Quentin blanched. He must remember at least some of what had happened last night. How much did he remember?… That was the question. But he collected himself, spoke softly to May, and rose from his chair.
“Good afternoon, Johanna,” he said.
“Good afternoon.”
“Back so soon?” Mrs. Daugherty asked. “Didn’t expect you ’til evenin’.”
“My plans have changed.” She smiled at May. “May, I’d like to talk to you, in my office.”
May glanced at Quentin, who nodded. “We can finish the book later,” he said. “I do want to know what becomes of Avis.”
“You won’t read ahead?” May asked.
Quentin crossed his heart. “I promise.”
May set the book down and went to Johanna. Quentin took the opportunity to slip from the room.
Relieved, Johanna took May into the office and shut the door. “You have had a good day?” she asked as the girl perched at the edge of the chaise longue.
“We spent the afternoon reading.” May’s tremulous smile lit up her face. “Quentin said I have a lovely voice.”
“You enjoy Quentin’s company, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. He is wonderful.”
Wonderful. That was not the sort of word May was in the habit of using, when she spoke at all. And though she had been the most relaxed in Johanna’s company, something in her was always held in reserve. Even after she had overcome the more blatant symptoms of hysteria, she remained fearful and bereft of real trust for the world.
Today, May was happy. Genuinely happy, as she hadn’t been since her mother’s departure. Oh, there’d been moments of contentment and pleasure, but May had seldom reflected the joy of her name.
Johanna had seen enough of human character to postulate that May’s happiness was due to more than Quentin’s kindness and gentle attention. The girl was just old enough to fall in love. Quentin was agreeable and handsome. What could be more natural?
In other young girls, nothing at all. In May, it was a miracle.
Quentin, of course, would never take advantage of such tender emotions. He behaved toward her like an affectionate elder brother; he did May much good by teaching her that not all men were to be feared.
Those lessons were soon to be put to the test.
“Why don’t you lie back and be comfortable,” she instructed the girl. May did as she was told, her thoughts clearly on something—someone—else.
“May, this may be a difficult question, but I want you to answer it as best you can.” She breathed in deeply. “Do you remember your father?”
The answer was very long in coming. So long, in fact, that Johanna finally realized May hadn’t heard her. She repeated the question, and still May was silent.
“Tell me about Quentin,” Johanna said.
May began to speak with enthusiasm, smiling up at the ceiling. Her hearing was not impaired, nor was her understanding. She simply did not want to hear or think or speak of her father.
She never had. But that was not the sort of proof that would hold up in court. May had not yet reached the age of consent.
Johanna let May’s monologue run its course, attempted without success to return to the subject of May’s father, and then set her loose. May virtually skipped from the room. Doubtless she was going in search of Quentin.
She was free to seek him out.
After a half-hour of notations in her records, Johanna went to her father’s room and sat with him a while. He slept peacefully on clean linens, hair combed and beard trimmed with loving attention. Quentin’s work.
In the hour before dinner, she went out to her favorite place in the orchard to think. She caught a glimpse of something moving in the wood on the hill—a flash of motion and color, red amid the green. A while later Quentin emerged from the wood. He carried his head and shoulders set low, a man bearing a burden he wanted no one else to see.
She almost called out to him. In the end, her will—and her fear—were stronger than desire.
Chapter 15
The next afternoon, braced for the ordeal to come, Johanna took May into town.