Tuesday, 27 March, 1870

     She was stunned.  The color drained from her face as the delicate feathered charm slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.  “How did you . . . Who told . . . W-what are you doing here?” she stammered in her shock and confusion.

     I took a couple of steps closer and leaned down to pick up the talisman.  Her eyes followed my movements.  She stared at the feathers dangling from my hand, then glanced up at my face, reading in my expression that I recognized the charm and understood what it meant.  Her eyes dropped.

     “Nobody told me,” I said.  “I found my way here on my own.”  I held the talisman out to her.  “Looks like you didn’t tell me quite everything,” I said evenly.

     “You didn’t give me the chance,” she answered, her voice so low I could barely hear it.

     “You’re right, I didn’t,” I acknowledged after a moment.  When she made no effort to take the charm from me, I moved past her and hung it back on the mantle.  I turned and faced her.  “That probably wasn’t very fair of me,” I went on.  “But you’ve had plenty of other chances in the last few weeks, haven’t you?  And for some reason I can’t begin to fathom, you kept the truth to yourself.  The most important thing in my life—in our lives—and you didn’t see fit to tell me.  I don’t get it, Michaela.  I’ve tried, but it don’t make sense.  How could you claim to love me—how could you agree to share my life and let me build a home for us—and then be willing to hurt me this way?  What could I have done to you to make you that spiteful or angry?”

     “You’ve done nothing,” she said after a long pause.  “And I wasn’t trying to hurt you.  I’ve been doing everything in my power to help you.”

     “You picked a strange way of showing it,” I said coldly.

     “I know that’s how it seems to you, Sully, but there were reasons—important reasons—why I didn’t—why I thought I couldn’t—tell you the truth.  But hurting you was never one of them.”  She looked into my eyes beseechingly.  “I know you don’t remember what we had—what there was between us . . . before,” she continued.  “But after the time we’ve spent together these last weeks—after the feelings that have grown between us—do you really believe I could be capable of wanting to hurt you the way you suggest?”

     “No—I  didn’t think it was possible,” I admitted after a pause.  “I thought you cared for me, and I know how deeply I felt about you.  But the proof is all around us, Michaela.  In the telegram.  In this house we’re standing in.  In that bed I carved sitting upstairs.

    “I’m right, ain’t I?” I persisted.  “We were going to be married.  This was going to be our home.”  I waited, carefully watching her face to see the effect my words had on her.

     A tear made its way down the curve of her cheek as she silently nodded.  Slowly she reached up and slipped her fingers inside her collar.  She withdrew a fine gold chain.  Hanging from it was a diamond engagement ring.  She cradled the ring in her hand, holding it out toward me.

     “You gave it to me on Valentine’s Day,” she said quietly.  “You felt so badly that you had to attend the Indian conference, and cancel our plans to be together, that you left early to return and be with me.”

     “But that ain’t when I proposed to you,” I said intuitively.

    “That’s correct,” she said, surprised.  “How did you know?”

    “Because I must have started building this house months ago,” I said.  “And I never would have had reason without your promise to marry me.”

    “You’re right, of course,” she confirmed after a moment.  “We became engaged nearly a year ago, shortly  after—“  She hesitated.  “After David came to town.  But before we knew his true identity.”

     “I see,” I said.  “Well, guess I should consider myself lucky that you picked me over him—and that you were still willing to marry me, once you knew who he really was.”

     “I loved you, Sully,” she said strongly.  “I loved you then, and I love you now—with all my heart!”

     I shrugged.  “But you must have loved David too, right?  Else why would you have agreed to marry him?  Or are you in the habit of getting engaged to men and then turning around and betraying them?  Tell me, did you throw over some other man when you took up with David?”

     “That’s cruel,” she whispered.

     “Is it?” I asked.  “I don’t know.  Lies are cruel, Michaela.  They hurt people.  And sometimes they can even destroy their lives.”

     A spark of anger finally flared in her eyes.  “Perhaps,” she lashed out passionately.  “But sometimes they’re necessary, to protect—“

     “Protect?” I cut her off.  “Protect who?  Seems like the only person you been worried about protecting here is yourself.”

     “You have no idea what you’re saying,” she said dully, her anger deserting her as quickly as it had come.  Her eyes looked defeated.

     “Then tell me,” I challenged.  “It’s all out in the open now—no more need to keep secrets.  You explain to me what possible reason you could have had for not telling me we loved each other.”

     “I—I can’t,” she said, her voice halting.

     “Beg your pardon?” I said incredulously, astounded that she still seemed determined to keep up the charade.

     Her eyes were pleading.  “Sully, I’ll tell you every detail of our courtship and engagement,” she said.  “I’ll describe every minute of every day we’ve been together, if that’s what you want.  But—I can’t explain why I didn’t tell you before—at least, not yet.”

     “Just how long do you plan on keeping it to yourself?” I said sharply.

     “Till—till your memories come back,” she said slowly.

     “That right?” I responded.  “Well, the trouble with that plan, Michaela, is that I may never get my memories back.  What do you plan to do if that happens—take your secret with you to the grave?”

     She flinched, but didn’t look away.  “It’s—because of your health,” she said softly, the admission clearly difficult for her.

     “My health?  Since when is loving someone or being loved in return harmful to my health?” I demanded.

     She stared at me imploringly.  “Please don’t push me on this,” she begged.  “I’m asking you to trust me, Sully—trust that I have your best interests at heart.”

     I looked away from her and gently fingered the silky white feathers of the talisman. The seconds passed.  Then I turned back and met her eyes.

    “I’d like to believe that, Michaela,” I said at last.  “But it seems ‘trust’ is in real short supply right about now.  Fact is, I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

     A short while later Colleen found Michaela huddled on the edge of a bed in an empty recovery room, her face bleached to a milky paleness and her eyes reddened from crying.

     “Ma, what is it?” she exclaimed in alarm.  “Did Sully take a turn for the worse?”

     Michaela sighed heavily and dabbed at her swollen eyes with the tail of her apron.  “No, Colleen, Sully’s all right—doing very well, in fact.  I suppose I’m the one who has—‘taken a turn for the worse,’ as you say.”

     “This is what I was afraid of,” Colleen asserted, concern for her mother flooding through her.   “You’ve pushed yourself too hard and made yourself sick.”  She sat down next to Michaela and put her arm around her mother’s shoulders.  “Ma, you *got* to let me help you with Sully.  I know you said he wasn’t ready to see me yet, or Matthew or Brian—but you can’t keep goin’ on like this, tryin’ to care for Sully all alone.”

     Michaela managed a watery smile, and lifted her hand to touch her daughter’s cheek.  “Forgive me, Colleen—I had no right to frighten you.  I’m not ill.  A bit tired, perhaps, but that’s all.  I suppose I’m just feeling a little sick at heart right now.”

     “Because Sully doesn’t remember you—or . . . or anythin’?” Colleen said gently.

     Her mother nodded.  “I try to be strong—to hope for the best,” she said.  “It’s just that—some times are harder than others, and my resolve seems to weaken.

    “I know the feeling will pass,” she added, trying to assuage Colleen’s anxiety.  “You simply caught me at a rather low point, I’m afraid.”

     “Did Sully say somethin’ to make you feel this way?” her daughter asked compassionately.

     “Yes, but not in the way you think,” her mother said.  “Actually, he was being extraordinarily kind.  He couldn’t know the effect it would have on me.”  She reached out and squeezed Colleen’s hand.

    “I had to tell him about your mother today,” she said gently.  “He was curious about how Charlotte’s boardinghouse had come to be transformed into the clinic.  As I anticipated, he was deeply saddened to hear that your mother had left us.  It pained me to have to give him that news, and of course reliving Charlotte’s death was hard for me, as well.”  She and Colleen shared a look of mutual sorrow, then Michaela continued, “Explaining to Sully how I bought the boardinghouse, led to me telling him something of my parents.  How my father always supported and encouraged my dream of being a doctor, even though my mother was so opposed to my choice of career.

    “Talking of my father brought back so many memories, and reminded me again of what an emptiness it left in my life when I lost him,” she went on softly.  “And it reminded me that many of the qualities in Sully that I admire most, are those that I loved in my father, as well.  I realized that loving Sully, and being loved by him—had helped to fill that void inside me.  And it just made me miss our relationship so much—“  She broke off, and wiped her eyes again.  Colleen clung tightly to her other hand, watching her sympathetically.

     “I’m afraid that in a moment of weakness, I confessed to Sully how much he reminded me of my father,” Michaela continued quietly.  “I was afraid that I’d been too outspoken—that I’d let on too much to him of what I was truly feeling.  Fortunately he assumed that my melancholy simply sprang from my sorrow over my father, and he tried to comfort me.  But I’m afraid that just made me love and miss him
all the more!  In the past when I was troubled, I could always turn to Sully for love and comfort, but
now . . .”  Her voice trailed away, an expression of stark sadness and longing in her eyes.

     “I wish there was somethin’ I could say to comfort you,” Colleen told her, her heart aching for her mother.

     “Thank you, Sweetheart,” Michaela said gratefully.  “But I’m afraid there’s really nothing you can say.  The situation is what it is—I simply have to find a way to accept it.

     “And you *do* comfort me,” she added earnestly.  “Being able to talk to you helps me more than you could possibly know.”  She sighed.  “It—just hasn’t been a very good day, that’s all.  Earlier, even before Sully and I talked, General Custer showed up here—“

     “Matthew told me,” Colleen interjected.

     “Then you can no doubt understand that my frame of mind wasn’t the best when I spoke with Sully,” her mother said.  “I probably should have waited to see him until I was feeling less anxious about Custer, but foolishly I didn’t, to my own detriment.”

     “You’re only human, Ma,” Colleen reminded her.  “You can’t keep punishin’ yourself for Sully’s condition, or carryin’ the burden of his troubles with the army all by yourself.  None of that is your fault.  Here you are, feelin’ guilty for everythin’s that happened, and I can’t believe how strong and brave you’ve been through all this.  Livin’ with this kind of sadness and worry would have broken most people, but you keep findin’ a way to go on—to keep helpin’ Sully, no matter what it’s doin’ to you inside.”

     “I’m afraid I don’t feel very brave,” Michaela confessed.  “And I’m far from being as noble as you paint me, Colleen.  It’s painful, knowing that Sully remembers nothing of our love for one another—but it makes me angry, too.  Sometimes—“  She stopped abruptly.

     “What?” Colleen encouraged gently.

     “Sometimes I want to rant and rave—to scream at him—to say, ‘How can you forget me?  Forget us?!’  To ask him why he’s so ready to give up on our love, our future . . .”  Her voice dwindled, as she looked down at her lap, ashamed.

     “Is that what you think he’s doin’?” asked Colleen softly.

     “Yes . . . no . . . I don’t know,” her mother said wearily.  “But I get frightened sometimes—that Sully doesn’t truly want a commitment to me—that his fears for the future will prevent his memory from ever coming back.  That he’ll never have the same feelings for me again.  And if that happens . . .”

     “You think you’ll lose him,” Colleen finished.

     Michaela nodded again, unable for the moment to speak.  More tears trickled down her cheeks, and gently Colleen dabbed at them with the edge of her own apron.

     “Ma,” she began after a moment.  “If it helps, I don’t believe that could happen.  Even if Sully can’t ever remember what you had between you before, he still loves you.  It may take some time for him to find those feelin’s again, but I know he has them inside.  The love you got for each other—it’s like seeing a comet—it’s once in a lifetime.”

     “I appreciate that, Colleen,” Michaela managed.  “But that’s just it—Sully and I found each other once, and it *was* like a miracle—just as the appearance of a comet in the sky seems like a miracle.  But perhaps—one chance is all we get.  I may be living in a fool’s paradise to hope that lightening will strike twice.

     “And everything that’s happened has made me realize that there are some things I need to do,” she went on, her tone dispirited and resigned.  “Starting with this.”  She looked down at her left hand, and the engagement ring that sparkled on her fourth finger.  Slowly she slid it off.  Her throat tightened with pain, as she slipped it into her pocket, unable to bear the sight of it.

     “Ma—you’re not givin’ up—you can’t!” Colleen implored.

     “No,” her mother responded after a long pause.  “I’m not giving up—not yet, anyway.  But the sight of my ring could lead to questions from Sully that I can’t yet answer.  Up to now, Sully hasn’t noticed it—or if he has, he’s given no sign.  Sooner or later, however, he would be bound to ask—perhaps long before he’s ready to hear the truth.  I can’t take that risk.”

     “Does that mean—that is, are you thinkin’ of cancellin’ the weddin’?“ Colleen said reluctantly, hating to cause her mother more pain.  “I’m sorry,” she added quickly.  “I don’t mean to make you feel worse.”

     “It’s all right,” Michaela told her.  “That’s a logical question, and one that I’ve pondered over and over.  I’m not quite ready to cancel the wedding altogether, but—I feel I have no choice but to postpone it.  There’s still time left—time for Sully to regain his memories—but I can’t count on that.   And if it’s true that Sully isn’t ready for a commitment—well, then going through with the marriage is out of the question.  But I suppose all I can do is wait to see what the coming days and weeks will bring, and hope that I’ll be guided in deciding what to do about the future.

     “However, with everything so indefinite, I feel the time has come to telegraph my mother and tell her that we’ve—put things off for now.  I doubt that she’ll be very disappointed,” Michaela added, a touch of bitterness in her eyes.

     “Oh, Ma,” Colleen said softly.  “But Grandma likes Sully—I know she does.”

     “Perhaps,” Michaela conceded.  “But she’s never believed that he was a suitable choice for a husband.  I’m afraid that all this will simply convince her that her instincts were right.”

     “I wish there was somethin’ I could do for you,” Colleen said, feeling helpless.

     Her daughter’s obvious anguish on her behalf lanced at Michaela’s heart.  “I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” she said apologetically.  “I’ve let all my negative feelings get the best of me, and burdened you in the process.”  She drew herself up. “I don’t want you to worry,” she added firmly.  “As long as I have you and your brothers at my side, I can find the strength to endure.”  She hugged Colleen tightly.

     “You got us, Ma—always,” Colleen pledged.  “We’ll be here for you—for Sully, too.”

     “I know,” Michaela said, regarding her daughter tenderly.  “The three of you keep me going.”
They hugged again.

     After a few moments elapsed in which they both tried to compose themselves, Colleen said hesitantly, “Ma, when do you think Sully will be ready to see us?”

     “Soon,” her mother promised.  “I have an idea of something Sully can do that might help him to retrieve his memories, and I plan to speak with him about it.  Then I intend to explain to him about some of the changes that have occurred during the time that he’s lost, starting with the three of you.  After that, I feel he’ll be ready for a visit from you all.”

     “What do you plan to do to help Sully remember?” Colleen asked curiously.

     “It’s a method one of my father’s colleagues suggested to me,” Michaela replied.  “Apparently he’s had some success with it in the treatment of his own patients.  I wired him yesterday, and received his reply from Horace early this morning.

     “He advised that I encourage Sully to begin a journal,” she went on.  “This doctor claims that writing down his thoughts can sometimes spur a patient to remember things from his past.”

     “I never thought of Sully as a writer,” Colleen said doubtfully.

     Michaela smiled.  “I suppose that’s true,” she said.  “But one needn’t be a writer to keep a diary of his thoughts or feelings.  If Sully is willing, it may help him.  Certainly it can’t do any harm.”

     “That makes sense,” Colleen conceded.

     “It’s worth a try,” Michaela agreed.  “And now,” she added, rising to her feet.  “I suppose I have a wire to send to Boston.”  Colleen rose as well.  Slipping their arms around one another’s waists, the two women walked out of the room together.