Yesterday's Roses (9 page)

Hallie was uncomfortably reminded of a cat watching a mouse it intended to eat, and she happened to feel like the poor, doomed rodent.

“Now, Hallie. What do you mean ‘won't go'? Of course you'll go. How can you even think of turning down such a generous offer?”

“Davinia—”

“Think, Hallie! Without proper medicine, equipment, and funds, the infirmary is doomed to failure. You know that as well as I. And without the infirmary, where will all the poor Chinese women go for medical help? The white hospitals won't touch them, and that's a fact. It seems to me that as a doctor, you have an obligation toward the welfare of those women.” Davinia crossed her arms, her foot tapping, as she waited for Hallie's reply.

“Surely there has to be another way?” Hallie looked from Davinia to Jake in wild appeal.

Jake shook his head slowly. “There is no other way. My wife needs constant attention, and there is no one else she will accept. Let's not forget the baby either. She needs you most of all. How can you turn your back on her?”

Hallie sputtered with outrage, “Why, that's—”

“Blackmail?” Jake supplied helpfully, seeing his victory clearly written in the lines of resignation on her face. “You're right, Dr. Gardiner. It's blackmail—pure and simple.”

Chapter 6

Oysters?

Scrambled with bacon and eggs?

For breakfast?

Hallie groaned. Wouldn't you just know it? Here she was hungry enough to eat Jake Parrish's foul-tempered thoroughbred stallion—hooves and all—and they serve her this nasty concoction.

She picked up her fork to poke suspiciously at one of the offending little monstrosities. Did Jake Parrish actually enjoy such appalling fare? Or was this supposed to be some subtle form of torture?

Probably the former
, she told herself with a disdainful sniff. Not that she had any idea what the man actually ate, for he hadn't deigned to take a meal with her in the two weeks she had been at the house. She sniffed again. Come to think of it, she couldn't recall ever seeing him before noon, or anytime after nine o'clock at night, for that matter.

Ha! The beast must be one of those men who carouses all night and sleeps the morning away.

Suddenly her stomach gave an angry growl, as if to protest its deprived state. What she wouldn't give for
plain
eggs,
plain
bacon, and a thick slice of lightly toasted bread. And while she was indulging in a bit of fantasy, she might as well add some sweet, sticky raspberry preserves to the list. Now those were what dreams were made of!

Clenching her lips into a tight line, Hallie refocused her eyes on the depressing reality of her plate. Not only was she about to die of boredom in this overdone mausoleum of a house, but it appeared she was going to be starved to death as well.

And it was all Jake Parrish's fault! Viciously she speared an oyster, chortling with glee as she pretended it was Mr. High and Mighty's heart.

Take that, you arrogant cur! Thought you'd gotten the best of me, did you?

Clink! Silver clashed with fine china as the oyster slid from the capturing prongs of her fork and flew off her plate to ricochet off her bodice and into her lap.

Oh! Wonderful! That happened to be your last clean gown.

With a moan of exasperation, she dabbed at the greasy mess trailing down her lilac silk bodice, succeeding only in making matters worse. Damn. And just look at the damage done to her skirts. Expelling her breath forcefully through her nose to produce a noise that sounded suspiciously like one of Jake Parrish's superior little snorts, she attacked her soiled skirts with a violently wielded napkin.

Clunk!
Hallie's elbow collided with her fork, which had been properly balanced on the edge of her plate.

Plop!
It went spinning beneath the table and came to rest upon the colorfully patterned Kidderminster carpet.

“Oh, damn!” she swore indelicately, bending down to retrieve the utensil from beneath the heavy oak table.

Double damn!
If she could just manage to stretch another inch—

“It's called a Hangtown Fry.”

Thunk!
Hallie emerged rubbing her head and casting a baleful glare in Jake Parrish's direction.

“What did you say?” she muttered crossly, noting the way he was lounging at the other end of the table, grinning at her in his infuriating manner. The sadistic bastard actually seemed to be enjoying her discomfort. And wouldn't you just know it? Her little faux pas had been witnessed by a nastily smirking Penelope as well.

“The dish you appear to be so strenuously enjoying—it's called a Hangtown Fry. It's considered to be quite a delicacy here in San Francisco.” Jake moved to seat himself at the head of the table while Penelope hovered at his side.

Hallie couldn't help noticing that he was sporting a black eye and that there was a nasty-looking cut on his full lower lip.

The man probably considers a good barroom brawl a form of highbrow entertainment, she thought, watching him grimace as he stiffly lowered himself into his chair and eased his bad leg under the table.

Staring pointedly at Jake Parrish's battered features, she said, “And here I thought San Francisco was supposed to be a mecca of civilization. My mistake.”

Jake laughed at Hallie's none-too-subtle double entendre. “San Francisco is one wicked lady who happens to thrive on her own raw, untamed energy. She contains scores of sinners who are just ripe for your brand of redemption.”

As Penelope reached for his napkin and made as if to place it in his lap, he snapped, “Will you please sit down and stop treating me like a damn invalid?”

Their eyes met—Penelope's sullen and rebellious, Jake's reflecting the heat of his growing temper. Twisting her mouth into an ugly scowl, Penelope shrugged and seated herself on Jake's right. He threw her a final warning glance before refocusing his attention on Hallie.

“Hop thought you might enjoy trying one of the city's more notorious dishes.”

“Notorious?” Hallie stared down at her plate skeptically.

“As far as food goes, yes. During the rush of '49, a meal of a Hangtown Fry was a popular last request made by prisoners condemned to hang.”

“Probably because one bite was enough to make them wish for a quick death,” she replied, making a wry face.

Jake laughed. “Not quite. The real reason was the scarcity of eggs. Requesting a Hangtown Fry could mean a stay of execution for several months while the precious commodity was hunted down. You see, Dr. Gardiner, even in the crudity of the mining camps, there were certain proprieties that couldn't be overlooked, the final request of a condemned prisoner being one.”

He paused to jerk his head in an abrupt nod at Hop Yung, who seemed particularly intent on pouring “Mr. Jake” a cup of coffee.

Hallie waited until the houseboy had ceased his fussing—why
did
everyone flutter about Jake Parrish as if he were some sort of imperial deity?—before retorting, “I would rather be hung quickly and cleanly than have to spend months contemplating the unpleasant experience of eating this vile stuff.” She glared down at the rubbery mess congealing on her plate as if to punctuate her point.

Jake grinned and took an experimental sip of his coffee, only to wrench the cup away as the hot beverage made stinging contact with his damaged lip. He waited for the pain to subside before replying, “I've never had any fondness for the dish myself, although it's a favorite of Seth's.” Picking up his cup again, he took a cautious taste.

Penelope let out one of the famous Parrish snorts. “I always thought there was something criminal about that man. What I can't understand is why you remain friends with such an uncouth creature. He certainly isn't our kind of people.” Swinging her cold gaze in Hallie's direction, she added snidely, “You do seem to have an unfortunate tendency to take up with the most questionable sorts of characters.”

“Oh? And just what are our kind of people, pray tell?” Jake's stare was unyielding as it pinioned his sister over the gold-edged rim of his cup.

Hallie was instantly grateful that she wasn't the recipient of that particular stare. With his face set in those grim, hard lines and his eyes sparking with emerald fire, he looked like an archangel hell-bent on delivering some awful form of retribution.

But Penelope was a seasoned veteran of her brother's dark glowers, and she simply shrugged. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Do I?” Carefully setting his fragile cup in its saucer, he leaned toward his sister and stated softly, “Penelope, you're a snob.”

“One must have one's standards,” she replied with a sniff.

“I owe my life and leg to that
uncouth creature
. If it weren't for Seth, I'd probably be one among the thousands of nameless wretches buried in Fredericksburg. You might do well to remember that fact next time you think to measure him against your narrow-minded set of standards.”

Noisily toying with her silverware, Penelope sighed. “Really, Jake. I see no reason to spoil the day with an argument. I know you like Seth, and I promise I won't say another word against him.” Lowering her eyes, she murmured, “It's just that I love you so much and can't help wanting to protect you.”

“I'm hardly in need of protection, and certainly not from a girl barely out of the schoolroom. You say you want what's best for me? Fine. Then you'll stop meddling in my affairs.” Ever so gently, Jake covered Penelope's fidgeting hand with his, stilling the metallic clatter of her silver. “And for the record, little sister, I love you too.”

Hallie found herself staring at her stained skirts with sudden fascination, feeling as if she were somehow intruding on a private moment between the Parrish siblings. She slanted a glance from beneath the sweep of her lashes at Jake's hand holding that of his sister. Then she smiled to herself. Now here was a chink in perfect Penelope's armor. Each nail on the dainty fingers had been bitten to the very quick.

“What do you say, Dr. Gardiner?”

Hallie jerked her head up to stare at Jake, uncomprehending.

He smiled at her confusion. “I was just suggesting that my sister might find something to do to fill her time constructively. I thought she might help out at the Mission Infirmary, perhaps rolling bandages or doing some sewing.”

Penelope gasped, her beautiful face reflecting her distaste. “You know how I feel about the Mission Society! I have no intention of spending my time with a pack of sanctimonious old crows rolling bandages, and you know very well that I don't sew.”

“Well, perhaps Dr. Gardiner can teach you a few simple stitches. I assume you sew?” He raised a dark eyebrow in Hallie's direction.

“Not on cloth. However, I have been known to suture wounds quite artistically. Masterpieces of needlework, if I must say so myself. Perhaps someday you might like to test my skills?”

Jake blanched as her words summoned the hideous memory of his own flesh's encounter with the needle. Gritting his teeth, he muttered, “I pray to God that I never find myself the canvas for one of your creations.”

“What a tasteless and repulsive conversation!” Penelope gagged, adding an exaggerated clutching motion toward her throat with great effect. “I hope you're both satisfied. You've managed to completely ruin my appetite.” With a melodramatic shudder, she jerked herself away from the table.

“I'm sorry,” Hallie murmured, watching as Penelope flounced out of the room. “I can't imagine what could have prompted me to say something so tactless.”

Jake waved his hand dismissively. “Don't apologize. There's nothing my sister likes better than causing a scene. In no time at all, she'll be cozily ensconced in her room, drinking chocolate and stuffing herself with sweet rolls.” He paused to nod his thanks to Celine, who had set a large platter of buckwheat cakes and honey-glazed ham in front of him.

The heavenly smells assaulted Hallie's senses, drawing her attention back to her own gnawing hunger. Suddenly, and with humiliating volume, her stomach let out a loud growl of protest. She could feel the scalding banners of color unfurl across her cheeks as Jake glanced in her direction and chuckled.

“Celine, I believe I just heard Dr. Gardiner's stomach request a few buckwheat cakes for herself.”

“The lady docta' don' like her fry?” Celine peered over Hallie's shoulder with interest. “I tole that worthless yeller man the lady wouldn' be likin' it. Don' you be worryin' none, Miz. Mammy Celine will be bringin' you some of her own good cookin'.”

Throwing a triumphant glance at Hop Yung, who was fussing over Jake's half full cup of coffee, she swept away the offending plate and bustled toward the kitchen.

Hop cast his eyes to the ceiling with a long-suffering sigh. As Celine hurried through the door, the houseboy pulled his monkeylike face into a comical mask and wiggled his tongue at her retreating back. When he caught sight of Hallie struggling to stifle her laughter at his antics, he quickly composed himself and sketched a deferential bow in her direction. Bobbing his head in response to Jake's nod of thanks, he raced after his antagonist like a man with a purpose.

A loud crash reverberated from the kitchen, and the rising decibels of a heated debate drifted back to the pair at the table.

“What in the world is that all about?” asked Hallie, turning her wide-eyed gaze on Jake's grinning face.

“You'll get used to the noise. Hop and Celine share a sort of professional rivalry. Hop was a medicine man back in his country and by all reports quite a good one. Mammy Celine is reputedly a ‘mambo,' or voodoo priestess. She is much sought after for her healing powers. Of course, the two are always at odds over who is the best at his or her trade, and God knows we've all suffered their questionable remedies at one time or another.”

Jake paused to smile at Hallie's melodious laughter. “I can't imagine what those two must make of you.”

“They apparently think as little of my skills as you do,” she pointed out, the merriment fading from her face. “They're constantly criticizing my ways and bombarding me with advice on how best to care for your wife and daughter.”

Jake studied her solemnly for a moment and then sighed. “We got off to a bad start, and I'm sorry for that. As for doubting your skills, I may be many things and most of them not particularly admirable, but I'm no fool. I wouldn't have gone to so much trouble and expense to bring you here unless I thought you were qualified to care for my family. Regardless of what everyone seems to believe, I only want what's best for them.”

“I realize that,” Hallie replied gently. “And I think you care for them far more than you want anyone to know.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Let's just say I take my responsibility seriously.” Looking up as the door opened, Jake commented, “Ah, it looks as if your breakfast has arrived.”

Hallie closed her eyes and sniffed blissfully at the buckwheat cakes in front of her while her stomach rumbled a blessing of its own.

Smiling at Hallie's expression of gastronomic ecstasy, Celine inclined her head in mute acknowledgment of Jake's dismissing smile and glided soundlessly from the room.