Wednesday, 28 March, 1870

     “Well?” Michaela said impatiently when I didn’t immediately answer.  Guiltily I raised my eyes to hers.

    “I know you’re mad,” I began uneasily.  “And I guess I got it coming—“

    “You ‘guess?’” she repeated derisively.

    “All right,” I placated her.  “I got it coming.  Every angry word you’ve got to say.  I deserve it—all of it.  But it’s been a long day, Michaela.  You’re tired, you’re hurting . . .  Now ain’t the time to get into all this—“

    “On the contrary,” she said coldly, her expression implacable.  “I think now is *precisely* the time to ‘get into it.’”  She stared at me, as if I’d suddenly turned into someone she didn’t know.  “What on earth were you thinking, Sully?” she went on after a moment.  “Brendan was a guest in my home—in *our* home,” she hastily amended.  “How could you behave so disgracefully?”

    “I know I was wrong—“ I tried again.

    “Do you?” she retorted.  “I wonder.  If you knew how boorishly you were acting, then what possessed you to continue?”

    I chewed on my lower lip.  I wasn’t proud of how I’d behaved, but at the same time, I believed I had cause.  There were things about Brendan Burke that I believed I knew, and she didn’t.  Now she’d asked the question—that meant she was obliged to listen to the answer.  I only hoped she’d be willing to hear me out.

    “Well first off, he lied,” I said levelly.

    “I beg your pardon?”

    “You heard me,” I repeated, staring into her eyes, which were by turns stunned and then disdainful.  “When I asked him, before, what he and his cronies did with the remains of the people they dug up? . . .  He lied.”

    She stared back at me, temporarily speechless.  But being Michaela, she didn’t stay that way for long.   “I have no idea where you came up with such a preposterous allegation,” she said sharply after a moment.  “More than that, I can’t believe that you dislike Brendan so much you would go to such lengths to discredit him.  What’s happened to you, Sully?”

    I flushed, anger and hurt fighting it out inside me.  “More like, what’s happened to you?” I countered.   “I don’t lie to you, Michaela.  I never have, and I ain’t starting now.  I’m stating the truth.  Brendan Burke lied.”

    “Assuming you’re correct,” she began more quietly, her expression somewhat chastened.  “How could you possibly know that, Sully?  Are you an antiquarian or an Egyptologist?”

    “There ain’t no need to make fun of me,” I said.

    “I wasn’t—!“

    But I plowed on over her objection.  “Maybe I ain’t got a ‘Harvard education’—maybe I didn’t even finish school—but I ain’t—I’m NOT—stupid, Michaela.”

    “Sully, I never meant to suggest—“

    “I read,” I resumed defensively, as if she hadn’t spoken.  “Fact is, I used to read a lot.  When I was young, before my ma died . . .  The people she worked for—they let me have the run of their library.  I read everything I could get my hands on—books, newspapers, periodicals.  I learned—and I remembered what I learned.  Least I tried to.”

    She was listening quietly to me now.

    “And that’s how I know,” I went on in a more moderate tone.  “That Brendan lied.  Because of something I read in a history of Napoleon, when he invaded Egypt.  For years Napoleon had his scholars survey and map Egypt, and record and describe every artifact they found.”

    She waited for me to go on.

    “He didn’t tell you about the mummies,” I said.

    “The ‘mummies?’” she repeated blankly.

    “Yeah,” I answered.  “The mummies—that Napoleon and his men discovered when they invaded in 1798.  They dug them up out of the sand.  Not just a few, but scores of them.  It must have been some kind of sacred burial ground.  But Napoleon’s army didn’t care about that.  The French soldiers dragged the mummies from their resting places and shipped them back to Europe by the hundreds.  It was the first that people in the West had ever heard of mummies, and they went crazy, flocking to see them.  But the mummies weren’t treated with respect—folks had no reverence for them.  And soon, there were so many of them coming from Egypt, that they stopped being a curiosity and turned into—things—to be used.”  I swallowed.  “Folks—burned them for firewood, and stripped off the bandages to turn into pulp to make paper.

    “Kind of a far cry from Brendan’s claim about treating human remains so carefully, and then sending them to museums to ‘educate the public,’” I finished, a bitter edge to my voice.

    Michaela was quiet for several moments after I stopped speaking.  Finally she looked up at me.  Her eyes were solemn.  “I recall reading something about that myself, some years ago,” she said.  “And I agree with you, Sully, it’s appalling.  But I can’t believe that Brendan would ever willingly take part in such desecration.  I believe that the people who engage in such practices are thieves and profiteers—scoundrels who care only about exploitation and greed.  Not scholars like Brendan and his colleagues.  Their abiding interest is in preserving the past.”

    “If they really wanted to ‘preserve’ it, they’d leave it be,” I said flatly.

    “That’s your opinion,” Michaela countered.  “To which you’re certainly entitled.  But Sully, your view of the situation isn’t the only one.  Brendan is as justified in his beliefs, as you are in yours.  Neither of you is right or wrong.  You simply happen to disagree.”

    “Be that as it may, it still don’t explain why he lied,” I maintained.

    “Sully, he didn’t lie—he simply chose to withhold that part of the truth.”

    “Same thing,” I shrugged.  “The point is, why?  If he has nothing to do with desecrating these burial sites, then he has nothing to hide.”

    “I agree,” said Michaela.  “I don’t believe he has anything to hide.”

    “Then why wasn’t he honest?” I said.

    Michaela fixed me with a reproving stare.  “Perhaps,” she said quietly, “because he wanted to spare Brian?  Brendan was aware that Brian was troubled about the—handling of human remains.  I think it more than likely that he deliberately refrained from discussing such a grisly topic, so that Brian wouldn’t be upset.

    “Isn’t that what you would do?” she asked, her eyes penetrating.

    I flushed again.  She had me.  I had forgotten for the moment about Brian, and how he’d reacted to Brendan’s tales of digging up bones and skeletons.  Michaela was right—Brian would have been upset—and Brendan would have known that.

    It was my turn to be silent.  Seconds ticked past, as I tried to think of a response.  Finally I met her eyes.

    “You have a point,” I conceded slowly.  “He probably was trying to protect Brian, and I commend him for at least having common sense.  But all the same . . .”  I trailed off.

    “What?” she said.

    “I don’t trust him,” I said ominously.

    “Sully, just because you disagree with Brendan’s profession or principles—“

    “That ain’t why,” I said stubbornly.

    “Then would you please enlighten me?” she implored.  There was another long pause as I tried to scrape up the nerve to get to the heart of the matter.

    “I . . . didn’t like his attentions to you,” I said finally.  She gaped at me.

    “Attentions?” she repeated.  “What attentions?  Brendan has been a perfect gentleman since the moment we met.”

    “Maybe on the outside,” I mumbled.

    She sighed in exasperation.  “You’ve lost me, Sully.  I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

    I stared into her eyes.  “What I’m talking about, is that he’s interested, Michaela.  In you.  He’s careful not to show it—at least not much—but I can tell.”

    “That’s ridiculous,” she said, flatly dismissing the idea.

    “Is it?” I questioned, my eyes fastened on hers.  “His brother fell in love with you—why should Brendan be any different?”

    “Whatever William felt for me has absolutely no bearing on this situation,” Michaela replied.  “William and Brendan are two entirely different men, regardless of the fact that they’re related.  Sully, I only met Brendan for the first time yesterday.  I barely know him, for heaven’s sake!”

    “We didn’t know each other yet when I fell I love with you,” I reminded her.  “It may have taken me a couple of years to finally say the words, but the feeling was always there, from the beginning.”

    Her expression softened slightly.  “I accept that you may have had feelings for me from the start, Sully—and I’m honored that you cared for me.  But just because you felt that way, doesn’t mean that every man I meet is going to swoon at my feet.”  She looked at me earnestly.

    “Sully, I understand how difficult it’s been for you these past weeks—losing your memory of our original relationship, so that both of us had to—to start from scratch again.  Even as you had to cope with your returning memories of other men in my life, like William,” she began reasonably.

    “But that still doesn’t give you the right to be rude to Brendan while he’s a guest here, and humiliate me in the process—no matter how jealous you may be.  And there’s no reason for you to be jealous!” she declared.

    “You sure about that?” I asked.

    “Of course I’m sure!” she exclaimed.  “Have I done anything to suggest otherwise to you?”

    “Not exactly, but . . .”

    “What do you mean, ‘not exactly?’”

    “Michaela—“ I said reluctantly.

    “Tell me,” she insisted.

    “All right,” I capitulated.  “If you’re so bent on knowing . . .  He’s a handsome man, Michaela.  Rich, educated, cultured . . .  He’s traveled around the world, been to all these far-off places, done all these exciting things . . .  There probably ain’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be attracted to someone like that.”

    “Except for *this* woman,” she said pointedly.

    “Look—I’m willing to accept that consciously you believe that,” I said.  “But—“

    “’But--?’”

    “But I saw the effect he had on you,” I burst out, hard-put to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice.  “Does every man you meet make you blush that way?”  I stared at her piercingly.

    She looked startled, then flustered.  After a long silence she said, “If—I was blushing slightly, it was only because I was embarrassed by your behavior, and concerned that Brendan would be offended.”  Her words sounded innocent enough, but she looked acutely uncomfortable under the force of my gaze, and her eyes shifted away from me.

    “You’re saying that you didn’t find him the least bit fascinating?  I thought we weren’t going to lie to each other, Michaela,” I said.  Now she was the one on the defensive.

    “Well, certainly I found Brendan to be interesting, and very pleasant company,” she ventured.  “But as I said before, I barely know him, Sully.  Besides, he’s quite young—“

    “At least thirty—maybe more,” I said.  “That ain’t so young.”

    “Well, it’s considerably younger than I am,” she asserted.

    “Only seven years—that’s nothing out here in the West, where there’s ten men for every woman,” I argued, trying to make her feel better.  But my comment didn’t have the desired effect.  Instead, she flushed self-consciously.

    “It’s one thing for a man to be older than a woman—and quite another when it’s the woman who’s older than the man,” she said quietly.

    “Well you’re older than me, too—but it ain’t never made a difference between us—“ I began, then stopped short as I saw the injured look in her eyes.  Damnation! I fumed inwardly, cursing myself for my stupidity.  What had possessed me to say that?

    “Thank you *so* much for reminding me,” she said, her voice and posture stiff with anger and hurt.  “I wondered when the age difference between us would become an issue.”

    “It ain’t!” I exclaimed.  “Michaela, I’ve never thought about it, and I’ve never cared.  Besides, it’s only two years—“

    “Obviously you *have* thought about it, or you never would have brought it up,” she maintained stubbornly.

    “Michaela, this is crazy.  You’re a young, vital, beautiful woman, and I love you.  I always have and I always will.  Two little years between us ain’t never mattered to me, and it never will.”

    “You say that now, and perhaps you even believe it,” she said distantly.  “But what happens five years from now, Sully—or ten or fifteen?  When I’ve lost my looks and I’m no longer the woman you married?”

    “You’ll always be the beautiful woman I married,” I said softly.  “Beauty ain’t only on the outside, Michaela.  I admit—your looks take my breath away.  But I love you for *everything* you are, inside and out—and that’s never going to change.

    “Look—ain’t we got off-track here?” I went on reasonably.  “We started out talking about Brendan being dishonest, and having eyes for you, and then somehow we got into this foolish discussion about age—“

    “I don’t consider it foolish,” Michaela said coolly.  “And we started out talking about your unfortunate behavior this evening.”

    “All right, all right.  Whatever you say,” I tried to pacify her.  “We were talking about me behaving badly.  So let’s stick with that.  Let’s not waste any more time arguing about something like age.  Please?” I implored.

    “You know, I believe you were right earlier when you said that now was not the time to discuss it,” Michaela announced suddenly, rebuffing my attempt at reconciliation.  “I think perhaps it would be best if you left now and returned to the clinic.”

    “Michaela, don’t do this—“ I begged.

    “Sully, I really am quite tired,” she insisted, her eyes remote.  “Please do me the courtesy of honoring my wishes.”

    I sighed heavily, recognizing that her mind was made up.  “Okay,” I gave in.  “You win—no more arguing tonight.  But I don’t like the thought of leaving you when you’re in pain like this.  At least let me stay and take care of you—“

    “Colleen can give me all the care and help I need,” she stated.

    “Of course she can, I know she can . . .  but I’m worried about you—“

    “Don’t be,” she said shortly.  “I’ll be fine.”  With an effort, she rose to her feet, propping a crutch under one arm.  I saw her grimace slightly, and I ached to reach out and help her, but I knew she wouldn’t abide it.

    “Can—can I call on you in the morning?” I asked after a pause.

    “I’ll be coming into the clinic as usual,” she said.  “I’ll see you there.”

    “Well, can’t I at least drive you--?”

    “Matthew can drive me,” she said, bringing our encounter to a firm close.  “I’ll see you there,” she repeated.  “Good night, Sully.”  Realizing that further words were useless, I moved to the door and opened it.

    “Take care of yourself,” I said softly.  “Get some rest.”  She didn’t answer.  I stepped out onto the porch.  “Good night,” I added, but received only the closing of the door in reply.  I stood there uncertainly for a moment, then slapped the railing in frustration.

    “As long as I draw breath, I’ll never understand women,” I muttered to myself.  I stomped down the steps and began the long trek back to town.

     But I never made it.  Colorado Springs had been my destination when I started out, but the closer I got, the more I realized I didn’t want to be there.  My only reason for staying on at the clinic had been for Michaela.  Now that she was back at the homestead, there was no need for me to pass the night in town.  But that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want to be at the clinic.  Truth be told, I didn’t want to bump into Brendan every time I turned around.  In fact, it seemed to me the less time we spent together, the better.  Michaela was already furious with me for treating him the way I had.  If I were to go up against him again, without Michaela there to keep the peace—well, I didn’t know for sure what would happen.  But one thing I was convinced of—it could only lead to more trouble.  Not just between Brendan and me, but more important, between me and Michaela.

     And there was something else nudging at me—something that had nothing to do with my problems with Brendan and Michaela.  It was a feeling—one that I couldn’t really describe or put a name to.  All I knew was that I wanted—I needed—to be out in the woods.  It wasn’t just a craving to breathe the fresh air and be close to the land—though I’d keenly missed those things over the long weeks of my recovery.  It was more that I felt drawn there—though at the moment I had no clue why.

     Cloud Dancing and the Cheyenne had taught me how to listen to my inner voice, and follow my instincts.  That ability had always served me well, and I had no reason to think that this time would be any different.  Thus, as I reached the familiar fork in the road—the branch I was on heading toward town, the other doubling back and leading deeper into the woods—without hesitation I turned off and followed the latter, bound for my campsite.  I’d never had the chance to rebuild my lean-to, and I was too tired now to even think about embarking on the task.  But I wasn’t concerned.  An enormous yellow moon hung above
me, and the sky was like a clear, inverted bowl, splashed with a million twinkling lights.  The air was soft and warm.  I would have no need of a roof over my head tonight.

     I’d build a fire, make an offering to the spirits, and seek their counsel.  And wait for whatever was to come.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

     Michaela’s heart went out to Sully as he plaintively questioned her about William.  He’d had to cope with so much since this nightmare began—not least of which the constant insecurity of being unable to recall people and events from the past—his own, and the one they shared together.  She thought back to the depth of panic he’d endured when he finally regained consciousness and realized he’d lost so much of his life—and she tried to imagine how he must have felt—but discovered she could not.  Her mind simply shut down in protest—the prospect too frightening, too intimidating even to consider.  And yet somehow Sully had found the courage within himself not just to accept what had happened to him, but learn to live with it as well; even though he had no promise—not even truly a hope—that he would recover his memories someday.

     His memory loss alone would have been sufficient cause to push Sully’s strength and courage to the breaking point, Michaela mused—but he had also been forced to endure still more stress:  the emotional confusion arising out of their relationship—or ‘relationships,’ she corrected in her mind—since they’d essentially started over from the beginning when he first awakened.  Given all the obstacles that he’d had to confront—that he was still facing—was it any wonder that he appeared to feel threatened by her history with William?  She knew in her heart that what she’d had with William was over—that in truth it had never really begun, because she’d never had the feelings for him that she’d had for Sully.  But Sully didn’t know that.  He didn’t know William.  He couldn’t share her confidence that the past was over, and that all that mattered now was the present—their present.  But he could imagine what had gone on with her and William—and he could very well be picturing the worst.

     She had to reassure him, Michaela thought compassionately.  Once and for all, she had to lay Sully’s fears and insecurities to rest, and convince him that there was no other man—past or present—in her heart.

     She gazed at him tenderly, wanting more than anything to smooth the lines of anxiety from his face, and replace them with a look of confidence.  She was about to answer Sully’s question, when he suddenly spoke again.

     “I’m sorry,” he apologized rapidly.  “That came out all wrong.  I sounded like I didn’t trust you, and that’s not what I meant, Michaela—I swear.”  He took her hand and kissed it, endearing himself to her still more.

     “I know,” she told him gently.  His expression brightened at her response, but a trace of worry that he might have offended her still lingered in his eyes.

     “I just—couldn’t help bein’ curious, hearin’ about this William Burke person . . .” he faltered after a moment, abashed.

     “It’s all right,” Michaela answered.  “In fact—“  A smile tugged at her mouth.  “I rather enjoy you being a little jealous.”  He relaxed a bit more at her mild jest.  “But truly, Sully,” she added, remorseful in her turn, “I understand how you must have felt, being left out of the conversation, and I’m sorry for my part in that.”

     “You didn’t do anythin’ wrong,” he responded immediately.  “You were just—reminiscin’—‘bout an old friend.”  Sully’s words were sincere, but Michaela could still sense the strain and tension he was feeling—in the set of his jaw, and the way he compulsively fingered the string of beads hanging around his neck, rubbing them over and over.  He confirmed her observation after a moment’s hesitation.  “He *was* just a friend, right?” Sully asked, not quite able to hide his apprehension as he waited for her reply.

     Michaela hastened to reassure him.  “Yes, he was a friend,” she said.  “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.”

     His relief was palpable.  “Really?” he said, as if he hardly dared believe it.

     “Really, truly,” Michaela told him, her love for him glowing in the force of her smile.

     “Well, then, that’s good enough for me,” he said, clearly anxious to prove to her that she needn’t explain herself to him further.

     Michaela was moved by Sully’s sincere attempt to put his questions about the past aside, and place his trust solely in her.  And part of her was strongly tempted to take Sully at his word, and avoid going into her relationship with William.  It had ended long ago, after all, and posed no threat to the commitment she and Sully had made to one another.  Was it really necessary to dredge up this particular piece of the past?

     But even as she posed the question to herself, she knew the answer.  Yes, she had to tell him—to clear the air—precisely *because* William was not Sully’s rival, and she needed him to know that.  But more important, she had to tell Sully because he had a right to know.  He had been there, he had lived through it with her.  And while there was no guarantee that Sully would recover his memories of their time in Boston; at least by telling him the entire story she could prove to him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had been the one to capture her heart.

     Michaela gazed into Sully’s eyes.  “That’s very generous of you,” she said sincerely.  “But you certainly deserve an explanation of my relationship with William, and I’ll gladly tell you everything.”  She paused.  “If you want to hear it,” she added, allowing him to make the choice.

     It was Sully’s turn to hesitate.  “Well . . .” he finally said, unable to disguise his desire to know the truth.

     Impulsively Michaela squeezed his hand.  “It’s all right,” she reassured him.  “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.”

     Sully ‘s eyes flooded with gratitude and love.  “Then I want to hear it,” he said with a tremulous smile.  “And anythin’ else you’re willing to tell me.  I want to know every precious moment I’ve had with you, whether I remember myself, or relive it through your words.”  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.  “I’m selfish, Michaela,” he added more softly, staring passionately 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.”

     Michaela’s eyes glistened at his words, and emotion swelled inside her, making it difficult to speak.  But after a moment she managed, “I’ve been praying for nothing else since you awakened and we realized your memory was gone.  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 met—“  She saw Sully’s face redden at her praise, even as he looked deeply moved.

     “Not half as much as you’ve done for me,” he replied softly.  “I may not remember it—yet—but it’s somethin’ I know in my heart.  I thought I’d never love anyone again after Abagail,” he ventured after a pause.  “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.”

     Michaela  traced the curve of his cheekbone with her fingertips.  “You’ll forever be in my heart as well,” she softly pledged in return.  Sully cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, then pressed his forehead to hers.  When they reluctantly drew apart several moments later and Michaela had a chance to collect herself, she added, “Shall I tell you about William now?”  Her fingers strayed to Sully’s hair, her touch feather-light as she brushed a lock away from his temple.

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

     Though the prospect of food had little appeal to Michaela, her stomach still feeling the faint vestiges of the upset that had plagued her earlier in the day, the thought of a candlelight evening alone with Sully made her heart race in anticipation.

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

     Sully gave her a devastating smile, then lifted her into his arms, cradling her close.  Michaela laid her head against his shoulder, embracing him tightly.

     “One romantic evening coming up,” he whispered to her seductively, and carried her away.

* * * * * * * * * *

     Michaela lay awake, replaying their evening together in her mind, and marveling at the unexpected but thrilling way it had concluded.  She knew that downstairs in the examination room, Sully—believing her to be asleep—sat hunched over his journal in the soft illumination of  the desk lamp.  She wondered if he was writing about everything that had happened between them in the past twenty-four hours, culminating with the startling outcome of their discussion a short time before.  She imagined he probably was, but it seemed to her that to document all the amazing twists and turns their lives had taken in so short a span of time, Sully would have to sit there writing for a week or more.  Then again, Michaela thought with an indulgent smile, Sully was a man of few words—far fewer than she, at any rate!

     She thought back to how they’d lain together “spoon fashion” after supper—and a delightful shiver coursed through her as she remembered the smoldering look in Sully’s eyes, and the exciting sensation of his body against hers as he’d wrapped his arms around her.  She recalled their mutual declarations of love and forgiveness for the hurts they had caused one another.  They had sealed their ardent apologies with a heartfelt kiss that left her breathless.

    Michaela would have been content to stay that way forever, and knew that Sully felt the same—but finally they had agreed to discuss William, so that they could put her past with him aside, once and for all.

    The conversation started innocently enough, with Michaela explaining how she had received a  telegram from her oldest sister Rebecca stating that their mother was gravely ill, prompting her and the children to immediately begin preparing for a journey to Boston.  She recalled for him how she’d tried to be calm and brave—to mask the fear and panic swirling around inside her—and how it had all fallen apart when her anxiety over her mother’s condition had caused her to break down, and flee the homestead in tears.  Eyes soft with love, she related to Sully how he had followed her outside and offered her comfort.  He had always been such a private person up to that point in their friendship, finding it difficult—perhaps even impossible at times—to talk about himself or his feelings.  But in his tender desire to reassure her of her own strength and courage, he had departed from his usual reticence that day, and confided surprising details to her of his own past—the deaths of his parents, and his resultant decision to come west, when just a child himself.  As Michaela reiterated the essence of that earlier conversation for Sully, she told him how moved she’d been, that he’d been willing to share the hidden part of himself with her, just to make her feel better.

    Touched by her gratitude, Sully responded in his turn that he’d been unwilling to trust anyone but the Cheyenne, until she came along.  Something about Sully’s tone, or his turn of phrase, prompted Michaela to suddenly wonder if a memory had returned to him.

    And that’s when it had happened—the small miracle with such enormous implications for their future.

    Sully made a startling confession to her, admitting that he’d had some “visions” of the past—for lack of a better description.  He explained that the images had come into his mind immediately after her revelation to him that morning that he was the author of the telegram—and the man she loved.

    His confession sparked her own memory of their confrontation, and how the strangeness of his manner in that moment, had elicited her powerful hunch that a recollection had returned to him.  But despite her near-certainty that he had remembered something, Sully—in his anger that she’d withheld the truth from him about their relationship—had coldly denied the return of any of his memories.  His abrupt departure moments later, devastating her with guilt and remorse that she might have driven him away forever, had pushed everything from Michaela’s mind but her fear that she had damaged their relationship beyond repair.  As the day progressed, Michaela had been far too preoccupied by the emotional discord between them, as well as the lingering effects of her hangover, to think about her earlier suspicions that Sully might be regaining his memories.  In fact, those thoughts had vanished from her mind completely, until Sully himself reminded her by making his stunning admission.

    Michaela’s initial shock at Sully’s revelation quickly gave way to excitement, as she eagerly asked him if he recalled the content of his “visions.”  Sully began to speak, and she sat in wonder as she heard him describe with great accuracy several vignettes from their past:  her initial arrival in town, and how she’d fallen in the mud; Black Kettle’s comment—upon being told by Sully that she was a medicine woman from the east—that she must be a “crazy white woman;” being together out in the woods as Sully brushed her tangled hair after she’d fallen and broken her wrist on their sojourn to Harding’s Mill; and how they had dined and sipped champagne together in an elegant restaurant, when they had been in Boston.

    Many of the details were still missing for Sully—specifically the circumstances surrounding these various events.  He even assumed that he must have imagined being dressed in a fine suit and escorting her to a fancy restaurant, since he had no memory of owning such an outfit, and no establishment fitting his description existed in or around Colorado Springs.

    But then it had been Michaela’s turn to fill in the missing pieces—to assure him that each of these “visions” were not visions at all—but genuine memories of times they’d spent together.  And miraculously, the more she spoke, the more Sully began to recall—till in their mutual excitement they were nearly stumbling over one another in their rush to relate the details of their shared memories.

    So overcome with joy at Sully’s “breakthrough” that she feared she couldn’t handle any more, Michaela finally asked Sully if he remembered anything else.  And that’s when he related to her the most cherished memory of all:  his original proposal of marriage to her in the sweat lodge.

    Her cheeks wet with tears that Sully had recalled the first time he’d proposed to her, coupled with his declaration of love for her now, Michaela had wanted nothing more than to continue exploring Sully’s past with him.  But Sully, discerning that her ankle was giving her pain even though she’d sought to hide it, had insisted that she needed rest, and further conversation could keep till another time.  As he lovingly pointed out, giving her a kiss, they had “all the time in the world.”

    Now, lying in bed, Michaela felt the warmth of Sully’s love wrapping her like a blanket.  She wished that he were by her side, instead of below her in the clinic.  But she was content in her knowledge of his devotion, just as she knew in her heart that eventually all of Sully’s memories would come back to him.  For the first time since the beginning of this painful ordeal, she dared to believe that a bright future awaited them.  And on the strength of this joyful thought, Michaela finally drifted off to sleep.