Saturday, 30 April, 1870

     I found him where I’d last seen him—an encounter that seemed a lifetime ago—sitting cross-legged by his small cooking fire as a glorious sunset banded the sky with vibrant shades of red, violet and gold.

     As I entered the clearing his back was to me, but he sensed my presence, turning and then rising to his feet, his dark eyes glowing with warmth.

     “Welcome my brother,” Cloud Dancing said, moving forward to meet me as I approached.  I savored his use of the term as we embraced, wondering if he would still look upon me as a brother by the time our meeting was concluded.  “It is good to see you again,” he went on.  “Many suns have risen over my camp since we saw each other last.”

     “It’s good to see you, too,” I managed, equal measures of joy and trepidation filling me inside.  “I’ve missed you.”

     “You have had much trouble,” he observed, looking into my eyes.  “But you are all right.  I prayed to the spirits to protect you on your journey, and to bring you and Michaela back safely.”

     “Thank you,” I answered, moved by his kindness, yet feeling so undeserving.  “I’m grateful for your concern, and your help.”

     “There is no need for thanks,” he replied.  “I could do nothing less for someone who is a part of me.  Here,” he went on, leading the way back to the campfire.  “Let us sit.  I am anxious to hear what has happened to you since the night we parted.”

     My heart began to beat an uneven rhythm as I contemplated what I had to say, but I followed him to the blanket spread on the ground, and we sat down together.

     “Michaela—is she well?” Cloud Dancing asked as we made ourselves comfortable.
 
     “She is now,” I answered.
 
     “She was hurt?” he said quickly.

     “She . . . went through a lot,” I replied vaguely.  “I’ll explain by and by . . .  What about you?” I changed the subject abruptly, inwardly cursing myself for my cowardice but unable to resist the temptation to postpone the inevitable, if only for a few more minutes.  “Have you been all right?”

     “Soldiers continue to pursue me, but it requires little effort for me to elude them,” he answered.  “But I have not seen the long hair in many weeks.”

     I could feel an ugly flush stain my face at his statement, and prayed he wouldn’t notice.  “You sure the soldiers have been after you?” I asked carefully, wondering if Custer had already broken his promise, or whether his men had been operating on orders he’d given them before he’d followed us to Nevada.  “Maybe they were chasing the dog soldiers.”

     “I heard them talking about me,” Cloud Dancing confirmed.

     I nodded.  “I see.  Well, I’m glad you were able to keep out of sight,” I added lamely.

     “You are disturbed.  What is it, Sully?”  His eyes were upon me, direct and piercing.

     I decided to address the lesser of my transgressions first.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you before I left,” I apologized.  “You had a right to know what Bloody Knife had done, especially after you warned me—“

     “There was no time,” he interrupted.  “I understand.  Michaela’s friend explained it to me.  It was good of you to send her.”

     “I didn’t want to go without any explanation . . . leave you wondering or worrying,” I replied.  “And I felt bad that I chose to set off without you, but I didn’t want to put you in more danger.”

     “The danger would not have mattered,” he said.  “But the circumstances did not permit another choice.  Do not trouble yourself about it further.”  A slender length of wood roughly a foot long, its bark intact, lay on the blanket beside him, along with a knife.  He picked them up and rapidly began to strip off the bark with the blade, fine shavings fluttering down as his fingers flew.  I watched his hands work the wood, wondering how to proceed.

     “And what of Bloody Knife?” he asked suddenly.  “Is he dead?”

     My heart lurched in my chest.  There would be no putting it off, then.  My painful moment of truth had arrived.

     I swallowed.  “No,” I said.  “He ain’t.”

     His hands paused in their task and his eyes met mine.  “Then he is still a threat?”

     My mouth was dry.  “No  . . . not any more.”

     Cloud Dancing continued to watch me, his expression a neutral mask.  “Then how did you defeat him?” he said after a long pause.

     My fingers knotted themselves together.  Tension tightened the muscles in my neck and jaw.  “I didn’t defeat him, Cloud Dancing,” I answered finally.  Another silence fell between us as I tried to summon my courage.  “I better start at the beginning,” I added slowly, and began to speak . . .

* * * * * * * * * *

     I talked for a long time.  The only way I could get through it was to begin with the fire and forge steadily forward to the end of that day when I found Michaela, and had my final and shameful confrontation with Bloody Knife and Custer.  Throughout the whole thing Cloud Dancing listened gravely, quietly, his carving forgotten.  He never interrupted, never asked a question, never made a response of any kind.  I almost wished he had . . .  I think it would have been easier for me if he’d erupted in anger, or cursed me—even accused me of betraying him . . . anything that would have let me know what was in his mind.  His silence was so much harder for me to bear, as I imagined all kinds of terrible things that he must be thinking.

     Full night had fallen in the time it took for me to make my confession, and the darkness seemed to intensify my feeling of isolation even more.  Flickering firelight shadowed Cloud Dancing’s face, throwing the sculptured planes of his cheekbones into harsh relief.  His eyes were dark holes, their depths seeming to reach to infinity.  It was impossible for me to read their expression.  I’d believed that nothing could be more degrading than the way I’d felt after I cast away my honor and surrendered to Custer . . .  But no, this was infinitely worse, as I witnessed the veil that had descended over the familiar features of the man I’d always called my friend—and my brother.
 After what seemed an eternity I finished, and still he didn’t speak.  His silence was a palpable thing, deep and ominous.  I felt like I was suffocating in a mire of guilt and misery.

     “I don’t know what to say to you,” I said at last.  “I betrayed you, and the memories of Snowbird, Black Kettle, and all your Cheyenne brothers and ancestors.  I chose my love for Michaela—for my own life—over the martyrdom of your people.  There ain’t no way for me to fix it—to make it right—except to tell the truth about what happened.  But if I go back on my word—if I break my promise . . . it would hurt Michaela.  It might even destroy her.  In spite of everything, she still loves me—she needs me.  But . . . more than that—I need her.  Spirits help me, I’m weak, Cloud Dancing.  I can’t give her up—not even if it means dishonoring you.”  I looked down at the ground, unable to face him anymore.  “I ain’t the man you believed me to be,” I said dully, barely above a whisper.  “I ain’t the brother you trusted.  Not any more.”

     “The Cheyenne believe the tribe comes first, then the family, then man,” his voice suddenly uttered into the silence, intoning the belief I knew as well as my own name.

     “And I violated that,” I choked.  “I put the man—I put myself—first.”

     “Shall I tell you what I would have done, had I suspected the fate that awaited Snowbird when I let her go to Fort Cobb without me?” he asked softly.

     I managed to raise my eyes to him.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

     “I have always tried to live as the spirits wished—to honor them and follow their guidance,” he elaborated.  “But I am not one of them.  Nor am I like my ancestors, infinitely wise.  I am only a man—flawed, imperfect.  I have known anger, and bitterness.  I have made mistakes.  The greatest of these was when I chose to stay behind with the dog soldiers.  But if I had believed there was even the smallest chance I might be sending Snowbird to her death . . .”  His voice shook slightly.  “I would never have let her go.  I would have done whatever I could to keep her with me—to keep from losing her, though it would have been selfish.”

     “But you would have been sparing the lives of Black Kettle and the others, as well as Snowbird,” I argued.  “That wouldn’t have been selfish, Cloud Dancing.  You would have been saving all of them.”

     “You do not understand,” he said quietly.  “What I am saying . . . is if I had been forced to choose between Snowbird and the rest of my people . . . I would still have chosen Snowbird.”

     I stared at him, momentarily speechless at the implications of his statement.  After several long seconds crawled past I managed to find my voice again.  “But you didn’t need to make that choice.”

     “It does not matter,” he replied, then continued gravely, “Even after my people perished at the Washita, still I chose to ride with the Arapahoe dog soldiers.  My grief left room for nothing but revenge in my heart.  But as time passed and I was lost in that dark place, I was finally forced to face the truth.  I came to know that though I loved and honored my people—I loved myself more.  I loved and needed Snowbird, and I would have done anything to prevent her fate.”  He fixed his somber gaze upon me.  “Anything,” he repeated softly.  I gazed back at him, my throat tightening as I imagined his agony.

     “When I taught Michaela about the medicine, we talked honestly of many things,” he said.  “I told her of my guilt and pain over Snowbird.  But I could not tell her this.  I could not confess my weakness, for I was too ashamed.  It is a bitter secret that I have kept hidden in my heart.

     “The spirits spared me from having to make such a choice,” he stated.  “But you were forced to choose.  To confront the darkness in your soul.  You speak of betraying me—of dishonoring yourself before me and all the Cheyenne who have gone before.  But how can I stand in judgment of you, Sully, when I am no different?  How can I condemn you for taking the same path I would have taken, had I been in your place?”

     “You’re saying—you forgive me?” I whispered.

     “I have no right to forgive, or condemn,” he answered.  “But I understand.

     “You are the custodian of your own soul, Sully, as I am the custodian of mine,” Cloud Dancing went on.  “You must search your own heart, and find a way to forgive yourself.  I must do the same.  I have not reached that point yet—perhaps I never shall.  But I have begun to find a measure of peace.  Teaching Michaela about the medicine helped me to take the first steps on that path.  And I have found comfort in the hope that Snowbird would have understood.”

     “Michaela understood,” I said softly.

     “Then you will be all right,” Cloud Dancing pronounced.  “Somehow we will both be all right, one day.

     “I said that I do not have the right to judge you, or to forgive,” he repeated.  “But if it helps to take away some of your pain, then know this:  I do not blame you.”  His eyes were kind now, and gentle.  “You are still my brother, Sully—you always will be.”  He reached out his hand and gripped mine.  My fingers clung tightly to his, as together we reforged our bond.

* * * * * * * * * *

    Much later I said, “There’s one thing I never understood—I still don’t.  If Custer was telling the truth—if he really never meant for you to be killed, or me to be harmed—then that means that Bloody Knife did all this out of his own hate, his own need for revenge.  But why did he hate us so much, when we’d never done nothing to him?”

    “For me, that is easy,” Cloud Dancing replied.  “The Arikara and the Cheyenne have always been enemies.  He was only following a pattern set forth before he was born.  But for you . . .”  He paused, his eyes thoughtful.  “Bloody Knife often called you ‘half-breed,’” he stated unexpectedly.

    “Yeah,” I responded.  “I’ve gotten used to it from the army, or other whites.  But it always sounded so strange, coming from an Indian.  I could never figure it.”

    “I believe . . . that you reminded him of himself,” Cloud Dancing speculated.  “Neither dog nor wolf . . . neither Arikara or Sioux . .  . always outside, apart . . . separate from both.  You followed the Cheyenne, but you were not Cheyenne.  But you also were not completely white.  You had a foot in both worlds, yet you were not fully part of either.  Turning his anger outward toward you—trying to destroy you—was Bloody Knife’s way of hiding from the truth:  that the one he truly hated was himself.

    “In a way, he is to be pitied,” he concluded quietly.

    “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to find pity in my heart for him,” I said soberly.

    “Nor I,” Cloud Dancing agreed.  “But I do not think it will matter.”

    “What do you mean?” I asked curiously.

    “I told you once that what you fear will always come to you,” he reminded me.  “I also believe that the evil men do comes back to them.  I do not think that Bloody Knife or Custer are long for this world.  Justice will find them in the end, and they will pay the final price for their deeds.”

    “If that’s true, I can’t say I’m sorry,” I admitted.  “And there’s one more thing I should warn you about.  Custer claimed he wouldn’t deliberately come after you, but there ain’t no guarantee that he’ll keep his word.  The fact that the army soldiers are still looking for you could mean that he’s already gone back on what he said.”

    “He must follow his destiny, as I must follow mine,” Cloud Dancing said.

    “Maybe that’s so, but still—promise me you’ll be careful,” I entreated.

    “I will,” he vowed.  Suddenly he rose to his feet.  As I followed his lead, he said, “It is time for you to return to Michaela.”

    “Yeah, guess I need to be getting back,” I agreed.  “But there’s one final thing I want to say.  It took great courage for you to share the most private part of yourself with me, Cloud Dancing.  You gave me a priceless gift of wisdom tonight.  I thank you for that.  I’ll never forget it.”

    “We helped each other,” he said.  “You set my feet further upon the path to healing.  I thank you  also.  Go with honor, my brother,” he added softly.

    “Live in peace,” I answered, as we embraced.  Parting from him reluctantly, I turned and walked out of the clearing, feeling the weight of the burden I’d carried for so long slide from my shoulders at last.

* * * * * * * * * *

 
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

     Michaela drifted, soothed by the gentle motion of the train, as if she were a baby being rocked in a cradle.  But gradually the recollection of where she was filtered through to her sleepy mind, and she came fully awake.  She stretched languidly, her limbs heavy, her body feeling satiated and content.  She lay in a cacoon of warmth, enjoying the unfamiliar yet intoxicating sensation of soft sheets against her bare skin.  Never in her life had she slept entirely unclothed, and she felt deliciously decadent—as if she were doing something forbidden.  But it was not forbidden—not any more.  For she was married now . . .

     Married!  The mere contemplation of her new status was enough to send a thrill of excitement through her.  As she savored the thought, instinctively she rolled to her left, letting her eyes travel lovingly over the profile of her husband.

     Sully still slept, his lips slightly parted, his chest rising and falling slowly.  Michaela’s eyes gradually moved from the spill of his gold-brown hair on the pillow; to the sight of the crisper, slightly darker hairs which traced a pattern down his chest and stomach and drew her gaze inexorably to the suggestive shadow just below his navel, barely concealed by the sheet which covered his lower body.  Unable to resist the temptation, she slid across and molded herself against him, her blood pounding hotly as her flesh pressed his.  Beneath the sheet, her leg hooked over his thigh, and her arm slipped over his torso, caressing his soft warmth.  She pillowed her cheek on his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin.

     Suddenly she felt his arm curl around her, drawing her tightly against his body, and she knew he was awake.  Michaela lifted her head, propping her arms on his chest and looking down into the azure blue of his eyes.  He grinned up at her.

     “Hello, Wife,” he said.

     She grinned back.  “Hello, Husband.”

     He yawned and stretched, expelling his breath in a deep sigh of contentment, and slipped his arms around her bare back.  Her breasts pressed against him, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

     “How are you?” he asked, gazing at her raptly.  “You all right?”

     She smiled radiantly.  “More than all right.”

     He studied her closely.  “You sure?” he persisted.  “I didn’t . . . That is, I was careful enough?  I didn’t . . . hurt you?”  His eyes were anxious.

     “No, you didn’t hurt me,” she said softly.  “It was . . . “ She searched for words adequate enough to describe the wealth of emotions she was feeling . . . the overwhelming sense of wholeness, completeness . . . and concluded reluctantly that no such words existed.  “It was—better than I could ever have imagined,” she said finally.

     “I’m glad,” he answered, relieved.  “I know that the first time . . . well, that it can be uncomfortable—even frightenin’. . .”

     “I confess I was nervous . . . before,” she admitted.  “But never frightened.  And you were so tender, so
gentle . . .”

     “I promised that we’d take it ‘ever so easy,’” he reminded her, smiling.

     “You kept your promise—and more,” she said ardently.

     “So you think you could get used to this ‘marriage business?’” he asked impishly.

     She pretended to consider the question.  “I suppose,” she allowed primly after a moment.  “With some ‘practice.’”  Her eyes were rife with meaning.

     “Well, we’ll do plenty of that,” he assured her, grinning.  “Just keep practicin’ and practicin’ till we get it right.  Should take—oh, I don’t know—maybe fifty, sixty years.”

     “If we must, we must,” she sighed exaggeratedly, and then a giggle escaped her.  He chuckled as well and pulled her head down to his, claiming her lips in a deep, intoxicating kiss.

     As they breathlessly drew apart a few moments later he said suggestively, “Ready for lesson number two?”

     “Why, Mr. Sully, you’re relentless,” she declared.

     “Comes from havin’ such a *willin’* student,” he responded, his eyes devilish.

     “What a pity they never taught this in medical school,” she teased, raising an eyebrow provocatively.

     “Just as well—I wouldn’t have wanted you learnin’ from anybody but me,” he said.

     “And I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything but you,” she agreed.

     “Well, not everythin’ worth knowin’ comes out of a book, anyway.  Some things . . . you learn by doin’,” he replied, grinning wickedly.

     “And do you give much ‘homework?’” she asked innocently.

     “Tons,” he said huskily, and drew her into his arms again.

* * * * * * * * * *

    “Oh, Michaela,” he gasped softly, as his thundering pulse finally began to slow.  They lay with limbs entwined amidst the tangled sheets, perspiration dewing their skin.

    She raised her head from the pillow, feeling a stab of anxiety.  “Did I—do something wrong?” she asked timidly, suddenly shy as she met his eyes.

    He gaped at her.  “Somethin’ wrong?” he echoed disbelievingly.

    “Well, I mean . . . that is to say . . .”  She fumbled for words, flustered.  “Did I . . . disappointment you somehow?”

    He regarded her indulgently, both amazed and touched that she could have misconstrued his meaning.  “Oh, no,” he asserted softly.  “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.  And you *surely* didn’t disappointment me.”

    “Are you certain?” Michaela ventured again.  “You needn’t protect my feelings, Sully.  After all, I’m so—so very inexperienced.  I certainly couldn’t fault you if your—well, your expectations—were unsatisfied.  And I want to please you.  In every way.  If there’s something—“  She swallowed, then forged ahead.  “If there’s something that you’d—like me to do . . . some way that I can—pleasure you—that I have yet to learn . . . please—tell me, teach me,” she entreated.

    “Oh, there will be lots of things to learn, over time,” he ruminated, stroking her cheek.  “’Bout pleasin’ each other, in all kinds of wonderful ways.  But we’ll learn those things together, Michaela.  That’s one of the joys of marriage,” he said tenderly.  “Of  bein’ one with each other, in heart, and in body.

    “But as for what you were frettin’ about just now—well you had it all wrong,” he added gently.  “Our bein’ together was beautiful.  More beautiful than I’d ever pictured, in all the hundreds of times I musta dreamed about it.

    “Remember when I told you at the homestead that when we finally came together, it would be perfect?” he recalled for her.

    “Yes, I remember,” she said softly.

    “Well, it was better than that,” he assured her, running his fingers through the curtain of copper hair framing her face and spilling over his chest.

    “Better than perfection?” she asked, a spark of amusement mingling with the joy in her eyes.

    “Better than perfection,” he repeated, with a smile.  “We’re finally together—totally and completely,” he went on, voice reverent; marveling at her beauty, at the feel of her nude body resting next to his.  “And that’s all that matters.”

    “It’s all that matters to me,” she whispered.

    “Glad we agree,” he said, his finger gently tracing the outline of her lips.  He kissed the corner of her mouth.  “So you don’t ever need to question again how much I love bein’ with you, or how wonderful you make me feel.  All right?” he concluded softly, love shining from the depths of his eyes.

    “All right,” she answered, her qualms disappearing at last.  She lowered herself to snuggle against him.  Her hand rested on his chest and he lifted it, pressing her fingers to his lips, then let it fall again, covering it with his own.

    “Speakin’ of wonderful feelin’s—what did you think of our weddin’ day?” he asked presently.  “Was it everythin’ you’d hoped for?”

    “’Better than perfection,’” Michaela quoted again.  Sully couldn’t see her expression from the position in which they lay, but he could sense her smiling, and heard her sigh of contentment.  “Mother came back, just as you predicted . . . I was able to have Rebecca as my matron of honor, along with Dorothy . . .  Even Marjorie and I finally began to resolve our differences, and feel like sisters,” she said a trifle wonderingly.  “I’m so glad I followed your advice to write to Mother, after you returned from Cloud Dancing,” she continued gratefully.  “Thank you, Sully.”

    “Well, I was able to make my peace with Cloud Dancin’, and I felt so much better after . . .” he said softly.  “I just wanted you to have the same kinda chance with your ma.  Though I gotta confess I was a little nervous about pushin’ you to work things out with her when she first got here, and I saw how things were goin’.  I was beginnin’ to think I should never have meddled.”

    “Things are never easy with Mother,” Michaela noted drily.  “Such as the high-handed way she tried to organize everything about the wedding, regardless of whether her plans met with our wishes,” she added regretfully.  She lifted her head to look at him.  “I apologize for her interference, Sully.  I know how much her actions must have offended you.”

    “She—tested my patience a few times, it’s true,” he allowed.  “But that’s just your ma.  In some ways, she ain’t ever gonna change.  Guess I’d better get used to that, now that I’m her son-in-law.

    “And I wasn’t always that reasonable myself,” he admitted.  “’Sides, things worked out all right in the end, after we all learned to ‘bend’ a little,” he noted, smiling.

    “You mean about things such as wedding rings and names?” she clarified, dimpling.

    “Exactly.”  He grinned wider.

    “Well, at least there’s one thing I can say for Mother,” Michaela remarked.  “Life with her is certainly never boring!”

    “Kinda reminds me of her daughter,” Sully teased.

    “I assume that’s meant as a compliment?” she said archly.

    His eyes were innocent.  “Of course!”

    “Then it’s accepted,” Michaela pronounced graciously.  “But getting back to Mother,” she went on, “I suppose the most important thing is that we love each other—which makes all our struggles to get along worthwhile.

    “And by the way, Sully, as far as meddling—feel free to ‘meddle’ any time,” she assured him.  “If it weren’t for you urging me to write to her, she probably would never have come.”

    “Well maybe I helped to push things along a little,” he conceded.  “But I think she woulda come back regardless of anythin’ I did, Michaela.  You’re too important to her, and she loves you too much, not to want to see you get married.”

    “Perhaps you’re right,” Michaela agreed.  “But whatever the reason, I’m glad she was here.”

    “I know,” he said softly.  “I’m glad things turned out the way you wanted.”

    “Everything was perfect,” Michaela declared again.  In her mind she saw him again as he’d been earlier that day, waiting for her beneath the flowered canopy in the meadow, resplendent in Cloud Dancing’s wedding shirt.  “In all of this beautiful day, there was only one fly in the ointment—“

    “I know,” Sully repeated, his eyes turning dark and hard for the first time since his outburst to her at the clinic the evening of her family’s arrival, when he’d demanded to know when she was going to look at the world through “their” eyes.  “Custer,” he added grimly.

    “Yes,” she said quietly.  “I’m so sorry Mother invited him, Sully.  Thank you for not holding it against her.”

    “It wasn’t her fault,” he said more mildly.  “We didn’t tell her nothin’ about him.  Far as she knew, she was doin’ a good thing.  And when Loren told her otherwise, she felt bad.

    “’Sides, only Custer woulda had the gaul to accept her invitation, after everythin’ that happened between us,” he went on.

    “I can’t believe that after your agreement at Red Rock, he still made Horace post the notice about the $500 bounty on Cloud Dancing,” Michaela said hotly.  “Not to mention capturing you and holding you in custody the night of the rehearsal dinner!”

    “Yeah, well, none of that surprised me none,” Sully commiserated.  “It’s like what Cloud Dancin’ said about the army, after I became Indian Agent.  Custer’s promises mean nothin’.  The only thing he *did* keep his word about, was not speakin’ of what happened at Red Rock, when he held me that night,” he continued.  “’Course he’d probably claim that everythin’ he did before the weddin’ was under orders from his ‘superiors,’” he added, his tone sarcastic.

    “Including threatening to kill both you and Cloud Dancing?!” Michaela said vehemently, incensed at the nerve of the army officer.  Sully’s arm tightened around her, his fingers stroking her soothingly.

    “He’s got no honor, Michaela—we both know that,” he responded, more calmly that she would have imagined.  “So there’s no point in gettin’ yourself worked up over it.  The important thing is that he let me go and I was able to get back to you.  And Robert E. and Jake knocked him out and stuck him in the clinic, where he couldn’t hurt Cloud Dancin’ or cause no more trouble.”

    “I suppose,” Michaela conceded reluctantly, though she was still furious at Custer’s actions.  After a few moments she relaxed, however, realizing that Sully was right—Custer had been neutralized in the end.  “Talking of Cloud Dancing, I was so happy he was able to be there for you, Sully,” she said sincerely, recalling Sully’s joy at Cloud Dancing being his best man.

    “Me, too,” Sully agreed.  “Even if he could only stay for a little while.”

    “Do you think he’ll be all right?” she inquired in concern.

    “Well, I’m gonna do everythin’ in my power to make sure of it,” Sully vowed.  “I’m hopin’ there’s somethin’ I can do as Indian Agent to arrange for his protection.”

    She stared at him, as his words suddenly sparked her memory.  “Hazen!” she exclaimed.  “I’d completely forgotten!  The deadline is long since past now, Sully.  He must have dismissed you.  I’m so sorry—“

    But Sully merely smiled.  “No need to be,” he said serenely.  “I’m still Agent.”

    “But how can that be?” Michaela asked him, mystified.  “Hazen was so definite about the time limit he imposed—“

    “That’s true,” Sully acknowledged.  “But he changed his mind.  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner—in all the excitement of your ma and sisters comin’ and all, it completely slipped my mind.  But a few days before your family arrived, Hazen came to see me, along with the Reverend.  Turns out the Reverend had been campaignin’ for me, so to speak.  He claimed that nobody could keep things orderly on the reservation, or earn the Indians’ trust, like I could.  Said Hazen would be makin’ a serious mistake if he tried to replace me.  I think he kinda played on Hazen’s sympathy too, remindin’ him of everythin’ I’d been through—nearly dyin’, and then you bein’ kidnapped . . .  Whatever he said, it musta done the trick.  Hazen listened to him, and agreed to keep my job open till I could return.”

    “Will wonders never cease,” Michaela declared.  “We owe the Reverend a debt of gratitude,” she added.

    “Yeah, he’s a good man, and a good friend,” Sully concurred.

    “So everything’s truly settled now,” Michaela said, marveling that they’d finally reached that point.  “No more obstacles to overcome, no more problems left to solve . . . no loose ends,” she concluded.

    “Well, *almost* everythin’,” Sully said guardedly.

    “What do you mean?” she asked, feeling a trace of disquiet.

    He glanced toward the windows, where alluring flashes of a spectacular sunset were visible around the edges of the shades they’d drawn earlier to make the train car “darker and darker.”  The rumble of the train wheels was loud in her ears as she waited for him to reply.

    “Sully?” she persisted after several moments had passed.  “Is something wrong—something you haven’t told me?”

    He looked back at her, his expression reassuring, but his eyes preoccupied.  “No, nothin’s wrong,” he pacified her.  “I was just thinkin’ . . .”

    “What?” she said.

    He took a breath.  “What would you think if we put off Denver for a couple of days?” he asked finally.  He watched her anxiously, expecting disappointment—possibly even anger—in her expression, but finding neither.  Her eyes held only curiosity.

    “To do what instead?” she questioned simply.  Sully immediately relaxed, realizing he should have given her more credit.

    “Well,” he began slowly.  “With everythin’ that’s happened these last months—Washita . . . me gettin’ amnesia over losin’ the Cheyenne and my fears of losin’ you . . . then all that with Bloody Knife and Custer . . .”

    “Yes?” she encouraged gently.

    “Well, it’s just that we came so close to losin’ everythin’ that mattered—each other, our love . . .  But by some miracle—maybe a whole bunch of ‘em—we’re still here.  We’re together, and we’re gonna be happy—for the rest of our lives.”

    “And no one could be more grateful for that than I,” Michaela said fervently.  Sully smiled at her tenderly.

    “I’m grateful too—more than I could ever put into words,” he said humbly.  After a pause he resumed, “I just feel like . . . like I should give thanks to the Spirits for watchin’ over us . . .for bringin’ us back to one another even when so many things threatened to tear us apart forever.”

    “I understand,” she said, her voice soft.

    “But it’s even more than that, Michaela,” he went on, warming to his theme.  “The way things went after Washita . . . well, I never got the chance to—I don’t know how to say it, exactly—to ‘pay tribute,’ I guess, to the memories of all the Cheyenne.  Snowbird, Black Kettle . . .  I’d like to remember them in some way—to go to a place where I could give them the—the memorial they deserve.”

    Her expression was compassionate, but a trifle uncertain.

    “You mean—go back to Oklahoma?  To where they fell?” she asked after a moment.

    His hand tightened around hers.  “No,” he said quietly.  “No, I think it’s too soon for that.  Someday, maybe, but not now.  But—I think there *is* a place—a beautiful place—where we could honor them together.  If you’re willin’ . . .?” he added.

    “Just tell me what you want to do,” she said.

    He gazed at her, gratitude and admiration infusing him at her understanding.  “Did I ever tell you how much I love you?” he asked suddenly.

    “Once or twice,” she allowed, smiling.  “But it bears repeating.”

    He grinned back at her, then lifted her hand to his lips once again.  “Well, I love you,” he said softly.

    “And I, you, Sully,” she breathed.  “With all my heart.”

    “I know,” he answered quietly.  “It kept me goin’ through every sad and frightenin’ thing we endured in the past—and it’ll keep me goin’ for every day of our lives together.”  They embraced, their adoration for one another flowing back and forth between them.  Eventually they parted, and she regarded him serenely.

    “So,” she reminded him.  “What’s your idea?”

    “Well, we’ll be pullin’ into Monument soon,” he observed.  “I thought we could wire the hotel in Denver, tell ‘em to hold our reservations for a couple of days.  I still want to take you there, Michaela,” he added quickly.  “I don’t mean to spoil all our honeymoon plans.”

    “You’re not spoiling a thing,” she said promptly.  “We have two weeks.  And Denver will still be there in a few days.  Go on,” she urged.

    “Well, I thought we could rent a couple of horses, buy some supplies, then take a ride to this special place and . . . remember the Cheyenne,” he finished, his voice soft.

    “It sounds perfect,” she told him.  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she added after a pause.

    He smiled at her, his eyes glowing.  “You’ll see,” he said.