Friday, 30 March, 1870

     I never meant to eavesdrop.  But when I was passing by in the hall outside the main room of the clinic and heard Michaela say my name, I was compelled to stop and listen.  I guess it’s true what they say about eavesdroppers never hearing any good of themselves . . .

     We’d arrived in town a short time ago, dropping the children off at the schoolhouse on our way to the clinic.  Once Michaela was safely ensconced inside, I’d secured Matthew’s promise to stay out front and  keep watch while I headed over to the livery to speak to Robert E., hoping to enlist his help in keeping an eye on the clinic whenever Michaela or any of the family were there.  Even with Matthew spelling me, I knew that the two of us alone couldn’t stand guard twenty-four hours a day.

     A short time later, armed with Robert E.’s offer to help whenever he could, I returned to the clinic, freeing Matthew to leave and tend his cattle.  I started to enter by the main door, but froze with my hand on the knob when I heard Michaela in conversation with someone.  Assuming she was seeing a patient, I let myself into the building by the adjacent door instead.  As I took a few steps inside, I noticed the inner door leading to the examination room standing ajar.  It was then that I realized Michaela was talking to her ma—followed a few moments later by my discovery that I was the topic of discussion.

     “Just as I told Sully, I am telling you as well, Mother—except for some residual weakness in my ankle, I’m the picture of health.  As you see, I no longer require the use of crutches to get around,” Michaela was saying as I approached the door.

     “Yes, I noticed your father’s cane,” Mrs. Quinn remarked, though I couldn’t tell from her tone whether she was pleased or offended.

     “Does it disturb you?” Michaela asked.  There was a hesitation.

     “I was—surprised to see it,” came Mrs. Quinn’s voice finally.  “I hadn’t lain eyes on it since—“

     “Since I left home,” Michaela finished.

     “Yes,” her ma replied briefly.

     “Father willed it to me, Mother—I was free to take it when I left.”

     “I know that, Michaela. Your father meant for you to have it—that’s not in dispute.  Seeing it unexpectedly—well, it simply brought back memories for me.”  Mrs. Quinn sounded suddenly vulnerable, and I found myself feeling sympathy for her.  Michaela hadn’t only lost a pa when Josef Quinn died—Elizabeth Quinn had also lost a husband.

     “It brings back memories for me, as well,” Michaela said now, her tone softer.

     There was a brief silence, as if neither of them knew how to proceed.  Then Mrs. Quinn spoke again.

     “Are you very busy at the moment?”

     “I was just updating some files.  I have no patients scheduled, as yet.”

     “In that case, Michaela, I wish to have a word with you—about Mr. Sully.”

* * * * * * * * * *
 
     I peered through the crack in the door.  Mrs. Quinn was standing before Michaela’s desk, her back to me.  Michaela herself was concealed from my view.

       “I wanted to speak with you as well,” Michaela responded.  “I haven’t had a chance to explain about the telegram I sent—“

     “Yes, yes, we’ll get to that,” her ma interrupted.  “But first, I would like an explanation of Mr. Sully’s behavior last evening.”

     “Mother—“

     “Well, surely you don’t condone that boorish display he put on?” Mrs. Quinn said sharply.  I heard Michaela sighing.

     “Mother, I apologize if you were offended.  I agree that Sully was not—at his best—last night.  But there are reasons—“

     “There is no excuse for ill manners, Michaela,” Mrs. Quinn said flatly.

     “How can you make such a sweeping statement when you have no idea of the circumstances?” Michaela demanded.  “You were right there when I told Brendan about the recent massacre of the Cheyenne at the Washita River, and how devastated Sully was by the murder of Chief Black Kettle and his other Cheyenne friends and family.  Enduring such a loss would be tragic enough in its own right, but since then Sully has had to additionally witness the desecration of  the Cheyenne burial grounds by ignorant and callous homesteaders.  Is it any wonder that he believed Brendan intended to do the same, given Brendan’s tales of excavating ancient tombs and burial sites?” she argued.

     “From my observation, Brendan made it quite clear that he abhors such wanton destruction.  Mr. Sully simply chose not to listen, or even be reasonable,” Mrs. Quinn objected.

     “It’s difficult to be “reasonable’ when you’re forced to watch the wholesale slaughter of an entire people—of people you love—and you’re powerless to stop it,” Michaela  said passionately.  “And this isn’t the first time Sully has had to face such a loss.  You already know about the deaths of his first wife and child.  Sully told you himself, on your first visit here—and at the time you seemed quite sympathetic.  Have you forgotten that?” she said accusingly.

     “No, of course I haven’t,” he mother conceded quietly.  “It’s terrible to lose a spouse, or a child—and my heart goes out to Mr. Sully.  But that was a long time ago, Michaela.  One would think he would have become resolved, by now.  At least I would certainly hope so, given his desire to marry you and begin a new life.”

     “Some types of pain are harder to put behind you,” Michaela said gravely.  “Particularly if that pain is a reminder of other hurts from the past.

     “Did you know, Mother, that Sully’s father died when he was just a baby—that Sully doesn’t even remember him?” she went on.  “Or that when Sully was barely seven years old, he watched his only brother dragged to death by a horse?  Or that his mother, so grief-stricken over the loss of her older son that she couldn’t live with the agony, drowned herself in the Hudson River and left Sully an orphan at the age of ten?”  As Michaela reiterated each of the tragic events in my past, her voice grew steadily more brittle, as if at any moment her composure threatened to crack and fly apart into a thousand pieces.

     “Pain is cumulative, Mother,” Michaela resumed after a moment, and I could hear the tears in her voice, even if she refused to let them spill.  “It builds up inside—day by day, year by year—until finally it cries out for release . . .”  Raggedly she broke off.  I felt tears sting at my own eyes.  My heart ached at the sorrow she felt on my behalf.

     “Michaela—what are you saying?” asked Mrs. Quinn, at a loss to understand her daughter’s meaning.

     “I’m saying . . .  I’m saying that Sully has suffered many terrible ordeals in his life—that he deserves your compassion, not your criticism,” Michaela managed stiffly after a moment.  “And just weeks ago, he suffered the worst ordeal of all, when he nearly lost his life, and his—“

     “Michaela, what in heaven’s name are you talking about?” her ma interrupted, clearly alarmed now.

     “Sully nearly died—I nearly lost him forever,” Michaela said bleakly.

     “But he—he seems healthy enough,” Mrs. Quinn ventured.  I could hear a trace of concern in her voice, but mostly what I heard was skepticism.

     “Yes he is—now,” Michaela retorted.  “By the grace of God.  But just a short time
ago . . .”  She trailed off, and even hidden from my sight as she was, I could sense her anguish as I imagined her remembering the agony of the past several weeks.

     There was a silence, and I figured Michaela was trying to collect herself.  Presently she resumed, “Sully was in the mountains.  Though winter was nearly over, we’d experienced a sudden cold snap.  The weather was especially bitter in the higher elevations.”  She hesitated, and I heard her sighing heavily. After a moment her voice came again.

    “Though we didn’t realize it before he left, Sully had contracted a catarrh from Brian, but his symptoms didn’t manifest themselves until after he’d been exposed to the frigid temperatures for at least two days.   The exposure lowered his resistance to the illness and the infection quickly spread to his lungs and developed into pneumonia.  By the time Cloud Dancing brought Sully home to me he was close to death.”

     “Cloud Dancing?” her ma repeated.  “He was with a fugitive Indian?”

     “Yes,” Michaela answered, her voice tight with suppressed anger at her mother’s implied aspersion toward our friend.  “And I am profoundly grateful.  If it weren’t for Cloud Dancing bringing him back to me in time, Sully surely would have perished.”

     There was another silence, then Mrs. Quinn’s voice came again.

     “Of course I’m sorry to hear that Mr. Sully was so ill,” she allowed.  “But I fail to understand why you couldn’t tell me that in your telegram.”

     “Because there were—complications,” Michaela replied reluctantly after a moment.  “The pneumonia wasn’t the only threat to Sully’s life.  He . . . he’d also been shot.”

     “I beg your pardon?!”  Mrs. Quinn’s tone was shocked.

     “Fortunately the bullet just grazed his skull, but with his condition already so depleted by the pneumonia, the wound posed an additional threat to Sully’s survival,” Michaela explained.

    “Michaela, this—this shooting,” her ma sputtered.  “Were you in danger?”

     “No, Mother,” Michaela replied impatiently.  “Sully and Cloud Dancing were attacked in the mountains.  Sully was shot when he tried to stop their assailant from firing at Cloud Dancing.”

     “Well—who was this assailant?” Mrs. Quinn asked.  She sounded appalled, but I suspected it wasn’t out of concern for me or Cloud Dancing.

     “It was a—a renegade Indian, named Bloody Knife,” Michaela answered.

     Mrs. Quinn moved away from the desk, and I could finally see Michaela sitting in her chair.  She watched her ma pacing around the room.  Eventually Mrs. Quinn stopped and turned, facing her daughter again.

     “This is all quite difficult to grasp,” said Mrs. Quinn.  “I think you had better start at the beginning, Michaela, and tell me everything.”

* * * * * * * * * *

     Slowly, haltingly, Michaela started to speak, beginning with the first conversation we’d had in which I’d expressed my worries for Cloud Dancing’s safety, and my need to seek him out, to put things back “in balance” for myself again.  She continued to describe the sequence of events as they’d occurred, culminating with the morning Cloud Dancing brought me back to the homestead, unconscious and desperately ill.  Even knowing how her ma might react, she was completely frank, omitting nothing, and silently I applauded her gumption in being so honest.  I knew how hard it was for her, facing her ma with the truth about me, and I felt guilty for not being by her side.  But I also knew this was something she needed to do on her own.  Fact was, not only couldn’t I help her this time, but I knew that if I tried, I’d probably only makes matters worse.

    As Michaela finished describing Cloud Dancing’s and my return the morning of the blizzard, she stopped speaking, and I knew she was working up the courage to tell her ma the most difficult part of all this—about my loss of memory.  But before she got the chance, Mrs. Quinn spoke again.

     “I find all of this quite distressing, Michaela,” she announced.

     “Yes, it was terribly distressing, not knowing if Sully would live or die,” Michaela agreed.  “And there was something else—“

     “I mean, I find it very distressing that you intend to tie yourself to a man who has such a troubled past, and who lives such a dangerous existence,” her ma cut her off.  Now it was Michaela who was shocked into silence.  I could just see Mrs. Quinn’s profile, ramrod straight, and suddenly I had a premonition of disaster.  The next moment, my worst instincts were confirmed.

     “I am compelled to tell you, Michaela, that if you marry this man, I believe that you will be making the gravest mistake of your life.  And if you persist in going forward with this union, I cannot and will not give you my blessing.”

* * * * * * * * * *
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

     “I am well beyond the age of consent, Mother,” Michaela said, an edge of barely suppressed fury in her voice at her mother’s  pronouncement.  “I hardly need your permission.”

     “You’re quite correct—you don’t need my permission,” Elizabeth said smoothly.  “But my permission, and my blessing, are two very different things, Michaela.  You don’t require the former, but if you choose to reject the latter, you will have to live with that decision.”

     “How can you be so heartless?” Michaela asked.  “Have you heard nothing of what I’ve told you?”

     “Not heartless, Michaela—pragmatic.  And as for not listening to what you said, on the contrary, I heard every word,” her mother replied.  “And that’s precisely why I believe a marriage between you and Mr. Sully can only result in disaster.”

     “On what could you possibly base such a conclusion?” Michaela demanded.

     Elizabeth fixed her daughter with a penetrating look.  “You accuse me of not hearing you, Michaela.  But have you listened to yourself?  Did you not, just moments ago, tell me that Mr. Sully deliberately put his safety at risk by going to the mountains to seek out a man who was a fugitive from the law?  And that the reason he made such a reckless choice was because he was terrified to marry you, for fear that he would lose you the way he lost others in his life?

     “Perhaps I seem callous,” she went on.  “But I am simply trying to make you see the truth, Michaela.  It’s obvious that your obsession with this man has blinded you to his problems.”

     “Problems?” Michaela echoed coldly.

     “Yes, my dear—problems,” her mother repeated.  “From everything you’ve said, it is quite evident to me that Mr. Sully is—damaged—emotionally.   His recent behavior is ample proof that not only is he disturbed and conflicted about his past, but that he is clearly unready for a relationship with you.  He may never be ready.  I can’t stand by and watch you throw your life away on a man who will almost certainly hurt and disappoint you—perhaps even abandon you, as Everett did to Marjorie.”

     “I can’t believe you would compare Sully to Everett, or even mention them in the same breath!” Michaela reproached her indignantly. “You understand nothing about Sully and me,” she added, her eyes chilly and remote.

     “No, Michaela—it’s you who doesn’t understand,” Elizabeth contradicted.  “Many women foolishly wed men of questionable character in the misguided belief that they can rescue them, or change them.  Sadly, most of these matches inevitably fail, because such men can’t or won’t change.  As much as you may desire to help Mr. Sully, Michaela, it’s obvious that his problems are far too complex for you to fix.”

     “I am not interested in marrying Sully to ‘fix’ him, Mother,” Michaela said hotly.  “Besides, Sully is not like other men.”  She regarded Elizabeth with antagonism.

     “No, he isn’t.  Nor is he anything like you.  The plain and simple truth, is that Mr. Sully is the complete antithesis of you, Michaela.  Even putting these emotional complications aside, I’ve never been able to comprehend your attraction to someone so different from yourself—someone who is hardly your equal, socially, intellectually—“

     “Mother, if you believe that ‘class’ matters to me, then you’ve never known me at all!” Michaela snapped.

     “I have no illusions about your attitudes in that regard,” Elizabeth replied drily.  “But it *should* matter to you, Michaela.  A successful marriage is built upon a foundation of shared interests, a common background.  The idea that opposites attract may seem romantic and appealing, but it’s largely a myth.  And in this day and age, seriously unrealistic as well.

     “And we haven’t even addressed the issue, as yet, of Mr. Sully’s questionable way of living,” Elizabeth added.

     “Meaning—?“  Michaela challenged.

     “Meaning that Mr. Sully’s life seems to be one of constant upheaval, not to mention frequent danger,” her mother noted.  “This recent attack waged against Mr. Sully is only the latest in a long series of perilous situations with which he’s been involved.  Situations that have frequently threatened the safety—perhaps even the very lives!—of you and your children.  You’re an adult woman, Michaela.  If you choose to risk your own life by staying with this man, there’s nothing I can do to stop you.  But I cannot believe that you would endanger the lives of the children put into your care, by  exposing them to a man whose life is constantly shadowed by violence.”

     “How dare you suggest that Sully or I would ever willingly or knowingly endanger the children!” Michaela exclaimed, her eyes livid.

     “I am simply stating the facts,” Elizabeth retorted, infuriatingly calm.  “If you persist in turning a blind eye to the truth, that’s not my fault.”

     Michaela was nearly shaking with the anger that hummed and vibrated through every inch of her body.  But somehow, she managed to keep her voice controlled.
 
     “Hear this, Mother:  nothing you say is going to dissuade me from loving Sully, or sharing my life with him,” she said evenly.

     “In that case, Michaela, I feel sorry for you.”

    Mother and daughter stared at each other, each implacable, separated by the yawning gulf of their opposing philosophies.  A gulf that only seemed to widen, not lessen, the longer they talked.  Michaela wondered if they would ever be able to bridge the extreme differences between them—dismally concluding that the prospect was remote, if not impossible.

     Apparently reaching the same conclusion, Elizabeth spoke again.  “This conversation is pointless,” she said.  “Clearly, you are incapable of listening to reason, Michaela—at least at the moment.  I suggest, however, that you give serious consideration to what I’ve said.  Perhaps it’s still not too late for you to see the light.

     “I will certainly be available if you wish to resume this conversation at a later time,” she finished.  Michaela didn’t answer, and Elizabeth regarded her pityingly.  She turned away from the desk, preparing to leave, when suddenly the door to the hallway swung open, revealing Sully framed in the entrance.

     “Wait, Mrs. Quinn,” he said, stepping into the room.  “Don’t go just yet.”

* * * * * * * * * *
 

     “Sully!” Michaela exclaimed, startled.

     “Mr. Sully,” Elizabeth echoed, smiling thinly.  “Good Day.  Tell me:  are we now to add invasion of privacy to your list of transgressions?”

     “Mother—!“ Michaela choked, appalled.  She flushed crimson with embarrassment and anger.  “Sully, I’m sorry—“ she began lamely, turning distraught eyes upon him.  But he put up his hand, silencing her.

     “No need,” he said calmly.  “Your ma’s right, Michaela.  I was eavesdroppin’, and that’s wrong.”  He fixed his gaze on Elizabeth.  “I didn’t mean to listen, Ma’am—and I surely didn’t intend to interfere in your conversation with your daughter.  But since it’s me you been discussin’, I kinda figure I oughta speak for myself.  Leastways, I don’t think it’s fair for Michaela to be attacked, when her only ‘crime’ is lovin’ me and carin’ for me out of the goodness of her heart.”

     “I am not questioning my daughter’s motives, Mr. Sully—simply her choices,” Elizabeth told him.

     “Be that as it may, it ain’t—isn’t—right for me to hide behind Michaela’s skirts, forcin’ her to defend me all alone,” Sully stated.

     “I commend your sense of ethics, Mr. Sully.  But I must warn you that I see little hope of you saying anything that will change my mind,” Michaela’s mother responded coolly, her expression bordering on smugness.

     “Probably not,” Sully agreed matter-of-factly.  “Fact is, Mrs. Quinn, what I got to say will more than likely drive the last nail in my coffin, far as you’re concerned.  But of all the things you can accuse me of, the one thing you can’t call me is a liar.  Michaela tried to be honest with you—to tell you everythin’ about me.  But there’s one real important thing she didn’t get the chance to say.  And I figure if you’re goin’ to hear the truth, you better hear all of it.  Even if when I’m through, you wind up writin’ me off for good.”

     “Sully, you needn’t do this—you needn’t justify yourself to her,“ Michaela attempted to intercede.

     “No, Michaela—I got to do this,” he maintained quietly.  “A few days ago, I was the one sayin’  that maybe we shouldn’t tell your ma about my memory loss, for fear she’d think I wasn’t fit to be your husband.  But the way things stand now, I don’t believe her opinion of me could get much worse.  And at least we’ll have the satisfaction of knowin’ that we’ve been completely honest.”  His eyes held hers for a long moment.  Michaela returned his gaze, a volume of unspoken communication passing between them.  Finally she responded.

     “It’s your decision,” she said.

     “Good enough,” he answered, reaching out to lightly stroke her cheek.  “It’ll be all right,” he added softly.  He moved away from the desk and went to fetch a straight chair from against the wall, placing it in the center of the room.  He faced Elizabeth once again.  “You’d best sit down, Ma’am,” he added, gesturing toward the chair.  “This’ll take a while.”

* * * * * * * * * *
 
     “And so, bottom line is, you’re right,” Sully concluded some time later as Elizabeth regarded him quietly, her hands folded in her lap.  “I was confused and I was afraid—I ain’t denyin’ it.  I was scared to death about marryin’ Michaela, for fear somethin’ bad would happen, like it did to Abagail.”  He was silent for several moments, then met Elizabeth’s eyes squarely.

    “No, that ain’t right,” he amended.  “Truth is, I was convinced I was gonna lose Michaela.  I couldn’t see how it could be otherwise, after watchin’ so many people I’d loved die over the years.  Even though livin’ with the Cheyenne helped me to find my path again—gave me hope again—still, I was carryin’ a heavy burden of guilt around inside me.  Guilt that went so deep I didn’t even know it was there till the massacre at Washita.  Then it all came pourin’ out—and it just about crushed me.  Seein’ so much senseless death . . . the death of my adopted family . . . I was outta my head with grief.  It brought back all the pain of losin’ Abagail and our baby—the pain as fresh as the night it happened.  And lovin’ Michaela like I did—more than anybody I’d ever known—I thought it would be better to die myself rather than risk condemnin’ her to the same fate.

    “And I nearly did die,” he went on soberly.  “I came about as close as a body can get.  But then—it didn’t happen.  The people I loved had died—were still dyin’ around me—but stubbornly, I just kept on livin’.  And I guess at some point, somewhere in my mind, I decided that if I couldn’t stop the pain by endin’ my life, then I’d stop it the only other way I could—by blockin’ out every memory I had of the woman I loved and wanted with all my heart, but thought I didn’t deserve.

    “You got a right to think I’m “damaged,’ as you put it,” he told Elizabeth.  “Because it was true, for a while.  It was like a sickness in my mind and my heart—not so different, really, from the sickness in my body.  And there wasn’t no easy cure.  It took the help of my ‘brother’ Cloud Dancin’, and then weeks of Michaela’s tender love and care to heal me enough so that I could finally face the memories again.  But I *did* face them.  I got better.  And I’m recoverin’ more, every day.  But far more important, I learned that it took a lot more courage to find a way to make peace with the past and move forward, than to run away from my problems—run away from Michaela—out of some misguided sense of sacrifice.
 
    “Your daughter taught me that, Mrs. Quinn.  Her courage, her devotion—she’s been like a shinin’ star, lightin’ up all the dark corners of my heart and soul.  And I’ve come to know that our love is a precious gift—one to be cherished, for however long it may last.  I’m grateful for every moment of every day we have together, and all I want—now and forever—is to be allowed to love Michaela and make her happy.

    “I’m hopin’ you can find it in your heart to give us your blessin’ after all,” he said softly.  “I know you don’t got a very high opinion of me—and like you warned me, probably nothin’ I’ve said here is gonna change that.  But I also know how much it would mean to Michaela to have your support and your approval—even if she has a hard time admittin’ it,” he added, favoring Michaela with a gentle smile.

    Turning back to Elizabeth he continued, “But if you can’t give your blessin’—well, then, so be it.  ‘Cause in the end, Ma’am, there’s only one person whose feelins’ matter to me—and that’s Michaela.”  He glanced over at her, his eyes brimming with love.  She returned his gaze, a smile of pride hovering about her lips as an errant tear escaped to tremble on her cheek.  “No matter what anybody else says or thinks, I’m gonna marry this woman, and love her to the end of my days—if she’ll have me,” Sully vowed.  “But if, for some reason, she can’t bring herself to marry me—‘cause she thinks our problems are too big, or she just can’t love me the way I love her . . . well, then—only Michaela can send me away.

    “The choice is hers,” Sully finished.  Both he and Elizabeth looked toward Michaela, an expectant silence filling the room as they awaited her reaction.