Yesterday's Roses (10 page)

“Dr. Gardiner?”

“M-m-m?”

“Why haven't you ever asked me about Serena?” The question was asked with deceptive casualness.

Hallie opened her eyes to meet his fathomless gaze. Pausing to consider her words carefully, she replied, “Davinia told me all about your wife's … problem.”

“All?” he asked, a shaft of bitterness lancing through his voice. “I doubt that.”

“I know your wife developed a craving for … opium, and Davinia did mention something about morphine,” she murmured, pretending not to feel the sudden and inexplicable chill of his stare. “I can't imagine she would have left out any important details.”

“Really?” He studied her for an moment with an odd expression on his face. Leaning toward her, he inquired, “Did she, by any chance, mention that my wife became so distraught when I returned from the war alive—barely alive, mind you—that she tried to take her own life?”

“Dear God, n-no!” Hallie stuttered, shocked.

Jake drew back and gave a short bark of harsh laughter. “Oh, yes. She said she would rather be dead than suffer living with a man who was not only a traitor to the Confederate cause but a pathetic cripple as well.”

He could still see Serena as she had been that day, unkempt and wraithlike, poised at the top of the stairs, venting her venom in a strange, singsong voice. Her malignant words had hurt him badly, piercing his soul over and over again until he had felt like little more than a bleeding mass of wounds. Yet it was the sight of her tears as she had sunk to her knees keening, “Why didn't you die? Dear God! Why didn't you die?” that had delivered the mortal blow. For each crystalline teardrop had been an irrefutable testimony of her unforgiving hatred of him. It was then that he had wept, mourning, as he watched his dreams die their unfulfilled death.

“Mr. Parrish …” Hallie's words faded to stunned silence as she saw his face twist into a mask of heartbreaking agony, and when his eyes grazed hers, she could see the terrible legion of scars gleaming in their naked depths. Like marks tallying the score of a thousand soul-crippling blows dealt by the tragedy that had become his life, they spoke eloquently of a suffering that he was desperate to soothe, yet powerless to escape.

She drew a trembling breath, scrambling to think of something to say—anything that could ease that awful hopelessness from his eyes. But her mind remained blank, all thought blotted out by a raw surge of emotion that cried to fill his heartrending need.

How she longed to pull him into her arms, to cradle his cheek against her breast as she rocked him gently, crooning all the words of comfort he needed to hear. She wanted to hold him close until, with a sigh of surrender, he yielded to the warmth of her solace. And when the pain had at last drifted from his mind, he would find peace in the enveloping sanctuary of her arms.

But, of course, she could do none of these things. Swallowing convulsively, Hallie somehow managed to murmur something, though only God knew what she said.

Jake dropped his gaze to his hands and carefully traced the rim of his cup with his fingertip. “She drank enough laudanum to kill a man twice her size. I never knew where she got the stuff. I had had her confined to her rooms, hoping to wean her from her addiction. God! What a fool I was! I thought that once I had broken her habit, everything would be all right. I thought—” He broke off raggedly and buried his face in his hands.

Hallie reached across the table and after a moment of indecision, gently stroked his silky hair. She could feel him start beneath her hand, only to relax as he accepted her touch.

Without lifting his head, he continued slowly, “For three days she lay unmoving and barely breathing. There were several times when her heartbeat became so faint that we were sure she was gone. And she was so cold to the touch … so cold.”

“It was a miracle she survived at all, Mr. Parrish,” Hallie whispered, drawing her hand away from his hair as he raised his head.

He leveled her with a cynical stare. “If that's your idea of a miracle, then I would hate to see your definition of a tragedy.” Her eyes darkened with hurt at his unprovoked attack, and he instantly regretted the cruelty of his words. He cursed himself virulently for being such a bastard.

“I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that shabby remark.” Sighing, Jake rubbed his forehead. The damn thing felt as if it were being constricted by a band of steel. “Please understand that I've heard those same words dozens of times before, only to be told in the next breath that my wife's brain has been damaged beyond all hope and that she will remain little more than a vindictive child for the rest of her days.”

His lips twisted in a sad caricature of a smile. “I know that's no excuse for my acting like such a bastard, but I hope you can forgive me anyway.”

Impulsively Hallie reached over and clasped his hand. “There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Parrish.”

“Jake. Please, call me Jake. I would like for us to be friends.”

“I'd like that too … Jake. And as friends, I'll expect you to call me Hallie.”

Jake gave her hand a firm squeeze. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Hallie.”

And then he smiled that heart-stopping smile.

“Charming the ladies again, eh, Jake?” Seth Tyler strode into the breakfast room, staring at Jake and Hallie's clasped hands with bemused interest.

They both started, snatching their hands apart self-consciously.

Jake threw his friend a look of annoyance. “For your information, Seth, Dr. Gardiner and I have just come to a mutual agreement and were in the process of shaking on it.”

“Oh, well, don't let me stop you,” he replied breezily, plopping into the chair next to Hallie. Eyeballing Jake's untouched plate with greedy appraisal, he said, “Say, Jake, if you're not going to eat those buckwheat cakes, you might want to slide them in my direction. My cook can't seem to make anything that isn't either dismally underdone or burned to a crisp.”

With a snort of good-natured exasperation, Jake pushed his plate toward his friend. Grinning at Hallie's surprised expression, he laughed, “Can't have Seth gnawing on the furniture, can we?”

“Well, I did have my mouth all set for that delectable-looking Sheraton sideboard in the dining room, but Celine's cakes actually look to be easier on the teeth.” Presenting Hallie with a toothy grin, he snatched up Jake's fork and proceeded to eat with unbridled enthusiasm.

Jake watched his friend lazily for a few minutes before inquiring, “Who died, Seth?”

Seth choked on his mouthful of ham, his face turning such an alarming shade of purple that Hallie jumped up and pounded his back furiously.

“A-l-l RIGHT!” Seth managed to gasp, as he attempted to escape Hallie's violent ministrations. “Enough! I'm all right now—thank you!” Tossing Hallie a look that was equal parts pain and admiration, he poked at his abused spine gingerly. “Quite a jab you've got there, sweetheart. Bet I'll be black and blue for days.” With that, he reached over and took a quick swig from Jake's coffee cup. Looking at his friend with interest, he asked, “So, who
did
die?”

“That's what I was wondering, seeing as you're so somberly dressed.”

Hallie turned to examine Seth Tyler doubtfully. True, his suit was a subdued charcoal gray worsted, but given the fact that the lapels were canary yellow silk, with a knotted tie to match, and his waistcoat was colorfully embroidered with fanciful creatures, his attire could hardly be described as funereal.

Seth hooted at Jake's barbed remark. “Punch him for me, will you, sweetheart? Since you pack such a mighty wallop, you'd be doing me an enormous favor.”

He stared at Jake critically for a moment and then, pointing his fork at his friend, remarked, “You might want to aim for his right eye. It seems I failed to blacken it in my preoccupation with the left one. Take it easy on his mouth, though. I was pretty rough on it last night.”

Seth winked at Hallie. “Won't be kissing anyone anytime soon, eh, Jake?”

“Damn it, Seth—” Jake sputtered.

“O-o-o! Such language! Maybe you should start with his mouth after all.”

“You did that to Jake's face?” Hallie was appalled. “Whatever possessed you to do such an awful thing?”

“Sport!” the two men howled in unison.

Glowering at the guffawing pair as if they were a couple of town idiots caught in the act of baiting the mayor's dog, she exploded, “You consider it sport to try and beat your best friend's face to a pulp?”

Seth shrugged. “Well, that's hardly the point, though that pretty face does occasionally get in the way.”

Jake snorted with mock indignation. “You were aiming for my belly and you just happen to be clumsy enough to miss.” Rubbing his lip at the painful memory, he explained, “Seth and I occasionally enjoy a round of boxing at our club. And usually,” he glared at Seth's unmarked countenance, “this idiot looks as bad—or worse—than I.”

Hallie looked from one man to the other doubtfully. “It hardly seems a fair contest. I mean—” She stopped short, not quite sure if it would be proper to mention Jake's bad leg.

“You mean Jake's leg,” finished Seth. “Oh, don't let that worry you. Why, if it weren't for our boxing matches and our morning rowing contests, Jake would still be the same self-pitying cripple who passed his days huddled beneath his blankets.”

“Seth,” Jake growled, looking none too pleased with the direction the conversation had taken.

“Weak and shaky as an infant was our Jake. I'll never forget the first time I dragged him down to the bay and forced him to row that boat—”

“Damn it, Seth!” gritted Jake threateningly. “I don't appreciate—”

Seth deliberately turned his back on his friend and focused all his attention on Hallie. “Yes, he could barely hold the oars, he was shaking so badly with weakness. Why, even that paltry effort was enough to send him vomiting into the bushes.”

Jake groaned and looked ready to throttle his friend at any moment, but Seth blithely ignored him.

“I also found out just how creative Jake can be with a colorful phrase.”

“Seth,” Jake choked out murderously. “If you're finished with your tasteless commentary, I'd like to sign those papers you were supposed to bring. You did remember to bring them, didn't you?”

“Of course. But I haven't had a chance to tell Doc how you upset the boat with your clumsiness and had to be rescued from drowning.” His eyes brightened as he warmed to the subject. “You should have seen him! The elegant Jake Parrish thrashing in the water like a duck with a hornet up its backside and looking like a—”

“Enough!” intervened Jake, color darkening his face.

“Too bad. That's one of my favorite stories.” Seth paused to take another bite of ham. “Oh, well. Now that Doc is a citizen of our city, I'll have plenty of opportunities to regale her with tales of your past, er, glories.”

“I'm sure that thought gladdens Dr. Gardiner's heart to no end. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to look over those documents.”

As the men made to rise and retire to the library, Hop Yung came darting into the breakfast room with obvious agitation.

“Mister King to see Mister Jake. Ver-ry mean-headed. Ver-ry!” he added with mournful emphasis, wringing his hands anxiously.

Seth threw Jake a concerned look. “Serena's father? I wonder what he's doing back in town.”

“God only knows,” groaned Jake, an uneasy feeling trickling down his spine. Cyrus King could be summed up in one word: trouble. Heaving a sigh of resignation, he added, “The only way to find out is to see what he wants.”

“Would you like me to go with you?” asked Seth, worry tainting every line of his handsome face.

Jake shook his head, but smiled at his friend's show of support. “No. I've handled Cyrus before.” He rose and balanced himself on his cane, painfully flexing his stiff leg. “Just don't be alarmed if you hear some rather loud … conversation. The man is overly fond of shouting.”

Seth stared at his friend doubtfully for a moment, and then nodded. “I'm sure you know best.”

Jake nodded back. “Since we obviously won't have time to go over those documents this morning, you might want to take them downtown to our solicitor and get his opinion on the legality of the proposed transaction. It'll save us time this afternoon. That is—” he turned to Hallie, “—if Dr. Gardiner will excuse us?”

Hallie nodded her consent, though she felt a strange sense of disappointment at Jake's leaving. “Of course. I'm sure you and Mr. Tyler—”

“It's Seth, sweetheart,” Seth interjected. “My father's name was Mr. Tyler.”

She laughed at his droll expression. “And I'm Hallie.”

Jake limped toward the door, smiling at Hallie's laughter. He liked the way it sounded, husky and filled with unbridled joy. Hand on doorknob, he paused to glance in her direction. He liked the way she looked, too. Grinning impishly up at his friend, her eyes sparkling with mirth, she looked almost pretty. His smile broadened … until he heard Seth's words.

“Now that we're on a first-name basis, I can tell you about the time Jake got tipsy and decided to serenade cranky old Mrs. Wornley—”

With a beleaguered groan, Jake stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind him. Clenching his cane in a deathlike grip, he began his slow trek to the parlor.
Cyrus King. Here. Trouble.
His muscles tensed at the disturbing thought.

Once in front of the parlor door, he stopped to ask a passing maid to inform the other servants that he and Cyrus King were not to be disturbed. She bobbed her head and set off to do his bidding.

Privacy ensured, he sucked in a deep, steadying breath and mentally braced himself for the coming conflict.