

As the women studied each other for a long moment, each sizing up her adversary, Hallie found herself becoming shamefully conscious of her own shortcomings. Faced with this perfect example of one of Mr. Godey's ladies, she, who never gave the mirror more than a passing glance, suddenly found herself wishing that the cut of her visiting gown was a bit more modish and that she had taken the time to properly pomade her wildly haloing hair. Oh, and what she wouldn't have given at that moment to have her hair mellow from its bright autumn-leaves red to a softer hue of auburn or chestnut.

With a sinking feeling Hallie also noted that, from the top of her perfectly coiffed black curls to the toes of her green kid slippers, the other woman's appearance was flawless. Just when her bravery was about to wave a white flag of surrender in the face of such an intimidating foe, the woman shattered the illusion of perfection by snapping, “Just who are you and what do you want?”

“She doctor!” answered Hop Yung brightly, still unfazed by the woman's apparent displeasure. “Mr. Jake send for doctor.”

The woman gave him a look of undisguised contempt. “Jake sent for Dr. Barnes. Does this person look like Dr. Barnes to you?”

“She say she doctor,” he insisted mulishly.

Hallie was about to interrupt and explain her purpose, but the woman's frigid expression warned her that her efforts would be futile.
Who is this shrew, anyway?
she wondered.
Could, this miserable person be Mrs. Parrish?

If that was the case, Hallie could only pity the poor man for being saddled with such an ill-tempered wife. Undoubtedly “mean-headed” meant hung over, for this creature would be enough to drive even the most temperate of men to drunkenness!