But no sooner did she think of Vivian than she wondered again why the woman had left Holt to marry another man. Society women were pretty much like women everywhere. They married either for love or for their advantage. This woman hadn't married for love, or she'd have married Holt. What made him think she would want to marry him now? There were lots of wealthy men in Galveston, and more coming all the time. Vivian could have any number of wealthy potential husbands to choose from. She might have married already.
She felt sorry for Holt. She wondered what he'd do if he found that Vivian had married again, or if she was single and refused to marry him. It was bound to hurt.
She dried the needles and put them away. Then she took a rag, immersed it in the soapy water, and started wiping up the blood on the floor. It was pointless to waste her time musing about Holt's future. After tomorrow morning, she wouldn't see him again.
Yet she couldn't stop thinking about him. He had taken possession of her mind, influenced her emotions, and called forth a physical response she was unable to control or deny. He made her aware of the great vacuum in her life.
She had not found love.
For years, when the need--and fear--had come on her so strongly she couldn't ignore it, she'd told herself she wasn't ready. It wasn't the right time. The right man hadn't come along. She couldn't desert her father. All these excuses had helped blunt the pain of being unwanted, the feeling that life was passing her by, the hunger for children, and for a husband to shower with all the love she'd been saving up for the perfect man.
Then the man of her dreams had appeared in the guise of a man who would destroy her father. If her father were denied the right to practice medicine, he would turn into a hopeless drunk. She had to protect him from Holt.
But she couldn't drive out the feeling that Holt not only looked like her dream man. He was her dream man.
He made her laugh. No one had ever been able to do that. Laughing made her feel good, more hopeful. It released some of the tension, made it easier to worry less. She had more than enough proof of his high standards and integrity. Holding fast to one's beliefs wasn't all bad. Even when she told herself she didn't like him, she was attracted to him. She wanted to touch him, to feel his arms around her. But she didn't dare. If she ever did, she feared she'd never be able to stop.
She was a fool. Regardless of everything, he would never be the man for her. He was in love with another woman.
Holt stuffed the last of his clothes into the suitcase and looked around the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. It would be a relief to leave all these flowers.
But that wasn't the reason he was relieved. He'd let working with Dr. Moore and sparring with Felicity take up too much of his time. He'd used the excuse that he could save money if he stayed here, that he could help the doctor, that he could use Felicity and her father's contacts to give him entrance into Galveston society.
But the truth was he didn't need to worry about money, and Felicity's barely repressed determination to get rid of him had put a limit on how much he could help her father. And while he had made some contacts, he didn't have much to show for his week in Galveston. He would have made better progress going straight to one of the banks and trying to make the most of his tenuous connection with the Randolph family.
Felicity's accusation still rang in his hears. Maybe Vivian knew what she was doing when she chose another man over you. I should imagine it would be very hard to live with a saint.
But he'd never acted saintly with Vivian. She said she had to be so careful around his uncle and aunt that she looked forward to being with him because she could be herself. Holt had excused her occasional lapses in taste as outbursts of youthful high spirits. But she had married Abe Calvert. Had she seen Holt as a paragon rather than a love-besotted young man? He'd never thought of himself as repressive or saintlike.
He tried to recall Vivian to mind. Much to his surprise, her image wasn't as sharp and clear as he expected. He didn't understand. He had no trouble remembering every detail of Felicity's appearance. From her rich, brown hair and deep, soulful eyes to her slim neck and faded dress; her strong hand as she sewed Orson's cut; her firm mouth. If he could remember Felicity so vividly, why not Vivian?
Because he hadn't seen Vivian in six years. Besides, until he'd met Felicity, no other female had interested him enough for him to remember her. It was a shame that Felicity was so determined to deny her father's problem. She would make some man a wonderful wife. He had no doubt that, once given, her love would never change, never fade, but would grow stronger and deeper with each passing year. That was what he wanted. What he hoped to find with Vivian.
He was wasting time. The sooner he left, the sooner he could find Vivian. And Laveau.
He closed his suitcase and set it out in the hall, then made his way to the kitchen. Felicity and her father were at the table when he entered.
"Felicity says you're leaving us today," Dr. Moore said.
"I need to move on," Holt said. "I really haven't done what I came to do."
"Sorry I couldn't help you more, but Felicity and I don't get out much. Certainly not with the people Adelaide Prentiss's daughter knows."
"You've done more than enough. I've just come to say my goodbyes and then I'll be on my way."
"You can't go without having some breakfast."
"That's all right. I can get--"
Dr. Moore got up from his seat, came over to Holt, and propelled him to a chair at the table. "I couldn't show my face outside my door if I let a guest leave my house without giving him breakfast. You sit right down. We have more than enough. Felicity, get this young man some breakfast."
Holt couldn't miss the fact that Felicity hadn't looked at him since he'd entered the kitchen.
"What are you going to do?" Dr. Moore asked as soon as Holt was seated.
"I haven't decided."
"First you need someplace to stay. What are you looking for? All the best hotels are close to each other."
"I was thinking about a rooming house. I might even consider a rented room if I can find someone who'll provide meals and washing."
"You're in luck," Dr. Moore said, breaking into a smile. "There's a room like that next door. That way you'll still be close enough to come over when you're not busy."
Chapter Eight
The thought of having Holt next door, of having him free to drop in at any time, jarred Felicity so badly she nearly dropped the plate. She barely had time to pull herself together before she set a breakfast of pork chops, fried eggs, and grits swimming in gravy in front of Holt. By the time she poured his coffee, her hand was steady.
"I'm sure Mrs. Bennett is an excellent landlady, Papa," she said, "but you can't railroad Holt into staying next door just because you want someone to talk medicine with."
"I'm not railroading him."
"What do you call taking him over and introducing him? What's he supposed to do after that, unless the sheets haven't been changed and he sees soap rings in the washbasin? And you know he won't, because Mrs. Bennett is an excellent housekeeper."
"Which is exactly why I think he ought to stay with her. Besides, she's a war widow. It's his patriotic duty."
"Now, that's really unfair. Suppose he wants to stay downtown, go to parties, meet other people his age."
"Mrs. Bennett's not a curmudgeon." Her father winked at Holt. "But I don't think she'd approve of you bringing young women home for the night."
"I couldn't possibly consider staying with her then," Holt said, throwing Felicity a grin that told her he knew exactly what she was doing. "I had planned to become a regular Don Juan. After spending so long with nothing but cows, a man needs some diversion."
"From what I've heard, most of them would benefit by being turned into steers," Felicity said.
"Don't listen to her," her father said. "No woman understands men."
"And no man understands women," Felicity said.
Her father sobered suddenly. "I underst
ood your mother. Sometimes I believe we actually shared each other's thoughts."
It was Felicity's privately held belief that her mother had died too soon for her father to realize they were quite different. Her father was a dreamer, an idealist, a person who could live his life without ever truly coming face to face with reality. Her mother had been the one to make sure the plantation ran smoothly.
"I just don't think you ought to take him over to Mrs. Bennett," Felicity said as she seated herself again. "There are other rooming houses in Galveston. I'm not trying to tell you where to live, Holt. I just don't think it's fair of Papa to make it difficult for you to make your own choice."
"Okay, you take him over," her father said.
"It would be exerting the same kind of pressure."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me," Holt said.
"Felicity wouldn't do that," her father said. "She's very fond of you."
"I didn't know," Holt said, with a grin that made her want to slap him.
"You can stop trying to make fun of me."
"Holt wouldn't do that."
"It's not the normal kind of fun, Papa. It's what men who've spent too many years living with cows think is humorous."
"Ouch!" Holt said. "She has fangs."
"Claws, too," Felicity said.
"I wish you two would stop," her father said. "I don't understand you when you talk like this."
Felicity got up from the table to scrape her plate into the slop bucket. She'd lost any appetite she might have had. She'd spent half the night lying awake trying to figure out why she couldn't stop thinking about Holt. Why she couldn't mark him off her list as a self-righteous know-it-all and put him completely out of her mind. Despite several hours of thought, she couldn't come up with a good reason.
But she had several foolish reasons. He was definitely attractive. His dark brown hair was always straight and neat. It looked as if the wind could never muss it. His heavy brows and the shadow of his beard even when freshly shaved gave him a dark, rough, masculine look. His slim build and broad shoulders were more than enough to make a woman feel confident he could protect her. But it was those black eyes that bothered her most.
They seemed to drill right through her. She felt they wanted to strip her of all pretense, to lay bare her soul. But just as disturbing was the invitation he extended for her to do the same to him. He wasn't willing to share with everyone--he seemed too untrusting for that--but he was willing to share with her. She didn't understand why.
This lack of understanding held her captive.
"I'll be happy to have either one of you go with me to see Mrs. Bennett's rooms," Holt said, "but I'm not promising anything."
"If you're going to be here for more than a few weeks, you ought to look at several places," Felicity said as she reached for her father's plate. She turned away to the sink. "If you want, you can stay here while you look."
That last sentence came out unexpectedly. It was sensible, but she knew she said it because she didn't want Holt to walk out the door and vanish forever. It seemed silly to her that she could feel that way under the circumstances, but there was no disputing that she did.
"He doesn't have to leave here at all," her father said.
"I'll leave my suitcase here if you don't mind," Holt said, "but I'd like to find a place today."
"I'm sorry to lose you," her father said.
The talk turned to medicine while Holt finished his breakfast. Felicity had washed all the dishes except the coffee cups, put everything away, and cleaned up the kitchen when she heard a knock at the back door. It was a local boy.
"Mrs. Farley's not feeling very good," he said, mentioning a neighbor's name. "She wants the doc to come see her right away."
"What's wrong?" her father asked.
"She says the pain is fair killing her."
"I'll be right there. Let me get my bag."
"You want me to go with you?" Holt asked.
"You'd better not. Alice doesn't take to strangers. She's liable not to let either one of us in."
"What's wrong with her?"
"She's got a tumor. It ought to come out, but she won't hear of me cutting her open."
"What are you going to do?"
"There's nothing I can do until the pain gets so bad she can't stand it. I'd better go. Felicity can take you to see Mrs. Bennett."
"He doesn't need me--" But her father was gone.
"I guess you're stuck," Holt said. "Unless you want to go over alone first and poison Mrs. Bennett's mind against me."
"While you're so busy congratulating yourself on figuring out what I'm doing, remind yourself that I wouldn't feel this way if you hadn't attacked my father."
"Since we've proved we're not likely to reach agreement on that, I don't see any point in talking about it anymore," Holt said.
"Neither do I."
"Good. Now, are you going to take me over, or do I go by myself? It would probably be better if you introduced me."
"Do you really want to stay with Mrs. Bennett?"
"Why not?"
"It's right next door. You'll practically be forced to know everything that goes on in Papa's office. People talk about anything."
"I might not be at home very much. I may soon develop different interests, make new acquaintances."
"That will be best for everybody. Besides, you came to Galveston to find your long-lost love, not to get tied up with an alcoholic doctor and his presumptuous daughter."
What was wrong with her? she wondered. She had reason to want him as far away from her father as possible, but she had no reason to start sounding like a jealous shrew.
"If you're ready, I'd like to meet Mrs. Bennett."
"Give me your cup." She washed it, dried it, put it away, then threw out the dishwater. A quick look about the kitchen satisfied her that everything was where it ought to be. "Okay, let's go."
The two houses were close together, but there were a couple of trees and some shrubs to block the view, one from the other.
Mrs. Bennett's home was a narrow two-story, wood-frame structure with a front porch and large windows facing the wide street. A low picket fence encircled the tiny yard, which someone obviously tended with great care. Bright splashes of color filled the many small flower beds that dotted the yard.
"It must take a lot of work to keep these flower beds so neat," Holt observed.
"Mrs. Bennett loves to garden," Felicity said.
"I hope she doesn't try to enroll me. I have a brown thumb." And absolutely no desire to spend his spare time digging in the dirt.
"She's more likely to have you arrested if you touch anything," Felicity said.
The woman who opened the door to them wasn't at all what Holt had expected. She was so tiny, she barely reached his waist. If she weighed more than ninety pounds, he'd be surprised.
"Morning, Mrs. Bennett," Felicity said. "Are your rooms still for rent?"
"You thinking of moving out of your father's house?" Her expression was one of amusement.
"No, but I'm bringing you a prospective boarder. This is Dr. Holt Price. He's come to Galveston looking for a friend he lost track of during the war."
The tiny woman didn't appear the least intimidated by Holt's size. "Come on in."
It didn't take Holt long to decide that the rooms would have been perfect if they hadn't been so close to Felicity and her father. Mrs. Bennett was remarkably spry for her fifty-five years. She had lost her husband in the war with Mexico. Holt could have the whole upper floor if he wanted--bedroom, sitting room, and his own bath. There wouldn't be anyone in the house to bother him. He could have as many meals as he wanted, and she'd send his clothes out for washing.
"Everything sounds perfect," Holt said, "but I'd like to look round a bit more first."
"Look all you please," Mrs. Bennett said, "but don't come banging on my door after dark. I get up with the sun and go to bed with it."
That wouldn't bother Hol
t. Cade's longhorns kept the same hours.
"I don't want to take up any more of your time," Holt said.
"Will you be back for supper?" Felicity asked when they were outside.
"I can get something out rather than bother you."
"It's no bother to set an extra plate. Besides, Papa will be disappointed if you leave without seeing him again."
"I can't promise. I might find something I like and move right away."
They had reached Felicity's house. They stood there, neither knowing why they were hesitating, but neither of them apparently finding the words to say goodbye. Holt wondered if it was the hot climate that enabled people to get so close to each other so quickly. In Vermont a family practically had to live somewhere for a generation before the locals would do much more than nod in church. He'd spent eight days in the Moore household and he felt like he belonged there. But he really needed to start looking for Vivian and Laveau. He could have done it without moving, but something always seemed to get in the way. He couldn't stay focused. That never used to happen to him.
"If you don't want her rooms, don't wait too long to tell Mrs. Bennett," Felicity said.
"I won't."
"I hope you find something you like soon."
"I hope your father feels better today. You need to watch him more closely. If you see--"
"You'd better get started if you're going to see more than a few places today."
She turned, entered the gate, closed it behind her, and walked up to the house without looking back. Holt turned and walked away, but his thoughts never left the doctor's house; he wondered what was going to happen.
Felicity couldn't control her father's drinking. As far as Holt could tell, she didn't try. But she was fierce in her defense of him, trying to cover for him when he was incapacitated. She thought things would get better, but Holt knew they would only get worse. Maybe she was right that her father had never gotten falling-down drunk or completely beyond his ability to function, but it would happen.
One day he would be so drunk, he'd make a terrible mistake and a patient would die. He would be ruined, and he would ruin Felicity, too. They'd probably be forced to leave Galveston, find another town, one where the people were so desperate for a doctor they'd accept a drunk. Which would only make things worse, because he'd drink more.
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