Secret of the Wolf (24 page)

Quentin nodded, withholding his hand for fear that he might bring the crowd's wrath

down on a decent man. He slapped the reins across Daisy's flanks and turned the

buggy for home
.

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"Don't judge us all by these few," the storekeeper had said. Quentin knew too much of

men to believe they were all alike. But how was he to judge himself? He'd brought

trouble on Johanna by trying to help her. How much more harshly would Silverado

Springs regard her now?

And as for Irene

if she'd been visiting the town so frequently as to be noticed,

Johanna must know
.

He and Oscar were a solemn pair as they unharnessed Daisy and put the buggy away.

In the privacy of the barn, Quentin looked over Oscar's injuries and found no worse than

a few bruises and a small cut that would heal on its own. Oscar had done the greater

damage without even trying
.

Quentin shuddered. If Oscar hadn't stopped him

Johanna would have to know of this, but not right away. Put it off as long as possible. "I

think you should go and play, Oscar," Quentin said gently. "Forget about what

happened in town. It wasn't your fault.”

Oscar sat down on a bale of hay, head in his hands. "I was stupid.”

"No. You're not—”

"I am stupid. I am!" He lumbered to his feet and charged out of the barn. Quentin let him

go. He had much to learn about children—or those who thought like children—and

Oscar was not without pride
.

The house was quiet when Quentin carried the provisions inside. Lewis was reading in

his parlor corner. He looked up, searched Quentin's face, and seemed about to speak.

Quentin slipped past him, through the hall, and out the back door. The peace of the

woods beckoned
.

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He Changed, assuming his wolf form with relief. He shook the taint of anger from his red

coat and ran up into the hills. After a span of time that his human side estimated as half

an hour, he returned to the edge of the Haven's clearing and Changed back. He was

just buttoning his shirt when he realized he was being watched
.

The scent was that of dry, cool skin, leached of nearly all its natural odor, and an

overabundance of soap. Lewis Andersen. Quentin turned his head to watch for the

betrayal of movement. Leaves rustled, and a black-clad figure fled with a snapping of

twigs and branches, noisily skirting the edge of the clearing until he was out of view
.

Lewis Andersen. Quentin grimaced and finished dressing. He should have taken more

care, but all he'd thought to do was Change and leave his human problems behind for a

short, precious time
.

Had Lewis seen him Change? He wasn't the kind to report such knowledge to the world

at large, but given his state of mind, Quentin very much feared such a bizarre sight

would only worsen his condition. He'd surely see a shapechanger as a creature of the

devil—if he weren't convinced of his own madness
.

Can you possibly make matters worse? he asked himself. He was very much afraid he

knew the answer
.

He walked back to the house, too preoccupied to sense Johanna until she met him on

the garden path
.

"Quentin! I'm glad you're back." She smiled—actually smiled at him, oblivious to what

he'd done. His heart lodged in his throat
.

"The goods are in the kitchen," he said. "Oscar is somewhere about." He summoned up

his courage. "Johanna, you and I must talk—”

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"Yes, we will attempt another session this afternoon. But I wished to tell you that Harper

has agreed to let you observe my work with him, and we are about to begin.”

The timing could not have been worse. He was in no state to concentrate on Johanna's

techniques, not when he had so much to explain
.

She saw his reluctance and misinterpreted it. "I know that our meetings have not been

as productive as we hoped, but I believe you may benefit from this. Harper is another

excellent hypnotic subject. All our work thus far has been most promising. This is the

first time I will ask him to talk of the War itself." She touched Quentin's arm lightly; the

hairs stood up all over his body. "He trusts you, Quentin, and that is why he wishes to

have you present.”

"I wouldn't desert a comrade in arms," Quentin said with a humorless smile. "Lead on.”

The chaise longue with which Quentin had become so familiar was now occupied by

Harper, who looked fully relaxed, his hands folded across his chest and his eyes closed.

Quentin knew that emotion seethed under Harper's skin; no human being could suffer

as he had and mend so quickly
.

Johanna insisted that the acceptance of one's past held the mind's true cure. Quentin's

stomach knotted with dread more intense than any he'd experienced when he was

Johanna's subject. God help him, he didn't want to visit Harper's past, see into Harper's

soul
.

But it was too late to back out now. He took a second chair behind Johanna and

concentrated on her routines as she darkened the room and led Harper into a trance.

Her voice was rich and persuasive, tender as a mother's
.

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The muscles in the former soldier's face went slack. His breathing slowed, hands rising

and falling with the steady motion of his chest
.

"Harper," Johanna said. "Do you hear me?”

"Yes." Harper's voice was deeper than usual, slightly slurred but intelligible
.

"Good. You will now remember all the things we discussed and practiced in our

previous meetings. You know there is nothing to fear.”

"Yes.”

"As we agreed, I am now going to ask you to remember the days when you served with

the Twenty-second Indiana Regiment. As you talk of this time, you will feel no distress,

nor fear, no pain unless that is what you wish. You will be able to separate yourself from

all you experience if you find it too difficult. Do you understand?”

"Yes.”

"Then I would like you to think back to the time when you first volunteered to serve. How

you felt when you joined, and why you made the decision to do so.”

Harper was silent for several moments. "I didn't want to go, you know," he murmured. "I

never was much of one for fighting. Everyone in town knew that. My friends—they were

all ready to join up as soon as the first shot was fired. No one said anything to me, but

they looked. I always felt them looking. And all I wanted was just to stay home and

blacksmith like my pa." He sighed. "It was a good life, working with horses. I didn't think

I'd like shooting people.”

"That was quite natural," Johanna said. "Please go on, Harper.”

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"I was seventeen when I decided that I had to serve.”

"What made you decide?”

"Jimmy Beebe came over to talk to me the day before. The regiment was forming up.

He was all fired up to go and get him some Rebs. He gave me his pouch of tobacco and

promised he'd share it with me, even-Steven, if I came along. That's when I knew.”

"Knew what, Harper?”

"That if I didn't go along, he was going to die.”

Johanna had no doubt that she'd heard him correctly. She paused to consider her next

question, listening to Quentin's muted breathing behind her
.

She was glad to have him there, someone who understood what she was doing and

could lend a measure of support. Not that she required such support. But she'd missed

his company over the past few days, while she'd been so fully occupied with the other

patients
.

Yes; she could admit it, if only to herself. She'd missed Quentin. His conversation, his

grin, his friendship. Oh, they saw each other at meals and during the walks and parlor

gatherings, but only in passing. Not even long enough for Quentin to disquiet her with

one of his vaguely salacious comments
.

She'd recognized the need for distance between them, and had gotten what she

wanted. Only it wasn't what she wanted after all
.

What she wanted, and what was right, were two different things
.

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For Quentin had surprised her once again. He was very good with her father, as he was

with May and Oscar. He accepted each of them for what he or she was, expecting no

more. He asked nothing for himself, and if not for his complete lack of progress in their

sessions, she could not have been more pleased. Pleased

and very much aware of

her growing admiration for him
.

At least the work that kept her away from Quentin also prevented any more

uncomfortable scenes between them. But she couldn't forget those that had already

occurred: the kiss; Quentin's strange possessiveness on their walk; his fierce, almost

violent desire to protect her after the altercation with Irene in the parlor
.

The consequences of those moments had not disappeared. They had simply gone

dormant, as if waiting for some new spark to bring them back to the forefront of her

mind. And emotions
.

Emotions she couldn't afford to dwell on now, no matter how much her heartbeat

accelerated at his mere proximity. This was another test of her discipline, and she would

not fail it
.

She coughed behind her hand. "Harper, you said you thought your friend was going to

die.”

"I knew he was going to die," the soldier said hoarsely. "I saw it in the pouch. It came on

me suddenlike. I saw him lying dead on the ground, with the tobacco spilling out, all

bloody. And some other boys I knew—they were there, too. All dead.”

Though his voice remained calm, Johanna knew he maintained his self-command by

the merest thread. "Remember," she said, "none of these memories can harm you now.

You are safe. Would you describe this knowledge of your friend's death as a sort of

vision?”

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"Yes.”

"Had you had such visions before?”

"Yes." Harper's throat worked. "Lots of times, but never like this. Small things. I could

tell where a horse had been traveling when I shoed him. I knew who Katie Young was

going to marry when I held the ring her mother gave her.”

Johanna resisted the impulse to glance back at Quentin to gauge his reaction. "So you

could see the past and predict the future.”

"Not always. Never as strong as when I saw Jimmy die. So I signed up with the Twenty-

second and went south with the boys.”

"Did you think you could protect them?”

"I don't know. I just knew I had to go.”

"And what was it like, Harper?”

His voice dropped to a whisper. "It was hell. At first, my friends all were full of pepper

and ready to fight. But then we saw how it would be. The endless marching through the

mud and freezing nights, no supplies, shoes wearing out. Never enough food. And the

battles. The noise." He lifted his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes tight. "It never

stopped. Jimmy tried to run away. They would've shot him as a deserter. I stopped him.

And then I knew he was still going to die.”

All at once Johanna understood. "It didn't only happen with Jimmy, did it?" she asked

gently
.

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"No." Tears spilled over onto his cheeks. "All I had to do was touch my friends' guns—or

their blankets, or their tin cups—and I saw what would happen to them. I kept trying to

stop it. I couldn't." He clenched his fists. "They kept dying. Blown apart. Legs gone.

Faces. Oh, God—”

"You blame yourself for what happened.”

"I was the one who couldn't be killed. The bullets and shells never hit me. I hardly got

wounded. And I was the one who should have died. I was—”

"Listen to me, Harper," she interrupted. "You've done very well, but we have

accomplished enough for today. Now you'll allow the past to fade, let go of the pain, and

prepare to return to the present.”

"But I-I deserved—”

"To die," Quentin said behind her. "I deserved to die.”

She pivoted in astonishment. Quentin's face was blank, his eyes staring. He gave no

indication of being aware of his baffling declaration
.

Astonishing. Johanna momentarily lost her train of thought, shaken by the conviction in

Quentin's voice. So deeply did he identify with Harper that he'd fallen into a trance