Secret of the Wolf (13 page)

Irene, at the head of the table, was dressed in a gown Johanna hadn't seen before,

smelling of crisp, new fabric and cut along much more fashionable lines than most of

the actresses's years-old wardrobe. The dress was somewhat vulgar and far more

suitable for an evening at the theater than a country breakfast, but Johanna was most

interested in its origin. Irene had no income to afford such a gown, nor had she any

source for purchasing it
.

Unless she had gone into Silverado Springs. Johanna had felt safe in assuming that

Irene wouldn't do so, after the first time when she'd crept out to town one night only to

be mocked and reviled as a woman both soiled and mad. She had too much pride to

risk humiliation again
.

Still, it would be wise to speak to her about the dress after breakfast. Irene was not

above stealing
.

Lewis Andersen, scrupulously honest, wore his habitual unrelieved black and was

engaged in carefully refolding his napkin. Oscar eagerly watched Mrs. Daugherty as she

put slices of bacon in the frying pan on the great cast-iron stove
.

"Good morning, Mrs. Daugherty," Johanna said
.

"Mornin', Doc Jo," the older woman said. "Take a seat. I've got bacon today, and fresh

milk and butter." She glanced past Johanna to Quentin, never slackening in her

preparations. "You must be the new feller. Feelin' better now, I take it?”

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Quentin stepped around the table, caught Mrs. Daugherty's broad, chapped hand in his,

and kissed it. "Quentin Forster, at your service. And I shall certainly be your most willing

slave if that bacon tastes as fine as it smells.”

She beamed. "Well, I'll be. A real gen'l'man. Haven't heard your like in some time." She

lifted a brow at Johanna. "Can't believe this feller was ever sick.”

"I had the best of care," he said, following her glance
.

"You can't do better than having Doc Jo to tend you," Mrs. Daugherty said with a

vigorous nod. "She wouldn't hear of leavin' your side, not even when she was near fallin'

down exhausted. That's the kind of lady she is. She saved my daughter and grandchild.

Never will forget.”

Johanna longed for a useful task to keep herself occupied, but Mrs. Daugherty had

matters well in hand. She'd learned on Mrs. Daugherty's first day at the Haven that the

woman found her more of a nuisance than a help in the kitchen. "You keep them hands

fer healin'," she'd said. "They ain't no good for cookery.”

"Would you sit down, Quentin?" Johanna asked, indicating the chair next to Lewis
.

"But I've saved a chair for you, right here," Irene said, ignoring Johanna
.

Quentin flashed Johanna an apologetic grin and seated himself next to Irene. She

latched on to him immediately, beginning her usual monologue about the theater, how

desperate the New York producers were for her return, and how she would fight off her

hordes of admirers when she went back. Lewis emerged from absorption with his own

sin to stare at her with thin-mouthed condemnation
.

"Only the devil waits for you," he said. "Beware, Jezebel—”

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Irene sneered. "Pay no attention to him. He's crazy.”

"Let us try to have a pleasant breakfast," Johanna said. Irene stopped talking with a

pout, clinging to Quentin's arm. He made no effort to disentangle himself. Oscar

wrenched his gaze from the frying pan to smile shyly at the newcomer
.

"Hullo," he said. "I'm glad you're better.”

"So am I," Quentin said. He plucked at his shirt. 'Thank you for the use of the clothes.”

"Do you like them?”

"Very much.”

Oscar rewarded him with a gap-toothed grin. "Good." He turned back to Mrs.

Daugherty. "Is the bacon done yet?”

"If I ain't careful, you'll eat all of it." She took the pan off the stove and laid the bacon on

a serving platter, then took it around the table, beginning with Quentin, who made as if

to swoon with joy
.

"Wonderful," he said. He waited until the others were served, and offered Irene the plate

of bread. Mrs. Daugherty cooked up a dozen eggs while everyone helped themselves to

what was on the table
.

Johanna seldom had a problem with her appetite, since she firmly believed in the value

of hearty eating and good nutrition, but she found herself merely picking at her food.

Again and again her gaze turned to Quentin. He was cordial and sympathetic to Irene,

but there was a slight remoteness to his speech and manner, as if he were merely

indulging her. He seemed to make no judgment of either Lewis or Oscar. Mrs.

Daugherty had certainly fallen for his charm
.

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No grounds, then, to be concerned about his fitting in with the group—at least thus far.

The thought made her feel unaccountably breathless. After all, he was hardly likely to

remain beyond a few weeks or months. He was not like the other three men, who could

not live elsewhere
.

As if he'd noticed her preoccupation, he looked directly at her and smiled. "This is the

most enjoyable meal I've had in a long time. How grateful I am that you rescued me,

Doc Jo.”

She winced inwardly at the nickname Mrs. Daugherty had given her. "I'm glad you find

the food to your liking.”

"More eggs, young man?" Mrs. Daugherty asked, hovering behind his chair with pan

and serving spoon in hand. Irene grabbed his arm and glared at the older woman
.

Quentin patted his flat stomach. "You've quite filled me up, madam. I think I must

reluctantly forgo a third helping. But I have only the highest praise for your culinary

expertise.”

"Don't he talk fancy," Mrs. Daugherty said, winking at Johanna. "Just 'bout the same as

you." She studied Johanna with a speculative eye. "You two could have some pretty

edjercated conversations, I's'pose.”

Mrs. Daugherty was too perspicacious for Johanna's comfort. She had learned long ago

not to mistake a lack of education for a dearth of intelligence
.

"Mrs. Daugherty," she said, "would you please prepare trays for Harper and my father?

I'd like to deliver their meals.”

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The older woman shook her head. "Poor feller," she said to Quentin. "Harper's the lad

who fought in the War. Never right in the head after that—" She caught herself at

Johanna's pointed look and went back to her stove
.

Johanna had just about given up on her breakfast when the back door to the kitchen

swung open on squeaking hinges, banging against the wall. May rushed in, a sprite in

calico, and dashed toward the table. With a darting glance at the others, she stopped by

Quentin's chair and laid a bunch of wildflowers across his empty plate. Almost without

pause, she snatched a slice of bread from the table and skittered out the door again
.

"Well, I'll be," Mrs. Daughtery said. "I never seen her do that before.”

Nor had Johanna. Quentin gathered up the flowers and bent his head to appreciate their

scent. Irene simmered
.

"Why do you let that

guttersnipe run wild through the place?" she snapped at

Johanna
.

"She does no harm," Lewis said, breaking his customary silence for the second time

that morning. "Leave her be.”

"Oh, is she without sin?" Irene asked with a trilling laugh
.

Johanna rose. "Irene, Lewis, I believe it's time for your midmorning chores. If you'd be

so kind, Irene, I have a few of Quentin's garments that need repair. Your skill with a

needle is unmatched.”

"I'll do it

for you, Quentin," Irene said, leaning into him. "Ordinarily I don't sully my

hands with a seamstress's work.”

"I shall be honored," Quentin said
.

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Lewis, who'd eaten little more than Johanna, scraped back his chair and walked out the

back door, tugging repeatedly at the fingers of his gloves
.

"I'm gonna see the new calf," Oscar announced
.

"Best you all get along," Mrs. Daughtery said, wiping her hands on her stained apron. "I

got cleanin' to do. Here's yer trays, Doc Jo.”

"Come walk with me in the garden, Quentin," Irene said with a seductive smile. "I have

so much more to tell you.”

"I regret the necessity of refusing such a flattering invitation, but I believe I must consult

with the doctor," Quentin said, slipping free of her hold. "Later, perhaps?”

"I'll leave the clothing in your room, Irene," Johanna said
.

The long habit of deferring to Johanna's authority finally sent Irene flouncing off to her

room. Oscar marched outside in search of Gertrude's calf. Johanna fetched Harper's

tray, but Quentin intercepted her
.

"Allow me," he said. "I think it's time I met Mr. Lawson.”

"He is unlikely to notice you," she warned. "Harper suffers from severe melancholia and

episodes of mania. The former has been much more frequent. He reacts to very few

stimuli." After what had happened yesterday with Quentin, she had reason to be

cautious. "If you feel ready—”

"I'm fine.”

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She took leave to doubt it, but this was as good a way as any to see if that episode

would be repeated
.

"Very well," she said. She led him to Harper's door and opened it. He was where she'd

left him, still gazing at drawn curtains as if he could see through them to the world

beyond
.

"Harper," she said, motioning Quentin to set the tray down on a small table beside

Harper's chair, "I've brought your breakfast. I hope you'll try to eat.”

Harper's left eyelid twitched. It was acknowledgment of a sort—more than she often

received. His thin fingers stretched on the arm of his chair
.

"We have a new guest staying with us," she said. "Quentin Forster. He'd very much like

to meet you.”

Harper turned his head. He looked at the tray, at Johanna, and at last toward Quentin
.

"I am pleased to meet you," Quentin said, extending his hand
.

Unmoving, Harper gazed at the offered hand while his own fingers continued to twitch.

Then, slowly, he lifted his arm from the chair. His hand reached halfway to Quentin's

and seemed to lose its purpose. But his gaze rose to meet the stranger's, clearing to

lucidity for the first time in many days
.

"Sol-jer," he said, his voice rough with disuse
.

Quentin glanced at Johanna in surprise. "Yes," he said reluctantly. "Years ago.”

Harper shuddered. When the shivers passed he sat still for a long moment, until

Johanna was sure any further chance of communication was gone. But he surprised

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her. He reached clumsily for the spoon on the tray—she never left him any sharp

implements, even for eating—and scooped up a helping of egg. Most of it made it to his

mouth. He continued to eat, without Johanna's help
.

She touched Quentin's arm and led him from the room, amazed and gratified. It

appeared that his affinity with May was not a singular occurrence
.

"How did you do it?" she asked when the door was closed again. "He has not

responded so well in weeks. I have not seen him show such interest in anything since I

brought a neighbor's dog to visit—he seems to have a great affection for dogs. But he

seldom responds to people." She realized that her hand was still on his arm and let him

go, striving to modulate her tone. "He actually acknowledged you, and spoke.”

"I'm afraid I can't claim any miraculous technique," Quentin said. "I'm no doctor.”

"I wonder how he knew that you were a soldier." She shook her head. "You have a way

with people, Quentin—with those who are troubled. It is no small gift.”

He half turned away. "Perhaps it's because I am one of them.”

She had an almost overwhelming desire to touch him again, to embrace him as

yes,

as a kindred spirit, like her father had been. More—as a man who desperately needed

human companionship and affection
.

Was that what she felt for him? Affection?

The truth stole into her heart as if it had been there all along. She liked Quentin Forster.

She wasn't merely intrigued by him and willing to treat him—not simply attracted to his

charm and good looks on a purely physical level
.