“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.”
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.
“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.
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.