A short while later, Rosalind and Michaela, half-finished cups of tea before them, sat companionably at the dining table in the homestead, watching Katie, in her high chair, enthusiastically finish the remains of her lunch.  The women chuckled indulgently at Katie's wide grin of accomplishment, her upper lip crowned by a milk mustache, and her face, hair and bib-front adorned with splotches of stew and peach cobbler.

    "What a wonderful job you did Katie!" Michaela praised her daughter, as she rose to fetch a damp cloth from the kitchen.  "Now if you could just learn to get most of the food *in* you instead of *on* you . . . !" She resumed her seat by Katie's chair and went about the business of wiping away all the traces of Katie's exertions.

    Rosalind laughed.  "That will come in time," she said.  "Besides, I like to see a child enjoy her food!"

    "Well then Katie must be very entertaining for you!" said Michaela as she slipped off Katie's bib and lifted her from the high chair.  She set the toddler down on the rug, where Katie immediately went about the task of trying to wrap Sully's beads around her bunny's ears.

    Rosalind sighed contentedly.  "What a warm and restful room this is," she said, as her eyes traveled approvingly around the walls gleaming mellowly in the afternoon light.  A shaft of sunlight, slanting through the beveled glass panel of the front door, painted the floorboards with a splash of amber.
 
    Earlier, as the wagon had pulled up in front of the homestead, Rosalind had been lavish in her praise of the beauty of the house and the surrounding views.  Upon their arrival, Marjorie, pleading fatigue, had elected to go upstairs and rest after unpacking; but Rosalind had been eager to see every part of the homestead and grounds.  Michaela, glowing with pride in her home and her husband's craftsmanship, had been only too happy to give Rosalind a complete tour.  Rosalind had been even more complimentary of Sully's talents when she saw the interior of the house, and Michaela again felt a pang of sorrow that Sully wasn't there himself to see and hear Rosalind's reaction.  But she stored up Rosalind's words in her mind so that she could repeat them to Sully when next she saw him.

    Now, in response to Rosalind's comment, Michaela said, "Yes, this is my favorite room.  I love it best in the evening, after the children are in bed.  Sully lights a fire, and we curl up together, watching the flames, listening to the quiet . . .  '  Her eyes were dark with memory.
 
    Rosalind, sensing Michaela's sadness, hastened to turn the conversation in a more cheerful direction.  "'Katie' is such a pretty name," she said.  "It suits her."  As she spoke she looked fondly at the little girl, who was busy making her bunny *hop* across the floor.

    Michaela, diverted, smiled at her guest.  "Thank you.  It's 'Katharine,' actually.  But from the moment she was born Sully and I have always just called her Katie."

    Rosalind's expression altered slightly.  "Really?" she said.  "Well then, Miss Katie, you and I have something in common.  My older sister was named 'Katharine' too—but from the time we were small, I always called her 'Kate.'"

    "What a nice coincidence!" Michaela said.  "Actually, I had been meaning to tell you how much I liked your name.  It's so elegant and uncommon."

    "I'm flattered," Rosalind replied.  "My father was very fond of the classics, particularly the plays of Mr. Shakespeare.  I was named for the character in 'As You Like It,' and my sister for the rather *spirited* heroine of 'The Taming of the Shrew.'

    "As we grew, however," she continued rather ruefully, "it became quite obvious to our parents that I should have been christened with Katharine's name, and she with mine.  Katharine was very quiet, shy and demure; while I was the little spitfire always coming home with tangled hair and rips in my pinafore after romping in the woods!"
 
    Rosalind was smiling at the recollection, but her eyes seemed shadowed with a faint sadness.  Michaela watched her for a moment, her curiosity piqued by the indefinable change in Rosalind's mood.  She had been on the point of asking Rosalind if her sister shared her interest in women's rights, but she checked the question that rose to her lips, and instead went to pick up Katie, whose eyelids were drooping noticeably.

    Sensing that Rosalind might like a moment alone, Michaela excused herself and took Katie upstairs for her nap.

    When she returned a few minutes later, she found Rosalind standing before the mantle of the fireplace, gazing raptly at Michaela's and Sully's wedding picture.  Rosalind's face was in profile, but Michaela could still detect her curiously intent expression.

    "You made a lovely bride, Michaela," Rosalind  said as Michaela joined her.  "And your husband is very handsome indeed."

    "You're very kind to say so," Michaela replied, blushing slightly at Rosalind's praise, but pleased by the compliment to Sully.

    "Not kind, my dear, merely observant," Rosalind said, regarding Michaela warmly.  "Clearly you were meant for each other.  Even in a photograph, your joy is so apparent—it absolutely radiates from you both—and from all your loved ones gathered round you.

    "Look at Marjories's face, for example," Rosalind went on.  "She was obviously very happy for you."
 
    "Yes, I believe she was," Michaela agreed thoughtfully, looking at Marjorie's image.  "We had finally made our peace with each other.  But it came only after years of antipathy between us."  She sighed, thinking with regret of all the time she and Marjorie had wasted in anger and misunderstandings.

    "Yes—Marjorie told me something of your early relationship, and the difficulties you had getting on with one another," said Rosalind.

    "It's really not that hard to understand," she continued. "You are both spirited, strong-willed women.  I'm sure you were just as spirited as young girls.  It's almost inevitable that the two of you would clash from time to time."

    "More like *all* the time," Michaela said, smiling ruefully.

    "The important thing is that you *did* make peace, and learned to appreciate one another's special gifts and virtues," said Rosalind.  "And each of you directed your inner strength and energies into creating rewarding, fulfilling lives."

    "You're so very perceptive, " Michaela said in admiration.  "You have a way of seeing right to the heart of a matter."

    "I simply recognize two very exceptional women when I see them." Rosalind responded.  "There is Marjorie, who found the courage within herself to begin a whole new life as a single, independent woman after her husband's betrayal—who even had the courage to take back her maiden name and forge her own identity—even if that decision made her a target of the disapproval and disdain of Boston society.

    "And there's you, Michaela:  a woman who had a dream of becoming a doctor—of entering a man's world—and who had the strength and determination to make that dream a reality—no matter how many obstacles stood in your path.

    "And even when the doors of Boston's hospitals were closed to you, you didn't give up, but found the courage to journey west and establish your own practice on the Colorado frontier.

    "If all that were not enough, you also had the bravery to retain your maiden and professional name as well!  It can't have been easy for you to find acceptance among the people here with so many 'strikes' against you."

    "Charlotte Cooper, my children’s real mother, once said something very similar to me,"  Michaela noted, feeling unworthy of such effusive praise.  Nonetheless, her new friend's understanding of her unique situation gave her a warm glow.

    "I confess I had many challenges," she admitted.  "And winning the trust of the townspeople here certainly didn't happen overnight.  However, the people in Colorado Springs seem to be more—accepting—of me than people might be elsewhere.  I'm fortunate that here, at least, I haven't had to pay too high a price for my personal choices—whether it be my profession, or what I choose to call myself.  I suspect it's been far more difficult for Marjorie than it's been for me."
 
    "Judging from what you say, I would imagine that's probably true," Rosalind agreed.

    "I should tell you also that my choice of name was not a decision I reached alone," Michaela added.  "Half of the credit must go to Sully.  You see, he is as unconventional in his way as I am in mine.  Before we married, we made a pact:  I wouldn't ask him to wear a wedding ring, and he wouldn't ask me to change my name."

    Rosalind smiled in approval.  "The more I learn of your husband, the more he impresses me," she said.  "It's a rare man indeed who is secure enough to accept and support his wife's need for her own identity and independence.

    "Though I find I'm not surprised," she continued.  "I can only judge from his photograph, but he seems like a very gentle and honorable man.

    "It's something about the eyes, I think," she added softly.  "When I look into them I have a distinct feeling of warmth and well-being."

    "Sully is definitely a very special person," Michaela agreed, her voice tinged with pride.

    Rosalind had continued staring at the wedding photograph, seeming almost transfixed.  Michaela's words broke the spell, however, and Rosalind turned back to her with a smile.

    "Now that I think of it," she remarked.  "I don't believe Marjorie ever told me your husband's surname.  Whenever she spoke of him, she always called him 'Sully.'"

    "I'm sorry, Rosalind, I thought you knew," Michaela responded in surprise.  "'Sully' *is* my husband's surname."

    Rosalind looked at her sharply.  "Really?" she said, a distinctly odd tone in her voice.  After a moment's hesitation she added more normally, "How foolish of me—I didn't realize.  Please forgive me."
 
    "There's no need for apologies," Michaela told her, seeking to rescue Rosalind from the awkwardness of the moment.  "It's an understandable mistake.

    "You see, my husband has never been fond of his given name.  From the time he came west as a young boy, he has always gone by the name of 'Sully.'"

    To Michaela's surprise, her explanation about Sully's name—rather than relieving Rosalind's consternation—only seemed to compound it.

    "I  . . . see," Rosalind replied slowly.  The odd note was back in her voice.  After a moment she added, "If I'm not being too impertinent—may I ask . . . "  She seemed unable to complete the question.
 
    "His first name?" Michaela finished for her.  "Why certainly.  It's 'Byron.'"

    The color drained from Rosalind's face and she swayed visibly on her feet, reaching out blindly for the edge of the mantle to keep her balance.

    Michaela, alarmed, immediately put her arms around Rosalind's shoulders to steady her.  "Rosalind!  Are you all right?"
 
    Rosalind's eyes closed for a moment, then opened again.  "Yes—yes I'm fine," she said faintly.  "It must be fatigue . . . from the trip . . . I must have been  more tired than I thought . . . '
 
    "Here, sit down," Michaela said and guided Rosalind to one of the wing chairs.  Rosalind sank down gratefully onto the seat.  Michaela grasped Rosalind's wrist, feeling instinctively for her pulse.  It was rapid, but strong.  Then Michaela placed her hand against Rosalind's forehead, but there was no sign of fever.

    "Please don't be concerned Michaela—I'll be all right in a moment," Rosalind assured her.  But the woman's voice was still weak, and Michaela remained unconvinced.
 
     "Let me get you some water," she said.

    "That would be very kind," said Rosalind.  "But perhaps, if it's not too much trouble, another cup
of tea . . .?”

    "Certainly," Michaela replied.  "I want you to stay here and rest—I won't be long."  She disappeared into the kitchen.  Rosalind could hear the sound of water being pumped into the sink, followed a moment later by the clatter of the kettle being set on the stove to boil.

    She rose slowly to her feet, crossed over to the mantle and took down the wedding photograph.  Returning to her chair, she laid the picture in her lap, gazing fixedly at Sully's image.

    After a moment, her hands went to an antique cameo broach pinned to her collar.  With trembling fingers she unpinned the broach, and sat staring at it as it lay cupped in her hands.  Finally her fingers fumbled at a hidden catch in the side.  The broach suddenly sprang open, revealing an exquisitely painted miniature of a young girl of sixteen. The girl's chestnut hair was swept back into a chignon at the nape of her neck, but a few wispy curls escaped to frame her face.  Her eyes, wide and expressive, were a particularly vivid shade of cornflower blue.  Her full, sensuous mouth curved into a shy smile.  Joy and vitality radiated from her.

    Rosalind looked from the portrait to the photograph.  The same eyes gazed out at her from the face of Michaela's husband.  The same mouth smiled at her.  Rosalind passed a shaking hand over Sully's face, and a tear slid down her cheek and dropped onto the gilded frame of the picture.

    Just then she heard Michaela returning, and she hastily wiped away the tear with the edge of her sleeve.  She snapped the broach shut and slipped it into her pocket, and quickly rose and replaced the
photograph on the mantle.  When Michaela came in with her tea,  Rosalind was back in her chair, looking a little pale but composed.

    Michaela looked searchingly at Rosalind's face and was gratified to see that though Rosalind appeared tired, some of the color was starting to return to her cheeks.  "How are you feeling?" she asked, setting down the cup and saucer on the small table between the chairs.

    "Much improved, thank you Michaela," Rosalind answered.  "I'm sorry to have alarmed you."

    "Please don't apologize," Michaela said as she sat down in the opposite chair and covered Rosalind's hand with her own.  "I'm just glad to see you looking better."

    "And I feel very fortunate to have such a kind and compassionate doctor to look after me," Rosalind said gratefully.  "However, if I may, I believe I'll take my tea upstairs and rest for awhile."
 
    "Exactly what I was going to recommend," said Michaela firmly.  "Let me help you upstairs."

    "You're so kind, Michaela, but really, it's not necessary," Rosalind assured her.  "Truly, I'll be fine."  She picked up her cup and moved to the staircase.

    As Rosalind slowly ascended the stairs, Michaela watched her thoughtfully.  When Rosalind was out of sight, Michaela turned to the mantle and took down her wedding picture.

    As she studied the sepia-tinted images, she wondered what Rosalind could find so disturbing about the wedding portrait of a woman she barely knew and a man she'd never met.