Thursday, 29 March, 1870

    In the instant before he appeared, I knew what it was that had brought me here.  My heart feeling suddenly lighter, I looked up through the aromatic smoke of my campfire and saw the figure of my brother emerge from behind a screen of trees.  I stood up with one fluid motion, and waited for him, a smile burning fiercely on my face.  An answering smile lit Cloud Dancing’s eyes as he closed the few yards to where I stood.  We embraced tightly, a wealth of unspoken emotion charging the air between us.  After a moment Cloud Dancing stepped back, his hands lightly grasping my arms, and studied me keenly.

    “You are much better,” he said, nodding his head in satisfaction.  “I am glad.”

    I looked back at him in gratitude.  “More than that, Cloud Dancing.  I’m completely recovered.  And I got you to thank for a lot of it.”

    “Michaela saved you,” my friend said modestly.

    “You BOTH saved me,” I insisted, looking at him steadily.  “Even through the worst of it, Cloud Dancing, I always knew that.”

    “I am grateful I was able to get you to Michaela in time,” he responded, appearing to find it hard to accept my thanks.

    I gestured toward the campfire, eyebrows raised.  He nodded, and we both sat down, legs crossed, facing each other across the flames.

    “Cloud Dancing,” I resumed earnestly, “You did more than just get me to Michaela. You kept me alive.  And when I was lying unconscious all that time, you helped Michaela to understand what was wrong with me, and what she needed to do to bring me back.”

    “I lied to you when you were consumed by fever and sickness,” Cloud Dancing said gravely.  “Then later, I betrayed your confidence.”

    “I don’t look at it as lying,” I responded.  “I see it as you doing whatever was necessary to give me a reason to keep fighting.  And as for ‘betraying my confidence’—you were willing to risk losing my friendship, my trust—to save my life.  That ain’t a sin, Cloud Dancing—it’s a sacrifice.  A big one.  But you were willing to make it for my sake.”

    His eyes kindled with gratitude, and I saw them shine in the firelight, though he said nothing.

    “I ain’t angry at you,” I went on more quietly.  “I’m grateful to you—more than I can say.  And it worked, Cloud Dancing.  I’m well now, thanks to you.  Even my memory’s coming back, more every day.”  I looked at him intently.  “You knew about that—about me losing my memory—didn’t you?” I asked, strangely certain of his answer even as I posed the question.  Just as I was equally certain that his visit to me hadn’t been a dream or a hallucination, but a reality.  “I don’t think I told you what had happened to me, when you came to see me that night . . . but you knew anyway.”

    “You did not tell me,” he confirmed.  “But afterward, as the days passed, I could sense something wrong.  Each time I called upon the spirits, asking for a vision to guide me . . . each time I tried to picture you in my mind—I  saw nothing but a strange mist swirling around you, concealing you from my sight.  After a time, the spirits helped me to understand that this strange mist was in your mind, closing you off from your past, from me . . . and most of all, from Michaela.”

    “Yeah,” I said softly.  “Except I wasn’t just ‘closed off’ from Michaela—I lost my memories of her completely.  I was so confused about Michaela and Abagail—so afraid that if I married Michaela I’d repeat the past—that I blocked out my past with Michaela altogether.  White folks got a saying:  ‘What you don’t know won’t hurt you,’” I quoted.

    “But it’s going to be all right now,” I went on confidently, anxious to reassure my friend and brother that I was both recovered, and content.  “I understand what happened to me—the fear that stole my memories—and I’ve made my peace with it.  I’m not afraid of the future any more.  Maybe marrying Michaela is a risk—but no more of a risk than anything else in life.  Besides, a life without Michaela . . . well, it wouldn’t be any kind of life—least not for me,” I added.

    “I see this new confidence that shines from your eyes,” Cloud Dancing observed.  “I see that you are looking to the future.  That is good . . .”

    “But?” I interjected, voicing the thought he’d left unspoken.

    He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement of my insight.  After a moment he said quietly, “But I also see something else.  I see that things are still . . . out of balance for you.  The spirits do not tell me why this is so.  I know only that something—or someone—threatens to keep you and Michaela apart.”

    BRENDAN, said a voice in my mind.  I felt a flush of renewed anger, yet at the same time I felt vindicated.  If Cloud Dancing could sense that Brendan’s presence in our lives meant trouble, even without knowing anything about him—then surely I hadn’t imagined the threat he posed to Michaela and me.

    “There’s someone new in town,” I began slowly.  “He came out here with Michaela’s ma.  He was on his way to a job waiting for him in Mesa Verde—but now he seems to be thinking about staying on here—least for a while.  He’s interested in Michaela,” I added darkly.

    “This troubles you,” Cloud Dancing said, his eyes penetrating.

    “Yeah, kind of,” I admitted.

    “Does Michaela have feelings for this man?” my brother asked, going to the heart of the matter with his usual directness.

    “No!” I said quickly, wondering belatedly who I was trying to convince more—Cloud Dancing or myself.

    “You have no doubts?” Cloud Dancing persisted.

    “I know Michaela loves me,” I said.  “I know what we got between us is strong.  But we’ve already fought once over this man—and I’m afraid it might happen again.”  Cloud Dancing waited.

    “All right,” I conceded reluctantly after a pause.  “Maybe there *is* a slight attraction there.  But I don’t believe she’s drawn by his looks, so much as by what he represents.  He’s the brother of the doctor she was involved with in Boston—the one who helped treat her ma when she was sick.  I think maybe Michaela’s inclined to like Brendan Burke, because she was so fond of his brother William.”

    “Is this Brendan also a doctor?” my brother inquired.

    “No—far from it,” I answered, irritated again as I pictured Brendan combing the countryside, looking for Cheyenne burial sites and whatever else he could get his hands on.

    “What is his work?” Cloud Dancing asked curiously, noting my disparaging tone.

    “He’s what’s known as an ‘archaeologist,’” I replied.  I noted by my brother’s raised eyebrow that he was unfamiliar with the word.  “He travels around the world, visiting ruins of ancient cities and burial sites, and digs them up,” I elaborated.

    “Why does he do this?” Cloud Dancing inquired further, clearly puzzled.

    “To search for ancient artifacts—like tools or pottery—or human remains,” I replied derisively.  “He claims that studying them teaches us about man’s early history on earth.”

    “And this makes you angry?”

    “Yeah, it makes me angry—when I think about him taking human bones or remains from their final resting place and putting them on display in some museum—just so he can satisfy his curiosity, or give people something to gawk at,” I said vehemently.  “Up to now, he’s been doing most of his digging in a far-off place called Egypt—but it looks like he’s got it into his head to do the same thing here with  the Cheyenne burial sites—if there’s any left to find,” I added bitterly.

    Cloud Dancing nodded slightly.  “Uh hunh.”

    “They got no right, Cloud Dancing,” I declared self-righteously.  “Brendan says that he—and others like him—treat the remains they find with reverence.  But if they truly had respect for the dead, they wouldn’t violate their burial sites and take the bodies away from where they belong.”

    “And this is the only reason for your anger?” my brother asked mildly.

    “Ain’t it enough?” I said.

    “Disturbing the resting places of our ancestors is an affront to the spirits,” Cloud Dancing agreed.  “It is understandable that you would be angry, revering the spirits of my people as you do.  But I think that something else troubles you as well—perhaps even more than what you have told me.”  His dark eyes—deep with wisdom—studied me closely, seeming to see clear through to what was in my heart.  I wasn’t surprised at his insight.  Cloud Dancing had always been able to read what I was feeling inside—often before I knew or understood it myself.  I was silent for several moments, trying to sort through my emotions and find the right words to express myself.

    “You’re right,” I conceded finally.  “I *am* worried, a little.  This fellow Brendan—he’s got a lot going for him, Cloud Dancing.  He’s young, rich, good-looking, cultured—with a fancy education besides.  He’s the total opposite of me—and just the kind of man to capture Michaela’s interest.”

    “But you said that you know Michaela loves you,” Cloud Dancing reminded me.  I sighed.

“I do—I know she loves me,” I acknowledged.  “But—“

    “If Michaela is the woman you believe her to be, do you think she would let her head be turned by this stranger—simply because he is handsome, or has wealth?” Cloud Dancing asked.

    “No,” I admitted.  “Michaela ain’t impressed by things like that—least she’s never appeared to be.  But her and Brendan—they come from the same background, the same world,” I went on.  “They understand each other.  They got a lot in common . . . a lot more than we do.  It’s like you always said, Cloud Dancing—folks recognize members of their own tribe.  And maybe—maybe it’s best to stick with your own kind,” I finished softly.

    “And do you think Michaela believes she should be with her ‘own kind?’” said my brother.

    I bit my lip.  “No—well, maybe—I don’t know,” I said, awash in the tumult of my insecurity.  “William had the same kind of appeal for her—and she wound up turning him down and coming back to Colorado Springs.  But he was way off in Boston.  It was probably easy for Michaela to put William out of her mind, without him being around to give her a constant reminder of what they’d had together.  But Brendan—he’s right here.  Not a rosy memory, but flesh and blood.  Sometimes I think . . .”  My voice trailed off.

    “Tell me,” my brother urged.

    I swallowed.  “Sometimes—I think that what I have to offer Michaela . . . well, that it ain’t enough.  I don’t have the book-learning to be able to talk to her the way Brendan does—or William, or even her old fiance, David.  And hard as I aim to work to provide for her and the kids, I’ll never be able to give her the kind of life she grew up with—that she’s used to.  I can’t help wondering if she’ll end up being unhappy or discontented, tying herself to me.  Maybe—maybe I don’t got the right to ask her to make that kind of sacrifice,” I finished, barely above a whisper.

    “Why did Michaela come west?” Cloud Dancing asked unexpectedly.

    I glanced up at him, startled.  After a pause I replied, “She came out here to build her own practice—to get away from the people who wouldn’t let her do her doctoring because she was a woman.  She came out here to have her own life.”

    “It seems to me then, that Michaela made her choice long ago,” Cloud Dancing observed.  “If she was happy with the life she was living in Boston, would she have turned her back on it to come here?”

    “I suppose not,” I conceded.  Cloud Dancing was watching me intently.

    “I think, perhaps, that what is standing between you and Michaela is not this man—but you,” he pointed out gently.  “You are allowing your jealousy and your distrust of this man to drive you and Michaela apart.  Once again, my brother, you are not giving Michaela credit for having her own mind.  You see yourself as inferior to this Brendan—and so you conclude that Michaela must see you the same way.  But to persist in such a belief, you are not being fair to Michaela—or to yourself.”

    I shook my head, marveling again at my brother’s perceptiveness.  “How is it that you can see things so clearly—even when it all seems so muddy to me?” I asked him with a small, sheepish smile.

    “We rarely see the things that are closest to us,” Cloud Dancing remarked.  “Sometimes we need another person to take our hand and show us the way.”

    “You been showing me the way for a long time now,” I said gratefully.  “Lots of times I wonder what would have happened to me if I didn’t have your friendship or wisdom to guide me.”

    “You would have survived,” Cloud Dancing said confidently.  “Your spirit is strong—too strong to surrender to fear or doubt.”

    “You really believe that?” I asked quietly.

    “I know that,” he said.

    I sat pensively for several moments, considering all my brother had said.  Finally I met his eyes.  “Deep inside, I know you’re right.  I ain’t giving up on Michaela—or on the two of us having a life together—not after all we’ve been through.  I guess this thing with Brendan is just another—bump in the road.”

    “It is good to hear you say that,” Cloud Dancing commented.  His eyes were approving.

    I gave him a crooked smile.  “It’s going to be all right,” I said.  “You don’t got to worry about me, Cloud Dancing.  Michaela and me will find a way to work through this, just like we done with all the troubles we’ve had in the past.”

    “You will,” he agreed.  “And the spirits will help you.”

    “Just like you helped me,” I said sincerely.  “But enough of this,” I suddenly announced, changing the subject.  “I want to know about you—if you’re alright, if you’re safe.  And if you got any news on Custer or Bloody Knife.  Stuck in the clinic the way I been all these weeks, I’ve had no way of knowing what’s been going on.”

    Cloud Dancing nodded.  “Ah, yes—the yellow hair and the scout,” he replied soberly.  “You are right, my younger brother—we need to talk.”

* * * * * * * * * *

     I looked at him sharply.  “What’s happened?” I asked.  “Did you find out what became of Bloody Knife?”  A chilling thought struck me.  “Cloud Dancing—did he come after you?” I said urgently.  “Him, or maybe Custer?”

     “I do not know what happened to Bloody Knife,” my brother replied.  “A few days after the attack I returned to the place where we had left him—but he was gone.”

     “Well that’s good—ain’t it?” I said.  “Least we know he ain’t dead, so there’s no way Custer can come along later and accuse us of killing him.”

     “I would like to believe that,” Cloud Dancing began soberly, “but I am afraid we cannot be sure Bloody Knife is still alive.   The long-hair and his men could have found Bloody Knife’s lifeless body and buried it.  The long-hair could have even killed his scout himself, so that he could blame us for his death.”

     I was silent for a moment, absorbing this dismal theory.  Presently I asked, “Do you got reason to believe Custer found Bloody Knife before you could get back there?  Have you seen him?”

     Cloud Dancing nodded.  “I have been shadowing the long-hair and his unit since I discovered Bloody Knife was missing,” he said.  “They have been combing through the hills in search of me.”

     “Did they spot you?” I said quickly.

     He shook his head.  “If they had, I would not be here,” he answered, a touch of irony in his eyes.  “But the yellow-hair is determined.  He will not give up until he gets his revenge on us.”

     “I suppose you’re right,” I agreed.  “But it’s strange,” I went on thoughtfully.  “Custer hasn’t come after me since all this happened.  If he’s so set on making us pay for Bloody Knife, then it seems he would  have come looking for me a long time ago.  I mean, I was right there—a sitting duck.”

     “Are you sure of this?” my friend asked solemnly.

     “That he ain’t come looking for me?  Yeah, I’m sure—“ I started to reply, then broke off, my eyes narrowing.   I suddenly remembered a day shortly after I’d regained consciousness, when Michaela had come to my room to examine me.  I had no memory of her then, so I barely “knew” her—but even so, I’d been able to tell how tense and nervous she was.  I’d asked if she was all right, and she’d admitted to having a visitor she “didn’t want to see.”  But though I’d tried to find out more—and had even offered to send this person away for her—she’d refused to say anything else, and then she’d made light of it and changed the subject.  I found myself wondering now if Custer had been the unwelcome visitor, and if he’d tried to threaten or frighten her.  Something in my gut told me I was right, and my heart twisted inside as I thought of her facing him alone, unable to tell me the truth or ask for my help, because of her desire to protect me.

     I felt my face flush as anger toward Custer coiled inside me.  If he’d done anything to hurt or scare Michaela in any way . . .  My hands curled into fists.

     “What is it?” Cloud Dancing said, as he saw my mood and expression alter.

     Quickly I related my recollection and my suspicions to him.  “What do you think?” I added as I finished.  “Do you believe it’s possible that Custer tried to get to me through Michaela?”

     My friend’s eyes were sober.  “I think it is—‘a good bet’—as the long-hair from the saloon says,” he replied.

     “Well, I intend to find out,” I vowed.  “First thing tomorrow, when I see Michaela, I’m going to ask her to tell me everything.”

     “I believe—that you will need to do more than that,” Cloud Dancing ventured gravely after a moment.

     “What do you mean?” I asked, disturbed by my brother’s ominous tone.

     “I think you must keep a close eye on Michaela and her family,” he said.  “The long-hair is trouble—but so is Bloody Knife, if he is still alive.  The scout does the long-hair’s bidding—but he also wants revenge for himself.  He may seek to take his revenge on you, through the people you love.”

     Despite the warmth of the campfire, and the mildness of the night, I suddenly felt cold all over.  Here I’d been childishly worrying about Michaela being attracted to another man, and all this time she could have been in mortal danger from a far more menacing threat.

     “I’ve got to get back to the homestead,” I said rapidly.  “I don’t want Michaela or the kids alone even one more night.”

     “That is wise,” Cloud Dancing agreed.

     “But what about you?” I said, looking at him in concern.  “You’re in just as much danger—more even.  Custer could shoot you on sight, if he finds you.  And we already know what Bloody Knife’s capable of.”

     “Do not worry about me,” he said calmly.  “I will continue to remain in hiding.  You must think of Michaela now.”

     We stood and grasped forearms.  “Thank you, Cloud Dancing,” I said.  “For the warning—and for everything.”

     “Be well, my brother,” he said.

     “And you be safe,” I answered.  We embraced once more, and then like a wraith, he disappeared back into the woods.  Quickly I folded my bedroll, then broke off a slender limb from a nearby tree and used the leaves to brush away the evidence of our footprints.  Finally I extinguished the campfire, using the moon’s illumination to glance one more at the campsite and make sure I hadn’t left any other signs of our presence.  Satisfied at last that I’d concealed our visit as well as I was able, I hefted my bedroll over my shoulder and stole off into the trees, headed back in the direction from which I’d come.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

     For several seconds Michaela stood staring at the door after it closed upon Sully, the palm of her hand pressed against its weathered surface.  She heard the muffled sound of his boot heels crossing the porch, then a momentary pause, followed by a sharp bang! that made her jump.  The crosspiece of the crutch propped under her other arm bit uncomfortably into her skin, but she didn’t notice, being consumed with curiosity about what Sully could be doing outside.  After a second, briefer pause, she heard the staccato sound of his boots once again, sharply descending the steps.

     He’s angry, she thought.  Well, so am I!  Oh yes, she thought again, she was angry—and frustrated and confused and who knew what else.  How could Sully have been so tender, so loving, just hours ago, and then turn into this stranger that she didn’t know tonight?  Why must he persist in being jealous, when time and again she’d sworn that she loved him and only him?  What else must she do to prove her fidelity?  She’d brought him back from the brink of death.  She’d endured his anger and his rejection to protect his fragile mental state, though it had nearly broken her heart.  What must she finally do, to prove to Sully once and for all that her love—and her commitment—were forever?

    Angry tears came to her eyes and rapidly she blinked them away.  She would NOT cry over that man tonight—not after the things he’d said, the way he’d behaved, how he had humiliated her . . .  Awkwardly Michaela maneuvered herself around and moved haltingly across the room, making her painstaking way to where her medical bag rested on the sideboard.   With her free hand she released the catch, then reached inside, her fingers trailing over the familiar shapes of her bottles and instruments until they found the small vial of laudanum.  She withdrew it, double-checking the label to be sure she had the right bottle.  A sudden stab of pain in her ankle made her inhale sharply.  “Damn!” she swore softly under her breath, profoundly grateful there was no one in the room to hear her.  Wincing, Michaela hobbled toward the rocker by the fireplace.

     With a gusty sigh of relief she lowered herself into the chair, leaning her crutch against the adjacent table.  She glanced down at the vial of  laudanum in her hand, preparing to remove the stopper, then suddenly realized she had neglected to get herself a glass.  “Damn!” she repeated.  Frowning in annoyance, Michaela took a deep breath and reached for the crutch, readying herself to get up once again.

     “Ma?” came Colleen’s tentative voice behind her.  Startled, Michaela lost her grip on the crutch and it clattered to the floor as she abruptly sat back down in the rocker.

     “Colleen!” she exclaimed softly, her heart pounding.  “I didn’t know you were there.”

     “Didn’t mean to scare you—I’m sorry,” her daughter apologized, hastening over to where the crutch lay at her mother’s feet.  She picked it up and propped it by the side of the fireplace.  “Are you all right, Ma?” she added, noticing the bottle of medicine in Michaela’s lap.

     “Oh, yes—I’m fine,” Michaela answered, her pulse beginning to return to something approaching its normal rhythm.  “My ankle aches a bit.  I was just going to take a dose of laudanum, but I—“ she shrugged and smiled sheepishly.  “I forgot a glass.”

     “I’ll get it for you,” Colleen said promptly.  She went quickly to one of the kitchen cupboards and took down a glass, then returned to her mother’s side.  Removing the stopper from the vial of laudanum, she poured a small amount into the bottom of the glass, then handed the dose of medication to Michaela.

     “I’ll put on the kettle for tea,” Colleen offered as Michaela gratefully accepted and swallowed the medicine.

     “Thank you, Colleen,” she said, smiling up at her daughter.  “A cup of tea would be lovely.”  She leaned her head back against the headrest of the rocker, closing her eyes and listening to the sound of water from the pump splashing into the sink, and the clatter of the tea kettle as Colleen put the water on to boil.

     Suddenly sensing a presence beside her, Michaela opened her eyes to see Colleen looking down at her hesitantly.

     “Is something troubling you, Colleen?” she asked.

     “No, not exactly . . .  Truth is, I was wonderin’ if somethin’ was troublin’ you,” Colleen responded, flustered.

     “Thank you for being concerned, Colleen, but as I told you, my ankle just aches a little—“  Michaela broke off as she saw the expression in Colleen’s eyes.  “Oh,” she said quietly.  “Sully.  You heard.”

     Colleen dropped her eyes.  “A little, yeah,” she confessed.

     Michaela flashed her a guilty look.  “I’m sorry you had to hear us argue.  I didn’t mean for that to happen.”  Suddenly she stared at Colleen in consternation.  “Oh dear—then Brian must have heard as well,” she added, her guilt increasing as she remembered how much it troubled Brian on the rare occasions she and Sully fought.

     “He didn’t hear much,” Colleen told her, attempting to assuage her mother’s concern.  “I was readin’ him a story.  He dozed off before I finished the chapter.  He was sleepin’ for a while before Sully left.”

     What you really mean, is that Brian fell asleep before our argument reached its climax, Michaela thought, touched by her daughter’s tact, but angry at herself for the unfortunate scene with Sully.  Well, at least she could be grateful that Brian hadn’t heard the sharp words which had passed between them.

     “That’s a relief,” she said to her daughter now.  “Thank you, Colleen, for—distracting him.”

     “That’s all right,” Colleen replied with a supportive smile.  Steam began to issue from the kettle, and she went to the stove and took it off the fire.  She crumbled tea leaves into a cup and then poured in the water.  A few moments later she brought the fragrantly steaming cup to her mother.

     “Chamomile,” Michaela said with pleasure, recognizing the aroma.

     “I thought it would relax you,” Colleen said helpfully.

     “You thought exactly right,” Michaela told her approvingly.  She took a ginger sip of the hot liquid.  “Perfect,” she pronounced.

     Colleen blushed, pleased.

     “There’s no need for you to stay up with me,” Michaela said after a moment.  “You must be tired.”

     “Not that tired,” Colleen replied.  “But—if you’d rather be alone . . .”

     “Not at all,” Michaela assured her.  “I’d love to have you keep me company for a while.  Pour yourself a cup of tea and join me.”

     “Thanks, Ma,” Colleen said.  She prepared a second cup of tea, and then rejoined her mother by the fire, pulling up another chair and seating herself.  A brief silence fell between the two women as they sipped their tea, each preoccupied with her own thoughts.

     Michaela could sense Colleen’s powerful curiosity about what had transpired between herself and Sully.  She knew she owed her daughter an explanation, but it seemed there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t put both Sully and herself in a deeply unflattering light.  The things they’d said to each other echoed in her mind, sounding more petty and childish each time she thought about them.  Privately Michaela had to admit to herself that she had been as much at fault as Sully—perhaps more.  But the way he’d tried to suggest that there was something between her and Brendan!  How foolish!--even insulting—for him to think that her head would be turned by any attractive man she happened to meet.  She sympathized with Sully’s insecurities—she did.  He’d been through a terrible ordeal; one that had cost him in ways she probably couldn’t even imagine.  But that still hadn’t given him the right to be so rude to a guest in her home, to embarrass her in front of a stranger.  Sully had to learn to harness his jealousy; to stop being so uncertain—even distrustful—of her commitment to him.  Because if he didn’t . . .  Well, she didn’t know what she would do.  But Sully’s recurring episodes of jealousy were increasingly disturbing to her.

     However now was not the time to brood over Sully’s insecurities and her own frustrations.  Her daughter was awaiting an explanation—silently asking for Michaela’s assurance that her relationship was Sully was sound.  After all the pain and uncertainty of the last few weeks—which had no doubt been as much of a strain on the children as it had been for Sully and herself—Michaela believed she owed her daughter and sons that much.

     “Colleen—“ she began.
 
     "Ma,” Colleen said in the same moment.  They broke off and stared at each other, then laughed self-consciously.  After a moment Michaela spoke again.

     “I imagine you were going to ask about Sully and myself—what happened between us,” she said to Colleen kindly.  Her daughter nodded after a fraction’s hesitation.

     “I don’t mean to pry . . .” Colleen ventured.

    “It’s all right,” Michaela went on, giving her an encouraging smile.  “It’s only natural that you’re curious, Colleen.  You have a right to know why Sully and I argued.

    “Though I don’t know that my answer will make much sense,” she continued with a sigh.  “Since I’m not entirely sure I understand it myself.”

    “Well, it sounded—from what I heard—like you were angry about what Sully said to Mr. Burke,” Colleen said cautiously.  “I wasn’t eavesdroppin’, Ma—I swear—“

    “I know that, Colleen,” Michaela said soothingly.  “You couldn’t help but hear.  Sully and I hardly endeavored to keep our voices lowered.  That was our fault, not yours.”

    “At any rate, you’re correct—I was distressed at Sully’s behavior,” Michaela resumed after a pause.  “And I told him so.  He had no right to treat a guest like that—especially one who had generously done my mother the service of escorting her on that long journey from Boston.”

    “Sully seemed pretty mad—about Mr. Burke disturbin’ the Cheyenne burial grounds,” Colleen commented.

    “Yes, he was—and I sympathize with his feelings,” Michaela replied.  “I understand better now than I ever have before, the pain that Sully endured over Washita and its aftermath—and my heart aches for his loss.

    “But Sully’s objection to Brendan’s profession—well, that’s only part of the reason why he’s so upset.  And not the greatest part, I fear.”  She looked into her daughter’s eyes.  “Sully has the foolish—and mistaken!--impression that Brendan is interested in me,” she confessed.  “More than that, he believes that I return the interest.”  Colleen watched her, but didn’t reply.

    “Well, of course it’s ludicrous!” Michaela exclaimed self-consciously, a tell-tale blush coloring her cheeks.  “Brendan and I barely know one another.  He was simply being a gentleman, and I was being cordial to an invited guest.  Sully should understand that,” she added, a self-righteous note in her voice.

    “Maybe . . . he was thinkin’ about William?” Colleen said softly.

    Michaela sighed.  “Yes, he said something to that effect.  But it’s so foolish, Colleen.  For Sully to accuse me of caring for Brendan just because I was involved with his brother William—well, that’s tantamount to me suggesting that Sully could love one of my sisters, simply because he claims to loves me.”

    “Claims?” Colleen repeated, looking troubled.

    “Forgive me,” Michaela said quickly.  “That was a poor choice of words.  Sully loves me—I know that.  But right now that love seems to be inextricably tangled up with his insecurities about our future.  I can’t seem to convince him that my love is true—that my commitment to him is genuine.  And, quite frankly, I’m at my wit’s end as to what I should do.”

    “Well, like you said, Sully’s been through a real bad time,” Colleen reminded her.  “Maybe he’s scared.  ‘Specially with losin’ his memory of how you loved each other, and havin’ to start again from the beginnin’.  Maybe he’s still afraid of losin’ everythin’ that matters to him, after comin’ so close once before.

    “And Mr. Burke—well, he’s so handsome, and interestin’ . . .”  Colleen’s voice drifted off, and she stared down at her lap, blushing.

     Michaela regarded her daughter thoughtfully.  “You think Mr. Burke is handsome?” she asked.

     Colleen looked up at her, eyes shining.  “Don’t you?” she said eagerly.

     “Well, yes—that is, he’s certainly a fine figure of a man,” Michaela acknowledged a bit awkwardly.  “But just because I may find him attractive, doesn’t mean—“  She stopped speaking, looking at Colleen closely.  The young girl’s eyes were sparkling, and scarlet roses bloomed in her cheeks.  “Are you—sweet on Mr. Burke, Colleen?” Michaela asked softly after a moment.

     Colleen bit her lip and glanced away, and Michaela had her answer.  Clearly, the young girl was smitten.  After a few moments she looked back at Michaela shyly.

     “I like him,” she admitted softly.  “I think he’s real nice.  But—I know he’d never look at somebody like me,” she went on. “The whole time he was here tonight—he didn’t even notice me.”  The small, sad note of resignation in her voice tugged at Michaela’s heart.

     She regarded her daughter with a mixture of empathy and tenderness.  She had been so preoccupied with her own concerns, that Colleen’s reaction to Brendan had entirely escaped her notice.  Now that she realized, however, it seemed so obvious—even inevitable.  A man as dashing, as fascinating—as Brendan Burke, could not fail but have a powerful impact on a sensitive, impressionable young girl like Colleen.

     But though Michaela both understood and sympathized with Colleen’s infatuation, it was also her reluctant duty to make Colleen understand that her attraction to Brendan could have no future—that a relationship with a man so much older and sophisticated was out of the question.

     “Well first of all, Colleen, I don’t agree that Mr. Burke would never, as you say, ‘look at somebody like you,’” she began kindly.  “You’re a lovely, intelligent, sensitive young woman—and if circumstances were different, I have no doubt that Mr. Burke would not only be honored by your admiration, but might very well reciprocate your feelings.  But at only fifteen years of age, you’re far too young to even entertain the idea of a—a ‘friendship’—with a man so much older than yourself.”

     “But he don’t seem that old,” Colleen ventured.

     “Not by adult standards, no—but he’s at least thirty, which is half again as old as you are, Colleen,” her mother pointed out.  “I’m sorry, Sweetheart—but if you’re cherishing any private hope of something developing between yourself and Mr. Burke—than I must urge you to try to put those feelings aside.  I don’t want you to be hurt—but I’m afraid that you will be, if you’re hoping for something that can never happen,” she added gently.

     “It’s all right, Ma,” Colleen said quietly after a pause.  “Even if I were older, it wouldn’t make no difference.  It was clear all night that Brendan—Mr. Burke—didn’t have eyes for nobody but you—“  At Michaela’s shocked expression, Colleen stopped abruptly, looking as if she wished she hadn’t spoken.  But the words were out, and she couldn’t take them back.

     Michaela was silent for several moments, trying to frame a reply to Colleen’s statement.  It had been easy to dismiss Sully’s accusations; arising, as they did, from his unfounded—even irrational—jealousy of Brendan.  But to hear Colleen voice the same observation was much more unsettling.  Was it possible?  Had Sully and Colleen both detected something in Brendan’s manner that she had been too blind to see?  And even more troubling—had she been guilty of being too familiar towards this man?  Of somehow unconsciously encouraging his attentions?

     “I think, Colleen, that you must be mistaken,” Michaela said finally, choosing her words with care.  “Mr. Burke is very kind, and I look forward to knowing him better.  But he is well aware that I am engaged to Sully.  Even if he did harbor any—feelings—for me—which I’m certain he does not—he would be far too much of a gentleman ever to act upon them.”

     “But William proposed to you—even after Sully came all the way from Colorado Springs to be with you,” Colleen said.

     “That’s true,” Michaela acknowledged.  “But those were very different circumstances.  Sully and I were not yet courting at the time.  Sully hadn’t declared his feelings for me, and there was nothing—‘official’—between us.  And yet, when I went to William to give him an answer to his proposal, he could see how things were between Sully and myself, without my having to tell him.  And he accepted it.”

    Colleen was listening politely, but it was clear that Michaela’s words were having little effect on her frame of mind.  Colleen’s expression was somber, and all the light and animation had gone out of her eyes, making Michaela’s heart twist with compassion.  Michaela hated to burst Colleen’s fragile hope, or be the cause of her child’s pain—and yes, for all her intelligence and maturity in medical matters, in many ways Colleen was still a child, most especially in matters of the heart.  But Michaela also could not encourage Colleen’s indulgence in a fantasy which could never come true, and which would only bring her more hurt and pain in the long run.

    Nor did she want to be put in the position of being her daughter’s rival.  Of course that wasn’t the case, she amended to herself.  But if Colleen, in her unrequited affection for Brendan, perceived her mother that way—did it really make a difference?

    It couldn’t be true, she declared to herself.  Sully and Colleen—they were both jealous, each in his or her own way.  They saw what they expected to see—not what was truly there.  Neither she nor Brendan had done anything improper.  Neither of them was harboring *secret* yearnings for the other.  She would have known it—she would have felt it.

    The challenge which lay before her, was to convince Sully and Colleen of what she believed to be true in her own heart.

    “Colleen, I’m so sorry,” Michaela said penitently.

    “Why, Ma?” her daughter asked, a flicker of surprise coming into her eyes.

    “This entire ordeal—everything that’s happened since Sully first fell ill and was injured—has no doubt been as difficult for you and your brothers, as it’s been for Sully and myself.  And I’m afraid I’ve been so preoccupied with Sully’s needs—not to mention my own—that I’ve been terribly guilty of neglecting your feelings.  Why these past few days alone must have been so confusing for you.  First Sully and I are apart, then together, then you hear us exchanging words in anger . . .  I deeply regret putting you through all that.”

    “It wasn’t your fault, Ma—I understand you’ve been upset,” Colleen responded honestly, unable to feel resentful of her mother, even as she envied Michaela the beauty and sophistication that mature womanhood conferred.

    “That’s very generous of you, Colleen, but I *have* been at fault—most especially tonight, when I let my anger toward Sully get the best of me.  I know how much that unpleasant scene between us must have troubled you, and I’m ashamed for my part in it.  I’m sure Sully would say the same, if he were here.”

    “It’s all right, Ma—really,” Colleen responded, looking at her mother earnestly.  “You and Sully have been through so much—it’s gonna take time for things to get back to normal.  ‘Sides, I know you and Sully ain’t perfect.  Everybody fights now and then, but they can still love each other.  And you and Sully love each other.  Matthew, Brian and me—we all know that.”

    “I’m glad, Colleen,” Michaela said tremulously.  “That’s the one thing—the one constant in all of this—that I never want you to doubt.  Sully and I will always love each other—and we’ll both always love all of you.”

    “We love you and Sully too, Ma,” Colleen said sincerely.  “You don’t gotta worry about that—or about us.  And as far as Brendan—Mr. Burke—well . . .”  She paused, then shrugged slightly in resignation.  “I guess I knew deep inside that there couldn’t be nothin’ between us.  It hurts a little, but I’ll get over it.  I just wish sometimes that I was older—and beautiful and allurin’, like you . . .”  She gave Michaela a wistful smile.

    Impulsively Michaela reached out and grasped Colleen’s hands.  “You *are* beautiful!!” she said passionately.  “And you will only grow more so, as time goes on.

    “Your time will come, Colleen,” she vowed.  “I promise you that.  And when you meet the man of your dreams—your one true love—you’ll know it was worth the wait.”

    Colleen smiled at her gratefully, tears glimmering in her eyes.  “Thanks, Ma,” she said softly.  Her arms slipped around her mother’s waist, and Michaela tightly returned the embrace.

    “I love you, Colleen,” Michaela whispered.

    “I love you too—“ Colleen answered, then broke off as her body stiffened in Michaela’s arms.  “Ma?” she added after a moment, a high, strained quality to her voice.

    “What is it?” Michaela said urgently.  “Is something wrong?”

    “I saw somethin’—through the window,” Colleen said unsteadily.

    “What did you see?” Michaela pressed her.

    “It was somethin’ movin’,” Colleen said, a tremor in her voice.  “It looked like a man.”

    She and Michaela stared at one another; then automatically their eyes went to the window, trying to pierce the ominous darkness beyond.

    “Perhaps it’s Matthew returning,” Michaela suggested blandly, keeping her voice as calm as possible so as not to alarm Colleen further.  Colleen turned dark, anxious eyes on her mother, indicating she hadn’t been fooled by Michaela’s transparent attempt to mollify her.

    “Matthew wouldn’t pussy-foot around outside—he’d just come right in,” she said, instinctively lowering her voice.  “Where’s Wolf?” she added after a moment, glancing quickly around the homestead.

    “He’s not in the house,” Michaela replied, her voice equally hushed.  “He could be in the barn with Pup, or prowling the woods . . .  Sully may even have taken him along when he left,” she speculated, her heart sinking as she dismally realized they were without protection of any kind—even the guardianship of Sully’s devoted pet.

    “Maybe it *is* Sully,” Colleen whispered hopefully after a moment.  “Maybe he came back for some reason.”

    But Michaela shook her head.  “Sully wouldn’t lurk about the property anymore than Matthew would,” she pointed out.  “Besides, I made it very clear to Sully that I wanted him to leave—and that I had no intention of seeing him again till tomorrow at the clinic.  I sincerely doubt that he’d ignore my wishes—particularly after the way we parted.”

    A slight, almost indistinguishable sound outside caused them both to freeze.  Under ordinary circumstances they would never have heard it, but anxiety had fine-tuned their senses.  For several long moments they were silent, straining their ears for any additional sound.  But the noise was not repeated.

    ‘What do we do, Ma?” Colleen said uneasily.

    Michaela gripped Colleen’s shoulders firmly.  “I’m sure that Matthew will return at any moment,” she said as confidently as she could manage.  “But until then, we have to protect ourselves.” She fixed her eyes intently on her daughter’s face.  “Listen to me carefully, Colleen,” she directed.  “First, I want you to extinguish most of the lamps—the less the intruder can see, the better.  Then I need you to bring me the rifle from over the fireplace, as well as the box of ammunition from the drawer in the sideboard.  Stay close to the walls, and remain out of sight of the windows.”

    “But Ma, you’re in no condition to be firing a gun—“

    “Don’t argue with me, Colleen!” Michaela commanded,  in a tone that brooked no dissent.  “I need you to do this for me,” she added more quietly.  Acceding to her mother’s authority, Colleen  moved to fulfill Michaela’s request, cautiously making her way about the room.

    Michaela could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she opened the box of ammunition and slid a bullet into the rifle chamber with shaking fingers.  She finished loading the weapon, then leaned it against the table.  With an act of will she tried to subdue her trembling, then carefully gripped the arms of the rocker and pushed herself to her feet. Eschewing the crutch, she picked up the rifle and silently signaled Colleen to fetch one of the two lanterns still burning.  Gesturing for Colleen to get behind her, Michaela painfully and awkwardly limped over to the door.  She positioned herself between the door and the adjacent window.

    “When I give the signal, I want you to throw open the door and then get out of the way,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

    “But Ma—“

    “Do it!” hissed Michaela.  Colleen watched her anxiously, but didn’t attempt to argue.

    Michaela eased the curtain back from the window and looked outside.  All seemed peaceful—then suddenly she glimpsed a flicker of movement.  Colleen was right—the figure’s shape was vague, the features indistinct—but it was definitely a man.  She darted a glance at Colleen, who huddled on the opposite side of the door.  “Get ready,” she mouthed.  Colleen nodded.

    “Now!” Michaela said sharply, and Colleen wrenched the door open as Michaela simultaneously moved into the exposed entry way and brought up the rifle.

    “Don’t move!” she bellowed, with an intimidation she didn’t feel.  “I’ll use this if I have to!”  She aimed toward the shadowy figure nearing the base of the steps, as she saw the intruder’s arms go up.

    “Don’t shoot!” came a familiar voice, making her pulse pound as the figure tentatively approached and climbed the porch.  “Michaela—don’t shoot!” he entreated again, moving into the illumination of the porch light.  “It’s me!”

    “Sully!” she exclaimed, the strength running out of her nerveless fingers in her shock and relief.  She lowered the rifle, which suddenly seemed too heavy for her arms to support.  “What—what were you doing?” she gasped after a moment, a fuzzy darkness starting to snake across her vision.

    “Michaela?” Sully’s voice came dimly to her ears, as blackness began to engulf her.

    “Michaela . . .!”   He was just in time to catch her as she fainted.