Tuesday, 27 March, 1870

     She flinched, as if I’d slapped her.  I could see her drawing more tightly into herself.

     “I think you’d better leave now,” she said distantly.  She started to rise from her chair, as if to dismiss me.

     “Don’t!” I begged, putting out my hand and brushing at her sleeve.  “Please don’t.  Don’t push me away, Dr. Mike . . . Michaela.”  She froze, then slowly sank down onto the chair.  She seemed to hover there, as if poised to take flight any minute.  Her arms were wrapped around herself again.  She looked vulnerable and fragile—like she’d break into a thousand pieces if I touched her.  My heart felt like somebody’d squeezed it, and all I wanted was to take her in my arms, and comfort her and keep her safe.

     “I—don’t think I can have this conversation with you, Sully,” she said, her voice low.  She was looking down, not meeting my eyes.

     “I know what I did was wrong . . . Michaela,“  I said, stumbling over the name a little.  It felt strange to say, but it sounded right.  “And I know I hurt you.  But do you really despise me that much?”

     I stared at her, willing her to raise her eyes to meet mine.  After a moment, she did.

     “No,” she said, her voice so soft it was nearly a whisper.  “I could never despise you.”

     “Then please . . .” I implored.   She was silent, but she didn’t move.

     “You don’t got to tell me anything,” I added quickly.  “You don’t got to say anything at all.  Just—let me talk.  All right?”

     She raised her chin.  “All right,” she said quietly.

     I placed my palms on the table, and looked at her squarely.  “It’s true,” I began.  “I—I’m attracted to you.  It ain’t so hard to understand.  Any man would be.”  She averted her eyes from me, her cheeks flushing, as if she was unused to receiving compliments about herself.  That was equally hard for me to fathom—she must have had so many in her life, beautiful as she was.

     “From the first moment I saw you . . .”  I swallowed, then pushed on.  “Well, you were one of the loveliest sights I ever laid eyes on.”

     “The first time you saw me?” she echoed.

     “Yeah—the first time I opened my eyes in the clinic,” I elaborated.

     “Oh—I see,” she said quietly.  I wondered a little at her reaction, trying to figure what else she thought I could have meant.  Then I realized—maybe she thought I’d been referring to the *real* first time we’d met—the meeting I didn’t remember.

     “I’m sorry, Michaela,” I apologized.  “I still have no memory of our original meeting.  All I can do is tell you how I’ve felt these last few weeks since I woke up.”

     She nodded, her expression resigned. “I understand,” she said.  “And I’m flattered that you think I’m—I’m attractive.  But physical attraction alone is hardly the basis for a relationship, Sully.”

    “It wasn’t only that,” I told her.  “If all I cared about was looks, I could take my pick of Hank’s girls.  Your beauty ain’t only on the outside, Michaela.  It fills you up inside and spills out to touch everyone around you. You’re loving and tender, and passionate.  You care so much about people, and you’re totally devoted to Charlotte’s children.  I’ve seen how much they love you and depend on you.

    “You’re kind and gentle with your patients, too—just like you were with me.  You saved my life!  You didn’t give up, even when all the odds were stacked against me.  How do I begin to thank you for that?”

     “Patients who’ve gone through a crisis like yours often develop a strong attachment to their doctor,” she said neutrally.  “They confuse gratitude with affection.”

     “It ain’t ‘gratitude’ that I feel, Michaela.”  I looked at her levelly.

     “Sully, you just said you were grateful to me,” she demurred.  “It’s all right—it’s perfectly natural for you to have those feelings.  Just—don’t mistake them for . . . something else.”

     “I know the difference between being thankful to somebody—and having feelings for her,” I maintained.  “I can’t tell you exactly when it began—when my feelings of friendship started to change to something else.  Truth is, I think I surprised myself more than you when I took that telegram.  Maybe it was the thought of you—loving somebody else—that made me realize the truth.

     “Point is, I care for you,” I went on, staring at her earnestly.  “Which makes what I did all the more wrong.  But I did it *because* I care.  If that makes any sense at all.

     “I don’t expect nothing from you,” I said.  “I realize that your heart may be with another man, and I accept that.  If friendship is all you can offer me, I’ll be grateful and honored to have it.  I just hope I haven’t damaged our—relationship—beyond repair.”  I paused, taking a deep breath.  “I guess it’s in your hands now,” I concluded.

     I sat back, and waited for her to decide my fate.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

     Almost like a sleepwalker, Michaela wandered from the clinic over to the café, and took a table alone in a far corner.  Busy with the height of the lunch rush, Grace didn’t immediately notice her presence, which suited Michaela fine.  Grace would only ask her about Sully, and Michaela would be at a loss as to what to say.

     In truth, she was at a loss as to what to feel.  Sully was awake, finally.  And she was certain now that his physical recovery would be complete.  Both outcomes were what she’d prayed for.  She should have been filled with joy at this moment—giddy with relief and gratitude, and finally able to look toward the future.  Instead, she felt like many of the shell-shocked soldiers she and her father had seen and treated during the war, their hollow eyes haunted by the memories of horrors she couldn’t begin to imagine.

     She had prayed that Sully would come back to her, but only a part of him had returned.  The most important part—his essence—was missing, locked deep within the recesses of his mind.  Michaela wondered how—or if—she would ever be able to reach into that part of his mind and turn it outward, restoring the missing portion of his life.  That Sully’s conscious mind had gone to such great lengths to erect a defense against his memories, could only mean that the pain of those memories must have been very severe, indeed.  Perhaps too severe for Sully to ever recover that part of his past.

     Which meant he might never recover his memory of *their* past.  Of their friendship, which had turned to love.  Of their commitment to one another.

     As she considered the possibility of such an outcome, Michaela’s own mind shut down in protest.  It may have been unrealistic—even cowardly—but she could not accept that in Sully’s mind, he had permanently erased all trace of her existence.  There must be a way to bring those memories back—to help Sully become emotionally strong enough again to face his demons, and work through them.  But how?  What was the safest, gentlest way to aid him to recover?  The mind was such a fragile thing, such an unknown quantity.  How could she know that whatever course she pursued would be the right one?  That she wouldn’t damage his psyche still further in her ignorance?

     And there was something else.  A question that had tormented her, since the moment she realized that Sully didn’t know who she was.  Why had Sully wiped his memories of her from his mind?  What was it that had been so unbearable his mind had felt compelled to block it out?  Was it as simple as Cloud Dancing’s theory—that Sully couldn’t face the thought of losing her?  Or did it go even further—that deep in his heart, Sully wasn’t ready to commit to her?  Or even worse, that he didn’t *want* to commit to her?  Was this his mind’s way of saving him from having to admit the truth to her—that he wanted to end their relationship?

     Relentlessly Michaela’s mind worried at the problem.  How could she know what was in Sully’s heart?  How could she know what was safe to do?  Should she fill in the missing pieces of the past three years for him, hoping that would stimulate his mind to remember?  Or should she sit back and do nothing, hoping and trusting in nature to take its course and heal him?

     And what of the facts of their relationship?  Instinctively Michaela knew that here, she treaded on the most dangerous of ground.  Even if there weren’t a question of Sully’s readiness for a commitment, how could she tell him what they had been to each other?  What could she say?  “Sully, you’ve lost the last three years of your life and you don’t even know me—but by the way, we’re to be married in two months!”?

     Wearily Michaela dropped her head into her hands.

     “Dr. Mike!” said Grace’s voice at her side.  “It’s good to see you out again!  Does this mean there’s good news about Sully?”

     Michaela pinned on an obligatory smile and looked up at Grace.  “Well, yes,” she said.  “Sully’s awake.”

     “Praise be!” Grace exclaimed, pressing her clasped hands to her breast.  “Oh, Dr. Mike—you must be so happy!”

     “Yes—yes I’m very relieved,” Michaela replied, hoping Grace wouldn’t notice the lack of enthusiasm in her tone.

     “What’s that?  Ya say Sully’s come around?” called Loren from a nearby table where he sat with Hank and Jake.  He cackled.  “I knew nothin’ could keep him down for long!”  He left his chair and came over to Michaela, grinning.  Jake followed, but Hank remained in his seat.  “So how soon’s he gonna be outta there, Dr. Mike?” Loren asked eagerly.

     “Yes, is he up for visitors yet?” Grace chimed in.

     “Well, he’s still very weak—“ Michaela began.

     “’Course he is, after everythin’ he’s been through,” Grace interrupted.

     “That’s right,” Michaela said, taking advantage of the opening Grace gave her.  “And I’m afraid  he woke with rather a severe headache—from the head injury,” she added.  “I’ve given him some laudanum, so he’s sleeping now.  Colleen is with him.  Under the circumstances, I think it would be better if  Sully has some time to regain his strength before he starts having visitors.”

    “Well, sure,” Loren agreed.  He cleared his throat.  “Listen, Dr. Mike—I’m sorry I ain’t had a chance to get over to the clinic ‘fore now and see how he’s doin’.  With all these new folks settlin’ in town ‘cause of the train, the store’s busy from mornin’ till night.”

    “That’s what ya wanted, Loren,” Jake said caustically.

    “Well, ‘course it is!” Loren said. “It’s just that I ain’t hardly had a chance to breathe, what with customers comin’ in every time I turn around.”

    “Better get used to it, old man,” Hank remarked with a lazy grin.  “Once the train gets here, we’re all gonna be up to our eyeballs in new business.”  His elbow rested on the table, one of his ubiquitous cigars propped between his fingers.  Languidly he took a puff.

    Jake raised an eyebrow at Loren.  “If you’re so all-fired busy, what are ya doin’ *here*?” he asked dourly.

    Loren looked offended.  “Well a body’s gotta eat,” he said.

    Grace rolled her eyes at them, then turned her attention back to Michaela.  “I’m gonna start cookin’ up all Sully’s favorites,” she said excitedly, ticking them off on her fingers.  “Fried chicken, cornbread, apple pie—“

    “That’s very kind of you, Grace,” Michaela said hastily.  “But I’m afraid Sully can only tolerate a bland diet for the time being.”

    “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, Dr. Mike,” Grace said.  “My chicken soup will be good for whatever ails him.  And I make a blancmange that goes down smooth as silk.”

    “Blah—WHAT?” Jake repeated.

    Grace glared at him.  “BLAH MANJ,” she enunciated haughtily.  “It’s French.  It’s—like vanilla puddin’.”

    “Why didn’t ya just say so?” Loren grumbled.

    Grace shook her head, then lifted her chin regally, clearly despairing of these ignorant rustics.

    “That sounds lovely, Grace,” Michaela hastened to say.  “I’m sure Sully will enjoy it.”

    “I’m gonna get started right away, soon’s I get Robert E. to fetch me some ingredients from the store,” Grace told her, eagerly starting to plan.  “Loren, do you have any—“  She broke off suddenly.  “Robert E!” she exclaimed.  “I gotta tell him ‘bout Sully!  He’s gonna be so excited!  ROBERT E.!“ she called toward the livery in a voice that penetrated clear across the café.

    “Grace, there’s really no need to make a fuss—“ Michaela tried to say, but her words were drowned out.

    Just then Dorothy rounded the corner of the telegraph office.  Immediately her eyes fell on the knot of people clustered around Michaela.  She hurried over.  “Michaela—is there any news?” she asked excitedly.

    “Sure is,” Loren said before Michaela could reply.  “Sully’s come to—he’s gonna be fine!”

    “That right?” said Robert E., jogging up to them, a grin breaking out on his face.  “I just knew Sully’d beat this thing!”  He hugged Grace.

    Dorothy’s hands went to her mouth.  “Is it true?  Oh, Michaela!  Oh, that’s wonderful”  She leaned over and hugged her friend tightly, then drew back to look into her face.  “When did it happen?” she said.  “How is he?  Is he talkin’—“  She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of Michaela’s expression.  Michaela’s eyes looked into hers, mutely sending her a message.  Dorothy stared at her closely for a moment, then drew herself up.

    “I think everyone should clear out and let Michaela eat her lunch in peace,” she said clearly.  “She’s tired—she’s been through a lot.”

    “Seems like Sully’s—‘been through a lot’ too,” Hank said archly.  Michaela shot him a swift glance.  He looked back at her mockingly, but said nothing else.

    “Of course he has,” Dorothy said strongly, giving Hank a poisonous stare.  “And Michaela’s worn out with lookin’ after him.”

    “Dorothy’s right,” Grace said.  “Dr. Mike, I’m gonna fix you a plate right now.”

    “I’m really not that hungry, Grace,” Michaela protested.  “Just some cider will be fine.”  But Dorothy nodded at Grace over her head.

    “Bring the food, Grace,” she said.  She sat down across from Michaela and took her hand, as the others began to disperse—Loren and Jake somewhat reluctantly.

    “What is it?” Dorothy asked in a low voice.  “I can see it in your eyes, Michaela.   What’s wrong?”  There was a long silence, then Michaela spoke, her eyes dark with misery.

    “He doesn’t know me, Dorothy,” she said.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “I can’t stay very long,” Michaela added, before Dorothy could speak.  “I need to get back to Sully before he wakes up.  But—I have to confide in someone, Dorothy.”  She huddled forlornly in her chair.

     Dorothy continued to hold her friend’s hand, her eyes supportive but confused.  “Why are you in such a rush to get back, Michaela?  Colleen’s lookin’ after Sully—ain’t that right?”

     “Yes, she is,” Michaela confirmed.  “But I can’t let Sully see her yet.  I can’t let him see anyone yet—except for me.”

     Dorothy stared at her intently.  “Michaela--*what* is goin’ on?  And what did you mean before when you said that Sully didn’t ‘know’ you?”

     They were interrupted momentarily as Grace appeared with a steaming plate of her famous meatloaf, and a glass of sweet cider.  She set them down in front of Michaela.

 “Now you eat, Dr. Mike,” she instructed, squeezing Michaela’s shoulder.  Michaela gave her a brief smile of thanks, and picked up her fork as Grace nodded approvingly, then went off to tend to her other customers.  However as soon as she left, Michaela laid the fork down next to her plate, unable to summon any appetite for Grace’s cooking, tempting though it was.

     “So what’s this about Sully?” Dorothy asked, bringing Michaela back to her earlier question.  Michaela hesitated, sighing dispiritedly.

     “When Sully woke up, he was confused,” she said finally.

     “Well that’s natural, ain’t it?” Dorothy asked.  “After all, he has a head wound—he’s gotta have some kind of after-effect from that, doesn’t he?”

     “Yes, a certain amount of confusion and disorientation is normal,” Michaela confirmed.  “But it was more than that.”  She hesitated again—so long that Dorothy began to think she wasn’t going to say any more.  But finally she resumed.  “When Sully first spoke, he said something very odd to me.  He asked what he was doing in the ‘boardinghouse.’”

     “Oh, well,” Dorothy said.  “He was just a little confused about his surroundin’s.  That’s understandable—“

     “But that’s just it, Dorothy,” Michaela interrupted.  “He wasn’t confused—he knew precisely where he was.  Because the last that he knew, the clinic *was* a boardinghouse.”  She stared into Dorothy’s eyes.

     “Michaela, what exactly are you sayin’?” her friend asked softly and slowly.  She reached out and took Michaela’s hand again, grasping it reassuringly.

     “Three years ago the clinic *was* Charlotte’s boardinghouse,” Michaela stated.  “In Sully’s mind, it *is* nearly three years ago, Dorothy.  He’s lost his memory of that entire time—and his memories of me.”  Her eyes were hollow.

     “Oh, Michaela!” Dorothy exclaimed softly.  “But that can’t be!  He simply musta been a little out of his head.  After all, he’s been runnin’ a high fever—“

     “His fever broke early this morning,” Michaela interrupted.  “When he awoke, he was confused, and in pain, but he wasn’t delirious.  He was in possession of his faculties.”

     “But Sully *loves* you!” Dorothy insisted.  “How could he not know you?  Michaela, you must be mistaken.”

     “I wish I were . . .” Michaela said quietly.

     Dorothy watched her in concern.  “Michaela, you’re exhausted and over-wrought.  This whole thing has been nearly as hard on you as it’s been on Sully.  You’ve barely eaten, you haven’t slept—that’s gotta be affectin’ how you’re thinkin’—“

     Michaela looked at her levelly.  “He stared straight into my eyes and asked me who I was, Dorothy.  He didn’t recognize me.

    “I couldn’t believe it myself, at first,” she went on.  “I asked him some questions to try to determine what he remembered.  He—he thought Johnson was President, and that the year was 1867.”  Tears gathered in her eyes and she lifted her free hand to wipe them away.  “As far as Sully knows, the past three years never happened,” she finished dully.

     Finally convinced, Dorothy sat back in her chair, overwhelmed by what Michaela had told her.  It was her turn to be silent, as she tried to think of something reassuring to say.

     “I’m sure it’s only temporary,” she offered helpfully at last.  “In a day or two, when his head is clear, I’m sure everythin’ will come back to him.”

     “I wish I could be as sure,” Michaela said bleakly.  “Certainly it’s a possibility—one that I’m praying for.  But—something tells me it’s not going to be that simple.”

     Dorothy stared at her compassionately, at a loss as to how to comfort her friend.  “What are you gonna do?” she asked finally.

     Michaela sighed heavily.  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.  “There’s so little literature available on the workings of the mind—so much that we don’t yet understand.  I’ve read a small amount of research that suggests that amnesia patients should be allowed to recover their memories on their own, without overt intervention—“  She broke off as she noted the puzzled expression in Dorothy’s eyes.  “That is, I should refrain from telling Sully anything of the time he’s lost, but instead allow his memories to come back naturally.”

     Dorothy shrugged slightly.  “That seems to make sense . . .” she ventured.

     “Intellectually, yes,” Michaela agreed.  “The theory seems to be that it’s dangerous to tell a patient too much too soon, for fear of the shock complicating his recovery even further—if not jeopardizing it completely.  But I can’t shield Sully forever, Dorothy.  Sooner or later he’s going to have to leave the clinic and be confronted by the changes in his life.  He’s going to have to face some very painful realities, such as the deaths of the Cheyenne at Washita . . . and—and other things.  What if he were to learn of these things accidentally, from someone else?  I can ask our family and friends to be circumspect with him, but I can’t control the entire town.  Just one unfortunate slip from someone would be enough to devastate him, if he’s not prepared emotionally.  There won’t be any easy way to tell him the truth about the things he’s forgotten, but at least if I’m the one to tell him, I can give him the facts slowly and carefully, a little at a time.”

     “But how will you know when the time is right?” Dorothy asked.

     It was Michaela’s turn to shrug.  “I suppose all I can do is take my cues from Sully himself,” she said.  “Just wait and watch, and let him indicate to me when he’s ready—if that time comes,” she added.

     “Michaela, those ‘other things’ you mentioned—you were talkin’ about yourself, weren’t you—about you and Sully bein’ in love and gettin’ married?” Dorothy said intuitively.

     Reluctantly Michaela nodded.

 Dorothy’s eyes were dark with sympathy.  “But Michaela—bein’ with Sully every day, unable to tell him how you feel or what you mean to each other . . . just waitin’ and hopin’ that he’ll remember your engagement . . .  How will you endure it?”

     Michaela’s eyes were haunted.  “I don’t know,” she said quietly.  “Truthfully, Dorothy, it may be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.”

     Dorothy looked deeply into her friend’s eyes.  “Whatever you have to do, Michaela, it’s all gonna work out—I know it.  That man loves you.   Those feelin’s are still inside him, and they’re gonna come out, whether he remembers your courtship or not.  Even if he never gets back the time he lost, you’ll still be together in the end.  You’ll just make new memories, to replace the old.”

     Michaela knew Dorothy meant well, and part of her desperately wanted to take comfort in the positive future Dorothy painted.  But Dorothy couldn’t know of the deep-seated problems that had stolen Sully’s memories in the first place.

     “Sully’s love for me may still be inside,” Michaela conceded.  “And he may learn to have those feelings for me again.  But I have good reason to believe that Sully had some very deep fears about our relationship that caused him to bury his recollections of it—and of me.  Would it be right—would it be fair—to let Sully fall in love with me again only to have that love built on a lie?  Deep in his heart, Dorothy, Sully may not yet be ready to make a permanent commitment to me.  Perhaps he never will be.  I can’t take advantage of his memory loss to plan a future with him that he doesn’t truly want.

     “What if he were to remember it all someday, and end up hating me for not being truthful with him from the beginning?” she added, her eyes stark with despair.

     “I don’t know anythin’ about Sully bein’ afraid to marry you, and honestly, I can’t imagine it,” Dorothy said.  “And I’m certain he could never hate you, no matter what happens.  But if you truly believe it would be wrong to keep the truth from him about your relationship, then be honest.  Tell him about your history—how you came to know and love each other.  Maybe hearin’ the words from you will bring it all back to him.  At the very least, I think he’d be glad to know that you love him, if his feelin’s for you are as strong as I believe they are.”

     “It’s so confusing,” Michaela sighed helplessly.  “I’ve never felt so unsure of myself—so afraid of making the wrong choice.”

     “Give yourself some time,” Dorothy advised.  “You still don’t know what the comin’ days and weeks will bring.  But one thing I’m sure of, Michaela, and that is that you and Sully were made for each other.  You’ve always made your relationship work.  Somehow, you’ll make it work this time, too.”

     “I hope you’re right, Dorothy,” Michaela said softly.  “How I hope that you’re right.”