Yesterday's Roses (7 page)

Chapter 5

Jake looked up from the papers in front of him as a soft rapping at the library door disturbed the stillness of the room. He gave the porcelain mantel clock a quick glance.

Half past one.

Almost an hour since the first thin wails had proclaimed the birth of the child. The better part of an hour which he had spent reading the same paragraph over and over again, tensely waiting for the knock at his door, dreading the moment when it would come.

Almost an hour; it had seemed like an eternity.

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, searching for a crevice of calm in the seething mass of his tension. But Jake Parrish could find no peace tonight, for the restless phantoms of a thousand regrets lurked in the shadows of his thoughts, haunting him with the infinite litany of his failures.

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, he pressed his palms against his throbbing temples and braced himself for the second assault of knocks that he knew would come.

And they came almost immediately, this time with a persistence that was impossible to ignore.

As Jake lowered his hands to the desk in front of him, he noticed distractedly that they were trembling. Clenching them into tight fists to disguise their betraying motion, he barked, “Yes?”

The only response to his query was the sound of the door gliding open and then closing with a soft click.

Pretending to be engrossed in his reading, Jake ignored the unwanted visitor. He could hear the slight rustling of her skirts as she moved to the center of the library. When the sound of her heels tapping sharply against the floor was suddenly muffled as she stepped onto the carpet, Jake knew she was very near. It wasn't until she paused in front of his desk and waited several moments for some sort of acknowledgment that he lifted his head to throw her an annoyed glance.

“Well?” he snapped. Completely disregarding the tiny bundle in the doctor's arms, he returned his gaze to his paperwork.

Hallie felt a flood of disappointment sweep over her at Jake Parrish's indifferent greeting to his newborn child. She always enjoyed the time she shared with a first-time parent, watching as the anxiety of the new father's face was transformed into an expression of fierce, possessive pride. Such scenes had provided some of the finest moments of her professional life.

Nothing brought her more satisfaction than watching a man stare at his offspring with emotional fascination, often declaring that the baby had his eyes or nose as he gingerly counted the miniature fingers and toes. There had even been an occasion or two when Hallie had watched with amusement while an overjoyed father had pulled down his baby's diaper to happily confirm the gender of a long-desired son or daughter.

Hallie sighed inwardly. Well, in all fairness, this could hardly be considered a normal set of circumstances, and Jake Parrish did seem to be one of those men who kept his displays of emotion on a tight rein. Besides, it was late and they were all tired. Hallie hadn't missed the shadows beneath the man's eyes or the way his shoulders were slumped with weariness.

Determined to make the best of the difficult situation, Hallie pasted a smile on her face. “I thought you might be interested in meeting your daughter, Mr. Parrish,” she said in what she hoped was a cheerful voice.

“Fine,” he replied shortly, giving her an abrupt jerk of his head that Hallie assumed was meant to be a nod.

He didn't look up again until she had moved around the desk and was standing directly beside him. Tossing down the papers he was examining, Jake leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. Using one finger, as if trying to avoid touching something repugnant, he pushed the blanket away from the delicate face and gave the baby a cursory glance.

There was no welcoming smile or softening of his rigid features as Jake Parrish viewed his daughter for the first time—only an expression of cool disinterest.

Without comment, he dropped his hand and turned back to his work with an air of dismissal.

Hallie felt a chill as her past whispered of another infant who had been callously disregarded by her father. She would never forget the terrible hurt she had experienced later at overhearing the servants gossiping about her father's unfeeling reaction to her own birth.

Poor, poor child! they had clucked. Why, Ambrose Gardiner didn't care enough about his newborn daughter to see her until almost two weeks after her birth! And if he hadn't been obligated to acknowledge her at her christening, it probably would have been even longer.

Of course, as a man ever conscious of the strictures of society, he had been the picture of the proud papa during the ceremony at the church. He even held his daughter at the party that followed and drank numerous toasts to her health.

But as soon as the last guests had taken their leave, Ambrose shoved Hallie at her nurse with an air of disgust, warning the poor woman that she would be dismissed if she didn't keep that “red-faced, squalling brat” out of his sight—and hearing. Worse yet, he never once bothered to inquire after his wife, who lay near death with childbed fever.

In later years, he had cruelly lamented to Hallie the injustice of fate that his wife, Georgianna, hadn't died in childbirth and taken Hallie with her.

Watching Jake now, as he sat calmly writing on a document, his face as cold and exquisite as that of a mythical god carved in marble, Hallie felt the scar on her soul torn asunder with a violence that released an eruption of long-dormant pain.

And with the pain came anger.

“Aren't you even the least bit interested in how your wife is doing?” snapped Hallie, wanting nothing more than to snatch the pen from his hand and force him to see her fury.

The pen stopped in midstroke.

Lifting his face to level Hallie with a bland stare, he inquired, “And how is my wife?”

As if you care, you unfeeling bastard!
fumed Hallie silently.

Ignoring the urge to call him several unflattering names but unable to keep the reproach from her voice, she replied, “It was a difficult birth. Of course, I expected that, considering your wife's deteriorated physical condition. To be honest, it's a miracle your wife and child survived the delivery. Mrs. Parrish became so weakened toward the end of her labor that she could barely find the strength to push the baby into this world.”

Hallie lifted her gaze from the baby's face to meet Jake Parrish's emotionless eyes. “Mr. Parrish, your daughter wasn't breathing when she was born, and it's only by the grace of God that she's alive at all.”

Jake glanced sharply at the infant resting in the crook of Hallie's arm. As the impact of her words pierced his wall of calm, he was struck by sudden fear. Struggling to keep his voice steady, he asked, “But she's all right now?”

“I'm not going to lie to you. Your child is much too small. Babies in this condition
have
been known to survive and thrive, but only in rare instances. We can only pray that this poor little mite will be one of the lucky ones.”

“You'll do everything possible, of course.” His words weren't a request but a command.

Hallie nodded. “Of course. I've left instructions with Celine, and with your permission, I'll send a woman from the mission to act as a wet nurse.”

“Fine. Do whatever you think is best.” With that, he picked up his pen again as if to resume his writing.

But Hallie chose to ignore his signal that their interview was concluded. “I'll come by every day to check on the baby's progress myself. And Mrs. Parrish's, too. Your wife lost more blood than is normal, but, thankfully, there is no sign of hemorrhage. Aside from being exhausted—and barring the possibility of fever—she should be back to normal in no time.”

A grim smile twisted Jake's lips. “Back to normal? Isn't that being just a bit optimistic, Dr. Gardiner?” “You know what I mean,” she retorted, shifting the now squirming baby to her other arm.

“Really? I thought it was just another one of your misguided attempts to convince me of the miraculous powers of the almighty medical profession.”

Hallie gasped with outrage as her thoughts solidified into words that exploded from her lips before she could stop them.

“Do you know what a heartless bastard you are?”

There was a sizzle in the air as icy green eyes collided with burning amber ones.

“Yes!” he lashed back, his voice snapping like a whip.

Hallie tore her gaze away from his face, infuriated by the look of smugness there that told her just how unworthy an opponent he found her in this duel of wits. Lord! How she would love to think of a retort that would wipe that superior expression off his face!

“Why so angry, Mission Lady? We actually agree on something for a change.” His smirk widened as a crimson flush crept up from her chest to infuse her face with color.

The infant picked that moment to let forth a howl of protest.

“My, my. She already sounds just like her mother,” Jake observed wryly.

Rocking the now squalling babe in an attempt to calm her, Hallie sputtered, “Q-o-o! Now look what you've done!”

“What I've done? I'm not the one tossing that baby around like a sack of rotten potatoes.”

Hallie looked down at the red-faced infant, who was, indeed, being subjected to some fairly wild gyrations in her arms.

Damn that Jake Parrish!

Raising the baby to rest against the softness of her breast and patting the small back soothingly, Hallie met Jake's eyes with a glow of intense dislike.

“Are you this rude to everyone, Mr. Parrish?”

Jake's eyes swept her with insulting thoroughness before he drawled, “No. Just to you.”

Watching with interest as her face turned from an unattractive red to a mottled purple, he added pointedly, “Most women find me charming. But then, we've already established the fact that you're not a woman, right,
Doctor
?”

“I can't imagine any woman in her right mind finding you the least bit appealing,” Hallie shot back with a disdainful sniff.

“Right mind? Interesting choice of words,” he pointed out coldly, tapping his fingers against the top of his desk.

“There you go again, deliberately twisting my words around,” she ground out, carefully securing the blanket around the whimpering form. “Lord! You've got to be the most maddening man I've ever had the misfortune to meet.”

“Probably. Serena is living proof of that, isn't she?”

Not bothering to justify his last remark with an answer, Hallie spun on her heel and stalked toward the door, but not before throwing Jake Parrish a look that told him exactly what she thought of his hard-hearted cynicism.

“What's this, Dr. Gardiner? Not going to stay and try to pick my pocket for services rendered?”

“No,” Hallie tossed over her shoulder. “But I will send you a bill and believe me, Mr. Parrish, when you see the size of it, you're going to wish I had merely picked your pockets. What I have in mind right now is more akin to highway robbery!”

And with that parting comment, she slammed the door behind her with resounding emphasis, effectively cutting off the echoes of his mocking laughter.

“Hell and damnation! HELL AND DAMNATION!” gasped Davinia Loomis, the directress of the Mission for Chinese Women, when Hallie had finished recounting her experiences at the Parrish house. “I didn't even know Serena was expecting a child! Of course, that Penelope Parrish is as diligent as a rabid watchdog when it comes to guarding her family's privacy. I imagine she would have introduced you to the street dust quick enough if Jake hadn't intervened when he did. What I can't understand is what could have gotten into that boy to make him behave like such an ill-bred clod.”

Hallie shrugged and continued to remove an assortment of boxes and bottles from the makeshift medicine cabinet that stood in the corner of the so-called “surgery.” Taking inventory of the Mission Infirmary's assets had proved to be a discouraging, as well as filthy, chore which had encompassed the better part of the morning. Hallie had experienced an awful sinking sensation when she had first seen the contents of the bandage chest, a feeling that plunged deeper with every drawer and cupboard she explored.

Wherever were they going to get the supplies needed to make the infirmary a workable proposition? She pushed an unruly tendril of hair out of her face with dusty fingers, leaving a smudged trail of dirt across her cheek.

The Mission House directress watched as Hallie opened a bottle and sniffed at the contents. Folding her arms across her ample bosom, her handsome, if time-worn, face set in lines of righteous affront, Davinia muttered, “Just you wait until the next time I cross paths with that Parrish rascal. See if I don't give him a lesson or two on the virtues of gratitude. Might even shame him enough to see him in church next Sunday.”

Hallie laughed. “Well, if anyone could work such a miracle, it would be you.”

“The miracles, I'll be leaving to the Lord,” replied Davinia sanctimoniously. “Jake Parrish, however, is an entirely different matter. I've known that boy for over twelve years and don't intend to stand by while he turns into an unprincipled heathen.”

Hallie put the bottle she'd been examining into the “save” box and peered suspiciously at the contents of a particularly grubby jar. Holding it up to the dim light filtering through the sooty windows, she grimaced with disgust.

“Good Lord! Didn't your last doctor know that leeches are useless? Especially,” Hallie pointed out, tossing the container into the crate at her feet, “dead ones.”

“Durned man had buffalo chips for brains and wouldn't have known a dead leech from a live one. Same as with his patients. The nincompoop assured Mrs. Merriman that her husband would make a full recovery from his fit of apoplexy, completely oblivious to the fact that the man was as stiff as a poker and dead as a June bug in July. That bit of business cost us a pretty penny in lost donations, let me tell you!”