Yesterday's Roses

by Heather Cullman

“We could ask Marius. He’s been here all morning.” Davinia straightened her bent spectacles to study the faces around her. As a very thin Chinese girl flew past, she hollered, “Mary!”

  The girl came to an abrupt halt, staring fearfully at the scowling man by Missy Loomy’s side.

  “Have you seen Reverend DeYoung?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “It’s all right, dear,” Davinia coaxed. “This is Mr. Parrish. He’s looking for Dr. Gardiner. Have you seen her?”

  Jake forced a smile to his face as he nodded at the girl.

  “Docta tell Mary light parlor. Docta—she go to big hole. Get songbook.” Mary bobbed her head, pleased by her English recital.

  “Big hole?” Jake looked to Davinia for an explanation.

  “The cellar.”

  Wanting to scream with frustration, yet not wanting to scare the girl, Jake asked, “When was the last time you saw Dr. Gardiner? Have you seen her since she went down to the cellar?”

  The girl cocked her head to one side and looked at Davinia, puzzled. Patiently, Davinia repeated the question in Chinese. Shaking her head in response, the girl chattered something back. Davinia’s face turned ashen at her reply.

  “Hell and damnation! Hallie never returned from the cellar!”

  Desperation, raw and powerful, infused every fiber of Jake’s being. The thought of his Mission Lady trapped in the cellar, alone and possibly hurt, was devastating. He had vowed to keep Hallie safe, to protect her … always. And even if he died trying, it was a promise he intended to keep.

  Grabbing hold of Davinia’s arms again, he growled, “The cellar. Where is it?”

  “It’s too dangerous. Let me get the firemen.”

  Punctuating each word with a sharp shake, Jake hissed, “Just-answer-the-damn-question!”

  Davinia hesitated for a moment before replying, “Through a door beneath—ouch! my arm!—the stairs in the entry hall. Wait!”

  But having gained the information he needed, Jake was already halfway across the lawn. As he disappeared through the open front door and was swallowed up by a seething bank of smoke, Davinia whispered, “Please, God. Go with him.”

  Heedless of anything except his need to find Hallie, Jake hurled himself through the door. As he pushed himself into the hallway, he was met with a suffocating wall of smoke that rendered the close space as dark as a moonless midnight. The heat was almost paralyzing in its intensity, and as he drew in a gasping breath, the air seemed to scorch his throat all the way down to his lungs.

  With his throat burning painfully and his eyes tearing from the smoke, Jake began to grope his way along the wall beneath the stairs. Like a blind man memorizing the planes of a loved one’s face, his fingertips explored every nook and cranny. Nothing.

  Hacking for air, he dropped to his hands and knees and crawled beneath the nebulous black cloud, which hovered a couple of feet above the floor. To his everlasting relief, he found the wood planking cool. The fire hadn’t yet reached the cellar below.

  But not for long, he cautioned himself. Above his head, Jake could hear the crackle of timber as the ceiling caught fire. Through the smoke, he could see the flames beginning to drip down the walls. From across the narrow corridor came the ominous groaning of the doors as they bent outward, threatening to explode from the pressure building up within the rooms.

  Panic slugged him deep in his belly. Any minute now those doors would be blown apart and the corridor would become a raging holocaust from which he would be unable to escape. It would be over.

  Dizzy from smoke inhalation, his lungs screaming for oxygen, Jake ran his palms along the wall. Somewhere upstairs he could hear an explosion of glass. Time was running out.

  Then his fingers caught onto a ridge and he felt the outline of the door frame. From behind the opposite wall, he could hear a sound like a scream of a twister, growing louder and louder with every passing second. Frantically, Jake fumbled for the knob. If he didn’t find the damn thing soon, that shriek would be the last sound he’d ever hear. It would be his death knell.

  His guardian angel must have been sitting on his shoulder, for as soon as the morbid thought had entered his mind, Jake’s hand clamped around a bulbous shape. With a hoarse shout of victory, he tore the door open.

  Just as he lurched to his feet, the opposing doors burst outward into the corridor. In a roar of deafening noise, the rooms behind him lit up and the explosive pressure pitched him forward down the stairs.

  Down he tumbled, his body slamming helplessly against the walls, striking every step with agonizing brutality. It seemed as if he was falling in slow motion, as if it was taking forever to reach the bottom. Finally, after falling what seemed like a mile, he landed on the hard cellar floor with a loud thump!

  Wincing with pain at every movement, Jake rolled onto his back and tested his limbs for injuries. Though nothing seemed to be broken, he could feel blood oozing from a cut on his temple.

  “Hallie?” he whispered, struggling to rise to his knees. But his throat was too swollen from the smoke to produce much more than a croak, and his voice was barely audible, even to himself.

  When he tried to suck in a deep breath to clear his throat, tears of pain sprang to his eyes. His airways felt as if they were blocked by red-hot chunks of coal, and he was unable to do much more than just gasp. The tiny trickle of air that he did manage to inhale made his lungs burn as if they were being seared with a branding iron.

  Dizzy from a lack of oxygen and impossibly sore from his fall, Jake staggered to his feet. It was through sheer force of will that he remained standing. Clutching a barrel for support, he stared about the room, momentarily disoriented.

  Though the filthy window high on the wall was designed to let in the sunshine, the thick smoke outside obscured the light, dimming it to a feeble haze. Gradually, however, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness and he was able to make out the details of his surroundings.

  It was a small space, overcrowded with a jumble of boxes, crates, and discarded furniture. Jake glanced toward the cellar door nervously. The flames from the corridor were already licking at the top steps. All it would take would be for one spark to come shooting down the stairs, and the whole area would burst into an inescapable pit of fire. They would be trapped.

  “Hallie,” Jake rasped, his effort making him double over in a paroxysm of coughing.

  No reply. Jake felt momentarily relieved. When he’d tumbled down the stairs he’d made enough noise to alert a deaf man, and knowing Hallie, he was sure she would have rushed to his side to give aid. Obviously she wasn’t in the cellar.

  While every last bit of common sense told him that he should get out, to save himself while he had a chance, there was still a niggling doubt the back of his mind. What if Hallie had met with an accident and was unable to answer him?

  The picture of Hallie lying helpless while the fire raged around her was enough to send Jake searching behind the piles of boxes and barrels.

  God! If only he didn’t feel so weak and dizzy. Jake tried to suck in a breath, but the effort made him gag as blistering pain seared through his chest. If only it didn’t hurt so badly to breathe. He heard himself moan.

  Or had he? No. The sound was coming from the far corner.

  “Sweetheart?” he choked out, falling to his knees and crawling toward the sound. Every movement was as difficult as swimming against the current of a rapidly flowing river.

  There was another moan, this one louder.

  “Hallie?” His voice was so faint that he doubted if she could hear it.

  Miraculously, she did. He heard her sob, “Over here!”

  Her voice appeared to be coming from behind an enormous barrel to his right. As Jake knelt before it, a soft rustling confirmed his suspicions. It appeared that the barrel had fallen during the explosion and was now wedged between two towering piles
of crates. The only way to get to Hallie was to move it.

  Wrapping his arms halfway around the heavy container, Jake gave it a tug. From the other side, he could hear Hallie thumping against it as if she was trying to help. That made him smile. No vapors or hysterics for his Mission Lady. She was quite a trooper.

  A dead trooper if he didn’t get her out quickly. The fire was almost to the bottom of the stairs, and it was only a matter of minutes before the whole cellar would become a deadly inferno.

  Summoning every last bit of his flagging strength, Jake gave the barrel a mighty yank that sent it tumbling over onto its side—and him onto his back.

  With a sob, Hallie pulled herself out of her prison. The last thing she remembered was bending down to pick up a stack of Christmas hymnals. Then, in a flash of pain, everything had gone dark. Shaking her head in confusion, she crawled over to check on the filthy man who was lying motionless on the floor.

  His face was covered with a mask of soot and blood, and his eyelids were so swollen that only the slightest sliver of color was visible. Yet she didn’t need to see that fragment of green to recognize Jake’s beloved face.

  “J-Jake?” she sobbed, not really daring to believe it was him, yet desperately wishing it to be true.

  “In the battered flesh,” he croaked, rolling over onto his belly and forcing himself to rise to his knees.

  Sobbing his name, she threw herself into his arms.

  And as Jake held her close, relief such as he had never known before flooded through him. His Hallie was alive.

  But not for long, he reminded himself, staring over the top of her head at the advancing flames. Smoke was quickly gathering in the tight space and the fire was consuming the last two steps at a voracious pace. The heat was getting unbearable.

  Jake’s arms tightened around Hallie’s shivering form as he shifted his gaze to the window above. The only way out was through that window. Yet he’d seen enough fires during the war to know that opening the window would bring the air-starved fire flashing down into the cellar. But what were his options?

  Unwillingly, he had to admit that there were none. Planting a kiss on Hallie lips, he murmured, “Stay here, sweetheart.”

  “No. I want to go with you.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he wheezed, seizing an old piece of canvas from a tattered chair. “After all the trouble I’ve gone through to find you, do you think I’d let you come to any harm?”

  She smiled wanly at that. “Of course not. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to myself either, Mission Lady.” His voice broke with every other word, he was so hoarse. “I’m looking forward too much to punishing you for running out on me this morning.” Without giving her a chance to reply, he draped her from head to toe in the cloth.

  Crawling nearer to the window, yet remaining as far out of the fire’s path as possible, Jake picked up the first solid item he could find. It was a white alabaster angel with one broken wing. And if Jake’s aim was true, it would be their salvation.

  As he raised the graven messenger high above his head, he whispered, “Fly home, angel,” and threw it at the window with all his might. As he heard the glass shatter, he dove to the floor and rolled to the far side of the cellar.

  In a fraction of a second, the hungry fire flashed toward the new source of oxygen, catching everything in its path. Flames shot everywhere before settling to consume the litter of discards strewn across the floor.

  Forcing his abused body to move, Jake pulled himself over to Hallie, peeking out from beneath the canvas. With a sob, she tossed aside the cover and hurled herself into his arms.

  Holding her close, Jake rasped, “We need to crawl to the window. Can you manage?”

  She nodded. And together they crawled the short distance, carefully winding their way through the pillars of flaming debris. Above their heads they could see the ceiling beginning to buckle, threatening to collapse at any moment.

  As they reached the window, Jake seized Hallie and began to ease them both to their feet, none too sure if either of them was capable of standing. To his everlasting relief, they were.

  “I’m going to lift you up to the window and you’re going to crawl through,” he commanded, praying that he still had strength enough to lift her.

  “But what about you?” She clung to his broad shoulders, unwilling to let him go. “I won’t leave you alone.”

  Reaching up to the window and sweeping away the shards of broken glass with his sleeve, he asked, “Do you love me?”

  “More than anything!”

  “Good,” he murmured, drawing her into his embrace and pressing his lips against hers in a swift, desperate kiss. “Then do as I say.”

  With that, he stooped down and yanked her skirts up to her waist. Wrapping his arms around her thighs, he somehow managed to lift her to the window. When she hesitated, he screamed, “Go!” And to his relief she obeyed, pulling herself to safety.

  As Hallie disappeared through the window, Jake could feel the heat from the fire searing across his back. The blistering intensity of the flames was enough to bring tears to his eyes, and the smoke was so thick that he felt as if he was suffocating in a mire of black Mississippi mud.

  Everything was growing dim now, his vision was fading. But Jake didn’t need to see the flames to know that they were almost upon him. Time had run out.

  Above the roar of the fire, he could hear Hallie screaming his name; he could tell that she was crying. But all that mattered was that she was safe. He hadn’t failed her.

  “Jake! Here!” Hallie shrieked, trying to reach him through the window. He raised his hand up to hers, and for a brief moment, their fingers touched. Then she was pulled away by strong arms.

  Her last glimpse was of Jake surrounded by flames with his arms outstretched toward the window, reaching for her. His face was stark with emotion, and as the ceiling began to collapse into the cellar, she thought she heard him say, “I love you.”

  It was as if he’d been saying good-bye.

  Chapter 20

  “Jake’s still down there!” Hallie screamed, struggling against the fireman’s arms. She tried to pull free, to run back to the cellar window, but the man merely tightened his hold on her waist.

  “Look.” He crushed his squirming burden against his chest in an immobilizing grasp. “The chief is doing everything in his power to save Mr. Parrish. The last thing he needs is some hysterical female getting in his way.”

  “I am not hysterical!” Hallie planted her feet on the ground and stubbornly refused to budge. “And I will not leave Mr. Parrish until I’ve had a chance to give him aid.”

  “You’ll give aid when and if it’s needed. Until then, you’ll wait safely in the street with everyone else.” With that, the frustrated fireman bent forward and tossed her over his shoulder.

  “Put me down!” she shrieked, kicking her legs impotently. As he hoisted her into the air, Hallie’s crinoline skirt flew up over her backside, and as she tried to push it down, her hair came tumbling from its pins.

  “Please,” she begged, shoving the blinding curtain from her eyes. “Let me go to him.” Then her voice broke and she could only whisper, “Can’t you see that I love him?”

  But the man turned a deaf ear to her pleas and walked through the gate, trudging toward the front of the house.

  Frantically, she jabbed her knee into the fireman’s ribs. She had to get to Jake. Irrationally, she believed that nothing terrible could happen to him as long as she was by his side.

  Grunting at the pain in his ribs, the fireman pinned his charge’s legs to his chest, effectively stilling her struggles.

  Keep him safe, Lord, Hallie prayed. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll even promise never to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh again. Unless, of course, I’m married. Anything. Just let him be
all right. And please— She paused in her plea with God long enough to cuff the fireman across the back of the head. She managed only to knock the man’s helmet askew and to bruise her hand. Please make this lumbering oaf put me down!

  As if in answer to her prayer, Hallie saw Davinia rushing toward her.

  “Hallie! Thank the Almighty Lord!” Davinia would have recognized her friend’s mop of curly red hair anywhere—even trailing down a fireman’s back. Following close behind the man, she peered anxiously into Hallie’s tear-streaked face. “You aren’t hurt, are you, dear?”

  “No.” Hallie beat her fists against her captor’s back. “But Jake is, and he’s still trapped in the cellar.” She punctuated her speech by giving the man a smart punch to the kidneys.

  With a yelp of pain, he dumped her into the sooty street.

  “Hell and damnation!” Davinia rounded on the beleaguered fireman shrieking like a maniac. “Durned fool! Don’t just stand there gaping like a hooked fish. Get Mr. Parrish out this instant.” She gave the man a shove. “Go!”

  Massaging his lower back and glaring at the women, the man snapped, “Chief Killian and his men are doing everything they can to get the gentleman out.” He reached up and yanked his helmet straight. “I’ll go see if I can give them a hand—if,” he paused to pass a look of admonishment from one woman to the other, “if you two ladies promise to stay put.”

  “Just go, man.” When he didn’t move, Davinia stamped her foot impatiently. “All right, then. We promise.”

  After giving the women one final look of warning, the fireman hurried back to the cellar. When Hallie tried to follow him, Davinia caught her arm.

  “No. He’s right. It’s too dangerous.”

  Hallie wrenched herself from Davinia’s hold. “I don’t care. Jake needs me.”

  “He needs you alive and unhurt.”

  Shaking her head mutely, Hallie turned to face the inferno that had once been the Mission House. Before her horrified eyes, the flaming structure shuddered once, and then crumbled into the cellar. As it collapsed, it emitted a chillingly human-sounding scream that joined with Hallie’s own in a duet of heartrending anguish. Like fireflies swarming on a hot summer’s night, the sparks from the blaze scattered into the smoke-blackened sky, darting here and there before settling back into the now silent pile of smoldering timbers.