An hour later, Michaela stood in the doorway of the homestead, waving goodbye as their wagon, containing Matthew, Brian, Marjorie, and Katie, trundled down the dirt lane on its way to town.  Sully stood watching from a nearby window, concealed from the prying eyes of any unwelcome intruders by a gauze curtain.

     Michaela knew how reluctant Sully had been to see Katie leave with the others, after missing her so keenly during the time he'd been forced to stay away from home.  Earlier, after Katie had finished her breakfast, he had spent nearly the entire time—except for a brief trip upstairs to wash up, change clothes and shave—either cuddling her in his lap or playing with her on the floor.

     But when Michaela had rejoined her family—after quickly bathing and arranging her hair in one of Sully's favorite styles, donning a fetching pale blue gown (she had defiantly decided she would NOT wear dark colors today), and, in a moment of daring, even applying some of the perfume Sully had given her shortly after Katie was born—Marjorie had suggested that she take Katie with her into town, in the innocent belief that she was helping to give her sister and her husband some much-needed privacy and intimacy.  Which wasn't all that far from the truth, Michaela thought to herself somewhat guiltily.  Sully had been on the point of protesting  Marjorie's suggestion, but after a whispered consultation with Michaela, he had been forced to concede that perhaps the plan was for the best.

     Michaela had made Rosalind's apologies to the others; and if anyone thought it unusual that Rosalind had failed to appear for breakfast and meet Michaela's husband, no one remarked upon it.

     Now, as the wagon disappeared from sight, Michaela closed the door and she and Sully faced each other.  "Are you ready?" she asked him.

     Self-consciously he tugged at his shirt, and ran his hand through his hair, which he had brushed till it shone.  "Do I look all right?" he responded, trying to conceal his nervousness, but doing a poor job of it.

     Michaela gave him a loving smile, and came over to slip her arms around his waist.  "I'm hardly an unbiased observer, but I think you look wonderful."   He smiled back at her gratefully, running his fingers through the silky hair that hung down her back.

      "And you smell wonderful," he said.  "Is that the perfume I gave you?"

     "It is indeed," she said.  "I decided it's been much too long since I've made a special effort to make myself attractive for you."

     "Well you sure succeeded," he said appreciatively.  "Though  you don't need to make any effort—you're always beautiful to me Michaela—even covered with mud, like you were the first time I saw you!"

     She blushed and laughed.  "Must you remind me?" she chided him.  "That was not my finest moment!"

     "Maybe not—but it was one of your funniest!"

     "I concede the point," she said.  "But I've come a long way since then!"

     "You sure have," Sully agreed, and drew her to him in a lingering kiss.

     As they drew apart, Michaela raised her eyebrows slightly.  "Rosalind is waiting," she reminded Sully gently.

     He took a deep breath and nodded.  "I know."

     "Shall I?" she asked.

     He nodded again.  "Yeah, go ahead and fetch her.  I'm ready."

     Sully watched as Michaela ascended the stairs and disappeared from sight.  Compulsively he went to a small mirror hanging on the wall and checked his reflection.  Peering at himself closely, he brushed an invisible speck of lint from his shirt-front, and smoothed his hair once again.  After a moment he sighed in resignation.  "I am what I am," he murmured to himself.

     Moving to the fireplace, he knelt down and held out his suddenly ice-cold hands to its comforting warmth.  As he rubbed his hands together briskly, he mentally chastised himself for being so nervous at the prospect of meeting his aunt.  Michaela had told him of Rosalind's kindness, and had assured him that he had nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to fear from this meeting.  And yet . . .

     The sound of a door closing and footsteps above smote Sully's ears with the effect of a gunshot.  Jumping to his feet, he spun around to face the stairs.  His mouth had gone dry.  He was aware of his heart pounding.   His hands—so cold a moment ago—were slick with sweat.  Surreptitiously he wiped them on his buckskins.

     Michaela came first, followed by Rosalind.  Michaela looked over at him, and gave him a supportive smile.  His eyes looked back at her gratefully, but for perhaps the first time since he had met her,  Michaela was not the focus of Sully's attention.  He stared past her, straining for a glimpse of the woman who had unexpectedly assumed such an important role in his life.

     Rosalind moved into view, and their eyes met.