Chapter 3
“He’s beautiful, you know,” whispered Serena.
“Hmmm?” A frown creased Hallie’s forehead as she pulled Serena’s sticklike arm through the sleeve of the clean nightgown. The fight had gone out of the woman, and she had remained as limp as a loosely stuffed rag doll while Hallie changed her wet gown for a dry one.
Not that it was such a difficult task. Aside from her swollen belly, Serena was as insubstantial as the mythical nymph she resembled. Hallie had almost been moved to tears when she had removed her patient’s voluminous gown, revealing a pathetically emaciated body.
Before leaving the room, Jake had curtly ordered Hallie to release Serena from her bonds. With much trepidation, and not without a quick prayer for strength, she had complied. To her frustration, she found the knots in the leather restraints so tight from Serena’s constant tugging that it took her a good half hour to untie them.
While she worked, Hallie struggled to keep up a steady stream of conversation in hopes of calming the woman’s agitation. She tried her best to imitate drawing room banter, but having never actually participated in such vague chitchat, she became uncomfortably aware of entering into uncharted territory.
To her surprise, she did quite well, managing to prattle on subjects ranging from popular music to the latest fashion trends, all while unsnarling the tangled puzzle of her patient’s bindings. At one point during Hallie’s enthusiastic, albeit one-sided, discussion on the trend toward smaller crinolines, Serena surprised her by nodding her agreement.
Though Serena remained docile during Hallie’s ministrations, when all was said and done, and the last of the bonds had fallen loose, Hallie braced herself for an onslaught of violence. To her relief, her crooning nonsense had worked its magic, and Serena was perfectly willing to follow her lead—so much so that she allowed herself to be led to the chair where she now sat.
“There, now. Isn’t that better?” Hallie inquired, buttoning up the last of the nightgown’s tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. Not that she really expected a response. The woman barely seemed aware of her presence, and the question had been asked more from force of habit than anything else.
A frown creased Hallie’s brow as she moved toward the bed. What she really needed to do, and only God knew how, was to gain enough of Serena’s trust to make a proper examination. Provided that her patient’s periodic moans and belly clutching were an accurate gauge of the frequency of her pains, it would be several hours yet before she gave birth. Hallie could only pray that she could keep the woman calm enough to do what was necessary.
Serena sat in silence for several moments, staring into space as if hypnotized. Suddenly she cocked her head to one side and shifted her gaze in Hallie’s direction.
“The devil,” she announced in a strangely flat voice.
“Excuse me?” Hallie paused in her task of stripping the soiled sheets from the bed. She’d been appalled by the discovery that Serena had been allowed to lie in a gown and bedding soaked with her own birthing waters, and in her typically efficient way, she had set about to remedy the situation.
“He’s very beautiful, you know. The devil, that is.”
“The devil?” Hallie grimaced. Beautiful? At once the breathtaking picture of Jake Parrish’s smiling face flashed through her mind. Jake Parrish was a bit of a devil, and he certainly was beautiful. Assuming that Serena was referring to her husband, Hallie agreed, “Oh, yes. Very handsome.”
Serena stared at her unblinking for a moment, and Hallie had the uncanny feeling that the woman was reading her thoughts.
“Don’t be fooled by his beauty,” Serena hissed. “Some of his faces are quite ugly. And he can be …
crude. I hate it most when he’s crude.” She shuddered as she imparted that last piece of information.
Expertly tucking the corners of the bottom sheet beneath the mattress, Hallie replied, “I expect that all men are prone to ugly moods from time to time. And I daresay most have moments of crudeness. I’ve always suspected that it has something to do with the way they’re made.” She paused to frown at the sheet, which had come untucked at the far corner of the bed, before asking, “Have you ever noticed that men just don’t seem to have the same degree of restraint as women do?”
Ignoring Hallie’s diatribe, Serena shifted her gaze to the far corner, her expression dreamy. “But sometimes he’s ever so gentle. I love him when he strokes me … teases me.”
Gasping out a string of breathless little moans, Serena closed her eyes and threw back her head. “He tortures me until I beg him to touch me …” With a rapturous sigh, she pressed her hand between her legs. “… here.”
Hallie dropped the corner of the sheet she had been tucking and stared at the woman, shocked. Nothing between the pages of the textbooks had prepared her for this type of situation.
“And when he finally … takes me … I can’t help screaming my pleasure.” Serena uttered a strangled groan as a look of ecstasy burst across her face.
Hallie glanced away in confused embarrassment. Whatever was she supposed to do now? Should she just ignore the woman’s behavior and pretend it wasn’t happening? Or should she do something to put a stop to it?
Serena herself saved Hallie from having to make a decision. Expelling a crescendo of explosive gasps which escalated into a shrieking moan, she jerked twice and then abruptly fell motionless.
What do you say to that, Miss Know-it-all? Hallie asked herself, giving the bed a clumsy smoothing with trembling hands. That’s one area where your education is definitely deficient.
She stole a peek at Serena, who sat slumped in her chair. A smile of supreme satisfaction twisted the woman’s lips, and her breath was coming in ragged spurts.
Sounds like Jake Parrish is quite the lover, doesn’t it?
There was something about that thought which Hallie found profoundly disturbing.
Resolutely turning her mind back to her present task, Hallie murmured, “I’ll be finished with the bed in a few minutes. Then we can get you settled all tight and cozy.”
But Serena didn’t appear to hear her. She was staring into the deep shadows in the far corner of the room, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Cringing against the chairback, her face deathly white, the woman wore an expression of unbridled terror.
Hallie followed her patient’s gaze, puzzled. The only thing against the far wall was a plain wooden chair with a scarlet glove draped over its back—hardly a sight to provoke such horror.
Whimpering softly, Serena shook her head, her expression imploring. Then, with a suddenness that made Hallie’s heart jump to her throat, she screamed, “Make him stop!” In one erratic motion, Serena hurled herself from her chair to land huddled in the corner. As she lay on her side trembling, clutching her arms and legs tightly against her chest, she shrieked, “Please don’t let him hit me again!” Flinching violently, she threw her hands in front of her face as if to ward off a blow.
Hallie dropped the pillow she had been plumping and rushed to where Serena lay, horrified by the woman’s pantomime of terror. Sinking to her knees, she tentatively reached out to stroke her patient’s trembling back.
Serena jerked away as though she’d been struck. “I try so hard to please him … so very hard. But when I don’t … dear God! He’s so ugly when he hits me!” She cowered deeper into the corner, her body recoiling in vivid response to an imaginary assault. “Don’t let him hurt me!”
“Hush now,” Hallie crooned, at a loss for a way to handle the situation. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Serena clamped her hands over her ears as if struggling to shut out an offensive noise. “Please! Make him stop saying those awful, crude words!” she pleaded. “He knows I can’t bear it!”
Hallie froze, feeling utterly helpless. Dear God, what has been done to the poor woman? And by whom? For all
his faults, Jake Parrish didn’t seem like the type of man who would abuse his wife. Grudgingly, she had to admit that she’d been touched by his patience with her. Why, he hadn’t even raised his voice when the woman had bitten him.
She glanced down at Serena’s stricken face, troubled. Had Jake Parrish’s tolerant behavior all been an act played for her benefit? Hallie knew from experience that as far as husbands were concerned, Public Lambs were often Private Wolves.
Hadn’t all of Philadelphia society marveled over how doting a husband and father Ambrose Gardiner had appeared to be? Hallie had learned at an early age that appearances could be deceptive and that her father was a master at the game. In a den of wolves, he had always been the leader of the pack. Was Jake Parrish, too, a wolf in a lamb’s disguise?
Serena rolled over to crouch defensively on her elbows and knees. Peering wildly through the gossamer tangle of her hair, she moaned, “He says he can’t take his pleasure unless I cry and beg. He blames me if his man’s part can’t—” She burst into tears and began a terrible keening.
“Serena,” Hallie crooned in a soothing manner, gently trying to ease the woman from her huddled position. “You’re safe with me. I won’t let him hurt you. Never again! Do you hear me?”
Serena fell limp beneath Hallie’s hands, her body heaving with strangled sobs.
“There now, there’s my good girl,” Hallie whispered. “You’re safe. I’ll—”
Suddenly Serena reared up on her knees, snarling like a rabid animal, and with a strength that was amazing for her size, she threw Hallie viciously against the wall.
For the first time in her life, Hallie was grateful for her crinoline and layers of petticoats. As she was flung, the mountain of her skirts swayed back and up, effectively pillowing her body from the bruising contact with wall. Stunned, she lay against the wall, struggling to regain her senses.
Hallie recovered quickly and lunged after her patient, who was crawling away, seemingly intent on reaching the area beneath the bed. In a quicksilver motion, she tackled Serena, careful not to crush her belly.
As gently as possible, she rolled Serena onto her back. Serena howled and began flailing wildly at her captor.
Ignoring the blitz of stinging blows, Hallie drew Serena into her embrace and hugged her close. They remained in that position for a long while, Hallie whispering words of comfort as she rocked the sobbing woman. Gradually, Serena calmed.
Her fury spent, Serena raised her head from Hallie’s damp shoulder and wiped her face with her sleeve. “Dear God,” she whispered in an anguished voice. “What have I done?”
Pulling herself from her companion’s grasp, she moved to sit a few feet away, her arms wrapped around her belly and her legs crossed. She stared at the red-haired stranger curiously for a moment before murmuring, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I know you, do I?” She shook her head in a bemused fashion. “Of course, I don’t seem to know much these days.”
Hallie was stunned. If this woman had been properly groomed, sipping tea in the parlor, her tone couldn’t have been more cordial or her expression more normal. Hallie smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Dr. Hallie Gardiner.”
“My pleasure.” Serena took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “A lady doctor—imagine that! I didn’t know there was such a thing.” She looked at Hallie expectantly. “Is someone sick?”
Then her face clouded. “Oh,” she sighed. “It must be Jake. He’s been so terribly ill—the war and all, you understand. Is he dying, then?”
Hallie shook her head and gave the woman a calm smile. “Nothing so awful as that. I’m here for a happy reason. I’m here to help you deliver your baby.”
Serena looked down at where the soft white gown billowed over her abdomen. “The baby. I had forgotten, I’m afraid,” she whispered, tears beginning to cut an uneven course down her cheeks. “My poor little baby. How could I forget it?”
“That doesn’t matter now.” Hallie clasped the woman’s cold hand between both of her warm ones. “Just think about the baby who wants to be born. Will you let me help you?”
Serena studied the woman in front of her for a moment. She looked clean, and her expression was kind. “I-I g-guess so.”
“Good.” Hallie hesitated, and then proceeded in a delicate tone, “If I’m going to help you, it’ll be necessary for me to make an examination. Do you know what that means?”
Serena looked panicked by the idea.
“Won’t you trust me?” Hallie pleaded, her tone gentle.
She watched indecision rage across Serena’s face and when the woman finally nodded her consent, Hallie heaved a sigh of relief. “Good girl!” She gave her a quick hug. “Now I’m not going to lie and say that giving birth won’t hurt. It will, perhaps a great deal. But I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make it as easy for you as possible. Do you understand?”
Serena nodded again.
“Fine. Then let’s get you into bed, where you’ll be more comfortable.” Hallie looped her arm around Serena’s waist and helped her to her feet. “Everything’s going to be all right now.”
As they came to a stop by the bed, Serena turned abruptly and clutched at Hallie’s waist. “You won’t let him touch me, will you?”
“Who? Your husband?”
Serena shook her head. “Not just him. Any man!” The madness had crept back into her eyes and hysteria tinged her voice. “Promise me you won’t let any man touch me! Promise!”
“Nobody will touch you but me,” Hallie vowed, prying Serena’s fingers from where they were biting into her uncorseted waist. With a reassuring smile, she helped the woman recline on the bed and then sat beside her.
Serena sighed once and closed her eyes, leaving a troubled Hallie to stare at her now calm face.
What has been done to this poor woman to make her so fearful? And by whom?
Despite herself, Hallie thought of Jake Parrish and her mind screamed its accusations: Guilty of wife beating. Guilty of unspeakable perversion.
Guilty!
Yet, though her mind condemned him on every count, her heart pleaded eloquently in his defense and every beat proclaimed him innocent.
After two hours of blessed silence, the racket had resumed. Jake groaned and cast a weary glance toward the ceiling, wincing at the all-too-familiar sound of his wife’s shrieks. Judging by the high-pitched timbre of her screams, he guessed that Dr. Gardiner had done something to displease her and was now being treated to one of her infamous tantrums.
Glancing up at the mantel clock, he mentally marked the time. If Dr. Gardiner was anything like her long line of predecessors, it would be only a matter of minutes before she abandoned her efforts to tend his wife and fled in horror.
Jake shrugged. Well, there was always Dr. Barnes. In one swift gulp he drained his glass of whiskey and turned his attention to shutting out the noise. After spending months in the army hospital confined to his bed, he’d developed a talent for mentally blocking out the never-ending screams and sobs of his fellow patients, a talent which he had put to good use during these last few weeks.
Now Jake immersed himself in the soothing inner silence of his mind, relaxing slightly as the heat from the whiskey sent a jolt of bracing warmth through his body. The chill of the damp evening fog was rising from the bay, making his leg ache unbearably.
Damn San Francisco and her contrary climate. Here it was, late May, and Jake wondered if he would ever feel warm again. Shivering, he glanced at the imposing marble fireplace. Though the flames were valiantly trying to chase away the chill, the room still felt cold.
Restlessly tapping his finger against the rim of his glass, he gazed around his library, wondering why it no longer seemed as inviting as it had before the war. Aside from Serena’s clamoring, to which he’d grown accustomed, nothing appeared to have changed. Frowning, Jake took a mental inventory, searching for something
—anything—that would account for his sudden feeling of disquiet.
In front of the hearth were his favorite, age-softened cordovan leather wing chairs. With their casual, time-worn comfort, they were like a pair of old friends, and Jake had spent many happy hours curled up in their familiar depths, often with Serena on his lap.
Lining the mahogany-shelved walls were his scores of books. Unlike many of the fashionable libraries of the wealthy, who bought their books by the yard for decorative purposes, Jake’s library was filled with volumes that had all been thoughtfully selected. A number of them were even showing signs of wear from frequent use.
The imposing oval Hepplewhite desk at which he now sat and where he had made hundreds of decisions, as well as millions of dollars, was still positioned where he could pause to admire the manicured expanse of lawn through the beveled-glass doors. He could remember all the times he had been pulled from deep concentration by the sound of Serena’s happy laughter floating on the wind as she entertained her friends from the Wednesday Afternoon Ladies’ Mission Society.
Jake stared down at the face reflected in the highly polished surface beneath his hands. The features were familiar, though the expression was foreign. He bent nearer. Were those really his eyes, so haunted and filled with despair? And when had he begun to look so grim … so bitter?
With a groan, Jake buried his face in his hand. The room hadn’t changed; he had.
“Thought you might need some company,” announced a pleasant voice from the doorway. “Looks like I was right.”
Jake didn’t bother to look up at the sound of his best friend and business partner’s voice. “What makes you say that, Seth?”
“Call me psychic. That gypsy down on Dupont Street told me I was possessed of great powers,” he quipped, squiggling his fingers in the air in a comic imitation of a divining seer. When his friend failed to rise to the bait and continued to stare morosely into the fire, he sighed. “I ran into that incorrigible houseboy of yours down on Sacramento Street. He was hauling an enormous doctor’s bag, so I put two and two together. I can’t imagine why you keep the man. He’s a regular menace.”
Yesterday's Roses Page 4
