Tuesday, 27 March, 1870

     I stepped down off the porch, and stood indecisively in the yard, unsure what to do, and even more unsure what to feel.  It seemed as if a hundred different emotions were warring inside me—shock at what she’d told me, anger that she’d kept it a secret for so long, shame at my own stupidity for not recognizing the truth about our relationship . . . and love.  Despite what she’d done—despite how she’d betrayed me—God help me I still felt an overpowering attraction to her.  Fact is, my feelings were even stronger than they’d been before, now that I understood where they’d come from.

     But the lie.  I couldn’t get past it.  Looking back, it seemed that every time I’d asked her for information about my past, it had been like pulling teeth to get her to answer.  I wondered if even now, there were still things I didn’t know.  I suppose she would have told me during our confrontation in the homestead if I’d given her the chance—but not because she wanted to.  Because she would have been forced to.

     The question that kept echoing in my mind over and over, was “why?”  Why did she keep the truth about us hidden?  What had she been so afraid of?  If she loved me, like she claimed, it seemed like she would have wanted me to know we had feelings for each other.  Instead, she had apparently done everything in her power to keep me from finding out.  What kind of love was that?

     A thought occurred to me.  Maybe I’d done something to hurt her or make her angry, in that unknown time before my accident.  Maybe she’d lied to pay me back, somehow.  Yet even as the idea entered  my mind, I rejected it.  It didn’t “feel” like the truth.  She’d made a show of being angry with me over the telegram, but she’d admitted flat out that her behavior had been mostly a pose, to discourage me from getting too close to her.  Besides, when she’d finally said the words—when she’d finally looked me in the eyes and told me she loved me—there’d been no anger there; no evidence of hurt feelings or resentment.  In that moment, I’d believed her.

     Which brought me right back to where I’d started.  She had claimed to love me, but she’d kept the most important part of my missing life—of our lives together—a secret.  No matter how I looked at it, it made no sense.

     The thoughts kept spinning around and around in my head like a dog chasing its tail, yielding the same unsatisfactory results.  And the more I tried to reason things out, the more hurt and frustrated I became.  My heart felt like a lump of iron in Robert E.’s forge—seared by pain; then stretched, pounded, and twisted out of all tolerance or recognition.

     With no idea beforehand of what I was about to do, I started to run.  I had no goal in mind, no destination.  I just wanted to run, as hard and as fast as I could, trying to outstrip the emotions that whirled inside me like a cyclone.

     Blood pumping, heart pounding, wind whistling in my ears and the hair streaming back from my face, I sprinted across the fields, leaping over small obstacles in my path and feeling at moments almost as if  I could fly.  For that brief space of time, I left my hurt and anger behind, and simply took pleasure in being alive, and free—and at one with nature again.

     All too soon, though, the reality of my situation caught up with me.  Not the chaos of emotions assailing my mind this time, but the weakness assailing my body.  Dr. Mike had cautioned me the night before that I still wasn’t up to walking the distance between the town and the homestead.  She’d been wrong about that—I’d covered the few miles earlier that morning without difficulty.  But the demands I’d put on myself just now as I’d streaked through the woods and fields like all the demons in Hell were after me—that was a different story.

       The muscles in my calves cramping in protest, and my lungs burning, I was forced to come to a stop.  I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to get my breath as the blood rushed to my head, making it swim. My heart continued to gallop in my chest, beginning to slow only after several long minutes.  I was stunned by how out of shape I’d become, after all those days of being bedridden and then confined to the clinic.  And yet, despite the pain of my outraged muscles and my shortness of breath, I still felt better than I’d had before I started running, as I drew a measure of comfort simply from being in the wilderness.

     When I’d finally rested enough—the tension in my muscles eased, and my heart back to its normal rhythm—I began to walk, idly following the course of the road as it unwound before me.

     My thoughts were quiet.  Mercifully, it seemed my run had been beneficial after all, numbing my emotions the way Michaela used laudanum or morphine to numb a patient’s pain.  I moved leisurely, filling all my senses with the beauty of the soft spring day.

    I paid little attention to the passage of time, though I could approximate the hour by the position of the sun overhead.  The morning moved steadily toward noon, taking me with it.

     I had just begun to think about foraging for something to eat, when an odd sensation of “familiarity” came over me.  I stopped and gazed at my surroundings, trying to recall if this particular stretch of landscape should have any meaning for me.  It was a pretty spot, with a spectacular view of the valley and the mountains beyond—exceptionally pleasing to my eyes, but giving no clue as to its significance, if any, in my life.  Still, I couldn’t rid myself of the notion that not only had I been here before, but that somehow, I *belonged* here.

     I started walking again, feeling more strongly with each step that I took that I was being drawn toward something.  Like an iron filing being pulled toward a magnet, my feet unerringly carried me forward.

     I reached a fork in the road, and without hesitation, I bore to the left.  Gradually the screen of trees began to thin out.  Moments later, a long dirt track leading to a house and barn appeared, and I knew I’d reached the source of the mysterious attraction.

     Wonderingly, I turned in and began to move up the dusty drive.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

     Sully’s eyes snapped open suddenly.  He lay rigidly in bed, momentarily unsure about where he was and what had awakened him.  Only his eyes moved, slowly surveying what little he could discern of the dimly lit room, its sole illumination the soft glimmer of an oil lamp turned down low.  A mass of shadows, like lacy black cobwebs, shrouded the walls and clung to the ceiling.  Beyond the foot of his bed, a chiffonier stood in one corner, its bulk seeming to loom over him in the darkness.  A folding screen appeared to perch in the opposite corner, its panels spread like the wings of some large and malevolent bird.

     Gradually the recollection of his “awakening”—with its shocking revelation from Dr. Mike about his memory loss—came back to him.  But the knowledge of his condition, as well as what it might mean to his future—was a reality still too frightening to contemplate, and he pushed the thought away.

     He had only the vaguest sense of time.  The curtains and shade of his window were drawn, affording him no glimpse of the night sky.  However, the clinic had a quiet, slumbering “feel” to it, leading him to conclude that the hour was very late.

     There was no sign of Dr. Mike.  For the first time since he had regained consciousness, he was alone.  Or so it appeared.  But as Sully’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he began to sense another presence nearby.  Unlike the sinister aspect of his room, however, the emanations he received from his unknown visitor were definitely benign.

     Sully closed his eyes and lay quietly, calmly waiting to see what would happen next.  Within a few moments his patience was rewarded as the door of his room noiselessly opened and a dark shape silently entered.

     Making no sound, the mysterious figure approached Sully’s bed and moved into the small pool of light cast by his bedside lamp.  Sully opened his eyes, and saw the face of Cloud Dancing looking down at him.

* * * * * * * * * *

     The medicine man saw that Sully was awake, and grasped his friend’s arm.  “Ha Ho—it is good to see you again,” he whispered, his eyes alight with pleasure at their reunion.

     “I’m glad to see you,” Sully answered, equally moved.  “I’ve missed my brother.”

     “And I, you,” Cloud Dancing replied.  “It has been many days since I have heard your voice.  As soon as the spirits told me you had ‘returned,’ I knew I must come and welcome you back.”

     “’Returned?’” Sully repeated.

     “From that dark place between this world and the next.  You hovered there for a long while.  For a time, I thought that you would cross over to join the spirits,” Cloud Dancing told him.  “I am grateful your journey brought you back, instead of taking you away forever.”

     "Was it really as bad as that?" Sully asked him, truly beginning to understand for the first time how close he had come to losing his life.  "I knew I was sick, and shot . . ."

     “Sickness and fever were consuming you,” Cloud Dancing said gravely.  “Though I called on the spirits and did my best, my medicine did not work.  And then, when you were struck by the bullet, my heart grieved because I thought at first that you had been killed.  Fortunately the spirits spared you.  But you were close to death.  I knew I needed to get you to Dr. Mike—that only she could help you.   She saved your life,” he added.

     “Sounds like you both did,” Sully said, staring into his eyes.  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

     “There is no need.  You saved my life first.  I would not be here, if not for you,” his brother and mentor said solemnly.

    “I don’t know how I did that,” Sully said.  “Judgin’ from what you and Dr. Mike have told me, I wasn’t in much shape to help anyone.  And I still don’t understand what happened, or why.  Dr. Mike told me a little, but—“

     “You do not remember the attack?” Cloud Dancing asked.

    Sully shook his head.  “There’s—a  lot I don’t remember,” he said softly.

    “It is understandable,” Cloud Dancing noted.  “You have had a great shock.”

    “Dr. Mike said the same,” Sully replied.  He was about to tell his brother that the shock had stolen far more than just his memories of their experience, but then suddenly winced as pain flared in his head.   His eyes closed and his body tensed.  He raised his hand to his temple as a soft moan escaped him.

    Cloud Dancing’s expression darkened with concern.  “Shall I fetch Dr. Mike?” he asked quickly.

    “No—no don’t,” Sully told him, even though his head still throbbed.  “I’m all right.  ‘Sides, you still ain’t told me what happened to us—“

     “We will talk another time. You are still weak and in pain—you must rest now.  I will return when you are stronger,” he said.

    “You’re—you’re leavin’?” Sully managed after a moment.

    “I am afraid I cannot linger,” the medicine man said regretfully.

    “Cloud Dancin’—are you all right?  Did you put yourself in danger comin’ here?” Sully asked, his headache momentarily forgotten at the ominous inference of his brother’s statement.

    “Save your strength—do not worry about me,” his friend instructed.

    “But—“

    “Rest now,” Cloud Dancing told him, overriding Sully’s protests.  “We will speak again.”  He reached for Sully’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

    “I’m—I’m glad you came,” Sully told him sincerely.  But then a shadow crossed his face.  “I just—“  He broke off.

    “What is it?” Cloud Dancing asked softly.

    “I know it’s selfish, but—I wish you could stay,” Sully confessed after a moment.  He was ashamed of his weakness, but he couldn’t help it.  “Your presence—gives me courage.”

    “Your courage comes from within,” the medicine man assured him.  “Look into your heart, and you will find the strength you need.”

    “I—ain’t so sure about that,” Sully said.

    “I am,” Cloud Dancing stated confidently.  “I would not leave you if I was not certain of this.  Dr. Mike will take good care of you,” he added.  “You are in good hands.”  He rose to leave.

    “Take care of yourself,” Sully cautioned him.

    “And you, also,” Cloud Dancing replied.  “Be well, my brother.”  He grasped Sully’s hand once more, and a sensation of warmth seemed to emanate from his touch.  A moment later, he was gone.

    Sully felt his heart constrict with sorrow at his mentor’s departure.  But amazingly, the pain in his head had vanished.  He had a moment of wonderment at the medicine man’s power of healing, but his fatigue would not be denied, and he gave himself over to it.  Soon, he was asleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Sully awoke the following morning more fully rested and gratifyingly free of pain.  He didn’t quite trust this state of affairs, however, having started to become accustomed to attacks of pain or dizziness assailing him without warning.  Warily he lifted his head, then gingerly pulled himself into a sitting position, fully expecting his headache or vertigo to recur at any moment.  Neither did, however, and after a few moments of waiting, he relaxed.

     As his apprehension over his physical condition waned, he began to be aware of another sensation—an unexpected yet pervasive feeling of well-being that blossomed at his core and spread outward to encompass his mind and body.  The feeling surprised him at first, being in such contradiction to the anxiety and disorientation he had experienced the day before.  But then he remembered his encounter with Cloud Dancing, and he could only conclude that his new-found serenity must be a residual effect of his brother’s visit.

     Except—had he actually been visited by the medicine man?  His recollection of their conversation had the rather vague, unreal quality of a dream.  But whether their meeting had been real, or only a figment of his imagination—still he felt instinctively that his blood brother was thinking of him, and sending positive, healing powers his way.

     There was a light tap on the door, and a moment later it opened to reveal Dr. Mike.  In her hands she carried a tray, which bore a bowl of what appeared to be oatmeal, as well as a cup and saucer and a small metal pot with steam issuing from its spout.  She set the tray down on the foot of his bed.

     “Good morning,” she greeted him.

     “Mornin’,” he answered readily, feeling a sudden, but not unpleasant flutter in the pit of his stomach at the sight of her.

     “How are you feeling today?” she asked.

     “Lots better,” he replied truthfully.  She scrutinized him carefully, and her expression brightened, obviously pleased by what she saw.

     “I can tell,” she said.  “And I’m delighted to see it.”  She perched by his side on the bed, taking her watch from her pocket as she placed her fingertips on his wrist.

    “Your pulse is strong, but a trifle rapid,” she remarked presently.  Sully shrugged, as if to indicate that he didn’t know the cause, but inwardly he was not surprised.  “I don’t believe there’s any need for concern, however,” Dr. Mike added after a moment.  “It’s well within normal.”

     “Good,” he said rather awkwardly.

     “Can you open your shirt for me?” Dr. Mike asked.  He nodded, and unfastened the first few buttons, his fingers feeling slightly clumsy.  A stethoscope dangled from her neck, and she raised it to her ears.

     “This may feel a little cold,” she warned, as she placed the bell against his chest.  He nodded again, then watched her face as she listened.  He became aware of a sensation of warmth rising upward to bathe his face and neck, and realized to his embarrassment that he was blushing.  Fortunately, absorbed in her examination, she didn’t appear to notice.

     “Excellent,” she remarked after several seconds had elapsed.  “Your heart is strong and there’s no detectable congestion in your lungs.”

     “Guess I owe that to you,” Sully said.

     “Thank you,” she replied smiling, looking a trifle shy herself.  “However, you mustn’t discount your own recuperative powers, which appear to be quite amazing, Sully.

     “I’d like to check your head wound now,” she added.  She stood up and leaned over, carefully lifting his bandage and gently probing his scalp with a touch that was feather-soft.  Her torso was just inches from his face, and Sully felt his heart accelerate in his chest, and the warmth in his face and neck increase.

     “I’ll need to change your dressing, but it can wait until after you’ve eaten,” Dr. Mike told him as she drew away from him a few moments later.  “I believe you’re ready to take solid nourishment now.”

    "I *am* hungry," he admitted.

     “And no wonder,” she agreed.  She placed the tray across his lap.  “I’d like you to consume as much as you’re able, but don’t be surprised if you can’t finish,” she said, pouring tea from the pot into his cup.  “Your capacity and your appetite will no doubt be diminished, but it will only be temporary.”

     A knock on the door caused them both to look up.  Dr. Mike glanced at him quickly, an unreadable expression on her face.  “Excuse me for a moment,” she said briefly.  She went to the door, which stood slightly ajar.  Sully tried to look past her to see who was outside, but her figure blocked his view.  A moment later she slipped out and closed the door behind her.  Sighing, he picked up a spoon from the tray and dipped it into the oatmeal.

     Out in the hall, apprehension laid clammy hands upon Michaela as she regarded the sober eyes of her son.  “What is it, Matthew?” she asked.

     “It’s Custer,” Matthew told her grimly.  “He’s here and he’s askin’ to see you.”