Saturday, 24 March, 1870

    I feel like the walls are starting to close in on me.  Seems like half the day I prowl back and forth, counting the number of paces from one end of the room to the other.  When I ain’t doing that, I’m lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could see through it to the sky beyond.

    What I do most of all is look out the window, watching folks pass by—all of them with some destination, some purpose—while I sit here idle, feeling out of place and out of time.

    I don’t belong here.  I should be with Cloud Dancing, Black Kettle and the other Cheyenne—or camped at my lean-to out in the woods.  I need to go back there.  I want to sleep on the ground again, rolled up in the warmth of a buffalo robe and pressed close to the bosom of Mother Earth.  I want to be covered by the quilt of the night sky, its velvety blackness spangled with frosty stars.  I want to glimpse the face of the Great Spirit in the ivory disk of the moon.

    There don’t seem to be any reason for me to linger here.  The migrim is gone and I’m getting my strength back.  And Dr. Mike examined my wound yesterday and said it was nearly healed.  I asked her how soon I could leave, but she put me off.
She’ll be bringing me my breakfast soon.  When she comes, I’m going to tell her it’s time for me to go.

Evening

     I ain’t sure if I can write this down—my hands are still shaking.  But I owe it to my absent friends to record what happened to them.  It’s the only way I have to mark their lives, till I can go out in the wilderness and make an offering to the spirits in their honor.

    How could the spirits be so cruel?

* * * * * * * * * *

    “You’re making a wonderful recovery, Sully,” Dr. Mike said to me this morning after gently probing my scalp and examining the stitches she’d put in.

    “Good,” I replied, then got up and went to the cupboard where I knew she’d put my clothes.  I took them out and stepped behind the screen in the corner, shedding the long johns she’d given me and pulling on my buckskins

    “What are you doing?” she called to me.

     “Getting dressed so I can leave,” I called back, sliding my shirt over my head and tucking it in.  I came back out and sat down on the bed to pull on my boots.  As I finished, I glanced up at her.  Her face looked pale and anxious.  It was a look that was getting to be real familiar to me.

    “I’m—afraid you’re not ready,” she said.

    I stood up.  “I feel fine,” I told her.   “And you just said I’m recovered.  I appreciate everything you done for me, Dr. Mike, but it’s time for me to be on my way.  I ain’t used to being stuck inside four walls like this—I need to get back to the outdoors.”

    I glanced around the room.  “Can you tell me where you put my beads and medicine pouch?” I asked.  She sat on the edge of the bed and mutely pointed to the drawer of the nightstand.  I retrieved them and slipped them on, then went back to the cupboard to get my belt.  I took it out, noting that the sheath for my knife and the loop for my tomahawk were empty.  “What about my weapons?” I added, missing their reassuring weight against my hips as I fastened the belt around my waist.

     “Sully . . . you don’t need them right now,” she said slowly.  “You can’t leave yet.”

     I was trying to be polite, but days of being cooped up in this room had put me on edge.  I felt myself losing patience.

     “What is it?” I demanded, my voice sharp.  “What are you afraid of?”

     “I—don’t understand what you mean,” she answered, but she didn’t meet my eyes.

     “Yeah, you do,” I retorted.  “You tell me I’m recovered, but then you say I can’t leave.  There’s got to be a reason.  You been keeping something from me since the day I came to.  I want to know what it is.  And if you won’t tell me, I’ll find someone who will.  Robert E., maybe, or even Loren—since you claim we’re ‘friends’ now.  Hopefully one of them will be willing to tell me the truth.”

    I put on my coat.  “You going to give me the rest of my property?” I added.  But she just looked down at her lap and didn’t answer.  Fine, if that was the way she wanted it.  “All right, keep them,” I said.  “I’ll have Robert E. make me some new ones.”

    I was going to just walk out, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it after she’d been so good to me.  I hesitated at the door.

    “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” I told her.  “You took real good care of me.  Fact is, you probably saved my life.  And you saw me through a real bad time,” I added, referring to the migrim.  “But I can’t abide being coddled—and if you’re determined to keep things from me or treat me like a child, I got no choice but to leave.”  I looked at her again.  She seemed so defenseless, sitting there—delicate and vulnerable . . . and sad.  I felt guilty for being harsh, but I was tired of being kept in the dark.

    “Well—see you, Dr. Mike,” I said.  “Say good-bye to the kids for me.”

    I’d gone through the door and made it halfway down the hall when I heard her call my name.

    “Sully!” she said, coming out of my room.  “Please—come back.”  She stood there, her hands nervously twisting her apron, a pleading look on her face.  I walked back to her.

    “What is it?” I said.

    “There’s something I need to say to you—if you’ll listen,” she answered.  After a moment, I followed her back into the recovery room.

    “Does what you want to say have to do with whatever you been keeping from me?” I asked.

    “In a way,” she replied.

    “Dr. Mike, you don’t need to keep protecting me,” I told her.  “I’m well again—you said so yourself.  Whatever you got to tell me, I can take it.

    “You been real kind to me,” I added sincerely.  “I’ve come to feel I can trust you.  Whatever’s going on, I’d like to hear it from you.  But if you can’t bring yourself to tell me the truth, I got to find someone who will.  I need to know, Dr. Mike.”

    “I understand that, Sully, but it would be very unwise for you to ask questions of the townspeople until I’ve spoken to you first,” Dr. Mike said.

    “Fair enough,” I said after a moment.  “Are you willing to do that now?”   After a hesitation, she inclined her head in the affirmative.

    “Let’s sit down,” she suggested.

    We sat—me on the edge of the bed, her in a straight chair opposite.

    “Please believe that I never meant to lie to you or keep things from you,” she began.  “But you were injured—you were unconscious for three days.  There were other serious complications as well.  And then, after you regained consciousness, there was the memory loss . . .  I realized I had to be—careful—about how much information to give you, and how soon.  Otherwise, I was afraid the shock would be too great.  Do you recall how shaken you were when you saw how the children had changed?”

    I nodded, beginning to wonder just how serious a thing it was she had to tell me.

    “I know it seems as if I’ve been overprotecting you,” Dr. Mike went on.  “But as a doctor, I’m responsible for your emotional health as well as your physical well-being.  In my best judgement, I determined that I needed to bring you back to the present slowly, and gently.  I also wanted to wait, to see if your memories would begin to come back of their own accord.  It just seemed as if the more you could recall on your own, the better it would be for your recovery in the long run.  Can you understand?”

    “Yeah, I can,” I said after a moment.  “I guess I wasn’t looking at it from your point of view.  I appreciate that you were trying to help me heal, and I know you done the best job you could.

    “But fact is, Dr. Mike, I still can’t remember nothing,” I reminded her.   “And for all we know, my memory may never come back.  I can’t keep going on like this.”

    “What you say is true,” she admitted.  “And it’s why I’ve decided to tell you what you want to know..  But—you must prepare yourself, Sully.  Many things have—changed.  What I have to say will be very difficult for you to hear, and accept.”

    I started to feel cold inside.

    “Does it have something to do with Cloud Dancing and the army?” I asked, remembering how she shied away from answering my questions when I was sick.

    “It’s—related,” she answered, her voice real quiet.  A moment later she said, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

    I took a deep breath.  “Go ahead.”

    She told me.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER FIVE

     Sully awoke to a morning as overcast as the day before, but the snow still hadn’t come, and for that he counted himself lucky.  He threw off the blanket of his bedroll and emerged from the hollow in the cliff-face where he’d taken shelter—not quite a cave, but large enough to shield him from the harsh wind and accommodate his small cooking fire.  He stood and stretched, clapping his hands together briskly.  Despite being protected by heavy gloves, they were still stiff and aching with cold.

     He studied the sky critically.  If Cloud Dancing was where he suspected, and the snow continued to hold off, he would reach his brother within an hour or two.  Determined not to waste a minute, he busied himself stoking up the fire, and heating water for coffee.  While he waited for the water to boil, he dined on a simple breakfast of cold biscuits and dried meat.

     As Sully huddled close to the heat of the campfire, he stared at the pallid landscape, taking bracing sips of the strong, hot coffee and warming his hands on the mug.  Like any time he was apart from her, his thoughts inevitably turned to Michaela.  Except that at this particular moment, he was thinking of himself as well, and the conversation they’d had before he left.  He wondered why he’d suddenly felt the urge to talk about the atrocities at Sand Creek—a tragedy six years past.  And to go on the way he had, which was surely not like him. Maybe it had been easier to speak about Sand Creek—its horrors mercifully blurred by time—than to confront the memory of Washita, which still felt like an open wound, the deaths of Black Kettle and Snowbird as raw as unhealed scars.   Or maybe he had never sufficiently grieved over the legacy of Sand Creek, and was only now able to let his emotions come to the surface.

    Still, it had never been his way to speak at such length about his inner feelings—or even reveal them, for that matter.  Ordinarily Sully preferred to keep his deepest worries or sorrows to himself, and work them out alone.  But Michaela’s question about Hazen had triggered something inside, and before he realized it, the words had come tumbling out and he seemed powerless to stop them.

     Perhaps it was his feelings for Michaela that had been the key to unlocking the door he’d kept so firmly closed on his emotions.  Loving her, committing to her, had given him the courage to reveal the  private side of his nature, in a way he never had before—even to Abagail.  He had loved his first wife dearly, but Sully had to admit that she had never truly known him.  She’d never had the chance, because he hadn’t let her.  He had never allowed her to see past his strong exterior—or at least what passed for strength, he thought—to the vulnerability and insecurity within.

     He hadn’t dared.  Abagail had given up so much to be with him—her security, her father’s love   . . . She’d taken the greatest gamble of her life on the promise that marriage to him would make up for losing her family, and she had counted on him to make that promise a reality.  In the end, she’d lost the gamble, because he hadn’t been able to keep his promise—but for the brief time they’d been together, Sully had been determined to shield her—from the harsher realities of life, and from his own weakness.

     But with Michaela, it was different.  From the start, she had stirred something in him he hadn’t known before.  It wasn’t only that she was strong, or that she had fire—though she plainly did.  Her determination to forge her own life and become a doctor on the frontier was proof of that.  It was more that her ardent devotion to him, and her absolute honesty with him in all things, had demanded the same kind of commitment and honesty from him in return.  Sully smiled slightly.  Yes, she liked to talk, to analyze—maybe a little too much or too often for his tastes.  But he couldn’t help but be filled with admiration for her spirit, and her unflagging faith in their ability to weather whatever trouble came their way.

    Sully knew that Michaela’s faith had been shaken at times, and had been truly threatened after Washita.  For a while, it seemed as if grief had extinguished her hope, and she was in danger of never getting it back.  But somehow, even her desolation over the massacre had not succeeded in completely snuffing out the tiny flame of hope inside her.  Its light continued to smolder deep at her core—and with his and Cloud Dancing’s help, she had found the means within herself to make it burn again.  Michaela remained convinced that together, they could do anything—overcome any challenge, endure any sorrow, and unite their two disparate souls into one.  Slowly, over time, she had taught him that it was safe to let down the walls he had built around himself.  She had taught him to open his heart.

     Except—had he really opened his heart to her—totally, completely?  Yes, he had given her his love, wholly and without hesitation.   He had even managed to dismantle the barriers around his insecurities, and allow himself to be vulnerable.  But there was one last obstacle he hadn’t been able to overcome—one essential truth about himself he hadn’t been able to share with her, or even admit to himself . . . till now.

     He was scared.  No—scratch that.  He was terrified.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Michaela drew back the curtain and stared out at the street.  Few citizens were out and about in the severe cold, though Hank’s saloon across the way still seemed quite lively.  Apparently men’s appetites for liquor and other “diversions” were not easily discouraged by frigid temperatures, she thought wryly.  In fact, Hank would probably tell her that the cold was good for business, as it inspired his customers to seek out the dual “comforts” of  both whiskey and women.

     Truthfully, she didn’t understand why she kept being drawn to the view outside.  Sully had been gone for little more than twenty-four hours—for all she knew, he could be gone for twenty-four days.  It was fruitless for her to hover by the window, searching in vain for the sight of him when she knew he couldn’t possibly return so soon.  But she had to acknowledge that her longing for him wasn’t dictated by logic or reason.  Clearly, her heart had a mind of its own.

     “He only left yesterday, Dr. Mike.”  Guiltily she spun around to see Matthew regarding her sympathetically.

     “Matthew!  You surprised me—I didn’t realize you were here,” she said, disconcerted by Matthew’s sudden appearance—not to mention his perceptiveness.

     “Came in the back.  Sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you,” her son answered.  He nodded toward the window.  “But like I was sayin’—starin’ out there ain’t gonna make Sully get back any quicker.  ’Sides, you know what they say about a ‘watched pot,’” he added kindly.

     “I know,” she said, giving her son a rueful smile.  “I was just—checking the sky.  It looks so forbidding.  I’d hate to think of Sully being caught in a blizzard.”

    “Sully can take care of himself,” Matthew reminded her.  “If the snow comes, he’ll find a place to hole up and ride it out.”

    “You’re right, of course,” she said.  But of their own accord, her eyes strayed back to the frosted window pane.

    “You know, it don’t look like you’re gonna be gettin’ any patients today,” Matthew remarked behind her.  “A lot of folks in town are closin’ up early ‘cause of the cold.  There ain’t nothin’ keepin’ me in town.  What do you say you close up shop too and we head out to the homestead?” he suggested.

    “But it’s not even lunchtime yet—I can’t leave before Colleen and Brian get out of school,” she protested.

    “We can go by the school and collect ‘em,” Matthew responded.  “Nearly half the day’s gone already.  ‘Sides, it must be awful cold in the schoolhouse, too, with just that small wood stove to heat the place.  The Reverend might be glad for the excuse to dismiss the kids early.”

    “You may be right,” Michaela acknowledged.

    “I know I am,” Matthew said, with an impish smile.  “Come on, Dr. Mike.  Like you was sayin’, the snow could come at any time, and we don’t want to be stuck here in the clinic if it does.  The animals at the homestead, as well as my cattle, are gonna need tendin’, and we’ll all sleep a lot better in our own beds.  Let’s get the kids and go home.”

    “But it might be more prudent for me to remain here, in case there *is* a heavy snow and someone in town needs me,” Michaela said, her expression indecisive.

    “If someone needs doctorin’ here at the clinic, I vow to get you here,” Matthew promised.  “But for now—it’s time the doctor went home to her family.”

    Michaela relented at his logic.  “You’ve convinced me,” she declared.  She picked up a sheaf of patient files from her desk and slipped them into a drawer, then went to get her coat.  As she slipped it on she said, “How about for supper I heat up some of that wonderful stew Colleen made the other day?  It should hit the spot on a cold night like this.”

    “I can taste it already,” Matthew said grinning.  Her wrapped Michaela’s scarf around her neck, then picked up her medical bag.  As he handed it to her he added, “And how ‘bout after supper I challenge you to a game of chess?”

    “That sounds like fun—but prepare to be beaten!” Michaela said archly.

    “We’ll see,” Matthew chuckled.  They snuffed out the lamps and left the clinic.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Sully tried to thrust the fear back down inside where he’d kept it hidden for so long, but having finally emerged, it would not be denied.  Sharp and crippling, it crashed over him, causing him to shake all over, even as sweat broke out on his forehead in defiance of the cold.

     Despite his urgency to reach Cloud Dancing, he was forced to come to a stop.  Sliding down from his horse’s back, Sully led the animal off to the side of the path and threaded the reins around the skeletal fingers of a tree branch.  Then, spreading his arms and hugging the trunk, he pressed his forehead against the rough bark while tears of shame stung at his eyes.

     What had he been thinking, proposing to Michaela, asking her for a lifetime commitment?  He couldn’t marry her—he didn’t have the right.  Because he was cursed.   Because anyone he’d ever loved—anyone who had ever loved him—had died.     His father, broken by consumption and city living, gone before he could remember.  His brother, barely nine years old, killed in a riding accident as he looked on in horror and disbelief.  And then finally his mother, defeated by her grief, drowning herself and leaving him an orphan at the age of ten.

    And Abagail—so beautiful, sweet and delicate.  So devoted and trusting.  They were supposed to have a lifetime together—and instead, before they’d reached their fifth anniversary, she was gone too—perished in childbirth, their little girl with her.  He had sworn to protect Abagail—to protect them both.  But when the time came, they had slipped away, and he had been powerless to prevent it.

     There had been the Cheyenne at Sand Creek—and then, just weeks ago, Snowbird, Black Kettle and the others of their tribe.

     Nearly all the people who had been precious to him in his life—all gone.  Almost since the time he’d been born, he had left a trail of death in his wake.

     Another fragment of conversation from his journey with Loren came to his mind.

     (He poured some tea from the pot on the campfire and handed it to the older man.

      “Drink some more tea,” he said.

      Loren took a sip from the metal cup.  After a moment he said somewhat gruffly, “I ‘spose the Cheyenne taught you how to make this stuff, huh?”

      Sully nodded. “When Dr. Mike’s patients got sick with the influenza, she wouldn’t try it either.  Now she uses it all the time.”

      “It works,” Loren admitted grudingly.  He looked at Sully crouched on the ground beside him.  “I guess that was . . . pretty hard on you,” he said slowly.

      “What’s that?”

      “The Cheyenne,” Loren answered.

      Sully looked away.  “I don’t want to talk about that,” he said quietly.

      As if he hadn’t heard, Loren went on, “Now you know I ain’t never liked ‘em much, but—“

       “What do you think about Brian—wantin’ to build that flying’ machine, huh?” Sully interrupted.

      “Sully,” Loren remonstrated.  “You can’t change what happened at Washita.”

      “He’s always wanted to fly,” Sully murmured, staring off at the trees.  “Can’t figure it.”

      “The boy *needs* you,” Loren said.  “So do the Indians.”  He paused, looking at Sully earnestly, then continued,  “There comes a time, when you got to open your eyes, take a deep breath, and just start *movin’*—“

      “Loren, please,” he protested, looking away again.

      “You got so much to look forward to,” Loren told him.  “Yer gettin’ married—gonna have a whole new family.”

     Sully propped his elbow on his knee and leaned his forehead against his hand.  “Seems like . . . all the family I ever had, I lost,” he said softly.  “My pa—tried livin’ in the city, and he just gave up.  Then when I was ten, my ma drowned herself.  Then I come out west, found Abagail . . .”  Loren’s eyes glimmered with tears in his solemn face.

    “And now the Cheyenne,” Sully finished.   Loren reached out and placed his hand on Sully’s arm.

     “Aw, Sully . . . I hate to see you like this,” he said.

      Sully swallowed, then removed Loren’s hand.

      “Drink your tea,” he said.  “I’m all right.”)

     But that had been a lie.  He’d told Loren what the older man had wanted to hear.  Perhaps he’d lied to himself, too, because he couldn’t bear to face the truth.  All the people he’d loved, he’d lost.  And he couldn’t let anything happen to Michaela.  That would finish him—as surely as an arrow piercing him through the heart.  He couldn’t lose her . . .

     Why had the spirits let him fall in love with her, if he would only be forced to give her up, he thought despairingly.  Why would they be so cruel?   His heart weighed inside him like a stone.

    Maybe it would have been better if he’d never met her at all, his thoughts continued along their desolate course.  Then he never would have had to know what he’d missed.  Then it wouldn’t hurt so much . . .

     “Ha ho,” said a voice behind him.