"A woman of Vivian's beauty is going to attract great attention no matter what she does."
"I know. And Holt is no different from the rest. I used to think he was in love with you, but you were right. I think he wants to marry Vivian."
Chapter Twenty-two
"He's been at her side nearly every night this week," Lillie said. "I know she thinks of him as a big brother, someone to look out for her and give her advice, but when he looks at her, his mind seems to be in another world. I plan to do everything I can to convince Vivian to marry Holt. He's the only person who seems to have any influence over her. Maybe he can induce her to have nothing to do with that awful Mr. diViere."
Felicity had to struggle to keep her face from reflecting any of the emotions that boiled inside her. She didn't want anyone to guess she was in love with Holt. He had told her he was going to as many parties as possible in hopes of finding information against Laveau. Felicity had tried hard to rid herself of the fear that Vivian still retained her hold on him, but Lillie's comments made that nearly impossible.
"Holt would make any woman a fine husband," Felicity said.
She had welcomed Lillie's visit, but now she was eager for Charlotte's return. She didn't know how much longer she could preserve her appearance of indifference. She was relieved when the door opened and Holt and her father entered the room. She looked closely at her father, but he appeared in good spirits. Since recovering from his seizure, he had made good progress. He had been spending nearly every evening with Mrs. Bennett.
"You didn't tell me we had a visitor," her father said.
"This is Lillie Hart," Felicity said. "She and Charlotte came by to see how you're doing."
"I'm getting along just fine," her father said. "I'd get along even better if I had more visits from pretty women."
Felicity didn't understand her father. He'd never shown any interest in women since her mother's death, and he never flirted. During the last week he had started to do both. Felicity wondered if Holt had told him it was a good way to expand his practice.
"You're embarrassing her," Felicity said to her father. What she really meant was he was embarrassing his daughter.
"Nonsense," her father said. "The only good thing about being old and fat is being free to indulge in a harmless flirtation with a pretty young woman without having her husband challenge me to a duel at daybreak."
"I'd get up and give you a hug," Lillie said, "but I'm feeling exhausted. This tiredness is so annoying. Clifford is quite out of patience with me."
Her father moved to the sofa and sat down next to Lillie, his brow creased. "Have you been feeling like this for very long?"
"Maybe a week," Lillie said, "but I'm sure it's nothing more than a momentary indisposition."
"Holt, come look at this young woman's complexion and tell me what you think."
"If you're not careful, you'll end up being poked and prodded," Felicity said. "That's what you get for telling a doctor you aren't feeling well."
"It's really nothing," Lillie insisted.
"Have you suffered any chills, fever, or sweating?" Holt asked.
"Well, yes, but nothing very bad."
"What do you think?" Dr. Moore asked Holt.
"I agree," Holt said.
"Agree about what?" Lillie asked fearfully.
"I think you have malaria," Dr. Moore said.
"A mild case," Holt said, "but definitely malaria."
"I can't possibly have anything like that," Lillie insisted. "I saw the doctor just yesterday, and he said it was only a momentary indisposition."
"I think you should get a second opinion," Holt said.
"She just got a second and third opinion," Felicity pointed out.
"I meant from one of her own doctors."
"You mean from one of the doctors who must know more than either of you because he charges more," Felicity snapped.
"I mean a doctor she trusts," Holt said.
"I trust you," Lillie said to Holt. "My brother said army doctors saw malaria all the time."
"Dr. Moore noticed it first," Holt said. "I just confirmed his diagnosis."
"What should I do?" Lillie asked.
"I'd like you to come to my consulting room. Holt and I need to ask a few questions before we decide."
"Am I going to die? Clifford said lots of soldiers died from malaria."
"You're not going to die," Holt said. "You'll probably hardly even know you have it."
Lillie turned to Felicity, a look akin to fear on her face.
"I'll explain to Charlotte when she gets back," Felicity said. "Holt can go home with you to explain everything to your husband."
"Thank you," Lillie said.
"There's no need to be frightened," Dr. Moore said, taking Lillie's hand in a fatherly manner. "We're going to give you some medicine that'll have you feeling much better in a day or two."
"Is it really only a mild case?" Felicity whispered to Holt.
"Yes, but her doctor should have picked it up. Your father would never have missed it, not even if he'd had too much to drink."
"I can't thank you enough for what you've done for my wife," Clifford Hart said to Holt. "She could have died, and I'd never have known she was sick."
"I doubt she would have died," Holt assured him, "but she would have continued to be sick. Without medical attention, there could have been some very serious consequences."
"I saw enough of malaria during the war to know what could have happened," Hart said. "That's why I'm so thankful you recognized it."
"Dr. Moore saw it first," Holt said. "Make sure her doctor sees her regularly until the symptoms disappear."
"You mean you won't see her?" Hart asked, startled.
"I'm not her doctor."
"Of course you are. You don't think I'd send her back to that fool who nearly let her die, do you?"
"If you're sure you want me to undertake her care."
"I don't want anyone else. Can you come by tomorrow?"
"I don't know. Felicity keeps the schedule, and we've been rather busy."
"If need be, I'll bring her around to see you. Now I want to go to Lillie. Since you're old friends, I won't feel I'm being rude if I leave you with Vivian."
Vivian didn't look exactly pleased with the arrangement. "I can't stay long. I've got to get dressed. I'm going out."
"It doesn't matter," Holt replied. "I have to get back. We have patients to see."
"I don't see why you bother helping that old man. He can take care of his own patients. They won't know if he gets things wrong."
"I'm learning a lot from him," Holt said. He was getting tired of defending Dr. Moore to Vivian. "He's the one who noticed Lillie's malaria."
"You could have done it."
"The point is, he saw it when her doctor didn't."
"That's all the more reason you should forget about him. Set up your own practice. Lillie won't stop talking about what you've done. She's a silly female, but she can bring you a lot of patients." She smiled provocatively. "I can bring you even more. You could be a rich man in a few years."
"I don't want to be rich. I already have--"
"You don't want to be rich? Are you crazy?"
Holt wondered if everyone felt disillusioned, cynical, and a little bit stupid when someone they adored proved to be unworthy. Felicity had seen through Vivian right away. It had taken him ten years.
"I'm more interested in making people well," Holt said.
"Because your father was a drunk and you could never make him well, you want to help the rest of the world."
"That may be some of it, but I like what I do."
And he did like what he was doing. His experiences in the war had been hard on his soul. He hadn't had the time or experience to put things in perspective, to realize there was good to counter the bad. Felicity was right. He was born to be a doctor, not a planter, cowboy, merchant, or businessman. A doctor.
"My father's drinking taught to me to look out fo
r myself first," Vivian said.
"You've always had someone to take care of you. I imagine you always will."
"I thought you wanted to take care of me. I didn't realize an old man had become more important to you than I am."
If Holt hadn't been so disappointed, he would have laughed at the comic picture Vivian made. He didn't know how her court of admirers felt about her antics to keep them in constant attendance, but she was like a little girl who pouted and threatened a tantrum when she didn't get what she wanted. He had been blind. He wondered how many people had laughed behind his back at the spectacle of an adult making a fool of himself over a girl who was barely more than a child. He blushed inwardly at the memory.
How could he have spent so many years believing he was in love with a woman he didn't even know? It had taken Felicity to teach him what love really meant. He had loved with his eyes and his head, maybe even with his sense of responsibility, but he hadn't loved with his heart. He had been afraid to let himself feel, afraid it would hurt again like it had hurt when his father preferred alcohol to his family, when his mother blamed him for his father's death.
Now he knew what it was like to let down the barriers and let himself feel. He liked it so much, he couldn't imagine going back. It was a gift he wanted to give Felicity. She had been just as afraid of her emotions, just as bound up in her sense of duty. Neither one of them had known what it was like to have feelings that were uncontrollable, feelings that were so powerful they couldn't be destroyed. Felicity was still afraid. So was he, but he couldn't turn back. He had to see where this new path would lead.
"People are important in different ways," he said to Vivian, "but that doesn't make one more important than the other. Now I've got to be going. I have other patients to see."
"Promise you'll be at the Ravenwoods' party tomorrow night."
"I can't promise about the party, but I will see you again tomorrow. Your brother-in-law insists I'm now Lillie's doctor."
Holt's stride slowed as he neared the house. His feet made little sound on the sandy path. The sun had gone down hours ago, but his eyes were so accustomed to the night, he had no trouble seeing the houses that lined the road on either side or the lights that glowed from the windows. Only the shadows under some of the trees with low-hanging branches concealed anything from his gaze. He could hear the sounds of a few of the older children still playing outside--the voice of a mother calling her daughter inside--but it was late and most children would already be in bed. In other houses, people would be gathered in the parlor or on the porch talking, sharing the events of the day. Signs of life, warmth, and happiness flowed from these homes like light through their windows.
The windows in Dr. Moore's house were dark because nobody was home, he assumed.
Holt didn't look forward to entering an empty house. He had had a long day of seeing patients in the office and two home visits in the evening. He was pleased the practice had picked up some new clients--Lillie Hart had been singing his praises to all her friends--but while the wealthy patients paid in very welcome cash, he found some of them extremely difficult to deal with. They wanted to tell him what was wrong and prescribe what medicine he ought to give them. Making it clear that he was the doctor and would do all the diagnosing as well as prescribing had cost him a client tonight. He didn't mind the loss of the client, just the waste of time.
As a consequence, he was in a bad mood. He didn't want to go out again, but he wanted someone to talk to. It couldn't be Vivian. She would most certainly be at a party. She considered the evening a failure if she had to stay home. Besides, he didn't want to see Vivian. The last time they talked, they'd gotten into a heated argument over Laveau.
Holt didn't want to go out at all. Even though he was developing friendships, he didn't enjoy parties very much. He was sure Laveau was involved in the blackmail and the thefts he'd heard of, but he hadn't been able to get any leads on the blackmail, and the police hadn't found any new evidence about the thefts.
Dr. Moore wouldn't be home until well past midnight. He had taken Mrs. Bennett to visit her daughter in Houston. Mrs. Bennett wouldn't travel alone, and her daughter had small children. Dr. Moore said it was ridiculous for them to live so close and rarely see each other. He insisted it was an even exchange for all the time she'd spent entertaining him.
Then there was Felicity. She had gone to act as midwife at a birthing. Very few doctors were called on to help with childbirth--it was considered a woman's job. And from what he'd been told, Felicity was the best midwife in Galveston.
That didn't surprise him. Felicity was a very intelligent woman with a natural desire to help people. But unlike many people, she'd bolstered that desire with systematic and prolonged study. Holt suspected she knew more medicine than many practicing doctors her age, but she'd been forced into medicine in order to protect her father. She'd convinced herself she was doing what she wanted, but she wasn't happy, and to Holt that was a sign something was wrong.
They met a dozen times each day, but she'd cut herself off from him nearly as effectively as if they lived in separate houses. Holt operated on the theory that the harder a person worked to pretend something didn't matter, the more it really did matter. The pervasiveness of her new attitude proved to Holt she was struggling hard to keep some kind of strong emotion under control.
He opened the gate and crossed the short distance to the house. His doctor's bag felt twice as heavy as it had when he left the house. He'd be relieved to put it down. He tried to open the door before he remembered he had to unlock it first. His parents had never locked their house. Neither did Cade. It was hard to remember that people in Galveston did.
The house seemed unnaturally quiet; his footsteps sounded unnaturally loud. He put his bag down and was reaching for the lamp on a table in the hallway when he thought he heard someone crying. He stood still and listened carefully but heard nothing. He'd almost convinced himself he'd made a mistake when he heard it again. The sound was coming from upstairs.
It was a woman crying.
He climbed the stairs two at a time. The sounds were coming from Felicity's bedroom. He knocked on the door. "Felicity, are you all right?"
He got no response. Just silence.
"I know you're in there, and I know you're crying. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No."
But that one word was followed by audible sobs. Holt opened the door and went in.
Accustomed as he was to the plain and demure dresses she wore, he was unprepared for the blaze of color in Felicity's bedroom. Whether it was red, blue, yellow, or green, the colors were rich and vibrant. The pattern of the wallpaper was tiny knots of royal blue ribbon against a cream background. Lemon yellow curtains framed the windows. Felicity was lying on a bed covered by a spread elaborately embroidered with deep red rosebuds. A trellis of green leaves formed a decorative border. Holt crossed the room quickly and dropped down on the bed.
"Why are you crying?" he asked.
She buried her face in the pillow and cried harder.
"Tell me."
"There's nothing you can do. There's nothing anybody can do."
"Try me."
"You can't help. You're not God."
That was certainly true, but it ratcheted the level of potential trouble up several notches. He took her left hand, carefully unballed her fist, and pressed it between his palms. "You might feel better if you talked about it--got it out of your system."
She jerked her hand away. Holt figured something had gone wrong with the birth. He had almost no experience with birthing babies, but he knew there were hundreds of things that could go wrong. A large number of women died in childbirth.
He took her by the shoulders and lifted her up. "I don't know what happened, but I'm sure it wasn't your fault. I refuse to let you blame yourself."
She turned her tear-stained face in his direction. "The baby died. Whose fault could it be?"
She tried to bury her face in the pillow again,
but he wouldn't let her. He twisted around until he had positioned himself between her and the head of the bed. She couldn't lie back down without lying against him.
"Tell me about it," he said.
"It won't change anything."
"I know, but you might feel better."
She kept her head bowed so he couldn't see her face. He moved a little closer until he could gently place her head on his shoulder. She resisted briefly, then suddenly threw her arms around him and started crying all over again. Holt could feel the tears soaking through his shirt, but he didn't move. He was sure she hadn't let herself cry about anything since she was a child.
"This was Mrs. Marfa's first baby. She was terrified, because her mother died in childbirth. I'd been talking to her for weeks, explaining everything so she wouldn't be afraid. I promised to be with her."
Gradually Felicity poured out the story of a breach birth. The husband hadn't called Felicity until his wife had been in labor a whole day. By then the woman was nearly exhausted and the baby in danger. Turning the baby before the mother's strength ran out was a painful process, and the woman's screams frightened the husband, who called in a doctor. He convinced the husband that Felicity didn't know what she was doing, that the baby should be taken at once with forceps or the mother and baby would die. Despite Felicity's attempts to persuade him she could turn the baby more safely, the doctor pressed ahead. He bungled the birth, and the baby died. Both parents were hysterical. The doctor blamed Felicity for not calling him in immediately.
"What should have been a beautiful experience turned into a nightmare."
"You think you'll get used to it, but you never do," Holt said. "Is this the first time you've lost a patient?"
"No, but it's the first time I lost one because of an incompetent doctor." She looked directly at him. "I smelled alcohol on his breath."
Holt had to stop himself from asking the man's name. There would be time for that later. Right now he needed to comfort Felicity.
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