Tuesday, 27 March, 1870

Evening

     I hesitated on the porch of the mercantile, still unsure and a little nervous about the reception I’d get from Loren.  Despite all Michaela had said about me and Loren forming a friendship, all I could think of was how, last I remembered, Loren wouldn’t even give me the time of day.  Still, I had to see him sometime.

     A tall, slender woman with curly flame-colored hair and china blue eyes, was standing immediately inside the door.  Her eyes lit up as she caught sight of me.

     “Sully!  It’s so good to see you up and around again.  You look fine!  How are you feeling?”

     I smiled at her politely.  She looked familiar, but . . .  “Uh, fine thanks—Ma’am,” I said.

     At my response she looked startled, then embarrassed.  “I’m sorry!  We met a while back, but you probably don’t remember me,” she said apologetically.  “My name is Dorothy Jennings.  Maude was my sister.”

     Now I realized.  “Right—Miss Dorothy,” I said.  “I remember.  Dr. Mike told me you’d moved to town and started a newspaper.  It’s good to see you again.”

     “Thank you, Sully.  Michaela’s a real good friend of mine,” Dorothy commented.  “She’s been keeping us informed of how you were doing.  We’re all so glad you’re recovering so well.”

     “I’m obliged,” I said.

     Dorothy looked a little hesitant, then said, “Michaela also told us about how you—lost a little bit of your memory,” she said.  “I know that must be so difficult for you.”

     “More than a ‘little’,” I replied ruefully.  “But I’m managing, best I can.”

     She nodded approvingly.  “You just keep your spirits up,” she said.  “I know Michaela’s working real hard to help you get your memories back   I’m sure everything’s going to work out.”

     “Thanks—I hope so too,” I said, trying to hide the pang I felt every time she uttered Michaela’s name.

     “I was thinking though—if Michaela says it’s all right, I’d be happy to give you some back issues of the Gazette—that’s my paper—so you can kind of get caught up,” she suggested.

     “That sounds good,” I told her.  “I’m anxious to read it.  Michaela—“   I stopped, and then amended,  “Dr. Mike—told me you’re a good writer.”

     Dorothy raised an eyebrow at my accidental use of Michaela’s first name, and it occurred to me that if she and Michaela were as close as she claimed, then she probably knew all about our relationship—both before, and after, my memory loss.  I felt kind of exposed, as if my life were an open book to everyone but me.  But I also realized that Dorothy meant well, and her remarks were only out of kindness.

     “Well, I won’t keep you,” she said now.  “Whenever you want to look at the Gazette, you just let me know.  I live upstairs, and I put out the paper here, so you’ll always know where to find me.”

     “I’ll remember that.  Thanks, Miss Dorothy.  Uh—is Loren here?” I added.

     “Right inside,” she said.  I nodded, and stepped across the threshold.  It was shadowy inside the store after the brightness of the outdoors,  and I had to pause a moment to let my eyes adjust to the dimness.

     “Sully!” I heard a familiar voice exclaim behind me.  I turned, and Loren and I were face to face.  He looked somewhat grayer than when I’d seen him last, with a few more lines about his face and mouth, but otherwise he appeared much the same.  The biggest difference was that where I used to get no more than a scowl or taciturn stare from him—now he was regarding me with a broad smile.

     “Look at you!” he was saying.  “You’re looking fit as a fiddle.  You’d never know anything had happened to you.”

     “Good to see you again, Loren,” I said a little formally.  “How have you been?”

     “Can’t complain,” the storekeeper replied.  “Business is good, with the railroad coming—“  He broke off.  “Did you hear about that?” he added quickly, as if concerned he’d misspoken.

     “Dr. Mike told me,” I answered, and he relaxed.  “She’s pretty much brought me up to date on most of the things that have happened since—well, you know.”

     “Sure,” Loren said, a little gruffly.  “So, how are you feeling?” he asked kindly after a moment.

     “I’m all right,” I replied.  “Dr. Mike—took good care of me.”  I swallowed over the painful lump in my throat.

     “She sure is a wonder,” Loren said expansively.

     “She is that,” I agreed quietly.

     “So what can I do for you?” Loren inquired, moving on to business.

     “I need some supplies,” I began.  “Food, blankets and such.”

     “Well, I got everything you could possibly want right here,” Loren assured me.

     “That’s good,” I said.  “Uh—my problem is—I ain’t got any money right now.  I don’t like to ask, but I was wondering if you could sell me a few things on credit.  I’m good for it,” I added hastily.  “Soon as I find some work, I’ll be able to get the money to pay you.”

     Loren looked slightly surprised.  “Ain’t no problem—you already got an account here from building your homestead--”  He broke off suddenly, apparently afraid that he’d inadvertently let another cat out of the bag.  “You remember about your homestead?” he asked cautiously.

     “I *know* about it,” I said.  “I been there.”

     “Oh, well, that’s alright then,” Loren said, looking relieved.  He continued, “Anyway,
I know you’ll pay me soon as you can.  But—if you don’t mind my asking—what about the salary you get from your job on the reservation?  You use all that up already?”

     “My job on the—“ I echoed, then stared at him, thunderstruck.  I had completely forgotten about my post as Indian Agent.  And I hadn’t even bothered to check through my pockets, just assuming that they would be empty.

     “To be honest, I don’t know,” I said to Loren now.  “Dr. Mike told me about me being the Indian Agent, but I ain’t been to the reservation since I got hurt.”  Curiously I reached into the outer pockets of my coat.  There was nothing in the left-hand side, but when my fingers reached into my right pocket, they closed around a sheaf of soft, folded bills.  I withdrew the money from my coat and saw that I was holding better than fifty dollars in my hand.

     “What do you know,” I said, marveling.  Loren nodded sagely.  From the waistband of my buckskins I pulled out a list of supplies I had made.  Handing the list and the money to Loren, I asked, “Is it enough?”

     Loren scanned the list briefly.  “Oh yeah,” he confirmed.  “With some to spare.”

     “That’s good—thanks,” I told him.

     “It’ll take a few minutes to put the order together,” Loren said.

     “That’s all right,” I replied.  “I got some other things I need to do.  I’ll come back for all this.”

     Loren nodded again.  “Good to have you back, Sully,” he said warmly.

     I gave him a small smile.  “Good to be back, Loren.”

     I turned aside to head for the door—and narrowly missed bumping into Michaela coming the other way.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “Sully,” she said, startled.

     “Dr. Mike,” I responded.  We stared at each other, both of us painfully aware of the strain between us.

     “Hey, Dr. Mike,” Loren greeted her, oblivious to the tension in the air.  “I was just telling Sully here how good he looks—you done a great job.”

     Michaela gave him a weak smile.  “That’s very kind, Loren.”   Her eyes turned back to me.  “But Sully is—very strong,” she added softly.  “That’s what really helped him to recover.”

     “Modest as always,” Loren commented placidly.

     Neither of us was listening.  Our eyes were locked on each other.  For some inexplicable reason, it seemed that this day, we were destined to keep finding each other.  I gazed into her amber-green eyes, thinking how much I wanted to say to her.  Trouble was, I didn’t know where to begin.  Or whether it would even be any use.  And certainly there was no time or opportunity now for private conversations.

     The hurt was filling me up inside, seeming to steal my breath away.  I knew I had to get out of there, before the pain stole my voice, and my control, completely.

     “I’ll see you, Loren,” I said to the storekeeper over my shoulder.  My eyes went back to Michaela’s face.  I could see the pain I was feeling reflected in her eyes.  “Michaela,” I said softly—then gently brushed past her and went out the door.

     From inside I heard Loren ask, “What can I get you, Dr. Mike?”  And then I heard her voice as she made a hasty excuse, and the sound of hurrying footsteps.  A moment later she was calling to me as I stepped into the street.

     “Sully!  Don’t leave!” she said.

* * * * * * * * * *

     I stopped and waited for her to reach me, wondering if I could summon the strength to talk to her, when just the nearness of her was tearing me up inside.

     “Are you all right?” she asked as she came up to me.

     “No,” I said honestly.

     Her eyes widened in concern, and I marveled that she could still worry about me.

     “No more ‘all right’ than you are,” I added gently.

    Her eyes registered her comprehension.  She was silent a moment, then said, “You didn’t return to the clinic.”

     “I—couldn’t, Michaela.  Not after . . .”

     “I know,” she answered, her voice nearly a whisper.  There was a pause, and then in a slightly stronger voice she asked, “Where are you staying?”

     “Going back to my old spot,” I answered.  “I came to town to stock up on supplies.  I’ve neglected the lean-to for a long time,” I went on.  “Fact is, I figure I’m going to have to rebuild most of it from scratch.  But I don’t got much time, if I’m going to get out there and get any work done before the light’s gone,” I added, moving to leave.  Her face was troubled.

     “Sully—the nights are still cold,” she began half-heartedly, as if already aware that her words would be useless.   “And you’ve only just recovered from pneumonia.  The exposure—it could be dangerous . . .”

     “We both know I’m well now,” I told her quietly.  “You don’t got to worry about me anymore. You—“  My throat tightened.  “You take care of yourself—and the kids,” I added.  “Good-bye, Michaela.”

     “Sully—please,” she said quickly.  “Please wait a moment.”

     “Michaela—“ I said, gazing at her helplessly.  She had to know how it was tormenting me, being with her like this.  I could see in her eyes that she felt the same way.

     “I know how—difficult this is . . . for both of us,” she said haltingly.  “But I need to talk to you, Sully—it’s a medical reason.”

     “What?” I asked.

     “Your stitches,” she answered.  “With everything that’s—that’s happened, I haven’t had the chance to remove them.  They need to come out, Sully.  It will only take a few minutes.  You could accompany me to the clinic now.”

     “I’d forgotten about the stitches,” I admitted.

     “Will you come with me?” she asked.  “Once I’ve performed this final procedure, I won’t need to . . .  trouble you again,” she promised quietly.

     “All right,” I agreed after a moment.  “Actually, I guess I can kill two birds with one stone.  I was going to ask you for my knife and tomahawk—you still have them in the clinic.”

     “Yes, that’s right,” she recalled.  “I can return them to you as soon as I’m done.  So you’ll come?” she added.

     “I’ll come,” I said.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “You’ll feel some tugging, and it may hurt slightly, but the discomfort will be momentary,” she said.

     I nodded, then sat quietly on the examination table as she worked behind me.  I could feel her gentle touch as she carefully parted my hair and set to work.

     “Finished,” she said presently.  She came around the table to face me.  “The wound looks excellent,” she said.  “Almost completely healed.  Once your hair grows out a little more, you’ll never know anything happened.”

     “Good—thanks,” I said.  “Can I have my weapons now?”

     “Of course,” she replied.  She went to a cabinet where she kept most of her medicines.  Sliding open a drawer, she took out my knife and tomahawk and brought them to me.  I stood up, and slipped the knife into its sheath on my belt, then hefted the tomahawk, spinning and catching it again.

     “Feels good to have these back,” I said, sliding the handle of the tomahawk home.  I hesitated, deeply uncomfortable about what I had to say next.  “Michaela—I know I owe you—for everything you done for me,” I began awkwardly.  “I’ve got some change coming from what I paid Loren for my supplies.  I don’t know if it will be enough to cover my debt to you, but I promise that when I get my next month’s salary, I’ll pay you in full.”

     Immediately I could see how my words had wounded her.  “Sully, I could never accept money from you.  It would be like—like charging my own children!  Sully—everything I did for you,  I did out of love,” she finished quietly.

     “I understand that,” I said, hating that I’d hurt her yet again, but not knowing what else to do.  “But—the way things stand between us now . . . well, it just don’t seem right for me to take
advantage . . .”

     “I can’t accept money,” she repeated.  “I can’t.  Please—don’t ask me.”

     “All right,” I agreed.  “I don’t want to be the cause of making you feel worse.  I know I hurt you enough as it is.”  She dropped her eyes and didn’t answer.

     “Guess I’d better be on my way—Loren  probably has my order ready by now,” I added.

     “Sully,” she said suddenly, taking me unawares.  “Why don’t you stay at the new homestead?”

     I felt another pang inside.  “Michaela—“ I began reluctantly.

     “It’s a perfect solution,” she went on.  “It’s yours, Sully.  You built it.  It belongs to you.”

     “It belonged to us,” I said quietly.

     She didn’t seem to have the words to respond.  Instead, after a brief silence she said, “Sully, you built a beautiful house.  You deserve to reap the benefits of all your hard labor.”

     I had been looking down, finding it hard to meet her eyes, but finally I lifted my head.  “We both know I don’t remember building the house,”  I said.  “But one thing I *do* know—I didn’t build it to live there alone.”   I could feel tears threatening at the corners of my eyes, and I could see a glimmer in her eyes as well.  “I’m sorry Michaela—I just can’t stay there.  It would be . . . too hard.”

     After a moment she said quietly, “I—respect your feelings.”

     “I really should be going now,” I ventured again.  I slipped on my coat, but then instead of moving to the door, I just stood there.  I wondered if I was saying good-bye to her for the last time.  Well of course it wouldn’t *really* be the last time.  We’d continue to see each other in town.  We’d nod and we’d smile—maybe even exchange a polite word or two.  But whatever there’d been between us—whatever there *could* have been . . . I knew I was being forced to say good-bye to all that.  Trouble was, I didn’t know how I could ever do it.

     Michaela was speaking again.  With an effort I focused on what she was saying.

     “If you feel you need to return to the woods, I won’t try to stop you,” she said.  “But would you at least let me help you transport your supplies out there?  We can take the wagon.”

     “That ain’t such a good idea, Michaela—“ I resisted.

     “You’ll get there much sooner than if you tried to go on foot,” she pointed out logically.  “You said time is of the essence . . .”

     “That’s true,” I allowed, still reluctant.

     “Please,” she insisted gently.  “We needn’t see each other afterwards.  But—it would make me feel better—to know you reached the campsite safely.”  She watched me, waiting for my decision.

     “It *would* be quicker than walking,” I acknowledged finally, weakening.  “All right,” I gave in.  “I’m grateful for your help.”

     She looked relieved.  “I’ll get the wagon from the livery and meet you at  Loren’s,” she said.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

     Michaela approached Sully’s half-open door, bearing a generously laden dinner tray.  With her hands full, she was forced to use her foot to nudge the door open further as she awkwardly maneuvered the tray through the entrance.

     “Grace has fixed a wonderful supper for you,” she said as she entered the room.  “She said she included all your favorites, to celebrate your being able to eat ‘real’ food again—“

     Michaela broke off as she realized that he wasn’t there.  She set the tray down on the bed, pivoting around to survey the entire room.   “Sully?” she said, feeling instantly foolish since it was patently obvious he was nowhere in evidence.  Even the screen in the corner was angled in such a way that she could tell there was no one behind it.

     She retraced her steps, crossing the hall and glancing briefly into the examination room, but it was empty.  Back in the hall again, trying to ignore the mild thread of anxiety that was beginning to wend  its way through her, she went toward the rear of the clinic and opened the door which backed onto the café.  Her eyes traveled over the scene, registering the faces of all the customers gathered there for supper.  No sign of him.

     Where was he, she thought, her anxiety increasing.  Had he decided to leave the clinic and wander around town?   Even now, was he speaking to someone who didn’t know or understand his condition?  Someone who might innocently reveal information to Sully about the time he had lost—information that could disturb him, perhaps even harm him?

     “Sully?” she repeated more loudly.  “Sully!”

     “Here,” she heard a muffled voice issuing from upstairs.  Heart hammering with relief, Michaela leaned against the wall momentarily, trying to calm herself.  When she felt she had achieved a measure of control, she climbed the stairs to the upper story and made her way to the recovery room which opened onto the balcony.

     Sure enough, she could see him through the open French doors, reclining in one of the weathered rocking chairs.  She crossed the room and emerged onto the balcony, coming to stand next to him.

     “’Evenin’,” he said, giving her a casual smile.  He was tilted slightly back in the chair, one foot braced against the balustrade, hands loosely clasped across his chest.  “Thought I’d come up here and watch the sunset.”

     “Good evening,” she replied, her voice sounding slightly high and tense to her ears.  “I was looking for you.  I have to confess—I was a little concerned when I couldn’t find you.”

     Sully immediately lowered his foot and put his hands on the arms of the chair, pulling himself up a little straighter.  “Sorry,” he said, his expression apologetic.  “I didn’t mean to alarm you.  It just gets a little—close—in that room, you know?  I felt like gettin’ some air.”

    “That’s all right,” Michaela said, significantly calmer now.  She turned slightly and rested her hands on the railing.  “It *is* a beautiful sunset, isn’t it?” she agreed.

     Sully stood up and took a step forward so that he was standing close beside her.  He stared out over the roof of the saloon opposite, to the misty purple of the hills beyond, their peaks mantled with a fiery veil of orange and red.  “Yeah,” he said.  “It’s my favorite time of day.  No matter where I am or what I’m doin’, I always try to stop and give thanks to the spirits for this gift of beauty.”

     “There’s a place I go sometimes,” he went on quietly, staring dreamily toward the mountains.  “When I have a problem, or I just need to think . . .  It’s like I’m standin’ on the top of the world.  It’s quiet there, and peaceful.  And the sunset is so grand, and so glorious, I feel like I could reach out and touch it.

    “I always thought—heaven would look a lot like that,” he finished.

     Michaela stared up at him, moved by this glimpse into the sensitive, poetic side of Sully’s nature.  It was not a part of himself he showed often, or freely.  And she recognized the place he was describing, and recalled how honored she’d felt when he had chosen to show it to her after they began courting.  He’d said at the time that he was ready to show her all of his world, and he’d kept his promise by bringing her to the private, cherished spot he’d never shared with anyone else.

    A dart of pain lanced inside her as she was reminded that he had no memory now of their visit there, just as he had no memory of anything else they’d done together.  But perhaps she could help him rediscover the memory.  Or perhaps, one day, he would choose to take her back there again.

    “It must be wonderful to have a place like that—a retreat all your own where you can—renew your spirit,” she remarked.

    “That’s it, exactly!” Sully responded.  He turned to her, his face animated.  “I go there when my spirit is low.   But then, the beauty, the serenity—it fills me up.  My senses, my spirit—feel rejuvenated again, and I’m ready to go on.”

    “Perhaps, you should think about returning there once you’ve recovered,” Michaela suggested.

    “Maybe I should,” he agreed thoughtfully.  After a moment he added, “So—you were lookin’ for me?”

    “Oh, yes,” Michaela said, realizing suddenly that she’d completely forgotten her reason for coming to see him in the first place.  “I brought your dinner tray.  Grace went all out, to celebrate your ‘graduation’ to real food.”  She smiled.

    “That’s real kind,” Sully said gratefully.  “I’m lookin’ forward to it.  From what I hear about Grace’s cookin’, I’m in for a treat.”

    “Absolutely,” Michaela assured him.  “Would you like me to bring your tray up here?” she suggested after a pause.  “You might find it pleasant to dine ‘alfresco’—as we do in the café.”

    “That would be nice,” Sully answered readily, the prospect of eating in the fresh air obviously pleasing to him.  “But I don’t want to put you to extra trouble, carryin’ it up here.  I can get it myself,” he offered.

    “It’s hardly ‘extra trouble’ to carry a tray upstairs, Sully,” Michaela told him.  “Besides, you’re the patient here.  You deserve to be a bit ‘pampered.’  Enjoy it while you have the opportunity,” she added, her eyes twinkling.

    “A little pamperin’ . . . would be nice,” Sully said shyly, his eyes meeting hers.

    “Good,” Michaela said approvingly, feeling a trifle shy herself.

    A short time later, the dinner tray, stacked with empty dishes, sat on the floor of the balcony and Sully and Michaela were sipping coffee from the pot Grace had thoughtfully provided.  Even as he’d taken obvious relish in the meal Grace had prepared, Michaela had noted how Sully’s attention was captured by the comings and goings of the people in the street down below.  She found herself suspecting that a desire to witness the sunset hadn’t been Sully’s entire motivation for coming out here.

    “So how does it look to you?” she asked him after they’d shared a companionable silence.

    He glanced at her quickly, apparently surprised by her insight.

    “Pretty much the same,” he admitted after a moment, looking slightly sheepish.  “Not too many changes that I can see, ‘cept for the depot, of course.”

    Michaela nodded.  “Did you see anyone you recognize?” she inquired further.

    “I saw Horace come out of the telegraph,” Sully replied.  “And I spotted Hank and Jake in front of the saloon.  I got a glimpse of Loren in the doorway of the general store, too, but he was too far away for me to see him real clear."

    Michaela studied him, recognizing in his expression the natural curiosity that he couldn’t hide.  She tried to imagine how he must feel—a  part of the town, yet a stranger to it all at the same time.

    “Would you like me to tell you a bit about the people you remember?” she ventured.  “Sort of—bring you up to date on what’s happened with everyone?”

    “I have been wonderin’,” Sully confessed to her.  “That would be kind of you—if I’m not takin’ you away from anythin’,” he added.

    “Nothing more important than spending time with you,” Michaela answered.  She noted his look of innocent gratitude, and felt guilty.  Oh, Sully—if you only knew how much *I* need our time together—perhaps even more than you, she thought.  If you only knew how truly selfish I am.

    But to Sully she simply said, “I’m happy to help you any way I can.”  She paused briefly, then resumed, “You mentioned Horace, so I’ll tell you about him first.  There actually have been some rather exciting changes in Horace’s life these past few years . . .”

    She went on to talk about Horace’s courtship of Myra and their subsequent marriage, and the birth of their daughter, Samantha.  She then discussed the lives of Sully’s other friends and acquaintances, describing both triumphs and sorrows, such as the passing of Maude Bray and Loren’s sister, Miss Olive.  She was gratified to see that though saddened, Sully took the news of their deaths well.  With each day that passed, he seemed to be growing stronger emotionally, as well as physically.  Perhaps it wouldn’t be that long after all until his recollections started to return—or at least until she could share with him the more painful occurrences in his life, like Washita—or the complexities of their relationship, and his response to it.

    Michaela was amused, when she got to the subject of Loren, at how incredulous Sully was at the news that he and Loren had ended their mutual animosity and formed a friendship.

    “Come on, Dr. Mike—you must be jokin’,” he said to her after she described the emergency hernia surgery she’d had to perform on Loren, and his subsequent need for a blood transfusion, for which Sully had volunteered to be the donor.  “Me—givin’ blood to *Loren*?  Knowin’ how he felt about me, I’m surprised he didn’t think it was poison.”

    “But it’s true, Sully,” she reiterated.  “And actually, Loren reacted quite well to the idea of you donating your blood to him.  I truly believe the experience was the catalyst to the two of you finally putting aside your differences.”

    “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Sully finally conceded.  “But it’s still hard to believe,” he added doubtfully.

    In the time they had talked, dusk had moved in to displace the sunset, and Michaela began to be aware of the evening’s encroaching chill.

    “I’ve enjoyed our discussion, but I believe it’s time you were returning to your room,” she said to Sully finally.

    “’Spose you’re right,” he acknowledged, seemingly as reluctant as she to draw their visit to a close.  His eyes regarded her admiringly.  “You really look out for your patients, don’t you?” he said unexpectedly.  “You’re carin’ and protective . . .  You got a good ‘bedside manner,’ Dr. Mike.”

    “Thank you, Sully,” Michaela replied, feeling a trace of guilt once again, aware that her attentions to Sully were understandably more personal than those she afforded her other patients.  Not that she would neglect anyone in her care—but her emotional connection to Sully made the usual medical detachment she tried to maintain difficult in the extreme.

    “I’ll walk with you to your room,” she added, anxious to change the subject.  He nodded, and they left the balcony, making their way to his room below.

    They stopped outside his door, facing each other rather awkwardly.

    “Can I get you anything, or do anything for you?” Michaela asked.  He shook his head.

    “I’m fine,” he replied.  “Go spend some time with the children.  I feel bad about takin’ you away from them.”

    “Please don’t,” she told him.  “The children are as anxious as I am for you to recover, and they understand and accept that I’ve had to devote time to your treatment.”

    “I’m obliged, nonetheless,” Sully said.  “I hope you’ll tell them for me—and let them know I won’t be stealin’ their ma from them for much longer.”  He gave her a small grin.

    “I’ll be sure to deliver the message,” Michaela promised, smiling back.  “As for you, my usual instructions apply—get a good night’s rest.”

    That’s one order that’s easy for me to follow,” Sully told her.

    “I’m glad to hear it,” Michaela said.  She took a step as if to leave.

    “Sleep sweet, Dr. Mike,” he said unexpectedly.  Touched, Michaela turned back to him.

    “Sleep sweet, Sully,” she said softly.