“I doubt very much that God wants to find me,” Quentin said, biting his tongue on the impulse to ask the reverend why he’d left his calling. “But I don’t pretend to know His mind.”
“He will find you. He found me. He found me.” He cast a wild look at Johanna and jumped up from his chair. “I must go.”
“We’ll talk again,” Johanna said.
Andersen fled the room with his hands pulled close to his body, careful not to touch any object in his passing.
Quentin blew a breath from puffed cheeks and sank lower in his chair. “If one looks beyond his affliction, he puts me in mind of a vicar I once knew. He wasn’t terribly fond of me.”
“Lewis has much improved from the early days in Pennsylvania,” Johanna said. “When he was brought to our asylum by his family, he was unable to function normally. He spent half of each day washing himself, refusing to touch or be touched. He ate almost nothing. He was no longer able to attend his congregation or give sermons. And he spoke constantly of God’s condemnation, of his own sin and worthlessness. He was determined to wash his sin away.”
As if that were possible, Quentin thought with a bleak inner laugh. Aloud, he said, “But you’ve helped him.”
“His washing is much less extreme, and on good days he is able to hold rational conversations. His distorted ideas have gradually lessened in their influence. In fact, he curtailed his usual cleansing ritual when we interrupted him—something he would not have done a year ago.”
If Andersen had been worse before, Quentin could scarcely imagine his state upon arrival. “What causes him to… act as he does?”
“I have come to believe that certain elements of his past experiences caused his mental collapse some years ago. By uncovering them through hypnosis, we have begun to confront them. By confronting them, we cause them to lose their power.”
Uncovering the past. A deep chill penetrated his heart. “Another of your father’s theories?”
“One of my own.” She met his gaze without false modesty. “I am still developing this method of treatment.”
He forced the fear aside. “I look forward to observing your technique.”
“You shall have your opportunity very soon.” She looked in the direction of the hallway. “There are only two others you must meet—May, our youngest, and Harper Lawson. I’ve seen little of May since you arrived, and she may still be in hiding.”
“She’s afraid of me?”
“She fears many things. In some ways, she is younger than her age. She came to us two years ago, in a state of hysteria. Her mother left her with us for treatment. Only Oscar and I have been permitted to come close to her. She has greatly improved but, as with the others, progress can be slow.”
“What caused her hysteria?”
Once more Johanna hesitated. “I cannot give you details—that must remain confidential between physician and patient. Suffice it to say that her home life was not a happy one.”
A leap of intuition, and a subtle change in Johanna’s expression, told Quentin what he wished to know. His lip curled over his teeth, almost without his realizing it. “A child who has suffered at the hands of those who should have cared for her,” he guessed. “Like Oscar.”
Johanna looked down at her folded hands. “This is why my father and I believe so strongly in what we do. To abandon such people to life in an asylum, or as prisoners in their own homes, is unconscionable if there is any way to help.”
Under Johanna’s dry tones and scholarly speech Quentin heard the ardor that made him so powerfully aware of her. She was devoted to these people, odd as they were. She accepted them. As she might accept him.
“You have a very generous spirit,” he said with complete sincerity. “The world is fortunate that you chose this profession.”
The palest stain of pink touched her high cheekbones. “Some members of the medical community might disagree. Our methods and ideas are controversial among neurologists and asylum directors.” She rose and smoothed her skirts. “Come.”
He was about to follow her from the room when he heard a muted sound outside the window overlooking the garden. He pushed back the lace curtains just in time to see a girl with short, dark hair tumbled about her face and a book clutched in her arms, dart behind a vine-covered trellis. She held very still, but he could see her brown eyes, wide with alarm.