Thursday, 29 March, 1870

Evening

     At the sound of boot heels crossing the porch, I hastily returned the gun to its rack above the fireplace, and drew my tomahawk.  I was all but certain that the new arrival was Matthew—still, I wasn’t taking any chances.  I glanced fleetingly at Michaela.  I could see relief in her face that I’d put up the rifle, but it was mingled with anxiety at the sight of me holding my weapon.  “Just being cautious,” I whispered.  A moment later the door opened and Matthew stepped inside.  Simultaneously I slipped the tomahawk back into its loop on my belt.

     “Sully!” he said in surprise.  “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”  He looked from one to the other of us, noting Michaela reclining on the bed, and taking in our flushed expressions.  “Is everything all right?” he asked quickly.  “You feeling okay, Dr. Mike?”

     “Yes, yes I’m fine, Matthew,” she answered, her voice subdued, though she managed to summon a smile.  “I was simply resting my ankle.  What kept you?” she added after a moment, and belatedly I realized that it had taken Matthew twice as long as it should have to drive into town and back.

     “I was spending some time with Ingrid,” Matthew answered, hanging his hat on a hook by the door.  “We ain’t seen too much of each other lately, what with everything going on here, and Ingrid taking that job with the family in Soda Springs, minding their kids.  Keeps her away from town most of the week,” he explained.

     “Matthew—I’m sorry if my problems have been interfering with your life,” I said.

     “Forget it,” he said promptly.  “You know I’m here for you and Dr. Mike, Sully.  Whatever you need, I’m glad to help.”

     “I’m grateful to hear you say that,” I responded in relief.  “Because fact is, Matthew, something’s come up, and I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

     “I wondered if something was wrong when I saw the looks on your faces,” Matthew replied.  “At first I thought that maybe I, uh—“  He cleared his throat, coloring slightly.  “That maybe I—walked in on something.

    “But that ain’t it, is it?” he added, his expression altering as he watched us closely.

    A knowing, half-guilty smile hovered around my lips as I thought of how close Matthew had come to being right.  If he’d walked in a mere ten minutes sooner . . .

    But reluctantly I put aside the tempting thoughts of Michaela and me together.  There would be time enough for all that later, when this was finally over—(if it ever *is* over, a thought chimed dismally in my mind).  Determinedly, however, I ignored it.  We *would* get through this—we *would* be happy.  In a few weeks I would stand up before the Reverend with my beautiful bride Michaela at my side, and I would pledge myself to her forever.  We would have our happy ending—if I had to vanquish Custer, Bloody Knife and the whole Seventh Cavalry to make it happen.

    “Sully, tell me,” came Matthew’s voice, breaking in on my thoughts.  “What’s the trouble?”

* * * * * * * * * *

     “So you got no way of knowing if Bloody Knife is alive?” Matthew asked, as I finished filling him in on the night’s events.

     “Nope,” I answered.  “No way of knowing if he’s alive, or where he could be if he is, or which way he’s going to   jump.  But Cloud Dancing ain’t one to give empty warnings.  If he’s got reason to believe Bloody Knife’s still lurking around and could be a threat, then that’s more than enough for me.  I trust Cloud Dancing’s instincts,” I added.  “He’s never steered me wrong.”

     Matthew nodded sagely.  “What’s your plan?” he asked after a moment.

     I shrugged.  “I don’t really got one—least not yet.  Except to make sure someone’s with your ma, Colleen and Brian every minute.  I’m afraid I gave your ma and Colleen quite a scare when I showed up here before,” I went on.  “But after what Cloud Dancing said, there was no way I was going to leave you all alone even one more night.”

     “I can look out for them,” Matthew said a little stiffly.

     “I know you can,” I told him.  “And I’m counting on it.  But you can’t keep an eye on them twenty-four hours a day, Matthew.  You got cattle to tend, and besides, Ingrid needs you.”

     “True,” Matthew conceded.

     “So that’s why I’m going to be sticking close from now on,” I added.

    “You planning on staying at the homestead full time?” Matthew asked.

    “At the homestead, at the clinic . . .  Wherever your ma and the kids are, that’s where I’ll be,” I said firmly.

    “Sully, that’s very noble of you, and I confess that it eases my mind to know you’ll be nearby,” Michaela spoke up.  “But you can’t be with us every moment, any more than Matthew can.”

    “I’d like to see anybody try and stop me!” I declared.

    “And I’m certain that anyone who tried to attempt such a thing would regret it,” Michaela acknowledged readily.  “But that’s not what I meant.”

    “Then what?” I said.

    “You have a job, as well,” she reminded me.  “At the reservation.”

    Her words brought me up short.  Strange how I kept blocking the reservation out of my mind, as if I didn’t want to be reminded of my obligations there.  Part of it, I knew, was my anger at the army for rounding up the various tribes and penning them up together as if they were no better than cattle.  No, I thought dourly—that was wrong.  Cattle got treated better.

    But maybe my real reason for avoiding thoughts of the reservation, was the same as my reason for blocking out my memories of Michaela.  I didn’t want to face the idea of losing any more of the Indians to the army’s mistreatment and cruelty.  And even if the people managed to survive somehow, I knew in my heart that the world they’d known before was gone forever.  And deep in my gut, I also knew that the Indians wouldn’t want to live in the white man’s world that was left.

    But as heavy as my heart was over the plight of the Indians, even they had to take second place now, to my duty to Michaela and the kids.  I couldn’t risk leaving them unprotected—I couldn’t risk anything happening to them.  Not even for the Indians.

    “I’m afraid they’re going to have to get along without me,” I dismissed Michaela’s mild objection.  “I care about the people at Palmer Creek—you know that.  But they got by all the time I was sick—I’m hoping they can wait a little longer.  If I have to make a choice, Michaela, I choose you and the children.  That’s the way it’s got to be,” I told her.

    “I appreciate your devotion to us, Sully—truly I do,” she replied.  “But I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

    “I don’t understand,” I said.  She sighed.

    “I regret I haven’t had the chance to discuss this with you before now,” Michaela began, her expression apologetic.  “But Custer wasn’t the only visitor at the clinic while you were convalescing, Sully.  Hazen came to see you as well.”

    “Hazen?” I repeated.  “What did he want?”

    “Ostensibly, to pay you a sick call,” she answered.  “I put him off, claiming you were still too ill to see anyone—since at the time you hadn’t recovered any of your memories, and I hadn’t been able to tell you, as yet, about your post as Indian Agent.  Ironically, on that particular day, my claim that you were too weak to receive visitors wasn’t a lie—it was the day you suffered your migrim,” she explained.

    “Yeah, right,” I said slowly, mortification washing through me again as I recalled her having to watch me go through all that.  It had been nearly intolerable to me to be so weak and helpless in front of her—even though I knew she was a doctor, and well used to such things.  Even more than that, I knew she would have stayed by my side, nursing me through the pain and illness forever, if that’s what it took—because she loved me.  Still, my male ego had a hard time accepting that I couldn’t always be the strong one, much as I wanted to be.  But right now, all of that was neither here nor there.

    “How did he react?” I asked, bringing the focus of my thoughts back to Hazen.

    “Actually, he seemed genuinely concerned about you,” Michaela noted.  “Very distressed to hear from the Reverend about your injury and illness, and very relieved to hear from me that you would recover.  He praised your integrity, and your devotion to the Indians.  And he asked me to give you his best wishes, since he was on a tour of the reservations, and didn’t have the luxury of remaining in town until you were well enough to see him.”

    “So then, what was the problem?” I asked, figuring that things couldn’t have been that simple—otherwise, she wouldn’t have brought it up.

    “He expressed concern about when you would be able to return to your duties,” she answered.  “He pointed out that though the Reverend had been doing his best to fill in for you, managing the reservation wasn’t his responsibility.  Hazen said that the time was fast approaching when he would have to make a decision as to whether to hold your job open for you, or hire a replacement.”

    “What did you tell him?”

    “I wasn’t precisely sure what to tell him,” she replied.  “I thought about how you’d nearly resigned when we first heard about Palmer Creek—and later, how you almost seemed to welcome the possibility of being fired from your post, before you left to find Cloud Dancing.  On the one hand, this seemed the perfect opportunity to help you sever your ties to the reservation and the army. However, I also knew that I had no right to make such a decision for you—even if I believed I was sure of how you felt.

    “Finally, I asked him to wait a little longer, assuring him that physically, you would be able to return to work—at least on a limited basis—within a few weeks.  He seemed reasonable, and willing to be patient—for a while.  But he also imposed a deadline—“

    “Deadline?” I repeated.

    “Yes—of one month.  If, at the end of that time, you were still unable to resume your duties, he would be forced to let you go and hire a new agent.

    “That month is nearly up,” she added soberly.  She fixed me with a penetrating gaze.  “So now that you know the situation, Sully—what will you do?”

* * * * * * * * * *

     “Like I said, I care about the Indians,” I repeated after a long pause.  “It kills me to see them suffer . . . to watch a little more of their way of life—their freedom, culture and traditions—slip away from them every day.  But harsh as it sounds, what you told me don’t change anything.”  I stared into her eyes.

     “You’re going to be my wife,” I said solemnly.  “Matthew here—and Colleen and Brian—they’re going to be my     family.  They already *are* my family!” I amended.  “What the Indians are going through—it breaks my heart.  But if anything happened to any of you . . . I couldn’t live with it.

     “Regardless of the consequences, my answer’s the same.  I’m staying with you, Michaela,” I said.

     “But Sully—could you live with it if anything happened to the Indians because you weren’t there to protect them—to look out for their welfare?” Michaela said worriedly.  “What if the agent Hazen appoints in your place doesn’t share your concerns?  What if all he cares about is profiting at the Indians’ expense?  We know from our unfortunate encounter with Captain Borgnine, as well as what we learned in Washington, the caliber of most of the agents the government has assigned to the reservations.  Could you stand by and watch the Indians’ future placed in the hands of someone like that?”  Her face was strained as she appealed to me.

     I paced restlessly across the room, finally stopping at the foot of her bed.  What I had to say pained me, but it was the only decision I could make.

     “It may not come to that,” I began slowly.  “Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to track down Bloody Knife and resolve all this peacefully, before the time runs out.  But if not . . .

     “I was ready to walk away once before,” I reminded her.  “If I got to, I’ll do it again.  There’s no other choice to be made, Michaela—I’m staying with you.  And that’s an end to it,” I said with finality, trying to ignore the anxiety in her eyes.

     “It’s time you were getting some rest,” I added abruptly.  “And Matthew—you need your sleep as well.  I’m going outside to stand watch.  See you all in the morning.”  I circled to the side of the bed and bent down to brush Michaela’s forehead with a kiss.

     “But Sully—“ she tried once more, grasping at my hand.

    Gently I disengaged my fingers from hers.  “Sleep well,” I said briefly.  “Good-night.”  And with those words, I moved to the door and opened it, letting myself out into the night.

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

    The sun was stretching tentative fingers above the horizon as Matthew emerged onto the porch of the homestead the following morning, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand.  Sully was propped in a weather-beaten straight chair, the frame tipped backwards so that it seemed to balance precariously on two legs; though in fact, the slatted back was braced securely against the exterior of the cabin.  Sully’s booted feet rested on the top of the rail in front of him.  His head was slumped forward, his chin nearly resting on his chest.  In his lap, under his loosely folded hands, lay a slim, dark, leather-bound volume, with the legend, “LEDGER” inscribed in gold on the cover.  A pencil was jabbed inside the book, apparently marking his place.  Matthew recognized the successor to the simple pad of paper Dr. Mike had given Sully to start his journal.

    Above Sully’s head the oil lamp still burned on its hook, its contents nearly exhausted.  Matthew stared down at Sully sympathetically.  Up all night watchin’ and writin’, too, he thought.  No wonder he finally nodded off.  Carefully Matthew leaned forward and blew out the flame.

    His movement, slight though it was, was enough to rouse Sully; and the older man awoke with a violent start, his right hand instinctively going to the knife on his hip as he brought his feet down and rocked forward, the front legs of the chair landing heavily on the boards of the porch.  The journal shot off his lap and slid several feet away.

    Instantly Matthew put out his free hand and grabbed Sully’s shoulder.  “Easy, Sully—it’s just me!”  Sully shot a menacing glance at him, then his expression slowly altered as he focused on Matthew’s face.  Gradually his posture relaxed and his fingers loosened and released their hold on the handle of his knife.

    “Sorry—didn’t mean to startle you,” Matthew said.

    “No need for apologies—I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” Sully reproached himself.

    “For how long—ten minutes?” Matthew asked reasonably.  “You been up all night, Sully—you’re tired, you need rest.”

    “Plenty of time for rest when Bloody Knife and Custer are dealt with,” Sully said ominously, then groaned as he was seized by a sharp pain in his neck and shoulder.  He kneaded the tender area, stretching gingerly and grimacing as further aches and pains from his tense, cramped muscles announced their presence.

    “Dr. Mike’s got some lineament works real good on stiff necks, lumbago and the like,” Matthew remarked.  “You should have her rub some of it into your shoulder.”

    Sully nodded, smiling briefly at the prospect.  “Good idea—maybe I will,” he acknowledged.  He scrubbed his hands over his face.  Matthew noted the dark shadows of fatigue beneath his eyes.

    “Dr. Mike poured this for me, but you look like you need it more than I do,” Matthew said, offering him the coffee.  Sully accepted the cup gratefully, letting its warmth relax the stiffness in the joints of his fingers, as the steam drifted up to bathe his face.  He breathed appreciatively of the fragrant aroma before taking first one sip, then another.

    “Thanks—this hits the spot,” he said.

    “Sure—but you ain’t gettin’ off that easy,” Matthew informed him.  “Dr. Mike sent me out here to bring you inside and make sure you eat a proper breakfast.  She and Colleen have been cookin’ up a storm—eggs, bacon, oatmeal, biscuits . . .  She said to come and get it while it’s hot.”  He gave Sully a small grin.

    “Your ma shouldn’t be on her feet cookin’ yet,” Sully said worriedly as he used one hand to grab the railing and pull himself erect.  His outraged muscles stabbed at him in protest.  At that moment, he felt about one hundred years old, he thought dourly.

    “Dr. Mike figured you’d say somethin’ like that,” Matthew replied, his grin broadening.  “She said her ankle needs exercise if it’s gonna heal proper.  ‘Sides, she says it feels better today.”

    “Well, I’m glad to hear it, but I still don’t think she should be pushin’ herself,” Sully said doubtfully.  He took a few experimental steps, trying to work the stiffness out of his knees.

    “Sure is somethin’, how the two of you fuss and fret over each other,” Matthew said, his tone gently teasing, but his eyes frank with admiration.  He moved over to where the journal rested near the edge of the porch and leaned down to pick it up, brushing off the dust.  He brought it back to Sully, who accepted the journal with a nod of thanks and bent to tuck it into the blanket of his bedroll.   Matthew went on, “Dr. Mike was the same way when you were laid up.  Wouldn’t leave your side ‘less we practically dragged her . . . wouldn’t let nobody else look after you ‘cept Colleen—and even then it was like pullin’ teeth to get her to rest, or eat . . .”  His voice trailed off, but then he added suddenly, “What you and Dr. Mike got between you, Sully—it’s special.”  His grin flickered again.  “’Course you don’t need me to tell you that,” he added.

    An answering smile touched Sully’s eyes and mouth.  “You got that right,” he agreed, taking a larger swallow of the cooling coffee.  But then his eyes darkened.  “And that’s why, if it takes every last breath in my body, I’m gonna keep her safe.”

    “Well, you won’t be doin’ it alone.”  Matthew’s voice was quiet, but firm, his eyes steady as they met Sully’s.

    “I know, Matthew,” Sully said simply.  “I know.”  The men clasped hands and shook, sealing their bond.

* * * * * * * * * *

     “Good morning,” Michaela greeted him as he and Matthew entered the cabin.  She smiled briefly at him over her shoulder from where she stood at the stove, stirring a skillet of scrambled eggs.  Behind her, Colleen busied herself setting the table.

     ‘Mornin’,” Sully responded.  Matthew immediately headed to the table, where Brian was already seated, but Sully remained standing just inside the door, feeling unexpectedly shy as the sight of Michaela’s face reminded him of all they’d been through the night before—the bad *and* the good.  The VERY good, he thought, his face warming pleasantly at the memory.

     “Please, sit down,” Michaela urged him.  “I’ll be with you momentarily.”  She turned back to her task, keeping her attention on the eggs so they wouldn’t scorch or burn.

     “Uh . . . all right,” Sully agreed after a moment’s hesitation.  He crossed the room and took his usual place opposite Brian and adjacent to Michaela’s chair at the head of the table.

     Colleen placed a bowl, plate and silverware in front of him.  He gave her a warm smile.  “Thanks, Colleen,” he said.  “You feelin’ better today?”

     He was gratified to see much of the fear and tension gone from her eyes.

    “Yeah, I am.  Thanks, Sully,” she said softly.

     “What’s the matter, Colleen?  You sick?” asked Brian curiously.  He took a swallow of milk.

     Colleen assumed a cheerful expression as she regarded her little brother.  “No, Brian—I just had a stomachache, is all.  It’s better, now.”  She went to the stove to fetch the coffeepot.  As she returned to the table and leaned over to refill Sully’s cup, the two of them shared a brief look of commiseration.

     Michaela took the skillet of eggs off the flame.  “Colleen, would you dish these onto a platter and put them on the table?” she asked.

     “Sure, Ma,” Colleen said readily, taking the pan.

     “Should you be doin’ all this?” Sully asked Michaela, observing her critically.  “And what about your crutches?” he added, suddenly noticing them propped against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

     “I don’t require them anymore,” Michaela replied, answering his second question first.  “My ankle is much improved—as I’m sure Matthew already told you,” she said lightly.  Noting his unconvinced expression she added, “I really am better, Sully.  I’m a doctor—I know these things.”  She gave him a impish smile.

     “Maybe so—but they also say doctors make the worst patients,” Sully countered.

     “Perhaps—but this is one doctor who has no intention of being foolish,” Michaela assured him.  “I realize I still need a bit of extra help.  That’s why I have this.”  She reached for an object leaning against the wall beside her, and held it up for his perusal.

     Sully’s eyebrows raised in surprise.  In her hand was an elegant cane, the shaft composed of deepest ebony, with a handle of intricately carved silver.  As Sully peered at the walking stick more closely, he could discern that the handle was wrought in the shape of two snakes entwined around the shaft.  The design looked familiar to him, and after a moment he recalled seeing it pictured in Michaela’s medical texts.  Michaela had explained to him that it was called it a “caduceus”—a Latin term denoting the symbol of the physician.

     “That’s real handsome,” he said in admiration.  “But I don’t recall seein’ it before.  Where did it come from?”

     Michaela looked down at the cane, reverently trailing her fingertips over the handle.  “It was my father’s,” she replied softly after a moment.  “A gift from the doctors and nurses under his supervision at Massachusetts General Hospital, on the occasion of his twenty-fifth year as chief of staff.   He treasured this cane, and carried it with him every day.  Unfortunately, he was only able to enjoy it a brief time—he died a mere three months later.”  Sully detected a trace of tears in her eyes as she finished speaking.

     “I’m sorry, Michaela,” he said gently.  She gave him a tremulous smile of thanks.

     “It’s all right,” she managed.  “Though in one sense it’s a sad reminder that he’s gone; in another way, it gives me joy to remember how deeply loved and respected he was by all his colleagues.  It was one of the few keepsakes of my father’s that I brought with me to Colorado.  It’s been packed away all this time, but I like to think that my father would be pleased to see it getting some use again.”

     “I’m sure he’d be real pleased,” Sully told her, looking at her tenderly.  “But—ain’t it too long for you?” he added curiously.

     “Perhaps by an inch or two,” Michaela acknowledged.  “As it happens, however, my father was a man of modest stature—but only physically.  In the hearts of his family, friends and colleagues, he stood ten feet tall!”  Her eyes remained suspiciously bright, but her face blazed with pride.

     “And I can actually get around quite well,” she added cheerfully after a moment.  She grasped the handle in her left hand and took a turn up and down the room for his benefit, limping only slightly on her injured right ankle.

     “Looks like there’s gonna be no stoppin’ you,” Sully remarked admiringly, his eyes twinkling.

     “’You got that right,’” Michaela teased, dimpling mischievously as she delivered a dead-on impression of Sully’s vernacular and inflection.

     He chuckled.  “That’s pretty good—but do me a favor, Michaela.  Go back to speakin’ like you always do.  Somehow my crude way of talkin’  just don’t sound right comin’ out of those pretty lips.”

     “Rustic, perhaps, Sully—never crude,” she reproached him gently.  “I love the way you speak,” she added after a moment.  “Plain and honest, and you always say what you mean.  There are very few people who can say the same,” she asserted.

     He gave her a crooked grin.  “Thank you for that.  But still . . . I like my elegant, mostly proper Michaela from Boston.”

     “Only ‘mostly?’” she repeated archly.  Her eyebrows raised in mock offense, belied by the devilish sparkle in her eyes.

     “’Almost always,’ then.  How’s that?” he bantered.  Michaela cocked her head, considering.

    “Acceptable,” she pronounced finally.  She  maneuvered her way to his side, bending down to kiss him lightly.

     Sully cupped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, hungrily exploring her mouth with his.  Instinctively Michaela responded, matching his ardor with her own, until they were suddenly reminded of their audience.  Embarrassed, they parted abruptly, feeling the amused eyes of the children upon them.

     Sully dropped his eyes, feeling a hot flush creeping up his neck and face.  After a moment he grinned sheepishly at the children, then looked up at Michaela.  “I’m glad you’re doin’ better, but you been on your feet too long, Ma’am,” he announced.  “Time you were sittin’ down.”  Without warning he pushed his chair back from the table and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her down into his lap before she had time to react.

     “Better?” he asked her softly, his lips just inches from her face, his warm breath stirring the tendrils of hair at her temples.  His arms tightened around her and Michaela felt her heart begin to pound as a delightful shiver coursed through her body.

     “Much better,” she whispered.  She traced the curve of his cheekbone with her fingertip.  “I wish our wedding were tomorrow,” she breathed, forgetting their young spectators once again as she began to lose herself in his eyes.

     “Can’t come soon enough for me,” Sully agreed, his gaze riveted on her face.

     “I love you so much, Sully,” she whispered in his ear, her voice barely audible.

     “I love you more,” he responded, the huskiness in his voice betraying his emotion.  Unable to resist the invitation     of her tender lips so close to his own, he drew her to him once again.

     The sound of a throat clearing dimly penetrated their absorption in one another.

     “I hate to break this up,” Matthew’s voice came awkwardly.  “But time’s passin’ . . .”

     Michaela and Sully reluctantly separated, their faces flushed crimson; though whether it was more from embarrassment or passion, neither could have said.

     “You’re right, of course, Matthew,” Michaela said, somewhat flustered, as Sully helped her to her feet.  “Everyone finish eating while I get ready to leave for town.  That especially means you, Sully,” she added pointedly. “You need nourishment.”

     “You know, you don’t need to go back to the clinic just yet, Michaela,” Sully observed.  “It’s only been a couple days since you got hurt.  Folks’ll understand if you need another day to heal.”

     “I understand that you’re concerned, but you’ve seen for yourself that my ankle is much better, Sully,” she replied.  “Besides, I want to get back to work.  Staying busy—well it helps to  keep my mind off—“  She stopped, glancing quickly at Colleen and Brian.  “Staying busy is good for me,” she amended lamely.

     Matthew stood up and strolled away from the table.  “Sully,” he said.  Mutely his eyes telegraphed Sully to join     him.  Sully rose from his chair and moved to where Matthew waited on the far side of the room.

     Matthew inclined his head toward Sully’s.  “There’s safety in numbers,” he pointed out in a low voice.  “Isolated here at the homestead, we’re sittin’ ducks, just waitin’ for Custer and Bloody Knife to come along and pick us off.  But there’re lotta folks in town—that means plenty of witnesses.  Plenty of friends we can call on too, if there’s trouble,” he added.

     Sully nodded, impressed by Matthew’s logic.  “Good point,” he conceded.  “Easier to protect Michaela’s ma, too, if we’re all together.”  Matthew bobbed his head in agreement, then looked at Sully quizzically.

     “Mr. Burke too?” he questioned.

    Involuntarily Sully grimaced.  “Yeah, him too,” he grudgingly allowed after a long pause, his tone disgruntled but resigned.

     “I’ll hitch up the wagon,” said Matthew.