girlishly and swept back out
of the room .
Cherishing the renewed quiet, Johanna closed her eyes. Irene had relapsed over the
past several weeks, convinced that she was in the midst of rehearsals for a play that
would never open except in her own mind .
Though it might require many more months, Johanna intended to help Irene become
capable of living in the world on her own, even if it was as something of an eccentric.
Irene was a gifted seamstress. If she could be made to leave some of her delusions
behind, she could put her skills to good use and earn a respectable living. And she
could rediscover some measure of happiness in herself .
But that meant facing what she didn't want to face—the fact that she was fifty years old
and completely forgotten by her supposed hordes of one-time admirers. If she could
only see that there was a different kind of worth that did not depend upon the transience
of the flesh
Johanna rose and went back into the hall. She paused to look in on Harper, who sat in
his chair, unmoving and unaware of her fleeting presence. Then she continued on to
Papa's room. He was awake now, and had pulled himself up into a half-sitting position,
propped up on the layers of pillows at the head of his bed. Thank God he had regained
some use of his left arm and leg, though they were still extremely unsteady .
Oscar had helped Johanna build the special bed rails that kept him from tumbling out at
night. It looked like a cage—a cage such as his own body and brain had become .
"Papa," she said softly, closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?”
He peered at her, his left eyelid slightly sagging over once-bright blue eyes. "Johanna?”
Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03
Page 55 of 455
"I'm here." She sat on the stool beside the bed and took his left hand. It shook a little,
the tendons and veins carved in sharp relief under the fragile, spotted skin. "Did you
sleep well?”
"Hmmm," he said. He patted her hand with his right one. "You look tired, mein
Walkürchen. Working too hard." His words were slurred, but comprehensible. That, too,
had improved over time. "What day is it?”
"Wednesday, Papa.”
"Good. Good." His bushy white brows drew together. "Where is my schedule, Johanna?
I can't remember now if it's my day to see Andersen.”
"Don't worry about that, Papa. I'll see to it.”
"Ja. You always do." He chuckled hoarsely. "Where would I be without my girl
" His
chin sank onto his chest. Johanna rose to adjust his pillows .
"Are you hungry, Papa? Some nice fresh eggs for breakfast?”
"I don't know." He moved his good hand irritably. "Have you any strudel?”
She smiled, swallowing. He'd always had a terrible sweet tooth. "Not today, Papa. But I
can have Mrs. Daugherty bring some from town, perhaps, tomorrow morning.”
"Don't bother. I can get it myself—" He struggled to rise, found the bed rails in his way,
and tried to move them. The effort exhausted him. "Where are my clothes?”
She fetched the loose, comfortable clothing she'd had made for him, removed the bed
rail, and helped him dress. It was a slow process, though not as slow as the bathing,
which would wait until this evening. She encouraged him to do as much dressing as he
Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03
Page 56 of 455
could on his own, but the buttons always defeated him. While his feet were still bare,
she checked them for sores or swelling, then pulled on his stockings and his soft shoes .
Such painstaking care took several hours each day, time taken from the patients, but
she could not pass it on to Mrs. Daugherty. Except for the housekeeping and cooking,
which took all of Bridget's considerable energy, Johanna could trust no one but herself
to do that which must be done at the Haven .
When she was finished with Papa's feet, she worked his left arm gently through a series
of exercises, and did the same for his leg. He bore it
of the room .
Cherishing the renewed quiet, Johanna closed her eyes. Irene had relapsed over the
past several weeks, convinced that she was in the midst of rehearsals for a play that
would never open except in her own mind .
Though it might require many more months, Johanna intended to help Irene become
capable of living in the world on her own, even if it was as something of an eccentric.
Irene was a gifted seamstress. If she could be made to leave some of her delusions
behind, she could put her skills to good use and earn a respectable living. And she
could rediscover some measure of happiness in herself .
But that meant facing what she didn't want to face—the fact that she was fifty years old
and completely forgotten by her supposed hordes of one-time admirers. If she could
only see that there was a different kind of worth that did not depend upon the transience
of the flesh
Johanna rose and went back into the hall. She paused to look in on Harper, who sat in
his chair, unmoving and unaware of her fleeting presence. Then she continued on to
Papa's room. He was awake now, and had pulled himself up into a half-sitting position,
propped up on the layers of pillows at the head of his bed. Thank God he had regained
some use of his left arm and leg, though they were still extremely unsteady .
Oscar had helped Johanna build the special bed rails that kept him from tumbling out at
night. It looked like a cage—a cage such as his own body and brain had become .
"Papa," she said softly, closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?”
He peered at her, his left eyelid slightly sagging over once-bright blue eyes. "Johanna?”
Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03
Page 55 of 455
"I'm here." She sat on the stool beside the bed and took his left hand. It shook a little,
the tendons and veins carved in sharp relief under the fragile, spotted skin. "Did you
sleep well?”
"Hmmm," he said. He patted her hand with his right one. "You look tired, mein
Walkürchen. Working too hard." His words were slurred, but comprehensible. That, too,
had improved over time. "What day is it?”
"Wednesday, Papa.”
"Good. Good." His bushy white brows drew together. "Where is my schedule, Johanna?
I can't remember now if it's my day to see Andersen.”
"Don't worry about that, Papa. I'll see to it.”
"Ja. You always do." He chuckled hoarsely. "Where would I be without my girl
" His
chin sank onto his chest. Johanna rose to adjust his pillows .
"Are you hungry, Papa? Some nice fresh eggs for breakfast?”
"I don't know." He moved his good hand irritably. "Have you any strudel?”
She smiled, swallowing. He'd always had a terrible sweet tooth. "Not today, Papa. But I
can have Mrs. Daugherty bring some from town, perhaps, tomorrow morning.”
"Don't bother. I can get it myself—" He struggled to rise, found the bed rails in his way,
and tried to move them. The effort exhausted him. "Where are my clothes?”
She fetched the loose, comfortable clothing she'd had made for him, removed the bed
rail, and helped him dress. It was a slow process, though not as slow as the bathing,
which would wait until this evening. She encouraged him to do as much dressing as he
Secret of the Wolf – 19th Century Werewolf 03
Page 56 of 455
could on his own, but the buttons always defeated him. While his feet were still bare,
she checked them for sores or swelling, then pulled on his stockings and his soft shoes .
Such painstaking care took several hours each day, time taken from the patients, but
she could not pass it on to Mrs. Daugherty. Except for the housekeeping and cooking,
which took all of Bridget's considerable energy, Johanna could trust no one but herself
to do that which must be done at the Haven .
When she was finished with Papa's feet, she worked his left arm gently through a series
of exercises, and did the same for his leg. He bore it
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