Sully looked at Rosalind, and for a moment it seemed as if he were seeing double.  Another set of hauntingly familiar, transparent features appeared to be transposed over those of the woman standing before him.  The force of the impression was so strong that his mother's name nearly escaped his lips before he blinked, and the illusion was dispelled.

     Rosalind, too, appeared to be seeing ghosts.  Her hand reflexively went to her throat to grasp her missing cameo.  As her questing fingers failed to find it, a slight look of confusion crossed her face.

     Sully saw the gesture, and instantly understood its significance.  He reached inside his shirt and withdrew the cameo.  He had placed it there earlier, feeling the need to keep it close by.  But it had done its work, providing the link between himself, his mother and his aunt.  He realized that he no longer needed it.  It was time for the cameo to be returned to its rightful owner.

     Slowly he came over to Rosalind.  Holding up the cameo, he said softly, "May I?"

     Rosalind seemed momentarily incapable of speech.  Gazing at him tremulously, she nodded.

     Sully carefully pinned the cameo to Rosalind's collar.  Then leaning over, he kissed her gently on the cheek.

     With a look of wonder, Rosalind touched her cheek where he had kissed it; then, hesitantly, she reached out to touch Sully's face.  Her hand trembled slightly. "I had given up hope that this day would ever come," she said, barely above a whisper.  "You are so like your mother," she added, in a tone approaching awe.

     Sully took her hand in his.  "So are you," he answered, the same wonder reflected in his eyes.  "When I saw you, for a moment I thought—“

     " I understand," Rosalind answered.

     As she stood apart watching Sully and his aunt, Michaela was forcibly struck by the resemblance—both  physical and emotional—between  them.  A likeness they themselves had obviously recognized.  Why was it that she had never noticed it before, she wondered silently.  Simply because she had never seen them together before this moment?  Had she been unconsciously aware of Rosalind's likeness to Sully from the beginning?  Was that why she had been so  immediately drawn to Rosalind—feeling  so comfortable and secure in her company, and instinctively willing to place her trust in this woman she barely knew?

     Obviously both Sully and Rosalind  had been blessed with an extraordinary gift of kindness and empathy for others; an aura of warmth and sensitivity that radiated from them and touched everyone around them.  Michaela smiled privately to herself as she thought of how nervous Sully and Rosalind had been to meet each other.  How could they fail to form a bond when they were so much alike?  She refocused her attention on their conversation.

     "I ain't—that is, I'm not—sure what I should call you," Sully said hesitantly.

     "It would give me such comfort if you would call me 'Aunt Rosalind'—or perhaps just 'Rosalind'—if that would make you more comfortable," his aunt replied.

     "It's a honor to meet you at last . . . Aunt Rosalind," he said, and bent to kiss her hand.

     "And it's the fulfillment of my dearest wish to meet you Byron," Rosalind began, tears glimmering in her eyes.  But then she added hastily, "I'm sorry, please forgive me.  Michaela tells me that you prefer to be called 'Sully.'"

     "I've always gone by 'Sully,'" her nephew replied.  "But I think—I'd like you to call me 'Byron.'  It seems right, somehow."

     "Thank you, my dear.  That's extremely generous of you," Rosalind said.  "Particularly since my arrival-Indeed my very existence—must have come as a great shock to you."

     "It was a-surprise," Sully conceded.  "But a good one.  I always thought all my family—and all my connections to my past—were long gone.  But now, through you, I got the chance to know my ma again.  Michaela said you got a lot to tell me.  I'd . . . like to hear it," he added.

     "My dear Byron, nothing would give me greater pleasure," Rosalind said earnestly.  "Your mother was a sweet, sensitive soul.   Not only  my sister, but my dearest friend.  I realize that many of your memories of her are not . . . kind.  But I would like the opportunity to show you a different side of Katharine.  To help you to know her gentle spirit, and her courage and determination.  Katharine defied our father's wishes to marry your father and accompany him to America—and in doing so, abandoned the life she had known forever.  It was a difficult choice, and a great sacrifice.  But she did it for love."

     "I think I can understand how she felt," Sully replied, recalling Abagail's determination to marry him in defiance of Loren's wishes.  A shadow crossed his face as he remembered the angry words and  recriminations that had  passed between Abagail and her father when she had informed him of her intentions.  Guilt flared in Sully's heart at the memory of Abagail's hurt and disappointment when Loren refused to attend their wedding, or have anything to do with her afterward.   She had given up a so much to be with him, he thought remorsefully—but she had never uttered a word of reproach  to him, or expressed any regret at her decision.   For Abagail, too, had acted out of love.

     "I'm sure you do understand," Rosalind said gently.  "Michaela told me of the acrimony that existed between your first wife and her father when she chose to marry you—and of her tragic death, and the death of your child.  I am so deeply sorry, my dear."

     "Thank you," Sully said quietly.  He glanced toward Michaela, wondering if the talk about Abagail was making her uncomfortable.  But her eyes, as they rested on him, were filled with nothing but love and encouragement.  Buoyed by her obvious support, and Rosalind's understanding, he found the courage to voice his private feelings about Abagail's fate, and what he perceived to be his failure to protect her and their baby.

    "It took me a long time to get over my wife and baby dyin'," he said haltingly.  "I blamed myself.  If Abagail hadn't chose me, she  wouldn't have fought with her pa.  If we hadn't got married, we wouldn't have lost our child, and her life wouldn't have been cut short.  I didn't think I could live with the guilt, or ever find forgiveness.  But I was lucky—I had a Cheyenne friend—a 'brother'—who helped me to heal, and start my life over.  And then one day I saw Michaela, and I knew I could love again.  She made me complete."  He walked over to his wife and took her hand.  Sully gazed at her without speaking, but Michaela could clearly read the message of love and gratitude in his eyes.  The emotions were reflected in her own eyes as she gazed back at him.

    Rosalind watched them quietly, loathe to interrupt this private, tender moment between them.  But finally she broke the silence.  "We cannot presume to know the mind of God, or His grand design for our lives.  And I was not privileged to know Abagail.  But I know that she chose you because she loved you, and that you made her happy for the brief time you were together.  I don't believe she would have wanted you to live out your life grieving and alone.  I believe she would have been glad that you found happiness with Michaela, and that she would have given you her blessing."

    "That's good of you to say," Sully acknowledged.  "I've tried to believe the same thing.  At least I know that Loren forgave me, and gave Michaela and me his blessin'.  I even heard him tell Brian that he thought of me as—“ he hesitated, then finished softly, "the son he never had.  'Course, he didn't know I heard him  say it—and he said  it 'cause he thought I was dead.  I don't know what he'll think of me when he finds out I'm alive, and that I lied to him and everybody else.  I may have to earn his respect all over again—if I haven't lost it for good."   A note of self-reproach had crept into Sully's voice, as he remembered the day he and Cloud Dancing accidentally came upon Loren and Brian in the woods, standing at the edge of Sully's and Brian's favorite "fishing hole."  Concealed in the bushes, feeling like he was prying, he had been forced to listen as Loren "eulogized" him in an attempt to comfort Brian.  Just as it had then, shame flooded him now at his betrayal of Loren's trust.  Just another consequence of his mistakes at Palmer Creek, he thought bitterly.

    Though Michaela couldn't read his thoughts, she could see his obvious distress, and her heart flooded with compassion for him.

    "Sully," she began.  "Please don't do this to yourself—“

    "No Michaela," he interrupted, refusing to hide behind her sympathy.  "I gotta say this."  Looking at Rosalind squarely in the eyes, he continued resolutely, "Michaela told me what a kind and understandin' person you are.  And now that I've met you, I can see she was right.  But if she told you all about me, then she told  you about the things I done at the reservation, and about the charges of treason and murder I got on my head.  I swear to you that I didn't kill anyone—Sgt. O'Conner's death was an accident.  But I *am* responsible for the uprisin' at the reservation, and for everythin' else that's come after.  Now I'm a wanted man, and I have to stay in hidin', instead of bein' here with my family, where I belong.  I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want nothin' to do with me.  I ain't much to be proud of."  He swallowed hard, but continued to stare at Rosalind, awaiting her judgement.

    Rosalind looked into the piercing Nordic blue of Sully's eyes—eyes that were so curiously hot despite their color—eyes that appeared to desperately hang on what she would say next.  A man stood before her, yet she could not help but see the child she had never had the chance to know; the child she had wanted to take in and love, nurture and protect.  She wanted to tell him that it was all right, that he was her family and that she loved him, and would always love him, no matter what he did.   Whether she agreed with his choices or not--though in fact she understood that he had done what he had to do, and made the only choice he thought possible.  And she believed she had an idea of what it had cost him.

    Rosalind wanted to say all these things, but she realized that kind words and a pat on the head was not what Sully needed  from her.  He had confessed his "sins" with unflinching honesty, and he demanded the same honesty from her—even if she didn't approve of him.  Even if she rejected him completely.
 
    Very well—if Sully needed her to put aside her personal feelings and try to be objective, then that was what she would do.  She could hardly do less, when he had faced her with such courage.

     Drawing herself up, Rosalind pierced him with a level stare.

     "These things you did at the reservation—would you do them again?" she asked crisply.

     Sully squared his shoulders slightly.  "Yes."

     "Why?"

     "To save Cloud Dancin'.  To save the life of my 'brother,' who gave my life back to me.  Cloud Dancin' almost died from the beatin' he took.  The next one coulda killed him.  But if it wasn't a beatin', it would have been somethin' else—and it would  have all come to the same thing, in the end.   He just would have been dyin' by inches.

    "The army murdered his wife and his people, wouldn't let him practice his medicine, made him live in a shack and wear white men's clothes.  After the massacre at the Washita, Cloud Dancin' told me he'd seen his shadow.  To the Cheyenne, seein' your shadow sometimes—though not always—means death.  It wasn't death—at least not then.  Somehow Cloud Dancin' found a way to keep on livin'—to keep his people's song alive.  No matter what the army did to him, no matter what they stole, they couldn't take his spirit—that still soared free.  But when I saw him lyin' on a cot, half-dead from his injuries, wearing a white man's shirt *they* dressed him in . . . *I* saw his shadow.  And I knew I couldn't stand by and watch him or the others suffer any more."

     He swallowed again, and continued quietly, "So I made the choice to help the Indians escape.  I supplied them with horses, bought and set the dynamite, and got Cloud Dancin' away from the reservation and stayed with him until he was safely on his way to the Northern Cheyenne territory.

     "I only meant to help them escape!" he repeated forcefully.  To Rosalind, it seemed as if he was trying to convince himself, more than her, of the truth of what he was saying.

    "I never meant for them to start a war," he went on.  "If I'd known that was what they were plannin' . . .  "  His voice drifted off as the events that had gone so horribly wrong on that fateful day replayed themselves in his mind.  After a moment he continued, "When I found out what they had in mind, I tried to stop them.  But it was too late—the damage had been done.

    "As for me, as far as the army was concerned, I'd committed treason.  And O'Conner was bound and determined to hunt me down and make me pay.  When he caught up with me, it was clear he meant to kill me.  I fought back—I had no choice.  But his death was an accident.  We went over the cliff together.  After that . . . "  Sully's eyes closed against the memory of that horrible fall into empty space—and the certainty of his impending death as he hurtled downward to the rock-strewn creek below.  He passed a hand wearily over his face, and then looked up at his aunt.  His eyes were like two holes burned into the pale mask of his features.

     As Rosalind listened to Sully describe his anguish at Cloud Dancing's suffering, and what it had driven him to do, she wept inwardly for her nephew.  Sully was so clearly of man of honor, prizing loyalty and fairness above all else.  Yet his efforts to act honorably and deliver Cloud Dancing and the other Indians from their odious captivity had brought him nothing but pain—making him a fugitive from the law, and nearly costing him his own life.  A chill went through her as she thought of how close he had come to death—of how nearly she had lost him a second time.

     Every instinct within her was urging her to put her arms around him and give him comfort, and the forgiveness he craved so desperately.  But she realized that her forgiveness would be meaningless, if  he couldn't learn to forgive himself.   The question was, could she find the right words—the elusive key—to release him from this self-made purgatory of guilt?

     Rosalind glanced toward Michaela.  Michaela's answering look indicated that she was aware of Rosalind's inward struggle.  Rosalind was not surprised at Michaela's intuitiveness.  Clearly, because of the love they both bore for Sully, the women shared the same concern for his state of mind, and felt the same need to alleviate his suffering.  Perhaps, in the end, just loving him was the best—indeed the only—way to help him find peace.

     Rosalind looked back at Sully.  "Shall we sit?" she asked gently.

     Sully nodded, and the three of them moved toward the dining table and sat down, Sully and Michaela in their customary chairs, with Rosalind seated at Sully's left.

     Rosalind thought a moment, considering her words carefully.  Sully and Michaela waited.

     "It's not for me to pass judgement," she said finally, breaking the silence.  "I may be your aunt, but that does not give me the right to tell you how to live your life.  And I've made far too many mistakes in my own life, to presume to pass judgement on anyone else.

     "What you did may have been wrong in the eyes of the law," Rosalind continued.  "But I believe you acted out of the best of intentions.  My dear Byron—how could I condemn you for loving your friend so dearly?"

     Sully stared down at his hands, which were clasped on the tabletop.  His discomfort was palpable.  Clearly, he felt undeserving of her kindness.

     Rosalind reached over and covered his folded hands with one of her own.

     "Byron," she said.  "My dear—please look at me."

     Sully raised his head reluctantly.  A dart of pain lanced Rosalind's heart at the unhappiness she still saw reflected in his eyes.  Her resolve to lessen his pain—if such a thing was possible—strengthened even more.

     "Byron," she repeated softly.  "You've agonized so over my opinion, and the opinions of others for whom you care deeply.  Yet I feel no one could judge you more harshly than you judge yourself.  For weeks you've tormented yourself with what went wrong, but you've failed to consider what went right.  You rescued your friend Cloud Dancing.  He is alive and he is safe, because of you."

     "He may be alive, but he ain't safe no more—not since he came back here to help look for me," Sully replied dejectedly.

     "It was his choice, was it not?" Rosalind asked.  "Your friend returned to help you of his own free will—just as you freely chose to help him.  Just as the other Indians chose to fight.  You said yourself you couldn't stop them," she reminded him.

     "Byron," she went on, "You are not—you cannot—be your brother's keeper.  You must allow others the freedom to make their own choices—and perhaps, their own mistakes.  By all means, take responsibility for your own actions, as the honorable man I know you to be.  But to wrap yourself in a shroud of martyrdom serves no one—least of all yourself."

     "Rosalind is right, Sully," Michaela chimed in.  "Remember how I blamed myself when Black Kettle's people contracted typhus from the infected army blankets?  You told me I was giving myself a lot of credit for things that were out of my control."

     "You couldn't know the blankets were infected," Sully answered.  "It wasn't your fault."

     "And you couldn't know that the Indians you helped to escape would start a war," Michaela said forcefully.  "Or that Sgt. O'Conner would be so determined to pursue his vendetta against you that it would cost him his life.  Neither of those things was *your* fault, Sully.  You must find a way to let it go."

     "Yes you must, my child," Rosalind echoed.  "For your own sake, and for the sake of those who love you."

     "I appreciate what you're sayin'," Sully conceded quietly, looking from his wife to his aunt.  "Truly, I do.  But you spoke of me bein' 'honorable.'  There ain't much honor in hidin' out like a coward, while my wife and family have to struggle on alone, threatened by the army, lyin' to our friends, and carryin' the shame of what I done.  If I *truly* had any honor, I woulda turned myself in as soon as I was able, and faced the consequences."

     "You *wanted* to turn yourself in, Sully—but I pleaded with you not to!" Michaela exclaimed.  "If you'd gone to prison—or—or worse—we might have lost you forever!   This way, you're able to stay safe while we find a way to clear your name.  Having to live without you—thinking of you alone in that cave, away from all of us who love you—pains me grievously.  You know that.  But it was *my* choice—my 'free will.'  I'm willing to endure anything, to see you finally free.  Can you understand and respect that this was *my* decision—that this was what I wanted and needed to do?"

    Sully stared into her beautiful and unusual eyes, pierced to the soul by the naked anguish he saw there.  In that moment, something seemed to break within him.  The heavy stone of remorse he had been carrying inside for so long was crumbling at last—turning to dust and blowing away in the wake of Michaela's love.

     In response to Michaela's impassioned plea, Sully rose from his chair and moved over to stand behind her.  He wrapped his arms around her and bent down to press his cheek against hers.  "I'm sorry," he whispered.  "I've been so consumed with guilt, so wrapped up in my own self-pity that I was blind to how I might be worryin' and hurtin' you."  He released her, then moved to her side.  Kneeling by her chair, he took her hand and kissed it tenderly.  With his other hand, he reached up to caress her face.

     "You're right," he told her softly.  Glancing toward Rosalind to include her in his words he added, "Both of you.  I've been feelin' sorry for myself long enough.  What's done is done—there's no goin' back.  I gotta learn to live with what happened,, and search for a way to make it right—or at least try to make up for what I done in some way.  With your help, I know I can do it."

     "I know you can too, Sully," Michaela whispered joyfully, feeling the black cloud they had been existing under for so long begin to lift at last.  Sully kissed her tenderly, then went over to Rosalind.  Clasping her hand in his, he said, "Thank you.  We've only just met, but already I owe you so much.  If you hadn't come into our lives, Michaela and I might never have talked so plainly about our troubles, and found a way to work through them."

     "No thanks are necessary, my dear," Rosalind replied gently.  "Like Michaela, I only want to help you in any way I can, because I care for you so much."

     Sully nodded in understanding.  "All the same, though," he said.  "The blame, the guilt--it all stops here.  No more obsessin' about all I lost, so that I forget about everythin' I still got.  I promise."  For the first time since their conversation had begun, his face wore a look of peace.

     "There's still somethin' mighty important we need to talk about," he said to Rosalind.  "Will you—could you—tell me about my ma now?"

     Rosalind squeezed his hand.  "It would be my privilege," she said.