Monday, 26 March, 1870
 

     I rifled through the pages, not looking for anything in particular, just letting myself skim each poem till I found something that struck my fancy.

     My eye caught sight of an old favorite, and I stopped.  I glanced up at Dr. Mike.  She looked back at me expectantly.

     “This is one that always makes me think of Brian, “ I said by way of preamble.  I cleared my throat, then somewhat self-consciously I added, “It’s called, ‘There Was a Child Went Forth.’”  Her eyes kindled in recognition and she looked pleased.  Buoyed by her approval, with more self-assurance I read,

     “’There was a child went forth every day,
        And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became,
        And that object became part of him for the day or a certain
            part of the day,
        Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.

         The early lilacs became part of this child,
         And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white and
         red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
         And the Third-month lambs and the sow’s pink-faint litter,
         and the mare’s foal and the cow’s calf,
         And the noisy brood of the barnyard or by the mire of the
         pond-side, . . .’”

     I continued on through the stanzas, feeling the richness and strength of Whitman’s words filling up the air around us.  I reached the last few lines and concluded,

     “’Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables
           of white or brown two miles off,
        The schooner near by sleepily dropping down the tide, the little
            boat slack-tow’d astern,
        The hurrying, tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
        The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint away
            solitary by itself, the spread of purity it lies
            motionless in,
        The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt
            marsh and shore mud,
        These became part of that child who went forth every day,
            and who now goes, and will always go forth
            every day.’”

     I finished, and shyly observed her for her reaction.

     “I’ve always loved that one,” she said smiling.  “It reminds me of Brian, as well.”  She reached out her hand.  “May I?” she asked.

     “Sure,” I said readily, handing her the book.  She turned the pages for a few seconds, then found what she was looking for.  She gave me a warm glance, then read,

     “’I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
        Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be
             blithe and strong,
        The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
        The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves
            off work,
        The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the
            deck-hand singing on the steamboat deck,
        The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter
            singing as he stands,
        The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the
            morning, or at noon intermission or at sun-
            down,
        The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at
            work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
        Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
        The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young
            fellows, robust, friendly,
        Singing with open mouths their strong, melodious songs.’”

     Now she was the one shyly regarding me.

     “That’s the first poem of Whitman’s I ever read,” I told her.  “I couldn’t get over how much the lines sounded like music.”

     “Then by all means, make some more music,” she replied, handing the volume back to me.

      I nodded in assent, glad that my suggestion to read Whitman’s poetry had found so much favor with her, then occupied myself with scanning the leaves of the book.  Soon I came to another familiar ballad.  “First time I heard this, it made me think of myself when I was ten years old and I decided to strike out west,” I explained.  I cleared my throat again and began,

     “’Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road.
        Healthy, free, the world before me,
        The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

        Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
        Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need
               nothing,
        Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
        Strong and content I travel the open road. . . .’”

     It was a long poem, and it took me several minutes to finish.  Reaching the final stanza at last I read,

     “’Camerado, I give you my hand!
        I give you my love more precious than money,
        I give you myself before preaching or law;
        Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
        Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?’”

     There was a silence, and then Dr. Mike said softly, almost as if she were talking to herself more than me, “Do you suppose Whitman had someone special in mind when he wrote that?”

     “Probably,” I answered after a moment.  “Someone he was close to—somebody who meant a lot to him.”

     “Have you ever had a—a ‘camerado’—a companion, Sully?” she asked unexpectedly.

     I stared into her eyes, and in their depths I caught a glimpse of that longing expression I’d seen every so often.  Maybe she’d been disappointed in love, I thought suddenly.  Maybe she’d cared for someone, and he’d left her, for whatever reason.  I couldn’t imagine any man voluntarily giving up a woman like Dr. Mike, but there was no accounting for some men’s foolishness.

     “I had a best friend and companion,” I replied to her question at last.  “His name was Daniel.  We went west together.  But—I don’t *believe* that’s what Whitman was talking about,” I added with a little grin.

     “No, I don’t suppose that it was,” she agreed, returning my smile—but that hint of melancholy still lurked behind her eyes.

     “I guess the only other person in my life who would have fit that description was my wife,” I added, to completely respond to her query.

     “Oh yes—of course,” she said quickly, and looked away.

     “Do you want me to stop reading?” I asked, afraid that somehow I’d offended her.

     She turned back to me, summoning a gentle smile.  “No, please don’t,” she said.  “I enjoy the sound of your voice.”

     “If you’re sure . . .?”

     She nodded, and reassured, I again gazed down at the pages before me.  A few seconds elapsed and then I said, “How about this one?

     “’I sing the body electric,
        The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
        They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
        And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of
            the soul. . . .’”

     My voice grew stronger as I warmed to the words, and several minutes later I finished with a flourish,

     “’O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but
            of the soul,
        O I say now these are the soul!’”

     Lost as I was in the mesmerizing power of the lyrics, I was unconscious of Dr. Mike’s reaction till I heard a slight sound, like that of a breath hitching in the throat, and I looked up to see tears in her eyes.

     “I’m sorry,” I said rapidly, feeling startled and then ashamed for apparently having upset her.  “Maybe that was—inappropriate.  I apologize if I embarrassed you.”

     She quickly brushed away the tears.  “No, it’s all right,” she assured me.  “It’s just that—it reminded me . . .”  She trailed off.

     “Of that ‘friend’ you spoke of?” I finished for her.

     “Yes,” she admitted after a moment, but didn’t volunteer any more information.

     “Can I ask—“ I began hesitantly, then resolutely went on, “whether it was a man or a woman?”

     “It . . . was a man,” she answered after a pause, looking away from me again.

     “What happened to him?” I asked, studying her carefully.

     “He . . . went away,” she said softly, the expression on her face wistful, her eyes fastened on something only she could see.

     I was momentarily silent, but for some reason I had to know.  I swallowed.  “For good?” I asked.

     Our glances met.  “I don’t know,” she said.  Her eyes held an expression of infinite sadness.

     Again I was quiet, wondering who he’d been—this “friend” of hers.  This man she seemed to care about so much, but who had so obviously hurt her.  Inexplicably, I found myself feeling anger toward him, even though I had no idea who he had been and no knowledge of the circumstances of their parting.  And that wasn’t all.  I was jealous—of whoever the man was who could put that look in her eyes.

    I gathered my courage.  “Can I ask you one more thing?”

     “Of course,” she replied.

     I stared into her eyes.  “Have you ever been in love, Dr. Mike?”

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

     The morning dawned bright and clear, the winter blue of the sky diamond hard, and the sun dazzling brilliantly off the crystalline surface of the snow.  As Michaela gazed out across the pristine white of the hills, she could almost believe that the snowstorm of the past twenty-four hours, and the tragic event it had accompanied, had been nothing more than a dark dream.  However, she had only to turn around and see Sully lying pale and still behind her, to be reminded that both occurrences had been all too real.

     The temperature hovered just above freezing, but Michaela knew it would begin to rise as the sun’s rays gradually warmed the landscape.  Already she could hear a chuckling sound in the rain gutter as it channeled the snowmelt from the roof into the rain barrel beneath the window.

     She tried to find some hope within herself that things would take a turn for the better now—that the change in the weather was a good omen.  But it was difficult, as Sully continued to run a fever, and showed no signs of waking.

     According to Cloud Dancing, Sully had been delirious from fever, drifting in and out of consciousness even before being shot.  After he had been wounded, he had remained senseless all through their long night’s journey home, and there had been no change even though she had treated his injury and succeeded in lowering his fever to a less dangerous degree.

     She continued to detect congestion in his lungs, and had drained the fluid from them a second time during the night; but even that aspect of his condition was improving, and she thought that from now on, the humidity from the steam and regular doses of quinine would be sufficient to clear up the remaining infection.

     There was also no sign of infection with the head wound, and she had cleaned and dressed it again just a short time ago.

     All these things taken into consideration, and based on what she could outwardly observe of his condition, Sully *should* have started coming around by now.   The fact that he slept on, oblivious to his surroundings and everyone about him, both alarmed and worried her.

    She left the window and returned to Sully’s bedside, sitting down beside him and lifting his eyelids to examine his pupils yet again.  They remained normal, with no evidence of dilation, and thus no indication of compression from his head injury.  It made no sense, she thought in frustration.  There was no sign of internal bleeding, and yet there seemed to be no other cause which could account for his unnatural slumber.  Mentally she reviewed her knowledge of the symptoms associated with head injuries, desperately trying to recall if there was anything she could have missed.  But nothing came to her.  Soberly, Michaela acknowledged that she might be forced to operate on Sully again, either to discover and correct the unknown cause of his condition, or to relieve  pressure in his brain from undetected bleeding.  And if she was forced to take that step, it was vital that she perform the procedure in the clinic, where she had access to all her instruments and equipment.

    “How’s he doin’, Dr. Mike?” Matthew asked from behind her.

    “The congestion in his lungs is somewhat improved, and his fever is down another degree,” Michaela replied, pulling her eyes from Sully with an effort and looking up at her son.

    “That’s good news, ain’t it?” Matthew said, puzzled by the solemn look in his mother’s eyes.

    “It should be, but I’m growing increasingly concerned that he isn’t waking up,” Michaela admitted.  “Based on what Cloud Dancing told us, it’s been at least thirty-six hours, perhaps longer, that Sully’s been unconscious.  I can’t find any outward cause, but there must be a reason.  And I may seriously have to consider performing exploratory surgery to determine what that reason is.”

    Matthew look sober, but then he said encouragingly, “I know that’s a difficult operation, Dr. Mike, but you done it before—on both Brian and Hank.  And if Dr. Cassidy hadn’t stopped you, you woulda performed it on that cowboy who was gonna ride his horse Destiny in the Colorado Sweepstakes.  Brian and Hank came through their operations just fine—you saved their lives!  And I bet you woulda been able to save that other fella’s life if you’d had the chance.

    “I know if you need to operate on Sully, he’ll be all right,” he added to her sincerely.

    “Thank you for your confidence, Matthew,” Michaela said quietly, touched by his faith in her.  But she couldn’t dismiss the persistent fear that whatever was wrong with Sully was much different than what she had encountered before.

    “Only thing is—and don’t get me wrong, ‘cause I believe you can do anything you got to—is it a good idea doin’ that kind of operation here at the homestead, bein’ so far from the clinic and all?” asked Matthew hesitantly, not wanting her to think he doubted her skills.

    “No, it isn’t,” Michaela said promptly.  “And you needn’t be afraid of offending me, because you’ve put your finger precisely on my other problem, Matthew.  I’d be taking a terrible risk attempting such a procedure in these remote surroundings.  If it’s at all possible, we need to get Sully to the clinic for me to operate.”

    “Well on that score, at least, things look good,” Matthew said positively.  “Storm’s gone, sky’s clear, and the sun’s already startin’ to melt the snow.  We shouldn’t have any trouble gettin’ to town on the horses, and with luck, we might even be able to transport Sully in the wagon.

    “I can go out now and scout the road, see if we’ll be able to get a wagon through,” he offered.  “If we know the conditions, we can be prepared.”

    “That sounds very promising,” Michaela replied, with the first glimmer of optimism she’d felt since this nightmare began.  “Only—don’t be gone too long, Matthew,” she added more softly, her eyes holding his for a moment before she turned back to gaze at Sully.  Matthew’s eyes followed hers to the face of the man who had been not only his friend and his protector, but had often seemed like an older brother—even, sometimes, like a father.  He felt a chill pass over him—as if, according to the old superstition, someone was walking across his grave.  Only in this case, he thought dismally, maybe it was Sully’s grave.

    He wouldn’t let that happen, Matthew resolved to himself.   Sully was too precious to his mother, and too important to all of them, for them to let him slip away without doing everything in their power to prevent it.  He alone owed Sully so much.  Sully had been a friend to his family when his father, Ethan, had deserted them.  Sully had supported him when he wanted to marry Ingrid, and had saved his life when he was trapped in the mine cave-in.  He had helped him on the cattle drive, and had fought along-side Dr. Mike when Ethan tried to get custody of Colleen and Brian from her and take them away.  Sully had helped Matthew keep the promise he’d made to Charlotte—and to himself—to keep their family together.  Now it was his turn to help keep Sully alive, and he would do it, or die trying.

    “I’ll leave right away, and be back soon as I can,” Matthew pledged to his mother now.  He reached down and squeezed her hand.  She looked up at him gratefully.  Matthew lingered one more moment to reach out and gently brush Sully’s shoulder with his fingertips.  He leaned over the unconscious man’s face.  “Keep fightin’, Sully—for Dr. Mike,” he whispered in Sully’s ear, then swallowed.  “For all of us.  We need you.”
He gave Michaela one last encouraging look, then quickly went to get his coat and hat.  Within moments, he was on his way to the barn to fetch his horse.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Cloud Dancing awakened at the sound of the door closing behind Matthew.  Instantly alert, he rose from his pallet on the floor by the fireplace, in time to look out the window and see Matthew go into the barn.  A few minutes later, the young man emerged from the building, leading his horse.  Within seconds, he was astride the animal and headed down the road away from the homestead.

     The medicine man stretched, grimacing at the soreness of the muscles in his arms and back.   Then, the stiffness in his body forgotten, he crossed the room to where Michaela sat by Sully.  One glance at his brother’s face told him that there had been no appreciable change.

     “Good morning,” he greeted Michaela.

     “Cloud Dancing—I’m sorry if we disturbed you,” she apologized softly.  “You must still be very tired.”

     “Do not concern yourself about me—I am well,” he told her.  “Where is Matthew going?” he added curiously.

     “He believes that it may be possible to use the wagon to take Sully to the clinic,” Michaela explained.  “He’s gone to scout the condition of the road into town.”

     Cloud Dancing nodded.  “That is wise.”  He turned his attention to Sully, laying his hand on his friend’s forehead.  The skin was warm, but not nearly as hot to the touch as it had been before.  “My brother’s fever is better,” he commented.

     “Yes,” Michaela confirmed, but her brief and muted response did not inspire Cloud Dancing with confidence.  He studied her keenly.

     “There is something else wrong,” he stated.  “That is why you wish to move Sully to the clinic.”

     As usual, Michaela was struck by the medicine man’s insight.  She nodded.

     “Tell me,” he said, his dark eyes supportive.

     Briefly Michaela explained her concern over Sully’s unconscious state, and her belief that surgery was her only option to find and cure what was wrong.

    Cloud Dancing listened thoughtfully.  “Uh hunh,” he murmured as she finished her reiteration of the problem.  He was silent for several moments after that, as if carefully mulling over what she’d said.  Michaela watched him closely.

    “What are you thinking?” she asked finally.  “Do you have another idea—another method to help him?”

    Still Cloud Dancing didn’t speak.  He seemed to be debating something within himself.  Michaela began to feel slightly alarmed.

    “Is there something you know that you haven’t told me?” she asked.  “Please, Cloud Dancing—if there’s something you know about Sully’s condition—something that could help him—you must tell me what it is!”
Her friend appeared to come to a decision.  “Do you remember our talk before I left to go on my vision quest to the Black Hills?” he asked suddenly.

    Michaela was caught off-guard, not expecting this reference to a minor occurrence a year in the past.  Except—perhaps it was not so minor.  Cloud Dancing’s words were always significant, many times containing a wealth of meaning.  If he was bringing up this long-ago conversation now, he must have a purpose.

    “Yes,” she said slowly, reaching back in her memory for the words they had exchanged that day.

    “You asked me what I did when one of my plants did not cure a person,” he prompted her.

    Michaela’s eyes widened as recollection dawned.  “And you said that it meant that things were ‘out of balance’—that you need to heal the whole person,” she responded.  She began to get a glimpse of the direction this was heading.  “What is it, Cloud Dancing?” she asked more quietly.  “What do I need to know to heal *all* of Sully?”

    “I should not betray Sully’s confidence,” Cloud Dancing said gravely.  “But the spirits tell me that now I must put his life even before our friendship.”  He hesitated, then went on slowly,  “You cannot cure Sully because there is a piece of the puzzle missing.  The whole picture cannot become clear—you cannot put things back in balance—without it.  I have this missing piece.  Even though I risk earning Sully’s anger, I must give it to you.”

    “Sully could never be angry with you,” Michaela said fervently.

    The medicine man raised an eyebrow.  “Perhaps.  But I could lose his trust, which would be even worse.  Still, I am not ready to see him join the spirits.  He has too much to live for, too much left to do.”

    “Yes,” Michaela whispered tremulously.

    “Sully came to me because he was in a dark place,” Cloud Dancing began.  “You know about this—because we were in this place also.”

    Michaela nodded, staring at him intently.

    “But there was more troubling his spirit than the loss of my people,” he went on.  “Something that was so painful he hid it from himself for a long time.  Something—“ he gazed darkly into her eyes,  “he was too ashamed to tell you.”

* * * * * * * * * *

     “He truly believes that?” Michaela said in shock when Cloud Dancing had finished speaking.  “He believes he’s cursed—that he’ll lose me if we marry?”  The medicine man looked into her stunned and disbelieving eyes.

     “To us it may not make sense,” he conceded.  “But to Sully the fear is very real.  He has lost many of the people he cared about in his life.  It is not so difficult to understand his belief that history will repeat itself.”

     Michaela looked down at Sully, tears welling in her eyes as she tenderly stroked a lock of hair from his forehead.  “No, I suppose it isn’t,” she whispered, her heart aching as she thought of the emotional suffering he had been going through—his guilt over those he’d lost, coupled with his desperate fear of losing her and his shame that he couldn’t admit the truth of that fear to her.

    “I do not question your skill or the power of your medicine,” Cloud Dancing went on.  “But I do not believe that an injury to his brain is keeping Sully from waking.  I believe that the injury is to his spirit.  His mind and heart will not let him wake because he is afraid.  If he wakes, he must face the memory of the people he has lost.  Most of all, he must face his fear of losing you.”

     “Then how do I reach him?” Michaela asked helplessly.  “How do I reassure him that it’s—it’s ‘safe’—to come back?”

     “Be with him, touch him, talk to him,” the medicine man advised.  “Treat his spirit as well as his body.”

     “But how do I know he can hear me?” she persisted.

     “Sully’s spirit will hear and feel the love that comes from your heart,” Cloud Dancing told her.  “A strong bond connects you.  It will not break simply because Sully has retreated into himself.”

     “I want to believe that . . .” Michaela whispered fervently, but still she looked worried and unconvinced.

     “Remember—it was this bond that led Sully to you when you were taken by One-Eye,” Cloud Dancing reminded her.          “And it sent you a vision that Sully was hurt by Bloody Knife.  You were about to go in search of Sully based on the power of this vision alone.  Your knowledge was not logical—but still, you knew it to be true.

     “Just because we cannot see or explain a thing, does not mean it does not exist,” he finished, gazing at her significantly.

     “I appreciate your wisdom,” Michaela said after a pause.  “And I’ll try very hard to do what you suggest.  But I still believe it would be a safe precaution to take Sully to the clinic.  His illness and the injury to his body are very real, and require careful treatment and continuous observation.”

     “I agree,” Cloud Dancing confirmed.  “It is wise to take precautions.  I did not mean to suggest that you should ignore the weakness in his body—only that you should treat the weakness in his spirit as well.

     “However, when you take Sully to the clinic, I will not be able to follow,” he added.

     “I’ll miss you,” Michaela said sincerely.  “Sully will too.  If he can feel me, then I’m certain  he can feel your presence as well.  We’ll both be praying for your safety.”

     “I will be all right.  And I will stay close by,” Cloud Dancing promised.  “If you or Sully need me, I will find a way to come to you.”  He grasped her hand and held it tightly, and Michaela felt a rush of warmth and reassurance flood through her.  Then he turned to gaze at Sully, laying his other hand on his brother’s forehead as if in benediction.

     “Sully *will* return to us,” he said.