"If that's what you want, I hope you'll be happy." Felicity started to leave, then turned back. "Thanks for helping with Mrs. Farley. I'd never have been able to live with myself if she'd died."
She left the room abruptly.
Holt's body sagged against the back of his chair. He hadn't realized he was so tired, but it had been an eventful evening. He'd found Vivian, performed an emergency operation, and come to an agreement to take over Dr. Moore's practice.
What could have possessed him to agree to take on responsibility for another alcoholic? It was like dealing with his father all over again. And Felicity was like his mother, denying her father was an alcoholic, protecting him, unable to see that her complicity was hurting him rather than helping him. She was also unable to see that she was cutting herself off from any chance of finding love.
She couldn't meet any man without being afraid he would discover her father's secret. So she would continue to keep everyone at a distance, denying herself any hope of a normal life.
Holt decided he had to do something to keep that from happening. She was too pretty to hide herself away. But that wasn't the real reason. He liked her. When she wasn't angry with him--and that wasn't very often--he enjoyed being with her. She was intelligent, energetic, and charming. That she was hardworking, loyal, and dependable went without saying.
Her capacity for love was without question. Her love for her father was so great she was willing to sacrifice her own interests for his.
But that was where Holt parted company with her. He believed there came a time when everyone had to take responsibility for himself. His mother didn't agree and had never forgiven him for leaving. When his father died a year later, she laid the blame on Holt, saying his father would still be alive if Holt had stayed.
She hadn't written again.
His father's death still haunted him, but Holt knew he had had to make the decision to leave. Not just for his career. For his own sanity. He'd had to put himself first.
And that was exactly what Felicity needed to do. She was too good to waste.
She was not for him. Though he wanted to be friends, any closer relationship was out of the question. He and Felicity would be badly mismatched. He was certain they could be lovers under the right circumstances--the tug of attraction between them had been growing stronger--but it would be impossible for them to live together. She would always resent the fact that he had forced her to accept the truth about her father.
Still, the idea of being married to Felicity wasn't disagreeable. He had to smile at the thought of what she'd say to the idea of marrying him. She certainly wasn't a woman to keep her opinions to herself. Not that he minded that. He'd never been around women who were short of opinions or the courage to express them.
He looked over at Mrs. Farley. He wondered why nobody had come with her. Didn't her family care that she was ill and had nearly died? He asked himself whether anyone would care if he died.
He refused to be morbid. Mrs. Farley would get well. He would do his best to help Felicity and her father. He had found Vivian and would take care of her. He had friends in Texas who would help him if he needed it. He wasn't alone and friendless. He was just tired. That was why he wasn't thinking rationally. Everything would feel different once he got some rest.
But even as he turned his mind to deciding which of Dr. Moore's books he'd read, he had the uneasy feeling he really was alone in the world. He had friends, but no one who loved him.
Felicity looked at her reflection in the mirror. You know it's your fault Mrs. Farley almost died, don't you? Holt tried to tell you your father would make a mistake someday and kill someone, but you were so sure you could watch him and make sure it never happened, you wouldn't listen. It didn't matter what anybody said. You could handle any situation.
But she hadn't been here when her father needed her because she had gone to a party. She couldn't excuse herself by blaming it on Holt. She knew her responsibilities, but she'd let the excitement of wearing a new dress and dancing with a handsome man make her forget her duty.
She had promised her mother she would take care of her father. And for thirteen years she had. But now she had no choice but to concede that that agreement, too, had been a mistake. She'd protected her father because she loved him, but protecting him had enabled him to keep drinking, to keep endangering his health, to come close to destroying his life. She had been hurting him while trying to help him.
She had fallen short of her duty to her father, her promise to her mother. She had failed because she didn't have the courage to do what was right. She had always known deep down that her father needed to stop drinking, that he couldn't keep on this way without hurting himself. But when it came down to it, she didn't have the courage to make the right decision. She'd opted for the easy answer, rather than the right answer.
Holt was right. Her father was an alcoholic, and she had allowed it. Holt had had the courage to say so regardless of what she thought of him.
Felicity felt worthless. Taking care of her father was the one thing she'd done in her life, and she'd done it wrong. How could she have been so blind? How could she be sure that any of her other decisions were right? Maybe she'd been wrong all across the board.
Suddenly it was all too much. Her mother's death, her father's drinking, her lonely, unfulfilled life. Tears overcame her, and she buried her head in the pillow. When she finally stopped crying, she dried her eyes and made herself a promise. She was never going to take the easy way out again. She would do what was right. If it hurt, she'd learn to live with the pain.
* * *
"You know you can't take another drink," Felicity said to her father. "Holt won't hold back next time."
"I know. He's been very understanding."
She refilled his coffee cup. "Finish your breakfast," she said. He hadn't eaten much. She wasn't hungry at all. "I'm worried about you."
"It's time you stopped. You've got to think of yourself for a change."
"Don't start in on how you've kept me from finding a husband and having a family."
Her father reached out and grabbed her hand when she started to turn away. "I've kept you closed up in this house cooking and cleaning, helping me in the office, and taking care of me when I drink too much."
"I want to take care of you."
"I want to see you married, settled, with children of your own."
"I'm not sure I want a husband."
"Of course you want a husband."
"Mrs. Bennett has been widowed for years and she doesn't appear to be the slightest bit interested in getting another husband."
"She was married and had children. You haven't done either."
"Let's not talk about it anymore."
"We have to talk about it. What are you going to do if I take another drink? If Holt does what he said, I won't have any patients."
"You're not going to take another drink."
"I know what I told Holt, but I'm not sure--"
A knock on the back door caused her father to break off his sentence. When she opened the door, she found Mrs. Bennett on the back stoop. She came inside without waiting for an invitation.
"I hear you've stolen my lodger away," she announced. "How is a poor widow woman to make a living when her neighbors plot against her?"
"I didn't want to steal him away," Felicity said.
"Maybe he wanted to be stolen," Mrs. Bennett said.
"Not if you're thinking what I think you're thinking. We can't be together for more than five minutes without arguing."
"That's not always a bad sign."
"It is in this case."
"He seems to be a really nice man."
"He is," Dr. Moore said. "I'm the trouble."
"How's that?" Mrs. Bennett asked.
"Papa, you don't have to--"
"If I'm going to lick this thing, I've got to bring it out in the open, admit I have a problem."
"You talking about your drinking?" Mrs. Bennett asked.
<
br /> "How did you know?" he asked.
"Don't you think I know what a man's been up to when I see him stumbling down the street long after he ought to be in bed?"
"Do other people know?" her father asked.
Felicity knew they did, but she'd never told her father.
"Can't speak for anybody but myself, but I expect they do," Mrs. Bennett said.
"Then why do they keep coming to me when they're sick?"
"Because you're good, you're convenient, and you're very understanding when it comes to payment."
"You mean I'll take a few chickens or a stack of kindling wood as payment instead of money. You've never come to see me."
"I've never been sick."
"But if you had been?"
Mrs. Bennett's gaze didn't falter. "I'd check to see if you'd been drinking first. If I suspected there was anything seriously wrong with me, I'd see someone else."
It hurt Felicity to see the stricken look on her father's face, but it was time they both faced the truth. He was an alcoholic.
"Thank you for being honest," her father said. "And I have to be equally honest with you. Holt is moving back to keep an eye on me. I started an operation last night that I couldn't finish. If he hadn't come home when he did, the patient would have died."
"Might have died," Felicity said. Habit. She had to stop.
"Stop trying to protect me, Felicity. Thank God Mrs. Farley is doing well this morning. You and I both know Holt saved her life. He only agreed not to expose me because I promised never to take another drink."
"That won't be easy," Mrs. Bennett said, "but I'd like to help."
"How?"
"There'll be times when you can't stand staying in the house a minute longer. You'll want to go somewhere, anywhere, just to see people. If you go to a saloon or a hotel bar, you'll take a drink as sure as you live and breath. So whenever you get to feeling desperate, you come over to see me. I'm not a man, but I'm better than no entertainment at all."
Felicity was surprised to see her father smile.
"Do you really mean that?" he asked.
"I'd be a fool to offer if I didn't. I could end up with you on my hands every night of the week."
"I hope you're not talking about me," Holt said as he entered the room. "I thought you liked me."
"I don't know," Mrs. Bennett said. "You turned your back on me as soon as you got a better offer from a younger woman."
Felicity felt her face grow warm. She'd been so concerned about her father, she'd never stopped to think how Holt's presence in her father's house might be viewed by an outsider. It was clear that Mrs. Bennett thought Felicity liked him. Her stomach began to churn. Did she like him? Had she wanted him to move back?
"Don't you know you can't trust a Yankee?" Holt said.
"My family came from Kansas," Mrs. Bennett said. "We were taught to make up our minds for ourselves."
Holt walked over and put his arm around Mrs. Bennett. "I'll fight you for her," he said to Dr. Moore. "Do you want swords or pistols?"
"I know better than to come to blows with a younger man who's used to fighting longhorns," Dr. Moore said with a smile. "I'll plead old age and retire with my dignity still in one piece."
"Where's all this Southern chivalry I've heard so much about?" Holt asked.
"It died with all those fine young men in the war," Felicity said.
"You sure know how to put a damper on a conversation," Holt said. "I'd better leave before I make things worse."
"Where are you going?" Immediately the heat of embarrassment flooded her whole body. It was a totally inappropriate question, and everybody in the room would know it. "I need to know if you'll be back for dinner," she said. It was a feeble attempt. If that was all she'd wanted to know, she'd have said, Will you be back for dinner? Asking where he was going implied something else entirely.
"I'm going to see Vivian," Holt answered.
Felicity felt the pit of her stomach contract into a hard knot. That was where she was afraid he was going.
Chapter Fourteen
"I was worried about you when I heard your husband had been killed," Holt said to Vivian when she showed him into the parlor of her brother-in-law's mansion. "I wanted to let you know I would help you, but I didn't know where to find you."
"Abe's family insisted I come to them," Vivian said. "They treated me like a princess when they found out I was going to have a baby."
Vivian retained the boundless energy and optimism, the bright eyes and flawless skin of her youth, combined with the fullness, the sensuousness of maturity. Yet Holt was surprised to find he preferred the memory of that young girl. There was something about her that the more mature and poised Vivian lacked.
"The war ruined them just like everybody else. They died and left me a plantation I didn't know how to run, so I sold it and came to Galveston."
"So you're not broke."
"Not yet, but I soon will be if I don't find a husband."
"I can help you," Holt said.
"How?"
He'd been waiting to ask her to marry him for so long, he'd forgotten when the idea first came into his mind. Yet now that the moment had arrived, he couldn't say the words.
"Uncle William left me Price's Nob," he said. "We can go back to Virginia."
Vivian's eyes flashed. "I'll never go back there again. It was like a prison. I hated it."
Even though he knew Vivian had never liked the isolation of Price's Nob, the vehemence of her words surprised him. He couldn't understand how she could compare his great-uncle's guardianship to being confined in prison. "Uncle William loved you. He meant for you to have Price's Nob." He saw momentary interest.
"Is there any money?" she asked.
"The Union Army burned the house and salted the land."
"Then there's nothing to go back to. I intend to stay right here in Galveston. It's full of rich men getting richer, and there are parties every night. Why would I want to bury myself in Virginia?"
Holt could think of several reasons, but Vivian answered before he could.
"I spent my childhood bored to distraction. I only felt alive when I escaped to Charlottesville. Your uncle would let me do anything as long as my big brother was with me. Then after Abe died, I was shut up on a plantation. In Galveston I finally feel alive, like I can breathe." She positively beamed. "You always said I was made for gaiety and laughter."
"But nobody can live on gaiety forever."
"Maybe not. But after a lifetime without it, I won't have my fill for a long time."
The door opened and Vivian's sister-in-law entered the room. "Carl and Edward called, but I told them you were with an old friend."
Vivian jumped to her feet. "Where are they?"
"I told them to come back tomorrow."
Vivian ran to the window. "They're still in front of the house. Have somebody run and stop them."
"They didn't mind," her sister-in-law said.
"I don't want them tomorrow," Vivian replied, her face tight with anger. "I want them today. Send someone ... I'll do it myself." She darted out of the room.
Lillie Hart turned to Holt. "I'm sorry," she said. "I thought she'd want..." Her voice died away.
"Vivian has always craved company," Holt said. "The more, the better."
"But you're her oldest friend."
"Which makes me practically a brother." He hadn't waited six years to be a brother. But even as he said the word, it took away some of the tension, the sense of unease he hadn't been able to explain. He'd had the sensation of being closed in. Now he felt relieved, didn't feel guilty for wondering if he really loved Vivian as passionately as he had thought.
"Then I guess that makes you an uncle," Lillie Hart said.
"Huh?" Holt said, startled.
"An uncle to her son, Abe. He was named for his father. Want to meet him?"
"Sure."
Holt let himself be led away, wondering how his role of suitor had been transformed to that of brothe
r and uncle, wondering even more why the transformation didn't upset him.
* * *
"You've got to eat something," Felicity said to her father. "You've hardly eaten anything all day."
"How can you say that after practically stuffing me with food?" her father asked. "I'm not hungry now because I've eaten enough for two people already."
Holt was going out to a party, so she had fixed an early dinner for her father and herself. Even in the confines of their small kitchen, Holt's absence made the room seem empty.
"Holt said the best thing you could do for yourself was eat."
"Yes, but he didn't say you had to stuff me like a Christmas goose. Now eat your own dinner and relax."
"I'm worried about you."
"Don't be. I'm not an alcoholic. I just drink too much."
She didn't agree with her father, but she couldn't make herself use that awful word, alcoholic. "Holt doesn't take anybody's word for anything."
"Don't you go being too hard on the boy. He's right about my not seeing patients when I've been drinking. Let's face it, Felicity. I drink too much all the time."
"I know, and that's why I'm determined you won't drink anymore. I want you well as soon as possible. Then there'll be no reason for Holt to stay here."
"Don't you like him?"
She couldn't say no. It was too much of a lie to pass her lips. Yet she wasn't about to tell her father her real reason for wanting Holt to leave, her fear that she was starting to like him too much, that she was hoping he would want to kiss her again. She'd never tell anyone she'd started to dream about him.
"It has nothing to do with whether I like him," she said. "I just want things to go back to the way they used to be."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew that wasn't true. She didn't want Holt to leave. She just didn't like the fear, the uncertainty, the feeling of being constantly on edge.
What was she afraid of? Holt exposing her father, ruining his career? He'd had several chances already and hadn't done it. She was afraid Holt would leave. She was afraid he would marry Vivian without realizing she didn't love him. She was afraid that now that he'd found Vivian, he would never want to kiss her again.
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