"I don't know."
"He's got invitations for nearly every night. Your father is delighted with the prospect of your getting back into your old social circles."
"I'm not."
"Give yourself time. Despite being rich and beautiful, they're people just like the rest of us. I imagine some of them are quite nice."
"I'm sure they are, but I'm perfectly happy with the friends I have now."
"Don't cut yourself off from opportunity," Mrs. Bennett said. "You never know what might walk through the door. Oh, dear, I promised no more lectures, and here I go again. I'd better leave before I break my word again."
She left the kitchen at a brisk walk, said her brief goodbyes to the men, and was gone in less than a minute. The parlor seemed suddenly devoid of half its energy.
"I guess I'd better be getting to bed, too," her father said. "Holt says we've got patients scheduled for practically the whole day."
Her father got to his feet with difficulty. He was shaking worse than ever. She wanted to help him, but Holt shook his head. She wasn't sure her father could make it upstairs without help, but obviously he intended to try.
"Having a handsome young doctor is good for business," her father said with a shaky chuckle. "Much more fun to be poked and prodded by him than by a fat old man."
"They're coming for the quality of the medical advice," Felicity said, "not for what you look like."
"I may be an alcoholic, but I can see what's plain as the nose on my face," her father said. "Now I'll leave you two to scheme about how to keep me sober for another day." His progress from the room was uneven but steady. "I liked talking to Ellie. Amazing how you can live next to a woman for years and not know anything about her."
"I want to talk to you," she said to Holt as soon as her father was out of the room.
"I want to talk to you, too," he said.
Chapter Eighteen
"You go first," she said.
She'd been poised to tell him she didn't intend to go to any parties while her father was suffering. He hadn't told her about any invitations--probably because he didn't intend to ask her to go with him--but Mrs. Bennett had. He was getting to know people, feeling more at ease in Galveston society. He could be charming when he wanted. Plenty of women would be pleased to keep him company while Vivian held court. Felicity couldn't really expect him to stay home. He was doing more than enough by making it appear that he was there only to learn from her father.
"No, you go first," Holt said.
She didn't want to go first. It was hard to admit she had misjudged him. She was grateful to him, but it was hard to acknowledge it after she'd said such terrible things. It was also hard to concede that she'd continued to behave badly even after he proved her first opinion of him was unfair.
"I want to thank you for pretending to be my father's student," she said; "for letting the patients think Papa is the doctor making the diagnoses. I know that must be hard on your pride."
"Why would you think that?"
"Papa says you're a fine doctor in your own right. I know you're a brilliant surgeon."
"I just got more practice than most."
She wasn't going to let him minimize her apology. He'd been acting like a saint, and she was determined he would know it.
"I also wanted to thank you for having Papa see every patient with you. I don't think he would have managed to keep from drinking this long if he hadn't had something to do. Considering how you feel about alcoholics, that must have been hard for you."
"Whoa," Holt said. "What kind of person do you think I am?"
"A very kind and thoughtful one."
"No, you don't. You think I'm a conceited, hard-nosed, self-righteous know-it-all who's certain he has all the answers and is going to fix everybody's lives whether they want him to or not."
She had thought so at one time but not anymore.
"You don't have to answer. You've said it all before. First, I am your father's student. He knows a great deal more about medicine than I do. My knowledge is very limited, gained from book-learning and being a battlefield butcher. I could remove Alice Farley's tumor, but I've never had to diagnose one, monitor its development, or decide when and if to operate. We talk about every consultation in detail. I pick his brain for everything I can learn."
He'd said that before, but she hadn't believed him.
"I don't hate alcoholics. I hate alcoholism, the disease, and what it does to people. My father was once a good man--friendly, dependable, honorable, ambitious. Alcoholism turned him into a useless, selfish, cruel man who would lie, cheat, and steal. I sometimes thought he would have sold his wife or son for a bottle of whiskey. I like to think he tried to overcome his addiction but it was too strong for him. It destroyed his body and my mother's life. I had to turn my back on him to keep it from destroying me as well."
Felicity had thought his inflexible stand on drinking and medicine was primarily an idealistic concept, but now she realized it was much more. He hadn't left his home voluntarily. Alcoholism had driven him out, and the wound was still open and hurting. She was certain he believed that doctors shouldn't drink when they had to see patients, but the vehemence of his position had its roots outside medicine.
"I'm sorry for the things I said," Felicity said. "I didn't understand."
"You're like my mother," he said. "She was so busy protecting my father, she never realized she was hurting him."
"It's hard when you love someone so much and you know he's hurting so badly he can't help himself."
"That's the very reason your father has a good chance to recover. My father wasn't trying to blot out painful memories. He'd become addicted to alcohol and didn't have the willpower to help himself. Your father has used alcohol to forget, to ease the pain. It's time he faced the tragedies in his life, accepted them, and moved on."
"You don't understand. He lost the woman he loved, saw thousands of men die right before his eyes."
"I watched my father slowly kill himself for ten years, grew up being known as the son of the town drunk, watched my friends get blown apart or cut to pieces. What don't I understand?"
She didn't know why she always felt he hadn't experienced loss. "I'm sorry. You seem so unaffected by things, I tend to think you don't care. That's not fair of me."
"No, it's not. It would be the same as me thinking you're weak because you care so much."
"Maybe I am. I can't watch my father suffer and not want to do virtually anything to bring it to an end."
"I wouldn't expect you to feel any other way. Let me be the one to enforce the limits."
Why was he putting himself into a position where both she and her father could resent him?
"You've done enough already. I want you to know I appreciate what you're doing even when I don't act like it."
"I figured you did, or you wouldn't have gone to that last party with me."
"That reminds me. Mrs. Bennett said you have invitations for the whole weekend. I hope you'll understand that I won't be able to accompany you."
"I already told you I wouldn't be going to any parties, either."
"I thought you meant just last night."
He looked peeved. "I won't be going anywhere until your father is over the worst of the withdrawal. Look, we're all in this together--you, your father, and me. We'll work together until it's over."
"I know what my father and I have at stake, but why should you care what happens to us?"
His look of surprise and hurt made her quickly rephrase her question.
"I mean, why should you sacrifice time with your friends for us?"
"Setting aside the fact I happen to like you and your father and care what happens to both of you, I'm the one who forced you into this. In my mind, I'm obligated to do everything I can to see that you succeed."
If she didn't do something quickly, she was going to cry. For years she'd felt completely alone, with no one she could talk to who understood or who would help. She hadn't realize
d until now how truly alone she'd felt, how much her fears had forced her to cut herself off from anyone who might become close enough to discover her secret. Now Holt intended to help, even when she insisted she didn't need help. The tension had been so great, the relief was so enormous, she felt almost too weak to stand.
"Are you all right?" Holt asked. "I know you didn't get much sleep last night."
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." He took her by the hand and led her to a chair. When she stumbled, he put his arm around her. "You'd better sit down. I'll get you something to drink."
She didn't want to sit down. His arm around her, supporting her, comforting her, was heavenly. She wanted to take hold of his arm so he couldn't remove it. Ever! She allowed him to settle her into a chair. He sat down beside her, her hands still in his grasp.
"I really am all right," she said. "I guess it's just the tension and worry."
"The lack of sleep and lack of food. I haven't seen you eat more than a bite all day."
"I'm too keyed up to be hungry."
"You won't do you or your father any good if you get sick."
"I promise I won't. I guess it's relief, too, having you and Mrs. Bennett to help." She had to keep including Mrs. Bennett. If she thought of just Holt, she'd start thinking thoughts that would lead to trouble.
"I'll be here as long as you and your father need me. You'd better get some sleep. And I do mean sleep. I don't want to find you've been pacing your room or lying in bed wide awake."
She smiled. "I'll do my best." She tried to stand, but her body wouldn't cooperate. Holt stood and pulled her to her feet.
"Are you sure you're all right? I can carry you upstairs if you want."
That thought nearly caused her muscles to go out from under her. "That won't be necessary."
"You don't have to reject every offer of help, you know. It's what friends do."
She felt herself flush. "I guess I'm not very good at accepting help. It always makes me feel I'm somehow inadequate."
"Who told you you had to be able to do everything yourself?"
"I was so afraid of what people would say if they knew, I kept refusing their help until they stopped offering. Then I assumed they didn't offer because they didn't want to."
"You've got to believe that people like you and your father, regardless of any imperfections."
This was more than she could assimilate now. Everything had gotten more difficult since Holt had forced his way into her life. At the same time, she had a feeling that his presence would make things better. That thought didn't make any sense, but she was too tired to attempt to figure it out.
"I'll go straight to bed. Be sure to call me when it's my turn. And don't try to be noble and let me sleep an extra hour," she said when he started to reply. "I can fall asleep over my coffee and no one will be the worse for it."
"I don't need much sleep."
"You said we were in this together, so that means we share equally."
"Okay. I'll wake you when it's your turn." He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. "Sweet dreams."
They would be. She'd dream of his kiss.
Felicity woke to the sound of voices. Her first thought was that Holt had come for her because it was time to get up, but as soon as the sleep cleared from her brain, she realized the voices were coming from somewhere outside her room. Was there an emergency? Deciding not to take the time to dress, she threw on a robe and left her room.
She didn't expect to find the hallway in darkness. Nor did she expect to discover that the voices were coming from her father's bedroom.
It was just Holt and her father talking. Her father frequently woke in the middle of the night. She turned back to her bedroom. But even as she started to close the door behind her, she paused. Something about the voices wasn't right. Holt spoke in a calm, measured voice, but her father's words sounded rapid and excited, his voice rising and falling in a totally unfamiliar fashion.
She stepped back into the hall and approached her father's bedroom door. She couldn't understand what he was saying because Holt was talking at the same time, but her father was obviously upset. Holt would have called her if he needed help, but this was her father--she couldn't go back to bed knowing something was wrong. She opened the door quietly.
Her father was sitting up in the bed, his hands waving in the air, facing Holt with an expression that was full of pain. At first Felicity couldn't tell what he was saying, but when she caught the word Andersonville.
"I can hear them," he was saying to Holt. "I know you can hear them, too. They're just in the next room."
"Andersonville was long ago," Holt said. "There are no people there anymore."
"That's what they tell you," her father said, suddenly dropping his voice, "but it's not true. They're sick, but they won't let me help them. Can't you hear them calling?"
"There's nobody here," Holt said again. "It was just a bad dream."
"It's not a dream. I can hear them now. Why can't you?" He covered his ears. "Their screams are horrible. I can't sleep."
Fear gripped Felicity. What was wrong with her father? He'd never heard voices that weren't there. "What's wrong?" she asked Holt.
"I'm sorry we woke you," he said without turning around. "You should go back to bed."
"What's wrong with Papa?"
"He's having hallucinations. It's not uncommon with people who stop drinking all at once."
"You can hear them, can't you?" her father said, turning to her. "The voices, the men down in the prison yard."
"Answer him," Holt said.
"There's nobody here, Papa," she said. "I don't hear any voices."
"They're worse than they used to be," her father said. "There are more of them."
"There's nobody here," Holt said. "Keep telling yourself it's just your imagination. Help me hold him while I give him some laudanum," he said in a lower voice to Felicity.
"I feel like a traitor conspiring against him."
"You'll be thankful you did once this is over."
"You intended to give it to him all along, didn't you?" she said when he reached for a glass on the bedside table.
"I prepared it in case I needed it. I didn't expect you to be up to help."
It was one of Holt's more annoying traits, always having a reasonable answer whenever she objected to something he wanted to do. She'd taken care of her father for more than half her life, and she'd done just fine without Holt's help.
No, she hadn't. She'd been successful at the job she was doing, but she was doing the wrong job, trying to hide the problem rather than face it. She didn't know if she was too kindhearted or just weak, but it had taken Holt to make both her and her father face up to the problem.
"You've got to hold him steady," Holt said. "He's moving so much, the laudanum will end up on his nightshirt rather than down his throat."
"I'm doing the best I can."
"Use your body weight against him."
"How?"
"Lean on him."
She laid her father's left arm across his chest, then draped her body across him. Her father was still talking about the dying prisoners, but the laudanum choked off the words. He sputtered, coughed, then swallowed.
"Just a little more," Holt said. "Whiskey acts like a sedative on people. When they stop drinking, their systems can become overactive for a period of time. Laudanum can help them get over the worst of it."
She didn't really care about a medical explanation. She just wanted it over and her father back to normal. Their life had never been normal. What would the future be like? She didn't like the unknown. It frightened her.
"You can release him now," Holt said. "I think he swallowed enough."
Felicity didn't want to look her father in the face, but she couldn't stop herself. It was worse than she expected. He looked confused. Worse, he looked hurt, as though she'd betrayed him.
"Why did you do that?" her father asked.
"Holt says you're
hallucinating. He says you're so keyed up, you can't sleep."
"I can't sleep because of the voices," he said. "I can even recognize some of them."
"There aren't any voices," Holt said in his calm, quiet voice. "The alcohol withdrawal is causing you to hear things that aren't there."
"Can you see anything?" Felicity asked.
"Sometimes," her father replied. "But mostly it's the voices."
"What are they saying?"
Holt shook his head. She knew he wanted her to convince her father the voices weren't real. Gradually the laudanum took hold and her father's voice lost some of its volume and his gaze some of its intensity. Finally his hold on her loosened and he relaxed enough to lean back against his pillow. By small increments his eyelids began to droop and his words to come more slowly.
Then he was asleep.
For a moment, Felicity thought the pressure inside her would explode. She had the sensation of having to hold on tight or she'd start screaming or throwing herself about the room. Then just as suddenly the tension broke and she felt too weak even to sit up. She sagged against her chair, dropped her head into her hands.
"Tired?" Holt asked.
There wasn't a word to describe how she felt. She was empty, physically exhausted, unable to understand the flood of conflicting emotions that washed over her.
"I know it wasn't easy to do what you just did, but this way is much easier on your father."
She knew that, but that didn't stop her from hating it, from being angry with herself for being part of it.
"You can go back to bed now. You've still got time for another hour of sleep."
She couldn't possibly go back to sleep. The shocked, hurt look of betrayal in her father's eyes would keep her awake for weeks to come.
"You go," she said without moving any part of her body except her lips. "I'll sit up with him."
"You're exhausted."
"So are you." She heard his chair creak. He must have gotten up. Maybe he'd accepted her offer to relieve him early. She heard his footsteps, but she didn't have the energy to look up.
"You'd be asleep in fifteen minutes," he said softly.
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