The Sins of the Father
by Amanda Rohrssen
Chapter Six
The weekend of March 29th, 1961 was Jacob’s homecoming. He’d been globetrotting for a month short of two years, mission after mission keeping him on his toes and in perfect physical health. Though Jacob could never get enough of danger and intrigue, he had to admit that he was glad to see Saint Canard’s cityscape against the waters of the Audubon Bay. The moment he stepped off of the jet, he’d stolen a lungful of salty air as it blew off of the glittering water. He was home.
Once he’d managed to get through the formalities of checking back in at SHUSH – and learning that he was up for a couple of the organization’s most distinguished awards – he followed through with his own agenda, the real reason he’d opted to return to the city. And like most everything that Jacob Mallard did, it involved a woman. But this wasn’t just any woman.
J. Gander didn’t look up from the document he was reading, even for the knock at his door. He squinted at the hazy letters, waiting for them to focus. He was going to need glasses soon.
“Come in,” he said indifferently, turning the document at another angle in the hopes of being able to read it better.
“John!” a boisterous voice shouted, and suddenly someone plucked him out of his seat and had him in a bear hug. “Been holdin’ down the fort in my absence?”
J. Gander smiled. He’d recognize that arrogant tone anywhere.
“I wondered when you’d get tired of gallivanting around the globe and return to SHUSH. How do you like my new office?”
“Oh come now, you can’t say you weren’t expecting me. I got clearance and everything.” Jacob’s black eyes briefly wandered over the office, but it was apparent he was anything but interested.
“Yes, and that’s saying something,” J. Gander smirked. “What are you up to?”
“What makes you think I’m up to anything?” Jacob replied innocently.
“Call it a hunch. You wouldn’t end your adventures so abruptly without a significant reason.”
Jacob shook his head with a grin and lifted his hands up in defeat. “Okay, you got me. I need you to track down a girl for me.”
J. Gander grimaced. “The last time you had me ‘track down a girl’ I got reprimanded for wasting company resources on personal issues.” He looked at Jacob seriously. “I might be up for director someday, Jacob. I can’t risk any more stains on my record.”
“You only have one, John.”
“One too many.”
The mallard sighed. “Look, I don’t need this right now,” he said agitatedly. “Just tell me where to look and I’ll get the information myself.”
The little gander smirked knowingly. “Try the newspaper.” He opened a drawer and removed a folded up paper he’d been keeping there.
Jacob looked dumbstruck for a moment, then a flash of indignation crossed his face.
“John, why are you being so unreasonable?”
But J. Gander pressed the issue. “No, you really should take a look at the paper. Page eight.”
Jacob snatched the newspaper from his friend, muttering to himself under his breath about the unfairness of J. Gander’s reluctance to use his influence to get him the information he wanted.
Turning to the page the goose had indicated, Jacob’s eyes scanned over the page briefly.
“But John, these are wedding…”
His voice caught in his throat. A black and white photo in the middle of the page held the face of the woman who had haunted him during every mission he’d been through overseas. The woman whose mere handwriting seemed to take his breath away – and here she was taking his breath away again, but for a different reason. She was getting married.
The man next to her in the photo stared out at him, grinning like some twisted clown. Jacob’s bill curled back into a snarl as he read the caption underneath the picture.
Dr. Thomas Gregory Quailrip, M.D. to wed Gail Leigh Patonita.
“I saved it the minute I saw it…I’m sorry, Jacob. Sometimes you can’t have everything you want.”
But Jacob wasn’t listening. He crumpled the paper in his hands until it was the size of a baseball, then hurled it on the floor.
“Yes I can,” he said lowly as the door slammed behind him.
St. Michael’s Cathedral was a beautiful gothic church near the center of the city, the envy of all other religious establishments. Surrounded by gardens, it was the most sought-after location for a wedding. The waiting list was years long.
The candles danced sensuously in the dim archways, their smoke trails entwining like lovers’ fingers as they drifted lazily toward the etched, fresco-adorned ceiling. Organ music rang in joyous chords throughout the archaic architecture, beginning the ceremony.
The bride finished her journey toward the alter and took the groom’s arm. She was a vision in white, her head shrouded in a veil of lace, and a few of her dark blonde curls peeked out from underneath the embroidered fabric. The handsome groom smiled down at her and just as his fingers moved to lift the veil, the church doors burst open and in ran a frazzled-looking mallard, the feathers on his narrow head splayed out ridiculously from running so fast. Lungs heaving, he sprinted down the aisle toward the surprised bride and groom.
“Stop the wedding!” he shouted desperately. “You can’t marry him!”
He skidded to a stop in front of the veiled woman and took her hand.
“Gail, please…”
The woman reached up her other hand and lifted the veil over her head. Jacob stiffened.
“Who’s Gail?”
Jacob stirred his coffee mindlessly. For the third time that week, he found himself at the bistro where he’d spent many of his dates with Gail.
The wrong wedding. He’d stopped the wrong wedding. And now she was married to someone else, probably enjoying her honeymoon at some tropical resort, a handsome young doctor at her side while he sat in the middle of a diner.
He didn’t realize he was stabbing himself instead of his waffle until he had broken the skin. Inhaling sharply, he pulled out the prongs from his hand, leaving four tiny pools of blood in their wake. At least the sharp pain had dispelled the image he’d had in his mind.
He grabbed the napkin from his lap and plastered it over his hand, clenching his teeth together. What was he supposed to do now?
“Jacob?” a voice came from over his shoulder. “Jacob Mallard?”
“Go away,” he snapped lowly. The last thing he needed was to be confronted with yet another scorned ex-girlfriend. He’d only been back a few days after two years overseas and already he’d had to confront four of them.
“Well,” the voice continued firmly, “now I see why you stopped writing.”
Startled, Jacob turned in the metal-backed chair and nearly fell over. Standing just beside him was Gail, her hair done up in a mound of curls that tumbled down her back and framed her pretty face.
“Surprised to see me?” she asked, regarding him pointedly behind her petite spectacles.
The chair groaned as he stumbled to his feet. “Gail!” he sputtered.
She smirked. “So you do remember me.”
“Of course I remember you,” he said. “You’re all I could think about.”
The half-smile on her face fell into a cynical scowl. “Save it for another girl, Jacob, I’m engaged now.”
“I know…” His expression turned wistful. “I saw it in the paper.” He was about to add something, but by this time her words had sunken in. “Wait – did you say engaged?”
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “For about four months now. His name is Tom…the wedding’s in a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks?” Jacob repeated, digging into his pocket and removed a folded piece of newspaper. His eyes scanned the article once more. “What day is it?” he questioned hurriedly.
“It’s April 12th,” she blinked. “Why? What is that?” She leaned forward, trying to see what he was looking at, but he folded it back up with a slow, calming intake of breath.
“It’s nothing,” he sighed, feeling an enormous sense of relief wash over him. He’d only assumed the wedding date had been the day J. Gander had given him the article. That was why it had been the wrong wedding. Gail wasn’t married yet. He still had a chance.
“Well, enjoy the rest of your day, Jacob,” she said with a faint smile. “I’ve still got a lot to get done. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
She moved to turn away from him, but he took her wrist gently.
“Wait,” he said earnestly. “I haven’t seen you in two years.”
She stared back at him expressionlessly.
“Look, whatever else you have to do today, let me come with you,” he continued, unfazed by her blank stare. “I can be your errand boy, help you carry your bags. We can catch up.”
She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Catch up?”
He lifted his arms in a position of surrender. “Hey, you’re engaged, no tricks. It’s like you said in your letters…we’re just friends.”
Two hours later Jacob found himself following Gail through a department store, his arms overflowing with bags. Even though the circulation was being cut off and his wrists were turning a dangerous shade of purple, he didn’t seem to notice. Rather, his mind was elsewhere, devising strategies for how he was going to woo Gail back into his good graces. It wasn’t until she put a hand against his shoulder to stop him that he realized they had entered the lingerie department.
“I believe I can handle this myself, Jacob,” she said. Though her voice was firm, there was an undercurrent of playfulness that hardly escaped him, and the tiniest hint of a blush tinged her cheeks.
“Are you kidding?” Jacob replied smoothly, stacking the bags and boxes on the floor next to a rack of negligees. “I wrote the book on sexy undergarments.” In seconds he was rooting through the displays, either communicating his approval with a grin or his disapproval with a grunt.
“Jacob, I’m not sure this is such a good-"
He thrust an emerald see-through nightie into her hands and studied her. After a few moments, he gave a nod. “Yup. That one. The green really accents your eyes and the material will be perfect against your figure. Drive your future husband nuts, if you know what I mean,” he winked.
She stared at him as if he’d grown another head. Hesitantly, she wound the nightie over her arm and eyed Jacob suspiciously – but there was a small hint of a smirk dancing at the edges of her bill.
“All right. Just don’t expect me to model it for you.”
He smiled after her and began picking up the bags while she left to checkout.
After hauling all of Gail’s purchases to her car, the two of them decided it was too beautiful a day to pass up a walk in the park. All the while they kept stealing furtive glances at one another. Gail seemed nervous to be out there alone with Jacob, which made him all the more confident.
“So what’s this Dr. Quailrip like, eh?” Jacob asked casually, though he hardly wanted to know the details.
“Well, he’s intelligent and thoughtful,” she replied slowly, as if having to think hard for words to describe her fiance.
“Doctors usually are,” Jacob quipped with a sly smirk. “But have you ever watched a sunset together? Been skinny dipping in the bay at midnight? Climbed to the top of Mount McKinky and admired the view?”
“No…” she answered hesitantly. “But we have fed each other calamari…”
“That’s nothing,” he said dismissively.
“It’s just that he’s very busy,” she explained, “with his work. It’s not that we could never do those things…”
“Ah, but when will he have the time? That’s the question.” Jacob eyed her triumphantly out of the corner of his eye. “When you’re old and grey. And by then you’ll just want to sit at home and watch the soaps.”
Gail’s laughter sang out at that, her hazel eyes crinkling merrily. Why hadn’t he ever noticed before how beautiful they sparkled when she laughed?
“Those horrid things? I don’t think I could last two seconds trying to follow that drabble.”
Though they were smiling, silence fell upon them both, and each avoided the other’s gaze.
Finally, it was Gail who spoke.
“Jacob,” she started tentatively. “Why did you stop writing…?”
He waited some time before answering, trying to think of the best way to answer her without taking a blow to his pride.
“Because I, uh…well, you know how it is. Top secret missions and all. Things just got…hectic.”
“Oh,” she said, the disappointment clear in her voice, “I see.” She knew what “hectic” meant for Jacob Mallard.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t have time, I just –“ he tried to explain, to reconcile what damage he had already done, but the words to worm his way around the truth wouldn’t come to him. The look on her face was enough to crush any man’s heart. Frustrated, he went with the only thing he had left to go on. What had really happened. “I was scared, okay?”
She looked up sharply, her entire body freezing in place and one eyebrow raised up in surprise.
“Scared?” she repeated as if it were a foreign word.
He sighed and ran his fingers through the unruly feathers on his head. “Your last letter mentioned a new boyfriend…and I had thought…well, I had started to…” He grunted, perturbed that he couldn’t spit out what he wanted to say. “I thought I had lost you, so I stopped writing because I knew it would hurt less to see you when I got back. I thought I could detach myself that way, and I started a search for a substitute – any substitute. But that turned out less-than-brilliantly.” He stared at her sincerely, and the surprise in her eyes was apparent. It was a rare occasion that Jacob Mallard was ever sincere about anything.
Gail seemed to be entranced by what he was saying. For once, Jacob Mallard wasn’t playing any games. It unnerved her. This wasn’t the Jacob Mallard that had left to see the world.
“You’ve been acting differently since you got back,” she observed, unable to tear her eyes away. “What happened to you?”
“I realized something,” he replied cryptically, his eyes boring into hers.
“What?” she asked meekly, trying in vain to moisten her dry throat.
“How much I took for granted. How many chances at happiness I wasted by playing around. The hearts I destroyed…” In an instant of impulse, he grabbed her hand and sandwiched it earnestly between his own. “You were the only one who stood by me even after knowing the kind of mallard I was. And I didn’t realize how lucky I was to have that until I thought I’d lost you.”
“And the substitutes…?” she questioned, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Let’s just say…I learned my lesson. Why do you think I came back here?”
She yanked her hand away suddenly, pulling herself out of the trance she’d been in.
“Jacob, this can’t work. I’m engaged to be married!”
“God damn it, I don’t care about that!” he snapped, his voice thundering over hers with more passion than she’d ever heard in it before. “Can’t you see that I love you? Only you?” His hand rose to gently stroke her cheek as he stared into her wide, quivering eyes. “And you love me too…don’t you. I know you do. I can see it in your eyes…”
“You don’t love me. You love whatever idea of me you’ve created in your mind… I told you before, Jacob…I’m not your type of girl. I have to go,” she continued fearfully, backing away from him. “Tom will be wondering what happened to me.”
“Gail…Gail, wait. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
But she had already disappeared over the crest of the next hill, her dark blonde curls flying behind her like golden flames.
“I blew it, Charlie,” Jacob mumbled pathetically over his glass of Jack Spaniels. “She’s getting married in a week and now she’ll never talk to me again.”
“That’s some story, Mr. M,” said Charlie with a shake of his head as he busily wiped a beer stein with a rag. “A real shame. But you know somethin’?”
The miserable mallard lifted his head, his bloodshot eyes locking gaze briefly with his old bartender friend.
“You been in here for near five hours whinin’ about this girl. It ain’t right, and it ain’t you. What happened to the Jacob Mallard that never quit? The one with a libido the size of Duckburg?”
“He wasted away,” Jacob retorted bitterly, downing another mouthful of whiskey. “Killed by his own ambition at twenty-five with nothing to show for it but an empty glass and an empty bed. Gimme another one.” The glass made a dull scraping sound against the wooden bar as he slid it toward Charlie.
The bartender took the glass with an upturned nose. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“I said give me another one!” Jacob snarled threateningly, though his eyes were empty of any real malice. It was a side of Jacob that rarely reared its ugly head, but Charlie remained unfazed as he set Jacob’s empty glass in the sink. The mallard smirked with a cynical chuckle and sat back in his stool. “You can thank dear ol’ Mum for my being here. After all, the best way to solve a problem is to drown your misery, right? Business must be booming!” The low chuckle became an obnoxious guffaw that died soon after it started, leaving Jacob more hollow than he’d ever felt in his life. “Oh God, what’s the matter with me?” He buried his face in the crook of his elbow and felt his temples begin to pound insistently.
“I think they call it love, Mr. M,” Charlie smirked as he turned to take care of another patron’s order. “Now why don’t you get your sorry ass outta my bar and be the mallard I know’s in there somewhere before you get married to that stool.”
Jacob slammed his fist down on the table and glowered at the canine barkeep as he rose out of the stool. For a moment, Charlie felt a twinge of fear. But it was short-lived.
“You’re right, God damn it, I love her and I’m going to fight to win her back! No yuppie doctor or any man is going to best Jacob Mallard!”
With that, the SHUSH agent marched toward the doorway, or at least in the relative direction of the doorway. His steps were uneven and wobbly, and it was apparent from the way his eyes were filmed over that he had more than enough alcohol pumping through his veins. Mere feet from the stool he got tripped up in his own feet and pitched himself forward onto a table, ruining the poker game that had been going on as cards and chips flew in every direction.
“’Scuse me, ma’am,” Jacob mumbled in a daze, not realizing quite what had tripped him up, and while he gathered quite a few angry glares, he noticed a discarded dart on the floor and picked it up. With his tongue positioned between his lips and his eyes narrowing in a vain attempt to concentrate, he aimed for the dartboard across the bar and threw the feathered shaft in the completely wrong direction.
“Ye-OUCH!” a pain-filled roar burst from whichever poor soul the dart had stuck in.
The saloon-style doors whined as Jacob pushed them open, but he paused as soon as he heard the cry. “No autographs!” he proclaimed, his words slurring together as he stumbled out of the tavern and into a pile of trash cans. It was there that he passed out and spent the evening gurgling in his own saliva.