He turned around, feigning surprise. “Johanna. I didn’t see you there.”
Disregarding the heat in her cheeks, she set the tray down on the bench beside Harper. The former soldier’s gaunt face broke into a smile.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “It looks delicious.”
“You may call me Johanna,” she said. “I see you’ve met Quentin.”
“I just got up myself,” Quentin offered. “We’ve been talking.”
Johanna looked from Quentin to Harper in concern. They seemed at ease with each other, though she couldn’t imagine that Harper had done much of the talking. And while she knew Quentin to be kind, he hadn’t her training in dealing with those who’d been seriously ill. He was ill himself.
Yet she had admitted that he had a way with people. Harper had reacted to his presence the first time Quentin visited him in his room. They shared an experience of war and conflict that she did not.
There was so much she had yet to learn, and needed to know, about both men. Would fellow soldiers confide in one another as they wouldn’t with a civilian, even their physician?
Her instincts told her that this was an unorthodox but legitimate approach. Harper and Quentin might actually help each other.
It was worth considering, in due course.
“You mustn’t tire yourself, Harper,” she said. “When you’re finished, I’d like you to return to your room and rest. Quentin—” She glanced at him, not permitting her gaze to drift to the open collar of his shirt. “Would you kindly locate May and ask her to come to the parlor? I’m sure she’s somewhere about. I have something to give her. You and I shall meet for our next session in my office at three this afternoon.”
“I am at your disposal, Doctor,” he said, clicking his heels with a British soldier’s precision. The gesture was uncharacteristically formal, as if he’d sensed the conflict in her mind and respected it.
“Harper,” Quentin said, nodding to the other man. “We’ll talk again.”
“Yes,” Harper said. He watched Quentin stride off toward the woods. Without intending to, Johanna did the same. She recalled Harper’s presence only when he gave a low cough.
“A good man,” he said.
“Yes.” She didn’t feel prepared to elaborate on that subject at the moment. She noted with pleasure that Harper had finished his meal; his appetite had returned along with his reason, “If you are still hungry, I can bring you more. Shall we go in?”
Harper struggled to his feet, and Johanna helped him regain his balance.
“Sorry… I’m not in better shape, ma’am,” he said, flushing.
“You have been confined to your room for many months,” she said. “You must be patient in recovering your previous strength.” She let him take the next few steps on his own. “How much do you remember?”
He felt his beard, testing its neatly trimmed length. “I remember you, ma’am. The room, and the dog. I can’t rightly say that I remember much else.”
“That is not surprising. You came to stay with us—my father and me—some time ago. You’ve been ill, and we hoped to make you better.”
“Am I?” He met her gaze with warm hazel eyes, so mild that it was difficult to believe that he’d ever had bouts of manic, even violent behavior.
Even the insane deserved as much honesty as possible. “It is too soon to be sure,” she said. “But until this morning, you were not speaking. Now you are. I would like to talk more with you about what has happened, and how you feel.”
Depending on how much he did remember, and how stable he seemed, she would gradually introduce the idea of hypnosis and gauge his reaction. In the meantime, she’d spend a few hours each day simply talking, and allowing him to do so.
And if Quentin’s company seemed beneficial…
Be methodical, Johanna. One step at a time.
Harper was reachable, but far from well. Quentin seemed normal on the surface, but so much was locked away underneath.
There was no telling what might happen in the coming weeks.
Excited, even flustered in a way she considered most singular, she escorted Harper to his room to rest and threw herself into her daily routine. First she met Irene in her office and asked about the woman’s new gown. Irene, unsurprisingly, was evasive; after steady questioning, she admitted that she had gone into town to buy the cloth and pattern, and made the gown herself. She pressed her lips together rebelliously when Johanna reminded her that she was not to leave the Haven grounds unescorted. Nothing could induce her to explain how she’d come by the money to purchase the rich fabric for such a garment.