The morning of the trial dawned clear and crisp.  The snap in the air told Sully that summer was a memory, and winter would soon be upon them.  Would he be here to enjoy the first snowfall, feeling the thick, icy whiteness crunching beneath his boots, tasting the stinging coldness of the flakes on his tongue?  Would he be here to show Katie how to catch a snowflake in her tiny hand, showing her the miracle of its delicate, lacy beauty?  Would he be here to have snowball fights with Brian, and build a snowman with his children, watching the winter roses bloom in their cheeks and seeing the sparkle in their eyes?  Would he be here to curl up with Michaela in front of a roaring fire, finding joy with one another while the winter storms raged outside?

     Or would he be glimpsing the freezing snow from behind the colder bars of a cell window—alone and separated from those he loved by so much more than distance?

     As Sully felt the morbid thoughts closing in on him, he shook his head abruptly and willed the dark fears away.  He had to be positive—if not for himself, at least for Michaela and the children.  He had to believe that things would be all right.  More, he had to make *them* believe.

     He wandered to the window and stared out at the street.  A steady stream of people flowed past, headed toward the church.  Across the bridge by the cemetery, the meadow was choked with with more wagons and buggies than he’d ever seen before.

     “Hurry, hurry, hurry—come one, come all!” he thought cynically.  “Come see ‘Sully the Savage!’  He ain’t wearing’ fake beads and warpaint, and throwin’ tomahawks in the Wild West show anymore—now he’s doin’ even better tricks.  Come stare at the man standin’ trial for treason and murder—right next to the two-headed calf!”  With an expression of disgust, he turned away.

     Sully buttoned the collar of his formal shirt, which always made him feel a little like he was choking.  He put on his suit coat, then slipped a tie around his collar, attempting to fasten it with hands that shook slightly.  The material kept slipping through his fingers, forcing him to keep starting over.

     Michaela, clad in a decorous gown of dark blue, sat at the dressing table pinning up her hair. She glimpsed his predicament in the mirror, and watched his reflection compassionately for a few moments, finally rising to come over to him.  Gently she pushed his hands away, and took over the task.  He looked at her gratefully.

     “Thanks,” he said.  “I guess—I’m a little nervous.”

     Michaela finished tying a neat bow, then smoothed it carefully.  “With good reason,” she said kindly.  “But it will be all right, Sully.  I feel it, deep inside.”

     “You know somethin’ I don’t?” he asked with a crooked smile.

     “No,” she said.  “All I have is my woman’s intuition.  But it’s never failed me,” she added lightly, smiling up at him.

     He smiled back at her, slipping his arms around her waist.  “I hear that’s a powerful thing,” he responded.

     “Indeed it is,” she answered, a twinkle visible in her amber-green eyes.

     “Well then, I guess I ain’t got nothin’ to worry about,” he said.

     “Not if I have anything to say about it!” Michaela declared, and drew his head down to hers for a kiss.

     Just then there was a tap on the door, and they heard Matthew’s voice outside.  “Sully, Dr. Mike!  You ready?”

     Sully broke away from her apologetically and went to open the door, as Michaela smoothed her hair and looked around for her hat and gloves.

     “Hey Matthew,” Sully greeted his stepson, as Matthew entered the room.  He was dressed in a dark suit, his blonde hair slicked back.  He was freshly shaved, and Sully detected the familiar scent of bay rum, the fragrance he wore himself.

     “Mornin’, Dr. Mike,” Matthew said, crossing the room to give his mother a light peck on the cheek.

     “Good morning, Matthew,” she answered, gazing at him with pride.  “You look very handsome—every inch a lawyer,” she added.

     “Thanks—but lookin’ like a lawyer ain’t gonna cut any mustard with the judge.  All that matters is me buildin’ a strong enough case to get Sully set free,” he answered.

     “You’ll do fine, Matthew,” Sully told him.  “I have faith in you.”

     “I appreciate that,” Matthew answered, staring into his eyes.  “I’m gonna do the best I can for you Sully—I won’t let you down again.”

     “You didn’t let me down before,” Sully said, putting his hand on Matthew’s shoulder.

     Matthew cleared his throat.  “So, are you ready to go?” he asked.  “It’s nearly time.”

     “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Sully said, resigned.

     Matthew noticed Sully’s sling hanging from a bedpost.  He retrieved it, then handed it to Sully.  “Don’t forget this,” he said.

     Sully looked uncomfortable.  “Are you sure I gotta wear this?” he asked, sliding it over his head and cradling his arm in the fold of material.

     “You did a brave thing the other night, and it nearly cost you your life,” Matthew said.  “I want the judge to know it.”

     “More like a foolish thing,” Sully commented.

     “Sgt. McKay is alive ‘cause of you,” Matthew reminded him.

     “Matthew’s right, Sully,” Michaela spoke up.  “The judge needs to know how courageous you are, and how ready you are to help anyone in trouble.”

     “But it still feels like lyin’,” Sully persisted.

     “Sully, you were seriously hurt trying to save Sgt. McKay’s life,” said Michaela.  “You might have been killed.  The fact that you’re nearly healed does not detract from the sacrifice you made.  If invoking the judge’s sympathy helps to influence him in your favor, is it really so wrong?”

     “Like Dr. Mike said,” Matthew echoed.  “We gotta use everythin’ we got Sully—your future depends on it.”

     “I ‘spose you’re right,” Sully conceded.  He looked at Michaela.  “For you,” he said.

     There was another knock.  Matthew answered this time, revealing Hank standing outside.  He, too, was dressed in a dark suit, its solemn appearance relieved by a blue brocade vest.  His wavy blonde hair cascaded past his shoulders, partially obscuring the silver star pinned on his lapel.  The gun on his hip was just visible beneath his coat, looking incongruous against his fine clothes

     “Mornin’ Sully, Michaela—Matthew,” he said, nodding at them.

     “Hank,” Sully replied, feeling his heart begin to beat a little faster.

     “I’m here to take you over to the church,” Hank went on.  He looked reluctant, as if he would rather not be here, performing this ritual.  “Uh—‘fraid I gotta cuff ya’,” he added.

     “Is that really necessary, Hank?” Michaela protested.  “You know Sully won’t make any attempt to escape.”

     He looked at her a little shame-facedly.  “Sorry, Michaela—it’s the law.”

     “It’s all right,” Sully interjected.  “Let Hank do what he’s got to do.”  He held his hands out before him awkwardly, his right arm restrained by the sling.  Hank reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a set of handcuffs.  Quietly, he slipped the metal bracelets around Sully’s wrists and snapped them shut, the locking sound they made reverberating in the stillness.

     The four of them filed out of the room.  Out in the hall, Hank turned toward the rear of the clinic.

     “Figured I’d take you out the back, with all them folks hankerin’ to gawk at ya,” he remarked.  “It’s a real dog and pony show out there.  People musta come from as far as Soda Springs and Manitou—maybe even Denver.  Half of ‘em I ain’t never seen before.”

     “I appreciate you tryin’ to keep them away from me,” said Sully.  “But they’re gonna be staring at me durin’ the trial, anyway.  May as well get used to it.”

     Hank shrugged.  “Your choice,” he said.  As they started to move toward the front exit,  the rear door suddenly opened and McKay stepped inside.

    “Mr. Cooper,” McKay said, gesturing to Matthew.  “Can I have a word with you?”

    Matthew glanced quickly at Sully and Michaela, who looked back at him, equally curious.  “Yeah, all right, “ he said to McKay.  “You all go on ahead—I’ll catch up,” he added to Hank.

    Hank was watching McKay closely.  “Anythin’ I should know about?” he said to the sergeant.

    “I just need to speak with Mr. Cooper a moment,” McKay said neutrally.

    Hank raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment further.  He nudged Sully forward, and the three of them filed through the door connecting the recovery rooms to the main area of the clinic.

    As Sully and the others emerged onto the clinic porch, the human traffic going by came to a standstill.  Dozens of pairs of eyes regarded him speculatively.  Sully’s eyes briefly scanned the crowd.  There was not one face he recognized.  The three of them stepped off the porch and proceeded slowly down the street.  Sully could feel all the prying eyes boring into him, like a hundred tiny needles stabbing into his skin.  As they neared the bridge, a babble of eager gossip broke out behind them.  To Sully’s ears, it sounded like the buzz of a swarm of angry hornets.  Sully glanced toward Michaela.  Her head was held high, her posture ramrod straight and her eyes focused directly ahead.  But he could see that her cheeks were flaming—though he couldn’t have said whether it was from anger or humilation.

    His own face flushed with anger and guilt.  He hated putting her through this.  He’d figured the trial would be bad enough.  He hadn’t counted on the notoriety, and the infringement on their dignity—perhaps even safety.   He wished he could reach out and squeeze her hand, but the metal cuffs binding his wrists made that impossible.

    They crossed the bridge and began their approach to the church, where another obstacle awaited them.  The steps were completely hidden, clogged by a mass of people stretching to look over one another’s shoulders, vainly attempting to peer in through the door and windows.  Even more people crowded around the base of the steps and spread out to partially encircle the building.

    “Standin’ room only—guess I’m some star attraction,” Sully thought sardonically.  “There ain’t been this much excitement since Gilda St.Clair came to town.”

    Just then a man on the edge of the crowd glanced around and caught sight of them.

    “Hey—there he is!” he yelled.  The spectators turned en masse, as if they were marionettes being manipulated by some great and invisible puppeteer   An even louder buzz, punctuated with shouts and jeers, erupted from the crowd.  They all began to surge toward Sully, Michaela and Hank.

    Emitting a small, strangled cry, Michaela pressed her fist to her mouth and stepped back involuntarily.

    Sully shot a worried glance at her, and turned quickly to Hank.  “Do somethin’!” he said urgently.

    “Damn right I will!” Hank swore, then cut his eyes to Michaela.  “Sorry,” he apologized briefly.  He drew and cocked his gun, then pointed it at the sky, squeezing the trigger.  The sound of the gunshot exploded on the air, causing Michaela to cringe and cover her ears.

    “Michaela!--you all right?” Sully said to her sharply, imagining the horrific associations the sound of the gun must have for her.  Her heart pounding, she nodded.  Her face was pale.

    “I’m warning ya!  Get back!” Hank shouted to the crowd.  “Or next time this goes off, one of ya will be on the receivin’ end!”  He lowered his gun and pointed it at the onlookers.  Slowly at first, then with more alacrity, the crowd fell back, forming an avenue for them to pass through.  They began to walk forward once again,  Hank’s eyes darting from side to side as he surveyed the group for any threat, his gun held out before him like a talisman.

    “Get outta the way!” he snapped to the people blocking the steps.  “I said MOVE!”  Again the onlookers parted, allowing them a narrow aisle of access.  Hank pushed Michaela up the steps, then shoved Sully after her as he turned to face the people behind them, his gun trained on them warningly.

    Finally they were through the doors, only to find the aisle and back of the church also blocked by a solid mass of onlookers.  Ruthlessly Hank pushed people to either side as they made their slow, awkward progress to the defendent’s table at the front.

    As they reached the first few rows, they began to see familiar and friendly faces.  There was Dorothy on the right, smiling encouragingly.  The Reverend sat beside her, hands propped on his cane, his eyes vacant, but a gentle expression on his face.  Loren was on her other side, occupying the aisle seat.  He looked at them kindly, no trace of his customary irrascibility evident today.  Andrew sat two rows ahead next to Horace, who regarded them benevolently.  On the left side of the church, Grace and Robert E. were watching them with concerned and sympathetic eyes.  Beyond them, in the front row, Jake raised an eyebrow and nodded.  Across from him, in the front right pew, sat Colleen, Brian, Rosalind and Marjorie.  They had saved a place on the aisle for Michaela, and she sank onto the bench gratefully, clearly relieved to be back among her family and friends after the ordeal they had faced outside.  Sully was similarly relieved to see his wife relax slightly.  Colleen reached over and squeezed her mother’s hand, as Brian left his place briefly to give his mother a quick hug.  Rosalind and Marjorie leaned toward Michaela, whispering words of greeting and encouragement.  Rosalind then caught Sully’s eye.

    “Be brave, my dear—I love you,” she said, her voice just audible enough to reach his ears.  He nodded to her gratefully, then cast a loving glance at his children.

    “Good luck, Pa,” Brian whispered..

    “We love you, Pa,” Colleen chimed in.

    “Love you too,” Sully said softly, then added, “Where’s Katie?”

    “Becky’s looking after her,” Colleen answered.  “She’s going to keep her for the day.”

    “Good,” Sully said, satisfied.  This was no place for his little girl.  He didn’t want her to see him like this, bound in handcuffs.  And he didn’t want his small daughter’s last sight of him to be as an army prisoner, being led out of the church in disgrace.

    Sully moved to his place behind the defendent’s table.  Hank unfastened the handcuffs and removed them, as Sully chafed his wrists slightly.

    Before him, on the altar, Reverend Johnson’s pulpit had been set aside to make room for a desk where the judge would sit and preside over the trial.  A stack of papers lay on the desk, next to a gavel.  Close by was a bible.  Fronting the desk was a nameplate, bearing the legend, “Judge Frederick Webster.”  Sully recognized the name.  The same judge had presided over Michaela’s malpractice hearing.  The outcome of that trial had been devastating for her.  If it hadn’t been for Michaela’s discovery of the tragic flaw in the design of the baby bottle, proving that she hadn’t been at fault in her treatment of the Norris baby, she would have been forced to give up practicing medicine forever.  The memory of her experience replayed itself dismally in his mind as he thought about his own coming ordeal.  Michaela had been sorely tested that time, and had risen to the challenge with grace and courage.  Would he be as brave, now that it was his turn?

    He continued to stare ahead of him.  Adjacent to the desk was a chair where the witnesses would sit to testify.  Sully wondered how it would feel to sit in that seat, all eyes upon him, as he fought for his future—perhaps even his life.  He wondered how it would feel to hear the judge pass sentence, and he prayed briefly to the spirits for the strength to endure.  He contemplated the judge’s and prosecutor’s empty chairs—soon to be occupied by men who would have the power of life and death over him.

    Sully finally pulled his eyes away from the front of the church, and turned to look at the gathered spectators, his gaze roving over the faces of his family and friends.

    “They must have shut down the whole town,” he thought in amazement, deeply touched by their friends’ and neighbors willingness to close their businesses and come here on his behalf.  Matthew had mentioned talking to various townspeople about being character witnesses, but Sully never dreamed so many people would come out for him like this, especially after the dark cloud under which he’d returned to town.

    Midway back, on the left side of the church, Sully caught sight of Preston.  Immaculate as usual in a finely tailored suit—no doubt imported from Boston or New York—the banker was perusing a copy of the Gazette as he waited for the trial to begin.  At that moment, seeming to sense Sully watching him, he raised his head and gave Sully a slight, self-satisfied smile.  Sully regarded him coldly, wishing he could wipe the smug look off Preston’s face.

    “There’s one person who’d gladly see me dragged out of here in cuffs and leg irons,” Sully thought dourly.  He looked away from Preston with relief and fastened his gaze on his wife.

    “You all right, Michaela?” he whispered to her.  She reached out to pat his shoulder.

    “Yes, I’m fine,” she whispered back.  “Don’t worry about me, Sully.”

    “Can’t help it,” he answered with a tender smile.

    Just then a buzz of reaction came from the assembled onlookers.  Sully looked toward the back of the church to see what had aroused their attention, and spotted the judge coming down the aisle.   The judge was balding, with sparse gray hair, and wore a black suit.  He was followed by an army lieutenant.  Behind them walked another man, who Sully presumed to be the prosecutor, Major Morrison.  He studied the army officer.  Morrison was a stocky man in his mid-fifties, with graying dark hair and mutton-chop whiskers.  His eyes were like chips of granite, hard and calculating.  There was a cynical twist to his mouth.  Sully wondered briefly if the kind and ethical Matthew could ever hope to be a match for this cold and callous man.

    As the new arrivals reached their places in the make-shift courtroom, Sully scanned the back of the church again, looking for Matthew.  The young man still had not arrived, and Sully was beginning to grow uneasy.  He wondered what McKay could have had to say that would keep Matthew so long.

    Suddenly his stepson appeared, and Sully heaved an internal sigh of relief.  Matthew hurried quickly down the aisle.  Behind him, Sully also saw McKay enter the church.  He took an empty seat which apparently had been saved for him near the back, next to an army corporal.

    Matthew reached the front and slipped into his place beside Sully.  As he sat down, Sully leaned over to him.

    “What’s goin’ on?” he whispered.  “What did McKay want?”

    Matthew opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted as the lieutenant, standing next to the judge’s desk, called out loudly, “All rise!”

    The assemblage rose to its feet, as the sharp crack of the gavel rent the air.

    “I call this proceeding to order,” said Judge Webster.