As Brian went upstairs to collect his books for school, Michaela cleared the breakfast dishes from the table.  Katie sat in her high chair, playing with the string of Sully's beads  her papa had given her that were laying on the tray.

    "Pa!" she said emphatically.  "Pa, Pa, Pa!"

    At the sound of her daughter's words tears sprang to Michaela's eyes once again.  You should be here, Sully, she thought miserably.  You should be here to hear you daughter say your name.   The melancholy was threatening to overtake her again but she couldn't surrender to it.  Sully was fighting the battle for his recovery and for his freedom off in the wilderness.  She had to fight her own battle against loneliness and despair here at home.

    Brian came clattering down the stairs, schoolbooks in hand.  "I'm ready, Ma!" he said as he joined her.  "But Ma, can't I PLEASE come with you to the train to meet Aunt Marjorie?  It won't hurt for me to miss just one day of school.  Besides," he added, giving her his most winning smile, "'meetin' a lady who comes all the way from England could be real educational!"

    Michaela assumed a cheerful expression as she turned to face her son.  "Attending your classes is more  educational, and more important Brian," she reproved gently.  "You'll have plenty of time to spend with your aunt, and to get acquainted with her friend, after you come home."

    Brian's face clouded momentarily, but then his customary good nature reasserted itself.  "Okay
Ma, I'll wait."  He slung his books over his shoulder and added, "Since Matthew had to go into town early, I'll hitch up the wagon for ya."

     Michaela smiled at him gratefully.  "Thank you, Brian.  We'll be there in a minute."  She
watched through the window as Brian headed toward the barn.  He was getting taller, growing up.  Since Sully had been gone, Brian had been trying so hard to be the "man of the house" for her.  Even though
Matthew had returned to live with them after fire had destroyed his homestead, Brian still took his responsibilities very seriously.  Besides doing his regular chores, he tried, whenever possible, to help Matthew do Sully's work as well.  He maintained a determinedly cheerful attitude, to help keep her spirits up.  Though she knew Brian must also be missing his Pa dreadfully, he tried never to let on to her his true feelings.  Only once had she had a clue as to the depth of Brian's sorrow—the first night they had finally returned to the homestead after finding Sully near death in the woods.

     She could remember every detail of that day—wonderful and terrible all at once.  Her "vision" of lilies that had led them to the spot where Sully had hidden himself, and the sensation of her heart stopping as  she frantically ripped away the concealing dead branches and drifts of leaves—until suddenly his hand appeared.   Her silent prayer of thanks to God as she felt for his pulse—rapid and faint, indicating he was in shock-but still *there.*  And hearing the faint beat of his heart as she pressed her ear to his chest.   And then the icy fear that had suffused her when Sully momentarily stopped breathing and she desperately worked to revive him. With Matthew's and Brian's help, she had then gone about the brutal task of cutting away the gangrenous tissue from the worst of his two broken legs, and cauterizing the wound with a hot poker to prevent the infection from spreading further.  Throughout that night, she had cradled her husband's head in her lap; brooding over him, caressing him, giving him sips of water to prevent dehydration-willing him to stay alive with the force of her love.  She recalled how his hand had clung to hers as he slept, like a tired child curled trustfully in its mother's arms.

    The following day, when he was a little stronger, they had devised a travois to transport him to Brian's secret "treasure cave"—realizing that it wasn't safe to bring Sully back to the homestead, where Sgt. McKay and his men could so easily find him.  Michaela and their sons  had spent a few days with Sully—as long as they dared—treating his injuries and helping him to regain some of his strength.  But finally they had been forced to leave him and come home, fearing that their continued absence would raise too much suspicion in town.  Michaela, Matthew, Brian and Colleen—who had remained at home to care for Katie—had talked far into the night, formulating a plan for keeping Sully secluded, yet cared for.  They had discussed the necessity of keeping Sully's survival, and his whereabouts, a secret—even if, unfortunately, it meant lying to their friends.  Finally, in exhaustion, the children had gone up to bed.  Later, as she had climbed the stairs herself to retire, Michaela had heard the muffled sound of  Brian crying into his pillow.  She had gone into the room, sat down on the bed, and drawn her son into her arms.  Brian had buried his face in her shoulder, and given vent to his feelings—a little boy again, for this moment at least, who only wanted his father.  They had stayed that way for some time, rocking gently to and fro, united in their love, longing and fears for Sully.

    Michaela lifted Katie from her high chair and held her close.  Her chin rested on the downy softness of Katie's     hair.  "Your Papa's going to be all right my little one," she whispered.  "He's going to get well and he's going to come home—I promise!"  She gave her daughter a hug.  Again, with an act of will, she threw off the dark thoughts.  "Are you ready to go see your Aunt Marjorie, Katie?" she asked brightly.  "She won't believe how big you've grown!"  Michaela shifted the baby to her hip, and with her free hand, she picked up her medical bag from the table and went out the door to her waiting son.

* * * * * * * * * *

    As the train chuffed slowly to a stop, Michaela, Katie in her arms, looked up at the windows expectantly.  She had to confess to herself that she was looking forward to her sister's visit.  Though for most of their lives an antipathy had existed between her and Marjorie—born of Marjorie's jealousy of her beautiful and independent younger sister—the end of Marjorie's marriage and her subsequent transformation into an independent woman in her own right, had finally served to create a bond of love and understanding between the two women.  With the advent of Marjorie's involvement in the women's suffrage movement, as well as her burgeoning career as a writer, Marjorie had come to appreciate Michaela's passion for her own career, and her decision to defy convention by becoming a doctor.  Indeed, in her recent resolve to embrace life to the fullest, Marjorie threatened to defy the conventions such as Michaela had never dreamed of doing!  And though Marjorie's daring often made Michaela uncomfortable—even shocked at times—Michaela welcomed her sister's arrival as a diverting respite from her worry and sorrow of the last few months.

    The train had barely coasted to a stop when Marjorie appeared on the rear platform.  She was dressed in a traveling outfit of bright kelly green, her legs clad in her now-familiar "bloomers."  Her flame-colored hair, dressed loosely in a tumble of curls, cascaded over her shoulders and provided a striking contrast to her costume and matching hat, which was trimmed with a rakish feather. Her eyes fell on her waiting sister and niece, and in delight she called out, "Michaela!" as she rushed from the platform and swept Michaela and Katie into an effusive embrace.  "Michaela, it's so wonderful to see you!" she exclaimed, her face vibrant, her eyes sparkling.  "And—but no, this CAN'T be our Katie!  Why, she's nearly as big as I am!"  She gave her niece a resounding kiss, and Katie laughed, basking in the enthusiasm of her aunt's greeting.
 
    Though somewhat overwhelmed, Michaela smiled in genuine pleasure as she returned her sister's hug.  "It's wonderful to see you too, Marjorie," she said warmly.  She was aware of other passengers and passersby turning to stare at them, and thought they must make an interesting tableau, somewhat like a somber crow being embraced by an exotic bird of paradise.   "Did you have a good trip?" she added.

    "Oh yes, it was fine," Marjorie answered, "though I confess it's beginning to feel like we've been living in trains the last few months!  It will be a welcome change to stop and rest here for a few days and spend some time with family, instead of constantly being surrounded by strangers!  I must tell you that Rosalind has been very much looking forward to meeting you and seeing your charming Colorado Springs."  As she finished speaking a tall, handsome woman stepped up to join them.  She wore a gown and hat of dark blue, covered by a light gray cloak.  Her hair was light brown, shot with gray.  Michaela judged her age to be in her mid-fifties, but her striking blue eyes and ready smile contrived to give her face a youthful appearance.  "Here she is now," Marjorie added.  "Rosalind, may I present my sister, Dr. Michaela Quinn, and her daughter Katie.  Michaela, Lady Rosalind Sutcliffe."

    "A pleasure, Dr. Quinn," Lady Sutcliffe said cordially, in the well-modulated tones of the British upper classes.  She extended a hand encased in a blue velvet glove.  "Marjorie has been speaking of you and your charming family in the most glowing terms ever since we left Denver!"

    "The pleasure is mine, Lady Sutcliffe," Michaela said with a slight blush as she returned Lady Sutcliffe's handshake.  "Marjorie wrote very flatteringly of you as well.  It's an honor to meet a woman of such prominence, and a member of the aristocracy."

    "Oh, please don't be deceived by my 'title,'" said Lady Sutcliffe, with a twinkle in her eye.  "I am not nearly so grand as Marjorie makes me sound!  Won't you please call me 'Rosalind?'"

    Michaela smiled, immediately taken with this woman's down-to-earth warmth.  "If you insist," she said.   "And you must call me 'Michaela.'"

    "Done," said Rosalind.  "'Michaela' it shall be.  And what a sweet little girl you have!  Marjorie tells me you have other children as well?"

    "Indeed I do," Michaela answered.  "Matthew, Colleen and Brian.  Matthew was our town's sheriff until recently, and is now thinking of taking up the law.  Colleen is presently at college in Denver, studying medicine, and Brian is at school right now—you'll be meeting both Brian and Matthew later.  I should warn you that Brian will be quite impressed to meet a lady of nobility all the way from England!  He'll probably be full of questions about what it's like to be a member of 'royalty!'  He may even ask to interview you for our town paper, The Gazette.  He often works with our friend and editor of the paper, Mrs. Dorothy Jennings."

    "Brian sounds like quite an enterprising young man," Rosalind said approvingly.  "I look forward to meeting both him and your older son, and I will be happy to answer any questions Brian has, if I can.  But truly, I am not that glamorous.  Our family is really more like landed gentry, with a modest estate in Suffolk.
 
    "Shall I tell you a secret?" she added conspiratorially.  "In truth, we can trace our family's fortunes to the escapades of a rather disreputable ancestor of ours, a member of the middle classes.  In the late eighteenth century, he attended a ball at Sutcliffe Manor, and caught the eye of my ancestor, Gwyneth, the Duchess of Suffolk, who was much younger than her husband, and reputed to be somewhat of a coquette.  They embarked on an affair of passion, but apparently were not very discreet, because word of Gwyneth's adultery soon reached the ears of her cuckolded husband!  In a rage, he challenged his rival to a duel—yes, my dears, pistols at dawn!  Can you imagine?

    "Well, I'm sure you can guess the rest of the story.  Gwyneth's lover shot the unfortunate Duke of Suffolk dead on the spot!--and succeeded in appropriating his title, Sutcliffe Manor and the Duchess—all in one fatal stroke!  He changed his name to that of his rival, and thereby hangs a tale!

    "So you see,  if my fortune-hunting ancestor hadn't been such a rogue—and a better marksman—I wouldn't be standing here before you today!"  She chuckled at Michaela's and Marjorie's looks of amazement.

     "Fortunately, the passage of several generations has served to erase the memory of our rather sordid origins—much to my late father's relief!  My father, the ninth Duke of Suffolk, was a scholarly gentleman with a passion for agricultural pursuits who never really aspired to the peerage.  His only concession to his position was to travel to London twice yearly to occupy his seat at Westminster when Parliament was in session.  He vastly preferred to pursue the life of a gentleman farmer and squire of the local gentry.  And our home, while possessing a *colorful* history, is also quite old and remote—and, regrettably, very drafty in the winter!"  They all laughed.

    "Actually," Rosalind went on, "I find the story of your crusade to become a doctor, and the aspirations of your children to careers in the law, medicine and journalism, to be far more impressive.  It must be particularly gratifying for you to have a daughter who wishes to follow in your footsteps—as you know all too well, it is still a very daunting prospect for a woman to enter into the professions.  Clearly you have been an inspiration to your daughter.”

    "I'm very proud of all my children," answered Michaela, a slight blush staining her cheeks once again.  "And I confess that I was very pleased when Colleen demonstrated such an aptitude for medicine.  But I cannot take all the credit for my children being so special.  They were blessed with an exceptional mother, who gave them a strong and loving foundation.  From the time they came into my care, they have been my joy."

    "But children also learn by example," Rosalind interjected.

    "I believe that's true," said Michaela.  "And I have always tried to do what's right.  But I feel that if my efforts and experience can just serve to smooth the path for Colleen and other young people like her, then I will be satisfied."

    "Modest as well as courageous," Rosalind said in admiration.  "Well done!"

    Michaela, pleased yet embarrassed by Rosalind's approbation, hastened to change the subject.
 
    "You both must be very anxious to rest and refresh yourselves after your journey," she said.  "There is a lovely hotel outside of town—the Springs Chateau and Health Resort.  Visitors come from all over to avail themselves of the benefits of the hot springs.  However, if you wouldn't mind staying in more modest surroundings, I would be honored if you would be our guest at the homestead," she added shyly.

    "Marjorie told me about the hot springs," said Rosalind.  "And I would enjoy the opportunity to sample their rejuvenative powers while I am here.  But I would much prefer to stay at your home—If it would not be too much trouble."

    "Not at all," Michaela assured her.  "Colleen's room is empty while she's away at college, and Katie can stay with me, so there will be plenty of room for both of you."

    "Then I accept your kind invitation with pleasure," said Rosalind, and the matter was settled.

    "We'll just need to collect our luggage, and then we can be on our way," said Marjorie.

    "Actually, I need to send a wire to a colleague in San Francisco," said Rosalind.  "Marjorie my dear, perhaps you could see to our bags while I attend to this matter?  Then we can depart."

    "Certainly," said Marjorie.

    Rosalind moved away toward the window of Horace's telegraph office, as Michaela and Marjorie walked to the baggage car of the train.  Michaela watched as Marjorie pointed out an assortment of trunks, satchels and boxes to the conductor, who lifted them down and set them on the station platform.  Marjorie then put her hand on Michaela's arm, and drew her aside.  "Before Rosalind returns, I wanted to have a private word with you, Michaela," she said in a low voice.  Then, lowering her voice still further, she whispered, "How is Sully?"

    Michaela hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

    "It's all right," Marjorie assured her, still whispering.  "Mother received your letter telling of Sully's—accident—a month ago."

    "I know," Michaela replied in an equally low voice.  "I had a reply from her just recently."

    "Rosalind and I had already departed on the tour," Marjorie went on, " but Mother wrote to me to let me know what had happened.  Her letter telling me the news was waiting for me when we reached our hotel in St. Louis.

    "Mother and Rebecca were so distressed and worried for Sully, and for you and the children," said Marjorie.  "You know Mother has come to think of Sully as a son, and Rebecca is so fond of him—just as I am."

    Michaela smiled gently.  "That means so much to me, Marjorie," she said.

    "I should tell you however, Michaela, that Mother chose not to tell Maureen and Claudette," Marjorie continued.  "She thought they would be  . . . less than sympathetic."  Michaela didn't reply to this, but the sisters' eyes met in silent understanding.

    "Please tell me though, Michaela," Marjorie asked again.  "Is Sully all right?"

    "Yes," Michaela answered, glad to give her sister some good news.  "One leg is completely healed, and the other—the one with the compound fracture—is nearly so.  He still walks with a slight limp, but that will disappear in time."

    "Thank God," Marjorie breathed, and hugged her sister quickly.  After a moment she added, "Michaela, there's something I have to tell you—something I need to confess."

    Michaela looked at her sister curiously.  There was a wary expression on Marjorie's face.  "What is it Marjorie?"

    "You may be very angry with me," Marjorie said.  "And you would have every right to be.  But I pray you will hear me out before passing judgement."

    Michaela was beginning to feel frightened.  "Marjorie, please—just tell me."

    Marjorie took a deep breath.  Her eyes were anxious and pleading.  In  the same hushed voice she said, "I told Rosalind the truth about Sully.  The real truth—that he was alive and in hiding.  And I told her why."  As Michaela's eyes widened in alarm, Majorie's words tumbled forth in a rush.  "I know how desperately vital it is for Sully's safety—indeed his very life!--for the fiction to be maintained that he is dead.  And you must believe me when I tell you, Michaela, that I would never knowingly jeopardize Sully's safety in any way!  But I was so upset when I read Mother's letter. Rosalind could see that I was deeply troubled, and though she never would have pried, I just couldn't bring myself to lie to her. In the months since I have come to know Rosalind, she has become a dear friend and trusted confidante.  I told her all about my history with Everett, and she was so understanding and compassionate, I knew I didn't have to feel embarrassed or ashamed.  I know she would never betray my secrets, Michaela, and I promise you that she will never betray yours.  And she was so sympathetic, and so impressed by Sully's integrity, courage and loyalty to the Indians!  I just felt that since we would be spending so much time together, staying at the homestead, that perhaps . . . it would be easier . . . if you didn't have to pretend . . ."  Marjorie's words dwindled to a stop, and she looked down at her hands, which were clutching her reticule so tightly the knuckles were white.

    The anger and anxiety which had arisen in Michaela upon hearing her sister's confession, had subsided almost immediately.  Now she put her hand under Marjorie's chin, and tilted up her sister's face so that Marjorie's eyes met her own.  Michaela then put her hand over her sister's, and gave Marjorie a reassuring smile.  "It's all right Marjorie," she said.  "I don't mind that you told her.  I've only just met Rosalind, but I understand what you mean about her kindness and compassion.  I also felt instinctively that she was a person I could trust.  And you're right—it will be such a relief to be able to talk about Sully—or slip off to see him-without the constant fear of prying eyes, or the necessity of lying to cover my movements."

    "Do you mean it, Michaela?" Marjorie exclaimed in relief, tears glistening in her eyes.

    Michaela's own eyes blurred with tears.  "I do," she confirmed, and the sisters hugged each other tightly.  Katie, caught in the middle and outraged at being ignored for so long, chose this moment to howl in protest.  Michaela and Marjorie burst out laughing, and consoled Katie with a shower of kisses and  hugs.  They were still laughing when Rosalind rejoined them.

    Marjorie wiped her eyes and said, "Rosalind—I've told Michaela that you know about . . . her husband."  She looked at Rosalind meaningfully.  "And Michaela has assured me that she doesn't mind."

    Rosalind fixed Michaela with a penetrating gaze.  "Are you sure, my dear?" she asked gently.  "I vow to you that no word of your—situation—will pass my lips."

    "I'm sure," Michaela answered truthfully, and gave Rosalind a tremulous smile.  "In fact, I'm relieved you know."

    "When I said before that you were a courageous woman, I meant it," Rosalind told her.  "Both you AND your brave husband."  She took Michaela's hand and squeezed it tightly.  Michaela felt a flood of strength and support suffuse her being.  Already she felt an indefinable, but palpable emotional connection to this woman who was still little more than a stranger.  And she knew with utter conviction that she had made a cherished new friend.

    “And now," Rosalind added briskly, "I want you to show me that beautiful homestead Marjorie has told me so much about!  Let's be on our way!"