A stranger. A vagrant. A drunkard somewhat less brutish than the one in Vallejo. Someone who might possibly require her help.
If he’d accept it. And while he remained unconscious, she had no way of transporting him to the Haven. She’d have to get home and harness Daisy to the buggy. If she were very fortunate, he might come to his senses and be gone before she returned.
Just as she was getting to her feet, he opened his eyes.
They were the color of cinnamon, a light reddish-brown to match his hair. They seemed to stare at nothing. His breath caught and shuddered, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Can you hear me?”
His body jerked, and he lifted his head with obvious effort. She could see his eyes focus on her, the blurred confusion gradually replaced by stunning clarity.
For an instant she thought she knew those eyes. Then the moment of familiarity passed, and he spoke.
“You…” he croaked. “You’re… in danger.”
It wasn’t in Johanna’s nature to laugh in such circumstances. She crouched beside him. “I?”
“Evil,” he said. His eyes began to unfocus again. “Evil—you must… be careful—”
She touched his forehead. It was damp with sweat, warm but not feverish. If he were experiencing delirium tremens, his symptoms ought to be more extreme. His speech would imply some sort of hallucination…
He grabbed her wrist. His grip was paralyzing in its strength. “Listen—” he said. His eyes widened in terror, and abruptly his fingers loosened, freeing her hand and leaving it numb. She shook it several times, concentrating on bringing her own pulse back to a normal speed. Her brief fear was totally without justification; he was in no state to be a danger to anyone.
A quick evaluation of his condition indicated that he was unconscious once again. With a renewed sense of urgency, Johanna made him as comfortable as possible. She had nothing to put over him but the short mantle she’d taken with her to San Francisco. It barely covered his shoulders.
“I will come back for you,” she said, knowing he couldn’t hear. “It won’t be long.”
She strode the remaining mile to the Haven in record time. When the whitewashed fence that ran along the perimeter of the orchard came into view, she released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The branches of the trees, like the grapevines in their neat rows, were hung with ripening fruit, but she had little thought to spare for their bounty.
The Haven was a large, rambling one-story house, constructed of wood and stone with a broad porch bordering three sides. It looked exactly like the refuge she called it, friendly and inviting and lived-in. She half-expected several of the “family” to be waiting on the porch to greet her. But it was Oscar alone who rose from his seat on the stone steps, waving his big hand and grinning from ear to ear.
“Doc Jo!” he said, lumbering toward her. “You’re back!”
She noticed at once that the young man’s shirt was misbuttoned, and he’d forgotten to wear his braces, so that his trousers fell loosely about his hips. Otherwise he clearly hadn’t suffered in her absence.
“Good day, Oscar,” she said, taking his outstretched hand. “How is everyone?”
“Good,” he said, nodding vigorously. “Only we missed you.”
“As I missed you.”
“What was the city like? Were there lots and lots of people?”
“A great many, Oscar. But I can’t tell you all about it now. First I need your help.”
Immediately his guileless face grew wide-eyed and solemn. “I’ll help you, Doc. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
She patted his arm. “We must go and rescue someone who is ill. I’ll need your strength to lift him.”
He puffed out his broad chest. “I can do it.”
“I know you can. I’m going to harness Daisy to the buggy, and then we’ll be on our way. Could you take my valise inside, and tell the others we’ll be back shortly?”
Oscar took the valise, lifting it as if it were filled with nothing but air, and trotted back to the house. Johanna crossed the yard to the small pasture just beyond the barn and fetched placid, reliable old Daisy, who tossed her head in greeting and allowed herself to be harnessed without a single mild protest.