Secret of the Wolf (19 page)

petticoat, and a mended but perfectly adequate dress several years out of date, meant

to be worn with a bustle she didn't own. Homely but sensible shoes. She put up her hair

in the regular, utilitarian style, taking no more time on it than she ever did
.

Oscar was already at the breakfast table, while Irene lounged at the kitchen door in her

wrap, looking out at the bright morning with infinite boredom. Lewis seated himself

quietly in his corner. May peeped in the window and dropped from sight
.

Quentin made no appearance. Sleeping late, as he was no doubt in the habit of doing
.

She realized that she'd been holding her breath, wondering if there would be a lingering

awkwardness in facing him. For her own part, she had strengthened her determination

to forget yesterday's blunder
.

Forget, and forgive herself
.

She served up day-old bread, cheese from the pantry, Gertrude's fresh milk, and

overcooked eggs, which only Irene complained about. During breakfast, she engaged

each of the patients in conversation. Irene and Lewis seemed less inclined to trade their

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accustomed barbs, but Oscar was his usual irrepressible self, telling of a bird's nest he

and May had found in the woods, and the big red dog he'd tried to chase up the hill
.

"It was mighty purty," he said. "And big, too. I wanted to pet it.”

"Stay away from stray dogs," Lewis said unexpectedly. "They may bite." He paused to

divide his second egg into a precise grid of bite-sized pieces
.

"Don't you like dogs, Mr. Andersen?" Oscar asked
.

"He doesn't like anything." Irene sniffed
.

Lewis looked up, his gray eyes bitter with animosity. " 'Judge not lest ye be judged.'“

"That's terribly amusing," Irene said. "Weren't you the kind of preacher who called fire

and brimstone down on everyone else in the world?" She leaned on the table, her

breasts spilling over the edge of her dressing gown. "I know your kind. People like you

are so afraid of their own lusts that they see evil in everyone else.”

Johanna looked sharply at Irene, hearing the ring of honesty in her voice. She

remembered her resolve to speak to the actress about the new gown—one more thing

she'd let slip because of her preoccupation with Quentin
.

Lewis shot up from his chair, face pale. "You

you—I saw you sneak off into town last

night, when you thought no one saw. 'As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair

woman which is without discretion.' “

Johanna stood, demanding their attention with her silence. "This is not a place of

judgment," she said. "We are here to help one another. Irene, I'll have a word with you

after breakfast, in my office.”

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Irene pressed her lips together and seethed. Oscar, sensitive to arguments, hunched

over his plate. Johanna patted his shoulder and reminded him of the game they were to

play later that day. He brightened and finished his breakfast
.

May didn't repeat yesterday's daring foray into the kitchen, so Johanna left a plate on

the doorstep for her. The girl needed more attention than she'd had of late. Johanna

planned to lure her into a talk with the promise of a new book she'd brought back from

San Francisco, and took a breakfast tray to Harper
.

Harper wasn't in his chair. He wasn't even in his room
.

Alarmed, Johanna set down the tray and ran into the hall. The back door stood open.

She stepped through the doorway and found Harper sitting on the wooden bench in the

garden, his hands hanging between his knees
.

"Harper," she said
.

He turned his head. "Doc," he croaked. "Is that you?”

She closed her eyes and whispered a childhood prayer. "Good morning, Harper. How

are you feeling?”

"Tired," he said. "Hungry. Like I've been asleep for a long, long time.”

How long had it been since he'd said so many words, with such perfect rationality? It

sometimes happened that patients spontaneously emerged from a deep melancholy or

cataleptic state, but she hadn't envisioned such a favorable development with Harper
.

She masked her excitement and smiled in encouragement. Keep the conversation

casual. Let him take the lead
.

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"I was just about to bring you your breakfast," she said
.

"Much obliged." He squinted at her, as if looking into the light. "Where's the dog?”

She felt another surge of hope. His memory must be functioning if he could recall not

only her name, but also a brief visit that had occurred months before. "The dog I brought

to the Haven in April?”

He shook his head. "Last night. It was last night.”

You cannot afford to be overly optimistic, she warned herself. "I'm sorry, Harper. There

was no dog here last night.”

"It was in my room, right beside me," he said with soft-spoken conviction
.

Was he hallucinating? If so, she must tread all the more carefully. "I've left a tray for you

in your room," she said. "Would you care to come in?”

"Do you think I could eat out here?" He raised his face to the sky. "The sun's so warm.”

"Yes, Harper, of course. I'll return directly.”

She left Harper basking in the sunshine and hurried into the house to retrieve the tray.

On the way out she noticed that Quentin's door was open, and paused to glance inside.

The bed was neatly made, but he wasn't there
.

Gott sei Dank. No distractions from that direction

Her relief was short-lived. Harper wasn't alone in the garden. Quentin stood beside the

bench, bare-chested, his freshly mended shirt draped over his shoulder. Johanna forgot

the tray in her hands
.

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She gazed mutely at Quentin's back, wide through the shoulders and trim at the waist,

and observed with fascination the flex of his muscles as he put on the shirt. Hot prickles

stabbed at the base of her spine. Her mouth went dry
.

He turned around, feigning surprise. "Johanna. I didn't see you there.”

Disregarding the heat in her cheeks, she set the tray down on the bench beside Harper.

The former soldier's gaunt face broke into a smile
.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said. "It looks delicious.”

"You may call me Johanna," she said. "I see you've met Quentin.”

"I just got up myself," Quentin offered. "We've been talking.”

Johanna looked from Quentin to Harper in concern. They seemed at ease with each

other, though she couldn't imagine that Harper had done much of the talking. And while

she knew Quentin to be kind, he hadn't her training in dealing with those who'd been

seriously ill. He was ill himself
.

Yet she had admitted that he had a way with people. Harper had reacted to his

presence the first time Quentin visited him in his room. They shared an experience of

war and conflict that she did not
.

There was so much she had yet to learn, and needed to know, about both men. Would

fellow soldiers confide in one another as they wouldn't with a civilian, even their

physician?

Her instincts told her that this was an unorthodox but legitimate approach. Harper and

Quentin might actually help each other
.

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It was worth considering, in due course
.

"You mustn't tire yourself, Harper," she said. "When you're finished, I'd like you to return

to your room and rest. Quentin—" She glanced at him, not permitting her gaze to drift to

the open collar of his shirt. "Would you kindly locate May and ask her to come to the

parlor? I'm sure she's somewhere about. I have something to give her. You and I shall

meet for our next session in my office at three this afternoon.”

"I am at your disposal, Doctor," he said, clicking his heels with a British soldier's

precision. The gesture was uncharacteristically formal, as if he'd sensed the conflict in

her mind and respected it
.

"Harper," Quentin said, nodding to the other man. "We'll talk again.”

"Yes," Harper said. He watched Quentin stride off toward the woods. Without intending

to, Johanna did the same. She recalled Harper's presence only when he gave a low

cough
.

"A good man," he said
.

"Yes." She didn't feel prepared to elaborate on that subject at the moment. She noted

with pleasure that Harper had finished his meal; his appetite had returned along with his

reason, "If you are still hungry, I can bring you more. Shall we go in?”

Harper struggled to his feet, and Johanna helped him regain his balance
.

"Sorry

I'm not in better shape, ma'am," he said, flushing
.

"You have been confined to your room for many months," she said. "You must be

patient in recovering your previous strength." She let him take the next few steps on his

own. "How much do you remember?”

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He felt his beard, testing its neatly trimmed length. "I remember you, ma'am. The room,

and the dog. I can't rightly say that I remember much else.”

"That is not surprising. You came to stay with us—my father and me—some time ago.

You've been ill, and we hoped to make you better.”

"Am I?" He met her gaze with warm hazel eyes, so mild that it was difficult to believe

that he'd ever had bouts of manic, even violent behavior
.

Even the insane deserved as much honesty as possible. "It is too soon to be sure," she

said. "But until this morning, you were not speaking. Now you are. I would like to talk

more with you about what has happened, and how you feel.”

Depending on how much he did remember, and how stable he seemed, she would

gradually introduce the idea of hypnosis and gauge his reaction. In the meantime, she'd

spend a few hours each day simply talking, and allowing him to do so
.

And if Quentin's company seemed beneficial

Be methodical, Johanna. One step at a time
.

Harper was reachable, but far from well. Quentin seemed normal on the surface, but so

much was locked away underneath
.

There was no telling what might happen in the coming weeks
.

Excited, even flustered in a way she considered most singular, she escorted Harper to

his room to rest and threw herself into her daily routine. First she met Irene in her office

and asked about the woman's new gown. Irene, unsurprisingly, was evasive; after

steady questioning, she admitted that she had gone into town to buy the cloth and

pattern, and made the gown herself. She pressed her lips together rebelliously when

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Johanna reminded her that she was not to leave the Haven grounds unescorted.

Nothing could induce her to explain how she'd come by the money to purchase the rich

fabric for such a garment
.

Johanna dismissed Irene and considered the problem. Short of confining the actress to

her room, she couldn't be sure that Irene wouldn't visit Silverado Springs again. If she

took the woman into town with her more frequently, perhaps Irene's desire to "sneak

out" might be lessened
.

Satisfied with that temporary solution, Johanna dealt with her father's needs and visited

with him for half an hour, pretending that she didn't miss his imperturbable good humor

and wise council. Oscar was kept busy with a new puzzle Johanna had ordered, made

especially for him by a craftsman in town—one just difficult enough to stretch his mind

without causing tears and frustration
.

Quentin was as good as his word, and delivered May to the parlor before making

himself scarce again. May showed every inclination of wanting to trail after him, but her

pallid face lit up when she saw the book Johanna had brought back from San Francisco.

Books were the single topic of discussion in which May could become as eloquent as

any young girl her age
.

Or had been, until Quentin. Johanna suspected she could be encouraged to talk about

him with very little effort. She trusted him. Could he be instrumental in helping the girl

overcome her remaining fears?

If she continued to think this way, Johanna mused, she'd be forced to acknowledge

Quentin as a colleague
.

She buried that thought at the bottom of her mind
.

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