Saturday, 17 March, 1870

     Took a while for my depression to lift, but when I cheered up a little I got to feeling curious about what else had changed since I been “gone,” so to speak.  So Dr. Mike filled me in a bit today on what’s happened with some of the friends and townspeople I remember.

     Horace the telegraph operator fell in love with one of Hank’s girls—a sweet young woman named Myra.  Somehow, she was able to break her contract with Hank, even though she was always his favorite—and she and Horace got married last year.  They already got a baby—a little girl named Samantha.  Pretty name.  I wonder if she’s called after anyone special?

         Robert E.’s married too.  He wed Grace, the spirited woman with the snapping dark eyes who worked for Miss Olive, Loren’s sister.  Dr. Mike says that awhile back, Grace opened the first café in Colorado Springs, and that she’s the best cook in town.

     Speaking of Olive, Dr. Mike gave me the sad news that she’s gone now, too—got sick and died on the trail driving her cattle from Old Mexico back to Colorado Springs.  It grieved me to hear it.  I liked and respected Olive.  She was always good to Abagail and me—even when Loren turned his back on us both.

     I was even more saddened to learn that Maude, Abagail’s ma, died too.  Turns out she had a bad heart, and Dr. Mike couldn’t save her because she couldn’t get the medicine Maude needed in time.

     I could tell from the sadness in Dr. Mike’s eyes when she spoke about Maude, how bad she felt that she couldn’t keep her alive.  I ain’t known Dr. Mike for very long, but already I can see how passionate she is about being a doctor, and how much it grieves her if she loses a patient.  She ain’t told me much about her background, but I’ve heard enough to know how hard it was for her in medical school, and after she started doctoring, facing resentment from men doctors, and folks who refused to accept a woman doing a “man’s” job.  Why are people always so slow or unwilling to accept anyone who’s different?

     Folks here have treated me like that for a long time—staring or pointing at my long hair and “strange” clothes, calling me “half-breed” . . .  I never let it bother me, but I don’t like to think of people being cruel to Dr. Mike.

     There was one other thing Dr. Mike told me that shocked me more than everything else put together.  She said that Loren and me are *friends* now.  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was joking.  Loren hated me for taking Abagail away from him, and ruining his plans for her to marry another man.  And then when she died—well I know he blamed me for her death.  I never dreamed he’d forgive me—and I certainly never thought we could ever become friends.

     I asked Dr. Mike how such a thing could have come about.  She said she thought it started when she had to perform an operation on Loren, and I gave him some of my blood.  Me—giving Loren blood??  When I heard that, I said that now I *knew* she must be pulling my leg.  But she just smiled and said it was true.

     Life surely is strange . . .

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER THREE

     An enthusiastic burst of applause from the students and visitors gathered in the small schoolhouse, greeted Brian as he finished reading his essay.   Flushing with pleasure, he gazed at the friendly faces around the room and then looked toward the back, catching his mother’s eye and giving her a self-conscious grin.  Her face glowing and tears in her eyes, Michaela returned his smile, clapping vigorously.  Next to her but noticeably apart, stood Sully.  He wasn’t applauding, but he regarded Brian with an expression of quiet warmth and pride.  As Brian sought him out, anxiously searching Sully’s face for his reaction, he nodded slightly, and Brian beamed.

     Reverend Johnson walked up the short aisle between the rows of desks to the front of the room, and put his hands on Brian’s shoulders.

     “Thank you, Brian, for that very entertaining and descriptive essay,” he said, directing his remarks to everyone in the room.  “I’m sure we all agree that the construction of your flying machine was a very impressive accomplishment, and we all enjoyed hearing the story of how you did it.

     “And thank you also to Colleen Cooper, for your very well-written and informative essay about your trip to our nation’s capitol, and your tour of its many historical buildings and monuments.   I think I speak for us all when I say that you have certainly inspired us to emulate your example and visit there someday.”  Colleen ducked her head shyly, but her eyes were pleased.   The Reverend looked out at the room, smiling broadly.  “Thank you to *all* our talented students, for their very fine presentations.  And thank you to the many parents and friends who joined us today, and helped make this event such a success.

     “This concludes our program, but as you can see—“ he indicated his desk, which had been cleared of his books and materials,  and bore a heaping platter of cinnamon buns, pots of coffee and pitchers of lemonade—“Grace has very generously provided some delicious refreshments for us.  Please help yourselves—but first, let’s give our children another round of applause for their wonderful efforts!”  The room rang with clapping once again, and then students and adults alike started mingling together, the babble of their conversation filling the room as they drifted toward the front to partake of the repast.

     Brian and Colleen hurried toward the back to join their family and friends.  Michaela gave them each an excited hug.

     “You were wonderful!  Both of you!” she exclaimed proudly.

     “Nice goin’, little brother,” Matthew said to Brian, tousling Brian’s hair.  “You too, Colleen.”

     “Thanks!” Brian said, as Colleen smiled.  Brian turned to Sully.  “Did *you* like it Sully?”

     Sully smiled at him, briefly draping his hand across the back of Brian’s neck.  “Yeah, I did.  A lot.”  He looked toward Colleen to include her in his comments.  “You both done a wonderful job.”

     Just then Robert E. and Grace came up to offer their congratulations to Brian and Colleen, and within moments they were surrounded by a circle of friends and parents paying them compliments.

     Sully used the distraction to slip out the door, and Michaela watched his departure with troubled eyes.  To his credit, he had been precisely on time, but except for a brief nod just before the festivities began, he had not spoken to her.  Reluctantly she pulled her attention away from Sully as some of the townspeople engaged her in conversation.  As soon as politeness allowed, however, she excused herself and she, too, slipped outside.

    Michaela stood on the schoolhouse steps, anxiously casting her eyes about, searching for Sully.  After a moment she spotted his distant figure across the meadow, Wolf at his heels.   She gathered up her skirts slightly and ran after him.

    When she was within a few yards of him, however, she stopped abruptly, her nerve suddenly failing her.

    “Sully?” she called out uncertainly.

    He stopped, and turned, waiting for her, an unreadable expression on his face.  Slowly she walked up to him, feeling suddenly chilled inside her leather coat.

    “I—I just wanted to thank you—for coming,” she said to him quietly.  “It meant a great deal to Brian.”

    “D’ja think I wouldn’t?” he said.

    “No!” she said quickly, frustrated that already, she had somehow put a foot wrong.  “It’s just that I know I made you angry before, and I was afraid that—“

    “That I’d take it out on Brian?” he finished for her coolly.  “I thought you knew me better than that.”

    Michaela looked at him helplessly.  This was going all wrong, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

    “Please,” she said.  “I don’t want us to be angry with each other.  I’m very sorry that I offended you before—it was not my intention.  Can’t we please start again?”

    “And say what, Michaela?” he responded distantly.  “I want to go find Cloud Dancin’—you don’t want me to go.  Seems to me we’re at loggerheads.”

    “But we needn’t be,” she said.  “Not if we talk about it.  There must be a compromise we can reach.”

    “Talkin’ don’t solve everythin’,” he said shortly.

    “Perhaps not,” Michaela conceded.  “But it’s a beginning.  Won’t you at least let me tell you how I feel?  You’ve told me over and over that I can say anything to you.”

    “Yeah, I did,” Sully admitted, relenting.  “And you can.”  His posture relaxed slightly as he absently reached down and scratched behind Wolf’s ears.  “What’s on your mind?”

    Michaela’s hands twisted together as she thought of what she wanted to say.  “First, I want to apologize to you again for what I said before,” she began earnestly.  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Sully—truly I didn’t.  And I love Cloud Dancing with all my heart.”

    “I know you do,” he interjected quietly.

    “I pray for him every day,” she went on, “And I completely understand your desire to go to him.  I need you to understand that.”

    “I do,” he said, his expression softening.

    “I just—questioned the wisdom of you making such a journey now,” she said.  “Not the reasons for it.  And I feared for your safety—yours and Cloud Dancing’s.  I—“  She swallowed.  “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” she went on, her voice not quite steady.  “And I couldn’t bear to lose Cloud Dancing—not after Snowbird and Black Kettle.”  Tears blurred her vision.  She lifted her hand to wipe them away, but before she could, Sully reached out his hand and gently brushed a teardrop from her cheek with the ball of his thumb.

    “I know how you feel about Cloud Dancin’ and the others,” he said gently.  “And I know how worried you are for me.  I shouldn’t have walked out like that before.  But—I gotta make my own decisions ‘bout things, Michaela.  I gotta follow my heart.

    “You know I love you,” he went on softly.  “More than anythin’ I want to marry you, and be  part of your family.”

    “Our family,” she said, just above a whisper.

    He smiled.  “You’re right—our family.”  He took her hands in his.  “I can’t wait for our weddin’ day.  It’s gonna be the most wonderful day of my life.  But as happy as you and the children make me, I can’t forget about my other family—my brother.  I just can’t take my happiness at his expense.  I gotta do what I can to help him—and I gotta ask you to understand and accept it.  Can you?” he finished, looking searchingly into her eyes.

    “I’m trying,” Michaela answered honestly.  “But—“  She hesitated.

    “What is it?” he said.

    “Are you sure that all this is just about Cloud Dancing?” she said carefully.  “Or is it really you who’s in trouble and needs help?”

    “What are you talkin’ about?” Sully asked after a moment, his tone slightly defensive.

    “You told me yourself, earlier, that you wouldn’t feel right in your mind till you could speak with Cloud Dancing again,” she explained.  “I believe you need to heal, Sully, and I think that you believe only Cloud Dancing can help you to do that.”

    He didn’t attempt to refute her statement.  Instead he stood staring thoughtfully at the sweep of Pike’s Peak rising up in the distance.  Presently he said, “Does that bother you—that maybe I might need somethin’ only Cloud Dancin’ can give?”

    “Not at all,” she said sincerely.  “How could it, when Cloud Dancing gave such comfort to me, despite his own heartbreak?  If he can relieve your pain . . .  If he can help you to—to put things in ‘balance’ again—then I must support your decision to seek him out and give you my blessing, no matter what the cost.”

    “You’re sure?” he asked.

    “Yes, I’m sure,” she confirmed.  “If I didn’t seem sympathetic before, it’s only because I couldn’t understand why you hadn’t discussed your decision with me first.  I suppose—“  She looked down at the ground and then back up at Sully.  “I suppose I was hurt,” she admitted softly.

    “I’m sorry,” Sully said, his expression genuinely remorseful.  “I never meant to hurt you, Michaela.

    "And you’re right,” he went on.  “It was wrong not to talk to you ‘bout what I was thinkin’ and feelin’.  I ‘spose I just ain’t used to consultin’ anyone or askin’ permission ‘fore I do what I want to do.”

    “Sully, it’s not a question of asking my permission,” Michaela protested.  “I would never try to control you or order you about.”

    “I know that,” he replied.  “That was a poor way of puttin’ it, I guess.”

    “But I think I know what you’re saying,” Michaela told him.  “You’ve been on your own a long time, as I have.  Up to now, neither of us has had to be responsible to another person for the choices we make.

    “But falling in love—making a commitment to someone—changes things, Sully,” she continued.  “Each of us needs to consider the other’s feelings, and think about how the things each of us does will affect the other person.  That’s part of what marriage is all about.”

    “It is, is it?” Sully said, a glint of humor warming his eyes.  “And how would you know that?”

    Michaela blushed slightly, conceding the point.  “It’s true I’ve never been married, and I have a lot to learn,” she admitted.  “But this much, I *do* know.  Once we make our vows to one another, we’ll be partners—sharing every aspect of our lives.  It may not be easy, making that adjustment, but I believe that over time, it will become natural—as natural as the love we feel for each other.

    “And speaking for myself, I will do everything in my power to always be honest with you, and seek your advice and counsel.”  She gazed at him earnestly.

    Sully lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.  “Thank you,” he said simply.  “I got to admit, I haven’t had to consider someone else’s needs and feelin’s—or share my own—for a lot of years.  I guess I got out of the habit.  And the longer time went on, the harder it was to remember what it was like.

    “But there’s no one whose opinion means more to me, or whose feelin’s matter more—than you,” he said softly.  “I promise to always try to be honest with you, too—and do my best to speak my feelin’s ‘stead of hidin’ them inside.”

    “That’s all I could ever ask,” she responded.

    “So let me ask you one more time—are you certain you’re all right with me goin’ away?”

    “I’m certain,” she said.

    “And the weddin’?” Sully reminded her.  “I’ll do the very best I can to come back in time, but if I’m not able—“

    “The wedding will go on, whether we marry in two months or two years,” Michaela assured him.  “I won’t let you go that easily.”  She gave him a loving smile.

I    mpulsively he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her hungrily.  As always, the feel of his mouth against hers made her nearly dizzy.  Their lips parted, and he stared deeply into her eyes.  “I love you,” he whispered.

    “I love you,” she whispered back.

    He slipped his arm around her shoulders and slowly they began to walk back in the direction of the schoolhouse.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Michaela sat at her desk in the clinic, trying to concentrate on the patient file in front of her, but not succeeding.  All she could think about was Sully, who would be leaving momentarily.  She had given him her blessing, understanding that he needed to make this journey—both for Cloud Dancing’s sake, as well as for the sake of his own emotional and spiritual well-being.  Even the possibility of the wedding having to be postponed if his return was delayed no longer bothered her.  In her heart, she knew Sully would move heaven and earth if that’s what it took, to be by her side as soon as possible.

     But she couldn’t rid herself of her worries about his safety.  Before Washita, she had always believed in the essential goodness of human nature.  That all men, regardless of their sins, had a spark of decency inside.  When she had been abducted by One-Eye and his band after witnessing their murder of the two army soldiers, her conviction had been shaken.  But in her mind she had been able to explain their actions to some degree, by considering their anger and desperation as they endured the steady erosion of their way of life and the loss of their freedom at the hands of the government and the army.

      However, after being confronted by the sheer inhumanity of the massacre at Washita—the unspeakable slaughter of so many innocent men, women and children—she had been forced to come to the bitter realization that there were some men who were totally without conscience, who let themselves by ruled by greed, intolerance and hate.  And men of honor and integrity, like Sully and Cloud Dancing, were at terrible risk from these monsters who masqueraded as human beings.

     Thanks to the time she had shared with Cloud Dancing in the aftermath of the tragedy, she had somehow found a way to go on, to find hope within herself again.  But the experience had marked her.  Something inside her had profoundly changed.  She had witnessed the inconceivable, and she would never be the same again.

     She had to let Sully go—but she was desperately afraid for him.  And even if he returned unscathed from this journey, she wondered if she would ever again be able to watch him leave her, without being haunted by the fear that he might not come back.

     The door opened suddenly and Sully entered on a gust of frigid air.  He was wearing his heavy, fringed leather coat, his bow and quiver of arrows slung across his shoulder.  Though the calendar said it was nearly spring, winter had not yet released its hold on the community.  Goosebumps erupted on Michaela’s skin under the thin layer of her blouse and she rubbed her arms, knowing that the chill she felt did not completely come from the temperature outside.

     Determined not to let Sully see her apprehension, however, she summoned a  smile as she looked up at him in greeting.

     “Are you ready to leave?” she asked.

     “Just about,” he answered, coming around behind her.  He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to kiss the side of her neck.  “Gonna come outside and see me off?”

     “Of course,” she said.  As she rose from her chair, he went to retrieve her coat.

     “Put this on,” he advised, holding it out for her.  “It’s a cold one today, and it don’t look like it’s gonna get any warmer, any time soon.”

    “Will *you* be warm enough, out in the woods?” she asked worriedly, as she slipped her arms
into the sleeves.  He pulled the edges of her coat together snuggly, then wrapped his arms around her.
 

     “I’ve been gettin’ along out in the wilderness for a long time now,” he reminded her.  “I’ll be fine—you don’t need to fret.”

     She looked up at him.  “I can’t help it,” she confessed.  “I’m always going to worry, no matter where you go or what you do.”

     Sully put his hand under her chin and smiled gently.  “I’ll be fine,” he repeated.  “I promise.”

     A sudden thought occurred to her.  “Sully—what about the Indians?  How will they get along without you?  Not to mention that  Hazen certainly couldn’t have been happy about you suddenly leaving like this.”

     “I asked the Reverend to keep an eye on things for me,” he told her.  “And as far as Hazen goes, I wired him that I had some personal business to take care of.”

     “Will he accept that?” she said.

     “He’ll have to,” Sully replied.  “And if he don’t, then so be it—let him fire me.”  He didn’t sound very distressed at the prospect.  In fact, from his tone and his expression, Michaela thought he almost longed for the possibility.  Pensively he stared out the window, his fingers absently stroking his medicine pouch.

     “It’s a thankless job, Michaela,” he stated unexpectedly, apparently feeling the need to talk—or perhaps already endeavoring to keep his promise to her to share what was in his mind.   “Grant may have meant well, and thought he was doin’ a good thing when he created his peace plan, but most of his administration is corrupt.  Probably the Bureau of Indian Affairs is too—with the exception, maybe, of Ely Parker.  The army don’t care—they’d happily see all the Indians killed off.  It’s like Sheridan said:  ‘The only good Indians I ever saw were dead.’

     “The army’s ‘sposed to supply the reservations with food and supplies, but half the time they don’t come.  You know about that—you’ve seen it happen, again and again.  And there are corrupt agents on other reservations who double their head counts when they order their supplies and then sell off the extra, plus most of the Indians’ portion, to line their own pockets.  Either way, the Indians suffer and starve.”  His voice took on a faraway note, and Michaela wondered if he was still speaking strictly to her, or more to himself.

    "Black Kettle, White Antelope, and the other Southern Cheyenne and Arapahoe chiefs, tried so hard to sow the seeds of peace,” Sully continued as she listened quietly. “But all they got for their efforts was a harvest of lies.  Back in ‘Sixty-four, they sent word to the commander at Fort Lyon, Major Wynkoop, that they were willin’ to surrender some white prisoners—a woman and three children—in exchange for peace.  Black Kettle didn’t even have these captives in his possession.  He had to use some of his own horses to buy them from the dog soldiers.  In good faith the Indians turned their captives over to Wynkoop, and then went with him to Denver to make peace with Colonel Chivington and Governor Evans.  But the concessions Chivington and Evans demanded from the Indians in return for a peace agreement were so unfair, the whole thing fell apart.  Wynkoop tried to help the Indians anyway—he allowed Black Kettle and the other chiefs, and all the people with them, to camp near Fort Lyon.  He promised they’d be protected under the American flag.  For his trouble, his superiors relieved him from his command.  And then just ten days later, the new commander at Fort Lyon stopped givin’ the Indians rations and drove them from the post.

    “But Black Kettle still wanted to believe that peace was possible.  He had his own American flag, that the military had give him.  He thought that flag was sacred—he thought it made white men his friends.  But while he was holdin’ onto that flag, trustin’ that it would protect him and his people, Chivington was plottin’ their destruction.”  Michaela regarded Sully with compassion, her heart heavy as she listened to him recite the army’s litany of shame.

    “That flag was flyin’ outside Black Kettle’s tent when Chivington and the 3rd Colorado descended on the Cheyenne/Arapahoe camp at Sand Creek,” Sully went on.  “Chivington’s regiment was called the ‘Bloodless Third,’ ‘cause they’d never been in a fight.  But they were the ‘Bloody Third’ by the time the attack was over,” he added darkly, anguish and anger coloring his eyes and voice.   “The army struck before dawn—but by afternoon, better than six hundred Indians were dead.  Two hundred Cheyenne were killed, and two-thirds of them were woman and children.”

      He paused for a long moment, then swallowed hard as he added, “Did I ever tell you how after the slaughter, Chivington’s men mutilated the corpses of the women and children, cuttin’ off  their body parts and holdin’ ‘em up like some kind of obscene trophy while they rode in triumph back to Fort Lyon?”

    Michaela paled, sickened by the image Sully’s words had conjured in her mind.  She knew the facts of Sand Creek—the atrocities had been widely reported in newspapers across the country—but she had never heard this part of it.  She wondered if most people had.  She recalled those first days after Washita, when she sometimes feared that the memory of what she’d witnessed might drive her mad.   And she wondered how Sully could live with the horrific legacies of Sand Creek and Washita, and still stay sane.

    “The Cheyenne were such a proud, brave people,” Sully went on quietly, reverently; his eyes staring off past her shoulder at something only he could see.  “They were one of the greatest of the plains tribes.  Do you know what the early white settlers and other tribes called them?”  He didn’t wait for a reply, but went on to answer his own rhetorical question.  “They called them ‘the beautiful people.’  And they *were* beautiful.  The women’s faces so elegant and dignified—“

    “Like Snowbird,” Michaela said softly.

    “Yeah—like Snowbird,” he echoed.  “And the men straight and tall—scarcely a one of ‘em under six feet.

    “They had such great wisdom.  They were fierce, and strong—the most  powerful warriors on the plains.  They had such a rich and sacred heritage—and now look what they been reduced to.”

      Lost in the mingled grief and bitterness of his memories, Sully did not immediately realize the effect of his recitation on Michaela.   But when he finally noticed the stark misery in her eyes, he broke off.   He took a deep breath, trying to collect himself, then did his best to assume a placid expression.

    “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he apologized.  “I shouldn’t have said so much.  I guess once I got started, it all just kinda came pourin’ out.”

    “There’s no need to apologize,” Michaela told him.  “Just as you claim that I can say anything to you—you can say anything to me, as well.  And I’m not upset for myself.  On the contrary, Sully—I’m grateful that you felt you could share those memories with me.  Clearly you needed to talk about the sorrow that’s been weighing on your spirit.  My heart just aches so much for you and Cloud Dancing.”

    “I’m all right,” he said.  “And gettin’ back to Hazen, chances are nothin’ bad will happen,” he added calmly.  “He ain’t due for his quarterly visit for a while yet.  And I have an idea I know where Cloud Dancin’ might be.  It ain’t that far from here.  I’ll probably be back long before Hazen even starts to wonder.”  He opened the door, then took her hand and led her out onto the porch.  His horse, covered by a colorful Indian blanket and loaded with his saddlebags, bedroll and canteen, stood tethered at the rail.

    They faced each other, feeling suddenly awkward now that the moment of parting had arrived.  Hearing Sully’s poignant soliliquy had made Michaela even more concerned about him—but this time, for his state of mind.   She wanted so much to say something to assuage his pain, but the words wouldn’t come.  And truthfully, she knew that any words she said, no matter how eloquent, would be inadequate.  Even though it was contrary to what he might want or need, she was seized with an overwhelming compulsion to keep him close by, where at least he would be safe and protected.  From deep inside her, a small voice cried out forlornly, “Don’t go!”  For a moment she almost let the words escape her lips; but then her self-discipline took over and the sad voice of protest subsided and was still.

    Sully took her chilled hands in his warm ones, chafing them tenderly.  “Guess this is it,” he said reluctantly.  Michaela recognized his deep regret at having to leave her, but in his eyes she could also detect a spark of anticipation that finally he was doing something to confront the pain that had made him sick at heart all these weeks.  It was a spark she hadn’t seen for a long time, and she thought suddenly that any amount of worry she endured would be worth it, just to see that light in his eyes again.

    “Promise me you’ll be careful,” she implored, feeling slightly foolish at stating the obvious, but compelled to say the words just the same.  “Promise you won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

    Sully raised his hand as if he were taking an oath.  “I swear,” he vowed, gazing at her lovingly.

    Michaela’s eyes traveled over every inch of his face, memorizing his features as if she were an artist sculpting his image in stone or bronze, to create a monument for herself that was permanent and eternal.  After a moment she freed one of her hands from his and laid it against his cheek.  “I hope you find Cloud Dancing,” she whispered.  “I hope this journey brings you everything you want and need.”

    “Thank you,” he whispered back, bending over the hand still clasped in his and kissing it gently.  “But you know, I could never say good-bye if I didn’t know that you’d be waitin’ right here for me when I come home.”

    “I’ll wait for you forever,” she pledged.

    Sully wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.  For several seconds they embraced tightly, almost desperately.  But suddenly, as they drew apart, Michaela glimpsed a sight over his shoulder that made her gasp.

    “Oh, no!”

    “What is it?” Sully asked her, alarmed.  He started to turn, following the direction of her gaze.

    “It’s Custer,” Michaela said.