Michaela was just closing the clinic for the day when she heard Horace calling her name.

    "Dr. Mike  Hey, Dr. Mike!"   Becky had dropped off Katie a few minutes before, and the little girl, toddling now, clung to her mother's skirts with one small hand, the thumb of her other corked securely in her mouth.  Michaela turned to see Horace coming around the corner of Dorothy's Gazette.

    "Is something wrong Horace?" she asked quickly.

    "Oh no Ma'am—a telegram just come in for ya," Horace replied as he reached her side.  He handed her a folded buff-colored sheet of paper.

    "I wonder who could be sending me a wire," Michaela wondered aloud as she reached for the telegram and set her medical bag down at her feet.  "Is it from Boston?"

    "Nope," Horace replied.  "From Denver."

    Michaela's heart began to beat noticeably faster and her hands trembled slightly as she unfolded the paper—fully expecting the telegram to be from the army, concerning her fugitive husband.  As her eyes dropped to the page, she asked, "Horace, would you mind watching Katie for a moment?"

    "Sure thing," Horace said smiling.  He scooped up Katie into his arms.  The baby smiled back and began tugging on Horace's bow tie.

    "You sure are gettin' to be a big girl," Horace said to her, gently stroking a wispy lock of blonde hair peeking out from under her bonnet.  "You remind me a lot of Samantha when she was your age."  He continued to smile, but the expression in his eyes was wistful.

    Meanwhile, Michaela was anxiously scanning the contents of  the telegram.
 
    "Why it's from Marjorie!" she exclaimed in surprise—and relief that the wire was not, after all, about Sully.  She drew a deep breath and continued more calmly, "She's been traveling with a Lady Rosalind Sutcliffe—an advocate for women's sufferage from England who has been on a tour of speaking engagements across the country.  Lady Sutcliffe's next lecture date isn't till next month, in San Francisco, so as they were so near, Marjorie thought they would take advantage of the opportunity to come to Colorado Springs for a visit.  She says they'll be here on tomorrow's train!"  Horace was listening politely, and suddenly Michaela blushed and laughed, having realized who she was talking to.  "How foolish of me!" she exclaimed.  "Of course you know what it says."  Horace's polite smile widened into a grin.

    "All the same, that should be real nice for ya Dr. Mike, with everything that's been goin' on," he said, looking at her over the top of Katie's head.  "Things always get real lively when Miss Marjorie comes to town!"

    "Indeed they do, Horace," Michaela said a trifle ruefully as she slipped the telegram into the pocket of her skirt.  "However, I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse!"

    "I guess you'd have to ask Loren or Hank about that," Horace answered.  The corners of his mouth twitched.

    Michaela rolled her eyes at him as she took Katie back into her arms.  She turned toward her horse and wagon.

    "Can I give ya a hand, Dr. Mike?"  Horace asked.

    Michaela smiled and shook her head.  "Thank you Horace but there's no need," she replied. "Brian should be coming from school any moment."

    As if in answer to his name, Brian came running across the bridge toward them.

    "Hey Ma, hey Horace," he called when he was within shouting distance.  His schoolbooks, bound by a leather strap he clutched in his hand, were flung across his shoulder.  They slapped against his back as he ran.  He closed the distance between them and joined his mother, sister and Horace in front of the clinic.

    "Hey Katie!  Did ya miss me today?" he said to his little sister and chucked her beneath the chin.  Katie giggled.  "Bi!" she exclaimed.

    Brian turned to Michaela.  "Ma!" he said.  "Did ya hear that? Katie can almost say my name now!"

    "She certainly can, Brian," Michaela replied warmly, her eyes resting fondly on the faces of her two children.  "She's learning all sorts of new words.  So how was school today?"

    "It was good," replied Brian.  "Miss Teresa was teachin' us about Astronomy.   I told Miss Teresa about the meteorite I found that time we thought the comet was comin'—and about how Grandma sent me the telescope when we had the eclipse."

    "I remember," said Michaela, recalling Brian's fascination with the heavens and with flight—whether he was reading FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON by Jules Verne; or designing, building and even piloting his own "flying machine."

     "It sure was lucky Robert E. was able to fix my telescope when it fell and got broke," Brian added.
 
    "Broken," Michaela interjected.

    Brian grinned.  "Right—just like he fixed Mr. Watkins camera so he could take the town picture.  Robert E. can fix anythin', can't he, Ma?"

    "It certainly seems that way, Brian," she replied.

    " Anyway, right in the middle of everythin',  my friend Stephen's little brother Sam's pet mouse George got loose!  He brought him to school in his pocket but nobody knew.  Some of the girls were screamin'!" he added with an air of superiority and s slight touch of scorn.

    "I can't say  that I blame them.  I'm not overly fond of mice myself," Michaela said in some amusement.  "Was Sam able to get George back?" she asked.

    "Finally," Brian answered.  "But Miss Teresa made him take George outside and leave him on the steps in a wooden box.  And then she made Sam stay after school to clean the blackboard.

    "Miss Teresa didn't really have ta do that," he went on.  "Sam didn't mean no harm."

    "Any harm," Michaela corrected.  "And while Miss Teresa and I haven't always seen eye to eye, I have to say that she must often have the patience of Job to deal with her students' antics!"

    "Boys will be boys, Dr. Mike," said Horace.  "My nephew Louis was always bringin' home one critter or another—rabbits, mice, snakes and the like.  He even kept a bat once!"

    Michaela's eyes widened.  "Well then, I must commend you on YOUR patience as well, Horace!" she said.   She turned to Brian.  "Perhaps, though, this experience will teach Sam that mice—even nice pet mice like George—are better left at home."

    "I 'spose," answered Brian, as he clambered up into the wagon.  Michaela lifted Katie up to him, and then accepted Horace's assistance to climb up onto the buckboard.  Horace handed her the medical bag, which she placed on the seat beside her.  As Michaela picked up the reins, she said, "Oh Brian, we received a telegram!"

    Brian looked at her sharply.  "Is everythin' all right?" he asked, and Michaela knew he was thinking of Sully—safe for the moment, thankfully, and nearly recovered from the life-threatening injuries he'd suffered when he went over the cliff after his tragic encounter with Sgt. O'Conner—yet forced to stay in hiding away from their homestead for who knew how long to come.

     A pang went through her heart at the thought of the husband she loved and missed so dearly—but a moment later she gave Brian a bright smile of reassurance, and said briskly, "Yes, everything's fine!  Your Aunt Marjorie is coming for a visit!  She's traveling with a lady friend who comes all the way from England—an advocate for ladies' rights, just like your aunt."

    Brian's face brightened.  "That's great Ma!" he said.  "When will they get here?"

    "On tomorrow's train," Michaela told him.  "So we have a lot to do to prepare for their arrival.  Are you ready to go home Katie?" she added, smiling at her daughter.

    "Home!" Katie repeated, from her place in Brian's lap.

    "Then let's get started," said Michaela as she flicked the reins lightly across the horse's back.  "Thank you Horace!"

    "Sure thing Dr. Mike," Horace said with a wave of his hand.  "See ya in the mornin'!"

    The horse and wagon moved slowly off down the street, headed out of town toward the homestead.

* * * * * * * *
 
    Michaela awoke early the next morning.  Reflexively she rolled over and reached out toward the empty half of the double bed, before she realized that there was no Sully there to touch—no loving husband's arms to embrace her and give her the "holdin'" she craved so desperately.  Tears welled in her eyes and a sob rose in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her—until, with a sheer force of will, she clamped down on her emotions.

    "He's alive," she whispered to herself.  "He's alive and he's going to be all right—and if he's alive and he's still free, there's hope."  She sat up in bed and drew the quilt which covered the bed around her, trying to draw comfort from its warmth.  The pattern of the quilt caught her eye—the double wedding ring—a bridal gift from the women of Colorado Springs.  A tear escaped her eye as she thought of the many patient hours and love that had gone into each tiny stitch.  She shifted slightly in the bed.  Her fingers trailed over the carving of feathers that adorned the headboard—the carving that Sully had worked on so lovingly and in secret, planning to surprise her with it on their wedding day.  That is, until the sunny afternoon she had accidentally discovered the headboard concealed beneath an old quilt, leaning against the wall inside the homestead  he also had built for her—every board, every stone, laid by his own hands in the months before their wedding.

    She remembered how Sully had found her standing before the headboard in the empty room, marveling at the skill and the beauty of his carving.  She remembered how he spread the quilt on the floor; remembered the softness of its texture as she lay upon it; Sully above her, gazing lovingly and hungrily into her eyes.  She remembered the feel of his weight atop her, the silkiness of his hair falling against her cheek.  She remembered his intoxicating scent, the warmth of his breath, the soft, yet firm feel of his lips on hers.  She remembered their laughter.  She remembered the thrill of physical longing that surged through her body and threatened to overwhelm her with its intensity.  She remembered . . .

    Suddenly she threw off the quilt and swung her legs to the floor.  With a flick of her hand she dashed the tears from her cheeks and flung her long hair back from her face.  She couldn't keep punishing herself this way—it wasn't helping Sully or herself.

    Her head ached.  She was still so tired.  She had slept only fitfully the night before.  It had been this way ever since the horrendous violence at Palmer Creek Reservation which had made desperate fugitives of both Sully and Cloud Dancing.

    "Oh Cloud Dancing," Michaela whispered.  As the dear name of their most cherished friend—Sully's "blood brother" and Katie's Cheyenne father—echoed in her mind, she felt renewed guilt that Cloud Dancing had risked his life by returning to Colorado Springs to aid in the search for Sully, after making it safely all the way to the Tongue River Valley and freedom.  However she also knew that Cloud Dancing never could have deserted his "brother" in his hour of need.  She wondered in despair if Cloud Dancing would ever again be able to live openly on *this* land, without fear of capture or death.

    Michaela walked to her dressing table.  She picked up her hairbrush and began to draw it through her long, light brown hair with slow, steady strokes.  The early morning sun streaming through the window played over her hair and turned the shining strands to copper fire.  She caught sight of her image in the mirror.  Sully loved to brush my hair, she thought.   Sully loved—

    "Sully LOVES my hair," she shouted suddenly at her image, furious at herself for thinking of him in the past tense.  "Sully's ALIVE, and he loves me, and we're going to be together again—here at home where we both belong!"

    Michaela threw the brush down on the table.  No more, she thought.  No more feeling sorry for
herself!  She had a baby daughter, and two sons to care for.  She had a daughter off at college who hadn't stopped needing her mother just because she was temporarily away from home.  She had a clinic to run and patients who needed her and her sister was coming today.  A sister who was bringing a special guest.

    Michaela squared her shoulders, went to her closet, and selected a somber outfit of a black blouse and skirt. For the benefit of the townspeople, as well as the sharp scrutiny of the ever-present army soldiers who had become a fixture in Colorado Springs, she must appear to be a widow in mourning for her missing and presumed-dead husband.  Quickly she began to dress.