SECRET OF THE WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  If she continued to think this way, Johanna mused, she'd be forced to acknowledge Quentin as a colleague.

  She buried that thought at the bottom of her mind.

  Just after luncheon, she conducted a moderately successful meeting with Lewis. If he was not improving as rapidly as he had in the past, at least he was not losing ground. Irene, as usual, was utterly uncooperative and couldn't be drawn into more than the lightest of trances. She was still far from the breakthrough Johanna hoped for.

  Quentin appeared at Johanna's office precisely at three o'clock, nonchalant and seemingly at ease about the coming session. Johanna waved him in and closed the door.

  "Harper has made quite an improvement, I take it?" he asked.

  "Indeed. I have never seen him so lucid, not since he came to us." She gathered the hypnotic paraphernalia and drew up her chair. "Now I will be able to begin working to heal the source of his madness."

  Quentin moved toward her. She stood very still and waited, half afraid that he might touch her. He stopped well short of the chair and developed a sudden interest in the view out the window.

  "He appears to enjoy your company," she said. "He would benefit from a friend of his own age and gender."

  He looked at her. "His recovery means a great deal to you, doesn't it?"

  "I have been unable to help him. Now—"

  "Now there's a chance." His cinnamon eyes were darker than she remembered, filled with emotions she couldn't interpret. "I hope he knows how lucky he is."

  "Science, discipline, and care will heal him, not luck."

  "And you," he said softly. "The most essential factor."

  She dropped her gaze. "What did you speak of, the two of you?"

  "Not much. He briefly mentioned the War. I didn't press him."

  "Did he show any signs of distress, or violence?"

  "He displayed little feeling at all."

  And neither, at this moment, did Quentin. "But he said something that troubled you," she guessed.

  "No. No. He reminds me… of men I once knew."

  And of himself. The hidden self she had yet to discover.

  "If you're ready, Quentin," she said, "we will go ahead with the hypnosis."

  He took up her suggestion with alacrity and settled on the chaise. She repeated the induction methods of the previous meeting, and Quentin fell into a trance with even less resistance than before.

  Nothing else went as hoped. She was unable to coax from him a single new fact or memory about his time in the army, his drinking, his lycanthropy, or his childhood. Either he was not in as deep a trance as she surmised, or he had, since the last meeting, developed much stronger barriers. He might not even be aware he had done so.

  At least he didn't resume his amorous advances. He remained detached and as far away as the moon.

  She brought him out two hours later. He asked no questions; in fact, he seemed eager to be on his way. Johanna banished her doubts at the disappointing results of the session. She knew her own skill and worth as a doctor. Patience was the remedy for such setbacks—patience, and a firm grasp of a scientist's objectivity. Progress was merely delayed.

  What she required was a greater distance from Quentin. He would benefit from the same. The most efficient way to achieve that goal was in the company of others. He should socialize with all the patients, become one of the group.

  "I would like you to join us on our walk tonight," she said at the door. "We shall gather in the parlor in a few minutes."

  His smile held the same outward amiability as always. "Of course, Doctor. I'll be there."

  Just after five o'clock she assembled the patients—all but Harper—together in the parlor for their thrice-weekly evening stroll. Papa was strapped into his special wheelchair, showing some interest in the proceedings, and Oscar was openly eager for the excursion. Lewis wore the black overcoat and gloves he always donned no matter what the weather. Irene was defiantly dressed in a gown and shoes entirely inappropriate for the outing, her way of protesting the exercise, and possibly of showing off to Quentin. May waited outside the door, prepared to trail behind them—at a safe distance, as always.

  "Please return to your room and put on more suitable shoes," Johanna told Irene. "You'll hurt your feet, and that is of no benefit to your health—or beauty."

  It was an argument that generally worked with the former actress. She flounced back to her room and reappeared wearing low-heeled, button-top shoes that looked ridiculous with the gown.

  They set out on the wagon path that led away from the house, south toward the road. Johanna took the lead, pushing her father's chair, followed by Oscar, Quentin, Lewis, Irene, and May.

  The day's heat was dissipating at last. Birds darted from one tree to the next, absorbed in their evening songs, and the angled sunlight splashed the fields and trees and scattered farm buildings with liquid gold.

  Quentin caught up with her after a quarter of a mile. Johanna took a firmer grip on her father's chair and fixed a neutral smile on her face.

  "It's beautiful in this valley," he said, slowing his stride to match her pace. "I don't think I was able to appreciate it when I first arrived."

  This was the perfect opportunity to set the tone of their future relationship. "It is lovely. The region where my father grew up, near Mainz, was not dissimilar."

  "The Rheinhessen?"

  "Yes. You have been there?"

  "Once. I did some traveling in Europe now and then. I've even read a bit of German literature: " 'Was vernünftig ist, das ist wirklich; und was virklich ist, das is vernünftig.'"

  Her father looked up at Quentin and laughed. "That will never do, my boy," he said. "'Was vernünftig ist, das ist wirklich; und was virklich ist, das ist vernünftig.'"

  Startled by his participation, Johanna saw that his eyes were clear and focused, his expression animated. Quentin executed a sideways bow.

  "I stand corrected, Herr Doktor. Do you agree with Hegel's sentiments? 'What is reasonable is real; that which is real is reasonable.'"

  "I would not dare argue with the great philosopher," Papa said, shaking his head. "I am but a simple physician."

  "That I very much doubt. Hegel also said: 'It is easier to discover a deficiency in individuals, in states, and in Providence, than to see their real import and value.'"

  Johanna felt a burst of happiness. The conversation was entirely rational, and Quentin talked to her father as if he were an equal, not an enfeebled old man.

  "Ha!" Papa slapped his right hand down on the arm of his wheelchair. "Why did you never introduce me to this young man before, Johanna? He shows great promise." He squinted up at Quentin. "Are you the new doctor? Forgive me, my memory sometimes fails me. I believe you will do very well here. Ja, sehr gut..." He lapsed into silence, withdrawing into his own thoughts.

  "You were expecting another doctor?" Quentin said to Johanna under his breath.

  "We had been discussing finding a third doctor to join us at the Schell Asylum in Pennsylvania, in order to expand our practice." She touched her father's head lightly, smoothing his thin gray hair. "It was Papa's dream. He fell ill before we could complete it."

  "I'm sorry. We have so little control over our destinies."

  He spoke of himself as well as Papa, but she would not permit self-pity. "I do not believe that. There is much we can do to influence what some regard as fate."

  "Yes. You'd do battle with the gods themselves, wouldn't you?"

  She heard no mockery in his voice, only genuine admiration. It was in his face as well, in his eyes. She brought Papa's wheelchair to a stop and turned away from Quentin to check on the others.

  Oscar galloped past on an invisible pony, hooting and kicking up dust. Lewis's coattails flapped like the wings of a great crow. Irene walked as if she were on the stage, each sway of her hips exaggerated. May stopped as soon as Johanna did, maintaining the same precise distance behind, but her gaze sought Quentin with visible longing.

  "We will take
a short rest," Johanna announced, "and then return to the house." She wheeled her father onto the tawny grass at the edge of the path. They were not far from the place where she'd first discovered Quentin. She wondered if he remembered.

  He sat down on the ground beside the wheelchair, plucking a dry stalk and placing it between his teeth. "Our session today wasn't very successful, was it?"

  She loosened the strap that held her father safely in the chair. "Progress is not always steady. It is necessary to be patient. At least you've shown no craving for drink."

  "I haven't had the opportunity. I suppose I could go into town—"

  "Not while you are in my care."

  "Warning noted." He patted the ground beside him. "Sit. Even doctors are allowed to rest from time to time, you know."

  To decline his invitation would imply that she found his nearness disquieting. She tucked up her skirts and sat down a few feet away. Irene, on the opposite side of the path, was searching fastidiously for a rock to serve as a chair. Oscar ran around and around the field.

  "I wish I could be a more promising subject," Quentin said. He tossed the stalk of grass aside. "I fear my presence at the Haven contributes very little."

  She opened her mouth on a vehement protest. That is not true, she almost said. You are important… important to Harper. To May.

  To—

  "You have already agreed to pay," she said quickly.

  "And you have yet to take any of my money," he countered. "You said that everyone here does his or her share of the work at the Haven, but you haven't asked me to do anything." His lids drifted half-shut over his eyes. "I'm not really as lazy as I look."

  How could any man's voice be so… suggestive… even when it spoke the most innocuous words? "I shall think of something," she said. "Have you any skill in carpentry? The house needs repairs, as does the barn."

  "You'll find I'm also very resourceful." He plucked a wildflower and twirled its stem between his fingers. "Tell me, Johanna—you've spoken of your father's dreams. What of yours?"

  She wasn't prepared for the change of topic. "My dreams are the same as my father's. To help and heal those who suffer, using the techniques he developed—"

  "I don't mean your goals as a doctor. What do you want as a woman, Johanna?"

  The question was much too personal, but she wouldn't let him see how it affected her. "I do not see why the two should be different."

  "Most women I've known long for a family. A marriage, children."

  "I would hazard a guess that most of the women you knew in England were of your own class."

  "You don't think of yourself as being in my class?"

  "My father is of the gebildete Stände, the educated class, but hardly an aristocrat. My mother was a merchant's daughter."

  "But you must confess that you are a woman, Johanna."

  I have been told in no uncertain terms that I am not a normal woman at all. "I do not deny my biology."

  "Science," he said. "It isn't the answer for everything."

  " 'To him who looks upon the world rationally, the world in its turn presents a rational aspect,'" she quoted.

  "More Hegel? I have another for you: 'We may affirm absolutely that nothing great in the world has been accomplished without passion.'"

  He was playing with her again, and she could not simply dismiss it as she wished to. "My passion is for my work, as was my father's."

  "Did he love your mother?"

  She pushed to her feet, brushing off her skirt with more vigor than was strictly necessary. "Yes. As I loved her. You may rest assured that I have known love, Mr. Forster."

  He stood up behind her, close enough that his breath teased her hair. "I never doubted that you've given love. I only wonder if you have kept enough for yourself."

  His words had the unexpected effect of thrusting her into the past—her past. In an instant she was back in the parlor of the house in Philadelphia, and Rolf was the one standing behind her.

  Chapter 10

  You must choose, Johanna: lock yourself away in this unwomanly profession or become what you were meant to be." His hands settled on her hips, molded themselves to her breasts. "This body was meant to be loved and bear children. Don't deny what you are—"

  She turned to face him. "I cannot abandon what it is in me to be. Of course I wish to marry you, and to have children. But I am good at what I do. I can help others who desperately need it." She met his gaze steadily. "Why must I be the one to choose? Would you give up being a physician for my sake ?"

  He laughed. "Always so rational. You pretend to be a man. Do you have a heart like a normal woman, or is it a machine within your breast?"

  His accusation hurt as little had done since Mama's death. She'd never believed it would come to this—that he, a doctor like herself, who'd once encouraged her in her studies, should betray her now and demand such a sacrifice.

  "I wish only to be your equal, Rolf. Your partner—"

  He pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her: a hard, punishing kiss that bruised her mouth. It left her cold and dead inside. This was not the Rolf she knew.

  Or had she simply been wrong from the start? Her skill was a threat to him. He did not want her to succeed. If she had used her vaunted intelligence, she should have seen the signs, the symptoms that had led to this moment.

  "You will never be my equal, Johanna," Rolf said, pushing away from her, "or any man's, though you pretend to be one. And no other man will want what you are becoming. You'll be lonely the rest of your life, old and barren and dried up inside."

  She understood then that he was right. She'd run into many obstacles during her years of study, confronted many men who thought she defied the very role God had intended for all of her sex.

  Rolf had changed… and so had she.

  So be it.

  Her face felt stiff, a mask of marble without life. "If you and the world ask me to choose between my heart and my intellect, then I shall do so, Rolf. I will become the very thing you believe me to be. And I will live quite happily without the kind of love you offer."

  "Johanna."

  She jerked back to herself. Not Rolf's voice, but Quentin's. His hands rested on her shoulders.

  "You were very far away," he said. "Who was he?"

  Had she spoken aloud? "I don't know what you mean."

  "You were thinking of a man. I can tell."

  "It is unimportant." She tried to step free, but his grip tightened.

  "Who was he?"

  "The subject cannot matter to you, Quentin. You are my patient—"

  "Did you love him?"

  "Let me go."

  He did so, but only after a long hesitation. His unwillingness was palpable.

  A shiver of alarm raced down Johanna's spine. Even so small a change in Quentin—the tiniest hint of possessiveness—reminded her that she didn't truly know him.

  "I am responsible for helping you," she said. "You are not responsible for me." She raised her voice. "We're returning to the house, everyone."

  They answered with various degrees of enthusiasm and trooped back the way they'd come. Quentin had nothing to say, but kept to himself in a kind of brooding silence.

  Once back home, Johanna bathed her father, prepared a light dinner for the group, and carried trays to Harper and Papa. Harper continued to exhibit more alertness than he had in the months before, but he was still very quiet. She resolved to set aside several uninterrupted hours tomorrow to spend with him.

  After dinner the patients assembled in the parlor. Johanna opened the windows to let in the cooler evening air and made sure everyone was settled. She encouraged the evening gatherings, as she did the walks, so that none of the residents of the Haven lost touch with their own humanity.

  Tonight Quentin would join them. Irene was dressed in her gaudiest gown and waiting impatiently for his appearance. Lewis hunched in his corner, whispering to himself. Oscar kept busy with his puzzle. May, much to Johanna's satisfaction, came al
l the way into the kitchen and hunkered down beside the door, watching for Quentin as attentively as Irene did.

  He entered the room, every inch the genuine aristocrat in his brushed and mended suit, supplemented by a waistcoat borrowed from Papa. All eyes were drawn to him, even Johanna's. She couldn't help herself.

  Irene sprang to her feet, collected her dignity, and sauntered over to take possession of his arm. "I'm so glad you could come to my little farewell party," she said. "I do apologize for the… mixed nature of the guest list."

  "You look charming," he said with a slight bow. "As does everyone." He stared at Johanna, and behind his smile was an intensity reminiscent of his odd behavior during the walk.

  "Come sit by me," Irene said, tugging him toward the old horsehair sofa. "We have so much to talk about."

  Quentin allowed himself to be persuaded, but he continued to gaze at Johanna until he could no longer comfortably do so.

  Johanna got up, too restless to continue with her medical journal. Oscar gave her a toothy welcome when she sat on the floor beside him.

  "You wanna play, too?" he said, sliding the half-finished puzzle toward her.

  "I'm glad you like the puzzle so much," she said. She fit a piece into its slot. He followed with another, pushing his tongue out as he struggled to make the edges match, and clapped his big hands when it slid into place.

  Johanna beckoned May to join them, but she only sank down closer to the floor. Nonetheless, the very fact that she was in view was an excellent sign.

  Irene alone was incorrigible. As tolerant as Quentin was with her, she couldn't be allowed to monopolize him and ignore the others.

  "Irene," Johanna said, "I believe we need a little music. Would you sing for us, please?"

  An opportunity to perform was something Irene could not pass up, but she cast Johanna a scornful glance. "Who'll play the piano? You are certainly no hand at it, Johanna—if you can bring yourself to get up off the floor."

  "Don't be mean to Doc Jo," Oscar scolded. "It's not nice."

  Irene laughed. "What would you know of 'nice,' you—"

  Quentin clasped her hand. "Allow me to accompany you, Miss DuBois. My poor abilities may not do justice to your vocal talents, but I hope not to shame you."