She raised her eyes to see if their closeness was having the same electrifying effect on her rescuer as it did on herself. If the strange expression on his face was any indication of his feelings, then Jake Parrish was definitely disturbed by something. But it clearly wasn’t Hallie’s person doing the disturbing. Swallowing something that felt suspiciously like disappointment, Hallie pushed away from his slackening hold and followed his troubled gaze to the object at the bottom of the steep stairway.
It was just a cane. A black one with a gold top, to be exact. As Jake Parrish uttered a soft but graphic oath, Hallie cast him a questioning look. Pointedly ignoring her stare, he cursed again and struggled to brace himself more firmly against the banister, holding on to the gleaming wood as if it were a lifeline in a storm-swept ocean.
Hallie was puzzled by the expression of frustrated helplessness that spread across his face. He looked so … lost, as he seemed to mentally gauge the distance between himself and his cane. It was then that she realized the truth, and it stunned her: the cane wasn’t an affectation. Jake Parrish was a cripple.
And she was a doctor, for God’s sake! Why hadn’t she noticed such an obvious infirmity before now?
Because you couldn’t get past that pretty face of his, she admitted to herself.
Cautiously, he took a halting step down, never once looking at Hallie. It was almost as if he was afraid of what he would see in her eyes. At his next step, his left leg gave out, and as he stumbled, his hissing intake of breath told her of his pain. Hallie impulsively reached forward to offer him support, but snatched her arm away before he could see it. She could only guess at how galling such a handicap was to a man as proud as Jake Parrish and knew that by offering her assistance she would only be adding to his indignity.
Politely, she pretended not to hear him as he drew deep, ragged breaths, or to watch him when he pressed his hand hard against his left thigh as if to ease a nagging ache. She even managed to avoid staring at the way his knuckles had bleached to a bloodless white with the tension of his grasp on the handrail. But when she saw a quicksilver flash of vulnerability burst across his previously blank face, Hallie knew she didn’t have the heart to subject him to any further humiliation.
Acting quickly, she sighed, “Oh, clumsy me! If I’m not tripping over my own two feet, I’m dropping or breaking something. ‘Hide all the breakables!’ my father would always shout. ‘Here comes the most graceless creature on the face of the earth!’” She illustrated her point by tripping down the stairs like a hell-bent hoyden to retrieve his cane.
As she handed it to him in a brisk, matter-of-fact manner, he gifted her, for the first time, with a genuine smile. Hallie swallowed hard as she stared at the dimple provocatively creasing his left cheek. She had realized that he was an extraordinarily handsome man, but when he smiled like that, he was more beautiful than the archangel in the church window back home. And she’d had more than her share of romantic fancies about that angel.
“Did your father really call you graceless?”
Hallie forcibly composed herself and nodded.
“Then his definition of grace differs from mine.” Jake expertly positioned the cane and with an incline of his head said, “If you’ll follow me, Dr. Gardiner, I believe I hear your patient clamoring for your services.”
Indeed, the din had resumed with a vengeance. Without further comment, he began his tedious, self-conscious trek up the stairs, leaving Hallie to pace herself behind his awkward gait.
Though the stairs had been an ordeal for Mr. Parrish, he proved to be adept at maneuvering through the halls, and Hallie found herself almost running to keep up. As they rounded a corner, the wails grew deafening.
Suppressing the urge to clamp her hands over her ears, Hallie studied the corridor in which they had paused. There were two doors on either side of the hall, which ended at a pair of leaded-glass doors opening onto a spacious balcony. Shafts of late-afternoon sunlight glittered through the diamondlike windowpanes, infusing the entire area with a warm glow. Hallie would have found the effect enchanting had it not been for the heavy ironwork barring the doors—and the screaming.
Hallie looked to Jake Parrish with mute inquiry. Her question was not why he needed those bars, for the animalistic howls were answer enough, but for whom?
As if in answer to her unasked question, he shoved open the second door on the right, a motion which elicited a battery of garbled screeches from the occupant within.
“Dr. Gardiner,” he drawled, keeping his face rigidly void of expression. “Allow me to introduce you to my charming wife, Serena.”
The woman strapped to the functional iron bed struggled against her bonds at Hallie’s approach. Serena Parrish had once been a beautiful woman, that much was apparent, even in the semidarkness of the room. Traces of her former glory were still visible in the white-gold iridescence of her matted hair, and in the amazing eyes that shocked the senses with their blaze of cerulean fire burning against the contrasting chalky white canvas of her face.
Though her face had that pinched, drawn look which Hallie associated with wasting illness, the well-bred elegance of the woman’s bone structure had defied the ravaging forces of her ailment. Her screams had ceased when she’d caught sight of the stranger with her husband, and she now lay quietly, her lips still trembling. Hypnotically, Hallie was reminded of a moonlight nymph startled by the unexpected presence of a lowly mortal.
The silence also made Hallie twice as conscious of the crunch of broken glass beneath her boots. Drawing her attention away from the spell cast by Serena’s compelling face, she peered down at the floor in disgust. Nasty, viscous-looking liquids congealed with multicolored powders amid the shattered remains of glass vials, staining the rich Aubusson carpet. The once beautiful parquet floor beneath the carpet was badly scarred, as if it had been subjected to violent and frequent blows; the spartan furnishings were bolted to the floor. All in all, the room bore evidence of a recent conflict, as well as the marks of past battles.
Though Serena’s belly was heavily swollen with child, Hallie could tell by the size of her hands and feet that she was a small woman, and she had trouble visualizing her wreaking such havoc. Yet how else would one explain those thick leather straps binding her ankles and wrists?
Serena lay still for a moment, her expression angelic as she surveyed Hallie. “How very kind of you to visit,” she drawled in a voice thick with the echoes of Dixie. “Shall I ring Bosworth for refreshments? Yes, I do believe lemonade and … some of Mammy Celine’s blackberry pound cake would be wonderful.” She pursed her lips for a moment, her gaze sweeping Hallie from head to toe. Smiling cordially, she added, “Why, I’m green with envy over that gown of yours. Is that one of Monsieur Worth’s new creations?”
Jake snorted at his wife’s remark. “As you can tell from that particular comment, our Serena is somewhat deluded.”
The clicking of his cane against the wooden floor warned Hallie that he had abandoned his relaxed stance against the door frame and was now stalking toward them. When the clicking came to a halt, Hallie could feel his presence at her back. Just as she was about to question him about his wife’s condition, he hissed, “Damn it to hell!”
The explosiveness of his curse made Hallie jerk her head around in wonder. To her discomfort, she found her face scant inches from his chest. Hallie Gardiner was considered tall for a woman—an Amazon, according to her father. Yet next to Mr. Parrish she felt almost petite. For the first time in her life she was forced to tip her head back to peer into a man’s face.
What she saw in this particular man’s face was an anger so palpable that it would have burned her with its intensity had it been trained in her direction. Which it wasn’t, thank God.
Hallie traced his fury-sparked gaze to the woman on the bed. Surely he didn’t blame this pathetic creature for her condition, did he? Nervously chewing the inside of her cheek, she sto
le another glance at his face. She wasn’t particularly comforted by the stony mask which had descended over his blazing features.
“Has the doctor finally arrived then, sir?” inquired a brusque voice tinged with a trace of an Irish accent.
Hallie didn’t miss the way Serena flinched at the sound of the connecting door slamming shut.
A large, rawboned woman carrying a broom trudged to the bedside. Pausing to bestow a rancorous glare on Serena, she snapped, “Made quite a mess, did we? Always makin’ extra work with never a thought for us poor souls havin’ to clean up.”
Serena began to shake, her mouth working soundlessly, as the woman’s bulky form loomed against the foot of the bed. Violently she twisted from side to side, her body arching rhythmically. It was almost as if she were seeking to escape some great torment. Whimpering like a frightened child, she jerked her head up and stared past Hallie. When her gaze touched her husband’s, she started to wail.
Never in her life had Hallie heard such a soul-rending sound. The visceral terror in the cry chilled her very soul, and she could only wonder at what past evil had served to provoke such a response.
“Screechin’ like a banshee again, are we?” the woman chastised as she advanced steadily toward her charge. “Can’t you see you’re disturbin’ your husband with your squallin’, girl? Can’t say as I’ve much patience with it myself.”
When Serena failed to quiet, the woman bent closer to the bed. “Bern’ stubborn? Well, I’ll put a stop to this nonsense quick enough, or my name isn’t Maggie O’Shea.”
In a lightning-quick motion that would have done a wrestler proud, she grasped Serena by the neck and pressed her head brutally against the mattress. Serena struggled frantically, her eyes rolling with animal terror. Producing a length of rough, none-too-clean fabric from her apron pocket, Maggie callously shoved the cloth between Serena’s teeth.
Hallie was appalled by the inhumanity of such treatment and as she opened her mouth to protest, Mr. Parrish snarled, “Damn it, Maggie! I will not stand back and watch this abuse. I’ve told you that under no circumstances are you to bind my wife.”
He shoved the nurse aside and knelt, with much difficulty, beside Serena.
“And what would you be suggestin’ I do, sir?” The woman’s snide tone belied her courteous words.
Jake fixed the nurse with a formidable look, one that never failed to quell even the most stalwart of men. “You were hired with the specific understanding that you were to use no abusive tactics against your patient,” he barked. “I distinctly recall your agreement to the terms.”
Maggie crossed her meaty arms over her bosom. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Parrish, but what experience have you had with crazed folks that makes you such an authority?”
“None with so-called crazed folks. But I have had the shaming experience of being bound and forced to submit to unspeakable treatment against my will. By virtue of such experience, I feel as if I speak with the greatest of authority!” He practically shouted the last few syllables.
The anguish behind his words tore at Hallie’s heart, moving her to reach down and give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Jake tensed sharply beneath her hand, and jerked his head up to slant her a probing look. There was no pity in her expression, only gentle understanding. Almost imperceptibly, his features softened and he gave her a slight nod in acknowledgment.
“Well, speak up, woman.” His face hardened again as he turned his glare on Maggie O’Shea. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“Not a thing. What I did was right and proper, and I’ll not be apologizin’ for it. Not to anyone, you hear! Nobody tells Maggie O’Shea that she’s not knowin’ her job.”
“Well, someone is now!” he snapped. “Get out!”
“You’ll be regrettin’ your decision soon enough. And when you do, don’t expect me to come runnin’. It’s glad I am to be getting away from that crazy woman. Gives me the willies, she does.” With that parting shot she stamped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Jake watched the nurse’s retreat with a weary sigh. As the bang from the door reverberated through the room, he carefully turned Serena’s face from the mattress, against which it was pressed. She struggled at his touch, and the savage fear in her expression made him pause for a moment.
“It’s all right,” Jake murmured. “You know I’d never hurt you.” Gently grasping his wife’s chin to still the frantic jerking motion of her head, he pulled the cloth out of her mouth.
Serena beamed up at her husband in a caricature of goodwill, then viciously sank her teeth into the vulnerable fleshy part of his hand.
Jake’s breath exploded from his lungs at the suddenness and intensity of the pain. Reflexively, he tried to wrench his hand free from her piercing bite, but her teeth clamped further into his flesh, widening the already deep lacerations. He could see his blood welling up around the wounds to flow copiously from her lips, and it chilled him to his very core to see that she was smiling. Then she laughed.
As Serena opened her mouth wide to issue hysterical peals of distorted mirth, Jake snatched his damaged hand out of harm’s way. He could only stare in shock at his palm, from which she had savagely bitten a good-sized piece of flesh.
“God!” he muttered thickly as he transferred his gaze back to his wife. He felt his gorge rise at the macabre sight of her merrily laughing face, her lips stained with
his blood. As he stared at her, the horror of her words the day he had left for the war echoed through his brain:
Remember my laughter as you lie bleeding on your precious battlefield. I’ll be laughing with joy at the news of your death. I just hope that you suffer the torments of hell before you die!
She’d gotten half her wish, for he had indeed suffered the torments of hell.
Jake turned to look at Hallie as she took his injured hand in hers and carefully examined the wound. Her face was a study of concern as she gently probed the area. When she finally looked up, Jake was stunned by the depth of compassion in her eyes. It had been forever since anyone had offered him the simple gift of solace. Yet here was a virtual stranger offering just that.
“It’s a nasty wound,” she whispered. “It should be cleansed and stitched. I’m always careful with human bites, for I’ve seen them produce the most awful infections. If you’ll send someone to the mission for my bag, I’ll care for it properly.”
“I’ve survived much worse wounds than this one,” he replied, drawing his hand away. “There’s no need for you to bother with it.”
“But it’s deep and it could become infected. If—” Hallie’s words were cut off abruptly by Serena’s shouting a string of graphic oaths.
Jake was taken aback by the foulness of her language, but he quickly regained his composure to comment, “It seems my loving wife has been working on expanding her vocabulary.”
“Mr. Parrish,” Hallie began, resolutely ignoring Serena’s obscenity and the fact that her own face was burning with embarrassment at the woman’s words. “About your hand—”
“Good God!” Jake interjected as Serena uttered a few words that Hallie had never heard before. “I can’t imagine where she could have learned that one! Look, Mission Lady, I promise to clean my hand properly. I’ll even have Hop or Celine bandage it if it’ll make you feel better—”
“God?” Serena shrieked, a crafty smile looping across her face. “God? Oh, yes. Pray for your sins, my dears, lest you be plunged into the depths of hell! Can’t you
see how the devil is punishing me?” She jerked her head toward her rounded belly.
“She doesn’t understand.” Jake rubbed his eyes wearily with his undamaged hand and then lurched to his feet, half pulling himself up by the iron headboard.
Hallie rose to stand beside him. “Mr. Parrish?”
If ever a man looked haunted by a deep, unr
elenting sorrow, that man was Jake Parrish. “She thinks her pain is caused by the demons of hell.” He smiled at that, but in a way that made her ache at his unhappiness. “Seeing as how she considers me to be the devil incarnate, perhaps, in her demented way, she is correct. At any rate, Dr. Gardiner, my wife has been in labor for several hours, and it is up to you to find some way to deliver the child.”
Jake closed the door to Serena’s room, cutting off the hushed tones of Hallie’s coaxing voice. It was only then that he allowed his shoulders to slump beneath the crushing weight of his weariness. Leaning against the wall of the corridor, he suddenly felt too weak to brace himself against the overwhelming despair which had haunted him since that day all those months ago.
“No hope.” That’s what the specialists had said about the condition of Serena’s mind. They had meant that never again would she be the witty, lively woman of the early days of their marriage, nor would she ever resume her reign as a queen of society.
But to Jake, the words “no hope” had a far different meaning. For him, the words carried a damning verdict that condemned him to a life sentence, with no hope for peace or happiness. There would be only the dark, hate-filled purgatory of her mind for Serena and the lonely years marked by regret for himself. And, of course, there would be the child.
But Jake didn’t want to think about the child.
Pushing the disturbing thoughts out of his mind, he shoved away from the supporting wall and straightened to his full height. To the world, he would continue to be the man with the golden touch—the man who had everything.
They called him “Young Midas.” Only Jake himself knew the emptiness that lay within the grandeur of his title.
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