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.”
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.
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.”
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.”