Tuesday, 27 March, 1870
 

Evening

     As soon as I asked, I thought better of it.  “I’m sorry,” I said.  “That came out all wrong.  I sounded like I didn’t trust you, and that’s not what I meant, Michaela—I swear.“  I took her hand in mine and kissed it gently.

     “I know,” she said softly.

     “I just—I couldn’t help being curious, hearing about this William Burke person . . .”  I looked at her sheepishly.

     She gazed back at me sympathetically.  “It’s all right,” she said.  “In fact, I rather enjoy you being a little jealous.”  Her eyes twinkled, but then turned earnest.  “But truly, Sully, I understand how you must have felt, being left out of the conversation, and I’m sorry for my part in that.”

     I shrugged.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  You were just—reminiscing—about an old friend.”  I hesitated, then added, “He *was* just a friend—right?”  Her eyes were clear and forthright as they looked into mine.

     “Yes, he was a friend,” she told me.  “I confess that things between us reached a point where he wanted it to be more—but I turned him down.  I cared for William very much, but I didn’t love him—at least, not in the way he wanted.  Because it was my relationship with William that made me realize *you* were the man I loved, Sully—and after that I knew there could never be another man in my heart but you.”

     “Really?” I said, my heart swelling with love for her.

     “Really, truly,” she repeated softly, giving me a golden smile that seemed to light up the room.

     “Well, then, that’s good enough for me,” I declared, feeling weak-kneed with relief that I didn’t have any competition from this unexpected source.

     “That’s very generous of you,” Michaela replied.  “But you certainly deserve an explanation of my relationship with William, and I’ll gladly tell you everything—if you want to hear it,” she added.

     “Well . . .” I allowed, wanting to be noble, but finding it hard to resist the temptation to know.

     Michaela squeezed my hand.  “It’s all right,” she said.  “I want to tell you.  What happened back then lead to a very important turning point in our relationship.  I want to help you remember, because it was such a special milestone for us.”

     “Then I want to hear it,” I said.  “And anything else you’re willing to tell me.  I want to know every precious moment I’ve had with you, whether I remember it myself, or relive it through your words.” I pressed my lips to her hand again.  “I’m selfish, Michaela,” I went on softly, looking up into her eyes.  “I want to build a lifetime of new memories with you, but I don’t want to lose any of what we had before.  I want us to share it all.”

     “I’ve been praying for nothing else since you awakened and we realized your memory was gone,” she confirmed, her eyes shining with the hint of tears.  “Every moment we were together I had to fight the urge to tell you how we felt about one another . . . how we became close and fell in love . . . all the wonderful and courageous things you’ve done for me and for the children since we’ve met . . .”

     “Not half as much as you’ve done for me,” I said.  “I may not remember it—yet—but it’s something I know in my heart.  I thought I’d never love anyone again after Abagail—I thought I never could—but you changed all that, Michaela.  You helped me to open my heart again—and then you moved into my heart to stay.”

     “You’ll forever be in my heart, as well,” she said, her fingertips caressing my cheek.  I drew her face toward mine and kissed her, overwhelmed with emotion.  We clung to each other for several moments, our foreheads pressed together, then finally drew apart.

     “Shall I tell you about William now?” she asked, brushing the hair back from my temple with a feather-soft touch.

     “I want to hear it, but first I’m going to get you settled in bed and bring back some food from Grace’s,” I told her.  “We’ll have supper together—just the two of us.  I think I can even arrange for some candlelight.”   I smiled at her.  “Then we’ll have a nice, long talk.”

     “I like the sound of that,” she said, smiling back.

     I slipped my arms around her and lifted her into my embrace, feeling how perfectly—how naturally—her head fit into the niche between my head and shoulder.  Feeling how she was made for me—how we were made for each other.  Suddenly thoughts of William Burke or anyone else seemed very far away indeed.

     “One romantic evening coming up,” I whispered, hugging her close.  As she wrapped her arms around me tightly, I bore her away.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Supper finished, I stacked the dishes on the tray and set it outside the door.  Michaela had eaten very little—just picking at her food for the most part—causing me to notice the lack of color in her cheeks and the shadows beneath her eyes.  But when I asked if she was feeling poorly, or if she was in pain, she made light of her lack of appetite, blaming it on her happiness at the two of us being back together again.  It still bothered me that she looked so peaked, but she seemed sincere in her assurances that she was all right, so I tried to put my concern aside.

    I returned to Michaela’s bedside and looked down at her reclining figure, her back cushioned against the headboard and her bandaged ankle propped on a folded pillow.

     “Room in there for two?” I asked, raising my eyebrows suggestively and giving her a meaningful smile.

     Her answering smile was like a beacon meant just for me.  “Absolutely,” she said in a low, throaty voice that sent my senses reeling.   She patted the mattress next to her, her eyes lit with a sensual fire.  In a heartbeat, I was stretching myself out alongside her, taking care not to jar her injured ankle.  I slipped my arms around her so that her back was cradled against my chest, her head tucked beneath my chin.  She leaned back in contentment, seeming to melt into my embrace.

     “This is where I long to be,” she breathed.

     “It’s where you’re going to be from now on,” I murmured back, my breath gently stirring a shining strand of her hair.  I kissed the top of her head.

     “So,” I added after a moment, running my fingers lightly up and down her arms.  “You ready to take a walk down ‘memory lane?’”  She half-twisted around so that she could see my face.

     “If you’re ready to come with me,” she answered, smiling.

     “I’d follow you anywhere,” I declared, ducking my head to steal a kiss.  Had any woman’s lips ever been so soft and sweet, I thought to myself.  Surely not.  I felt sorry for every man who’d come before me, and all those who would come after, that they would never be lucky enough to have a woman like Michaela.  Most of all, I was grateful that despite the fact she’d obviously had other men in her life—in the end, by some miracle, she had picked me.

     I hardly felt deserving, after the way I’d treated her and the things I’d said.  But somehow, she had been able to forgive me, and I swore I’d make myself worthy of her love and forgiveness, if it took the rest of my life.

     “What are you thinking?” she asked, noting my bemused expression.  I smiled and kissed her again.

     “I’m just thinking how much I love you, and how lucky I am,” I said.

     “Lucky?” she repeated.

     “That you still want me, and that you’re in my arms right now and not somebody else’s,” I told her.

     “I feel just as lucky—that you could forgive me and still want me after I kept the truth from you, and then broke things off between us,” she responded softly.

     “I think we both said and did things we regret,” I said.  “Me especially.  I guess we should just be thankful that we found our way back to each other, and that no amount of arguing or misunderstandings could stand in the way of our love.”

     “It simply proves how strong our bond truly is, that it could survive all the stress of everything  we’ve been through these last weeks,” Michaela agreed.

     “A bond that’ll last forever,” I declared, my arms tightening around her.  My lips sought hers, and several rapturous moments passed as we found joy in one another.  But finally, reluctantly, we parted.  After a few deep breaths to slow my racing pulse and clear my head, I looked down at her.

    “So,” I said.  “Let’s hear about William.”

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

     Michaela awakened in her own bed sometime later, with only the vaguest notion of how she’d got there.  However a moment later her confusion was forgotten as her outraged stomach roiled and rebelled against the whiskey, compelling her to make an emergency dash to the privy.  She spent the balance of the night wearing a path between her bed to the privy and back again, until by dawn she felt as limp, wrung-out and faded as an old dishrag.  And she looked even worse, she thought to herself grimly, catching sight of her chalk-white face in the mirror.

     Moving slowly, she brewed herself a cup of willow bark tea, then sat carefully at the table, taking small, ginger sips against the pain of the headache that drilled into her temples like twin ice picks.

     So this was what it felt like to get drunk and pay the price.  She wondered if everyone who drank to excess felt so terrible afterward.  If so, she marveled that anyone ever became a drunkard.  And yet, many did, like Jake—or like some of the Cheyenne in Black Kettle’s tribe.  Apparently certain people—like Jake and the Indians—were more susceptible to the effects of alcoholic addiction than others—despite the unpleasant after-effects.  While she couldn’t explain it, she at least knew for a certainty that she would never become one of them.

     Michaela flinched and slitted her eyes as the strengthening rays of the rising sun penetrated around the edges of the curtains, bathing the cabin in increasingly brighter light.  Tiredly she massaged her temples, wondering how she was going to get through the day.

     “Mornin’, Ma,” said Colleen, rising first as she always did to help Michaela prepare breakfast.

     Eyes closed, Michaela didn’t see Colleen approach, and she jumped at the sound of her daughter’s voice.

     “Sorry, Ma—I didn’t mean to scare you,” Colleen apologized quickly.

     “It’s all right, Colleen.  I just didn’t hear you come in,” Michaela replied, trying to act normal yet suspecting that she was failing dismally.

     Colleen glanced at her, then looked again.  “Ma—you look terrible—you’re so pale!” she exclaimed softly.  “Are you sick?”

     “I’m—all right, Colleen.  Please don’t be concerned,” Michaela answered, feeling embarrassed and ashamed for her daughter to see her like this.  What had she been thinking, allowing Hank to get her drunk that way?  But the truth was, it hadn’t been Hank’s fault.  He had only offered; she had been the one to make the choice.  She couldn’t assign the blame for her condition to anyone but herself.

     “You’re not all right, Ma!” Colleen protested.  “You’re pale as a ghost and you’re sweatin’—do you have a fever?”

     “Truly, Colleen, I’ll be all right.  I just need some rest, and quiet—“

     “Well I’ll see that you get them,” her daughter replied.  “I’ll stay home from school today and take care of you.”

     “No,” Michaela said promptly.  “Absolutely not, Colleen.  I don’t want you missing any more school on my account—and especially not because of this.”

     “But—“

     “Sit down for a moment,” Michaela told her.  Colleen complied, continuing to regard her with concern.

     “What’s wrong, Ma?” she asked worriedly.  “Is it some kind of cataarh—like what Brian and Sully had?”

     Michaela shook her head, wincing slightly at the movement.  “No, Colleen, it’s nothing like that.  I’m—I’m ashamed to admit that—well, that I drank whiskey last night, and I’m feeling the after-effects this morning.”  Colleen gawked at her.

     “You—drank whiskey?” she echoed.  “But how—“

     “How did it happen?” Michaela finished for her.  “That’s a very good question, but I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer that makes much sense—nor can I defend my actions.”  She sighed.

    “To put it briefly, something happened between Sully and me last night when we returned to the clinic.  Something which upset me.  Unbeknownst to me, Sully had taken something from the homestead—a telegram, that he had sent me from Denver when he attended that Indian conference before Valentine’s Day.  Though it was only signed with an initial and not his full name, the telegram was written in such a way that Sully would instantly have known about our relationship, had he read it.”

    “You mean he didn’t read it?” Colleen asked.

    “Only the salutation and the signature,” Michaela replied.  “However, he felt guilty for what he’d done, and was compelled to admit his transgression to me.  He returned the telegram to me without reading it.”

    “Why would he do something like that?” Colleen said, surprised and perplexed.

     not quite sure, but I suspect—it has to do with the feelings he’s developing for me,” Michaela speculated.

    “Feelin’s?” Colleen repeated.  “You mean, Sully’s fallin’ in love with you again?”  Her eyes were excited.

    "It appears that way,” Michaela said cautiously.  “But there are still all sorts of unresolved problems, Colleen.  Remember—Sully still has no recollection of the emotional trauma which caused him to block out his memories—and much of that trauma may be related to our relationship.  I’m afraid that even if Sully *does* believe that he loves me, we can’t simply pick up from where we left off as if nothing’s happened.”

    “I understand that,” Colleen conceded.  “But it’s clear you were meant for each other, Ma.  I’m sure somehow you and Sully will be able to work things out.”

    “I pray that will be the case, eventually,” her mother said.  “But for right now I’m still struggling with the thought that Sully could have learned the truth before he was ready to hear it.  I’ve been trying so hard to manage the amount of information Sully receives, and how soon he receives it.  What nearly happened with the telegram was a development I didn’t foresee, and for which I was unprepared.  It—unnerved me.”

    “Is that why you . . .” Colleen began hesitantly.

    “I didn’t set out to seek consolation in a bottle,” Michaela said wryly.  “However, after I lashed out at Sully, Hank saw me leaving the clinic.  He could tell I was upset, and he insisted on taking me back to his room to talk.  When he recognized how shaken I was, he offered me some whiskey to calm my nerves.  I resisted at first—but then I thought, well, a few sips wouldn’t do any harm.  However Hank insisted that I empty the glass—he claimed that it would be more effective that way.  Unfortunately I believed him, which was my undoing.”

    “Oh, Ma,” Colleen said sympathetically, reaching out to take her mother’s hand.  However, she couldn’t quite conceal the small smile that hovered about her mouth.  A moment later, despite her best efforts to smother it, a giggle escaped her.  “I’m sorry, Ma,” she said apologetically again.  “It ain’t funny, but I just got a picture of you and Hank drinkin’ together—“

    “You needn’t apologize, Colleen,” Michaela told her.  “I suppose it *would* be amusing, if it weren’t so ludicrous—and if I weren’t so ashamed of my behavior.”

    “Don’t feel bad, Ma—you’re only human—and you’ve been pushed to the breakin’ point since Sully got hurt,” Colleen said.  “No one can blame you if you needed a little—help—to feel better.”

    “The problem with *that* kind of ‘help,’ Colleen, is that it’s only temporary, and one feels even worse, afterward.  As I can unfortunately testify.”  She sighed again, pressing her fingers to her throbbing temples.

    “Ma—what about Sully?  How do things stand with him?” Colleen asked hesitantly.

    “I—don’t know,” Michaela replied soberly.  “I’m afraid I was quite angry at him, and didn’t give him much of a chance to explain before I walked out.  I have no idea what he must be thinking of me now.”

    “Well, try not to worry about it,” Colleen said kindly.  “Right now, just concentrate on restin’ till you feel better.  I’ll make breakfast for all of us and get Brian and me off to school.  And Matthew will be leavin’ early to go tend to his cattle, so there won’t be anythin’ to disturb you.”

    “Thank you, Colleen,” Michaela said gratefully.  “I don’t deserve your kindness, but I appreciate it.”

    “Please don’t be so hard on yourself, Ma,” Colleen implored.  Michaela gave her a half-hearted smile.

    “I’ll try,” she said.   “But Colleen—“

    “Yes?” her daughter said.

    “Could we—keep this between the two of us?  I feel badly enough that you had to learn of my foolishness—I’d rather that Brian and Matthew didn’t have to know.”

    “It’ll be our secret,” Colleen promised, giving her a gentle hug.  “After all, we women got to stick together,” she added, smiling.

    “And you are every inch a wonderful young woman,” Michaela told her.  “Thank you, Sweetheart.”

    “You just get some rest,” Colleen urged her.  “When you’re feelin’ yourself again, everythin’ will look better.”

    “I hope so,” Michaela sighed.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Two hours later, the willow bark tea had tamed Michaela’s headache, reducing it to a dull echo of its former intensity.  She had also dosed herself with paregoric when she thought she could keep it down, and it had helped to settle her stomach somewhat, though she still had no desire for food.

     However, refreshed by a sponge bath and change of clothes, and soaking in the soothing peace and quiet that had descended on the homestead after the children’s departure, Michaela began to think that perhaps she could face this day after all.  Though she had to admit to herself that she hoped no medical emergencies would arise demanding her attention—not only because she was indisposed, but because her mind still felt fuzzy and disconnected, and she didn’t want to risk her skill or concentration being diminished when a patient needed her most.  If she could just have a few hours rest and solitude, she believed she would feel more like herself again, able to resume her normal activities.

     Besides craving the chance to rest undisturbed, Michaela also needed some quiet time to think about what had happened with Sully, and what she was going to do about it.  Though much of her  recollection of the previous evening was hazy, the comments Hank had made about Sully, and the advice he’d given her to tell Sully the truth and “get it over with,” stuck in her mind.  Did Hank have the right idea after all?  Would it be better for her to be totally honest with Sully, telling him the entire truth about their relationship, their plans to marry—and his crippling, deep-seated fear of losing her as a result—and let the chips fall where they may?  Part of her longed for the relief of having it all out in the open, so that she could lay down this burden at last.  So that she would no longer have to pretend not to have feelings for Sully, or deny the feelings that it was increasingly apparent he had for her.

     Michaela realized that in large part, she had already forgiven Sully for taking the telegram.  Hank may well have been correct—perhaps Sully hadn’t been “thinkin’ clear” when he took it—but not because of his injury.  Because he was a man feeling the first stirrings of love—and people in love often did not act rationally.  She herself was a perfect example of that axiom, she thought dourly.  She had been so upset over Sully that she had actually allowed herself to turn to alcohol to dull her pain and confusion.  Sully wasn’t perfect, but obviously neither was she.  She even had to wonder what she would have done, had she been in Sully’s place—starting to fall in love with him, but suspecting that there was another woman who might already have claimed his heart.  Would she have been above trying to discover this woman’s identity and learn about her relationship with Sully?

     Michaela honestly couldn’t answer that question.  However she *did* know that she would have been jealous, because she’d been jealous in the past.  Of Dorothy, when it seemed that she and Sully had developed a special “friendship”—when in fact Dorothy had been trying to do her a kindness by giving Sully dancing lessons so he could surprise her at the Sweetheart’s Dance.  And of Katharine, the white woman who had been “rescued” by an army patrol in the wake of their massacre of the tribe with which she lived.  Taken by the Indians as a child, Katharine had grown up believing she was a member of the tribe.  They had even given her a new name, “Shivering Deer,” because of the strange “spells” she suffered from periodically—which Michaela diagnosed as episodes of epilepsy.

    Katharine had witnessed the murder of her Indian husband and all the people she thought of as family in the army massacre, which had won her the sympathy of Michaela, Sully and the children.  In particular, Sully had been drawn to Katharine because of their similar backgrounds.  Each of them had lived with the Indians and adopted their customs, and each knew how it felt to be an “outsider”—not completely Indian, not completely white, but with emotional ties to both cultures.  Sully had also sympathized with Katharine over her fear and confusion at suddenly being thrust into a town of white people she didn’t know, with customs she barely remembered or understood.   Surrounded by strangers, many of whom vilified her for having taken a “red” man as a husband, Katharine had naturally turned to Sully as the one familiar reminder of the life she’d lived before—the one person who understood what she had lost.

     Michaela had empathized with Katharine as well, until it became evident that Katharine’s feelings for Sully had grown beyond friendship and become something more.  And when it seemed as if Sully returned Katharine’s feelings, Michaela had felt both hurt and betrayed.  Sully had sworn to her that he didn’t care for Katharine in that way—that Michaela was the only woman he loved.  He claimed he simply felt sorry for Katharine, because he understood what she’d been through, and Michaela was finally able to accept that he was sincere.  But it had taken time for Michaela to rebuild her trust and confidence in their relationship—to feel safe again.  They had found their way back to one another, but both had suffered an emotional cost.

     As Michaela thought back to that period of their relationship, and the pain it had caused her, she could well imagine Sully feeling threatened by the idea that she cared for someone else.  Viewed in that light, his action didn’t seem quite so indefensible.  She could almost understand it.  And in the end, his honorable nature had won out and he had confessed his transgression to her.

     he wanted to tell him she forgave him.  That she knew he regretted his mistake and had tried to put it right.  But if she relented—if she let Sully get close to her—where would it lead?  He was on the verge of telling her his feelings now—she could sense it.  But were those feelings based on a false foundation?  Sully might believe right now that he cared for her, but he had no recollection of the emotional upheaval he’d suffered before his accident.  Did she have the right to encourage Sully’s attentions to her now, knowing that his original fear of commitment still lurked deep within his mind?  Wouldn’t she be guilty of taking selfish advantage of him in his condition?

     Michaela desperately wanted them to be together.  She knew that consciously, Sully wanted them to be together.  But she had to take into account that in his heart, Sully’s true wishes might be very different.

     Hank might have been right about telling the truth, she thought—the truth, after all, was supposed to set you free.  But sometimes, the truth could hurt.  And in Sully’s case, Michaela couldn’t let go of the fear that the truth might do great harm.

     Until she could be sure that the time was right, she needed to keep Sully at a distance, Michaela wearily concluded.  And if keeping him at a distance meant that she had to pretend to be angry with him, then so be it.  She had done many difficult things since this ordeal began—this would simply be one more.  She felt guilty about perpetuating the lie, but she was far more frightened of hurting him irreparably with the truth.  Somehow, someday, it would all come out—she knew that.  And when that time came, she would somehow have to find a way to prove to Sully that she had acted out of love.  She could only pray that he would understand.

     A knock on the door made her start violently.  Slowly she rose from the table and moved to one of the front windows, easing back the curtain.  She drew in her breath sharply and her heart started to pound as she saw Sully standing on the porch.

     Why did he come, she thought in a panic.  I’m not ready to see him yet.  He’s going to ask questions and I don’t know what I’ll say!

     Michaela drew back from the window, pressing herself against the wall.  Maybe he’ll go away, she thought.  He’ll assume I’ve already gone to the clinic and he’ll leave.

     But the seconds passed and he didn’t move.  Michaela realized with a sinking feeling that he was determined to see her, and intended to wait as long as necessary.  Some kind of confrontation was going to happen between them, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

     Wiith a shuddering sigh, Michaela answered the door.