Secret of the Wolf (22 page)

"Be silent! “

Quentin's voice was hardly raised above normal speech, but he might as well have

roared. Lewis sat down abruptly. Irene went white. May remained motionless, and

Oscar began to wail
.

"It's all right, Oscar," Quentin said. "No one is angry with you." Oscar sniffled and

rubbed at his eyes. "May, you needn't be afraid. I'll speak to you in a few moments.”

May slipped from the room. Quentin steered Irene toward the hall. She didn't resist
.

Stunned, Johanna comforted Oscar and got him working on his puzzle again. She went

after Quentin and found him emerging from Irene's room, his features devoid of

expression. At almost the same instant, Harper stepped into the hallway. His

movements were furtive, his posture crouched, as if he expected imminent attack.

When he saw Johanna and Quentin, he straightened, though his gaze flicked this way

and that, searching for some hidden threat
.

"I heard yelling," he whispered. "What's going on?”

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"Be at ease, my friend. Just a bit of a row in the parlor." Quentin grinned. "Women on

the rampage. Nothing you need worry about.”

Harper's shoulders relaxed. "If it's about ladies, I'd better stay out of it.”

"Very wise." Quentin glanced at Johanna, who took his hint
.

"I'd like to speak with you for a little while before you retire," Johanna said to Harper. "I'll

come by within the hour, if that's agreeable.”

"Yes," he said. He retreated into his room, and Johanna shut the door. She tested the

door to Irene's room and found it barricaded, doubtless with a chair jammed against the

inside knob. Well, there was no harm in leaving her alone for a while. It was probably

the wisest thing to do
.

Composing herself, she turned to Quentin. "What you said to Harper was inappropriate.”

"Why? Because I made the comment about women? It wasn't so far from the truth.”

She flinched. "I should never have struck Irene. I'm well aware of that. It was

inexcusable.”

"But understandable." He was as serious as he'd been in the parlor, almost grim
.

"No," she said. "I am a doctor.”

"And a woman with feelings that can be hurt, like anyone else. Whatever Irene's

problems, she went too far.”

"You don't understand. I haven't yet been able to reach her, and until I do—”

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"She struck you. That cannot be permitted.”

"The mistake—the misjudgment—was mine. In any case, you must not interfere.”

His eyes lit, turning cinnamon to flame. "I'll always interfere if anyone tries to hurt you.”

"Not with my patients—”

He took both her hands in a grip both painless and unbreakable. "You watch over your

patients with such devotion. Who watches over you?”

"I have never needed anyone to watch over me.”

"And what if it was not Irene but someone else who struck you?" he said between his

teeth. "A man, capable of doing real harm?”

"None of the men here would hurt me. Certainly not Oscar, or Lewis—”

"How can you be so sure? Do you really think you know everything, Johanna?”

She stared at him, trying to make sense of this change in him. There'd been an inkling

of it on the walk, and again in the parlor. He was behaving subtly, but noticeably, out of

character
.

"I know what I'm doing," she said, in the calm tone she ordinarily used with distraught or

manic patients. "Oscar has learned how to control his strength, and as you see he is not

aggressive. Lewis reacted as he did because he lost his wife in a tragic manner; Irene's

song reminded him of it. I've always taken care with Harper. Are you suggesting I

should be concerned about you?”

His pupils constricted in shock, and he let her go. "You think I'd hurt you?”

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"If I thought you were a danger to any of us, I'd never have allowed you to stay." She

sighed and rubbed her wrists, though she'd hardly felt Quentin's grip—not, at any rate,

as pain. "I've seen how well you get along with May, when she would never trust

anyone but me. Oscar likes you, and Harper has improved since you came." She turned

away, fighting a lump in her throat. "I should be very sorry to see you gone, but I must

insist that you not attempt to interfere as you did in the parlor.”

Quentin's breath sawed in and out like that of a large, angry beast. The small hairs

prickled on the back of Johanna's neck. Her instincts screamed for her to turn around

and face him as she would a dangerous animal. A wolf
.

Ridiculous. She forced herself to remain where she was until Quentin's silence left her

no choice but to speak. He leaned against the wall, his hands braced to either side of

his head
.

So lonely, Johanna thought. So sad... "Quentin, I know you mean well—”

In a blur of motion he snapped around, mouth contorted and hands raised as if to strike.

She had a single, precisely delineated view of his face. Had she not known who stood

before her, she might not have recognized it
.

Rage, That was what she saw—rage, and a kind of vicious satisfaction. Quentin's

features seemed coarser, more brutish than she could have imagined possible
.

Involuntarily she took a step back. Quentin looked like a man ready to kill
.

The moment passed instantly, but not before she realized where she'd seen such a

thing before. Harper had behaved so from time to time, before he'd entered his long

period of cataleptic depression a year ago. He had never hurt anyone, but he'd walked

on the edge of violence and might easily have become dangerous. He'd relived his

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service in the War as though it had never ended, prepared to attack or be attacked, kill

or be killed. And after the manic periods passed, he had shown no indication of

remembering what he'd said and done
.

Quentin had already revisited his own oppressive, half-forgotten memories of war. Was

this another manifestation, far less benign than the other?

Sweat pooled on Quentin's brow, as if he had just emerged from a battle. He slumped

against the wall with a rueful shake of his head
.

"You're right," he said. "I went too far. I'll try to remember my proper place from now on."

He smiled to take the sting from his words. Johanna knew at once that he was unaware

of his sudden alteration
.

"Very well," she said, wanting very much to consult her notes. "If you'll excuse me—”

"Let me prove I'm worthy of your trust," he said, stopping her. "I've been thinking—I

know how much care your father requires. He believes I'm a doctor, and he likes me. I'd

be glad—honored—to see to his needs, so that you can spend more time with the

others.”

Time and again Quentin had pushed past the appropriate boundaries of the doctor-

patient relationship, and she'd let him do it. With this offer, he reached into a part of her

life that she'd kept completely private
.

"I told you that my father died when I was very young," he said to her silence. "It would

be as much for me as for him.”

Did he mean it? And if he did, could she trust him with the only man who'd accepted

her, and loved her, without question?

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Just now Quentin had revealed a side of his nature utterly foreign to what she knew of

him, a new face of his illness. Yet she had always intended that the Haven's residents

should help each other, form friendships that would support them in their struggles.

Quentin might set a good example. If she had assistance with her father, she'd be able

to work more diligently with Irene, May, and Harper. With Quentin himself
.

And she was touched. Deeply touched, as much as she'd been troubled a minute

before
.

"Perhaps you can join me when I visit with him," she said. "After that, we shall see.”

"Thank you." He glanced toward Harper's room. "I've another favor to ask. I assume

you'll be hypnotizing Harper, now that he's speaking?”

"When he's ready. I shall not rush him.”

"I understand," he said. "I request that I be allowed to observe your meetings with him. It

might improve my ability to respond when you hypnotize me. I'd like very much to be

your model patient.”

The mischief was back in his eyes, along with that devil-may-care grin. She found her

doubts and concerns banished as if by magic
.

"That must be up to Harper," she said. "If he seems competent to make the decision, I

shall ask him.”

"Fair enough. I promised to speak to May tonight—please give my best wishes to Lewis

and Oscar, and apologize for any distress I may have caused." He took a step toward

her, stopped. "I will prove myself worthy, Johanna.”

He gave her no chance to reply, but swung around and strode out the back door
.

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After she had seen the others to bed, Johanna went to her father's room and sat with

him awhile, watching him sleep
.

"I believe him, Papa," she said softly. "I trust him." She set her jaw. "I am not losing my

reason. It is possible to think and feel at the same time, is it not? It's only a matter of

finding the proper balance. That is what I must concentrate on. Balance.”

Her father murmured something in his sleep that she couldn't make out. She took

comfort in it nonetheless. She kissed him on the forehead and left him to his sleep
.

Quentin clucked softly to the old mare, encouraging her on her slow, steady pace

toward Silverado Springs. The summer morning was warm, the road not unbearably

dusty, and he was remarkably content to be holding the reins of a nearly decrepit

equipage as different from his old racing phaetons as Daisy was from the fine-blooded

horses he'd once ridden in England
.

Oscar perched on the seat at his side, face bright with anticipation. His weight lent a

considerable tilt to the buggy, but Quentin was glad for his company
.

He'd had much on his mind the past several days. The minor incident in the parlor

earlier that week, which he ordinarily would have forgotten, continued to gnaw at his

thoughts. It wasn't because Johanna had rightfully reminded him that he had no place in

disciplining her patients, or even her vague hint that he might be forced to leave the

Haven if he didn't conform to her rules
.

No, nothing so simple. The thing that most disturbed him was the brief but very real gap

in his memory immediately following her warnings—the familiar sense of losing himself

and returning without knowledge of where he'd gone or what he'd done
.

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It was the second such blank period he'd experienced since awakening in the guest

bedchamber. At the Haven, he'd been out of reach of the drink that had always

preceded such spells in the past. But this time, as with the first, he hadn't been drinking
.

Only an instant, this time. Only a few seconds of disappearing, and then all was normal

again. Johanna hadn't shown any alarm. He couldn't have done anything

said

anything

too intolerable
.

But he couldn't be sure. And then there'd been the conversation with Johanna on their

walk earlier that same day, when he'd been so possessed by jealousy that he'd felt

separated from his own mind and body
.

A jealousy to which he had no right whatsoever. Johanna had taken that in stride as

well, but even she must have her limits
.

All he could do was try to make up for his behavior by promising Johanna the full

measure of his future support and cooperation
.

He'd lived up to that promise, at least. Today he and Oscar were headed into town to

pick up much-needed provisions that Mrs. Daugherty hadn't the means to bring with her

to the Haven. Among those supplies was lumber to replace the rotten planks in the

barn, which Quentin had begun to repair
.

He generally had company during his daily chores. May was his second shadow more

often than not, satisfied to watch him or, on rare occasions, speak shyly of the book

she'd been reading. Oscar was eager to imitate his actions, an unlooked-for

responsibility that he tried to treat with the seriousness it deserved. He'd never had to