Things might not be too bad for the doctor if they headed for the frontier. Men were tolerant of each other's weaknesses there, but it would be devastating for Felicity. She'd end up an old maid or married to someone who'd beat her, expect her to work to exhaustion, and fill her belly with so many children her body would give out.
Holt told himself to stop thinking about anything to do with Felicity or her father. He wasn't responsible for their situation, and he couldn't change anything even if he tried.
A niggling voice told him that because he knew of the situation, he couldn't ignore it. It was his duty to the patients. It was his duty to the profession. It was his duty to himself.
He pushed the thought aside. Until the profession organized itself, until somebody required all doctors to have a uniform education in the basics of medicine, until states established societies to supervise the practice of medicine, there was nothing that conscientious doctors could do.
He told himself that all of this would soon be in the past for him. He had to find Vivian. Before that, he needed to decide what to do with his life. He hadn't found anything to fill the void left by medicine. Nothing had revitalized the core which had been burned out of him by the war. Somewhere, somehow, there was a place for him, a job, a role that would replenish his soul, give him back the man he wanted to be, fill the shell he had become.
He had a terrible feeling that Vivian wouldn't be able to help him find the answer.
"There wasn't much of a choice," Holt told Felicity from where he sat across the supper table. "Not only did Mrs. Bennett have the best rooms, she gave me the best terms."
"Glad to have you close by," Dr. Moore said. "I was missing you already."
"I may not be in much," Holt hastened to say. "I ought to look into making some business investments."
"I didn't realize you were rich."
"I'm not, but there's no point in letting what money I do have just sit in the bank."
"Dad's not much interested in business," Felicity said. "Not that we have any money to invest."
"A doctor shouldn't grow rich on the misery of his patients," Dr. Moore said.
Holt agreed with him in principle, but he didn't see any reason why a doctor shouldn't be paid well for his services. He guessed there must have been some discussion that day over unpaid bills. Felicity must feel put upon trying to run the household without sufficient income. He was glad he was no longer a burden.
Dr. Moore pushed back his chair and got up. "I'm off to see Mrs. Farley. Her pain hasn't let up."
"You ought to talk her into letting you take out that tumor," Holt said.
"She's a very stubborn woman," Felicity said to Holt after her father left. "She said if God put it in her body, then it ought to stay there."
"But God didn't put it there. Something caused it to start growing long after she was born."
"I explained that," Felicity said, getting up to begin clearing, "but she wouldn't listen."
"Maybe I..." Holt made himself stop before he finished the sentence. This wasn't his battle anymore.
Holt had spent much of the day looking at hotels and rooming houses. Mrs. Bennett's rooms were superior to all the others. But he knew that wasn't the real reason he returned to Menard Street. He'd come back because of Dr. Moore.
He simply couldn't, in good conscience, leave him to continue to get drunk and treat patients. As long as he only made diagnoses and prescribed medicine, sewed up cuts, and set broken limbs, he probably wouldn't cause any major damage. Holt was certain that Felicity checked everything he did, and knew enough to guard against a critical mistake. But what if he started to operate? Even if he were an accomplished surgeon, it would be all too easy to make a mistake.
He might as well admit he'd come back because of Felicity, as well. He and Felicity didn't agree often. She certainly wouldn't agree that she was caught in a situation in which she had no life of her own, everything she did was for her father, because of her father, to protect her father. Holt knew he couldn't stop her, but neither could he leave her to do it by herself.
She'd probably learned a great deal working so closely with her father. If she'd read his books, she knew even more. But sooner or later she was bound to face a crisis she couldn't handle. And as long as Holt was in Galveston, he might as well try to help. She wouldn't ask for it, but if he was close by, she probably wouldn't refuse.
Okay, so he was going soft on Felicity. He understood her stubborn defense of her father; she probably felt she couldn't do anything else. He'd felt the same with his own father. Trapped.
"You couldn't help," Felicity said. "Papa was right when he said Mrs. Farley wouldn't let you in the house."
"Well, I'll be glad to help."
"Papa knows how to handle tumors. He's removed them before."
He decided not to tell her he was talking about her as much as her father. He'd never defended his own father as vigorously as he could have. He'd been ashamed of him most of the time, had left Vermont as soon as he got the chance. He'd told himself that he'd done everything he could, that it was time to make something of his own life. And that was true, but seeing Felicity's sacrifice made him feel guilty all over again.
Besides, what had leaving accomplished? He didn't know where he belonged, where he fit, what he wanted to do with his life, how to make a positive difference. After all the death and destruction he'd witnessed, he felt the need to do something important, but nothing he'd tried had felt right.
"I'm sure your father can handle a tumor without my help. I just thought as long as I was here ... But maybe that isn't a good idea. No point in starting what I don't mean to continue."
"You still intend to leave medicine?"
"Yes."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
"It would be better if you figured that out before you found Vivian."
"Why?"
"A man's choice of profession is a very personal thing. If he allows that choice to be influenced by someone else, it can lead to unhappiness and casting of blame later."
"Do you blame your father for choosing your profession?"
"My father had nothing to do with it. It was my decision to--"
"Your father has no ability to manage money or a household, much less a medical practice. He needs a full-time cook, housekeeper, and nurse. He also needs someone to watch out for him, protect him when he's too weak to protect himself. He could hire someone or go into practice with another doctor, but you haven't asked him to do that. Instead, you let yourself be trapped here, turning your back on any opportunity for marriage and a family of your own."
"It's not a trap. It's my duty, my responsibility."
"That doesn't mean you have to give up your own life."
"Several men have wanted to marry me, but I never considered leaving my father."
"That's because you know he can't get along without you."
"That's not true. He--"
"My father couldn't get along by himself, either, but he didn't even try. He did try to make me feel guilty when I didn't put his needs before mine. He could be too drunk to walk a straight line, too drunk to stand on his own, but he was never too drunk to make me feel like a worm for wanting a life of my own, for wanting to have something, anything, that wasn't sullied by his drunkenness."
He'd said too much, but he couldn't stand to let Felicity continue telling herself she was devoting her life to her father because she wanted to, that she wasn't making a sacrifice in doing so.
"I'm sorry your life was so unhappy," Felicity said, "but mine isn't like that. Papa would be delighted to see me get married. He wanted me to consider marrying you five minutes after you walked in the door."
"I'm sure he would be truly happy to see you married with a passel of children, but he hasn't made any attempt to free you from your responsibilities. He can wish you marriage and bountiful happiness because he doesn't have the remotest idea what will happen to him if you leave. But you do,
and that's what keeps you a prisoner."
"I'm not a prisoner. I--"
Holt didn't know what impulse caused him to spring out of his chair and round the table before either of them knew what was happening. He grasped both her hands. When she tried to pull away, he encircled her waist with his arms.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise ... and fear.
"I'm trying to show you that you're a living, vital creature. You need love. You need a family. Your own life. Your soul will wither if you stay here."
"That's preposterous." She struggled, but he refused to let her go.
"You long for love. You ache for it."
"I do hope to fall in love, but this is not the right time."
"Then why are you trembling like a leaf?"
"I'm not used to being manhandled."
"I'm barely touching you. It's your soul crying out through your body."
"My soul is perfectly content."
"Liar. You don't even like me, yet you're about to jump out of your skin from my touch."
"I do like you. It's just that you won't--"
"If you were content, you wouldn't be trembling. Your eyes wouldn't be wide with apprehension as well as anticipation. Your breath wouldn't be shallow, your heart wouldn't beat so fast, and you would be straining to break my hold."
"I--"
"You'd either slap my face for my boldness or be bored and indifferent. But you're not doing any of those things."
"I--"
"You can't make yourself do any of those things because that's not how you feel. Inside, you're dying for the right to be a woman rather than just a daughter, for the right to have a life of your own."
"You don't know--"
"I know because I was there myself. My family cut me off because I wouldn't sacrifice myself for my father's weakness. Your father will have a difficult time, but he'll find a way to survive."
"You can't know--"
Holt put his finger over her lips to stop her protest. "I've seen the way you look at the children that come into the office. The longing in your eyes is so visible I can almost feel it. But it's not just children. You're thinking about the father of those children, the man who would be the center of your life. You're hungry for the chance to become a mother, a wife, a lover. You ache for a man's touch, for a man's love, a man you can see every day, talk to, touch, sleep next to at night."
"I've never heard such deranged--"
He put two fingers over her lips. "You've got to let go, stop denying your feelings, stop letting duty dominate your life. You've got to look inside and find your own source of life before it dries up and disappears." He cupped her face in his hands. "You're a lovely woman, Felicity. You're warm, caring, and fiercely loyal and protective. There must be a hundred men in Galveston who'd fall on their knees for the chance to marry a woman like you."
She tried to back away, but he pulled her toward him until their bodies touched.
"Let me go," she cried, pushing hard against his chest. "I never thought you could be so cruel."
"I'm not being cruel. I'm being honest. I'm trying to make you see what you're doing to yourself. It hurts me to see you cut yourself off from everything that could make your life full and meaningful, from what I know you want so badly it must haunt your dreams."
Her eyes had filled with tears. He felt cruel. What right did he have to force his opinions on her? He didn't know what the hell to do with his own life. How could he dare tell anybody else what to do? Still, he couldn't back down. If no one forced her out of her self-imposed prison, she'd remain there forever. With one hand at her back, he brushed a tear from her cheek with the other.
"I've never met a woman more deserving of love," Holt said, "nor one so determined to hold it at bay."
"How can you say that when you're in love with another woman?"
"It's because I'm disinterested that I'm able to see your situation so clearly. My vision isn't clouded by emotion or lust."
The last word had barely left Holt's mouth when he realized his body was reacting to Felicity's closeness so strongly that in a moment it would be impossible for her to be unaware of it. She would believe that every word was just an attempt to seduce her. That would drive her even deeper into her prison. He released her and stepped back.
"I didn't mean to upset you, but I couldn't watch you waste away and not say anything."
This wasn't working. He couldn't look at the tears in her eyes without wanting to kiss them away. He couldn't see her unhappiness and not want to do something about it. He couldn't tell her she was beautiful and desirable without desiring her himself. He couldn't let her know any of this without destroying everything he was trying to do. And if he didn't sit down, she'd be able to figure it all out on her own. He rounded the table and took a chair.
"Now let's talk about something else," Holt said.
"What?" She looked stunned at the abrupt shift in topic.
"A party. Adelaide Prentiss's daughter, Charlotte, has invited me to a party she's giving tomorrow night. She says there's a chance someone might know Vivian or know how I could go about looking for her."
"I hope you find her soon." Her voice sounded hollow.
"You can help. I want you to go to the party with me."
Chapter Nine
Felicity was certain she was losing her mind. One moment Holt held her so close her body shook like that of a frightened puppy. The next moment he was inviting her to a party just as though what he'd done moments before was ordinary, everyday behavior.
But she knew it wasn't, and she fought to regain control of her body, her mind, her emotions. Holt had attacked her defenses, shattered them, and left her helpless to deny what she'd tried so hard to hide. She wanted love desperately, and resented the duty to her father that kept her from finding it.
There! She'd admitted she was an ungrateful daughter. She wanted desperately to take Holt's advice and think only of herself. The temptation to imagine herself in the arms of a man like Holt was overmastering. Even now she could feel his arms around her, her face in his hands, his fingers touching her lips, tenderly brushing her ears. Why couldn't this have happened to her before now? Why did attraction have to come in the shape of a man who threatened her father, a man who loved another woman?
So many times she'd cried herself to sleep over the cruel twists of fate that had seemed always to keep love just out of her grasp--taking care of her father, the war, the loss of their fortune--but it had done no good. When she'd dried her eyes and washed her face, she still had her duty to her father. Well, it gave her something to do, was a source of pride, so she could hold her head up despite the whispers and the loss of old friends.
Just once she'd like to feel loved, surrounded by it, smothered by it, completely immersed in it. A love so powerful it rendered all previous loss and hurt meaningless. If she could just taste it once, she wouldn't ask for anything ever again.
But there was no such love. She couldn't understand how Holt could go from speaking of love to inviting her to a party as though both were of equal importance. Of all the things Holt could have asked, that was about the last thing she expected.
"I can't go to Charlotte's party," she said after she managed to collect her wits. "I wouldn't know anybody."
That wasn't true. She knew many people, but she had fallen off the invitation lists when her father lost his money. She felt a pang. It would be nice to be back where she used to belong, but she wouldn't go to be pitied or whispered about.
"You know Charlotte. That's one person more than I'll know."
"You know Charlotte, too."
"She only invited me because her parents pressured her into it."
"Taking me wouldn't make things any better."
"At least I'll have somebody to talk to."
"We never talk without arguing."
"I promise to be a charming companion the entire evening."
"No."
"You don't think I can be cha
rming?"
"I believe you could be as charming as a snake-oil salesman, but that's not why I won't go."
"What are your objections? You don't know anybody, but we've already dispensed with that."
Just like a man to ignore any difficulty that wasn't his. "My objection is me. Myself. I wouldn't fit in."
"You're only going to a party, not marrying into the family."
"I still can't go."
"Why?"
"I don't have anything to wear."
"What's wrong with what you have on?"
He really couldn't expect her to go to a society party in a house dress. "If you don't know, you'd better stay away from that party because you'll never fit in, either," she said.
"I don't want to fit in. I just want to see if anyone can help me find Vivian."
"If you don't have the right clothes and don't know how to behave, they won't talk to you."
Holt laughed, and she felt something catch in her throat when he flashed a smile that was as powerful as the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "I not only have the right clothes, I know how to behave."
"Then you don't need anybody to go with you."
"Maybe not, but I want you to go with me."
"Ask someone who can help."
"I want you to go. Besides, you need to get out once in a while, forget about your responsibilities occasionally, meet some new people, have a little fun. You might even meet someone who would sweep you off your feet."
"I'm too old to believe in fairy tales."
"I just told you how wonderful I think you are. Why shouldn't some nice young man fall in love with you?"
"No reason at all, except if he's rich, sophisticated, and handsome, he'd never be interested in anybody like me."
"You won't know until you give him a chance."
"Well, that's one chance I'm not taking. Even if I wanted to go, I couldn't. Like I said, I don't have anything to wear."
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