Tuesday, 27 March, 1870

Evening

     “Yeah—I’ll see you there directly.  There’s just one more thing I need to get,” I told Michaela.  She looked curious, but didn’t ask.  I heard her leave the clinic as I headed for my room.

     A few minutes later,  I joined her by the wagon.   Loren had loaded the whole order, leaving me with nothing to do but collect my change from him.  I took Michaela’s arm and helped her up onto the bench, acutely aware of the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers.  I willed myself not to notice, but it was like telling myself not to breathe.

     Before I joined her, though, I went to the back of the wagon and tucked the object I’d brought with me between some folded blankets.  Michaela watched me.  As I climbed up beside her and took the reins, she said, “You’re still writing in your journal?  I thought, perhaps—you might have given it up.”

     We began to move down the street.

     “No—no I’m keeping it up,” I admitted.  “Fact is—“ I paused, embarrassed.  “I kind of like it.  I don’t know if it’s helping me to remember or not—but it—it clears my head, to write about the things that happen to me—how I feel about them . . .”  I drifted off.

     “Have . . . you written about me?” Michaela said after a pause.

     I looked her in the eyes.  “Yes,” I said.

    My eyes held hers for a brief moment, then she turned her face away, gazing off toward the hills.

     The rest of the trip in the wagon passed in silence.  After a time, I pulled off to the side of the road.

     “We’ll have to leave the wagon here,” I announced.  “The rest of the way we go on foot.”

     “But what about all these supplies?” Michaela asked.  “We can’t possibly carry them all.”

     “We’ll just take the basics with us for now,” I said.  “Blankets, saddle bags, canteens . . .  I’ll come back for the rest later.”  She nodded, then followed my lead as I retrieved the various items I wanted to take from the wagon bed.  A few minutes later, ready to set off, I said, “It ain’t that far—maybe ten, fifteen minutes walk.”

     “I remember,” she said promptly, then looked at me, startled.  “I’ve—been here before,” she added quietly.

     “Sure,” I said politely.  “That makes sense.”  Then, not knowing what else to say, I started walking toward the woods.  After a short pause I heard her following me.

     “Watch your step through here,” I cautioned a few minutes later.  “There are a lot of exposed roots in these old trees.  Not good footing.”

     ‘I’m managing all right,” she said behind me, sounding a little out of breath.  I glanced around.  Her cheeks were pink from exertion, and her hair was starting to slip free of that knot she’d had it twisted in.  She looked hot, and sweaty—and beautiful.

     I pulled my eyes away abruptly.  “Never hurts to be careful,” I said, looking straight ahead.  “And those shoes of yours ain’t exactly made for traipsing through the woods—“

     Simultaneously I heard a thump, and her voice crying out.  I whirled around, to see her huddled on the ground grasping her ankle, her face twisted in pain.

     “What is it?” I said, instantly on my knees beside her.

     “My ankle,” she said through gritted teeth.  Her face had gone pale, drained of all its color.

     “You think it’s broke?” I said in concern, reaching out to touch it gently.

     She shook her head.  “I’m not sure,” she managed.

     “Try to move it,” I told her.  Gingerly she revolved her foot.  The movement made her gasp softly with pain, but it was clear she could manipulate her ankle.  “I think—it’s just a sprain,” she said after a moment.  “But it needs to be wrapped.”

     “Sure,” I said.  I reached for her bag, which she’d dropped when she fell.

     “It’s all right, Sully, I can do it,” she said.  I met her eyes.

     “No you can’t,” I said reasonably.  “And even if you could, I wouldn’t let you.  You’re hurt, Michaela.  Let someone help you for a change.”  I leaned closer to her.  “You don’t always got to be so strong,” I added softly.

    She looked apologetic.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “Old habit, I suppose.”

    “Give it up,” I said.  We stared at each other.

    “Sully . . .“ she began, then stopped.

    “I’ve said that to you before, haven’t I?” I asked, with a feeling of certainty.

    “Do you remember?” Michaela asked, her eyes locked on me and her voice shaking slightly.  I closed my eyes briefly and tried to concentrate.

    “Not exactly,” I said slowly after a pause.  “It’s not so much that I remember saying it—but that there’s something that’s familiar about it.”

    “Well that could be the beginning!” she said excitedly.  “Perhaps that’s how your memory will return—by starting as a familiar feeling, and then becoming specific.”

    “Maybe so,” I acknowledged, a little nervous about getting my hopes up, yet unable to deny a spark of excitement inside myself.  “But we can worry about that later.  Right now, we got to take care of you.  You tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

    She nodded, still in obvious pain.  As carefully as I could, I untied and removed her shoe.  Then, following her instructions, I took a rolled bandage from her medical bag, unwinding it slowly as I gently wrapped it around her foot and ankle.  Finally I finished and looked up at her.

    “How does that feel?” I asked.

    She moved her leg experimentally.  “Fine—“ she started to say, then winced.

    "Too tight?" I said quickly.

    “No,” she replied.  “It’s my knee.  I think I must have cut it.”

    “All right, let’s take a look,” I answered, starting to reach for the hem of her skirt.

    “Sully!” she said, drawing away from me slightly, her cheeks flushing.

    I looked her in the eyes again.  “Michaela,” I said, “I been married.  I’ve seen a woman’s—‘limbs’—before.  I’m willing to wager I’ve even seen yours before,” I added.

    She didn’t answer, but looking a trifle abashed, she extended her leg toward me.  Carefully I eased the material up, revealing her knee.  There was a large rent in her stocking, and blood glistened darkly beneath.

    “You’re bleeding,” I said.  Gently, tentatively, I rolled her stocking down, taking special care to ease it away from the wound.  I reached for another roll of bandages, using Michaela’s scissors to cut off a length of material.  I pressed it gingerly to the wound, gently applying pressure.  After a few moments I lifted the compress away.  Red flared against the white of the bandage.  Something twisted inside me at the sight of her blood on the cloth, and seeing her so vulnerable and in pain.  I wanted to protect her, and take the pain away.

    “You’ll need chlorine water to clean and disinfect the wound,” Michaela said, interrupting my thoughts.  I nodded, and found the bottle, pouring a small amount on another length of bandage and dabbing carefully at her knee.  She winced again, and I felt a stab of remorse at having to hurt her, even though I knew it was necessary.  Ever so softly, I blew on the wound, to cool the fire.  Then, finally, I wrapped her knee and knotted the bandage.

    hough I’d completed the task, my hands lingered on her leg.  She was watching me, but didn’t speak.  More important, she didn’t try to move away.  I looked into her eyes and lost myself in them, all trace of coherent thought vanishing from my mind.  After a long moment I dropped my eyes to her knee again, gently tracing its curve with my fingertip.  I bent over it, tenderly pressing my lips to the soft skin above the bandage.  Then I laid my head on her lap, my cheek pillowed gently on her knee.

    I felt her fingertips lightly touch my hair.  “Oh, Sully,” she whispered.

    I looked up at her, and could barely see the tears glistening in her eyes for the ones that shimmered in my own.

    “Forgive me, Michaela,” I said softly, not stopping to think, just letting the words come straight from my heart.  “I’m so sorry for hurting you.  I’m so sorry for the terrible things I said.  I didn’t mean them—I swear I didn’t.  Especially what I said about trust.  I trust you Michaela—I never stopped.  I trust you with my life, and I trust you with my heart.  And it’s tearing me apart that I was so cruel to you.  Even while I was saying all those awful things, part of me hated myself, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

    “I’m so sorry for letting my anger blot out my reason and compassion,” I went on.  “You tried to explain to me—you tried to make me understand how hard you were trying to help me, but I wouldn’t listen.”

    “You listened,” she said softly.

    “No,” I said.  “I attacked.  I accused.  I didn’t let myself hear what you were saying—because I didn’t want to hear it.  I wanted to wallow in my anger, and so what if I hurt you in the process?”

    “Sully, don’t punish yourself so much—you had a right to be hurt, to feel betrayed,” she said gently.  “I lied to you—I kept a very important truth from you, and refused to tell you why.”

    “Sometimes it’s the things a person doesn’t say that are most important,” I answered, refusing to let her make excuses for me.  “In every way you could, short of saying it outright, you tried to show me how much you loved me—how much you cared.  You were trying to speak to me from your heart but I couldn’t listen.  I closed my heart to you.

    “But my heart’s not closed anymore, Michaela,” I told her, my voice breaking a little with the depth of my emotion.  “It’s open and overflowing with love.  I’m offering my love—and my heart—to you now.”  She stared at me, all her defenses gone, the emotion naked on her face.

    “I love you,” I whispered.  “I love you with all my heart and soul.”  I cupped her face in my hands and began to kiss her—and was overjoyed a moment later to feel her return the kiss, as hungry for my lips as I was for hers.  My hands found her hair as I breathed in its delicate lilac scent.  I felt her fingers knot themselves in my hair as well, as we pressed ourselves to one another.  It felt as if we were fused together, so that we couldn’t tell where one of us ended and the other began.

    After what seemed an eternity, we broke the kiss.

    “You’re trembling,” she whispered.

    “So are you,” I whispered back, unable to keep my fingers from continuing to caress her face, her hair . . .  I felt like I was drowning in her eyes.

    But then her expression became troubled, and she started to draw away.  I sensed that she was afraid of what she was feeling, and I held onto her, determined that *this* time, I wasn’t going to let her go.

    “It don’t matter why you didn’t tell me everything,” I said, my voice hoarse with love and longing for her.  “None of that matters anymore.  I understand that you did it because you were trying to take care of me, and that’s all I’ve got to know.”

    “But Sully—“

    “It don’t matter whether I get my memory back or not,” I went on, ignoring her protest, holding her eyes captive.  “I loved you before and I love you now.  I need you, Michaela,” I said passionately.  I folded her hands within mine and brought them to my lips, kissing them tenderly.  “I want to be with you—to share our lives.  I don’t want to live without you.  I . . . don’t think I ever could.”  I gazed at her, praying that she felt the same.  Praying that it wasn’t too late.

    “Marry me,” I said.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

     Michaela slumped over her desk, her head pillowed on her folded arms.  Her eyes were closed but she wasn’t asleep.  In truth, she felt too exhausted to sleep, her mind and body drained by hours of tending Sully through his agonizing siege.  In the recovery room nearby, Sully slept at last, finally achieving a measure of surcease from the brutal ordeal he had suffered throughout the day.  Unfortunately, unlike Sully, who had managed to escape into oblivion, Michaela’s thoughts would not let her rest.

     Was it only twenty-four hours ago that she’d had the arrogance to think that Sully’s recovery might be not be as difficult as she’d anticipated—that he might calmly weather the emotional challenge of recovering the memories that had been so painful for him?

     She knew better now.  The nearly crippling migrim that had incapacitated him for the past several hours was ample proof that his mental and emotional state were still very much “out of balance.” It was almost as if his mind was fighting him, throwing up obstacles in his path to prevent him from breaking through the wall he’d erected to conceal his memories.  She knew it didn’t make sense—that any of her medical colleagues would scoff or jeer at her diagnosis—but in her heart she believed that the origin of Sully’s migrim had been emotional, not physical.  And she wondered if she had been the one responsible for bringing it on.

     Had she been guilty of telling Sully too much, too soon?  She hadn’t intended to overwhelm him; in fact, she had honestly believed that bringing him up to date on the lives of his friends, would make him more comfortable and better able to adjust to his altered condition.  But what if his mind had perceived the information as a threat?  What if something she’d innocently said had triggered his mind’s defenses?  Cloud Dancing had told her to treat the whole person.  To recognize that the mind and body were inextricably linked—whatever affected one part, affected the other.

     Wearily Michaela thought again about how much she didn’t know.  She was venturing into a dark and unfamiliar terrain, without so much as a candle to light her way or guide her steps.  She had to rely on instinct alone, and that instinct was far from reliable.  Sully’s migrim was the proof.  She had wandered off down the wrong path, and now she had to retrace her steps and start over again.  Only this time, she must be even more cautious, if such a thing were even possible.

     She glanced up at the clock ticking on the wall.  It had been a hour since she’d looked in on Sully—she should check on him again.

     Slowly she pushed back her chair and stood up, putting her hands to the small of her aching back and stretching to relieve the tension.  Her fatigue—both physical and mental—seemed overwhelming; but she had only to recall the ordeal of pain and nausea Sully had endured throughout the day, to realize that her physical and emotional complaints were trivial in comparison.

     She had reached the hall when she heard a knock on the outer door.  Sighing, she retraced her steps and went to answer.

     A man of medium stature, with dark hair going to gray at the temples, stood on the threshold.  He was dressed smartly, in a stylish hat, coat and vest; but the subtle presence of broken blood vessels in his reddened nose was evidence to her that this was a man long accustomed to drink.  As if in confirmation of that fact, Michaela’s eyes detected the glint of a silver flask peeking out from one of his coat pockets.

     Superintendent Hazen!” Michaela said, startled.  However she quickly composed her features into a polite mask.  “Won’t you come in?” she said more graciously, stepping back.

     “Dr. Quinn,” said the government official, touching the brim of his hat to her as he entered.
“So nice to see you again.”

     “I wasn’t aware you had come to town,” Michaela said carefully.

     “Some urgent reservation business in the north required my attention,” Hazen explained.  “So I thought I may as well combine it with my regularly scheduled visit to Palmer Creek.  I just arrived this afternoon, and I was shocked to learn from Reverend Johnson about Agent Sully.  I had to come here and see for myself how he’s doing.  Is it true he nearly passed on?”

     “His condition was very critical for some days, yes,” Michaela confirmed.  Hazen shook his head.

    “I’m sorry to hear it,” he said solemnly.  “I have quite a fondness for Agent Sully—he’s a man of principle and integrity, unlike most of his fellow agents.  It’s true he has a bit of trouble with authority from time to time, but I admire his passion.  He’s a true friend to the Indian.”

    “Thank you, Mr. Hazen—that’s very kind of you to say,” Michaela replied.

    “The Reverend also told me that Agent Sully is doing better now—I hope that’s still the case,” Hazen added.

    Michaela nodded.  “I’m happy to say that he overcame the pneumonia, and is healing from his head injury,” she said.

    “Ah, well—that’s splendid news,” said Hazen.  “How did such a thing happen?” he added after a pause.

    “I’m afraid—we’re not really sure,” Michaela said innocently.  “The details are—sketchy.  Sully had no recollection of the incident after regaining consciousness, so he can’t shed any light on the matter.”

    “That’s unfortunate,” Hazen remarked.  “Whoever is responsible for this vile deed should be brought to justice.”

    “Yes, indeed,” she said, but then added quickly, “However I’m just grateful to have him alive and home, and on the road to recovery.”

    “Of course,” Hazen agreed.  “As you should be.”

    “Can I do something for you, Mr. Hazen?” Michaela asked, trying to discover if the purpose of his visit was simply a courtesy call—or whether he had more serious intentions.

    “I had hoped to pay my respects to Agent Sully,” Hazen told her.  “Is he up for having a visitor?”

    “That’s so thoughtful of you,” Michaela flattered him.  “However I’m afraid Sully still needs a great deal of rest to regain his strength.  He had a particularly difficult time today,” she added truthfully.  “I had to give him medication to help him sleep.  I’m afraid it’s quite impossible for him to receive visitors tonight.”

    “I understand,” the official replied.  “How soon do you think I might be able to see him?  Unfortunately I have only a couple of days here before I have to continue on with my tour of the reservations.”

    “I wish I could tell you, but Sully is still quite weak—I’m afraid I can’t predict when his condition will permit visitors,”  Michaela hedged.  “However, if there’s a message you wish to give Sully, I’ll be sure that he gets it,” she offered.

    “I only wanted to give him my best wishes,” Hazen replied.  “However, Dr. Quinn, I *am* a bit concerned about how long Agent Sully’s convalescence will keep him from his duties.  The Reverend is doing his best, but managing affairs on the reservation really isn’t his responsibility, is it?—and I’m afraid I can’t leave things untended indefinitely.  I’m wondering whether I need to appoint someone to take Agent Sully’s place?” he finished.

    Michaela stared at Hazen, debating how she should respond.  Sully didn’t even recall his post as Indian Agent, and she had no idea how soon she would be able to tell him.  She also remembered very well the ambivalence toward his position that Sully had revealed before leaving on his fateful journey.  Perhaps now would be the perfect opportunity for him to extricate himself from this responsibility.  She had no doubt but that if she were to tell Hazen about Sully’s memory loss, the government official would  question Sully’s ability to continue doing his job, and might dismiss him on the spot.

    However, did she have the right to make Sully’s decisions for him?  She could argue that his present condition made it difficult—if not impossible—for him to make these decisions on his own.  But his condition could change—tomorrow, the next day, or even a few months into the future.  She also had no way of being certain that he was still unhappy in his role as Indian Agent.  It was conceivable that he might have changed his mind in the interval since they’d talked, and he might very well come to resent her later if she were responsible—even inadvertently—for having him removed from his post.  If Sully *were* to resign his position, she realized, it had to be his choice, and his alone.  Making her decision, she looked at Hazen squarely.

    “As you said, Mr. Hazen, Sully cares deeply for the Indians, and tries to do everything in his power to make their lives easier,” she began.  “I believe he wants to continue doing this work, and hopes to return to the reservation as soon as possible.  While I can’t predict with absolute certainty when he’ll be fully recovered, I can estimate that it should just be a matter of weeks.  Would it be possible to replace him temporarily, while still keeping his position open for him until he’s able to return?

    “I’m sure that Sully would consider it a great favor,” she added persuasively.

     A few moments elapsed while Michaela awaited Hazen’s answer.  He looked thoughtful, apparently weighing the advantages and disadvantages of retaining Sully, or releasing him from his post.  Finally he said, “Well sure, and it’s not his fault that he was hurt.  I suppose it would be unfair to snatch his job out from under him while he’s laid up.

     “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he added, leaning closer to her so that Michaela could smell the whiskey on the breath.  “I’ll keep Agent Sully’s job open for a month, and appoint someone to substitute in the meantime.  However, I can’t wait any longer than that.  If Agent Sully can’t resume his duties by the time the month is out, I’m afraid I’ll have to replace him permanently.”

     “That’s very generous and fair,” Michaela said readily, inwardly relieved to have bought Sully—and herself—some time.  “I’m certain that a month will be ample time for Sully to recover and return to his duties—at least on a limited basis.”

     “So we’re agreed, then.  Splendid,” Hazen replied, offering her his hand.  She shook it briefly, then followed him as he took a few steps toward the door.  “I hope you’ll give Agent Sully my best regards,” he added.  “Tell him he’s definitely missed on the reservation.”

     “I certainly will,” Michaela promised.  “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Hazen.”

     “My pleasure, Dr. Quinn,” the superintendent answered.  “Good day to you now.”  He touched his hat once more and went outside.  As Michaela started to close the door after him, she saw him stop on the porch and remove the flask from his pocket, screwing off the cap and taking a long pull of the contents.  Shaking her head, she pushed the door closed.  She wondered who really had the greater problem—Sully with his amnesia, or Hazen with his alcoholism.  She suspected that she knew who would be the first to succumb to his demons, however.

     Breathing a sigh of relief that she had been successful in putting off the reservation official, she scrubbed her face, smoothed back her hair, and went in to see Sully.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Michaela gently bathed Sully’s forehead with a damp compress as he lay with his eyes closed.

     “How’s that?” she asked softly.

     “Mmm,” he murmured.  “Feels good.”

     “I think you’re over the worst of it now,” Michaela added encouragingly.  He stirred and opened his eyes, looking up at her in the dimness of the room.  “Thanks to you,” he said.  Michaela felt a blush stain her cheeks, and was grateful for the concealment of shadows.

     “Try to take a little more tea,” she suggested, gently lifting his head and holding a cup to his lips.  He took a few sips, then relaxed against the pillows.

     “You must be gettin’ awful tired of this by now,” he commented.

    “What?” she asked.

    “Tendin’ to me like this—nursin’ me through one crisis after another,” Sully answered, his drawn features obvious even in the limited light.  “I’m sorry for what I put you through today,” he added.

    “Sully, there’s no need to apologize.  You were the one suffering.  You needed my help—I wasn’t about to let you go through this alone,” she admonished him.

    “I wish you had,” he said in a low voice.  “I—hated you havin’ to see me like that.”

    “Illness is not a sign of weakness, Sully,” she told him.  “You mustn’t equate the two.”

    He shrugged.  “Maybe so.   But bein’ sick makes me dependent—and I guess I ain’t used to that feelin’.”

    “I understand,” Michaela said.  “I don’t like being dependent upon others myself.  But sometimes we need our friends to help us through a difficult time.  That’s what I did for you, Sully.  I’m your doctor, but more importantly, I’m your friend.  I could never watch you go through pain without doing everything in my power to help you, and heal you.”

    “You’ve certainly proved that over and over, the way you’ve taken care of me,” said Sully.  He hesitated.  “I wish—I could recall our friendship, Dr. Mike.  I have a feelin’ that you’ve done me a lot of kindnesses since we’ve known each other, and I feel bad that I can’t remember.”

    “You’ve done me many kindnesses as well, Sully,” Michaela told him.  “Do you recall the influenza epidemic I spoke of earlier, when I first used Cloud Dancing’s fever tea?”  He nodded.  “Well, if it weren’t for you taking me to Cloud Dancing when I collapsed, so that he could give me the tea and perform a healing, I would have died.  You saved my life, Sully—and not just then, but several times over.”

    “Really?” he said, genuinely surprised.

    “Really, truly,” Michaela said, smiling.  “We’ve had our share of adventures since we met—some rather dangerous—but you’ve always been there to protect me, or the children.  We’ve come to rely a great deal on you.”

    “I’m glad if I’ve been able to help you,” he said a little shyly.  “You know I’m fond of the kids.  And I truly admire and respect you, Dr. Mike.”

    “That’s a lovely compliment,” Michaela responded.  “Thank you, Sully.”

    He was silent for a few moments, his eyes thoughtful.  Presently he said, “You know, Dr. Mike, you never did tell me why it wasn’t safe for Cloud Dancin’ to be in town.  Does it have somethin’ to do with the man who attacked us?”

    “Partially,” Michaela admitted, feeling a thread of disquiet at Sully’s question.  Obviously he was curious and concerned about Cloud Dancing, and she didn’t want to put him through more worry.  But Sully’s migrim had been a warning sign to her that she must proceed very slowly and carefully when it came to giving him information—particularly if that information could cause him emotional stress.  And right now, she felt that both of them had been through more than enough stress for one day.

    “I understand that you still have many questions, Sully,” she said..  “But I don’t think that now is the time to go into all that.  You went through a grueling ordeal.  Mercifully, your migrim seems to have run its course, but now you need to rest and recoup your strength.  We’ll have many chances to talk again.”

    “You don’t need to protect me, Dr. Mike,” he noted.

    “I think we all need protecting sometimes, Sully,” she countered.  “And as a doctor, I suppose I’m inclined to do that more than most.”

    “You always seem to know me a little better than I know myself,” Sully admitted after a moment.  “Fact is, I guess I’m not as up to talkin’ as I thought I was.”

    “Understandably,” she said.  “But you will be soon.”

    “And then—you promise we’ll talk about all this?” he added, his eyes fastened on hers.

    Michaela felt another quiver of worry inside, but her expression as she returned his gaze was calm.  “I promise,” she said.