Friday, 29 April, 1870

     It wasn’t quite as easy as I’d hoped to get back home.  We had to take a stage to Cedar City, Utah, and catch the train from there to Denver.  Then back on a stagecoach again for the remaining miles to Colorado Springs.  It was kind of ironic, in a way.  As much as I’d fought the train coming, I found myself wishing more than once during those long days of rattling over the rough terrain, that the railroad had already started running to town.  But it wouldn’t start till the 10th of May, so we had to make do the best we could.

     Not that I was thinking of myself.  My wound was healing quickly enough, and I recovered rapidly from the concussion.  But I didn’t like the idea of Michaela having to endure such a long and uncomfortable trip.  Neither did Doc Hunter.  Michaela and me had to do some fast talking to convince him we were both ready to travel just two days later.  I think it was only the fact that she was so anxious to get home to the children, that finally persuaded the doc to give us his blessing to leave.  The prospect of discomfort didn’t seem to faze Michaela, though.  All that mattered to her was seeing Brian and Colleen again, and she was willing to put up with just about anything to be reunited with them as soon as possible.

     The amazing thing, was that the closer we got to home, the stronger she seemed to become.  Her hands improved rapidly, relieving us both, and soon it was hard to tell that they’d ever suffered any damage.  And I didn’t have to urge her to eat, or remind her to drink plenty of water.  She ate and drank everything put before her, consuming it all with relish.  Of course it didn’t hurt that Mrs. Wilson had prepared a huge basket of delicious food for us to take along.  Neither one of us could resist all the tempting items she’d included, and it felt good to have an appetite again, and to take pleasure in such a simple thing as eating a meal.  Day by day I watched Michaela’s condition improve.  The hollowness in her cheeks gradually vanished, and she began to fill out.  By the time we were within sight of home, she looked almost like her old self again.  She even joked that Dorothy, Grace and Myra wouldn’t need to change the measurements for the wedding dress they had insisted on making for her.

     It was clear that something else was driving her to recover besides the prospect of being with the children, however.  She didn’t say it in so many words, but I knew she was thinking about seeing her ma again.  Foremost on her mind, of course, was relieving Elizabeth’s anxiety over her condition.  A flurry of telegrams had gone back and forth in those two days prior to our departure.  After Hank and Brendan sent the first wire, briefly telling the family that we’d found Michaela and that though she’d been hurt, she would be all right—Elizabeth had promptly wired back, demanding a full explanation from Michaela’s doctor of her daughter’s injuries and prospects for recovery.  Doc Hunter was kind enough to oblige, giving me a lift in his buggy to a nearby hamlet called Indian Springs—the closest town with a telegraph office—where we composed an answer to Elizabeth together.  And then I sent a couple of additional wires as well:  one to the children alerting them that we would be traveling separately from Matthew, Hank and Brendan, and promising to tell them everything that had happened when we returned; and one to Dorothy, with a similar message for her to deliver to Cloud Dancing.

     It eased Michaela’s mind, knowing that her ma’s worries had been assuaged, but I sensed a lingering concern in her mind, and I figured she was thinking about the last encounter they’d had, when Elizabeth had made her “confession”—and how things had been left unresolved between them.  Despite how Elizabeth had tried to interfere in her life, I knew that in her heart Michaela forgave her ma, and longed for her to be a part of our wedding.  I found myself hoping for the same thing—for Michaela’s sake, of course, but for my own, as well.  I guess, in spite of everything that had happened, I still hoped for Elizabeth’s approval—or at least her acceptance.

     So Michaela’s shock and disappointment—and, I confess, mine as well—were even greater when the children, along with Matthew and Brendan (who’d arrived back in town with Hank just a day and a half before us) met our stage with the news that Elizabeth was gone.

    “Gone?” Michaela repeated, her eyes stunned, after we’d exchanged joyful embraces with Colleen, Brian and Matthew, and warm greetings and handshakes with Brendan.  “What do you mean, ‘gone?’”

     Matthew shrugged, his eyes compassionate.  “Went home,” he replied.  “About a week ago, according to the kids.”

     “Once she was sure that you were all right, she said she needed to return to Boston—that she had affairs she needed to tend to, and she’d been away far longer than she’d planned,” Colleen added apologetically, regarding her ma with concern.

     “She just—left?” Michaela repeated, as if unable to grasp it.  My arm tightened around her, and absently she reached up to cover my hand with hers.  “Did she at least . . . say anything about the wedding?”

     Reluctantly, Colleen shook her head.  “But she left you this letter,” she said, holding out an envelope of creamy stationery with Michaela’s name inscribed across the front in Elizabeth’s elegant hand.

     Michaela accepted it slowly, then stood staring down at it for a moment, as if unsure what to do next.

     “Want me to open it?” I asked softly.

     There was another pause, then she glanced up at me.  “No, it’s all right,” she said, her tone subdued.  She turned the envelope over, her fingers awkwardly moving to break the wax seal.  But before she could lift the flap and withdraw the contents, several friends and neighbors clustered around us, eager to welcome us home.

     The next several minutes were taken up with excited greetings and embraces from Dorothy, Loren, Grace and Robert E., the Reverend, Horace and Myra.  Even Jake joined in, a smile softening hs normally caustic expression.  Hank stood on the fringes of the group, and when I caught his eye he grinned.

     “Glad you made it back it one piece,” he said, a cigar pinched between the fingers of one hand, as he moved forward and stuck out his other hand to shake mine.  He appraised Michaela admiringly.  “You’re looking lots better than the last time I seen you,” he commented.  “You both are.”

     “Thank you, Hank,” Michaela said sincerely, momentarily putting aside her disappointment over her ma to accept his compliment, as well as the warm welcomes and wishes of the others.

     “Real good to be back,” I answered him.  Our eyes met.

     “Yeah,” he said briefly.  “Know what you mean.”

     “Well, I hope you folks are up for a party!” Grace said gaily.  “Ever since we got word of when you’d be arriving, I been cooking up a storm in honor of your homecoming.  Whenever you all are ready, you just come on over to the café and we’ll celebrate!”

     “Sounds wonderful, Grace,” I said appreciatively.  “Just give Michaela a little time to rest up from the trip, and then we’ll join you.”

     “Sure,” Grace replied warmly.  She patted Michaela’s hand.  “Take all the time you need—it’ll all be waiting for you whenever you’re ready.”

     “It sounds lovely, Grace,” Michaela echoed.  “We’ll be looking forward to it.”  Dorothy and Myra joined them, and for a few minutes the women huddled together, chatting animatedly.  While they were occupied, I took Robert E. aside.

     “Were you able to take care of that matter I spoke to you about?” I asked him in a hushed voice.

     He smiled broadly.  “Sure thing.  It’s as good as new—or at least as close as I could manage,” he assured me, slightly above a whisper.

     “Thanks a lot,” I said softly.  “It should help to cheer Michaela up—she’s pretty down in the dumps, with her ma leaving and all.”

      He looked sympathetic.  “Yeah—I kind of thought she’d be disappointed when I heard that Mrs. Quinn went back to Boston.  Hard to figure why her ma would up and leave like that, without even seeing Dr. Mike or saying good-bye.”

     I shook my head.  “I don’t really understand it myself, but Mrs. Quinn has always been a hard woman to know.  I guess she had her reasons, but she must have known Michaela would be hurt.  Well, at least she left a letter—maybe that’ll explain it.”

     “Yeah,” he agreed.  “Well anyway, I’ll have that for you when you come over to the café,” he promised.  “I got to be getting back to the livery and finish up a few things, but I’ll see you in a while.”

     “Thanks,” I repeated.  “I’m obliged, Robert E.”

     “Forget it,” he said, smiling.  “I was glad to do it.”  He clapped me on the back.  “Good to have you both home safe,” he added sincerely, then headed down the street toward his business.

     Dorothy broke away from the group clustered around Michaela and approached me.  “I just wanted you to know—I spoke to Cloud Dancing,” she told me quietly.  “He sent these back—“  She held out her hand, my string of beads heaped in her palm.  “He figured you’d be wanting them.”  I accepted them gratefully, slipping them over my head.  As they slid down to rest against my chest, my fingers unconsciously caressed them.

     “Thanks—I missed these,” I told her.

     “Back where they belong,” she said approvingly, with a gentle smile.

     I hesitated for a moment, my heart accelerating slightly.  “Did he say anything?” I ventured.

     Her eyes were knowing.  “He wants to see you,” she replied kindly.  “Whenever you got the chance.  He said you’d know where to find him.”

     “Thanks, Dorothy,” I said again.  “I really appreciate what you done.”

     “It was no trouble,” she answered.  “I was glad to do whatever I could.  Now you take Michaela off to get some rest,” she added briskly, her smile bright.  “We’ll talk later.”

     “I’ll do that,” I vowed, returning the smile.  However my smile faltered and vanished as she moved away to take her leave of Michaela.   I stroked my beads once again, thinking of my blood brother and the meeting yet to come.

* * * * * * * * * *

    I knew Michaela was anxious to return home and get settled in again, but it had been a long and arduous trip from Denver, and I thought it best to give her a chance to rest before embarking on the final few miles to the homestead.  I waited until she had said good-bye to Dorothy, Grace and our other friends, then advised softly that she lay down in the clinic for a few hours.  She recognized the wisdom of my suggestion, and gratefully accepted my arm to lean on as we made our way slowly down the street from where the stagecoach stood outside the mercantile.

    We neared the saloon, which still bore the scars of the fire—the smoke-blackened walls and charred shingles of the roof a mute testiment to what had happened weeks ago.  I glanced quickly at Michaela.  She was looking at the saloon, her expression appalled and guilty.  I made a vow to myself to get started on the repairs for Hank as soon as possible—not only to fulfill my promise to him, but so that Michaela wouldn’t have a constant reminder of that day every time she looked out the clinic windows.  I slipped my arm around her shoulders, gently but firmly turning her away from the sight, and we approached the clinic. The children and Brendan followed us, but as we reached the entrance, they considerately made themselves scarce, seeming to sense that we could use some time alone.

    In our absence someone—most likely Robert E.—had replaced the frame and rehung the door.  I made a mental note to thank him for his thoughtfulness and offer to pay him for his work, though I suspected he wouldn’t accept.  As I reached for the knob, I felt Michaela stiffen at my side.

    “You all right?” I asked quickly.

    “Yes,” she managed after a moment.  “I was just remembering . . .”  Her voice trailed off.

    “The last time you were here,” I finished gently, looking down into her troubled eyes.  She nodded.

    “I’m a fool,” I reproached myself.  “I’m sorry, Michaela.  I realized the saloon would be a reminder for you, but I wasn’t thinking about the clinic itself.  Where was my head?” I said in disgust, furious at my stupidity.

    “I know how bad the memory of that day must be for you,” I added apologetically.  “We can go on to the homestead after all, if you ain’t ready to be here yet.”  Momentarily she looked as if she were tempted to accept the offer, but then she squared her shoulders, lifting her chin resolutely.

     “No,” she replied.  “It’s all right.  I have to face what happened—the sooner the better.  This is my clinic.  People come to me here for help.  I can’t allow the memory of one terrible day to prejudice me against being here and doing my job.  I can’t let fear control my life.”

     “That’s real brave,” I told her softly, my fingers lightly caressing her arms.  I could feel her trembling slightly, belying her bold-hearted words.  “But it’s only natural for you to be feeling afraid—to dread being here—especially the first time you’re seeing it after . . .”  I swallowed.  “Maybe it’s too soon,” I went on.  “Maybe we should go straight to the homestead.  Let you rest up and get stronger before you have to face being in the clinic.”

     “The thought of postponing it is enticing,” she admitted.  “But whether it’s today, or next week, or a month from now—it would be the same, Sully.  As I said, the sooner I conquer my fear, and learn to put the memory behind me, the better.  After all, it’s just a building.  It’s true—something bad happened here.  But so many good things have happened here, too.  I treated patients here—I saved lives here!  That’s what I need to concentrate on.  This is the place where I conduct my work, where I practice my profession.  I have to learn to be comfortable here again.

     “Besides,” she added, managing to summon a smile.  “I have something very important to do—to plan for our wedding.  A wonderful, joyous occasion.  There’s so much to do and very little time left in which to do it, if we’re going to be ready by May 20th.  I can’t allow residual fears or memories to get in the way of that.  And if mother should decide to come back, she’ll need a place to stay . . .”  Her voice dwindled away again, as she looked down at the envelope still clutched in her hand.

     “Maybe you should wait till we’re back at the homestead to read the letter,” I cautioned.  “You got enough to deal with, just being here, without thinking about your ma, too—“

     “No, it’s all right,” she assured me again.  “I want to know what Mother had to say.  I don’t think I could wait till later.”

     “But I don’t want you getting more upset,” I said in concern.

     Again she managed to produce a smile.  I marveled at her courage and resiliency.  “My battles with Mother are old and familiar territory,” she said wryly.  “In a perverse sort of way, I’m grateful to have this to focus on.  It helps to take my mind off the other.”

     “Are you sure?” I asked soberly.

     “I’m sure,” she answered.  As if to prove it, she stepped in front of me and turned the handle of the door herself.  She looked back at me over her shoulder.  “Let’s go inside,” she said.

* * * * * * * * * *

    She moved into the room, her steps slow but purposeful.  I followed, closing the door softly behind me.  I watched as her eyes traveled over her surroundings, going first to the window, then to the examination table—and I knew she was remembering where he’d hurt her.

    One night, during the long train ride back, she had finally told me exactly what happened that day.  Her words had come haltingly at first, but had gradually strengthened, as if in the act of telling alone, she was managing to purge the poison of the memories from her mind and heart.  I suppose it had been easier for her to talk about it then, far removed as she was from the physical and emotional reality of it all.  But now . . .

     She went to the window, her hand reaching up to lightly brush the glass.  “Here,” she said suddenly, sounding as if she were talking to herself more than me.  “When I was watching all of you fight the fire . . . This is where he put his hand over my mouth, and the knife to my throat . . .”  A few seconds ticked past, then her hand dropped away, and she turned and slowly circled the desk, approaching the examination table.  She laid her palm against the snowy whiteness of the sheet draped across it.  “And here,” she spoke again. “This was where I hit him.

    “My father’s cane,” she went on idly after a pause.  “So many times when I was in the cave, I wondered whatever became of it.  I suppose . . . someone threw it away.”

     My eyes went to the wall opposite.  I remembered that there had been a smear of blood, almost like a question mark, left by the broken piece when it flew through the air—but it was gone now.  More of Robert E.’s handiwork, I thought, and silently blessed him.

     I came up behind her, gently grasping her shoulders.  “Don’t do this to yourself,” I murmured, planting a tender kiss on the crown of her head.  She turned in my arms so that she could look at me.

     “It’s all right,” she said quietly, reassuring me yet a third time.  “It’s only a window, only a table.  Just things—and I know they have no power to hurt me.  And . . . he’ll never come back here.”

     “That’s right,” I agreed, my pride in her courage going almost too deep for words.  “He can never hurt you again.”  I cupped her cheek in my palm and pressed my lips to hers.  She covered my hand briefly with her own and looked up at me with a tremulous smile, then turned to stare once again at the features of the room.

     “Even my father’s cane,” she said after a moment.  A quiet sigh escaped her, the breath catching slightly in her throat.  “It was a beautiful symbol of his colleagues’ regard and admiration for him—but I don’ t need it to remember my love for him—or my pride in all he accomplished.”  I enfolded her in my arms, and she leaned back against my chest, resting her hands over mine.  “I’m going to be all right, Sully,” she said softly.

     “I know you will,” I said.  “Because you’re the bravest, strongest woman I’ve ever known.  And because I’m going to see to it.  I’m going to spend every day of my life making you happy, Michaela. And I’m going to do everything in my power to help you forget any of this ever happened—to help you put it behind you forever.  I swear it.”

     Again she twisted around to face me.  Her smile strengthened.  “You already make me happy,” she said lovingly.  “You always have and you always will.  And I pledge to do the same for you—to spend all the days of my life making you happy, and to help you put the memories of Red Rock behind you forever.”

     I touched her face, letting my fingertips trail along the soft contours of her skin from her temple to her throat.  “I’m grateful,” I said softly.  “More than you’ll ever know.  But—I’m afraid I ain’t going to be able to forget till after I’ve seen Cloud Dancing.”

     “He’ll understand, Sully,” she promised, her eyes gentle.  “Trust me on this.”

     “I trust you—always,” I said fervently.  “And I’m trying to believe . . . about Cloud Dancing.  But that’s for another day.  Now, all I care about is taking care of you, and making sure you’re all right.”

     “I will be—as long as you’re with me,” she said.

     “Then it’s a sure thing—because I ain’t ever leaving you,” I vowed.  “I love you, Michaela,” I whispered.

     “And I, you,” she breathed in return.

    Again we kissed, instinctively moving toward one another, surrendering to the mutual need that suddenly overwhelmed us both.  We drew apart finally, our faces flushed, the pulse pounding in our throats, our wrists . . . in every part of our bodies.

    “How am I going to wait three more weeks?” I asked, grinning down at her crookedly.  She chuckled slightly, and the sound of her gentle laughter gladdened my heart.

    “How indeed?” she answered.  I hugged her, and she returned my embrace, her body fitting itself perfectly to mine.  Presently we summoned the will to part, and attempted to compose ourselves.  Her eyes sought mine.

    “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to read my mother’s letter now,” she announced.

    “Of course it’s all right,” I said.  “But you know, Michaela, there ain’t no rush.  Why don’t you rest awhile first—get some more of your strength back?  The letter ain’t going nowhere.  It’ll be waiting for you when you wake up.”  I regarded her solicitously.
 
    “I love you for wanting to protect me,” she answered.  “But I’m ready to read it, Sully—truly.”

     “Well then—maybe you’d like some privacy,” I suggested.  “I’ll understand if you’d rather be alone.”

     “There’s nothing she could say that you couldn’t hear,” she responded.  “I’d like you to stay, Sully,” she insisted.  “Please.”

     “Whatever you want,” I said readily.  “Here,” I added, releasing her and moving to the desk, pulling out the chair.  “Sit down.”  I took her hand and led her over to the chair, lowering her into it gently.

     She arranged her skirts, making herself comfortable, then lifted the flap of the envelope and withdrew two sheets of thick vellum.  I stood behind her, my hands resting lightly on the back of the chair, and followed along over her shoulder.

     Michaela unfolded the pages, cleared her throat, and a bit self-consciously began to read aloud:

 “’My Dear Michaela,

         I deeply regret that I will not be there to welcome you home when you arrive in
    Colorado Springs.  I hope you can forgive my absence.  Rest assured that had I not been
    entirely convinced by your physician that you were out of danger, and could anticipate a
    complete recovery from your injuries, I never would have departed.  But with my anxieties
    assuaged, I felt compelled to return to Boston, where many of my neglected affairs await
    my attention.  You cannot be unaware that my visit, protracted by the dire and extraordinary
    circumstances of your abduction, extended far longer than I had either planned or expected.
    And as much as I was longing to see you again, I was forced to weigh my personal desires
    against the other and equally compelling demands of my life.  Please do not conclude that
    because I made the choice to leave, that I estimate you to be of lesser importance than other
    elements of my life, for that is certainly not the case.

       I must tell you frankly, however, that another component entered into my decision, and
    that was the state of affairs between us when we were last together.  I could not forget your
    anger when I refused to give my blessing to your union with Mr. Sully.  And while I sensed
    a—softening—shall we say, in your attitude toward me after I confessed my failings to you, I
    could not be certain that you had, indeed, forgiven me—or even that you ever could.  Given
    these facts, I thought it might be easier if I removed myself from the situation, thus eliminating
    the likelihood of yet another painful confrontation between us.  Certainly your entire focus now
    must rest with the complete recovery of your health, and I would never wish to be guilty of
    compromising that recovery by disturbing you with my presence.

        I have no way of knowing whether you still seek—or even desire—my blessing upon
    your marriage; though it was patently clear to me at the time that you intended to go forward
    with this union with—or without—my consent.  Quite honestly I haven’t come to a decision as
    to how I feel now about your marriage.  The circumstances were complicated enough before this
    tragedy occurred; now they are even more complex.  If you were to be honest with yourself, I
    think you would be forced to agree that my warnings, and my prediction, about Mr. Sully
    compromising your safety and well-being, have indeed come to pass.  However if I am to be
    equally honest, I must concede that Mr. Sully’s devotion to you, and his determination to
    rescue you regardless of the risks, were both sincere, and genuine.  Before he departed for
    Nevada, he made me a solemn vow that he would find you and bring you back safely.  He
    kept his promise—for which I commend him, and for which I am profoundly grateful.  It
    seems that despite how dramatically different you are, he truly loves you; and, even
    more importantly, you truly love him.  I suppose if I can accept nothing else, I must learn
    to accept that.

        In spite of all that has passed between us—the good as well as the bad—I
    want you to know that I love you and genuinely wish you well.  And that includes my
    fervent hope that no matter what path you choose, that you have a happy life.

        With deepest affection, I remain

                                                                                     Your Loving
                                                                                         Mother .‘”

* * * * * * * * * *

 
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

     Sully circled around her chair and crouched down on one knee by her side.  He looked into her face searchingly.  “What’re you thinkin’?” he asked softly.

     Slowly and deliberately Michaela refolded the pages of her mother’s letter and slid them back inside the envelope.  She placed the envelope on the desk, the front of it bearing her name in her mother’s formal, finishing school script facing upwards.  For several seconds she stared at the stark swirls of ink against the white background, as if seeking some type of hidden meaning in the elaborate flourishes.

     “I’m not quite sure,” she said at last, her tone flat and unemotional.  “Though the issue seems to be more what my mother is thinking.”

     “Well, that seems pretty clear,” Sully offered tentatively.  “She loves you, and she hopes you love and forgive her.”

     “I suppose,” Michaela said diffidently.  She folded her hands, resting them in her lap.  Of its own accord, Sully’s hand reached out to cover hers.

     “You know, truth be told, Michaela, it ain’t nearly as bad as I was expectin’,” he said.  “She apologized for not bein’ here, and she said she didn’t want to upset you.  More than that, she didn’t try to tell you what to do this time.  That’s a change from the way she’s acted in the past, right?” he pointed out.

     “Yes, that’s true,” Michaela allowed.

     “But you still feel bad that she didn’t stay to see you,” he concluded.  She was silent.  His fingers tightened around hers with a gentle pressure.  “C’mon, Michaela, tell me what’s botherin’ you,” he urged sympathetically.  “Is it just that she left before we got home—or is it more than that?”

     Michaela bit her lip, her hands twisting restlessly beneath his.  Sully sensed that she was trying to frame her thoughts and feelings into a reply, and didn’t push her, but waited patiently.  Presently, she sighed and looked at him.

     “I admit it hurts that she didn’t wait for me to return,” she confessed.  “But there are other things that bother me more.”

     “What?” he encouraged, the fingers of his other hand tenderly brushing a strand of her hair back from her face.

     “Why she didn’t stay,” Michaela replied.  He looked faintly puzzled.

     “Well she said . . . she had things she had to attend to, back home . . .” he ventured.

     “That’s what she said, yes,” Michaela acknowledged.  “But it’s not necessarily the truth.”

     “You don’t know that, Michaela,” he placated her.

     “No, I don’t,” Michaela said unconvincingly.

     “But that’s what you believe,” he stated.

     She sighed again.  “I’m not sure,” she admitted.  “But I’m afraid it was only an excuse—that she might have said that as a cover for her real reason . . .”

     “What would that be?” he said gently.  There was another pause.  Again he waited quietly.

    “There are only a few weeks remaining till our wedding,” Michaela replied finally.  “If she’d stayed, she would have felt bound to attend.  But the fact that she left . . .  I can’t help but think that it was her way of avoiding having to be there.”

     “Michaela, you can’t know that,” Sully repeated soothingly.  “She *was* away from Boston a long time.  Stands to reason there were lots of things she needed to see to.  Maybe she deliberately left early to take care of everythin’ in time to come back for the weddin’.”

     “It’s possible, I suppose—but I doubt it,” Michaela responded, her tone subdued.  “You heard what she wrote, Sully—she didn’t even mention the wedding.”

     “Not in so many words—but she *did* talk about our marriage,” he noted.

     “Yes—but only to point out that all her predictions about us came true,” Michaela answered, her voice tinged with bitterness.

     “That ain’t all she said, Michaela,” he reminded her mildly.  “She admitted that I’d kept my promise to bring you back safe.  That was a big concession for her to make, considerin’ how she felt about us gettin’ married.  And she went even further than that.  She said she had to accept that we loved each other—that we were gonna get married, whether she approved or not.”

     “But she didn’t give us her blessing, did she?!” Michaela retorted sharply, startling him.  Her expression quickly altered, and she regarded him penitently.  “I’m sorry, Sully—I didn’t mean to raise my voice.  I’m not angry at you—“

     “I know that,” he said softly, kissing her temple.  “You’re just feelin’ hurt about your ma.”  He smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes.  “It’s all right to shout at me if you want,” he added.  “I can take it.”

     She managed a small, half-hearted smile in return.  “No, I don’t want to shout at you,” she said.

     “Well, the offer’s open, if you feel the need,” Sully told her.  Now his expression altered, becoming earnest.  “I know you’re hurt, Michaela, and you certainly got the right to feel that way.  But the fact is, your ma didn’t refuse to give her blessin’.  She just said she didn’t know how she felt.  You can’t really fault her for that—for bein’ confused.  It was a lot for her to go through, you bein’ kidnapped and all . . . not knowin’ if you were alive, if you’d ever come back.  Look at what it did to us.”

     “I realize that—but then all the more reason for her to stay, if she was so concerned,” Michaela countered critically.  “And you demonstrated such courage, Sully—coming after me as you did, risking your life to save me at any cost.  She should be grateful—she owes you a tremendous debt!”

     “She said she was grateful,” he reminded her calmly.

     “A few words on a page,” Michaela said disdainfully.  “Hardly an adequate expression of thanks for all that you did.”

     “It was good enough for me,” Sully pacified her.  “’Specially considerin’ it was ‘cause of me that all this happened to begin with.  ’Sides,” he went on quietly.  “It ain’t your ma who owes me—it’s me who owes her.”

     “How can you possibly think that?” Michaela exclaimed.

     “I put her child in danger,” he said.  “I put your life at risk.  Your ma’s got every reason to hate me for that, and she’s sure got no reason to ever forgive me.  But she found it in herself to thank me anyway—and she didn’t condemn me, though she had the right.  She was lots more decent to me than I deserve, Michaela.”  .
 
     “As far as I’m concerned, you’re being much more decent to her than *she* deserves,” Michaela answered petulantly.

     Sully regarded her compassionately.  Instead of arguing the point further, he decided to take a different tack.

     “Remember what you said to me when I was feelin’ so guilty—when I was punishin’ myself about Cloud Dancin’?” he said, surprising her with his unexpected question.

     She looked uncertain.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

     “You said it’s hard to be objective about ourselves,” he reminded her.  “Well, in this case, Michaela, I think it’s hard—maybe even impossible—for you to be objective about your ma, or the feelin’s you got for one another.  You’ve had negative feelin’s about her for so long, you just can’t see through the hurt right now.  But let me ask you this:  If you didn’t love her so much, would you even care whether or not she was here for the weddin’?  Or for that matter, what she thinks of me, or the two of us together?  I don’t think so,” he added, studying her carefully.  She didn’t answer, but he could see she was turning the idea over in her mind.  “Truth is, Michaela, you love her a lot, and she ain’t here.  That’s why you’re angry—not ‘cause of any insults she might have made about me.”

     She opened her mouth to protest, and he held up his hand to forestall her.  “I know you want to defend me,” he went on quickly.  “And I love you for it.  But I can take care of myself, Michaela.  We both know that.  If your ma doesn’t like me or accept me—well, I’m sorry for that; I’d like to think she  could learn to be happy one day about us bein’ married.  For your sake, if nothin’ else.  But if it never happens, it ain’t gonna ruin my life, or even affect it that much.  You love me, and you’ve promised yourself to me—that’s all I care about.  But what *would* bother me is if you go on bein’ angry with your ma purely on my account.  I don’t want to be the one responsible for comin’ between you.”  He paused, continuing to watch her face.  She was listening quietly now.  “So I think you got to search your mind and your heart real carefully.  And I believe that if you do, you’ll discover that it’s your fear that she doesn’t care about you that’s causin’ your anger—not her opinion of me.”

     She continued to be silent, and he felt suddenly apprehensive.  Perhaps emotionally she wasn’t  strong enough yet to recognize and accept this fact about herself.  Perhaps it was too much for her to absorb, on top of everything else she’d been through.  Maybe he was pushing her too hard . . .

     Michaela suddenly smiled, and relief washed through him like a wave.  “How did you become so wise?” she asked.

     He shrugged.  “It’s a gift,” he said airily, the mischief returning to his eyes.

     “Well, you’re right,” she admitted, a bit ruefully.  “I want her to be here—and I want her to be happy for us.  With my father gone, she’s the only parent I have, and I want her to love and respect my husband, just as I know my father would have.”

     “Well, if you think your pa would have felt that way, then I’m honored,” Sully said sincerely.  “As far as your ma, goes, though—I think ‘love and respect’ might be a little too tall an order—least in the beginnin’.  But I hope she can find it in her heart to be glad for us someday, ‘cause it’s so important to you.

     “And there’s somethin’ else I think,” he added.

     “What’s that?” she asked, her fingers now firmly entwined with his.

     “I think she’ll be here,” he predicted.

     “Do you really, Sully?” she asked vulnerably.

     “I really do,” he told her.  “But if she ain’t—it won’t be ‘cause she don’t love you, Michaela,” he said softly.  “And that’s one thing I’m sure about.”

     Spontaneously she hugged him.  “Thank you, Sully!” she whispered against his shirt front, her head tucked beneath his chin.

     “No charge,” he whispered back, caressing the softness of her hair.  His fingers found her chin and he tilted it up, covering her mouth with his.

     After several moments they drew apart, and he looked into her face with a smile.  “As long as I’m spoutin’ all this wisdom, I got one more recommendation to make,” he said.

     “And what would that be, ‘Professor’ Sully?” Michaela responded, dimpling at him.

     “Lay down and get some sleep,” he advised.  “Things will look lots brighter when you’re rested, I reckon.  ‘Sides, we got a party to go to, and I don’t think anybody’s got a better right to celebrate than we do.”
 
     “Once again, very wise advice,” Michaela pronounced, favoring him with another smile.

     “Of course,” he said smugly.  She rolled her eyes at him, then allowed him to take her hand and lift her to her feet.  Together they walked over to the cot against the wall, and he helped her settle onto it, covering her tenderly with the blanket.

     “Sweet dreams,” he said softly, brushing her forehead with his lips.

     “They’ll be sweet,” she whispered back, reaching up to caress his face.  “Because I intend to dream only of you.”

     “I’ll let you get to it, then,” he told her, with a roguish but loving smile.  Touching his fingers to his lips, he backed away toward the door, keeping her in his sights.  Turning the knob, he stepped outside, quietly closing the door after him.

     With a restful sigh, Michaela pillowed her hand beneath her cheek, and contentedly closed her eyes.

* * * * * * * * * *

    The afternoon sun was bright after the dimness of the clinic, and Sully slitted his eyes slightly against the light.  As his vision adjusted however, he noticed a large satchel and another, smaller piece of luggage standing on the porch.  Just as he registered their presence, the other door to the clinic opened and Brendan stepped out.  He had changed clothes and his face was freshly shaved.  He looked ready for travel.

    “Hello again,” he greeted Sully with a smile.  Sully glanced down at the bags, then back up at the young man opposite.

    “What’s all this about?” he asked curiously.

    “Just what it looks like,” Brendan replied easily.

    “You’re leavin’?” Sully said, feeling a sudden brief stab of regret at the thought.  “So soon?”

    “Afraid so,” Brendan replied apologetically.  “The stage pulls out at three o’clock.  When it does, I’ll be on it.”

    “But what’s your rush?” Sully persisted.  “There’s a party at Grace’s—can’t you stay for that?  And Michaela—she’s restin’ now, but I know she’d feel real bad if she didn’t get a chance to say good-bye.”

    “I’d regret it as well,” Brendan said sincerely.  “I hope I’ll have the opportunity to take my leave of her.  But unfortunately I don’t have a choice.  When we returned yesterday, I had a wire waiting for me from William Jackson.  He’s returning to Mesa Verde, and he wants me to join him.”

    “But couldn’t you put it off for another day or two?” Sully said persuasively, inwardly amazed that the prospect of Brendan leaving disappointed him so much.  Who would have believed it, he thought to himself.  And then on the heels of that:  But who would have believed he’d come to mean so much to our lives?

    “I wish I could,” Brendan said regretfully.  “I truly mean that.  But the telegram was already a week old when Mr. Bing gave it to me.  Jackson’s time in Mesa Verde is limited, because of his obligations to Hayden’s geographic survey.  If we’re going to explore the cliff dwellings, it has to be now.”

    It finally began to sink in to Sully that Brendan was truly and actually going to leave town.  And now that the young archaeologist was on the point of departure, there suddenly seemed so many things that he needed to say.

    “I’m really sorry that you’re leavin’,” he said slowly after a moment.  “I know we got off to a rocky start—that there were bad feelin’s and misunderstandin’s between us.  But the last few weeks . . . well, they changed all that.

    “I don’t know how to thank you—for what you did,” he went on more strongly.  “I owe you so much—“

    “This isn’t necessary,” Brendan interrupted.  But Sully fixed him with a steady look.

    “Yeah,” he said.  “It is.  I gotta say this.  If it weren’t for you—well, I never woulda had a prayer of findin’ Michaela—of trackin’ her down and bringin’ her back safe.  You told me where to look.  More than that, you guided me there, and stood by me against Bloody Knife.  You risked your life, Brendan—for Michaela, and for me.  That took guts—“

    “Everything I did, I wanted to do Sully,” Brendan interjected again.  “I was just grateful I could be of help.”

    “Well I was grateful you were there,” Sully replied.

    “You know, Sully, I owe you my thanks as well,” Brendan said unexpectedly.  Sully look surprised.

    “Why—for almost gettin’ you killed?” he asked, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
Warmth gleamed in Brendan’s eyes as well, but then his expression turned thoughtful.  “No.  For giving me the chance to . . . I don’t know . . . to prove myself, I suppose,” he said.  “I’ve been all over the world, had my share of stimulating experiences, and seen some wondrous things.  But I don’t think I ever felt more—alive . . . that I had more of a sense of purpose—than when I accompanied you on this journey.  Thank you for helping me to find that spark of strength inside.”

    “Any time,” Sully said, his expression genuine.  He hesitated a moment, then went on, “As long as we’re talkin’ plain . . .  Well, maybe I don’t completely understand about your interest in the past—how you choose to study it and all. But everythin’ I said when I first met you—everythin’ I thought . . . I was wrong.  Dead wrong.  And I’m sorry.”

    Brendan nodded.   “Thanks,” he said quietly.  “I appreciate that.”  It was his turn to hesitate, but then he went on, “About . . . Michaela.  My behavior.  I had no right—“

     “It’s forgotten,” Sully said.

     “That’s generous of you,” Brendan said levelly.  “But still, I don’t feel right about my attentions to her, and particularly about the way I acted toward you.  I deeply regret it all.  I was wrong.”

     Sully shrugged, giving him a crooked smile.  “What can I tell you?  You have good taste.  Look,
I can’t very well fault you for having the same feelin’s I had myself when I first met her.   Michaela’s . . . well, Michaela’s an easy woman to love.”

     “She’s very special,” Brendan agreed.  “Beautiful, brilliant, courageous . . .”

     “She’s got the ‘heart of a warrior,’” Sully said with quiet pride.  “That’s what Chief Black Kettle said about her once.”

     Brendan met his eyes.  “That’s it exactly.”   There was a pause, then he added, “You’re a lucky man, Sully.”

     Sully smiled.  “You don’t got to tell me that.”

     Brendan returned his smile.  “No, of course not.  And—Michaela’s a lucky woman.”

     Sully dropped his eyes for a moment, then looked back up at Brendan.  “That’s good of you,” he remarked.  “And I know that someday, I’ll be sayin’ the same thing about the woman lucky enough to marry you.”

     Brendan shrugged.  “I hope you’re right,” he said.  “Tell me,” he went on with a small grin. “Are there any more at home like Michaela?”

     Sully chuckled softly.  “Four—but none quite like Michaela.”

     “Just as I suspected,” Brendan replied.  He smiled once more.

     Sully extended his hand and Brendan grasped it firmly.  “It’s been good knowin’ you,” Sully said sincerely.  “I hope your travels bring you back this way someday.”

     “I hope so too,” Brendan answered.  “Now that I know I’ll be returning to friends.”

     “Always,” Sully assured him.  “Always.”
 

* * * * * * * * * *

    Michaela leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh.  “It was all wonderful, Grace,” she declared to the slender woman standing nearby.  Grace looked pleased.  “I don’t believe I have room for another bite!”

    “But ya gotta find room, Ma,” Brian said, appearing at her side suddenly with a plate in his hand.  “I brought ya some of Miss Grace’s apple cobbler—your favorite.  I brought ya the biggest piece,” he added importantly.

    Michaela chuckled.  “You’re absolutely right, Brian.  I stand corrected.  There’s always room for Grace’s cobbler.”  She picked up her fork and cut a piece, putting it into her mouth.  Her eyes closed briefly as she savored the cidery sweetness of the fruit blended with the flaky tenderness of the pastry.  “A slice of heaven,” she breathed, glancing at Grace once again in admiration.  Grace’s vibrant dark eyes beamed with pleasure.

    Michaela started to take another mouthful but Sully touched her arm, staying her hand.

    “Uh, ‘fore you tuck into that, there’s an important matter we got to attend to,” he announced.  Something about the sparkle in his eyes and the tone of his voice immediately seized her attention.  She scrutinized him closely.

    “Byron Sully, are you up to something?” she queried.

    He regarded her innocently.  “Who, me?”  Looking over her head toward the large, gnarled oak that dominated the café, he raised his hand in a signaling gesture.  “Robert E.?”

    The blacksmith moved forward from where he’d been standing by the tree.  In his hands he held a long, slim package, wrapped in plain paper and tied with a festive red ribbon.  He reached the table, and placed the mysterious package before her.  “For you, Dr. Mike.”

    Her eyes widened, and a blush of pleased surprise colored her cheeks.   “How nice!  But there was no need for presents.  All of this—“  She waved her hand expansively.  “—was more than enough.”

    “It ain’t exactly a present,” Sully spoke again.  “More like . . . restorin’ somethin’ that was lost—puttin’ it back where it belongs.”

    She stared at him again, her ears attuned to the odd note of suppressed emotion in his tone.  Suddenly she became aware that everyone was watching her avidly, their eyes expectant.

    “What’s all this about?” she asked, her glance going from one face to another.

    “Well if you don’t open it, guess we’ll never find out,” Sully told her, grinning.  Michaela smiled back, still feeling in the dark but pleasantly so, and drew off the ribbon, then parted the folds of the paper.  Her hand unconsciously went to her mouth and she gasped as she saw what lay inside.  “Oh!”

    She felt Sully’s arm slip around her shoulders as tears stung her eyes.  “Oh,” she breathed again more softly.  “I can’t believe it . . .”

    The silver head of her father’s cane gleamed up at her, its shaft of dark, oiled wood whole and pristine.  It looked nearly identical to the way it had before; and yet, there was a subtle difference.  Michaela couldn’t quite put her finger on what had changed, but it didn’t matter.

    “How is this possible?” she managed, nearly overcome.  “I thought it was gone forever . . .”

    “Robert E. fixed it,” Sully said, looking at his friend in admiration.  Michaela gratefully followed his gaze.

    “It was Sully’s idea,” Robert E. added, sharing the credit.  Michaela’s eyes turned to Sully.

    “Of course,” she whispered.

    “It ain’t quite the same,” Robert E. spoke again, his tone apologetic.  “Didn’t have no ebony, but I used the best piece of maple I could find.  Shortened the length a little too, so it would be just the right size for ya.  I hope it’s all right, Dr. Mike, even though it’s different.”

     Michaela touched the cane, her fingers trailing lovingly over the shining contours of carved silver, then stroking the smooth, polished length of the shaft.  After a moment she raised her head.

     “Yes, it *is* different,” she said, her voice tremulous.  “It’s better.”  She swallowed down the tears that threatened to flow, then rose to her feet.  Softly she continued, “This cane always meant so much to me because it represented my love and admiration for my father.  But now it will be doubly precious, because it will be a symbol of  the priceless gift of friendship—“  She looked at Robert E.  “And of love,” she finished,  meeting Sully’s eyes.  Sully gazed back at her, deeply moved.  “Thank you, Robert E.,” she said simply, turning back to the blacksmith.  “With all my heart.”  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

     “Welcome home, Dr. Mike,” Robert E. said warmly.

     “I can’t tell you how good it is to be home,” she answered.

     “All right, now—no tears allowed!”  Grace suddenly exclaimed briskly.  “This is a party!”   The emotional mood of the moment was broken, as everyone chuckled appreciatively.  A buzz of conversation and laughter resumed in the café, and Michaela sat down again, her eyes continuing to regard the cane with gratitude and wonder.

     Sully reached over and took her hand, drawing her eyes to his.  “Is it all right that we fixed it?” he asked her under the cover of the hubbub of voices, his expression slightly apprehensive.  “It won’t be too much of a reminder of—“  He hesitated.  “Well, you know . . .”

     “It’s more than all right,” she answered tenderly.  “And it will be a reminder of nothing but joy.”

     “Good,” he said, satisfied.  “I’m glad.”  He picked up the cane and laid it aside, then pointed to the plate of cobbler still sitting in front of her.  “Better finish that,” he added.  “You still need to put some weight on.”

     “With pleasure,” she said, picking up her fork once again.  But then her hand paused, the fork hovering over the plate.  There was an expression of mild regret in her eyes.

     “What is it?” he asked.

     She sighed.  “I was just wishing Brendan could have been here for this,” she said.

     Sully nodded.  “Me too.  He deserved to be part of the celebration.”

     “At least I got to speak with him before he left,” she added.  “I’m so glad you woke me, Sully.”

     “Figured you’d never forgive me if I let him go without givin’ you the chance to thank him and say good-bye,” he noted with a smile.
 
    “I would have been very sorry to miss him,” she acknowledged, smiling back.  Then her expression turned earnest.  “I owe him so much.”

     “So do I,” Sully agreed.  “He’s a good man.”

     “You really feel that way, Sully?” she asked.

     He nodded.  “Yeah.  He risked a lot for me—for us.  We got to know each other pretty well over all those days and weeks.  We put all the bad things behind us and got to be friends.”

     “I’m glad,” she said sincerely.

     “Did you have a nice conversation?” Sully asked her.

     “Yes, very,” Michaela responded.  “I told him that I hoped he’d return to visit us one day, and he said that he thought he might be able to come back sometime over the summer.  Is that all right with you?” she inquired solicitously.

     “More than all right,” he assured her.  “I told him the same thing.”  He gestured toward the cobbler.  “Eat,” he instructed, with a smile.

     She smiled back, and resumed her consumption of the tempting confection.  After a few moments, however, she noticed that Sully had fallen silent, a faraway expression in his eyes.

     “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

     His eyes cleared, and he gave her his attention.  “Cloud Dancin’,” he confessed quietly.  “I was wishin’ he could be here too.”

     “Yes,” she said softly, covering his hand with hers.  “You should go to him,” she added.

     He looked startled.  “I didn’t say . . . that is, it can wait,” he protested, but without much conviction.

     “No, you didn’t say it,” Michaela echoed.  “But I know what’s in your heart.  And as far as you’re being able to wait . . . Perhaps you can, but I don’t think you should.  You need to see him, Sully.  To make your final peace with all this.  I think you should go to him now,” she repeated.

     “Are you sure?” he asked, looking grateful, but a a trifle guilty as well.  “I don’t feel right about leavin’ you . . .”

     “I have the children and half the town to look after me,” she reassured him.  “Besides, soon we’ll be returning to the homestead.

    “I’ll be fine,” she added.  “Go, Sully,” she urged again.  “Please.”

    Again he smiled gratefully.  “How’d I get so lucky?” he said.

    “The feeling is mutual,” she answered, smiling back.  She leaned over and kissed him lightly.
“Give Cloud Dancing my love,” she told him.

     “Done,” he promised.  He raised her hand to his lips.  “I love you.”

     “And I, you,” she replied.  “Hurry back,” she added softly.
 
    Sully rose from the table and started to move away, then raised his hand in a wave of farewell.  She returned the gesture, then followed his graceful figure with her eyes as he walked rapidly away, disappearing around the corner of the clinic.

     “Where’s Sully goin’, Ma?” Brian asked, reappearing at her side.

     Michaela smiled at him.  “To see a dear friend,” she said.

     Just then Loren approached.  “Sure is good havin’ ya back, Dr. Mike,” he commented.  Michaela regarded him warmly.

     “It’s very good to be back, Loren,” she replied.  The storekeeper cleared his throat, fidgeting with the chain of his pocket watch.

     “Is there something I can help you with?” Michaela asked, noting his discomforture.

     “Well . . .”  He cleared his throat again.  “I was just wonderin’ . . . that is, some of the other folks and me was kinda curious . . .  What exactly happened out there?  We asked Hank, but he won’t utter a peep about it.  Ain’t like him.”

     Michaela picked up her empty glass.  “Brian, would you get me some more cider?” she asked.

     “Sure, Ma,” the young boy said readily, accepting the glass and moving away through the cluster of tables.

     “Little pitchers got big ears,” Loren remarked sagely, watching him go.  He turned back to Michaela, his eyes glittering in anticipation.  “So, then, Dr. Mike, what’s the story?” he asked again.

     Michaela looked down at her plate, toying with the remains of her cobbler.  Finally she looked up again and met Loren’s eager gaze.

     “Loren . . .  What happened ‘out there’—is best left forgotten,” she said finally.  “I hope you can understand.”

     The storekeeper’s eyes were disappointed, but mingled in their expression was a trace of compassion.  “Yeah, well, sure,” he conceded.  “Guess ya just want ta put it all outta your mind.”

     Michaela nodded.  “That essentially describes it,” she said.

     “That’s all right, Dr. Mike,” Loren said kindly.  “We’re still real glad yer back safe with us.”

     “Thank you, Loren,” Michaela said graciously.  Loren’s seamed face dissolved into a smile.
“You take care, Dr. Mike,” he added.

     “I will,” she replied.  Loren moved away.  Michaela propped her elbow on the table with her chin resting on her hand, the crotchety store owner already forgotten.  She stared off into space, her thoughts filled with Sully and Cloud Dancing.