Tuesday, 27 March, 1870

Evening

     “Sully,” she whispered.  “I—don’t know what to say . . .“

     “Say ‘yes,’” I answered with a crooked smile, my heart hammering against my ribs.

     “I want to—“ she began softly, but then broke off.  I could see that she wanted me—her eyes were filled with longing, and the love I’d been praying for.  But there was fear in them too.  I wished I could think of the right words to take her fear away.

     Don’t be afraid,” I implored her.  “I told you, Michaela, I don’t care that you kept our relationship from me at first.  I don’t care about anything, except loving you and spending my life with you.”   I ducked my head and looked searchingly into her eyes.  “I think you feel the same way,” I added softly.

     “I do,” she admitted after a pause.  “Hiding my feelings from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Sully.  But there are things you don’t know—“

     Michaela, after all we’ve been through, I don’t think there’s anything else you could tell me  that could keep us apart,” I reasoned.  “I caught pneumonia, I got shot, I nearly died—and when I finally came to, I had no idea who you were, or that we loved each other.  But despite all that, the love I had for you was always there inside me, just waiting to come out.”  I took both her hands in mine.

     “Don’t you see?” I went on.  “Our love couldn’t be denied.  It was meant to be.  And I know we can face anything, Michaela,” I added.  “As long as we’re together.”

     “I’ve always believed that,” she conceded.  “But Sully, if I were to accept your proposal now, I’d feel as if—I were marrying you under false pretenses.”

     “False pretenses?” I repeated, looking at her incredulously.  “Like what?”  I gave her a sly glance.  “Are you saying you got a husband stashed away somewhere?” I went on with a little grin.  “Or maybe you’re not really Michaela Quinn at all, but a mysterious imposter in disguise?  That actually sounds kind of exciting.”  My grin broadened.

     Her mouth twitched even as she rolled her eyes at me.  “Sully, I’m trying to be serious,” she protested.

     “And I’m trying not to be, “ I answered.  “I think we’ve had way too much of being serious lately, Michaela.  It’s time to stop worrying about the past and think about the future.  It’s time to let ourselves be happy.”  I gazed at her intently.  “I think we have that right—I think we’ve earned it,” I told her.

     “There’s nothing I want more than to say yes—“ she ventured.

     “But you can’t—until you free your mind of what’s troubling you,” I finished for her, reading her mind for once.

     “Yes,” she admitted.  “But that’s not all of it.  I’m afraid that even telling you could be a grave mistake—that I could hurt you, or—cause you damage.  I’m so frightened of doing the wrong thing, Sully,” she confessed in a whisper.

     “That’s what’s been scaring you since the beginning, ain’t it?” I asked gently.  “You needed to tell me something about myself, but you were afraid I couldn’t handle it—that maybe I still can’t.”  Unable to speak, she merely nodded, looking down at the ground.  I reached out and cupped her chin in my hand, raising her eyes to mine.  “I understand,” I said softly.  “And I’m sorry for putting you through so much agony on my behalf.  I was so blind for so long—and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes.

     “I respect your feelings,” I went on sincerely.  “And fact is, I think maybe you were right—in the beginning, I may not have been able to handle the truth—whatever it is—about what’s wrong with me.

     “But things have changed, Michaela,” I said.  “We have each other now.  I know that I love you, and I know that you love me.  I can hold onto that, no matter what you have to tell me about myself.”

     “Even if—what I have to tell you is that you don’t *truly* want to marry me?” she said quietly, finally articulating the anguish she’d been carrying inside for so long.

     I stared at her in amazement.  “Impossible,” I said promptly.

     “Sully, don’t toss this off,” she warned.  “It may sound improbable to you right now—but there were things you said to Cloud Dancing when the two of you were together in the mountains—fears that you expressed to him—that seemed to indicate that you had grave worries about our future together.”  Her eyes were dark in her pale face.

     “Go on,” I said, still unable to believe what she was saying, but understanding her need to free her mind and heart.

     “Sully, I’m sure you’ve spent countless hours wondering what caused you to block out your memories,” she continued slowly.  “But have you ever wondered why you erased your memories of me?  Did it ever occur to you that a commitment to me may have been so troubling or frightening to you, that your mind would choose to block it out completely, rather than allow you to confront or admit your fears?”

     “No, I never thought of that,” I admitted honestly.  “Because I can’t conceive of it, Michaela.  There are plenty of things to be scared of in this world, but loving and marrying you ain’t one of them.”

     “But it could be—if you believed that you would lose me if we married,” she burst out unhappily.  “The way you lost Abagail—the way you lost your family before that, and then the Cheyenne later on . . .  All the people you cared about, Sully—your real family, your adopted family; and the wife and child that you loved.”  Her face was naked with emotion.  “What if you thought you were cursed—and that it would be kinder—safer—to break things off between us, rather than risk losing me as you lost everyone else?”

     She finished speaking, her words echoing in the stillness.  I stared at her, and an image came unbidden to my mind—Abagail as I’d last seen her, the life draining out of her as I wept at her bedside.   Except, as she turned her face to mine, it was Michaela that I saw—the light going out of her eyes as she left me forever.

     The impact of the vision left me gasping.  Stunned, I sat back on the ground.

     “Are you all right?” Michaela asked me quickly.  “Sully!” she repeated when I didn’t answer.  “What is it?  Please, tell me what you’re thinking—have you remembered something?”

     “I had a dream,” I said slowly.  “I was with Abagail as she was dying—except—when she looked at me, it wasn’t Abagail.  It was you.”  I stared at her.  “Oh my God,” I whispered.

     “When did you have the dream?” she asked softly.

     “I ain’t exactly sure—but I think it was after I was shot,” I said haltingly.  “I know I blacked out when I was hit, but—I remember coming to a little later—enough so that I knew I was on a horse with Cloud Dancing.  I must have drifted off and slept—and I had that dream.  I don’t remember anything after that.”

     “Can you remember anything else before the dream?” she said.

     I closed my eyes and searched my mind.  “Bits and pieces,” I said at last.  “Nothing real clear.  But I think—maybe it will start to come back to me.”

     “This may truly be the beginning,” Michaela said tremulously.  “Oh, Sully, I’m so glad for you!  But—“  She broke off, her face anxious and wary.  Then hesitantly she resumed, “How do you feel about what I told you?  Do you—remember those feelings?  Do you remember being afraid to marry me?”

     “I’m starting to,” I admitted after a long moment.  “I can remember feeling scared, and guilty—and thinking that I didn’t have the right to marry you.

     “But I don’t understand why I suddenly got terrified like that, out of the blue—or why I wasn’t worried about marrying you all along,” I confessed.

     “I believe it was Washita,” Michaela ventured.  “I think—seeing the Cheyenne so brutally murdered was the—the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Or to put it another way, I think the loss of the people you loved was a catalyst to releasing the fear about me that you’d been carrying deep inside yourself.  And the pain of their deaths, as well as the intensity of your fear, was too great a burden for your mind to endure—so you blocked it out . . . blocked me out.”

     “I’m sorry . . .” I managed, hearing how inadequate the word sounded.

     “You mustn’t be sorry!” she said earnestly.  “Sully, you had no control over what happened to you.  You were grieving—not just for the Cheyenne, but for everyone you’d ever loved who’d left you.  Grief affects people in different ways—but no matter how one expresses grief, its effects can be devastating.

     “The question now is . . . what are you feeling?” she added tentatively, her eyes solemn.  “What do you want, Sully—now that you know the truth?”  Silence spun out between us as she waited for my reply.

    I took a deep breath, and got up on my knees, so that we were at eye level.  I grasped my medicine pouch, loosening the drawstring and reaching inside.  My fingers closed over something hard and round, and I pulled it out.  I took her left hand in mine, and slid the diamond in its circle of gold onto her fourth finger.

     “I want you,” I said, kissing her hand and gazing into her eyes.  “I want to marry you—now more than ever.  I love you, Michaela.”

     “But—are you sure?’ she whispered.  “Your fears about us were disturbing enough to you that you lost your memory because of them.  Sully, are you sure you can let go of your fear, and face the future?”

     “I know I’d fear the future more if I didn’t have you,” I told her softly.  “Truth is, I wouldn’t want a future without you, Michaela.  I know there ain’t no guarantees—but nobody gets guarantees in this life.  And if you’re lucky enough to find your true love—then you need to hold on tight and love each other—and never let each other go.

     “Please,” I whispered, reaching out my hand to caress her cheek.  “Please marry me, Michaela.”

     She stared into my eyes, and I saw the last of her hesitation drop away.

     “Yes,” she whispered back.  “Yes, Sully, I’ll marry you.”

     The tears running unchecked down my face, I took her in my arms.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “What are you doing?” she asked me later, awaking from a brief nap induced by the laudanum I’d given her earlier for her ankle.  I looked up from the page in front of me, my pencil stopping in mid-sentence.

     “Writing in my journal,” I said, leaning over to kiss her.

     “And what are you writing?” she asked, smiling as she slid closer to me.  I wrapped my arm around her and drew her to me snugly as the light from the campfire flickered over our faces.

     “I’m writing about how the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world agreed to be my wife,” I said.  She glowed at my words.

     “Be sure to mention that I’m marrying the most wonderful man in the world,” she said, kissing me back.

     “I suppose I could add a line or two about how lucky you are,” I teased.

     “Just as long as you remember how lucky *you* are,” she bantered back.

     “I’ve never forgotten that,” I told her passionately, and kissed her deeply.  After a long while, we drew apart.  “Time to be getting you back to town,” I said, getting to my feet.  “Your ankle needs rest.”

     “I don’t think I can walk,” she demurred.

     “No problem there,” I said.  “I’ll carry you—it ain’t that far to the wagon.”

     “Sully, are you still planning to stay out here in the woods?” she asked after a moment.

     “Nope,” I said, extinguishing the campfire and kicking dirt over the coals.  “I’m coming back to take care of you.”

     “Sully, you don’t have to do that—it’s only a sprain—“ she began.

     I hunched down and faced her.  “Do you really think I could ever leave you now?” I said softly.  She smiled and shook her head.

     “I could never leave you either,” she said.

     “Well that’s good,” I told her.  “Because I expect to see you around the homestead for the next—oh, fifty or sixty years.”  I grinned at her, and then, with a dramatic flourish, I swept her up in my arms.  “Let’s go home, ‘Mrs. Sully-to-be,’” I said.

* * * * * * * * * *

     As we pulled up in front of the clinic, we saw Matthew standing outside.  I jumped down from the buckboard, then held my hands up to Michaela, taking her into my arms.

     “Dr. Mike, what happened?” Matthew asked quickly, his face registering concern as he saw the bandage on Michaela’s foot.

     “Just a sprain, Matthew—I’m fine,” Michaela told him hastily.  He looked relieved.

     “But this lady needs some pampering,” I added, addressing my remark to Matthew even as my eyes clung to Michaela’s.  We smiled at each other.

     “We’ll be sure to help out any way we can,” Matthew said, then added, “Dr Mike—“

     “Matthew, could you get my medical bag from the wagon?” Michaela interrupted.

     “Sure,” he answered.  “But Dr. Mike—“

     “I’m going to take your ma into the clinic and get her settled,” I said to Matthew, carrying Michaela up onto the porch.  “Could you round up Colleen and Brian for us?  We all got a lot to talk about.”  My eyes found hers again.

     “Yeah, I’ll do that—but Dr. Mike, there’s something you should know,” Matthew insisted.  The odd tone in his voice finally got our attention.

     “What is it, Matthew?” Michaela asked.

     Before he could speak, the clinic door opened, and a handsome, elegantly dressed woman stepped out.  She looked vaguely familiar, and I suddenly realized there was a resemblance between her and Michaela.

     “Michaela!” the woman exclaimed, staring at Michaela cradled in my arms with something akin to shock.

     “Mother!” Michaela exclaimed at the same instant.  Her eyes were stunned.  “What—what are you doing here?” she stammered after a moment.

     “Well I came in response to your telegram,” Mrs. Quinn answered.  “I wanted to see for myself why you were considering postponing the wedding.  Your wire was less than forthcoming,” she added pointedly.

     “I never expected—that is, you could simply have written,” Michaela protested.  “I intended to write a longer explanation to you soon—it’s just that I’ve been so busy—“

     “So it would seem,” Mrs. Quinn noted, regarding us with rather a jaundiced eye.

     “Mother, I sprained my ankle—I couldn’t walk, so Sully was carrying me,” Michaela explained.

     “Are you all right?” her mother asked.

     “I’ll be fine,” Michaela assured her.  “But Mother, it really wasn’t necessary for you to come all the way out here—“

     “And an arduous journey it was,” Mrs. Quinn confirmed drily.  “But fortunately, I didn’t need to make it alone.”  She turned toward the doorway behind her as a tall man with dark hair and clear, blue-green eyes appeared in the entrance.  Mrs. Quinn extended her hand toward the stranger, and with a polite smile, he stepped forward to join her.

     “Michaela, Mr. Sully—may I present Mr. Brendan Burke,” she said.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

     Despite the lateness of the hour, Michaela lay wide-awake, prevented from sleep as the events of the day replayed themselves over and over in her mind.  For perhaps the twentieth time, she berated herself for not choosing to stay the night in the clinic, where she would be nearby if Sully needed her.  She wanted to believe that emotionally he was strong enough to endure what she’d been forced to tell him earlier in the day—that though he was understandably desolate, he was too sensible and resilient to consider doing something foolish as a result of his grief.  But he had been so shattered when she left him.  She hadn’t wanted to go—she hadn’t wanted to leave him in solitude with the overwhelming burden of his sorrow—but he had specifically asked to be left alone, and she had been obligated to respect his wishes.

     Now, however, she found herself regretting that decision.  Sully was strong and resilient under ordinary circumstances, but the circumstances of his life now were far from ordinary, and realistically he couldn’t be expected to react in his customary way.  Yet again, Michaela pictured his devastated expression as she’d given him the bitter news.  She had seen the deaths of his friends in Sully’s tortured eyes, and it had been like losing Snowbird, Black Kettle and the others all over again.  In a sense, it was like the Cheyenne had “died” a second time, since for Sully the massacre was as real and immediate as if it had just happened.  When a person was in mourning, his loved ones didn’t leave him alone to grieve.  Why had she believed it was safe to let Sully to go through this painful process by himself?

     Because that’s what he wanted, said a voice in her mind.  Michaela realized that much as she might want to, she couldn’t protect Sully forever, or shield him indefinitely from the realities of his life, painful or otherwise.  She had to allow him the dignity of his feelings, and respect his need to work through his grief on his own.  Nonetheless, she couldn’t rid herself of the persistent feeling that though consciously Sully might desire solitude; on a deeper, more vulnerable level, he needed the presence and the comfort of someone who understood.  Someone who loved him—even if, as yet, he was unable to recognize or reciprocate that love.

     Finally giving up on sleep, Michaela threw back the covers and got up.  She took the extra quilt from the foot of the bed and shook it out, wrapping it around herself.   She didn’t bother lighting a lamp, relying instead on the illumination of the glowing embers in the fireplace as she settled herself in the adjacent rocker.

     She wondered, not for the first time, if she should dress and go to him.  She wouldn’t need to disturb him if he was sleeping.  She could simply look in on him, putting her mind at ease that he was all right.  And if he *was* troubled, she could be there for him, to give him what comfort she could, if he was willing to accept it.

     But what if he wasn’t, her mind countered again.  What if he were to regard her presence as an intrusion?  She had to remind herself again that the Sully grieving in the clinic was not the Sully she knew—the man with whom she’d shared a unique and devoted friendship; the man with whom she’d fallen in love, and who had come to love her; the man who had asked her to be his wife.  That Sully would welcome her love and sympathy—it would be to her that he reached out for comfort.

     But this Sully—the man who seemed so much like his old self on the surface, but who was so emotionally damaged within—didn’t know her.  There was no foundation of affection and trust between them which would prompt him to seek solace from her.  Which essentially left her helpless.

     Michaela rubbed at her temples, her inner turmoil outwardly manifesting itself in the stirrings of a dull headache.  Despite her best efforts to manage Sully’s treatment—despite the exceptional care she had taken to withhold the more painful facts about his memory loss until she felt he was ready to accept them—he had taken her unawares.  One moment, she had been examining him and telling him how well he was healing—the next, he had been putting on his clothes, announcing to her that he was leaving the clinic.

    She hadn’t been prepared for Sully’s announcement—or for the impatience bordering on anger he had displayed when she had disagreed with his desire to leave and refused to give him his weapons.  She couldn’t blame him for his reaction—he had been cooped up within the four walls of his room for days, and she knew how alien and restrictive that was for him.  To complicate things further, she had resisted being honest with him at first, despite his demands to the contrary. Even worse, because she hadn’t been expecting this development, she had carelessly allowed Sully to see her panic, which had distressed and alarmed him still further.

     But he would have had to find out sooner or later, the voice inside her playing devil’s advocate argued.  It hadn’t been the way she’d planned (an assertion, she thought wryly, that assumed she’d even *had* a plan—which, if she were to honestly examine her heart, was not necessarily the case).  But in spite of the unorthodox way she had finally broken the news to Sully, she had still tried to be as careful—as gentle—as possible.

     She wasn’t perfect—far from it.  Being a doctor didn’t make her omnipotent—able to cure any ill, physical or emotional.  On the contrary, she was very  human, and all too painfully aware of her limitations.  But she had done the best she could.  As she intended to go on doing; feeling her way and even stumbling from time to time, on this mysterious—even perilous—journey.

     Michaela resisted the impulse one last time to go to Sully’s side, promising herself that she would see him first thing after church in the morning.  Somehow, she had to make herself trust that the same indomitable spirit that had kept him alive when he was at his lowest ebb, would be there to serve him now as he endured his dark crisis of the spirit.

     Reaching up and curling her fingers around the engagement ring which rested on its chain in the hollow of her throat, Michaela finally closed her eyes and slept.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Michaela came out of the clinic and walked over to where Matthew, Colleen and Brian waited in the wagon.

     “Ready to go?” Matthew asked her from his seat on the bench.  Colleen and Brian gazed at her over his shoulders from where they perched in the wagon bed.  Michaela looked up at them.

     “I want the three of you to go on without me,” she said.  “Get dinner started, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

     “I thought Sully was ‘sposed to be comin’,” Matthew remarked.

     “I said I would ask him—and I did,” Michaela replied.  “But I’m afraid that Sully is not much in the mood to be with people right now.  In fact, I found him with the shades drawn, sitting in the dark,” she added softly.  Her children’s expressions were compassionate, reflecting the hurt they felt for the man they loved and admired so much.

     “Sully’s takin’ it real hard, ain’t he, Ma?” Colleen asked quietly.

     Michaela nodded.  “The Cheyenne were his family, every bit as much as his parents and his brother,” she said.  “Every bit as much as we are—which I pray Sully will be able to remember one day.  But for now, however, he’s in mourning—and though he expressed a wish to be alone last night, I don’t think he should be left by himself.  I believe he needs someone to be with him—to listen if he wants to talk, or just to be there to provide companionship and support.”

     “So you’re gonna stay with him?” Matthew asked.

     “Sully actually expressed a willingness to talk to me, which is a hopeful sign,” Michaela answered.  “At least he’s not resisting all my attempts to help him.”

     “You’ll make Sully feel better, Ma,” Brian spoke up.  “You always make me feel better when I’m sad.”  Michaela smiled up at him gratefully.  “Thank you, Sweetheart.  I hope I *can* help Sully to feel better.  I’m certainly going to try.

     “And I haven’t even given up on persuading Sully to join us for supper,” she added, trying to sound cheerful.  “Perhaps I can help him to see that sometimes, the comfort of friends and loved ones is the best medicine.”

     “If Sully “does” come, we’ll do better than we did last time, Ma,” Colleen said.  “We’ll make things nice for him.”

     “Yeah,” Matthew agreed.  “No hemmin’ and hawin’ around, or bein’ nervous.  We were foolish to act that way before.  After all, it’s still Sully—even if there *are* things he can’t remember.”

     “I don’t care that Sully can’t remember things,” Brian echoed.  “I still love him just the same.”

     Michaela stared at Brian.  From the mouths of babes . . .  Her eyes moved to encompass the cherished faces of all her children as she marveled at their caring and insight.

     “You’re absolutely right, Matthew,” she said decisively.  “It *is* still Sully—the same man we’ve always known and loved.  And you’re right, Brian—our love for Sully certainly doesn’t change just because he’s not quite himself right now.  You all just keep right on giving him your love and loyalty as you always have,” she told them.  “I can think of no better medicine for Sully—and no better way to show him that he still has a family who will always be here to love and support him.”

     “Dr. Mike—do you think Sully *will* remember one day?” Matthew asked after a moment.

     “All I can say, Matthew, is that I intend to do everything in my power to help him,” Michaela answered.  “But if his memories are gone, then we’ll simply have to help Sully in every way we can to build a new life.  And we’ll do everything we can to make it a good life.  Agreed?” she asked.

     “Agreed,” they chorused.

     Michaela stretched up to kiss each of them in turn, then watched as they departed, the wagon moving slowly down the street.  She raised her hand in farewell as they rounded the corner, suddenly feeling a bit bereft without the comforting reassurance of their presence.   However a moment later she drew herself up, taking a calming breath.  She could do this—she *would* do this—for the man she loved.

     Turning, Michaela went back into the clinic.