She grabbed the periodical and flipped it open to the page she’d hit him with.
Quillan watched her stare at that page a long while. He felt the weight of the locket against him, the weight of his thoughts, of Carina’s concern, and his own hurt that could overwhelm him if he let it. How could he hold it back? He took Cain’s Bible from the pack at his feet, held it, then opened to a page Cain had dog-eared in the Psalms. How Cain had loved the Psalms. Quillan read down to the line: Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee. Again he felt that sense that it was written for him. Was God speaking to him?
Quillan considered the text. It seemed so simple. Just turn over the bad thoughts, the hard feelings, the rage and disappointment. Cast it all on the Lord. But how? He had a beautiful wife and a new life ahead, with more good fortune in his pockets than he deserved, yet the hurt inside him gnawed. They refused to recognize him, and Mrs. DeMornay—Quillan didn’t even know her first name—she knew he’d spoken the truth. What was it in him that people spurned? What flaw did they see?
Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee. Did he want to turn over the hurt? He’d nursed it so long it was part of him. Most of him. Who was he without it? It drove him, made him fight, made him work, made him succeed. It steeled him for the next rejection. It was all he knew.
Carina gave up pretending to read and watched him. Did she see his resolve to keep the hurt like a grain in his belly, coating and coating it like a treasure forming inside? Was it wrong? Hadn’t he surrendered to God in the cave, given over his life? But the Lord had enough burdens from those who couldn’t carry them. Quillan would carry his own. As his mother and Wolf had before him. He had a vague sense that those burdens had destroyed them. But he pushed that thought away. His trouble made him strong. He had to be strong.
TWELVE
Of all iniquities and sins, judgment I despise.
Enthroned, the self on dais raised, looks down with jaundiced eyes.
—Quillan
CARINA SAW THE HOODED LOOK in Quillan’s eyes. He was closed into himself again. Every hurt, it seemed, put him back inside that place she couldn’t reach. She should have told him at once, let him handle it as he needed to. Why had she protected Mrs. DeMornay when it was Quillan who mattered?
He brooded now—over her duplicity? She hadn’t intended it that way, but how did it appear to Quillan? Why else would he close her out? She had wounded him without thinking, and he withdrew. She sighed. Signore, make me wise to the ways of my husband.
He refused to look when a woman approached from one of the other seats, her cheeks pale but with two pink splotches of excitement. “Good morning. Or is it afternoon? I lose all track of time on the rails.”
Carina formed a polite smile. “Hello.”
The woman rested her hand atop Quillan’s seat to balance. “My name is Priscilla Preston.” She held out a gloved hand.
Carina clasped it briefly. “I’m Carina DiGratia Shepard.”
“Charmed to make your acquaintance.” Miss Preston glanced at Quillan, but Carina didn’t introduce him. He didn’t want to talk. She could sense the storm inside him. In a different mood he would rise and introduce himself, at least attend the conversation for politeness’ sake. Not in his current frame of mind; at least that’s what his scowl said.
Miss Preston seemed to realize he wasn’t going to look her way. “I’m traveling with my aunt to San Francisco.”
“My husband and I are going to my home in Sonoma Valley. To my family.”
“I’m traveling to a relative, as well.” Priscilla brushed at the dust on her sleeve. “Now that Father’s gone, I have only Aunt Prudence and a cousin I detest. It’s unfortunately to him that we’re bound. He’s dreadfully dull. Is your family dull?”
Carina raised her brows. Even if she detested a member of her family, she would not tell a stranger such. “No. My family could never be called dull. Numbers alone would prevent that: parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins, some so distantly related I don’t believe they really are.” She smiled. “My papa is a great man. Everyone wants to be family to Angelo Pasquale DiGratia.”
Priscilla’s lips parted, showing two front teeth turned out like a couple on promenade, the other teeth crowded close behind. “My father was a doctor.”
Carina clapped her hands together. “Mine is as well!”
“Really?” Priscilla put her fingers to her cheek. “Father’s practice was phrenology. Are you familiar with it?”
Carina bit her lip, searching the things Papa had discussed with her. “It seems . . . did it have to do with the mind?”
“The brain and the skull—certain organs in the brain compelling behaviors, identifiable by physical characteristics.” Again she glanced at Quillan. “Father often lectured on Dr. Gall’s methodology. He could look at a person on the street and tell you his inclinations and temperament, as well as physical weaknesses and strengths. It’s scarcely disputed anywhere now. But, of course, not many are well versed in it.”
Carina didn’t think Papa was. At least he didn’t treat anyone according to that science as far as she knew. He treated what he saw in the body. But it was interesting to think you could tell one’s inclinations just by looking. “What characteristics did he look for?”
“May I?” Priscilla waved at the edge of Quillan’s seat, then sat daintily when Carina nodded. If Quillan objected, he could have said so. As long as he was being silent and withdrawn, she may as well converse with someone else.
“Well, you see, once you know where certain organs are located, you can tell by the bumps of the head the strengths and weaknesses in character. For instance, just above the external opening of the ear and extending a little forward and backward above the upper flap of the ear is the organ of destructiveness. If the organ is large, the opening of the ear is depressed. Such a person has the impulse to kill and destroy.” Her eyelids fluttered quickly with the words. “A small endowment there causes a soft character. Combativeness is right about here.” She touched the side of her head. “Hindus are especially lacking in that organ.”
Carina had certainly not heard this before. If Papa was versed in phrenology, it was not something he discussed. She folded her hands across her knee. “Tell me more.”
“In the back of the head is the organ responsible for philoprogenitiveness.” “Philo—”
“A love of one’s offspring. It causes the bulge in the skull for those well endowed. People with flat perpendicular heads are annoyed, rather than delighted, by children.”
Carina noticed Priscilla’s flat head partly disguised by the wrapping of her thin blond hair. Did that mean she disdained children? How strange to think you knew someone by the shape of her head. She glanced at Quillan. If he heard the conversation he showed no sign.