A Time to Dance

T g|Åx àÉ WtÇvx
Uç Uxv~ç [tÜ~Çxáá
Foreword
For all intents and purposes, I ask that readers assume this novel picks up at the end of season five, following the
cliff hanger when Sully and O'Connor fought and fell into the creek. Therefore in this fanfic season six as we
know it never took place. I've also taken a few other liberties that were necessary in order for this idea to work. I
hope you will find they only help, not hinder the flow of the story.
cÜÉÄÉzâx
fâÅÅxÜ DKJE
Michaela stepped her way through the mud and rain as she walked along the waterfront, her eyes combing the
banks for something, anything. Every day she'd ridden the two hours to the creek, searching for him, refusing to
give up. The townspeople had stopped coming along with her some time ago. They felt sorry for her, they would
pat her back and offer words of hope, but Michaela knew what they were thinking. They were thinking he was
dead, and moreover, that she was crazy. Even her children had given up. Matthew had returned to his regular
duties about town, Colleen had taken the train back to school, and Brian...Brian shot her a look of dejection every
time she set out for the creek, wishing she would stay home, look after Katie, eat, sleep, and take care of herself.
They'd given up. They'd all given up.
Michaela glanced at the cloudy, gloomy sky. It was quickly growing dark, another day gone without a trace of
him. Out of breath, she reluctantly stopped to rest, sitting on a fallen log. A lump in her throat, she removed her
cowboy hat and let the drizzly summer rain cool her face. She felt hot most of the time, on-edge, and nauseous,
not just in the morning, but all day. She could barely choke down more than a few bites of her meals, but was
slowly gaining weight. She was exhausted, but couldn't sleep. She couldn't remember when her last monthly had
been.
Michaela prayed all the time. Please, not now. Any time, any time but now. Please.
But there was nothing she could do about it. Soon she wouldn't be able to ride Flash, and the thought frightened
her. How would she make it through the dense woods to the creek without a horse? How would she continue her
search?
Search for what? Did she really expect him to one day appear as if he had never been gone? It'd been two months
and they'd found nothing but his medicine bag, strewn across a jutting rock at the bottom of the cliff. If he had
indeed survived, then where was he? Recovering from the fall in the woods somewhere, Michaela had told
herself, but now even that seemed unlikely. If he was somewhere in the woods why hadn't they found him, or he
them? They'd explored every square foot of the area it seemed, and so had the army. And if he was alive, why
hadn't he come home? She knew her husband. He'd do everything it took to make it home. And then there was the
possibility of...she shuddered at the thought. A body. They'd searched, and searched, and searched, combing the
water for miles. Michaela had vivid dreams at night, when she managed to fall asleep. She saw him washed up
along shore, his strong arms and legs broken and mangled, blood draining from his mouth and oozing from
festered wounds, and his eyes rolled back in his head. She would wake up screaming and in a cold sweat, and be
afraid to shut her eyes again. It had gotten to the point where she wished...wished she knew what had happened,
even if that meant he was dead. Perhaps he had floated far downstream, and someone...perhaps a fisherman, had
found him, and unable to identify him, had given him a proper burial. Or perhaps a band of Indians had
discovered him and made him a peaceful grave under a tree.
This not knowing was killing her. Michaela longed for closure, a body she could kiss, weep over, and say goodbye to. Losing him was devastating in itself, but to not know where he was, where he lay, was too much to bear.
A harsh realization set in. He was dead. No matter how
many times she made the journey to the creek, walking up
and down it again and again, clutching his medicine bag in
her hands, he was dead.
Slowly, Michaela rose from the log and staggered to the
sandy bank. She took a step into the chilly, rushing water,
shivering as she balanced on the rocky bottom to the middle
of the creek. At last she turned, holding out her arms. She
lifted her head to the sky, the rain stinging her face and
soaking her hair. "Sully!" she cried hoarsely. "...Sully!"
Tears pouring down her cheeks, Michaela fell to her knees.
Gasping for breath, she let out a pained, broken-hearted
scream, her arms wrapped around her belly. "*Sully*!"
V{tÑàxÜ bÇx
"I think you should go," Dorothy told her best friend over lunch.
"I don't want to," Michaela murmured for the third time, picking at her roast beef, then putting her fork down and
taking a sip of milk. Nothing tasted good anymore, not even fresh milk from Grace's café.
Dorothy patted her hand. "It's been eight months. How long..." She hesitated. "How long's it gonna be before you
stop actin' like this?"
"Acting like what?" she asked, placing a hand atop her swollen stomach.
"We all miss Sully terribly, Michaela, but you're not eating properly, you hardly speak a word, you haven't worn
your hair down in ages, I can't recall the last time I've seen you smile. Is that what you think Sully would want?
This medical conference is the perfect excuse to treat yourself to a trip to Denver. You should go."
"I'll never stop grieving for him," she vowed softly, eyes dark and filled with tears. She gazed at her belly, at the
black mourning garb squeezed over it. She had decided long ago she would wear nothing but black for the rest of
her life. It seemed appropriate. The baby kicked, as if protesting her thoughts. She didn't want the baby, either.
She felt positively wicked for thinking it, but it was true. The irony of it was unmistakable. She and Sully had
wanted a child, a son, with all their hearts. They'd been trying since Katie was a few months old. They'd been
willing to give anything for it, and now that it had finally happened, nothing short of a miracle, Michaela wished
with just as much heart it wasn't true. She didn't want it without Sully. She didn't want anything unless Sully was
with her to share it.
If it hadn't been for the children, Michaela wasn't sure if she would have had any desire to go on living. Her soul
had been ripped apart, and for the past eight months even her little girl had failed to bring her happiness. Michaela
wanted to assure Katie she loved her, she wanted to be strong for her family and the baby that would come
eventually, whether she liked it or not, but she couldn't do it. It was too much.
"Well no, we grieve those we've lost for a lifetime," Dorothy admitted, "but, it's all right to try to move on. It's all
right to look forward to things, to do something nice for yourself. Now, I don't want to hear another word. I've
bought you a ticket for Thursday morning's train. You're going to Denver. There'll be an escort to make sure you
arrive safely and check into the hotel, and take you to the conference and wherever else you'd like to go."
"Dorothy, that's not necessary," Michaela protested.
"You'll have a good time and I want to hear all about it when you return," Dorothy insisted.
"I suppose it'd be...nice to get away," she admitted.
"It'll only do you good," Dorothy agreed, patting her hand.
***
"...And so Sleeping Beauty lived happily ever after with her prince," Michaela concluded, rocking Katie on her
lap.
"An'?" the toddler spoke up, opening her eyes.
"And....the end," Michaela added.
"Dee en'," Katie repeated.
"You'll be a good girl for Miss Grace and Miss Dorothy, won't you?" Michaela asked, stroking her little one's
wispy blond locks.
Katie nodded. "Go twan?"
"Yes, Mama's riding the train to Denver tomorrow, but only for four days. Then I'll be back. But I'll miss you so
very much. I'll send a wire just to you, how's that sound?"
"'All wight," Katie agreed. "What wa?"
"Wire. It's a short letter from Mama. Mr. Bing will bring it to you and read it for you if you ask nicely."
"All wight," the child repeated.
Michaela kissed her daughter's head and rocked her some more. Katie shifted around in her mother's arms to get a
look at her stomach. "Mama big," she informed her.
"You noticed?" Michaela murmured wryly. She placed Katie's hand atop the bulge in her lap. "Baby's kicking.
Feel that?"
"Baby," Katie said, fascinating by her mother's rumbling tummy. "Whewe come fwom?" This was not the first
time she had asked.
Michaela squeezed her tight. "Mama and Papa's love."
"Papa," Katie pleaded.
"Sweetheart, we've talked about this, remember?" Michaela told her softly, tears threatening. "Papa's in heaven."
"Papa!" Katie called for Sully every day, as if hoping he would return if she persisted long enough.
"He can't come back to earth," Michaela explained patiently, "but someday we'll be with him in heaven."
Katie sighed, not satisfied, and closed her eyes, too tired to persist with her questions.
Michaela waited for Katie to fall asleep, then rose from the chair with a groan, cradled the child against her, and
walked to the bed. There she laid her daughter in her place, tucking her warmly beneath the quilts, and kissing her
brow.
Michaela removed her bathrobe, hung it on the bedpost, then circled the bed and crawled under the covers beside
Katie, in Sully's place. Here she commenced to begin a battle she had fought nearly every night. First, find a
position that felt comfortable for her and her eight-month-old swollen stomach. Three pillows and two hours later,
she thought she had come across it. Next, close her eyes, try to sleep away the sadness of the day, try not to think
of spending another night alone. It was after one o'clock in the morning before she finally drifted off, streaks of
tears drying down her cheeks.
***
Michaela's escort made sure she boarded the train home at exactly quarter to three. She told him she was fine, he
didn't need to see her off, so with a tip of his hat he went on his way. For forty-five minutes Michaela sat on the
stalled train, growing more restless as the minutes went by. She stared absently out her window at the lazy drizzle
of rain and the sea of people, luggage, and black umbrellas. The medical conference had been enjoyable, just as
Dorothy had promised, but it was over now and she was eager to get home to Brian and especially Katie. She
hadn't been away from the children for this long a time since before Sully's passing. She didn't want to spend
another minute necessary apart from them.
Finally the conductor opened the door to her car only to confront several anxious passengers demanding to know
why they hadn't departed on time.
"We got reports a tree was struck by lightning just ten miles from here." The conductor pointed a thumb behind
him as he spoke. "Fell straight onto the tracks. Sorry folks, it's gonna be awhile 'fore we can clear 'em."
Disgruntled, impatient passengers made their way off the train, none more impatient than Michaela. She felt like
crying. Of all days, she thought.
A porter gave her a hand down from the steep steps. "There isn't any way we can get around it?" she asked him.
"Take another train perhaps?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the man told her. "We won't be able to leave this afternoon. Not until the tracks are cleared."
Michaela sighed as he released her hand. "When will that be?"
"Well, if all goes well, we'll pull out tomorrow morning. We'll unload the luggage, pay for a room for every
passenger."
Sighing once more, she made her way inside the ticket office to a bench. She wanted to sit down. She needed to
think.
She noticed a small stand someone had set up outside the building. Something smelled good. An elderly man with
a gray mustache was selling grilled sausages on a stick. Michaela approached him, opened her purse and handed
him a dime. She went back inside and ate the entire sausage, threw out the stick, and then got up and bought
another. She was thirsty after that, and the man was selling cups of hot coffee, too. She ended up paying for two
refills.
After all this Michaela was tired, despite the coffee, and lest she fall asleep at the bench she resolved to take a
walk. She realized she was going to look like a fool soaking herself to the skin, so she went outside, had no
trouble finding several men selling umbrellas, and bought one for a quarter. By this time the man at the sausage
stand had added six or seven sausages to his grill and was brewing more coffee in anticipation of another sale to
the ravenous pregnant lady, and was disappointed when she walked right past him.
Michaela had only strolled for a block when she found the hope she had been looking for. A stagecoach was
loading luggage and looked just about to leave. Stagecoaches were becoming obsolete in Colorado, but they were
convenient for delivering mail short distances, carrying passengers from a station to a town where the railroad had
not yet reached, or passengers who couldn't afford a train ticket and who were willing to suffer a longer, more
grueling journey aboard a stagecoach.
Michaela was willing. Brian and Katie were waiting for her. She walked right to the front and called up to the
drivers. "Pardon me!"
The two men looked at each other, one holding the reins and the other a gun.
"Can I help ya, ma'am?" the one closest to her replied, looking down.
"Are you going to Colorado Springs by chance?" she asked hopefully.
"Pueblo," the one with the gun told her.
"Colorado Springs is on the way," she told them. "Do you think you might take me there? I'll pay whatever price
you'd like."
"Well, we..." one began.
The other elbowed him in the ribs. "How much would ya pay?"
She opened her purse and found a handful of bills. "Would five dollars suffice?"
They both coughed. "Plenty, ma'am, plenty," the one with the reins assured her, reaching down to take the money.
The one with the gun jumped to the ground. "Where's your luggage?"
"Follow me," she told him, turning toward the train station.
***
"Let me take a turn at driving," Cal implored his friend, resting the rifle across his lap. "Come on, Harry."
"I'm best at driving in rain," Harry told him smugly.
"Oh, I'm just as good as you and you know it," Cal grumbled.
"We can switch when we get to Colorado Springs," Harry said sharply.
"You just want to show off in front of that pretty lady," Cal insisted, smirking.
"Do not," Harry retorted, rubbing his graying whiskers.
"Do too," his friend mocked. "Harry's sweet on a little pregnant lady."
"Don't say pregnant," Harry scolded. "An' stop pesterin' me. Ya sound like my kid brother."
Cal was good at pestering Harry. So good that he usually got his way. Within the half-hour Cal was driving.
Michaela opened her watch. Five o'clock. She wanted to look out the window, but the drivers had tacked down
the shades to keep out the rain. She supposed she could bear missing the scenery if it meant she would stay dry.
She watched the passenger in the seat across from her. He was a middle-aged, plump man in a gray suit with
graying hair to match. His wife, a little younger than he and with blonde hair pinned up under her fancy hat, was
leaning against his shoulder, snoozing. Next to Michaela sat what she thought might be the couple's son. He
looked about twenty, with light brown hair and a suit like his father's. He and the older man were playing a game
of cards. It reminded Michaela of the times when she and Sully rode in a stagecoach. Sully, who was ordinarily
quiet, was always able to get a good game of cards going with the passengers across from them. Michaela would
lean against his shoulder and watch his hand, and usually eventually fall asleep, lulled by the movement of the
coach. Such little things she missed. She would give anything to rest her head on his shoulder again.
She took a stiff breath. If she thought about it much longer she might not be able to hold back tears, and she didn't
want that, at least not in front of these strangers. If she started to cry they were sure to ask what was the matter,
and then she'd have to tell them, and that would only make her feel worse.
The graying man noticed her watching him, and gave her a friendly smile. "You're welcome to play Gin Rummy."
"Thank you," she replied politely, "but I think I'll close my eyes for a bit."
"Suit yourself," he said good-naturedly.
Michaela wasn't certain just how long she had been sleeping before it happened. She remembered abruptly
waking up and feeling the stagecoach rumbling along a lot faster than she thought it should be going.
The two men stood up, opening one of the shades. "What's going on?!" the younger man called fearfully, sticking
his head out the window. "Slow it down!"
"Team broke loose!" one of the drivers called. "Jump!"
Michaela pulled back the shade to her window. They were going down a steep hill and the coach was picking up
speed. She froze, unable to even consider jumping. We're going to die, she thought. At first she was terrified,
consumed with thoughts of the children and the coming baby, but then she thought about Sully and being together
in heaven. Within a few seconds she was praying that if it had to happen it would be quick, that she'd just go, and
be with him without pain. The people around her were in hysterics, opening the door, thinking about jumping, but
not being able to do it.
"We're not gonna make it! We're not gonna make it, Cal!" Harry yelled.
"Harry! Harry, we gotta help the passengers!" Cal stood up, held tight to his seat, and tried to climb around to the
side. "Jump Jump!" he yelled, holding tight to the window. The woman in black was sitting rigid in her seat, her
eyes closed, and the other three passengers were standing unsteadily, screaming and in a panic. Cal attempted to
open the door and get inside, but the coach jostled roughly, shaking him free.
Cal let out a yell of remorse at not being able to take anyone with him as he was thrown from the speeding coach.
And then, it was too late for everyone else.
***
Cal sat up in the brush, rubbing his head. He ran his hands down his arms and legs. Only a few bruises and
scratches, and probably a good-sized goose egg on his brow, but that didn't matter. He was alive!
He stood up, breathe coming quick. Had anyone else survived? He was afraid to look for the wreck, afraid of
finding five mangled bodies. But something pulled at him, forced him to jog down the muddy road. A minute
later a cloud of dust appeared. There it was. The stagecoach was on its side, the door snapped off and one of the
wheels still spinning. Cal sprinted. "Harry!" he cried. "Harry, please answer me!" Within seconds he saw his
friend, who had been thrown against a nearby tree. Cal immediately went to his side. "Harry!" A stream of blood
spattered out of the man's mouth and dribbled down his chin. Tearfully, Cal pressed his ear to his friend's chest.
He kept it there for a minute, hoping, praying.
Nothing.
"Oh, God, Harry. No..." He swallowed hard, cupping Harry's rain-spotted cheeks in his hands. "I'm sorry...I didn't
mean for this to happen. You weren't supposed to go like this..."
Cal heard the wheel of the stagecoach squeaking as it slowed to a stop. He jumped up. He had to check the other
passengers. He had to be sure.
"Hello!" he called sorrowfully. "Is anyone alive?! Oh...this can't be. Oh, God," He rubbed his eyes, feeling sick.
He crawled on the side of the overturned coach, then jumped down inside through the opening for the door, the
pitter-patter of rain on the coach like ominous thunder.
He saw a woman's body, piled on top of the young man's. Her neck was thrown back, broken. Cal held his ear
over her mouth and listened for breath. She was dead. Moaning, he moved her aside to get a look at her son.
Blood drained from the young man's mouth and his arm was stretched behind his back at an odd angle. His leg
was bent up alongside his head. Cal listened to his heart. He too, was gone. "No one's breathing," he whispered.
"They're all dead!" He cried out, nauseous. His lips trembled, but he was too shocked to cry. He sat there, unable
to move.
Out of the silence came a woman's voice, screaming short little screams, steadily, one right after the other.
"Oh, my God! Who's there?!" Cal shouted.
V{tÑàxÜ gãÉ
The screams continued from beneath the body of the heavyset man. Panting, Cal pushed him aside. There, curled
up tight and clutching her stomach, was the other woman, the pregnant woman from Colorado Springs dressed all
in black. Cal couldn't believe it.
Michaela screamed harder and longer.
"Oh, it's all right. It's all right." He took her hand. "I'm right here, ma'am. You're gonna be fine."
"I couldn't...I couldn't breathe," she choked, gazing at him with terrified eyes.
"Are ya hurt?" He bent closer to her, holding her hand tighter. "Does anything hurt?" He glanced at her stomach.
Oh, no. "Is your baby all right, ma'am? Is it all right?"
She stroked her belly fretfully. "I think so." She continued to weep. "I c-couldn't breathe...he was crushing me."
"Oh, don't cry. You're going to be all right. I promise. He's off ya now. You're not being crushed." Cal guessed
that the large man had probably unknowingly protected the woman from injury, falling in her direction and
pinning her to the side of the coach while everyone else was jostled around, breaking bones...breaking necks. "We
gotta get ya out of here, all right? Can ya sit up?"
Cautiously, he helped Michaela into a sitting position. She controlled her tears, wiggling her ankles and moving
her arms, amazed that nothing appeared to be broken and that she seemed to have survived with little more than a
few bruises and a big scare.
A deep understanding filled Michaela's mind. She was alive. For some reason she had been spared, and so had her
baby.
"Oh gosh, you're getting all wet." Cal pulled off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders.
She looked about her, shivering. "Are they all...?"
He nodded, letting out a long breath. "It's just you and me it looks like."
"I'm going to throw up," Michaela announced softly.
She promptly bent to the side and lost everything she'd eaten that day, all over the large man's leg. When it
appeared to be over, she looked at it and thought it the most repulsive mess possible, then threw up some more.
Then, she cried.
Cal felt helpless. He patted her back awkwardly. "Oh, that's all right, ma'am. Let's get out of here, hm?"
She looked up at the opening for the door, wiping her eyes with her gloved hand. "I don't think I can." She
attempted to straighten her black, rain-soaked hat.
He stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. "I'll crawl out first, then reach in and help you."
He stood and hoisted himself out of the coach. "Just stretch your hands up," he instructed, leaning over the door.
"I'll pull ya out."
Michaela noticed her drawstring purse was still looped over her wrist. The strings were twisted around a little, but
the contents remained inside unharmed. A bit of silver caught her eye. One of the clasps of her medical bag! She
reached for the bag, tucked alongside the young man's mutilated leg. Amazingly, it too was intact. "Wait, take this
please!" She lifted it up and the driver took it and put it aside.
"Stretch up your hands!" he called.
She obeyed and he grasped her arms. "Don't let go!" she begged fearfully as she felt her feet lifted off the ground.
"I won't. I got ya," he promised. With a grunt, Cal lifted her out of the coach and onto the side. It left him out of
breath, but she was certainly not as heavy as he had expected. "How do you feel?" he asked, taking her hand
again.
She nodded. "All right" She picked up her bag beside her, hugging it protectively. "What happened?"
He bent his head. "Not quite sure. Team got free somehow. Maybe a bolt was loose. All of a sudden the reins
jerked away from us and they were off. I put on the break, but it was no use. I'm so sorry about this, ma'am. I'm so
sorry. Never meant for anything like this to happen."
She patted his hand. "Don't be sorry. You did the best you could. The other driver...you're sure he's...?" She
glanced around, wondering if there was anything she might do for the victims.
He nodded remorsefully. "Yeah, I'm sure."
"I'm sorry, sir," she murmured.
He smiled "Name's Cal Brooks."
Cal had rescued her and she realized they hadn't even paused to introduce themselves. "I'm Michaela Qu-..." She
stopped. "Michaela Sully."
He extended his hand and they shook "A pleasure, Mrs. Sully."
"Thank you for...getting me out of there," she whispered. "You saved my life."
"Glad to do it," he replied smiling bashfully. He had a handsome smile. His skin was tan from hours atop the
stagecoach and his hair was a deep dark brown, slicked back behind his ears. He had soft hazel eyes, a strong nose
and proud jaw, and his Adam's apple was firm and throbbed when he spoke. His cheeks were flushed pink from
exertion, and he had day-old, rugged, dark whiskers. His voice was deep, deeper than Sully's, but warm and
soothing. There were a few wrinkles about his eyes, from laughing and smiling, Michaela decided. She thought he
looked about her age or a little younger perhaps. Not quite middle-aged yet, but not a boy anymore.
Cal jumped down from the coach and extended his arms, helping Michaela down.
They looked about them. "We can't carry a trunk," Cal said, "but maybe we can find my canteen and something to
eat."
"I bought my family chocolates in Denver," she said. "...In my trunk."
"I'll look for water and you see if you can't find your trunk," he suggested. "But take it easy."
Five minutes later, they met back at the accident site.
"Found it," Michaela said, holding up the tin. "And my umbrella, too" She opened up the contraption, judging it a
little crooked, but still usable.
"Two canteens," Cal replied. He handed her his and he took Harry's.
"Thank you," she murmured gratefully. She rinsed her mouth and felt much better.
He looked around. "I'm going to have to find us shelter from this rain."
"Do you know where we are?" she asked. She noticed he had retrieved his rifle as well and was holding it at his
side.
"'Bout twenty miles from Colorado Springs," he estimated. "We can't walk that far before dark, but maybe if I
follow the road a little, I'll find a place we can rest the night."
"Just a minute. What am I going to do?" she demanded.
"You'll wait here of course. When I find shelter I'll come back and fetch ya." He turned to leave.
"Excuse me, Mr. Brooks? Fetch me?" Michaela was insulted. "No, I'd rather come with you." She held up her
umbrella and followed him.
He turned. "Ma'am, come on now. Don't be foolish. You sit tight. I'll be back in a jiffy."
"I'm coming," she said firmly, refusing to turn back.
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Fine, but..." He came to her side and held out his arm. "You best
hold onto me. Wouldn't want ya slipping in this mud."
Deciding she could force herself to humor him to avoid further argument, Michaela took his arm and the two
started down the road, beneath her disfigured umbrella.
***
"So after the bank collapsed, Pa...Pa put a gun to his head," Cal told Michaela as they made their way through the
mud.
"That's terrible," she replied sympathetically.
"Yeah," he admitted softly. "My sister married a banker, just like Pa, and she's living in Chicago. Momma lives
just down the street; helps take care of her grandkids."
"And you came out West?" she asked.
"Yeah, I was gonna be a banker, but after....my pa...I just knew it wasn't for me. I saw an ad in the newspaper
wanting drivers. I'd always been pretty good at riding and I figured driving couldn't be much different. So I been
working for Wells Fargo for about...oh, five years now."
"Do you think you'll continue driving?" she asked as he steered her around a large puddle. "After the accident I
mean?"
He sighed "Don't know. Harry--that's the other driver--he and I almost always rode together. I'll miss him."
She nodded, understanding.
He glanced at her. "Can I ask ya something, Mrs. Sully?"
"Of course," she replied, continuing to scan the trees for anything that might remotely be shelter.
"Who are you mourning?"
She looked away, swallowing hard.
Cal noticed. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."
She glanced at him. "No, it's all right. I'm mourning...someone I loved very dearly."
"Oh," he said hoarsely, regretting saying something. He didn't want to upset the woman any more than she already
was. "Um, when's your baby due?" he asked, changing the subject.
Michaela hadn't been paying much attention for the past several months. She had to think about it for a moment.
"...Soon."
"How soon?" he asked frantically.
She almost chuckled "A month or so, Mr. Brooks." No sense in alarming him just yet.
He let out a relieved sigh. "Good."
"What's that over there?" She nodded toward the trees hopefully.
He shielded his eyes. "Looks like a cabin. Come on."
They made their way off the road and into the shady woods. There was indeed a small log cabin nestled back
from the road. Michaela squinted at the chimney. No smoke rising from it, meaning it wasn't likely people were
inside. Just the same, Cal knocked on the door.
"Hello! Anyone home?!"
They waited a moment and then Cal pushed against the door. It snapped open with little effort.
"Nobody's living here," Cal said as they entered the small, one room cabin. It smelled musty from months of
disuse. A thin layer of dust covered everything. There was a small table in the center of the room with a bench on
either side. One narrow cot was tucked back in a corner below a tiny window with cloudy glass windowpanes.
There were shelves with a few cans of beans, corn, and sweet potatoes. A modest pile of logs had been stacked
beside a large stone fireplace. Bearskins were placed before the hearth for a rug and a stuffed deer head with huge,
stretching antlers had been mounted above the mantle. Michaela felt nauseous again.
Cal began examining the canned food and looking for pots and pans, plates, forks, and matches.
"I think it's a trapper's cabin," Michaela spoke up, kneeling before a trunk she had found against one of the walls.
"What makes ya say that?" Cal asked as he pulled out his jackknife and began prying at the can of corn.
She held up a snowshoe. "There's two pairs of these in the corner and this chest is full of furs, boots, and other
supplies."
"I hope they don't mind us helping ourselves," he said.
Michaela pulled out a length of twine, awkwardly rose and walked toward the fireplace, stringing the twine in one
corner. "We can hang our wet clothing on this," she said.
Cal cleared his throat. "What are we gonna wear while they're drying?"
She returned to the trunk and came back with a pile of wool blankets. "We can use these to keep warm. If we stay
in our clothes, we're only going to get sick."
Michaela and Cal each took a turn facing the darkest corner of the room and closing their eyes while the other
undressed. In the end, Michaela decided to leave her camisole and pantaloons on and Cal stayed in his long
underwear, but both held a blanket tight around them as if they were stark naked.
"I found a pot and matches," Cal told her once he was finished. "I'm gonna cook up some of this stuff."
"There's a plate and utensils in the trunk," she told him.
"How much should I cook?" he asked. "How much do you think you can eat?"
"Would you mind terribly if I lie down for a bit, Mr. Brooks? I'm not very hungry."
"Are you sure, ma'am?” he asked worriedly. "There's enough here for both of us."
"No, you go ahead. I'm not hungry," she murmured tiredly. "I just want to get off my feet. Help yourself to the
chocolate."
"Well, you just holler if ya feel up to anything," he told her.
She placed a blanket on the cot, then sat on it and pulled a few blankets over her. "We can take turns with the
cot," she called, reclining on her back and propping up on her elbow. "It's only fair."
He smiled, coming to her side. "You go right ahead and rest on this the whole night. I'll be fine." He pulled the
blankets up to her chin and tucked them around her.
"Are you sure?" She was having difficulty keeping her eyes open.
"I wouldn't dream of letting you sleep anywhere else, all right? Mrs. Sully?"
Michaela was sound asleep.
***
Cal twisted around on the floor, opened his eyes, and sat up. There was no sign of a sunrise yet and the rain
continued to beat on the roof, though not as heavily as before. He stood up, stretched his back, and moved quietly
to the fireplace, intending to add another log and get himself a drink of water from the canteen. He went to the
line and felt his shirt, trousers, and socks. Dry. Pleased, he began pulling his clothes on over his long underwear.
A low moan startled him. With one sock on, he balanced on one foot, quickly pulled on the other sock, and
reached for his rifle leaning against the stones of the fireplace. "Who's there?" he demanded, scanning the
shadowy room nervously. "I'll shoot," he warned.
"No, don't shoot, please," Michaela's voice called out of the darkness.
Cal placed the gun aside, took a candle above the fireplace, lit it, and came to her bed. Michaela wasn't under the
covers like he had last left her, but on her knees beside the cot, leaning over it, her lips pursed.
"Don't shoot, Mr. Brooks. It's only me," she begged.
"What're ya doing?" he asked hesitantly, taken aback by the strange position she was in.
"My baby..." she whispered. "My water..." She groaned. "This feels the most comfortable...kneeling beside the
bed."
"Ha, ha, Mrs. Sully," he told her dryly, setting the candle on a nearby crate. "All right, what are ya really doing?"
She shook her head. "Don't laugh, please. I'm not making a..." Her face scrunched up and she leaned further over
the bed, letting out a cry. "...Joke!"
He knelt beside her, alarmed. "Oh, no you’re not. Oh, no all right, all right. These things take a long time, right?
Right? Plenty of time to find a doctor...or someone...Mrs. Sully?"
She couldn't talk during a contraction and she didn't want him to either. "Hush!" she ordered.
"All right, if that's what you want I won't say another word. Not one more sound. My lips are s-"
She smacked him squarely in the stomach with the back of her hand. "Hush!"
He doubled over. "Sorry," he coughed. He closed his mouth, growing silent.
The contraction subsided after a minute, and Michaela whimpered and rose to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
"No, that's fine," he whispered as quietly as he could, wondering if it was all right to speak now.
"I can do it on my own...," she said uncertainly. "I don't want you wandering out there alone in the dark."
He cleared his throat. "Just the same I'd feel better if I found a doc for ya, ma'am."
She stroked her belly. "By the time you get back it'll be too late."
"Listen, my sister had herself a couple of these babies, and she said they each took a good day to come. I'm sure
there's plenty of ti-"
She shook her head. "I've been having contractions since the accident. I don't think it'll be much longer. My little
girl took seventeen hours, but labor tends to set in more quickly with second babies. I've seen them arrive in no
more than a few hours sometimes."
"Hold on, since the accident?" His mouth dropped open in shock. "Why didn't ya say something? I could've..."
"I wanted to be sure it was the real thing. And I didn't want to worry you," she explained weakly. And he was a
man, practically a stranger, who no doubt had little idea what was about to happen. He probably wouldn't be of
much help. Better to let him sleep while she labored on her own. She didn't want to watch anyone pace and fret.
That would only make her nervous, and she was feeling about enough of that at present.
He sighed, biting his lip. "I thought you said it wasn't due for a month."
"Babies come when they want to come," she told him irritably. "We can only guess at when that will be."
"Who's we?" He wrung his hands. When she didn't answer, he whispered, "I...what do you want me to do?"
"Could you just...just stay here in the cabin, Mr. Brooks? Please? You can go back to bed if you'd like. I'm all
right."
"Oh, no, ma'am I couldn't now," he told her. "I gotta do something for ya. Boil water, maybe? Isn't that what they
say?"
"...Could you look for as many blankets as you can find, and see if there are any more candles? Cut a few in half
if you have to," she instructed. "And it'd be nice if you could find a basin or something to put water in, and several
clean cloths."
Immediately Cal began bustling about the room, scrounging up what she had requested and anything else he
thought she might remotely need. When she had a contraction, he would abandon his search and sit on the cot
beside her, talking to her even if she didn't reply and watching her face contort in anguish, afraid if he moved he
would make her pain worse. Once when she asked him to find her something to squeeze, he'd offered his hands.
"Squeeze as hard as ya want," he offered. "I don't mind."
After a time, Michaela decided she liked it much better with someone by her side, even if Mr. Brooks did have
irritating habits, like talking too much and shaking his left leg up and down when he was nervous. She liked his
hands. They were big, a little larger than Sully's, she guessed, and the backs were smooth, hairless, with strong,
prominent veins. They were warm as well and good for squeezing.
"Ya have a baby girl, ya said?" Cal asked in an attempt to distract her from the pain.
"Yes, she's at home," she panted, "...back in Colorado Sp-...Springs."
"Passed through there many a time. It's real nice."
She nodded, closing her eyes.
"What's your daughter's name?" he asked.
She took a few short breaths. "...Kath-Katherine Elizabeth. We call her Katie."
He smiled "Mighty pretty."
She swallowed hard. "My husband and I...we named her...after our mothers."
"Is that right? Well, that's nice. Ya got names picked out for this one?" He cast his eyes briefly toward her belly.
She nodded, was about to tell him what they were but was struck speechless by another contraction. She clenched
her teeth and moaned.
Cal dipped the cloth in the basin, wrung it out, and swiped it across her forehead and down her cheeks, cringing as
Michaela let out a low, drawn-out cry, her belly tightening with the contraction. "Good," he attempted to
encourage, not certain what he was supposed to say. "Uh...good job." He sure wished there was a doctor around
somewhere.
Michaela twisted about uncomfortably and then decided she wanted to lie down. Without saying a word, she lifted
her legs carefully onto the cot and reclined slowly on her back.
"Do you want to get under the covers?" Cal asked. He didn't like her changing positions on him, as if something
were about to happen.
"I think...I think I want to..." She propped herself up on her elbows, worrying Cal even more. He didn't like the
looks of this one bit.
"What?" Cal asked, fretfully twisting the cloth in his hands.
She took a deep breath, then her features transformed to a red-faced, twisted veil of pain.
"Ya want to what?" he prompted. "Oh, no, Oh, no. You're pushing, aren't ya? Oh, no." He slid closer to the edge
of the cot, giving her plenty of room. If luck would hold, he might only have to sit back and wait not that Mrs.
Sully wasn't a nice lady, but Cal would just as well rather not have to touch her or the baby, deliver things, cut
things, or whatever it was that needed to be done.
Suddenly, Michaela let out a large gasp of air, a little cry, and the color returned to her face. She rested on her
back, arms limp and tired at her sides.
Cal watched her belly searchingly, one eyebrow raised. Sometimes it would move and that scared him. There was
a real live baby in there, as peculiar as it sounded. He wondered what it felt like to carry it for nine months. He
supposed he'd never know. He wondered what a contraction felt like. After pondering it a while longer, he
supposed he didn't want to know. Women sure were remarkable.
"Does it hurt an awful lot?" he asked, concerned.
She smiled. "Oh no, not at all."
He chuckled. "Stupid question I guess."
"No, that's all right," she assured him, maintaining her small smile and closing her eyes to rest. As she tried to
relax during the brief period between contractions, she thought about the expression she was wearing so easily.
She couldn't remember truly smiling since...since before Sully had been missing. Cal had made her smile and
during labor, of all things.
Another contraction came. She dug her elbows into the cot and bore down hard. Cal sat quietly. He was awestruck by the entire process. To think they were going to see the baby in only a matter of time! He was excited,
anxious, and fidgety. He noticed he had been shaking his leg up and down in quick movements for who knew
how long. He placed his hand atop his thigh, stilling it. If he felt this overwhelmed, he couldn't imagine what it
felt like to be the baby's father or to be in Mrs. Sully's shoes! Poor thing was doing all the work while he sat there
wringing his hands. Then again, he'd feel much better doing something if the child were his, instead of just sitting
there waiting, waiting, and waiting some more. He decided fathers got the short end of the stick when it came to
having babies.
"It's low," Michaela whispered, after an agonizing hour of pushing. She turned to her back from her left side,
where Cal had been helping to hold her knees against her chest. She'd changed positions throughout the hour,
hoping it would help move things along. She'd pushed on her hands and knees, and Cal had tentatively rubbed her
back. She'd stood up and Cal was right besides her, letting her grasp his shoulders and lean against him. She sat
up in bed and bore down determinedly, but after a minute decided she didn't like how that felt and lay on her side,
grasping her knees. Now finally she was on her back again, exhausted. Michaela was so grateful for Cal's
unconditional support, despite the fear she could see he obvious felt, but was too tired to voice her appreciation.
She had given off so much perspiration the sheets were damp. She was gasping for air and she felt lightheaded
from holding her breath so much. She felt sick to her stomach as well, despite having lost everything earlier that
day. "Oh, it's low," she muttered once more, closing her eyes.
"What do you mean?" Cal questioned quickly, worn out just from watching. "What's low?"
"The head. The head's really low...I feel it," she attempted to clarify, annoyed at having to explain things to him.
She didn't want to talk. It hurt. It hurt to do anything. It hurt to push; it hurt not to push...it hurt without Sully
beside her, holding her hand.
Cal ran his fingers through his hair. "Maybe ya'd better...uh...ya know." He glanced at her pantaloons. "I'll just
stand over here," he assured her, rising from the bed and facing the fireplace, his back to her.
Once Michaela had wriggled out of her lower garments and placed a blanket modestly over her bent knees, she
asked him to come back.
"You sure?" Cal replied. "I can stay right here if ya want."
"No, please, sit with me," she called softly. "Please, Mr. Brooks."
He smiled, returning to her side. "You can call me Cal, all right?"
She seemed contented enough. "Cal." She began taking deep breaths. "Help me...please." She gazed at him
desperately, eyes reflecting the fear she truly felt.
He breathed deeply with her, not knowing he was doing it. "I've never delivered a baby before, ma'am."
"The baby doesn't know that," she assured him with false confidence in her voice.
He smiled, resisting the urge to stroke back her hair. "I s'pose I'll do what I can."
V{tÑàxÜ g{Üxx
Michaela shifted the blanket up to her thighs. "Look, please. Tell me if you see the head."
Shyly, Cal rested one hand on her knee, his thumb unconsciously stroking it soothingly. "Oh, my gosh. Yeah, I
see a little something. Lots of blood, too." Realization set in. A head. A baby's head. It was amazing.
"Oh, you can? You see it?" Michaela murmured hopefully. "Oh...my baby." Her expression turned pained. She
curled forward slightly, grasped her knees, and pushed.
"Yeah, I see it," he assured her. "Your baby's coming. Uh...push."
Michaela let loose a powerful scream as the contraction ended.
Cal bit his lip. "It comes when ya push. Then it slips back when ya stop pushing," he informed her hesitantly. He
sat himself at the end of the bed and kneeled in front of Michaela, keeping his hand on her knee comfortingly.
She groaned. "Oh. I can't do this. It hurts."
"Oh, no, you're doing fine. It's right here, Mrs. Sully," Cal reassured her. "It's so close. Don't give up."
Tears of frustration spilled down her cheeks. "It hurts too much! I can't!"
Cal patted her hand. "Sure ya can. Don't think like that. Come on, now. I can't do this all by myself. Ya gotta help
me, all right?"
"No, I *can't*." She shook her head, letting out a sob. "I'm tired. Cal, I'm tired. I want my husband. Sully. Sully!"
She was embarrassed for crying aloud what she had been feeling all night. What she had been feeling all eight
months rather. It was too hard to concentrate on two things at once: at finding the energy to give birth to her baby,
and at how devastating it was that Sully wasn't alive and kneeling beside her, awaiting the new child, kissing her
cheek sympathetically and telling her he loved her. But she couldn't stop thinking of one or the other, and became
so distraught she all but panicked.
Cal swallowed hard, frustrated. He wanted to comfort her, help her, but he had no idea how. "You're doing just
fine," he assured her, trying to keep his voice steady. "You're going to bring home a son or daughter for that
husband of yours. He's a lucky man. Come on. Ya gotta keep going."
Michaela's lower lip trembled, but before she could shed tears another contraction peaked. She tightening her
hands in fists and gave in once more to the unstoppable urge to push.
"It came a lot that time," Cal encouraged. "Looks like this baby's got some hair." He grasped her hand as she took
another deep breath and squeezed it harder then he thought possible. "There ya go. You're doing it. It's coming.
Push, Mrs. Sully." She shook her head, shutting her eyes tight and bearing down, growling through clenched
teeth. "It's right here," Cal assured her. "A little bit of the hair's coming out. Push harder if ya can."
Michaela let out her breath in a gasp. "No, please, I can't anymore. I can't push anymore!" Panting, she dug her
nails into her knees and released another long, tormented scream.
"That's it. Push. It's almost here. Push," Cal encouraged. "Push!"
"*No*!" she screamed. She braced her legs against Cal's chest, grabbed his shirt collar with both fists, and bore
down with all her strength. Slowly, the head came forward, squeezed into the waiting world, giving Michaela
temporary relief.
"The head's out," Cal spoke up animatedly. "Oh gosh, the head's out, Mrs. Sully. You're bleeding. Oh gosh, it's
big." It was a wet, bloody mess, and looked like it hurt an awful lot. Cal let out a long, shaky breath, uncertain
how to help. "Tell me what to do," he encouraged. "There's lots of blood."
Michaela remembered what she knew as a doctor and panted as hard as she could, unable to speak, then reached
her hand down alongside her swollen stomach. Fearfully she wrapped her fingers around the baby's neck. No sign
of the cord, she realized with a relieved gasp. She blew harder, willing herself to keep control as she grazed her
fingertips over its thin crop of disheveled, fuzzy hair, just as Cal had described. Michaela had never wanted Sully
with her more. She'd never needed his tender, warm hands rubbing her aching back more. She needed him to
caress her cheek, look her in the eyes, and help her to stay calm. She needed him to reassure her, remind her that
the burning pain was their baby, wanting to be born, to be as loving and supportive as he had when Katie was
born. To be Sully.
Sully was missing the birth of their child. Michaela would have burst into sobs of despair if she hadn't been
concentrating so hard on breathing, on gathering her strength so that the baby would come so that the pain could
end. The pain irritated her, because she couldn't remember it ever being this bad with Katie. Now that she thought
about it, she couldn't remember what the pain was like at all when Katie was born, and that frustrated her even
more. She needed Sully to help her remember, and to remind her she would forget this pain, too, once the baby
was here. She tried to take comfort in the fact that Sully was in heaven, looking on from above. He wasn't missing
it, but with her, in her heart.
Oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions spinning in Michaela's heart, Cal could only gasp at the head, his stomach
churning with the sheer wonder of it all. It had dark hair and tiny scrunched up features, strewn with blood and
facing downward toward the mattress, toward the puddle of blood that had accumulated over the past several
minutes. Mrs. Sully's fingers were so loving and gentle, so immense compared to the little ears, eyelids and nose.
She stroked the wet scalp while Cal's hands remained frozen at his sides. What next?
A contraction hit again, and Michaela braced her hands against the cot, shrieking, and leaned forward in a sitting
position. "Cal, hold the head," she instructed between screams. "Support it...gently as it...turns! Then put your
fingers around its neck gently...and keep your other hand...underneath to hold its...back as it comes-"
"Turns?" Cal interrupted, dumb-founded, but before Michaela could explain the baby twisted slowly to its left so
that the shoulders came in line with its mother's pelvis. It was miraculous. It was as if the hands of angels had
wrapped around the baby to position it for birth.
"All right. All right, it's turning," he said, placing his hands on the head, gently, as its mother had instructed. "Am
I doing this right? Oh, gosh. Tell me what to do, Mrs. Sully." There was a few seconds when nothing happenedthe baby remained motionless while Michaela groaned and panted-then suddenly she let out a primeval cry,
grasped her legs and held them far apart, and shrieked long and steady, rendering herself hoarse.
Cal only had to give it the slightest pull, and the baby slipped from its mother in one smooth, wet movement. "Oh,
my God...oh, my God..." Cal stared at the little being in his hands, mesmerized by it. There was a frightening,
pulsing blue coil of tissue attached to its belly, and Cal forgot all about what it was and panicked. It took him a
moment, but it suddenly came to him. Oh, the cord. That thing that made belly buttons of course. All babies had
it, or so he'd heard. He'd just never pictured it looking like this. Well, no matter. He looked up for the first time, at
Michaela. Her eyes were squeezed shut, she was gasping for air, and her face was as scarlet as the newborn in
Cal's hands.
"You can open your eyes now, ma'am," he whispered.
Michaela obeyed and looked down with a cry of absolute amazement. Her baby. It was here. She'd never felt
anything as beautiful as the love that at once filled her entire being for the dazed little creature Cal held up for her
to see. She immediately began sobbing, unable to put her emotions into words. Exhaustedly, she stretched her
arms toward him for her child.
Cal smiled. A relieved smile. "Here ya go, Mrs. Sully." He placed the limp little thing on her belly, and then
gently lifted one of its slippery legs. "Oh, gosh, it's a boy. You got yourself a boy." He chuckled "A big boy."
"Oh, a boy," Michaela echoed as she clutched the naked, warm little miracle. "Oh, sweetheart, oh you're a boy. I
thought you'd be a boy. Oh." Aside from two little blue arms that seemed to be flying every which way, the baby
was scrunched up and soaked in blood and paste. It spread its lips, trying to cry. Michaela cleared its mouth with
her little finger, then rubbed its back. "There you are, darling. Cry."
A soft sputter came from its mouth, then seconds later, a full-fledged, gurgling squall. Cal smiled wider, even
more relieved, and picked up the cloth he had used to cool Michaela's forehead. He swiped it down the baby's
torso, his arms and legs, and his head and face, mopping away some of the fluids so they could get a better look at
the newborn. "Oh, gosh, look at him. He's crying," he said, all smiles. "He's all right. He's crying."
"Oh. Good, sweetheart. Cry." Michaela leaned down, kissed the newborn's head and held one of his limp,
widespread hands. "I'm your mommy. Yes." She kissed him again. "You're beautiful. Oh, sweetheart, you're
perfect. Oh." Michaela couldn't believe that just minutes before she hadn't wanted him. There were times when
she hadn't even wanted life for herself. As the infant snuggled in her arms squinted tiredly up at her, she was
reminded of just where he came from, from the beautiful love she and Sully had shared, from her husband. Now
that her son was here, she had something tangible of Sully's last days to hold and cherish. She closed her eyes,
feeling Sully's presence within her. She saw his smiling, teary-eyed face, his proud hand atop the baby's head, his
fingers tenderly stroking her hair and caressing her cheek. "Love him for me," Sully spoke.
"I will," Michaela whispered tearfully, hugging her baby tighter. "I'll love you forever, my darling. I'll love you
forever."
"Does it hurt now?" Cal whispered, smiling.
Michaela chuckled, stroking the soft, damp fluff atop her baby's head. "No. No, this feels wonderful." The infant
let loose another helpless shriek, his face flushed red. "Oh, oh. It's all right, little one," Michaela murmured,
overcome with joy at this wriggling life letting out powerful, healthy squalls on her belly. "Oh, I know, it's hard
work coming into the world, isn't it? Oh, sweetheart." She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "My
baby's here, Cal. I can't believe it."
"Oh, he's here all right," he assured her. "Ya did it, Mrs. Sully."
She smiled softly. "We did it," she amended.
He hesitated, a little abashed, and gently stroked the baby's head. "...We did it."
"The cord," Michaela murmured.
Cal felt the front pocket of his trousers. "I have a jackknife."
"Thank you, but would you bring me my bag?" she requested, gesturing at the table.
Nodding, he obliged. "What's all in here?" He opened the clasps, eyebrows raising at what he saw. "What do ya
have all this stuff for?"
She reached her hand in for the clamps and scissors. "I never go anywhere without my medical bag."
His expression became even more astounded. "You're...you're a nurse?"
She carefully clamped the cord "Doctor." The baby scrunched up his eyes and gave a few sporadic cries, his pink,
wet lips quivering. "Oh, it's all right, darling," Michaela soothed. "It's all right."
Cal's mouth fell open. "Doctor? Of medicine? You mean to say all this time, I'm thinking how we gonna do this
without a doc, and here you've been sitting right under my nose? Well, I feel like a fool." He was half teasing and
half serious.
"A doctor isn't customarily available to deliver her own babies," Michaela told him. "She usually finds herself
quite preoccupied at the time."
"Just like a woman. 'I'm a doc, didn't I tell you?' she says." He threw his hands in the air. "Just like a woman."
"Does that bother you, Cal?" she asked more seriously.
He chuckled. "No. Just surprises me"
"Hasn't this entire night been a surprise?" she pointed out.
"I s'pose so," he admitted.
"I like surprises." She fished in her medical bag for her father's pocket watch and handed it to Cal. "What time is
it?"
He opened the gold-plated watch. "Half past four, exactly."
"Half past four in the morning, the second of December, Eighteen-hundred seventy-two." She kissed her baby's
head proudly once more.
"Happy Birthday," Cal spoke gently, timidly stroking the baby's cheek with the back of his finger. "Gosh you're
little. You sure didn't seem so little a minute ago."
"Would you like to cut the cord?" Michaela asked.
He turned white. "Uh, I think you'd better. Uh, seeing as you've had the most experience and all."
"Then hold the clamps please," she instructed, giving him two handles.
"That don't hurt him, does it?" Cal asked curiously as Michaela cut through the tough tissue. The baby was letting
loose random little cries every few seconds.
"No," Michaela told him, glancing up. "It was his lifeline for eight months, but it's not really a part of his body."
He cleared his throat. "Does it hurt you?"
"No," she assured him, shifting the baby up into her arms with a blissful sigh.
"Good," he whispered.
"There's the placenta to deliver," she added.
"Placenta?" he echoed.
"The afterbirth, it’ll come soon." She noted his apprehensive expression. "It...Usually isn't too painful," she added.
"I'll help you," he assured her. "Anything you need, Mrs. Sully, you let me know." He placed his finger in the
baby's palm, and the little boy grasped it tightly, face puckered in a comical expression akin to anger.
Michaela pressed her lips to the baby's cheek, kissing him lovingly. "Hello, sweetheart. Oh my goodness, you're
beautiful, little one. Mommy's so glad you're here. Mommy loves you so much. Oh, yes."
Cal felt a small tear trickle down his cheek. He swiped at it hastily, then stood quietly, removed his flannel shirt,
and held it out to Michaela. "Here. Wrap him in this." He avoided her eyes, placing his suspenders over his long
underwear.
"Cal, your shirt," she scolded. "We can use a blanket."
"It's warm from my body heat," he told her. "Please, wrap him in it."
Nodding her consent, the two carefully swaddled the baby in the cozy blue flannel.
"What are ya going to call this little guy?" Cal asked.
"...Byron," Michaela spoke with certainty, a bittersweet
smile on her face. "Byron Sully. After his..." She choked up.
"His papa."
"Sure sorry Mr. Sully had to miss this, ma'am," he told her
remorsefully.
"Me, too," she whispered. She glanced at him. "Cal. Is that
short for anything?"
"Calvin," he told her. "Always gone by Cal, though. My ma
said it started when I was little and couldn't pronounce my name..." He trailed off suspiciously.
"Calvin. I like it. Byron Calvin-"
He waved his hand. "Oh, no ya don't. Don't go naming your son after a perfect stranger."
"You're not a stranger," she assured him. She recalled thinking he was, just an hour ago...but now...now he had
helped her bring her precious son safely into the world, not to mention rescuing both her and her unborn child
from the stagecoach accident earlier that day. Michaela knew it wouldn't be easy to forget Cal. "Byron Calvin
Sully it is."
Cal thought it was a funny sounding name, he pictured the poor kid being bullied around at recess in a few years
time, but Mrs. Sully sure had a good heart. "Aw, that's real sweet. Thanks."
Michaela looked up at him. "Thank you. Thank you for helping me, so very much."
He noticed a stray hair had fallen in front of her eyes, and before he knew it he was brushing it aside, then
stroking her hair back over her ears. With renewed confidence, he let her squeeze his hand while they waited for
the afterbirth, and when it was over, he dabbed the perspiration from her brow and held a towel between her legs
to help with the bleeding. Her teeth had been chattering quite severely for the past several minutes, though
Michaela seemed neither to notice or care. All the while she whispered lovingly to the baby, a weary smile on her
face.
"Mrs. Sully? Are ya warm enough?" Cal asked worriedly. He didn't like that she was shivering. He thought it
might have something to do with the blood she was losing. He supposed it probably looked like more than it
actually was, but he pressed harder on the towel anyway.
"I'm all right," Michaela said dismissively. She was too preoccupied with little Byron to pay much attention to
anything. She vaguely contemplated the fact that she had torn and might fare better with stitches, but knew there
wasn't much they could do now. For a reason she did not understand, she trusted the stagecoach driver, now
shirtless, his rugged shadow of whiskers growing darker as the hours passed. Michaela trusted that he would take
care of her and that she and her tiny son would be fine. "I'm tired," she admitted.
"Yeah, I guess so," Cal chuckled softly. "Here, lie down. I got everything under control." He helped her recline,
tucking the baby beside her, and covered the two with several blankets. "You get a good sleep. You've earned it."
***
"Morning," Cal said, kneeling beside the cot.
Michaela opened her eyes slowly, letting out a small yawn. "Mmm...Morning," she moaned haggardly. She turned
her head to the side to look at the baby. He was curled up in her arms, his eyes open, and one arm stretching into
the air and tossing around clumsily. "Oh, Byron, Morning, darling," she murmured, overjoyed. "It wasn't a dream,
Cal," she went on. "I really have a son."
Cal produced a bouquet of daisies from behind his back "Yep, and a handsome one at that. It stopped raining.
Picked ya these." He was relieved some of the color had returned to Michaela's face, and that the bleeding had
slowed to a stop. He said a silent prayer of thanks both mother and baby had made it through the ordeal without
event.
"Oh, thank you," Michaela whispered, smiling and sniffing the flowers when he held them to her nose.
"Congratulations," he said.
She smiled wider as he got up to place the flowers in a mug on the table.
"He looks a lot like his big sister," Michaela remarked, tenderly placing her finger in her baby's fist. Byron
squeezed it firmly, brow crinkled as he struggled to focus on his mother's face.
"Does he?" Cal sat on the bed, gazing at her eyes. They were two different colors, he noticed for the first time.
Strange, but beautiful, too, he thought. He wished he could draw, or paint. He wanted to capture Mrs. Sully and
her baby, gazing at each other with such wonder, like love at first sight.
"I have a photograph," she said. "In my purse on the table."
He rose, found her purse, and brought it to her.
"This is Katie," she told him proudly, pointing at the infant in the beautiful lacy Christening gown. "It's a little
old. She has more hair now," she confessed.
Cal chuckled. "Aw, she's precious. How old is she?"
"She's about four months here, but she'll be two soon, in May," Michaela told him. She was beginning to miss her
daughter even more.
Cal watched Byron for a moment. "Yeah, I see the resemblance." He examined the photograph again. "Who are
these people?" he asked curiously, pointing at the older children.
"That's Colleen, Matthew, and Brian," she told him, pointing to each in turn. "When I first came to Colorado, I
became friends with their mother. She passed away, asking me to look after her children. Matthew and Colleen
are grown now, but Brian still has a few years left in school."
"And this is your husband?" he asked. "Looks mighty proud of the family."
She nodded. "He was," she choked.
"Bet ya can't wait to show him Byron Jr.," he said, grinning.
Michaela swallowed hard. "Cal...My husband's dead. He's been gone for eight months now." No, seven months,
twenty-eight days, and six or seven hours, depending on what time it was at the moment. "He'll never see Byron,"
she whispered, lip trembling. "He never even knew...I was expecting him."
Cal was stunned. "I thought..."
"I should have told you before...but it's very difficult to speak of. Please, understand," she implored, holding her
baby closer.
Cal felt horrible. He stroked Byron's tiny arm. "I'm awful sorry, Mrs. Sully. I'm sorry." He coughed. "Um, should
I say Widow Sully?"
"Most people call me Dr. Mike," she told him. "A few call me Michaela." Sully called her Michaela.
"Michaela, that’s pretty. Mind if I join the few?"
She smiled. "No." She liked how Cal said her name. He made it sound as sweet as he claimed it was.
"Michaela," he murmured, "if I said or did anything to make you feel bad...I'm sorry."
"It's all right," she whispered, pressing her lips together.
"Well, I'm sure he'd be real proud of this fine son ya brought into the world," he assured her, eyes tearful. "I bet...I
bet he's looking down right now, smiling the biggest smile ever."
"Thank you, Cal," she said hoarsely, swiping at a fallen tear. "I needed that."
He knelt beside her and stroked the baby's head comfortingly. "Shh..." he admonished as she closed her eyes
again, weak, but happier than she had been all year.
Michaela was pretty. No, Cal decided, she was beautiful. And her heart was beautiful, too. The baby was a
miracle; his birth incredible. It made him lonely. He wanted a wife as devoted to him as she seemed to be to her
husband, even if he had been gone for some time. He wanted a few kids, too. A boy and a girl. What with driving
the stagecoach, there hadn't been much opportunity for courting, always coming or going from one city to
another. Maybe he'd missed out, approaching on near thirty-five years old now. He decided he wanted to marry
someone like this woman, if he could find her out there. In the meantime, he might visit Michaela and the baby
the next time he passed through Colorado. He'd like to meet her children. He'd like to see how much little Byron
had grown. Yes, I'll see Byron Calvin again, he vowed, smiling contently.
V{tÑàxÜ YÉâÜ
Cal drew in his breath. The homestead was breathtaking: two stories, a sweeping porch, bay window, stain glass.
Just breathtaking. He walked up the stairs, tucking the package under his arm. He knocked firmly on the door,
then stepped back, wearing an expectant smile. He couldn't wait to see Byron, and meet Katie and the older
children...and see Michaela again.
The door burst open. A tall, muscular man with blond hair looked him up and down. An even blonder little girl of
about two was on his hip, face covered with chocolate. "Yeah?" he asked.
Cal noticed he had a sheriff's badge pinned to his unbuttoned vest. No, it couldn't be Michaela's husband. A
relative maybe? Or...or a beau? Maybe he had gotten the wrong house. "Um, I'm Cal Brooks...a friend of
Michaela's?"
The man scratched his chin. "Cal Brooks...wait, are you the same Cal Brooks that Michaela told us about? There
was a long article about you in the Gazette, all about the stagecoach accident, and rescuing her an' all."
Cal coughed. "Um, yeah, that's me. Who are you?"
"Daniel Simon, town sheriff." He opened the door wider. "Come in." The little girl squirmed in his arms, pushing
against his chest.
"Are you a...a friend or something?" Cal asked, removing his hat.
"Yeah, Dorothy an' Grace an' Robert E.--uh, those are Michaela's friends, too--and me, we worked out a schedule.
Tuesdays I look after Katie here, and the baby. Wish I knew what I was gettin' into 'fore I agreed to all this."
"Mama," Katie whimpered.
"Then Michaela ain't here," Cal said, disappointed.
"Oh, she's here," Daniel assured him. "Upstairs." He lowered his voice. "Mr. Brooks, do ya know
about...Michaela?"
Cal tickled Katie's chin, and she giggled. "What do you mean?"
"She lies in bed all day, barely eats, don't smile or laugh or anything. Hardly ever goes to the clinic."
Cal felt terrible. "Can I see her?" he implored.
"She don't see visitors," Daniel told him. "She gets cross with me if I let them up."
"Geds cwoss," Katie agreed calmly, sucking her fingers.
"Let me see her, please, Sheriff?" Cal implored. "I ain't seen her since the accident."
Daniel sighed. "Well, I s'pose...but don't count on much."
***
Cal knocked on the door, then opened it slowly. Michaela was in her nightgown and in bed, propped up by a few
pillows, eyes glazed over.
"Afternoon," Cal spoke up nervously, closing the door behind him.
Michaela shook, startled, and looked at him. She didn't recognize him at first, and was frightened and about to call
for Daniel. "...Cal?"
He sat on the bed. "Hey."
"Cal! Oh, what a surprise!" she murmured faintly, her eyes lighting up.
"I was passing through," he told her. "I promised if I ever was I'd stop by, so here I am."
"I'm glad you did," she told him.
He noticed her face looked thinner than before and her cheeks lacked any color. Her hair had lost its shine and
hung drably down her sides. "Oh." Cal handed her the small package. "Got this for the baby."
She smiled, untying the string. "You didn't have to do that."
He shrugged. "Well, I was in the mercantile asking for directions to your house, and it caught my eye. Looked
like something Byron might like."
Michaela pulled back the paper to reveal a blue wooden rattle with little yellow ducks painted in a pattern down
the handle. She shook it, pleased. "He's in his crib," she said, handing Cal the rattle and nodding across the room.
Timidly, Cal rose from the bed and went to the crib. There the baby snoozed contently, tucked under a yellow
crocheted blanket, his thumb in his mouth. He had a thin crop of light brown hair, a little curly, and his lips and
cheeks were pink and healthy. Cal ran his hand down his warm, smooth head. "He's so big."
"Seven months," Michaela told him.
"Has it been seven months?" Cal murmured. He touched Byron's cheek. "Oh, hey little guy. I held you when you
were just a second old. Remember that?"
"You can pick him up," she invited.
"Oh, could I?" Cal put the rattle in his breast pocket, then reached into the crib and lifted the baby. He snuggled
him warmly in his arms, placing the blanket over him, and walked back to the bed, taking a seat.
Michaela stroked Byron's hair. "He looks so much like his papa, Cal," she told him in a whisper. "He has blue
eyes, as blue as Sully's."
"He's beautiful," Cal told her. "I've never held anything so beautiful."
She pursed her lips tearfully, unable to respond.
"He's healthy and all?" Cal asked. "Eats all right?"
"Hm-mm," she assured him. "He's a very good baby. Doesn't really cry that much."
"That's good," Cal whispered. He eyed Michaela's thin, almost bony figure. "How about you? How ya doing?"
She averted her eyes. "Fine."
"Heard ya ain't been out of bed much," Cal said hesitantly.
"There isn't much to get out of bed for," she whispered, bending her head.
"What about the baby, Michaela?" Cal challenged "And Katie. I met her downstairs. She's a cutie. How 'bout
getting out of bed for them?" he implored gently.
"I tried." She shook her head. "I can't."
Cal placed Byron back in his crib, tucking the rattle beside him, and came back to Michaela. "Know what? I saw
your little girl got herself into some chocolate cake. How about ya have a piece?"
"No, I don't want any cake," she insisted.
"Sure ya do," Cal urged. He took her arms and pulled her forward. "Come on."
"Cal, stop," she begged. "I don't want to get out of bed."
"That cake is calling your name," he told her, taking her legs and swinging them around to the floor. "Now, where
are your slippers?" He bent to his knees, found them tucked under the bed, and put them on her feet.
"I'll call for Daniel," she threatened. "I'll tell him you're...you're..."
"That I'm what? Attacking ya with a slipper?" he teased, holding one up and growling, then placing it back on her
foot.
"I'll have him throw you out," she asserted firmly.
"I ain't afraid of him," Cal said, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her to her feet. "There, you're
standing. Now is this so bad?"
She sighed. "I don't want any cake."
"Too bad," Cal replied, grinning and taking her hand, leading her down the stairs.
Daniel met them at the base of the stairs. "What's going on here?"
Katie's eyes lit up. "Mama!" She pointed at her mother and squirmed in Daniel's arms.
"Sweetheart," Michaela murmured, instantly softening as she took her daughter from the sheriff and cuddled her
close.
"Mama, I eated cake," Katie informed her, clutching a portion of her mother's hair with her sticky hands.
"Yes, I see," Michaela chuckled, kissing her nose.
Daniel scratched the back of his head, unable to believe his eyes, while Cal left the group to dish up a piece of the
tasty desert.
"You sit down," Daniel finally told Michaela, pulling out a chair. "I'll help with the cake."
"How'd ya do it?" he whispered to Cal once he had entered the kitchen.
Cal bent to his knees and opened the icebox, retrieving a pitcher of milk. "Do what?"
"How'd ya get her out of bed?" Daniel demanded impatiently.
Cal shrugged. "I just told her to come downstairs--no buts."
Daniel sighed. "I don't know about this."
Cal poured a glass of milk then put the pitcher back in the icebox. "All I know is she's gotta get out of there and
eat," he said, picking up the plate and glass. "If she doesn't start now, she's gonna be under those covers for the
rest of her life."
***
Cal swung the axe firmly and steadily, splitting a log evenly. He placed the two pieces on the growing pile of
kindling, then placed another log on the tree stump.
He heard the gallop of a rider in the distance. Pausing in his work, he shielded his eyes and looked towards it.
Daniel.
"You're still here," the sheriff remarked as he dismounted, leading his horse to the nearby watering trough.
"Slept in the parlor, before the fire," Cal informed him, splitting another log and putting it aside.
"I usually do the choppin'," Daniel spoke up, cocking his head to one side and placing his hands on his hips.
"I got it," Cal said good-naturedly, raising the axe over his shoulder.
"Don't ya gotta work?" Daniel questioned. "Ya drive stagecoaches or somethin', don't ya?" If he were Cal, he'd be
embarrassed to be in such a profession. Daniel liked telling people he was sheriff. Most were impressed by him.
Cal didn't seem all too impressed, and that was irritating.
"That's right," Cal said. "I wired the boss this morning. Gonna take a month off."
"What for?" Daniel asked bluntly.
"To help Michaela."
Daniel picked up a stack of chopped wood, intending to bring it to the porch. "Help Michaela? Help her with
what, Calvin?"
"Help her get outta bed. It's Cal."
Daniel chuckled. "Well, we thank ya for your concern, but me and Michaela's friends got things taken care of."
Cal gave off his own chuckle. "No, I don't think so, Sheriff."
"Oh, is that so?" Daniel challenged.
Cal rested the axe against the tree stump. "No disrespect intended, but anybody who hasn't been outta bed in
almost a year isn't being taken care of properly in my book."
"Listen here, Calvin. We're all doin' the best we can. What makes ya think you can do any better?"
"I ain't saying I can," Cal admitted. "But I gotta try." He picked up the axe and split the log. "My name's just Cal."
"A month, huh?" Daniel said. "Well, for Michaela's sake I wish ya the best of luck."
Cal nodded. "Me, too."
***
Brian sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. His little brother was crying. Wearily, he rose from the bed, stretched his
arms, and peered out the window. Daniel and Mr. Brooks were chopping wood at the stump. He'd been surprised
coming home from school the day before to meet the stagecoach driver his mother spoke so highly of. He
certainly appreciated the stranger rescuing her from the accident, and of course delivering Byron, but so far the
man was just that: a stranger. He supposed he'd have to get to know him a little better before forming any
opinions.
Another demanding cry echoed down the hallway.
"Comin'!" Brian called. Every morning he would rescue Byron from his crib, change his diaper, and warm a bottle
for him. Ma used to nurse him, but had given up after a month. She was just too tired, she explained to her older
son.
Brian knew most boys his age had mothers to take care of younger siblings. Brian had a mother, but she rarely
woke when her baby cried, and even if she did, it might be five or ten minutes before she got out of bed and
answered. So Brian decided he'd help her out, take care of the baby and help Katie with her buttons and bootlaces
each morning until Ma felt like rising from the mattress. On some days, she never left the covers. He hated those
days.
"Hey, B.," Brian called down to the baby, reaching his arms into the crib and hoisting his brother into his arms.
The baby gurgled, sneezed and hugged Brian's neck. Brian placed him on the end of the bed and began changing
his diaper--which seemed to reek more powerfully than most mornings. He stole a glance at Katie--who had
miraculously slept through the crying and was curled up peacefully--and then looked at his mother. She was
awake, which surprised him. "'Mornin', Ma," he called hopefully.
"'Morning," she replied hoarsely, not looking at him.
"Wanna come downstairs?" he asked. "Have somethin' to eat? Help me feed B.?"
"Maybe in a little while," she replied non-comittedly, absently stroking Katie's hair.
"Mr. Brooks is still here," he informed her.
She nodded. "Don't be late for school."
"It's Saturday," he said quietly, lifting Byron from the bed.
"Oh," she whispered.
He came to her side and kissed her cheek. "I'm taking B. downstairs now. Love you, Ma."
She gave him a half smile. "I love you, too."
Brian sighed. She still loved him. He felt a little better.
Michaela sighed. He still loved her, even though she couldn't drag herself out of bed to care for her own children.
Even though he had to step in for her, at only thirteen, she felt worse.
"Can I help?" Cal called, entering the kitchen and placing a pile of wood in front of the stove.
Brian glanced at him. He was sweaty and he smelled, but he had a friendly smile. "Uh, sure. You can warm
Byron's bottle."
Cal patted the baby's head, gurgling on Brian's hip. "Be glad to. Er, how do I do that?"
Brian showed him, pouring Byron's milk into the bottle, screwing on the nipple, then placing it in a pan and
adding a log to the stove. "Now ya can't let it get too hot," Brian instructed as they waited for the milk to heat.
"But too cold and he won't like it. Ya gotta test it." He tapped a drop on his wrist and another on Cal's.
"Feels warm," Cal determined, sniffing his droplet of milk.
"Yep. It's about perfect right there," Brian agreed. He handed Cal the baby. "Now ya sit down and hold him so
he's kinda lying down, but not all the way." He gestured at a kitchen chair and Cal sat, awkwardly cradling the
cooing, wriggling infant. Brian positioned his arms so that Byron rested gently in the crook of Cal's elbow, then
he handed him the bottle. "Now just hold it to his mouth and he'll take it."
Cal obeyed, biting his lip when the baby didn't latch on. "He doesn't want it," he said, frustrated.
"Just wait. He will," Brian assured him, sitting in a nearby chair.
Seconds later, just as the boy had promised, Byron grasped the nipple and began suckling, gazing up curiously at
the unfamiliar, scruffy face.
"I'm feeding him," Cal murmured in awe.
Brian chuckled. "Yep. Easy, ain't it?"
"I guess. How'd you learn all this?" he asked.
Brian shrugged. "I watched Ma with Katie. She taught me how to take care of her so I could help her out
sometimes." All the time, he thought.
"Why isn't your ma up?" Cal questioned gently. "Why isn't she feeding the baby?"
Brian lowered his eyes, embarrassed. "It's easier this way I guess."
"Easier?" Cal echoed disbelievingly.
Brian sighed. "It's easier for Ma to lie in bed. If she gets up somethin' might remind her of...of Pa. Then she'll get
upset."
"Sorry to hear your pa passed on," Cal told him sincerely, watching with wonder Byron's rhythmic suckling.
"That's all right. It was over a year ago," the boy responded quietly.
Cal cleared his throat. "How'd he die, Brian?"
"...He was good friends with the Indians over at the Reservation," he began. "He used to be an Indian Agent. Late
in the spring he helped a group of 'em escape to up north, and got in trouble with the army for it."
"They hanged him?" Cal murmured, fascinated by the story.
"They were gonna if they found him," Brian clarified. "We're not sure exactly what happened, but we think Pa
and Sergeant O'Connor got into a fight up in the high country where there's lots of cliffs. They musta fell over..."
Cal bent his head. How awful. Brian took a deep breath. "Sergeant O'Connor hit the rocks, and we figured
Pa...Pa's body floated downstream somewhere."
Cal raised his eyebrows. "Figured?"
Brian felt tears come to his eyes, and struggled to keep them in check. "Never did find anything save his medicine
pouch. We combed the water for months. Ma never stopped believin' he was alive. She even wrote to the
President and got him a pardon...Ma finally...finally agreed to hold a memorial service. There's a marker in the
cemetery now."
Cal held the baby closer. "I'm so sorry."
"Ma's...Ma's been havin' a hard time copin' with it." Brian wondered if she would ever be happy again. The
thought was frightening.
"But it ain't fair to you," Cal spoke up, "having to take care of your little brother all the time."
"I don't mind," Brian said quickly.
Cal gazed at him incredulously. "Wouldn't ya rather be out fishing or swimming? It's gonna be real hot today I
bet, if it's anything like yesterday."
"Well, actually last week in school Pete was talkin' about going down to the swimming hole today."
"Why don't ya meet him there?" Cal suggested.
"I s'pose...I could. But what about B. an' Katie?"
"You let me handle them," Cal offered.
Brian raised his eyebrows. "You sure? They can be a lot of work."
"Well, your mother's right upstairs if I need help," Cal pointed out.
"I s'pose," Brian admitted. "All right, I guess. Thanks, Mr. Brooks." He shook his hand. "Thanks a lot. Maybe you
can come and swim sometime, too."
"Sure. That'd be fun," Cal said, grinning. He watched Brian leave, hat in one hand and a sandwich in a tin pail in
the other, and then turned his attention back to the baby. "Hey. You're a hungry little guy, aren't ya?" Byron
kicked his bare little legs and cooed, finishing the last of the milk. Cal placed the empty bottle on the table, and
then stood up, shifting the baby to his hip. "All right. What should we do next? How about cook some breakfast
for your mama?"
Byron squinted his eyes, then coughed and drooled on Cal's shirt. Cal opened the cupboards, searching for a pan
to fry up some eggs. Seconds later, Byron coughed again, and then burst into tears. "Uh-oh." Cal held him in front
of him. "What is it?" He lifted him gently in the air. "Whoosh...you're a bird, Byron." The baby's cries intensified.
"Oh, no." Cal sniffed his bottom. "Smells fresh. What's the matter?" He found a little stuffed bear sitting on the
counter and picked it up. "Oh, here. Here, Byron." He shook it in front of the baby. "Grr. Grr." Byron squeezed
his eyes shut and let out a wail. Cal became increasingly distraught. He cradled the baby and rocked him back and
forth to no avail. He was positive he was doing something wrong, but what, he didn't know.
V{tÑàxÜ Y|äx
"What's the matter, Squirt?" Cal persisted, continuing to rock the inconsolable baby. "Tell Cal why you're crying.
Hm, we'd better take you to Mama." Cal sped up the stairs to Michaela's bedroom. He knocked on the door, then
entered. "Um...Michaela, are you awake? I didn't want to disturb ya, but..."
Michaela turned to face him, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Hm? What's the matter with Byron?"
Cal placed him in her arms as she sat up. "I thought you might know. I tried playing with him, I took a whiff of
his diaper--it's clean--I fed him his whole bottle. Does he want some more maybe?"
Michaela put the distressed baby over her shoulder, picked up a cloth on the nightstand and tucked it under him.
"Did you burp him?" she asked calmly.
"Burp?" Cal repeated.
Michaela patted Byron's back soundly, and almost immediately the baby calmed. "Yes, to help him relieve any air
he might have swallowed during the feeding. Babies are too little to do it on their own."
Cal ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, for gosh sakes. I'm sorry, Michaela. I didn't know." He watched
Michaela tenderly whisper to her baby as Byron gurgled contently and played with wisps of her hair. "You sure
are a good ma," Cal remarked. "Look at the way this little guy looks at ya. He knows exactly who his mother is."
She bowed her head shyly. "It's easy. Anyone can do it."
"Maybe so, but Byron told me he wouldn't trade you for anyone else." He raised his eyebrows, pretending to be
serious.
She couldn't help but smile. "He did, did he?" She tenderly kissed her son's head. "Thank you for coming to me,
Cal. You try it now." She gave him the baby, and Cal sat on the bed and hesitantly patted his back. Byron moaned
affably, holding Cal's shirt with one little fist. "Do that every time you feed him, and he'll be fine," Michaela
informed him.
Cal cleared his throat. "I was thinking about staying here for a month or so."
She shrunk back. "A month? Why?"
Cal lowered his eyes. "Well, ya got a lot of responsibilities, and I thought I might help ya out, take some of the
burden off of Daniel and your friends--I mean, not that it's a burden, but they're real busy with their own things
I'm sure. Three kids is a lot for any one person to take care of, not to mention this big house and the animals in the
barn, and you'll be wanting to get back to doctoring soon."
"What about your job with Wells Fargo?" she questioned.
"It's taken care of. My things are being sent."
"Cal...I don't know what to say," she murmured, surprised.
He shrugged. "Say thank you, you can sleep in front of the fireplace."
"Thank you...but you may sleep in Colleen's room," she replied. "Though I don't know why you'd want to stay..."
Cal stroked Byron's hair. "Got an attachment to this little guy. After all, he bears my name, don't he?"
She toyed with the lace at her collar. "If anything were to happen to me, you know you can visit the baby, the
older children as well, whenever you'd like."
Cal wiggled the little boy from side to side, holding him in the air and smiling. "Sure, Michaela, but don't talk that
way. Nothing's gonna happen to ya."
She nodded solemnly, and then her expression brightened into a smile. "I told Byron all about you and the
morning he came. He was fascinated."
Cal chuckled. "I'll bet." He took a deep breath. "Michaela, maybe I shouldn't say anything but...you seemed so
overjoyed that day. I'd never seen anyone cry so many happy tears."
"I was happy," she agreed quietly.
"But now?" he prompted.
She folded her hands. "The baby was a blessing," she admitted, "but things...haven't changed. Nothing can replace
what I've lost."
"That happiness ya felt shoulda grown right along with Byron," he told her, deciding that it would be best to get
straight to the point.
"He's gone, Cal," she choked. "Katie and Byron will never know him."
He nodded. "It's better to accept that," he said quietly. "To try to make the best of how things are, what you do
have."
He sounds just like Sully, Michaela thought with a sharp pang. "I'd rather not talk about this," she said abruptly,
turning to gaze absently out the window. "I'd rather you take the baby out now as well," she went on bitterly.
Byron looked too much like her husband. Her husband wasn't coming back.
"Can I bring ya up something to eat?" Cal replied. "Eggs, or I make good pancakes, so I've been told."
"No, thank you," she said in a voice barely audible.
Katie rolled over in bed, opening her eyes and sitting up. She rubbed her eyes with her fists, patted her mother's
thigh, and pointed at Cal. "Mama, who's that?"
Michaela chuckled. "Good morning, Katie." She lifted the toddler into her lap.
"Who's him?" the toddler persisted.
"Don't you remember meeting Mr. Brooks yesterday?" Michaela prompted. "Say, 'good morning, Mr. Brooks.'"
"Awe you my papa?" Katie asked, pointing at Cal once more.
"Katie!" Michaela scolded in a whisper.
Cal cleared his throat. "Uh..."
"That is *Mr. Brooks*," Michaela said firmly. "What did Mama tell you, Katie? You mustn't ask people such
questions." She turned to Cal uncomfortably. "I'm sorry...she does things like that. She doesn't understand what
she's saying."
The child put her thumb in her mouth shyly.
Cal tousled Katie's hair. "Oh, you know what you're saying, don't you Katie?"
The toddler smiled.
"I'm sorry. I'm not your papa. I'm just Cal." He touched her cheek. "Do you like pancakes?"
She nodded vigorously.
"But you can't like pancakes shaped like little puppies, can you?" he asked skeptically, raising one eyebrow.
Katie nodded faster. "Yes!"
"Yes, please," Michaela whispered in her ear.
"Pease!" Katie added.
"If your ma will let us use the kitchen," Cal spoke up hopefully.
"You may," Michaela consented.
Cal held out his free arm and lifted Katie into his embrace. "Well then, you and me and Byron, we'll go
downstairs and make a stack as tall as this house...and then eat them *all*!" With the baby in one arm and Katie in
the other, Cal padded down the stairs.
Michaela fell back against the pillows. Guilt plagued her. She should be the one caring for the children, feeding
the baby and making Katie breakfast, but when she tried to sit up again and rise to her feet, her limbs became
paralyzed...paralyzed with misery, with longing, with a grief she could not shake.
***
Daniel rapped quickly on the door, and then entered without confirmation. "He made a mess of your kitchen," the
sheriff immediately griped, hands on his hips.
Michaela covered her mouth and yawned. "Who?"
"Calvin, of course," Daniel said, exasperated, "making a stack of at least twenty pancakes."
"Were they any good?" Michaela asked.
Daniel paused. "Well, I only had one; they were...passable, I s'pose, but that's beside the point. What right has a
stranger to barge in, tell you he's livin' here, and then destroy your kitchen?"
"Mr. Brooks is my friend, Daniel," Michaela informed him calmly, playing with a button on her nightgown, "and
I gave him permission to use the stove. As long as he cleans up after himself, I'm not going to make a fuss. I don't
think I need to remind you that Cal saved the lives of both myself and my son. I owe him a debt of gratitude, and I
ask that you treat him with respect."
Daniel removed his hat, damp with sweat from working in the barn. "I ain't tryin' to undermine what he did for
you and Byron; I'm just sayin' you were with the guy for what? Twenty-four hours? We don't know a thing about
him."
She sighed. She couldn't expect Daniel to understand something like this. "I had to put all my trust in Cal that
evening and he didn't let me down. Daniel, you just don't forget people like that."
Daniel recalled how quickly he and Sully had become friends after he had rescued the mountain man from a cave
in. Nonetheless, Sully and he were men. Cal and Michaela were...man and woman. One had to be cautious of
friendships of that nature. He removed his shirt and walked to the washbowl, splashing cool water on his chest. "I
just want you to be careful, that's all. I feel like I gotta protect ya, for Sully."
"That's very sweet," Michaela told him, "but Sully always knew I could look after myself. He always liked any
friends I've made, and I've always liked his." It pained her to speak of her husband, but in order to explain things
to Daniel, she had to. "That was one of the reasons...we fell in love. We think the same."
Daniel turned slowly from the basin, water dripping down his chest. "Do you like me, Michaela?"
"Of course. You've done so much for my family and me this past year. I can't thank you enough."
He came to the bed and knelt beside her. He searched her eyes, hoping she would look at him, notice him. She
continued to stare blankly ahead, fingers still toying with the nightgown button. She was beginning to make it
loose. He touched her arm. "There's a dance comin' up at the end of the month. The Sweetheart's Dance?"
"Oh, is that here already?" she asked. "I was going to ask Brian if he was planning on attending. He needs a new
suit I think."
"I'm not sure about him," Daniel said, "but I was wondering..."
She glanced at him, clueless as to what he was getting at. "Wondering what, Daniel?"
He cleared his throat. "Well, if you'd like to go. Go with me, that is."
Her expression was surprised, apprehensive, and full of memories.
"We'd have a good time," Daniel promised. "We could dance--you love to dance, don't ya?, drink some punch,
socialize a bit. What do you say?"
She shook her head. "Daniel, I'm sorry. I don't care for dancing."
"We'll just sit then," he offered. "Watch."
She lowered her eyes. "I'd have to wear a dress, fix my hair...find someone to look after the children. No, I don't
think so."
"Well, maybe that's too much to start with. How about just a walk? Or maybe dinner?"
Her breath caught. Daniel hadn't meant going to the dance as friends. He seemed to want to go places as if they
were courting. Michaela didn't like that one bit. Courting was the last thing she wanted to do. "I can't think about
this, Daniel," she whispered.
"Maybe you could try?" he implored. "I can make ya happy, like Sully did."
"You're a very nice man and I know Sully loved you, it's just, we're too good friends. It would be awkward.
Daniel, I'm not planning on courting again. No, I can't even think about this." Her eyes once again clouded with
tears.
"Never?" Daniel murmured. He had to admit he wanted Michaela to get better and be happy with someone,
whether it be him or not. Just the same he'd prefer it if it were him.
She took a deep breath, clasping her hands. "As I said before, I don't plan on courting. Never again."
'She don't *plan* on it', thought Daniel. That meant that maybe...maybe she might reconsider, eventually.
***
Cal knocked on Michaela's door, and then entered. "Got your mail."
She nodded, not looking at him. "Thank you." She was under the covers, holding the sleeping baby, staring out
the window.
He sighed. "Don't ya wanna open it? I know I always tear open my letters as soon as I get 'em. Like opening a
present."
She shook her head. "You can set them there on the night table. I'll read them later."
Cal worried she would never get around to looking at them. He flipped through the letters. "Well, here. Here's one
from a...a Rebecca Hartwick."
"My sister," she told him unemotionally.
Cal sat beside her on the bed, pleased she had given him an answer. "Yeah? Older or younger?"
"She's the oldest. There's three others." She smiled. "I'm the baby."
Cal chuckled. "Me, too. 'Course, I only have one sister, but she bossed me around enough to make up for it. Did
they boss you?"
She chuckled. "Incessantly. Except Rebecca. She was like a second mother to me. 'Mike', she called me."
"Mike," Cal repeated with a half smile. He listened as she told him about Rebecca and the happy times they had,
the terrible things the other three siblings did to her, and the terrible things she did back to them. Then Cal talked
about his sister, Caroline, and a time when he was five and she tied him to a tree in the park, leaving him there
until his mother held the little girl's ear and made her tell what she had done with her younger brother, who had
been missing for an hour.
"You poor thing," Michaela chuckled.
He laughed, stroking Byron's cheek. "It was horrible."
Michaela bent her head and kissed her son's hair. "I hope Katie never does anything like that to him."
Cal smiled. "Don't worry. I've seen them together. She's the best big sister any little boy could hope for." He
picked up the pile of letters, sifting through them again. "A couple here from doctors...." He chuckled. "A lot here
from doctors. Oh, look at this." He held out a slip of paper with a small purple flower pattern in each corner.
"Sewing circle meeting at...Grace's...next Thursday. One o'clock."
"That's nice." She rubbed Byron's back. His little peach-colored shift was beginning to look tight on him, she
noticed. Michaela grimaced at the thought of having to make the baby a new one, or having to go to town and
order him something. Everything took so much energy. All she wanted to do was lie in bed alone, to grieve Sully
in peace, without anyone pestering her to dry her eyes and get up.
"You'll have to pick out a pretty dress to wear," Cal said.
"I'm not going," she replied, unconcerned.
Cal was expecting this, but played dumb. "Not going? Why not?"
She shrugged. "I don't sew...anymore."
"Well, this'll be a good chance to start again." He rubbed Byron's foot. "Why, what are ya gonna do if Squirt here
gets a hole in his stocking? Tell him ya don't sew no more and hand him a needle?"
"We don't darn socks in the sewing circle," she informed him. "We make quilts, costumes for Christmas pageants,
curtains for the church and things like that, and we talk. I don't want to sew. I don't want to talk. I'm not going."
She paused. "And I would never give my baby a needle," she finished, sticking her chin in the air.
Cal sighed. "Fine."
She was ashamed of her curtness. "Fine," she whispered, hugging Byron close.
V{tÑàxÜ f|å
Cal tapped the end of his pen on his chin. He needed some inspiration. He glanced out the window. Stars, a moon,
softly blowing trees. A tree! He carefully drew a crude willow tree in the corner of the first piece of paper. There,
that looked like stationary. Well, sort of. He thought longer, and then wrote gingerly but steadily in his best
handwriting. Michaela would likely beat him over the head for this, but he was doing it for her own good. Yes,
what Michaela needed was a little push.
***
"Sewing circle meetin', today, Saturday. Three o'clock at Michaela's. Lemonade and cookies will be served."
Dorothy rubbed her forehead. "I just can't believe it, Grace. Michaela hasn't been to our meetin's in over a year, let
alone hosted one herself."
Grace reread her invitation, one hand stirring tomato soup heating on the stove. "Well, maybe she's finally coming
'round," she suggested. "Be good for her, seein' us all again." She chuckled. "Hearin' a little gossip!"
Ethel Bloom approached her friends. "Ladies!" She waved her invitation. "Did you find this with your mail this
morning?"
"We all got 'em," Grace assured her, adding a sprinkle of salt to the soup.
"I can't believe it," Mrs. Bloom said, shaking her head.
"None of us can," Dorothy spoke up. "But one thing's for sure: I'll be there."
"Me, too," Mrs. Bloom agreed.
"So will I," Grace affirmed.
***
Cal opened each drawer of Byron's bureau. No sign of anything that might remotely be a diaper. Brian had taught
the stagecoach driver how to diaper the baby just half an hour before, and then at Cal's prompt had gone to play
baseball in town with some schoolboys. "I swore he said top drawer," Cal muttered to himself, looking through
the bureau again. Katie stood beside him, thumb in her mouth. "Do you know where the diapers are?" he asked,
turning to her.
She gazed up at him shyly, not answering.
Cal turned back to the baby on the changing table who was happily naked from the waist down. "Now what,
Squirt? Oh, and don't you dare think about doing just that."
Byron giggled and kicked his legs, amused by the man's predicament.
Cal picked him up, holding him at arm’s length less an accident occurred. "When all else fails, see Mama, right?"
He hastened down the hall with the baby, Katie at his heels. "Michaela!" he called through the cracked-open door.
Cal had another dilemma on his mind: how to get Michaela to wear a dress for the sewing circle meeting, instead
of her usual nightgown.
"I'm bathing, Cal," she called from behind the blinds Brian had set up for her.
"Where do you keep Byron's diapers?" he replied. Katie pushed the door open and walked in.
"In the top drawer of his bureau," she replied. She wrung out her sponge. "Don't get wet, Katie," she warned the
child, who had placed herself quietly at the foot of the tub and stuck her hands in the warm water.
Cal peeked one eye into the room. "I searched the whole bureau. No diapers."
"Then I'll have to do some laundry," she sighed, the thought itself exhausting.
"I can do it," Cal offered. "I know how. We take turns at work."
Byron let out an experimental moan, but before he had a chance to cry Cal swung him into the air a few times,
producing a fit of giggles from the infant.
"...If you're sure," she reluctantly agreed. "But for now look in my medical bag on the nightstand. There's a cloth
in there you can use until his diapers have dried." She leaned forward in the tub and tapped Katie's nose with a
wet finger. "Run along with Mr. Brooks and keep an eye on him for me while I finish here, all right, sweetheart?"
Cal retrieved the cloth, then eyed Michaela's nightgown, laid out on the bed. He snatched it up quickly, and then
stole out of the room, Katie following close behind.
***
Michaela rose from the tub, wrapping a towel around her. The bath had felt wonderful. She might have soaked all
day if the water hadn't grown too cold to sit in any longer. She couldn't decide what she preferred more, snoozing
in a warm tub or lying under the soft covers of her bed. She shut her eyes. Their bed, Sully's handcrafted wedding
gift for his bride. As much as she felt like sleeping again, she decided she would get out of the room, go
downstairs, check on the baby, and see how Cal was coming with the diaper cloths. Help him, perhaps. After all,
it was her family's laundry, not his.
Her nightgown was missing. She glanced around, holding the towel around her with one hand. She clearly
remembered unbuttoning the top button, slipping the nightgown over her head and placing it on the bed until after
her bath. She shrugged her shoulders and opened the wardrobe, might as well put on a dress if she were going to
go outside, in the event company should call.
***
Michaela opened the front door to the giggling of her daughter and son, and Cal, scrubbing on the washboard
while whistling a tune.
Katie was chasing in and out of the hanging laundry while Byron crawled about nearby, stopping every so often
to examine a bug, a pebble or a blade of grass.
Cal looked up, scrubbing hard at a little nightshift of the baby's. Michaela was in her mourning garb, her hair
pinned up in a loose bun, hands clasped in front of her. She was even thinner than she appeared in a nightgown,
Cal noticed, aside from a slight swelling at her waistline, evidence of the birth weight the pregnancy had left
behind and the exercise she had not gotten to rid herself of it.
"You must be hot, all in black," Cal remarked, squinting up briefly toward the blazing sun.
"I'm not," she lied, crossing her arms.
"I found the washboard and soap and a laundry basket just fine," he told her.
"I started to think about you doing the laundry all by yourself and I grew anxious," she admitted with a shy smile.
"But everything seems..."
"Under control?" Cal supplied, pinning up the shift as Katie continued to race in and out of the blowing white
sheets.
Michaela's mouth dropped open and she sped toward the line. "My nightgown! Here it is!" She fingered the damp
garment. "I couldn't imagine where it had gone. It wasn't on the bed where I was certain I left it." She laughed. "I
was afraid I had lost my mind." She trailed off, clasping her hands again.
Cal crossed his fingers behind his back. "Yeah...I uh, I figured it was dirty. Besides, you don't need it until
bedtime tonight."
"Actually, I was planning on going back to bed," she told him a little testily. Her expression softened. "But thank
you for the thought."
"Stay up today," he suggested. "I'm going to bake cookies with the kids."
"You know how to bake cookies?" she asked, surprised. She didn't know of many men who did.
He chuckled. "No. I was hoping you would."
She smiled. "Yes, but I'm afraid my culinary skills can't compare to Grace's."
"I hear she's the best cook this side of the Mississippi," Cal said, dipping a cloth into the laundry tub.
"I won't argue with that," Michaela agreed.
Cal was struck by an idea. It was the perfect excuse to get Michaela out of the house. "Maybe we could have
dinner there sometime," he suggested. "All of us. The baby, too." He scrubbed the cloth vigorously against the
washboard.
Michaela took a step back. "I...I don't know."
"I'm itching to try her fried chicken. How about tonight?" He twisted the cloth, wringing it out over the washtub,
then turned to the line.
"Why don't you take the children, Cal? Katie loves Grace's mashed potatoes."
"But dey'll be dissapoint-thed if you don't come, too," he pointed out, two clothespins in his mouth.
"No they won't. They don't need me." She spoke not in a tone of self-pity, but rather one of certainty.
Cal finished pinning the cloth, turned back to Michaela and wiped his damp hands on his trousers. "Of course they
do. You're their mother."
She shook her head. "Brian's perfectly capable of caring for the children, and others help as well. Things run
smoothly without my presence. I could remain upstairs for days without being seen--if I wanted to--and life would
go on without event."
"Do you want to?" he challenged.
She bent her head. "Sometimes."
He scratched the back of his head. "Ever think maybe Brian should be with boys his own age? Girls too, maybe?"
She was taken by surprise. "What do you mean by that?"
Cal shrugged. "I ain't trying to judge, I'm just saying it seems strange that a schoolboy should so often be
responsible for an infant and a two-year-old. Seems to me he'd want to be somewhere else."
"Brian likes caring for the younger children," she told him defensively. At least he acted as if he enjoyed it.
"That may be, but it don't make it right," Cal said calmly.
She turned her back to him. "He's never given me any reason to believe he's unhappy."
"I got a hunch he wouldn't tell ya even if he was."
"Katie!" Michaela called. "Come here!"
"I'm playin'!" the little girl called from somewhere among the damp laundry.
"Please, come here now," Michaela said firmly, and seconds later the toddler appeared and tugged on her mother's
skirts, out of breath.
"Come to the kitchen with Mama and we'll bake cookies," Michaela told her, taking her hand.
Cal picked up Byron, sighing, and followed mother and daughter inside.
***
Just as Cal pulled the last tray of molasses cookies from the oven, a knock was heard at the door. Michaela went
to answer it, Katie tagging along beside her.
"Afternoon, Michaela," Dorothy greeted her. "Afternoon, Miss Katie."
"Afternoon," said Grace.
"Afer-noo'," Katie giggled.
Michaela was bewildered. "Dorothy, Grace...what are you...doing here?"
The two ladies looked at each other with raised eyebrows, each with a sewing basket tucked under their arm.
"Isn't it two o'clock?" Dorothy asked, reaching into her basket in search of her invitation.
"Yes...but-" Michaela stammered.
"Here it is." Dorothy gave her the invitation. "We all got these a few days ago. Don't you remember sending
them?"
Michaela skimmed the invitation in disbelief. "I didn't write this. I don't know a thing about this."
Dorothy and Grace chuckled uncomfortably. Should they stay, leave? They didn't know what to do.
Cal cleared his throat from the kitchen. "Well, as long as they're all coming, Michaela, why not have the
meeting?"
She turned to him. "You. Cal, you did this, didn't you?"
"I..." he murmured.
Michaela forced a smile for her friends. "Excuse me one moment." She marched straight to Cal, looking him in
the eye angrily. "How could you?" she whispered. "Is this your idea of a joke?"
"I...thought it might be fun," he whispered back.
"Fun, hm? You've thoroughly embarrassed me and put us all in an awkward position. Having fun yet?"
He touched her shoulder. "I don't know why you're so upset. I thought you'd be happy, seeing all your friends
again."
"Perhaps I didn't make things clear. I don't participate in the sewing circle, let alone host meetings. I prefer
peaceful, quiet afternoons here at the homestead, alone. What am I supposed to do now?"
Cal shrugged. "I got the solution."
She raised her eyebrows. "You do?"
"Hold the meeting," he said simply.
"Cal, must I repeat everything I've just said?"
"Look, if you hold the meeting, you won't have to send anybody home and you just might enjoy it. I'll watch over
Katie and Byron. I could take 'em to Bray's Mercantile and do the shopping for the week. We'll have fun; your
friends will have fun, everybody's happy."
"Yes, except me." She crossed her arms. "Well, I certainly can't turn them away now. That would be rude."
"Yeah, that'd be rude," he agreed.
She sighed. "I'll have to introduce you." She took his hand. "Come with me."
When Michaela returned to the doorway, three more ladies were waiting on the porch. "Everyone," she began,
"this is Cal Brooks." She hesitated. "A good friend of mine." She nodded to each woman in turn. "This is Dorothy
and Grace, Ethel, Marisa and Margaret."
Cal smiled. "Hey."
Dorothy shook his hand. "An honor, Mr. Brooks."
Once Cal had departed for town with the children, Michaela seated everyone around the table.
"He's handsome, Michaela," Dorothy began, laying the quilt they were working on across the table. "You didn't
mention that when I interviewed you for the Gazette."
"It was a wonderful article, Dorothy," Marisa murmured "A stagecoach accident, only two survivors, a romantic
rescue. Straight out of a dime novel."
"Cal's stubborn, he talks too much, he can't be serious, and he likes to play cruel jokes," Michaela informed them
"Hardly out of a dime novel."
"I think writin' all those invitations for us were a real fine thing to do," Grace spoke up. "I wouldn't call it a joke."
Michaela frowned. "I don't want any of you to feel I don't want you here. It just came as a surprise, that's all."
"A pleasant surprise," Dorothy told her, threading her needle. "We'll have to catch you up on all the news."
Ethel leaned forward in her chair. "Then first off ya oughta hear this: I heard from Rachel who heard from
Isabelle--or was it Anne?--anyway, who heard it first hand from Maggie O'Neill that...or was it her sister? I can't
remember..."
Michaela chuckled under her breath. She had certainly missed the gossip; there was no doubt about that.
V{tÑàxÜ fxäxÇ
"How was the sewing circle meeting?" Cal asked placing the tomatoes he had bought in a small basket on the
counter.
Michaela's face brightened. "It was..." She wasn't about to let Cal know how much she had enjoyed being with her
friends again. "Fine, I suppose."
Cal chuckled. Michaela sure was stubborn.
"How was shopping?" she queried. "Katie was on her best behavior I hope."
"Oh, she was fine. Your kids weren't the problem."
"Oh? There was a problem?"
Cal put his hands on his hips. "Yeah. An Injun walked into the mercantile, came straight up to Katie and picked
her up, mumbling some sorta gibberish. I knew you would just have a fit, so I pulled out my jack knife. He put her
down damn quick."
"Cal, I don't care for that sort of vulgar language," she scolded.
He lowered his head. "Sorry."
"And we say Indian in this house, not 'Injun'," she went on.
"Indian, Injun, what's the difference? No matter what ya call 'em, I'll never be able to stand their filthy hands on
little girls. And then after that--can you believe it?--he walks straight up to Mr. Bray and asks where Dorothy is!
Probably fixing to have some fiery hair on his belt."
Michaela crossed her arms angrily. "That was Cloud Dancing. He's Katie's Cheyenne father."
"Cheyenne father? What kinda foolishness is that?"
Michaela grew angrier. "Cloud Dancing has always been one of our most trusted friends. He took Sully in and
looked after him for several years."
"Brian told me how Sully died. Seems to me if it weren't for the Indians, your husband would still be here."
She glared at him sharply. "Don't you ever say that again?"
Cal felt regretful. "Michaela...I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's just, driving the stagecoach; I always have to keep a
lookout for 'em. We've had our horses stolen a few times. My first month on the job, a whole mess of 'em scalped
all our passengers. Harry and I just managed to get away."
Michaela's expression softened. "I'm not trying to justify what they did, but they steal animals because they're
starving. They attack stagecoaches because the road they travel on cuts across their land. Passengers inside settle
on their land."
Cal rubbed his chin. "Their land? The government gave them land, putting 'em on reservations ages ago. We don't
bother them, they shouldn't bother us."
"Have you ever been to a reservation, Cal?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No, and I don't care to."
"I have a proposition for you," she spoke. "You come with me to the Reservation tomorrow, and I and the
children will have supper with you later at the café."
He sighed. "Can I have fried chicken?"
"You may have whatever you'd like," she told him.
He considered for a moment, and then shook her hand "Deal."
***
"I'd like to speak with a friend," Michaela said firmly, putting on the brake of the wagon.
"Nice to see ya again, doctor," replied one of the two soldiers guarding the entrance. He spit a wad of tobacco
over his left shoulder.
"I'm sorry I can't say the same," Michaela retorted. "I'd like to speak with Cloud Dancing." She noticed the change
in their expressions, from pleasure at seeing a pretty woman, to mild irritation.
"Who's your beau?" the taller soldier asked, eyeing Cal with Katie in his lap.
"He is not my beau," Michaela answered, "and if you want to know who he is you can ask him yourself."
The soldier's partner peered into the wagon at the whimpering baby, bundled securely in a basket at his mother's
feet. "Aw hell, who cares? Let 'em go, Carl."
"Just a minute. I wanna know who he is," the other whined.
Michaela cleared her throat. "I'd be terribly disappointed if I had to turn straight around after such a long drive. So
would my little girl. You wouldn't want to disappoint two ladies, would you gentlemen?"
The shorter of the two soldiers gazed at her with longing. "Sure ma'am...I mean, you can see the Injun..."
"Go right ahead," the other added, removing his hat and running a hand through his thick black hair.
The soldiers fought quietly over who was going to help her down, and before they could agree, Michaela had
made it to the ground on her own and was lifting Byron from his bedding.
Cal jumped down with Katie in one arm.
"Again!" the toddler begged, giggling.
Cal bounced her on his hip. "You sure know how to get your way, Mike."
Michaela shrugged. "When it's necessary." She placed the baby over her shoulder and pointed at the shacks. "See
those? Entire families live in them. They're hot in the summer and freezing in the winter. Teepees have holes at
the top to let out smoke from a fire. Only a few families have been allowed to remain in their traditional homes."
"Holes for the smoke. That's smart," Cal admitted.
She nodded, agreeing. "There's not even so much as a camp fire inside their homes now."
"How do they survive?"
She swallowed. "Many don't."
A cluster of women approached Michaela, talking excitedly amongst one another of the lady doctor who was so
kind to them, and of her husband whose passing had affected them all.
One had a half-empty bottle of tonic in hand. "Take...take," she bid Michaela, thrusting it in her direction.
"Oh, Morning Dove...is your son's cough any better?" Michaela asked.
She nodded happily. "Good. Good. Many thanks for medicine. Many thanks."
Michaela smiled. "Glad to hear that. Why don't you keep the tonic...in case he comes down with something
again."
"They speak English," Cal remarked.
"Most of them do," Michaela replied, "but not many whites bother to learn their languages."
Morning Dove eyed the medicine hesitantly. She tilted it back and forth, watching the dark syrup swish around. "I
take," she said quietly. She looked up at the doctor. "I take," she announced. "Nyow-ish. *Nyow-ish.*" She turned
to a friend and spoke in rapid Cheyenne, eyes bright. Michaela was pleased when she detected the word for
'medicine woman' spoken several times.
"She says she is grateful," Michaela translated for Cal. "Hah-ho," Michaela told the woman.
"You speak that nonsense?" Cal asked, surprised.
"Only a few words, but Sully could speak and understand Cheyenne perfectly."
Morning Dove's friend, a young woman Michaela recognized though she did not know her name, put a hand on
Katie's back. "You will see Cloud Dancing?"
Michaela nodded. "Yes."
The girl cast her eyes at a teepee. "There. We will look after baby?"
Michaela noticed for the first time an infant strapped in a bearskin to her back. "Oh, is this your baby?" she asked
excitedly. She had forgotten the girl was with child the last time she had visited.
The girl nodded with pride. "A brave."
Michaela smiled. "Mine, too." She pulled back the blanket to reveal her sleeping little boy. "I call him Byron."
The girl smiled, touching his cheek. "By-ron." She nodded behind her. "My brave will be named when he has
grown."
Michaela nodded. "Cheyenne don't name their children right away like we do," she explained for Cal. "By the
time it's four or five its family has decided on a name for it. Usually after an uncle or grandfather."
Cal scratched his head. What a strange way of doing things.
Michaela tickled the girl's infant. "He looks strong...how old is he?"
"He has been here six moons. He's a good baby," she said assuredly. "Very, very good."
"That's good to hear," Michaela replied.
"We take?" Morning Dove persisted, putting two hands around Katie's torso.
Michaela kissed Katie's head. "Yes, I'd appreciate that. Thank you. Be good for mama's friends, sweetheart," she
instructed the droopy-eyed child.
Michaela trusted the women completely as Cal unwillingly handed Katie over to their able hands. They were
always such a help when she visited the reservation. The women were grateful to the doctor for her visits to their
homes, never asking for anything in return, and so looking after the 'little medicine woman', as they called her in
Cheyenne, was the least they could do.
Michaela and Cal watched Morning Dove and her friends carry Katie to a teepee, followed by at least four other
women eager to offer advice on the child's care.
"You're just gonna let them take her in there, all alone?" Cal questioned.
"She's with several mothers who no doubt have more experience than I do," Michaela said, setting out for Cloud
Dancing's teepee.
"Wait 'til I write Momma about this," Cal mused aloud. "Mrs. Sully hires Indians to baby-sit her kid!" He thought
a moment. "All those women were so skinny, Michaela," he whispered. "That baby is about as old as Byron, but
only half his size."
"I know," she replied.
Cloud Dancing heard the two approaching, and pulled back the flap, sticking his head out.
"Dr. Mike!" he exclaimed. He hurried out and came to her, clasping her arms. "It is good to see you, my friend."
She gave him a hug, mindful of the baby. "And you, Cloud Dancing."
Cloud Dancing put his hand atop the baby's head. "Byron is looking strong." He touched Michaela's shoulder,
noting her black dress. "You wear the color of sorrow."
"I continue to mourn," Michaela admitted softly.
He eyed Cal. "The one with the knife," he announced, eyes narrowed.
Michaela took Cal's hand and brought him closer. "This is Cal Brooks, Cloud Dancing." She pulled Cal's shoulder
down. "Shake his hand," she instructed in a whisper.
Awkwardly, the men shook.
"Now apologize," Michaela went on.
Cal raised his eyebrows. "For what?"
"You know what," she retorted.
He sighed. "I didn't mean to pull a knife on you, Cloud..."
"Dancing," Michaela reminded him.
"Yeah, whatever, I didn't know you were a friend of Michaela's," Cal finished. "Sorry," he added.
"Come inside, Cal Brooks," Cloud Dancing bid, pulling back the flap of his teepee.
"I hope we're not disturbing you," Michaela said, suddenly hesitant.
Cloud Dancing chuckled. "No...Do you know what I was doing? Napping!" His eyes squinted with laughter. "It is
time for this old man to wake up!"
She laughed softly as Cloud Dancing invited them to sit on an elk skin beside a small fire. It smelled cozy inside,
of hickory bark and well-tended-to animal hides. It was a pleasant aroma that could make her drowsy if she
allowed it.
Cloud Dancing sat cross-legged opposite his visitors. Cal was gazing up at the hole at the top of the teepee. "A
real live teepee," he murmured "Never thought I'd be in one of these."
Cloud Dancing lit his pipe and took a smoke then handed it to Cal.
Michaela elbowed him.
"What?" Cal murmured, annoyed.
"Smoke it," she instructed. "He's making peace with you."
Reluctantly, Cal puffed a few times on the pipe, and then stared at it, surprised. "It's good," he mumbled.
"Of course," Cloud Dancing shot back, eyes sparkling. He searched Michaela's eyes. "You have come because
you long for Sully."
Michaela rubbed Byron's back as he cooed. "I miss him, yes, but that's not why I've come. I wanted to ask if you
would tell Cal about the Cheyenne."
"It is a tale that would take many days to tell," Cloud Dancing replied.
"Great," Cal muttered under his breath.
"Mr. Brooks doesn't know very much about you or your people," Michaela said, "so if you could just start by
telling him a little of everything: your way of life, how you came to be here, the army, being a medicine man..."
"Washita?" Cloud Dancing questioned solemnly.
"Yes, please," Michaela whispered.
"Then before I begin, I will give Cal Brooks a gift." Cloud Dancing removed the medicine bag about his neck and
held it over the fire. "Michaela has told me what you did when the stagecoach killed everyone but her."
Cal waved his hand. "No, it wasn't anything."
"Pride can be a foolish feeling and I am glad you do not possess it. You protected the life of my friend then
brought my brother's son into the world. For this, you have earned a medicine pouch, with many thanks from
me...and from Sully."
Cal sat silently as Cloud Dancing placed it over his head. "Thank you," he murmured in awe. He fingered the
pouch, admiring it.
"Cheyenne return a gift with a gift," Michaela told him, glad Cal and Cloud Dancing seemed to be getting along
despite their first meeting.
Cal shrugged, ashamed. "I don't have anything with me right now." He felt his pockets. "Except..." He pulled out
his jack knife, handing it across the fire. "I guess I don't really need this. Here"
Cloud Dancing pulled out the blade and touched it to his palm. "Yes, this is good. Now I will tell you about the
Cheyenne."
***
All the way home Cal was silent, hugging Katie protectively as he thought over what the wise Indian had told
him. He couldn't shake the images from his mind: starving women and children, their men unable to do anything
to help, crates of supposed food that turned out to be useless shovels and hoes, feuding between tribes forced to
live together, sickness deliberately brought by the army, Snow Bird's death, and babies slain without any remorse.
These were not the Indians he had been taught to fear and hate. They were innocent men, women and children, no
different from him. He felt sick.
As soon as they reached the homestead Cal immediately set to work unhitching the horse, not even glancing at
Michaela as she took the children upstairs to lay them down for a nap before lunch. Once they were asleep, she
returned outside. "Do you need some help?" she called from the porch.
"This is men's work," he informed her, unbuckling the girth.
"I can hitch and unhitch a wagon as good and as quick as any of you men," Michaela replied doggedly, walking
down the steps.
"Is that so?" he murmured, slowing his pace.
She came to his side. "Cal, about this morning..."
"What about it?" he said softly. "I went, I listened to the man talk, and I left. There's nothing left to say."
She put her hand on his back. "You were moved by Cloud Dancing's stories. I know you were."
He shook his head firmly, and then dropped his hands to his sides, bending his head.
"Oh, Cal." She took him in her arms and held him close.
He tentatively put his arm around her waist. She was so small and thin, he thought if he squeezed too tight, she
might break. "I feel terrible, Michaela," he whispered. "I've never heard anything like it. They weren't just stories.
They were true and they were frightening. People like me make their life hell." She tensed in his arms. "Heck," he
quickly substituted.
"But now," she assured him, "...now when you encounter someone speaking about the Indians unfairly, or treating
them any differently than one would a white person, you must be brave and tell them you saw, and you know."
He touched his medicine pouch. "I feel like I don't deserve this. I feel like a hypocrite."
"Sully always said we can't change the past, but we can change the future. Take what you've learned and never
forget it, and you'll always be worthy of Cloud Dancing's gift."
"That's sweet to say, Mike." He suddenly felt awkward as close to her as he was, and pulled back. "Thanks."
She lowered her eyes. "Are we still on for dinner?"
"You bet ya," he promised.
***
Brian trudged into the barn, tossed his schoolbooks in a corner, and picked up a rake. Cal was in Flash's stall,
currycomb in hand. "Hey, Brian," he called, poking his head out from under the horse's long neck.
"Hey," Brian murmured eyes downcast as he began to rake aimlessly.
"What's the matter?" Cal asked, rubbing Flash's shoulders with the comb. "Didn't the algebra test go well? We
studied for a good hour."
"School was fine," Brian assured him.
"You're moping around like a Dixie losing the war," Cal informed him. "Maybe I can help? Or your mother's
inside-"
Brian ceased raking. "No. No, Mr. Brooks please. I don't tell Ma these things."
"Why's that?" Cal asked, amused.
"Why? Well, because she's...my ma."
Cal smiled. "Woman troubles?"
Brian drew in his breath. "How'd ya know that?"
He chuckled. "'Lucky guess, son."
Brian smiled. Son, He liked that. He came to Cal's side. "I s'pose it wouldn't hurt...to just tell ya what happened."
"S'pose not," Cal agreed, leaning against Flash's corral and preparing to listen.
"There's this dance comin' up in a few weeks. The Sweetheart's Dance?"
"Never heard of it," Cal admitted.
"Well, it's kinda an annual thing. We have it every summer in town. Everybody goes. Everybody brings
somebody."
Cal nodded. "Sounds like fun."
"I ain't havin' fun now. I asked this real pretty girl, Susanna, if she'd like to go, an' she said sure-"
"Well then, you're all set," Cal interrupted, smiling.
"That's not all she said," Brian murmured. "She said sure, but she already told Billy Huntington she'd go with him.
Billy beat me to her."
Cal shook his head. "That's too bad. Well, there's other fish in the sea. Who else do you like?"
Brian blushed. "No one," he said quickly.
"There's gotta be lots of girls in this town available."
"There's Sarah Sheehan," Brian admitted. "But I went with her last year."
"So?" Cal replied. "Go with her again."
"I s'pose...I could. We did have a good time."
"Tomorrow at school, you put on your best smile and go up and ask her," Cal instructed.
"You think she'd say yes?" Brian wondered.
"Won't know 'til ya ask." Cal worked the currycomb down Flash's back. "This dance is for the whole town ya
say?"
"Yep, except little kids. I mean, it's too late for babies like Katie an' B. to be up."
"Your ma'll have to get a sitter," Cal remarked slowly.
"Oh, she won't need one. She'll probably stay home with them. She wouldn't go alone. I don't think she wants to
go at all anyways."
"You think she'd go with a friend?" Cal asked, rubbing his chin.
Brian shrugged. "I don't know. It'd be great if she did, but I can't see it happening." He smiled. "S'pose ya can't
know for sure unless ya ask, Mr. Brooks."
Cal chuckled. "S'pose so."
V{tÑàxÜ X|z{à
"And so I says to him, 'Mister', I says, 'if you want to come with us, you're gonna have to hang onto the back,
'cause I told ya three times there ain't no room.'"
Brian held his stomach, laughing. "You really told him that, Mr.
Brooks? What'd he do?"
Cal chuckled, shoving the last forkful of green beans into his mouth.
"He looks from me to Harry, all annoyed-like." Cal swallowed the
beans. "And turns around, hops up onto the back..." He burst into
laughter. "And he says he shouts, 'hee-yah!', and we take off!" He
pounded his fist on the table for emphasis. "And Harry, he says..." He
stopped himself. "Well, never mind what he said."
Michaela felt her lips quivering into a grin and held them firmly in
check. Byron squirmed in his high chair as Brian gave him another spoonful of mashed up baked beans Grace had
prepared especially for him. "He just hopped on in his suit?" Michaela questioned, picking at her buttery mashed
potatoes with her spoon.
"Yep, in his suit and top hat and all. Ya shoulda seen him when we stopped at Santa Fe." Cal eyed her plate. "Eat,
slow poke," he ordered. Michaela scowled and put a small portion of potatoes in her mouth.
"Bet he was a mess," Brian chortled.
"Just covered in dust and dirt, manure and God knows what else!" Cal replied.
Katie banged her empty cup on her highchair tray. "Ma-noo!" she repeated.
Cal and Brian laughed, Michaela frowned. "No, Katie," she scolded. "Don't say that."
Byron placed his dimpled hand on his big sister's tray, and she pushed it away. The baby boy waited a few
seconds then placed it back on again. "Ma-noo," Katie said quietly, imitating her mother's frown. Once again
Katie pushed Byron's hand off, moaning. "Stop," she ordered. Byron gazed at her curiously.
Cal lifted the toddler from her high chair and sat her in his lap, facing him. "Katie, you're not pronouncing it right.
Say, Ma-noo-er."
Katie touched his lips. "Ma-noo-a."
Michaela put her fork down. "Cal, enough. Don't teach her that."
Cal held one finger up. "Now say, I love ya, Mama."
Katie giggled. "I love ya, Mama," she repeated perfectly, beaming at Michaela who couldn't help but smile,
faintly.
"Smart kid," Cal said, handing her over to her mother. "Don't waste all that food, Michaela. That's good fried
chicken."
She eyed him stubbornly, rubbing Katie's back. "I'm full."
"Hewe Mama, gween bean," Katie spoke up helpfully,
holding one up with her sticky fingers.
"Katie, no," Michaela mumbled as the child shoved the
bean against her lips.
"Swow poke," Katie accused, giggling as Michaela
frowned again.
"You're a bad influence, Cal," Michaela informed him,
giving in and taking the bean from Katie's grasp with her
teeth.
He pretended to be hurt. "Just put a knife through my heart."
"Tell us another story, Mr. Brooks," Brian spoke up, "about driving stagecoaches. Do you see a lotta buffalo?
Cloud Dancin' says you're lucky if ya see one now days."
Cal winced at the mention of the Indian. "Yeah, I've seen a few buffalo. Speaking of which, Brian, I was
wondering if you'd want to come on a trip with me."
Brian raised his brows. "A trip?"
Michaela switched her attention from her plate of food and Katie to Cal. Cal nodded "Yeah, a hunting trip. Do
you like to hunt, son?"
Brian shrugged. "Sure, but...I mean, not for sport."
Cal scratched his head. "Well then, we'll eat our kill: fine venison, or rabbit stew, or pheasant maybe."
Brian's eyes lit up "Yeah, when Mr. Brooks?"
"How does next Friday afternoon--after school of course--'til Sunday sound? If that's all right with Michaela."
"I don't care for guns," she replied politely.
"It's not all guns, Mike," he explained. "I trap, too, and do some fishing. My pa and I used to go up to Wisconsin
with the canoe."
"Please, Ma?" Brian spoke up. "I'm awful careful with guns and bows an' arrows and anything like that. You
know I am." He paused. "Sully taught me, remember?"
"You'll miss church," she reminded him, closing her eyes at the mention of Sully. Brian so needed a father,
someone to take him hunting and fishing talk with him, do things with him she couldn't.
"It's only this one time," Cal pointed out. "I promise he'll be in the front row the next Sunday, and maybe I'll
come, too."
She sighed. "Well...I suppose, but only for those three days. Please be careful, Cal. He's only thirteen."
"Ma," Brian protested, "I ain't a baby."
"Baby or not, you could still get hurt," she pointed out.
"I'll be so careful, Ma, I promise," he vowed, taking her hand across the table.
"Michaela, just the woman I wanted to see!" She started. There was only one person she knew who possessed that
voice. Preston Lodge approached the table and cordially tipped his hat. "I must say you're looking..." He eyed her
up and down, sneering. "Lovely." He glared at Cal. "My, my, my. Who might this be?"
"This is my friend Cal Brooks," Michaela said, emphasizing friend so there wouldn't be any confusion.
The banker shook Cal's hand firmly. "Preston A. Lodge, the third," he announced proudly. "Rumor has it you're
living with our dear friend Michaela." His lips curled into a derisive grin.
"Visiting," Michaela corrected, face flushing with embarrassment. "He's visiting."
"Yes, of course. Mr. Brooks, if you choose to invest your hard earned cash--and I guarantee it's a wise choice-come see me." He turned back to Michaela. "Might I have a word with you? In private?"
Michaela gave Cal an apologetic look. "Excuse me." She rose from the table and Preston took her arm, leading
her a dozen feet away, not quite out of earshot. "I think you know what this is about," he began, his tone on the
verge of annoyance.
Michaela shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't."
Preston looked heavenward with a sigh "Your loan, Michaela? You're over two weeks late on this month's
payment."
Michaela's expression fell. "Oh my goodness. I completely forgot. Preston..."
"Now I realize you've had to assume all of your husband's responsibilities, and no doubt you're still trying to
adjust, so because I'm a sympathetic man, I'll give you one more week." He flashed a toothy smile, as if an extra
week was bending over backwards for her.
She gasped. "A week! Preston, that's hardly enough time. Give me...give me another month. I'll come up with it,
somehow."
"Another month! Preposterous! One week Michaela, or your homestead belongs to me." He smiled to himself at
the thought.
Michaela felt tears coming to her eyes. No, not the homestead. Sully built the homestead. "Preston...Preston,
please. That's not enough time."
"And you must return to the clinic," he said, touching his chin. "Obviously."
"The clinic..." she experimented. The idea of going back to work, doing something she enjoyed, hadn't entered her
thoughts for some time.
"Yes, the clinic. How else are you going to manage to make regular loan payments? Of course you could always
scrounge up another of Sully's friends, bat your eyelashes and get him to bail you out." He observed her black
attire up and down. "However, you must shed this depressing costume. It really doesn't become you, Michaela."
She narrowed her eyes angrily. "I won't be spoken to that way, Mr. Lodge."
He sighed "Michaela, its common sense, if you don't go back to work, you won't be able to pay off the loan. If
you don't pay off the loan, you'll lose the roof over your head...and you won't have a job either because mark my
words I'll go straight to the town council, remind them that we haven't had a steady doctor for nearly a year, and
get them to put out an advertisement for a new physician. One who can be counted on! I'm about fed up with Dr.
Cook being dragged away from my Health Resort every other minute to treat your patients. This man has had
enough!" He pointed a finger at his chest, breathing heavily.
Michaela stared at him for a moment, digesting his words, and then sniffled, her lips trembling.
Preston eyed her uncomfortably. "What are you doing?"
She shook her head, closing her eyes as a few tears slipped down her cheeks.
Preston looked as if he had been punched in the stomach. "Are you crying?" He scrunched up his nose. "Michaela
Quinn, stop this at once," he commanded.
Cal appeared at Michaela's side, red-checked napkin tucked in his collar. "What's the matter?" he asked, gazing at
her worriedly.
"I'm sorry," she choked out, staring at her feet.
Preston gestured at the doctor, bewildered. "She's crying. Just look at her. She's...she's bawling! Preston A. Lodge
has never made anyone's eyes tear in his entire life, and doesn't intend to start now!"
Cal gave Michaela his napkin to dry her eyes. "Go sit down," he told her gently.
Reluctantly, she returned to her seat, where Brian patted her hand and offered words of condolence.
"What did you say?" Cal immediately demanded, keeping his voice low.
Preston nervously wrung his hands. "Good man, I merely informed Michaela that her next loan payment is due in
a week. If not, her homestead will be foreclosed. Since she and Sully took out the loan a year ago, she has been
well aware of the consequences should payments be late, and I refuse to feel compassion for this spectacle of
emotion meant to intimidate me!"
Cal swallowed. "As ya can see she don't have the money."
"Then she must return to the clinic," Preston retorted. "Am I the only one here with any sense?"
"Would you let me make the payment?" Cal asked.
Preston threw his hands in the air. "I don't care who it comes from, as long as I get it."
"I have some money saved up in a bank in Chicago. I'll have it wired to you tomorrow." Cal thought a moment. "I
don't want her to know I paid it off," he whispered. "Could you just take the money from her when she has it, and
then give it back to me at another time?"
Preston sighed. "That will be a great inconvenience...but I suppose I could. Just these once, mind you."
"Then go over and tell her she has a month," Cal instructed.
Preston sighed again. "I really don't care for this, Mr. Brooks."
"You're getting your money," Cal reminded him. "Tomorrow."
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Preston sauntered over to the table. "Michaela...I've reconsidered."
She gazed up at him timidly.
He glanced at Cal. "I'll expect payment in full in one month's time." He tipped his hat. "Good evening." With that,
he was gone.
Michaela was dumbstruck. "Cal, how did you...?"
He shrugged. "He felt bad for making you upset," he said.
She blushed. "I didn't mean to do that."
He sat back down, touching her arm. "Don't worry about it."
"I probably would have cried, too," Brian spoke up helpfully. "Mr. Lodge can be so mean sometimes."
"He was right," Michaela admitted. "I'm late on the loan payment." She folded her hands. "I'll have to go back to
the clinic." The thought frightened her.
"I peeked in there the other day, Ma," Brian said. "It's awful dusty and dirty."
"It just needs a good cleaning," Cal spoke up. "Tomorrow, Michaela, I'll go with ya and help ya clean up, how's
that sound?"
She nodded. "All right," she whispered uncertainly.
***
"Bet it feels good to be back in here," Cal remarked, scrubbing the windowpanes vigorously with a wet cloth.
"Whoo-ee...does this place need a dusting!"
Michaela sifted through her medical records, repositioning a few that were out of order.
He glanced at her. "Do you realize...Michaela?"
She looked up briefly. "Hm?"
"I was just gonna say, do you realize ya didn't go to bed once yesterday? During the day, that is? What with being
at the Reservation and then dinner, there wasn't time for napping."
She pulled out a record, opened it, and leafed through it aimlessly. "Hm-mm."
"Well, how did it feel?" he asked.
She returned the record to its place. "It was...exhausting."
He moved to the next window and scrubbed at its panes. "Ya just gotta get your strength back. Eat a little more,
get out a bit more. You'll feel better."
"Nothing's changed, Cal," she whispered, pulling a cloth from her apron pocket and opening the medicine cabinet.
She carefully removed a bottle, dusted it off, and placed it back in the cabinet: Castor Oil, Sulfate of Quinine,
Dover's powder, Laudanum. Laudanum. Her hand shook at the thought. "Sometimes I wonder..." she murmured,
stroking the bottle with her thumb, "what it would be like to just...go to sleep."
Cal continued his scrubbing. "Are ya having trouble sleeping? Maybe we can take ya to Dr. Cook's this afternoon,
see what he thinks."
"When I sleep, I don't feel," she went on, pondering the laudanum, in a trance. She could lie down on her bed,
take the drug, and close her eyes. She would be with Sully. She wanted to be with him more than life itself.
"Nope, neither do I," Cal replied. "Except I dream a lot. Do you dream a lot, too?"
"I wouldn't dream this time," she replied, more to herself. "I wouldn't have to endure any more pain."
Something didn't sound right. Cal put down his cloth, quickly coming to her side. "What are you talking about,
Michaela?" he demanded slowly.
She closed her eyes. "Nothing."
He tore the bottle from her grasp. "Laudanum? Laudanum's a powerful drug. I don't want you taking this. We'll
ask the doctor for something better to help ya sleep."
She shook her head. "I don't want to wake up."
He froze in horror. She wasn't just talking about a little nap. "Michaela..."
Tears trickled down her cheeks and her lip quivered. "I don't w-want to wake up, Cal..."
V{tÑàxÜ a|Çx
“How long ya been thinking about this?” Cal asked softly, rubbing her back.
“I-I don't know,” she murmured. “I suppose it's always been in the back of my mind.”
“You don't want to do this,” he told her firmly.
“Sometimes I think I do,” she insisted.
Cal led her to sit on the nearby bench, taking hold of her hand and not letting go.
“When we had the stagecoach accident...just before we turned over...” She paused to take another deep breath. “I
didn't want to survive it, Cal. I didn't want anyone to rescue me.”
“God, Michaela.” Memories of the death of his father quickly came back.
She shook her head. “I wish...”
“Wish ya had died?” Cal demanded. “Taking the baby along with you?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “No, of course I wouldn't wish that on Byron.”
“That's what would've happened if ya hadn't survived,” he reminded her bluntly.
She trembled. “You don't understand. I can't do this anymore,” she whimpered. “I can't go on.”
“Michaela, I don't have to pretend. I know what suicide is. My own pa shot himself. Afterwards, I felt to blame,
like I could of done something, like I wasn't enough for him. I still can't shake those feelings, Michaela, and it's
been years since he did it. I know it's the most selfish act a person could ever do.”
“I don't care,” she moaned.
“Oh, you don't? You don't care about Brian, Katie, and Byron then, is that it?”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. “You know I do. I love them with all my heart.”
“You love them with all your heart ya say, so to show 'em just that, you're gonna take that laudanum and wait for
what? Maybe Brian comes home from school wanting to show ya a test he aced, and finds ya. Or maybe
Katie...maybe she falls and skins her knee and comes to you for help. She'll shake ya and shake ya, but ya won't
be able to wake up. Finding ya lying there'll be the last memory they'll have of their ma. What do you think that's
gonna do to them?”
Michaela lips quivered. “They'll b-be all right.”
“You think so?” he retorted. “You think Brian's gonna be just fine even if another mother is taken from him?”
“He's strong,” she said firmly.
“Not without you, Michaela...I know you're hurting. I know you don't want to go on and I can't blame ya for that,
but for those kids, you have got to be brave. You can't leave them. You're all they've got, make no mistake.” He
grasped her shoulders. “Now you look me in the eyes, and tell me ya ain't got a reason to live.”
She sobbed, shaking her head.
“Say it!” he shouted. “Say Cal, there ain't a single thing in this world that could give me reason to live! I wish I
would've broken my neck like everyone else in the accident and taken the baby with me. I don't hear anything,
Michaela! This is what Sully would want! Say it! Say, Sully would want me to die and leave his children without
their mama!”
She screamed. “Stop! Stop, Cal! Stop!”
“Louder!”
“Stop!” she cried, tilting her head toward the ceiling, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“Louder!” he growled.
She attacked him with her fists, beating against his chest, then clawing at his face. “I hate you!” she roared. “I
hate you! I hate you!”
“That's right!” he encouraged, taking her into his arms. “You hate me because I'm the only one that's bothered to
tell you the truth! And Brian, Katie, the baby...they love you with just as must passion.” She held his shirt tight
and sobbed. “And Daniel loves you, too, and so do Dorothy and Grace, Robert E., the Reverend...your family
back in Boston. And I care for you, Michaela, ever since we first met,” he assured her, stroking her hair. “Don't
leave us.”
“I love my babies so m-much. I don't want them to find me like that,” she told him hoarsely. “I promised Sully I
would take care of Byron for him.”
“They need your love,” he whispered back, stroking her hair comfortingly. “Ya have to know that, Michaela.
They've lost their pa, but they ain’t gonna lose their mama. Not now.”
She sniffled, clutching his shirt tighter. “Oh Cal, help me. I can't do this alone. I d-don't want to f-feel like this
anymore. Oh.”
“I'm here. I'm here,” he murmured, rocking her slowly. “We're gonna get through it, Michaela. I promise. You're
gonna live again. I promise.”
***
“There you are,” Cal called, jogging over to Michaela. She was leaning against the old oak tree in the front yard,
gazing up at the cloudless sky. He held out her shawl. “Katie and Byron are asleep,” he told her, “and Brian's just
finishing the last of his homework. I went upstairs to tell him to get started on it, and found out he was almost
through.”
“He's very self-motivated,” she told him quietly, placing the shawl over her shoulders.
“Yeah and bright, too. Takes after his ma.”
She glanced at him. “Sully used to say that. We never thought of Brian as not being our real son.”
“Well, when ya love someone, they're like family,” Cal remarked, rubbing his arms to keep away the chill.
She gazed up at the sky. “We'd watch the stars together, Sully and I. He'd take me on little overnight trips. He'd
get me away from things when I most needed a reprieve. He was always thinking of me.”
“Sounds real nice,” Cal told her, smiling.
“We'd watch for shooting stars and make wishes. He'd give his wishes to me...I would always...” She lowered her
eyes, her voice growing hoarse. “...I'd always wish it would never end.”
Cal swallowed, throat growing thick with sympathy.
“Cal,” she sobbed, “I miss him so much.”
He nodded, holding her arm and urging her to continue.
“My friends,” she whispered, swiping at her nose with one hand, “they tell me, 'God never gives us more than we
can handle.' They mean well, but...”
“But it makes ya feel worse,” Cal whispered compassionately.
She nodded, choking up. “Sometimes, lying in bed at night, I grow so terribly frightened. I think God's given me
more--so much m-more than I could ever possibly handle. Sully was always here to comfort me. He knew when I
was frightened, and he would hold me and be here for me. I always felt safe in his arms. Now, sometimes I think
no one's here. No one understands.”
Cal took her hand. “I can't say I know the loss ya've been through, but Michaela, I can promise you ya got so
many people here for you. You got so many friends that want you to get better, and you've got three of the
sweetest, most loving kids I ever met that need ya so much. And ya got me, Michaela. You know you can tell me
what you're feeling.”
Her entire body trembled. “I loved him so much. Oh God, I love him s-so much.”
He closed his eyes, never wishing he could take away her pain more than at that moment. He took her in his arms,
cradling her close, and she hung on, rested her head on his shoulder, and wept.
“There's a time for everything,” Cal began. “A time to cry, to grieve...and a time to laugh and dance.” He stroked
her hair. “You'll laugh and dance again.”
“A time to tear,” she whispered. “My heart's torn into two.”
“A time to heal and repair,” he encouraged. “Your time's gonna come soon. I know it will.”
“You'll be here?” she asked softly, pulling back.
“Nothing's more important to me. Nothing's more important than seeing you smile. Michaela, if you feel alone, if
ya feel like ya can't go on, I want ya to tell me. Day or night, I'll be here, to talk, to listen, whatever ya want.”
She drew in her breath. “Everything's an effort. Even waking up is difficult, let alone getting out of bed. It hurts so
much. Far greater than any physical pain one could experience.” She looked him in the eyes, wanting him to
understand what she could only try to put into words. “But there's a part of me that doesn't want that hurting to
stop. It's as if the moment it stops, then I've lost him. The only way to keep him with me is to force myself to feel
the pain.” She took a deep breath. “Does that make sense?”
“Sure it does,” Cal whispered, “but Michaela, you can let go of that pain without letting go of the memories.
You'll always have those. Even if someday you no longer cry for him, nothing can ever take Sully from your
heart.” He grasped her arm. “Sometimes it helps to speak of those we lost, even though it hurts. You can tell me
about Sully. I'd listen.”
“You would?” she murmured.
“Of course I would. Let's get out of this chilly breeze and sit in front of the fire. I want to hear all about your
prince.”
She smiled. “He was, Cal. He was.”
***
“He made me ask him,” Michaela went on, smiling slightly, eyes dreamy. “He said, 'will I what?' He knew
perfectly well what I was talking about.” The rocking chair creaked slowly back and forth.
“So what did you say?” Cal asked, entranced by the romantic tale, Michaela's low, warm voice, and the way her
lips curled into a lop-sided grin.
She chuckled. “I said, ‘will you marry me?’”
“And he said?” Cal teased.
She took him seriously. “He said 'yes', took me in his arms and spun me around. We talked all afternoon, about
when we wanted to be married, what sort of wedding we wanted, about the homestead he was working on, and
our hopes for the rest of our lives. We dreamed of at least two children. He wanted a girl first and then a boy. It
worked out, because I've never had a brother, and he'd never had a sister.” Her lips trembled.
“You gave him that girl and boy,” Cal reminded her. “In the right order, too,” He patted her hand.
She lowered her eyes. “We talked of more than just having the children. Sully said he would order fancy dresses
for our little girl and give her candy and spoil her, and he wanted to teach our son baseball and fishing, how to
throw a tomahawk, help him climb trees and ride a horse. I know he would have been such a wonderful father for
the two of them, if only he had the chance. I watched him with Katie, the first year of her life. 'Pa' was her first
word, and it was fitting. There's nothing he wouldn't have done for her.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “But if
we could have nothing else, we only wanted to watch them grow. That's all, Cal. Sully and I just wanted to be
together as they grew. We never counted on...anything like this. I never thought I'd be alone ever again.”
“Brian and I leave in two days. Michaela, if you don't want us to go, just say the word.”
She shook her head. “No, I want you to. Cal, thank you for doing this for Brian. My husband used to take him
hunting. They had such good times together. I think Brian really misses that. No, I know he does.”
“Then while we're gone, I want you to do something for me.” “What?” she asked curiously.
“Take a pad of paper and a pen and write down all these wonderful memories you've told me.”
“Write them down?” she questioned.
“Yeah, and someday when Katie and Byron are wondering about their pa, you can read what you've written to
them, like reading them a story. I know they can't ever really know him, but maybe hearing about him and how
much he loved them, even before they were born...maybe it'll help. Maybe it'll help you, too.”
She considered. “I could give it a try,” she admitted “Though I don't know where to begin.”
“At the beginning,” Cal suggested “When you first saw Sully.”
She chuckled. “That’s a story in itself.”
Cal took her hand. “Well, ya got plenty of time.” He searched her eyes. “I got something for you.” He pulled out a
folded, small piece of paper and placed it in her hand. “Don't give me an answer right away. We're gonna be gone
for three days. Think about it over that time before ya tell me.”
“Think about what?” she asked, puzzled.
“Just read the note,” he directed, standing up. “Guess I'll turn in. Goodnight, Mike.” He turned for the stairs.
“Goodnight,” she called softly. Mike. That reminded her of her father and of her sister Rebecca. It was nice to
hear it again. She listened to Cal's door open and close, then she slowly opened the folded message.
Michaela,
A time to dance. I'd be very honored if you would attend the Sweetheart's Dance on my arm. Think about it while
we're gone, and then say yes.
Cal
Michaela shook her head. “Oh, Cal,” she murmured under her breath.
***
Cal rapped firmly on the sheriff's door.
“It's open!” Daniel called.
Cal entered, removing his hat. Daniel was sitting at his desk, chewing on a bacon and egg sandwich from the café,
feet propped up on a mess of loose-leaf papers and documents. “Calvin,” he said, mouth full. “Oh, shoot. Is it
Tuesday? I'm plum losing track of the days.” He put his feet down, preparing to disembark for the homestead and
a day of looking after two children he could never seem to make happy.
Cal waved his hand. “No, it's Thursday, Daniel. You didn't forget anything.”
Daniel let out a relieved sigh, sitting back in his chair. “Well, ya scared me there, son.”
Son? Cal thought to himself, raising a brow. He couldn't be more than a few years younger than the sheriff. He
cleared his throat. “I came to ask ya a favor. A big favor actually.”
“What's that?” Daniel replied hesitantly.
“Look...can I sit down?” Cal asked uncomfortably.
Daniel nodded at a small chair across the room. “Pull her up,” he directed, and Cal obliged.
Cal rested his hands on his knees. “Brian and I are gonna go hunting for a few days, until Sunday. We leave
tomorrow.”
Daniel was about to inform him that Michaela detested guns, but thought better of it. Let Cal Brooks find out on
his own. “Yeah? Well, I'd love to go, Calvin, really I would, but I'm a busy man. Bein' sheriff's a big job.”
“Right. Uh...we'll miss you. I was gonna ask if, while we're gone, you could come to the homestead and stay with
Michaela.”
Daniel's eyes lit up. “Sure thing--I mean, I'll have to see if I have anything going on...court hearings, business in
Denver, things like that.” He flipped quickly through a few pages in a small notebook. “Nope, nothing important.
I'll be there.”
“Good,” Cal said. “I'd really appreciate it if you'd keep a close eye on her. If you could stay nearby, watch her
every second, that'd be even better.”
Daniel raised his brows. “Every single second?”
Cal raised his brows. “Well, Sheriff, obviously not every single second...”
Daniel coughed. “Oh Right.” He scratched his head. “Uh, what am I watching for?”
Cal took a deep breath. “Michaela...Michaela told me the other day...well, you know she's having a hard time
moving on.”
Daniel nodded bitterly. “Yeah, I know.”
Cal lowered his voice. “She's...she's thought a few times...about suicide.”
Daniel's mouth fell open. “You're mistaken.”
Cal shook his head. “She told me straight out.”
Daniel leaned forward. “Suicide...crazy people think about suicide.”
Cal stroked his sprouting whiskers. “She's not crazy, Daniel. She's just...she's sad. At a certain point people can't
live like that anymore. They either gotta get better...or...”
“She's not thinkin' straight,” Daniel said quickly, the thought of losing Michaela as well as his hope of winning
her hand hitting him hard.
“That's true,” Cal agreed. “She's not seeing what's around her, her family and friends, all that she has to live for.
It's gonna take awhile before she's gonna see that clearly, so right now she needs to be looked after carefully.
Leave her alone and you're asking for trouble.”
“She needs someone to look after her every day,” Daniel proposed. “I think she needs to think of a husband.
Someone dependable, someone that can love her and make her happy.” He cleared his throat. “I...I've thought of
proposing to Michaela.”
Cal almost laughed. “You have?”
Daniel avoided his eyes. “Sure. I mean, it's clear she sees we have somethin'.”
“She does? How do you know?” Cal murmured. “I mean...she don't really seem fond of anything right now.” He
wasn't sure why he felt threatened.
“Well, maybe she hasn't said anything yet, but its there, buried just under the surface, waiting to come out.”
Daniel's eyes glazed over. “You know when the right woman's fallen for ya. The way she looks at you, talks to
you, thanks ya for all the little things you've done.”
“Michaela looks at you...in that way?” Cal questioned, put out.
“Sure!” Daniel boasted, on a roll. He was beginning to believe Michaela really was in love with him. “Little over
a year ago--'fore Sully passed on, I met her for the first time. We got along well--real well--if you catch my drift.”
Cal let out a slow breath. “Really?” he murmured. Michaela seemed so devastated over the loss of Sully. She
spoke of him as if he were a saint. It was hard to picture her eyes straying...and straying to Daniel. He snickered.
All the men in town, and she picks him.
Daniel smiled. “Yes, siree. We felt the temptation, but I said to myself, now Daniel, Michaela's a married woman.
It ain't right.”
“But she's not married anymore,” Cal pointed out. He was beginning to really dislike the sheriff. He clenched his
right hand in a fist, wondering what he would look like with a bloody nose. He supposed it wouldn't do good to
attack the town sheriff, though.
Daniel's eyes darkened. “But Michaela's gotta get better, Calvin. If she's going to move on and marry again, she
can't be crazy.”
“She's not crazy,” Cal insisted.
“How do we really know?” Daniel whispered. “I mean, what sane woman do you know that never eats, never gets
out of bed, wears nothing but black...has two babies she's never up and around to take care of? Aren't these
nuthouses just full of people like her?”
Cal's cheeks flushed with anger. “She don't belong in a nuthouse. What she needs is some persistence, and some
love. Don't let her out of your sight, Daniel.”
“Love,” Daniel echoed. “I can give that to her. Just give me time, Calvin. Michaela'll get better, you're right. I'll
wait.”
Cal didn't trust the sheriff, didn't like him for a reason he wasn't sure of, but if Daniel's story was true--if Michaela
really did love him...then he wished for her to get better and accept Daniel's proposal. Most importantly, he
wanted her happy.
V{tÑàxÜ gxÇ
Brian scooped his little sister into his arms. "Be a good girl, Katie, all right? Mind Ma and Daniel."
"Bring back pwesent," Katie replied, holding his shirt collar.
Brian chuckled. "I'll try and bring ya back a little venison, how's that?" He sat her on the top stair of the porch,
and then turned to his mother.
"You're sure you have everything?" Michaela questioned worriedly for the fifth time that day. "Extra socks,
matches, mittens in case it gets cold?"
"I got everything," he assured her.
"Underwear?" she asked.
"Ma!" Brian protested, mortified. Cal covered his smile with his hand. Byron squirmed in his arms. He playfully
stuck out his tongue at the baby and lifted him into the air. Katie looked on in admiration. She wished she were
old enough to hold her brother, swing him and throw him around. It looked like so much fun when she watched
Cal with him.
"Do you have it?" Michaela persisted.
"Yes," Brian whispered firmly.
She gave him a hug and a kiss. "Have a good time."
"We will," he promised, smiling. "You take care, Ma."
She nodded. "I will."
Brian shook Daniel's hand, gave his baby brother a pat on the head, then descended the porch stairs and mounted
Taffy.
Cal took a step closer to Michaela. "Well, we'll see ya in a few days."
"Be careful," she cautioned.
"Always am," he said assuring, pulling the baby's fingers from his hair. He took her hand. "Daniel's here to listen
if ya wanna talk," he said more quietly, "and I'll be back in no time."
"All right, Cal," she replied, the thought of pouring her heart out to Daniel not exactly appealing.
"Keep busy," he went on. "There's lots to catch up on at the clinic I bet, and your patients will be wanting to see
you. Write down your memories, too. Don't forget that."
"All right," she whispered.
"All right," he echoed. "Here's the baby." He put Byron in his mother's arms. "Don't be giving your ma any
trouble, Squirt," he told him, rubbing his back.
"Good-bye, Cal," Michaela said quietly, holding Byron close.
He put his hand atop hers briefly. "Bye, Mike."
Cal turned to Daniel, looking him in the eyes. "Take care of her. Watch her," he whispered, shaking his hand.
"I will," Daniel promised. His job would be all too easy. "Have a good time, boys!"
Cal mounted his horse, squeezing her belly with his thighs. He and Brian waved, calling their last good-byes as
they rode out of sight.
Katie stood up and shielded her eyes with her hands. "Bye!" she called with all her might. She turned to her
mother. "Mama, when Bian coming back?"
"A few days," Michaela replied absently squinting her eyes at the two riders.
Katie sniffled. "I wanna go."
Daniel knelt to her level. "They're goin' hunting, Katie." He spoke slowly and in a sweet tone, as if the child
couldn't understand him otherwise. "Hunting's for big boys."
She let out a tiny sob. "I'm a giwl," she told him despondently, sticking out her lower lip.
He laughed. "'Course you're a girl.’Sides, you wouldn't like hunting. There's big guns that make loud noises." He
pointed his finger out toward the road, creating an imaginary pistol. "Bang-bang!" he shouted suddenly, then blew
fictitious smoke from his finger.
The child let out a terrified screech, running to her mother and cowering behind her skirts.
"You're scaring her, Daniel," Michaela scolded.
Daniel put his hands on his knees and stood up, disconcerted. "I was just playin' with her. She ain't a baby."
Michaela caressed Katie's head consolingly. "She's still very young and things like that frighten her." She took the
child's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Daniel's very sorry, sweetheart. He was only pretending. Come inside
now."
Katie held Michaela's hand tight, turned her head back to the sheriff and thrust her tongue out at him--just as she
had seen Cal playfully sticking his tongue out at Byron--and followed her mother indoors.
***
"Ahhhhh!" Katie giggled hysterically, making another round through the kitchen, hallway, and sitting room, the
pitter-patter of her speedy bare feet echoing throughout the house.
"Katie!" Daniel bellowed, chasing after the child clutching her dress, stockings, and shoes, all in one hand and
Byron in his other arm, facing frontward and delighting in being sped around the house.
The two-year-old was stark naked, and had been so for the past ten minutes. Daniel had given her breakfast then
taken her upstairs to dress her. The second he had pulled off her nightshift Katie had taken off, racing down the
stairs, and now around and around the ground floor of the house. At first Daniel thought it would be easy to catch
her. He soon learned that toddlers were fast. Very fast.
Katie headed back up the stairs, taking her smile and giggles with her. No one was more fun to play chase with
than the sheriff.
"Katie!" Daniel shouted, anger seeping into his voice. Out of breath, he pounded up the stairs. He caught a
glimpse of a pale little bottom racing into Cal's bedroom. Daniel stormed the room. The child was nowhere to be
seen.
Daniel watched the floor for any movement. "Katie, now enough's, enough. Daniel's gettin' tired of this game.
Come out and hold still like a good little girl, so's I can put your clothes on."
Snickering from under the bed betrayed the playful child's hiding place.
"Got ya!" Daniel said triumphantly, bending to his knees, placing Byron on the floor next to him, and peering
under the bed. Katie laughed harder as Daniel stretched his fingers in her direction, close to her, but not close
enough. "Dang it," he muttered under his breath. "Come here, Katie...come to Daniel," he soothed.
"No!" Katie retorted, scrunched up beneath the bed.
He looked her in the eyes. She had the fire of her mother that was for sure. "We're not gonna play this anymore,
Katie," he said firmly.
"Why?" she immediately questioned, putting her thumb in her mouth.
He thought a moment. "Well, because only a bad girl runs around without her clothes and makes nice men chase
her until they can't anymore. You don't want to be bad, now do ya?"
She shook her head, intimidated. "Bian say, be good," she reminded herself.
"That's right. Now either you come out now, or I'm gonna have to crawl under there and get ya."
Katie's face brightening. "Get!" she said, opting for the latter.
Sighing with frustration, Daniel maneuvered down on his belly and began wiggling under the bed. Katie waited
until he was about half way under, within a foot of her, then sped out the other side of the bed and took off,
laughing ecstatically.
Daniel slammed his fist on the floor. "She's got the devil in her," he mumbled, coming out from the bed and
swiping up the baby. The sound of mother and daughter conversing led Daniel to Katie's next hiding spot. He
swung open the bedroom door. Michaela was sitting up in bed, several sheets of paper piled beside her and her
fingers gripping a pen. She gave Katie a hand up onto the bed.
"Where are your clothes, sweetheart?" Michaela asked patiently.
Katie straddled her mother's torso and grasped her arms with both hands. "I playin' chase!" she announced,
pointing at Daniel.
Out of breath, the sheriff placed the baby on the floor to crawl, and then leaned against the doorframe. "She won't
let me put her clothes on, Michaela," he told her.
Michaela chuckled "Of course not."
Daniel eyed her, perplexed. "What do you mean?"
Michaela held her hand out for Katie's clothing, and then gave her daughter the dress. The child placed it over her
head, and soon two little limbs poked through the sleeves. She allowed her mother to straighten the pretty print
pinafore and smooth the wrinkles from it. "Katie prefers to dress herself. She'll let you help tie her boot laces
though." Katie worked at pulling on her stockings.
Daniel stared up at the ceiling. "Well, ya could've told me this before, Michaela."
"You might have asked Katie," Michaela responded. "She may be only two, but she's quite bright."
Katie displayed three fingers. "I gonna be tree."
Daniel sighed. "Look, I ain't had a lot of experience with little kids."
"You're learning," Michaela encouraged, tying Katie's shoes.
"I know Calvin's got them wrapped around his finger."
She glanced at him. "They get along, yes."
"You know what he's doin', don't ya?" Daniel said.
Michaela rubbed Katie's back. "I don't know what you mean."
"Using them," Daniel told her, "to get to you."
Michaela's mouth dropped open in shock. "Daniel, no, Cal's only being friendly."
"I don't trust him for one second. I don't want him here alone with you, and I don't like the idea that he and Brian
are off in the middle of nowhere. Michaela, this is how women find themselves in positions they can't get out of."
"Daniel, he's leaving in a few weeks," Michaela assured him. For the first time, the fact that Cal wouldn't be
staying forever filled her with a sadness she didn't quite understand.
"What if he decides to stay another month?" Daniel questioned. "Will you turn him away? Michaela, you can't be
happy with him. He drives stagecoaches for God sakes. What kind of living can he possibly be making? Sure, he
makes your kids laugh, and he ain't that bad looking, but what else has he got goin' for him? Like I said before,
you barely know the guy. For all we know he could be some escaped convict, a gunman, and bank robber. It's
anybody's guess."
Michaela pondered his words for a moment. "Do you really think it's dangerous, me allowing him to stay?" she
asked softly, wondering if perhaps Daniel was right.
Daniel softened his tone. "I think maybe you're not seeing things clearly. I think when this month is up, if not
sooner, you should say good-bye to him, and send him on his way."
"Say good-bye?" she whispered. She never felt alone when Cal was with her. She realized he had become a friend
she did not want to lose. But what if Daniel were right? What if he really were an outlaw or something of the sort?
She shivered. He couldn't possibly be. Not after what he had done for her. Just the same, one could never really
know, could they? "Daniel...do you think he might...he might intend to be more than my friend?"
Daniel took a step closer to her. "He's just waiting for the right moment to strike." He touched her shoulder. "I
don't want to see you get hurt, Michaela. I don't want to see ya...taken advantage of. Now I could tell him to leave
for ya, if ya want."
She shook her head. "No, I'll tell him, but when the month is up." Daniel was right. A man she barely knew living
in her house wasn't proper, let alone safe. Perhaps he was right as well about her not seeing things clearly.
Michaela folded her hands. Maybe she was going crazy after all. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Don't get upset now," Daniel murmured. "Cons like him have fooled many a woman. It's not your fault."
She shook her head. "No, I know."
"Well, do you feel up to going to the clinic today?" Daniel asked.
"No, I'd rather stay here," Michaela responded, hugging Katie to her.
Daniel peered at the loose-leaf paper. "What ya writin'?"
"Nothing." She covered the memories of Sully with her hand. "It's nothing."
"How about church then?" Daniel asked. "Let's go to church tomorrow." He thought back to how Cal had gotten
Michaela out of bed. "We're goin' to church. No buts."
Michaela nodded. Church sounded appealing for some reason. "All right."
"Now, Michaela-" He paused. "All right?"
"Yes, I'd like to go," she told him.
"Oh," he stammered. "Well, good. Then that's that."
***
"Glad you made it this Sunday, Dr. Mike," the reverend said, clasping Michaela's hand as they stood on the
church porch.
"It was a lovely sermon, Reverend," Michaela complimented as he released her hand. She cradled a cooing Byron
close, eyes focused blankly ahead as she descended the steps.
"Mornin', Reverend," Daniel said, shaking the blind man's hand.
"Good morning, Sheriff," the reverend replied, smiling.
Daniel took Katie's hand, leading her down the steps to catch up with Michaela and the baby.
"What do you say we have Sunday dinner over at Grace's?" Daniel asked.
Michaela stopped in her tracks and glanced back at the remainder of the congregation greeting the reverend and
descending the steps. "I think I'd rather eat at the homestead. I don't know exactly when Brian and Cal will return
and I want to be home when they do." She gently pulled the baby's fist from a strand of her hair.
Daniel sighed. "All right," he agreed, disappointed.
Michaela's eyes traveled to the large oak tree, blowing with the gentle breeze, then to the
solemn crosses arranged below it. She took Katie's hand and headed toward the small
white gate.
"Where ya goin'?" Daniel called.
She turned back briefly. "Visiting Sully," she murmured.
"Want me to come?" he offered.
"No, thank you," she replied simply as she entered the quaint little cemetery, Byron in her
arms and Katie at her side, holding a portion of her mother's black skirt.
Daniel watched, shielding his eyes.
"It's been over a year," a voice remarked.
Daniel turned his head. "Mornin', Dr. Cook."
The young doctor nodded his head in greeting. "It's been over a year," he repeated, "and she still mourns him."
Dorothy approached the group, leather-bound Bible in hand. "She loved Sully very much." Robert E. and Grace
noticed the small gathering, and made their way over.
Daniel stroked his chin. "She isn't right in the head," he whispered.
Dorothy was shocked. "Daniel! What makes you say that?"
He lowered his voice even more. "We're all Michaela's friends, right? We all deserve to know what's goin' on so's
we can help her the best way we can."
Robert E. nodded in agreement. "Did somethin' happen, Sheriff?" he demanded.
Daniel bent his head. "She's thought of killing herself," he admitted slowly.
Dorothy put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, Michaela!" she murmured. Grace
gripped her husband's arm. Loren led the reverend to the gathering.
Andrew studied his colleague from a distance, kneeling before the grave of
her husband. "Michaela has melancholia," he stated. "Extreme sadness due to
any number of things, in her case the loss of someone she obviously loved
very much. It can be very serious if it continues for this length of time."
"What can we do?" the reverend asked, resting his hands on his walking stick.
Andrew sighed. It was time they faced the facts. "I might suggest a...a
sanitorium."
"That's what I've been thinkin'," Daniel admitted.
"A nuthouse?" Loren gasped. "Send Dr. Mike to one of those?"
"Michaela's in a fragile condition," Andrew admitted. "I'm afraid if we wait much longer she may hurt herself.
There are several nice homes that could take better care of her than we could. We could take up a collection."
"Like when we thought one of those places might be good for Horace," Loren recalled.
"What about her children?" Grace challenged.
Daniel let out another sigh. "I s'pose I could look after 'em, for a time at least," he offered. "Then she'll come back
and be better," he said optimistically.
"I'd be glad to help, too, but they need their mother," Grace said firmly.
"Grace is right," replied Dorothy. "I don't think a sanitorium would be good for Michaela at all. She'll likely grow
worse, away from her baby, her home."
"What about that Cal fellow?" Loren spoke up. "He's lookin' after her pretty good."
Teresa and Jake noticed their friends chatting and approached them.
Daniel clenched his teeth. "Cal's dangerous," he said resolutely.
"He seemed nice enough when I met him," Grace spoke up.
"I've never seen Michaela up and around as much as I have these past few weeks," Dorothy added. "She talks, she
laughs, and she hosted a sewing circle meetin', went back to the clinic and today attended church. I think Cal
Brooks is a lot better for her than bein' locked up somewhere."
"I really don't think so," Daniel said, annoyed, but no one was listening.
"I met him when he brought me Dr. Mike's horse to be shoed," Robert E. put in. "He said if he was ever drivin' his
stagecoach through here again he'd be sure to have the horses tended to at my place."
"Brian has done better in school this month than he has all year," Teresa offered. "He has told me Mr. Brooks
helps him study."
"Well, can we hire Cal to stay for good?" Jake joked.
The group chuckled.
"You may be on to something," Andrew said. "We could hire a nurse to stay at the homestead with Michaela at all
times. Talk with her, make sure she's up and eating each day, just as Mr. Brooks has done."
"You might not get the chance," Dorothy advised. "I think Cal might be here for awhile yet."
"Why do you say that?" the reverend asked.
Dorothy smiled. "He's a good friend of Michaela's."
Grace's eyes glazed over. "Once she got over the fact that it was his doin' that got us all together for the sewin'
circle meeting, he was all she could talk about. Cal this, Cal that. Cal's so good with the baby, Brian loves him,
and he’s helped out so much."
"She must of told us all that three or four times," Dorothy recalled.
"If Michaela could find love again, even companionship, I think that would be the best medicine," Andrew
admitted. "In the meantime however, we should stop by often. At least one of us, every day."
"We could do a..." Loren thought a moment. "A trial basis thing. If Dr. Mike doesn't seem to be getting any better
in a month or so..."
"Then perhaps we might reconsider a sanatorium," Andrew finished.
Daniel couldn't believe the townspeople were all in support of Cal. It made him furious. "Cal ain't what ya think,"
he spoke loudly.
All eyes turned to him. "How do you know?" Dorothy questioned.
He scratched his head. "I...I just got a feelin', I guess."
"Anyone that can make Michaela smile is a friend of mine," Dorothy replied resolutely. "I hope she finds
happiness with Cal, or at least finds happiness, and if that's not meant to be, why...we're no further behind."
The entire group nodded and murmured words of agreement.
"I don't believe this," Daniel muttered, departing without another word. He would show them. He would win
Michaela's hand and..."Make her smile". He was determined to be the one with the last laugh.
Michaela ran her gloved finger over the engraved letter 'S' on her husband's headstone. Byron Sully, it read.
Beloved husband and father. 1839-1872. "You'd like him, Sully," she went on, Katie looking up at her solemnly,
not quite understanding what was going on. "He's so caring, good with the children, and he makes me laugh, as
much as I try not to. He understands me. He doesn't pressure me to forget you like everyone else seems to want.
But is Daniel right?" she asked. "Is it improper? Might Cal...take advantage?" She paused, as if waiting for an
answer. "I suppose you'd want me to be careful," she spoke. "I'll be careful, Sully. I promise." She glanced over at
the gathering of her friends. "Well, I'm being made a spectacle of. We should probably go." She took Katie's
hand. "Say bye-bye to Papa for now."
Katie peered at the cross curiously. "Bye," she whispered.
"Brynie says good-bye, as well," Michaela spoke for her son, holding him on her bent knee. "We'll come again
soon. I love you, sweetheart," she murmured, kissing the cross. "Good-bye."
V{tÑàxÜ XÄxäxÇ
"It came out of nowhere, Ma!" Brian went on, out of breath.
"That's for sure," Cal agreed.
Horrified by the frightening tale, Michaela led the men inside, helping them remove their knapsacks.
"Brian's a quick thinker," Cal said. "Got his gun and shot that bast--uh, snake...right between the eyes."
"Not before it bit you," Michaela remarked, noticing Cal clutching his upper arm. "You could've been killed."
Daniel nodded. "Sure could've," he agreed.
"I'd never let a rattler get the best of me," Cal replied, unfazed. "I took my knife, cut away at the bite and sucked
the poison out. Simple as that."
Brian pulled from his knapsack the tail of the rattlesnake he had killed. "Here, Katie," he said, stooping to the
child's level.
Katie beamed, overjoyed. "Pwesent!" she squealed.
"Just for you," Brian told her, shaking the rattle and then placing it in her hands.
"I knew this entire trip was a bad idea," Michaela insisted.
"So did I," Daniel added.
Brian stood up. "We brought home three rabbits, Ma. Can we have them for dinner?"
Michaela sighed.
Cal and Brian gave her pouting looks.
She crossed her arms. "Oh, for heaven's sake. If you skin them for me." Brian's face lit up. "In the barn," she
added firmly.
"Daniel, wanna help?" Brian asked cheerfully.
"I...um," the sheriff sputtered, not fond of the idea of leaving Cal and Michaela alone. Then again, he thought it
might score points with Michaela if he made an effort to do something with her son. "Yeah, I guess so," he
agreed, following the boy out the door.
Michaela sat at the table and pulled a chair out for Cal. "I don't believe this," she murmured. "Cal, that snake
could have just as easily bit Brian."
"It bit me," he reminded her, hand still clasped around his wound. He nodded at Katie, seated on the floor beside
the fireplace, shaking her rattle and giggling with delight. "She sure looks glad we caught us a rattler."
Michaela glanced at her daughter. "I don't like her playing with that. It's filthy, it reeks...and it gives me the
shivers."
Cal frowned teasingly. "You always this grumpy on a beautiful Sunday afternoon?"
She glared at him, offended. "I'm not grumpy. I'm...sensible."
He laughed. "Mike, no matter where ya go there's a chance you're gonna see a rattler. It just happened to be while
Brian and I were on our hunting trip. The boy had a great time. Why don't ya give him a chance to tell ya that, and
forget about this little scratch." He nodded at his wound.
Cal had a point, Michaela realized, irritated. "Well, let me take a look," she said quietly, rising to retrieve her
medical bag from the mantle.
"It's fine," he insisted.
She sat down, unbuckling the clasps of her bag. "Let me see, Cal. Take off your shirt."
He reluctantly worked at his buttons. "Ya know, how can I be sure you're a real doctor? I mean, why should I trust
ya to be poking at me? I'd like to see some credentials first." He pulled the shirt over his head, rumpled it into a
ball, and tossed it on the table.
"I had to burn my medical degree." Michaela gingerly untied the bandana he had placed around the wound.
"Ya just sat down and burned it?" Cal uttered doubtfully. "No one's gonna believe that. You're gonna have to
come up with something better," he advised. "How 'bout: I was lost in the woods, I was wandering in circles for
days, looking for help. I tore up my medical degree into tiny pieces and made a trail, so's I wouldn't keep retracing
my steps. A Hansel and Gretel thing. Try saying that instead."
"Oh, Cal. Look at this. It's infected." The wound was swollen, pink and oozing fluid. Michaela sifted through her
bag for her carbolic acid and a cloth. "It's true," she told him. "I really had to burn it." Her face sobered at the
memory.
"Why?" he asked, regretting his teasing.
"Some sort of fatal illness was infecting every patient my instruments touched. When my laundry maid
succumbed, I realized whatever it was had to be on everything in the clinic." She tipped the carbolic acid bottle
over the cloth, soaking it liberally. "So we cleared everything out and burned it."
"Everything?" Cal whispered.
She nodded. "That's why we had to take out the loan, so I could replace what I'd lost."
Cal bent his head. "Sorry," he said quietly.
"I've been meaning to contact the college I attended in Pennsylvania, explain what happened and ask if I might
have another copy of my degree. It wouldn't be the same, though." She placed the cloth on his wound.
"Christ Almighty!" Cal screeched, drawing in his breath sharply.
"I forgot to tell you this might hurt," Michaela said quietly.
"*Might* hurt?" he breathed. "Good God."
She bandaged the wound carefully with clean cloths, her eyes traveling to his chest. He was muscular and broad,
tan like Sully, with tight curls of dark, soft chest hair across his breast and running in a thin line down his belly.
Michaela wanted to place her hand over his heart, to know what he felt like, if he was anything like Sully, and
was furious with herself for contemplating such a thing. Cal caught her eye and they held each other's gaze for a
brief moment. Michaela bent her head, so embarrassed she wanted to cry. Cal cleared his throat, looking away
bashfully.
"How ya been the past few days?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Fine."
He cleared his throat once more. "How was...uh, Daniel?"
"Daniel? Oh, fine. It was very considerate of him to keep me company like he did. He drove us all to church this
morning."
Cal lowered his head. "Yeah? Well...good," he said, convincing himself he meant it.
She felt his forehead. "You have a fever as well," she noted, determined to disguise her worry. "Why don't you go
upstairs and lie down? I'll bring you some tea."
"I don't like tea all that much," he admitted.
"You'll drink it and you'll like it," she instructed. "It's willow bark. Indian medicine."
"Does it work?" he asked skeptically.
"If you want it to," Michaela told him with a grin.
He rose carefully from his chair, heading for the stairs. He paused at the base. "Mike, are you really all that mad?"
he asked, turning around.
She thought about it a moment. "I...I'm glad you brought Brian home safe and sound."
"We missed you," he said.
She looked him in the eyes. "I missed you, too," she replied before she could think. "That is, I missed Brian," she
stammered. "Well, you and Brian." She blushed furiously, covering her cheeks with her hands. They felt like fire.
"...I'll be waiting for that tea," he said with a smile, heading up the stairs.
She picked up his shirt, holding it out. "Your shirt," she murmured weakly, but he was gone.
***
Michaela knocked on Cal's door. "Cal, dinner," she called. No answer. She turned the knob. "Dinner's on the
table, Cal."
He was under the covers, on his back, eyes squeezed shut. "Mike?" he murmured, voice dry.
"I'm right here," she assured him softly. Fretfully, she sat on the bed and placed her hand on his brow. It was
smooth, damp, and burning hot. "Fever's worse," she noted.
"I cut the poison out," he murmured weakly, squinting at her.
"Shh," she told him. She rose, found a basin, pitcher and cloth, filled the basin, and came back to the bed, placing
it on the night table. She soaked the cloth with water, folded it into a rectangle, and laid it across his forehead.
"Gosh that feels good," he muttered in satisfaction.
"Cal, you aren't being poisoned by the venom, but by an infection," she informed him. "The wound is infected. I
don't suppose you cauterized the knife you used."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Cauterize," she repeated. "Heat the knife to sterilize it before use."
He shook his head. "No. Didn't think about the knife hurting me. Only the snake."
"Well, if you didn't act as quickly as you did that snake might have very well killed you," she admitted.
"What's this infection gonna do to me?" he asked fearfully. "You gonna cut off my arm?"
Her professional tone of voice vanished, replaced with sympathy and compassion. "No. Of course not."
"But ya said it's infected," he whispered. Infection meant amputation, as far as Cal knew.
She removed the cloth from his forehead, rinsed it, and returned it to his feverish skin. "Good thing I'm a doctor,"
she said with a small smile.
"Yeah," he whispered, grinning and closing his eyes.
Michaela paused. Cal had questioned, though perhaps only in jest, the fact that she was a doctor. What he said
was true. For all he knew she might never have seen a scalpel. Just the same, he allowed her to examine his
wound, believed her when she assured him amputation wouldn't be necessary, and was now resting, at ease,
confident she would restore him to health.
Why? Michaela asked herself. Because he trusted her.
Michaela was ashamed. Just the day before she had asked herself if Cal Brooks might be a lie, if his intentions
might not be all for the best. How could she have allowed Daniel to fill her head with such absurdities? Still, she
found a part of herself holding back. She had never put her complete trust in any man but Sully. Now, to give that
precious trust to Cal would be taking a step forward, but backward in a way--apart from the pain, from Sully--a
step she was not sure she was ready to take.
***
Cal slowly opened his eyes, immediately conscious of a throbbing pain in his upper arm. He felt a cool cloth
swiping tenderly across his brow, then his cheeks, then his neck. Michaela was sitting on the bed beside him, skin
glowing a soft orange from the dimly lit lamp on the nightstand. He rubbed his eyes, struggling to focus. She
remained blurry. An orange blur.
"Mike?" he croaked.
"I'm here," she replied.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"I'm not sure. After midnight at least," she whispered. Her voice was low, tender and warm. It felt good to his
ears. She placed her hand beneath his neck, holding a cup of tea to his lips. "Try to swallow this," she instructed.
He took a few sips, then rested his head back against the damp pillow. "Michaela, I'm not feeling so good," he
murmured, closing his eyes.
She bit her lip. "I'm going to need to cauterize the wound, Cal."
He drew in his breath, panicking. "Don't amputate, please."
"I'm doing everything I can," she assured him. "You must drink what I tell you to, rest as much as you can and try
to lie still while I cauterize. Struggle and it will only be worse."
"Is it gonna hurt?" he asked anxiously.
She stroked his forehead. "Oh no, not at all," she teased, remembering words she had spoken to him before while
in labor with Byron.
He smiled, recalling them as well. "I'm holding ya to that."
She took his hand and squeezed tight. "I'll be right here, Cal," she promised softly.
He sighed contently. "Good."
"Good," she whispered. "I'm going to wake Daniel, now. I'll need his help. I'll come right back."
"You'll be right back?" he asked, holding her hand even tighter.
"Yes," she said. "I won't leave you, Cal. I promise."
***
"I've written up to when we first started courting," Michaela whispered to Cal's unconscious form. "I'm writing in
the form of letters, to Katie and Byron. You were right, it helped. I can't explain why, but it did...I want you to
read it sometime, Cal, tell me what you think. I'm going to write more, once we've gotten you better. I still have
our engagement to tell, and the wedding...and Katie." She caught Daniel out of the corner of her eye, heading
down the hall.
Daniel entered the room, tiredly rubbing his eyes. "Maybe you should send for his family," he suggested, standing
beside the bed.
Michaela leaned forward in her chair, continuing to observe her patient with drooping eyes. He'd been
unconscious for two days, after passing out during the cauterizing procedure. "No," she told him simply.
Daniel put his hands on his hips. "I think ya should. He's hanging on by a thread, Michaela."
She glared at him. "He'll live," she said firmly.
Daniel felt guilt tighten his throat. True, he had wished Cal Brooks would just disappear, but he certainly hadn't
meant for the poor boy to...leave in this way. "I shoulda stopped them from going on that huntin' trip. Shoulda put
my foot down."
"It's no one's fault, Daniel," she murmured. "...All this time I was worried about Brian, if it was wise to leave him
alone with Cal. Now it's Cal I must worry about."
Daniel stood behind her, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. "Why don't you go lie down?" he suggested.
She cringed, uncomfortable with his touch. "Daniel," she protested.
"Ya ain't slept since he first got sick," he pointed out, slowly massaging her.
She turned, shrugging his hand off. "Daniel, I've thought this over for some time and I'm certain that we ought to
remain friends...only friends, Daniel."
"...You're sure?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's not you, truly. It's...I'm in mourning. I'm not interested in courting anyone."
"Not even Cal?" he challenged.
"No, not anyone," she said softly. "Cal's very sweet to me, but...I can't. If I led either of you to believe that...that I
might be interested in something more than a friendship...then I'm sorry."
"Cal wants to court you," Daniel said soundly.
"Then when he's well again, he must leave," Michaela whispered.
***
Brian shook his mother's shoulder to wake her. "Ma?" he murmured. Michaela opened her eyes, yawning. "Hm?"
She immediately looked at Cal, checking for any change. He remained unconscious, motionless.
"Miz Grace is waiting just inside," he told her, his school books slung over his shoulder. "She wants t' see ya."
She sighed. Grace had to be the fourth or fifth caller in the past few days. As much as she appreciated their good
intentions, she had to admit the constant company was beginning to grow on her nerves, especially with Cal to
look after, so deathly sick. She wanted to be with him every moment. She rose from her chair, stretching her arms
in front of her. "All right, Brian. Thank you for telling me. Will you sit with Mr. Brooks until I return?"
"Sure," he agreed.
"Call me if-"
"If there's any change. I will," he promised.
Giving him a soft smile, she made her way down the stairs. Daniel was slouched in a chair in the sitting room,
awkwardly cradling the baby who did not seem to want to fall asleep. Katie was before the fire, playing with a
few rag dolls and of course the tail of the rattlesnake. Michaela winced each time the toddler shook her precious
gift, and wasn't too far away from confiscating the repulsive thing forever, no matter how much Katie might
protest.
Grace placed a pie pan covered with a cloth on the table and stepped forward to embrace Michaela. "So good to
see ya, Dr. Mike," she said cheerily.
Wearily, Michaela hugged her back. All of her callers had greeted her in the same way. All with a kind word and
a prolonged, tight hug. Of course it was nice to be embraced so warmly, but Michaela couldn't help raising her
eyebrows. Why? she kept asking herself, though she was too abashed to ask.
Grace pulled the red-checked cloth away, revealing a warm, sweet-smelling blueberry pie. "Made it just for you,"
she announced. "I know apple is your favorite, but they're outta season, so it's blueberry. Hope you like it."
Michaela sniffed the treat. "Thank you, Grace. It smells tasty." She decided she might try a few bites later.
"Lotsa things taste good," Grace began casually. "Do you fancy anything special?"
Michaela raised her eyebrows again. "Well...I...why?" she finally questioned.
"I can make ya what you'd like," Grace explained. "Or at least try to," she chuckled.
"Grace, that's very kind, but really, don't trouble yourself."
"Or anytime you need, I can look after the children," she went on. "You only have to say the word, and there's lots
of us here. We'd all love to help ya out."
Michaela closed her eyes. "I'll let you know," she sighed. She loved her friend dearly, but at the moment, she only
wanted her to leave.
"How's Mr. Brooks?" Grace asked.
Michaela perked up. "Cal? He's unconscious."
"I've been prayin' for him," Grace told her, touching the cross that hung about her neck.
"Would you like to visit?" Michaela asked, eager to get back to Cal. "He seems to respond to voices, once in a
while."
Grace agreed, and once at Cal's side again, Michaela felt much better.
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÄäx
Michaela tenderly patted the sponge against Cal's fiery skin. She cooled his face, each arm--careful to avoid the
bandages--and then his chest. He was muttering incoherently, his head bobbing from one side to the other. She
talked to him softly, reassured him, and occasionally stroked back a stray hair.
She placed the sponge in the basin, then took hold of his shirt and began buttoning it. She had only buttoned up to
his stomach when she paused, her eyes drawn to his panting chest. She studied it, was certain she could see his
heart, beating hard against his ribs. Slowly, cautiously, she spread her hand across his breast.
Michaela's breath caught. He was so warm, so smooth, so perfectly shaped. His heart beat against her palm. The
feel of it was comforting.
She closed her eyes, praying silently. Let him live. Please, just let him live.
Michaela didn't realize she had nodded off until she felt a warm, large hand move over hers, gently squeezing it.
She snapped her head up, searching Cal's face: a soft flutter of his eyelids, a weary moan escaping his lips.
"Cal," she whispered pleadingly. She turned her hand, palm facing up, and threaded her fingers with his. He
squeezed tighter. "Cal, wake up," she implored. "Please."
He squinted his eyes, a little sparkle of hazel met Michaela, and his lips curled into a smile. "Mike," he
murmured.
She chuckled softly, relieved. "Cal. Oh, thank God."
"You...you were right," he croaked. "It...it didn't hurt...a bit."
She smiled, feeling his brow. Just a little while before, it seemed to be burning, but now she was certain he was
much better. Probably a fever of only a hundred or so, that was sure to drop back to normal soon. "You're going to
be fine," she assured him. "Here, try some water." She held a glass to his lips, and he placed his free hand around
it weakly.
"Course I will be," he replied. "Always am." He took a few sips of the cool liquid, sighing as it slipped down his
dry throat, then handed her the glass to return to the night table.
"You gave us all quite a scare, Cal Brooks," she scolded. She closed her eyes. "That's how Charlotte--Brian's
mother--died...a rattlesnake bite," she whispered.
Cal was silent a moment. "...She left behind a pretty special gift."
She smiled. "Yes."
"...Thank you," he whispered, looking her in the eyes.
"Now we're even," she replied.
He held her hand even tighter. Michaela was painfully conscious of his grip,
but she couldn't pull away. He needed her to be there. She wanted to be
there. "You really are a doc," he murmured sleepily. "I'll be."
She smiled once more. "I'll be."
He squinted at her, rubbing his head. "Did ya...did ya think about it?" he
asked.
She raised her eyebrows. "Did I...about what?"
"The dance," he whispered. "...Yes?"
Fear gripped Michaela's throat. Cal wants to court you, Daniel had said. Wasn't a Sweetheart's Dance how a
couple began? She couldn't do it. "I'm sorry," she told him softly. "I can't."
He closed his eyes. "It's your time to dance, Mike."
She shook her head. "No, Cal. It's not," she whispered. She would have to tell him...ask him to leave before things
got out of hand. As much as it might hurt to lose him...a friend, she decided it was better to part now...before their
friendship evolved into something she wasn't prepared for. How to tell him, how to explain the reason he must
leave without dying of embarrassment--she had no idea.
***
"So Dr. Mike, don't you worry one bit about your credit. You pay me back when ya can." Loren nodded certainly,
cringing inside. Michaela hadn't paid off her store credit in at least six months. Just the same, he felt sorry for her,
and was frightened for her when he heard about her bout with melancholia. She had become like a daughter to
him, and he couldn't bear to see her in pain.
"Thank you so much, Loren, but really..." Michaela protested, hands clasped.
He waved his hand. "No, no. It's no trouble." He placed his hat back on his head. The entire visit was making him
uncomfortable. He was afraid if he said the wrong thing...he might...he wasn't sure...maybe hurt her feelings, or
make her cry--Preston had told him he'd said one little thing and suddenly Dr. Mike was bawling up a storm.
Loren sure didn't want that. "Well, I best be goin'. Oh." He pulled out a small paper bag from his pocket, handing
it to her. "These here are for Brian and Katie. And you can have some, too, Dr. Mike."
She opened the bag. "Gumdrops. That's very kind. I'm sure they'll enjoy them."
"Yep, well..." He awkwardly took a step closer to her, giving her a brief hug.
Here we go again, Michaela couldn't help but think. "It was very sweet of you to drop by," she said quickly as
they parted. "Good-bye."
He looked her in the eyes a moment, as if searching for something. "All right, well. Afternoon, Dr. Mike."
She opened the door for him, then closed it behind him, leaning against it. She counted on her fingers. Dorothy,
Reverend Johnson, Robert E., Miss Theresa, Grace. Following Grace, Jake and Andrew--no, first Andrew, then
Jake, and now Loren. Eight callers in three days. It couldn't be a coincidence.
Be appreciative, Michaela scolded herself. Don't question a few friendly townsfolk with all the best intentions.
An explanation struck her. All of her friends had treated her with kind words, spoken to her softly as if she might
break, lavished her with gifts, hugs, an occasional kiss on the cheek, assured her they missed her when she didn't
make it to the clinic, told her how good it was to see her when she did. They think something's wrong with me,
Michaela mused, troubled.
Ecstatic giggling from upstairs interrupted her thoughts. She lifted her skirts and ascended the stairs.
Cal was sitting up in bed, bouncing the baby on his lap, making braying sounds with his lips. Katie sat beside him,
laughing at Byron's amusement. Michaela watched them for a moment, unseen, a small smile on her face.
"My turn!" the child begged, tugging on Cal's sleeve.
"You're next, Katie," Cal assured her.
"Cal, I thought I told you to keep that arm in your sling," Michaela spoke up, entering the room.
Cal bent his head, pausing his movements. "Uh-oh, Squirt. Mama caught us." Byron bounced himself on Cal's lap,
eager for the game to continue.
Michaela sat on the bed and helped Cal guide his arm back into the starched cloth sling she had folded and tied
for him the day before.
Katie crawled into Michaela lap, clasping her hands around her neck. "Mama, we's playin' horsey."
"Yes, I see," Michaela replied. She opened the bag and gave her a red gumdrop. "From Mr. Bray, sweetheart.
Next time we see him you'll have to thank him."
Katie's eyes lit up as she bit into the tasty treat. She dug her hand into the bag.
"No, no," Michaela said, pulling her hand away. "One's enough for now. You'll spoil your dinner."
Katie shook her head. "For Mista Book."
"...Oh," Michaela murmured, releasing Katie's hand.
Cal smiled as Katie gave him a gumdrop. "Not bad," he said, chewing and winking at Michaela. Byron continued
to bounce on his lap, moaning rhythmically each time he went up and down. "Well, seeing as I can't be the horse
just now," Cal began, lifting the baby with one arm, "I'll turn ya over to your mama." He placed Byron in
Michaela's lap, next to his sister.
Michaela put both her arms around her children. "I want you to rest, Cal."
"I am resting," he argued.
"No you're not," Michaela insisted.
"Yes I am," he shot back stubbornly.
"Play horsey," Katie instructed, patting Cal's thigh.
Cal rubbed her arm. "I can't now, Katie, but your mama can."
Michaela raised her brows. "Cal-"
"Just bounce your knees up and down," Cal told her. "They love it."
Tentatively, Michaela raised her legs on tiptoes, then placed them back down.
"'Gain!" Katie giggled. "Faster!"
Michaela chuckled, bouncing the children on her knees--Cal providing the brays of a team of horses--as Katie and
Byron laughed with glee and held on. Out of breath after a few minutes, Michaela stilled, hugging her children to
her. They giggled and buried their heads against her shoulders, at ease with their mother's arms wrapped warmly
around them. Tears glistened in her eyes. She kissed Katie's fair locks, then Byron's golden brown curls. "I love
you," she whispered to each in turn, rocking them tenderly. "I'll always be here for you, my darlings." She glanced
at Cal.
"Ya have sweet kids, Michaela," he told her, grinning. "They love ya, too."
Michaela nodded tearfully, taking a deep breath. You've done so much for me, you've allowed me to see how
much I have, you've turned my life around, she wanted to tell him, but when she tried, all she could murmur was,
"Thank you. Thank you, Cal."
He shook his head. "You made the decision, Michaela," he reminded her.
"You helped me see what was right," Michaela replied. "Living for my children...that's what's right."
He nodded. "I think they agree," Cal said, smiling and nodding at Katie and Byron, curled up in Michaela's laps,
four little hands gripping her blouse devotedly.
***
Michaela rubbed her temples, calculating a few figures with her pencil at the kitchen table. She heard the quick
padding of feet descending the stairs. Cal jumped from the third to last step to the floor like a schoolboy, then
entered the kitchen.
"Mike," he called in a whisper. "I wondered if that was you. Saw a light."
She tapped the ends of the few sheets of paper with her fingers, straightening them. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I
lost track of the time I suppose."
"Nope, it was my stomach." He opened the icebox, squatting before it. "I'm getting tired of broth and tea. I'm
ready for some real food." He wore only his button down shirt as a nightshift, and Michaela averted her eyes
modestly as the tails crept up as he bent, exposing his thighs. "You want anything?"
She concentrated on the paper before her, determined not to watch him. "No, thank you. Glad to hear your
appetite's back. That's a good sign. There's some cold meat in there I think."
"Yep, here it is. Thanks." He pulled out a platter with a few chicken legs and other scraps, placing it on the table
next to her, then poured himself a glass of milk. He pulled out the chair beside her and sat. "What ya doing here?
Writing more memories?" He bit into a leg, peering at the paper.
"No. Figuring," she told him.
"Figuring what?" he persisted curiously.
"Never mind, Cal," she whispered, gathering her papers and pencil. "It's nothing you need to be concerned about."
He raised his eyebrows, all the more intrigued. "Now you know that's only gonna make me concerned. You can
tell me, Mike. Is it some secret plan? Maybe how to sneak into one of those big universities and forge yourself a
medical degree so people think you're a real doc?"
She shook her head. "No. Please don't joke. It's about--about the loan if you must know. I think I'll go up to bed
now. Remember to snuff the lamps when you're through." She pulled out her chair.
He took hold of her arm, stilling her. "Let me take a look-see. I was gonna be a banker, remember? Maybe I can
help."
Reluctantly, she allowed him to turn the papers in his direction so he could read them. "Ah-huh....ah-huh," he
murmured as he skimmed the numbers. He finally looked up at her. "What do you think you're doing here,
Michaela?" he questioned directly.
She placed her elbows on the table. "It's quite obvious I think."
"Right. Ya gotta a list of stuff, and then values for them."
She nodded, averting her eyes. "That's correct. Oh, I just remembered, Sully...Sully has a suit he hardly wore. It
might fetch ten, perhaps twenty dollars. And I have good china I only put out two or three times a year. We could
get along without that." She took the pencil and quickly wrote: wool suit, $10?, used china, $35?
He scratched his head, looking over the list. "Ya got paintings here, a pocket watch, jewelry, a cradle? You fixing
on selling these?"
She nodded firmly. "Next week, or perhaps the week after I'll ride the train to Denver. I'll take the baby with me
of course. There's a pawnshop there--I remember seeing it--and I've heard the owner's a fair man. He had
everything in his window from violins to spinning wheels."
"And you're going to use what you can get to pay off your loan," Cal speculated.
"Yes," she whispered. "It's all I can think to do, Cal. If I began now and worked day and night at the clinic, I still
wouldn't be able to give Preston the money in time, and even if I could, there would be yet another new payment
looming each month. Preston's been generous enough as it is, giving me this extension. How can I ask him for
even more time? And my mother, she lent me so much money when I first bought the clinic, I just couldn't ask her
for more."
He took her hand. "Don't worry about it."
"Cal, how can you say that?" she breathed. She looked about her at the sturdy, protective walls, windows, and
fireplace. She could still see Sully's strong, able hands carefully crafting and molding every inch of the
homestead. She remembered seeing his plans for it for the first time, watching them become reality, being carried
across the threshold, sharing their most intimate, wonderful moments in the privacy of their bedroom, conceiving
a child, then bringing her home. Home. Of all the material possessions she had left of Sully, their home meant the
most. It would be too much to leave behind. "Cal, don't you understand? Preston's going to foreclose!" Tears
suddenly burst forth, streaming down her cheeks. "Sully built these walls for me...and now I'm losing him."
"Please don't cry," he whispered, swiping away a fat tear with his finger. "Mike, I didn't wanna tell you this."
She sniffled. "Tell me what?"
He sighed. "I paid off this month's payment, and I'll take care of the rest of the loan if ya need it."
She drew in her breath. "Cal...but Preston gave me another month."
"I didn't want you to know," he insisted. "Once you paid him he was gonna give me the money."
She eyed him in disbelief. Cal drove stagecoaches. "Where did you get that kind of money?" she asked.
"My pa left me a little when he died."
She shook her head. "No, Cal. You shouldn't have done that. I didn't ask you to, I didn't mean to imply I expected
you to."
"It's all right," he insisted. "I was happy to help."
"My husband wouldn't like this," she said. "Daniel tried to give us money for a payment once, and it made Sully
just furious."
He narrowed his brows. "Sully's dead, Michaela."
Her lip quivered. "Stop it."
"No, I won't." He gripped her hand hard. "Maybe you should start thinking for yourself. Maybe think about what
Michaela likes, what she wants."
His words struck her hard. She bent her head. "You know the one thing I want, Cal."
"Well, you can't have that," he told her, raising his voice. He gripped her shoulders. "So are you gonna sit there
and cry about it for the rest of your life, or are you gonna try and get back on your feet? Make a choice, Mike."
"It's hard," she murmured. "It's so hard."
He tilted her head up, looking her in the eyes. "I know it's hard, but you're doing it, little by little." He smiled. "I'm
so proud of you. You held that meeting with your friends, and went out to dinner, and when I got bit by that
snake, you sat with me for two days, didn't ya? You didn't think about lying in bed and crying and sleeping."
She shook her head. "I wanted to be here when you woke up."
"You were. Ya took good care of me. You've come so far. Don't stop now. Let me pay off your loan. You pay me
back when ya got the money, all right? It ain't charity."
She thought over his words for some time, then finally nodded reluctantly. "I will pay you back."
"Course you will," he replied. "Just don't sell all these wonderful things, all right?"
"I don't need them," she told him. "I never use the china, and I don't need Byron's cradle. I'm not having another
baby."
"Well then, we'll have to have a special occasion to use that china. I'd like to see it. And the cradle...you never
know, maybe someday you might need it."
She shook her head, then stopped. "Sully made it, before Katie was born. Maybe someday I could give it to her,
when she expects a baby of her own."
He grinned. "That sounds like a good idea." He finished off his chicken leg.
"I don't believe it, Cal. I was going to pawn the cradle Sully made for his child," she whispered. "How can I ever
thank you?"
He averted his eyes. "Thank me by...by doing your friend a favor and going to the dance with him. I'm gonna look
pretty foolish reeling out there all by myself."
"Cal...I..."
"Please don't make me beg," he teased.
A small grin escaped her lips. "Couldn't I just...bake you a batch of cookies instead?"
He chuckled. "How 'bout we do both? Bake cookies, and dance?"
She sighed, pondering it. "...All right...but...but if I get tired at the dance..."
"Four dances," he bargained. "Four, then we can leave if you're tired."
"No dances. Let's just sit," she returned.
"Three," he said quickly.
"One."
"Two," he compromised.
"One and a half," she chuckled.
He narrowed his eyebrows.
"Oh, all right," she agreed. "Two dances. Two."
"Two dances with Michaela Sully, my good friend," he whispered, taking her hand. "It's an honor." He stood up,
fluttered his eyelashes and bowed so low the blood rushed to his head, then stood back up. "Goodnight,
Michaela."
She chuckled. "Goodnight, Cal."
V{tÑàxÜ g{|ÜàxxÇ
"There's a certain kinda man that's good for a certain kind of woman, Calvin," Daniel said, raking out a stall.
"Yeah?" Cal tossed hay over his shoulder with the rake, cleaning the adjoining stall. "What do you mean,
exactly?"
"Well, women with children, see, like to find themselves a nice, stable, hardworking man who can support 'em
all."
Cal scratched his head. "Do you like Mike's children, Daniel?"
Daniel hesitated. "Well, sure, sure. But you're missin' the point here. She's gotta put Brian through college, and
maybe Katie and Byron, if they're anything like their mother."
"College costs a lotta money," Cal murmured more to himself. He wondered how Michaela was going to do it. He
wished he had enough money to pay off her every last desire. He bit his lip. "Michaela...is she real smart?"
Daniel shrugged. "I guess so. She's a doctor."
"Her family musta had money, putting her through medical school," Cal speculated. He recalled Michaela
mentioning something about not asking her mother for money again.
Daniel nodded. "Yep, spare no expense, servants crawling all over the house, cooks, piano lessons, dancing, the
best schools, even college for Michaela."
Cal chuckled to himself. "I know what that's like. Then she's good at dancing? Likes it and all?"
Daniel raised his brows. "Sure. Why do you ask?"
Cal smiled. "I'm taking her to the Sweetheart's Dance."
"You're what?" Daniel blurted.
Cal smiled wider. "Michaela and I--we're going to the dance," he said proudly.
Daniel put down the rake. The idea that Mike had accepted Cal's offer over his was exasperating. He couldn't
believe it. "You asked and she said yes?" he questioned.
"After a little arguing, yeah," Cal chuckled.
"It's a mistake," Daniel muttered. "I warned her. I'm telling you, this is bad news."
"Yeah, getting Mike out of the house has gotta be the worst thing anyone could do," Cal retorted bitterly. "Doing
a little dancing, a little exercises...a little fun--even worse! Gosh, who would dream of even suggesting such a
thing?"
Daniel narrowed his brows, coming to Cal's stall. "Now you listen here, Calvin," he began sharply. "Michaela
means a lot to me. She's my best friend's wife. Sully'd want me to look after her. Michaela hardly knows ya,
Calvin, like it or not. She don't need to get involved with somebody who up and quits his job--if ya wanna even
call it a job--moves in here and takes over without so much as askin', and starts takin' advantage of her in the state
she's in, draggin' her all over the place and askin' her to dances when it just makes her upset. Ya got her talkin',
yeah, but talkin' craziness 'bout killin' herself! Michaela deserves better."
Stunned, Cal drew in his breath. "Daniel...I'm just trying to help. I'm just trying to help her..."
"Well, we don't need your-"
Brian cleared his throat. Cal and Daniel noticed him standing before them.
"Um, Mr. Brooks...Daniel," he said softly. "Um, something's wrong with Ma."
"What's the matter?" Cal immediately replied, putting down his rake.
Brian shrugged. "I don't know. Miss Dorothy and Miss Grace dropped by again, and they left after about half an
hour and then ma said she was goin' upstairs to soak in the tub."
"Yeah?" Daniel encouraged.
Brian headed out of the barn and to the house, the men following. "And then I was in my room readin', and I
heard her cryin'. She told me she was fine when I called to her, but..." He paused at the base of the stairs, turning
to Cal. "I'm worried, Mr. Brooks."
Cal patted his back. "We'll check on her, son."
Brian smiled appreciatively. "Thanks."
"Just a minute," Daniel called as Cal headed briskly up the porch stairs and inside. He grabbed Cal's arm. "What
do you think you're doing?"
Cal shook himself free and made for the stairs. "Gonna check on her, like I said."
Daniel's mouth dropped open in shock. "You can't go up there. You heard the boy. She's bathin'!"
"She could be hurt!" Cal shouted back, not caring what Daniel thought. He knocked on the door. "Mike?"
Michaela sniffled. "Don't come near!" she called.
He opened the door. "What's the matter?" he asked disquietedly, turning
around and taking one backward step into the room.
Michaela crossed her arms modestly. "Go away. I...I don't trust you," she said
dubiously, sinking lower into the water.
Cal was hurt. "Michaela, you're worrying me," he assured her, swallowing
hard. "Brian says you were crying. Let me help."
She swiped at her nose. "I don't want anyone's help."
He approached the tub, continuing to face the door. "Please. Please tell me."
"They...They keep coming," she murmured.
"Who?" Cal asked. "Who keeps coming?"
"My friends...They come each day. They treat me differently. They speak slowly, tell me how wonderful
everything is, and treat me as if I'm going to explode at any minute."
Cal scratched his head. "Why would they...?"
"Somehow they know about..." She broke down. "They all think I've gone mad."
"Oh, Mike. No one thinks that," he disputed.
"Yes they do," she insisted. "You...you told them about--about the laudanum," she accused. "Cal that was no one's
business, I trusted you!"
He drew in his breath. "I didn't...Oh, no. Mike, I only told Daniel. Oh, gosh. Only 'cause I wanted him to be with
ya all the time while Brian and I were gone hunting. He wanted to know why so I told him. He musta said
something to your friends."
"That's why he stayed with me while you were on the hunting trip?"
"He only wanted to help, Mike, I'm sure. I'm sorry. I shouldnta said something but...but I couldn't help it. I wanted
you to be...to be safe while we were gone."
She shook her head despairingly. "I'm tired of being visited as if I'm sick, or as if I'm a child who needs constant
attention, as if I'm not normal."
Cal turned his head slowly to the side, gazing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Ya gotta get better then," he
whispered slowly.
"I'm trying," she said, bursting into sobs. "I don't know what else to do."
He knelt down, his hand touching her bare shoulder.
She shook. "Go away," she pouted. "This isn't proper."
He squeezed her shoulder gently, and she didn't make any movement to shrug him off. "Michaela, we're friends.
How can that be wrong? Tell me you don't trust me that you think I might do something improper, and I'll leave
right now."
She couldn't answer him, because deep down, she trusted Cal with the world.
Cal gazed at her hair, pinned up in a loose bun to keep it dry. It was beautiful, but it had been neglected. "Ya want
your friends to stop bothering ya, treating you like a child? First thing ya gotta do, is show them ya care about
yourself."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She pursed her lips.
He placed both hands on her shoulders and applied gentle pressure. "Get lower in the water."
She couldn't successfully resist against his strong force. "Cal," she protested.
He found the end of a pin and pulled it with two fingers, sending a cascade of auburn hair into the water.
"What are you doing?" Michaela demanded. "Cal, stop that. No, I don't want to get it wet."
"Too late," he teased. "Tip your head back," he instructed, "and relax," he soothed, easing her head into the water.
She stared up at the ceiling, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Ya got pretty hair," he said.
Partially deafened with her ears beneath the water, Michaela gazed at him curiously. "What?"
He guided her head out of the water. "I said your hair's pretty. Pass the soap."
Blushing, she nodded at her vanity. "The blue bottle is shampoo."
"Ooo, shampoo," he crooned, fetching it. "Well, I'm back in London again." He tilted the bottle and poured a
small amount of the thick substance into his palm.
"You've been to London?" she asked, surprised.
He nodded, placing the dollop of shampoo on the crown of her head, then taking his fingers and massaging it
through her damp hair. "Went to boarding school there," he said, not elaborating.
"Boarding school?" she echoed in disbelief.
"Yep," he replied.
She closed her eyes. She would have never thought Cal's fingers so tenderly working through her hair would be
so...so...she couldn't put it into words. Pleasant, she finally decided. Feeling her hair clean and fresh again was a
pleasure in itself. When she thought about it, she couldn't remember the last time she had washed her hair, and
was ashamed. "What's London like?" she asked, voice hoarse.
He smiled. "Huge, fast, with a big ole castle right in the middle of it."
"The Tower of London?" she queried, recalling European history from her school days.
"That's the one." He lifted her hair, stealing a glimpse of her neck. "Queen got her head chopped off there," he
told her. He'd never seen a prettier neck. He ran his finger down it. It felt nice, too.
"I'd like to go there," she said dreamily.
"I'd take you," he said, "if I had the money."
She opened her eyes. "Sully's parents were from England. He was born on a ship bound for New York City. He
talked of one day saving enough to visit the land of his parent's birth."
"I'll never have that kind of money," Cal murmured, disappointed. "Maybe I shoulda used what I learned in
school. I mighta gotten a better job."
"It's more important to enjoy what you do, Cal," she pointed out. "What's the use having enough money for
traveling to Europe and other exorbitant things if you dread going to work each morning?"
He smiled. "You're right. Well, I don't think you'd like London anyways." He cleared his throat, assuming a heavy
British accent. "You can't understand a bloody word anyone's saying!"
She giggled. "I suppose I'd rather stay in Colorado then."
"Were you born here?" Cal asked.
"Oh, no. In Boston," she told him.
"What day?" Cal asked, his fingers slowing their pace.
"Why?" she asked softly.
He bent his head. "...So I know when to wish ya a Happy Birthday." He wanted to be sure not to miss it.
"When were you born?" she asked. "You tell me first."
"February fifteenth," he replied. "Right smack-dab in the dead of winter."
Her eyes widened. "The fifteenth...of February?"
He raised one eyebrow, perplexed by her tone of doubt. "Yeah, that's what I said. When's yours?"
She chuckled. "The same! February fifteenth."
Cal guided her head into the water to rinse it. "Well, I'll be! What are the odds of that?"
She looked upward at him. "You're not teasing? You didn't find out from someone when my birthday is?"
He laughed. "Not this time, Michaela. Cross my heart. Don't this beat all? I guess I won't have to worry about
forgetting your birthday ever, hm?"
That had to mean something, sharing the same birthday. Cal was right. What were the odds? Michaela averted her
eyes. He talked of remembering her birthday. She wondered if perhaps, that meant he intended to stay.
"I feel better," she whispered, closing her eyes.
"You look better," he said carefully, "with your hair all fresh and clean. You're even prettier, Mike."
"Do you really think I'm pretty?" she asked softly.
"No," he replied.
She turned her head to the side, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "You don't?"
"You aren't pretty in the least way," he said seriously. "You're beautiful."
She smiled shyly. "No one's told me that in a long while."
He swallowed, wanting to be tactful. "Sometimes, when we're sad, we're gonna look sad, tired, even just plain
horrible. But if ya try to smile, try to feel a little happiness, it shows. Ya look bright, cheerful, people stop feeling
sorry for ya."
"You're saying you want me to put on an act?" she questioned, put out.
"No, I'm saying if ya look the part, you might just feel the part." He
glanced across the room at her wardrobe. "How long's it been, Mike?
Fifteen, sixteen months? Well over a year. Have ya thought of
maybe...maybe putting on normal clothes again?"
She drew in her breath. "Stop mourning?"
"It don't mean you forget Sully, it don't mean ya don't miss him...I'm sure
he'd want ya to look your best...feel your best again. He wouldn't hold it
against ya if ya decided to put on something a little more cheerful."
"I don't know if I'm ready for that," she admitted.
"Sometimes, Mike, ya gotta take a deep breath and do it. It's gonna get
harder and harder to get out of this--this sadness--if you don't start
making an effort now." He ran his fingers slowly down her shoulder,
tracing a path to her elbow and back again.
Michaela shivered, struck by what was happening. She was completely naked just below the soap bubbles
concealing her body. A man she had only known for a few weeks was living with her, washing her hair, and she
was enjoying it. It was wrong, terribly, utterly wrong.
"I can finish, Cal," she whispered rigidly.
He withdrew his hand. "Michaela..."
"I appreciate all your help, but Daniel's right. This isn't proper. It might be best if...if at the end of this week, when
the month is over...if we said good-bye."
"Mike, we didn't do anything wrong," he pleaded. "Getting better, feeling good about yourself...there's nothing
wrong with that! I don't understand why Daniel thinks I...I ain't good for ya!"
"We can visit each other," she said weakly, "but we can't live under the same roof. Never again." Her feelings for
Cal were real and more frightening than anything she had ever experienced. She needed him to go away, and
soon.
"You want me to leave," he whispered.
She closed her eyes. "No...No, it's just..." She put her hand to her head, rubbing her temples. "I don't know."
He cleared his throat. "We still going to the dance tomorrow?"
She drew in her breath. "...I...I suppose."
He stood up. "All right I'll...I'll stay at the Nugget tonight...I guess. I'll come by tomorrow night...to pick ya up."
She felt hot tears stinging her eyes. "Cal...I'm sorry."
"No...no, Mike. You're right. This ain't right." Silently, he walked out of the room, shutting the door.
"Cal," Michaela called softly, but he was gone.
***
"I agreed to go to the dance with him," Michaela said to Dorothy as her friend helped her roll bandages.
Dorothy smiled. "And?"
Michaela sighed. "I don't know if it's such a good idea. I don't think I can go through with it."
"Why's that?" Dorothy asked, putting down her work.
"Well..." Michaela began. "Dorothy, what if Cal expects something from me?"
"What if he just wants to be your friend?" Dorothy suggested.
"Daniel says he wants more than that," she replied.
"Do you think he has feelings for you?" Dorothy said directly.
Michaela hesitated. "...I'm not certain."
"How about you?" Dorothy went on, searching her friend's eyes. "How do you feel?"
"Well, I watch him with my children...and I find myself in tears. They need someone like him so much."
"But yourself?" Dorothy persisted.
Michaela felt a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "When we're together...one minute he'll make me
furious...the next he'll have me laughing and smiling. It's...unsettling."
"Why's it unsettlin', Michaela?" questioned her friend.
"Because I'm not supposed to feel this way," Michaela asserted.
Dorothy grinned, patting her hand. "Michaela, it's natural to feel somethin' for a man, to need to love someone and
be loved back, even if that's not what you think you want. You're not bein' unfaithful and ya aren't betraying
Sully. Now I've met Cal, and I've listened to what you've told me about him. I know Sully would like him."
"You think so?" Michaela asked softly.
"I do. And I also think...goin' to the Sweetheart's Dance doesn't mean you're gettin' married." She chuckled.
Michaela smiled nervously. "No, I suppose not." She gave her friend a hug. "Thank you, Dorothy. And...thank
you for dropping by the other day. It's very kind of all of you to be so concerned for me." She realized the
townspeople only wanted to help, and she couldn't hold that against them.
"You're looking much better, Michaela," Dorothy replied. Though her friend continued to dress in black, she
didn't seem as thin, her cheeks had gained a little color, her skin looked healthier, and her hair shinier...and she
smiled--often. Dorothy took her hand. "Your friendship with Cal--even if it never grows into something more--has
only been good for you."
"And if it does grow into something more?" Michaela challenged.
Dorothy smiled.. "Well...then you'll cross that bridge-"
"When I come to it," Michaela finished in a whisper.
V{tÑàxÜ YÉâÜàxxÇ
Cal straightened his black bow tie one last time, ran his hand over his slicked back locks, then knocked firmly on
the door.
When it opened, he bowed cordially, holding out the flowers. “Good evening, Mich-” He rose. “Daniel?”
“Yeah, I'm looking after the kids tonight...Come in I guess,” Daniel replied.
Cal felt sorry for Daniel. He hadn’t ever meant to hurt him, but he didn’t understand why the sheriff thought what
he was doing for Michaela wasn’t good for her. “Mike ready yet?” he asked.
“Not yet. She's upstairs.”
“I'll go tell her I'm here,” Cal said, and before Daniel could protest, he had disappeared up to her room.
Michaela was before her vanity, staring at her reflection, cheeks damp with tears.
Cal immediately came to her side. “Mike?” He rested his hand on her shoulder. He had never seen her in anything
other than white cotton nightshifts or black mourning garb. Tonight she was dressed in a lacy light green gown,
her hair drawn up and pinned at the sides with little pastel green flowers that appeared to be real. She was
breathtaking. “...You look like a princess,” he murmured. He gave her the bouquet of red roses. “Here.”
She forced a smile. “Thank you.” She placed them on her vanity, and then turned in her chair to him. “Cal...” He
was impressive in his perfectly fitted black suit coat and vest, white button down shirt, and matching shoes. He
was clean shaven, had washed with a scented soap, and even his hair was slicked back behind his ears, not one
lock out of place. She pictured twirling around with him on the dance floor, grinning, laughing, having a
wonderful time...
“Ready to go?” he asked.
Her lip quivered. “Cal, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...Oh my goodness, you look so handsome. You went to all this
trouble...”
“What?” His heart beat fast.
A tear slipped down her cheek, smearing her newly applied rouge. “I...I don't think I can do this. I'm sorry. I
thought I'd be able to...but I can't.”
His throat grew thick with disappointment. “Why not?”
She fingered the lace at her collar. “If I went...it would be like...”
“Like what?” he encouraged. “You can tell me.” He knelt beside her.
She sobbed. “...Like leaving Sully behind. Dressing in this bright color and dancing without him and having fun. I
can't do it.”
“Michaela, we're friends,” he assured her. “There's nothing wrong with having a good time.”
She shook her head. “I've come to realize...we're not just friends, Cal.”
“That's never what I intended. Ya gotta believe me. I only wanted to help. Forgive me for not stopping as soon as
I realized we were getting closer than you wanted.”
She picked up her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “No, forgive me. Please don't make me go.”
He couldn't possibly make her now. “Oh, of course I understand.” He took her in his arms, rubbing her back. Be
patient, he told himself. “You're not ready yet. There's nothing wrong with that.”
“I just want to get back in my nightgown and go to bed,” she choked, clutching the lapels on his suit. “I don't want
to dance. I wish I did.”
“Shhh...I know.” He kissed her forehead. “That's all right.”
“You go and have a good time,” she told him, sniffling. “Don't let me spoil anything.”
“No, I'll stay right here with you,” he promised. “'Sides, I didn't really want to go to that silly dance anyway.”
She chuckled sadly, then wept some more.
“What's going on?” Daniel demanded, appearing in the door. He noticed Michaela's tears. “What did you do to
her?”
“Daniel, don't,” Michaela assured him, clutching her hankie. “I'm fine.”
“What did he say?” Daniel persisted. “Why are you upset?”
“We decided not to go, that's all,” Cal spoke up.
“Oh...well, good,” Daniel replied. “We can all have a nice, quiet evening at home.”
“Precisely,” Michaela agreed.
Cal nodded, lowering his eyes. As much as he wanted to abide by Michaela's wishes, he couldn't help but be
terribly hurt and disappointed by her last minute refusal to accompany him to the dance. “Uh, I think I'm going to
get some air,” he spoke up.
“Me, too,” Daniel said, following Cal down the stairs and out to the porch.
“Listen, Calvin-” Daniel began, shutting the front door behind him.
“It's just Cal,” he interrupted, hands on his hips.
“Right,” Daniel replied uncaringly. “Michaela...I...well, I don't think it's good for her, you comin' here and seein'
her all the time, forcing her to attend dances and socials and such.”
Cal scratched his head. “What are you talking about, Sheriff?”
Daniel removed his hat. “Ya don't have to pretend. I've seen ya around her. You ain’t the kinda man she needs.”
“I don’t understand what ya mean,” Cal insisted.
“What she needs is someone capable of providin' for her and the kids. Someone more like Sully. Patient, quiet,
strong. Someone who knew her before all this happened.”
Cal was hurt. “You think this is what this is about? You think the only reason I'm here is to get me a wife?”
Daniel cleared his throat. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I want ya t’ leave. Ya’ve done enough.” He put his
hands on his hips. “I’m taking care of Michaela just fine. Someday, when she’s ready, she’ll see its best we
married. I’m what she needs, Calvin. I’m what’s best for her.”
“We were going to the dance,” Cal murmured.
Daniel sighed. “Michaela wants ya to leave. She told me so. Said she thinks its best.”
“She did say a little something about it,” Cal admitted. He felt tears stinging his eyes. “If it's because she thinks I
might try something...Daniel, I ain't...I ain't tryin' to court her. I'm trying to help Michaela move on with her life.
I'm trying to help her get out of bed and smile again!” He ran his fingers through his hair.
Daniel glared at him. “I promised Sully I'd take care of his family if ever somethin' were to happen! He never said
a damn word about no Cal Brooks! Now he's gone, and it's my duty to speak for him, protect his wife!”
Cal swallowed hard. “Yeah, your duty to stand by while Michaela wastes away. Daniel, don't you see? She's
dying up in that room--dying of a broken heart...or she was, 'til someone gave her a little push and got her outta
there.”
“Oh, and that would be you,” Daniel retorted resentfully.
“Don't see anyone else stepping in and taking charge,” Cal replied. “Don't see anyone else that seems to want her
to get better!”
“That wants a wife,” Daniel insisted.
“That ain't true!” Cal shouted. “All I want is the best for a good friend I happened to meet by chance. Don't you
know what might have happened if something hadn't told me to go back there to that stagecoach and make sure-make sure they weren't all dead?”
Daniel stood up. “Well, thank you, Mr. Brooks, for not abandoning a helpless pregnant woman and doing what
any decent man would do,” he said sarcastically. “Now I think--and so does Michaela--that what's *best* is for
you to leave.”
Cal stared at him for a long moment, breathing heavily, and sweat breaking out at his hairline. “All right. All
right, I see, Sheriff. I didn't come here to cause trouble. I won't come between you and your intentions.” He
stormed down the porch stairs, holding his hat on his head. “Go ahead! Marry her!” He climbed into his wagon.
“But make her happy! You sure as hell better make her happy!”
Daniel hadn't expected Cal to leave so easily. He felt a sharp pang of guilt. “Wait,” he called weakly. “At least...at
least say good-bye!”
“Good-bye!” Cal shouted forcefully, slapping his horse with the reins firmly and taking off.
***
Daniel entered Michaela's room, not sure how he was going to tell her. “He's…he’s gone,” he finally murmured.
Michaela stood from her hunched position over the basin, where she had been scrubbing at the rouge on her
cheeks. She looked at Daniel's mirror reflection. “Who?”
He stood behind her. “Calvin. He took off.”
She patted her face dry with a towel, feeling her throat tighten. “Where...where did he go?”
He shrugged. “Got no idea, but far as I know he's gone for good.”
Stunned, she made her way to the bed, sitting down. Daniel immediately sat beside her. “Look Michaela, I never
trusted the guy. We both know this is for the best. Maybe he meant well but…but he just wasn’t good news.”
She choked up. “Did he say anything? Did he say why he left? Was it because...of what I said?”
Daniel rubbed the back of his head. “Well, he didn't say much. Maybe he got tired of waiting for what you weren't
gonna give him. Typical.”
“No.” She sniffled as a few tears slipped down her cheeks. “He told me that's not what he intended.”
He shrugged. “Michaela, why don't you forget about him?” He put his arm around her waist, shifting closer.
“Think about what Sully would’ve wanted for you an' the kids, think about who’s gonna be here for the long run,
who can take care of ya.” He swiped at her tears with one index finger. “...You're so beautiful.”
“Don't touch me.” Just minutes before, she had allowed Cal to hold her, dry her eyes, and even kiss her forehead.
It felt so different with Daniel. He was so different from Cal. She pushed his arm off, stood up and walked briskly
to her mirror. She tugged roughly at the flowers in her hair, pulling them out one by one and slamming each on
her vanity. “He told me that's not what he intended,” she insisted.
“Well, Michaela, of course he's gonna tell ya what ya wanna hear,” Daniel replied, hands on his hips.
“Go away,” she whimpered.
“Michaela-” he began.
“Daniel...I can't do this anymore. I can't allow myself to grow fond of someone. I was engaged to David, and then
he made me think he was dead. I married Sully, and he...” She yanked another flower out. “He died. And now I
allowed myself to befriend someone whom I can't make happy. I couldn't make anyone happy now.”
“Sure ya can. You make me happy, Michaela. I know ya can love again. I know ya can,” he said, coming to her
side. “Won't ya give us a chance? Won’t ya give anybody a chance?”
She shook her head, tears flowing freely. “I will not put myself through this pain any longer.”
“I give up, Michaela,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “I just give up.”
“So do I.” She spun around, looking him in the eyes. “You're wrong. I'll never love another man again, Daniel.
Never.”
He shook his head. “So what're ya gonna do now? Might as well become a nun!” His cheeks flushed with
frustration. Michaela wasn't going to marry him. He had known that for some time. It seemed as if everything he
couldn't have he wanted the most.
She took a deep breath. She wouldn't marry again, but her life wasn't without purpose. She had confidence it
would be full and rich. As long as she had Brian, Katie, and little Byron...she could be happy. “I'm going to raise
my children, Daniel. That's what I'm going to do. First and foremost, that's what their father would want.”
***
Brian awoke as the sun was rising to the cries of his baby brother. He yawned, stretched his arms, and got out of
bed, staggering across his room and into the hall. He smiled to himself as he thought back to last night. He'd had a
wonderful time with Sarah Sheehan. She had looked so pretty with her lilac purple calico dress, her golden hair
curled and pinned high up on her head, just like a grown-up lady. They'd danced, talked, snacked on punch and
pastries, and even shared a little goodnight kiss. He was so glad Cal had urged him to ask her.
The one thing Brian missed seeing was his mother. Ma had told him to go on ahead and pick up Sarah--she and
Mr. Brooks would be along presently. Brian had searched for Michaela all evening--neither she nor Cal had ever
shown up. He'd been surprised Ma had agreed to go in the first place, but was encouraged by it. He even dared to
hope that maybe...maybe she was getting better. Now to find out she hadn't even left the house, and that Mr.
Brooks was gone as well...filled him with remorse.
“I'm comin' B.!” he called in answer to another cry from his mother's bedroom. Then, without warning, the cries
stopped. Brian paused. That had certainly never happened before. The baby never quieted until he was cuddled
and comforted, his every last need attended to. Brian quickly opened the bedroom door. Either something was
wrong...or someone else had gotten to Byron first.
Michaela turned from her place in front of the baby's crib, her son in her arms. “Oh, Brian. I'm sorry. Did we
wake you?” She rubbed the baby's back as he played with the lace on her nightgown bodice.
He came to her side. “That's all right, Ma. I'm usually up with B. anyways. Is he all right?”
She kissed her baby's cheek. “He's fine. Nothing a clean diaper won't cure, right Brynie?”
Brian smiled. “Well, if ya need help just call.”
“I will. Thank you.” She grinned at her baby, looking into his blue eyes and stroking his hair, and Byron curled
up, kicked his legs, and cooed happily. “Oh Brian, did you have a good time at the dance?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Real good. Last night when I got home, I came up to see ya, but you were sleepin'. Ma,
where's Mr. Brooks? Daniel said he...he left.”
She placed Byron back in his crib, taking a deep breath. “That's right. You knew he was only planning on staying
a month.”
“I know but--but he didn't say good-bye,” Brian murmured, a trace of anger in his voice. “He just walked out on
us.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “Brian, you mustn't hold that against him. He was very kind to you while he
was with us.”
He bit back tears. “He was nice to you, too, Ma. I wanted ya t' go to the dance. I wanted t'...see ya dressed up an'
dancin'.”
She gave him a hug. “I'm sorry, Brian. I wish I could explain.” She kissed his hair. “...I love you.”
He closed his eyes. It had been awhile since his ma had held him, held him tight, kissed him. He swiped at a few
tears quickly. “Love you too, Ma,” he whispered.
***
“Ma!” Brian burst into her bedroom, waving a paper.
Michaela stood before her long mirror, gazing at the somberly clothed reflection. She turned to her son.
He handed her the paper. “An 'A', Ma. I got an 'A' on the algebra test.” He grinned wide, watching her face
expectantly.
Michaela skimmed the test. “This is wonderful, Brian.” She put her arm around him. “You've improved so much.”
“It's not so hard,” he admitted, “once I understood it. Mr. Brooks helped me catch up. He knew everything about
it.” He noticed her expression somber. He put his arm around her waist. “Is he ever coming back, Ma?” he asked.
“Cal? I...I'm not sure,” she murmured, taking a stiff breath.
“Why'd he leave?” Brian asked hesitantly. “Don't he like us anymore?”
“Brian...it's...its best that he left,” Michaela told him, voice unsteady. She placed his test on her vanity.
“Why?” Brian questioned.
“Well, because...because Mr. Brooks was...was living with us,” she attempted to explain, “and I'm...” She
squeezed her left hand into a fist, feeling the cool gold of her wedding and engagement rings pressing against her
skin. “I'm no longer wed.”
Brian thought a moment. “It's like when Sully left after dinner each evening, 'fore ya got married.”
She blushed, nodding quickly. “Yes, in a way.”
“I liked him,” Brian said, resting his head against his mother's shoulder.
She stroked his hair. “I know.”
A sudden screech from down the hall startled both Michaela and Brian. They burst apart. “Katie,” Michaela said
fearfully, rushing to her daughter's bedroom, Brian following.
The child was lying on her side beside her crib, face red and tear-streaked, wailing in distress. Michaela
immediately fell to her knees and scooped her daughter into her arms, holding her close. “Sweetheart,” she spoke
worriedly. “Oh, what happened?” She caressed Katie's flushed cheeks. “How did you get out of your crib?”
Katie rubbed her eyes with her fists, gasping. “Boo-boo,” she explained.
Brian sat beside the two, rubbing Katie's back. “Where's it hurt, Kate?”
“My leg,” she sobbed, pointing at her knee.
“Oh, did you fall, darling?” Michaela carefully took the child's knee in her hand, examining it. The wooden floor
had given it a good blow, it would probably bruise, but it wasn't anything serious.
“Get med-cine, Mama,” Katie instructed, sniffling.
“I have just the cure for this,” Michaela assured her. She kissed Katie's knee. “There. Now how does it feel? All
better?”
Katie smiled, hugging her mother. “All betta.”
“Kate, what were ya doin' climbing out of your crib?” Brian asked, relieved his sister
wasn't seriously hurt.
Katie held Michaela tighter. “I wanna seep wid Mama,” she whimpered.
Michaela stood up with Katie in her arms. “Would you like to have your nap in Mama's
bed instead?”
Katie nodded. “Pease.”
“All right,” Michaela agreed. “For today at least.”
Satisfied, Katie wrapped her arms around Michaela's neck as she carried her into the bedroom.
“Have a good sleep,” Brian told Katie. “I gotta start the chores.” He gave the little girl a hug and kiss, much to her
delight, and then padded down the stairs.
Michaela knelt beside her, tucking a blanket beneath her chin. “I love you so much, Katie.” She pinched her
daughter's nose affectionately, producing a few giggles from the toddler.
“Love you,” Katie replied, holding her arms out for another hug. Katie adored being held, kissed and cuddled.
Michaela obliged, kissing her once, then twice. She decided to make sure to give the little girl at least two kisses
each night, or before each nap: one from herself, one from Sully.
Michaela squeezed her tight. “Mmm...Sleep well.”
“'All wight,” the child replied, closing her eyes.
Michaela smiled. “All right.” She stroked Katie's soft locks for a few minutes, then stood. She peeked in Byron's
crib below the window, rubbing his back and running her hand down his head as he stirred, one leg twitching in
his sleep, then returned to her mirror.
She gazed at the reflection up and down, took a deep breath, and unbuttoned her blouse. She placed it over the
back of the vanity chair, then unclasped her skirt and stepped out of it, discarding it beside the blouse.
She looked in the mirror again. The image staring back was thin, frail, and as pale as its camisole and pantaloons.
She closed her eyes, and then opened her wardrobe, sifting through clothing she hadn't seen in ages. She selected
a cornflower blue blouse and a darker, navy blue skirt to match. Resolutely, she changed into the new, brighter
apparel. Next she sat at her vanity, unpinned her tight bun and let her hair flow to her waist unhindered.
For five minutes she sat before the mirror, unspeaking, taking in the change. Cal was right: she looked better...and
she felt better. A feeling of peace came over her. The Sully she knew would want her to dress in pretty colors,
smile, and feel good inside. Even if she never wore black again, it wouldn't matter. She would never lose the
memories of her husband.
She picked up the somber mourning garments from the chair, folded them, opened her trunk, and placed them
inside. She took one last look at the dismal black she had worn for over a year, then gave the lid of the trunk a tap
with her palm, pursing her lips as it fell shut with a satisfying thud.
Michaela stood, swallowing hard as she choked back tears. Finally, she staggered to the bed, laying beside Katie
and drawing the slumbering child into her arms. With a final deep breath, she closed her eyes, and slept.
V{tÑàxÜ Y|yàxxÇ
EL Tâzâáà? DKJF
WxtÜ `ÉÅÅt?
Things didn't work out with Michaela. If nothing else, I only wanted to be her friend, but I think that scared her,
just the same. She loved her husband very much, and I could never compete with him. Daniel was right. It wasn't
my place. I know he'll take good care of her, just like he promised her husband. I've gone back to work for Wells
Fargo. Next time I'm passing through, I'll stop by for a visit. Love to all.
VtÄ
***
DL fxÑàxÅuxÜ? DKJF
WxtÜxáà VtÄ?
Well, darling, you did your best to be Michaela's friend, and that's all you can ask of yourself. There's someone
out there you're going to make very happy someday. You'll find her, sooner than you know it. In the meantime,
I'm sending you a package of cookies. I hope they arrive safely and intact--not in crumbs like last time. I think
about you every day and love you very much.
`ÉÅÅt
***
DE WxvxÅuxÜ? DKJF
WxtÜxáà `|v{txÄt,
I wanted to wish you all a Merry Christmas and let you know we're thinking of you. Mother asks if the gifts she
ordered arrived in time for the baby's birthday. She also asks if you've thought any more about moving back to
Boston...and she wants to know more about Calvin Brooks.
_Éäx?
exuxvvt
***
DF ]tÇâtÜç? DKJG
WxtÜxáà exuxvvt?
Colorado Springs is my home. It's where Sully and I always knew we wanted to raise our children, and I firmly
believe it remains the best place for them. As for Cal, he left some time ago. He was a good friend, I'm so thankful
to him for delivering my son, but I was and am not prepared for anything more than a friendship. You may tell
mother as such.
_Éäx?
`|v{txÄt
***
F `tÜv{? DKJG
WxtÜxáà `|v{txÄt?
If you had returned to Boston you wouldn't have found yourself giving birth to babies in shacks in the middle of
nowhere in the first place, and with no one to assist but a filthy stagecoach driver who no doubt might have just as
easily done you and precious Byron nothing but harm! Michaela, it was one thing for you to be out there in that
wilderness with a husband, but quite another now that you're a widow with two very young children, need I
remind you. I beg of you to please reconsider.
_Éäx?
`Éà{xÜ
***
FC fxÑàxÅuxÜ? DKJG
WxtÜ ZÜtÇwÅt?
Thanks for the pen set for the start of school. It writes real nice. Ma's doing better. She goes to the clinic more
often, but stays home a lot too with Katie and Byron, which I know they love. I think you can give up about us
moving to Boston. I mean, it's real nice of you and all, but I know Ma. She decided to stay here a long time ago
and you can't change her mind once she's set it. I guess you know that about her, too. I miss you.
_Éäx?
UÜ|tÇ
***
EJ WxvxÅuxÜ? DKJG
WxtÜ ZÜtÇwÅt?
Thank you for the Christmas presents. Ma and I are teaching Katie to write. She's just learning but she wants to
tell you something, too: thank you. That was her. She writes real good for a little girl that isn't even in school yet,
don't you think?
_Éäx?
UÜ|tÇ
***
EF YxuÜâtÜç? DKJH
WxtÜ WÜA dâ|ÇÇ?
I wanted to inquire whether your efforts in search of Mr. Sully ever yielded any clues. Your husband was a very
brave man, he saved my life, and granting him the pardon was the least I could do. I only wish he could be here to
receive it. Please inform me as to how you're getting on, and about those lovely children of yours.
exztÜwá?
hÄçááxá fA ZÜtÇà
***
DL `tÜv{? DKJH
WxtÜ `ÜA cÜxá|wxÇà?
Thank you for the kind letter. My daughter Katie will be four years old this May and my son Byron Jr., will be
three in December. My eldest son Matthew has developed an interest in law, Colleen is well into her third year at
Colorado Seminary College, and Brian is finishing his last few years in school. I thank you again very much for
the pardon. I too wish Sully were alive to accept it. We searched for several months, turning up nothing. A
memorial service was held that October. We assume he passed on, likely from the impact of the fall. I am no
longer in mourning, though I carry my husband in my heart wherever I am. I assure you despite the tragedy my
family has faced, we are now getting on well, and appreciate your asking.
f|ÇvxÜxÄç?
`|v{txÄt dâ|ÇÇ
***
H Tâzâáà? DKJH
WxtÜxáà VtÄ?
There is a family that's just moved next door, with two young ladies who are studying to be teachers, not yet
engaged. You could come home, Cal, and visit. At least meet the ladies. I'll have you all over for tea. When do
you think you'll be in Chicago next?
_Éäx?
VtÜÉÄ|Çx
***
K fxÑàxÅuxÜ? DKJH
WxtÜ f|á?
I'm not sure when I'll be up North next. I'm in San Antonio at present, soon to take a long journey to deliver mail
to a small town, Los Angeles is the name. You're so dear to think of me and meeting the girls, but I know they
wouldn't want a stagecoach driver, always on the move. I've been thinking of this for a long time and I think I
want to settle somewhere, and work where I can come home each night. I've thought of Chicago, but the only
place I truly want to be is Colorado Springs. I know Michaela's in mourning or maybe even married to Daniel by
now, but even if she doesn't want to be anything more than friends, do you think it'd be all right if I just visited
her? Just to say hello? Her little boy's birthday is coming up in December. I'd really like to see him. His name's
Byron Calvin, did I tell you?
VtÄ
***
FC bvàÉuxÜ? DKJH
WxtÜxáà VtÄ?
I think that's a splendid idea! Perhaps you'll see Michaela's well and happy, and you'll be able to move on with
your own life. Visit your friend, say hello to everyone. There's no harm in that. But please, Cal, don't fall in love
when there are so many other young ladies who would die to gain your affection. The woman might have been
married during your absence, as you said, and it wouldn't be proper. Yes, dear brother, you've reminded me at
least a dozen times of the boy's name. His mother sounds charming, but reconsider meeting these delightful
neighbors of ours before another handsome young man jumps at the chance!
_Éäx?
VtÜÉÄ|Çx
***
E WxvxÅuxÜ? DKJH
WxtÜ ZÜtÇwÅt?
Thank you for the sled. I'm going to have lots of fun on it. It just started snowing so it won't be long before I can
take it outside. I want to tell you Mama is writing this but I'm telling her what to say. I want to visit Boston when
I'm bigger.
_Éäx?
UçÜÉÇ
***
"Happy birthday, my baby boy," Michaela whispered, bending down to kiss Byron's head.
"I'm free," he corrected, holding up three little fingers.
"Three already?" Michaela teased, tickling his chin. "Why, just the other day I was holding a bottle to you!"
Byron grinned. "I'm big, wight Mama?"
"That's right," she said, tapping his nose.
"Tell me stowy 'bout when I got born," he implored, blue eyes sparkling.
"Again?" Michaela groaned, eyebrows raised.
"Mama, pease?" he begged. "Tell me stowy 'bout Mista Book helped get me born."
Michaela's eyes glazed over as she thought back to that beautiful night. "Let's see, it was very dark out, raining-and Mr. Brooks sat with me all evening while we waited for you." She chuckled. "I was so big!" she exclaimed,
holding her hands out in front of her belly.
Byron giggled. "You was fat!"
"I was," she admitted. "You should have seen me!"
"And den I came..." the little boy encouraged impatiently, tugging on the sleeve of her blouse.
"Yes, and then you came," she affirmed. "Finally! I'll always remember what Mr. Brooks said: 'Open your eyes,
ma'am. You have a boy.'"
Byron smiled. "And you says...?" he pressed.
She laughed, stroking his hair. "I've forgotten what I said, but I remember holding you and kissing you; such a
tiny baby. You were no bigger than my two hands." She cradled an imaginary infant in demonstration. "And I was
so happy...I'm so happy to have you."
Byron sighed contently. "Good stowy. Is Mista Book gone to heaven, too?" he asked suddenly.
Michaela's mouth dropped open. "No, Byron, not that I know of. Why would you ask something like that?"
He played with a lock of his golden-brown hair. "My papa gone to heaven."
Michaela nodded, stroking his cheek with the back of her hand. "Yes, but not everyone that can't be with us has
passed away: your grandmother and your aunts and cousins are in Boston, and Colleen is in medical school in
Denver and-"
"Where Mista Book?" he interrupted.
"Well, I'm not sure," she admitted. Her face sobered. "I knew him for a short time, and then he felt he had to
leave. I haven't heard from him since." She frowned.
Byron let loose a disgruntled sigh. Everything was so complicated and hard to understand.
Michaela decided to change the subject. "Now let's see, what did you wish for when you blew out the candles?"
"Mama, I want a papa," he blurted. Perhaps his mother could help in this endeavor.
"Oh Brynie, I know you do," Michaela choked, taking his hand.
"Jimmy has a papa," he informed her, "an' Edwawd has a papa...an'-an' Bian has a papa in San Fisca. *I* want
one."
Michaela felt a tear slip down her cheek. It had been a while since she had last cried for Sully, but she found that
the pain and heartache was still fresh. It only took a little to set it off.
"Why ya cwying?" Byron queried innocently.
She pressed her lips to his cheek. "Because if I could I would give you your papa. I want for you so much to know
him and what a wonderful man he was, and know the love he has for you, and I wish for him to see you and hold
you and see how much you look like him."
Byron shook his head. He knew what gone meant. "But Papa in heaven."
She kissed his cheek twice. "Yes, sweetheart, watching over you." As each day passed, Michaela found her
relationship with her little boy growing fonder and closer. Byron was so much like Sully. He respected people and
things and was pleased with simplicity. He was often shy, cowering behind Michaela's skirts, but at times, he
could be as hotheaded as his mother and father combined. On the outside, there was no debate over who his
parents were. He had inherited Michaela's rosy cheeks, her thick, dark eyelashes, and the impish turn of one
corner of her lips. Though Byron favored his mother in size--he had little hands and feet, and a tiny but
determined voice to match--Michaela clearly saw her husband in his delicate features. His chin: dimpled, firm and
proud; his eyes: as clear blue as the sky; his skin: tan like Sully's from hours of play in the sun. Michaela
cherished her little boy and possessed a need to protect him more than she could have ever imagined. He had
become her reason to live.
"Do you know what?" Michaela told him. "I think the love we share is special just the way things are."
Byron smiled. "Yeah."
"Yeah," Michaela whispered. "Say your prayers now."
Byron folded his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. "Now I way me down to seep, pay da Lor' my soul to keep, I
should wake, pay da Lor' to take. God bless Katie an' Bian an' Coween an' Matt-ew, and Gan'ma an' Mama. Amen. Oh, pease get me a papa. A-men."
Michaela gave him a big hug. "And God bless Byron. I love you."
"Love you."
"Mama!" Katie's voice echoed down the hall.
She stood up. "Coming! It's your sister's turn to be tucked in now. Sleep well."
"All righ'," he consented. "Bye."
Michaela chuckled. "Night-night, Brynie."
"'Night." He stuck a thumb in his mouth and curled to his side, facing the window. Michaela watched him for a
moment, then dimmed the lamp and left the room, leaving the door open a crack.
Katie was under the covers, curled on her side, a thin sheen of perspiration across her brow. "Mama, I don't feel
good," she told her immediately.
Michaela sat beside her and stroked back her daughter's locks. "What's the matter?"
"Head hurts," Katie murmured tiredly, closing her dark eyes.
"When did this start, sweetheart? Just now?"
"Mama, get your medicines and make it stop."
Michaela worriedly tucked the covers up to Katie's chin. "Hold on one moment." Michaela returned as quickly as
she could with her medical bag. She placed a thermometer between the child's flushed lips.
"Do you have a test tomorrow?" Michaela asked suspiciously. Though Katie was a clever student, the child cared
only for history, reading, and spelling. She despised anything that involved numbers. On more than one occasion,
she had feigned illness to avoid taking a mathematics test.
Katie shook her head weakly, shifting the thermometer to the side of her mouth to speak. "No, Mama. We're
gonna go sledding tomorrow. Mrs. Slicker's gonna let us out early, 'member? You says you're gonna bring Byron
and he's gonna bring his sled--not the old rusted one, the new red one Gran'ma sent him. The ta...ta..."
"Toboggan," Michaela coached.
"Ta-baggon," Katie repeated. "An' Byron said me and him can take turns on it."
"He and I. The two of you could ride it at the same time, along with several other children. That's what toboggans
are designed for." Michaela removed the thermometer and frowned. "Well, I don't think you'll be well enough to
go, Miss Katie. You're running a fever."
Katie closed her eyes. "I wanna go, but I'm...so tired."
Michaela gently felt the child's neck and her underarms. "Tummy hurt?"
Katie shook her head.
She pulled out her tongue depressor. "Say 'ah.'"
Katie opened her mouth. "Ahhhhh."
"Hmm...looks normal. Anything else hurt?"
"Jus' my head," she replied.
Michaela tried to appear calm. It made her crazy with concern when the children were ill. They could be
overwhelmed by ailments so easily. Just last month one of Katie's schoolmates had contracted pneumonia,
succumbing to it within the week. "Probably just a catarrh," Michaela replied reassuringly. She pulled out her
stethoscope, put it in her ears and unbuttoned the top buttons of Katie's shift, pressing the bell to the child's pale
chest. "Uh-oh," she murmured, putting on a distressed face.
"What?" Katie whispered, grasping her mother's arm.
"I'm hearing a peculiar sound! Thump-thump. Thump-thump."
Katie giggled. "Mama, that's my heart!"
The doctor feigned ignorance. "Your heart? Are you certain? You'd better take a listen." She put the stethoscope
in Katie's ears.
The little girl closed her eyes and listened intently. "Yep, that's my heart."
Michaela smiled. "So it is. Well, do you think you can sleep? I'll prepare a bath in the morning. I'll bring you up
some tea right now."
"That stuff tastes like manure," Katie protested.
Michaela's mouth dropped open. "Katherine Elizabeth! If I hear that word one more time...I could give Cal
Brooks a thrashing if he were here right now. He taught those nasty blasphemes to you and you've never
forgotten."
Katie grinned slightly. "But I can't dwink it, Mama. I'll get sicker."
Michaela sighed. She was fighting a losing battle. "Well, perhaps you can try some tea a little later, but definitely
no school for a few days."
"A few days!" Katie declared, eyes reflecting joy and sadness at the same time.
"At least," Michaela replied. "Don't worry; I'll stay home with you."
"Ya will?" Katie asked hopefully.
"Of course, sweetheart. I can't very well go off to the clinic and leave my baby girl all alone, now can I? Close
your eyes now," Michaela directed.
"Will you read to me?" Katie asked tiredly.
Michaela stood and went to the bookshelf. "For a minute. Hm...let's see..." She pulled out a book and sat back on
the bed, opening to a marked page. "'Down among the grass and fragrant clover lay little Eva by the brook-side,"
Michaela began, holding the book near the light, "watching the bright waves-'"
"Rub my head, Mama," Katie interrupted softly.
Michaela smiled and stroked back Katie's beautiful locks. As the child had grown older, her appearance had
altered little. Her hair remained fair and slightly curly, her smile wide and friendly, and her eyes a deep dark
brown, more like her mother, though Michaela saw Sully in her clearly. Katie was bright and happy, and guarding
toward Byron, and she was the other reason Michaela had lived. "'Watching the bright waves," Michaela
continued, "as they went singing by under the drooping flowers that grew on its banks...'"
***
Michaela pulled back the curtain of the kitchen window, gazing worriedly outside. The dark sky continued to emit
thick, wet snowflakes. The tracks Byron had made with his sled the morning before had all but disappeared. She
turned to her older son. "I don't like the looks of this." She wrapped her shawl more snuggly around her.
Brian finished strapping his snowshoes, and then stood up. "Aw, it's not that bad, Ma. Look, it looks like it's
clearing up already." He pulled on his gloves.
She came to his side and handed him his lunch pail. "Well, there's something wrong when my child has to wear
snowshoes just to get to school."
"Ma, I studied all evenin' for that History test. I ain't gonna let that go to waste. You stayin' home again?"
She nodded. "I'm fairly certain Byron's come down with it as well. Last night he had a fever and this morning I
found his jaw and cheeks swollen just like Katie's. I won't be able to return to the clinic until they're well again."
"How long do you think it'll last?" Brian asked, sympathizing with his ill little sister and brother.
"They should recover within a week, maybe two at the most. Here, you must wear a hat." She stood on tiptoe and
tugged a knit blue cap over his ears as he rolled his eyes in protest. She gazed at the crate of winter apparel. "And
a scarf, too," she said, picking up a matching navy blue scarf and wrapping it securely around his neck.
"I feel like a snowman," he said, stiffly reaching for his books on the table.
"You'll be warm. That's the most important," Michaela reminded him. "You're sure you've had the mumps
before?" she asked once more.
He chuckled. "Ma, I'm *positive*. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was five or six I think, not too long
before you came to Colorado. We all got it."
"All right," she sighed. "Well, I suppose I wouldn't want to make you late."
He opened the door. "Give Katie and B. a hug for me when they wake."
"I'll do that." She smiled, waving as he carefully descended the steps with his snowshoes. "Have a good day."
"I will," he called.
***
"This don't look too good," Cal's partner Robert shouted through the blowing snow. He gripped the reins tighter in
his gloved fists. "Team's gettin' tired. Passengers no doubt freezing their toes. We're gonna have to stop
somewhere soon."
Cal held his hat on his head. "Ain't much further," he assured the driver.
"What's so special 'bout Colorado Springs anyways?" Robert asked, glancing at Cal.
Cal bent his head. "Got friends there." He rubbed his hands together.
Robert chuckled, nudging Cal with his elbow. "*Lady* friends, hmm?"
Cal eyed him, irked. "So what of it?" He peered ahead, searching for signs of the town.
"Ah-huh. Is she pretty?" Robert pressed.
He sighed. "I guess so. But that don't matter. She's married." He paused. "I think." He felt for the package under
his seat to assure himself it was still there. "It's her son's birthday. Or it was. I'm a couple days late. Damn storm."
Robert shrugged. "Better late than never I s'pose."
Cal held on tight to his seat handle and stood up. "That's it up ahead!"
Robert shielded his eyes. "Yep, there she is." He gave the team a firm slap. "Well, we're gonna make it after all."
***
A demanding knock at the store door stole the reverend and Loren from their quiet conversation and coffee in
front of the wood stove.
"What in blazes?" Loren demanded, putting down his mug and going to the door.
"Who would be out in this weather?" the reverend wondered aloud, gripping his walking stick and standing up.
Loren opened the door, emitted the customer, and quickly shut the door to keep back the chilly wind.
Cal removed his hat and dug into his coat pocket, pulling out a few bills. "I'd like a pair of snow shoes." He put
the money on the counter.
Loren eyed him. "Wait, I remember you. You're...you're that Cal Brooks fellow, ain't ya?" He smiled, patting the
man's back. "Well, where've ya been all this time?"
"Here, there and everywhere. Seeing the country atop a stagecoach."
"Sounds excitin'," the reverend remarked, smiling.
Cal nodded quickly. "Yeah, I guess. Please, the snowshoes, Mr. Bray?"
Loren walked to the staircase and removed a pair from a hook on the wall. "You ain't fixin' to go back out in this
storm, are ya?" He handed the shoes to Cal, and then stood behind the counter. "That'll be three dollars even," he
said, opening his cash box.
"Yes sir, I am. I wanna see Michaela--uh well, Byron. He just had a birthday." He handed Loren the money.
"You can't walk all the way out to their homestead," Reverend Johnson protested.
"Can't you see there's a blizzard out there?" Loren added, closing the cash box and putting it aside.
Cal hopped up onto the counter and worked at strapping the shoes on. "I ain't a stranger to bad weather."
Loren shook his head. "You're a fool, boy." He reached under the counter for a flask of whiskey. He removed the
cap and handed it to Cal. "Well, if you're set on goin' there ya'd better have a sip."
Cal readily tipped the flask and took several liberal gulps. He handed it back to Loren, but the old man waved his
hand.
"You take that with you," he said. "It'll keep ya warm."
"Thanks." Cal screwed the cap on and put it in his inside coat pocket. "Well, see ya around."
***
Michaela tucked Byron beneath the covers next to his sister. It had become extremely tiring rushing back and
forth between the two bedrooms, so she decided it would be easiest to keep the children in one place, in her room
in her own bed. Not to mention Byron had pleaded with her all day to be with Katie. She couldn't refuse him any
longer.
"Do you want something to eat, Brynie, sweetheart?" Michaela asked her little boy, kneeling beside him and
laying a cool cloth across his feverish brow. "I'll bring you anything you'd like. I can make you stew, or a little
soup?"
Byron shook his head. "Hurts t' eat," he whispered hoarsely.
"Oh, I know. I'm sorry," she said, her heart breaking. "How about some warm broth?"
"No," he whimpered.
"You let me know if you feel up to it, darling." She gave him a hug.
He pushed her away weakly. "No. Hot, Mama. Don't feel good. Hot."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling back. She pressed the cloth to his head, then reached her arm over him to
stroke Katie's forehead. She was sleeping, thankfully, after coping with a day of not being able to keep anything
down. She was miserable, and Michaela felt useless. There was nothing they could do but wait it out. She looked
out the window where the light sprinkling of snow just that morning had grown into a full-fledged blizzard.
Tiredly, she gazed at the clock. Five o'clock. She drew in her breath. Where was Brian?
***
Michaela awoke with a start to pounding at her front door. She rubbed her eyes, realizing she must have dozed off
sitting beside Katie and Byron as they rested. She stood up, checked to see that the children were still asleep, and
took a glance at the clock. Half past six. "Brian," she whispered aloud, turning to the door and rushing down the
stairs. "Brian, you've had me worried sick!" she accused as she flung open the door. She gasped. It wasn't her son.
It was a taller, stronger, older man, with dark, frozen locks of hair peeking out from his cowboy hat. His head was
bent, and he raised it to look at her. Michaela found herself gazing at the hazel, shimmering eyes she remembered
so well.
She took a step back, her mouth open. A whirlwind of emotions flashed across her face: surprise, pain,
fear...relief. "It couldn't be...Cal?" she uttered in disbelief.
V{tÑàxÜ f|åàxxÇ
Cal hugged himself, shivering. "Well, am I invited in or are ya gonna make me stand out here in this heat?"
"Oh, my goodness, of course come in." Michaela ushered him inside by the arm, then shut the door firmly behind
him. "Cal, what in heaven's name are you doing here?"
He gazed into her eyes. She was still beautiful. Even more beautiful than he remembered. "I uh...came to see the
baby, Katie and Brian," he said.
Her eyes filled with alarm. "Cal, Brian. Brian didn't come home from school. It's so late. I knew I shouldn't have
allowed him to go. What was I thinking?"
"He's out there in this blizzard?" Cal asked frantically.
She shook her head tearfully. "I don't know. Perhaps he's decided to stay at school and wait it out. Oh, I hope so.
He's usually home around half past three." She was beginning to become out of breath. "It really wasn't that bad
when he left and I thought it might let up, but it only got worse. He could be out there-"
"All right, Mike. Don't get yourself all worked up." He turned to the door. "I'll find him."
She grabbed his arm. "Oh, you can't go out again, Cal. You're frozen stiff."
He shrugged off her hand. "I'll bring him home, Mike. Then we can all get warm."
She sighed gratefully. "Oh, Cal. Thank you. Thank you so much. I've been so worried. I would have gone to look
for him myself but I can't leave the children alone. Oh, be careful. Please be careful."
He paused, turning to her. "It's good to see ya again," he said quickly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. He had
meant it to be a friendly, polite exchange between old friends, but what he felt was so much more. He'd never
kissed a softer, rosier, sweeter smelling cheek.
Michaela blushed. His lips were tender, loving, chilly from exposure to the cold, but warm just the same. "It's
good to see you, too, Cal," she whispered.
Memories of the last time she had seen him came rushing back. She had asked him to leave a few days prior,
frightened by her growing feelings for him, and then the evening of the dance, without any good-bye, Cal did
exactly as she had requested. Daniel later informed her Cal had been waiting for her to give him something she
wasn't willing to give; she supposed that meant affection, a kiss, perhaps more. Now as she looked at him, so bent
on finding Brian and bringing him home safely, she just couldn't picture Cal or all that he had done for her as
anything less than sincere. But there was a part of her that remained angry. Angry at herself for allowing Cal to
grow so close to her heart, and angry at him, for disappearing without a trace, forcing her to question whether he
really had expected something. Now two years later he had suddenly returned. But there wasn't time to think on
that any more now. She had to look after Katie and Byron, and pray that Brian was fine, waiting inside the
schoolhouse for someone to come for him.
"I'll be careful," Cal promised, heading out the door.
She watched him go, and then closed the door behind her, leaning against it. She was glad Cal had come to
visit...no, she was more than glad. But there was still so much to sort out.
***
"Most of the kids' pas came t' get them," Brian informed his mother as she kneeled in front of him and rubbed his
chilled feet, "but there was still me left, and Sarah--her ma couldn't get out either--and the O'Neill twins, and Miz
Slicker an' Jake--he came to pick her up and ended up staying to help out. We were gettin' ready to spend the
night. So anyway Ma, guess what Mr. Brooks decided we should do?" he said, high from the adventure he had
just returned from.
"I shudder to think," she said, glancing at Cal.
Cal took a sip of tea, warming his hands by cupping them around the teacup. He gazed at her teasingly.
"We helped the kids bundle up real good," Brian began, "then took 'em outside. Me and him walked the twins to
their house, and then Sarah to hers. Then Mr. Brooks said I looked cold, so he let me take a sip of-"
Cal kicked Brian gently in the calf, chuckling to cover it up. "Uh, that's not really important to the story," he said
quickly, glaring at Brian.
Brian grinned sheepishly, glancing at Michaela. Cal had a point. "Right, so then we reckoned there was nothing
more to do but go home. So here we are." He beamed at his mother as she listened to the tale in dismay.
"Well, thank God you're all right," she told him, standing up. She stroked his hair, realizing how easily things
might have turned out not so happily. "Thank God," she whispered once more.
Brian took her hand. "It's all right, Ma," he told her. "Everybody's fine."
She nodded tearfully, and then glanced at his cup. "Would you like anymore hot cocoa?"
He shook his head, patting his stomach. "No thanks. I'm full. I think I'll turn in." He stood and gave her a warm
hug and a kiss. "Love ya, Ma."
She closed her eyes, cupping his head with her hand. "I love you, Brian." She watched him ascend the stairs, then
sat in the chair he had been sitting in, facing Cal. "...Thank you."
"The boy wasn't ever in danger, Mike," Cal assured her. "He's got a good head on his shoulders. He wouldn't have
gone out there by himself."
She nodded. "I know, but I still worry."
He put his cup on the table and leaned forward in the comfortable wing back chair. His skin tingled from the cozy
heat of the nearby fireplace. "Well, Brian said ya didn't marry Daniel," he remarked.
"Marry Daniel?" she breathed, bewildered. "What? What on earth gave you that idea?"
"I thought...Well, don't ya love him?" he asked simply. "He loves you."
"Love him?" she echoed. "...I know he seemed to have thought he had feelings for me, but I thought I made it
clear to him we were just friends." She made an unintentional, but comically sour face. "No, I couldn't possibly
ever marry Daniel...or anyone," she spoke more quietly.
Cal eyed her suspiciously, but it appeared she was telling the truth. "Oh...where is he anyway?"
"Daniel?" she asked virtuously.
"No, Abe Lincoln," he joked bitterly. "Of course Daniel."
She crossed her arms. "Don't get smart with me, Cal Brooks," she berated. "I'll tell you where he is when I'm good
and ready to say." She turned to the side, staring into the flames of the fireplace.
Cal sighed. Michaela sure could be ornery when she set her mind to it. It drove him crazy, but he decided he'd try
to be patient, though he wasn't confident he would be successful. "Mike..." He placed his hand atop her knee
briefly. "I'm sorry...I just...I've missed you. Mike, look at me."
She reluctantly turned to face him.
"I've really missed you," he insisted once more.
"You just took off," she told him, frightened by how much she had missed him as well.
"Don't forget you told me to leave," he reminded her.
"I never did anything of the sort!" She paused, bending her head shyly. "Oh dear...I suppose I did but...but I
certainly didn't mean for you to leave without a proper farewell, and before I could thank you. You...helped me
get better, Cal, then you left without so much as a good-bye," she whispered tearfully. "What was I supposed to
think? Couldn't you have written? At least let me know where you were? For all I knew you might have..."
"I went back to work," he informed her. "I've been driving stagecoaches. I've been all over, Mike."
"And you never thought of any of us or how we might feel."
"I have. I thought of ya every day. I just couldn't get up the courage to write. Believe me I tried. Michaela...I left
that day because...because Daniel was piping angry with me."
"Whatever for?" she asked, intrigued.
"I'm not quite sure, but I think because...I think he thought you and I had something, and he was jealous of that.
He was telling me about when you first met, 'bout how you and him had something, and how you told him you'd
let him know when you're ready to pick up where you left off-"
"Just a minute, what are you talking about?" she interrupted.
He raised his brows. "About Daniel, Mike."
"Yes, but what's this about when Daniel and I first met?"
He bit his lip. "Well, he said ya got on real well...that ya had something." he told her. He couldn't help but hope
she would tell him it was all a lie.
She touched her hand to her chest, appalled. "And just what does he mean by that? Cal, for heaven's sake I was a
married woman!"
He nodded. "I know. I mean, it's none of my business, but I just don't think that's right."
"I agree. I was very happily married to Sully. I've told you how happy we were. I never had eyes for any other
man. I never felt anything for Daniel," she insisted. "I didn't tell him any such thing."
Cal sighed, very much relieved. Deep down, he had always known it couldn't be true. "I guess I thought just the
same maybe you might decide to marry him, that maybe ya could be happy with him. Thought maybe...it'd be for
the best. I didn't want to cause any fighting, or hurt you, and I was tired of hurting him...so I thought what was
best was...to leave. Forgive me for that."
"Cal, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I can't believe Daniel would allow you to think such a thing. If he were here I don't
know what I'd say to him."
He drew in his breath. "If he were here?"
She clasped her hands. "Daniel left less than a week after you. He settled in St. Louis. I hear he's a deputy."
Cal nodded. "I think that's best for all of us."
"But why have you come now?" she asked. "It's been so long, Cal."
"Why've I come?" he repeated. "Well, uh...to wish the baby a happy birthday."
"Oh, Cal. You remembered," Michaela whispered, surprised.
He smiled softly. "Course I do. I would have been here right on the day if it hadn't been for the storm. Yep,
December second that little guy was born. I don't think I'll be forgetting that one for a long time."
"Byron isn't a baby," she informed him.
"What is he then, a toad?" Cal replied teasingly.
She chuckled dryly. "You're still hilarious, Cal."
"I try," he crooned.
"No, he's not an amphibian, he's a three-year-old," Michaela informed him.
Cal picked up the present he had placed on the table. "Guess he wouldn't care for this then."
Michaela eyed the small box in his hand. "What is it?"
"Another rattle," he replied. "He seemed to like the first one I gave him a lot."
She laughed. "A rattle, hm?"
He smiled, abashed. "Guess I just didn't think. I can't picture him any different than a drooling little guy."
She smiled proudly. "He's grown, he speaks quite intelligently, and he’s out of his diapers." Michaela wanted to
share with him how much joy her son had brought her the past few years. She wanted Cal to know how indebted
to him she was for saving her life, for helping her realize how much she had to live for. She wasn't sure if it were
possible to put the gratitude she felt into words.
"I think that's why some people just keep on having those babies," Cal ventured "'Cause they keep on growing
up."
She lowered her head shyly "Could be. Cal, Byron did the sweetest thing the other day..." She hesitated.
"What'd he do?" Cal prompted, grinning.
She grinned sheepishly. "Well, I left my medical bag on his bed and went downstairs for a moment, and when I
came back he had wrapped his little stuffed puppy from head to toe in gauze."
"Aww," Cal chuckled.
"And then he wouldn't let me say another word until I examined the poor thing," she went on.
"Diagnosis?" Cal teased.
"An acute case of being loved by a special little boy," she said in a professional tone of voice. She frowned. "I
wanted to tell someone that. I was afraid it would bore Brian, and I can't see why anyone else would be
interested."
Cal smiled. "You can always tell me. I like hearing it."
He noticed her expression grow distraught. "Brynie and Katie, they've been sleeping upstairs since you and Brian
arrived. They're miserably sick."
He felt his heartbeat quicken. "Brian told me they ain't been feeling too well. Came down with the mumps, he
said. They got it bad?"
"They're uncomfortable, hot and feverish. Katie's been sick to her stomach. All I can give them is willow bark tea,
if I can manage to get them to swallow it. They don't like the taste."
"Let me see them," he implored.
"You've had it, haven't you, Cal?" she asked, just to be sure.
He nodded, standing. "Oh, yeah. The whole school came down with it, if my memory serves me."
Michaela led Cal up the stairs and into her bedroom. "I put them together so I could be with both of them," she
explained, standing in the doorway as Cal knelt beside her slumbering children. "And they like to be together.
Look how they sleep." Byron's head was tucked against his sister's shoulder and Katie's arm rested protectively
across his belly.
"Michaela, they're more wonderful than I ever imagined," he breathed. "Gosh, they got big."
She nodded as Byron tiredly opened his eyes. He focused on Cal, alarmed. "Mama," he called weakly.
"I'm right here," Michaela murmured, kneeling beside Cal and taking Byron's hand. "How do you feel, baby?"
She stroked back his damp hair.
"Sick," he told her in a tiny voice.
"Oh, sweetheart." She kissed his nose. "Brynie, I'd like you to meet someone. This is Mr. Brooks."
Byron looked over Cal's features. Mr. Brooks. The name sounded so familiar. "Mista Book," he said aloud. His
eyes lit up. "Mama, Mista Book in my stowy?"
She smiled "Yes, darling. Mr. Brooks helped Mama bring you into the world. He's a very special friend."
Byron stretched his arms in Cal's direction for a hug.
"Gently, Cal," Michaela instructed, recalling the last time she had tried to hold her feverish little boy.
"Aw," Cal murmured, and embraced the little boy, gently, as Michaela had told him. Children could be so
trusting. It was humbling. "Nice to see ya again, Byron." He felt Byron's warm head, taking note of his pink,
swollen cheeks, characteristics of a classic case of mumps. "Well, what's going on here, Squirt?" he demanded.
"Are ya a squirrel?"
Byron giggled. "No, Mista Book!"
"Ya look like one," Cal told him. "Ya look like you're carrying a pound of nuts back to your nest." He puffed out
his cheeks and Byron laughed once more, pushing the air from Cal's cheeks with two little hands.
"You scwatchy," Byron pointed out, stroking Cal's face.
Cal smiled, patting one of Byron's little hands. "That's my whiskers. Gotta shave. I keep forgetting. You'll grow
whiskers someday, Squirt."
"Gotta save dem?" Byron inquired curiously.
He glanced at Michaela, who was looking on as the two men conversed, touched. Cal had made her ill, cheerless
little boy giggle. "Um..." She cleared her throat. "If you want to enter this house you'll shave," she told her threeyear-old.
Byron gently touched his swollen cheeks. "I'll think about it," he announced tiredly.
Cal tenderly tousled his hair. "Ya got plenty of time."
"Mama," a weakened little voice called.
Michaela spun around to the other side of the bed, sat in a chair she had placed beside Katie, and leaned over her
daughter. "Mama's here, sweetheart." She pressed her lips to Katie's forehead. "How's the tummy?"
The child held her stomach, eyes closed, face damp with sweat. "Bad," she whispered.
Cal glanced at Michaela as she filled a basin with water from a pitcher. He patted Byron's hand and came around
to Katie's side of the bed. "Let me do this," he offered. "You look exhausted."
Michaela dipped a cloth in the basin. "I'm fine."
"Just relax," Cal murmured, taking the cloth from her hand and kneeling beside the chair. "Let me."
Reluctantly, Michaela fell back against her chair.
"Hey, Katie," Cal whispered, slowly running the cool cloth down her cheeks. "I'm Mr. Brooks."
She opened her eyes gradually. "Mama talks about you," she informed him softly.
"Katie, that's not true." Michaela faltered. "Not that often at least. Once a year, on Byron's birthday," she fibbed.
Cal chuckled. He opened the first few buttons of Katie's night shift and gently worked the cloth in circular
motions. He leaned closer. "If you want to know the truth, Katie...I talk about your ma, too, but only on Byron's
birthday," he said, eyes squinting with amusement.
"He gots a new sled," she whispered, soothed by Cal's gentle workings with the cloth. "A...ta...ta-bag..." She
thought hard.
"Toboggan," Michaela supplied softly.
"Ta-baggan," Katie repeated. "Lots of people fits on it, Mama says."
"Well, we got the snow, we got the sled, we just gotta get the two of you better," Cal replied, stroking back her
hair.
"Mama says," Katie murmured, "says mumps don't make ya die and go to heaven like Papa."
Cal and Michaela's breaths caught. "Your ma's right," Cal assured her. "It's just like a little catarrh. No one ever
dies."
Michaela nodded. "You'll be as good as new before we know it, Katie."
Cal puffed out his cheeks again. "You're just gonna look like a squirrel for a few days is all."
Katie felt tears come to her eyes. "I don't wanna look like a squirrel," she whimpered.
Cal tapped her nose. "Ya don't? Then I guess you're gonna miss out on all the fun."
"Fun?" she echoed in disbelief.
"Sure," Cal boasted. "Naming for one." He nodded at Byron, who had since fallen back asleep. "That squirrel over
there is Squirt, 'cause he's the littlest of us, but special, too."
Her eyes lit up. "What's my name?"
He frowned. "Thought ya said ya don't wanna be one of us."
"I do," she insisted. "Please?"
He thought a moment. "Let's see. We'll call ya...Princess, 'cause you're just as pretty as any princess I've ever
seen."
She smiled. "Okay." She glanced at Michaela, pointing. "What's Mama's name?"
"Pig-head," Cal immediately replied, avoiding Michaela's eyes.
"Pig-head!" Katie announced, giggling.
Michaela was appalled. "What sort of name is that?" she demanded.
Cal held back his laughter "An appropriate one, 'cause you're stubborn. Pigheaded. Get it?"
"I get it," she mumbled, part of her wanting to strangle Cal, the other part wanting to burst into laughter along
with everyone else.
He touched her arm. "Are ya mad?"
Michaela chuckled softly. "No."
Cal ran the cloth down Katie's chest again. She had fallen asleep. "They're sick, Michaela," he whispered, turning
his head toward her.
She nodded. "Yes."
"People don't die from mumps like we told her," he said optimistically. "Right?"
"Only from complications...in very rare cases," she admitted. "There's a possibility it could develop into...into
meningitis." Her lip trembled.
"What's that?" Cal whispered.
She swallowed hard. "Severe inflammation around the brain and spinal cord. It...It’s often fatal, especially in
children so...so young." She shuddered. Losing Katie or Byron...even coming close, would be too much to bear.
"...But if all goes well they're only going to be uncomfortable for a time," she went on, in an attempt to convince
herself. She noticed Cal's hand reach up to rub his shoulder. He had dark circles under his eyes and he too looked
worn out. "You must be tired and sore from your journey," she ventured.
He sighed. "Yeah, a little. I think I'll start back to town, see if there's any rooms left at the Nugget." He didn't
intend for her to feel pity for him, but his tone betrayed the fact that he wasn't looking forward to bundling up
again and venturing back into the bitter cold.
"Don't be ridiculous," she scolded. "You can't go out again in that. I won't allow it. You must spend the night
here."
He hesitated. "Oh, Mike. I couldn't. I didn't mean to be any trouble."
"Nonsense," she replied "Now no more arguing. I won't hear it."
He smiled. "...Well, thanks. I really appreciate it. I'll sleep in Colleen's room then," he said, standing.
"You'll freeze," she told him. "I haven't built up a fire any place but here and Brian's room. I didn't want to risk
running out of kindling before the storms over."
Cal nodded, agreeing. "Then I'll sleep before the fire then. That's the warmest."
"Yes," she agreed, standing up and finding a blanket for him. She laid it out beside her make shift bed, parallel to
the fireplace.
Cal stretched, yawned, and then reclined on the wool blanket, closing his eyes. A minute later, he opened them.
"Are you going to sleep, too?"
Michaela was stroking Katie's hair, eyes unfocused. "I want to make sure they're asleep."
"They are. Get some rest, Mike. You'll wake if they call," he assured her.
Reluctantly, she went to the fireplace, picked up her blanket, and walked to the other side of her bed.
"Where ya going?" he called, propping himself up on an elbow.
She blushed. "We can't very well sleep right next to one another, Cal," she pointed out.
"You can't very well sleep over there in that igloo," he retorted. "Come lay down by the fire," he invited. "I'm not
gonna bite."
Reluctantly, she returned to his side, spreading her blanket out a good five feet from his. She lay on her back,
hugged herself and stared up at the ceiling. "Goodnight, Cal."
He smiled, closing his eyes once more and turning to his side, facing her. "'Night, Michaela."
***
Sometime during the night Cal awoke with a shiver. It was freezing. He squinted at the fire. It had died down
significantly. He quickly stood up, cursing under his breath at the cold, and added several thick logs, stirring them
with the poker. He glanced out the window. It was covered with frost, and snow continued to beat against it with a
vengeance. He turned to Michaela. She was awake and quivering quite severely, her arms grasping the meager
wool blanket around her.
"Mike? Mike, do ya have another blanket?" Cal called softly.
She tilted her head back to look at him, startled. "The ch-children need them," she chattered.
He sat back in his place. He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep without making sure she was all right. "Here,
take mine," he offered, holding his blanket out.
She shook her head.
He thought a moment, and then sprawled out close to her, holding out his arms invitingly.
She looked at him abashed for a moment, but was too cold and tired to argue. She nodded her head in agreement.
Softly smiling, Cal drew her into his arms and held her to his chest, covering them with the two blankets. She
tucked her head beneath his chin, closing her eyes. Cal had never smelled anything as wonderful as her hair. He'd
never felt anything as gentle and sweet as her cheek against his chest. "You're like ice," he whispered, rubbing her
arm.
"You're warm," she replied, her breath tickling his neck.
Cal blushed. She spoke the truth. He ran his hand tenderly over her hair, then down her back, stopping at her waist
and bringing it back up to her hair. He could deny it no longer. He was falling in love. Or rather, he had fallen in
love some time ago. "Feel better?" he whispered.
"Hm-mm," she murmured, her shivering having ceased. She'd forgotten what it was like to be held. She'd
forgotten how much she had missed Sully's comforting arms around her, whispering to her, stroking her hair. It
crossed her mind that she might pretend it was Sully who was holding her, but when she tried to, she couldn't
shake the fact that it was Cal. Cal Brooks was holding her...and she...she liked it. Her cheeks warmed. Suddenly,
she was hot all over with embarrassment.
"Cal," she whispered, opening her eyes, "...we could use the quilts on Colleen's bed. I don't know why I didn't
think of that before."
He paused. "I...I'm all right. How 'bout you?"
She pondered it for a moment. She felt torn in two. Part of her wanted to mourn Sully, to remain chaste in
everything she did, to never lay eyes on another man again, as she had promised herself ages ago. But another part
possessed a need, a powerful need to simply be held, that she could not deny. "I suppose I'm all right, too," she
finally said, closing her eyes and soon drifting off into a peaceful sleep, feeling safe for the first time in nearly
four years.
***
Cal awoke a few hours later to soft whimpering coming from the bed. Michaela was still enfolded in his arms,
apparently sound asleep. He carefully disengaged himself from her and rose to look for the sound.
It was Byron.
Cal knelt beside the bed. "What is it, Squirt?" he whispered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Byron's lips quivered as he looked up at Cal. "Don't feel good," he sniffled. Cal pursed his lips. "Do want some
tea, little guy? Glass of water?" He stroked Byron's forehead comfortingly.
He shook his head. "I can't seep," he murmured forlornly.
Cal lifted the boy into his arms, standing. "We'll go for a little walk, how's that?" Cal suggested.
"Where?" Byron asked, holding the man's shirt. Cal recalled when the child was a baby, clutching his shirt as he
burped him for the first time.
"Around the room," Cal sang softly, strolling to one end of the bedroom, "and back again."
Byron looked at the floor, locating his mother. "Mama's seeping, Mista Book," he remarked.
"Shh," Cal whispered. "She's tired." He thought a moment. "Byron, can you say 'Cal'?"
"Cal," the child repeated faultlessly.
The man smiled. "You can call me that, instead of Mr. Brooks, how's that sound?"
Byron considered it. "Okay, Cal. Tell me stowy 'bout when I was born," he implored.
Cal chuckled. "From what I hear, you've been told that story a hundred times."
"It's a good stowy," Byron replied simply.
Cal chuckled again. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Hm...Let’s see. On December first, Eighteen seventy-two, I met
the prettiest woman I ever laid eyes on."
Byron held out one hand in question. "Who?"
"Your mama of course," Cal told him.
"'Course," Byron repeated. "An' then what?"
"Then that night I woke up and your mama says to me, 'Byron's going to be here real soon,' so I says, 'Stay put. I'll
fetch ya a doctor.'"
"Mama's a doc-ta," Byron informed him.
"Yep, that's right, but somehow it slipped her mind to tell me that. She says to me, 'Nope, no time for fetching
doctors. This baby's coming now,' and I think she was afraid 'cause she held my hand real tight and didn't want me
to leave her even for a second."
"Mama never tell me she 'fraid," Byron spoke up.
Cal tenderly kissed his head. "I think she was just nervous, uh, 'cause she couldn't know for sure if you were a
boy--not until you were born at least, and she really, really wanted one of us boys. Let's see, then your mama
scared the living daylights outta me for a good three or four hours--which I think was plenty of time to find a
doctor if she had only let me go," he recalled. "And then all of a sudden, she told me she felt ya coming, and
then..." He paused for dramatic effect.
Byron opened his eyes. "An' then?" he encouraged.
"Then ya came!" Cal whispered. "You were a boy all right. Ya let out a great big cry to show us how strong you
were, and your mama cried right along with ya 'cause you were perfect and handsome, too, just like she knew ya
would be." He tapped Byron's nose. "Ya came with a nose." He touched his eyelids. "Two little eyes all squeezed
up shut." He tousled his hair. "And a whole mess of wet hair."
"An' arms?" Byron asked, enthralled.
"Yep," Cal assured him.
"An' toes?" the little boy went on, wiggling them.
"Ten little toes. I watched your mama count them."
Byron cupped his hands around his mouth. "I gotta tell ya a seek-wet." He lowered his voice. "You tell that story
good." He thought a moment. "Mama leaves out good parts 'bout afwaid, and 'bout my toes and counting dem."
Cal smiled. "She remembers, even if she leaves that outta her version of the story," he assured him.
Byron closed his eyes once more, voice growing drowsy. "Cal, will you stay here fow-ever?"
Cal closed his eyes. "I..."
"I been thinkin'," Byron closed his eyes. "I been thinkin' I want a papa to stay fow-ever."
"Shh," Cal soothed, standing in place and rocking the little boy back and forth.
Michaela felt tears slip down her cheeks. She sniffled quietly, hoping Cal wouldn't hear. He was so wonderful
with Byron, with Katie and Brian, with everyone. She found herself wanting him to stay as well...forever, as
Byron had put it.
V{tÑàxÜ fxäxÇàxxÇ
Cal slowly opened his eyes, yawning. Michaela was kneeling on the floor beside him, a cup of coffee in her hand.
"Well, I thought you weren't ever going to get up, sleepy-head," she told him, grinning wryly.
He groaned, stretching his arms. "Hm? What time is it?"
"Nearly eleven," she informed him. "You fell asleep leaning over the bed beside Byron. Don't you remember?"
He squinted his eyes. "I did?"
"One thing you'll learn about me, Cal," she said, "is that I'm not very clever when it comes to making up stories."
She chuckled. "Of course you did. You were holding Brynie's hand. I've never seen anyone sleep in a more
uncomfortable-looking position. I led you back here."
He shook his head, sitting up. "Sorry, Mike didn't mean to doze off on him."
She gave him the coffee. "Don't apologize."
He took a sip. "Mmm, this hits the spot." He glanced at the children dozing in the bed "How they feeling?"
She drew in her breath hopefully. "Well, they've been sleeping most of the morning. Katie was able to keep down
a little toast, and both fevers have fallen slightly."
He nodded, standing up and walking to the bed. "Good. They'll be better and tearing around the house in no time."
He placed his cup on the nightstand.
She folded her hands. "...How long are you planning on visiting?"
He coughed. "How long do you want me to stay?" he asked softly.
...Forever, Michaela thought. She cleared her throat, toying with a button on her blouse. "Well...I...I was only
thinking...Christmas is coming up and...Of course I suppose you'd want to go home to Chicago for Christmas.
Never mind." She drew in her breath.
Cal smiled. "Well, I visited Momma for Thanksgiving.’Course, I was gonna go up there again, if I didn't have
other plans I guess."
She continued to avoid his eyes. "Oh, well...what would you think of...of-"
"Of, of..." Cal teased, knowing what she was trying to ask.
"Of spending Christmas here with me--us, that is."
He chuckled. "That sounds real nice, Mike. I think I'd love to. But you'll have to tell me what the kids like for
Christmas then. Don't wanna make the mistake of picking out another rattle."
"Oh, I didn't mean you should feel you have to get them anything," she protested.
"No, I want to. Christmas shopping's the best part."
"Maybe you could come with me then, when I shop for them," she suggested.
He put his hands on Byron and Katie's foreheads. "All right. Sounds like fun. You're right. Fever's down. They
don't seem as swollen, either."
She stood beside him, stroking Byron's flushed cheek as he slept. "I think so, too. Cal...I'm sorry."
He raised his eyebrows. "For what?"
She bent her head. "For...for asking you to leave so long ago. I regret that."
He waved his hand. "Mike, don't worry about it. I was butting in too much."
"No," she insisted. "No, you were right to say those things to me. Cal, I want to tell you something...and I don't
know how to truly put it into words."
He gazed into her eyes, listening attentively.
"The month you were here...my life turned around," she began. "I needed to hear everything you told me, about it
being all right to let go, about my children and caring for them, how much I have to live for."
He blushed faintly.
"Once you left," she went on, "things continued to get better." She fingered the forest green fabric of her blouse
sleeve, gazing at it. "I kept thinking about what you told me, how even if someday I no longer cried for Sully, I
would never lose the memory of him. I realized you were right. For a time I didn't think it ever could be true. I
began to care about myself again. Wearing normal clothing again, wearing my hair down, and going to the clinic-all helped me to feel well again."
"I just wanted to help ya see how much we all wanted ya to get better," Cal replied, a bit embarrassed.
"You did that, but more than that you made me want to get better," Michaela replied, "and that made all the
difference. I suppose what I want to say is thank you...but that really isn't strong enough. How do you properly
thank someone...for saving your life?"
He smiled. "Well, that's what friends are for, Mike."
She nodded, and then took a deep breath, avoiding his eyes. "Cal, a minute ago when I asked you to stay for
Christmas, I was so worried that you would say no and...And that frightened me."
"Why?" he asked softly.
"Because...because of how much I wanted you to say yes."
He looked at her, puzzled.
"After Sully's death," she went on, voice a bit unsteady, "I promised myself that I would never allow myself to
grow close to people ever again, that I would remain faithful to Sully forever. I'm so afraid that if I allow myself
to become fond of someone...a man...that I'll lose Sully, and I couldn't bear that."
"Michaela," he murmured, taking her hand and turning her gently toward him, "we're friends." She lowered her
eyes. He tilted her chin up. "Good friends," he amended.
"I can't promise anything more than that, Cal," she told him softly.
"It's all right," he replied, smiling. "That's enough."
***
Michaela padded down the stairs to the sound of giggling from the kitchen. She sighed contently, drawing her
bathrobe tighter around her.
"Little more," Byron instructed his older brother as he stood behind him and spooned several teaspoons of brown
sugar into his oatmeal. "Little more," he said again.
"That's enough, B." Brian said, tousling his hair.
"All wight," Byron reluctantly agreed, picking up his spoon.
"Mama!" Katie called, looking up from her breakfast.
"Good morning," she replied, coming to stand between her son and daughter and kissing each of their heads.
"Want some oatmeal, Ma?" Brian asked, stirring a pot on the stove.
She smiled. "That sounds good, Brian. Thank you for cooking breakfast this morning, and for getting the children
up and fed."
He quickly dished her up a bowl of oatmeal, handing it to her. "They got me up, Ma." He whipped open a drawer
and practically tossed a spoon into her bowl.
"Brian, what's the rush?" she chuckled, placing her bowl on the table. "It's Saturday."
"I know, Ma, but-"
"We're gonna go sleddin', Mama!" Katie finished excitedly. "'Member we were gonna at school but then I got
sick?"
Michaela eyed the younger children worriedly. "Are you sure you're up to it? It's only been a few days since your
fevers broke." She walked back over to Byron and Katie and felt their foreheads, as if reassuring herself they were
as fully recovered as they acted.
The children nodded simultaneously. "Sleddin', Mama," Byron spoke up helpfully, mouth full with oatmeal.
"Done," Katie announced, sliding down from her chair. She placed her bowl in the kitchen sink, and then went
skipping toward the stairs.
"Where are you going, Miss Katie?" Michaela called, sitting down and stirring her breakfast.
"Gotta get dressed!" the child called back, halfway up the stairs.
"Brian, has Cal dropped by yet this morning?" Michaela asked nonchalantly, spooning up some oatmeal.
"Yeah!" Byron put in enthusiastically, grinning.
"Yeah, he's in the barn," Brian answered. "Said he'd help me get a head start on the chores."
"Oh? That's nice of him." Michaela felt her heartbeat quicken. The past few days she found herself missing Cal
when he wasn't around, and when he was, never wanting their time together to end. The feeling was new,
exciting, and at the same time...frightening. After all, she told herself, they were only friends. Even Cal had said
so. She put down her spoon, suddenly frustrated with herself. She wasn't supposed to think about a friend every
waking moment. She wasn't supposed to miss him when he was gone despite the fact that he was with her nearly
from the moment she woke up until evening. Friends weren't supposed to be that attached. She sighed, and then
took another bite of oatmeal, not tasting it.
Brian untied his apron, placed it on the counter, and walked to the coat rack, buttoning his winter jacket.
"Are you going somewhere, Brian?" Michaela asked; afraid Cal might come inside and she would be left all alone
with him.
"I'm gonna help Mr. Brooks finish the chores," Brian explained, pulling on his gloves.
"Did you eat?" she asked.
"Yep," he called, closing the door behind him. "Mama, I want Cal go sleddin', too," Byron spoke up.
Michaela had nearly forgotten about her little boy, sitting so quietly with his bowl and spoon. "Cal?" she
questioned.
He cocked his head to the side, looking at her, disconcerted. "Mama, Cal." Had she forgotten who he was already?
"Yes Byron, but you're to call him Mr. Brooks," she scolded gently. "That shows respect."
He sighed. "Mama, Cal says I could," he insisted.
"He did?" she questioned.
He nodded vigorously, taking another heaping spoonful of oatmeal.
Michaela wiped his sticky cheeks with his napkin while he tossed his head, putting up a weak protest. "Well, I
suppose if he gave you permission..."
"He says I call him Cal, and he says you counts my toes, Mama," Byron went on, eyes bright.
Michaela brightened, recalling waking up during the middle of Cal's story. "Yes, I suppose I did. All ten of them."
Byron giggled. "You didn't tell me that!" he accused good-naturedly.
She stroked back his hair. "Well, now you know."
"Cal tells my stowy 'bout when I got born better," Byron informed her, taking a sip of his milk.
"Oh he does, does he?"
"Yep." The child thought a moment. "Mama, Cal can teach you," he suggested. "Say to Cal teach you 'bout telling
my stowy good so you can tell me it good like Cal."
She chuckled "All right. I'll see if he will."
"Good," he replied, satisfied. "Guess what, Mama?" he said.
"What?" she replied, wiping at his milk mustache.
"I gots my bir-day wish!" he whispered excitedly.
She rested her chin on her hands, looking at him eye level. "You did?"
He nodded, putting his spoon down and crawling into her lap. "I wish for a papa, an' I got a papa!"
She kissed his hair, a lump growing in her throat. "Oh, Brynie. Papa's in heaven, sweetheart."
He shook his head, frustrated with her. "No, Mama. Cal. Cal's gonna be my papa!" He grasped her shoulders,
waiting for what he expected to be a happy reaction.
"Byron, darling, Cal...Cal's not a papa."
He frowned. "Yes, Mama. You says papas are big, dey save wis'kas, an' wid big voices, an' are nice an' hug ya.
Cal is my papa," he insisted.
She held him close. "Cal's just a friend, sweetheart." She wished more than anything Byron knew what a father
was. It was so difficult to explain to him so he would understand, assure him that Sully would always be his
father, and that he was special even though he would never have a "papa" here on earth.
"But I want Cal t' be my papa," Byron whimpered, his eyes filling with tears. "Tell him to, Mama."
Michaela's heart broke. "Byron..." she began, and then stopped. She couldn't bear disappointing him. "I'll...I'll ask
him," she agreed. She kissed away a tear from his soft, flushed cheek. "I love you," she whispered.
He sniffled, clasping his arms around her neck. "I love you."
***
"Come on, Ma," Brian encouraged, holding out his hand.
"Hop on, Mike," Cal bid.
Michaela eyed the intimidating toboggan nervously, and then peered down the steep hill. "No. No, you go ahead.
I'll watch." While Michaela and the children stayed behind to build a snowman, Cal and Brian had taken off for
nearly an hour in search of a perfect sledding hill. Once they had found one they went back to the homestead to
bring everyone else to it. "You're scared," Cal teased.
"I am not," Michaela retorted, provoked.
"Then get on," he said, gesturing with one hand. "I'll push, and then hop on the back."
"Mama, sit next to me!" Byron begged from the front, cranking his head around to look at her.
"No, next to me!" Katie argued, her legs straddling her brother.
Michaela crossed her arms. "Oh, for heaven sake. If anything happens, Cal, you're responsible."
He chuckled. "Sure. Just get on."
She sat between Byron and Katie, drawing the little boy against her. He squirmed, holding the rope of the
toboggan. "Too tight, Mama," he complained.
"Sorry," she murmured, lessening her hold slightly. "Brian, have you got Katie?" she called.
"Yep," he called back. "She ain't gonna fall off."
"Hold on tight to me, Katie," Michaela instructed.
Katie's arms came around her mother's waist. "Push us, Mr. Brooks!" she shouted.
"Here we go!" Cal announced, giving the toboggan a powerful start down the hill and jumping on just before it
took off at full speed.
The sled finally slowed to a stop several yards from the bottom of the hill, and Byron and Katie fell onto their
sides, conquered by their giggles. Michaela wiped tears from the wind from her eyes, standing up stiffly. She'd
never traveled at a speed so exhilarating.
"Well?" Cal laughed, rubbing at his own tears with the back of his glove.
"That was great!" Brian exclaimed, helping Katie and Byron back on their feet.
"Again!" Byron squealed, hugging Cal's legs.
"What do you say, Mike?" Cal asked. "Again?"
She placed the hood of her cape back on her head, beaming at him. "Yes."
"Yes!" Katie squealed.
"Your wish, ladies, is my command!" Cal proclaimed, putting the rope of the sled over his head and starting up
the hill, Michaela, Brian, and the children following.
***
Tired from the numerous trudges up the hill, but not too tired to retire inside just yet, Byron and Katie suggested
that they take the toboggan to flatter land, perhaps to the clearing, and Brian could pull them around like a horse,
if he was willing of course. Unable to resist his younger siblings' faces, Brian agreed.
Michaela and Cal rested on a fallen log for a few minutes, chuckling as they watched Byron and Katie driving
their "horse", instructing him to go fast, faster, this way, or that, and even occasionally stopping to pet him and
give him a hug.
"Wanna go for a walk?" Cal asked, holding out his hand. "Around this pretty clearing maybe?"
Michaela smiled, taking his arm and standing up. "All right, as long as we keep the children in view."
"Sure," he agreed. "How'd your ma get that toboggan all the way here?" he queried, shaking his head at the
children's antics.
"With a no doubt outrageous shipping charge and an even larger prayer," she said wryly.
He laughed. "I'll bet."
"Actually, it came from a store in Denver," Michaela admitted. "She wired the store owner and had him send it on
the next train to Colorado Springs."
"Well, she couldn't of picked out a better birthday present for Byron."
"...Cal, I want to ask you a favor," Michaela began nervously. "It's about Byron."
"What's that?" Cal asked.
She bit her lip. "Well, I know you'll be moving on once Christmas has passed...but I was wondering until
then...you see, Byron made a wish for his birthday last week, and it's something I can't truly give him..." She
shook her head, not sure how to put it into words.
"Oh gosh, what does he want?" Cal asked. "An elephant, a room full of chocolate?"
She smiled sadly. "He wants a papa."
"Oh," Cal croaked.
"I was hoping...wondering if you'd be his papa," Michaela said, drawing in her breath.
Cal coughed. "Oh...well, Mike..."
"I wasn't going to say anything, but when I tried to explain to him it just isn't possible, he was terribly hurt. He
adores you. He thinks you're the answer to his wish. He doesn't truly understand what a father is. He thinks it's
whoever he wants it to be."
"Aw," Cal murmured, touched. "Poor little guy."
"If you could humor him," she said softly, "...just for these few weeks. Let him think you're a papa...of course if
you don't feel comfortable that's perfectly fine."
He nodded firmly. "No, it's no problem, Mike."
"Oh, thank you, Cal. I know it would mean the world to him...and to me."
"What do I gotta do?"
She smiled shyly. "Nothing you aren't doing right now."
Without warning, he stretched his arms out, grinning mischievously, and fell on his back to the cushion of snow.
He held out his hand. "Come on. It doesn't hurt. Snow catches ya."
She shook her head. He quickly sat up, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to her back.
She squealed, landing with a thud. "Cal!"
"Didn't I tell ya it wouldn't hurt?" he replied.
She sighed, gazing upward. "Have you ever seen a winter sky so blue?"
He tucked his hands beneath his head. "Like Byron's eyes," he said.
"Like Sully's," she breathed.
"No one could be a better father for that little boy than Sully would have been," Cal told her, rising on one elbow
to look at her.
She nodded slowly, gazing whimsically up at the sky. "When Byron was an infant and would cry, I wouldn't
answer him right away, as if I expected Sully to tell me not to get up, he'd bring him to me--he was always doing
that with Katie, up at all hours with us, keeping me company while I nursed her or rocked her back to sleep. Then
after he was gone...I used to pretend. I'd pretend he was away on a survey perhaps, or even in town, working late
for Robert E. I've stopped pretending, Cal," she admitted. "Is that wrong?"
"No, I don't think it is," Cal assured her. "I used to do the same thing. One of my best friends, he got the influenza
five or so years back. After he passed away, I'd go up to Chicago for visits, and step off the train. I'd look for him,
like he'd be there to say hello. Don't know why I did that. I knew he wasn't with us anymore. My pa...lost him that
year, too."
"I'm sorry, Cal. Were you close to your father?" she asked, turning her head to meet his eyes.
He lowered his gaze. "I...well, my ma, she missed him an awful lot once he was gone. She loved him, at least
when he wasn't drinking."
Michaela raised her eyebrows at the mention of Cal's father drinking, but when he didn't elaborate, she didn't
comment.
"Momma's doing a lot better now," Cal went on. "She's always writing letters. She writes to politicians in
Springfield and in Washington, too, and she's got friends in that Lady Suffrage Association thing she corresponds
with, and she writes me too, all the time." He smiled. "I want you to meet her someday."
"I'd like that. She's a member of the National Woman's Suffrage Association?" Michaela asked.
He nodded. "I guess so. Caroline, too. They're always out marching here, there and everywhere. Pa never took too
kindly to it."
"Well, I think I like her already," Michaela chuckled. "Oh, if I only had the time I'd be marching with them as
well."
"Ya would?" Cal questioned.
"Most definitely," she assured him. "Why, don't you think it's a good cause?"
"Oh, I'm all for letting ya vote. Don't bother me none. It's just; I can't picture you out there. You're too pretty." He
cleared his throat. "I mean--Momma used to take me along to their rallies, a homely group of women if I ever did
see one. Momma was the only decent-looking lady there."
She chuckled. "You're awfully peculiar, Cal," she spoke.
"Let's make snow angels," he replied, waving his arms and legs back and forth.
"Snow angels?" she questioned.
"Ain't ya ever done that?" he asked, pausing his movements.
"We weren't allowed to romp in the snow back in Boston," she informed him wryly.
He sat up. "Well, it's a complicated process," he began, putting on a serious face, "but I'll do my best to teach ya."
He took her arms. "Ya gotta move these up and down like this." He did the same with her legs while she giggled
spiritedly. "And move these back and forth. And...there! A perfect snow angel!" He gave her a hand up so she
could view it.
She chuckled, brushing the snow from her cape. "It does look like an angel." She noticed he had not released her
hand.
He looked her in the eyes. "Sure does," he whispered.
"What ya doin'?" Katie asked, squeezing her way between Cal and Michaela.
Cal knelt to her level. "We're making snow angels, Katie."
"Ooo, I want one!" she said, falling down next to her mother's angel and moving her arms and legs.
"Me, too!" Byron squealed, following his sister's example. He sat up, finding his exhausted brother leaning
against Michaela, out of breath. "Come on, Bian!" he called. "Snow 'gel!"
Once again, Brian couldn't resist, and made an angel next to Byron's.
Katie stepped back, admiring their work. "It's a family," she decided, pointing to each in turn. "Mama, Papa-"
"Katie-" Michaela protested, but the child continued.
"Brother, sister, baby."
"I'm not baby!" Byron insisted, eyeing his sister angrily.
Michaela picked him up. "What do you say we head home and I'll make us all some hot cocoa?"
"I have some, too?" Byron asked hopefully.
She chuckled. "Of course, Brynie."
Cal rested his hand on Katie's covered head. "Babies don't drink hot cocoa, don't you think, Katie?"
She nodded hesitantly. "Guess not." She noticed her little brother still held a grudge. "Sorry, Byron. You're not a
baby."
"I'm a big boy?" he asked hopefully.
She smiled. "Yep."
Satisfied, he returned the smile. "Let go, Mama."
"All right, let's go," Michaela said, giving him a kiss and leading the way down the path.
V{tÑàxÜ X|z{àxxÇ
Byron rushed to meet Cal as soon as he heard the wagon pull up. Standing on tiptoe, the little boy twisted the
doorknob and tore open the door, smiling widely. “Mornin', Cal,” he said, eyes bright.
Cal chuckled, lifting Byron into his arms. “Mornin', Squirt. Ain't you up with the chickens.”
“Mama says you says 'yes',” he informed him excitedly.
Confused, Cal closed the door with his foot. “Yes?” he questioned. “About what?” Byron shook his head,
giggling. Cal could be as forgetful as Mama! “'Bout being my papa, Cal!” he whispered, as if it were a big secret.
Cal nodded uncomfortably, smoothing Byron's nightshirt. “Yeah. If that's what ya want.”
Byron hugged his neck. “You the bestest papa ever.”
Cal frowned. He wanted to make Byron happy, but now he wasn't so sure if indulging this fantasy was best for
him. He wasn't really his father, and never could be. Not to mention the fact that he would be moving on soon. If
Byron became too attached, if he himself became too attached, the move would no doubt be even more difficult
than he planned it to be. Was it right to encourage such a lie? Still, as he gently patted the little boy's back, he
couldn't help feeling sorry for him, wanting to spoil him with love, protect him, and grant his every wish, as he
knew Sully would have done. He had a similar regard for Michaela. More and more he found himself consumed
with thoughts of her, wanting to love and protect her. He tried to push such thoughts aside, tried to remind himself
that Michaela had offered nothing more than a friendship, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.
“Where is everybody?” Cal asked, changing the subject.
“Seeping,” Byron informed him, pulling back.
“Let's wake Mama, hm?” Cal suggested.
He carried Byron upstairs and into Michaela's room, and then tossed him on the bed, straight onto his mother.
Michaela awoke immediately, emitting a low grunt at the sudden weight of Byron, and then her lips spread into a
sleepy grin. “Good morning, Brynie,” Michaela murmured, caressing her son's rosy cheek.
“Mama, you're wid the chickens are up,” he announced, pointing at her chest with one finger.
Michaela chuckled. “Up with the chickens, yes.” She glanced at Cal, noticing him for the first time. She blushed.
“Oh. Good morning.”
He smiled. “Morning.”
She sat up in bed. “Let's get us ready for church, sweetheart,” she told her son, smoothing his hair. She glanced at
Cal. “Oh, would you like to attend church with us this morning?”
He smiled once more. “All right.”
“Good,” she replied, not sure what else to say. “Um...we're Methodist...are you...?”
“Baptized Presbyterian,” he said. “But I ain't been to church in awhile. Sunday's my only day off. Prefer to sleep
in.”
“Well, that's understandable,” she admitted. She cleared her throat. “Do you have a-a nice shirt and a tie?”
He bent his head. “Uh, I don't have a tie with me. Sorry.”
She placed Byron beside her, then got out of bed and opened her trunk.
“Mike, what are ya doing?” Cal asked. “Oh, there's no need for that.”
She came up with a black tie a bit faded, but it was passable. She brushed it off with her hand, and then gave it to
him. “You may borrow one of Sully's.”
“Ya sure?” he asked quietly, gazing at the soft material.
She nodded firmly. “You can't attend church without a tie.”
Byron crawled to the end of the bed and stood up, holding onto the bedpost. “Cal, Mama will help ya wid da tie.
She ties good. Right, Mama?”
“I'm sure Cal can manage on his own,” Michaela told him, flustered.
“I'll be fine, Squirt,” Cal assured him, tousling his hair, then heading for the door. “I'll go put this on I guess.”
Michaela returned to Byron and lifted him into her arms. “I didn't get a good-morning kiss from my big boy,” she
told him, frowning teasingly.
He giggled, cupping his mother’s cheeks in his little hands and smacking her loudly on the lips.
“That's more like it,” Michaela chuckled, heading out of her bedroom with her son. “Let's get you dressed for
church, hm? Then it'll be time to wake your brother and sister.”
“Mama, Cal needs g'-morning kiss, too,” Byron told her, clutching the sleeves of her nightgown.
Michaela cleared her throat, opening the door to his room. “Oh? Well, I don't imagine he would appreciate that.
It's all right to be affectionate with a friend, but not that affectionate.” She placed him on his bed and opened his
bureau, selecting a clean shirt, britches, stockings and shoes.
Byron wondered why Mama always had to use big words he couldn't understand. “Okay, but Cal needs a kiss,” he
insisted.
“That's enough, Byron,” Michaela told him, voice growing stern. “I'll have no more talk of that. You know it's not
nice to speak of such things.”
He sighed. “I forgotted.”
She softened her tone. “Well, you'll remember better next time. Arms up.” She pulled his nightshirt over his head,
tossing it on a nearby chair.
He tapped his finger to his chin. “I want Cal to seep here,” he decided.
Michaela threaded his arms through his shirtsleeves. “Cal sleeps at Mr. Lawson's hotel.”
“But what if he has a bad dweam?” Byron persisted impatiently as his mother buttoned his shirt.
“Brynie...” she began, then paused, uncertain of how to explain it to him. “Brynie, Cal's Mama's friend...and if he
stayed here to sleep...” She lifted up his legs one at a time and pulled his stockings on, then did the same with his
britches.
“Uh-huh,” he encouraged.
“It wouldn't be...do you understand what proper means?” she asked. She hitched his breeches up to his waist and
tied the matching drawstring.
He nodded, though he wasn't sure.
“Well, certain things aren't proper,” she began, pausing in clothing him. “For instance, if Cal and I were married
and husband and wife, then that would be all right to sleep in the same house, but of course we're only friends.
Friends live in separate houses. None of your friends live here, do they?”
Byron thought a moment. “You can play wedding, and then Cal can seep here!” he proclaimed. “Mama, wedding
is easy. Katie plays wid me. It's a fun game, Mama, really.”
Michaela blushed. “Sweetheart, that's just it. It's not a game when adults play, or at least it isn't supposed to be.
Getting married means many things, most importantly that the man and the woman promise they'll love one
another forever.”
“Ya love Cal,” he urged impatiently.
“No, darling,” she interrupted softly. “That is, Mama's not in love.”
“You hate him?” Byron questioned, puzzled.
“Of course not,” she assured him, closing her eyes. “Byron, I'm fond of Cal as I am all of my friends, but...Mama
married your papa before you and Katie were born, and I loved him very much. But then…God wanted him, and I
was very sad when he passed away and went to heaven. It's very hard for Mama to think about a new daddy for
you and a new life without Sully--your papa, so I decided long ago things would be best the way they are now.”
“You're sad?” he asked quietly.
“Well, I was very sad for a time, yes,” she admitted, “and I still miss Papa every day. But now I have so much that
makes me happy, the sadness doesn't hurt as much.” She pressed her forehead to his. “I have you, and your
brother and sister, and there's nothing I could want more.”
Byron sighed. “Wish I can sees him.”
“Your papa?” she whispered. She picked him up and placed him before his long mirror, kneeling behind him. “I
see Papa in you, every day. She ran her hand over his soft curls. “Your hair.” She tickled his chin and he giggled
softly. “Your chin.” She pressed her palms to his, squeezing his fingers lovingly. “Your hands.” She kissed the
top of his head, gazing at his reflection. “Your eyes. Any time you want to see your papa, look in a mirror, and
he'll be looking back. He's in your eyes, Byron. He's in your heart.” She wrapped her arms around him, eyes
glistening with tears.
“You sure?” the little boy asked softly, comforted by his mother's words.
“Very sure,” Michaela replied, hugging him tighter.
***
“Good mornin', Michaela,” Dorothy said cheerfully as she and Loren took a seat in the pew behind their friend.
She noticed a head of brown hair barely peeking out from between Michaela and Cal. “Good mornin’ to you,
Byron.”
Byron turned around and sat on his knees, hands gripping the back of the pew. “Morning, Miss Dort-y.”
“Oh, and is this Cal? I heard you were back.” Dorothy extended her hand and they shook.
“Good to see ya again, Miss Dorothy,” Cal replied politely. He turned to Loren, shaking his hand. “Morning, Mr.
Bray. Thanks for the snowshoes. Served me real good.”
He shook his head. “Still can't believe you walked all the way to Dr. Mike's in a blizzard,” he replied. “Someone
was on your side.”
Cal smiled. “Sure was.”
He and Loren chatted for a minute about horses and the rising price of feed while Michaela pretended to busy
herself with straightening Byron's collar and smoothing his hair, though her eyes were on Cal the entire time.
Dorothy grinned softly as she watched Michaela gazing at Cal while he spoke. Michaela caught her staring, and
looked away. “What?” she questioned, cheeks flushing.
Dorothy chuckled.
“What?” Michaela whispered again.
“He's back,” Dorothy remarked.
Michaela nodded, determined not to smile. “For a visit.”
“Maybe we could meet at Grace's for lunch sometime,” Dorothy suggested.
Michaela knew as soon as they were alone Dorothy would want to know all about Cal. With a reporter's knack of
finding out all the details, she would no doubt question her friend about things she wasn't ready to talk about, let
alone think about. At the same time, Michaela wanted to pour out everything to her best friend, and then ask her
advice, as she had always been able to do in the past. “All right,” she agreed timidly. “Next Saturday perhaps?”
“I look forward to it,” Dorothy promised as Brian and Katie and the rest of the school-aged children came through
the church doors, bustling about the Christmas pageant the Sunday school class was planning.
Michaela put Byron in her lap and Katie and Brian squeezed onto the bench next to her.
“We assigned parts, Ma,” Brian began excitedly. “I'm gonna be one of the three kings. I get to carry the
frankincense.”
“I gonna be an angel!” Katie burst out, thrilled.
“That sounds lovely,” Michaela told them, just as excited. “I'm sure it will be a wonderful play.”
“Can't wait to see it,” Cal added.
“What's a play, Bian?” Byron spoke up curiously.
“All the kids dress up like someone from the Christmas story,” Brian explained, “Joseph and Mary, shepherds,
wise men, angels. It's pretend.”
“I wanna p'tend, Mama,” Byron spoke up, tugging at her blouse sleeve. He still wasn't quite sure what a play was,
but Brian and Katie were happy about it, and whatever they wanted to do, he wanted to do as well.
“When you're a little older, sweetheart,” Michaela assured him.
“B., you can be in it,” Brian told him, reaching across Katie to touch his arm. “We all decided we want ya to be in
it.”
Byron's eyes lit up. “Really, Bian? What I gonna p'tend? Angel?”
“You get to be baby Jesus!” Katie told him enthusiastically.
“Baby!” Byron burst out. His face flushed with anger and disappointment. “I don't wanna be da baby!”
Brian patted his arm. “It's real easy. All ya gotta do is sit on Sarah's lap. She's gonna be Mary. We wanted to use a
real baby but it might cry and ruin things. So Sarah and I thought of you. You're perfect for it.”
He sniffled. “No, Bian,” he moaned. “I p'tend an angel.”
“Please, B.?” Brian begged. “We told 'em ya would.”
“Please?” Katie added.
“I don't wanna be da baby,” Byron said firmly. He looked up at his mother, his eyes reflecting the humiliation he
felt from simply imagining it. “Mama, don't make me. Pease.”
“He doesn't want to do it, Brian,” Michaela spoke up. “It's up to him.”
Cal rubbed Byron's back, deciding not to take sides.
“I guess,” Brian murmured. His tone softened. “Well, that's all right, B. We shoulda asked ya first I guess.”
Byron nodded tearfully.
Michaela noticed Reverend Johnson making his way to the front. “Hush now. Church is about to start.”
Byron looked forward, trying not to fidget but focus on the reverend, for a few minutes at least. Soon his thoughts
wandered. He wanted to be in the pageant, but nothing could convince him to play the part of the baby.
***
“Have ya eaten, yet?” Cal asked, closing the clinic door and standing beside Michaela's desk.
“Hmm,” Michaela replied, speedily updating the medical chart of the patient who had just left.
“I can bring ya something from the café,” he offered. “Grace's got roasted chicken or meatloaf today. Which do
you want?”
“All right,” was Michaela's answer?
He chuckled. “Hello? Mike?”
She looked up, embarrassed. “I'm sorry, Cal. Did you say something?”
He came around to her side, tugged the pen from her grasp and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “I said, 'let's
eat'.”
She glanced at the clock. “Half past one. I completely lost track of time.”
“That's all right,” he replied, moving behind her and untying her apron tassels. “Grace's food is worth the wait.”
Suddenly, the clinic door burst open, emitting Preston Lodge with his arm around a limping man leaning on him
for support. “Michaela!” Preston shouted, as if she were in the next town instead of standing beside her desk.
Michaela quickly retied her apron and came to the men. “Preston, Mr. Jerrick...what's wrong?” She led the
wounded, middle-aged man to the examination table and Cal and Preston helped him up on it.
“Aw, old Stewball crushed my toes,” Mr. Jerrick groaned, nodding at his left foot. “Wasn't payin' attention.”
“Stewball?” Michaela questioned, removing the man's shoe and sock.
“His name is Caesar,” Preston reproached.
“He answers to Stewball,” Mr. Jerrick informed his boss.
“Only because you insist on calling him that,” Preston spat back.
“Who?” Michaela questioned, unable to decipher what the men were talking about. She tenderly prodded Mr.
Jerrick's bruised toes.
“Stewball, Dr. Mike,” Mr. Jerrick told her. “He pulls the carriage that takes passengers between town and the
Chateau.”
“And does a fine job of it,” Preston added proudly. “And why not? I selected him myself. He's the finest of the
Belgian breed.”
“Don't look too bad, does it, Mike?” Cal spoke up from where he had been quietly leaning against her desk,
observing.
“Well, I feel a few fractures, but they appear to be clean. Though you're not going to be driving Stewball-”
“Caesar,” Preston cut in irritably.
“Regardless of what the horse's name is,” Michaela replied, “I want you to stay off your feet for at least four
weeks in order to give the bones proper time to heal.”
“Four weeks?” Mr. Jerrick breathed, brown eyes widening.
“What?!” Preston burst out. “But, Christmas. Our busiest season!” He put a hand to his head. “This is distressing
news, Michaela! Isn't there something-”
“I'm afraid not, unless you want to delay the healing time even longer, or even worse, cause permanent damage.”
Michaela retrieved a roll of gauze and her scissors and began carefully wrapping the injured appendages.
Preston grew pale and put a hand on the examination table to steady himself. “I pride myself in offering this
service to my customers. Why, I can't wait four weeks. I'll have to put a new man in the position permanently.”
“You're gonna fire me?” Mr. Jerrick breathed, stunned.
Cal took a step forward. “Um...I can take over, Mr. Lodge, 'til he's well again.”
Preston sneered at him. “You?”
Michaela smiled. “Oh, of course! Cal knows everything about horses.”
“Ah, yes,” Preston sighed. “You're that stagecoach driver. Well, Carl-”
“Cal,” he corrected.
“Cal, yes, yes,” Preston replied uncaringly. “The Chateau and Health Resort Transportation System is not a
stagecoach.”
“It ain't that hard,” Mr. Jerrick spoke up, wincing as Michaela finished dressing his toes. “All ya gotta do is drive
at a nice steady pace, and when ya stop, help the ladies on and off. Then at night when you're done, unhitch
Stewball, give him some oats and brush him down real good. That's about it.”
Cal nodded eagerly. “I can do all that. I'd love to drive a Belgian. He sounds like a beauty.”
Preston looked Cal up and down. “I have strict rules. You must wear a suit, tie and hat. And not a cowboy hat. A
gentleman's hat.”
“Well, I don't have a suit with me here, but I can get one,” Cal agreed.
Mr. Jerrick rubbed his chin. “You look about my size. You can borrow mine 'til I can drive again.”
“Thank you,” Cal replied gratefully.
“And ya get a room for the night,” Mr. Jerrick added, “and ya can help yourself to leftovers in the kitchen.”
“Yes, but I'm sure that won't be necessary,” Preston spoke up, smirking at Michaela. “Cal is living with our good
doctor in that adorable little homestead Sully built. Isn't that correct...'Mike'?”
Mr. Jerrick raised his bushy eyebrows.
Michaela blushed furiously. “No, that is not correct, Mr. Lodge.”
“I'm staying at the Nugget right now,” Cal said softly, just as embarrassed.
“Oh,” Preston murmured, eyebrows raised. “Well, I'm a reasonable man. You may use a room at the Chateau until
Mr. Jerrick returns.”
“Thanks,” Cal mumbled.
Michaela handed Mr. Jerrick a pair of crutches, helping him to his good foot. “I'll stop by in a few days, see how
you're making out,” she promised.
“Much obliged, Dr. Mike,” he replied, carefully taking an awkward first step with the crutches.
Preston opened his money fold and pulled out several bills, giving them to Michaela. “Thank you for your
services, Dr. Quinn. And Cal, I'll see you tomorrow morning, promptly at nine. Have a nice evening you two,” he
said, snickering as he closed the door behind him.
“Isn't this wonderful, Cal? You got a job doing something you're good at, and without hardly trying.” Michaela
shook her head, smiling. “It was never that easy for me.” She placed the bills in her cash box in the desk drawer,
and then located Mr. Jerrick's medical record in the file cabinet.
Cal let out a sigh of discontent. “Mr. Lodge shouldn't be so...so outspoken about everything,” he said resolutely.
“I decided long ago not to let Preston trouble me any longer,” Michaela said absently, sitting at her desk and
dipping her pen in the ink well.
“He sure pays good, though,” Cal admitted.
“It's an incentive to put up with him,” Michaela replied, grinning at him softly.
He chuckled. “I guess it works.” His expression turned serious. “Mike? You'd tell me, wouldn't ya? I mean, if
you're uncomfortable about something?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
Her writing slowed. “What do I have to be uncomfortable about?” she said cautiously.
He shrugged. “I guess...I don't know.”
She looked up. “What's the matter?” she asked, sensing he was troubled.
He avoided her eyes. “It's just...do you think people are talking...about us, I mean?”
“This town gossips about everything,” Michaela told him.
“This morning in church, at first I thought the
townsfolk were looking at me 'cause I'm not from
around here...but maybe they were looking at...at us.
Maybe 'cause I'm at the homestead or here at the
clinic so often...it's given ’em reason to talk...I don't
know.” He had vowed long ago to do whatever
Michaela asked. He loved her, but if she wasn't
ready to return that love, or even if she never
returned it, he would do his best to accept that. Her
happiness was most important. If she wanted him to
leave, he'd leave. If she wanted him to stay,
then...he'd stay.
She swallowed hard. “Perhaps that's what people are
saying but...”
“But?” he prompted apprehensively.
She nervously finished Mr. Jerrick's chart. “I miss
you...when you're not here.” She wondered if that
was appropriate to admit, how Cal would react, what
he would interpret from the words.
He smiled, relieved. “I miss ya, too, Mike. If
anything I ever do makes ya unhappy, ya gotta tell
me. I promise I'll do whatever ya want to make it
better.”
Sully had always put her first. It seemed everything
Cal did these days reminded her of Sully: helping
her nurse her sick children, getting her to do things she wouldn't normally do, like going sledding and making
snow angels, coming to church with her even though he wasn't a church-going man. Michaela had laid awake the
past several nights pondering it, wondering if it was a sign. A sign perhaps from Sully...that what she was feeling
for Cal was...all right, she supposed. She was touched by Cal's promise, but not willing to admit it.
Michaela bit her lip. “I'm not quite as happy as I could be right now.” She averted her eyes, knowing she wouldn't
be able to look at him without smiling.
“What? What's wrong?” Cal asked fretfully.
“My stomach's growling,” she informed him wryly.
He slapped his hand to his head. “Lunch! I came to take ya to lunch. Well, are we going to let a few broken toes
stop us?”
“Never,” Michaela replied. She felt ten years younger when Cal was around.
He took her hand. “Then dine with me, Mike. I want ya to order whatever ya want, as long as it's chicken or
meatloaf.”
She laughed. “Sounds delicious.”
For the Christmas pageant, Cal gets a job driving carriages for Preston, and he and Michaela talk about their
relationship.
V{tÑàxÜ a|ÇxàxxÇ
Mouthwatering, Byron watched Grace sprinkle a liberal handful of cinnamon over a not-yet-baked apple pie.
"Oh!" Grace grumbled. "Here." She selected a cinnamon-coated apple slice from the pie and gave it to the little
boy, then placed the pie in the oven and added another log.
"Tank you, Miz Gwace," Byron said, mouth full.
"You're welcome, but if your ma doesn't come pick ya up soon I'll have nothin' left to feed my customers!" She
wiped her hands on her apron, grinning teasingly.
He giggled at her, then spotted Michaela and Cal entering the café from the back door of the clinic. "Mama!"
He slid down from his chair and ran to her, the half-eaten apple slice in his fist.
Michaela lifted him into her arms, kissing his cheek. "Mama had a patient. I hope you didn't think I'd forgotten
about you, sweetheart. Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Uh-huh." He beamed at Cal.
"Hey, Squirt," Cal said, tousling his hair.
"Why don't you have lunch with Cal and me?" Michaela suggested, approaching her friend. "I'm sorry I'm late,
Grace."
"Figured somethin' was keepin' ya," Grace replied, leading them to a table to sit. "'Byron and I didn't mind. We
kept each other company, right pumpkin?"
Byron nodded as Cal lifted him onto a chair. Byron sat on his knees. "Miz Gwace gives me apples," he informed
his mother, holding out his browning slice for her to see.
Cal pulled out Michaela's chair.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You're welcome," he replied, eyes twinkling as he took a seat.
***
Cal sank back in his chair, rubbing his belly. "Sure do love Grace's chicken."
"Me, too," Byron agreed as his mother picked up her knife and fork once more and cut off a few more bites for
him to eat. Between cutting Byron's meat and wiping his mouth and hands, Michaela hadn't had much time to eat
her own meal, and was only half finished.
Cal peered across the café at the livery. "Oh, there's Robert E. Mind if I say hello?"
"No, go ahead," Michaela invited as Byron picked up a carrot with his fingers. "Brynie, no, no. Use your fork,"
she scolded.
Cal pulled his napkin from his shirt collar, placed it on the table, and stood up. "Be back in a bit."
Grace approached the table with her pad and pencil. "Dessert, anyone?"
"I want pie, pease," Byron spoke up.
"You've eaten so many of my apples there ain't gonna be room in that belly of yours for more!" Grace accused
good-naturedly.
"Pease, Miz Gwace!" Byron begged, knowing she was teasing him.
Grace chuckled. "Of course, pumpkin. Ya can have as much as ya want." She glanced at his mother. "Dr. Mike?"
Michaela's elbow rested on the table, her chin on her hand, gazing across the café.
Grace followed her gaze, grinning to herself. "He's a gentleman," she said.
"Hm?" Michaela replied, glancing at her. "Cal? Oh...yes."
Grace smiled. "These days they're hard to come by."
"He's so sweet to all of us," Michaela told her.
Grace cleared her throat. "Is he...is he gonna be here awhile?"
Michaela tensed. "He'll leave...when his job with Preston is over I suppose. He's going to drive the Chateau
carriage. For four weeks."
"I dunno...maybe he'll find a reason to stay a little longer," Grace said openly.
"What do you mean?" Michaela questioned, disconcerted.
"Three slices of pie, comin' up," Grace replied, spinning around and heading back to the stove.
***
"So just like that, I got myself a job," Cal told his friend proudly.
"Sounds real good, Cal," Robert E. said, brushing down a horse. "Just don't let Preston get t' ya."
"I'll try not to," Cal chuckled. He looked over at Michaela, chatting with Grace. "Four weeks," he murmured,
pondering it.
Robert E. watched him. "Gonna be hard to leave I s'pose...you'll miss the friends ya made."
"Robert E.," he said resolutely, deciding he could trust him, "what am I gonna do? I'm gonna miss her like crazy."
He leaned against the corral, sighing. "Just look at her. Ain't she
just...wonderful?"
Robert E. glanced over at the café. He smiled to himself. "I'm lookin'
at a pretty wonderful woman right now," he said proudly.
"Grace?" Cal murmured, putting his hands in his pockets.
Robert E. nodded. "Loved her since I first laid eyes on her." He ran the brush down the horses back.
"I know how ya feel," Cal sighed. "Mike's something ya never wanna tear your eyes away from. She makes me
dizzy. She's got these ideas, and opinions. She's so smart. Oh, and her kids. If they ain't the three sweetest things I
ever did meet." He let out a sigh. "I think she's got me falling in love with her...Can't say as I've ever really been
in love. I'm not sure what to look for."
"Ya can't stop thinkin' about her?" Robert E. asked, amused.
"Not for a second," Cal admitted shyly.
"Never seen anything prettier?"
"Never in my life," Cal murmured dreamily.
"Yep, sounds like you're in love all right," Robert E. informed him.
"What's a man to do?" Cal asked worriedly.
Robert E. put down the brush and crossed his arms. "Well, I'd say tell 'er...but..."
"But Mike was married before," Cal admitted. "I know she really loved Sully."
"You're afraid she can't love ya, too," Robert E. speculated.
Cal nodded solemnly. "Don't see how I can ever compare. I don't want to...to scare her. I sure don't want to lose
her friendship. Maybe if I found out a little more about Sully...maybe if I tried to be like him a little."
Robert E. stroked his chin. "I s'pose all ya can do is...take each day as it comes. But ya can't change yourself for
her. Keep on doing what you're doing now. Give 'er time."
"These things take a lotta waiting," Cal sighed.
"Let me tell ya, it's worth it. Be it Dr. Mike or not, when ya find the right woman and have 'er in your arms, it's
worth it."
Cal sighed once more. "What if Mike's the right woman for me...but she don't wanna return the feelings?"
"I seen her look at ya, Cal. She likes ya, t' say the least."
Cal smiled. "Ya think so?"
"Sure do. Just be yourself, Cal."
Cal shook his hand. "Thanks, Robert E."
"Any time," Robert E. replied.
***
"Reverend Johnson," Cal called, approaching him.
The reverend ceased his sweeping of the church steps and stared blindly in the direction of Cal. "Who's there?" he
asked.
"It's Cal Brooks. Michaela's friend?" He removed his hat and touched the reverend's arm to let him know where
he was.
"Cal, yes I remember." He leaned the broom handle against the porch railing. "How can I help you?"
"You know Michaela's son, Byron?"
"Of course," the Reverand replied, smiling.
"Well, Byron wants to be in this Christmas pageant you're putting on."
"Brian told me his brother decided he didn't want to play the part of the Christ child," the reverend spoke,
confused. "Did he change his mind?"
"No, but he'd really like to be an angel like his sister. If there's any way the little guy could just, I don't know, put
on some wings, follow her around I guess."
The reverend stroked his chin. "Well, Cal, I don't know. I've never had a child that young take part." He shook his
head remorsefully.
"...No, I s'pose not," Cal sighed. "Well, thanks anyway." He turned to leave.
"Wait," the reverend called, descending the steps. "I could give him a small part, maybe where he only has to sit
or stand up front next to the nativity. He could be a shepherd, or a barn animal. A lamb, maybe. Would he like
that?"
Cal smiled. "Yeah. I'm sure."
"Good," the reverend said, grinning. "Well, we're having rehearsals at six o'clock every Saturday night until
Christmas. Why don't you have Dr. Mike send him with Brian and Katie next time, and I'll see if I can't work him
in."
"I really appreciate this," Cal replied gratefully, shaking his hand. "Well, I gotta head off to work. I'll be seeing
ya."
"Glad to help," the reverend assured him. "And...We’re all glad to have you back."
Cal nodded, smiling. "Thanks. It's great to be back."
***
Michaela shut the clinic door behind her, locked it, and looked about for Cal. That morning she had told him she
planned to spend the day with Byron, turn him over to Brian when he came home from school, and then work the
evening at the clinic, until ten o'clock at the latest, she decided. As it was a Friday night she hoped to be home
before the children went to bed, in time to tuck them in. Cal had offered to bring her back to the homestead,
claiming he didn't like the idea of her riding home alone at such an hour, and blushing, she had agreed.
Michaela unclasped her bag, found her pocket watch, and opened it. About ten minutes past ten. Assuming that
something was keeping him and that he would probably show up soon, she sat on the bench, placing her bag
beside her, and folding her hands to wait.
Cal had held his job at the Chateau for almost a week now. Often he would stop by the clinic to take Michaela to
lunch, give Byron rides in the carriage during Grace's busiest hours, or bring the older children home from school.
So far, he hadn't voiced any complaints about Preston, and seemed to be enjoying his work.
Across the street spirited piano music coming from inside the Nugget swept through the swinging doors. Despite
herself, Michaela tapped her foot in time with the beat. Every so often, she would hear the laughter of a group of
men playing poker perhaps, the giggling of a prostitute, the slamming of a shot glass on the bar, or Hank
drawling, "What'll ya have?"
Just as Michaela was beginning to really worry about Cal, she saw a drunken man pushed through the swinging
doors, staggering onto the Nugget porch.
"Aw, come on, Hankth," he slurred, stumbling back and leaning against the doors. "It's early."
"Go home, stranger," Hank ordered, obviously fed up with the man. "Ya've had one too many for this hour o' the
night."
Michaela looked on quietly, nervously sliding down to the darker shadows of the bench.
The man tottered to the center of the street, clutching an empty bottle of whiskey, his chin sticky with alcohol.
"Aw, hell," he grumbled, throwing the bottle against the front of Michaela's clinic.
Michaela let out an involuntary cry and shook in her seat, startled by the shattering of the glass against the stone.
"Well, what d' we have here?" the man crooned, stepping up onto the clinic porch, one hand gripping a post to
keep him steady.
Michaela stood up, backing against the bench. She tried to keep her lips from trembling. "My friend's coming to
p-pick me up any minute," she told him firmly, swallowing hard. She looked over his features: he was probably
about her age, with dirty blond hair and stubble, blood-shot brown eyes, and bulging biceps beneath his damp,
dirty shirt. He reeked of sweat and alcohol, especially when he spoke. Michaela couldn't recall ever seeing him
before. She wondered if he were part of the group of workers passing through to repair a section of railroad a few
miles from town.
"Is that so?" he asked, not at all fazed, smiling as he looked her up and down.
She tried to appear confident. "Yes." She stole a glance out to the street, hoping to see Cal approaching in the
wagon to take her away from all this.
Suddenly he grabbed her arm and dragging her to the alley between her clinic and the gazette.
"No!" she begged, struggling in vain. "Please!"
He only laughed, pinning her against the wall of the clinic with all his weight.
"Hank!" she shouted desperately, her cries drowned by the noisy saloon.
The man immediately gave her a firm, harsh slap across her cheek, and then put his hand over her mouth. "Keep
quiet! Or I'll keep ya quiet! Ya don't believe I will?"
She nodded tearfully, eyes wide with fright. Slowly, he released his hand, and then brought it to her jacket,
pushing it down off her shoulders, and then ripping open her blouse.
"Hank!" Michaela screamed involuntarily.
Instantly, the man raised his hand and gave her another hard smack. Michaela held her jaw closed tight to prevent
herself from shrieking as she felt the bitter sting against her cheek. She gasped, tasting blood. Her lip was
bleeding.
"Now are ya gonna keep quieth?" he growled, "or am I gonna have t' do that again?"
"I will. I w-will," she told him, quivering with fright. "Please, don't hurt me!"
He chuckled, then brought his lips over hers, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, his hands fondling her breasts.
Michaela squirmed and moaned, but could not shake herself free. She tried to raise her knee, she pushed against
him, and tried clawing at his face, but it was no use. He was much too strong. She had never been as terrified in
her entire life as she was at that moment.
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç
Cal hopped down from his wagon, whistling a tune. "Mike," he called,
turning the knob of the clinic door. Locked. He raised his eyebrows, not
expecting this. "Mike?" he called again, looking around. He heard peculiar
sounds from the alley: shuffling, muffled moaning...
Disconcerted, he made his way to the side of the clinic, and then stood
frozen. A huge, muscular man had a much smaller woman pinned against
the hard stone wall, shielding most of her from view. Cal could see she
was squirming, her hands in fists, and her arms pressing hard against the
man's chest. Her moans were not those of pleasure, but distress.
"Hey," Cal ventured, taking a step closer. "Hey, Mister! Leave her be!" He
approached the couple, tearing the stranger's hand from the woman's
breast. "I said, leave 'er be!"
"Cal!" Michaela cried, the desperation in her voice hitting him hard.
"Mike?" Cal replied immediately. "Oh, my God." Realizing with horror that Michaela was the woman, and that
the advances were definitely unwanted, Cal threw the man to the ground with strength he didn't know he had, and
within seconds was straddling his torso and jabbing his fist repeatedly into the assailant's swollen face.
Too befuddled to successfully fight back, the drunk could only throw miscalculated punches, often hitting air.
"Stop...I was j-just..." he stuttered.
"Just what?" Cal demanded. "Just what? You bastard!" he growled, eyes blazing. He gave him a swift blow in the
nose, generating blood.
Out of breath, Michaela slumped to the ground, putting her fingers to her lip.
"Michaela!" Hank, who had heard the commotion and come running, fell to his knees beside her, pistol in hand.
"Ya all right? I knew I heard somethin'!" He quickly pulled a bandana from his pocket and pressed it to her lip.
"...I'm all r-right," she murmured, taking a few shaky breaths. She noticed Cal continuing to beat the man with all
his strength. "Cal!" she shouted. "Don't!"
Hank rose to his feet and dragged Cal off the man, who was slowly blinking and barely conscious. "He ain't worth
a murder charge!" he warned, locking Cal's arms behind his back.
"Let me at 'im!" Cal shouted, struggling against Hank, his hands clenched in fists. "I'll kill 'im!"
"Ya got the point across," Hank assured him. "...She's all right." He shook him rigidly. "Michaela's all right!"
Snapping out of it, Cal came to Michaela's side. She spit into Hank's handkerchief, not caring that it wasn't proper,
but only wanting the sickening taste out of her mouth. Cal swiped the back of his hand across his brow, and then
placed his palm tentatively on her back. "Oh, it's all right."
She looked at him for a moment, and then burst into tears.
Cal took her in his arms. "It's all right, Mike. Oh. I'm sorry."
She sniffled. "You were late...you were late."
His heart broke "Michaela. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't give myself enough time to get here by ten. Oh gosh,
this is all my fault." He pulled back, examining her injuries. "What'd he do to ya? Oh, Mike." He cringed, eyeing
her cheek. "We gotta get some ice on that." He took note of her torn blouse, exposing her camisole. He removed
his jacket, placing it over her shoulders, and then worked at buttoning the first few buttons.
"Cal, please," she protested, gently pushing his hands away. "Just take me home."
"Oh, darlin'," he murmured. "I'll take ya straight home. Straight home." He helped her stand, and immediately she
leaned against him, clutching his shirt like a frightened child.
Beside them, Hank had gotten the drunken man to his feet. He'd been trying to explain things to the bartender, but
Hank would have none of it.
"Get the hell back to where you came from," Hank told him, eyes narrowing. "I see ya in my saloon again I swear
I'll shoot ya." He raised his gun. "Straight between the eyes."
"I'm bleedin'!" the man told him, holding his hand to his nose. "He madth me bleed!"
"Serves ya right," Hank retorted, cocking his gun. "Now go!"
Cursing under his breath, the man staggered out of the alley, disappearing.
Hank turned to Michaela and Cal. "I'm sorry, Michaela. If I'da known you were out here I woulda kept an eye on
him."
"It's my fault," Cal insisted.
"Please take me home, Cal," Michaela murmured, holding him tighter.
"Let me go with ya," Hank offered.
"No need," Cal replied, helping Michaela into the wagon.
"I'll drive," Hank offered. "'Sides, I think she needs ya right now," added the saloon keeper pointedly.
Cal's gaze shifted up to Michaela. She looked so vulnerable, so shaken, wrapped in his jacket and hugging it to
her.
"If it's all right with Mike," Cal agreed, getting into the wagon and sitting beside her, putting his arm around her
comfortingly.
Michaela nodded silently, gripping his hand and leaning against him.
Hank hopped up onto the seat and took the reins. He gave the horse a firm slap, determined to reach the
homestead as soon as possible.
***
Hank opened the front door and Cal held Michaela's arm, escorting her into the house.
"Mama!" Katie and Byron cried simultaneously, running to her, Brian following.
"Ma, what happened?" Brian asked worriedly, blinking at her injuries and the torn blouse beneath Cal's halfbuttoned jacket. He noticed the longhaired bartender. "Hank," he breathed.
"I'm all right," Michaela murmured, placing her hands atop the younger children's heads as they stared up at her
worriedly.
"Just a little accident," Hank spoke up.
Michaela nodded, trying to smile assuringly. She winced, placing the handkerchief back to the trickle of blood
from her lip.
"Did ya fall or somethin'?" Brian pressed voice unsteady.
Cal touched his arm. "We're gonna take your ma upstairs to rest, all right Brian? Can ya look after the kids?" He
gazed at him pleadingly, hoping he would realize the younger children needed to be out of earshot before he could
explain what had really happened.
Suddenly understanding, Brian drew Katie and Byron to him. "Come here. We'll get ya in your nightclothes."
Reluctantly, the children crowded against him, intrigued but frightened by their mother's appearance.
"Thank you," Cal mouthed, taking Michaela's arm again and heading for the stairs.
"I'll get some ice," Hank offered, going to the kitchen.
Byron and Katie watched Cal and their mother disappear up to her room, and then turned to their older brother.
"Mama gots a boo-boo," Katie remarked, timidly casting her eyes once again toward the stairs.
Brian touched her nose. "She's all right, Kate. Said so herself."
Byron broke away from the group and made for the stairs. Brian caught his arm and gently pulled him back. "Stay
here, B. All right?"
The little boy put his thumb in his mouth. "I gonna see Mama," he insisted.
Brian stooped to his level. "In the mornin', maybe. We gotta get to bed now."
"I want Mama tell me stowy," Byron whimpered, on the verge of tears, partly from the disturbing sight of his
other, partly from tiredness at being up so late.
"Me, too," Katie put in.
Brian thought a moment. "I'll tell ya a story, I guess. How's that?"
The children thought it over for a moment. "A good story?" Byron asked.
"A long story?" said Katie.
"Sure," Brian promised. He took their hands. "Come on."
Upstairs, Cal waited outside the bedroom for Michaela to change into a nightgown. Hank approached a bowl of
ice and a cloth in hand. "Here, ya can have her put this on for a few minutes," he said, giving it to Cal.
"Thanks." He leaned against the doorframe. "...I had it in me to kill him," he murmured.
Hank nodded. "I know ya did."
"Never felt that way before," Cal murmured, shaken by the powerful emotions he had experienced. "Thanks
for...for stopping me."
Hank was silent a moment, then cleared his throat. "That happens...when ya feel somethin' for a woman."
Cal gazed at him. "I..."
"Sully and I were friends. We had our differences, but I always respected 'im. Michaela deserves nothin' but the
best. Sully'd want us all to make sure of that..."
Cal drew in his breath.
"I'll spend the night...look after things." Hank patted his back. "Go on in. Make her better." He made his way
down the stairs.
Without actually saying so, Hank had given his approval. Sully and Michaela's friends liked him, Hank had said.
That meant a lot to Cal.
Michaela was taking an awful long time changing. He knocked softly on the door, and then entered. She was
lying down, on her back, weeping despairingly.
Immediately, Cal sat on the bed, placing the ice and cloth on the nightstand. "Oh, Mike." He found a folded
handkerchief on her nightstand and gave it to her. "It's all right." He took the cloth, placed a handful of ice in it,
and twisted it closed securely. "Here Hank got this for ya." He placed it gently on her bruised cheek and guided
her hand to it. "How's that feel?"
"I begged him not to hurt me," she sobbed.
"You're gonna be fine," Cal assured her, stroking her hair. "Everything's gonna be fine. Me and Hank, we're
gonna stay with ya tonight. We won't let anything happen. I won't let that damn drunk get anywhere near ya."
"Cal, your language," she scolded gently.
He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. Don't mean to."
She dabbed at her nose tearfully. "The children..."
"Brian's gonna look after them. He'll get them tucked into bed. They're all right. They're just glad you're home."
He took hold of her free hand.
"I was go-going to...t-tuck them in," she sniffled.
"They'll forgive ya, just this once," he said, smiling softly. "You just rest. Don't move a muscle. We're gonna get
ya all healed, and you'll be good as new."
"I'm sorry I'm so much trouble," she whispered, gasping.
He leaned closer. "Oh, you're not trouble. You're not any trouble." He continued to stroke her hair. "I wanna be
here, Mike. I want to." He looked her in the eyes, smiling. "Now take some nice deep breaths, and dry your eyes.
Everything's taken care of."
She drew in her breath shakily several times. Gradually the steady stream of tears ebbed and the gasping eased,
though she was left with a headache, the kind that had become so familiar to her in the months after Sully's death.
She thought of it as the 'crying headache', because it came whenever she wept for long periods of time.
Cal stroked her brow for several minutes, and slowly she calmed. His hand was so soothing, tender and warm, and
after awhile, she realized her headache had disappeared. "I haven't..." she spoke up hoarsely.
Cal looked at her, startled.
"I haven't kissed anyone since Sully," she spoke softly.
"That wasn't kissing, Mike," he assured her, voice low and soft. "And you sure weren't the one doing it." He
stroked her uninjured cheek with the back of one finger. "Hm?"
She swallowed hard and nodded slowly.
Carefully, he removed the cloth. "There, looks like the swelling's gone down a bit. Lip stopped bleeding, too.
Yeah. Try to close your eyes now," he instructed.
"I think you called me 'darling'," she remarked, not used to being addressed that way.
He drew in his breath. "I did?"
"Hm-mm," she murmured. "Sully never used to use pet names. I was always just 'Michaela'."
"Oh." He drew in his breath once more. Did that mean...he shouldn't use pet names? "Sorry."
She gazed at him, a slight smile on her face. "No, I didn't mind."
"Ya didn't?" he breathed, relieved.
She took his hand. "I don't blame you, Cal. You mustn't think any of what happened is your fault."
"How can I not?" he questioned. "I was fifteen, twenty minutes late picking ya up. Why wasn't I on time, Mike? I
could've been on time. I should've been."
"I shouldn't have been working so late. I could have waited inside for you," she pointed out. "That man shouldn't
have drunk so much. Hank shouldn't have allowed him to become so drunk. We might as well blame everyone,
and that never accomplishes anything." A smile escaped her lips. "I'm just very glad you came when you did."
She squeezed his fingers.
"...I love you, Michaela," he whispered involuntarily, eyes glistening with tears. I want to kiss you, I want to court
you...I want to marry you.
"Cal..." She drew in her breath, surprised. It had been nice to hear, but to respond in kind...how could she, after
vowing never to having feelings again? Not after what she had shared with Sully.
He blushed furiously, biting his lip. "I didn't mean..."
"As...As a friend," she clarified timidly.
He swallowed, disappointed. "Yeah. Get some sleep," he instructed.
"You'll stay?" she asked quietly.
"I'll stay," he promised.
"You're always here, Cal, when I need you the most." She closed her eyes, and was breathing deeply within a few
minutes.
Cal watched her for a moment, and then released her hand. "Ugh," he moaned to himself. "Just what were ya
thinking?" he murmured. "What the heck were ya thinking?" Frustrated, he stood, looked in the mirror, and shook
his head at himself. As a friend. He was beginning to wonder how much longer he could carry on with such a lie,
at least on his part.
***
Cal trudged down the stairs, arms crossed, head filled with thoughts of Michaela. He approached Hank who was
seated at the dining room table.
"The ice helped," Cal murmured.
"Yep, always does." Hank pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and put it between his teeth, then struck a match
and lit it.
"What're ya doing?" Cal demanded, pulling the cigar from him and eyeing it disgustedly.
"Hey!" Hank grumbled.
Cal opened the front door, gesturing. "Take it outside," he ordered.
Hank threw up his hands. "What for? Don't you like a good smoke?"
"Well, sure...but Mike wouldn't like it," Cal replied, exasperated. "I know she wouldn't."
Hank chuckled. "You can throw it outside. It ain't important."
Surprised, Cal flicked the cigar out the door. "Well...good," he mumbled. "She wouldn't like it." He closed the
door and paced slowly behind Hank. "She's sleeping....hope she sleeps good. The swelling went down, just like ya
said. Everything's gonna heal just fine, I'm pretty sure. She just needs to rest..."
"Ya really care for her, don't ya?" Hank asked simply, fingering the intricately crocheted doily beneath an empty
vase in the center of the table.
Cal sighed, slumping in a chair across from him. "Thought I was doing a good job of keeping it to myself."
"Stop keepin' it to yourself," he suggested.
Cal shook his head. "She's in love with Sully, Hank. She thinks of me as nothing more than a friend."
Hank shrugged. "Sully and Michaela were friends for a long time, 'fore they started to court."
"Were they?" Cal said softly. "Hank...ya said Sully and you were friends?"
"Sometimes," Hank chuckled, stroking his chin.
"What was he like? What made Mike...love him?"
Hank sat back in his chair, a slight smile on his face. "What made Michaela love him? Well, can't say as I ever
could figure out much about those two."
"I mean, was he smart?" Cal persisted. "Or maybe liked doctoring like her? They musta had a lot in common."
"Those two had nothin' in common," Hank informed him, shaking his head. "'Cept maybe...they both cared about
folks, were always helpin' other folks. And they loved those kids. Any fool could see that. Guess maybe that's
what brought 'em together."
Cal rested his chin on his hands, listening to Hank attentively.
"Michaela's got somethin' special," Hank went on softly. "She can stare right at a person, an' not judge 'em by how
they look, or what they do t' make a livin', or what's in their past." He chuckled. "Look at me. Ever imagine a lady
like her would wanna be my friend?"
Cal eyed Hank's scruffy whiskers, long, curly hair, and worn shirt. "I guess not. No offense."
"Makes her a real good doc." Hank's voice lowered. "Michaela ain't let anyone get near since Sully's passin'. She's
built up a wall, so's nothin' can hurt her again I s'pose."
Cal nodded remorsefully. "I know."
Hank stood up, patting his back. "Looks like maybe you're breakin' through. You're the first fella she's let come
close since Sully."
Cal looked up at him, stirred.
"Someday she's gonna feel again, like she did with Sully. I want ya to be here when that happens. She does, too."
"Ya think so?" Cal asked softly.
"I wouldn't say so if I didn't," Hank told him. "...I'll keep watch for the night."
"I can do it," Cal protested.
"Get some sleep," Hank advised, opening the front door. "Ya'll wanna be bright eyed an' bushy tailed when
Michaela wakes up tomorrow morning."
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç@ÉÇx
"Don't...don't!" Michaela begged, her strength weakening.
The man laughed, tossing his head back, ripping open her blouse, the high-pitched splitting of the fabric
terrifying.
His rough, sickening mouth came over hers, swallowing her.
"No!" Michaela screamed, his hand rising to give her a bitter punishment across her cheek. She was powerless to
defend herself. She was frozen.
Michaela shot up in bed, letting out a cry. She looked about her, panting, realizing it had been a dream. A
nightmare.
Her first impulse was to call for Cal. He had promised he would stay the night with her. He was probably sleeping
in Colleen's room, or perhaps downstairs with Hank, keeping watch. She wanted to hold onto him, grip the soft
flannel of his shirt, and feel his whispered words of reassurance against her cheek. She needed to be told again
everything was going to be all right.
Wearily, Michaela climbed out of bed and walked to the window, staring out the frost-strewn panes, breathing in
the cool air to revive herself. Her heartbeat quickened. She had woken up from a nightmare, and had wanted Cal
to be there and comfort her. She shivered, rubbing her arms.
Michaela saw Cal's reassuring smile, shimmering eyes, deep, sincere voice, his whispered "I love you." She knew
he had meant it. He indeed cared for her more than a friend. She had known for some time, but had refused to
admit it until now. A tear slipped down her cheek as her heart burst with indecision: should she leave Sully
behind; forge ahead with Cal? How would she ever find the courage to move on?
"Don't be angry with me, Sully," Michaela whispered to the twinkling stars, her breath fogging the glass. "I still
love you, so much." She drew a heart with her finger on the small patch of fog, and watched it slowly evaporate
away.
***
After thanking Hank for staying the night and then saying good-bye, Cal made his way to the barn, intending to
start the chores. He was surprised to find Brian already up and dressed, milking the cow.
"Morning," Cal called.
Brian turned his head. "Oh. Mornin', Mr. Brooks."
"I can do that," Cal offered, coming to his side.
"I'm almost finished," Brian told him.
Cal picked up a rake and began cleaning a stall.
"What happened to my ma?" Brian asked suddenly, turning on his stool to face Cal.
Cal rested the rake against the corral and returned to the boy, eyes sobering.
"It wasn't an accident," Brain spoke knowingly.
Cal nodded. "No, but I think its best if we let Katie and Byron think it was," he advised.
"All right," Brian agreed softly.
Cal squatted to his knees. "Your ma was waiting for me to pick her up last night when she was done working at
the clinic." He bent his head. "I was late. I guess she was just sitting there outside, and a drunk came along."
"...And attacked her," Brian said solemnly.
"Yeah," Cal sighed. "...I was late getting there."
Brian turned back to the cow, picking up the full bucket and standing. "You were late," he breathed.
Cal closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"That's all right," Brian said quickly, heading out the door, carefully holding the milk bucket.
***
"Feelin' better, Ma?" Brian asked timidly, placing the bucket on the kitchen table next to her.
Michaela sliced a turkey sandwich neatly in half. "Much better," she assured him.
"Got the milk." He nodded at the bucket, and then retrieved the rifle from over the fireplace.
"Thank you. Brian, what are you doing?"
He put a small box of bullets in his pocket. "Thought maybe I'd catch us a few rabbits for supper."
She sighed. "All right, but be careful. And bundle up warm," she instructed, wrapping the sandwich in paper and
placing it in a small tin pail.
"I'll be back by noon," he promised, coming to her side and giving her a brief but warm hug.
Just as Brian was leaving Cal came in from the barn.
"Mike," he immediately called, entering the kitchen. "You're up."
She added an apple to the pail. "I know."
He cleared his throat, surprised. "How ya feeling?"
She smiled softly. "Better."
"Good...I gotta be at Preston's by nine," he said quietly, gauging her reaction.
She nodded stiffly.
He touched her arm. "I don't have to go. I'll just tell him I can't today. I'll stay here with ya."
"No," she insisted. "I don't want you missing a day on account of me."
"Sure you're gonna be all right?" he asked, eyeing her bruised cheekbone.
She self-consciously turned her head to the side. "Mm-hm." She handed him the tin pail, then turned to the stove
and added a log in preparation for cooking breakfast.
"What's this?" he asked, lifting the cloth and peering inside.
"Lunch," she said simply. "...You have to eat."
"Ya made me lunch?" he asked, grinning. "Well, thanks, Mike. That's real sweet."
"Thank you," she said slowly.
Uncomfortable, he nodded quickly, then looked behind her up at the stairway, where Katie and Byron were
kneeling side by side, peeking at their mother in secret. He smiled. "I...uh, I'll be back."
Cal walked past Michaela, placing his hand briefly on her shoulder, and made his way to the top of the stairs.
The children stood up to hasten away, but Cal took their hands reassuringly.
"We're sorry, Mr. Brooks," Katie spoke remorsefully, swaying from side to side in her long nightgown.
"We so-wee," Byron put in, gripping the ends of his nightshift.
"No harm done. Come here." Cal led them back up the stairs and sat on the top step, drawing the children toward
him. "I gotta ask the two of you something real important." He smoothed Byron's sleep-rumpled locks.
"What?" Katie asked, sitting on his bent knee.
"Well, I need ya to tell me what your mama likes."
"Likes?" Katie repeated.
"Yeah," Cal replied. "What makes her happy?"
"Mama likes when ya make your bed an' clean up your room," Katie suggested.
"An' toys," Byron added helpfully. "An'...say 'pease' lots."
"Uh-huh," Katie agreed. "An' thank-you."
Cal chuckled. "Right...but I mean...say, hypothetically-"
"What's high-fee-lee?" Katie asked.
"Hypothetically?" He coughed. "Well, it's uh...when, uh--never mind. Just say I was gonna get your ma something
special for Christmas...What do ya think she'd want?"
Katie tapped her chin. "Hmm. She likes when I dwaw pictures," she offered.
"I dwawed sun an' Mama's so happy," Byron said. He giggled, touching his cheek. "Mama kissed me. Ya want
kissed, too, Cal?"
"I um...I'd just like to find the perfect present I guess."
"Hmm," said Katie, crossing her arms in thought. "Perfect present's hard."
He kissed the little girl's head. "I know...Well, thanks for your help. You let me know if ya think of any more
ideas."
"Is Mama sick?" Katie asked suddenly, brow creased with worry.
"She's doing better. Wanna see her?" he asked, placing his hands on their heads.
They nodded at the same time, eyes wide with anticipation of the unknown.
"You can go downstairs," Cal encouraged. "I gotta get into my suit and go to work, but will ya keep her company
while I'm gone?"
Katie pursed her lips together, taking the assignment to heart. "Okay."
"'Kay," Byron echoed, following his sister's example.
Cal smiled. "Good. She'll be glad."
Slowly, the children walked down the stairs, one step at a time. Michaela noticed them coming, and met them at
the base.
"Good morning, sweethearts," Michaela said encouragingly, holding out her hands.
They paused, remaining eye level with her on the third step, observing her shyly for a moment.
"That boo-boo hurts, Mama?" Katie finally asked, very softly. She took her brother's hand and boldly descended
the remainder of the steps.
Michaela caressed her cheek. "No, not too bad. I feel nearly as good as new now."
Byron gathered courage, pulled his hand from Katie's tight grip and took another step down, hugging his mother's
legs.
"Oh, Brynie," Michaela whispered, stooping and lifting him into her arms. "I'm sorry if I've frightened you." She
rubbed his back comfortingly.
"Ya falled down?" Katie asked, gripping a handful of Michaela's skirts.
Michaela hesitated. "...Yes," she murmured, deciding it would be best not to tell them the truth. She led them into
the kitchen.
"Be careful, Mama," Katie begged, clutching her arm.
Michaela put Byron on her hip and drew the little girl into her embrace. "I will. I'm sorry."
Michaela couldn't help but think what might have happened if Cal hadn't come to rescue her from the drunk when
he did. If it hadn't been for him, she might not have been able to hold and reassure Katie and Byron, tell them
truthfully she was fine, be there for them. She couldn't imagine not being there for her children now.
***
Michaela toyed absently with the spoon in her coffee cup, a troubled expression on her face.
"Michaela," called Dorothy, spying her friend from the other end of the café and hurrying to her.
She looked up, startled. "Oh, Dorothy. We were going to meet for lunch, weren't we?"
"I wasn't sure if you'd feel up to comin'," Dorothy admitted, trying not to stare at the bluish-purple bruise across
Michaela's cheek. "I was going to bring a plate of fixins over to the homestead...but here you are."
"Sit down, please." Michaela motioned to the chair opposite hers.
"I just heard about what happened," Dorothy began, taking a seat and straightening her skirts. "Are you all right?
My goodness, it must have been just terrible!"
"It...It was," replied Michaela, wincing at the memory. "But I'm all right now. Things might have been far worse
if Cal hadn't arrived when he did."
"Hank says Cal nearly killed that man," Dorothy remarked, trying to discern what Michaela was thinking.
"I'm afraid so." She blushed. "I've never seen Cal like that. He was so angry, so out of control."
"Well, he cares for you and goodness knows that man had it comin'!" Dorothy asserted.
"I suppose so," replied Michaela, the distant expression returning to her face.
Dorothy looked at her friend carefully. "Michaela" She searched the younger woman's eyes. "You sure you're all
right?"
She fingered the checked tablecloth, head bent. "He told me he loves me."
"Cal?"
Michaela nodded, raising her troubled eyes to her friend.
"I see," replied Dorothy, not sure if Michaela was asking for advice, or merely needing someone to listen to her.
"Well, how do you feel about that?"
Michaela rested one elbow on the table. "Honestly? I don't know, Dorothy. I feel...happy when I'm with him,
protected, loved. It's as if he's unlocked a door inside of me, and suddenly...I find myself feeling things I haven't
in so long..." She trailed off, tears springing to her eyes.
Dorothy smiled softly. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Well, yes...but..." Michaela bit her lip.
"But?" Dorothy pressed curiously.
Michaela folded her hands uncertainly, resting them on the table. "Well, what if these feelings are gratitude, and
nothing more? I mean, Cal's been so good to me, to the children. He's always here when I need him, just like Sully
used to be," she finished, voice barely audible.
"Well," Dorothy replied slowly, thinking over her response carefully, "did you feel grateful to Daniel?"
"Daniel?" Michaela raised her eyebrows.
"Didn't Daniel help out a great deal after Sully's passing?" Dorothy went on. "Why, as I remember he was out at
the homestead every day, helpin' out with the chores, helpin' ya take care of the children, doin' all the things Sully
used to do for ya."
Michaela nodded, agreeing.
"Did ya feel any of these feelings when Daniel was around?" Dorothy challenged.
Michaela stirred her coffee once more, and then put the spoon down. "I was very grateful for all Daniel did, but..."
"But it wasn't what ya feel when you're with Cal," Dorothy finished for her.
Michaela smiled uncertainly. "I suppose not."
"Michaela," Dorothy began, hoping she wasn't overstepping her bounds, "is it that you don't know if you have
feelings for Cal, or more that you feel you're somehow betraying Sully if you let yourself love him?"
Michaela lowered her eyes. "Wouldn't I be? How can I even think of being with someone else? Dorothy, when I
fell in love with Sully, I knew I would feel that way forever."
"Oh, Michaela!" Dorothy reached across the table and took her best friend's hand. "Opening your heart up to
someone else doesn't mean ya stop loving Sully! That man loved you with all his heart. There's nothing he wanted
more than to see you happy."
Michaela nodded tearfully. "He said that to me once, when David returned, when I was so torn between him and
Sully. Sully said that he wanted us to be married, but more than that he just wanted to see me happy, that he'd
support any decision I made, even if I chose David." She paused, lip trembling. "I...I think it was hearing that that
finally made me realize how much I loved him...and how much he loved me."
"Don't you think Sully'd say the same thing if he were here now?" Dorothy asked pointedly.
"It's not that simple," Michaela replied.
"Most things aren't," Dorothy chuckled.
"Cal's leaving after Christmas," Michaela murmured. The sadness in her voice did not escape Dorothy.
"Maybe he just needs a reason to stay," remarked Dorothy, squeezing her hand.
Michaela chuckled ruefully. "Grace told me the same thing. Dorothy...I don't know if I have the courage to give
him that reason," she whispered, fighting to keep her emotions in check.
Dorothy gazed at her friend with compassion. She wasn't sure if Michaela was ready to hear what she was going
to say, but she would say it anyway. "I know that losing Sully was painful for you."
"I never want to feel that kind of pain again," Michaela whispered vehemently.
"But has there ever been a day when you regretted fallin' in love with him?" Dorothy questioned, knowing the
answer.
"No," Michaela replied softly, a lone tear dripping down her cheek. "Not for a second."
Dorothy squeezed the younger woman's hand tighter. "Lovin' someone sometimes brings pain. That's a chance we
take. But Michaela, havin' a chance at love and sittin' back, not taking it...that can bring a different kind of pain
that hurts just as much...sometimes even worse."
Michaela lowered her eyes, digesting her friend's words. "Dorothy, I'm not sure I'm willing to take that risk
again."
Dorothy stood and came to Michaela's side, putting an arm around her reassuringly. "Well, that's a decision you'll
have to make. But if you listen to your heart, you'll make the right one."
Michaela nodded silently, then picked up her cup and took a sip of coffee. "Oh," she groaned.
Dorothy pulled back. "What?"
"My coffee's cold!" Michaela chuckled.
"We've talked it to death!" Dorothy replied, laughing.
Michaela put her arm around her friend, their laugher allowing her to temporarily forget the important decision
she would be forced to make, perhaps very soon.
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç@àãÉ
"What do you think?" Michaela asked, holding up a wool long sleeved, one-piece garment, about the size of
Byron.
Cal raised one eyebrow, glancing up from the newspaper. "Looks like my long underwear shrunk," he teased. He
rested his elbow on the arm of the wing back chair.
She looked the costume up and down. "It's a lamb," she insisted.
"I don't see it," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Michaela turned it around and held up a little piece of white fabric to the bottom. "I only have to attach the tail.
And he can wear black stockings on his hands and feet." She looked at him hopefully.
He chuckled. "He's gonna love it, Mike."
She sighed, relieved. "You think so?"
"I'm positive." He shook the paper and found his place.
She folded the costume neatly and smoothed the wrinkles. "What are you reading about?" she asked.
He shook his head. "The president. Farmers want the government to coin more money, get more money
circulating, but it don't look like Grant is gonna agree."
"Why would the president be opposed to that?" Michaela asked curiously.
"There ain't gold in the bank to back it up," Cal explained. "But if ya think about it, what's a dollar anyway? Just a
piece of paper. I don't care if there's gold in the bank or not, as long as I get what I pay for." He shook the paper
once more. "Grant hasn't done a single thing for people like us."
"That sounds strange coming from you," Michaela remarked. "You were going to be a banker."
"This is one of the reasons I decided it wasn't for me," Cal told her.
"Well, I like Mr. Grant," Michaela spoke up, placing the folded costume on top of her sewing basket.
"Oh? And why's that?" Cal asked, eyeing her.
She stood up and placed the basket on the mantel. "I had the opportunity to meet him once. He was very kind.
Besides, he's only going to be in office another year or so."
"All right so he was nice to ya, but that don't make him a good president, Mike," Cal chuckled. "Nobody's gonna
remember him once he's outta here. Not like we do Lincoln." He folded the paper and put it aside. "All I'm saying
is if Grant wants to help get this country get back on her feet, he oughta start with the farmers."
Michaela remained before the fire, opening a small wooden box Sully had carved for her the last Christmas before
his death. She pulled out a thick pile of bills, squeezing them in her hand. "All this talk about money."
"Mike, like it or not, without money everything would go to pieces. We all need it for one thing or another."
She turned. "Do you remember, when you first came here, helping me pay my loan?"
He eyed her hand. "Yeah...I'd forgotten about that," he said slowly.
"I promised I would pay you back," Michaela said softly, coming to his side. "Sully always kept his promises. I
try to do the same." She took his hand and placed the bills in his palm. "So here. This should be all of it."
He stared at it, then up at Michaela. "Oh, Mike. I couldn't." He refused to grip the money.
"Cal, I promised you," she insisted, frustrated.
He shook his head. "That was my gift to ya. I never expected it back. I don't want it." He pulled his hand away.
"Cal, it wasn't a gift. It was a loan. I pay back what people lend me." Without her realizing, her eyes filled with
tears. Friends didn't give or accept such exorbitant gifts. If Cal didn't take the money, she would be forced to
admit, if only to herself, that they were more than friends.
"Mike, now don't get upset," he consoled. "Let's just let it go."
"I'm not sure if I can risk this," Michaela murmured, recalling her conversation with Dorothy.
He raised one brow. "Risk what?"
She shook her head, unable to respond.
He stood and cupped his hand around her fist, squeezing the bills. "Mike, listen. Take this and get yourself
something nice. Something ya've always wanted. Or use it for the kids' Christmas presents." He looked her in the
eyes, and knew exactly what she was thinking. "It's all right to keep it," he whispered. "Ya ain't doing anything
wrong."
"I've been saving it to pay you back," Michaela said stubbornly, the feel of Cal's large, smooth hands around hers
tender and warm.
"I wouldn't know what to do with it," he replied, glancing at the clock on the mantel. "The kids oughta be just
about done with pageant rehearsal, don't ya think?"
She followed his gaze to the clock. "Yes. I'll pick them up."
"I'll go with ya," Cal offered.
"No, I'll be fine," Michaela told him, voice unsteady.
He touched her arm. "Then let me go. You stay here and...Sew that tail on. Gotta have it ready in time for dress
rehearsal tomorrow."
"I suppose you're right." Secretly relieved she wouldn't have to drive in the dark alone, or ride alone with Cal;
Michaela stepped back toward the mantel, reluctantly placed the money back in the box, and retrieved her sewing
basket. "Thank you, Cal. I'll look for you within the hour."
***
"Bian, Mama say come in," Byron told him. "Get dwessed."
"Yeah, I'm comin' in a second, B.," Brian replied, filling the cow's bucket with feed. "Ya excited 'bout tonight?"
he asked.
Brian nodded enthusiastically. "Uh-huh. I gonna be in da play an' mama made me a lamb an' I get to p'tend a
lamb."
He chuckled. "Yep, I know."
"Guess what?" Byron went on.
"...What?" Brian said, knowing his brother wouldn't continue until he replied.
"Mama and my papa are gonna come an' see me," Byron informed him, his grin widening.
Brian put down the bag of feed and came to his little brother. "Papa?" he questioned.
"Uh-huh," Byron assured him.
Brian took his hand, patting it. "Pa can watch ya, from up in heaven, B. Ya won't be able to see him, though."
Byron shook his head. "No, Bian. Cal is my papa."
"Mr. Brooks?" Brian raised his brows. "No he ain't, B. He's our friend."
"No, Bian," the little boy contended.
Brian grew angry. "You have a pa. Sully's your pa."
Byron's lips trembled. "Cal," he insisted.
Brian stooped to his level, narrowing his brow. "Cal ain't your pa, and I don't want to hear any more about it.
Understand me, Byron?"
He sniffled. "No, Bian. Cal is my papa!"
"No he ain't," Brian retorted angrily. "B., you say that again and I'll...I'll smack ya!"
"I'm tellin'!" Byron cried, rushing out of the barn.
Brian sighed. It hurt more than he could have imagined to hear Byron insist on Cal being his father. Brian felt as
if he would be betraying Sully not to speak up and stop it. He wondered if Ma knew about Byron's confusion.
Furiously, he wondered if Cal and Ma had allowed the little boy to think such a thing, maybe even encouraged
him.
By the time Byron reached his mother, washing the supper dishes in the kitchen, he was hiccupping and in tears.
Michaela instantly stopped what she was doing and picked him up, sitting him on the counter.
"Byron, what's the matter?" she questioned, swiping at his tears with her thumbs.
"He says...h-he says gonna s-smack me!" the child stuttered worriedly.
"Who said?" Michaela replied, disconcerted.
"Bian," he sobbed, hugging her.
"Brian?" she uttered in disbelief. "Why would he say a thing like that?"
"I dunno," Byron sniffled, clutching his mother's blouse.
Michaela rubbed his back. "It's all right, Brynie. I'm sure this is only a misunderstanding."
Brian opened the front door, face flushed with rage.
"Brian!" Michaela called. "Did you threaten to hurt your brother?"
"I didn't mean it," he mumbled.
"I think you owe him an apology," she told him.
He looked at Byron briefly, and the little boy gazed back, eyes filled with tears. "Sorry," he murmured with little
emotion.
Not sure how to react, Michaela kissed Byron's head, then placed him on the floor. "Run along, sweetheart. You
may play until I'm finished with the dishes. Then I'll help you get into your costume."
Obediently, Byron scurried upstairs, careful to exit through the back entryway of the kitchen, thus avoiding his
brother in the dining room.
"Brian, I'd like to speak with you," Michaela said sternly, returning to the dishes.
Brian trudged over and picked up a towel, drying the cup she handed him.
"Would you like an opportunity to explain?" Michaela asked, determined to keep her voice calm.
"Yeah, I can explain," Brian said vehemently. "B. thinks Mr. Brooks is his pa."
"Brian, he's only pretending," she said weakly, avoiding his eyes. She scrubbed at another plate, and then handed
it to him.
"No," Brian replied softly, "I think he thinks it's true." He searched her face. "What do you think, Ma?" he asked
harshly. He dried the plate, then put down his towel.
"He's three years old," she told him, her throat tightening. "Children that age pretend all the time."
"Not about this," Brian replied, tears threatening. "Sully is his pa. Not Cal, not anyone else. What's Sully thinkin'
right now, up in heaven, watchin' his son call somebody else 'pa'? Are ya just gonna let B. forget all about him?"
She turned to him tearfully. "How can he forget if he can't possibly remember him?" she demanded. "Byron can
never, will never know his father! Don't you think that's torn me apart his entire life? I've done the best I can for
Katie and Byron. I've shown them pictures, things of Sully's, told them everything I could about him. But how can
they ever truly know him? How can you love someone you've never met? Answer me that."
He quieted, bending his head. "That don't mean ya tell him go pick who ya want and that's your pa. It's not right."
Tears trickled down her cheeks. "What isn't right, Brian is that child will live his entire life without ever knowing
his father. You look him in the eyes, and explain that 'Papa' died before he was even born, that he rests on the
bottom of that creek or God knows where, that he never even knew his son existed. Then you tell me what is and
isn't right." She stroked his hair over his ears, her tone softening. "...Mr. Brooks means well. He only wants to
please Byron."
Tears welled in his eyes. "I hate him," he told his mother. "I don't care if he has the best intentions. I hate him."
Her lip quivered. "He's leaving in a week," she said softly.
"Good. He ain't our pa." He turned to leave.
"No, he isn't," Michaela replied softly, sniffling.
He turned back. "Our pa's never comin' back." He looked her in the eyes, lip quivering. Suddenly, he broke down.
"My...my pa ain't comin' back, Ma."
She nodded tearfully.
He walked back to her, and she took him in her arms, holding him closer than she had in years. "Sully's d-dead."
She kissed his hair, rocking him slowly, tears flowing. "Oh, sweetheart. This is hard for you, too, I know. I'm
sorry if sometimes I act as if I've forgotten that."
"I'm sorry I said those things t' B.," he replied, closing his eyes tight. "I was mad. I forget. I can't expect him to
remember Sully. It ain't possible. You're right."
She kissed him again. "I'm sorry, too. I'm so sorry, Brian. You don't know how much I've agonized over this,
wondering if it's right to allow him to think of Cal this way, wondering how Sully feels. I still don't know if this is
best, but I do know, Sully would want his children to be happy. I've never seen Byron happier than I have this
month. He has what he's always wanted. Let him have his papa, Brian, just for a little while. Please."
After a moment, he nodded. "...If it makes him happy."
She pulled back, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "No one can ever, ever replace Sully. I promise you." She
kissed his brow. "I'd do anything for you, Brian. You have to know that."
He nodded. "Me too, Ma."
She smiled. "Well, we've got to get the three of you dressed. We can't be late for the big performance."
He returned the smile. "I'll help ya get Katie and B. ready if ya want."
"I'd appreciate that," she replied with a soft smile. She took his hand and they headed up the stairs.
***
"Mary brought forth her firstborn son," one of the older children read, voice a bit unsteady with nervousness,
"wrapping him in swaddling clothes and laid him in the manger." The reverend nodded his encouragement from
the side of the church.
"Byron's part is coming up," Michaela whispered, leaning toward Cal.
He glanced across the aisle at Dorothy and Loren. "Psst, Miss Dorothy!" he murmured.
Dorothy looked toward the sound, brow raised.
Cal smiled. "Byron's coming up," he mouthed, and Dorothy chuckled quietly and whispered the forewarning to
Loren.
Sarah Sheehan, clothed in a blue robe, placed a rag doll in a little wooden cradle and took a seat before it, beside
the young boy playing Joseph.
"There were some shepherds in that part of the country, watching their flocks by night," the narrator continued.
The audience turned to the back of the church, where a small group of boys, walking sticks in hand and dressed in
robes tied at the waist with lengths of rope, made their way haphazardly down the aisle toward the front. A few
looked on the verge of tears, some were smiling, one giggling, and all were nearly tripping over their costumes.
Out of the small mob emerged the youngest child of all, on all fours, a little black nose painted on with charcoal.
"Baa!" Byron squeaked out, thrilled to be a part of the excitement. He paused to hitch up the stocking on his left
hand, and then continued down the aisle.
"That's him," Michaela murmured, placing her hand atop Cal's. "Oh, Cal. He's precious!"
Cal chuckled and looked on proudly, bursting into a wide smile. "Aw, he sure is."
The audience softly laughed, pointed to their own children, or let out sighs at how adorable everyone looked,
especially the little lamb.
Finally, after a little help from the older children, the shepherds arranged themselves up front and knelt before the
manger, Byron finding his place next to Sarah, who had offered to take him under her wing while on stage.
A little dazed at last in the spotlight, Byron stared out at the audience,
mouth slightly agape. He spotted his mother, beaming at him and
whispering to Cal, and burst into a delighted grin. He got up on his
knees and waved. "Hey, Mama!" he called powerfully, interrupting the
narrator.
The church quieted. The children panicked for a moment. No one had
told them what to do if things didn't go as rehearsed. The narrator's face
flushed and twisted in uncertainty, and the reverend scratched his head
nervously.
Blushing, but unable to resist her son's sweet, charcoal-nose face,
Michaela timidly waved back. "H-hello, sweetheart," she replied.
Satisfied, Byron sat back on his hands and knees and looked at the
cradle, as he had been instructed; unaware that he had upset the play.
A soft snicker came from somewhere in the audience, followed by
smiles and chuckles and several contented sighs. Eventually, the children on stage were grinning and giggling,
enjoying themselves like never before.
Relieved, the reverend nodded at the narrator. "Keep going, Nathan," he whispered, smiling.
Realizing nothing drastic had gone wrong, Nathan read on: "'For unto you is born this day in the city of David a
savior, Christ the Lord! And this will be a sign unto you, you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and
lying in a manger.' Suddenly a whole multitude of heaven's angels appeared, singing praises unto God."
"Katie's here somewhere," Michaela said, searching the group of angels with her eyes.
Cal squinted as the little girls made their way down the aisle in their white nightgowns, paper wings, and yellow
cloth halos. "I don't see her," he whispered back.
Michaela raised herself off the bench a few inches, holding onto the back. "She...she hasn't come out," she
whispered worriedly. She looked toward the alcove of the church. "Where is she?" Brow crinkled with worry,
Michaela said, "I'm going to go back there."
Cal looked at Byron, glancing back and forth between his mother and the cradle. "Stay here," Cal murmured. "I'll
go see."
As quietly as possible, he made his way to the back of the church, where he found Katie softly sobbing, Mrs.
Slicker trying to console her.
Cal knelt beside her. "Katie, what's the matter?" he asked.
"She will not say," Mrs. Slicker replied. "Come now, Katie. Don't you want to be an angel like the other girls?"
Katie shook her head, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "I don't wanna," she said quietly, wrapping her
arms around Cal's neck.
"Oh." Cal lifted her into his lap and hugged her tight. "What is it, Princess? Why don't ya?"
She buried her face in his shoulder. "There...there..." She looked out at the audience, her lip trembling. "Lots and
lots in there." She closed her eyes.
He straightened her halo. "Feel like ya got butterflies in your stomach, hm?"
She looked up at him, surprised. "Uh-huh."
"Katie, do ya want to go out there and stand with your friends?"
She shook her head, eyes terrified.
"Wanna sit with your mama and me?"
"Please," she begged, stroking his cheek.
"Sure," he agreed, tapping her nose. "Ya know, being in the audience, that's all right, too. After all, what good's a
play if ya don't have anyone to watch it?"
She smiled softly.
"If it's all right with your teacher," Cal added.
Mrs. Slicker smiled and patted Katie's back. "Go on. Tell me what it's like from the first row."
As quietly as before, Cal made his way back to the front bench, placing Katie between himself and Michaela.
"Is she...?" Michaela whispered over her daughter, stroking her hair comfortingly.
"Fine," Cal said, winking.
Katie put her left hand in Cal's and her right in her mother's, smiling to each in turn.
"Glory to God in the highest!" the children recited as proud parents grinned, "And on earth, goodwill toward
men!"
The actors joined hands across the stage, and on the reverend's cue, simultaneously shouted: "Merry Christmas!"
They bowed, curtseyed, and bowed again, as their families burst into thunderous applause. Michaela, Cal, and
Katie were the first to rise to their feet, all smiles.
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç@à{Üxx
Michaela finished drying the last of the supper dishes, then strolled over to the sitting room. Brian was kneeling
beside the fire, a letter in his hand, staring into the flames.
"I'm sorry Colleen can't make it for Christmas," Michaela said, taking a seat in the wing back chair behind him.
Brian sighed, folding the letter they had received from his sister well over a month ago. "A chance at an internship
in New York don't come along every day," he replied certainly, though the disappointment he felt was obvious.
"Your grandmother and aunts and cousins will take good care of her for the holidays," she assured him. "And
we'll wire Boston tomorrow, how's that sound?"
"Sure," he said quietly, tucking the letter neatly in the envelope and sticking it in his breast pocket. "Goodnight,
Ma." He stood up.
"Oh, you're going to bed already?" Getting Brian to think about sleep on Christmas Eve, as far as Michaela could
remember, had never been easy. Then again, he wasn't a little boy anymore.
He nodded, lowering his eyes and saying nothing.
She rose and gave him a hug. "Well, goodnight then." She stroked his hair, eyeing him dubiously. Perhaps he was
more upset about Colleen's absence then he was letting on. "Brian..."
"'Night," he said quickly, pulling away and heading toward the stairs.
"Aren't you going to say goodnight to your brother and sister, and Cal?" she called, but moments later she heard
his door shut, possibly a little louder than usual, and she assumed he hadn't heard her.
Sighing, Michaela returned to the kitchen. Cal had Byron seated on the counter next to the pump, and was wiping
his sooty nose clean with a washcloth.
"Is it coming off, Cal?" Michaela asked, grinning.
He growled good-naturedly. "It's taking its time about it. You sure this is just charcoal?"
Byron scrunched up his nose. "It's chaw-coal," he affirmed. "From da chuwch stow."
"Church stove," Michaela corrected.
"Stow," repeated Byron, trying his hardest to articulate the difficult word.
Cal shook his head. "Well, it's stubborn charcoal then. Maybe we left it on too long."
Michaela turned to Katie, who was still wearing her paper angel wings, kneeling on a kitchen table chair in front
of the cookie jar and a plate of cookies. "My goodness!" Michaela exclaimed. "How many cookies are you
leaving for Santa?"
Katie pointed to each quickly, counting to herself. "Ummm...eight, nine, ten. Ten."
Cal whistled. "You're gonna give St. Nick a belly ache."
Michaela chuckled, finding a glass and opening the icebox. She poured a glass of milk and placed it beside the
plate.
"Mama, is San'a Cwaus gonna eat *all* dem cookies?" Byron asked, eyes wide as he looked at the plate.
Michaela glanced at Cal, raising her eyebrows.
"I think if he does," Cal spoke up, "he's gonna need some help from Mrs. Claus." He winked discretely at
Michaela.
"He'll eat them all," Katie affirmed confidently. She put the lid on the cookie jar, jumped down from her chair and
returned the jar to the counter.
"I think it's time for bed you two," Michaela announced, producing a pair of groans from her little girl and boy.
She lifted Byron from the counter, kissing his now clean nose, and took Katie's hand.
"Cal, tell me a stowy, pease," Byron called, stretching his hand in the man's direction.
Cal cleared his throat, picking up a towel. "Um, your mama can do that, Squirt. I'll straighten things up down
here." He wiped the counter of a few crumbs.
Disappointed, but mindful that although his mother's stories weren't as good as Cal's, they were nonetheless
passable, he hugged Michaela's neck. "All wight."
After Michaela had told the children a shortened version of *A Christmas Story*, tucked them into bed, and made
certain they were at least trying to go to sleep, she returned downstairs.
Cal offered her a chocolate cookie as soon as she returned, and she took it with a smile.
"You'd better start now if you're gonna have these all gone by bedtime," he told her.
"You take some, too," she invited.
"If ya insist," he teased, gathering a handful and taking a big bite into the largest cookie. "Mmm. You made
these?"
She nodded. "With Katie's help. I think she's going to be quite a cook. She certainly doesn't get that from me."
She took a sip of the milk.
"Sully was a good cook?" he asked.
She bent her head. "Well, he learned how to make a few tasty dishes, when he was in a mining camp. He let me
sample those. And once in awhile, when I was kept late at the clinic, he'd make dinner." She smiled. "He brought
me breakfast in bed once, when I was expecting Katie. I couldn't keep it down. He felt terrible."
He smiled, pulling out a chair for himself and Michaela. "You and Sully, ya had Katie right away?" he said
quietly, not sure if he might be embarrassing her. "I mean, after ya got married of course."
She sat down. "She was born about a year after we were married," Michaela told him, blushing only a little. She
looked up. "Sully delivered her."
He raised one eyebrow. "He was a doctor?"
She chuckled. "No. It's...a long story."
"Bet he knew a lot more than I did," Cal admitted, biting into another cookie.
She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. But I think...I like how my children were born just fine. I wouldn't
change anything about it...except..." She trailed off, averting her eyes.
"Except ya wish Sully could of been there, for Byron," Cal finished knowingly, in a quiet voice. "Ya wish he had
been there for ya when he was born."
"I've spent the last four years wishing," she said softly. "I've had enough of it."
They were silent for a moment, then Cal looked at her, smiling reassuringly. "Your cheek's looking a lot better,"
he murmured.
She brought her fingers to the fading bruise. "...Oh." She stood up abruptly. "Well, I have some wrapping to do."
She paused. "Cal...will you stay and help me?"
"I oughta get back to the Chateau..." he stammered.
She came to his side. "I was meaning to ask...why don't you stay in Colleen's room, just for tonight? That way you
can be here when the children wake up." Her cheeks reddened, but she was able to look him in the eyes. "I know
it'd be a wonderful surprise."
"I do like surprises," he admitted.
"Then stay," she whispered, grasping his hand. "And of course you'll join us for Christmas dinner. Matthew's
coming home from Denver, and Dorothy and Cloud Dancing will be here. I know Byron and Katie drew you a
picture...they'll want to give it to you."
He nodded slowly. "All right, Mike. I'll stay."
***
Around eleven o'clock, Michaela and Cal had finished filling the stockings, wrapping the presents, and organizing
them under the tree. After bidding each other a polite but awkward goodnight, Michaela went upstairs. She
changed into her nightgown, brushed her hair, and then found herself at the window, staring up at the stars.
"Another Christmas without you," she murmured faintly. Tomorrow morning she would smile and laugh and
watch her children experience the delight of stockings, presents and candy, and it wouldn't hurt. At least not as
much as it used to.
She recalled the first Christmas after Sully's death. Byron was a newborn, waking at all hours, and so she spent
the night feeding him, rocking him back to sleep, and curling up under the covers, hugging her pillow and crying
for Sully. That was when she had decided she could no longer nurse her baby, despite her firm belief that breast
milk was best for him. It was too much to feel his tiny, soft fingers gripping her thumb, to look down at his sweet
face, wide, blue eyes gazing into hers, the golden-brown fluff atop his head, already so much like her husband. If
she didn't look at him, she wouldn't be reminded. So Brian started getting up with the baby, warming a bottle,
feeding him while Michaela slept, trudging to school the next day with drooping eyes, and never once
complaining.
As Michaela thought back on it now, she was terribly ashamed. Thank God Cal had come, woken her up to what
she was doing, made her realize how unfair things were for Brian, how much Katie needed her, and how much
she loved the baby.
Michaela went to her bed, removed her robe from the bedpost and walked out of the room. She quietly entered
Brian's room, knelt beside his bed and kissed his forehead. Then she tiptoed into the room across the hall, stroked
Katie's hair and gave her a kiss, then headed to her little boy's room.
She opened the door slowly, expecting to find him asleep. "Byron, what are you doing up?"
The little boy was on his tiptoes, holding the windowsill with both hands and peering up at the starlit sky.
"Lookin' for San'a," he explained. He scratched his head. "He's gonna come, Mama?"
She grinned, coming to his side and kneeling next to him. "Well, let's see. Have you been a good boy?"
"Yeah," he replied.
She caressed his hair. "Then I think Santa probably has a few things in his bag for my little lamb, but only if
you're in bed and asleep!"
Giggling, he scurried over to his bed. Michaela followed him, helping him under the covers and tucking them up
to his chin. "The pageant was wonderful, Brynie," Michaela told her son. "Mama's so proud of you and Katie and
Brian."
"I saw ya, Mama," he replied. His eyes squinting with satisfaction, reminding Michaela of her husband.
"Yes, I know," she chuckled. "Cal and I were quick to get seats right up front."
"I saw you and Papa," he added, his smile growing broader.
She frowned, stroking his hair. What *was* Sully thinking? she asked herself, guilt gripping her throat.
"Brynie...you understand what pretend is."
"I p'tend I'm a lamb," he announced.
"That's right. About Cal being your papa...well, that's pretend, too." She hoped he would nod in agreement,
though she didn't expect him to.
"No p'tend, Mama," he insisted, confused. "Cal is my papa."
"No, sweetheart. I know this is difficult to understand and I'm sorry I let it go for this long." She pressed her lips
to his forehead for a long moment. "Sully," she finally murmured, "Byron Sully is your father. I named you after
him. The moment I set eyes on you I knew that's what I would call you."
"I wanna see Sull-wee," he demanded softly, unable to comprehend it all.
"You remember we've talked about this, several times. Papa had an accident and died before you were born, and
is in heaven. God wanted him." She pursed her lips to keep back tears.
"Where's heaven?" he asked, taking a stray wisp of her hair in his hands and stroking it with his fingers.
"Heaven?" Michaela murmured, not expecting this. "Well, I suppose heaven is...all around us. I don't quite
understand it myself, but we put our trust in the Lord. Papa's here watching over us, even though we can't see
him."
Byron's eyes widened, suddenly frightened as his imagination contemplated the idea of his papa lurking outside
the window, in the bureau, or perhaps under his bed. He stretched his arms to clutch Michaela's neck. "Seep wid
me, Mama," he whispered.
She hugged him close. "Oh. You can come sleep with me."
"Mama, don't get acciden'," he begged tearfully as she lifted him into her arms. "Don't go to heaven."
She stopped in the hallway, rocking him soothingly. "Oh, Brynie. I won't leave you. Never." She walked into her
room and laid him on her bed, then brought him the photograph of her wedding day. She gave it to him to hold.
"This is Papa, sweetheart," she told him, pointing at Sully. "Remember seeing this picture? Mama dressed up in
this pretty gown from Grandma and your aunts and my friends, and promised your papa I'd love him forever."
Byron stared into the unfamiliar man's eyes. "Papa," he experimented. He wished the man could jump out of the
photograph, talk with him and play with him, hoist him into his arms like Cal did so often. This was tough
business, Byron decided, having a papa in heaven.
Michaela touched his cheek with her finger. "So it's all right for Cal to be nice to us, but the man in that
photograph is your father, and he loves you so very much."
Byron scratched his head. "You sure?"
She smiled. "Very. Papa and Mama loved you even before you were in my tummy. Katie, too. Do you know I
have a dream, often? The same dream. Your papa speaks to me in it. Michaela, he says, Byron's so beautiful. I'd
give anything to hold him. Don't let him ever forget I love him every single second of every single day."
"Me?" Byron whispered.
"You," she assured him, kissing his nose. She stood and removed her robe, placing it on the end of the bed, then
leaned over him once more.
"I should tell Cal this is my papa?" he asked, pointing at the photograph.
"Cal knows who that is," she assured him. "You don't need to say anything. Besides, Cal'll be moving on soon..."
Her throat tightened. "After Christmas, when his job for Mr. Lodge is over." She placed the picture on her
nightstand and pulled back the covers next to him.
He raised his eyebrows. "He leaving?" the little boy asked.
"Yes," she said quietly, reclining beside him and pulling the covers up to her waist.
"He hates me?" Byron persisted.
"Oh, no," she replied immediately, gathering him into her arms. "No, of course not, darling. Cal loves you. But
he's only visiting. He has to go back to his regular job, driving stagecoaches...Perhaps he'll visit again sometime."
"I want Cal t' visit lots," Byron told her sleepily.
"Shut your eyes now." She snuggled him closer. "Sweet dreams."
He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Michaela's nightgown, like flowers, like the sun, like his mama.
"Sweet dweams," he murmured back, falling asleep a few moments later.
Michaela watched her son rest for several minutes, traced her finger lightly across his brow, down his little nose,
over his flushed lips. She hugged him tighter. She wanted to love Byron as much as a mother possibly could, give
everything to the precious child in her embrace, but it would never be enough. She couldn't be his papa, too.
Though she now realized asking Cal to go along with Byron's fantasy hadn't been the best idea, for a brief
moment she imagined Cal as the little boy's father. It seemed things would be so much easier that way. She closed
her eyes and pictured herself happy in Cal's arms, loving him, and someday, perhaps marrying him. She would
have someone to share the bad times as well as the good times, someone to grow old with, like she always thought
she would with Sully. The children would have a father.
She held her breath. Suppose Cal decided to stay in Colorado, even after his job was over? A part of her said that
it was all right to want him to stay...to have feelings for him. If he were to ask to court her, it would be all right.
But of course he was leaving, and there was no use dwelling on what would never be. It was going to hurt when
he left. It hurt just imagining it.
Michaela kissed Byron's cheek softly, a tear from her cheek falling to his. "Sully," she murmured against his
cheek. "Tell me it's all right to feel this way. I need you to tell me." She waited, hearing nothing but silence.
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç@yÉâÜ
Michaela nestled herself in one of the wing back chairs, wrapping her hands around a steaming cup of coffee,
watching her children sitting with their gifts among a sea of discarded brown wrapping paper.
Katie was happily arranging her dolls and stuffed animals in a little cradle Michaela had gotten Robert E. to make.
Michaela had special ordered purple paint from the mercantile, and painted it herself, because purple was Katie's
favorite color.
Byron was wearing a scarf and hat knitted by his mother, and he and Cal were kneeling across from one another,
Cal attempting to teach him how to spin his new top.
Brian sat cross-legged beside the fire with a brand new copy of Huckleberry Finn, his favorite book, boots for the
winter on his feet, and an open package of gumdrops in his lap, enough to keep him happy for several weeks.
From the children, Michaela had received a warm, intricately crocheted white shawl. She knew Brian, Katie and
Byron had all been saving their pennies for the past few months, but had never expected such a beautiful gift. She
thought about Sully, and how much he would have loved it on her, and how proud he would have been of their
children.
Suddenly, Katie rose from her spot on the floor, opened the lower cupboard of the cabinet near the dining room
table, and came back to the sitting room with a piece of off-white paper in her hands. She stood before Cal,
holding it out. "We painted this for ya, Mr. Brooks," she said softly, wiggling her toes in her slippers.
Michaela looked on with a smile as Cal took the picture.
"You painted this?" he asked, grinning as he made out five stick figures, one with long yellow hair, on some sort
of red blob.
"Me an' Katie," answered Byron, grasping Cal's arm and looking at the picture with him.
"This is us sleddin'," Katie explained. "You, Brian, Mama, me, Byron."
"I dwew the sun," Byron spoke up proudly, pointing at a yellow smudge in the sky, resembling a circle. He tossed
a tassel of his scarf over his shoulder.
"Aw, this is great, kids," Cal chuckled. "Thanks. I love it."
"Will ya keep it forever?" asked Katie, glad he seemed pleased.
"Forever," he promised. "...Every time I look at it, I'll remember you and how much fun we had that day." He
involuntarily turned to glance at Michaela.
Michaela lowered her eyes and took a sip of coffee.
He cleared his throat. "I...uh...I got something for you kids, too. Hold on." He stood up, put on his jacket, and
headed out the door.
Eyebrows raised, Michaela and the three children watched the door expectantly for his return.
After a few minutes, Cal came back in, a wooden crate covered with a blanket in tow.
"What do you have in there, Cal?" Michaela asked, her curiosity piqued.
"It's, uh..." Cal stammered. The crate let loose a whimper.
"A puppy!" Katie exclaimed.
Cal chuckled, placing the crate on the floor and lifting out a scrawny, brown-speckled mutt, about ten weeks old.
"A puppy!" Byron shouted, running to Cal and taking the creature in his arms. "For me?"
"For you and your sister and for Brian," Cal clarified. "She was the littlest of a litter Mr. Slicker's dog had. No one
wanted her."
"We'll take 'er!" Katie declared. "Let me have a turn, Byron."
Reluctantly, Byron gave her the dog to hold. It gave another whimper and licked Katie's cheek.
Hesitantly, Brian placed his gifts on a nearby chair and joined the group.
"Cal, a puppy," Michaela murmured, not sure if she approved.
"We had a dog," Brian spoke up, patting the puppy's head gently. "He ran away...when Pa died."
The room quieted, all eyes turning to Brian.
Cal glanced at Michaela uncomfortably. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know." He stroked the floppy ears of the mutt. "I
can...I can take her back I s'pose."
"No!" Byron protested. "Bian, my puppy!" he insisted, as Katie hugging the animal protectively. He rubbed his
eyes as tears slipped down his cheeks. "My puppy," he moaned.
Brian knelt to his level and patted his back. "B., don't cry. Don't cry. That's all right if ya wanna keep him, I'm just
sayin' we used to have a dog, and we shouldn't forget him even if he ain't here. A puppy's nice, but it can't ever
replace Sully's wolf." He glanced at Cal, then turned a penetrating gaze on his mother.
"Brian," Michaela spoke up chastisingly, then hesitated.
"I'd better take him back," Cal said quietly, picking up the puppy by the skin of his neck.
Michaela grasped his arm. "No, Cal. It's a wonderful gift. What do you say to Mr. Brooks, children?"
Katie and Byron beamed. "Thank you!" they told him simultaneously.
"...You're welcome," murmured Cal.
Katie came to her older brother and sat herself on his knee. "What was doggie's name, Brian?"
Brian swallowed hard as Michaela rested a hand on his shoulder. "Pa's dog? Wolf."
"Wof," echoed Katie thoughtfully.
Byron took the puppy from Cal and sat on the floor with it. "Wof," he said, tapping the puppy's wet nose. "I name
ya Wof!"
"She don't look anything like Wolf," Brian told him. He sighed, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings. "But since
ya don't remember him...that's all right, I guess."
"Wolf the second it is then," Michaela affirmed.
The children engrossed themselves in play with the new
puppy, and Cal offered to refill Michaela's coffee cup. He
came back with a small wrapped package, a shy grin on his
face.
"I thought you were getting my coffee," Michaela told him
wryly.
He sat in the chair next to her and gave her the package. "I
think ya might like this instead."
"Oh, Cal, how sweet," she murmured, blushing. "I didn't
expect anything."
"Open it," he encouraged impatiently.
Eyebrows raised, she untied the string and tore off the brown paper. She lifted the lid of a small box, dug through
some newspaper shredding, and at last came to the gift. It was a small angel, made of clear glass, with a goldcolored glass halo. It's skirt was a complex design of tiny bows, and its wings were smooth and flawless. It's
hands were folded, its head bent, as if in prayer.
Michaela couldn't tear her eyes from it, and soon felt tears slipping down her cheeks as she recalled the afternoon
Cal had taught her how to make a snow angel, how much she had smiled and laughed that day, and how much she
loved to be with him. How much she would miss him.
"Something the matter with it?" Cal finally asked nervously.
"No, nothing," she choked. "It's...beautiful. I love it. Oh, Cal."
"You usually can't stop bawling when ya love something?" he teased.
"Usually," she returned wryly, dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief. "Thank you."
He leaned forward and embraced her warmly. "You're welcome." He pulled back. "See, it's an ornament," he told
her as she fingered a thin string attached to the back.
"Oh, yes. You couldn't of found this in the mercantile," she remarked.
He shook his head. "There's this glass factory, in Chicago. They make all sorts of things, all outta glass: plates,
real pretty lamps, they make a nativity set, and dolls, only ya can't really play with them. Anyways, I thought
maybe you'd like this angel."
"I do," she assured him, standing up and placing the angel carefully on the table between the chairs. "And I have
something for you."
"Really?" Cal returned, surprised.
She fished around behind the tree and finally came up with a package, a little larger than the one Cal had given
her.
"What is it?" he asked, shaking it gently.
"Open it," she ordered, echoing his words.
He tore off the paper, shook open a box, and pulled out a handsome gold watch with a chain. "Mike," he breathed,
turning it from side to side.
"See, you press this," she instructed, leaning forward and guiding his fingers to a tiny clasp, "and it opens. You
must remember to wind it each morning or it won't keep the time."
"It's...it's...too much," he at last whispered.
She shrugged. "You need a watch." She gazed into his eyes, grinning softly. "So you won't be late again."
He shook his head. "I won't ever be late with a watch like this to look at. It's just like the ones the fellas at the
bank had. I'd sit on my pa's lap at his desk and stare at all those chains."
"Now you'll have your own chain," Michaela told him.
"I can't believe ya got me this," he said, continuing to turn the shiny gold back and forth. He looked up.
"Mike...where did ya...how did ya...?"
She lowered her eyes. "You wouldn't take the money I wanted to give you for paying off my loan..."
"You spent that on this?" he uttered in disbelief.
She nodded. "You told me to use it for Christmas presents, remember?"
"Well, Mike, I didn't mean for *me*," he returned.
She put on her best frown. "You're going to hurt my feelings if you don't accept it. You don't know how much
time I spent choosing the perfect one."
"Too much time." He took her hand and kissed it sweetly. "Thank you so much."
She shyly averted her eyes. "You're welcome," she said quickly.
Katie bounded into Cal's lap, all giggles. "Mr. Brooks, he's so *sweet*!"
"It's a she," Cal corrected, standing up and holding her above his head. "Glad you're enjoying that mutt."
"Guess what? Her name's Wof," she informed him as he brought her back to eye level. "And...I got a sec-ret to tell
ya," she whispered, brown eyes twinkling.
He smiled. "What?"
She gestured with one finger for him to come closer, then she cupped her hands around her mouth. "I love you!"
she whispered in his ear.
He chuckled, hugging her tight. "Oh. Ya love me 'cause of the puppy."
She stroked his cheek, grinning. "Mr. Brooks?"
"Hm?"
"Can I say Cal, too?" she asked shyly. "Byron gets t' say Cal. It's no fair."
He kissed her cheek. "Sure. You can call me Cal."
"Good," she murmured delightedly, hugging his neck.
***
"We're gonna call her Wolf," Brian said, placing the wiggling puppy on Cloud Dancing's lap.
The wise Indian sat beside Dorothy before the fire. He looked into the puppy's eyes, nodding approvingly. "It will
be a fine dog."
"Uh-huh," Katie agreed from the floor, next to Cal with her little brother in his lap.
"Wof," remarked Byron excitedly.
"Brian says Wof is my papa's puppy," added Katie.
Cal shifted uncomfortably, still uncertain if his gift for the children should be given back to Jake.
Michaela and Matthew, seated at the dining room table and chatting, grew quiet upon Katie's remark and turned
toward the group. Dorothy placed her hand atop Cloud Dancing's shoulder as he nodded slowly, recalling what
now seemed like ages ago.
"Many years ago, I found Sully, your 'papa', after he had been wandering in the woods for days."
"Why was he wanderin'?" spoke up Katie, rising to her knees.
"Kate, don't interrupt," Brian chastised gently.
Cloud Dancing waved his hand. "It's all right. He was lost, Katie. His heart was broken."
"Oh," whispered the little girl, sitting back down and fingering the fancy red bow in her hair.
"Oh," echoed Byron, holding Cal's thumb with one hand. He hadn't any idea what "wandering" meant, but he
knew what lost was, and his mother had told him once what it meant when someone's heart "breaks".
"Go on, Cloud Dancing," encouraged Michaela from across the room as Matthew took her hand comfortingly.
"Sully stayed in my teepee for eight days and eight nights, not eating, not sleeping, not even speaking," continued
the Indian. "I thought, he will not live, but I did not give up. Then on the ninth day, he and I awoke with the sun,
and walked to the creek to drink. On the way, Sully saw a pup, a little wolf, his leg in a hunter's trap."
"Wolf," breathed Brian, realizing he had never asked his pa how he had found their beloved pet.
"Was it hurtin' the puppy?" Katie queried, eyes wide.
"The pup was feeling much pain," affirmed Cloud Dancing. "He had almost given up. I told Sully we should end
its pain, we argued, but he would not do it. He freed the pup from the trap and brought it back to my teepee."
"Sull-wee is very nice," Byron surmised, reaching up to pat his puppy's head.
Cloud Dancing smiled and placed his hand atop the head of his brother's son. "Sully was a very good man, Byron.
He had respect for all things: Indians, the white man, the land, even the little wolf. He helped the pup, it did not
die, and it grew big and strong. Sully called it Wolf. They took care of each other and were best friends."
"Think my puppy's gonna grow big and strong?" asked Katie, gazing at the little runt uncertainly.
"She will," Cloud Dancing assured her, placing the puppy back in the little girl's arms.
"Sooner than you know it," Dorothy added, chuckling.
"Dr. Mike, ya all right?" Matthew asked softly, squeezing his mother's hand and looking into her eyes.
"Hm-mm," Michaela murmured, composing herself with a few deep breaths. "...Sully never told me about that,"
she added.
"It was a good story," he said, smiling softly. "Cloud Dancin' tells it so you can picture it just like it probably
was."
"I'm glad you're here, Matthew," she told him, stroking back a stray hair from his brow.
"We're always gonna be together on Christmas, remember we promised, when we were all just kids?" he
explained. He rubbed his belly. "But only if you keep roasting turkeys like the one today. I've eaten enough to last
me for weeks," he joked.
"Oh," she chuckled. "Well, if Cal hadn't been here to look after the children while I tended to the turkey, no doubt
things would have turned out much differently."
"Katie and Byron sure can leave ya outta breath," he agreed.
She turned her gaze to Cal. "He's so good with them...Cal."
"I like your...friend," he said, nodding approvingly.
"Matthew, he's just that. A friend," she insisted.
He lowered his voice. "Sully would like him, too, Dr. Mike."
"You think so?" she whispered, realizing that pretending she thought of Cal as only a friend was useless when
talking to Matthew. He knew what she was thinking.
"I'm sure of it," he replied.
"Thank you, Matthew," she whispered. "That means a lot."
He gave her a hug. "You look so happy. I wanna see ya happy."
She nodded. "Oh, I am happy. For the first time since Sully's death, Matthew, Christmas doesn't hurt. It's only
making me smile."
"That's the way we want it," he said, kissing her cheek.
"I love you," she whispered.
"Love you, too," he returned, smiling.
***
"Shh...shhh," Michaela soothed, stroking the whimpering puppy's head. She had tucked her beside a hot water
bottle in a bed of old blankets, insistent that Wolf the second should sleep downstairs in the kitchen.
Unfortunately, the pathetic creature was afraid to close her eyes all by herself in the shadowy room, and every
time Michaela tried to tiptoe away to go upstairs, the puppy cried despairingly until her mistress returned to the
bedside.
"Hush, little one," Michaela tried again. The puppy raised her head, gazing up at Michaela with sad brown eyes.
"Oh, you miss your family," Michaela murmured. "It isn't easy being lonely, is it?"
The puppy whimpered once more, as if agreeing.
"But it'll be morning soon," Michaela assured her, "and I'm sure the children will be up bright and early to play
with you, all right?" Michaela's throat tightened. She didn't want morning to come. Cal was leaving in the
morning. "Now, go to sleep, Wolf," she encouraged.
Gradually, the puppy's eyes drooped, and after several more minutes, Michaela was fairly certain she had dozed
off.
"Puppy fall asleep yet?" Cal asked, approaching Michaela from behind.
"Shh," she chastised, standing up and walking to the dining room table.
"Well, I'm...I'm all packed," he said.
She buttoned the top button of her bathrobe, nodding quickly.
"...What is it, Mike? Why are you mad at me?" he asked directly, putting his hands on his hips. "Ya've been
avoiding me all day."
"...The puppy. You should have asked," she stammered, turning her back to him.
"Mike, I thought you were all right with it-"
"The children are far too young for such a responsibility," she interrupted. "It needs to be fed and walked and
brushed and house broken. I'll be the one doing the dirty work and they'll be the ones playing with it." She crossed
her arms testily.
"I had a chat with 'em," Cal told her. "Byron's gonna be in charge of walking it, and Katie's gonna take care of the
food and water. Brian's gonna help with house breaking, and they're all gonna take turns brushing it and playing
with it."
"You should have asked me first," she insisted. "You had no right."
"Look, is this about Sully's wolf? 'Cause Mike, I'm real sorry about that. I really didn't know." He pursed his lips,
feeling terrible.
"No, it's not about Wolf," she whispered, choking up.
"...Ya like that puppy, don't ya?" he surmised, watching the firelight bounce off her hair.
She nodded, biting her lip to keep back tears. "She's adorable."
He sighed, relieved, but troubled that he still hadn't found what was disturbing her. "...Remember ya promised to
tell me...if you're ever unhappy?"
She closed her eyes. "Cal..."
He placed his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly. "Tell me."
She turned, slowly, drawing in her breath. "Don't go," she murmured simply.
He sighed. "I..."
"I..." she began. "I need you." She took a shaky breath. "I'm frightened of facing tomorrow, without you. What if
the pain comes back?"
He cleared his throat. "You're strong now. I know you are. You're getting past that pain. When...when I leave, I
won't worry about ya, 'cause I know there ain't anything that can stop ya. Ya gotta know that now, Mike."
"Cal," she said hoarsely, unable to keep back tears any longer.
"I wouldn't say that if it weren't true," he assured her, gathering her in his arms and holding her close.
"I know," Michaela whimpered, closing her eyes.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "You're gonna be all right," he whispered.
She pressed her forehead to his. "You make me feel better. You've always been able to do that."
"No," he protested shyly, grasping her arm.
"Yes. I smiled for the first time since Sully's death, after hearing something you told me."
He shifted his hand up higher, to her upper arm. "You did?"
"I don't remember what you said," she admitted, "but...I remember how good it felt...to smile," she said, lip
quivering as she wrapped her arms around him and tucked her head beneath his chin.
"I'll miss you, Michaela," he replied, choking up at last.
She nodded solemnly, not trusting herself to reply.
He pulled back, struck by the tears in her eyes. “I’ll be leaving before sun-up tomorrow. Don’t want ya getting up
early to see me off, all right?”
“…Then this is goodbye,” Michaela replied.
“This is goodbye,” he repeated softly, the reality of it hitting him hard. Eyes locked with hers, he hesitantly
stepped forward, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t cry, Mike…please,” he whispered.
“You’ll be all right. I promise...” Ever so softly, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was desired by both, created
from a friendship, a longing, an affection that was mutual.
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç@y|äx
"Michaela," Cal murmured as they broke apart seconds later.
She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't. They kissed again, longer, mouths becoming one as gently and
timidly as experimenting schoolchildren.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, lowering his head.
She timidly looked him in the eyes. "Don't be...Cal, I haven't..." she admitted hoarsely. She had known Cal for
such a short time, yet she felt as if he understood her better than most men she had ever befriended had. She had
come to trust him with more than she ever thought possible. "I haven't in so long," she finished awkwardly.
He stroked her cheek. "Shh, I know...but I couldn't really tell," he said wryly.
"It felt good," she whispered boldly, a little surprised.
"As good as smiling?" he teased.
"Almost," she replied wryly.
He nodded shyly. "Michaela, I don't wanna go either, but I keep telling myself I have to. All I've been thinking is
how hard it would be to leave, even before I came to visit I thought about it."
"You did?" she whispered hopefully.
He touched her nose. "Hm-mm. You're all I think about. I can't be around ya anymore...and keep hiding these
feelings."
She smiled shyly. "I have feelings for you too, Cal."
"Ya do?"
"...Hm-mm." She took his hands. "I believe I just made that clear."
"I was afraid to hope..." he trailed off.
"I was afraid, too," Michaela admitted. "But...not as much anymore."
"Mike..." He bit his lip. "I've been thinking...what if I didn't leave?"
"You mean stay here in Colorado?" She hesitated. "But your stagecoach job...you've already taken so much time
away from it for us."
"I know but...maybe I could find some work in town or maybe even start up something of my own...this is gonna
sound crazy...I had this idea I've been kinda kicking around for a couple of years...well, almost since I first started
working for Wells Fargo."
"What?" she encouraged.
"What if...what if I was to start up a streetcar business? I could start it right here in town."
"Streetcar business?" she questioned. "Like the streetcars in Denver?"
"Right, only on a much smaller scale. I'd have one or two carriages pick up people at the train station, and maybe
a few more stops, and take 'em to where they want to go. Anyone can take the streetcar for a dime and go
wherever they want. That's cheaper than having a horse of their own, and having to care for it and all. And
streetcars would make for less mess in the streets what with fewer horses and wagons." He hadn't stopped to
pause for breath, and felt a little faint. He wasn't sure if it were due to lack of oxygen, or the thrill of Michaela in
his arms, gazing up at him lovingly, that crooked smile on her face, her lips flushed from the kiss. "And streetcars
are more fun to ride, too, I think."
"I bet Byron would think so," Michaela chuckled. "...You'd have to get permission from the town council," she
informed him, "but I'm on the council and I'd vote for it, and I know I can convince at least two others to vote in
your favor."
"Yeah, you're good at convincing," he chuckled.
"You would live in Colorado," she murmured. "Permanently."
"...Yeah," he replied. "I could keep the horses at Robert E.'s if he'll let me, and build a little place to keep the
records and work out the schedules, and hire people to drive the cars and care for the horses and all that. And I
could sleep in the back. And someday, I'd like to build a house there." He smiled dreamily. "A big house in town
where all the action is."
"Oh. I like it better out here," she whispered.
He raised his eyebrows. "Well, it works out. I can live in town and you can live out here in the forest, and I can
visit you."
"Forest? They're just woods, Cal," she corrected.
He snickered. "Forest, woods, whatever ya wanna call it."
"It's beautiful," she said defensively.
He shrugged. "It's very beautiful, Mike, but if I'm running a streetcar business, I gotta live in town at the center of
things."
"We're having an argument," she announced.
He chuckled. "Ain't that normal?"
"Normal?" she echoed.
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, for...for a couple I mean?"
"A couple?" she asked timidly.
He took her hand, noticing the engagement and wedding rings she continued to wear. "Michaela...would you
maybe like it if I courted you?"
"Courting," she breathed. It had been so long. "...I don't want to make false promises."
"I just mean giving it a little try," he assured her. "Nothing more."
"I've thought of this so much, even practiced what I'd say," she told him softly. "I just never expected it to really
happen."
Anxiously, he looked into her eyes. "What did ya practice saying?"
She took a deep breath. "That I'm willing to give it a little try." Sully would want me to be happy, Michaela
thought, heart swelling. Cal certainly made her happy. He had for a long time.
Smiling, he took her hand. "Oh, Mike. I'm glad. It's like a dream."
She glanced at the clock. "It's almost midnight," she remarked.
"Christmas is almost over," Cal pointed out.
"Merry Christmas, Cal," she whispered.
He raised her hand to his lips, kissing it sweetly as the clock struck twelve. "Merry Christmas, Mike."
***
"What does she eats, Bian?" Katie asked of her older brother, taking a seat beside him at the kitchen table, the
puppy in her arms.
Brian gave the puppy a pat on the head. "Well, let's see. We can start with some milk."
"Oatmeal, too?" Byron spoke up from the other end of the table, a heaping spoonful of porridge in hand.
"No, not oatmeal," Brian told him, rising and going to the kitchen. "Don't give it things like that, B.," he called,
"but when Ma ain't lookin', you can toss her a little piece of roast beef from your dinner plate, or a turkey bone, or
bacon."
"An' chocolate?" the little boy called back.
"No, B.," Brian said firmly, coming back to the table balancing a bowl filled with milk. "Never chocolate. It'll
make her sick."
"Don't get sick, Wof-y. Never, ever, ever," crooned Katie, kissing the whimpering little creature on the head.
"Mama is a doc-ta," Byron reminded his older sister, as if she had somehow forgotten. "Mama will take good care
of Wof, silly."
Katie thrust her tongue out at the little boy, but Byron only giggled, not offended in the least.
"Here, see if she'll try this," Brian bid, putting the bowl on the table as Katie sat the animal beside it.
Byron rose to stand on his chair so as to have a better view. "She's eatin' it!"
"She's *hungry*!" added Katie.
Grinning, Brian stroked the puppy's wiggling tale as it lapped up the milk. "There ya go, Wolf. Aw, you sure are
cute." The children were so caught up in the puppy's antics that they didn't notice their mother until she reached
the table.
"Ma," Brian croaked. "We, uh...we were just..." He was about to pick up the puppy from the table, but realized it
was too late. His mother had already seen. "Absolutely no puppies on the furniture at any time," she had
specifically instructed them the night before.
"Uh-oh," Byron said, carefully sinking to his bottom and lowering his eyes ashamedly, anticipating a scolding for
standing on his chair, and for allowing the puppy to drink on the tabletop.
Seemingly unaware of the fact that the puppy was clearly violating the strict rules she herself had set up, Michaela
only smiled as Wolf lapped up the last of her milk. "Good morning," she said cheerily.
The children looked from one to the other, dumbfounded. "...Mornin', Mama," Katie finally whispered timidly.
Michaela came to her side, giving her a warm hug and kiss. "I love you."
Katie shot a glance at Brian, eyebrows raised in question. He shrugged, biting his lip.
Michaela turned to Brian, giving him an equally warm hug. "I love you."
He cleared his throat, "Love you too, Ma," he replied softly, wondering if this was a sign a severe punishment was
to follow.
Averting his eyes, Byron swung his legs nervously in his chair. As Michaela came toward him, he couldn't keep
his lip from quivering. "Mama...I forgotted...I didn' mean it, but d-da puppy...I wanted t' see. I forgotted, Mama.
Really."
Michaela smiled and embraced him from behind, pressing her cheek to his. "I love you, sweetheart. How's Wolf
doing this morning?"
"...Good," he answered.
She kissed his cheek, and then headed to the kitchen to dish up some breakfast, humming a tune he seemed to be
making up as she went along.
The children breathed sighs of relief.
"Mama ain't mad!" Katie whispered as she placed Wolf and the milk bowl on the floor.
Brian shook his head. "Guess maybe she's givin' us a second chance."
"No puppy on da table," Byron reminded them.
Still bewildered, Brian sat down to eat his breakfast, one ear tuned to his mother. He couldn't remember the last
time he had heard her humming. Perhaps not since before Sully's death.
"Where is Cal?" Byron spoke up suddenly, accustomed to him joining them for breakfast each morning.
"He's leaving today, B., remember?" Brian reminded him, half wishing that Cal would stay because of how much
his mother obviously liked it when he was around, and half wishing he would just go. Though Cal was a nice
man, he wasn't Sully, and Brian couldn't help but think that every time he looked at the man.
Michaela's humming ceased, and she returned to the table, cheeks flushed. "Mr. Brooks...he'll be along
shortly...He decided he's going to stay in Colorado a little longer."
"He did?" Brian murmured.
"Goody!" Byron declared.
"How much longer, Mama?" Katie asked, beaming.
Michaela took a seat. "Well, he...he thinks perhaps he'd like to live here."
"*Live* here?" said Brian. "Why?"
Michaela started to tell them she and Cal had begun courting, but couldn't seem to find the words to explain.
Perhaps after a little more time's past, she thought. Then she'd sit them down and they'd have a nice long talk.
Now just didn't seem like the right moment. After all, she was just getting used to the idea herself. "Well, he...he
wants to start a business. A streetcar business that will drive passengers from the train station to their
destinations."
"Sounds like a good idea," Brian couldn't help but admit.
"Can I ride in the stweet-car?" Byron asked excitedly, jumping down from his chair and clutching his mother's
bathrobe.
Michaela picked him up and put him in her lap. "I suppose you'll have to ask Cal, but I don't see why not."
"Me, too, Mama," Katie piped up. "I never ever rided in one of them."
"Neither have I," Brian added, warming to the idea.
"I've ridden in them a few times," Michaela told them, thinking back, "once when I was in Denver for a medical
conference."
"Was it lotsa fun?" questioned Katie.
Michaela chuckled. "Yes, I suppose." She placed Byron back in his chair. "But first the town council has to
approve Mr. Brook's business, so that he can have permission to start building."
"Aw, Mama. No town con'sil," Byron protested, recalling many a time his mother hadn't been able to find a sitter,
and had dragged he and Katie along to her meetings. How tiresome it had been, waiting in the alcove of the
church until the meeting was over, with no one to play with but each other.
"Well, if it's all right with Brian, you can stay home with him and look after the puppy," Michaela offered,
looking hopefully at her older son.
"Sure, Ma," Brian agreed, not interested himself in a meeting that was sure to prove unexciting.
"I want Cal to stay here, too," Katie spoke up.
"Cal will come to the meeting of course, sweetheart," Michaela informed her. "It's about him, after all."
"All right," the child sighed. "I hope town council..." She paused to think of the word.
"Passes Cal's business?" Michaela supplied.
"Yeah," giggled Katie.
"What happens if ya vote it down?" Brian said softly.
Michaela's expression sobered. "Well, then I suppose...Cal would have to go somewhere else to try to start it."
"Oh," whispered Brian.
***
"I don't see how it can hurt things," Loren determined in his usual gruff manner of speaking, though it was
obvious he liked the idea, especially if his store might be one of the stops.
"It can only help things," Michaela added. "Mr. Brooks's business will be yet another convenience our town offers
that will make it more attractive to visitors."
"I don't know," spoke up the Reverend. "I don't know if we want to attract more visitors. Things seem so crowded
as it is."
"This'll reduce crowding," Cal said from his seat on the front pew, next to Dorothy.
"You're out of order," Jake reproached, tapping his gavel to his palm impatiently. Theresa was making vegetable
soap and turkey sandwiches for lunch, and he was getting hungry. He didn't want the meeting to go anything past
twelve o'clock.
"Then I yield to Mr. Brooks," Michaela said, giving Cal a soft smile.
Cal smiled back and stood, removing his hat. "Like I said, streetcars will reduce crowding. They'll be less horses
and wagons in the street 'cause people'll take the streetcar instead."
"Gentlemen--and Michaela," Preston said, standing up from the back, "I ask how much will this good man be
charging for his services?"
"You're out of order too, Preston," Jake called.
"I'd charge about a nickel or a dime a ride," Cal answered, turning slightly.
"Ha! The Chateau Hotel and Health Resort Transportation System is complementary--offered at *no charge*,"
Preston pointed out, holding his suit lapels and standing tall.
"But that's only for people goin' to your hotel," Horace pointed out. "Anyone could take your streetcar, right Mr.
Brooks?"
"That's right," Cal said, smiling.
"There's nothing wrong with competition, Mr. Lodge," Michaela said.
"Well, yes, competition is the basis of our economy, but, but-" stammered Preston.
"Aw, sit down, Preston," Loren grumbled.
"I say we vote," Jake spoke up. "All in favor of Cal Brooks's business say 'aye'."
All five of the council members spoke in the affirmative.
"Opposed?" Jake went on.
"No!" Preston shouted from the back.
"You can't vote, Preston," Horace scolded. "You're not on the council."
"The motion passes unani...unanimo...uh, five to zero." Jake gave the table a knock with his gavel. "You can start
building Mr. Brooks."
Cal beamed. "Great. Thanks. Thanks."
"Congratulations," Dorothy said, as a few men sitting in nearby pews shook Cal's hand. "This mean you're
plannin' on stayin'?"
Cal sighed happily. "Yeah."
"Good," Dorothy said with a wry smile.
Michaela approached Cal, all smiles.
"Told you you're good at convincing," he said, putting his arm around her shyly.
She blushed, lowering her eyes. "Congratulations."
"Thanks, Mike," he said. She was so pretty when she blushed. He felt her arm come around his waist, and grinned
with pure happiness.
Dorothy noticed her friends standing so close, so absorbed with one another, arms around each other. She raised
her eyebrows. "So..." she spoke up.
Michaela and Cal turned to look at her bashfully. "So," replied Cal. He chuckled; Michaela blushed some more.
"*Yes*, Dorothy," Michaela told her friend with a smile, satisfying her curiosity.
Dorothy chuckled and took the younger woman and man's hands. "Oh, Michaela, Cal. Courtin'!"
"Who's courtin'?" Grace said, taking Robert E.'s arm and turning to face the front.
"Dorothy, shh," Michaela chided, while Cal looked at his feet, to the side, anywhere other than at the gossipy
townsfolk.
"Oh, but it's so excitin'!" Dorothy exclaimed.
"Dr. Mike and Cal?" Loren observed.
"Dr. Mike and Cal!" Grace spoke while Robert E. looked about him a little embarrassed.
"Grace, now leave 'em be," her husband warned softly.
It was too late. Within a minute most of the townsfolk had gathered around Michaela and Cal, bubbling over
them, wanting to know since when had they been courting, how things were, was Cal really planning on living for
good in Colorado Springs, and the like. All the while Michaela and Cal stood side by side, shuffling their feet,
glancing at each other from time to time, uncomfortable with all the attention, but at the same time relieved that
their feelings were no longer suppressed, and wanting the world to know how they felt about each other.
Everyone was thrilled Dr. Mike had finally started to court again. She deserved happiness, and especially with a
man as nice as Cal. It was about time.
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç@á|å
"He surprises me with something each morning," Michaela told her best friend, eyes glazed over with
blissfulness. "Little gifts: candy, chocolates, a vase once, even flowers. I don't know where he finds them."
Dorothy chuckled with delight and took Michaela's hand. "Didn't I say? I knew from the beginning Cal would be
perfect for you! Oh, what else, Michaela? Tell me more." They began strolling down the vegetable display on the
store porch, stopping often to fill Michaela's basket.
"Well..." Michaela blushed. "Dorothy, there really isn't much more to tell."
"Oh, of course there is!" her friend replied. "Now let's see. How are the children takin' to it?"
"The children? Well, we...we haven't exactly...told them," Michaela admitted, sniffing a tomato.
"My goodness, it's been at least a week! How are you keepin' it from them?" Dorothy questioned.
"I suppose it just hasn't come up," she replied, placing the tomato in her basket. "Things haven't really changed..."
She paused. "Well, I suppose things have changed. Little things. He comes more often...we say goodnight--but in
private of course." She cleared her throat. "The children haven't much reason to suspect..."
"They'll have to find out sometime," Dorothy told her. "You'd best tell them," she advised. "Oh, but they're gonna
be thrilled, Michaela, I promise. You've seen them around Cal. They just adore that man."
"Yes," Michaela agreed, placing a few carrots in her basket. "But...Brian..."
"Brian?" Dorothy echoed.
"He's always liked Cal...I thought. Last week...he was upset about Byron becoming so attached to Cal. He says
Byron's forgotten Sully."
"Byron never even knew Sully," Dorothy pointed out, clasping her hands. "And it's natural for a little boy like him
to look up to a man like Cal."
"I know, I explained that to Brian, and he seemed to understand...but he's been behaving so strangely lately. He's
not disappointed if Cal isn't around, and when Cal's there he doesn't talk with him as much as he used to. In fact
he all but ignores him."
"Well, Brian hasn't had a father in three years," Dorothy pointed out. "Maybe he was gettin' used to bein' the man
of the house."
"I suppose that could be it," Michaela agreed. "But Dorothy, even if he doesn't think so, he needs someone like
Cal. He needs someone there for him, like Sully was. I know boys his age don't like to tell their mothers certain
things. If Sully were here Brian would confide in him."
"Boys his age need a man to talk to," Dorothy agreed. "But don't let this spoil your time with Cal. Brian'll come
around, Michaela. He's just gettin' used to things."
"As am I," Michaela replied, smiling as Cal and Loren appeared in the front door and approached the two ladies,
as if on a mission.
"Ya think the kids want licorice or peppermint sticks?" Cal asked them, eyebrows narrowed.
"I say they favor peppermint," Loren put in, candy scoop in hand.
"I thought I saw Katie's hand in the licorice jar last week," remarked Dorothy.
"Katie and Brian like licorice, and Byron will eat whatever you give him," Michaela said, settling things.
"See, I thought so," Cal replied, patting her arm. "Thanks, darlin'. Three bags of licorice sticks please, Loren."
"What are you doing, Cal?" Michaela questioned. "The children haven't even finished their Christmas candy."
"A little more won't hurt," he replied, following Loren inside to the candy display.
"You spoil them," Michaela called.
"So do you," he retorted, turning his attention to Loren to be sure each bag was filled evenly.
"You two are just adorable!" Dorothy exclaimed giddily.
"Dorothy, please," Michaela protested.
"What's the matter?" her friend questioned.
"You're embarrassing me," Michaela scolded.
"Oh, for heaven sakes, Michaela," retorted Dorothy. "You don't think it's true?"
"We're not having this conversation, Dorothy," Michaela replied exasperatedly, gathering a few more tomatoes
and then turning to go back into the store.
"See you in town," Dorothy called, grinning.
"I know, I know. I'll give it to 'em after dinner," Cal told Michaela as she entered the store to pay for the
vegetables.
"Good," Michaela agreed, coming to his side. "...Oh, Cal, look," she murmured, spotting a few pairs of ice-skates
on display along the back wall of the store.
"Those've been sellin' like hotcakes," Loren remarked automatically as he closed his money box and joined the
couple.
"My sisters and I used to skate up and down the Charles River all winter long," Michaela told the men, eyes
sparkling with the happy memory. "It was one of the few times we all seemed to get along."
Cal smiled. "That sounds like fun. I've never ice-skated before. I remember watching the grown-ups on the lake,
though."
Michaela removed a pair of skates from their hook with a wry grin. "It's time I spoiled you."
He waved his hand. "Oh, no, Mike. They're too much. 'Sides, I'm sure to make a fool of myself."
Loren chuckled to himself, hands on his hips. "Yep, I bet you would."
Cal shot him a look, but Loren only smiled wider.
"Don't worry, I'll teach you," Michaela offered, selecting a smaller pair for herself and taking them to the counter.
"The creek's frozen solid. Now's the perfect time. Please, Cal? I love to ice-skate. I haven't in ages."
"But...but, Mike," he protested, weakening under her pleading gaze. "...Aw, heck."
Michaela fished in her purse to pay for the vegetables and the two pairs of skates. "You made me get on that
toboggan. Now it's my turn."
***
"Brian, do you like molasses cookies?" Jeb Dodson asked as he took a seat on the school steps beside his friend.
"I'll trade ya for some of those gumdrops."
Brian studied his handful of Christmas candy. "Here, you can have a few pieces. I'll get a belly ache if I eat them
all."
"Really? Thanks," Jeb said, selecting several of his favorite colors.
"Me, too. I want some," Katie piped up, appearing behind the boys and squishing herself between her brother and
Jeb.
"Kate, we were talkin'," Brian scolded.
The child popped a gumdrop into her mouth and gazed up at him, not understanding his disapproval.
"Say, Brian? You wanna come over for supper sometime?" spoke up Jeb. "My pa just came back from Lincoln
with a bow and arrow set for me and my brothers. Archery, he calls it. You can come over and take a turn with it."
"Yeah, sure, Jeb," replied Brian, smiling. "That sounds like fun."
"I wanna see, too," Katie piped up as she smoothed open an affectionately crumpled piece of paper she had been
holding in her fist. Mama always left the best notes in her lunch pail, with little words Katie could read. Today it
said: "See you at three o'clock." That was when school let out, and when Mama and Cal were going to pick them
up, because it was awfully cold to walk all the way home.
"Katie," Brian groaned, embarrassed by his sister's outspokenness.
"Well, that's all right," Jeb assured them. "You can come along if you want, Katie...an' play with my baby sister I
s'pose."
"Yea!" squealed Katie, mouth full with another gum drop.
"Say, why don't you bring your whole family," suggested Jeb. "Your ma and my ma could talk, an' of course that
Brooks fella will come along-"
"Mr. Brooks?" Brian interrupted, raising his eyebrows. "Why would he wanna come?"
Jeb cleared his throat. "Well, yeah. I mean, he and your ma...I thought..."
"I get to say Cal," Katie put in helpfully.
Brian eyed his friend angrily. "Thought what?"
"Well, I've seen 'em about town," explained Jeb, "holdin' hands, sweet on each other. Everybody says they're
courtin'."
Katie scratched her head, disconcerted. What was courting?
"They are not," Brian insisted, brow narrowing.
"But they all say-"
"No," Brian uttered. "Cal ain't comin' along with us anywhere. He's just my ma's friend.
"Now Brian, don't get sore," Jeb begged. "I'm just sayin' what I saw, and what I saw was them holdin' hands.
Everybody knows nobody holds hands unless they're sweet on each other...or unless they're family, I s'pose."
"What's courtin', Brian?" Katie asked, grasping his arm.
"Somethin' ya don't gotta worry about, 'cause no one we know is doin' it," Brian said sternly. "...Ma would've told
us. She would've told me." He turned his head, biting back tears.
"But what's courtin'?" Katie persisted. When Brian ignored her, she stood up. "I'll ask Teacher," she declared.
Brian grabbed her arm and pulled her back to her seat. "Katie, no. Just forget it."
The child crossed her arms, sulking.
"I'm sorry I said anything," Jeb murmured.
Brian bent his head. "They're not courtin', Jeb. My ma don't keep things like that from me. She knows I ain't a kid
anymore."
"All right, all right," Jeb replied. "No one's courtin'." He patted his friend's back. "Hey...you'll still come for
supper?"
Brian smiled faintly. "Yeah, I will. Thanks."
"Me, too?" Katie asked meekly.
Jeb and Brian chuckled, glanced at each other, then tickling the little girl.
"You, too," Jeb agreed as Katie burst into giggles.
***
"Why don't I just watch?" Cal suggested nervously, gripping the sleeves of Michaela's jacket with two clenched
fists.
"You'll do fine," she assured him, holding his waist at arms length. "I won't let you go," she added.
"Does that mean if I fall you'll catch me?" he teased.
"I can't promise that, but I can try!" she chuckled.
"All right," he grumbled, "I guess I'm ready."
Slowly, Michaela skated a few feet backwards, pulling Cal along, his legs straight and stiff.
"Bend your knees," she instructed. She tilted his chin upward with one gloved finger. "And look at me, not at your
feet."
He met her eyes. "This ain't so hard."
"See, I told you," Michaela replied, skating a little faster.
"Lookin' at you, I meant," he said softly.
She lowered her gaze. "You're very clever with your compliments, but focus, Cal. Please."
He narrowed his eyebrows, doing his best to oblige.
"There, you're getting it," Michaela encouraged as he brought one leg forward, then the next, achieving something
close to a rhythm. She skated to his side and took his hand. "See that tree stump over there? Let's see if we can
make it to it."
He squeezed her hand, smiling. "All right."
Slowly and somewhat awkwardly, the couple skated to the opposite side of the creek. "You see, you did it,"
Michaela exclaimed excitedly. "Isn't this fun, Cal?"
"It's not too bad," Cal agreed, legs and arms bent and stiff.
Michaela disengaged herself from his grip and skated gracefully several paces down the creek.
"Mike? Where ya going?" he called worriedly, keeping one hand on the tree stump to steady himself.
She made a smooth turnaround, facing him and holding out her hand. "Now try it on your own," she bid, grinning
wryly.
"You said you weren't gonna let me go!" he moaned.
"That was before you knew how to skate," she retorted. "...Just try it."
"I don't think this is gonna go too well, Mike." Carefully, he removed his hand from the stump and stood
wobbling on two feet, arms held out as if he were a bird who didn't know how to use its wings.
Michaela chuckled. "Come on. One foot first, then the other."
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he groaned. Gradually, he picked up speed, until he was traveling at a rapid though
tottering pace toward Michaela.
"How do I stop?" he called. One leg jarred, and he all but lost his balance. "Whoa...Mike, how do I stop?!"
"You...you point the toe of your skate to the ice!" Michaela stammered, debating whether to try to stop Cal herself
or move out of the way and let him crash. "Your right foot. Stand on your toes!"
"What do you mean stand on my toes?" he shouted back. "I'll fall if I do!"
Michaela grinned, then broke into laughter, and with a derisive thud, she crashed to the ice, Cal pinning her on her
back.
She laughed even harder, smoothing back his dark locks. "Oh, Cal. Are you all right?"
He groaned, wiping his brow. "Ya forgot to teach me how to stop," he told her good-naturedly.
She chuckled. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew."
He snickered. "Thought I knew, she says."
"Perhaps ice-skating isn't your forte," she remarked. "Oh, well. I'm glad you at least tried it."
He smiled, touching her cheek with one finger. "That *was* fun, Mike. I'm glad you made me. I like when
we...do things together."
"Me, too," she breathed.
Cal took her cheeks in his hands and kissed her tenderly, wanting her to know how much he felt the same,
wanting her to know that even though it had only been a week, he was head over heals in love with her, and never
wanted to spend a day without her again.
Startled by the unexpected kiss, but even more startled by how right it felt, Michaela gazed at him wide-eyed for a
moment, out of breath.
"Your cheeks are cold," he murmured.
"Your whiskers," she replied, wrinkling her nose as she rubbed his cheek with her thumb. "You always have a
shadow, even in the morning."
"I forget sometimes," he admitted. "'Bout shaving. I'm sorry."
She smiled shyly. "Are you going to keep me captive here all afternoon or shall we go home and warm up by the
fire?" she asked.
"Aw, why didn't ya say something?" he replied, rising to his hands and knees. "Here I've been crushing ya all this
time."
"I'm fine," she whispered, grinning to herself as he made his way carefully to his feet.
"I'd help you up but I think we'd end up on the ground again," he chuckled.
"I can manage," she assured him, rising with ease and taking his hand once more.
"We'll come back here, what do you say?" Cal spoke up as they skated back to their shoes, resting on the fallen
log from which they had started from. "I'm gonna learn to skate perfect so's you and me can glide down this whole
creek, all the way to town, and everyone will watch and say how handsome we look."
"That's quite an ambition," she said, stepping up onto the bank and sitting on the log.
"It's what you were thinking, when we started, wasn't it?" he determined, gazing at her wryly. "You were thinking
ya wanted to take me to town on skates."
"Well..." she murmured. "I suppose. Someday, if we practice hard."
"All right. Someday," he chuckled, then they both quieted, letting it sink in.
Someday. That was a long time from now. That meant...a long time from now, they wanted to be together. They
looked at each other, shyly at first, then burst into excited grins. Skating *was* fun. Courting was even better.
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç@áxäxÇ
"You aren't getting another catarrh, are you darling?" Michaela asked her youngest son as she lifted him into the
bathtub and helped him sit.
"No," Byron assured her, wooden tugboat in hand, the only toy his mother allowed in the tub. He'd been coughing
on and off all night, until Michaela had gotten up, prepared him a glass of warm milk with honey, and rocked him
back to sleep. She thought soaking in a hot bath might help, so that morning before anything else, she had
prepared him a tub and taken him downstairs.
"How's it feel? Nice and warm?" Michaela rolled up her blouse sleeves and kneeling beside the tub.
"Good," he said, pushing his boat under the water, then releasing it and giggling as it shot to the surface. "Mama,
where's Wof?" he asked, pointing at the puppy's pile of blankets, not slept on in several days. He admitted another
small, dry cough.
Michaela worked up a lather of suds with the bar of soap, then massaged the bubbles up and down Byron's arms.
"Last time I saw, on Brian's bed, can you believe it? I knew she wasn't going to last too long here in the kitchen."
"Puppy *loves* Bian," Byron reminded her with a sweet smile, steering his boat in circles while Michaela washed
his chest.
"I think so, too," Michaela agreed. "But that's all right, isn't it?"
"That's all wight," Byron echoed, then sat up straight and tried to peer out the kitchen window. "When's Cal gonna
be here? He late."
Michaela chuckled self-consciously. "He's not late. You can't be late if you never specified what time you're going
to arrive." She touched his nose with a dollop of suds, then washed the back of his neck and behind his ears.
"But he comes every mornin'," Brian remarked solemnly from the back doorway of the kitchen, still in his night
shift, hair a bit rumpled.
"Oh, Brian, I didn't realize you were awake," Michaela exclaimed as she grasped her little boy's arm. "Stand up,
sweetheart, so Mama can wash your back."
"Why's he come every mornin', Ma?" Brian went on, his tone a bit accusing. He leaned against the door frame,
crossing his arms. If his mother and Cal were courting, he had a right to know. He also had a right to be upset
about it.
"Silly!" accused Byron, hugging his boat to his belly with two hands. "Cal *likes* it here."
"That's right, Cal likes it here," Michaela affirmed, running the soap bar down Byron's left leg and then his right.
"He's very fond of all of us." She took a few handfuls of water and rinsed the little boy of any remaining lather,
then stood up and lifted him from the tub to the floor with an exaggerated groan.
"He brought ya flowers, Ma," Brian contended softly.
"He brought us all flowers," Michaela insisted. She wrapped Byron in a thick towel as he shivered dramatically.
"Y-yeah," Byron added in support, teeth chattering.
Brian stood straight. "Well, I don't need nothin' from him. 'Sides, flowers are for girls." With that he turned back
to the stairs and quickly padded up them.
It was still possible. Very possible. Cal and Ma could very well be courting, just like Jeb had said, and they were
keeping it from him, as if he were a little kid no older than Katie or Byron. Brian got back under the covers,
cuddling the drowsy puppy to him with one arm, a tear of anger trickling down his cheek.
"Fwowers are for girwls!" Byron accused as soon as his brother had left the room. When he received no reaction
from his mother, he stuck out his lower lip and pouted.
Disconcerted by Brian's attitude, Michaela silently finished towel-drying and then dressing the little boy. She tried
to think of Dorothy's advice, that Brian was getting used to things like everyone else; it would take some
adjusting. But she loved her adopted son too much to carry on with Cal while he remained unhappy. She would
have to tell him about Cal, about their courtship. She would have to get it over with. When Cal arrived, she'd
discuss it with him first. They'd tell the children together. They'd talk with them for as long as they needed,
answering their questions, doing their best to accommodate them.
It seemed Brian was suspicious of every word out of her mouth, and Michaela couldn't believe she had let it go
for this long.
***
Cal dismounted from his horse, a contented smile on his face as he gazed up at the homestead. Mornings were
wonderful. He would get up, dress and make himself presentable, and ride out to the homestead to see Michaela.
It had become a habit, and one he didn't want to change.
This morning the front door opened before he even ascended the stairs, and Michaela hurried toward him,
hugging her new shawl from the children to her, a distraught expression on her face.
"What's the matter?" he asked worriedly, putting his arm around her.
"We need to discuss something," she murmured, looking about her. "In private."
Bewildered, he followed her to the barn, leading his horse into a stall while Michaela paced fretfully. Cal offered
the animal some oats, then circled around and took Michaela's arm. "What happened?" he persisted.
She shook her head tearfully. "I don't know...Brian...he's so angry with me."
"Mike, why?" Cal breathed, taken aback.
She shook her head once more. "He wants to know why you're here so often. We need to tell him. Katie and
Byron, too."
He rubbed her arm. "About courting? All right. No reason to get upset. I s'pose now's a good time."
"What if...what if they don't like it?" Michaela questioned.
He tried to appear confident as he took her hand. "Well, we'll explain things, and in time...they'll understand.
Michaela, I love those kids. I don't wanna hurt them."
She nodded. "I know."
He swallowed hard. "If they're upset...maybe..."
She took his hand. "Cal, they need you. You can't leave us."
He held her close. "Hey, who said anything about leaving?" He kissed the side of her head. "I just want everybody
happy, that's all."
She nodded, closing her eyes. "Me, too."
He bit his lip, pulling back to look her in the eyes. "Are *you*, happy?"
She smiled coyly. "Yes, very...are you?"
He chuckled. "Yeah."
They gazed at each other for a moment, then slowly, Cal's arms encircled her waist and pressed her to him, giving
her lips a gentle kiss, pulling back to look at her, then kissing her once more.
"Cal," she murmured, breathless. The feelings he stirred in her had been buried deep for several years, and now
that they had been reawakened, they were spinning out of control, sending shivers up and down her spine and
flushing her cheeks with longing.
"Michaela," he replied, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "You tell me, darlin'. You tell me if anything don't feel
right. Promise?"
"Everything feels right so far," she whispered shyly.
He smiled, relieved. "Then does a Saturday evening dinner sound good to you? At the café?"
"Sounds wonderful," she replied sincerely.
"Oh, good," he murmured, relieved. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but was afraid of frightening her, of her
reaction, of ruining what they had right now. But he did love her, he couldn't lie about that. Brow furrowed, he
debated whether to say something.
"What is it?" Michaela asked, afraid she had done something wrong.
"Nothing," he assured her. "...You're very beautiful today, Mike."
She reddened, lowering her eyes.
He cleared his throat. "Um, not that you're not other days," he stammered. "I just...well, that's a pretty color on
you, blue, and your hair...and I..." He trailed off, shaking his head at himself. "Don't pay any attention to me."
She smiled, standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. "If you'd let me get a word in, I was going to say thank you."
"Should I be more quiet, Mike?" he asked. "Because my ma was always hushing me when I was growing up. I
really don't mean to, but sometimes I don't know I'm doing it. Do I talk too much? Tell me."
She chuckled. "Only when you're nervous."
"I just want things to work out," he admitted softly.
"So do I," she replied.
"...Let's not talk anymore just now," he suggested, drawing her close
to him once more and bringing his lips over hers. He caressed her neck
with one hand, feeling gentle vibrations as she emitted a prolonged,
soft moan. Michaela stroked the stubble on his cheeks and brushed his
dark locks behind his ears, and knew once more how intense a kiss
could be, the sensations that conveyed passion and feeling and love,
how beautiful it was.
Without realizing, Cal's hands made their way to Michaela's waist,
first embracing her gentle curves, then inching upward. He felt her rib
cage beneath the material, each individual rib, then with one hand,
carefully cupped her breast in his palm.
She pulled back, eyes wide with surprise. "Cal...no," she whispered
hoarsely, grasping his hand and shifting it back down to her waist.
"I'm sorry-" he began apologetically, but was startled by the swinging
of the barn door.
"What are ya doin', Ma?" Brian demanded, throat dry with shock.
Michaela backed up against a beam, a sick feeling in her stomach. "Brian..."
"We j-just," Cal stammered. "Listen, Brian-"
The young man shook his head. "I thought you liked us," he said, glaring at Cal. "Thought ya really wanted to be
our friend. I knew it. I knew it!"
"Brian," Michaela pleaded, at a loss for what to say to him.
"I do want to be your friend, son," Cal insisted, running his fingers through his hair. "I *am* your friend."
"You're not," Brian retorted. "Ya used me. Ya used Katie. Ya used *Byron*."
Utterly dismayed, Michaela hesitantly came to her son's side. "Brian, we only need to talk things over. You'll see
you've been jumping to conclusions." She tried to rest her hand on his shoulder, but he pulled away angrily.
"I saw him with ya, Ma, touchin' ya," Brian replied vehemently. "Is that jumpin' to conclusions?"
Cal cleared his throat. "Listen, Brian-"
"I don't believe this," the boy murmured. "What would Sully say?" He speedily turned and jogging back to the
house.
Michaela bit back tears. "Brian! Come back here!"
"Brian, come back!" Cal called. "You do what your ma says!"
"I don't have to listen to you!" Brian shot back, slamming the front door.
***
"Bian runs in the house, Mama," Katie informed her mother as soon as she and Cal came inside. "He runs up the
stairs and in the hall *and* the door went bang!" She put her hands on her hips, waiting for Michaela to announce
her older sibling's punishment.
"No wunning. No, no," Byron added in support, grasping Katie's sleeve.
Michaela sighed, then took a seat in one of the wing back chairs, nodding at the opposite chair for Cal to sit.
"Is he in trouble?" Katie asked quietly, coming to her mother's side and crawling up into her lap.
"No, not today," Michaela told her, stroking her hair. "Brynie, come sit with us, too."
Byron touched the end of one finger to the corner of his mouth in hesitation, then obeyed, allowing Cal to lift him
up onto his knee.
"Cal and I have something to tell you," Michaela began. "It's something we probably shouldn't have kept from
you for this long, but we were afraid you would be upset."
"What?" Katie prompted.
Michaela couldn't help but smile softly. "Mr. Brooks and I...we're courting."
"What cour-tin?" questioned Byron.
"We never gonna know," Katie explained with a sigh. "Somethin' only big people can know."
"It's all right for you to know what it means, sweethearts," Michaela assured them. "In fact you have a right to."
She cleared her throat. "Courting is...well, you see...it's...quite difficult to explain." She glanced at Cal. "But Cal
I'm sure will do a fine job of it."
Cal cast her a teasingly evil glance, then licked his lips. "Courting. Hmm. It's really pretty simple. See, when two
people...when they really like being together and doing things together...well, see..."
"I *love* playing with the puppy," Katie put in. "That cour-tin?"
"Not exactly," Michaela began. "The two people are a man and a woman, and when they care for each other then
sometimes they think perhaps they'd be very happy together, but first they try things out, and see if they really do
like being together as much as they think...But of course they don't try *everything* out." She paused to take a
breath, cheeks flushing. "Certain things are only for mommies and daddies after they've courted, fallen in love and
married and are certain they're prepared for a tremendous amount of potential responsibility."
Katie scratched her head and Byron squinted his eyes.
"Cal is our daddy?" Katie finally spoke up, pointing at him.
"No, kids," Cal quickly answered, rubbing Byron's back as he gave a small cough. "Look, all it means is I think
your ma is real nice and the prettiest lady I ever did see, and I want to take her places, hold her hand and give her
hugs and always come over here to be with her and you kids. That's courting."
"Oh!" Byron breathed, grasping Cal's thumb with one fist. "*Dat's* court-in!"
"That's it?" Katie questioned, wondering what all the fuss had been about.
"That's about it," Michaela replied, relieved they were satisfied with Cal's definition.
"Mama, you no good at 'splaining," Byron informed her, sliding down from Cal's knee and grasping his hand.
"Play with me, Cal."
"Push me high on the swing," bid Katie, hopping down from her mother's lap and standing in front of Byron.
"Me, too," Byron insisted, darting around his sister and hugging Cal's leg. "C'mon. Swing's outside."
Cal glanced hesitantly at Michaela. "Uh, Brian...should we go up and...?"
Michaela stood and patted his arm. "I'll speak to him. Take them outside and let them release some of this
energy." She took note of her little boy reaching up for the doorknob with only his unbuttoned jacket thrown on.
"Byron Calvin Sully, don't even think of going out there without your hat and mittens," she warned.
"I'll bundle 'em up good, Mike," Cal chuckled, picking up Katie and heading to the crate of winter apparel, where
Byron now stood, head bent in defeat.
Satisfied the children were in good hands, Michaela, though with some uncertainty, made her way upstairs to
Brian's room. She found him reclined on his side, back to the door, stroking the puppy's floppy ears as she
snoozed.
Michaela sat on the bed beside him, not sure how to begin. "Brian...would you like to talk about it?"
Brian closed his eyes, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Cal and I sooner," she began guiltily. "I realize now that was a mistake and I
apologize."
"That's all right," Brian murmured.
"...Do you know Cal thought I was married when he first met me?" Michaela began, tenderly stroking his hair.
"...He did?"
"Hm-mm. He could see I was with child, and so naturally he assumed I had a husband back home. Just the same
he took care of me and made me feel safe, and with his help Byron was born without event. He was very brave
and very kind without expecting anything in return." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "...When he doesn't
know I'm nearby, I watch him with you, and your sister and brother, and I see again and again how much he truly
cares for all of us."
"He's *too* nice," Brian said softly. "I think he wants somethin'. I guess now he's got it."
Hurt, Michaela withdrew her fingers from his hair, but gathered the strength to reply. "It might seem that way, but
I know that's very far from the truth."
"How do ya know?" Brian demanded quietly.
She took a deep breath. "A few years ago, when Byron was a baby and Cal first came here, I was frightened,
because I felt he and I were growing too close for what I was prepared for. I thought our relationship could be
evolving into something more than a simple friendship. I thought it best he leave." She waited for Brian to piece it
together.
"And he did," Brian admitted, realizing. "That's why he left."
She nodded. "Yes, he left because he didn't want to hurt me, or you, or anyone. He wanted to respect my wishes.
He put the four of us before himself, and that's not something everyone would do. If Sully were here, I think
they'd be friends, don't you?"
"Are ya courting 'cause he reminds ya of Pa?" Brian whispered, certain he had caught his mother off guard.
"No, Brian," Michaela replied immediately. "Cal is his own person, and it isn't fair to compare him to Sully."
"Ma, don't ya love Sully anymore?" Brian asked, his voice hoarse.
"Oh, of course I do, Brian," Michaela assured him. "Not a day goes by that I don't miss him. Allowing yourself to
have new feelings doesn't mean you forget the old. That's something that's taken me awhile to accept, and
something I still have difficulty coming to terms with, but I'm learning. We're all learning."
"Then ya love him," Brian concluded.
She paused for a long moment. "Well, I'm not quite certain. I do know I enjoy spending time with Cal, and
courting is a way for both of us to find out if what we have is truly love."
Brian remained silent for a long moment, and eventually Michaela realized he was crying. She wrapped her arms
around him and hugged him tight. "Oh, sweetheart. It's all right. It still hurts, I know."
He rubbed his eyes, set aside his pride and turned, hugging his mother back. "Ma, I just...I don't think I could take
seein' ya hurt again. I couldn't stand it. Don't make me see ya hurt."
She kissed his cheek comfortingly. "Oh, Brian. I truly appreciate that, but no one person can shield someone from
the pain life brings, and if they try, they could end up shielding them from happiness, too. It was terribly painful
to lose Sully, but had I never met him, I would be much worse off, never marrying him, or adopting you and
Colleen, or having Katie and Byron. I can't imagine it."
He swallowed hard, having never considered that.
"To hurt, you must first love," Michaela went on. "Deciding to try to love again has been a hard choice for me to
make, because I'm very frightened of the hurt, just like you."
"I can't help it, Ma," he murmured, hugging her tighter and squeezing his eyes shut. "I wanna be brave."
"It's difficult, I know," she admitted, "and we have to take it little by little." She pressed her lips to his hair. "How
about you help me, and I'll help you?"
He nodded. "All right."
"Brian, you don't have to do things with Cal if you don't want to, in fact you don't even have to be his friend, but I
want you to be civil to him, just as you would be to anyone."
"Then I'd best apologize for talkin' back," Brian whispered.
"I think that'd be a very good start," Michaela replied, proud of him. "And maybe...instead of getting angry, you
can come to me and tell me what's bothering you. If you think someone's trying to hurt me, I want you to say
something." She kissed his head. "Brian, do you truly believe Cal is taking advantage of you and me and the
younger children?"
He shook his head slowly. "No, Ma." He paused. "But if ever I think he might be, I can come tell ya?"
"Of course," she assured him. "There isn't anything you should feel you have to keep from me. You can talk to
Cal, too, Brian. He cares about you, and he's here to listen."
"I don't have to be his friend?" Brian said, sitting up.
Michaela stroked his hair behind his ears. "No, not if you don't want to."
"Michaela!"
Startled, Brian and Michaela broke apart, quickly rushing to the bedroom window.
"What's wrong?" Brian questioned, grasping the window ledge as he observed Cal, kneeling in front of Byron,
who was covering his mouth, apparently coughing again.
Without further hesitation Michaela lifted her skirts, raced down the stairs and outside, reaching the little boy in a
matter of seconds, Brian right behind her.
"What is it, Byron?" Michaela asked him frantically, stooping to his level and rubbing his back as he gave a series
of hacking coughs, unable to reply.
"He's coughin'!" Katie informed her mother, seated unmoving on the swing, fearful for her little brother as much
as anyone.
"I was just pushing Katie," Cal said, rubbing the little boy's chest nervously. "Byron was running around, chasing
a chicken or something. That's all."
"A ch-chicken," Byron managed to choke out, clearly not as concerned as everyone else.
Michaela rubbed his back, relieved he could at last speak. "Shh, darling. Take some short breaths. You'll be all
right."
"It's just a catarrh, right, Ma?" Brian asked, voice hoarse with worry.
Michaela felt the little boy's forehead and his thyroid glands, brow creased. "He doesn't have a fever."
"I all wight, Mama," Byron assured her. "I just cough...coughin'."
"I'm sorry, Mike," Cal murmured guiltily.
"That's all right," Michaela replied quickly, picking her son up and kissing his head. "I think it's time to play
something quiet inside, sweetheart. And I'll make you some more warm milk and honey."
"No, Mama," he begged tearfully. "Wanna swing out here. No."
Cal stood up, taking Katie's hand. "Hey, we can have fun inside, Squirt. I'll...I'll teach ya a game." He noted
Michaela's worried expression. "It's a sit-down card game, but it's real fun and easy. We can all play."
Michaela nodded her approval, and led the way inside, cradling Byron protectively.
***
2nd of January, 1876
Dear Momma,
Merry Christmas again. I miss all of you, I think about you, but I had a very good holiday with Michaela and her
family and friends. They don't treat me like a visitor any more, but like an old friend. I feel at home here.
Momma, I have good news. You probably know I've loved Mike--Michaela, for a long time. I finally worked up
the courage to ask to court her, and she said yes. So we're courting. I've thought about it for years now, and I've
decided I want to live in Colorado Springs, with Michaela. I never want to lose her again. I'll still come visit you
as much as I can, don't you worry.
Michaela really is an angel, Momma. You would love her, too. I want you to meet someday, maybe soon.
Love,
Cal
***
3rd of January, 1876
Dearest Rebecca,
I hope your Christmas holiday was as agreeable as ours. Brian, Katie, and little Byron loved the presents that
arrived from Boston just in time. Byron's still trying to get his top from his cousins to spin. I told the children "A
Christmas Story", and thought of all of us when we were little girls gathered around Father's feet. Remember he
would read to us from Dickens every Christmas Eve? Those were happy times.
I can't help thinking this is the fourth Christmas without my husband, but a new realization has come over me the
past few weeks. I'll always miss Sully, and love him with my entire being, but I cannot protect myself from
feeling for any longer. I can no longer deny how much I care for Cal Brooks, the only other survivor of the
stagecoach accident so long ago. He saved my life, not only rescuing me from the accident, but from my despair
at losing Sully. I care for Cal very much, and I know this may come as a surprise, but we've agreed to court.
Granted, it's taken some getting used to, but I can truly say I'm very content.
I ask that you not mention Cal to Mother just yet. I fear she will express her immediate dislike of him, as she has
to most of my beaus. Mother would no doubt be unhappy with every suitor other than the highest of Boston
society. I want Cal and Mother to meet in person. I'm sure once they do she will see him for the wonderful man he
truly is. For now, I'd like to keep things quiet.
Give my love to all.
Love,
Michaela
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç@x|z{à
Cal smoothed his hair one last time, straightened his tie, and knocked on the front door of the homestead.
Almost immediately the door flew open, revealing Katie and Byron, all smiles.
"Evening," said Cal, stooping to their level. He fluttered his eyelashes, donning a formal tone. "Is the lady of the
house ready to join me for dinner tonight?"
The children giggled, covering the mouths as Brian came behind them, schoolbook in hand. "Ma ain't ready yet,"
he informed him coolly, then returned to the table and opened his book to a marked page.
"Come in," Byron bid, pushing the door open wider, as he had seen his mother do so often for guests.
"Thanks, Squirt," Cal replied, tousling his hair and entering, shutting the door behind him. "Well, that's a woman
for ya. Takes forever to get ready."
"Mama is smelling awful funny," Katie informed him.
Byron sniffed the air. "Smells funny," he agreed.
"That's perfume," Brian replied. He paused. "You wouldn't remember...Ma used to wear it all the time."
Cal cleared his throat, busying himself with brushing his sleeves off once more.
"Brian is gonna play with us here when you go eat," Katie spoke up, the awkwardness between Cal and her older
brother slipping past her unnoticed.
"Well, that's real nice of him," Cal replied.
"I gonna say to Mama Cal is here!" Byron suddenly burst out, literally running for the stairs. He wasn't quite sure
what this business with dinner at the café was about, but everyone else seemed excited about it, except for maybe
Brian, and so he decided he should be excited, too.
Katie giggled, shaking her head at Cal's starched suit, slicked back hair, and neat tie. "You look pretty!" she told
him.
"I do?" Cal chuckled. "Well, thanks. I got myself a new tie, and went to Jake's for a haircut..." He stroked his
cheeks with his fingers. "And...Oh, no."
"What?" Katie asked fearfully.
Brian glanced up from his book.
"I plum forgot to ask for a shave, too," Cal murmured, upset with himself.
"Oh, no," Katie murmured forlornly, though she didn't understand what the problem was with that. Lots of boys
had beards.
Cal pulled out a chair at the far end of the table and sunk into it. "Your mama...she's always reminding me about
the whiskers."
Brian looked at him for a moment, then tentatively rose from the table and disappeared upstairs without a word.
He returned a minute later with a small bowl, a bar of soap, a brush, a bottle of bay rum, a mirror, and a razor.
Silently, he placed it in front of Cal, then returned to his seat.
Bewildered, Cal picked up the razor, opening it and gazing at the shiny blade. "Brian..."
"Go ahead," the boy murmured, opening his book once more. "I don't really use it that much. 'Sides, ya can't take
Ma out to dinner without shavin' first."
Cal stood up, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Thanks. Ya didn't have to."
Brian looked up, shrugged. "That's all right."
"Thank you," Cal said again, heading to the kitchen.
"Why do you got a razor, Brian? You don't got any whiskers," Katie accused, sitting herself on Brian's lap and
rubbing his cheeks.
"Course I do," Brian retorted, concentrating on his book.
"Where are they then?" Katie asked skeptically.
"I shave 'em away," Brian said, tickling her.
"Brian, you still gonna teach me checkers?"
He smiled. "Sure I will. You get the board out and I'll be there in a second to help set it up, all right?"
She returned the smile. "All right."
Cal dipped the razor in the basin he had placed on the kitchen counter, then ran it carefully down his upper lip. "I
love you, Mike," he practiced. He held up the hand mirror and examined his work, shaking his head and rinsing
the razor again. "Mike, I love you." It had been one month since he and Michaela had begun their courtship, and
to celebrate they were going to have a steak dinner at Grace's, just the two of them. A candlelit dinner. Cal really
couldn't afford it, now that he had to save every penny to start his streetcar business, but it would be worth being
set back a little. "*Michaela*, I love you."
"Who ya talkin' to?"
Cal was so startled he nearly nicked his chin. Coughing, he placed the razor on the counter and looked down.
"Byron! How long ya been standing there, little guy?" He patted the child's shoulder.
"Who ya talkin' to?" Byron repeated patiently.
Cal bent and hoisted him onto the counter. "I was practicing. Gonna try and tell your mama something special
tonight."
"Oh." Byron looked up at him, fascinated by the scrape of the razor against his face. He wondered if it was
hurting Cal. He wondered what it felt like.
"Are ya shavin'?" Byron asked after a time, pointing at the man's cheeks.
"Yep, gettin' rid of my whiskers," Cal explained. "I don't think your Mama likes 'em."
Byron patted his own smooth, baby-soft cheeks, feeling for any traces of a beard.
Cal chuckled. "Wanna try?"
"Really?" Byron said excitedly.
Cal worked up a lather in his bowl with the brush, then applied the suds to the sides of Byron's face, his chin and
his upper lip. Giggling, the little boy reached for the razor. "Uh, hold on. You get your own special one," Cal said,
placing the razor aside, opening the drawer next to him, and pulling out a spoon. "Now hold real still so's I don't
nick ya," he instructed. He ran the handle of the spoon carefully down Byron's cheek, then rinsed it and repeated
the process until he had removed all traces of soap from the little boy's face. "There! Smooth as a baby's bottom!"
Cal exclaimed.
Byron felt his face proudly. "No more scratchy," he announced, beaming.
Cal picked up the bottle of bay rum, placed his palm over the top, and tipped it upside down briefly. "One more
thing." He patted Byron's cheeks with the scent, then patted his own cheeks. "Now we smell handsome, too."
Byron sniffed dramatically, then wrinkled his nose. He coughed hard several times, then sneezed.
"Byron? Ya all right?" Cal asked worriedly, rubbing his back.
"Yep," Byron assured him, eyes tearing from the strain of it.
Unnoticed, Brian watched Cal interact with his younger brother. Folding his arms, he leaned against the frame of
the back door. He had to admit his mother was right. Cal sure was good with the little boy. Maybe he really did
care about him.
Brian heard the steps creaking and cleared his throat. "Ma's comin', Cal," he spoke.
Surprised, Cal glanced at him. "Oh, she is? All right." He placed Byron on the floor and sent him off with a pat on
his bottom, then stood straight and took a few deep breaths. Smoothing his hair one last time, he made his way to
the stairs, just in time to take Michaela's hand as she descended the last step.
"You look...you're beautiful," Cal murmured. Her hair was piled atop her head, with soft waves framing her face.
She wore a navy blue gown with an intricate bodice. Though too fancy for a regular day, the attire was simple
enough for an evening at Grace's.
"You smell like...bay rum," she replied, eyebrows raised in interest.
He winked. "Thanks to Brian."
She smiled. "I'm ready."
e escorted her to the door. "Your carriage awaits."
***
"So we hid those critters in her desk," Cal chuckled, "And..." He swiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
"Oh, no," Michaela muttered, amused. The vacant café, dripping candles, champagne and steak dinner had created
a romantic, dream-like atmosphere that seemed to make Cal's tales of insects and childhood pranks out of place.
Just the same Michaela couldn't stop chuckling. No one could tell a story as good as Cal Brooks.
"And she goes to open it...and you could hear her screams from a mile away."
"You were terrible," she scolded good-naturedly, finishing off the last few bites of steak.
"Well, it wasn't all me," Cal replied with a grin. "That one wasn't even my idea." He shook his head. "I s'pose we
were pretty bad. We'd get together and come up with all sorts of tricks." He sombered. "It helped. If we were
laughing, then we weren't missing home."
Michaela nodded sympathetically. "It must have been lonely all the way across the ocean with your family back
here." She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her red-checked napkin.
He shrugged. "Yeah. It was hard to make friends there. Weren't many Americans at that school."
She took his hand across the table. "I don't think I could do that, send my children so far away."
"I couldn't either," he admitted. "That is, if I had kids. I'd want 'em home with me and their mother." He smiled.
"I'd like some someday. Some children."
She released his hand, taken off guard. "Oh?"
"Spending all this time with yours," he explained, "helped me see that's what I've always wanted. Someday, I
s'pose."
She cleared her throat. "Oh."
They shared an awkward silence for a moment, then Cal pulled his napkin from his shirt collar and set it on the
table. "Well, that was good, wasn't it?"
Relieved the conversation had turned to something much easier to make small talk about, Michaela breathed a
sigh. "Yes, very."
Say it, Cal told himself. Spit it out. Tell her. Say, I love you. It's easy. Cal rubbed his head. "Mike...I uh..." He had
always been good at procrastinating. "Look, awhile back...I wanna apologize."
"For what?" she questioned curiously.
He sat forward. "For what? Oh well, that day we were in the barn...when Brian...I did something ya didn't like."
She stared at him confused for a moment, then drew in her breath, recalling his gentle hand moving its way up her
torso. "Oh...Cal...that's all right."
He waved his hand. "No, I knew better. Mike, I just, I...I don't want to ever say or do a single thing ya don't like. I
wanna be perfect for ya."
"Oh, Cal. It's not that I didn't...like it. I can't believe we're talking about this."
He raised his eyebrows. "Then you...then you did like it?"
She blushed. "Cal, until I married Sully...I'd...I'd never been with anyone."
Cal raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised. "Ya must of been beating off men."
She bent her head. "Not really. They used to say I wore the pants: following in my father's footsteps, attending
college and earning my medical degree, moving out West on my own...there wasn't time for...nor did anyone
seem to be interested."
He smiled, taking her hand. "What do you think now?"
"About what?" she asked innocently, taking in a short breath.
"Well...about loving somebody ya care for," he probed, searching her eyes. "Being with 'em."
She released his hand. "I think it's...it's a sacred covenant between a man and a woman who are devoted to one
another and who exist in a legal state of matrimony." She drew in her breath.
Cal raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"
She closed her eyes. "I don't believe people should...be with one another--or anything of the sort before marriage."
"You could've said something before. I would've understood, Mike," he assured her.
She frowned. "Well, I don't usually talk about these kinds of things."
"Me neither. I just do it."
Her eyes widened in horror.
He coughed. "I mean...when I was younger. Mike, I ain't had eyes for anyone since I met you." He took her hand.
"Trust me."
She smiled. "I trust you, Cal." She hesitated. "You've...?"
He shrugged. "Had a few girls when I was studying banking with Pa. They let me do things...any young man
would jump at the chance. I sure regret it now, though." His expression turned sorrowful.
"What is it?" she asked.
He cleared his throat. "The day I moved from Chicago...couple weeks after my pa died...I uh, paid a visit to a
brothel. Looking for something to take away my grief, I s'pose. It was strange, being with one of those girls and
not even knowing their last name...didn't do that ever again after that. Then working for the Stagecoach there
wasn't much opportunity to meet women."
"Cal, there's many things I believe strongly about."
"I know. I like that," he murmured, squeezing her knee beneath the table.
She smiled shyly. "I'm not one of those girls you knew when you were young," she whispered resolutely.
"Michaela," he said, amused, "I'm courting exactly who you are...and I don't wanna court anybody else." He stood
up and came to her side, caressing her cheek.
"You aren't going to go away?" she asked. "Never speak to me again?"
"Not a chance," Cal replied. "And I think you an' me..." He stroked back her hair. "...can have fun, just the same. "
"Cal," she protested. He was good at joking with her, and though it often made her blush, he was charming, and
Michaela liked him. She liked that he wasn't angry or impatient with her when she told him about waiting and
how important it was to her. He understood, and teased her to let her know it.
She pressed his hand to her cheek. "Thank you."
"Thank you for keeping me an honest man. That's what I want, Mike. Truly." He continued stroking her hair. "...I
remember the first time I saw you."
She lowered her eyes. "That was a difficult time. I was lost."
"Think that time's passed?"
She nodded slowly. "I hope so."
He took her hand and brought her to her feet. "Is it time to dance now?" he whispered, putting one hand on her
waist and threading his fingers with hers.
"Time to dance?" she echoed.
Cal held up one finger, grinning wryly. "Mr. Bray!" he called softly. "Now, Mr. Bray!"
A moment later Loren, followed by two other men from town, one carrying a fiddle and the other a small guitar,
arranged themselves at one end of the café.
"What's this?" Michaela questioned.
"It's...our music," Cal replied. "Go on," he called, nodding at the men.
"What are we s'posed to play?" grumbled Loren.
"I told ya ten times," Cal scolded under his breath. "A waltz."
"I don't know any waltzes," Loren called back. "All's I know is Jingle Bells and Beautiful Dreamer. Can't believe I
let ya talk me into this," he muttered.
Michaela chuckled. "Beautiful Dreamer would make a lovely waltz."
Cal drew her closer, winking at Grace who was looking on with a big grin from the kitchen. "All right then,
Beautiful Dreamer it is."
"I think I've forgotten how," Michaela murmured as a sweet rendition of the tune began.
Cal looked into her eyes. "You remember...One, two, three. One, two, three." Tentatively, they took a few steps,
and soon achieved a steady, flowing rhythm, eyes locked.
"Feels good to dance?" Cal asked.
"Yes," she replied, cheeks flushed.
"Glad you came?"
"Very," she breathed. She eyed his smooth cheeks with a wry smile.
"What is it?" Cal asked. "I got something on my face?"
She shook her head. "No. It's just, you've shaved."
"Ya noticed?" he replied.
"Of course I noticed," she chuckled. "You're very handsome when you're clean-shaven. It makes you look
younger."
He smiled. "Well, I tried."
"...Cal, can I ask how old you are?"
He stuck out his lower lip. "Eighteen and a half."
She frowned. "Seriously."
He kissed her quickly. "Thirty-seven, why?"
"Thirty-seven," she echoed thoughtfully.
"How old are you?" he asked. "No wait, let me guess."
"Don't tease me any more," she begged.
He tried to restrain himself, to no avail. "All right. Hmm. At least twenty."
"Forty-two," she told him. "Is that...?"
He let out a long breath. "Yeah, that's gonna be a problem."
She tensed in his arms. "Cal...?"
"Yeah, see, women that don't look their age make me nervous."
She realized he was teasing, again. She liked it, but she didn't. She didn't know what to think, how to react.
"I'd feel much better if you had a few gray hairs," he told her. "But seeing as ya don't...well, I guess we'll have to
make the best of things."
"You don't mind," she breathed, relieved.
He chuckled. "Like I said, I like you for who you are. I don't want ya to be any different than Michaela Quinn
Sully."
She sighed contently. She thought she might love him. Love was a strong word.
"So, what do you think of courting so far?" Cal asked.
"I think...I've never courted anyone like you," she informed him.
"And I, Dr. Mike, am thinking the same thing."
***
January 28th, 1876
Dearest Michaela,
I am so delighted by your news. Mr. Brooks sounds like such a good man for you, and I hope you continue to
make each other very happy.
Upon your request I have not mentioned a word of this gentleman to Mother, though somehow she always knows
when I've received a reply from you, and wants me to recite every last word. Write to her more often, Michaela,
please, and spare me some grief!
You say you'd like Mother and Mr. Brooks to meet. I think that's a wonderful idea. We haven't seen you in so
long, and I know I'm dying to meet him as well. Come out for a visit, at the very latest this Spring. Bring the
entire family. We miss you all.
Love,
Rebecca
***
Michaela looped the puppy's leash around her wrist and took Byron's hand. "Hold Mama's hand in the street,
darling."
"Mama, your tuwn," he reminded her, eager to continue the game they had begun a few minutes before, after
walking Katie and Brian to school.
"Let's see," she began. "I spy...something...blue."
"Some-tin blue," Byron echoed pensively, looking around. "Da...da sky?"
"The sky! You're right!" Michaela replied. "How did you guess that so quickly?"
He put his free hand on his hip. "Too, too *easy*, Mama," he accused.
"I'm sorry," she chuckled. "Now you're turn."
"I spy," Byron said, tapping his chin. "Hmm...somethin' gween!"
"Something green," Michaela repeated. "The grass?"
"Nope."
The puppy barked abruptly at an old dog wandering in the street, and Michaela had to pull the leash hard to get
her to move on. "Hush, Wolf. All right, not the grass. The trees?"
"Nope," the little boy giggled, shaking his head.
"I don't know then!" Michaela admitted.
"Mama, sometin' gween," he encouraged impatiently.
Michaela sighed, glancing around. "Let's see." She smoothed her skirts. "Not my dress?"
"No," he exclaimed exasperatedly.
"I give up!" Michaela replied, tousling his hair.
Byron grinned. "That!" he enthusiastically announced, pointing at the sign above her clinic.
"My sign! Why, you're right, it is green," Michaela replied, tying the puppy's leash to the bench on the porch and
then returning to her son. "What does it say, Brynie? Do you know?"
"Um..." He narrowed his eyebrows, studying the gold letters. "...Mama's a doc-ta."
"Close." She picked him up and kissed his cheek, then pointed to each word in turn. "Medical Clinic. Dr.
Michaela Quinn, M.D."
"What M-dee?" he questioned.
"Degree of Medicine. It means I went to school for a long time to learn to be a doctor. Not many ladies have it. I
was very proud when I earned it."
"Why not no lay-dies?" he persisted curiously.
"That's a very good question, sweetheart," she replied.
"Mike!" Cal called, a grin on his face as he approached the two. He took
Byron from her and lifted him in the air, shaking him a little. "How are you
this fine morning, Squirt?"
Byron giggled, hugging Cal's neck as he brought him back to eye level.
"Good," the little boy told him.
"Mike, I've been wiring this construction company, up in Pueblo. They'll
build me a little building to keep records and things--you know, for my
streetcar business--and they'll put a place in back to store the buggies. A
little shed I guess. Made me an offer I just couldn't pass up."
"Sounds wonderful," Michaela replied. "When do they start?"
"Well, not right away," he admitted. "When it gets a little warmer. Around
March they said. It ain't gonna be that big of a building. It'll only take a few
weeks or so to get up, and I'm gonna help, too. I'm gonna be up and running 'fore you can say Jack Rabbit."
"Jack Wabbit!" squeaked Byron.
"I'm so proud of you, Cal," Michaela told him as he took her hand.
He smiled. "Let's celebrate. Feel up to some pie from Grace's?"
Michaela's grin faded. "I have patients all morning. I'm sorry. Maybe for lunch?"
"For lunch then, sure," he agreed, disappointed, but willing to wait.
Byron sighed disgruntedly. "All mornin', Mama? Who I gonna play with?"
Michaela patted his back. "I know, sweetheart. I promise after lunch we'll take a walk and visit Brian and Katie.
They'll be having their recess about then."
"I wanna play wid Miz Gwace," he begged.
"Sweetheart, Miss Grace is a very busy lady," Michaela explained, retrieving her key from her purse and
unlocking the door. "It isn't fair to ask her to keep you company every single day. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if
only she didn't have the cafe to run."
"Mama, I can help," he told her. "I help cook good. Miz Gwace says."
"I'll take the little guy," Cal offered, stepping up onto the porch.
"Yeah!" squealed Byron. "Cal, you can play wid me and we gonna have fun, Cal. 'Kay?"
Michaela removed her 'closed' sign, turning to face him. "Cal, you don't have to. I certainly didn't mean to imply-"
He smiled, stooping down and untying the puppy's leash. "I'll take Wolf here, too. We'll make a day of it. You
don't worry about a thing except looking after those patients."
Michaela couldn't refuse, not after seeing Byron's ecstatic expression. "Well...I suppose. But don't let him wander
too far out of your sight, and he shouldn't over exert himself with that cough...and keep his jacket buttoned and his
mittens on. He seems to be nearly over that catarrh and I certainly don't want him coming down with something
new."
"Maybe I should write this down," Cal teased. He gave Michaela's hand a reassuring kiss. "We'll pick ya up at
noon for lunch, how's that sound?"
"Goody!" Byron exclaimed. "Cal, we can go pet horsies at Wobert E. an' go see Miz Gwace an' play fun stuff an'
play wid the puppy an'...an' play an'..."
Cal laughed, hoisting the little boy onto his shoulders as he headed down the street. "One thing at a time, Squirt.
Wave bye to Mama, all right?"
Byron gave his chuckling mother a brief wave, then returned his attention back to Cal, clasping his arms around
the man's neck. "Cal, this is gonna be fun, fun, fun. Go faster, Cal."
V{tÑàxÜ gãxÇàç@Ç|Çx
"Then the message goes along that wire," Cal went on, pointing upward, "and into Mr. Bing's office here, and it
comes out in little taps that are letters. You can send a message to your friends even if they live all the way across
the country--in New York, say--and they can read it and send a message back."
Byron stared up at the telegraph wire, mouth agape, fascinated. "What 'York, Cal?" he asked.
"New York? It's...it's a city, like Colorado Springs, real far away from here. A real long train ride," Cal explained.
"Who my friend in 'York?" questioned the little boy curiously.
"Well, that was just an example, Squirt." He chuckled. "...Don't worry about it."
"Here ya go, Cal," piped up Horace, appearing in the office window and handing Cal an envelope. "That's all that
came for ya today."
Cal smiled at the return address. "Thanks, Horace."
"Let's play now, Cal," spoke up Byron, tugging at the ends of Cal's jacket.
"All right. To the meadow," replied Cal, taking the little boy's hand.
***
31 January, 1876
Dearest Cal,
That is truly wonderful news! Michaela does sound like an angel, and I'm so happy you're courting, even if it took
you three years before you opened your mouth and said something to her! You're just like your father, God rest
his soul.
I must meet this woman you're so obviously spinning over. No more talk of visiting. Let's choose a date and make
plans. In the Spring or earlier if possible, I want you to bring Michaela and of course her children to Chicago. I
love them already.
Love,
Momma
Cal folded the letter and carefully slid it back into the envelope. He would love for Michaela to meet his mother,
but hesitated for no other reason than the cost. Nearly all of his savings would have to be spent to get the streetcar
business off the ground. That left little to spare for five train tickets all the way to Chicago and back. He supposed
Byron and Katie could sit on his and Michaela's laps, or even Brian's, but that would make for an awfully long
train ride, and still left three tickets to pay for. He scratched his head. He could always...send Michaela and the
children up without him. But that wouldn't be right. He needed to be there to introduce them, to show them
around, show Michaela his schoolbooks, pictures from London, the tree he had built his tree house in, the boats on
the lake. He sighed. He might be able to come up with the money for two tickets, one for himself and one for
Michaela. He felt terrible leaving the children out, but it looked as though it couldn't helped.
Sighing, Cal placed the envelope in his coat pocket and looked up to see Byron, chasing the puppy around and
around the meadow. The child was adorable: his elated grin, awkward legs, and swaying arms, all struggling to
keep up with the frisky, inexhaustible puppy.
"Byron, come here, son," Cal finally called, jogging to him, catching the puppy with ease, and kneeling to the
little boy's level. "I'm all tuckered out just watching ya, Squirt." He attached the leather leash to the panting
puppy's collar.
"I wanna...wanna chase a...again," Byron said, cheeks flushed, out of breath.
"Puppy's tuckered out, too," Cal explained.
Byron tugged at the buttons of his jacket, brow furrowed. "Cal, I's hot," he said. "Can't...can't get this."
Cal sighed. "Your mama says I gotta keep ya buttoned. Sorry, little guy."
"Cal, pease?" he begged, looking up at him with frustrated eyes. "I's *hot*."
Grumbling, Cal looped the puppy's leash around his wrist and helped Byron remove his jacket, much to the little
boy's relief. "But it's all your fault if Mama gets mad," Cal told him, folding the jacket and tucking it under his
arm. "And at least leave your hat and mittens on." He took Byron's hand. "Come on. Let's go say hello to Robert
E."
They crossed the bridge and headed into town, Cal having to take small steps in order for the little boy to keep up.
Finally Cal stopped, stooping down.
Byron's breathing was quick, labored, but he didn't seem to be paying much mind. He smiled at Cal and squeezed
his hand. "I gonna pet...pet the horsies," he told him.
"Sure. Hey, how 'bout I give you a piggy back ride the rest of the way? Hm?" He turned and hoisted Byron onto
his back with one hand. "Hold on tight. Now you catch your breath and we'll be at Robert E's in a jiffy."
Cal walked slower than usual, to give Byron more time to recover, and a few minutes later they arrived at the
livery. He helped the little boy climb up onto the first rail of the corral fence so he could reach the horses, then
tied the puppy to a post and leaned against it, slinging the jacket over his shoulder.
"Dr. Mike trick ya into taking him for the day?" Robert E. said wryly, feeding his fire.
Cal shot a glance at the child. "I tell ya Robert E., she had to get down on her knees. 'Please, please look after my
Byron,' she says. 'Nobody else will do it, on account he gives everybody such trouble.'"
"I not trouble, Cal!" Byron spoke up defensively, turning his head back, one hand continuing to stroke a chestnut
mare's wet nose.
Cal chuckled. "We're just teasing ya, Squirt."
Byron giggled. "Teasin'." He went back to the mare. "You a han-some horsey."
"How's this streetcar idea of yours comin'?" Robert E. asked, gripping a horseshoe with a long pair of tongs and
placing it in the red-hot fire.
"Gonna start building in March," Cal informed him proudly. "If you're still willing, I'd like to keep the horses
here."
"Be glad to," Robert E. affirmed. "Anything else I can help ya with, ya let me know."
"Thanks," Cal said gratefully.
"Robert E.," Dorothy called, approaching the men. "Oh, Cal. I didn't expect to see you here."
He smiled. "Morning, Miss Dorothy."
Dorothy opened her fist to reveal one of the type letters she used to print her newspaper. "Robert E., I don't know
what happened, but this letter is all of a sudden printin' out crooked. It's the capital 'A'."
Robert E. took it from her with a gloved hand and held it up to the light, Cal looking over his shoulder. "Looks
straight to me," Robert E. told her.
"Could be a problem with the press," suggested Cal.
Dorothy nodded. "Well, I never thought of that. I s'pose I'll have to give it another try."
"I'll come over and take a look at it this afternoon," offered Robert E, giving the letter back and picking up his
mallet. "Once I finish these last few shoes." He braced the fiery-orange end of the horseshoe on the anvil and
pounded it a few times.
"Thank you, Robert E." Dorothy turned to Cal, grinning. "Cal, this streetcar business is such good news for our
town," she exclaimed, gripping her pad. "I'd love to do an article about it for the Gazette. You tell me when you're
not busy and I'll interview you."
"Cal!" Byron called.
"Just a minute, Squirt," Cal returned. "A story about my business?" he breathed. "You'd really put that in your
paper, Miss Dorothy?"
"Of course I would," Dorothy chuckled. "Human interest stories, they call 'em in the Denver Post."
"Human interest," Cal echoed thoughtfully. He was startled by a loud gasp, and turned quickly to see Byron,
sliding down from the corral fence and falling to the ground. Dropping the jacket, he ran to the boy, picking him
up, Dorothy and Robert E. right behind him.
"Squirt, did ya fall?" he demanded, cradling him in his lap. The little boy inhaled once more, a strained, harsh
breath that frightened Cal even more.
"Cal," Byron burst out hoarsely, eyes frantic.
"What is it?" Cal shouted fearfully, panic across his features.
Robert E. gripped Cal's arms and got him to his feet with the boy in his arms. "Let's get him to Dr. Mike's!"
"Hurry! Get him to Michaela!" Dorothy agreed.
"Get him...get him to Michaela," Cal echoed, terrified, willing his legs to move.
"C-can't...can't..." Byron choked, eyes tearing, his chest heaving up and down. "...Cal!"
Without a moment's further hesitation, Cal ran. He held Byron protectively against his chest and took off down
the street, reaching the clinic within moments.
***
"Thank you, Mrs. Shelley," Michaela said as her patient gave her a jar of preserved pickles in payment for
treatment of an infected blister.
"Now that recipe's been passed down through the generations," the elderly woman told her proudly. "My Great
Aunt Selma, I remember I was no more than five or six and helping her can pickles. It takes days and days you
know."
"Thank you," Michaela said impatiently, realizing it would only be a few more minutes until her next patient, and
then after that, lunch with Cal and Byron. "I'm sure we'll all enjoy-"
"Michaela!" The door burst open and Cal stormed in, a very pale Byron in his embrace. "He can't breathe. Ya
gotta help. He can't breathe, Mike."
"What?" Michaela uttered, hurrying to his side. She cupped Byron's face in her hands. "Byron? Can you answer
me?" She opened his mouth and looked for any objects obstructing his airway. Once when he was a baby, he had
choked on an apple slice and turned blue in the face, terrifying his mother until she composed herself and gave
him a firm slap on the back. The apple had gone flying and then the baby had giggled at her and carried on as if
nothing had happened. Now Michaela almost wished she could see something lodged in his throat. At least then
she would know what to do. "Byron? Cal, what did he eat?"
"He can't be choking, Mike," Cal told her quickly. "He wasn't eating anything. I didn't give him a thing, I swear
it!" Disconcerted, Mrs. Shelley slipped outside, her hand pressed to her heart.
The little boy gasped raspily, trying to speak but finding it impossible, hot tears pouring down his face. He
grabbed his mother's sleeves, eyes wild.
Robert E. and Dorothy came running in, a few paces behind Cal.
"Michaela, he can't breathe!" Dorothy said frantically.
"Put him on the table," Michaela ordered, rushing to her medicine cabinet and tearing through it, sending several
bottles shattering to the floor.
"He's turning blue!" Dorothy observed.
"Mike, he's turning blue," Cal shouted as Byron's eyes rolled upward. "Mike, hurry!" He took hold of the little
boy's arms and held him upright.
"He was actin' just fine," Robert E. put in nervously, removing his gloves. "He was fine, Dr. Mike."
"He was just a little out of breath after chasin' the puppy," Cal added. "That's all. Byron, please. What's the matter
with ya? Please, little guy."
"Arms up," Michaela instructed, coming to her son with a small bottle of chloroform and a cloth. "Hold his arms
up!" she shouted.
Cal obeyed, holding Byron's little arms in the air as high as he could. Dorothy stepped forward and removed his
mittens, clutching them to her.
Michaela damped the cloth with chloroform and held it to Byron's nose. "Listen to me, Byron. Take short breaths.
It's all right. Try to do what I tell you."
It took a few seconds, but Byron's eyes opened. He went on with the wheezing, though perhaps a little less
strained, and his tears picked up again.
"Short breaths, darling. Good," Michaela coached, mustering all the strength she could to keep her voice calm.
"Don't be frightened. We're all here."
"It's all right, little guy," Cal murmured. "It's all right. You're gonna be fine. Cal promises, all right?"
Byron coughed hard as his air passages slowly relaxed, taking hold of his mother's sleeves again. "...All...all
wight...Cal," he whispered.
***
"What's taking so long?" Cal demanded, worriedly pacing the clinic porch amidst a small gathering of townsfolk.
Matthew grasped his arm. "Dr. Mike doesn't want to overlook anything," he assured him.
"I'm hungry," sighed Katie, tiredly resting her head against Brian.
Brian put his arm around her. "Be patient, Kate, all right?" he murmured.
"It is gettin' on near supper time," Grace spoke up from the bench beside Dorothy. "Maybe I should bring
somethin' over."
"I'll help ya, Grace," offered Robert E., rising from the step.
Just then the clinic door creaked open, revealing an enduring though clearly worn Michaela, stethoscope about her
neck.
"What's the matter with him?" Cal asked immediately, stepping forward. "Is he gonna be all right? Why couldn't
he breathe?"
Michaela took a deep breath, choosing her words.
"Is it asthma, Dr. Mike?" Matthew spoke slowly, recalling his former fiancée's lifelong bout with the disease.
She swallowed hard. "Yes, Matthew. I think so."
"He gonna die and go t' heaven, Mama?" Katie asked fearfully, clutching Brian's hand.
Cal felt his breath coming quick. He braced himself for the reply.
"Byron's going to be fine, sweetheart," Michaela said firmly, unwilling to speak anything different.
"There's plenty of treatments that work," added Matthew reassuringly. "Ingrid...she had asthma, too. She did real
good with medicine, right, Dr. Mike?"
"That's right," Michaela agreed, taking another stiff breath.
"What's this mean, Mike?" Cal whispered,
She reached into her apron pocket for a folded piece of paper, then searched the gathering for Horace, spotting
him standing tall in the back. "Horace, I need to send this message to Dr. Patterson. In Denver."
"Sure, Dr. Mike. Right away." Horace stepped forward, took it from her, and hurried down the street, opening the
paper on the way.
"Mama, come back!" Byron called plaintively from inside.
"He needs me," Michaela murmured, turning.
"Can we come inside, Ma?" Brian asked hesitantly.
"Please me, too," begged Katie, certain once she saw her little brother he would look just the same and everything
would be back to normal.
"All right," Michaela softly replied. She spun around briefly. "Thank you all for your concern."
The townsfolk nodded and murmured words of sympathy.
"Dr. Mike," spoke up Robert E. He held out the little wool jacket. "Found it at the livery."
Silently, Michaela took it from him, hugging it to her, aware of Cal beside her, rubbing his eyes with his thumb
and forefinger.
"I'm bringing supper over," Grace said. "Lamb stew."
Michaela forced a smile of appreciation. "Thank you, Grace."
She admitted Katie and Brian, then glanced briefly to Cal. "He told me he wants you to come inside, too," she
said, then quickly entered, not waiting for him to speak.
Taking a deep breath, Cal followed her, shutting the door behind him.
Byron lay propped up on a cot in the corner, in the smallest examination gown Michaela had, a few sizes too large
for the little boy.
Brian took his hand and Katie bravely sat herself at his feet.
"Ya feeling okay, now, B.?" asked the older boy.
Byron shook his head tearfully, lips pursed.
"You're feeling better, aren't you sweetheart?" Michaela murmured, kneeling and giving the little boy a
comforting hug.
Byron closed his eyes and buried his head against her shoulder, hugging her neck tightly. "Mama," he said in a
tiny whisper, "I scared."
Michaela's heart broke. "Oh, don't be scared, Byron. Don't be scared." She pulled back. "Look, see? We're all
here. Your brother and sister and Cal and I, and we're not going to let anything happen."
Reluctantly, he took in each person in the room, eyes wide. Finally he put a finger to the corner of his mouth.
"Bian, Mama 'sam-ed me and I got t' say 'Ahhhh' *a lot*."
"Ahhh," giggled Katie.
"Were ya good at your ahh's?" Brian asked, tickling him gently.
"Yeah, I good," affirmed Byron. "Mama give me candy. Lick-wish"
"Why don't you get under the covers now, and have a little rest," Michaela bid, guiding him to his back and
tucking the blanket up to his chin.
"Mama, I'm hungry," Katie said, no longer able to ignore her growling stomach.
Michaela patted Brian's shoulder. "Will you take Katie to the café and have some dinner?"
Brian stood up. "We'll be back in a little bit, all right?" He gave her a brief but comforting hug.
She squeezed his hand in appreciation. "Thank you," she whispered.
Once the older children had left, a strained silence ensued between Michaela and Cal as they waited for Byron to
fall asleep.
After a minute, the little boy opened his eyes, just as alert as before. "Don't wanna sleep," he sighed disgruntedly.
"Can't."
Michaela stroked his hair. "I'll tell you a story. How about that?"
Byron thought it over for a moment, then turned his head and smiled at Cal. "Cal can."
Cal cleared his throat. "Oh, well...I think it's your Mama's turn this time."
"I want Cal," Byron insisted. He patted his mother's hand sympathetically. "I so-wee, Mama. Cal's stowies betta,"
he told her.
Michaela couldn't help but smile. She loved the honesty of her child. "Well, if...if Cal wants to." She rose,
avoiding the man's eyes, and sat at her desk, immediately engrossing herself in a thick textbook.
Reluctantly, Cal took her place on the cot, Byron watching him expectantly. He rubbed his thighs. "Let's see. A
story that'll put ya t' sleep. Hmm." He coughed. "There is this one...my ma used to recite to me."
"Tell me," begged Byron, intrigued. Michaela couldn't help but look up.
"I don't know if I remember," he admitted.
"You 'member," encouraged Byron. "Twy hard."
Cal scratched his head, eyes narrowed, then cleared his throat. "All right. Here goes:
"Winken, Blinken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe -Sailed off on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in the beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Winken,
Blinken,
And Nod.
"The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in the beautiful sea -"Now cast your nets wherever you wish -Never afeard are we";
So cried the stars to the fisherman three: Winken,
Blinken,
And Nod.
"All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam -Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe
Bringing the fisherman home;
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea -But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Winken,
Blinken,
And Nod.
"Winken and Blinken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoes that sailed the skies
Is the wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fisherman three: Winken,
Blinken,
And Nod."
Cal let out a long breath, stroking Byron's light-brown locks as the child dozed, thumb in mouth. "I'm sorry, little
guy," he murmured in a barely audible voice.
"Why wasn't he wearing his jacket, Cal?" Michaela asked shakily, looking up from her reading.
Startled, he turned to her. "Mike...I...I'm sorry. He was running around with the puppy and got hot, and I wasn't
gonna let him, but-"
"I give you a simple direction, and you blatantly disregard it," she said vehemently.
He stood up, hands on his hips. "Did he get this 'cause he wasn't wearing a jacket?"
"He was coughing, he has a catarrh," she went on, "it's a chilly winter day. What were you thinking?"
He came to the desk, a lump in his throat. "I am so sorry, Michaela," he told her, eyes begging for understanding.
"If I could take it back, I would. What can I do?"
Tears came to her eyes. "Nothing."
"There's gotta be something," he insisted. "I'll pay for whatever it takes. The best medicines. We'll find him a
cure."
"There is no cure," she murmured. "He may outgrow it, but he'll more than likely suffer with it his entire life."
"But he can live with it," Cal whispered, waiting for her to affirm.
She nodded. "As long as we catch the attacks in time, give him immediate treatment. Prevent attacks as much as
possible." She ran her finger down the text before her. "He could be sensitive to something. Animals, plants,
something in the air, dust. I'll keep him away from the barn, at least for now, and tomorrow I'll clean the
homestead from top to bottom."
"I'll help," Cal offered.
"No," she immediately replied. "I can do it."
He circled around the desk and stood behind her. Hesitantly, he brought his hands to her shoulders, massaging her
consolingly.
"Not now, Cal," she murmured, shrugging him off.
"I want to help," he insisted.
"You've helped enough," Michaela found herself responding. She bit her lip, regretting her words. She hadn't
meant them. Byron was sick, and she was looking for someone to blame.
Hurt, Cal backed away. He stared at her for a moment, then made for the door.
"Cal, come back," Michaela called, but he had disappeared.
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç
"Pease, Mama," begged Katie once more. "I'll help ya."
Michaela momentarily paused scrubbing the floorboards of her bedroom. She dropped the scrub brush in the
bucket with a small splash and rose to her feet, drying her hands on her apron. "Katie, I've told you," she began
impatiently, "Mama needs to do this to be sure everything is cleaned thoroughly and nothing missed. Please don't
stand where I've just washed."
The child climbed up onto the bed, sat on her knees, and crossed her arms.
Michaela sighed, pushing back a few stray hairs that had fallen loose from her bun. "Sweetheart, it's very
thoughtful of you to offer, but it would help me best if you find something else to do...Go to Byron's room and
play with your brothers."
"They're playin' boy toys," Katie informed her. "Trains an' horsies an' *cowboys*."
"Byron isn't out of bed, is he?" Michaela asked worriedly.
"No, they playin' on the bed," replied Katie irritably, fed up with everyone fussing over her little brother. It just
wasn't fair. She tapped her finger to her chin. "Mama, can I play weddin'?"
"Of course," Michaela agreed absently, getting back on her knees and fishing the scrub bush out of the sudsy
water. "Run along now."
"Thanks!" responded a now grinning Katie.
***
"You sure ya put it right here?" questioned Brian, certain his mother wasn't remembering correctly.
"I'm positive," replied a clearly distressed Michaela. She twisted her engagement ring. "I started with the
windows, and I'd only been working for a little while when I realized I'd better put my rings someplace for safe
keeping lest they slip off in the water." She touched the counter. "And so I took them off and put them just here.
Right next to the pump." She ran her hand down the pump handle worriedly. "And when I came back my wedding
ring was gone."
Brian looked behind a vase and moved a cookie jar aside. "Right next to the pump?"
Michaela went through the motions, removing an imaginary ring from her finger and placing it on the counter.
"Yes, right here." She brought a hand to her mouth. "This can't be. We have to find it."
"It's gotta be around," Brian assured her calmly, getting down on his hands and knees to search the floor. "It can't
have just walked away."
Michaela nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, you're right. Let's not panic." She turned to the younger children, who
had been observing the scene silently from nearby. "Katie, you haven't seen it, have you? Mama's gold wedding
ring?"
Katie clasped her hands behind her back. "...No," she said in a small voice.
"Byron?" Michaela asked. "Of course you've been in your room all day."
"Nope," sighed the little boy. He slid down from the kitchen table chair. "I help look, Mama."
Michaela lifted him back onto the chair. "No, no. You stay here."
A knock sounded at the front door, but Michaela barely heard it.
"I help look, Mama," Byron insisted. "I feel good. Really."
"Look for what?" Cal asked, letting himself in.
"Ma lost her wedding ring," Brian explained.
"It's lost, lost, lost," Byron sang.
"I didn't lose it," insisted Michaela uncomfortably. "I put it right here on the counter, and now it's..." Her voice
grew hoarse. "Now it's gone."
"You're ring's missing?" Cal cleared his throat, coming to the kitchen. "Well, Mike you...you must be mistaken.
Maybe...maybe ya had it on all along."
"Kinda like if ya wear something for a long time," Brian supplied, "then after awhile ya can't hardly feel it's there.
Right, Ma? Maybe ya thought ya took it off but really ya didn't. Then later it slipped off when ya didn't realize."
"I suppose that's a possibility," she admitted reluctantly.
"Sure. Sure it is," spoke up Cal. "We'll retrace your steps. Search everywhere ya've been today."
"Everywhere I've been today," echoed Michaela, thinking hard. "First I...woke up and dressed."
Everyone followed Cal upstairs, including Byron, who refused to stay seated lest he miss any excitement.
Brian and Cal moved furniture aside and the younger children got down on their hands and knees and looked
behind the vanity, behind the long mirror, and under the bed, turning up nothing. Then they searched each of the
children's rooms, again finding nothing save a left slipper Brian had been missing for a week.
"Where next, Mike?" Cal asked, observing Michaela's increasingly distraught expression. "Where'd ya go next?"
Michaela dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "Well, I think I...I think then I went to the barn to gather the
eggs."
Cal patted her back. "It could've fallen off there. We'll find it."
"Will you stay inside with Byron?" Michaela asked her older son, clasping his arm. "I don't want him in the barn."
"Sure, Ma," Brian agreed, picking up his frowning little brother. "We'll keep looking in here, how's that, B.?"
"...All wight," sighed the little boy.
Cal and Michaela headed to the barn, Katie tagging along quietly. The little girl sat herself on a pile of straw
while the adults combed the barn: under each chicken, the floor, even the loft. Soon Michaela found herself in
tears, unable to supress them any longer. They would never find it. Sully's vow to love her forever, made on their
wedding day, was gone. Now she had not only lost her husband, but the ring as well. Cal stood by, not sure what
else to do. It's a sign, Michaela thought. Sully was trying to tell her something. When Cal placed his hand on her
shoulder consolingly, she immediately pulled away. What if Sully didn't like Cal, or furthermore the idea of her
even courting? There was no way of really knowing, was there? She looked at Cal, and then her bare finger, and
sobbed all the harder.
Cal glanced at Katie, intending to take her back inside, and was surprised to see her curled up in a corner by
herself, weeping just as despairingly as her mother. "What's the matter, Princess?" Cal asked, coming to her side.
"I s-sorry," choked the little girl.
Michaela took a shaky breath and joined the two. "You don't need to be sorry, sweetheart. This certainly isn't your
fault."
Katie shook her head. "Mama...I was just playin'. I didn't mean it."
Michaela bent to the child's level. "Mean what, Katie?" she demanded quickly.
The child wiped at her eyes, gasping. "You said I could. I was playin' weddin' and it fell off. Too big for me. You
said I c-could."
"What fell off?" Michaela quickly responded, grasping Katie's arm tightly.
"Were ya playing with your ma's ring?" questioned Cal.
Katie nodded aversely. "You said I could, Mama," she insisted. "It fell off in this here stwaw," she explained,
patting the pile she sat upon. "I looked and looked. Can't find it."
Cal picked up Katie and stood her behind them, and at once he and Michaela began weeding through the straw,
frantically but meticulously.
"Katie, why didn't you say something before?" Michaela pleaded.
"You were m-mad," the little girl said hoarsely.
"No, before I was upset," Michaela explained. "Now I'm mad."
"Mike, she didn't mean it," Cal spoke quietly.
"Go inside, Katie," Michaela told her.
Sniffling, Katie hurried out the barn door.
"Oh, gosh. Here it is, Mike," Cal said, holding up the straw-covered, filthy ring.
Michaela quickly took it from him, pressing it to her heart. "Oh, thank God." She picked the straw from it, blew
on it, and polished it with her apron.
Cal stood up and brushed off his pant legs. "See, I told ya. Told ya we'd find it."
Michaela placed the ring back on her finger and pressed her hand to her lips, closing her eyes as tears once again
trickled down her cheeks.
"Oh, don't now, Mike," Cal pleaded awkwardly. "Ya got it back, just like we said." He kneeled down and tried to
put his arm around her, but she refused to allow it, shrugging him off once more.
"What's the matter? Don't ya want me here?" he whispered.
She sighed. "Cal, I need some time to sort things out. Losing the ring...I've realized how much I have to think
over."
He felt his heart beat fast. "You having second thoughts about us?"
"...No," she finally choked.
"But you still wear your rings," he pointed out softly, a lump in his throat.
She opened her mouth to reply, then didn't know what to say.
"Look, we'll talk things over," he assured her. "Tomorrow we can have us a nice quiet dinner. We'll ask Miss
Dorothy or Matthew to look after the kids for a few hours."
"I can't. I'm taking Byron to Denver tomorrow," she told him softly, rising to her feet.
"What?" he breathed. "Mike, Denver? Why?" he asked, the thought of her leaving, even if only for a short time,
causing him to miss her already.
"I've wired a pediatrician there, Dr. Patterson." She saw him raise an eyebrow. "He specializes in children. I want
Byron properly diagnosed."
Cal grasped her arm. "I thought ya said he has asthma."
"I believe he does," she murmured. "Dr. Patterson can confirm that, and suggest the best treatment." She turned
away, moving toward the door.
"All right. I'll come with ya then," Cal offered, following her.
"No," Michaela immediately replied. She softened her tone. "He's my child. I'll take him. We leave at nine
tomorrow and return the following day. I know this is last minute...I'm sorry about that."
"What about Katie and Brian?" he asked.
"I've already spoken with the two of them," she explained. "I trust Brian to look after Katie for one night. He's
very responsible."
"I'll come stay at the homestead," replied Cal. "If I'm not going with you then I should stay with the kids."
"That's very sweet, Cal," she admitted. "You don't have to."
"No arguments," he insisted. "I won't be able to stand by not doing anything."
"Thank you," she whispered. "I promise they'll be on their best behavior." She cleared her throat. "Well, I...need
to have a talk with Katie now."
"Mike, don't be too hard on her," he advised. "I know it ain't my business but...she's four years old and she was
pretending. Probably feeling left out what with Byron being sick and all. She didn't mean any harm by it."
Michaela nodded. "I know...but not knowing where my ring was frightened me. That's not something I want to
feel again." She opened the barn door, then turned briefly. "Thank you for helping me search for it."
"You're welcome," he replied, smiling softly.
***
"I found it," Michaela informed her daughter softly, sitting next to her on the child's bed. She cleared her throat.
"...Cal's going to stay here with you while Brynie and I are in Denver."
Katie hugged her tattered stuffed bunny to her, eyes lowered. "You very mad," she whispered forlornly.
"At first, but not anymore." Michaela placed her hand on the little girl's back. "Katie, I want you to know my ring
is something very special to me. Every time I look at it I'm reminded of your papa. The thought of losing it makes
me very, very sad."
"I asked, Mama," Katie whispered. "I asked I can play weddin', and you said 'yes'."
"Darling, Mama was very busy cleaning when you were asking," Michaela explained. "I didn't quite stop to think
what you meant." She kissed the child's head. "If you want to try on my ring you may, but you need to wait until
I'm sitting down, not busy, not distracted by anything. Then I can give you my full attention."
"You *never* wanna play with me any more," Katie replied, looking up at her. "You always, always busy. You
always playin' with Byron, not *me*. You like him the bestest."
Michaela felt terrible. "Oh, sweetheart. I didn't realize. I love you all equally, it's just, Brynie's sick right now and"
Katie gave a fake cough. "I can be sick, too," she offered hopefully.
Michaela hugged her tight. "Oh, Katie, I know this is difficult to understand, but some days you'll need Mommy
more, but other days Byron, and right now he needs me the most. It doesn't mean I forget about you, or Brian. We
just all need to be patient."
Katie sighed, thinking it over. She toyed with a button on Michaela's blouse. "I wanna go t' Den-var, too. Please?"
"I don't think you'd have very much fun," Michaela told her. "We're only going to see the insides of doctors'
offices. You get enough of that right here, don't you think?" She tickled her chin.
"Yeah," Katie admitted. "But I'm gonna be the only *giwl* here."
"It's hard being the only girl, isn't it?" replied Michaela. "Well, I'll tell you what. While I'm gone, I want you to
take extra good care of Wolf. Don't let her feel left out. She's a lady, too, you know."
"...All right," Katie agreed.
"And when I come back from Denver...we'll have a girl's day. Just you and I. And Wolf if she likes. You think
about what you'd like to do."
"Anything?" Katie asked excitedly.
"Well, almost anything. No trips to the moon, mind you." Michaela reached inside her collar and pulled out a
handsome gold locket necklace. "Have you ever seen this, Katie? I don't wear it all the time, but I did today."
Katie gazed at it in admiration. "Ooo. Pretty, Mama."
"It was your grandmother's. She gave it to me when I was about your age I think. I was sad because all of your
aunts were older than me, and got to do everything I couldn't." Michaela removed it from her neck, then kneeled
behind Katie. "Hold up your hair." Katie did as told and Michaela fastened the necklace around her daughter's
neck.
"Just for me?" Katie gasped, touching the heart tentatively with her fingers.
Michaela kissed her cheek and hugged her from behind. "Just for you. Do you know it opens?"
Katie's eyes lit up as she fiddled with the heart. Michaela unclasped it for her. "Some people put a little picture
inside of someone special, but this one has a mirror, see?"
Katie grinned and squinted at herself in the tiny mirror. "Ooo," she murmured.
"Whenever you open it, you'll always be looking at someone special."
Katie turned and hugged her mother tightly. "I'll never, ever lose it, Mama. I promise. I'll never, ever touch your
ring again, 'kay? Ever. I sorry."
Michaela held her close. "Oh, that's all right. I forgive you, sweetheart."
Katie kissed her mother's cheek lovingly, and then held out the locket in her mother's direction. "What'd ya see,
Mama?" she said wryly.
Michaela raised her eyebrows. "Myself?"
Katie giggled. "Some-one special. You!"
"Oh!" Michaela laughed and hugged her again. "My precious girl."
***
"I want Cal to come, too," announced Byron, cranking his head around to squint at the specks of his brother, sister
and Cal, waving their last good-byes.
"Not another word about it, Byron," his mother scolded gently. All morning Byron hadn't given up on the idea of
Cal joining them in Denver, and Michaela was tired of it. She told herself she was glad Cal wasn't coming. She
needed some time away from him. And of course she needed to focus all her efforts on Byron, the reason they
were going in the first place. She couldn't afford the distraction of Cal.
"Are we there yet, Mama?" Byron spoke up, turning in her lap to face her.
Michaela chuckled. "We've only just pulled out of the station, Brynie. It's going to be a few hours." Her legs were
falling asleep from the weight of the little boy. She wondered if she should have gotten him his own seat after all.
She noticed the middle-aged man seated next to them seemed annoyed already with the talkative three-year-old.
He open his newspaper and shook it firmly, as if to confirm Michaela's speculations.
"I like twains," Byron responded, pressing his nose to the glass. "They are fun. Mama, look! Twees!" He pointed
to the blur of evergreen out his window, fascinated.
Not customarily bothered by moving trains or boats or anything of the like, Michaela felt sick to her stomach. She
fanned herself with her handkerchief and leaned back in the seat, shutting her eyes. Byron was heavy and warm
and she wanted him off her lap, but there was nowhere else for him to go.
Byron talked to her about the train, about what he saw outside, about Denver and what he thought it might be like,
not caring that Michaela was failing miserably in paying attention to a word he said. Michaela bought him a
biscuit with jam to quiet him, and he ate it all, spilling crumbs all over her lap. Then, much to her surprise, he
curled up in her arms and fell asleep.
Michaela stroked his hair and gazed at him with sympathy now that he was breathing deeply, suckling his thumb
like an infant. It didn't seem fair. He had always been, though small for his age, remarkably healthy, and now this,
out of no where. The thought of Byron's life being anything but healthy and happy filled Michaela with a sorrow
she couldn't describe. She thought about Sully, and wanted him with her more than ever. He would hug her tight,
stroke her hair, and assure her nothing's changed. He'd sit next to her on the train and squeeze her hand, whisper
to her quietly, take Byron from her and insist she rest her head on his shoulder. She wondered if Cal might do the
same thing, if he were here.
Michaela closed her eyes and dreamed. She dreamed she was lost and alone in a dark, dense woods, cold and
frightened. She called for Sully, but he didn't answer. He couldn't; he was dead. She called for Cal, but he couldn't
come either. "I tried," Cal's voice echoed from a distance. "Mike, I tried, but ya wouldn't let me."
Michaela eyes fluttered open, disoriented. Byron was patting her damp, cool cheek to rouse her. The train had
stopped. They had arrived.
***
"Ooo, look at this, Brynie," Michaela murmured. "Isn't this nice?" She placed him on his feet and opened her
purse to tip the young bellhop carrying her carpet and medical bags. She would have been able to manage the
luggage herself, but after checking in at the front desk, Byron tugged at her skirts and begged to be picked up,
frightened by the lavish, enormous lobby, populated with scores of unfamiliar, elegantly dressed people.
More at ease with the quiet hotel room, Byron hesitantly took a step forward, taking in everything with wide eyes.
He stood on a plush oriental carpet that seemed to him as soft as the mattress on his bed at home. The walls were
papered with a cream-colored, flower print pattern. There was a high double bed with fluffy pillows and a deep
red velvet canopy, and nearby a tall window with matching curtains. Byron walked over to the window and
peeked down on the street below.
"Mama...we high!" he gasped, clutching the windowsill.
"Three stories up," Michaela told him with a smile, giving the bellhop a nickel for his assistance. The young man
placed her bags at his feet, thanked her and handed her the key to the room, then headed out the door, shutting it
behind him.
Byron wondered what a story had to do with how high they were. Abandoning the window for the moment, he ran
his hand across an oak nightstand with a lamp, then skirted across the room to a tall wardrobe, opening it with two
hands. "Nothin' in here!" he exclaimed, puzzled. Mama's wardrobe at home was full of dresses and shoes and
things.
Michaela chuckled, placing the bags on the bed and laying out their nightclothes for when they returned from the
doctor. "Of course not. What did you expect to find?"
He crawled up onto a chair a few feet away and opened the drawers of a secretary, pleased to uncover several
sheets of stationary and a pen and ink well. Deciding he could draw a picture for Mama later once he had explored
the entire room, he slid down from the chair and spotted a door; not the door they had entered, but a different one,
next to the fireplace. Intrigued, he grasped the gold handle, pulled it down, and entered a small, black-and-white
tile room with white walls.
"Don't tell me I forgot to pack your socks," Michaela said more to herself, opening the carpetbag wider and
fishing through it.
"Mama, what this?" Byron called softly.
"What's what? Do you remember seeing me pack your socks, Brynie?" Michaela replied worriedly. If he didn't
have his socks, his feet would be cold during the night. If his feet were cold, he would come down with
something, again. He needed his socks.
"What this do?" the little boy responded.
"Ah, here they are!" Michaela held them up, relieved. "Never mind, sweetheart."
Suddenly, a clamorous churning of water and a clanging of pipes sounded from the little room, and Byron
immediately came running out, shrieking and throwing himself against Michaela's legs, terrified.
"What in heaven's name...?" breathed Michaela, picking him up and heading to the source of the noise. "Byron,
what on earth did you touch?"
Trembling in her arms, he wrapped his legs around her waist and squeezed tight. "I-I did...didn't," he quivered.
"Mama, don't go in!" he begged.
Michaela opened the door wide, stared at the contraption for a moment with raised eyebrows, then burst into a
wide grin. "Oh...sweetheart," she chuckled, kissing his head. "It's all right. It's all right. It's just a...a..."
"Mon'sta!" he finished, burying his head against her shoulder.
Michaela couldn't hold back a smile. "No, it's not a monster. Look, open your eyes."
He shook his head.
Michaela stroked his hair. "Byron, look, it's an outhouse."
Reluctantly, he turned his head, opening his eyes a sliver. "Uh-uh, Mama. Not da potty at home. Uh-uh."
"Well, no, it's not like what we have at home. It's a...a Denver potty." She pointed to a sparkling clean porcelain
bowl filled halfway with water. "That's similar to the hole in our outhouse, only very fancy." She pointed at the
pipes that led up to a box high above the toilet. "And that's called plumbing. It's a machine of sorts, and when you
pull that string...it sends the, um..." She searched for the right word. "Well, the waste...it sends it away. You don't
have to use sawdust like at home."
Byron stared at the mechanism disbelievingly. "Where it go to?" he asked.
Michaela cleared her throat. "Well...to be honest I'm not quite sure. The sewer I suppose."
He fingered the lace on her bodice thoughtfully. At last he let loose a resolved sigh. "Mama...I gotta go potty."
She put him on his feet. "You do?"
He nodded, tugging at the buttons of his britches. Michaela helped him undo them. "Do you want me to stay here
with you?"
"No," he replied bravely. "I be all wight."
She patted his head. "All right, but hurry along. We need to leave for the hospital in a few minutes."
"Alweady?" he murmured, disappointed. "I wanna dwaw picture."
"They'll be plenty of time for that later." She grasped the handle of the door. "I'll be right outside, sweetheart."
"'Kay," he replied.
"Don't forget to...to pull the string," she added, clearing her throat as she stepped into the main room.
"'Kay," he called, reaching over with one hand and pushing the door closed.
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç@ÉÇx
"Do you have an appointment?" demanded the grouchy, tight skinned nurse, sitting erect at the desk, pen in hand
as she flipped through a pile of documents.
Byron stared up at her apprehensively, his mouth slightly agape. He held Michaela's hand tighter, huddling
against her leg.
"Not exactly-" Michaela began.
The nurse looked up with only her eyes, sighing impatiently. "Is there an emergency?"
"Well, no," admitted Michaela.
"Then you'll need to make an appointment," ordered the nurse. "Hospital policy." She leaned forward and peered
down at the little boy, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He sucked his thumb, a bad habit that should be broken,
but she liked that he was quiet. That was a nice change. "Name?"
Byron wondered how the nurse's starched white hat stayed on so well. It never moved, even when she bent her
head. He cocked his head to the side, studying it.
"But I wired Dr. Patterson just the other day," Michaela explained. "He promised he would try to take a look at
my son this afternoon. Around three o'clock he said. It is three, isn't it?"
The nurse put down her pen. "Not Dr. Quinn from Colorado Springs?"
Michaela raised her eyebrows. "Well, yes but-"
"My goodness, why didn't you speak up?" She searched through her papers. "Why, you're famous."
"Famous?" echoed Michaela disbelievingly.
The nurse chuckled. Michaela thought it strange to see her so suddenly cheerful. "Of course! A successful
practice, inducted into the Medical Association, nominated for Woman of the Year, and we all know you write
those articles about...what is it? Indian concoctions and the like. I just never pictured you..." She chuckled again,
bringing her hand to her mouth. "So...normal, I suppose. Ah, here it is." She held up a piece of paper with a brief
note the doctor had scratched mentioning Michaela's arrival. "Yes, Dr. Patterson will see you at three o'clock
sharp." She handed Michaela a thin packet of papers and a pencil and then gestured at a row of benches along the
wall. "Fill out these forms, and you and your son may take a seat. When the doctor's through with his current
patient I'll send you in."
A tad bewildered, Michaela led Byron to the bench and lifted him up onto it, then took a seat next to him, putting
the papers in her lap. Name, address, birth date, height, weight. This was easy so far.
Across the room, a girl about Byron's age with her wrist in a cast was staring at him. He hugged Michaela's arm
and buried his head against her shoulder. "Mama, I don't like it here," he whispered. "Go home." The walls were
too white, the people too unfamiliar, and the room smelled funny. Not exactly bad, just funny. Nothing at all like
Mama's clinic.
Michaela rubbed his back reassuringly as she pondered a question on the form. "Byron, how many catarrhs have
you had in the past year?"
"I dunno," he replied uncaringly.
Michaela cleared her throat. "Well, this isn't being very scientific, but we'll have to guess. Twelve, we'll say? One
each month?" She gazed at his head of thick wavy hair, nestled against her for comfort. One each month! Why
hadn't she seen this coming? She put her arm around Byron and cuddled him close, feeling guilty. Her little boy
had always been sickly, and she had refused to believe it, had refused to believe anything could harm Sully's son.
She put the form beside her and lifted Byron onto her lap, kissing his brow. "Mama loves you, Brynie," she
whispered. "I promise I'll keep you safe."
He nodded, hugging her. "'All wight, but I don't like Den-va."
She kissed his cheek. "I know. Mama's right here." She stroked his hair, noticing for the first time the children
around them. There was the girl with the cast, and another little girl next to her, pale and in a wheelchair, her head
titled back and a man, probably her father, pinching her bloody nose with a handkerchief. A few feet away from
the girls, a baby cried hoarsely in its mother's arms, its tired parents singing to it, shaking a rattle in its face and
offering it a bottle it did not want. Most likely colicky, Michaela thought. There wasn't a lot they could do but
wait for the baby to outgrow it. Then again it could be something else. A fever, pneumonia, a hernia, or some fatal
disease no one could cure. A few feet from Michaela was another mother, scolding her mentally retarded son for
pulling at her buttons or some other trivial thing. An older boy, perhaps the child's brother, crossed his arms,
scowled, and looked embarrassed by the scene. And then there was Byron.
"It could be a lot worse," she could hear Sully reminding her. Michaela almost reached for his hand, as if
expecting him to be seated right beside her, filling out the forms so she could tend to Byron.
"Then why do I feel so terrible, Sully?" she replied silently, closing her eyes and pressing her lips to Byron's hair.
***
Michaela had pictured Dr. Patterson as an elderly, balding man, with wiry gray sideburns and thick spectacles.
She was quite surprised to discover he was no older than she, very tall, and unconventionally clean-shaven. He
had curly, golden-blond hair, and a reassuring sense of humor.
"It's an honor, Dr. Quinn," he had greeted her, extending his hand.
He placed a very timid Byron on his table and began examining the boy thoroughly, utilizing modern instruments
and detailed, up-to-date textbooks Michaela could only dream of affording someday. Dr. Patterson talked to his
patient, helping to keep Byron's mind off the examination, asking him about his favorite games, storybooks he
liked, if he'd ever been to Denver before, and so on. Much to Michaela's amazement, Byron nodded his head 'yes'
or 'no' and even replied to some of the doctor's questions, though he kept his thumb in his mouth.
Twenty minutes into the examination Dr. Patterson dug in a nearby crate filled with toys and gave Byron a yo-yo
to play with, then asked Michaela to describe the little boy's recent attack, taking fervent notes as she spoke.
At last all was complete, and Byron was rewarded with a piece of taffy from the doctor's desk drawer.
Soon afterward one of Dr. Patterson's nurses came in, a nun with a friendly expression, and took Byron's hand,
leading him to the door.
Byron immediately pulled away, shooting his mother a look of panic.
Michaela rose from her chair and picked him up, carrying him out of the office. "Byron, I need to speak with Dr.
Patterson now. You sit here and I'll be back in a little bit." She placed him on the waiting bench.
He shook his head, eyes welling with tears. "No, Mama," he moaned, "stay wid me." He took hold of her skirts
tight and decided not to let go until she gave in.
"I'll look after him," offered the nurse sympathetically. "Byron is it? Do you know where we hide the ice-cream
here?"
Byron squinted at her, unconsciously loosening his grip on Michaela. "What's ice-cweam?"
"What's ice-cream?" replied the nurse unbelievingly. "Why it's..." She smiled, taking his hand. "Come along,
child. I'll show you."
Intrigued, Byron looked to his mother for approval. "Go on," Michaela encouraged. She gave the nurse an
appreciative smile. "Thank you. This is very kind."
"We won't be long," replied the old woman, returning the smile.
***
"Please, take a seat, Dr. Quinn," offered the doctor, gesturing at a pair of chairs in front of his desk.
Michaela tentatively sank into the cool green leather. It was a terribly comfortable chair. Too comfortable for her
taste. She placed her medical bag in her lap and sat forward.
Dr. Patterson leaned back in his own tall leather chair and leafed through his notes, brow furrowed. "Is the boy's
father waiting outside? Perhaps it would be best if both parents are present."
Michaela was caught off guard. "Oh...um, his father passed away several years ago," Michaela explained. It was
strange, she thought, what time does. Until recently, when someone would ask about Sully, she would barely be
able to choke the words out. Now...well, it wasn't as hard. "I'm Byron's parent," she added. "Whatever you have to
say you can say to me." She prepared herself for bad news.
Dr. Patterson looked up slowly. "Oh," he croaked. He cleared his throat. "That's a shame," he murmured
diffidently, as if he couldn't remember what one was supposed to say in such a situation. "About your husband,
that is. I'm sorry," he finally told her.
Michaela nodded, tugging at the ends of her black lace gloves to pull them tighter on her hands.
"You're traveling all alone then," the doctor concluded, rising from his chair and sitting on the end of his desk.
Michaela saw no harm in telling him the truth. "Yes. Well, with Byron of course."
"A beautiful woman like yourself shouldn't be alone in a city the size of Denver," he remarked shrewdly.
"We're quite fine, thank you," Michaela said quickly, reddening. "Now about my son..."
"Your son," Dr. Patterson echoed slowly, captivated by the blush staining her cheeks. She was very beautiful
indeed.
"Byron?" Michaela reminded him.
He tugged at his collar. "Byron. Yes, yes. Of course." He rose from his desk, spilling a few papers and a pen in
the process. Mumbling an apology, he hurriedly picked them up and walked to a nearby cabinet. "I have several
powders and tonics you can try..." He placed a handful of patent bottles and small packages on his desk.
Michaela took a deep breath. "Then it is asthma," she murmured.
He turned briefly. "I'm truly sorry. But it's very treatable, as you well know." He picked up a box from the pile of
medicines. "These are cigarettes if you can get him to inhale. If not save them for when he's older. You can also
mix equal parts of Henbane and Atropa belladonna and combine it with honey for him to swallow. And sweetened
water just before bed, and a warm cloth laid across the stomach, seems to help some of my patients."
Michaela unclasped her medical bag and found a pad and pencil to take notes on. "Henbane, belladonna. Those
are very powerful herbs, doctor. Potential poisons."
"Thank goodness you'll be giving them to him, Dr. Quinn," he responded. He placed another bottle on the table,
looking her in the eyes. "May I call you Michaela?"
Not expecting this, she concentrated on her notepad. "Oh, well, I...suppose."
"I've read your articles in the Medical Journal, Michaela," he went on. "You're very knowledgeable about herbs."
She nodded reluctantly. It seemed so different though, administering them to her son, her three-year-old little boy.
She didn't like the idea of using him to test all of these drugs on until something worked. "I've used stramonium
on my patients with some success," she spoke up.
"Yes, certainly try what's worked before, in a dosage adjusted for Byron's height and weight of course." He sat
back in his chair. "If he begins wheezing while he's outside, bring him indoors, obviously, and do the opposite if
he has difficulty breathing inside. In most cases, the child is sensitive to some element, the grass, a cat or a dog,
even certain types of food."
"Oh, no." Michaela bit her lip. "Doctor, we have a puppy."
He sighed. "I'd suggest you get rid of it, or at the very least don't let it in the house."
"Brynie's going to be heartbroken," Michaela murmured, but she was willing to do anything, give up anything, if
it meant her little boy wouldn't be as ill. "How about exercising?" she asked worriedly. "Can he run and jump and
play?"
Dr. Patterson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I've found that some patients seem to feel better with mild exercise,
others find exertion only brings about an attack. Through trial and error you'll discover what's best for him."
"My son is not an experiment," she murmured tearfully.
He folded his arms, bending his head sympathetically. "No, I didn't mean to imply that. I wish as much as you we
knew more, I wish there was some sort of way to find out what the cause of this is. Right now experimenting, per
se, seems to be the only sure way. It's not as terrible as it sounds. Simply keep him away from things that you find
irritate him. I'd like you to bring him back in six months for a follow-up. At that time I'll determine when I'll need
to see him again, if at all."
Michaela remained silent for a moment, digesting his words. At last she whispered, "What kind of life can I
expect for him?"
He leaned back against his desk. "Several very accomplished people have suffered from asthma."
"Who?" she asked curiously.
"Well, let me see." He stroked his chin in thought. "Beethoven for one, and I believe Charles Dickens..."
"Really?" she said hopefully. "Dickens. He's one of my favorite novelists."
Dr. Patterson smiled. "Mine, too. It's also been documented President Van Buren often experienced bouts of
wheezing, and Oliver Wendell Holmes as well."
"Oliver Wendell Holmes!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't aware he has asthma."
"There, you see. You'd never even know it. Michaela, your son can live as close to a normal life as possible,
provided he's given the proper care when he suffers an attack."
He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small brown paper bag, placing the medicines in it, then folded the top
and handed it to Michaela. "I'll be eager to hear what works."
Michaela tucked it under her arm and opened her drawstring purse. "I thank you very much for your time, doctor.
How much do I owe you?"
He smiled, waving his hand. "No need."
Michaela raised her eyebrows. "But..."
He smirked. "It isn't often I have the pleasure of conversing with a lady doctor. *The* Dr. Michaela Quinn, to be
precise."
Embarrassed, Michaela fiddled with her gloves again.
He took her hand as if he were about to lay a kiss upon it. "Why don't you join me for dinner? The food here isn't
the best, but we make do." He chuckled at her hesitant expression. "Come now, Michaela. Is it that you've already
made plans with some other handsome man?
Reddening once more, Michaela cleared her throat. "Well, um, it's Byron. We really should get back to our hotel
and-"
"He may sit with us," offered Dr. Patterson, "as long as he doesn't throw mashed potatoes in my hair, or spill his
milk all over my desk." Michaela couldn't tell whether he was teasing or serious. "It's settled then. I'll have the
kitchen staff send three plates to my office...and afterward I'll give you a personal tour of the hospital."
Michaela perked up at the mention of a tour. The doctor in her couldn't resist. "Well...all right then," she agreed
softly.
"Splendid!" replied the physician.
***
"I was in this very hospital for six months," Dr. Patterson went on, fork in hand. "They wouldn't let me leave my
bed for fear of doing further damage. Father and Mother and my sisters visited when they could, but I remember
being lonely much of the time, and frightened. I hated my physician. I don't think he cared for children all that
much. It was a terrible time. I never wanted to see these walls again."
"Did the bones heal properly?" Michaela asked curiously. She cut Byron a piece of roast beef and handed him his
fork. Byron gazed at the meat for a moment, then slowly put the fork in his mouth.
The doctor nodded. "Somewhat, eventually. You may notice I continue to walk with a slight limp." He chuckled.
"I have a cane, but I refuse to use it. It was after that I knew I wanted to be a doctor. More importantly, a
specialist, a pediatrician. I want to make my patients' visits here agreeable. No child should have to suffer through
what I did. Doctors are supposed to help one feel better, not worse."
"We appreciate your efforts," Michaela told him.
He smiled. "Well, that's not the only reason. Children fascinate me. For instance your son here. If he had a fever,
and a doctor gave him the same dose of quinine you'd give a man my size...why, it could be lethal!"
"What's le-fal, Mama?" queried Byron, tracing his fingers along the edge of his plate.
"Never mind," replied Michaela. "Eat your carrots."
"Everything must be adjusted for the smallest of us," Dr. Patterson continued. "Children are practically a different
species all together. The simply cannot be treated as undersized adults. Their physiology is entirely distinct." He
cut himself a piece of meat. "Now how about you, Michaela? What initiated your love affair with medicine?" He
reached across his desk to lay his hand over hers as he chewed leisurely.
Michaela cleared her throat, removing her hand and placing it in her lap. She wondered if all the doctors here
were this friendly. "Well, my...my father was a doctor. I was the youngest of five girls...so I suppose I was the son
he never had. It seemed natural I would follow in his footsteps. As far back as I can remember he would take me
along on his rounds at the hospital in Boston--where I grew up." She paused, noticing his piercing gaze. She took
a sip of water and shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "...I knew when I was very young that I wanted to be a
doctor someday like my father."
"Yes, I bet you did," he murmured, leaning forward.
Michaela averted her eyes. "Byron, you need to eat your carrots, not pick at them."
"I can't. I stuffed," he moaned, putting down his fork and clutching his belly.
"Come now, Byron," spoke up the doctor. "Good boys clean their plates."
Byron stared at him with a frown, reluctantly picking up his fork.
Michaela pulled the little boy's napkin from his collar and took the fork from him, laying it across his plate. "All
right, if you're certain you're full you don't have to eat any more. You had a lot of ice-cream earlier, didn't you?"
He nodded, clutching her arm. "Vila ice-cweam."
"Vanilla," Michaela annunciated.
"Va-ila," repeated Byron.
"He's left all of his vegetables," noted the doctor disapprovingly.
"Children know when they've eaten their fill," Michaela responded. "The same meal you would give a man of
your size is far too much for a little boy like Byron."
He chuckled. "You're quick, Michaela. I like that." He stood up, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. "Well, that
was a delightful conversation, and a fitting prelude to our tour."
Michaela picked up her plate and glass. "Should we return these to the kitchen?"
He waved his hand. "No, no. My staff will take care of it, of course. Leave it right here."
"...All right," Michaela agreed hesitantly. "I was only thinking if we're going to pass by the kitchen anyway...we
might save them a trip."
"Don't be absurd," Dr. Patterson chuckled. "Enter the kitchen? Heavens!" He circled the desk and looped her arm
with his. "Byron, get down from your chair now, and come along."
Byron obeyed, hurrying to his mother and grasping her free hand.
"Now Byron, this is a hospital," Dr. Patterson told the timid little boy. "What does that mean?"
Byron pressed his head against Michaela's skirts. "Go *home*, Mama," he whispered.
"It means you must be very quiet," Dr. Patterson supplied. "There are some very ill people here who don't care for
little children."
"I don't foresee a problem, doctor. He rarely speaks to people he doesn't know." Michaela felt Byron's arm
encircle her leg. She caressed his head reassuringly.
"Hm," replied the doctor. "Well, in that case, shall we begin?"
***
"Thanks for dinner, Cal," Brian said politely as he finished the last of his pie.
Cal smiled, touching his fork to his full plate. "You're welcome, Brian.
"Thank you, Cal," said Katie, all smiles. "It was goood."
Cal tousled her hair. "Glad ya liked it, but it's Miss Grace who deserves the thanks."
"I think I left my history book at the clinic the other day," Brian spoke up. "Can I go over and get it? Ma gave me
the key in case there was an emergency while she was gone."
"Sure, I guess so, Brian. But come back here when you're done, all right?"
"All right," agreed Brian. He took his sister's hand. "Wanna come, Kate?"
"Yeah, okay," replied the little girl as he helped her down from her chair.
Cal watched them go, trying to remember what Michaela might say. "Uh, Brian," he called. "Hold Katie's hand in
the street."
Brian turned briefly. "All right."
Grace approached the table and refilled Cal's cider glass. "Somethin' wrong with the food?"
He sighed. "No, ma'am, I'm sure it's fine. I just ain't hungry I guess."
Grace smiled. "Any news from Dr. Mike?"
"None yet," murmured Cal. "Figure she must have a lot on her mind. Probably not a lot of time to send a wire. No
news is good news, I s'pose. I mean, they're only gonna be gone 'til tomorrow. They'll be back in the
morning...Maybe I should've gone. But she needs me here to look after Brian and Katie. Yeah." Don't talk so
much, he scolded himself.
Grace took a seat across from him. "I'm sure everythin's fine."
"Yeah," Cal murmured.
Dorothy entered the cafe, spotted Cal and Grace chatting, and walked over to them. "Evenin', Grace, Cal. Mind if
I sit down?" she asked, greeting them with her usual cheery smile.
"Sure, go ahead," Cal said, gesturing at the seat next to Grace, then resting his elbows on the table and sighing.
"You're a sorry sight," remarked Dorothy. She grinned. "...Missin' Michaela?"
Cal blushed. "No--I mean, yeah, but well, it ain't that." He cleared his throat. "It's just...women," he finally
grumbled. He looked up. "...No offense."
Dorothy and Grace glanced at each other and grinned softly.
"Wanna tell us what happened?" queried Dorothy.
"Maybe we could help," Grace added. She raised her eyebrow. "We are women, after all."
Cal thought about it for a moment, then rubbed his thighs, taking a deep breath. "Well, see...things were going
fine, just fine between me and Mike, you know, with courting."
"We know," replied Dorothy, resting her arms on the table.
"What went wrong?" spoke up Grace, taking the pitcher and filling two glasses with cider for Dorothy and herself.
Cal scratched his head. "I ain't exactly sure myself, but she hasn't said hardly two words to me since the day
before she and Byron left."
"That doesn't sound like Michaela," remarked Dorothy, sipping her cider. "She wouldn't behave that way without
good reason."
"Well, we kinda got talking about her wedding ring," Cal admitted. "She still...you know, wears it."
"Oh," breathed Dorothy.
"Oh," echoed Grace.
"I don't really mind the ring all that much, really I don't," he told them. "It's just the fact that she *can't* take it off
that...that..." He trailed off.
"That hurts your feelin's," Dorothy supplied sympathetically.
Cal sobered. "I s'pose, a little bit. "
"I figure Dr. Mike and Sully were in the same place, awhile back," Grace spoke up. "Took 'em both a long time
'fore they let the other into their heart."
"What do you mean?" Cal queried.
"Oh, he doesn't know," Dorothy murmured, surprised.
"Know what?" asked Cal curiously.
"...Sully got married back before the war," Dorothy told him, "a few years before Michaela came here from
Boston, before she met him."
"Sully was married before?" Cal questioned. "Mike never told me that."
"Maybe it just never came up," Grace surmised, encircling her cider glass with her hands.
"Who was he married to? What happened?" pressed Cal.
"Abigail Bray," Dorothy told him.
"...Mr. Bray?"
"Loren's daughter," Dorothy affirmed. "My niece. Sweet, beautiful girl. They got married real young...She died
not long before Michaela came here," Dorothy went on.
"Baby, too," Grace added.
"Baby?" Cal took a few deep breaths, digesting it all. "Sully must've been..."
"Heartbroken," finished Dorothy softly. "Kept away from all of us in town for a long time. Then Michaela came-she'd lost someone, too."
"Who?" Cal asked quickly, leaning forward.
"Her fiancé...David," Grace told him.
"Fiancé?" breathed Cal. Michaela sure had a lot of secrets in her heart.
"That was a real long time ago," Dorothy reminded him. "Michaela and Sully became real good friends right from
the start. They gave each other time, and after awhile they both knew they were ready to move on..."
"When's Mike gonna know it's time to move on?" Cal asked quietly.
Dorothy's eyes filled with tears. "Cal, a few years ago, my best friend was dyin'. Then she met you, and there was
a light in her eyes I hadn't seen since Sully was alive."
"She loves ya, Cal," Grace put in softly. "We all see it in her eyes. When the time's right, she'll see it, too."
"Just be patient. That time ain't far off," Dorothy added. "I'm sure of it."
"Me, too," added Grace with a smile.
Cal smiled softly, reaching across the table to take their hands. "Thanks. I appreciate this."
"Talk with her, Cal," Dorothy suggested. "Tell her what ya told us. Honesty. That's what women like."
"You think so?" Cal replied.
"We know so," chuckled Grace.
"Found it," called Brian, coming to the table and holding up his book. "Right on Ma's desk where I left it."
"Good," Cal replied, lifting Katie onto his lap.
"What we gonna do next?" the child asked, confident Cal had something fun planned up his sleeve.
Cal bit his lip. "Now we're gonna...send a wire to Byron and your ma." He winked at Grace and Dorothy, and they
smiled back.
"An' say what?" queried Katie.
"And say...hello," replied Cal, kissing her head.
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç@àãÉ
Michaela hadn't minded Dr. Patterson's large, cool fingers, securely clutching her arm throughout the entire tour
of the hospital, nor was she offended by the prolonged kiss he had placed on her hand at the conclusion of the
evening. She was flattered by his endless compliments--from her clothing to her inquisitiveness, he had something
flirtatious to say about everything. She didn't even mind when he introduced her to his colleagues, exaggerating
her accomplishments. It was when the doctor insisted, not willing to listen to any arguments, that he escort
Michaela and Byron back to their hotel, that Michaela felt a twinge of anxiousness she couldn't deny.
The ride back to the hotel only increased Michaela's anxiety. She pressed herself against the side of the streetcar,
moving away from the doctor, but he only slid closer, placing his hand on her knee and caressing her fondly. She
should have protested, but didn't. Byron was in her lap, enjoying the ride, and she didn't want him to take notice
of her uneasiness and be upset. Even more than that, the little boy would no doubt be full of questions she wasn't
prepared to answer. Michaela saw that Dr. Patterson was taking her silence as shyness and nothing more, and just
as she was debating whether to say something to him after all, the streetcar at last pulled to a stop in front of the
hotel.
More than ready to bid the persistent physician goodnight, Michaela hurriedly placed Byron on the seat, picked up
her medical bag, climbed down from the coach without waiting for assistance, and lifted her son from the seat to
her hip.
"Just a minute, Michaela. I'll walk you to your room," Dr. Patterson said relentlessly, fumbling with his billfold to
pay the driver.
"No, thank you," Michaela said quickly. "Thank you for the tour. We'll see you in six months. Good-bye."
Without waiting for a reply, Michaela hastened up the steps and inside, alleviated at last from the unpleasant
situation. She placed Byron on his feet and took a moment to catch her breath, standing in the middle of the
bustling hotel lobby.
"Let's wide stweet car 'gain, Mama," Byron suggested, smiling up at her.
"Oh, did you like that?" Michaela replied, trying to disguise the relief in her voice as they headed to the stairs.
"Uh-huh," he said, nodding enthusiastically.
"We'll take one to the train station tomorrow morning," Michaela told him.
"Goody," replied Byron. "...Cal is gonna get stweet car, 'member? In Col-rado Spings. We gonna have us own
stweet car, and I can wide all day, Cal says so. Right, Mama?"
Michaela cleared her throat, slowing her pace for Byron as they began ascending the broad staircase to the rooms.
"If Cal said, I suppose."
"Yep," he agreed. "An' it's gonna be fun, fun, fun." Byron tugged at his mother's hand, confused. "Wong way.
Wong way, silly."
Instead of heading up another flight of carpeted stairs, Michaela had turned down the two hundred wing. Byron
remembered how to get to their room. Two long, tiring flights of stairs up, not one.
"Wong way," the little boy insisted once more.
"We'll go to our room in a moment, Brynie," Michaela finally said. "I want to see something quickly."
"What?" Byron questioned, but his mother didn't answer. He sighed and looked about him.
The second floor was fancier than the third floor. The hallway was wider, the carpet less worn, the doors spaced
further apart, and the people more exorbitantly dressed. Framed landscape watercolors adorned the walls, and
several deep green plants in gold-coated pots were scattered about the hallway.
Michaela slowed to a stop, turning to face a closed door. She touched the fancy brass numbers tentatively with her
fingers, fond memories filling her heart. "Two-hundred fifteen."
Byron scratched his head with his free hand. "One, two, free, four, five, se-ven, eight, nine, ten, 'leven, fir-teen..."
He trailed off. "Mama, you can teach me 'bout counting way high." He pulled her sleeve impatiently. "'Kay,
Mama? Then I count high." He pointed at the three-digit number. "Teach me. Pease?"
Michaela caressed his head, staring straight ahead. "Not right at this minute."
He sighed. "All wight, but next min-et?"
Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing a young, handsome couple, holding hands, giggling and whispering to
each other.
Startled, Byron encircled his arms around Michaela's leg tightly as she backed against the wall.
Speechless for a moment, the couple broke apart, staring at Michaela and then the little boy.
Michaela cleared her throat, embarrassed. "I'm sorry." She took Byron's hand, stepping away from the wall and
turning to depart. "Come on, sweetheart."
The man took a step forward, putting his arm around his elegantly clothed wife. "Are you looking for someone,
ma'am?"
Michaela paused, slowly veering back. "Well...I was just..." She glanced at the room number again, lip quivering.
"Can we help you with something?" the woman asked kindly, clutching her lace umbrella with gloved hands.
"Are you...are you lost?"
Michaela shook her head. "No, I'm not lost."
"Wong way," Byron whispered boldly.
Michaela took a deep breath. "This room...the honeymoon suite. I--my husband and I stayed in it."
"Oh, is that so?" the man said, smiling.
"How nice. When was this?" his wife asked curiously.
Michaela bit her lip to keep it from trembling. "...Almost six years ago."
The man stroked his mustache. "Would you like to take a peek inside?"
"Oh, yes, please do," the woman agreed. "Tell us how it's changed."
"Oh, could I?" Michaela murmured.
The couple stepped back into the room, the woman gesturing inside with one hand. "Come in, please."
Michaela fought back tears as she picked Byron up and entered the lavish hotel room. The furniture was the same
polished, intricately carved mahogany Sully had run his hands over in admiration. A door with a window led to a
small balcony with the same beautiful view of the mountains, a view Michaela had never forgotten. A small fire
was dying in the marble fireplace and the same gold-framed, spotless mirror hung above the mantel. A pair of
armchairs and a matching sofa were arranged before the fireplace, in the exact places they had been six years ago,
when Sully had tossed their luggage onto the sofa and lifted Michaela into his arms with a wry smile, not
spending a second on anything but her, tenderly laying her on the bed, not wanting to let her out of his sight.
Silently, Michaela put Byron on his feet and took a step closer to the bed. There she and Sully had laid all
morning their first day in Denver, whispering to each other, kissing, caressing, making love, dozing off in each
other's arms.
"Let's come back here," Sully had murmured against her cheek. "Let's come back in ten years to this same room.
See how things've changed."
"See how *we've* changed," Michaela had replied, bringing their joined hands to her lips and kissing his fingers.
"Nothin's ever gonna change between you and me, Michaela," he had said, nuzzling her neck lovingly.
Michaela smiled tearfully at the memory. Little did they know how much things *would* change.
The young man cleared his throat, straightening the lapels of his suit coat and stepping toward Michaela. "Are you
all right, ma'am?"
Michaela nodded quickly, turning away from the bed to face them. "Everything...everything looks just the same."
The woman smiled, taking her husband's arm. "It's a beautiful room, isn't it? More than we could have ever
anticipated."
Michaela returned the smile faintly. "Yes."
A creaking from the king sized bed startled Michaela, and she turned to see Byron jumping up and down on the
middle of the soft mattress. "This bed...bed is bouncy, Mama!" he laughed, out of breath, hair flying in the air.
"Byron, no, no!" Michaela scolded, hurriedly coming to him and lifting him down to the floor as she smoothed the
thick velvet bedspread with one hand. "How many times have I told you beds are not for jumping? Honestly." She
glanced at the couple. "I'm so sorry."
The little boy only giggled, catching his breath as he took his mother's hand. Worriedly, Michaela knelt to his
level, clutching his arms. "Are you all right, sweetheart? Are you having difficulty breathing?"
He shook his head. "Nope, I good, Mama," he assured her, noting her troubled expression. "...I breavin', I
pwomise," he added insistently.
Hesitantly, Michaela rose to her feet. "...Then apologize to this nice couple for jumping on their bed."
"Oh, that's all right," the woman chuckled softly.
"No harm done," her husband added.
Michaela smiled softly. "Thank you for letting me look inside...it means a lot to me."
"Our pleasure," the man said kindly, taking his wife's hand.
***
"Eighteen," Michaela said, lifting a teakettle filled with water from the fire with a towel.
"Eighteen," echoed Byron, tucked snuggly under the covers in the bed, stuffed rabbit in hand.
"Nineteen," Michaela went on.
"Nine-teen," repeated the little boy.
"Twenty."
"Twen-y."
"*Twenty*," Michaela said again. She poured the steaming water into a washbowl.
"Twen-tee," Byron repeated.
"Good." Michaela put a cloth from her medical bag into the bowl and walked to the bed, placing it on the
nightstand. "That's enough for now I think." She wrung out the cloth over the bowl, Byron looking on
thoughtfully.
Michaela pulled down the covers, sitting beside her son. "Now we'll put this on your tummy and you're going to
feel much better." She unbuttoned his nightshift and laid the cloth across his stomach, pressing it to his skin with
her hand as he let out a quick breath at the sudden warmth.
"Don't want this, Mama," Byron insisted, tugging at one end of the cloth. "I good."
"...Even though you feel well now, this could help discourage your attacks. Preventative medicine." She stroked
his hair. "Like the shot I gave you and your big sister for smallpox. That wasn't because you were ill, but so you
wouldn't be."
"Why I get 'tacks?" he asked innocently.
Michaela bit her lip. "I...we don't know, sweetheart. I wish we did."
"Mama...I sorry," he said softly, frowning.
"Oh, darling, you don't have anything to be sorry for," Michaela kissed his furrowed brow. "Listen to me. Nothing
you did caused this, do you understand? Nothing."
A polite knock on the door startled both mother and son.
"Now who do you suppose that is?" Michaela asked, standing up.
Byron raised his eyebrows. "I dunno, who you s'pose?" he echoed.
"I'll go see," Michaela said, patting his hand.
"I see, too," Byron replied, sitting up and picking up the cloth.
"No, you stay right there," Michaela told him, removing the room key from her petticoat pocket, "...and put that
back where it was."
Pouting, Byron sunk back against the pillows, repositioning the cloth.
Michaela unlocked the door, opening it a few inches.
"Um..." A teenaged bellhop with blushing red cheeks, his hat slightly crocked, cleared his throat. "Telegram and
delivery for a-" He squinted at a small piece of yellow paper, holding it away from him. "...A Mr. Michael
Quinn." He peeked around Michaela into the room, one hand positioned rigidly behind his back.
Michaela opened the door wider, smiling softly. "Mr. Quinn? Oh...that would be me."
The bellhop looked her briefly up and down, coughing. "You? I mean, I'm not supposed to give this telegram to
anyone but Michael Quinn, room three-hundred nineteen." He glanced at the room number on the door, and then
studied the telegram. "Maybe they got it wrong here."
Michaela chuckled. "No, this is the correct room. That middle initial...it's more important than most people
realize."
The bellhop raised one eyebrow. "What? I mean, pardon me, ma'am?"
Michaela grinned. "Never mind. Hold on one moment." Locating her purse on the nightstand, she opened it in
search of a coin to tip the flustered young man.
"Who it is, Mama?" Byron asked excitedly from the bed. It was all he could do not to jump down, grasp
Michaela's hand, and follow her back to the door.
"A *telegram*," Michaela whispered, smiling wryly.
Byron clapped his hands. "Tel-gram! Who fwom? Who fwom? Bian? Cal? Katie? Wof? Miss Dort-y? Miss
Gwace-?"
"Be patient one more second, Brynie, and I'll bring it to you," Michaela chuckled, returning to the door and giving
the bellhop the nickel. She held out her hand for the paper, and was perplexed when the bellhop hesitated, moving
his lips silently as he reread the telegram.
"You see, ma'am," he began uncertainly, "I'm not exactly supposed to give it to you...it says here I'm supposed
to...supposed to..." He removed his hand from behind his back, producing an elegant bouquet of a dozen roses.
"...supposed to hide these here flowers and then surprise Michael Quinn."
Michaela gasped. "Oh, my goodness," she uttered, weakly clutching the bundle of roses as the young man put it in
her arms.
He coughed once more. "Well, if you could find this Quinn fellow, and pass those on to him...I'd appreciate it."
He tipped his hat. "Good day, ma'am--or good afternoon...goodnight, I guess." With that he sped down the
hallway, glad to be free at last of the extravagant flower bouquet supposedly for a man!
Slowly, Michaela stepped back into the room, shutting the door.
"A pwesent, Mama?" Byron asked impatiently. "Ooo...fwowers." Roses weren't exactly his idea of the best
present, but they were more exciting than nothing.
Michaela pulled a little envelope from the bouquet, then silently arranged the roses in a pitcher, placing it on the
nightstand next to the washbowl. She sat on the edge of the bed, opened the envelope, and pulled out a card.
"Tell, Mama," encouraged Byron with a smile, sitting up and grasping her shoulder.
"...Just a note to say hello," Michaela read softly, "and we miss you. Love Brian, Katie...and Cal."
Byron rested his head against her arm, sighing happily as he touched the calligraphy handwriting. "Wish them
could come, too."
"They," Michaela corrected, startled by the curtness in her voice. She rose from the bed and propped the note up
against the pitcher, gazing at the brilliant red roses.
Byron leaned back against the pillows. "I miss dey," he announced.
"Them," Michaela said, more gently.
Byron squinted his eyes, confused.
Michaela returned to the bed, placing a loving kiss on the tip of his nose. "That's all right, sweetheart." The little
boy grinned softly as she took one of his hands. "Oh, Brynie. You look just like your daddy when you smile like
that."
"You miss Sull-wee, Mama?" he asked softly, stroking her cheek.
"Oh, very much," Michaela murmured hoarsely. "Being here in Denver...it's bringing back a lot of memories. I
don't know if I ever told you that Mama and Papa...we had our honeymoon here. We stayed in this very hotel, in
the room you and I visited."
"Honey-moon?" he echoed.
She smiled. "It's...a little holiday mamas and papas take...by themselves, right after they've married."
"Why?" Byron questioned.
Michaela touched his cheek with a wry grin. "To celebrate. Your papa and I had the most wonderful time. We
could have stayed here for days and days longer."
Byron frowned. "But ya miss me an' Katie an'-"
Michaela chuckled. "Sweetheart, you and Katie weren't born yet. But we did miss Brian and Colleen and
Matthew, of course."
"You wanna stay Den-va days an' days?" he went on. "Mama, don't ya miss Cal?"
Brought up short, Michaela stammered, "Of course...of course I do. We'll be home tomorrow." In need of a
distraction, she pulled a rose from the pitcher, sniffing it. "Mmm...doesn't this smell nice?" She held it under his
nose.
"Pwetty," he giggled, inhaling deeply.
"Oh, no. Plants..." Michaela murmured suddenly. She snatched the rose away. "He could be sensitive to plants."
Hastily, she returned the flower and picked up the pitcher, searching for another location.
"Mama," Byron said, grasping her sleeve. "Mama, sit. Tell me story...sit."
Pausing, Michaela gazed at him worriedly. Not more than a few hours out of the hospital and she had directly
exposed him to exactly what the doctor had suggested might cause an attack.
Byron scratched his nose, eyeing the pitcher his mother clutched to her breast. "Pwetty fwowers," he remarked.
Michaela fought back tears. Is this what it was going to be like from now on, always on guard, keeping Byron
away from the pleasures of life on the chance that something might upset his system? She longed for someone
who would listen as she voiced her fears, her anger, how unfair things were for her little boy. She needed to talk
to someone who knew her and understood her, who wouldn't belittle her concerns, but be reassuring just the same.
If only she could cry; let down her guard for one moment.
Slowly, Michaela rested the pitcher back on the nightstand. "What story would you like, darling?"
"Winkin', Noddin', Binkin'," he said immediately. "...Noddin', Binkin' sailed boat on da sea..." he prompted. "Now
your tuwn."
Michaela removed the cloth from his belly, placing it in the bowl. "I'm afraid Mama doesn't know that one. I'm
sorry."
"Hmm, that's all wight," he told her. "I know, you can tell me 'bout..." He tapped his chin. "...Honey-moon!"
"Honeymoon?" Michaela croaked, but couldn't refuse Byron's blue eyes, shining with antisipation. "Honeymoon,
hm? Let's see. I'll give you the shortened version, how's that?"
"'Kay," he agreed quickly. "Go," he encouraged.
"All right," Michaela chuckled. "'Honeymoon' began when your papa and I stepped off the train, and saw one of
the most beautiful cities in the country..."
***
"...And even though it was a lovely two weeks, when we got home we were so glad to be back in Colorado
Springs, and eager to move into the homestead and begin the rest of...our...lives..." Michaela planted a gentle kiss
on Byron's brow. He'd fallen asleep some time ago. "The end," she whispered.
She stood carefully from the bed, pausing in front of the roses for a moment. At last she let loose a tired sigh, then
walked across the room to dress for bed.
Warm and snug in her flannel nightgown, Michaela added a log to the dying fire, then returned to the bed,
crawling under the covers and gathering Byron into her arms. Instinctively, the slumbering little boy clutched her
nightgown with two small fists, nestling against her.
"Sweet dreams, Brynie," Michaela told him, closing her eyes.
A sudden, sharp knocking startled Michaela, causing her to bolt straight up in bed. Bewildered, she quickly lit a
lamp and donned her bathrobe.
The knock sounded again, a bit more demanding. "Michaela?" called an eerily familiar voice.
"...Dr. Patterson?" Michaela murmured in disbelief, sliding her feet into her slippers and hurrying to answer it.
"Dr. Patterson," she said as she opened the door slightly. "What are you...doing...?"
Dressed in a long suit coat, hair slicked back, hands folded neatly in front of him, the tall doctor let out a chuckle,
eyeing her from head to toe. "Michaela. My goodness, what are we wearing?"
She folded her arms self-consciously. "I've gone to bed," she explained, embarrassed. "Can I help you with
something? Is there an emergency, at the hospital?"
He waved one hand. "No, no. Just stopped by to...retired already, have you? Why, for heaven's sake. It's only nine
o'clock!"
Michaela's embarrassment deepened. "Well...Byron...we have a train to catch tomorrow...we were tired," she
stammered.
He clicked his tongue. "I see. Well, no harm done. Go on, get dressed. I'll wait."
"Get dressed...whatever for?" she demanded. "Doctor, it's been a long day. We're tired; we've gone to bed."
He pushed the door open wider with one hand, and Michaela was forced to take a step back.
"I would love for you to join me for a glass of fine red wine," he said, removing his hat. "Would you do me the
honor? I know a lovely little Italian restaurant a short stroll down the street."
Disconcerted, Michaela cleared her throat. "Dr. Patterson...that's very kind of you, but I can't just leave, and even
if I could, I don't really care for wi-"
"Ah, a temperance woman. Admirable, Michaela, admirable. Well, then, you shall have whatever you desire, and
I will sample the wine. Finest in all of Denver.
Michaela couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Dr. Patterson, I can't leave my son. I'm going back to
bed now. Thank you for dropping by..." She reached to close the door, but the doctor stopped it with the toe of his
polished black boot.
"Yes, of course. Little Lord Byron." He took a step into the room, placing his large hand on her shoulder. "It must
be difficult...raising a child all alone. How lonely it must be. No doubt you crave the support and attention of a
man."
Michaela nervously backed away. "I think it would be best if you leave now, doctor. Please."
"Come now, Michaela," he chided. "What is it you're frightened of? I only want to get to know you better."
Grinning softly, he brushed a wisp of hair back from her brow. "Yes, I would love to get to know you better."
"Mama!" a little voice called. Thankful for an excuse to break away, Michaela immediately went to Byron's side,
picking him up.
"Shh, Brynie, it's all right. Mommy's here," she soothed, rubbing his back.
"What is this spectacle?" Dr. Patterson demanded, annoyed at the interruption. He hurried to the boy and laid his
hand firmly on his back.
Startled by the doctor's deep voice and imposing figure, casting dark shadows in the dim light of the room, Byron
closed his eyes tight and whimpered against Michaela's shoulder.
"You're not an infant, young man," the doctor continued. "Stop this carrying on."
Byron cried harder, rubbing his eyes with his fists.
"He's afraid," Michaela said defensively. "You're frightening him!" Angrily, she pulled away. "I'm not asking you
to leave now, Dr. Patterson. I'm telling you."
He put his white-gloved hands on his hips. "Well, if you want to coddle him like that I certainly won't stand by
and watch!"
"He's just a little boy," Michaela retorted, hurt. "He needs me."
"Yes, and at the rate you're going, that 'little boy' will be the only man you'll ever share your bed with!" responded
the doctor, miffed. He tipped his hat sarcastically. "Good evening Master Byron, Michaela. Sleep well!"
Lip trembling, Michaela followed him to the door, shutting it after him and locking it quickly.
"Mama," sobbed the little boy. "Mama, why he come in here?"
Michaela kissed his head and rocked him comfortingly. "It's all right, darling. Shh." She carried him back to the
bed and laid him down, tucking him warmly under the covers. "Go back to sleep," she whispered, stroking his
forehead. "Mama's here."
Exhausted, Byron closed his eyes, falling asleep within the minute.
With a deep sigh, Michaela got under the covers and hugged Byron tightly, desperately needing something to
hold. Tiredly, the little boy pushed her away, moaning and curling up on his side.
She turned her head to the side, gazing at the roses in the soft moonlight. She was tired of pretending she didn't
need anyone else. How she missed Cal, and how she wished he were here. As much as it plagued her with guilt
and uncertainty, she needed him. Perhaps even *loved* him.
A tender, warm hand grasped Michaela's shoulder. She turned slowly,
not startled, as if she had been expecting someone.
"It's all right," Sully's deep, soothing voice said. His soft smile, his
loving, compassionate gaze were all the same, as if he had never been
gone.
"Sully," Michaela murmured plaintively.
He knelt beside her, holding her tight. "I've missed ya," he whispered,
pressing his lips to her cheek.
"Oh, I miss you so much," Michaela told him, grasping his familiar
white cotton shirt tightly.
He pulled back, glancing at the flowers and taking her hand, squeezing
it. "Michaela, it's all right."
"I don't understand," she said. "What's all right?"
"Bein' happy," he told her, as if it were obvious.
"Oh, Sully, I am happy," she replied plaintively. She nodded at Byron, suckling his thumb. "Look at your son,
Sully. He's beautiful. And Brian and Katie, they've grown so much. Matthew, Colleen. You'd be so proud."
He nodded slowly. "I am...but Michaela, you're missin' something. You aren't the same."
"I'm missing you," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.
He wiped it away with his thumb. "Don't ya remember?" he whispered. "Don't ya remember what we talked
about?"
She shook her head, confused. "Please, Sully. I don't know what you mean."
"I worry about ya," he said. "You're lost."
"I have the children," Michaela said. "I love them. What I do is always for them."
He cupped her cheek in his hands. "Do this for yourself and you'll be doing it for them?"
"Do what?" Michaela murmured. "...Sully," she choked, hugging him to her. "Oh, I do care for Cal, but..."
"Listen t' me, ya can't keep goin' on like this." He pressed his lips to hers, giving her a tender last kiss.
"...Wherever I am, I'll always be in your heart. You remember, Michaela. Ya gotta try t' remember."
Michaela closed her eyes tight, hugging his neck and resting her head against his shoulder. "Sully, please. Don't
leave me again. I love you so much. Please..."
"Sully?" Michaela immediately called, panting. She looked about her, trying to catch her breath. The winter air
was chilly; only a few small red coals lingered in the fireplace. She placed her hand on a sleeping Byron's back.
Sully was gone. Rubbing her head, Michaela realized...he had been a dream. The morning sun peeked through the
curtains, and activity down below on the busy streets was picking up. A horse whinnied, a dog barked, children
giggled on their way to school. "Try to remember," she repeated hoarsely, perplexed by Sully's words. Gathering
her senses, Michaela glanced at the clock.
"Oh, no," she whispered aloud. There wasn't time to think about her dream now. Throwing her legs out of bed,
she shook Byron's back. "Wake up. Wake up, Brynie." She began unbuttoning her nightgown with one hand.
The little boy opened his eyes a sliver, groaning in protest.
"Come on. We need to get up and get ready to leave," Michaela told him, sitting him up in bed. "We'll be late for
our train if we don't hurry."
He rubbed his eyes leisurely, yawning.
Michaela found her dress hanging in the wardrobe, then opened the bathroom door. "You wake yourself up while
I'm changing, and when I'm finished it'll be your turn to get dressed."
Though somewhat out of breath, Michaela managed to make it to the train station within the hour, the carpetbag,
her medical bag, the paper bag of medicines from the hospital, the bundle of flowers, and Byron all in tow. Once
on the train Byron was wide awake and full of questions, asking about Dr. Patterson and his visit to their room,
and about a veteran missing an arm sitting a few seats in front of them, and inquiring when they would be home.
Michaela barely had a minute with her own thoughts, and when the train pulled to a stop in Colorado Springs, she
wasn't prepared to face Cal, as much as she was glad to have left Denver.
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç@à{Üxx
"...Then we walked all over, and then I gots tired so Cal pulled me all over on the sled, an' then we saw some
birds, and then a deer, Mama!" Katie told her mother enthusiastically, climbing up on the bed as Michaela
finished unpacking. "Cal says it's a boy 'cause it got ant'...ant'...got horns."
"Antlers," Michaela said with a smile, folding her nightgown and placing it back in the drawer.
"Yeah," Katie said. She pulled out a pair of her mother's shoes from the carpetbag and walked over to the
wardrobe.
"And where was Brian while you were on this little adventure?" Michaela queried.
"Home," Katie informed her, placing the shoes on the floor of the wardrobe and then returning to the bed. "He
never wants fun no more. I begged an' begged him to come."
Michaela grew quiet. "Is that so?"
Katie brightened. "But Brian played checkers wid me when Cal was writin' lots of big numbers for the stweetcar."
Michaela nodded, setting her brush on the vanity. Apparently Brian didn't mind entertaining his sister, but would
rather not have anything to do with Cal.
"Did ya bring me a pwesent, Mama?" Katie asked finally, unable to hold her curiosity any longer.
Michaela put on a frown. "I'm afraid there wasn't much time to look for presents..." She reached into her
carpetbag, pulling out a small silver tin. "But I managed to pick these up at the train station."
Katie beamed, pulling off the lid. "Candy!"
"Mints," Michaela told her, giving her a kiss on the head.
"Thank you!" spoke the little girl, popping one into her mouth.
"You're welcome. Share them with your brothers," Michaela instructed.
"All right," sighed the little girl. She sat cross-legged, the tin in her lap. "Is Byron real sick?" she asked softly.
Michaela sat beside her, putting an arm around her and taking a deep breath. "Well, Byron has an illness called
asthma, but it's very treatable."
"Med-cine?" Katie spoke.
"Yes, with medicine, and changing some of our habits, and watching him very closely. Sometimes he'll have
attacks--he'll have difficulty breathing--but we'll all learn what to do to help him when that happens."
"What I do to help?" she asked, taking her mother's hand.
Michaela squeezed it tight. "I think the best thing you can do is come and get me."
"All right," Katie agreed.
"You've been such a good girl these past few days," Michaela told her. "I'm so very proud of you. I'm sorry I
couldn't take you to Denver. It was best for you to stay here."
"Cal and me had fun," Katie replied with a smile. "Mama, I decided."
"Decided what?" Michaela queried.
"Girl's day," Katie said. "'Member?"
"Ah, yes. Our girl's day," chuckled Michaela. "What would you like to do?"
"Horsey ride!" she giggled.
"A ride in the wagon? All right," Michaela agreed.
"No, Mama. On the horsey up in the seat."
"Oh," Michaela said quietly. "I'm afraid you're a little young to sit in a saddle, sweetheart."
Katie nodded. "But Cal says I can. Up in your lap, Mama."
"Oh, you talked to Cal about this?" Michaela questioned.
"Cal gives me ideas," the little girl informed her. "Pic-nic: too cold. Walk: too cold. Wagon ride: that's no fun.
Horsey ride: yes!" She climbed into her mother's lap, cuddling against her as she had when she was an infant.
"Please, Mama? Please?"
Michaela cradled her in her arms. "Well, I suppose if I hold onto you tight...it'd be all right."
"Yea!" Katie giggled.
"Yea!" Michaela laughed. She cleared her throat. "Um, Katie? How has Cal been while I was gone?" She had
expected Cal to be waiting for them at the train station, but was surprised when only Brian and Katie were there.
Cal was working out some business with the streetcar at the bank, Brian had explained, but he had said he would
stop by that evening.
Katie shrugged. "Good." She let out a small yawn.
"And I suppose he tucked you into bed last night at eight o'clock on the nose as I instructed," Michaela said wryly,
knowing that had probably not been the case.
"Uh-huh," the little girl replied.
"Uh-huh," Michaela echoed with a grin. "...I remember holding you just like this when you were a baby," she said
whimsically.
"Was I a real good little baby?" Katie asked curiously.
"You were wonderful," Michaela told her. "You were warm and sweet, and so small. And so darling."
"I was cute," Katie surmised.
Michaela chuckled. "Adorable. Your papa...your papa would put his finger in your hand, and you'd squeeze it
tight. He couldn't get enough of you. He loved his little girl so much, Katie. Don't ever forget how much he loved
you," she whispered.
Katie nodded solemnly. "I won't."
Michaela's breath caught. She gazed down at Katie, and then looked up. Her dream suddenly made sense.
Everything Sully had said, that she had wondered about all day; all at once it became clear...
*"I feel much better, Sully," Michaela murmured, "now that we've decided Grace and Robert E. will be her
godparents." She glanced at her husband, smiling softly.
Sully gently stroked Katie's head as she nursed. He would never stop marveling at this beautiful little creature
Michaela and he had created. "Yeah, me too."
She drew in her breath. "Have you ever thought...what if something happened to just one of us?"
His hand froze. "Michaela, I don't like it when ya talk like this."
"No, I know, but we need to have this discussion. People don't live forever. We have a child now, and we should
think about her future."
He nodded reluctantly. "I just want her loved and taken care of, that's all. I know you'd do that if ever I couldn't be
here."
"Sully, if something were to happen to me...I think you should...you should try to find love again."
"Michaela...no," he protested. "I can't think about this. 'Sides, that ain't ever gonna be."
"For Katie, Sully," she responded patiently. "She needs parents. A mother and a father who care for her and for
each other, too."
"I'd never be able to love someone like I do you, Michaela." He caressed her cheek. "I just couldn't."
"But you must try," she insisted gently. "Even if...even if it's not the same, do your best to love the woman, be
good to her, and see she's good to the children."
Sully thought about it for some time, gazing at his wife, then their precious daughter. "Can't imagine what things
would be like if I hadn't let myself love again...after losing Abigail. Michaela, if I couldn't be here, I'd want you
an' Katie t' be happy," he admitted. "I'd want you to try t' try t' find someone, too." He nodded firmly. "You make
sure he treats ya good, and that he's extra good t' Kates."
She smiled. "You know I would." She stroked his hair. "But I too could never find the love we share again. Of
that I'm certain."
"You're right. Wouldn't be good for either of us to spend the rest of our lives alone, 'specially now with the baby
to look after," he surmised. "Guess ya can give all the love ya have to the kids...but if ya ain't happy yourself...it
wouldn't be enough."
She gave him a kiss on his cheek, gazing into his eyes lovingly. "Wherever I am, I'll always be in your heart," she
told him. "I'll always support whatever you decide, even if ever I couldn't be here."
"And I'll always be in your heart, standing by ya, Michaela," he responded tenderly. "Forever."*
Katie patted her mother's hand worriedly. "What's the matter, Mama?" she asked.
Returning to the present, Michaela forced a smile and sat Katie up, rubbing her back. "Nothing. Nothing,
sweetheart," she assured her. "I was just...just remembering something I haven't thought about in a long time."
She hugged her tight. "Katie, I love you."
"I love you," the child replied. "I hope Cal stays a long, long time," she went on. "He's fun."
Michaela caressed her hair, closing her eyes. "I hope so, too, Katie. I hope so, too."
***
At nine o'clock that evening, after tucking the children into bed, Michaela took the paper bag from Dr. Patterson
downstairs to the kitchen table and emptied its contents. Wearily, she arranged the medicines in front of her, then
pencil in hand, opened a medical textbook and proceeded to read up on each of them.
Michaela barely heard a knock at the door a few minutes later. Marking her place in the textbook by folding a
corner of the page, she closed it and rose to answer the door.
"Cal," she murmured, glad he was here, yet not sure what to say to him.
"I hope it's not too late for me to be calling," he replied, removing his hat and jacket and hanging them on the rack
to his right. "I came when I could."
"No, come in, sit down," she bid, shutting the door behind him and leading him into the kitchen. "Would you like
some coffee? Or I can warm you up something to eat?"
He waved his hand. "I'm fine, thanks. Um, sorry about not being there when ya got home." He pulled out a chair
and sat.
"Brian said you were at the bank. Is everything all right?" Michaela asked worriedly, taking a seat herself.
"Oh, everything's fine. Looks like I'm gonna need to take out a loan to get my business off the ground, that's all.
But don't you fret. These streetcars are gonna pay for themselves and then some."
"I just want you to be careful," Michaela replied softly. "Mr. Lodge can be so..."
"Demanding?" Cal supplied with a grin. "Aw, he don't scare me." He looked over the pile of medicines Michaela
had laid out, picking up a box. "'Dr. Whetzel's Cigarettes for the temporary relief of paro...par-oxysms'," he read.
"*Cigarettes*, Mike?"
"Dr. Patterson said we should try everything until we find what works," Michaela said stiffly, pretending to read
the textbook.
"How did it go with him?" Cal asked quietly.
She took a deep breath. "...It's asthma."
"Well, we already knew that," Cal told her. He reached for her hand, and reluctantly, she took it. "So like the
quack says, we'll try everything till he's better. He'll be just like new."
"Dr. Patterson isn't a quack," she responded.
"Mike, come on," he chuckled. "What kinda doc gives a three-year-old cigarettes? A quack, that's who."
"He's a very respected physician," Michaela responded. "And besides, the cigarettes aren't for right now. When
he's older-"
"Might as well take the little guy to the saloon and offer him a drink." Cal shook his head, picking up a bottle.
"'New and Improved Kutnow's Anti-Asthmatic Powder'. Now if something's new, how could it have been
improved? Think about it."
"Stop it," Michaela scolded bitterly, withdrawing her hand.
Cal sombered. "...Ya just gotta laugh about it. Helps when you're facing tough times."
Michaela bent her head, trying to hide her upset.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Cal murmured. "...I didn't mean anything by it. I was just trying to get a grin out of ya, that's all.
Ya've been through a lot these past few days." He rose from his chair and sat in the chair beside her, taking her in
his arms. Despite his attempts to comfort her, Michaela couldn't manage a smile, and concerned, Cal held her
tighter. "Mike, what is it? Byron's gonna be fine."
She shook her head.
"Oh, sure he will," he insisted. He cupped her cheek with one hand, turning her head to look at him. "I promise-"
he said again, but paused. Something more was in her eyes, something she was keeping from him.
"Michaela...what happened?" he asked softly.
She swallowed hard. She had tried to hide it as best she could on the outside, but Cal had seen past her facade.
Without intending to, she told him everything. She told him about Dr. Patterson, and how she had thought she was
imagining it at first, but soon could no longer deny the physician's determination to have something more than a
friendship with her. Voice unsteady, she talked about the demanding knock at her door so late in the evening, Dr.
Patterson pushing his way into the hotel room, and making her child cry with his intimidating advances. And to
add to all this there was Byron's asthma to worry about, the reason for the trip.
"I'll kill 'im," Cal said ardently once she had finished.
"No," Michaela protested. "Cal, it's all right. I just...I wasn't expecting it, that's all."
He sighed. "One thing's for sure. There's no way in hell I'm letting him come near ya again. Or Byron," he added.
"Dr. Patterson is the finest pediatrician in Colorado," Michaela murmured. "He'll help Brynie." She squeezed his
hand, resting her head beneath his chin. "I just wish you had been there with us," she whispered.
His breath caught. "Ya do?"
"Hm-mm," she whispered.
"This is all my fault, Mike. I feel like I ain't done enough to help," he said.
"No, you've done so much." Michaela replied earnestly. "I can't thank you enough for staying here with Katie and
Brian."
"Oh, I was happy to do it. It ain't every day I get to crawl around on my hands and knees and have the prettiest
little girl in all of Colorado love me and look after me."
"Oh, no," Michaela murmured with a wry smile. "What did she get you to do?"
He chuckled. "'House', she calls it. We played it all morning the other day. I was the baby. Katie was my ma. She
wore--or more like swam in--one of your dresses outta the wardrobe. I hope that's all right. And I got to wear a
bib."
"You shouldn't let her talk you into such things," Michaela chastised.
"Aw, no, it was fun," he insisted.
"You're so good with her," she murmured. "You're good with all of my children. And I've been so callous to you
lately. I'm sorry about the way I've been acting."
He glanced at her hand, her fingers threaded with his, her wedding rings reflecting in the soft firelight. "That's all
right. Ya got a lot on your mind."
"...I've been thinking about us," she told him.
"I have, too," he admitted. "Mike, I want you to know something..."
"Cal-" she whispered.
He shook his head. "Please, I wanna say this." He cleared his throat. "I know ya love Sully. You don't have to
pretend that's in the past for my sake."
Her eyes welled with tears. Tenderly, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
"If you want to wear your wedding ring there's nothing wrong with that," he went on. "You're not really sure how
you're feeling, you're feeling torn, and that's all right."
She looked up doubtfully.
"It's all right with me," he insisted. "I ain't asking ya to forget him, to remove him from your heart. I'd never do
that. Mike, I love you." He squeezed her hand. "I love you more than anything, and I'm willing to wait until you're
ready. I'm willing to give ya all the space ya need. I-I just...I'm hoping there's room in your heart for me, too.
Dorothy and Grace told me to tell ya what I'm feeling, so I guess that's what I'm doing. I want us to be honest with
each other. If we can't do that...then we don't got much to fall back on."
"Oh, Cal." She gazed at her rings, now knowing for certain what she would do. "If we're being honest," she
whispered in reply, "then I have to say the roses were a lovely surprise."
"Roses?" he blurted. "Oh, them. Well, ya know, Brian helped. Said that's you're favorite."
"They made me cry," she admitted.
"Oh, no. That's not what I meant to do."
She grinned shyly. "I missed you."
He hugged her once more. "I missed you." He stroked her hair. "I'm glad ya told me about Dr. Patterson. You can
tell me these things. I'll listen. There's nothing ya gotta hide from me."
"And there's nothing you should feel you must hide from me." She slipped her arms around his neck. "Cal,
whatever lies ahead, I want you to know I think you're a wonderful man, and a caring, compassionate, beautiful
person."
Tenderly, he kissed her cheek. "And whatever happens. You'll always be...my Mike."
***
"I'm hoping there's room in your heart for me, too," Michaela whispered aloud, echoing Cal's words. She'd been
trying to sleep for hours, to no avail. She'd gotten up three times to check on the children, almost hoping one of
them would be awake. At least then she would have someone to talk with, rather than lying awake with nothing
for company but her own thoughts.
At last she got out of bed, lit a lamp and brought it over to her vanity. She sat down and folded her hands on the
table, gazing at her reflection. Despite the worries over Byron's health she had experienced over the past several
days, she thought she looked younger, and happier, and at peace. No, not quite at peace, but close to it.
She touched her fingers to her wedding and engagement rings, twisting them as she thought. Cal loved her; he had
voiced that just hours before. He had also said he didn't mind the constant presence of her rings, but Michaela
knew wearing them in front of him wasn't right. She did indeed love Sully, but she realized what she was about to
do would he would approve of. She could almost hear his voice, telling her she wasn't being fair to Cal, that she
should take them off before going any further. Rings or no rings, the Sully she knew would never hold it against
her, and love her always, and she him. That would never change.
"Thank you, Sully," Michaela murmured tearfully. She closed her eyes and slipped off her engagement ring,
placing it on the vanity. Then she took hold of her wedding ring, and slowly, slid it off her finger. It wasn't as
snug as it used to be, and came off easily. She'd lost weight since Sully's death. With a gentle sigh she put the
rings in her palm and gazed at them, tears dripping onto the shimmering gold and diamond. Finally, she gave
them a soft kiss, and tucked them away in her jewelry box. One day, she'd give Byron the engagement ring for his
sweetheart, and she'd pass on the wedding ring to Katie. The rings would be there, waiting, for when her children
were grown.
***
Cal, Katie, and Byron sat cross-legged on the front porch, bent over a large sheet of paper. Brian sat nearby with a
book, though it was obvious he wasn't reading, and much more interested in what Cal and the younger children
were doing.
"Now we'll have to make the door larger than she is," Cal said, sketching a few lines on the paper with a pencil.
"How come?" Byron asked curiously, taking hold of Cal's arm.
Cal chuckled. "'Cause Wolf's gonna get bigger pretty soon. She won't always be a puppy."
"Oh," breathed the little boy, having never considered that.
Katie tapped her chin. "Can there be a win-dow, Cal?" she spoke up.
He glanced at her. "A window. Well, I ain't ever heard of a dog house with a window, but I don't see why not.
That's a good idea, Katie." He sketched a small square on his drawing.
Brian put his book down and joined the group, clearing his throat. "Um..."
Cal looked up at him, surprised. "Brian? Ya got an idea, too?"
"Well, I was just gonna say...if the door's gonna face the road, then the window should be in back," he spoke
quietly. He knelt down and took the pencil, quickly sketching his thoughts. "That way Wolf can see the road
through the door, and the house through the window. She'll be able to see us comin' whether we're walkin' out of
the house or out on the road."
Cal rubbed his chin, nodding. "That's a good thought, Brian. Real good."
Brian handed the pencil back, looking him in the eyes. "...Thanks."
Cal smiled. "Will ya help me build it?"
"Well, I...sure," Brian agreed. He had to admit it sounded like fun.
"Me, too! Me, too!" Byron insisted.
"You can help, too," Cal chuckled, tousling the little boy's wavy locks.
Byron giggled and leaned against him.
"Is this dog house for Ma's birthday, Cal?" Brian asked, sitting cross-legged and folding his hands.
"Oh, no," Cal chuckled. "It's for everyone." He took a deep breath. "Yeah, your ma's birthday. It's coming up."
"Next week," Brian reminded him.
"Yep, I know," Cal replied.
"Well, what ya gonna get her?" Brian asked curiously.
"I'm not sure...but I think maybe I have an idea," Cal murmured. He glanced at each of the children. "If...if I had
to go away for a little bit, a week or two say, what would you kids think of that?"
"I will miss you," Katie told him, hugging his arm.
"Yeah," Byron added, frowning.
"But we'd be back right away," he assured them. "Just a week or so. It'd fly by. We'd come right back."
"Well..." said Katie. "If ya come *wight* back, Cal."
"Yeah, wight back," agreed Byron.
"Who's we?" Brian questioned.
At that moment Michaela appeared in the doorway and Katie jumped up, grasping her hand. "Mama, look! We
gonna make a house for Wof!"
"Wof's havin' own housy!" giggled Byron, pointing to the drawing.
"Good morning to you, too," she laughed. "A dog house?" She tilted her head to the side, studying Cal's sketches.
"Oh."
Cal stood up. "Yeah. I heard it'd be best if Wolf slept outside, out of the house...so we're gonna build her a nice
warm little place to sleep," he explained.
"Oh, Cal. That's so thoughtful," Michaela replied, hugging Katie from behind.
Katie took hold of her mother's hands, and suddenly the absence of something so familiar caught her eye. She
turned each hand back and forth, mouth agape. "Mama...I didn't!" she suddenly blurted. She tipped her head back,
looking up at her mother. "I didn't touch 'em this time, I promise." She grew tearful. "Please, Mama. They just
lost."
"What do you mean, sweetheart?" Michaela asked patiently.
Katie held up her mother's hands. "Your ring, Mama. It's lost!" she breathed.
The group grew quiet. Michaela smiled softly as Brian gave her an understanding nod. At last she took a deep
breath, gazing at Cal. "My rings aren't on my finger now, but they're safe. They're not lost." She knelt down and
kissed the top of Katie's head. "You don't need to worry about it, darling, all right? You didn't do anything."
"Don't ya love Papa no more?" Katie asked quietly. "Thought it 'minded you of Papa."
Michaela kept her eyes on Cal, and he found himself unable to look away. "You're right...but I've realized I carry
your Papa in my heart wherever I am, and I don't need a ring to remind me of that."
Relieved, Katie nodded, putting the incident behind them. "Cal, let's go see where we gonna put Wof's house," she
suggested, taking a step down from the porch.
"Yeah, you kids go on ahead and pick out a spot to build it," Cal responded. He patted Byron's back. "Make sure
it's a good one."
"'Kay, Cal," said the little boy. He took Brian and Katie's hands. "Come on. Let's go," he begged, leading them
down the steps.
Left alone on the porch, Cal and Michaela stood silent for a moment, shyly glancing at each other. At last Cal
rolled up the sketch paper, putting it on the bench, the came to Michaela and stood in front of her. "Mike...ya
didn't have to," he whispered.
"No, it's what's right," Michaela replied, folding her hands in front of her.
Cal shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "So..."
Michaela smiled softly, taking a step forward and hugging him. "So, I care for you very much," she said
breathlessly. "And I realize I hurt you by wearing my rings this long, even if you won't admit it. If things are
going to work between us, then I can't go on like I have been."
"Oh, gosh. Mike." He hugged her back. "I want things to work so much."
"As do I," she replied with a smile. "Cal...I'm ready to give us a chance. I'm ready."
He lifted her a few inches off the floor, holding her even tighter. "Oh, Michaela. Thank you...thank you."
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç@yÉâÜ
“Dinner?” Cal repeated, leaning against the kitchen table.
“Yes. Here at the homestead,” Michaela clarified. “A late dinner, after the children are in bed. What would you
like me to make?” She rubbed Byron’s back who was seated at the table and breathing in vapors from a bowl of
hot water and stinging nettles. He was angry at his mother for making him stay inside. Katie and Brian were
having all the fun outside, getting the puppy acquainted with her new doghouse. The last place Byron wanted to
be was bent over smelly smoke that made his eyes tear and didn’t help a bit with “tacks”, in his opinion.
“Well, make whatever’s easiest, Mike,” Cal replied. “It’s your birthday. Don’t want ya slaving away all day.”
“It’s your birthday, too, remember?” Michaela replied with a wry smile. “How about stew then? I’m good at
stew.” She glanced at her son. “Byron, deeper breaths.”
“Stew sounds great,” Cal spoke. “I’ll...I’ll bring the dessert then.”
“You’ll bring the dessert?” Michaela questioned, surprised.
“I can handle it,” he assured her. “Just give me a chance. What to make...”
“Bir-day cake,” Byron suggested, tilting his head up to look at Cal. Michaela gently nudged him back over the
vapors.
“Birthday cake,” Cal echoed. He tousled Byron’s hair. “That’s a perfect idea, Squirt. Now if only I knew how.”
Michaela smiled, rising from her chair. “I think I have a recipe for chocolate cake you may borrow.” She found
her recipe box tucked away in a cupboard and handed Cal a small card.
Cal skimmed the recipe. “Whoa, Mike. This takes a lotta stuff. Butter, sugar, eggs, baking soda, flour...what’s it
mean to ‘sift’?”
Michaela bit her lip. “Are you sure you want to bake a cake? Perhaps you should tackle something simpler.” She
flipped through her recipes. “Let’s see...”
He studied the card. “No, I’ll get it. ’Sides, what’s a birthday without a cake?”
“Done,” Byron announced, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
Michaela sat down and opened her pocket watch. “No, not yet. Not much longer. Two more minutes, Brynie.”
Stubbornly, the little boy ignored her, turning his head away.
Cal put the recipe card on the table and sat down next Byron. “Hey, little guy.”
“Cal, tell Mama I don’t want this,” Byron told him, brow narrowed as he pointed at the steaming bowl. “Tell her I
don’t gotta.”
“Byron, you must cooperate. It’ll prevent attacks,” Michaela told him, hurt that he had decided not to speak to
her, at least for the moment.
“Not gonna,” Byron responded bitterly, tears of anger springing to his eyes.
Cal patted his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this anymore, Byron, if ya don’t want.”
“I don’t?” he murmured hopefully.
Michaela opened her mouth to protest, but Cal gave her a brief nod, letting her know he had things under control.
“Let’s play a game instead,” Cal spoke.
“Yeah, game!” Byron squealed. “What game?”
Cal thought a moment. “Uh...the...the grizzly bear game.”
Byron beamed. That sounded fun enough. “’Kay, what we do?”
Cal scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Well, we...we pretend we’re grizzlies, see. And first things first, we gotta
fight to see who’s bigger and stronger.”
“Yeah!” Byron consented. He clawed the air with his fingers. “Grr!”
Cal chuckled, lifting him onto his lap. “Now to see who’s stronger, we’ll see who can take the biggest, strongest
breath, all right? On the count of three. One...two...three.”
Cal and Byron each inhaled loudly and deeply, taking in some of the stinging nettle vapors.
“I think I beat ya!” Cal said, tickling an already giggling Byron.
“Nuh-uh,” the little boy retorted.
Cal shrugged. “Well, we’ll just have to do it again. One, two, three. Deep breath, Byron. Good boy...Now, again.”
“Am I doin’ good, Cal?” Byron asked, momentarily pausing to glance at him.
“You’re the best darn grizzly I ever did have sit in my lap,” Cal told him, hugging him. “Now show me again.
Show me how strong you are.”
Byron inhaled once more, filling his lungs with the vapors. “Mama, look. Look, I am stwong.”
Michaela smiled through tears, caressing his hair. “Yes, darling. You’re doing wonderful.” She glanced at her
pocket watch. “All right, that’s enough for now.”
“Aw,” Byron sighed. He turned in Cal’s lap, grasping his arms. “When we gonna play Grizzly ’gain, Cal? Soon?”
Cal gave him a hug, a lump in his throat. “Sure.”
“Three times a week,” Michaela spoke softly, emptying the bowl out the back door.
“Can I play outside now?” Byron asked, sliding down from Cal’s lap.
“You may,” Michaela reluctantly agreed. “But take-”
“Take easy an’ no wunning,” Byron finished, putting on his coat and heading out the door.
Michaela went to the window and watched him go, her heart heavy. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this
to him, Cal,” she murmured. “All these treatments. They make him miserable.”
Cal took a deep breath. “Well, he ain’t had very many attacks, has he?”
“He’s had four since our visit to Denver,” Michaela told him solemnly.
“Four?” Cal echoed in disbelief. It seemed like so many. That had to be more than one each week.
“He had one this morning,” she explained. “...It was mild.”
“Michaela...” He cleared his throat. “I guess ya wouldn’t want to leave him then, for a few days. If ya had to go
somewhere, say.”
She turned slowly. “I’ve thought about that,” she admitted. “As much as I want to be, I can’t stand by his side
every waking moment. I’m going to teach him what to do, in the event he’s ever alone during an attack. I could
give him a little bottle of chloroform and a cloth to carry with him at all times.”
“That’s a good idea.” He stood up, giving her a hug. “I guess we’re lucky it ain’t something worse.”
Michaela nodded, swallowing hard. Sully would have said something like that to comfort her.
“It’s all right to be upset, Mike,” he told her softly. “Ya don’t have to pretend for me.”
She closed her eyes, feeling a tear slip down her cheek. “I just want things to be normal for him,” she murmured.
“Every time I sit him down to try a medicine, I hurt him. I make him feel weak, ill, different from the older
children...”
“It’s not your fault, Michaela,” he replied.
“I encounter these types of illnesses every day. Ingrid, Matthew’s fiancée, she had asthma. I don’t understand why
this is upsetting me so. Why should this be any different?”
“It’s different cause it’s your child, Mike,” Cal told her.
“Cal, I love him so much,” she choked. “I know sometimes I may baby him, but I can’t help it. He means so much
more to me than I ever thought possible…He’s the last thing I have left of Sully.”
Cal stroked her hair sympathetically. “I know, and that’s all right. I love him, too, like he was my own.”
“You do?” she asked softly.
“Sure, I do.” He kissed her head. “This’ll pass. He’ll get used to the medicine. He’ll start feeling better. He’s a
strong little guy and no little thing like this is gonna slow him down, I promise ya.” He tilted her chin up to look
at him. “Sully’s looking down,” he whispered, “loving his little boy,” he assured her. “My ma says everyone’s got
a guardian angel up in heaven. Well, Byron’s lucky. He’s got his pa to look out for him.”
“Oh, Cal,” she whispered. She stood on tiptoe, intending to give him a soft peck on the cheek. The soft peck
turned into several deep kisses. Gradually, Cal backed up to the table, leaning against it and pulling Michaela to
him. He ran his fingers down her throat and kissed her neck, and she wrapped her arms around him, unable to pull
away.
At last Cal let out a long breath, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “I love you, Michaela.”
Michaela tried to reply, but couldn’t form the words. She gave him a brief nod, avoiding his eyes. “I should...I
should check on the children.”
Her reaction hurt, though he tried not to show it. “All right,” he sighed.
She turned to leave, then paused, blushing. “Cal...I want you to know that was...that felt...”
He smiled, coming to her side and taking her hand. “Let’s check on the kids.”
***
“How romantic!” Dorothy exclaimed, following her friend about the store, Katie and Byron tagging along behind
them.
“Dorothy, it’s just a dinner,” Michaela protested. “No, no, Katie.” She took a vase the child had pulled from a
shelf and put it back in its place.
“Dinner?” Grace spoke up, where she had been paying Loren at the counter. She joined the two. “That’s sounds
special, Dr. Mike.”
Dorothy selected a few tall candles from a crate and placed them in Michaela’s basket. “A candle-lit dinner.”
“It’s just a little birthday party,” Michaela insisted, removing the candles and putting them back.
“Oh, but they’d look so pretty on your table,” Grace insisted, putting the candles in the basket.
“No really, Grace. I don’t think so,” Michaela contended, removing them once more.
“Do you know what?” Byron spoke up, pushing his way between the ladies and holding his mother’s skirts.
“Mama and Cal gots same ’sact bir-day.”
Dorothy chuckled, patting his head. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence!”
“And know what else?” Katie added. “Mama and Cal is *courting*.”
“That means hold hands lots,” contributed Byron matter-of-factly.
“And courting is there is lots of hugs and kisses, all the time!” Katie giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
Michaela reddened. “All right, children. Why don’t you each choose a piece of candy for the ride home?”
“Candy! Yea!” squealed Byron, taking Katie’s hand and hurrying to the candy jars.
“Don’t go breaking anything, you two,” Loren grumbled from the counter, feather duster in hand. He put his
hands on his hips.
“You can help us choose, Mr. Bray,” Katie suggested cheerfully while Byron stood staring up at the jars, mouth
agape.
Loren let loose an exaggerated sigh, approaching the little boy and girl. “I s’pose I could,” he reluctantly agreed,
though it was clear he had always had a soft spot for Katie and Byron.
“I apologize,” Michaela told her friends, embarrassed. “The children...they exaggerate.”
Grace and Dorothy raised their eyebrows skeptically.
Michaela cleared her throat. “Dorothy, Grace, please. Cal and I, we don’t. Well...not *all* the time.” She averted
her eyes.
Dorothy put her arm around her, grinning. “Oh, Michaela. That’s all right. After all, you’re in love.”
“In love...” Michaela murmured. Her eyes grew troubled.
“What is it?” Dorothy asked. “...Has he told you he loves you?” She glanced at Grace.
Michaela nodded slowly. “He’s told me. More than once actually.”
Grace clasped her hands, pleased. “And...?” she prompted.
“I just haven’t been able to tell him,” she admitted with a sigh. “It’s such a big step. It means so much.”
Dorothy squeezed her shoulder. “Well, when the moment’s right, it’ll come, Michaela, don’t you worry.”
Grace placed the candles back in Michaela’s basket. “And in the meantime, take these.”
***
Grace headed back to the cafe, a basket of vegetables and other items from the store tucked under her arm. She
was so happy for Dr. Mike and Cal. They couldn’t be more suited to each other. She chuckled as she thought back
to earlier that morning. Cal had been loitering around her kitchen, making small talk, for at least half an hour.
Finally she had asked him what it was he wanted, if anything.
“I need your stove,” he’d stammered. “That is, I was wondering if I could use it for a birthday cake.”
Grace had patiently explained, a smile tugging at her lips, that a stove would get him nowhere if a cake was what
he desired. He would need an *oven*, and yes, he was welcome to use the café’s.
As Grace approached the café, she noticed several townsfolk gathering around her outdoor kitchen, chuckling and
raising their eyebrows at...something. Suddenly, Grace thought of Cal. She’d left him alone to bake his cake while
she ran the errands. “Oh, Lord,” she murmured, quickening her pace.
“Is it s’posed to be that...that flat?” Jake spoke, hands on his hips.
Cal was frowning over his attempt at a cake. He lifted up the pan with potholders, staring at his sad creation. “I
don’t think so,” he said uncertainly. He picked up the recipe card and skimmed it. “Maybe I forgot something.”
“That sure don’t look like a chocolate cake, Cal,” Horace remarked.
“That, my good man,” spoke Preston decidedly, “is a *pancake*.”
The townsfolk chuckled, cracking jokes at the disaster of a cake, and at the mess Cal had made of Grace’s kitchen
area.
“What happened?” Grace moaned, pressing one hand to her heart as she put her basket down and joined the
group.
Cal grinned sheepishly. “Grace, um, I guess something went wrong.”
“Ya can say that again,” drawled Hank, cigar in hand.
Cal looked about the kitchen, embarrassed. Hastily, he pushed a few crushed eggshells into a pile and picked up a
dishcloth. “I’ll clean it all up, Grace, don’t you worry. I’m sorry about this.”
Grace eyed him skeptically, but then suddenly her expression softened. “Go on, get outta my kitchen.” She
glanced at the other townsfolk. “You, too.”
Grumbling, the men ushered themselves back to the main dining area of the cafe.
“But...our cake,” Cal protested. “I promised Mike I’d take care of it.”
“Ya won’t even be able to get candles into this thing,” she told him, shaking her head. She patted his back,
chuckling. “I’ll take care of the cake, Cal. Come back in a few hours t’ pick it up.”
His mouth dropped open. “Ya will? I mean, Grace, that’s real nice of ya. I appreciate it.”
“I ain’t gonna let my friends have a birthday without a cake,” she said, pretending to be stern.
“Thanks. Thanks, Grace.” Cal took a step forward and gave her a big hug, and she laughed with surprise.
“Go on,” she ordered. “Git!”
“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Cal said, backing up. “I’m sorry about the mess. I guess I got in a little over my head.”
“Well, then sit down for a spell, catch your breath, and I’ll bring ya some coffee,” Grace told him, tying on her
apron and taking the dishcloth from him.
Cal took a seat near the group of men, letting out a tired sigh.
“Cigar?” offered Hank standing beside him.
Cal hesitated at first, but consented. After all, it’d been a long day.
Jake stood beside Hank, and Horace and Preston took a seat at the table. “What’d ya say that cake’s for?” Jake
asked.
“Mike’s birthday,” Cal replied simply, lighting the cigar off Hank’s. “Mine, too, I guess.”
“Courtin’ not even a few months and she’s got ya cookin’ just like a woman,” Jake said.
“That ain’t how it is,” Cal contended. “I offered.”
“Next she’ll have ya cleanin’, and doin’ the washin’,” Hank warned him.
“And lookin’ after the baby,” Horace added knowingly.
“And tending to the entire household while she resides at the clinic,” Preston contributed. “Gentlemen, this
sounds oddly familiar. Why, when Sully-”
Jake elbowed him. “Ain’t right to talk about folks that can’t be here.”
Preston gave him a sour glare, but quieted.
Hank smiled slyly. “Do I hear weddin’ bells, boys?”
Cal coughed, removing the cigar from his mouth. “Wedding bells?
We’re just...we’re just courting...”
“Yep, he’s got it,” Hank said. “He’s got it bad.”
“Got what?” murmured Cal uncertainly.
“The sickness,” murmured Jake mysteriously, his eyes widening.
“What? You’re not saying he intends to marry Michaela, are you?” questioned Preston disbelievingly. “*Him*?”
Cal lowered his head shyly. “Well, I...we...see-”
Preston nodded thoughtfully. “Then again, Michaela always has been attracted to men like you. Present her with a
man of my breeding and prestige, and she cringes in horror. Peculiar.”
“What do you mean men like me?” Cal said, a bit hurt, but recalling what Michaela had said about not letting
Preston get to her.
“Dr. Mike and Cal,” Horace spoke thoughtfully.
“It’s got a ring to it,” Jake teased.
“Leave him be,” called Grace from the kitchen, where she had finished cleaning up the mess and was preparing to
begin the cake anew. “All of ya.”
Reluctantly, the men disbanded, finishing their coffee and returning to their workplaces; all but Hank, who
remained standing, thoughtfully puffing on his cigar.
“They like ya,” the bartender said at last, tapping his cigar of ash.
“They like me?” echoed Cal doubtfully.
“Yep. Trust me,” Hank said simply. “Am I invited?”
“Invited?” Cal stammered.
Hank held out his hands. “To the weddin’.”
Cal chuckled, not knowing how to respond.
Hank gave him a reassuring, firm pat on the back, then went on his way, leaving Cal to ponder the idea.
***
“Did you have a good birthday?” Cal asked with a soft smile, taking Michaela’s hand across the dining room
table.
Michaela squeezed his hand. “Wonderful, did you?”
“Wonderful,” he echoed. “Good stew, pretty china, dripping candles.”
“Delicious cake,” Michaela added.
“I…I have a confession to make,” he said. “Grace made that cake. All I did was put the little candles in.”
Michaela chuckled. “I suspected.”
“She saw the mess I made and told me she’d take over,” Cal added. “But at least I tried.”
“That’s what counts,” Michaela assured him. “And I too have a confession to make. The candles weren’t my
idea.”
“Is that so?” Cal replied.
“I was in the store and two little birds thought they might be...romantic. They made me take them.”
Cal nodded. “Those two little birds sure seem bent on keeping us together.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Michaela said. “But...I don’t mind.”
“Me neither. Oh, your present. How could I forget? Be right back.” He returned from the barn a minute later with
a large box wrapped in brown paper with a red bow on top, that took up nearly a third of the table.
“Oh, my goodness,” Michaela breathed. “Cal, what on earth...?”
“Open it,” he instructed wryly, eyes filled with mischief.
“I couldn’t possibly resist,” replied Michaela, tearing off the paper. At last she uncovered what was inside, only to
discover a smaller box, wrapped in paper with a similar bow.
“Come on, open it, Mike. What’s taking ya so long?” Cal teased.
Shaking her head at him, she obeyed, finding another box, smaller than the first two. “Very funny,” she said
dryly, tearing frustratedly at the bow and paper.
He folded his arms, enjoying himself.
After two more boxes Michaela at last unsheathed a small white envelope, on which Cal had simply written:
Mike.
Michaela carefully tore it open, pulling out the last thing she expected. “Round trip tickets to...Chicago,” she
breathed. She glanced up at him questioningly.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Ya said once ya’d like to see it someday, meet my mother and sister. They really
wanna meet you, too, Mike. There’s um...there’s two tickets there, for you and me. I hope that’s all right. Do you
like ’em? I can always take ’em ba-”
“Cal, they’re wonderful.” She burst into a excited smile, giving him a hug. “Oh, I would love to meet your family,
see Chicago. Thank you.”
He sighed, relieved. “Two weeks, darlin’. We leave in two weeks. And then when we get back the construction
company will be just getting here to start building for my streetcar business.”
Suddenly, she burst into laughter.
He pulled back. “What? You don’t like ’em, do ya? I knew it.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s just...” She walked to the hutch and pulled out a similar sized envelope with a little
blue bow attached. “This is for you,” she said with a wry smile.
Eyebrows raised, Cal opened it. “Tickets to...Boston.”
“To meet *my* family,” Michaela explained hesitantly. “Do you...do you like them?”
He laughed. “Mike, these are...these are great. Thanks. I don’t believe this.” He stroked his chin. “I know, we
could do it in one trip. Go to Chicago and then on to Boston, and then home.”
“How long do you think we’d be gone?” she asked slowly.
He took a seat, laying the tickets on the table in front of him. “Well, we could spend four or five days in each city,
and then with the time we’d spend on the train, it’d be a few weeks I s’pose.” He took her hand. “I’d like to take
the kids, but...”
“I understand,” Michaela told him. “I could only afford two tickets, too.”
“Ya sure you’re all right with leaving Byron?” he asked softly.
She nodded stiffly. “Matthew and Dorothy and Grace offered to take turns looking after the children, and Andrew
Cook promised he’d be on hand in the event Byron has an attack. We can wire every day, and write, and...”
“And miss ’em all to pieces,” Cal finished. He pulled her into his lap. “Mike, wait ’til ya meet my ma. I’ve told
her all about ya. She can’t wait to see ya. She’s just gonna love you. You’ll see.”
“My mother’s going to love you, too,” Michaela said, kissing his cheek. “...I hope,” she added softly to herself.
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç@y|äx
A light snow was falling as Michaela and Cal descended the train in the bustling city of Chicago. Cal had told her
at least ten times she had nothing to fret about, that his family would love her, but Michaela couldn't help being
nervous. She worried his mother wouldn't approve of her, an unconventional lady doctor who had been married
before, and with two very young children to look after. She told herself it was just a meeting, but she knew deep
down it meant so much more. It was as if it were a first step on the road to something...possibly something more
than just a courtship.
"There they are!" Cal said excitedly, breaking away from Michaela and hurrying down the steps.
Michaela stood back for a minute, watching timidly as Cal gave his mother a big hug, lifting her off her feet. She
stood about as tall as Michaela, and had graying brown hair, cheerful dark eyes, a rosy complexion, and a smile
like Cal's: friendly but with a hint of mischief. Michaela thought she was very beautiful and much youngerlooking than she had anticipated.
"Put me down, insufferable child!" his mother laughed. He obeyed, taking her hands. "Well, Cal, let me look at
you," she said, all smiles. "If you aren't the picture of health. My goodness."
"Must be all that mountain air," a younger woman spoke up with a grin. She was nearly Cal's height, with curly
dark hair piled atop her head and striking blue eyes. She was dressed very elegantly in a lacy emerald green gown,
matching wool cape, muffler, and feather hat.
"Sis," Cal said wryly. He held her as warmly as he had his mother, giving her a wet kiss on her cheek.
"Uncle Cal!" squealed the older of two golden-haired girls standing in front of Caroline. They were bundled in
spotless white capes, hoods, mittens, and black leather boots.
"How are the little devils?" Cal chuckled, bending to their level and drawing them into his arms. "Mmm, I missed
ya." He gave them each a kiss on the forehead, and they smiled and took his hands.
His mother cleared her throat, glancing around Cal for his companion. "Well, darling? Where is she?"
Cal stood up, walked to Michaela who stood quietly by their luggage. He put his arm around her reassuringly. "Ya
look so beautiful today all dressed up, Mike. They'll just love ya."
"You suppose this is fancy enough?" Michaela asked worriedly, touching her hand to her navy blue traveling
wardrobe.
"It's perfect. Come on," he bid, leading her to the group. "Mike...I'd like ya to meet my mother. Momma, this is
Michaela."
"Oh, Cal, she's breathtaking!" Camille exclaimed, embracing Michaela at once. "Welcome, Michaela. Welcome."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brooks," Michaela said shyly.
"Oh, now I'll have none of that," the older woman chided. "You're to call me Camille."
"Camille," Michaela repeated.
Cal smiled proudly. "And my sister, Caroline," he said nodding in her direction.
"Do you all have names that begin with a 'C'?" Michaela asked.
"Father and Mother thought it would be amusing I suppose," Caroline chuckled, clasping Michaela's hand. "I'm so
glad to finally meet you." She drew the little girls against her. "And these are my children, Annabelle and-"
Caroline tapped the younger of the two on the shoulder, focusing her attention away from a pigeon she was
watching prance in the snow. "And Rose. Annabelle, this is Dr. Quinn. What do you say?"
The older of the two curtsied elegantly. "How do you do," she spoke politely.
Michaela bent to their level, shaking each of their hands. "Fine, thank you. How do *you* do?"
Annabelle looked up at her mother, perplexed, as if no one had ever asked her such a thing. Awkwardly, she took
a step forward.
"Good," she said sweetly.
Michaela smiled. "I have a little girl at home I bet you would get along with."
Annabelle held up seven fingers. "I'm seven."
"And how old are you?" Michaela asked Rose.
The child hung back, clutching her mother's skirts, her blue eyes wide with uncertainty.
"She's five," Caroline said quickly, shooting a glance at Cal.
"Well, in a few months my daughter Katie's going to be five, too," Michaela told her. "When's your birthday?"
She waited for a response, and was disconcerted when the child continued to stare blankly, as if she hadn't
understood a word.
Cal gently took Michaela's arm. "Mike..." He pulled her away from the group as he gathered their luggage. "No
use trying to talk to her," he whispered. "She can't hear a thing."
"She's deaf?" Michaela questioned, wondering how she had missed that.
He nodded, picking up their bags.
"Did Katie come with you, Dr. Quinn?" Annabelle asked, taking her mother's hand.
"No, I'm sorry," Michaela replied, turning back to her. "She's at home with her brothers." She glanced at Rose,
who was holding out her hands and watching the snowflakes fall on her mittens, oblivious to the conversation
around her.
"Katie," Camille breathed, breaking the awkward silence. "What a splendid name. Well, shall we head home, Cal?
I asked Oliver to wait for us just a little way down the block."
"Oliver?" Michaela asked quietly.
Cal coughed. "Yeah um, our driver."
She raised her eyebrows. "You have your own driver?"
He coughed once more. "Well...yeah. That is, Oliver took over after Max's eyes got bad. Oliver, he used to tend
the stables, but now we got a few young boys doing that. After all we only need the one horse for the buggy, and
then we got the one for riding. Caroline took her horse when she married, and I sold mine just before I left for
Wells Fargo. Max helps Cook in the kitchen now, and does a little gardening with Pete from time to time.
Momma doesn't have the heart to let him go."
Michaela's eyes widened. Cal was positively wealthy, or at least his family was. Somehow, he'd neglected to
mention that.
Cal noticed her expression of surprise. He tenderly took her hand. "This ain't my life, Mike," he whispered. "This
ain't me. We're only having a visit."
She gave him a soft smile. "A good visit."
***
Fifteen minutes later the coach stopped before a well kempt, three story town house located on the outskirts of the
city. A butler approached the coach, helped the women down and then took Cal and Michaela's luggage.
"Please show our guest to her room," Camille instructed a maid once inside. "I hope you'll find it satisfactory,
Michaela."
Michaela couldn't help but stare up at the crystal chandelier hanging over their heads. "Oh. I'm sure I will," she
stammered.
The maid led Michaela up the carpeted staircase to the guest room, a few doors down the hall from Cal's
bedroom. The room was very spacious, with a hardwood floor, bay window, balcony, high double bed, mahogany
furniture, and a door to the bath. When the elderly maid proceeded to unpack the luggage, Michaela politely told
her she appreciated the help but she could manage.
"As you wish," the maid said. "Supper will commence at half past, Miss."
"Thank you," Michaela replied.
The maid appeared perplexed for a moment, but at last gave her a soft smile. "You're welcome, Miss."
The dinner consisted of steak, vegetables, soup, wine, and cheesecake for dessert. Camille and Caroline were full
of questions for Michaela. They wanted to know all about her life in Boston, her practice in Colorado, the
children, and coming to know Cal, and were delightfully entertained by the stories of the variety of patients the
lady doctor had treated.
Michaela appreciated their interest, but found herself distracted by Cal's youngest niece, Rose. The child sat to the
left of her mother, an empty chair on her other side, quietly engrossed in eating her meal. Occasionally the little
girl would let out a low moan, once when she had finished her glass of milk and apparently desired more. A
servant had entered the room and refilled the glass without comment. Rose was all but ignored by everyone at the
table, Caroline included. Michaela smiled at the child several times, attempting to catch her attention, but Rose
didn't seem to notice. Michaela wished she could do something for her. She knew of several people who had
developed ways to communicate with children like Rose, inventing a language of gestures and signals to represent
words, though she wasn't familiar with it herself. She would have liked to consult her medical books on the
subject.
"Michaela, you'll have to come with us to the rally this Saturday," Camille spoke up.
Caroline glanced up from her meal. "Oh, yes, please do. You'd enjoy it."
"I get to go, too," Annabelle added excitedly, fork in hand. "Grandmother says I can."
"Mother is president of the Chicago chapter of the National Women's Suffrage Association," Caroline explained.
"She's just wonderful. She's been organizing this rally for months. Women are coming from all over the country,
from East to West. We're going to fill Hyde Park."
"Now, Caroline, don't exaggerate," Camille said modestly. "But do say you'll join us, Michaela. We're going to be
discussing our right to an education. You would fit right in, dear."
Michaela glanced at Cal. "Will you be coming?"
Camille and Caroline burst into laughter.
"Oh, no, no, no," Cal chuckled, shaking his head as he swallowed a bite of steak.
"Cal at one of our rallies?" chortled Camille. "Good heavens, that would be the day!"
"He's intimidated by all of us *ladies*," Caroline explained with a wry grin. "He's afraid he'll be the only man
there, surrounded!"
Cal shot his sister a teasingly evil glance. "I'd just rather be doing something else, but I wish ya all the best of
luck. You go along with Momma and Sis, Mike, and have a good time."
"Then is that a yes, Michaela?" Caroline prompted.
Michaela looked at the two women, smiling. "All right. Yes!"
***
Cal whistled a tune as he shoveled snow from the front walk. His mother had protested, but he had insisted there
was no reason he couldn't do it, and that the servants should be given leave early. After all they had no doubt been
working all day preparing the house for his and Michaela's arrival. They deserved a rest.
"Hello, there!" a young lady called from across the lamp-lit street.
Cal paused, glancing up. "Hello," he called back.
The woman was tall and well-dressed, her head of auburn ringlets tucked beneath a fur hat, her hands folded
beneath her cape. She tiptoed on her high-heeled boots across the quiet street, approaching Cal.
"You must be Mrs. Brooks's son. Calvin, is it?"
He cleared his throat. He had to admit the young woman was striking. "Yeah. Well, it's Cal."
"I'm Alyssa," she told him, a smile spreading across her rosy-cheeked face. "Just moved here a few years ago.
Pleased to meet you." She held up her hand as if anticipating a kiss to the back.
Cal stared at the gloved-hand for a moment, then caught on and gave it a soft peck. "Likewise," he said politely.
Alyssa rubbed her arms. "My goodness, it's chilly out tonight."
Cal scraped at a patch of ice with the end of his shovel. "Sure is."
"What with Papa gone," she went on, "our walk is never properly cleared. Of course Harrington tries, but he's
getting on in years, and more than once I've nearly lost my footing!" She gazed at his work, an exaggerated
expression of longing on her face. "I wish someone strong like you would come over and do a suitable job."
Cal glanced at her house. "I'd be happy to come over when I'm done here."
Alyssa grasped his arm. "Would you, Calvin? Oh, aren't you a dear! We'd be eternally grateful."
He shrugged. "Won't take me but a few minutes."
She threaded her arm with his. "Mother and I were saying just the other day, there aren't any decent men left in
this city. And then here you come along, offering to shovel our walk. Well, you've certainly proved us wrong,
haven't you!"
"Oh. Well, I-"
Suddenly the front door burst open, revealing Michaela, bundled in her coat. "Camille sent me with a scarf, Cal.
We're worried about you in this...cold..." She glanced between Alyssa and Cal, eyebrows raised.
"Oh. Mike," Cal croaked. He removed his arm from Alyssa's grip and ascended the step. "Thanks," he said,
putting the scarf around his neck. He glanced back. "Um, this is Alyssa, our neighbor."
"Hello," Michaela said politely. The woman couldn't be more than twenty-two or three, and was very attractive,
with enticing green eyes and pale, delicate features. Michaela felt older and even a little plain in her simple
traveling dress, at least compared to Alyssa. She glanced at Cal, wondering if he was noticing this young lady, but
he was smiling only at herself.
"And who might you be?" Alyssa asked, the tone in her voice bordering on sarcasm.
"This is Michaela," Cal said proudly, taking her hand. "Met her back in Colorado where I live now."
Michaela felt a little better. "When you're finished, Cal, come inside to the parlor. Caroline's playing the piano."
He nodded. "I'll be just a little longer. Gonna shovel Miss Alyssa's walk, too."
Michaela pulled back her hand. "Oh? All right. Hurry back in."
"I'll make sure he does," Alyssa offered, gazing at Cal.
Michaela bit her lip, and then returned inside, wondering why she felt threatened by Alyssa. Determined to forget
the incident, she hung up her coat and entered the parlor.
Caroline was playing a slow Chopin waltz on the ivory-key grand piano as Annabelle and Rose sat on the floor
with their paper dolls. The girls played independently of each other; Annabelle selected a man and a woman and
put on her own little show, while Rose preferred to dress and undress a handful of the figures.
"Now tell me more about your children, Michaela," Camille bid, placing her needlepoint in her lap as Michaela
took a seat in the velvet chair beside her. "Katie and Byron, you said, and...?"
"Brian, Colleen, and Matthew," Michaela replied.
"And these are the three children you adopted?" Camille questioned. "You'll have to forgive me. I can't keep it all
straight."
"Yes. Well, they aren't exactly children any more," she chuckled.
"Oh?" Camille said, her voice suddenly hoarse.
"Brian is fifteen, his older sister is almost nineteen--she's in college in Denver--and Matthew is twenty-one."
"My goodness," Camille couldn't help but utter. "That's quite a handful. And with the two little darlings."
Michaela shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "We manage." She looked up at Cal's sister as the piece ended.
"That's lovely, Caroline."
"I'm not able to practice as much as I might like, but thank you, Michaela," Caroline said with a smile.
"Play again, Momma," Annabelle urged. She had been dancing her paper dolls in time with the music.
Michaela looked with pity at Rose, unable to hear any of her mother's beautiful music. An idea suddenly struck
her. "Caroline, do you know any Beethoven?"
"Some. Is he a particular favorite of yours?" she asked.
Michaela stood up, approaching the girls. "Do you know the Fifth Symphony?"
Caroline gazed at her quizzically. "Why, yes, but that's hardly appropriate after-dinner music."
"We'll be plagued with indigestion," Camille teased. She heard her son stomping his boots dry in the breezeway
and stood up. "That's Cal. He must be a snowman by now. I'll make the poor dear some tea." She entered the
kitchen through the swinging doors and put the kettle on the stove, then went directly to her son, helping him off
with his winter apparel as if he were a child.
"Momma, I'm fine," Cal chuckled, placing his damp scarf and gloves over the back of a chair. "Sit down."
"It's bitter cold out there," she informed him. "You've forgotten what it's like with the snow coming off the lake
six months out of the year."
"I ain't forgotten," he said, winking. "In Colorado the snow comes off the mountains. Gets just as bad."
"Well, at least you're staying in one place for a change," she replied, pouring him a cup of the warm tea.
"...Colorado is where you think you'd like to live?"
He sat down as she gave him the cup and saucer. "I already do, remember? All 'cause of Michaela." He smiled to
himself, then glanced up at his mother as she took a seat next to him. "Ain't she beautiful, Momma?" he said
proudly, nodding towards the door to the parlor.
"She's very charming," Camille admitted.
Cal knew his mother. Something was wrong. "I love her. I've loved her for three years now." He took a deep
breath. "I'm gonna propose."
Camille's breath caught. "Marriage?"
He nodded. "I want to spend my life with her."
She took his hand. "Oh, Cal, I realize you love this woman, and I want you to be happy, I just want you to think
things through carefully first."
"Like what things?" he questioned.
Camille thought a moment, choosing her words carefully. "I know how much a family means to you. I know
someday you'd like children of your own." She stroked back his hair. "Don't lie to your mother."
He swallowed hard. "You're right. I do want kids."
"If you marry Michaela you're not only marrying her but her several children as well," Camille told him.
"But I love them," he insisted.
"I'm sure you do, darling," she assured him. "It's just...with five children does Michaela feel the same way as you?
Would she like another baby?"
He sat back in his chair. "Well, I...I guess we haven't talked about that too much. I don't see why she wouldn't."
"Cal, she has a great deal of responsibility, especially with her husband gone," she explained. "Have you
considered the possibility that she may not be looking to marry, not to mention having more children? With two
fully grown and Brian nearly so, and then of course the little ones, it may simply be too much for her. Sometimes
it's difficult to start all over again. I'm afraid you may have been getting the wrong idea."
Cal sat quietly, digesting her words. "We love each other," he murmured at last. "Everything else is gonna fall
into place."
She patted his hand, looking into his eyes. "Then Michaela's told you she loves you. There's a start."
"Well...Not exactly. She just needs time."
"Oh, dear," Camille sighed. "Cal, I sincerely hope things work out, but how can you be sure this woman shares
the same feelings you do? Perhaps she may enjoy your companionship, but is she ready to commit to another
marriage? Is she willing to begin again? When your father died, God rest his soul, I had no wish to remarry. I had
no wish to start over. Cal, I know what she may be feeling."
"That's not the same, Momma. That's not how she feels." Cal abruptly stood up, not wanting to face what his
mother had brought up. "What's that Caroline's playing? Sounds like ya have a whole orchestra in there."
"Your Michaela wanted to hear Beethoven," Camille chuckled, following him. "She insisted on it."
Cal opening the swinging door, stopping short at what he saw.
Michaela was on her knees, level with Rose, pressing the child's hands to the side of the piano as Caroline played.
Rose smiled, giggled, and moaned with delight. Caroline kept a hesitant eye on the two, but continued to play,
though perhaps with not as much passion as before.
"Uncle Cal, Grandmother!" Annabelle burst out, skipping to them and grasping their hands. "Rose can hear!"
Michaela glanced back at the two. "She feels the vibrations," she explained.
Hesitantly, Cal approached the piano, putting his hand on it.
"Look, Rose, do you see all of those hammers hitting the strings?" Michaela said, pointing inside the piano.
"That's making the sound." She pointed at Caroline. "And look, Momma's playing this beautiful piece you feel."
Rose beamed at her mother, a smile Caroline hadn't seen in ages. Caroline's playing slowed to a stop, and she rose
and picked up the child, hugging her tight.
"...She could learn to speak, Caroline," Michaela told her. "It's been accomplished with great success."
"You forget the child is a deaf-mute, Michaela," Camille spoke up softly. "How could she possibly be taught to
speak?"
"She's certainly able to produce sound. If she were to receive special instruction...She's very inquisitive about
everything," Michaela insisted. "There's so much she wants to know."
Caroline gave her daughter a loving kiss on the head. "Michaela, I've accepted this and...I'd rather not hope for a
miracle. We'd only be disappointed."
"She needs to go to school, Caroline," Michaela went on. "Just because Rose can't hear doesn't mean she can't
learn."
"Michaela," Cal warned.
"I'm afraid that's not possible, my dear," Camille explained. "Children like my granddaughter can't go to school."
"But-" Michaela said.
Caroline took Annabelle's hand and made for the stairs. "Goodnight, everyone. I'll see you at breakfast."
Michaela gave Rose a wave. "Goodnight."
Rose smiled and waved back, then hugged her mother's neck, sighing happily.
Cal put his arm around Michaela, relieved the uncomfortable situation seemed to have passed. "Come upstairs,
Mike. I want to show you some of my things."
"...All right," she agreed. "Goodnight, Camille."
"Goodnight, Michaela," Camille sighed, sinking into a chair.
***
"That's me, standing in front of the school," Cal said, pointing at a photograph of himself as a child. He and
Michaela sat on the edge of his bed, looking through a box full of photographs and postcards.
"Oh, you were so small, Cal," Michaela remarked, grinning at the dark-haired little boy with impish, squinting
eyes. "You look so sweet."
He smiled and handed her a few more photos. "That's Caroline holding me when I was a baby. My aunt and uncle.
Me when I was a little older."
Michaela selected a photograph from the pile, a group portrait of parents and two school-aged children. "This
must be your family. Is this your father?" She nodded at a tall man with sideburns and spectacles.
He took it from her, putting it back in the box.
"Let me see," she bid. "I didn't get a good look at him. Do you look like him? I think you favor your mother."
He gave her a handful of picture postcards. "Ya didn't see these yet, did ya? These are the places I've been."
"New York City, Philadelphia...oh, Richmond," Michaela spoke, holding up a picture to the lamp light.
"My mother had a cousin there," he said quietly. "Went to visit every so often."
"That must have been difficult during the war," Michaela surmised, "with family members living in both the
North and South."
"I don't know," he said quickly. "I was young."
"So was I," Michaela replied, "but I was very passionate about it. I wanted to be a boy so I could enlist."
"Oh, did you?" Cal said. "Well, a lot of those boys died, Mike."
Michaela sombered. "...I know that."
He sifted through his pictures, not speaking.
At last Michaela cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. "Cal, has your niece always been deaf?"
He sighed. "Yeah, since she was a baby. Came down with the scarlet fever. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," she murmured. "I was just curious."
"We try not to talk about it," he said, his voice curt. "It just hurts Caroline, giving her false hope like that. Ya
shouldn't have done that, Mike."
She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just...it doesn't seem right. Rose seems so lonely."
"Well, she gets along better than ya think. Caroline's a good ma to her. Takes good care of her. Don't hurt her,
Mike. Please."
"Where's Caroline's husband, Cal?"
He avoided her eyes, embarrassed. "Who knows. He left her."
"Why?" she persisted.
"'Cause she told him to," Cal said quickly. "Momma insisted she and the girls stay with her for a time."
Michaela placed her hand on his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me all of this before?"
"'Cause maybe ya...might not have come," he admitted quietly.
"Of course I would have," she insisted. "What do you mean?"
"You're awful full of questions tonight, Mike. Well, everything's good with your room?" he asked, changing the
subject. "Comfortable and all?"
She gazed at him worriedly. "Yes, it's fine."
"See ya in the morning, then," he spoke, standing up.
She nodded. "All right." She turned to leave.
Cal swallowed hard, taking her hand. He couldn't let her go like this. Pulling her into his arms, he gave her cheek
a loving kiss. "You have a good sleep."
She sighed, relieved the tension had lessened. "I'm truly glad I'm here, Cal."
"Oh, me too," He rocked her gently. "I'll take ya for a drive through the city tomorrow, show ya the sights. How's
that sound?"
She smiled, pulling back. "I can't wait. Goodnight, Cal."
He watched her go, taking a slow breath. "'Night, Michaela."
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç@á|å
Michaela pinned the last coil of hair in place, then backed up and studied her image in the mirror. She thought
back to the day before, and suddenly felt foolish for allowing Cal’s neighbor Alyssa to trouble her. She had more
faith in Cal than that. Besides, they’d probably not bump into the young woman again. Michaela told herself she
had nothing to worry about.
Shrill screaming from down the hall startled Michaela. She pinned her hat on her head, and then hurried to the
source of the noise. The screams were coming from Annabelle and Rose’s room. Rose, half-dressed for the day
and sitting on the floor with her mother, was bawling like a toddler having a tantrum.
“Arms up,” Caroline shouted over the racket, pulling the child’s pinafore over her head. “Michaela, oh. Good
morning.”
“What’s the matter with her?” Michaela questioned, taken aback.
Rose looked at Michaela, calming momentarily as she recalled the woman from last night, but then her screams
picked up again.
“Hm? Oh, this happens every few days,” Caroline explained, pulling on the child’s white stockings. “It’s nothing
out of the ordinary. She just wants something, that’s all.”
“What does she want?” Michaela questioned, amazed Caroline could be so calm about the spectacle her daughter
was making.
“I have no idea,” Caroline admitted softly.
“She must be so frustrated, unable to communicate her needs,” Michaela remarked slowly. She kneeled down at
their level, just in time for Rose to give a coarse scream, piercing both women’s ears.
“Hush!” Caroline scolded. She grasped the child’s arms and squeezed tight. “Hush, Rose. Now!” She put her
index finger to her lips and raised her hand as if about to strike the child. Rose immediately quieted, her cries
dying down to soft hiccups.
Michaela was amazed. “Caroline? What just happened?”
Caroline took the child’s foot in her lap and began lacing her boot. “Yes? Oh, she knows when she sees my hand
if she doesn’t do what I ask, her bottom will be sore.”
“Then she does know what you mean,” Michaela said excitedly. “She understands. Caroline, do you know when
she’s sick, or hungry, or cold?”
Caroline paused. “Well if she’s sick...she’ll hold her throat or her head or whatever’s hurting. She rubs her
stomach when she’s hungry, and when she’s cold, she hugs herself. I know what she needs most of the time. It’s
the little things she wants that I can’t understand.”
“Don’t you see, Caroline?” Michaela told her. “She’s able to communicate the basics, you just haven’t realized.
Nothing appears to be wrong with her mentally. There are several schools across the country that are specifically
for deaf children. I could make inquiries. They could teach Rose hand gestures for every word there is, and she
could speak just like you and I do, only with her hands.”
Caroline was quiet a moment as she tied her daughter’s boots. “But even if she could speak with her hands, no
one else would be able to understand.”
“You could learn them, too,” Michaela insisted. “Then at least you could understand her. Rose could speak
through you. That has to be better than not being able to speak at all. And in time, she could even learn to speak
with her voice.” She gently caressed the child’s arm. “She’s trapped inside herself, Caroline. Can’t you see the
sadness in her eyes?”
“Every time I look at her, Michaela,” Caroline whispered.
“Mike, what are you doing in here?” Cal spoke suddenly, appearing in the doorway. He had heard a portion of
their discussion as he walked down the hall, and it had upset him. He had asked Michaela not to bring up Rose in
front of Caroline, and here she was the next morning blatantly ignoring his request.
“Stop that scowling, Cal,” Caroline scolded. “Honestly, you look just like Father after a day at the bank.”
“I’m not a thing like him, Caroline,” he said quickly. Michaela was surprised by the severity of his voice.
“Michaela and I were just having a little chat,” Caroline went on, standing Rose on her feet. “What’s that you
have in your hand?” She nodded at a plate of treats Cal was holding.
“Oh, these,” he said, suddenly smiling. “Alyssa stopped by to thank me for shoveling her walk. It took me all of
three minutes. She’s the sweetest young lady.”
“Alyssa brought you those?” Michaela asked, her voice hoarse.
“Yep,” he told her. “Do you know she moved here all the way from Ontario? That’s in Canada. She came here
and went to college just like you, Mike. She studied to be a schoolteacher.”
“And is she using her education to teach or sitting at home baking sweets for charming men who shovel her
walk?” Michaela asked impatiently.
“Well, I...I s’pose I didn’t ask,” Cal replied, missing the sarcasm in her voice. “Cookie?” He held out the plate.
“No, thank you,” Michaela told him.
“Oh, I know,” he said teasingly. “Alyssa says she doesn’t touch cookies either. She’s afraid she’ll get fat, but
she’s thin as a rail, don’t you think, Mike?”
“One cookie isn’t going to make Alyssa fat, for heaven’s sake,” Caroline remarked, shaking her head. She could
plainly see Michaela was uncomfortable with Cal’s encounter with their neighbor, and wished her brother would
open his eyes and take notice. Typical male, she thought to herself. “Cal, didn’t you mention you’re going to take
Michaela on a drive through the city?” She nudged Michaela forward.
“Oh, right,” he stammered. “Are ya ready, Mike?”
“I’m ready,” she told him, awkwardly stepping next to him.
Caroline took the plate from Cal. “Take Michaela’s arm, dear brother, and I’ll put these in the kitchen.”
Smiling timidly, Cal threaded his arm with Michaela’s. “Oh, I asked Alyssa if she’d like to come along with us,
too. Her ma and sister went shopping downtown and she seemed kinda lonely.”
Michaela clenched her teeth. “You what?”
“You what?” Caroline echoed as she gave Rose a cookie.
“But she said she just couldn’t, that this should be a drive just for the two of us,” Cal replied with a smile, “and I
should give all my attention to you.”
“Oh, did she now?” Caroline said dryly.
Michaela sighed. She was sincerely beginning to wish she had never heard the name Alyssa. The outing was
supposed to be special, just herself and Cal. She couldn’t believe he had encouraged someone else to join, and
especially Alyssa, no less. “Let’s go,” she spoke quietly.
“Let’s,” Cal said.
***
Mary and Emiline McHaven stood bundled in their overcoats, among the hundreds of women gathered before the
stage in Hyde Park. They held up the sign they had made: ‘Votes for Women’, and cheered as Camille
commenced to give a reading of the Declaration of Sentiments.
“Mama, this is dumb. I wanna go ice-skating,” eight-year-old James informed his mother one more.
“I told you,” Mary replied sternly, glancing down quickly, “after the rally we’ll take the carriage to the lake. For
heaven’s sake, Jamie, put your mittens back on. You’ll catch your death.”
“But I wanna go now,” he whined, reluctantly tugging his mittens back on his hands. He pulled at Emiline’s hand.
“Auntie, let’s go ice-skating now, all right?”
She patted his head. “After the rally, Jamie. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Defeated, he let loose a sigh, crossing his arms. “I can’t see,” he grumbled, standing on his toes.
“Oh, *now* he wants to see!” Emiline chuckled.
“Listen to those words, Emiline,” Mary said blissfully. “A work of genius.”
“Our entire cause outlined,” her sister agreed. “It’s absolutely marvelous.” She held the sign higher. “Oh, I’m so
glad we came!”
“I can’t see,” Jamie insisted again, but his mother and aunt were preoccupied with listening to the speaker. The
little boy elbowed his way through several ladies until he reached the outskirts of the crowd where his mother had
left the carriage.
“Hey there, sonny,” a police officer in a starched uniform said. “Lost your ma?”
“Nope, she’s right there,” Jamie informed him, pointing into the crowd. He climbed up onto the seat. “I can see
real good now,” he told the officer.
“If there’s anything worth seeing,” laughed the policeman as he went on his way. “A bunch of foolishness if you
ask me.”
“Foolishness,” Jamie repeated. He would have to remember that one to tell his mother. He shielded his eyes and
focused on Camille.
“‘We do not expect our path will be strewn with the flowers of popular applause,” Camille read on from the
podium, bullhorn pressed to her lips, “but over the thorns of bigotry and prejudice will be our way, and on our
banners will beat the dark storm clouds of opposition from those who have entrenched themselves behind the
stormy bulwarks of custom and authority, and who have fortified their position by every means, holy and unholy.
But we will steadfastly abide the result.’ Ladies, I stand before you today ready to fight. I will fight until my
dying day for the freedom we all deserve!”
The crowd burst into thunderous applause, chants of “fight, fight” echoing throughout the park.
“How does she do it?” Michaela asked Caroline. They were seated in a row of chairs behind the podium,
Annabelle and Rose between them.
“Mother knows just what to say to galvanize a crowd,” Caroline told her. “Are you enjoying it, Michaela?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. I can’t believe how many people are here.” She looked out at the crowd,
her mouth half open. There were literally hundreds of ladies, all in their best clothes, several with a small child on
their hip or at their side. Michaela couldn’t find sight or sound of one man, except for perhaps the dozen or so
policemen strolling about the outskirts of the gathering, tapping their batons to their palms.
As the noise died down, Camille looked back at the row of chairs, motioning for Michaela to come to the podium
beside her. Michaela shot her a questioning look, but reluctantly stood up.
“And now, ladies,” Camille began, “It’s my pleasure to introduce Dr. Michaela Quinn, all the way from Colorado
Springs, Colorado.”
“Camille,” Michaela murmured, grasping the woman’s arm with a cool, nervous hand, “I can’t.”
Camille gazed at her quizzically. “Of course you can, Michaela.” She nudged her forward to the podium. “They’ll
cheer no matter what you say.”
“That’s just it, I don’t know what to say,” Michaela whispered.
The crowd was beginning to grow restless, murmuring to each other and wondering when the speaker would
begin.
“Louder!” a few women called from the back. “Speak up if you please!” shouted another.
“Here, take the bullhorn,” Camille bid, placing it in Michaela’s hand, “and I’ll start. Friends, Dr. Quinn is a
graduate of medical school,” she spoke, “and an example to all of us! Tell us a little about that, Dr. Quinn.”
Michaela cleared her throat and held the bullhorn to her mouth. “Well, I...” She was startled by her amplified
voice, but found the courage to go on. “My-my father was a doctor, and from the time I was very young it had
been my dream to work side-by-side with him.” Noting the crowd’s attentive gaze, Michaela’s confidence grew.
“But I soon realized that because I am a woman, I would have to work very hard to achieve what I wanted. I was
able to attend the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania. No other school would accept me.”
The crowd murmured their sympathy, several shaking their heads or crossing their arms. “And only because
we’re women,” many muttered. “Terrible. Intolerable. Insulting,” agreed others.
Michaela nodded in accord. “I have a daughter, Katie, back home. She’s four years old. Someday I want to be
able to tell her she can be anything she wants to be, provided she has the inclination. No university has the right to
close their doors on a person only because she happened to be born a female.” She glanced at Camille, who was
beaming. Michaela turned back to the crowd. “Ladies, let us keep in mind we are here today not only for
ourselves, but for our children, our grandchildren, and our great-grandchildren!”
The crowd broke into a roaring applause; chants of “Dr. Quinn”, “for our daughters”, “our granddaughters, greatgranddaughters” echoed abound.
Michaela stepped down, giving Camille a questioning gaze. “Was I all right?”
Camille took the younger woman’s hand excitedly. “You were wonderful! They adore you!” Still glowing,
Camille took the bullhorn and grasped the podium. “Thank you so much, Dr. Quinn. Now I ask you all, should
this woman be grateful she was admitted to college?”
“Yes!” the women shouted.
“No!” responded Camille.
“No!” the crowd echoed.
“No, absolutely not!” Camille repeated. “We do not owe the men that made Dr. Quinn’s dream a reality one
ounce of gratitude! Friends, it is not a privilege, but a *right* to receive an education, to pursue college, to earn a
medical degree if one so desires, right beside the men!”
The crowd broke into thunderous cheers, banners waving, streamers flying.
“We demand a right to education,” Camille went on, “and a right to our property!”
“Yes!” clamored the crowd.
“We demand control of our bodies!” Camille continued, “and the right to divorce!”
“Where’s Jamie?” Mary suddenly asked her sister.
The women around them were shouting and cheering and they could barely hear each other.
Emiline rested the sign at her feet and looked around. “He was just here, wasn’t he?”
Suddenly, a horse let out a panicked whinny, startled by the deafening noise of the crowd. He reared and bucked,
sending the carriage backwards.
“That’s our carriage!” Mary cried. “Jamie!”
“Whoa!” Jaime screeched. He stood up to try to grab the reins, but lost his balance and was thrown from the
carriage to the ground with a harsh thud.
“What’s going on?” Caroline questioned, rising to her feet. Annabelle and Rose stood on their chairs to try to see.
“Someone’s horse is scared,” Annabelle observed. She squinted her eyes. “Oh...don’t worry, a policeman is
holding the bridle now.”
“Thank goodness,” Michaela breathed, standing up.
“Help! Help, somebody!” a shrill voice called from the crowd.
Camille picked up the bullhorn. “Ladies. Ladies! Is there an emergency? Let’s not panic.”
Distressed crying from a child emerged from a tight mob of police officers and women besides the carriage.
“We need a doctor!” someone shouted.
“He needs to go to the hospital!” added another.
“Someone’s hurt,” Michaela concluded. She hurriedly grabbed her medical bag and rushed off the stage.
“Michaela!” Caroline called. “Come back! You’ll be swallowed by that crowd!” Michaela ignored her, bent on
finding the injured person and doing what she could for them.
“Come back here at once, Michaela!” Camille shouted into the bullhorn. She turned to her daughter. “Well, isn’t
this a fine kettle of fish?”
Caroline grabbed her children’s hands and hurried down the stage. “Come on,” she told her mother.
“Caroline! Are you mad?” Camille demanded.
“Mother, we can’t leave Michaela out there all alone,” she insisted. “Come on!”
Camille put a hand to her head. “Oh, good heavens,” she gasped. “And everything was going so smoothly!” She
lifted her skirts, carefully stepped off the stage and followed behind Caroline, pushing their way to the site of the
accident.
“I...I fell,” Jamie gasped, face contorted in anguish. “I wanted to see...”
“Jamie,” Mary cried, kneeling beside her prostrate son. “Oh, Jamie!”
The little boy let out a pained shriek as Michaela sat beside him. “Everyone, please, take a few steps back!” she
instructed the tight circle of women and policemen around the boy. She opened her bag, took out a pair of scissors
and, carefully holding the boy’s right arm with one hand, cut open his jacket and shirt from the wrist up to his
elbow. Then she gently examined the injury. A portion of the bone had broken through the skin and blood oozed
from the wound.
“Don’t touch it, don’t touch it!” the child cried, tears pouring down his cheeks.
“Jamie?” Michaela said. “I’m Dr. Quinn.”
“I know,” he said through gritted teeth. “I saw you up there.”
She smiled. “I want you to be a good boy and lie very still, all right? You’ll feel better in a minute, I promise.”
“We should rush him to the hospital, Doctor, don’t you think?” Emiline asked nervously, taking her nephew’s
free hand.
“I don’t think we should move him just yet,” Michaela told her, “or we’d risk further damage. It’s a compound
fracture. It’ll need to be set, stitched, and immobilized. Then he’ll be safe for travel.”
“Jamie,” Mary bemoaned again, taking out her hankie and dabbing at her eyes. “Oh, your father’s just going to
have a fit when he finds out where we’ve been today!”
“What’s the matter, Michaela?” Caroline asked, emerging from the circle of women, her daughters and her
mother right behind her.
“This young man had a little fall,” Michaela explained, “but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”
“Oh, my heavens,” Camille gulped as she took in the scene.
“Someone will need to hold him while I set the bone,” Michaela told them.
“I’m going to faint,” Mary said shakily, her face pale.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t watch,” Michaela suggested, glancing at her briefly.
Emiline took her sister’s arm and drew her back a few feet. “You just sit right here and turn away. The doctor has
everything under control.”
“We’ll help hold him, Michaela,” Caroline offered, seeing everyone else seemed afraid to even speak. “Stay here,
children. Annabelle, hold your sister’s hand.” She pointed at Rose, than firmly at the ground, and the little girl
nodded in understanding.
“We’ll help?” Camille stammered.
“Yes,” Caroline affirmed, taking her mother’s hand and kneeling beside the boy. “Tell us what to do, Michaela.”
“Just hold him under his arms and try to keep him from moving,” the doctor instructed. “Jamie, I want you to
close your eyes and think of your most favorite thing.”
“Ice-s-skating,” he whimpered.
“I like to ice-skate, too. Yes, think of ice-skating.” She gripped his injured arm with two hands.
“I don’t know about this,” Camille murmured fretfully, holding the boy’s left arm tight. “I hope you know what
you’re doing, Michaela.”
“No, no, no,” Jamie begged. “Please. It’ll hurt. No! Please!”
With a coarse crack, the bone snapped back into space, leaving the little boy sobbing and gasping for breath.
“Oh, my goodness!” Camille spoke, dabbing at her brow with the back of her hand.
“Oh, you’re all right,” Michaela soothed, stroking Jamie’s hair as he wept. “Doesn’t that feel better now?”
“A little,” he admitted, hiccupping.
“Now I’ll give you a little laudanum, give your arm a few stitches, and then we’ll take you to the hospital,”
Michaela told him softly.
“Is my son going to be all right, Dr. Quinn?” Mary asked fearfully.
“I think he’ll be back to ice-skating again in no time,” Michaela assured her as she drew the laudanum into a
syringe.
“Do you h-hate boys?” Jamie asked curiously.
Michaela chuckled. “No, Jamie, I most certainly do not.”
He scratched his head with his free hand. “Seems like everybody at these things hates boys,” he remarked. “I’m
glad you don’t hate me, Dr. Quinn.”
Michaela chuckled once more. “On the contrary. I’m very happy to help you.”
Mary kissed his head. “You’re such a brave boy, darling. Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Caroline pressed her hand to her chest. “Thank goodness Michaela was here!” she exclaimed. She placed her hand
on the doctor’s shoulder. “That was remarkable, Michaela. I’m absolutely speechless.”
“Thanks, Dr. Quinn,” Jamie said tiredly, a soft smile on his face.
“Call me Dr. Mike,” Michaela told him with a grin. She turned to Camille worriedly. “I’m sorry we interrupted
the rally.”
“Oh, no, no,” Camille countered. “We’ve never had a more exhilarating gathering, have we ladies?!”
“Never!” they all agreed.
“Caroline is right, Michaela,” Camille went on. “You’re a marvel! Oh, I can’t wait to tell Cal about the adventure
we had! And he thinks exciting things happen in Colorado Springs! Just wait until he hears this!”
***
“Cal? Oh, Cal!” Camille called as the women hung up their winter apparel.
“In the kitchen,” Cal called.
Camille took Michaela’s hand. “Come along, dear. We’ll fill him in on all the details. He’ll be so proud of you!”
The two women entered the kitchen, followed by Caroline and the girls.
“Guess what, Uncle Cal?” Annabelle said, bounding into his lap. “Dr. Quinn is a hero!”
“Alyssa!” breathed Caroline. The young woman was seated next to Cal sipping a cup of tea, dressed in a royal
blue gown more suited for a dinner party.
“Caroline,” Alyssa said saucily. “How nice to see you again. I was just passing by to say a brief good-afternoon
and your darling brother invited me in.”
“I was getting lonesome having this house all to myself,” Cal explained. He grinned at Michaela, but she avoided
his eyes, pretending not to notice.
“Cal, you should have come along to the rally,” Camille told him. “A young man fell from a carriage and broke
his arm. Michaela bounded off the stage and rushed right to his aid. I believe she saved that poor boy’s life.”
“Camille-” Michaela protested.
“There was blood *everywhere*,” put in Annabelle, putting her arms around her uncle’s neck. “And you could
see the bone!”
“Heavens!” Alyssa gasped, pressing a fluttering hand to her heart. “I’m sure I would have fainted straight away at
such a sight!”
“Oh, Mike’s seen a lot worse things than that,” Cal said, tousling his niece’s curls.
“Mike. What an adorable nickname!” Alyssa spoke.
“Michaela didn’t swoon for an instant,” Camille went on. “She took charge and had the child nearly as good as
new within a few minutes. Caroline and I helped. I daresay it was one of the most hair-raising moments of my
life.”
“You must be a very talented physician,” Alyssa remarked, eyeing Michaela. “I’m sure I could never enter a
profession so dominated by men.”
“Well, Michaela’s as talented as any male physician I’ve ever encountered,” Caroline put in.
“That’s nothing,” Cal spoke. “Mike’s always saving lives back in Colorado Springs.”
Michaela found herself hurt by Cal’s indifferent manner. He was shrugging off what she had done that day, and
she felt unimportant. She bit her lip hard, wondering if Cal might pay more attention to her if she had fainted at
Jamie’s broken arm, instead of mended it.
“Cal tells me you have five children back home,” Alyssa remarked, folding her hands on the table. “And
managing your little hospital in town,” she added. “I don’t think I could balance so many things. I’d want to be
home taking care of my husband.”
“I don’t have a husband,” Michaela said abruptly.
“Yes, I know. That’s terrible what happened,” Alyssa told her. “What an awful death, falling like that onto those
rocks. Just terrible.”
“You told her about that?” Michaela asked Cal, her voice unsteady.
Cal hesitated. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Alyssa nodded. “Don’t blame Cal. It was I who brought it up. I was only curious.” She smirked insolently. “I
must seem so naive, Mike. You’ve been married before, and you have your career, and all those children, some of
whom are grown! And here I am just starting out.”
Michaela looked the young woman in the eye pointedly. “I don’t think you’re naive at all, Alyssa.” She glanced at
the people around her, stepping back. “Excuse me.” With that she hurried out the door and upstairs to the guest
room.
“What’s gotten into her?” Cal asked slowly.
“Oh, dear. Cal, why don’t you show Miss Alyssa to the door,” Camille urged, gripping his arm.
“Cal, you should go up and see what’s troubling her,” Alyssa insisted, patting his arm. “Poor dear.”
“No, I’ll go up,” Camille said. “*Good day*, Miss Alyssa.”
“Good day, Mrs. Brooks,” Alyssa responded. “I do so hope ‘Mike’ is all right.”
“I’m sure you do,” Caroline muttered under her breath.
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç@áxäxÇ
Camille rapped softly on the guestroom door. “Michaela? May I come in?” When she received no reply, she
slowly opened the door.
Michaela stood gazing out the window, her back to the door, hands clasped in front of her.
“Michaela, I want to apologize for our guest’s rude behavior,” Camille began, “and I must commend you for your
incredible exercise of self-restraint.” When Michaela didn’t respond she went on. “I love my son dearly, but that
doesn’t mean I’m unaware of how incredibly oblivious he can be at times.”
Michaela turned slowly, biting back tears.
Camille took a step towards her. “I don’t think there was a female in that room that didn’t know exactly what that
young woman was trying to do. If I had been...” She chuckled softly. “Well, never mind what I would have done
if I had been in your shoes.”
“Maybe Alyssa’s right,” Michaela murmured, swallowing hard. “Perhaps Cal would be better off with someone
like her.”
“Oh, no, dear,” Camille insisted.
Michaela shook her head. “I have so many responsibilities that Cal’s taken on as well. He shouldn’t have to do
that. He deserves a woman without ties, who can love him and take care of him and devote all of her time to him.”
“Someone like Alyssa?” Camille replied. “Heaven forbid.” She folded her hands. “I must admit at first I was
concerned about Cal when I realized that you have quite a large family and an entirely different life before him-”
“I’m not being fair to Cal, burdening him with my children and my past,” Michaela murmured.
“Michaela...Cal’s father...his father was never all he could be. Cal never had a man he could look up to, like other
little boys. If there’s one thing that my son wants, it’s to someday be a better husband than the man that married
his sister, and to be a better father than his own.”
Michaela was quiet, eyes unfocused as she listened to Camille’s words. She wondered what about Cal’s father had
made his son determined to never be like him. She remember how almost violently he had reacted to Caroline’s
suggestion that he resembled his father. Whatever had happened between father and son, it was something Cal
couldn’t talk about, and Michaela felt terribly sorry he had experienced such lasting anguish. She only wished he
would share his past with her, as she had with him.
Camille waited for a response, and when Michaela remained lost in her own thoughts, she cleared her throat and
continued. “I ought to show you my collection of letters from him over the past few years. I never hear about my
son anymore.” She chuckled. “Only you and your family and little Byron *Calvin*. You’re all Cal thinks about.
You do realize he’s fallen hopelessly, madly in love with both you and your children, despite his foolish behavior
these past few days.”
“Oh, Camille,” Michaela murmured tearfully. “My children love him, too. Especially Byron. Cal’s like the father
he never had.”
Camille searched her eyes. “And you, my dear? How do you feel about my son?”
Michaela strolled slowly to the bed, taking a seat. “He reminds me so much of Sully, my husband. Cal’s always
been here for me, ever since we first met. He saved my life,” she finished in a whisper.
“Yes, that must of been quite a harrowing experience for the both of you,” Camille remarked. “I just can’t
imagine it, all alone after that terrible accident with no one but a stranger to bring your little darling into the
world. Good heavens.”
Michaela smiled. “Yes, but that’s not what I meant.”
Camille sat down beside her. “What did you mean?”
“Camille, I don’t know how much Cal’s told you, but...I was devastated when my husband passed away.”
Camille nodded in understanding. “It’s quite an adjustment, living without the man who’s been by your side for
so long.”
Michaela swallowed hard. “I found it nearly impossible to adjust. I loved Sully very much. Things were a little
better after Byron was born...but I soon fell into a perilous state of despair. I slept all the time, I didn’t want to eat,
or look after my baby. It got to the point where...I didn’t even care to live anymore.”
“How unfortunate,” Camille murmured. “I didn’t realize.”
“It was Cal who helped me to function normally again,” Michaela went on. “As much as I hated him for it, he
made me get out of bed, eat properly, and go back to work at the clinic. He was determined not to listen to a word
of my protests.”
“He’s as stubborn as his father,” Camille said, shaking her head.
Michaela took her hand. “Camille, when I say he saved my life I truly mean that. He helped me see that I had
Brian, and Katie, the baby; so much to live for...And I had him. If it hadn’t been for Cal, I don’t think I’d be here.
He’s a sincere, kind, wonderful man.”
She smiled softly. “He’s also a very lucky man.”
Michaela lowered her gaze. “Cal wants a wife and children someday, doesn’t he?”
Camille nodded slowly. “How do you feel about that?”
Michaela took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” She stared at her hands. “Honestly...it’s difficult enough
contemplating the idea of remarrying, never mind another child.”
“Well dear, it’s all right not to know,” Camille said, patting her back. “You and Cal have no cause to rush things.”
She smiled. “But whatever happens between you and my son, I want you to know I see now why Cal cares for
you so much, and...should the time come when you feel ready to make such a commitment, I would be proud to
call you my daughter-in-law.”
“Thank you, Camille,” Michaela whispered. “That means so much to me.”
The two embraced warmly.
“And don’t worry about Alyssa,” Camille told her. “Cal will only have to glance at you and he won’t even
remember that insufferable--girl’s name.”
Michaela grinned. “I see now who Cal gets his charming sense of humor from.”
“Charming, indeed,” Camille laughed.
***
Cal followed Michaela out the front door, pulling on his jacket. “Mike, wait,” he called. “Where ya going?”
Hesitantly, Michaela slowed her steps as Cal caught up to her.
“...You ain’t speaking to me,” he said softly.
“I’m on my way to the telegraph office,” Michaela replied.
“Gonna send the kids another telegram? We were there only this morning.” He gently touched her arm. “Are you
worried about Byron? I’m sure he’s fine.”
“No, I’m not wiring Colorado Springs,” she explained. “I’m sending a telegram to Jacksonville, southwest of
here. There’s a school there for deaf children.”
He sighed deeply. “Don’t, Mike. Please.”
She slowed to a stop, facing him. “You’d rather have Rose isolated within herself for the rest of her life? You’d
rather she never communicate, speak, learn?”
“I’d rather she not be hurt,” Cal shot back. He bit his lip, taking a few steps to a bench and sinking into it. “I just
don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said more quietly. He thought back to his conversation with Caroline a few
minutes after Alyssa had left. Michaela was comparing herself to Alyssa and was jealous, Caroline had explained,
and though she had no cause to be, no one could assure her of that but Cal himself. “...I hurt ya today, didn’t I,
Mike?”
Michaela took a deep breath. “Cal...can I ask you something?”
He nodded.
“Doesn’t it ever trouble you that...that I’ve been married before, and I have a family I’ve become solely
responsible for?” She sat beside him on the bench, folding her hands in her lap. “Alyssa’s so young, and carefree,
and is just starting out, with no one but herself to worry about.”
“Oh, Mike.” He gently stroked his hair. “Your family and your past, they’re part of who you are. Part of the
woman I...I’m courting.”
“There are so many women who would love to get to know you,” she insisted. “Instead you pick a widow with
five children.”
“There ain’t any others I want to get to know,” he replied.
“Don’t you ever wish things were different?” Michaela asked slowly. “Truthfully.”
He took a deep breath. “There is one thing I wish.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I wish I could give ya the kinda happiness ya had with Sully,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Oh, Cal. I am happy.” She took him in her arms, hugging him tight.
He rocked her slowly. “Caroline helped me see I haven’t really been thinking lately. Ya did real good helping out
that boy at the rally. You’re a wonderful doctor, and I guess I get so used to that, I don’t tell ya enough how proud
of ya I am.”
She kissed his temple. “You don’t have to. I know you are. And I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished as well,
even if I don’t always say.”
“This courting thing, I’m kinda rusty at it,” he admitted. “I haven’t since before I joined up with Wells Fargo.”
“Well, we’re on the same page then,” Michaela replied with a smile. “We’ll have to remind each other how it’s
done.”
“That sounds good…and Mike…I’m sorry about Alyssa. I wasn’t thinking. I was only trying to be nice. I didn’t
mean to give her the wrong idea.”
“…You were so thrilled to receive that plate of sweets from her,” she pointed out.
“I like good cookies, no matter who makes ’em,” he replied simply. He tickled her chin. “Is that a smile, Mike?
Looks like one.” He grew serious. “But I shouldn’t have told her what I did, about what happened to Sully. It
wasn’t my place.”
“No, it’s all right,” Michaela told him honestly. “It’s not a secret. I’m sorry I overreacted. I suppose I can’t blame
her for falling for you.”
He chuckled, pulling back. “Alyssa? She’s just a child.”
“Don’t you think she’s beautiful?” Michaela asked timidly.
“Is she?” he said, stroking her cheek. “Guess I didn’t notice. Got my eyes on you all the time.”
She buried her head against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I’ll never hurt you like that again, Michaela.
Forgive me? Please?”
“Of course I do, but why are you so frightened of hurting others, Cal?”
“I’m not,” he said quickly.
“Yes, you are,” she insisted softly. “Does it have anything to do with what happened between you and your
father?”
Cal looked away, not responding.
“What is so terrible that you can’t confide in me?” she asked quietly.
“You don’t understand. Michaela, my Pa...”
She squeezed his hands. “There isn’t anything you can’t tell me. You said something to me once, when I was so
unwilling to talk about Sully for fear of the pain it might bring back. You told me you’d be here any time to listen
to me. Well, that holds true both ways. I’m here for you, too, when you’re ready.”
He closed his eyes. “My Pa, he loved us, I know he did, but when he drank...he was a different man. He’d hit us,
Mike, especially Momma. He’d hit her hard, and I’d wanna kill him.”
“Oh, Cal,” Michaela murmured. “I had no idea.”
“He hit Momma ever since I can remember, but I’ll never forget the first time it really got to me, when I couldn’t
stand seeing him do that anymore. I was about five or six I think. The summer before I left for boarding school...”
Cal looked down on the parlor from between the banister posts of the stairs, tears slipping down his cheek.
Caroline crouched beside him, holding onto his arm.
“Please, Cal. Come back upstairs,” the little girl begged tearfully.
“Why’s Pa gotta get so mad?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she whimpered, tugging at his night shift. “I’m scared. Come back upstairs before he sees us.
Cal, please.”
“I’m not scared of nobody,” he said bravely, a lump in his throat.
“We don’t pay Cook good money to retire early and leave me with a cold plate,” Calvin Brooks growled, pushing
his wife against the wall.
“Darling, please,” Camille begged. “It’s just that you were so late, and it didn’t seem fair to ask Cook to wait up
any long-”
He gave her a firm slap across the cheek. “I make the rules in this house, not you, do you understand?” He
grabbed her wrists, putting his weight against her. “Do you? I don’t care how late I am. I’ll tell the servants
when they’re dismissed and only I. I’m the man of this house, Camille!”
Camille swallowed hard, biting back tears. “Please, Calvin, you’re drunk. You’re being foolish.”
“I’m drunk, am I?” he chuckled. “This isn’t drunk. You haven’t seen drunk.”
“Oh, yes I have,” she murmured, immediately regretting her words.
Enraged, Camille’s husband attacked her with his hands, striking her over and over while she cried and begged
him to stop.
“Momma!” Cal shouted, breaking free from his sister’s grasp and scurrying down the stairs. “Leave Momma
alone!” he demanded, slapping his father’s back and kicking him in the shins with all his might. “You’re hurting
her, Pa! You’re hurting her!”
“Cal?” Camille murmured. “No, no, dear. Go back to bed like a good boy.”
“No!” shouted the child. He stomped hard on his father’s feet. “Pa! Stop!”
“You stay out of this!” growled his father, swiftly turning around. The little boy smelled whiskey on his breath: a
familiar, pungent odor that usually equaled anger when it came to his father. Calvin grabbed the little boy by the
arms, hurling him to the ground.
Cal fell hard, and burst into tears of anger. He struggled to stand again, hands clenched in fists.
“Calvin, don’t!” Camille shouted. “He didn’t do anything. Do what you like with me but don’t touch our son!”
Calvin raised his hand to strike the little boy again, then suddenly hesitated. He took a step back, glancing
between his wife and child, breathing hard. “Camille,” he at last gasped. “Oh, Camille. Are you hurt?”
Frantically, he whipped a handkerchief from his suit coat pocket and pressed it to her nose. “Here. Here, darling.
Pinch your nose.”
Camille sunk to her knees and obeyed, tipping her head back.
Cal stroked his mother’s arm comfortingly. “You made Momma bleeded,” he accused, eyes narrowed.
Calvin shook his head. “Camille, I didn’t mean...you have to believe me. I didn’t...I-I’m sorry.”
Camille gently pushed her husband’s hand away. “I’m fine. Eat your supper and let me put the children back to
bed.”
“You’re going to be fine?” he asked softly.
She nodded stiffly, taking her son’s hand. “Go on.”
Slowly, Calvin rose to his feet, walking the few steps to the dining room. A servant waited by his cold plate, hands
clasped in front of her.
“What are you staring at?” Calvin demanded.
The young girl shook. “N-nothing, sir.”
He waved his hand. “You’re dismissed.”
“But, sir, I’m to clear your plate and-”
“Go!” ordered Calvin, collapsing into his chair and taking a stiff gulp of wine.
Cal struggled to keep back tears. “Pa hit you, Momma,” he whispered, helping her hold the handkerchief.
“Why’s he hafta do that?”
Camille removed the handkerchief and tenderly caressed his head. “Hush, darling. I’m all right now. Let’s get
you back in bed.”
“Don’t you worry, Momma,” Cal told her. “Someday when I’m big I’m gonna be so strong and I’m gonna hit Pa
so hard so he will never ever hurt you again,” he announced boldly.
“Hush,” Camille scolded. “I’ll have none of that talk.”
“But-” Cal protested.
Camille bent and hoisted him into her arms. “You’re getting too heavy for this. To bed now.”
“I don’t think I can sleep,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her neck.
Camille slowly began climbing the stairs. “You always say that, and then you always end up falling asleep.” She
took Caroline’s hand, who was hugging her knees silently at the side of the stairs. “To bed with you, too,
darling.”
“Will you tell us Winken, Blinken and Nod, Momma?” Cal asked.
“It’s late, Cal, and-” Camille began.
“Please?” Caroline put in.
“Please?” added her younger brother. “Winken, Blinken, and Nod one night, Sailed off in a wooden shoe...now
your turn, Momma.”
“All right,” Camille sighed, holding back tears. “If you promise to close your eyes directly afterward.”
“We promise,” Cal said...
Michaela took Cal in her arms, holding him comfortingly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered at last.
“It was the whiskey, Mike,” Cal explained. “He was such a different man when he wasn’t drunk. He was a good
husband and a good pa to me and Caroline, most of the time.”
“I’ve seen alcohol change perfectly decent people,” Michaela responded, stroking his hair. “It has that effect.
Your father had a serious problem, Cal, not you, or your mother or sister.”
“I know, and eventually I could forgive him for all those times when he was outta control,” Cal went on, pulling
back. “The one thing I couldn’t forgive him for...”
“What?” Michaela prompted.
He took a deep breath. “I got drafted during the Civil War,” he began. “Got drafted just after Christmas, in early
1863.”
“I didn’t know you were in the army,” Michaela replied softly, taking his hand.
His brow narrowed. “I wasn’t.”
“You weren’t?” she questioned.
“Telegram came about the draft, and I told my pa at dinner that evening. He about blew his top. He was furious
with me for even considering it. He took it out on my mother, and that made me even more determined to go.”
“He didn’t want to lose you,” Michaela surmised. “He loved you.”
“I know that now, but I couldn’t make sense of it back then,” Cal admitted. “I was just a boy. A foolish boy, but I
knew what my duty was. I wanted to go, Mike. I was ready to fight for our country.”
Michaela nodded understandingly. The war had ended over ten years ago, yet she vividly recalled what it had
been like. She remembered her fiancé David and her cousin Carlton, who had been so willing to die to preserve
the Union. It was a brave sacrifice and one that continued to bring tears to her eyes. So many young men had
perished from both sides.
“But my pa wouldn’t hear anything of it,” Cal went on. “He forbade me to enlist. He told me if I went, I was
never welcome back in this house again. Momma begged me to stay. She was so afraid we’d never see each other
again.”
“But how could you escape the draft?” Michaela questioned.
Cal felt tears come to his eyes. “Pa...he knew a family that went to the bank. They were in debt, and he was about
to foreclose on their property. They had a son about my age. Pa gave him three-hundred dollars to take my place.”
He bent his head, shaking it.
Michaela rubbed his back comfortingly. “He wasn’t the only one. I remember wealthy families in Boston doing
the same thing.”
“It don’t make it right. That boy, died, Mike,” he said bitterly. “He died that May. Battle of Chancellorsville. Got
shot in the head.”
“Oh, Cal. I’m sorry,” Michaela whispered. “Speaking of your father brings back these memories.”
He nodded. “I hated him for that, Mike. I couldn’t help it. I hated him to the grave. Money was all he thought
about. He was training me to be a banker like him, and making me think about money all the time, too. I couldn’t
stand it any longer. Then he died and I felt terrible for never reconciling with him. I took off, got my job with
Wells Fargo.”
“Do you blame yourself for your father’s death?” she asked.
He sighed. “I guess I did for awhile. He left a note. Told me nobody but himself should be blamed. I couldn’t find
it in me to forgive him until after he was gone. In my eyes, he killed that boy. Killed a part of me, too. Am I a bad
person, Michaela? I wanted to forgive him, but I couldn’t.”
She tenderly kissed his head. “You’re not a bad person, Cal. None of us are perfect. We try not to hold grudges
but sometimes we can’t help it.”
“I just wanna be the best man I can for ya,” he told her. “And for your kids. The thought of me ever hurting you
like my father did my mother...Sometimes I think maybe I got some of my pa in me.”
She kissed his cheek comfortingly. “Not that part of him, Cal. You’re loving and caring to both myself and the
children, and you always have been. I know you would never do us harm.”
“…Remember the night that drunk from the saloon attacked ya?” he asked. “I couldn’t stop beating that guy. I
smelled liquor on his breath and I got out of control. It scared me how much I wanted to kill him.”
“You were protecting me,” she replied. “That’s a good part of your father in you, wanting to protect those you
care for. He’ll always be in you, Cal, even though you might not like what he did in the past.” She stroked back
his hair. “He loved his only son as much as you do my children. But your father loved you so much he made a
poor decision that unfortunately only hurt you, and others as well. That happens to the best of us at sometime or
another, especially when it involves people we love.” She paused. “Do you understand I want to *help* your
niece, not hurt her? Going away to a special school will be difficult for her at first, but in the long run everyone
will be hurt more if Caroline doesn’t allow Rose the help she needs.”
“I understand,” he whispered. “I want what’s best for her, Mike. I do. It’s just hard to shake what happened to us
in the past. I wish it never happened, so I wouldn’t have to burden you with it.”
“Cal, your past is part of who you are just as mine is, and you aren’t any less of a person because of it. Don’t
resent other’s poor decisions. Learn from them.”
He hugged her tight. “Thank you, Michaela. One thing I can thank my pa for, though...helping me realize I wasn’t
suited for the banking business. Becoming a stagecoach driver was the best decision I ever made.” He kissed her
head. “That’s how I met you.”
Michaela smiled shyly. “That was the best stagecoach ride I’ve ever taken.”
***
Cal hugged his mother even tighter than he had when he had first arrived in Chicago, rocking her from side to
side. “We’ll come back soon.”
“Invite us to Colorado,” Camille instructed, stroking her son’s hair.
“We will. I’ll miss ya so much. I’ll write ya,” Cal said.
Camille hastily swiped at a few fallen tears. “You will not turn me into a blubbering mess, young man. I won’t
allow it.”
“Love you, Momma,” he replied with a soft smile.
“I love you, too,” Camille whispered back, pulling out her handkerchief.
Cal got down on his knees and hugged his nieces. “Love you two. Don’t be giving your momma trouble.”
“We’ll miss you, Uncle Cal,” said Annabelle sadly.
Rose frowned and clutched Cal’s coat lapels, realizing he was about to leave.
Cal tickled her chin. He pointed at himself, then at Michaela, and finally put a fist over his heart, hitting his chest
repeatedly and fluttering his eyelashes. The group burst into soft chuckles.
“Cal,” Michaela scolded, blushing.
Rose giggled, looking at Michaela and then her uncle.
“She understands,” Cal murmured.
“She understands, and she’s going to understand even more,” Caroline spoke up. She took Michaela’s hand. “I’m
enrolling Rose in the Jacksonville school you told me about, Michaela. She leaves in a month.”
The two embraced all smiles.
“I’ll be eager to hear how things turn out,” Michaela said.
“I’m sure for the better,” Caroline replied. “Thank you, Michaela. Thank you.”
“Train’s about to leave,” Cal said as the train whistle blew.
Michaela quickly gave Camille a hug. “Thank you so much for such a lovely visit.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Camille responded. “Look after my son for me,” she whispered. “We’ll be thinking about
you.”
Michaela smiled. “We’ll be thinking about you, too.”
“Hurry, Mike,” Cal said, taking her hand and leading her up the steps. Once on board they took a seat and opened
the window, calling their last good-byes to Cal’s family.
“Have a wonderful time in Boston!” Camille cried, waving her handkerchief as the train pulled out of the station.
Cal smiled at Michaela. “We will!” he called back.
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç@x|z{à
“Eight days, Kate. Eight,” Brian assured her, sitting beside his brothers and sister on the porch, baseball in hand.
With a disgruntled sigh, Katie held out eight fingers and counted them. “Eight days! That’s *forever*.” She
pulled the puppy into her lap and kissed her head.
“I want Mama,” Byron put in, hugging his sister’s arm with a frown.
Matthew tickled the little boy’s chin. “Oh, it’s all right, Byron. Dr. Mike’ll be home real soon. She and Cal are
probably on the train right now for Grandma’s. Just think of all they saw in Chicago: lots of people, and tall
buildings, and plenty of new buildings goin’ up I bet.”
“Yeah, after that big fire and all,” Brian added.
“Yep,” Matthew said, “and a lake that’s *so* huge I heard ya can’t even see the shore on the other side.”
“Really?” Katie asked curiously.
“But where’s Sha-go?” Byron questioned as the puppy licked his cheek.
“'Member we found it on the map, B., before Ma left?” Brian prompted. “You remember.”
He put his thumb in his mouth and shook his head tearfully.
“Well, it ain’t that far,” Matthew reassured him. “Just a little North of here.”
“Yeah. Only seven-thousand-hundred miles,” Katie said, nodding her head.
Brian smiled at Matthew. “I know, tonight we can make a paper chain with eight rings, like we do before
Christmas, remember Kate?”
She beamed. “Yeah, and we can tear one ring off every sleep!”
“Right, and when there’s no more left, that means Ma’ll be home,” Brian told them.
“That mean Mama be home den?” Byron asked hopefully, removing his thumb. “An’ Cal, too, Bian?”
“Yep,” Katie told him after Brian didn’t reply.
“All right,” Byron sighed, reassured. He peered out at the yard. “I wanna swing. Push me.”
“I’ll push ya, B.,” Brian offered.
Katie stood up. “I’ll push ’im,” she offered. With Michaela and Cal away she had taken it upon herself to look
after her younger brother, and both Matthew and Brian had humored her. They couldn’t help but be touched by
her maternal protectiveness of him, though she was only a year older than the little boy. “Come on, Wof-y,” she
urged the puppy, claping her hands. “You swing, too.”
Matthew shielded his eyes and descended the porch, watching the two children scurrying off to the swing hanging
from the oak tree, Wolf barking and trotting after them.
“Here, Matthew, catch,” Brian said, tossing him the baseball.
Matthew caught it and threw it back. “Those two have been on that swing all week,” he said.
“Must be spring fever comin’ early,” Brian replied, returning the ball.
“After being cooped up inside all winter can’t blame anyone for wantin’ to get out and play,” Matthew agreed.
“Sully put that swing up, for Kate and me,” Brian remarked softly.
“...Ya miss him?” Matthew asked, tossing the ball once more.
“‘Course I do,” Brian replied quietly. He paused. “Sometimes, if I get to thinkin’ about him a lot...it still hurts.
Then I think, I got no right to feel that way. Sully was my pa when I needed him the most, but now I ain’t a little
kid anymore. Katie and Byron, they never had what I did with him. Sully won’t ever be able to tell them a story,
or teach ’em about the Cheyenne, or be there for ’em when they just need a hug, like he was for me.” He let out a
sigh, then threw his brother the ball.
“Ya got no reason to think like that,” Matthew told him reassuringly, catching the ball and coming to Brian’s side.
“Way I see it, Katie and Byron are pretty lucky. They got a big brother who can tell ’em all about their pa when
they’re wondering about him.”
“Think maybe I could tell ’em some of the things Sully taught me?” Brian asked. “Maybe about the White
Buffalo and things?”
Matthew patted his back. “I bet they’d love that. And I think...Sully’d want ya to.”
Brian nodded, realizing his brother was right. “Yeah.”
“There’s something else you can do for them, little brother,”
Matthew told him.
Brian looked up. “What’s that?”
“Be happy for ’em,” Matthew said. “Be happy they got
someone like Cal. They’re just little kids, Brian. Don’t
deserve to go through life not knowing what it’s like to have
a pa, or somebody like one. And they deserve to see their
ma smilin’.”
Brian swallowed hard. “I...I can’t, Matthew.”
“You think Sully hopes the people he loves are never happy
again?”
“No, but why can’t things just stay the way they are?” Brian whispered, folding his arms. “I liked things before
Cal came.”
“Yeah, me too,” Matthew said. “I liked it when Dr. Mike was in bed cryin’ all day, when us and half the town had
to stay with her to make sure she remembered to feed the baby...feed herself, too...when Katie lost her pa and was
losing her ma, too...when things were fallin’ apart.”
Brian let out a slow breath as he contemplated his brother’s words. “I do want everybody to be happy...it’s just
not as easy as it sounds.”
Matthew squeezed his shoulder. “No, it ain’t gonna be easy, but promise me you’ll try, all right?”
“...All right,” Brian agreed.
Matthew tousled his hair. “Why don’t ya get the bat? I’ll throw ya some pitches.”
“Just like when we were kids,” Brian said with a grin.
“We’ll always be kids, Brian,” Matthew replied wryly. “That’s one thing that won’t change.”
***
“Courting?” Elizabeth Quinn breathed, eyes darting between Michaela and Cal. She stood flabbergasted on the
train podium. Expecting to greet her daughter and grandchildren, she was presented with this. Well, at least he
wasn’t wearing buckskins.
“Yes, they’re courting, and I think it’s delightful,” Rebecca put in while Marjorie looked on scornfully.
Cal took a shy step forward, giving Elizabeth a small bouquet of carnations he had bought on the train. “It’s so
good to meet you, Mrs. Quinn.”
“Since when have you been courting my daughter, young man?” Elizabeth responded, handing the flowers to a
porter helping with the couple’s luggage. “And when did all of you plan on telling me about it?”
“Well, we-” Cal began.
“Michaela, this ruins everything,” Marjorie bemoaned. “Mother’s arranged for a party tomorrow in your honor,
with dinner and dancing. All the eligible men in Beacon Hill have been invited.”
“I’m sorry, Michaela,” Rebecca spoke up. “I tried to stop things but you asked me not to mention Cal.”
“I can’t cancel it now, I’m afraid,” Elizabeth sighed. “We’ll just have to carry on.”
“Well, that’s all right,” Cal said in an attempt to smooth things over. “I don’t mind.”
“It’s not all right,” Michaela put in, taking his hand. “We’ll work something out, Cal, don’t worry. Mother, you
remember Cal. I’ve written about him several times. We’ve known each other since before Byron was born.”
“Ah, yes, the stagecoach driver,” Elizabeth admitted. “Well, I must say you’re not how I pictured you, Mr.
Brooks.”
“Stagecoach driver?” Marjorie said with disdain.
“Actually, I don’t do that anymore,” Cal said. “I’m starting up a streetcar business in town.”
“Oh, now doesn’t that sound lovely?” Rebecca spoke up.
“He has a job. Well, that’s a welcome change,” Marjorie said sarcastically.
Elizabeth let out another deep sigh. “Well, Mr. Brooks, I suppose any man good enough for my daughter is
welcome in my home. Come along.”
“Mother, we barely know him!” Marjorie protested, reluctantly following her to their carriage.
“We’ll get to know him, won’t we, Cal?” Rebecca said cheerfully.
He smiled uncomfortably. “Sure.”
“I’m sorry,” Michaela apologized softly.
“Your ma didn’t know I was coming,” Cal replied. “Why didn’t ya tell her?”
“I know. I should have. I feared her reaction. It isn’t you, truly, she only worries about me. It’s just she has a
picture of what she thinks men are like in Colorado. She’d feel much better if I were living in Boston. Next door
to her, preferably,” she finished wryly.
“I ain’t anything like Beacon Hill men, I don’t think,” Cal said quietly.
“And I’m glad. Cal, I know my mother may seem a bit intimidating at first...but once she gets to know you, she’ll
realize how wonderful you are.” She squeezed his hand. “You’ll see.”
***
“Oh, Michaela. Look how much they’ve all grown!” Rebecca flipped slowly thought a small handful of
photographs as she sat on the bed beside her sister’s luggage.
“Brian’s taller than myself now,” Michaela told her, all smiles as she hung her nightgown in the bureau.
“Where does the time go?” her sister breathed.
Michaela returned to the bed, pointing at the next photograph. “This is Byron. We had it taken only last month.”
Rebecca chuckled at the beaming little boy. “Oh, he’s just darling! And isn’t he the image of his father. My
goodness.”
“He’s certainly Sully’s son,” Michaela agreed quietly.
“What do the children think of Cal?” Rebecca asked. “Do they get on well?”
She folded a pair of her stockings and placed them in the dresser drawer. “Byron and Katie adore him. As for
Brian--he doesn’t want to trust him. I think he fears I’ll be hurt.”
“Bless his heart,” Rebecca remarked.
“It’s understandable. He’s lost two fathers.”
“Trust takes time to build again,” Rebecca replied.
Michaela nodded slowly, strolling back to the bed and taking a seat beside her sister. “Cal’s given all of us plenty
of time. I owe him for that.”
“I’m so glad you brought Cal with you,” Rebecca said. “I just can’t wait to know him better. And I’m glad you’ve
decided to court again. I remember how desolate things were for you after Sully passed away. But now you
look...you look happy.”
“Cal makes me happy, Rebecca,” Michaela told her softly.
Rebecca smiled and gave her a hug. “And that makes me happy, Michaela.”
***
“Michaela?” Elizabeth rapped on her daughter’s door. “I came to say good night.”
Michaela sat in her bathrobe at the vanity, brushing her hair. “Come in,” she called.
Elizabeth took a few steps into the room, then paused, gazing around her. “You were a very headstrong four-yearold when your father and I moved you out of the nursery and in here. You were so thrilled to have your own
room...In those days I could never picture you grown, and now look at you with a family of your own, so far away
from here.”
“This room is just how it was when I was a child,” Michaela told her with a smile. “It’s bringing back many fond
memories.”
“Is it? Splendid,” Elizabeth replied with a smile. “I hope Mr. Brooks is as comfortable in the guest room.”
“Why don’t you ask Cal yourself?” Michaela suggested, putting her brush down and gazing at her mother’s
reflection in the mirror.
“Oh, no, I’m sure he’s fine,” Elizabeth said, waving her hand as she strolled over to Michaela’s chair. “Well, he’s
quite dashing, I’ll admit,” she began. “I expected a filthy, foul-smelling ranch hand. Though I could do without
that beard and his--cowboy hat. This is Boston, not a cattle drive.”
Michaela chuckled. “I’d hardly call it a beard. It’s only a little shadow. And he’s more than handsome, Mother.
He’s kind, and caring, and so good with the children.”
“Hm. Well, I don’t trust him,” Elizabeth informed her bluntly.
“You don’t trust him?” Michaela echoed disbelievingly, turning in her chair to face her. “Mother, you’ve only just
met.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I refuse to stand by while you throw your life away once again. Now I’m sure he’s
very kind, but for heaven’s sake, Michaela, a stagecoach driver? I can just imagine the kind of life he leads. It’s
one thing to befriend that man, but quite another to be courting! What am I to tell the ladies of Beacon Hill? It
was bad enough with Sully-”
“*Don’t*, Mother,” Michaela spoke harshly.
“Michaela, be reasonable,” Elizabeth pleaded. “Yes, Colorado Springs was a nice place to live with Sully, God
rest his soul, but he’s gone now. You no longer have a reason to remain there. Boston is your *home*, Michaela.”
“Won’t you give Cal a chance?” Michaela responded. “He’s not what you think. Not in the least. Please, cancel
tomorrow’s dinner.”
“Out of the question,” retorted Elizabeth.
“I can’t go.”
“You must. I’ll be humiliated if you don’t.” Elizabeth heaved a sigh. “Cal may come along I suppose. We’ll have
to find him something to wear of course. Oh dear, but I don’t imagine he can waltz.”
“Cal dances quite well,” Michaela said defensively. She grew quieter. “He taught me to dance.”
“Nonsense,” her mother shot back. “You’ve been dancing since you could walk.”
“I didn’t dance after Sully died,” Michaela told her. “I didn’t want to do anything that would distract me from
grieving him. Cal helped me get better. He helped me live again. He’s become...become very special to me.”
“It certainly isn’t *that* serious, is it now, Michaela?” Elizabeth didn’t wait for an answer before she went on.
“All right, I suppose I can give Cal a chance, if you give *Boston* a chance.” With that she bent and gave her
daughter a light kiss on the head. “I’m--I’m glad you’ve come for visit. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Goodnight, Mother,” Michaela replied with a sigh.
***
Cal approached the breakfast table a little late the following morning. He had taken extra time to comb and
smooth his hair and select his nicest shirt and trousers. Just the same he stood out in comparison to both Michaela,
who was dressed in a silk violet gown much fancier than what she usually wore, and Elizabeth at the head of the
table, who even in her regular clothing looked ready to attend a ball.
Pushing aside his embarrassment, Cal circled the table and gave Michaela a soft peck on the lips. “Morning,
darlin’.”
Uncomfortable, Michaela smiled half-heartedly. “Good morning.”
“*Good morning*, Mr. Brooks.” Elizabeth cleared her throat, eyeing the two. “Won’t you take a seat?” She
gestured at an empty chair across from her daughter.
Cal complied, setting to work filling his plate with eggs, sausages, and biscuits from various platters on the table.
Elizabeth eyed him for a moment, then laid her silverware across her plate. “I trust you slept well?”
“Very well, thank you, ma’am,” Cal replied as a servant poured him a cup of coffee. “Thanks,” he said to her.
Elizabeth had to admit he had nice manners. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.”
“Um, I thought you might like to join me today, Cal,” Michaela spoke up. “I wanted to shop for a few gifts for the
children. There are several lovely shops along the harbor.”
“Sure,” he agreed as he dug into his breakfast. “It’d be nice to see some more of Boston.”
“Good.” She folded her hands in her lap. “And we can…get you a new suit for tonight?”
He swallowed a bite of his sausage. “Tonight? Oh, the party.” He took a deep breath. “I, uh...I don’t think I can
afford a new suit right now, Mike. You know, what with saving for the streetcar business...I’m sorry.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “He must wear a suit this evening, Michaela,” she insisted. “Everyone will be there, Mr.
Brooks, all of my daughters and their families included.”
“It’ll be my present to you then,” Michaela offered.
“Oh, Mike, no,” Cal responded. “I couldn’t.”
“Please?” Michaela pleaded. “Please, Cal. I want you to come to the party.” She shot a glance at her mother, then
boldly sat up straighter. “I’m not going if you aren’t.”
“Michaela!” Elizabeth scolded.
Cal waved his hand. “No, that’s fine. I’ll wear the suit...if it means you’ll go. Mike, your ma’s planned this party
for a long time. You oughta go.”
Elizabeth smiled at Cal for the first time. “You see, Michaela? Even Mr. Brooks realizes all the effort I’ve put into
this evening.” She rose from the breakfast table, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I’ll have our
driver summoned. You’ll be back by lunch time, won’t you?”
“Oh, you don’t need to trouble him. I can drive us,” Cal offered. “I got lots of experience in big cities, and ‘sides,
I don’t really mind.”
“I’d like that,” Michaela said, giving him a smile.
Elizabeth chuckled. “Oh, no, Mr. Brooks. You’re our guest. We can’t have you driving our carriage all over
Boston like a regular servant. What would people think?”
“Oh...all right, Mrs. Quinn.” Cal quieted, bending his head as he took a few more bites of eggs, his appetite
suddenly gone.
***
“So we got to talking,” Cal went on as he and Michaela strolled down the sidewalk, occasionally glancing in the
store windows, “and she told me all about you, when you were little.”
“Oh?” Michaela replied. “What did Martha say?”
He took her hand. “Oh, all about how she looked after ya since the day you were born, and how ya always got
away from her.” He chuckled. “She said you were always getting under beds and sofas and things, and this one
time ya climbed into a cabinet drawer in your pa’s office and fell asleep! Now how do ya s’pose you managed
that, Mike? Gosh, you were just a baby.”
“Katie used to do that,” Michaela offered softly. “We’d turn our back on her for a moment and she’d crawl off
somewhere and hide. It was all a game to her.”
“Well, Martha found ya of course, eventually. She was so scared your pa and ma were gonna get upset and maybe
even dismiss her, but I guess your pa just laughed. I would have liked to meet him, your pa.”
Michaela nodded, not speaking.
“But Martha said just the same you were the sweetest baby she ever did have under her wing. I bet you were,
too.” He smiled and kissed her cheek, and much to his chagrin, Michaela remained solemn and unresponsive.
“You’re awful quiet,” Cal said at last. “Something wrong?”
“No.” She lowered her eyes. “Nothing, it’s just I don’t think you should...w-we should...Cal, I don’t think we
should be so affectionate in public. Especially in Boston”
“You mean kissing?” he said, bewildered. “Mike...”
“I know you didn’t mean to, but you embarrassed me in front of my mother,” she attempted to explain. “Mother
was quite obviously...offended.”
“At breakfast?” he queried, taken off guard. “I-I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“That’s all right. It’s just in certain places it’s not appropriate,” she went on. “Like on the streets of Boston for
instance. People are staring.”
Cal glanced around. “No one’s staring, Mike,” he told her. “And if they are...why, they’re looking at this pretty
lady on my arm and wondering how I got so lucky.”
“Cal,” she chided.
He shielded his eyes from the sun and looked up at a sign over a shop. “Mann’s Jewelers. Let’s go in here. I love
the watch ya got me last Christmas. Maybe we could find one like it for Brian.”
“That’s a good idea. I think he’d like that,” Michaela agreed, momentarily putting the incident behind them.
***
“Now this one,” went on the shopkeeper as he placed another watch in Michaela’s hands, “is perfect for any
young lad. Finest quality at a reasonable price.”
Michaela opened the silver plated watch and turned it back and forth. “I don’t know. Do you like it, Cal?”
Clearly distracted, he shrugged. “It’s all right.” He strolled over to the shopkeeper’s apprentice who was arranging
a display of bracelets, broaches, and rings in a glass case.
Michaela frowned. “I think we’d like to see some more first.”
“Of course, of course,” the shopkeeper consented. He unlocked a leather briefcase and laid several more watches
on the counter. “This is the place to be if you’d like a watch,” he went on. “You won’t find a wider selection in all
of Boston.”
“Well, we’re just looking,” Michaela told him. “Right, Cal?”
Cal glanced up from the counter quickly. “Hm? Oh, right. Just looking.” He stroked his chin in thought. “Mike?
Mike, come here a second.”
“What is it?” Michaela asked, joining him at the counter. She followed his gaze to the several rings on display.
“Oh, aren’t those pretty.”
“Ya think so?” Cal asked hopefully. “Which...which one’s the prettiest?”
Michaela opened her mouth to reply, then caught herself. She looked from the ring display to Cal, then back
again. “...Why?”
Cal scratched his head. “Nothing...I was just wondering, you know, what you like and things. Yeah.”
Fear gripped Michaela’s throat as she glanced over the rings again, wondering if she was misinterpreting Cal’s
timid probing. “Oh...well, these necklaces are nice,” she said nervously, leading him away from the rings.
Disappointed, Cal gazed at the necklaces, not really seeing them. “I guess. Oh, uh, Brian’s watch,” he stammered.
“Maybe we should stop in a few other places first.”
“All right.” Michaela realized she had hurt Cal’s feelings, but was unable to speak an apology, let alone try to
explain she wasn’t ready to even begin thinking of rings, if only hypothetically.
“You go on, get in the carriage. I’ll be along in a second,” he promised. He was embarrassed and ashamed. He
shouldn’t have pushed such a thing. He knew better.
“All right,” she said again, sighing.
Cal did a turnaround in front of his mirror, holding the lapels of his new suit coat, and then shot a beaming glance
at a clearly anxious Michaela. “I love it, Mike. It feels great, looks great too, don’t ya think?”
“Maybe we should have gone a little fancier,” Michaela said worriedly, smoothing his navy blue vest.
“No, I like this just fine,” he told her. “Any fancier and it just wouldn’t be me. I remember when I was little
hating to wear these things. During church I’d be tugging at my tie 'til by the end of the service I had it off...”
Hardly listening to him, Michaela led him to the chair in front of the vanity. “Sit down. Let me comb your hair.”
“I just combed it,” Cal replied, growing irritated with her. “Stop fussing.”
Ignoring his protests, Michaela ran the comb through his hair several times, parting it and re-parting it until she
was satisfied. All the while Cal let out impatient sighs, resting his chin on his hand and slouching in the chair.
“You need a shave,” Michaela said at last, running the back of her hand down his cheek.
He smiled, taking her hand. “I bet you could do a good job.”
Michaela nodded slowly. “Yes...yes I bet I could.” She patted his shoulder. “You sit here; don’t move. I’ll bring
up some water and return momentarily. Don’t move, Cal. You’ll wrinkle your suit.”
He wiggled in his chair teasingly, but Michaela was too fretful to be amused, and hurriedly walked out of the
room for the water.
Maureen and Claudette bustled down the hallway to the guestroom, bursting with curiosity about the man
Michaela had brought with her. Fathoming an excuse to speak with him, they rapped determinedly on his door
and entered before Cal had a chance to answer.
“Mr. Brooks?” one spoke, unabashed.
Cal turned in his chair, taking in the two lavishly clothed women with wide eyes. “Oh. Yeah?”
“Mother would like to know when you and Michaela will be joining us downstairs. Half the guests have arrived.”
“Well, um, Mike’s gonna help give me a shave and then after that I guess we’ll be down,” Cal explained. He
scratched his chin. “Are you Michaela’s sisters? You all look like each other a little.”
“Oh, yes. Forgive me. I’m Claudette.” She shook his hand lightly.
“Maureen,” her sister said with a soft smile.
“I’m Cal,” he replied.
Claudette chuckled. “Yes, we know.”
“Your ma sure picked out pretty names for all of you,” Cal replied with a smile.
“Why, thank you,” Maureen breathed, surprised. “How nice of you to say.”
Cal was younger than the two sisters had pictured, but quite handsome and well-dressed in his suit. He did indeed
need a shave, but that would be improved in a few minutes.
“Mother tells us you’re a stagecoach driver,” Claudette spoke.
“Yes, ma’am. That is, I used to be. Worked for a time with Wells Fargo.”
“A stagecoach driver! Imagine!” exclaimed Maureen. “From what I hear the roads out West are brimming with
outlaws and thieves and Indians on the war-path.”
Cal shrugged. “Well, not exactly...” He cleared his throat. “...There was this one time-”
“Oh, do tell,” urged Claudette.
He lowered his voice for effect. “We--me and the other driver Harry--we were going along like any other day, see,
and all of a sudden a band of Indians came up and attacked us, killed our passengers. We got away though, Harry
and me.”
“Oh, my!” Maureen breathed, covering her mouth with one hand.
“How dreadful!” Claudette bemoaned. “I’m sure I would have been terrified out of my wits by those blood-thirsty
savages.”
“Yeah.” Cal thought back to the time he had sat in Cloud Dancing’s teepee as the wise Indian told him about the
Cheyenne. “But...they probably attacked us ‘cause we were on their land. They were only defending themselves.”
“I thought the government solved that problem by putting the Indians on Reservations,” Maureen said.
“I used to think that, too, but it ain’t so,” Cal admitted. “Reservations ain’t what ya think. They make things
worse, sometimes.”
“Oh, come now,” Claudette reproached. “If Reservations weren’t solving the problem why would the government
be enforcing them so?”
“Have those politicians in Washington ever stepped foot on a Reserva-?” Cal began.
“And coming from you, Mr. Brooks,” Claudette went on. “You who witnessed the scalping of all those innocent
passengers. My heavens, you’re worse than Michaela!”
“I worry about the poor dear every waking day,” Maureen added. “She could be scalped by savages and none of
us would know the better. Gracious. I do wish she would abandon that heathen territory and return home for
good.”
“You want her to move here to Boston?” Cal questioned. “I don’t think Mike would ever do that. She loves
Colorado Springs. I’ve grown to love it, too.”
“Are you saying you know better than we what’s in our sister's best interest?” demanded Claudette.
“With all do respect Mike ain’t a child,” Cal replied. “No matter what anyone thinks she’s gonna live where she
wants to live, and that’s Colorado Springs.”
“Well, of course she wanted to be where Mr. Sully was,” Maureen said understandingly. “But things are different
now. She has nothing there any longer, and everything here in Boston. She should be home with her family, with
people of her own kind.”
“Sure Mike has something in Colorado,” Cal contended. “She’s got her clinic, and all her patients that need her,
and her kids. Brian’s got friends there, and helps out with the Gazette and things, and Katie and Byron don’t know
anything different. Can’t imagine dragging them across the country to live in a big city like this. And she’s
got...she’s got me. I’m starting up a business in town. I can’t have my business here. Boston’s got enough
streetcars without me entering into it. Mike knows I can’t move here any more than she can.”
“You behave as if you’re married to her!” Claudette accused.
“Now we’ve been over this in our minds again and again, Mr. Brooks," Maureen said. "No obstacle can’t be
overcome. Michaela will be much happier, and much safer for that matter, here where she should be.”
Cal couldn’t help but laugh. “Good luck trying to convince Mike of that. Doubt she’ll give the idea the time of
day.”
“Well!” Claudette exclaimed. “If you aren’t the most pompous, smart-mouthed, forward...and who gave you
permission to call our sister ‘Mike’?”
“That was Father’s nickname for Michaela,” Maureen informed him sourly.
“Come along, Maureen,” Claudette said, taking her sister’s arm. “We’ve wasted enough of our time.” The two
ladies headed toward the door, exaggerated scowls across their faces.
Cal stood up to call after them and even offer an apology, though he didn’t feel in the wrong, but just then
Michaela appeared in the doorway, balancing a bowl of water in her hands.
Michaela passed her ruffled sisters as they stepped out the door. “Maureen...Claudette? What’s the matter?” she
asked, bewildered.
“We should have known you’d bring home someone like *him*!” Claudette replied. “Oh, why do we even try?”
she sighed.
“Mother said he was outspoken, but I had no idea!” Maureen grumbled.
Eyebrows raised, Michaela entered the room, shutting the door behind her. “Cal, what did you say to them?” she
asked immediately, placing the water on the nightstand and draping a towel across his chest.
Cal sunk back into his chair. “Nothing. Nothing, Mike. We were only talking and they got all...all upset with me.
They seemed nice enough at first.”
“Honestly,” Michaela sighed as she worked up a lather of soap and patted his cheeks with it. “You’ve only just
met my sisters and already you can’t get along.”
He cleared his throat. “Look, the truth is, they got this crazy idea in their heads you’re gonna move here, here to
Boston. They were being so...so funny about it I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”
“Heaven forbid we should keep our mouth shut,” Michaela murmured. “Hold still,” she instructed as she
unclasped his razor and swiped it clean with the edge of the towel.
“It ain’t true, is it?” Cal asked as Michaela ran the razor carefully down his left cheek.
“What?” Michaela asked, completely focused on her work.
“You know, about you moving back to Boston,” he said quietly.
Michaela rested the razor in the water and squeezed his hand. “Of course not.”
He smiled. “Good.”
“At one time...I considered it,” she began. “Sully...Sully was gone and I felt as if I couldn’t bear to be surrounded
by memories of him for a moment longer. But now...”
“Now?” Cal prompted softly.
Michaela’s nervousness about the impending party vanished for the moment, and she gave Cal a light kiss on his
cheek. “Everything that’s important to me is in Colorado Springs.”
Cal took his thumb and swiped away a dollop of soap foam that had clung to her lips. “Everything that’s
important to me is standing here right now,” he replied.
Michaela smiled shyly, then picked up the razor, dried it on the towel and resumed her work. “You’ll have to be
patient with my family. They like you-”
“No they don’t,” Cal replied.
“They do, they only have to get used to you,” Michaela insisted. She tilted his chin back to shave his neck.
“Didn’t know I was that hard to get used to,” Cal said, sighing.
“Shh, try not to talk. I don’t want to cut you,” Michaela told him.
“Guess maybe if I was to be more quiet,” he went on, “they’d like me better. Ya think, Mike? But I can’t help it.
Your sisters were talking about the Indians and things, and I couldn’t just sit there.”
“Try, Cal...please?” Michaela said quietly.
Cal looked her in the eyes, and realized he was an embarrassment to her, at least in the presence of her family. He
felt terrible. “All right, I’ll try, Mike. I will. I promise.”
***
“*Mother*, the guests are growing impatient,” Marjorie whispered disapprovingly. “Look at her. She conversed
only with *him* throughout dinner, now she’s dancing with no one but *him*, and she hasn’t so much as glanced
at anyone else this entire evening!.”
“They *are* courting,” Rebecca said sensibly. “And the other men may cut in if they like.”
Elizabeth rapped her fingers on the table. “You’re right, Marjorie. Michaela is being rude.” She nodded decidedly.
“I’ll speak with her.”
“Mother,” Rebecca protested. “Don’t you think you’re being unfair? Cal is Michaela’s beau. She has no reason to
want to get to know all of these men in such a setting.”
“I have nothing against Mr. Brooks, Rebecca,” Elizabeth replied, “but I did not organize this party for my
daughter and that man to dance the night away. Won’t I be the talk tomorrow!”
As the waltz came to a close, Michaela and Cal slowed to a stop and they clapped politely for the quartet.
“Tired yet?” Cal asked softly, taking her hand.
“No,” Michaela replied.
Cal stole a glance at the bachelors scattered about the room. The men who were dancing often stole glances at
Michaela, eager to have a turn with her, and the others stood restlessly tapping their feet, crossing their arms, or
making idle conversation with one another.
“You want to...want to sit the next one out?” he asked.
“Not particularly,” Michaela told him with a smile.
Still insecure, Cal squeezed her hand. “You don’t want to dance with somebody else? Ain’t--*aren’t* some of
your old friends here? I don’t mind. Really.”
“I want to dance with you,” Michaela told him.
Cal wrapped his arm around her waist and brought his lips to her ear. “I love you,” he whispered.
“Michaela?” Elizabeth sternly took her daughter’s arm, splitting the couple apart. “Might I have a word?”
“...I’ll, uh, get us some punch,” Cal said awkwardly, making his way to the refreshments table.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Elizabeth demanded as soon as she and Michaela were in the hallway and
out of earshot.
“Dancing at my party,” Michaela told her simply.
“Spare me, Michaela,” Elizabeth muttered. “All of these charming young men did not come tonight to be brushed
aside for a cowboy.”
"With his new suit I think he looks just like the other men,” Michaela said hopefully.
“He’s not from Beacon Hill and nothing can change that," Elizabeth retorted. "You can dress a sparrow as a
peacock but he’ll always be a sparrow.”
Michaela bent her head, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
Elizabeth scowled. “Yes, you should be.” She softened. “But there’s still time to make amends. Dance with some
of our guests. Cal needs a rest anyway. *Please*, Michaela. If nothing else do it for me.”
“...And so you see this is what Michaela grew up with, this is where she belongs and this is where she should be.
Why, this is all that she knows,” Marjorie finished as Cal poured punch into a glass from the ladle.
“Well, she told me she ain’t moving here ever,” Cal replied, taking a sip of the punch. “And she knows a lot more
than this. So do I.”
“You want the very best for her, don’t you?” Marjorie questioned. “You want her to be happy?”
“Course I do,” Cal said, aggravated.
“Then you must aid in convincing Michaela the best place for her is here,” Marjorie told him. “If it’s you she’s
staying in Colorado for I wish she would think past tomorrow. She has her future to consider. The future of those
children! How many are there now?”
“I’m in Michaela’s future,” Cal replied abruptly.
Marjorie glared at him. “What are you saying...are you saying you have plans to...to *marry* her?”
“Well, maybe we’ve--I’ve thought about it,” Cal said defensively. “So what if I have?”
“As if she would make the same mistake twice!” Marjorie retorted. Her lips curled into a smile. “Oh, look,” she
said sweetly. “Michaela is dancing with that enchanting Dr. Laurence. He’s a graduate of *Harvard*.”
Cal followed her gaze, and Michaela gave him a helpless half-smile.
“What did you say you did again, Mr. Brooks?” Marjorie probed. “You’re building--something-or-other in
town?”
“A...a streetcar business,” Cal said quietly.
“Ah, yes. I remember. Well, I don’t imagine you can obtain a degree in streetcars from Harvard!” Marjorie
chuckled.
Cal put down his punch glass and the glass he had poured for Michaela. “I best turn in.”
“So soon?”
Cal shrugged. “Mike’s all right without me. It’s her party, after all. Tell her I said goodnight?”
“Of course I will,” Marjorie promised as one of the guests invited her to dance. “Sweet dreams.”
“Right. Thanks,” Cal muttered, turning to leave the room. He paused to glance at Michaela, wave goodnight to
her even, but she was conversing with her dance partner, and he couldn’t catch her eye. Letting out a sigh, he
pulled off his tie and made his way toward the stairs.
Terrance Stein, a graying, though young businessman with an obstinate smirk, poured alcohol from a flask in his
suit coat pocket into his punch glass. He took a sip, then offered the flask to the gathering of men at the base of
the stairs.
“If I could slip some of that into Miss Quinn’s punch...this party would be even more delightful,” chuckled one of
the men, pointing his thumb at Terrance’s punch glass.
The group echoed with devious laughter.
“There’s far more I’d like to slip by that woman,” Terrance chuckled.
“Good luck,” said his friend, slapping him on his back.
“Oh, you don’t think I can?” he replied. “Fifty dollars says I can--charm that enchanting Michaela into my bed by
the end of the night. Any takers?”
“What was that?” Cal demanded, his throat tightening.
The man turned his eyes toward Cal, glaring at him. “Mr. Brooks. I-I thought you were dancing with Miss Mich-”
“*What* did you say?” Cal shot back, walking towards him determinedly.
The man chuckled, slapping him on the back. “Oh, come, now. We were only having some fun, good man. You
know just as well as the rest of us you wouldn’t mind getting your hands on that lovely lady.”
Without warning, Cal gave him a swift punch in the nose. The punch glass went falling to the floor and stained
the oriental carpet. Teeth clenched, Cal grabbed the man’s suit coat, pressing him against the banister posts by the
lapels. “Don’t you ever, *ever*, talk about her like that again,” he spoke sternly. He released Terrance just as
suddenly as he had attacked him, pushing him backward.
Shocked, the man fell against the banister, gasping and clutching his nose. “How dare you!” he choked. “I-I’ll
have you arrested!” The group of men moved themselves between Terrance and Cal, eyeing the two carefully,
prepared to break up any more fighting.
“Drunken bastard,” Cal told Terrance vehemently, brow narrowed.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Elizabeth demanded, hurrying to the commotion followed by
Michaela, her sisters, and several party guests.
“Cal!” Michaela exclaimed. “Oh, Cal,” she murmured, disconcerted.
“Mr. Brooks, I am stunned!” Elizabeth told him, her lips pursed. “Now I don’t know how you behave in
Colorado, but in this house you are *not* to attack my guests!”
Michaela approached Terrance, gave him her handkerchief for his bloody nose, and then gently prodded his nose
for injuries. “It’s not broken,” she told him quietly. “You’ll be fine.”
“I had better be fine or that man is responsible!” he replied, eyeing Cal furiously.
“He’s an absolute heathen, just as I suspected,” Claudette spoke up firmly.
“Disgraceful!” Marjorie added. Her eyes widened with horror as she bent and picked up the empty punch glass.
“Mother, see what he did!”
Suddenly Martha emerged from the crowd, her hand pressed to her forehead as she took in the red punch stain.
“My carpet!”
Terrance stumbled to his feet, pinching his nose with Michaela’s handkerchief. “The *carpet*? See what that
animal did to *me*!”
“*Mr. Brooks*, what is the meaning of this?” Elizabeth demanded, brow narrowed.
“I didn’t...he-I-...” Cal began, then trailed off. He couldn’t tell Elizabeth the crude remarks Terrance had made
about her daughter. She’d be distressed, humiliated, and more importantly, so would Michaela. “I’m sorry,” he
finally muttered.
“I should think so!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I suggest you retire upstairs now, young man. You’ve proven to us
you’re no more capable of controlling yourself than a savage.”
“Cal, how could you?” Michaela murmured, shaking her head.
“I...I’m sorry, Mike,” Cal answered quietly, turning to the stairs.
Shocked and humiliated, Michaela sunk into a chair as the guests disbanded back into the party room, leaving
Michaela, her mother and sisters, and Martha on her knees, tearfully scrubbing the carpet.
“Here, drink some punch,” Rebecca offered, removing a glass from a tray a servant held and stepping forward to
give it to her sister.
Reluctantly, Michaela took a few sips of the cool liquid. “Cal...sometimes something will set him off,” she
attempted to explain. She shook her head. “But he would never do that...never in front of all these people. And for
no reason.”
“Oh, he had a reason. Spite towards the other guests,” Marjorie informed her. “Of course he can’t measure up to
the men here.”
“No, of course not,” Claudette agreed. “But it’s through no fault of his own.”
“He just...doesn’t know any better,” Maureen explained. “Appalling example for the children. I do hope they
didn’t see.”
Struggling to keep back tears, Michaela found herself nodding slowly. “Perhaps I should...I should go up and find
out how he is.”
“Yes, that would be-” Rebecca began.
“No, no,” Elizabeth interjected. She took Michaela’s arm and helped her to her feet. “The quartet will be playing
for another hour yet and you haven’t given all our guests a chance to dance with you.
ompose yourself, dear. Let’s not let this dreadful incident ruin the night.”
***
“Perhaps you should give him the benefit of the doubt,” Rebecca suggested as she kneeled behind Michaela and
ran a brush through her hair, both in nightgowns and bathrobes. “Talk to him. Ask him what happened.”
“I can’t face him,” Michaela replied. “I just can’t believe he did that.” She hugged her knees to her chest and let
out a sigh.
“Michaela, I didn’t want to say anything,” Rebecca began softly. “I didn’t want to repeat what I heard but--I know
why Cal felt compelled to go after that man. If *man* is the right word.”
Startled, Michaela turned around, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You do?”
“I was leaving the kitchen just as it happened,” Rebecca explained, placing the brush on the bed. “I was telling
Cook more people had arrived than anticipated and if he wouldn’t mind preparing additional hors d’oeuvres.” She
took her sister’s hand. “Terrance Stein and several other men were congregating by the stairs between numbers.
Let’s just say they were making remarks they shouldn’t have.”
“Terrance seemed so pleasant when I danced with him,” Michaela told her.
“Exactly. He made a bet with the other men that he could--well, it involved you, Michaela. Cal overheard and it
struck a chord. That’s why he went after him. He was protecting you.”
“Oh, no,” Michaela murmured. “I had no idea. I thought it was over...a petty squabble. I was so angry with him.”
“After all that Mother and our sisters have said about him, I half expected Cal to join the jesting,” Rebecca
admitted. “But then to witness him defending you with such passion, the rage in his eyes when he heard your
name spoken with ill-intentions--it takes a fool not to realize he’s in love with you.”
Michaela rested her head against her sister’s shoulder. “I remember the talks we had when we were younger. You
were the only woman I could confide in. I’ve missed that.”
Rebecca kissed her head. “It’s just like old times.” When Michaela remained silent, she cleared her throat.
“What’s the matter? It’s more than what happened this evening, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Michaela murmured. “It’s just...you don’t know how patient he’s been with me. Cal waited for
me three years before we began to court.”
“He’s an honest man,” Rebecca replied. “More than honest.”
“We were looking at rings the other day,” Michaela continued softly. “Engagement rings.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Rebecca remarked.
“I didn’t react the way he had hoped. I couldn’t help it. I was caught off guard. I’d been avoiding thinking about
it.” Michaela shook her head. “I’m frightened, Rebecca. I don’t know if I’m prepared to marry again. I haven’t...I
haven’t been able to tell Cal how I feel about him. I don’t even *know* how I feel.”
“Well, you’ll want to know for certain if you decide to marry,” Rebecca advised.
Michaela nodded. “Sometimes I think I never want to marry again, but then I’ll imagine the rest of my life
without Cal--and it hurts...almost as much as...I don’t want anything without Cal with me to share it.” She paused.
“That’s how I felt after Sully died. I didn’t want to be happy unless he could be with me.”
Rebecca squeezed her shoulder.
“What if I’m never ready?” Michaela whispered. “What if Cal doesn’t want to wait any longer? That’s not very
fair to him, making him wait like this.”
“Oh, Michaela.” Rebecca gave her a tight hug. “What’s fair to you both is not entering into something you’re not
yet prepared for. Cal loves you very much. He proved that tonight. He’ll wait a little longer.” She smiled. “But
there’s no harm in thinking about things, is there? There’s no harm in looking at a few rings, hm?”
Michaela returned the smile. “I suppose not.”
V{tÑàxÜ g{|Üàç@Ç|Çx
Cal did a turnaround in front of his mirror, holding the lapels of his new suit coat, then shot a beaming glance at a
clearly anxious Michaela. "I love it, Mike. It feels great, looks great too, don't ya think?"
"Maybe we should have gone a little fancier," Michaela said worriedly, smoothing his navy blue vest.
"No, I like this just fine," he told her. "Any fancier and it just wouldn't be me. I remember when I was little hating
to wear these things. During church I'd be tugging at my tie 'til by the end of the service I had it off..."
Hardly listening to him, Michaela led him to the chair in front of the vanity. "Sit down. Let me comb your hair."
"I just combed it," Cal replied, growing irritated with her. "Stop fussing."
Ignoring his protests, Michaela ran the comb through his hair several times, parting it and re-parting it until she
was satisfied. All the while Cal let out impatient sighs, resting his chin on his hand and slouching in the chair.
"You need a shave," Michaela said at last, running the back of her hand down his cheek.
He smiled, taking her hand. "I bet you could do a good job."
Michaela nodded slowly. "Yes...yes I bet I could." She patted his shoulder. "You sit here; don't move. I'll bring up
some water and return momentarily. Don't move, Cal. You'll wrinkle your suit."
He wiggled in his chair teasingly, but Michaela was too fretful to be amused, and hurriedly walked out of the
room for the water.
Maureen and Claudette bustled down the hallway to the guestroom, bursting with curiosity about the man
Michaela had brought with her. Fathoming an excuse to speak with him, they rapped determinedly on his door
and entered before Cal had a chance to answer.
"Mr. Brooks?" one spoke, unabashed.
Cal turned in his chair, taking in the two lavishly clothed women with wide eyes. "Oh. Yeah?"
"Mother would like to know when you and Michaela will be joining us downstairs. Half the guests have arrived."
"Well, um, Mike's gonna help give me a shave and then after that I guess we'll be down," Cal explained. He
scratched his chin. "Are you Michaela's sisters? You all look like each other a little."
"Oh, yes. Forgive me. I'm Claudette." She shook his hand lightly.
"Maureen," her sister said with a soft smile.
"I'm Cal," he replied.
Claudette chuckled. "Yes, we know."
"Your ma sure picked out pretty names for all of you," Cal replied with a smile.
"Why, thank you," Maureen breathed, surprised. "How nice of you to say."
Cal was younger than the two sisters had pictured, but quite handsome and well-dressed in his suit. He did indeed
need a shave, but that would be improved in a few minutes.
"Mother tells us you're a stagecoach driver," Claudette spoke.
"Yes, ma'am. That is, I used to be. Worked for a time with Wells Fargo."
"A stagecoach driver! Imagine!" exclaimed Maureen. "From what I hear the roads out West are brimming with
outlaws and thieves and Indians on the war-path."
Cal shrugged. "Well, not exactly..." He cleared his throat. "...There was this one time-"
"Oh, do tell," urged Claudette.
He lowered his voice for effect. "We-me and the other driver Harry-we were going along like any other day, see,
and all of a sudden a band of Indians came up and attacked us, killed our passengers. We got away though, Harry
and me."
"Oh, my!" Maureen breathed, covering her mouth with one hand.
"How dreadful!" Claudette bemoaned. "I'm sure I would have been terrified out of my wits by those blood-thirsty
savages."
"Yeah." Cal thought back to the time he had sat in Cloud Dancing's teepee as the wise Indian told him about the
Cheyenne. "But...they probably attacked us 'cause we were on their land. They were only defending themselves."
"I thought the government solved that problem by putting the Indians on Reservations," Maureen said.
"I used to think that, too, but it ain't so," Cal admitted. "Reservations ain't what ya think. They make things worse,
sometimes."
"Oh, come now," Claudette reproached. "If Reservations weren't solving the problem why would the government
be enforcing them so?"
"Have those politicians in Washington ever stepped foot on a Reserva-?" Cal began.
"And coming from you, Mr. Brooks," Claudette went on. "You who witnessed the scalping of all those innocent
passengers. My heavens, you're worse than Michaela!"
"I worry about the poor dear every waking day," Maureen added. "She could be scalped by savages and none of
us would know the better. Gracious. I do wish she would abandon that heathen territory and return home for
good."
"You want her to move here to Boston?" Cal questioned. "I don't think Mike would ever do that. She loves
Colorado Springs. I've grown to love it, too."
"Are you saying you know better than we what's in our sister's best interest?" demanded Claudette.
"With all do respect Mike ain't a child," Cal replied. "No matter what anyone thinks she's gonna live where she
wants to live, and that's Colorado Springs."
"Well, of course she wanted to be where Mr. Sully was," Maureen said understandingly. "But things are different
now. She has nothing there any longer, and everything here in Boston. She should be home with her family, with
people of her own kind."
"Sure Mike has something in Colorado," Cal contended. "She's got her clinic, and all her patients that need her,
and her kids. Brian's got friends there, and helps out with the Gazette and things, and Katie and Byron don't know
anything different. Can't imagine dragging them across the country to live in a big city like this. And she's
got...she's got me. I'm starting up a business in town. I can't have my business here. Boston's got enough streetcars
without me entering into it. Mike knows I can't move here any more than she can."
"You behave as if you're married to her!" Claudette accused.
"Now we've been over this in our minds again and again, Mr. Brooks," Maureen said. "No obstacle can't be
overcome. Michaela will be much happier and much safer for that matter, here where she should be."
Cal couldn't help but laugh. "Good luck trying to convince Mike of that. Doubt she'll give the idea the time of
day."
"Well!" Claudette exclaimed. "If you aren't the most pompous, smart-mouthed, forward...and who gave you
permission to call our sister 'Mike'?"
"That was Father's nickname for Michaela," Maureen informed him sourly.
"Come along, Maureen," Claudette said, taking her sister's arm. "We've wasted enough of our time." The two
ladies headed toward the door, exaggerated scowls across their faces.
Cal stood up to call after them and even offer an apology, though he didn't feel in the wrong, but just then
Michaela appeared in the doorway, balancing a bowl of water in her hands.
Michaela passed her ruffled sisters as they stepped out the door. "Maureen...Claudette? What's the matter?" she
asked, bewildered.
"We should have known you'd bring home someone like &him&!" Claudette replied. "Oh, why do we even try?"
she sighed.
"Mother said he was outspoken, but I had no idea!" Maureen grumbled.
Eyebrows raised, Michaela entered the room, shutting the door behind her. "Cal, what did you say to them?" she
asked immediately, placing the water on the nightstand and draping a towel across his chest.
Cal sunk back into his chair. "Nothing. Nothing, Mike. We were only talking and they got all...all upset with me.
They seemed nice enough at first."
"Honestly," Michaela sighed as she worked up a lather of soap and patted his cheeks with it. "You've only just
met my sisters and already you can't get along."
He cleared his throat. "Look, the truth is, they got this crazy idea in their heads you're gonna move here, here to
Boston. They were being so...so funny about it I just couldn't keep my mouth shut."
"Heaven forbid we should keep our mouth shut," Michaela murmured. "Hold still," she instructed as she
unclasped his razor and swiped it clean with the edge of the towel.
"It ain't true, is it?" Cal asked as Michaela ran the razor carefully down his left cheek.
"What?" Michaela asked, completely focused on her work.
"You know, about you moving back to Boston," he said quietly.
Michaela rested the razor in the water and squeezed his hand. "Of course not."
He smiled. "Good."
"At one time...I considered it," she began. "Sully...Sully was gone and I felt as if I couldn't bear to be surrounded
by memories of him for a moment longer. But now..."
"Now?" Cal prompted softly.
Michaela's nervousness about the impending party vanished for the moment, and she gave Cal a light kiss on his
cheek. "Everything that's important to me is in Colorado Springs."
Cal took his thumb and swiped away a dollop of soap foam that had clung to her lips. "Everything that's important
to me is standing here right now," he replied.
Michaela smiled shyly, then picked up the razor, dried it on the towel and resumed her work. "You'll have to be
patient with my family. They like you-"
"No they don't," Cal replied.
"They do, they only have to get used to you," Michaela insisted. She tilted his chin back to shave his neck.
"Didn't know I was that hard to get used to," Cal said, sighing.
"Shh, try not to talk. I don't want to cut you," Michaela told him.
"Guess maybe if I was to be more quiet," he went on, "they'd like me better. Ya think, Mike? But I can't help it.
Your sisters were talking about the Indians and things, and I couldn't just sit there."
"Try, Cal...please?" Michaela said quietly.
Cal looked her in the eyes, and realized he was an embarrassment to her, at least in the presence of her family. He
felt terrible. "All right, I'll try, Mike. I will. I promise."
"&Mother&, the guests are growing impatient," Marjorie whispered disapprovingly. "Look at her. She conversed
only with &him& throughout dinner, now she's dancing with no one but &him&, and she hasn't so much as
glanced at anyone else this entire evening!."
"They &are& courting," Rebecca said sensibly. "And the other men may cut in if they like."
Elizabeth rapped her fingers on the table. "You're right, Marjorie. Michaela is being rude." She nodded decidedly.
"I'll speak with her."
"Mother," Rebecca protested. "Don't you think you're being unfair? Cal is Michaela's beau. She has no reason to
want to get to know all of these men in such a setting."
"I have nothing against Mr. Brooks, Rebecca," Elizabeth replied, "but I did not organize this party for my
daughter and that man to dance the night away. Won't I be the talk tomorrow!"
As the waltz came to a close, Michaela and Cal slowed to a stop and they clapped politely for the quartet.
"Tired yet?" Cal asked softly, taking her hand.
"No," Michaela replied.
Cal stole a glance at the bachelors scattered about the room. The men who were dancing often stole glances at
Michaela, eager to have a turn with her, and the others stood restlessly tapping their feet, crossing their arms, or
making idle conversation with one another.
"You want to...want to sit the next one out?" he asked.
"Not particularly," Michaela told him with a smile.
Still insecure, Cal squeezed her hand. "You don't want to dance with somebody else? Ain't-&aren't& some of
your old friends here? I don't mind. Really."
"I want to dance with you," Michaela told him.
Cal wrapped his arm around her waist and brought his lips to her ear. "I love you," he whispered.
"Michaela?" Elizabeth sternly took her daughter's arm, splitting the couple apart. "Might I have a word?"
"...I'll, uh, get us some punch," Cal said awkwardly, making his way to the refreshments table.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" Elizabeth demanded as soon as she and Michaela were in the hallway and
out of earshot.
"Dancing at my party," Michaela told her simply.
"Spare me, Michaela," Elizabeth muttered. "All of these charming young men did not come tonight to be brushed
aside for a cowboy."
"With his new suit I think he looks just like the other men," Michaela said hopefully.
"He's not from Beacon Hill and nothing can change that," Elizabeth retorted. "You can dress a sparrow as a
peacock but he'll always be a sparrow."
Michaela bent her head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Mother."
Elizabeth scowled. "Yes, you should be." She softened. "But there's still time to make amends. Dance with some
of our guests. Cal needs a rest anyway. &Please&, Michaela. If nothing else do it for me."
"...And so you see this is what Michaela grew up with, this is where she belongs and this is where she should be.
Why, this is all that she knows," Marjorie finished as Cal poured punch into a glass from the ladle.
"Well, she told me she ain't moving here ever," Cal replied, taking a sip of the punch. "And she knows a lot more
than this. So do I."
"You want the very best for her, don't you?" Marjorie questioned. "You want her to be happy?"
"Course I do," Cal said, aggravated.
"Then you must aid in convincing Michaela the best place for her is here," Marjorie told him. "If it's you she's
staying in Colorado for I wish she would think past tomorrow. She has her future to consider. The future of those
children! How many are there now?"
"I'm in Michaela's future," Cal replied abruptly.
Marjorie glared at him. "What are you saying...are you saying you have plans to...to &marry& her?"
"Well, maybe we've-I've thought about it," Cal said defensively. "So what if I have?"
"As if she would make the same mistake twice!" Marjorie retorted. Her lips curled into a smile. "Oh, look," she
said sweetly. "Michaela is dancing with that enchanting Dr. Laurence. He's a graduate of &Harvard&."
Cal followed her gaze, and Michaela gave him a helpless half-smile.
"What did you say you did again, Mr. Brooks?" Marjorie probed. "You're building-something-or-other in town?"
"A...a streetcar business," Cal said quietly.
"Ah, yes. I remember. Well, I don't imagine you can obtain a degree in streetcars from Harvard!" Marjorie
chuckled.
Cal put down his punch glass and the glass he had poured for Michaela. "I best turn in."
"So soon?"
Cal shrugged. "Mike's all right without me. It's her party, after all. Tell her I said goodnight?"
"Of course I will," Marjorie promised as one of the guests invited her to dance. "Sweet dreams."
"Right. Thanks," Cal muttered, turning to leave the room. He paused to glance at Michaela, wave goodnight to her
even, but she was conversing with her dance partner, and he couldn't catch her eye. Letting out a sigh, he pulled
off his tie and made his way toward the stairs.
Terrance Stein, a graying, though young businessman with an obstinate smirk, poured alcohol from a flask in his
suit coat pocket into his punch glass. He took a sip, then offered the flask to the gathering of men at the base of
the stairs.
"If I could slip some of that into Miss Quinn's punch...this party would be even more delightful," chuckled one of
the men, pointing his thumb at Terrance's punch glass.
The group echoed with devious laughter.
"There's far more I'd like to slip by that woman," Terrance chuckled.
"Good luck," said his friend, slapping him on his back.
"Oh, you don't think I can?" he replied. "Fifty dollars says I can-charm that enchanting Michaela into my bed by
the end of the night. Any takers?"
"What was that?" Cal demanded, his throat tightening.
The man turned his eyes toward Cal, glaring at him. "Mr. Brooks. I-I thought you were dancing with Miss Mich-"
"What did you say?" Cal shot back, walking towards him determinedly.
The man chuckled, slapping him on the back. "Oh, come, now. We were only having some fun, good man. You
know just as well as the rest of us you wouldn't mind getting your hands on that lovely lady."
Without warning, Cal gave him a swift punch in the nose. The punch glass went falling to the floor and stained
the oriental carpet. Teeth clenched, Cal grabbed the man's suit coat, pressing him against the banister posts by the
lapels. "Don't you ever, &ever&, talk about her like that again," he spoke sternly. He released Terrance just as
suddenly as he had attacked him, pushing him backward.
Shocked, the man fell against the banister, gasping and clutching his nose. "How dare you!" he choked. "I-I'll
have you arrested!" The group of men moved themselves between Terrance and Cal, eyeing the two carefully,
prepared to break up any more fighting.
"Drunken bastard," Cal told Terrance vehemently, brow narrowed.
"What in heaven's name is going on here?" Elizabeth demanded, hurrying to the commotion followed by
Michaela, her sisters, and several party guests.
"Cal!" Michaela exclaimed. "Oh, Cal," she murmured, disconcerted.
"Mr. Brooks, I am stunned!" Elizabeth told him, her lips pursed. "Now I don't know how you behave in Colorado,
but in this house you are ¬ to attack my guests!"
Michaela approached Terrance, gave him her handkerchief for his bloody nose, and then gently prodded his nose
for injuries. "It's not broken," she told him quietly. "You'll be fine."
"I had better be fine or that man is responsible!" he replied, eyeing Cal furiously.
"He's an absolute heathen, just as I suspected," Claudette spoke up firmly.
"Disgraceful!" Marjorie added. Her eyes widened with horror as she bent and picked up the empty punch glass.
"Mother, see what he did!"
Suddenly Martha emerged from the crowd, her hand pressed to her forehead as she took in the red punch stain.
"My carpet!"
Terrance stumbled to his feet, pinching his nose with Michaela's handkerchief. "The carpet? See what that animal
did too me!"
"Mr. Brooks&, what is the meaning of this?" Elizabeth demanded, brow narrowed.
"I didn't...he-I-..." Cal began, then trailed off. He couldn't tell Elizabeth the crude remarks Terrance had made
about her daughter. She'd be distressed, humiliated, and more importantly, so would Michaela. "I'm sorry," he
finally muttered.
"I should think so!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I suggest you retire upstairs now, young man. You've proven to us
you're no more capable of controlling yourself than a savage."
"Cal, how could you?" Michaela murmured, shaking her head.
"I...I'm sorry, Mike," Cal answered quietly, turning to the stairs.
Shocked and humiliated, Michaela sunk into a chair as the guests disbanded back into the party room, leaving
Michaela, her mother and sisters, and Martha on her knees, tearfully scrubbing the carpet.
"Here, drink some punch," Rebecca offered, removing a glass from a tray a servant held and stepping forward to
give it to her sister.
Reluctantly, Michaela took a few sips of the cool liquid. "Cal...sometimes something will set him off," she
attempted to explain. She shook her head. "But he would never do that...never in front of all these people. And for
no reason."
"Oh, he had a reason. Spite towards the other guests," Marjorie informed her. "Of course he can't measure up to
the men here."
"No, of course not," Claudette agreed. "But it's through no fault of his own."
"He just...doesn't know any better," Maureen explained. "Appalling example for the children. I do hope they didn't
see."
Struggling to keep back tears, Michaela found herself nodding slowly. "Perhaps I should...I should go up and find
out how he is."
"Yes, that would be-" Rebecca began.
"No, no," Elizabeth interjected. She took Michaela's arm and helped her to her feet. "The quartet will be playing
for another hour yet and you haven't given all our guests a chance to dance with you.
Compose yourself, dear. Let's not let this dreadful incident ruin the night."
"Perhaps you should give him the benefit of the doubt," Rebecca suggested as she kneeled behind Michaela and
ran a brush through her hair, both in nightgowns and bathrobes. "Talk to him. Ask him what happened."
"I can't face him," Michaela replied. "I just can't believe he did that." She hugged her knees to her chest and let
out a sigh.
"Michaela, I didn't want to say anything," Rebecca began softly. "I didn't want to repeat what I heard but-I know
why Cal felt compelled to go after that man. If “man” is the right word."
Startled, Michaela turned around, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "You do?"
"I was leaving the kitchen just as it happened," Rebecca explained, placing the brush on the bed. "I was telling
Cook more people had arrived than anticipated and if he wouldn't mind preparing additional hors d'oeuvres." She
took her sister's hand. "Terrance Stein and several other men were congregating by the stairs between numbers.
Let's just say they were making remarks they shouldn't have."
"Terrance seemed so pleasant when I danced with him," Michaela told her.
"Exactly. He made a bet with the other men that he could-well, it involved you, Michaela. Cal overheard and it
struck a chord. That's why he went after him. He was protecting you."
"Oh, no," Michaela murmured. "I had no idea. I thought it was over...a petty squabble. I was so angry with him."
"After all that Mother and our sisters have said about him, I half expected Cal to join the jesting," Rebecca
admitted. "But then to witness him defending you with such passion, the rage in his eyes when he heard your
name spoken with ill-intentions-it takes a fool not to realize he's in love with you."
Michaela rested her head against her sister's shoulder. "I remember the talks we had when we were younger. You
were the only woman I could confide in. I've missed that."
Rebecca kissed her head. "It's just like old times." When Michaela remained silent, she cleared her throat. "What's
the matter? It's more than what happened this evening, isn't it?"
"I don't know," Michaela murmured. "It's just...you don't know how patient he's been with me. Cal waited for me
three years before we began to court."
"He's an honest man," Rebecca replied. "More than honest."
"We were looking at rings the other day," Michaela continued softly. "Engagement rings."
"Oh, how wonderful," Rebecca remarked.
"I didn't react the way he had hoped. I couldn't help it. I was caught off guard. I'd been avoiding thinking about
it." Michaela shook her head. "I'm frightened, Rebecca. I don't know if I'm prepared to marry again. I haven't...I
haven't been able to tell Cal how I feel about him. I don't even &know& how I feel."
"Well, you'll want to know for certain if you decide to marry," Rebecca advised.
Michaela nodded. "Sometimes I think I never want to marry again, but then I'll imagine the rest of my life without
Cal-and it hurts...almost as much as...I don't want anything without Cal with me to share it." She paused. "That's
how I felt after Sully died. I didn't want to be happy unless he could be with me."
Rebecca squeezed her shoulder.
"What if I'm never ready?" Michaela whispered. "What if Cal doesn't want to wait any longer? That's not very fair
to him, making him wait like this."
"Oh, Michaela." Rebecca gave her a tight hug. "What's fair to you both is not entering into something you're not
yet prepared for. Cal loves you very much. He proved that tonight. He'll wait a little longer." She smiled. "But
there's no harm in thinking about things, is there? There's no harm in looking at a few rings, hm?"
Michaela returned the smile. "I suppose not."
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç
Gathering courage, Michaela rapped softly on the guestroom door. She waited a moment, and at last Cal opened
the door, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Mike,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she whispered timidly. He was barefoot, dressed in his shirt, wrinkled and untucked,
unbuttoned suit coat vest, and matching trousers.
Cal cleared his throat. “No. I couldn’t sleep.” He hesitated, then took her hand. “Come in for a little bit.”
“I couldn’t sleep either, and I just thought we might talk for a few minutes,” Michaela said gingerly.
He nodded. “Sure.”
Shyly, she followed him into the guest bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
“I remember my ma, she’d sit on my bed and talk with me when I had trouble falling asleep,” Cal told her. “That's
how I learned Winken and Blinken. I'd always ask her to tell me that one.” He led her over to the fireplace.
“...You cold?” he asked. “I can add another log to the fire.”
Self-conscious in only her nightgown and bathrobe, Michaela crossed her arms. “No, no. I’m fine.”
“Well, I-” Cal began.
Michaela took his hand, quieting him. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Cal blurted, confused. “For what?”
“Rebecca told me why you went after Terrance,” she explained. “She overheard.” Michaela lowered her head,
ashamed. “And I jumped to conclusions without bothering to ask your side of it.”
“I’m sorry he said those things, Michaela. I’m sure he didn’t mean them.” He noticed tears glistening in her eyes.
“Oh, don’t. He didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, Cal,” she murmured. “I’m upset with myself, not over what that man said. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I
should have known you wouldn’t have attacked him without good reason.”
“I shouldn’ta gone after him the way I did.” He stepped forward and hugged her to him, stroking her hair
comfortingly. “If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine.”
“No it’s not,” Michaela contended.
“I muddled up everything,” he insisted. “I stick out like a sore thumb here, I can’t keep my thoughts to myself, I
can’t keep my fists to myself for that matter, I ruined your carpet, and now your ma and sisters hate me.”
“They’re only upset because they know nothing they say can convince me to move back to Boston,” Michaela
insisted. “And I’m the one who should be apologizing. I tried to change you to fit in with Beacon Hill, perhaps so
they’d feel better about my staying in Colorado.”
“I know I embarrass ya, Mike,” he said, pulling back. “Ya don’t have to pretend.”
“Cal, the truth is I’ve been very foolish these past few days. Neither of us fit in here and there’s nothing I can do
about that. It’s just I so wanted Mother to give you a chance. It means so much to me to have her approval...but
then I realized these aren’t the kind of people I want you to conform to. People who judge one another on such
strict standards. They look at us and can’t get past the fact that we aren’t what they want us to be. What they can’t
see is how happy I am. I’m happier right now more than perhaps they’ll be in their entire lives. I’m sorry it took
me until tonight to come to that.”
He gently squeezed her shoulder. “That’s all right. I know what it’s like wanting your ma to approve. Nothing I
ever did was good enough for my pa, ’til I realized it doesn’t matter what he thinks.”
“I don’t care what anyone thinks about us except you and me,” Michaela replied.
“And what are you thinking about us right now?” he asked softly.
Michaela bit her lip. “I’m thinking we should go back to that shop we visited the other day,” she said. "The one
with the rings?"
Cal cleared his throat. “Oh. You do?”
“I didn’t get a good look at them,” she explained softly.
He let out a relieved sigh and kissed her cheek. “And that’s all it has to be. Just a look. Maybe ya might tell
me...which one's the prettiest?”
Michaela nodded, surprisingly at ease. Like Rebecca had said, there was no harm in just looking at the rings, or in
allowing herself to contemplate the idea of marriage. He hadn’t asked her to make the decision to commit, at least
not yet. “I think...I wouldn’t mind wearing any one of those rings,” she told him softly, “if it was given to me
from the heart.” She paused, recalling the steep price tags. “But...I think the sentimental value in something small
is more important than the largest diamond.”
He kissed her in reply, then led her over to the bed. “Speaking of which, sit,” he instructed.
She hesitated, but obeyed. “Cal...I should be getting back."
He squeezed her hand tight, looking her into the eyes. “It’s all right. Just wait.” He dug into the inside pocket of
his vest, pulling out a small velvet box. “Been waiting to give these to ya,” he said with a coy grin.
Eyebrows raised, Michaela opened the box. “Oh...” she murmured.
“They aren’t real,” he said softly, taking a seat beside her, “but I thought just the same they would look real nice
on you.”
“Even so they must have been terribly expensive,” Michaela scolded. “Your streetcar-”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Nothing matters except how much I love you.”
Michaela took a stiff breath and took out the shimmering diamond ear bobs, holding them up to the lamplight.
“They’re wonderful. Thank you.”
“Well, I thought we might start off with something small,” he told her, tracing her chin with his finger. “We can
work our way up to rings.”
“Yes. Cal, I want you to know that I hope...I hope someday I’ll be ready,” she told him, voice unsteady. “Rebecca
says when that day comes I’ll know.”
He took a deep breath. “For me, Mike?”
She nodded breathlessly. “You’re the only man I want to be courting. I don’t care about any others either. That’s
one thing I’m certain of.” She dangled the earrings in the air. “Shall I put these on?”
He smiled. “Yeah. I’ll get ya a mirror-” he began. He watched mouth agape as she put the earrings in with little
effort.
“How’d ya do that? How do you know where the hole is without a mirror?” he asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” she murmured.
“It don’t hurt, does it?” he went on worriedly.
She chuckled. “No. Haven’t you ever seen a woman wearing ear bobs?”
“Never this close,” he admitted. "You women. I learn something new every day."
She smiled, taking his hand.
Timidly, he leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss to her earlobe. “You sure have pretty ears.”
“Ears?” Michaela echoed, her cheeks warming.
“Hm-mm,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her waist. He planted light kisses across her cheek, working
his way to her lips. After a minute he tenderly laid her in his place on the bed, then leaned over her, caressing her
waist with one hand and her neck with the other as they gave each other warm, loving kisses and caresses.
Michaela lay breathless at Cal’s powerful touch. It was a touch that gave her more than just physical pleasure, but
a deep emotional gratification as well, one that had been missing since her union with Sully. One that frightened
her, but left her wanting more.
“I’m glad I came, Michaela,” Cal whispered, threading his fingers with hers.
“You are?” she responded hoarsely.
“Sure I am. You and me were brought up the same. Everything we could want was at our fingertips.”
“I understand why you left Chicago for the West, Cal,” Michaela told him. “I’ve been through it myself.”
“No one’s ever understood me like you do,” he replied, kissing the tip of her nose. “Never thought I would meet
someone like you.”
“I never thought our trip would be this eventful,” Michaela said wryly.
He tickled her chin. “We’re gonna have a lotta stories to tell the kids.”
“The children,” Michaela murmured, eyes sombering. “I miss them so much. I wonder if Byron’s had an attack. I
don’t know if he can make it three weeks without an attack.”
“He’s being looked after real good. And Andrew’s just a few miles away if they need a doctor,” Cal reassured her.
“Gosh, I can’t believe that little boy’s three years old.”
“That means we’ve known each other for three years,” Michaela pointed out.
“Sometimes, I feel like I’ve known ya forever,” Cal replied. “I feel like we’ve been best friends since before I
could remember.”
“Are we best friends, Cal?” Michaela asked.
“Well, you’re the closest friend I’ve ever known,” Cal remarked. He gave her a kiss. “But you’re much more than
a friend.”
“I lost my best friend four years ago,” Michaela whispered. “Sometimes I’m afraid if I make a new friend, I’ll
lose him, too, or he’ll hurt me, or things won’t work out. I know it’s irrational, but I can’t help it.”
He squeezed her hands. “Michaela, I promise I’ll never hurt you, at least if I can help it. And if we give it a little
more time, I think it’s gonna work.” He caressed her cheeks. “Ya’ve got my heart, darlin’. Even if I tried I
couldn’t pull it back.”
“Even the strongest man couldn’t get it back?” she teased.
“Nope, or even a team of horses strapped to it,” he chuckled. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he added.
He eyed her anxiously, rubbing her arm. “You’re cold. Here.” He pulled the covers out from under them. “Put
your feet under,” he instructed.
“Just for a moment,” Michaela spoke, reluctantly removing her slippers and placing them on the vanity, then
slipping her legs beneath the sheets.
Cal pulled the quilts up to their waists. “Feel better now?” He took care to remain on his side of the bed, and kept
one hand beneath his head and the other at his side.
“Not quite,” Michaela whispered. She stretched her arms in his direction, raising her eyebrows.
“It’s all right?” he asked softly, gathering her against his chest.
“It’s all right,” she affirmed, kissing him.
He smiled. “I’m glad. This feels much better.”
“But I should go back to my room in a minute,” she murmured. “It’s awfully late.”
“Then that minute will be ours,” he said, cradling her closer.
***
Michaela squinted her eyes as the morning sunlight peeked through the curtains. She groaned tiredly, then smiled
as she felt Cal’s hand about her waist.
Cal.
Her eyes snapped open and her breath caught in her throat. She stared out the window, her heart beating fast.
“Oh, no,” she murmured at last.
She rubbed her temples, trying to fully rouse herself and gain her senses. She thought back to the night before.
She had invited Cal to hold her, then they had kissed and caressed for quite awhile, Michaela remembered
blushingly. Then tiredly, they had whispered to each some more, about the children, the streetcar business,
until...Michaela’s blush deepened. They must have fallen asleep. It had been late, after midnight at least, they’d
laid together for over an hour, comfortable and relaxed under the warm covers. She should have known if she
closed her eyes she would risk falling asleep in Cal’s secure, warm arms.
Slowly, she turned her head to face Cal. He was cuddled against her like a small child, his lips forming the
slightest smile, his chest slowly heaving up and down, his face so serene in slumber.
Gradually, Michaela’s lips mirrored Cal’s smile. There was no reason to be upset. Nothing had happened. No, that
wasn’t entirely true. Something had happened. For the first time since before Sully’s death she had woken secure,
peaceful, and happy in the arms of a man. There was indeed nothing like waking to one’s lover at the start of the
day. Michaela sighed contently, turned on her side and carefully, gave Cal’s lips a gentle peck. He sighed softly in
his sleep, stretched his arms, and tightened his protective hold about her waist.
Satisfied, Michaela tucked her head beneath his chin, closed her eyes, and within a few minutes drifted back to
sleep.
***
“They’re late,” Elizabeth grumbled, her breakfast untouched. She tapped her index finger impatiently on the table.
“Both of them.”
“Yes, mum,” Martha agreed obediently, standing beside her mistress with a pitcher of coffee and a dishcloth in
hand.
“That man is a horrid influence on my daughter,” Elizabeth went on. “She’s always been on time for meals
before.”
“I thought he was very pleasant when I conversed with him,” Martha said. She couldn’t keep back a girlish
giggle. “And handsome, too.” She noted Elizabeth’s scowl. “Though he did ruin the carpet,” she added hastily.
“He’s ruined absolutely everything,” Elizabeth said melodramatically. “Martha, please go upstairs and wake
Michaela and her--friend. I will not wait a moment longer.”
“Yes, mum,” Martha replied, placing the coffee on the table and hurrying out of the room. She ascended the stairs
to Michaela’s bedroom and knocked on the door. “Miss Michaela? It’s after eight o’clock,” she called sweetly.
She opened the door a small amount. “Breakfast is on the table, Miss-” She paused, noting the bed made up
without a wrinkle in the bedspread. “Oh,” she spoke, disconcerted as she glanced around the room. “Miss
Michaela? Are you here?”
Fretfully, Martha bustled out of the room and down the hall to the guest bedroom. “Mr. Brooks? Oh, please wake
up, sir!” she called, wrapping on his door. “It’s after eight o’clock and Miss Michaela is nowhere to be found.”
She opened the door a crack. “I fear she m-might be kidnapped!” she stammered tearfully. “The mistress is going
to have a fit. Oh, where could she be?” She stopped short as Cal rolled over in bed, rubbing his eyes.
“What’s all the racket?” he muttered sleepily.
Yawning, Michaela looped her hands around Cal’s arm. “Hm...what’s the matter, Cal?”
Eyes widening, Martha stepped back. “Mr. Brooks...Miss Michaela. I-I...”
Michaela shot up in bed, her heart skipping a beat. “Martha...I didn’t hear you knock...”
“I d-did, Miss,” she stuttered, continuing to move back. “No one...answered.” She stepped into the hallway. “The
mistress says f-for y-you---the two of you to join her for breakfast.” She bit her lip. “Oh, dear!” With that she shut
the door on them, and Michaela and Cal heard her scurrying down the hall and descending the stairs.
Cal burst into laughter. “Did you see her face?”
“Cal!” Michaela scolded. “We nearly gave her a heart attack.”
“That’s the funny part.” He kissed her cheek. “...I guess we fell asleep,” he whispered.
“I guess we did,” she admitted.
He grew serious. “I’m sorry.”
She gave him a half smile. “Don’t apologize. But Martha’s bound to think we...” She reddened.
“But we’ll know what happened. We were talking and then fell asleep,” Cal told her, taking her hand. “Don’t
matter what anyone else thinks.”
“And we were kissing,” Michaela added under her breath.
“And kissing,” Cal admitted, smacking her on the lips.
Michaela couldn’t help but smile once more, then swung her legs out of the bed and put her slippers on. “We’d
best go to breakfast.”
As she rose Cal grabbed her hand. “Mike? It was…it was nice waking up to ya,” he told her softly. “An accident,
but nice.”
Michaela squeezed his hand, gazing into his eyes, then opened the door and headed to her bedroom.
***
“Well?” Elizabeth demanded. “Are they coming down? My breakfast is fast becoming cold.”
Martha treaded into the breakfast room, eyes unfocused.
Elizabeth gazed at her curiously. “Martha, answer me. Did you send for Michaela and Mr. Brooks?”
“Yes,” Martha choked out.
“And are they coming? Speak up,” Elizabeth prompted. She sighed. “Martha, *what* is the matter? You look as if
you’ve seen a ghost!”
Suddenly, Martha burst into tears. “Oh, please, Mrs. Quinn. Don’t be upset with me. I j-just...you see I w-went to
Miss Michaela’s room just as you told me to and-and-” She pulled out a hankie and blew her nose.
“What are you blubbering about?” Elizabeth demanded, rising to her feet. “What in heaven’s name happened?”
“...Miss Michaela didn’t sleep in her bed last night,” Martha sobbed, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief.
“And I couldn’t think where she c-could be. I was so frightened.”
“Didn’t sleep in her bed?” Elizabeth blurted. “Absurd. She was in her room with Rebecca when I went to bid her
goodnight after the party. Where else *would* she sleep?”
Martha cried harder. “Master-Master...Master Cal’s room, mum.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open in shock and she grabbed the back of her chair to steady herself. “Heaven help
us,” she whispered. “If he isn’t the downfall of us all.” She took a stiff breath. “Martha, you’re certain?”
The servant nodded, sniffling. “I went to wake him, and they were th-there...in his b-bed, a-a-asleep.”
“Michaela’s father would have that young man in two pieces by now,” Elizabeth remarked, her cheeks flushing.
She patted Martha’s shoulder. “Thank you, Martha. Run along, now.”
“I’m sorry, mum,” Martha told her. “I only did as you said.”
“Enough of that. It’s certainly not *your* fault,” Elizabeth replied. She gripped the servant’s arm. “But not a word
of this to anyone, do you understand?”
Martha curtsied. “Oh, yes, mum. I mean, no, not a word. Thank you.”
***
Elizabeth stormed into her daughter’s room, fuming with anger.
Michaela was in her undergarments, pulling on her stockings. “I didn’t know knocking was that difficult,” she
said under her breath.
“Don’t start, Michaela,” Elizabeth retorted. “You had better have a good explanation for being in that man’s bed
last night. You don’t know how eager I am to hear it.”
“We were talking, and we fell asleep,” Michaela said calmly. “I’m sorry we gave Martha such a fright.” She
opened her bureau and pulled out a simple emerald green gown, one that felt much more like home.
“Oh, you were just having a little chat,” Elizabeth said sarcastically. “Michaela, what on earth were you doing
there in the first place?! The years and years your father and I spent, molding our daughters into dignified,
respectable young women, all gone to shambles! Entering a man’s bedroom in the middle of the night. Good
heavens.”
“I was apologizing,” Michaela replied simply. “I couldn’t let Cal go to sleep thinking I was upset with him. He
had reason to attack Mr. Stein, a reason I wasn’t made aware of until after the fact.” She stepped into the gown.
“And you thought, while I’m at it, I’ll go to bed with him!” Elizabeth retorted. “And who’s to say this is the first
time? Are you deliberately trying to destroy the Quinn family name before all of Boston gentility? For all I know
you and that-that creature--why, I’ll wager the two of you have made it a habit! Disgusting.”
“We were *talking* and we laid down,” Michaela insisted, reaching behind her to fasten the clasps of her dress.
“The next thing I knew it was morning. It was an accident!”
“Oh, I see. I’m supposed to believe you accidentally walked into that room, accidentally laid down on his bed,
accidentally ‘fell asleep’. Next you’re going to tell me you’re *accidentally* carrying that man’s child!”
“You’ve never supported my decisions in life, no matter what I’ve done, and you’re always jumping to
conclusions,” Michaela said vehemently. “And truthfully I don’t find my personal life to be any of your business
to begin with. I’m a grown woman, Mother. Believe what you like. I don’t care any more.”
“No, you never did care,” Elizabeth responded. “Michaela, I want him out of this house. He’s disgraced us all,
more than once! I’d rather never see him again, and I’d rather you didn’t either!”
“Mother, I love him!” Michaela told her ardently. “Nothing else matters!” She stopped short. “I *love* him,” she
murmured hoarsely.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but paused as she looked into her daughter’s eyes, glistening with tears.
“...Well, my goodness. You do love him,” she whispered.
Weakly, Michaela sunk into her vanity chair, the depth and sincerity of her declaration hitting her hard. Cal made
her happy, he made her family happy, he was a remarkable man, he loved her, and she loved him. There was no
reason to continue denying it.
“Then you didn’t drag him all the way here just to rile me?” Elizabeth asked, half-seriously.
Michaela couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, contrary to popular belief.” She took a deep breath. “I want you to know
after Sully died I had no intention whatsoever of falling in love again.”
“Michaela, you’re far too young to be alone the rest of your life,” Elizabeth scolded. “And with those children.”
She averted her eyes. “I must admit I’ve prayed time and again you would come home and find a suitable man.
You seemed to have no interest in anything of the sort, and it...well, it troubled me. I want all of my daughters to
live long, happy lives.”
“For a time I wasn’t happy,” Michaela admitted. “And I had accepted that I never would be again, not without
Sully. That was when I met Cal. Mind you agreeing to court him wasn’t an easy decision to make. Rather it was
one I agonized over literally for years.”
“...I had no idea you were having such a difficult time,” Elizabeth told her.
“Mother, don’t you see?” Michaela whispered. “I’ve gotten through the difficult times, when I never thought I
would, with Cal’s help. He’s been here for me since the day Byron was born. He’s caring, loving, and faithful,
and protective of both myself and my children. Perhaps his one fault is his need to protect us, and is that really a
fault? I can think of far worse. I know you would feel better if I were interested in a match with one of the men at
the party last night, but that’s just not me. Cal’s filled something inside me that no one else has been able to since
Sully died. If only you could see that.”
“I suppose I don’t know him very well,” Elizabeth assented.
“Oh, I want you to get to know him,” Michaela said eagerly. “That would mean so much to me. You might have
more in common than you realize. Do you know he’s from a very prominent family in Chicago? We had quite
similar upbringings.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Oh? One would certainly never have guessed it from his behavior as of late.”
“But it shouldn’t matter,” Michaela responded, ignoring her mother’s remark. “One shouldn’t judge a person by
their background, or where they live, or how they dress. If people would stop to catch their breaths perhaps they
would be able to see who Cal truly is. I’m proud to stand by his side.”
“If he really loved you he would want you to stay here, in Boston,” Elizabeth said.
"He does love me,” Michaela replied, “and he wants me to do what makes me happy. If I told him today I wanted
to live in Boston, he would support me, but that’s not the case. I’ve decided where I want to live for myself, and
no one else should be held accountable for it.”
Elizabeth let out a sigh. “Well, your father and I also raised you to think for yourself,” she admitted, “and it’s
clear once again you certainly have a mind of your own. Of that I’m proud. I suppose I...I miss you, Michaela. I
worry about you, especially now that you’re on your own raising my grandchildren. I thought you all might try to
be happy here…Forgive my foolish notions.”
Michaela smiled faintly. “It makes me very happy visiting Boston, visiting *you*, Mother, but my heart belongs
to Cal now, and my soul...my soul is in Colorado.”
***
“Mr. Brooks?” Elizabeth called, knocking on Cal’s door. “You will be joining us for breakfast, won’t you?” She
opened the door to see Cal turning from the mirror where he had been carefully combing his hair.
“Mrs. Quinn,” he murmured. “Didn’t think you’d...you’d want me to come down. But that’s all right. I’m fine,”
he added hastily. “Look, about Mike and I, I mean, last night-”
“Michaela explained what happened, and now we shall put it behind us,” Elizabeth replied. “You’re to join us for
breakfast. Michaela has...helped me realize that though you’ve been here several days I have not taken the time to
get acquainted with you.”
He smiled hesitantly. “I’d love to get to know you, Mrs. Quinn.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but be flattered. “You would? Well, then.”
He stepped toward her, clearing his throat. “...With all that’s happened ya probably don’t think much of me right
now...but I want to tell you that, well, I love your daughter. I love her more than anything, and there’s nothing I
wouldn’t do for her.”
“She apparently feels the same,” Elizabeth said amiably.
Cal raised his eyebrows. “She does? I mean, I think she does. I ain’t sure.”
“I can no longer stand between Michaela and someone whom clearly makes her quite happy. Admittedly happier
than I’ve seen her in four years.” Elizabeth smiled. “Promise me one thing, young man.”
“What?” he asked anxiously.
She let out a sigh. “Promise you’ll encourage her to write me more often, please? I want to be kept abreast of you
two.”
Cal chuckled. “I’ll try.” He grew serious. “Thanks, Mrs. Quinn.”
“I feel like an old woman when you call me that.” She thought a moment, then cleared her throat. “If we’re going
to get to know one another then you ought to start by calling me Elizabeth.”
Surprised, Cal nodded, grinning. “Sure I will...that is, if you’ll call me Cal.”
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç@ÉÇx
“I’m closin’ up,” Robert E. called as he heard footsteps approach the livery.
“It’s me, Robert E.,” Cal said. “Brought Mike’s horse by. Can you shoe her when ya get a chance?”
Robert E. placed the horseshoe he had been pounding in a bucket of water and walked to Cal, wiping his hands on
his apron. “Sure. I can have her done by...tomorrow afternoon, say?”
“Sounds good,” Cal agreed, handing him the reins.
Robert E. ran his hand down Flash’s neck. “She’s a beauty.” He led Flash into the coral, closing it tight behind
her.
“She’s small,” Cal pointed out.
Robert E. shrugged. “She’s a woman’s horse.”
“I s’pose,” Cal murmured, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Somethin’ else I can do for ya?” Robert E. asked, removing his apron.
“Robert E.,” Cal began. He stopped, embarrassed. “What I mean to say is...”
Robert E. chuckled. “What?”
Cal brushed his hair behind his ears, ruffled by a warm spring wind. “I was only curious...I was wondering...well,
how’d ya propose to Grace?”
Robert E.’s eyes twinkled. “Thinkin’ of proposin’ t’ Dr. Mike?” he asked softly.
Cal blushed from ear to ear. “Well...I...”
“It’s about time!” Robert E. laughed whole-heartedly. “I s’pose I’ll help ya if I can.”
Cal let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Robert. E.”
Robert E. leaned against the coral fence. “Proposin’, it ain’t easy.”
“Tell me about it,” he agreed.
“What I did was made Grace a nice dinner, and we had champagne, and I slipped the ring in Grace’s glass, and
when she went t’ take a sip, there it was.” He chuckled. “Never seen that woman’s eyes bigger.”
Cal nodded. “All right, I can do that. Then what?”
“Then ya gotta say, ‘will ya marry me’, or ‘will ya be my wife’ or somethin’ like that.”
Cal sighed. “That’s the hardest part.”
“Do ya love her?” Robert E. asked.
Cal smiled. “I’ve always loved her.”
“She love you?” Robert E. went on.
Cal nodded slowly. “Took her a long time to tell me, but yeah, she says she does.”
“Then when the time is right, ‘will ya marry me’ is gonna roll right off your tongue,” Robert E. said, patting his
back. “…I bet she’ll be sayin’ yes.”
Cal took a deep breath. “Thanks, Robert E. I sure hope so.”
***
Michaela pulled back the curtains, a smile spreading across her lips. “Cal and Brian have organized a game of
tag,” she informed Dorothy and Grace.
Katie, Byron, and several other children their age were chasing around the front yard, giggling, shouting, and
driving the chickens crazy.
“They seem to be gettin’ along a lot better now,” Dorothy remarked from the dining room table. “Cal and Brian.”
Michaela nodded in agreement, joining her friends at the table. “Things have been better ever since Cal and I
returned from Boston. Perhaps Brian needed that time to gather his thoughts. I think he’s come to realize how
much Cal’s done for us, how much the younger children especially need him.”
“Brian’s a fine boy, Dr. Mike,” Grace said, the chocolate cake in front of her and a pouch of yellow frosting in
hand. “Practically a man.”
“If only Sully could see the man he’s become,” Michaela murmured whimsically. “He’d be so proud.”
Dorothy patted her hand. “He sees, Michaela. I’m sure he does.”
“It’ll be four years, next week,” Michaela admitted. “Four years since...” Suddenly her eyes welled with tears.
“Oh, Michaela,” Dorothy murmured sympathetically. “It must be hard, celebratin’ Katie’s birthday but then
remembering all that happened ’round the same time.”
“No, it’s not that,” Michaela admitted.
“Then what’s the matter?” Grace queried.
“Nothing exactly,” Michaela replied. She bit her lip. “Cal...last week...Cal and I had dinner together. Just a small
Sunday dinner here. Nothing out of the ordinary. The children were in bed and we danced a little and...and-”
Dorothy smiled eagerly. “And?”
“Well he...” Michaela cleared her throat. “He proposed.”
“Marriage?” Grace questioned.
Michaela let out an embarrassed, quiet laugh. “Marriage.”
“Michaela!” Dorothy exclaimed. “That’s-that’s...wonderful!”
“And what’d ya say?” Grace prompted, all smiles.
“He wouldn’t let me answer,” Michaela exclaimed, “and truthfully I was speechless. It came as such a surprise-well, not completely a surprise but-...He wants me to think about it first, before I give him an answer.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Dorothy remarked.
Grace couldn’t contain her excitement. “Well? What’re ya gonna answer?”
Michaela sighed. “I’m not entirely sure. I realize now Sully would want me to be happy, and I’m certain he wants
the children to be the same.” She hesitated. “I love Cal very much...but it’s just--different. Sometimes I wonder if
I can be...be everything he wants.”
“Cal wouldn’t of asked you to marry him if he wasn’t sure,” Dorothy told her.
“I suppose not,” Michaela admitted. “I just don’t want to enter into a marriage half-heartedly.” She took a deep
breath. “...I don’t have the same feelings for Cal I had for Sully.”
“You know it can’t be the same, Michaela,” Dorothy said gently. “And that’s all right.”
“It’s hard, Dr. Mike, but ya can’t be comparin’ everything to what ya had before,” Grace added. “Cal loves you
and you love him. Bringing the past into it ain’t fair to either of ya.”
“But if your heart tells you not to marry him, then you shouldn’t,” Dorothy advised.
“No, I want to, it’s just...” Michaela began, then trailed off.
Dorothy thought a moment. “You oughta visit the Reverend,” she suggested. “He talks to lots of couples who
wanna get married. Helps guide ’em through the bumps along the way. He might be able to help.”
“Perhaps I’ll do that,” Michaela said, gazing at her folded hands dubiously. “He counseled Sully and I before we
were married...”
Grace placed the pouch of frosting on the table and put her arm around her friend. “It’ll be all right, Dr. Mike.
Everything’ll work out for the best.”
Michaela gave them a small smile. “Thank you for being here, if only to listen. I needed that.”
“Well, I don’t know what you’re here for, Grace, but I’m here for Katie’s birthday cake,” Dorothy teased.
Michaela took a step toward the cake, her eyes brightening. “That’s beautiful, Grace,” she said, pleased. “Thank
you. Katie’s going to love it.” Grace had inscribed ‘Happy 5th Birthday Katie’ on the cake and made a few simple
frosting flowers between the words.
Just then, the door burst open and Cal stepped in, carrying a panting but happy and giggling Byron.
Michaela immediately took him from Cal and seated him on the table. “Are you all right, darling? Do you feel an
attack coming?” She glanced at her medical bag on the mantel.
“He’s all right, Mike,” Cal said reassuringly. “Just got a little out of breath is all. Thought he’d better rest for a
bit.”
“Mama, we are...playin’...chase!” Byron told her happily.
“Yes, I saw.” She kissed his brow, then turned to Cal. “Grace finished frosting the cake while you were outside,”
she told him.
“It looks great,” Cal said as he admired her work.
Michaela smiled. “Cal, will you call Katie and everyone else? We’re ready for birthday cake.”
“Yea!” Byron squealed as Cal headed out the door.
“I remember your last birthday, Byron,” Dorothy said, tickling his chin. “You had more cake on your face than in
that belly of yours!”
Byron giggled and hugged his mother’s arm, looking up at her. “Mama...?”
“Yes?” Michaela prompted.
“Mama, when my bir-day gonna be? ’Morrow?”
“Quite awhile from now, I’m afraid,” she admitted. “Next December, near Christmas.”
“De-sam-ba?” Byron questioned.
Michaela chuckled, giving him a quick hug. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. It’ll be here sooner than you think.”
“...All wight,” he reluctantly agreed.
Michaela picked him up and placed him in a chair as a concourse of four, five, and six-year-olds, led by Katie,
herded through the front door and gathered around the dining room table.
“My cake!” Katie exclaimed, climbing up onto a chair and pointing.
“Do you like it, pumpkin?” Grace asked as she stuck five little candles into it and lit a match.
“Uh-huh,” Katie said with a wide smile. The group commenced to sing “Happy Birthday”, and when they had
finished Katie squeezed her eyes shut, made a silent wish, then inhaled deeply and blew out her candles.
***
“This is the last of ’em,” Cal said as he stepped up onto a stool and untacked a yellow streamer from the alcove
between the kitchen and dining room.
Michaela reached up and took it from him, adding it to the pile of streamers and other scraps left over from the
party she had been gathering on the table. “Katie wanted everything yellow for her party, except the chocolate
cake,” she remarked.
“I thought she liked purple,” Cal said, stepping down from the stool.
“She used to. She likes yellow now,” Michaela chuckled wryly.
“Typical five-year-old,” Cal said with a smile.
“Mama!” Katie called plaintively from upstairs. “I’m ready now. Tuck me in!”
Michaela glanced upstairs. “That’s my cue.”
“Well, then, I’ll say goodnight,” Cal said, stepping toward her and giving her a hug.
“Cal,” Michaela said as he went to pull away. She held him against her, keeping him still. “I want you to know
I’ve been thinking about our dinner last Sunday.”
Cal felt his heart flutter. “You have?”
Michaela kissed his cheek. “Of course I have.” She rubbed his back. “And I just want you to understand that-”
“Mama!” Katie called.
“Coming,” Michaela called back. She cleared her throat. “Cal, you know I love you very much, but I want you to
realize I have children that need me-”
“I know that, Mike,” Cal said, squeezing her hands. “I’m gonna be here for them, too.”
“If we--you’d not only be marrying me, but my children, too,” Michaela told him gently.
Cal gave her a soft kiss. “Yep, that sounds like who I want to marry.”
Michaela couldn’t help but smile, then opened the door for him. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” he said softly, removing his hat from the hook and heading out the door.
***
“Where will you live? Will you be moving?” the Reverend asked, gripping his walking stick as he stood in front
of Michaela seated on the front pew of the church.
“Well, Cal’s talked about building a small house in town behind his streetcar business, but we can’t afford that at
the moment,” Michaela replied. “I suppose we would be living at the homestead for a time.”
“Cal’s all right with that?” the Reverend asked. “He’s comfortable livin’ in the same house you lived in with
Sully?”
“I don’t think he minds. At least he hasn’t said anything.” She thought a moment. “Though it’s possible he might
be uncomfortable...”
“And you’re all right with eventually moving into town with him?”
Michaela hesitated. “I suppose I’d miss the homestead—but I’d be so close to the clinic, and the children to
school, and Cal to his streetcars. ‘Right at the center of things’, Cal says.”
The Reverend nodded slowly. “You an’ Cal have talked this all over many a time it sounds. That’s a good thing,
Dr. Mike. Communication is key to building a strong, successful marriage.”
“Do you think we could build a successful marriage, Reverend?” Michaela asked softly.
The Reverend stroked his beard. “I think you and Cal have many things in your favor, but whether or not you can
make things work is up to the two of you. Marriage is a conscious decision, Dr. Mike, as you know. It’s based not
only on love, which you and Cal clearly share, but also a willingness to weather both the good and the bad.”
“I want Cal to know I want to be by his side for the good and the bad,” Michaela told him. “Forever.”
The Reverend smiled. “Then you’re talkin’ to the wrong person. Dr. Mike, God’s brought another special man
into your life and into that of your children. It’s a blessin’. I’m sure you’re all gonna be very happy.”
Michaela remained silent.
“Something wrong?” the Reverend asked after a moment.
Michaela quickly smiled. “No.” She stood up and took his hand. “Thank you so much. I truly appreciate this.”
“You’re very welcome,” the Reverend said, squeezing her hand.
Michaela turned to leave, then suddenly reverted. “Reverend? If—when we decide on a date...would you do Cal
and I the honoring of marrying us? Nothing too fancy. Just a simple ceremony with our family and closest
friends.”
He chuckled. “I’d be glad to, Dr. Mike. It’d be my pleasure.”
***
“Five years old, can you believe it, Sully?” Michaela spoke as she knelt beside her husband’s marker in the quiet
graveyard. “You wouldn’t recognize her now. She’s grown into such a beautiful little lady.” She laid a small
bouquet of wildflowers on the ground, letting out a soft sigh. “Cal...Cal’s asked for my hand.” She paused, as if
waiting for a response. A warm tear slipped down her cheek. “Darling, I’ve loved you since the moment we first
met, and I’ll always love you with all my heart and soul...but the children so need a father, and Cal is a good man,
and I-I’ve found I need him more than I ever expected.” She tenderly ran her hand down the cross. “I think about
you every single day, I think about you every time I look into the eyes of our children. But I very much feel it’s
the right time to do this, to marry Cal. It’s right for the children, and it feels right for me, too.” She cleared her
throat. “Don’t you think?” she whispered.
A cool breeze abruptly stole up, ruffling Michaela’s hair and creeping through the thin fabric of her blouse.
“Sully?” she whispered hoarsely, rubbing her arms to keep away the chill. “Promise me I won’t lose you if I
marry Cal. Please, Sully. Please...”
***
“I got ya!” Katie squealed, placing her red checker atop her older brother’s black checker.
Brian chuckled. “That’s good, Kate, but jump over my checker, all right? Not *on* it.” He helped her place her
game piece on the correct square and then gave her his. “See, you’re catching on. You’re catching on real fast.”
Byron shifted closer to the board, eyeing it curiously, his stuffed puppy cradled in one arm. “I play now?” he
asked once again.
“Byron,” Michaela called from the wingback chair, a slight air of impatience in her voice. “Come sit over here
and let your brother and sister play their game.”
Byron shook his head. “No, I watch,” he insisted.
Michaela resumed her knitting with a soft sigh.
Like clockwork, a minute later Byron stretched his hand across the board and picked up one of Katie’s checkers.
“No!” Katie immediately shouted.
“No, B. You’re too little,” Brian scolded gently, pulling his hand away. “This game’s for big kids, and just for
two people.” He didn’t want to hurt his brother’s feelings, but the child had been stubborn and insistent all day,
and it was wearing on his patience as well.
“I’m not wittle!” Byron retorted defensively.
“Uh-huh,” Katie informed him. “You are three but I am *five*.”
Byron crossed his arms angrily. “Cal lets me play! Cal say I big!”
“Children, come here,” Michaela called, placing her knitting in the basket at her feet.
“But-” Brian began.
Michaela gave him a pleading gaze. “Let’s put aside the checker board for awhile and talk.”
Reluctantly, Katie rose from the cushion on the floor. “’Bout what?” She sat cross-legged at the foot of the chair
and cuddled against Michaela’s legs.
Byron crawled up into his mother’s lap. “’Bout what?” he echoed.
Brian slowly put the checker pieces in their wooden box. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.
Michaela cleared her throat. “You know, Byron, speaking of Cal—you know that he and I have become very
good friends,” she began.
“He’s fun,” Katie spoke up.
“I get to call him Cal,” Byron added.
Michaela stroked her son’s hair. “I know, and I’m glad you like him. Cal and I-” She paused, drawing in her
breath. “Cal asked me to marry him…I’ve decided I’m going to accept—I’m going to tell him yes.” She glanced
anxiously at each child, waiting for a reaction.
Katie clutched the ends of Michaela’s skirts. “Then...he’s my new papa?”
“...In a way,” Michaela murmured, smiling down at her reassuringly. “But Mama’s first husband—your real
Papa—he’ll always be watching over you from up in heaven. Mr. Brooks could be your papa here on earth.”
“Do I call him Papa?” Katie asked.
“Papa,” Byron experimented.
Michaela took a deep breath. As much as she loved Cal, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear her children
addressing someone other than Sully as ‘Papa’. She remembered how that had turned out last Christmas when
Byron had confused Cal for his father. “If you’d like, Katie, and if you ask Cal. But perhaps you may prefer to
call him what you’ve always called him.”
“You’d best call him Cal, Katie,” Brian spoke up, not taking his eyes away from the checkers. “He ain’t our pa.”
“Cal,” Katie said, striving to please her older brother.
“After we’re married, we’re going to live here for a time,” Michaela told them, happy things seemed to be going
well so far. “Then when we’ve saved enough, Cal will build us all a new house in town, behind his streetcar
business.”
“A new house? Why do we gotta move?” Brian demanded, standing up.
Michaela glanced at him. “Brian, Sully and I lived here. This is where we built our memories. Now that Cal and I
are going to be married, we need a place of our own. We’ll have memories in our new home.”
“I don’t wanna leave my toys, Mama,” Katie spoke. “I’ll miss my room.”
“You can bring your toys to the bedroom you’ll have in our new home,” Michaela assured her. “And your
brothers will share a room.”
“And you and Cal’ll share a bed,” Brian said dryly. He had said it to hurt his mother, and succeeded. He
immediately regretted it.
“Brian!” Michaela exclaimed, shocked. She stared at him, eyes filled with tears.
Brian stared back for a moment, then silently retreated upstairs, head bent.
Katie tapped her chin. “Mama, is Cal ’fraid of the dark?” she asked innocently.
“Why, no, Katie,” Michaela replied, confused. “What makes you ask that?”
“Why’s he gotta sleep with you then? What he is ’friad of?”
Michaela felt her cheeks warm as she cleared her throat. “Come, sit on my lap,” she invited.
Katie crawled up next to her brother, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder.
“Do you understand what it means to marry someone?” Michaela asked.
“Married’s when you get a new papa,” Katie told her.
“Yes, sometimes,” her mother admitted.
“Cal is my new papa and it not pwetend,” Byron put in.
“Married also means that Cal and I love each other,” Michaela went on. “He’ll live with us and always be good to
us. We’ll share with him: our meals, the chores, the horses, and many other things. And Cal and Mommy, we’ll
share things as well.”
“Shawe toys?” Byron remarked, repeating what his mother so often told him.
“Share...you gonna share my toys with him, Mama?” Katie asked, confused.
Michaela cleared her throat. “Well, not exactly...you might see Cal and I kiss or hug a little more, especially when
Cal leaves for work in the morning, and when he comes home in the evening. And at nighttime we’ll sleep in my
bedroom.”
“Why?” Byron asked.
Michaela stroked his hair behind his ears. “Well, because...because married people like time alone together to
love one another. Time alone is very important, but of course only if you’re married. Being alone is strictly for
married people--but most other times we want to be with all of you...Um, do you understand?”
Byron stared at her hopelessly perplexed.
“That means ya kiss some more?” Katie determined.
Michaela’s embarrassment deepened. “Yes that’s exactly it...but I’ll never, ever stop loving you with all my
heart.” She tapped Byron’s nose. “And you, too, sweetheart.”
The little boy giggled and curled up tighter in her arms, eyes drooping tiredly.
“And if either of you are ever upset, or unhappy, or if you have a question about something, you can come
straight to me.”
“We’re not getting a new mama, are we?” Katie asked, taking her mother’s hand.
“No, sweetheart,” Michaela murmured, tears coming to her eyes. “I’ll be here for you, I promise. You’ll always
be the most important people in my life.” She kissed each of their heads. “I love you both so much.”
***
Michaela knocked on her son’s half-open door, waited a moment, and then entered. Brian was lying on his
stomach on his bed, ankles crossed and in the air, his chin resting in his hands.
She sat on his bed. “...I’m sorry you’re upset.”
He closed his eyes. “This’ll be my third pa.”
“You don’t have to call him ‘pa’, Brian,” she assured him. “You don’t even have to call him ‘Cal’. ‘Mr. Brooks’
will do just fine.”
He shook his head. “That ain’t botherin’ me,” he murmured.
“I want to understand,” she pleaded, stroking his hair.
Brian shrugged. “Cal...he’s all right. He’s good at baseball, fishin’...he’s nice to me...”
“But he’s not your pa,” she admitted. “We can’t expect him to be. We’ll never forget Sully, we’ll treasure the time
we had with him...but I’ve come to realize that the past can’t haunt us forever. I want us to try to start anew...with
Cal. I wish for us to try to be happy again.”
Brian turned to his side, propping up on one elbow. “Ma, how do you know...well, how do you know Sully won’t
be mad...about you marryin’ again?”
She smiled softly, recalling the memory. “Because we talked about the future, prepared for it. Sully and I talked
about what we wanted if one or the other of us couldn’t be here.”
He was surprised. “Ya did?”
“Hm-mm. Sully told me, if ever he had to leave us, he’d want me to try to find love again and to try to find
someone to love you and Katie as well. He told me he’d want me to be happy. And I wanted the same for him.
I’m certain if Sully were here, he would approve of Cal.”
“I want ya to be happy, Ma,” Brian whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. He sat up, and she took him in her
arms, holding him tight. “It hurt so bad seeing ya cryin’ for Sully for so long, like ya’d never be able to smile
again. I hated it when ya wore black all the time, and slept all the time, and didn’t wanna hold B. when he was
just a little baby. Ya acted like ya didn’t even like him all that much. An’ ya didn’t wanna do anything or have
any fun anymore. I got scared things would never change, that ya’d be sad forever, and that I would be, too.”
“I’m so sorry, Brian,” she choked out. “I hope with all my heart that sadness is in the past, and that this change
will only bring us happiness. This is going to be a big change for all of us, and for Cal, too. We’ll have to be
patient and try to be kind to one another. We need to give each other a chance.”
“I will, Ma,” he promised. “I’ll do my best t’ be nice t’ him. He’s awful nice t’ all of us.”
She nodded. “You know in an instant I would bring your pa back.”
“But ya can’t,” he told her, sniffling. “So we gotta make do with how things are now.”
She took a deep breath. “You sound just like Sully. I’m so proud of you, Brian.”
He nodded stiffly. “I’ve...I’ve been the man of the house, since Sully’s been gone. I’ve tried real hard to watch
over things for him. He would have wanted me to.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Michaela murmured. “I so very much appreciate that, especially when Sully was first gone and
times were so difficult. I’ve always been able to count on you. Nothing’s going to change, Brian. I still need you
very much, especially to help me with the younger children.”
“Cal can do that,” Brian whispered. “He’s good with ’em.”
“Yes he is,” Michaela admitted. “Katie and Byron need him in many ways, but in different ways they need you
and me just as much. We’re their closest link to their father. I want them to know Sully, Brian, as best they can
without ever meeting him of course. I’m marrying Cal, but that doesn’t mean I want Sully to be forgotten.” She
kissed his head. “Cal isn’t taking anyone’s place, I promise you.” She paused. “And I hope someday...perhaps you
and he can be friends.”
He pulled back, digesting her words. At last he gave a faint smile and kissed her cheek. “I’d best turn in...I love
ya, Ma.”
“I love you, Brian,” she murmured, cupping his cheek in her hand. “Always.”
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç@àãÉ
Cal burst into a contented grin as he observed Michaela sitting on the porch bench of his streetcar business, a
picnic basket in her lap. He watched her face mirror his grin as she noticed him approaching and stood up,
shielding her eyes from the sun. He gave his horse another flick of the reins, pulling the buggy to the front of the
building and then slowing it to a stop.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t skip lunch today,” Michaela said. “You’ve been so busy.”
He hopped down from the buggy and tied the rope to the hitching post. “I didn’t realize it was gonna be this much
work getting a business off the ground. I know it’s only been a month or so but...I have a feeling it’s going to do
well, Mike. I really think it will. Now it’s just gonna be me running it for awhile, but once things get going I’ll
hire a couple more men to drive a couple more buggies, and I won’t have to do all the driving myself. I can be in
the office and keep the books half the time. That’s what’s slowing me down: having to do all the driving and keep
the records, too-”
Michaela interrupted him with a kiss. “I’m worried about you. You work so hard. You’re not getting enough rest I
suspect.”
He sighed. “I just want it to work. I don’t wanna fail at this. I need something steady. Something to support me...”
He trailed off. And support his family. That is, if Michaela agreed to marry him. He glanced quickly at her, but
she hadn’t seemed to have picked up on it, and if she had, well, she hadn’t made it noticeable.
“Then you don’t have time to stop for lunch?” Michaela asked, a slight pout forming across her lips.
“Ya made me lunch?” he asked, glancing at the picnic basket.
“I made *us* lunch,” Michaela corrected.
“That’s sweet, Mike.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I could never pass that up.”
“Shall we make it a true picnic? In the meadow?” Michaela asked.
“The meadow it is then,” he chuckled, helping her into the buggy.
Michaela ran her hand across the elaborate gold lettering on the side of the black buggy Cal had spent hours
painting to perfection. “‘Brooks Streetcars’,” she read aloud.
“Brooks *Streetcar*,” Cal corrected wryly, taking the reins.
Michaela smiled and looped her hands about his arm. “All businesses start small, and from there they can only
grow. I’m so proud of you, Cal. You took an idea that might have seemed impossible to some and turned it into
reality single-handedly.”
He sighed, happily this time. “Not exactly single-handedly, Mike.” He caressed her knee warmly. “You’ve been
by my side all the way.”
“And that’s exactly where I want to be,” Michaela replied.
***
Cal bit into his ham sandwich, eyeing Michaela as he chewed and swallowed. “You ain’t saying much,” he
remarked. He nodded at her plate of practically untouched food. “You ain’t eating much either,” he added.
“Hm?” Michaela replied suddenly, startled out of her reverie.
“You ain’t eating,” he repeated. He looked into her eyes. “What’re ya thinking?”
Michaela cleared her throat. “There’s this patient of mine,” she stammered, “and she has two young boys Katie
and Byron’s age. I-I’ve been giving out small pox vaccinations to all the new families in town, and when I tried to
schedule an appointment for the three of them, she adamantly declined. I just can’t believe in this day in age
people continue to refuse what has been proven time and again to save lives.”
Cal snickered.
“You find this amusing?” Michaela questioned, put out.
“No, of course not, but what are ya really thinking?” he replied discerningly.
Michaela sighed deeply. Once again, it had proven useless to try to mask her emotions in front of Cal. “...Yes,”
she said quickly.
He coughed, nearly choking on his pickle. “Yes? Yes what?”
“Yes...” she repeated, “I’ll marry you, Cal.”
He laughed. “Oh gosh, Mike. Yes?” he echoed.
“That’s not how I planned this at all,” Michaela told him, frustrated with herself. “I’m sorry. I wanted us to have a
special dinner but I’m not very good at cooking special dinners. I can make stew, but that doesn’t travel very well
in a picnic basket. I should have asked Grace to prepare something for us.”
“Ham sandwiches and pickles suit me just fine,” Cal said.
“And I was going to tell you how much you mean to me,” Michaela went on softly, “how I don’t think I would be
here today if it weren’t for you, how you’ve turned my life around, how much the children love you...and how
much I love you.” Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She reached for his hands and squeezed them tight. “Cal, I
love you more than I ever thought possible, and I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you...I want
nothing more than to be your wife.”
He took her in his arms and held her close. “I dreamed of ya saying that,” he whispered. “Ya really want to marry
me, Mike?”
“With all my heart,” she affirmed. “Thank you for giving me the time I needed to realize that. Thank you for
waiting for me.”
“That waiting was the easy part,” he teased lightly. “Now we gotta wait for the wedding.” His tone grew gentle
and soft. “I want us to be together as husband and wife. Let’s get married soon.” He pulled back to look her in the
eyes.
“How soon is ‘soon’?” Michaela asked shyly.
“Well, we gotta tell your family back in Boston, and my family, and give ’em time to make plans to come down
here...it’s May now so...”
“July?” Michaela suggested.
“July sounds good to me,” Cal said, gently stroking her cheek. “Before the Fourth of July or after? Colorado’s
gonna be a state this summer, ya know. And it’s the Centennial to boot.”
“Perhaps right after?” Michaela said. “Our families could come for the Centennial celebration, and then stay for
our wedding.”
“That’d be perfect. That’s all I want to come from my side, Mike,” he told her, “just my ma and my sister and the
girls. It doesn’t have to be anything too big, so long as we get married.”
“I feel the same way,” she responded.
“Are the kids...are they all right with this?” he asked hesitantly.
“They’re more than all right with it,” Michaela told him, smiling. “They were...full of questions...but they’re
happy.”
“Brian, too?” he pressed.
Michaela nodded. “He and I had a nice talk. Everything’s going to be fine, Cal.”
“Mike, I think I want to ask Brian if he’d like to stand up with me at the wedding. Be a best man of sorts.”
“He’s awfully young to be a best man,” she pointed out.
“I know, but I want him to feel a part of it, that is if he wants. And besides, who says he’s too young?” He tickled
her chin.
She chuckled. “You’re right.” She thought a moment. “Then I want to ask Matthew to walk me down the aisle.
And Katie and Byron are perfect for flower girl and ring bearer. Oh, they’ll be so adorable. I spoke with the
Reverend. He said he’ll marry us in the church if we’d like.”
Cal glanced around the meadow. “How ’bout out here? It’s so beautiful, and it’ll be summer-” He squeezed her
hand. “What’s the matter?”
“I’d rather have it in the church,” she explained. She couldn’t avoid his questioning gaze. “Cal...Sully and I were
married here in the—in the meadow. I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “All right, in the church, then. Ya got no reason to be sorry.” He felt the awkwardness in the air, and
gave her a comforting hug. “If anything, anything at all is bothering ya, you tell me, all right? Never feel like ya
can’t.” He kissed her cheek lovingly.
She drew in her breath. “If that’s the case then I suppose I need to ask you something. Don’t be afraid to answer
honestly.”
“What is it?” he questioned.
She took a deep breath. “Do you mind living at the homestead for a time? We can wait to be married until we can
afford a house if you’d rather not, because I understand what you might be feeling. Believe me I do.”
He bent his head, gathering his thoughts. “The truth?”
“Yes,” she affirmed.
He tenderly brushed a stray hair back from her brow. “Michaela, the truth is there’s nothing more important to me
than being with you. Anyone can see how much Sully loved ya just by looking at those walls. It makes me want
to be the best husband I can be for you, and the best man I can be to the kids so that he can...so Sully can rest
easy. And someday, someday soon, I’m gonna do what he did, and build us a house in town you’ll be proud of. I
want to give ya everything, darlin’.”
Michaela could do nothing but smile softly at Cal’s heartfelt words.
Suddenly, his eyes widened. “Your ring,” he murmured.
“My ring?” Michaela repeated.
He dug around in the inside pocket of his vest. “I-I haven’t wanted to let it out of my sight. I’ve been so worried
about it the only place I could think where it would be safe is right on me.” At last he produced a small black
velvet box. Shyly, he opened it and removed a simple but attractive gold and diamond ring. “It ain’t much, but it’s
a ring,” he said.
“Cal,” Michaela breathed. “Oh, you didn’t have to do this. Your streetcar business—we could have done without”
“I wanted to,” he replied. “’Sides, we gotta make it official. My ma always said an engagement isn’t an
engagement without a ring.” He took her hand in his. “Now we can do things proper.” He took a deep breath.
“Michaela...will you be my wife?”
Michaela knew she would always remember the warmth and sincerity in Cal’s eyes at that moment. The Reverend
was right. To find love for a second time with a man who cared so deeply for her was truly a blessing.
“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly.
Smiling widely, Cal slipped the ring on her finger, gazed at it with slight wonderment for a few seconds, then
kissed her, conveying all that he felt in his heart with his tender touch.
“You’re right, it is a dream,” she whispered at last, hugging him to her.
Cal held her tighter. “I love you so much,” he whispered against her ear.
“I love you, too,” Michaela replied tearfully.
***
“This is Cal,” Michaela told her daughter proudly, shifting Byron higher on her hip.
“The famous Cal,” Colleen said, smilingly broadly, “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” he replied as Colleen gave him an unexpected but sweet kiss on the cheek.
“That train goes choo-choo!” Byron informed the gathering, fascinated by the steaming engine, the bustling
passengers, and the several porters, hands full with luggage.
Colleen tickled her little brother’s chest. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Byron.” In response he giggled and buried his
head shyly against Michaela’s shoulder.
“We’ve all missed you, too,” Brian said, happy his sister was finally back home.
“Cal and Mama are getting married,” Katie spoke up, tugging on the sleeve of her older sister’s traveling gown.
Colleen grinned, patting Katie’s head. “So I’ve heard. I’m so glad I can be here for the wedding.”
“Married means you kiss some more and Cal lives with us,” Katie added bluntly.
“*Katie*,” Michaela said sternly, but everyone else was smiling and chuckling softly.
Cal put his arm around Michaela’s waist and gave her a quick squeeze. “Let’s take Colleen to Grace’s, have a
little welcome home party over some pie and coffee?” He took Byron from her and put him on his shoulders.
“You want a ride, little guy?”
“Me, too. I’m riding next,” Katie spoke up, grasping the tail of Cal’s coat with one hand and Brian’s hand with
the other.
“We’ll be right behind you,” Michaela told them.
“Ma it’s...it’s just wonderful!” Colleen exclaimed once she and Michaela were alone. She looped her arm through
her mother’s and they began strolling towards Grace’s. “Tell me everything. How he asked, and what sort of
wedding you’ve planned, and the honeymoon—oh, what are you wearing?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Michaela replied, somewhat embarrassed. “Not white of course, but not anything too dark.
Something simple. We thought perhaps blue.”
“Don’t worry,” Colleen assured her, “we’ll find something that’ll look beautiful on you.”
“You’ll be a bridesmaid, won’t you, Colleen?” Michaela asked.
“Oh, Ma, I’d love to,” Colleen replied with a smile. “...They’re coming aren’t they? Grandma and everybody?”
“Cal and I sent out invitations last week,” Michaela assured her. “I hope Mother will come, and I know your aunts
will at least try. Oh, and Cal’s mother, sister, and nieces are visiting next week for the Fourth. Cal wired them and
they made plans that very day. You’ll like them. They’re all very pleasant.”
“He’s *handsome*, Ma,” Colleen giggled girlishly.
Michaela felt her cheeks warm. “You think so?”
“I do,” Colleen replied. “And I’m sure he’s just as wonderful as you’ve described. Byron and Katie love him,” she
noted.
“Yes,” Michaela admitted. “...They so need someone like him, a father of sorts. I can’t believe they’ll actually
have one now, or at least someone close.”
“Welcome home, Colleen,” one of the townsfolk called on her way to the post office.
“Thank you,” Colleen replied happily. “It’s good to be back.”
“As for the honeymoon-” Michaela began.
“Where are you makin’ plans to go?” Colleen pressed excitedly
Michaela sombered. “Actually, Colleen, we talked it over and we decided we’re going to have to forego the
honeymoon for now.”
“Forego?” Colleen echoed. “Why? Ma, it’s your honeymoon!”
“I know, but things are so tight right now, what with Cal’s business just starting up. It’s going to be a little while
before he can turn a profit. He’s like Sully. He doesn’t want me paying for it, at least not all of it. As it is I’m not
making as much as I used to...I like to be home for Byron and Katie more often, while they’re still so young.
Andrew runs the clinic when I take the occasional day off.”
“There’s gotta be a way to take a small trip you can afford,” Colleen insisted. “Denver, maybe? It’s only a trainride away.”
“We can’t go to Denver, Colleen,” Michaela murmured. “Sully and I went there. I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t feel right
about it. I want this wedding to be completely different.”
“I understand,” Colleen admitted.
“Cal says someday we’ll have our honeymoon,” she said. “He always talked about taking me to England where he
went to boarding school. We’re going to save a little bit at a time and someday we’ll go.”
“You will, Ma,” Colleen assured her, feeling a little better.
She and Michaela walked in contented silence for a dozen or so paces, and at last Colleen took a deep breath.
“Ma, I know I haven’t been back here very often, and I’m real sorry about that-”
“Don’t even think of apologizing,” Michaela scolded. “We miss you dearly of course, but you’ve had so many
wonderful opportunities.”
Colleen nodded reluctantly and took a deep breath. “Brian and Matthew, you know they write me just as often as
you, tell me the news. Even Katie’s started writing a little now that she’s in school.” She hesitated. “The point is, I
know things weren’t good after Pa...”
Michaela swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“...This is the first time I’ve come home since before when Pa with us and felt like...like things are back to
normal. All of you wavin’ and smilin’ as the train pulled in, Brian and Katie and Byron all a few inches taller,
everybody glad we’re all back together again.”
“That’s largely because of Cal,” Michaela told her softly. “I can’t tell you all he’s done for us. I think you’re
going to like him.”
Colleen smiled. “I already do, Ma.”
***
“We should delegate the responsibilities equally amongst several members of the town,” Michaela suggested from
her seat on the town council. “If we put one man in charge there’s a risk that things won’t be ready in time for the
celebration.”
“Dr. Mike’s right,” put in Horace. “We gotta divide up everythin’ that needs to be done. We only got a week left.”
“But surely you’ll agree, Michaela, that skillful leadership breads success,” spoke up Preston, rising to his feet
from the crowd of townsfolk in attendance. “We’re talking about the reputation of our fine town here.”
“We do this right,” Jake added, “and folks’ll be talkin’ about it for years.” He pointed the handle of his gavel at
his chest. “Now as mayor I appoint me and Hank in charge of the final preparations for the Colorado Springs
Statehood and Centennial Celebration. That means we’ll...we’ll be the ones to...to-”
“Delegate,” Loren whispered, leaning towards him.
“Yeah--me and Hank are gonna delegate who does what,” Jake finished.
“Hank?” Michaela questioned amid disgruntled muttering from the women in the crowd.
“We got the fireworks,” drawled Hank from the back row.
“And that’s another thing,” Michaela said tersely. “I don’t like the idea of a storeroom filled with boxes upon
boxes of fireworks.”
“Neither do I,” the Reverend added.
“Aw, it’s just a little closet in the back room of the Nugget,” Jake explained.
“And what if it catches fire?” Michaela demanded.
“Dr. Mike,” Jake replied wearily, “you and Colleen and Dr. Cook’ll be in charge of makin’ sure nobody comes
down sick in time for the Centennial, and let us take care of the fireworks.”
“I’ll help with advertising,” Dorothy spoke from a church pew beside Brian, each with a notebook and pencil in
hand.
“And Robert E. and I’ll make the lemonade,” said Grace.
“I s’pose I can chip in the lemons,” grumbled Loren. “No charge.”
Teresa stood up shyly. “I have ordered a new map from Philadelphia of the country, that will have Colorado as a
state. The children and I will hang it in the school house the day of the celebration.”
“The sewin’ circle could stitch a new flag,” Dorothy spoke up, “with thiry-eight stars, one more for us.”
“And I’ll open my hot springs to the public on that day,” Preston spoke up.
“Half price for a streetcar ride,” Cal offered.
“You see, when we pull together everything works out,” Michaela spoke. “It will not only be a day to celebrate,
but to gather together as a community, in friendship and brotherhood, epitomizing the basis on which the country
we are about to officially become a part of was built on.”
“Well said, my dear!” spoke Camille Brooks from the back of the room.
“I agree!” added Elizabeth.
“Momma?” Cal uttered hoarsely as he turned around, mouth agape.
“Mother,” Michaela murmured, a relieved smile spreading across her face.
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç@à{Üxx
“Momma, I thought you weren’t coming until this afternoon!” Cal said, giving Camille a warm hug. The four
stepped down the church stairs as the council meeting adjourned and the townsfolk disbanded.
“We were, but we’ve been ahead of schedule the entire journey south,” Camille explained, all smiles. “I said we
ought to wire you, but Caroline convinced me a surprise would be absolutely sinful, so here we are!” Her cheeks
glowed with happiness.
“I didn’t think you would be able to come at all, Mother,” Michaela spoke up, the tone in her voice more curious
than accusing.
“Of course I’ve come. My daughter’s getting married,” Elizabeth retorted. “I can’t very well miss that.” She
opened her parasol to shield herself from the summer sun. “Everyone is waiting in the café for us.”
“I thought we’d gotten the wrong town,” Camille said, taking her son’s arm. “It seemed there was hardly a soul to
be found! Yes, fortunately we came across that charming Negro woman, who kindly directed us to the church.”
“That’s Grace,” Cal told her. “Robert E., her husband, he’s gonna be my best man. He and Brian.”
“Is that so?” Camille breathed, surprised though not offended. After all she had been an avid supporter of the
abolitionists in her day. “Isn’t that interesting.”
Elizabeth let loose a sigh. “Anything goes in this town, Mrs. Brooks, you’ll soon discover.”
“Have you two met?” Michaela asked, glancing between her mother and Camille. “I’m sorry, we haven’t formally
introduced you.”
“Have we met!” Camille cried. “One would think we’re old friends now! Come, Michaela. We’ll dine in your
little restaurant with the others and tell you all about it.”
“Who’s here?” Cal asked eagerly. “Caroline, Momma?”
She squeezed his arm. “Yes, she and the girls. And two of Michaela’s sisters have come. Marjorie and Rebecca.
Isn’t it exciting, Cal? The two of you about to be married and all of us here to see it.” She turned to Michaela and
took her hand. “We’re only here to help things run more smoothly, my dear. We’ll assist you with anything you
need. Just ask.”
“Thank you so much, Camille,” Michaela said gratefully.
“Michaela, can you believe it? You’re going to be my daughter!” Camille exclaimed, squeezing her hand.
Cal beamed at a clearly unmoved Elizabeth. “And I’m gonna be your son. Should I start calling ya ‘Ma’?” He felt
Michaela pinch his arm, and immediately quieted.
“Oh, think of it, Elizabeth,” Camille went on giddily. “It’s going to be just wonderful.”
“Wonderful,” Elizabeth muttered, unable to suppress a grimace. “Wonderful indeed.”
***
“And so there we were, for almost the entire journey from St. Louis to Colorado, having little idea who the other
was,” Caroline explained over coffee at Grace’s.
“We had a delightful conversation,” added Rebecca, a shy though curious Byron in her lap, sizing up each of the
unfamiliar visitors, “and as we began to put the pieces together we realized we were traveling to the same
wedding!”
“We did a little exchanging of seats,” Caroline went on, “and soon the four of us were seated next to the three
Quinns, and we had a marvelous time the remainder of the trip.”
Rose turned in her mother’s lap, an elated expression across her face, and signed rapidly and enthusiastically.
“Rose wants everyone to know she saw a cow out her train window,” Caroline chuckled, giving her daughter a
squeeze.
“What’s she doing, Mama?” Katie asked inquisitively, pressing a finger to her chin.
Michaela put her arm around her daughter. “Rose can’t hear, Katie, so she speaks with her hands. Each gesture
she makes stands for a different word.”
“Michaela, you won’t believe how fast she’s learning,” Caroline said proudly. “I can barely keep up with her!”
“It’s awfully peculiar,” Marjorie put in. “One’s hands should be kept in one’s lap.”
“Yes, I must confess it makes me nervous,” Elizabeth said, her coffee untouched.
“I think it’s quite fascinating,” Rebecca said firmly. “Michaela, Caroline tells us you were the one that insisted
she attend a special school.”
“Yes, we owe it all to you,” Caroline said somewhat tearfully, reaching across the table to take Michaela’s hand.
“Rose has never been happier.”
“That’s all I wanted,” Michaela said modestly, “for Rose to be happy.”
“Can I learn it?” Katie asked, unable to stop staring at the little girl so close to her in age.
“Rose and I could teach you a few words, Miss Katie,” Caroline offered. “I’m sure she would love the chance to
get to know you. After all, you’re going to be cousins!”
“I’ll help Katie learn, too,” spoke up Annabelle. “I’ve never had a cousin before.”
“I think our girls are going to get along just swimmingly, Michaela,” Caroline said.
Brian sat quietly beside Michaela, digesting it all in much the same way as his little brother. “I’m gonna be the
best man with Robert E.,” he spoke up quietly. “Cal asked me to.”
“Sure did,” Cal affirmed, patting Brian’s back assuringly.
At first, Brian had been reluctant to accept Cal’s request, but he had warmed to the idea over the past several
weeks. For the first time since before Cal and Ma had started to court, he’d sat down with Cal and they’d had a
long talk. They were taking a break from the chores to have a cool drink of lemonade, and suddenly Cal had
brought up wanting Brian to be his best man. Brian had opened up a little about Sully, about how much it still
hurt, how he was afraid of upsetting his ma if he told her he was still grieving inside, and how much he missed the
little things he and his pa had always done together. Brian missed the walks they used to take to see the new deer
in the Spring, practicing with Sully’s tomahawk, making trips to the Reservation, building things together with
Sully’s tools, and coming to him when he wasn’t sure what to say or do when a girl caught his eye. He told Cal
feelings he’d been keeping to himself since his pa’s death. It felt good, having a man to talk to. Not that Ma was
someone he couldn’t confide in, but it was just different. Cal said he knew he wasn’t going to be replacing Sully,
but that he would always be there for Brian, that he could come to him with anything that was on his mind.
Afterward, Brian felt better about Cal. It would be nice to have someone he could go to about things that were just
plain uncomfortable to say to Ma. It’d be nice to see everyone happy, too, that was for sure. He was looking
forward to the wedding now, at least a little bit. And it *was* kinda exciting, getting new cousins.
“You’re going to be a wonderful best man,” Rebecca said.
Marjorie couldn’t help but let a grin escape. “Yes you will, Brian.”
Bravely, Byron took a deep breath. “I gonna be wing bear. Grr.” When everyone burst into chuckles his lip
trembled and he looked to his mother for support.
“Ring *bearer*, sweetheart,” Michaela corrected, patting his hand.
“And you will be a *handsome* ring bearer, Mr. Sully!” Rebecca said, giving her timid nephew a reassuring
squeeze.
“He’s adorable, Michaela!” Camille said. “They’re all absolutely adorable. I’m so glad we can all be together for
the wedding.”
“The wedding!” Caroline uttered. “On the train we made a list of all that needs to be done in such a short time.
The Quinns and Mother and I.”
Rebecca produced the list and placed it on the table for all to see. “Now I know it looks lengthy, Michaela, but
we’re going to help you take care of everything.”
“To start, we thought we might all going to Denver tomorrow morning, if it’s all right with you,” Marjorie said.
“Denver? Tomorrow?” Cal questioned.
“For fittings. Don’t worry, we’ve arranged it all,” Camille said. “I know a tailor there, an old friend of you
father’s who relocated his business to Denver when you were just a little boy, Cal. I took the liberty of making an
appointment for all the men. And Michaela, while they’re busy with that we can help you find a wedding gown.”
“But remember, this is your wedding,” Rebecca spoke up. “You tell us what you’d like and we’ll take care of it.”
“We were thinking something blue,” Michaela said.
“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Camille breathed. “We could put baby’s breath in your hair. You’d look simply
gorgeous.”
“I happen to love baby’s breath,” Michaela replied. She felt Cal’s hand come to rest on her knee, squeezing it
lovingly.
Elizabeth gave another sigh. She should be the one coordinating the wedding arrangements, not Camille, though
she hadn’t exactly made an effort to stand up and take charge. Everyone was utterly ecstatic over the impending
wedding, and that irritated her. Had they paused to even consider the reality of what was about to take place?
They seemed to be unaware that though the glowing pair before them were clearly in love, the consequences
should they carry through with the nuptials could be disastrous. Among other things her daughter was marrying
another penniless eccentric, with hopes of ever bettering her situation out the window, and Camille’s son was
about to become responsible for a widow and her five children. *Elizabeth’s* grandchildren. Surely, Michaela
and Cal had no idea what they were getting into. Elizabeth paused. She had to admit Cal had grown on her over
his visit to Boston. Just as Michaela had always insisted, he was a kind, dependable, sincere man. She tried to
remember that love conquers all, supposedly, but that was easier said than done when it involved her beloved
daughter. She cleared her throat, deciding she was going to make a real effort this time. “You’d look beautiful in
blue, Michaela,” she said softly. “If my opinion matters.”
Michaela stared surprised for a moment, then smiled. “It matters very much, Mother. Very much.”
***
Whimpering softly but resolutely, ten-day-old Patrick Evans kicked his legs unhappily as Michaela stripped him
down to his diaper.
“He wakes every two or three hours,” Mrs. Evans remarked, a slightly uncertain but very blissful new mother.
She stood beside Michaela and stroked her son’s dark-haired head soothingly. “Seems as soon as he’s fed and
changed he’s asleep again.”
“That’s perfectly normal right now,” Michaela assured her, pressing the cool bell of her stethoscope to the baby’s
chest. “Eventually he’ll sleep through the night and only require one or two naps during the day.” She listened
intently for a few seconds. “His heart’s healthy and strong.”
Mrs. Evans smiled. “Is it? Oh, good. It’s all right, Paddy. We’re almost done.”
A knock sounded at the door as Michaela carefully removed the small square of dressing from the baby’s belly.
She glanced at the clock. “That’s probably Cal. He promised to stop by to repair my desk chair. One of the legs
has grown dangerously loose. Would you rather he wait outside until we’re finished?”
“Oh, no. Send him in,” Mrs. Evans invited.
Michaela turned from the table. “Cal?”
Just as expected Cal opened the door, toolbox in hand. “Mike--oh, I’m sorry. I can wait.”
“That’s all right,” Mrs. Evans spoke up. “Come in.”
“...Is this your baby?” he asked softly, placing his toolbox on Michaela’s desk and joining the women at the table.
“Hm-mm,” she told him proudly. “John Patrick.”
“Aw, Mike, look, he looks like Byron did with all that hair,” Cal said, shooting her a smile.
“I suppose he does now that you say so,” Michaela admitted, still wholly focused on her examination of the
infant. “I’d like you to leave the bandages off to let it air,” she instructed the baby’s mother, “but for a few more
days clean the area with the carbolic acid solution I gave you. After that it’ll be fine to get it wet.”
“All right, we’ll do that,” Mrs. Evans agreed.
“What do you say, Patrick?” Michaela crooned. “Are we all through?” Michaela sat the tiny infant up with one
hand and pulled his shift over his head with the other while Mrs. Evans helped thread his arms through the
sleeves.
“It’s all right, Pat,” Cal comforted the tearful baby. “You’re all done now. Bet it wasn’t as bad as ya thought, was
it?”
“Ya sure he’s healthy and everythin’, Dr. Mike?” Mrs. Evans asked.
“He’s very healthy. He’s perfect in every way,” Michaela said, lifting the infant from the table, pausing to give
him a gentle squeeze, and turning him over to his mother. “I’ll have you bring him back in a month for another
check-up, and of course you can stop by anytime if you have a question about something.”
Mrs. Evans kissed her baby’s hair as he began to settle, safe
and warm back in her familiar arms. “Thanks, Dr. Mike.
Thank you for all ya’ve done for us,” she said gratefully.
She opened her purse while Michaela circled around the
table to her desk to draw up the bill.
Cal tickled the infant’s chest and made faces at it, chuckling
as it focused on him and blew contented little bubbles with
his pink lips. “Does he have to go, Mike?” he teased. “Can’t
we keep him?”
“I don’t know how his mother would feel about that,”
Michaela responded wryly.
Mrs. Evans grinned as she gave Michaela a few coins and took her receipt. “Will ya all be comin’ to the
Centennial Celebration?” She rubbed her baby’s back. “The fireworks are a little too late for Paddy, and too loud,
too, but we’ll come for the day’s activities.”
“Yes, we’ll be there,” Michaela promised.
“Then I’ll see you then. Oh, and...I heard the good news.” She glanced between the two of them.
“Congratulations.”
Cal took Michaela’s hand and squeezed it. “Thanks.”
As soon as Mrs. Evans had closed the door behind her, Michaela pulled her hand from Cal’s grip and returned to
the examination table.
“He sure was a cutie, wasn’t he?” he said.
“Most babies are,” Michaela responded, picking up a cloth and her carbolic acid to begin disinfecting her
instruments.
“I can’t wait till we have our baby,” Cal said with a contented smile, approaching her and wrapping his arms
around her waist. “She’ll be beautiful, don’t ya think, Mike? Or he.”
Taken off guard, Michaela’s breath caught. “Our...our baby?”
“Well, yeah. We’ll have one right away I bet,” he went on.
Michaela paused in her work. “Cal...perhaps that would be rushing things a little, having a baby right away.
Perhaps we should wait until we’re...”
“Until we’re what?” he asked, confused. “What’s there to wait for?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Until we’ve settled into being married for a time. A few years, perhaps. Perhaps
then we’ll find that...well, we might not really want a baby.”
“Of course we’ll want one,” he said, disconcerted. “Why wouldn’t we?” He turned her to face him. “A few years?
What’s the matter, Mike? You and Sully were trying for Katie right away, weren’t ya?”
“...We were but...what does that have to do with us?” she asked somewhat curtly.
Cal shifted uncomfortably. “Well...not much really. I’m just saying...” He paused, cupping her cheek in his hand.
“I’m just saying I love ya and can’t think of anybody else I’d want more to be my child’s mama. I want us to have
a baby together...don’t you?”
Guilt tightened Michaela’s throat. She hadn’t thought about another baby in a long time. In fact soon after Sully’s
death she had settled herself on the reality that Byron would be her last child. Of course then she had never
counted on marrying again. Even after beginning to court Cal she had not thought about the possibility of
becoming pregnant if they were to eventually marry. Perhaps had not *allowed* herself to think about it. Now she
wondered what it was that frightened her. What was it that made her so reluctant to consider starting a family with
Cal? She had to admit she couldn’t put her finger on it. At last she gave him a half-hearted smile.
“Sweetheart...we can talk about this another time. I’ve a lot of work to do here before I’ll be ready to leave, and
I’d really like to get home to Byron. Our mothers are both very capable of looking after him for the day, but you
know how he is around people he’s unfamiliar with. And are you going to repair my chair? I’d really appreciate
it.”
Disappointed, but deciding to take Michaela’s excuse to postpone discussing the matter at face value, Cal released
his hold about her waist and walked to her desk. “Sure, Mike.” He dug in his toolbox for a hammer. “Got a record
number of people wanting rides today,” he began, changing the subject much to Michaela’s relief. “I bet ya it’s
gonna keep picking up what with the Fourth coming this week...”
***
Katie rose from her hunched position over the tub of cool water. Clapping and cheering from the gathering of
children and adults accompanied her squeal of delight. “I goth onth, Mama!”
Katie released the apple into her hands and beamed at her mother proudly. “I
got one!” she repeated, blinking drops of water from her eyelashes.
“So I see!” Michaela chuckled, taking the child’s hand and leading her away
from the tub to where she, Elizabeth, Caroline, and the girls stood. She pulled
out a hankie and stooped down to pat her daughter’s face dry.
“Katherine Sully, look at you!” Elizabeth moaned. “You’ve ruined your hair
and soaked the front of your dress!” She lightly fingered the soggy red, white,
and blue ribbons she herself had spent so long tying in Katie’s beautiful locks.
“This is quite a pastime,” Caroline remarked somewhat uncomfortably,
observing the next little boy in line as he drew in his breath and dunked his
head into the washtub brimming with apples. “And you find it satisfying
because…?”
“It’s fun,” Katie replied happily, biting into her apple. She turned to Annabelle and Rose. “You try it,” she
encouraged. “Ya just need a penny to play.” She tried to recall the different gestures Annabelle had taught her the
day before, at last placing her fist to the side of her mouth and turning it slightly, signing “apple” for Rose’s
benefit.
“But I’ll-I’ll get all wet,” a reluctant Annabelle told her. Rose gave her an equally apprehensive shake of her head.
Katie burst into a grin, taking their hands. “That’s the fun part! C’mon! Get in line!”
Caroline handed her daughters two pennies. “You may try this game, girls,” she agreed, smirking, “but only
because it’s the Centennial and your mother is in a good mood!”
“Thank you, Caroline,” Michaela said as they watched their daughters join the line of children in front of the
washtub. “They’ll love it. You’ll be surprised.”
“They’ll also be soaked,” Elizabeth grumbled.
“Water dries,” Michaela replied sensibly.
Elizabeth glanced around them at the crowd of people. Literally, the entire town had shown up for the celebration.
After all, it wasn’t every day a new territory joined the Union! “Where have Colleen and Rebecca and Marjorie
run off to?”
“Rebecca said something about she and the other two helping to judge the needlepoint entries,” Michaela
explained. “Apparently Jake asked them.”
“And Cal, Camille and Byron?” Elizabeth pressed worriedly. “Surely it couldn’t have taken this long to find my
grandson a drink of lemonade. One would think we could all manage to stay in one place for more than five
minutes!”
“They must have been distracted by something else,” Caroline said. “I know how Cal is. My mother as well for
that matter.”
“Are you sure Cal’s responsible enough to look after him, Michaela?” Elizabeth asked. “There are so many
people here and he’s just a baby.”
“He’s three and a half and yes, I’m sure,” Michaela said somewhat irritably. “Though perhaps we should try to
find them. It’s growing dark and the fireworks will be beginning soon.”
“Yes, let’s, as soon as the girls have finished…finished…” Caroline narrowed her eyebrows. “What is it you call
it?”
“Bobbing for apples!” Michaela supplied with a chuckle.
***
Cal gave Byron’s back a tender pat as he placed his worn out little body over his shoulder. He pulled an empty
mug of lemonade from the little boy’s limp grip and handed it to Camille.
“Has the little darling fallen asleep?” Camille asked softly, taking the mug in one hand as they continued their
stroll in the general direction of the tub of apples. They took care to walk on the outskirts of the crowds, in order
to have a somewhat private conversation.
Cal kissed Byron’s head. “Yep. He didn’t get his afternoon nap like he usually does, what with playing in the
meadow all day. He’s all tuckered out.” He grew silent again.
Camille was well aware how talkative Cal had always been, as far back as the first few words spoken out of his
mouth when he was just shy of a year old. His relative silence throughout the afternoon was beginning to worry
her, especially with all the excitement due to the festivities in the meadow. “Are you looking forward to the
wedding?” she asked.
He nodded silently.
She put her arm around him. “Oh, Cal. You’ll be a wonderful husband, I know. You deserve all the happiness in
the world.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “What’s troubling you, darling? You’ve always been able to
come to me with anything that’s on your mind. You may be a man now but you’ll always be my son.”
He exhaled slowly. “Nothing Momma, just…do ya ever get scared that…that the person who ya love is so perfect
for ya, that the one thing that ends up not going like ya thought it would takes over, and ya worry about that little
thing more than anything else?”
She paused. “I’m not sure I know quite what you mean,” she admitted. “I suppose I thought your father was the
perfect man when I married him…and then…perhaps if he had foregone his visits to the tavern things would have
been as happy as I planned them to be.” She narrowed her eyes. “Cal? What is it? Is something worrying you
about Michaela?”
“No I…Michaela’s the woman I want to be with the rest of my life. Once I realized that I started thinking ahead,
started thinking about what the next several years would be like.”
“And?” Camille prompted. “A happy conjure I’m sure.”
He shrugged. “I guess I always saw…ya know, a baby or two in the picture. I love her kids, I do…” He gazed at
Byron fondly. “’Specially this little guy…but I…”
“You want the child to be a part of the both of you,” Camille supplied knowingly.
“Yeah, I guess that’s it. I just know I got so much I could give a child of my own. I know Mike and I…we could
give it so much. She’s such a beautiful ma, and I’d try so hard to be a good pa.” He lowered his eyes
despondently. “But she didn’t wanna talk about it when I brought it up. She don’t like the idea all too much I
don’t think. Didn’t realize how bad I want to have a baby with her until I saw she don’t feel the same.”
Camille thought about her son’s words for some time, and at last spoke. “You would be a very good father, Cal.
I’ve seen how you are already with this precious little boy, but as I’ve reminded you before, Michaela’s had her
children. When you were born, I remember feeling that you would be my last. It wasn’t something I planned, it
just happened naturally. Perhaps she too feels she’s closed that book, and now is having a difficult time with the
idea of an addendum. Try to imagine having one’s entire life planned out, having that plan suddenly destroyed,
then trying to start anew. Surely Michaela is experiencing many powerful emotions that are no doubt
overwhelming.”
“Oh, gosh. Ya think I scared her?” Cal said. “Didn’t mean to put her on the spot. I just assumed-”
“Don’t assume,” Camille advised gently. “Women loathe that, darling. Give her time to sort out her feelings. I’m
willing to wager she’s thinking about it as much as you.”
“How much time? Seems like I’m always waiting, always giving her time,” he confessed quietly. “I don’t mind,
it’s just, I wish I knew when all this waiting’s gonna be over with.”
“Don’t push the idea any more now, Cal,” Camille told him. “Hold off at least until you’re comfortably married.
If she loves you she’ll come around before long.”
“But I don’t want her doing it just for me,” Cal said. “I want her to want it, too.”
“Cal, listen to yourself,” Camille retorted. “Relationships involve giving and taking. Who have you been waiting
for all these years? You waited until Michaela was ready to marry, just for her, didn’t you?”
“I s’pose, but that ain’t the same.”
“The reality is that Michaela apparently doesn’t share the same feelings as you as far as future children. When she
comes around, she’ll come around for you, out of love for you, just as you’ve sacrificed things for her. That’s
what marriage is about. You’re going to be a team.”
“This marriage thing is more complicated than I thought,” Cal said, a hint of a smile at his lips.
“Oh, Lord knows!” groaned Camille. She squeezed her son’s hand lovingly. “But I promise you, with each
passing day you share with Michaela, you will find your love for her will only grow stronger, happiness will
continue to fill your heart, and, hopefully…the doubts that you two may have now will disappear, to be replaced
with nothing but certainties.”
***
“Don’t be frightened, darling,” Michaela spoke softly to her son, hugging him in her lap on the blanket. “The
fireworks are going to shoot up in the sky and be very nice to look at, but very loud, too.”
“It won’t hurt ya, Squirt,” Cal told him, taking a seat beside Michaela. “It’s just loud. Ya’ll just have to cover
your ears maybe, that’s all.”
“Won’t hurt me?” Byron asked, taking Michaela’s hands in his. “Pos-tive?”
Michaela kissed his cheek lovingly. “I’m positive. You’re going to see nothing but lots of pretty colors. Like the
rainbow.”
“All wight,” he agreed, resting back against his mother contently and looking up at the night sky in anticipation.
Michaela felt Cal’s lips brush her cheek and plant a small kiss on her temple. “Love ya,” he whispered.
“What’s gotten into you?” Michaela teased softly, taking his hand.
He toyed with the lace on her collar. “My ma and I had a nice chat while we were getting Byron’s lemonade. She
reminded me of how lucky I’m gonna be in a few days. You’re gonna be my wife. We’re gonna…we’re gonna be
together like we’ve wanted to be.” He watched her eyes as she timidly looked away. “…Ya worried about it?” he
asked.
She shook her head, looking at him again. “No…” She swallowed hard. “Perhaps a little. It’s just I don’t
usually…”
“Talk about it?” he finished wryly.
She nodded swiftly. “But…it’s different when I talk about it with you. It’s not something to be uncomfortable
about.”
“It’s not,” he affirmed. “…And I’m glad we waited,” he whispered, threading her fingers with his. “It’ll be even
more special.”
“You’re special,” Michaela replied, bringing their hands to her lips and kissing his fingers softly.
“Mama, what’s state-hoods?” Katie interrupted, placing herself in Cal’s lap. She, Annabelle, and Rose had been
chasing each other near the blanket, waiting for the fireworks to begin. Camille, Elizabeth, Colleen, Marjorie and
Rebecca were strolling nearby, and now approached the blanket to take seats for the fireworks. Brian and Sarah
Sheehan followed behind them.
“Yes, what *is* statehood?” Annabelle added, finding a place next to her mother.
“Statehood?” Michaela repeated. “Statehood means that…that Colorado Territory becomes an official member of
the United States. We’ll be able to make more of our own decisions, and have a stronger voice in the government
in Washington…and we’ll have our very own star on the flag. We’ll be a brand new state.”
“It’s kinda like…Colorado’s birthday,” Cal added, realizing the children were still confused.
“Col-rado’s birday,” Byron echoed thoughtfully.
Annabelle stuck out her lower lip in thought. “…Happy Birthday to you,” she sang timidly.
“Happy Birthday to you!” Katie echoed.
“Happy Birthday, Colorado! Happy Birthday to you!” chimed in everyone else.
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç@yÉâÜ @ g{x jxww|Çz ;ctÜà D<
Michaela shot up in bed with a cry. She pressed her hand to her chest and tried to catch her breath as a knock
sounded at the door
. “Michaela, it’s after nine o’clock,” Elizabeth said entering the room. She smiled faintly. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mother,” Michaela said as her heart slowed to a more normal rhythm.
“Well, what’s this? Sleeping in on your wedding day?” Elizabeth scolded. “I’m surprised you can sleep at all!”
Michaela smoothed her hair from her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
Elizabeth caught herself. “N-nothing, Michaela. Only that…that it’s a very big day and no doubt you’re very
excited. I could barely sleep myself.” She eyed her daughter worriedly. “What’s the matter?” She felt her brow
with the back of her hand. “You’re feverish, and look at you, you’re perspiring like a field hand. Now is not the
time to come down with something.”
Wearily, Michaela rose from the bed and staggered to the basin, patting her face with a towel. “I had a dream,”
she admitted quietly. “A nightmare.”
“Yes, well we all do from time to time,” Elizabeth told her. “I remember you’d come scampering into our
bedroom when you were a child, bounding into your father’s lap in tears. You’d tell us tales of monsters, dragons,
and other ridiculous creatures that had filled your head as you slept. We didn’t know what to do with you.”
“It was about Sully,” Michaela whispered.
“Oh,” Elizabeth stammered. “…I suppose that’s natural. Of course you might think about him and your marriage
together.”
“He was calling to me, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying,” Michaela went on, sinking into her vanity
chair. “I could see him so clearly. I could reach out to him…but I didn’t.”
Elizabeth picked up the brush and began running it through her daughter’s sleep-tangled tresses. “Perhaps he was
telling you he approves of the marriage,” she suggested. “As I’m sure he does.”
“Oh, do you think so?” Michaela asked hopefully. “I was so afraid he might be telling me…”
“Telling you what?” Elizabeth prompted.
She sighed. “I don’t know. That he *doesn’t* approve I suppose.”
“That’s absurd. Why wouldn’t he?” Elizabeth retorted. “Besides, it was just a dream. You shouldn’t attempt to
place such significance in it. Come downstairs. Rebecca and Marjorie and I have prepared breakfast for you.
Granted it was quite a task in that quaint little kitchen of yours, but we managed. And we’ve already gotten the
children fed. They were just a bundle of energy this morning. I can barely keep up with them. Katie has proved
herself utterly incapable of remaining silent for more than a minute. She obviously gets that from her mother. And
Byron, my goodness, I’ve heard more out of him this morning than I have all week! And you led me to believe
he’s shy and reserved! Heavens, I should think not. He is your son after all.”
“I have a stomach ache,” Michaela told her. “I don’t think I can eat anything.”
“You must or it will only be worse,” Elizabeth instructed. She rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and
gave her a squeeze. “Gain control of yourself, Michaela. This is a joyous day. You’re getting married.”
Michaela gazed at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “Do you…do you think I’m making a mistake, Mother?”
For the first time since she had accepted Cal’s proposal, an eerie doubt had formed in her mind, leaving her tense,
hesitant, and anxious. She couldn’t explain the feeling nor will it away.
“I think…” Elizabeth paused, choosing her words carefully. “I think you’re in love. Besides, you’ve already
thought this through. Michaela, you’re to be wed in a matter of hours so please, stop this nonsense.”
Michaela took a stiff breath and sat straighter, struggling to gain her composure. “You’re right. This is nonsense.”
“You’re just nervous about the wedding,” Elizabeth explained. “That happens to the best of us. It doesn’t mean
we’re having second thoughts…Michaela, don’t mention your dream to Cal,” she advised.
“I tell Cal almost everything,” she said.
“Yes, but he’s going to be your husband now. You had a very happy first marriage, but for Cal’s sake, you ought
not to bring up Sully often if you can help it. He’ll only be hurt, even if he pretends he isn’t.”
“Oh, dear,” Michaela sighed. “I haven’t thought about that. You’re probably right.”
Elizabeth picked up a picture frame from the vanity, gazing at it briefly. “Tuck this away somewhere. If Katie
wants to see it you can show her in private.”
Michaela took it from her, swallowing hard. The treasured photograph of the family at Katie’s Christening.
Sully’s beaming smile, a smile he didn’t often display, Michaela’s happy grin, Katie bubbling in her arms, and the
older children thrilled to have a new baby sister. All thinking life couldn’t get any better, no one suspecting things
could ever change. Sully had said Katie looked beautiful, ‘just like her ma’. Michaela had made the Christening
gown by hand. She had sat up late for several nights working on it, Sully sitting in the wingback chair across from
her, reading or whittling away at something. She would call him over occasionally when she felt the baby kick,
shift or develop the hiccups, and he would take a seat on the arm of the chair, kiss her hair and place his hand on
her belly. When she had finished the gown she held it up proudly, and he had chuckled softly, the chuckle she
knew so well, and kneeled beside her, laying the gown across her lap. “It fits,” he had teased and she had smiled
coyly as he caressed her stretching stomach. Sully had always made her feel special, loved, beautiful. No one had
ever been as attentive as he to her thoughts and feelings. No one, perhaps, but Cal.
Michaela would have to separate it in her mind: her life with Sully and her life with Cal. In many ways they were
tied together, especially through Katie and Byron, but in other ways what her mother said was true, it would likely
hurt Cal to continue to talk about Sully as much as she was used to. That was going to be a challenge. After all
Cal was the one who had helped her come out of her shell of misery over her husband’s passing. He was the one
who had encouraged her to talk about Sully, to write down her memories of him, and to tell the children about
him. Day or night, he had said, I’ll be here, to talk, to listen, whatever ya want. Nothing’s more important to me
than seeing you smile. Michaela had never forgotten that. Cal had indeed saved her life.
Michaela hugged the photograph to her chest, and then got down on her knees and opened the trunk. She buried it
under an old pair of Byron’s baby booties and a musty smelling black mourning dress, then shut the lid and stood
up.
“Michaela?” Elizabeth began, approaching her. “Michaela…I want you to know that I’m very happy for you.”
“Oh, Mother. Thank you,” she replied. “I know this has been difficult for you to accept.”
“I’ve come to realize you’re doing the sensible thing,” Elizabeth explained. “Sully certainly appreciates the love
and care Cal will provide to his children.” She drew in her breath. “And I’m sure he knows the two of you are
going to look after each other and have a very good life together. It’s a joyous day for him as well, knowing
you’ve finally found happiness…That’s all I prayed for, Michaela,” Elizabeth went on, eyes suddenly moist with
tears. “…For my last little girl to be happy.”
They embraced warmly. “Thank you, Mother,” Michaela whispered again. “That means so much to me.”
Elizabeth pulled back. “Please, come downstairs. No daughter of mine is to be married on an empty stomach.”
Michaela nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. “All right, I’ll try,” she agreed.
***
“Oh, Ma,” Brian gasped. “Ya look so pretty.” He entered the crowded recovery room of the clinic in his vest and
trousers, his suit coat slung over his shoulder. Michaela was seated before her sisters and mother, who were
fussing with her hair. A step away sat Katie, Annabelle and Rose. Caroline, Camille, and Colleen were paying
equally as much attention to their fair tresses.
Michaela turned in her chair, a smile spreading across her face. “Brian.”
“Hold still, Michaela,” Rebecca scolded, removing the curling iron from the stove with a towel.
“I’m getting flowers in my hair, Brian,” Katie informed him from her seat next to her mother. “Car-line is gonna
put them in.”
“Us too,” spoke up Annabelle with a giggle.
“All of ya look so pretty,” Brian said proudly. “Cal and Matthew and Robert E. and everybody are all ready.
We’re just waiting around now at Jake’s. B. fell asleep on us. Don’t worry, that means he’ll be wide-awake by the
time the wedding comes. He looks so sweet in that suit ya picked out for him, Grandma.”
“Even if we wanted to we couldn’t find the time for napping!” Marjorie put in. “Men always have it easy when it
comes to weddings!”
“Cal don’t know how to stop talking, Ma,” Brian said, a slight smile at his lips. “I think he’s a little nervous.”
“Ask Uncle Cal to come over here,” Annabelle spoke up excitedly.
“Yeah! Cal can come over and see my flowers!” Katie squealed.
“No, no, dears,” Camille told them.
“It’s bad luck for Ma and Cal to see each other ‘fore the wedding,” Brian explained. “You’ll see him in a little bit,
don’t worry.” He rested his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “You ready now, Ma?”
Michaela patted Rebecca’s hand. “This can wait.” She lifted the flowing, ornate skirt of her pale blue gown and
stood up.
“Michaela, you’re only half finished,” Dorothy protested.
“You gotta sit still and get your hair curled, Mama,” Katie added helpfully.
“Sit back down this minute, Michaela,” Elizabeth demanded. “…Oh, what next?”
“Brian and I have something we need to do,” she replied simply. “I’ll be back shortly.”
***
“So don’t you worry,” Brian said bravely, kneeling beside Sully’s marker in the cemetery. “Cal and I, we’ll look
after Ma for ya, and Katie and B. Everything…everything’s gonna be all right.”
Michaela tenderly patted his back.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Brian rested one hand on the cross, as if that might somehow bring him closer to his
father’s spirit. “Love you, Pa,” he whispered, rising to his feet.
“Thank you for coming with me, Brian,” Michaela told him softly.
“I’m glad I did,” Brian told her. He hesitated. “You walkin’ back now?”
“You go ahead. If you don’t mind I think I’d like a minute or so alone.”
“Sure, Ma,” he said quietly. He turned to leave, then paused, taking her hands. “Ma…I’m happy you’re marrying
Cal.”
“Brian, you don’t have to-” she protested.
“No,” he insisted. “I am. And I think…I know things are gonna be better now.”
She nodded tearfully. “Sully would be so proud of you, Brian…of his son.”
He gave her a tight hug, biting back tears. At last, he pulled back. “See ya in an hour or so?”
“See you then.” Michaela watched him go as he crossed the bridge to main street, walked a little ways and
climbed the steps to Jake’s barber shop, disappearing behind closed doors.
She turned back to Sully’s cross, suddenly at a loss for words. She gazed at it for several minutes, mouth open as
if to speak, and finally let out a quiet sigh. “Sully…thank you for everything you’ve given me,” she murmured.
“Thank you for showing me how beautiful love is, that I might share that with another...that I might find the
strength to begin again.” She grew quiet another long moment, thinking over her dream the night before. Surely,
her mother was right. Surely, Sully approved. She kissed her fingertips, then pressed them to the cross. “I’ll
always love you, sweetheart. That will never change.”
***
Michaela stood rigidly in the alcove of the church, holding Matthew’s arm, eyes focused.
Matthew eyed her with a soft smile. “Nervous?”
She started, glancing at him quickly. “Hm?”
“Never mind,” he replied. He patted her hand, finding it
cool. “Ya look beautiful, Dr. Mike.”
She sighed. “Thank you. You look nice, too.”
“Bet right now, Sully’s thinkin’ how proud he is,” he added
softly. “Bet he’s thinkin’ how happy he is for all of us.”
She nodded, choking up. “…Thank you, Matthew. That
means a lot.” A wave of uneasiness once more caused her to
shiver. It was almost as if…something was out of balance.
“Michaela,” a deep voice whispered.
Surprised, Michaela and Matthew turned around to face Daniel, dressed in a dark brown suit, hair slicked back,
hat in hand.
Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but Michaela touched his arm, quieting him. “Daniel,” she said with a smile.
“Don’t worry, I ain’t here to break up the weddin’,” he teased. He extended his hand to Matthew. “Good t’ see ya,
son.”
“Daniel,” Matthew said, eyeing him apprehensively.
“Did I make it in time?” he asked.
“Yes, we’re just about to start,” Michaela told him.
He took her hand, giving it a light kiss. “Michaela, I don’t hold no hard feelin’s. I just wanted to wish you an’ Cal
all the best in person.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I’m glad you came, Daniel. Cal will be, too.”
“Best take a seat,” he said, turning to step inside the sanctuary. “Don’t want to miss anythin’.”
“…I didn’t know ya invited Daniel, Dr. Mike,” Matthew remarked.
“It was Cal’s idea,” Michaela replied. “He thought it would be a nice gesture.”
Matthew nodded. “S’pose it was nice of him to come.”
She tightened her hold about his arm as the organ began playing.
“Dr. Mike? You all right?” he asked worriedly. “You’re real
pale.”
“Just anxious I suppose.” She mustered a small smile. “This
is only the second time I’ve done this you know.”
“If it makes ya feel any better, this is only the first time I’ve
walked someone down the aisle.”
She smiled. “There’s no one I’d rather have at my side right
now, Matthew.”
He kissed her cheek sweetly. “There’s no one I’d rather
walk down the aisle than my ma,” he replied. He nodded
toward the sanctuary. “Ready?”
She swallowed hard. There was no turning back now. She felt her palms dampening with perspiration and her
knees weakening. “Yes…I’m ready.”
***
“…Just as two very different threads woven in opposite directions can form a beautiful tapestry,” the Reverend
went on, standing before Michaela and Cal, “so can your two lives merge together to form a beautiful marriage.
To make your marriage work will take love. Love should be the core of your marriage, love is the reason you are
here. But it also will take trust—to know in your hearts you want the best for each other…”
Cal thought that he had never been happier. In a few minutes, the love of his life was going to be his wife. He
could hardly believe it. Last night he’d laid awake for hours, thinking about the wedding, his future with
Michaela. He was a little scared, he had to admit. After all, it wasn’t every day Cal Brooks married someone. Yet,
he also felt very certain, more certain than he’d ever been, that he loved Michaela with all his body and soul, and
wanted nothing more than to marry her. He only prayed he could be everything she could want, and that he could
give her as much joy and happiness as Sully had. Michaela looked about as nervous as him. Her skin glowed
softly from a fine sheen of perspiration, and her hand felt cool and seemed to even be trembling. Yet she was
happy, Cal was sure of it.
Cal felt as if he were catching glimpses of the happening around him, and that it were only he and Michaela in
their own world of bliss. He saw Robert E., Brian, and Byron to his right, standing tall and proud. To his left
stood a beautiful and grinning Katie, clutching her little basket of flower petals, and behind her Michaela’s sisters,
and Colleen, Dorothy, Grace, and Caroline. He caught his mother out of the corner of his eye, dabbing at her nose
with a hankie, and everyone else seated in the pews smiling and sighing happily. Cal could hear the Reverend’s
voice and see the kind man standing before them, but remained distracted by the woman at his side. She was
squeezing his hand hard, her eyes focused on the reverend as he spoke. She had been a picture of beauty on
Matthew’s arm, walking down the aisle. She had focused on him and he at her, playing out the exact dream Cal
had always had in his mind. Her dress was pale blue as they had planned, with a modest but intricate lace bodice,
long lacy sleeves, and a richly flowing skirt. The women had curled her hair, pinned it up at the sides but leaving
it long and fluid in the back, and had placed baby’s breath here and there, just as Camille had suggested. Michaela
was the perfect image of all that he had imagined, and then some.
“It will take faith—to always be willing to go forward to tomorrow,” continued the Reverend, “never really
knowing what tomorrow will bring. And it will take commitment—to hold true to the journey you both now
pledge to share together.”
Cal’s smile broadened as Michaela glanced at him, silently communicating her passion for him. He squeezed her
hand in answer and pressed it against him. Upon the Reverend’s bidding, they turned to face each other, joining
both hands. It was indeed as if it were only he and his love, his ‘Mike’.
“Cal, do you take Michaela to be your wife?” asked the Reverend. “Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and
protect her, forsaking all others and holding only unto her so long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” he said.
Michaela smiled, the same expression Cal had provoked the day they had met. Later she had told him that was the
first time she had smiled since Sully’s death.
“Michaela, do you take Cal to be your husband?” the Reverend went on. “Do you promise to love, honor, cherish,
and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him so long as you both shall live?”
Her throat grew dry with a sudden apprehension she couldn’t push aside, but there was no time for hesitation now.
“I do,” she whispered determinedly.
The Reverend turned to his left. “The rings, please.”
“Here ya go,” Byron said proudly, holding up the little lace pillow above his head and beaming at Cal and his
mother.
“Thank you, Byron.” The Reverend removed the rings and placed them on his Bible, then turned back to the
couple.
“Cal, take Michaela’s ring and place it on her finger,” he instructed, “and repeat after me: With this ring, I thee
wed.”
Cal looked into Michaela’s eyes. “With this ring, I thee wed.”
“And Michaela, place Cal’s ring on his finger and repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed.”
Michaela slid the ring on Cal’s finger, blinking back tears. She was so pleased Cal had agreed to the exchanging
of rings. Not only was it a beautiful symbol of their love, but it was also something that would help make the
marriage unique. She didn’t want to forget Sully of course, but she wanted to form new and different memories of
her second marriage, and Cal had understood and respected that. She inhaled deeply. “With this ring, I thee wed.”
The Reverend turned to the table behind him and removed three single red roses from a vase. He turned back to
the congregation and gave the roses to the couple. “Not only are Michaela and Cal creating a marriage today, but
they are also forming a family with Brian, Katie, and Byron. Just as it is appropriate for Michaela and Cal to
begin their marriage by affirming their love for each other by exchanging rings, they also wish to promise their
commitment to each of the children with a gift of a rose.”
Cal and Michaela stepped towards Katie and handed her the first rose, giving her a hug and a kiss as she giggled
happily.
Next, they gave Brian the second rose. Cal shook his hand and Michaela and her son shared a warm hug. “I love
you, Brian,” she whispered.
“Love you, too, Ma,” he whispered back.
Finally they turned to Byron, standing straight in his little suit, the pillow clutched at his side, being so patient
throughout the ceremony, most of which he didn’t understand. Cal and Michaela handed him the rose and hugged
him together, each kissing one of his cheeks.
“Love you, Mama,” Byron whispered sweetly.
“Oh, I love you, darling,” Michaela replied, tears springing to her eyes.
“Love you, Cal,” Byron said, looking up at him.
Cal swallowed hard, touched. “Love you, too, little guy.”
Cal and Michaela returned to their position before the reverend, joining hands
again.
“And now Cloud Dancing has asked if he might say a few words,” said the
reverend, stepping aside as the proud Indian took his place.
Michaela glanced at Dorothy, giving her a pleased grin. The two of them had
ridden out to the reservation a week before the wedding to obtain a day pass for their Indian friend. It was
amazing how quickly two fiery women could win over a band of insufferable soldiers, and they couldn’t stop
chuckling over it the entire journey back to town.
Cloud Dancing placed his hands atop Michaela and Cal’s. “The Apache have a prayer that is said at every
wedding. The Apache and Cheyenne people agree that marriage is sacred, and we have found common ground in
that. I will share this prayer with Michaela and Cal, as a blessing as they begin their life together.” He cleared his
throat. “‘Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter to the other. Now you will feel no cold, for
each of you will be warmth to the other. Now there is no more loneliness for you. You are two persons, but there
is only one life before you. Go now to your dwelling place, to enter into the days of your togetherness, and may
your days be good and long together.”
“…Thank you, Cloud Dancing,” Michaela whispered.
“Thank you,” Cal echoed hoarsely.
“Amen,” the Reverend said, and the congregation echoed him. He stood up beside Cloud Dancing. “Michaela and
Cal, in so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in Matrimony, have promised your love for each
other by these vows and these rings, and your devotion to each of the children through the giving of a rose, I now
declare you husband and wife.” He grinned. “Congratulations, you may kiss your bride.”
Cal wrapped his arms around Michaela’s back in a loving embrace and tenderly pressed his lips to hers. The
congregation began clapping as they broke apart, cheeks flushed.
“Mike…we’re married,” Cal said elatedly.
“One might conclude that,” Michaela chuckled, cupping his cheek with her hand.
He laughed and gave her a tight hug as the congregation applauded louder. The doubts they had each experienced
had disappeared…at least for the moment.
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç@y|äx @ g{x jxww|Çz ;ctÜà gãÉ<
As the last waltz ended, the wedding guests began to disband from the small area that had been cleared out in
Grace’s café and turned into a makeshift dance floor. Michaela kept her hand firmly clasped in Cal’s, unwilling to
allow the day to end.
Cal drew her nearer and kissed her. “Ya have a good time?”
“I had a wonderful time,” Michaela affirmed. “Did you?”
“More than wonderful,” he replied. “…You’re glad ya said yes?”
Michaela chuckled. “More than glad.”
“Mama,” Katie called from across the dance floor, Byron at her side. “Mama, come on!”
“Come on, Mama!” Byron encouraged. “Come on, Cal!”
“Guess they’re eager to get rid of us,” Cal teased.
Michaela nodded shyly. Grace and Robert E. had been more than happy to look after the three children. As the
couple were probably Byron and Katie’s most favorite people in the world, Michaela understood why they were
so excited to see Cal and their mother off to the homestead so they could begin their own overnight with their
surrogate parents.
As the two small children took their hands and led them out of the café, Michaela had to admit she felt a little
awkward about spending her first night as Cal’s wife at the homestead. It seemed strange, honeymooning in the
same house where much of their friendship had developed and grown, and where their romance had begun. Not to
mention the fact that they would be consummating the marriage in the exact place she and Sully had molded two
separate lives into one. Uncomfortable as she was, Michaela told herself she would have to get used to it
sometime. The homestead was where she was going to live with Cal for several months at the least, until he could
begin work on their house in town, and it was too late to change things now. Suddenly, her eyes widened. Katie
and Byron had escorted the two to a fancy carriage with silver trim, a driver in a top hat, and a beautiful white
horse.
“Mr. Jerrick?” Michaela murmured, peering up at the driver. Because of Jerrick’s broken toes last Christmas,
crushed by a horse, Michaela recalled, Cal had taken over his job for several weeks. It had been an excuse to
prolong his stay in Colorado Springs, and Cal had jumped at the chance, not devoid of Michaela’s
encouragement.
“Evenin’, Dr. Mike,” Mr. Jerrick called down to her, his eyes squinting teasingly. “Hear tell you folks just got
yourselves hitched.”
“Jerrick…what’re ya doing?” Cal asked. He glanced around him, noticing everyone else suppressing grins and
chuckles. It seemed as if the whole town was in on a big joke.
“Hop in, Ma,” Brian urged, picking up his giggling little brother.
Colleen stepped forward, taking Michaela’s hand. “Preston’s got a table for two reserved, and his best suite all
done up special.”
“Little bird told us ya weren’t plannin’ much of a honeymoon,” Matthew spoke up, “so we thought we’d see what
we could do ’bout that.” He crossed his arms and nodded at his younger brothers and sisters. “The five of us
worked it out.”
“It’s not much,” Colleen added, “but at least it’s something.”
Suddenly tears spilled down Michaela’s cheeks. “I don’t believe it. You all planned this?”
Brian beamed. “Yep.”
“This is…this is great, kids,” Cal said, overwhelmed. He made an evil face at Byron and Katie, who couldn’t stop
giggling. “And you two kept it all a secret!”
Hugs and kisses were exchanged all around, Michaela and Cal said goodbye to their respective families along
with more tears, and soon the happy couple were off, a collections of blue and white streamers trailing behind the
carriage along with a glittery, slightly lop-sided “Just Married” sign put together by Brian, Katie, and Byron.
***
Michaela opened the doors of the balcony and gazed out at the stunning view of the mountains, the setting sun
creating orange, red, and yellow streaks across the sapphire sky. She felt as if she were standing in the midst of a
surreal painting, a dream even. Unconsciously, she rubbed her stomach. It had been fluttering all day, even more
so now. The generous steak and steamed vegetable dinner in a quiet corner of the chateau restaurant had been
pleasant, romantic, even sensuous, but she had barely been able to swallow more than a few bites of the meal.
Thankfully, Cal had not pestered her about it, anxious himself and only managing a little of the vegetables and
some ice water. They had ended up talking quietly for over an hour, as they had always been able to do, joining
hands across the candlelit table. To both their amazements Preston had approached the couple to inquire how they
were faring, after which he personally escorted them to their room, managing all this without one snide remark, a
difficult task but apparently possible.
Michaela remembered being nervous when she married Sully, but she couldn’t remember being *terrified*, as she
felt now. Oddly enough, she couldn’t pinpoint what was troubling her. With Sully, she had been simply worried
about…well, the wedding night. She so wanted to please him, to be everything to him. That worry had quickly
passed and now seemed so nearly infantile she blushed to think of it. As soon as Sully lifted her into his arms and
laid her on their bed her fears had eased, and from then on, it had been nothing but bliss. Of course, she wanting
things to be as wonderful with Cal as well, but it wasn’t that specifically that made her voice quiver and her knees
weak. She took a stiff breath. Michaela Quinn had always been able to control her emotions, and she wasn’t going
to let them get the best of her now. She suddenly felt a deep urge to have Cal beside her. It wasn’t he she was
afraid of, it was something else, some outside force, like the horribly vivid dream she had experienced the night
before. She needed Cal to protect her, hold her, and love her, as he always had. She needed to be with him. She
was ready. As if he had read her mind Cal’s arms enveloped her protectively from behind. She sighed in his
embrace, leaning back against him. She felt much better.
“Isn’t this sunset gorgeous?” she spoke quietly, her breath slowing as she calmed.
She felt him nod against her hair. “Sure is. This room’s beautiful, too.” He paused, kissing her temple.
“Everything about today was beautiful.” He gave her a slender glass with an intricate spiral handle, filled half way
with champagne, and turned her to face him, pressing her against him.
“To the rest of our lives,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes as he held up his glass.
Michaela felt a lump in her throat she could not suppress. How innocently she and Sully had imagined the rest of
their lives, and even someday, dying in each other’s arms. She had been weary of such promises ever since. She
hesitated, but only for a moment. She loved Cal, and she wasn’t going to spoil this for him. “To the rest of our
lives,” Michaela repeated, pressing her glass to his with a placid ring.
He took a modest sip of the champagne, and then placed the glass on the nearby vanity. He was eyeing her,
forming presumptions as to what she was feeling, and Michaela felt self-conscious. She placed her glass beside
his, and despite herself, tears came to her eyes.
“Oh, Mike,” Cal murmured. “What is it? Something’s troubling ya. Been troubling ya all day.”
Michaela shook her head, unable to explain. At last, she took a quivering breath. She knew she could be honest
with Cal when it came to this. “It’s just I n-never thought I would be…this happy again. I’m so happy.”
“Michaela,” he murmured, overcome. He held her tenderly for a long moment, gently swaying her from side to
side as she cried tears of joy, and despite all the good, of frustration at that unexplainable nagging in her heart,
beset on ruining the evening. One of the few things she would not share with Cal, but only because she knew it
would hurt him. “I love you so much,” she told him, deciding then and there she wasn’t going to let anything spoil
what they had.
He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes filled with passion, but with a twinkle of mischief that appeared
whenever he teased her. Michaela had pretended to hate his seemingly constant banter, where in fact she had
fallen for it, subsequently falling for Cal. “I love ya more,” he whispered.
He reached behind her and began unfastening the tiny clasps at the back of her gown, whilst she shyly but
resolutely slipped his suit coat off his shoulders and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. Their pace started slowly, but
gradually picked up speed as kisses and caresses became a part of the process.
Michaela felt little wariness now as she unbuckled his suspenders and nudged his trousers over his hips, kissing
his warm chest as she did so. Cal loosened the strings on her corset and she breathed a sigh of relief. Together
they tugged and pulled at the exasperating device, at last freeing her of it, sharing a few timid chuckles in the
process. Even more fervently, Michaela pulled her camisole over her head, letting it fall atop their various
garments, forming a chaotic pile on the oriental carpet. At last she paused, out of breath. Cal stood before her, his
clothes at his feet, his skin glowing from the fading sun. He’s beautiful, Michaela thought. She wondered what he
was thinking, and received her answer as he buried his fingers in her hair, caressing her scalp, his touch delicious.
She thought about the possibility of becoming pregnant for a fleeting moment, and then put the idea out of her
head, certain it wouldn’t happen. It seemed to have taken forever for Katie to come along, and even longer with
Byron. Not until after months of work, literally. It had strained her and Sully’s marriage until they decided it
would happen when they stopped trying so hard, and so it had, twice, eventually. Michaela didn’t conceive babies
easily and certainly not on her wedding night, even if she had wanted it with all her heart. No, it wouldn’t happen.
It couldn’t. As Michaela thought about it longer, she realized she had never spoken to Cal about that, about how
difficult she and Sully had found it to conceive. Granted it wasn’t a subject that often came up, but Cal had
recently told her he had hoped for a baby “right away,” not considering what he wanted wasn’t always what was
possible even if Michaela were to be willing. What else had she neglected to tell him? What else should he have
known before deciding to marry her? Again, her stomach fluttered uncontrollably.
“Ya all right?” Cal asked, his voice rough and filled with desire. He’d wanted to be with Michaela for a long time,
since the day he realized he didn’t want to live without her.
Now that it was finally coming true, a want that had
perhaps at first been by and large physical, had transformed
into a deep seeded need, a need to love this woman who
completed him like no other had. Suddenly Cal felt as if
there were no others before her. In his mind, Michaela was
the first. He had not known true love until her.
Michaela swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak,
suddenly embarrassed to allow her eyes to leave his.
Without further pause, Cal lifted Michaela off her feet and
backed toward the bed, his lips converging with hers.
Seconds later he fell to the bed and laid her down,
frantically unlacing her pantaloons and sending them to the
floor in a heap. “…You’re so beautiful, darlin’. I love you,” he murmured reassuringly.
Michaela knew it was going to be different, had prepared herself to expect that, but had not anticipated how much
she would ache to be loved by Cal in such a special way. Reaching this point had been the furthest from her mind
only a few months ago, but now that it was here, despite everything, it felt more right than she ever thought it
would be. Right for her children, but for herself as well. She gasped and shut her eyes tight. Cal grasped her
hands, and she squeezed them back as he pressed his lips to her cheek understandingly and remained motionless,
waiting to be sure she was all right.
“Go…go slow,” she at last whispered hoarsely.
He tenderly kissed her lips. “We will.”
She nodded, gave another soft gasp, and held him tight against her, letting the passion she shared with this
wonderful man she never intended to find guide their fervent lovemaking. Michaela was sure she had made the
right decision. ‘Until death do us part,’ Cal was now her husband.
***
The old man wheeled his rickety wooden cart down the narrow, damp hallway, stopping at each cell to offer its
prisoner a worn and beaten book. They didn’t care about the condition. A book was a book. They devoured them
like hogs, and the nearly half who were illiterate knew they were missing out and were jealous. “Jack,” they all
called him. It wasn’t really his name. He was born Elmer Jackson, but somewhere along the line of his forty years
working at the prison, it had been shortened to “Jack”. Ironically, Jack couldn’t read himself, but if he were able
to bring joy to those who could in this small way, he’d do so.
He brushed what was left of his wispy gray hair from his eyes and slowed to a stop in front of the cell of Prisoner
204. He’d taken the poor boy under his wing, ever since he had arrived three, no, it had to be a good four years
ago. The boy had been horribly miserable throughout his time there. Of course, all prisoners were probably
unhappy, but this lad…he was downright depressed. He and Jack had brief chats, when they could, pretending to
exchange books through the cell bars. The prisoner didn’t say much, but when he did, it was always about his
past, his life before the mess that got him in prison, causing his eyes to light up like nothing else could. Jack
supposed that was what was keeping the boy going, his hope to someday be released and return home. Jack
couldn’t fathom how such a decent young man had ended up in a place like this. Over the years, he’d come to
believe he was innocent. He didn’t know what gave him the feeling, but somehow, he was sure he was right.
“Two-o-four,” Jack called through the bars.
The prisoner arose from his hard, moth eaten mattress and staggered over. His wrists and ankles were bloody and
chaffing from the chains around them, his whiskers had grown thick and straggly from infrequent trims, and he
was filthy. “Hey, Jack,” he murmured weakly.
“Got a new one today,” Jack said. “By that Twain fella.” He picked up the relatively unblemished leather-bound
novel and passed it through the bars.
“Thanks,” the prisoner said. “Look forward to it.” He turned to sit back down, but Jack called to him in a hushed
tone.
“Say, ya know ’bout the…’bout the changes comin’ up?” he began as quietly as possible.
The prisoner narrowed his eyes, shuffling back to the bars and holding them with his fists. “Changes?”
Jack gripped his arm. “They’re gonna be adding on to the prison. It’s gettin’ too crowded, even for this place.
Hear tell they’ll be startin’ this winter, when the weather’s a little cooler, if not sooner.”
The prisoner drew in his breath, digesting it all.
“I can see to it you’re part of the crew that works on it,” Jack went on, looking about him nervously. “Look,
there’s a group of ya that’re plannin’ something. Four or five of ya. I could get ya in on it. It’s your best chance.
You’d be outside, near the river. I could get some canoes-”
“Jack…don’t be puttin’ yourself at risk for me,” the prisoner insisted. “I can’t let ya do that.”
“I got to,” Jack said bravely. “It’s the right thing.” He lifted another book from his cart and pretended to hand it
through the bars. “I know ya ain’t done anything.”
The prisoner lifted his eyes, astonished. “How do ya know?”
He shrugged. “I just do. But there ain’t time for that. Listen t’ me. I can gather up some supplies for ya and leave
them someplace. The rest’d be up to you. I’d have nothin’ to do with the rest of it.”
The prisoner let out another anxious sigh. He was going to do it. He was going to escape. And he wasn’t going to
be caught this time. “Jack…thank you. Thank you,” he murmured. “Don’t know how I can repay ya for somethin’
like this.”
Jack nodded stiffly. “Ain’t nothin’. We just gotta get ya outta here. We gotta get ya out.”
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç@á|å
Michaela awoke slowly to the crisp winter air and the sound of a pair of bluebirds chirping outside the frost bitten
window. She stretched in Cal’s arms, letting out a yawn. He was waking as well. She felt his ankle hook over
hers, his feet warm her chilled ones, and his hand make its way over her shoulder to caress her breast beneath the
cozy flannel of her nightgown.
“Good morning,” she murmured, placing her hand atop his arm and squeezing it.
Cal breathed in deeply and buried his lips in her hair. “Morning.”
“Church today,” Michaela reminded him, stretching her legs.
Sleepily, he lifted her hair from her neck and kissed it softly and tantalizingly. “Church? Never heard of him.” He
ran his fingers down her back, causing her to shiver with pleasure. “‘Sides…wouldn’t ya rather stay here?”
Michaela let out a dry chuckle and turned to face him. “Church today and…” She hesitated. “What are you doing
tomorrow?”
He coughed. “Um, tomorrow? Oh, the usual: streetcars, streetcars, and more streetcars. Why, what’s so special
about tomorrow?
She averted her eyes, disappointed. “Oh. Nothing, really.”
“What?” he encouraged, a grin tugging at his lips. “When the Mike I know tells me ‘nothing’ that usually means
‘something’.”
“Cal, truthfully, it’s nothing,” she insisted.
“Well, fine then.” Suddenly he burst into laughter, unable to hold it back any longer. “…I had ya good and
fooled!”
She stared at him for a moment, perplexed, then smiled. “You remember?”
“Oh, Mike. How could I forget the six month anniversary of the happiest day of my life?” he whispered.
“You remember,” Michaela breathed, hugging his neck. “I was hoping you might, but then I thought, it’s not
really an official anniversary. But six months *is* a milestone.”
“It’s a very special milestone and I wouldn’t let it slip by unnoticed for the world,” Cal replied.
Michaela sighed happily and hugged him tighter, unable to believe it had been six months since they had first
woken together as husband and wife. It had been a half a year of relative marital bliss. Cal was everything she
knew he would be in a husband. They had long talks late into the night, he listened to and respected her thoughts
and feelings, protected her like nothing less than a precious gem, and as always, never failed to coax a smile to her
face. She also realized he filled her in another way, in a way that had been missing since her marriage to Sully.
She had nearly forgotten how powerful a woman’s desire could be for the man that she loved, both physically and
emotionally. Blushingly, she had to admit that aspect of the marriage had been…simply wonderful. Michaela
hoped that the feeling was mutual, that Cal was as happy in the marriage as he claimed she made him.
Of course, there had been arguments now and again, mainly over the children. When it came to giving out
punishment for the occasional misbehavior, Cal took great pains to avoid the situation, leaving everything up to
his wife. Now that they were married, Michaela wanted the raising of her children to be an equal partnership.
Once after she had finally broken into tears Cal had told her he was sorry but he just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be
right. I ain’t really their pa, he had said. At last, he had hugged her, her tears had ebbed, and he confessed that he
just needed a little time to get used to things. Surely she could understand that, how important time could be. He
had always been close to Michaela’s children, but now that he was officially their second father of sorts, the
change was quite a big step that overwhelmed him more than he had anticipated.
In every other respect, Michaela thought Cal a wonderful surrogate father, even if he didn’t like to think of
himself as one. He was always up to taking a walk with Brian, with whom he had been on good terms with since
the marriage, or get on all fours and play “house” with Katie, or let Byron, with whom he had become even more
inseparable, ride along with him in the streetcar. “Cal” all three of the children called him. Michaela didn’t have
any particular desire for that to change, though she was aware it might very well evolve in the future, and she
sensed that Cal felt the same.
“Mama!” Byron called plaintively through the oak door. “Mama! Cal!”
Cal paused in the unbuttoning of Michaela’s nightgown, emitting a teasing groan.
“What is it, Byron, darling?” Michaela replied. She gave Cal an apologetic kiss and began buttoning her gown,
destroying all his hard work.
“Time to get up!” Byron informed them. “Chuwch!” He was silent a moment, awaiting a reply, then knocked
softly. “I can--may come in? Please?”
Michaela completed the top button and sat herself up in bed, pulling the covers up to her waist. “You may,” she
affirmed.
The door swung open and Byron bounded into bed with the couple, his navy blue nightshift twisted and wrinkled
and his hair tousled from sleep. “Time to get up,” he repeated, settling himself into his mother’s lap.
Michaela kissed his cheek and hugged him. “Yes, we’re up!”
“We are now,” Cal grumbled wryly, propping himself up on one elbow and tapping Byron’s nose.
“You were a good boy knocking and calling to us like that before opening the door,” Michaela told him. “That’s
just what we talked about, hm?”
“Yeah, ’cause ya need piracy,” Byron affirmed.
“Privacy,” Cal articulated with a chuckle. “Piracy means something completely different.”
“What’s it mean?” Byron asked curiously.
“Well-” Cal began, then caught himself when Michaela gave him the evil eye. “Nothing much worth explaining,
really,” he finished quietly.
“Shall we get you dressed for church, sweetheart?” Michaela spoke, changing the subject.
“Yeah, and can you make me pancakes, Cal?” Byron asked eagerly. “I love them!”
Cal emitted another chuckle. “Sure, Squirt. Long as you’re good for your mama today. Remember we got the
council meeting after church?”
“I ’member,” Byron sighed.
“It shouldn’t be too long,” Michaela assured him. “Jake is adamant about once again rehashing the issue of paving
our roads, but there simply aren’t enough funds in the treasury to accommodate such a project, at least not at
present. I’m sure we’ll strike the idea down directly.” She drew in her breath, only to find Byron had busied
himself with turning a button on her gown. With a soft grin, Michaela kissed his head and swung her legs out of
bed. “Come on, let’s get you and your sister and brother dressed, and then we’ll have some of Cal’s pancakes!”
***
“You wait out here with the other kids,” Brian instructed his little brother and sister. “I’m gonna go inside and
watch the council meetin’ with Ma and Cal.”
“Don’t ya wanna play with us?” Katie asked, looking up at him pleadingly.
Brian stooped to their level. “Aw, sure I would, but it won’t be long, just like Ma said. And ’sides, I kinda wanna
see it. They’re kinda interesting. Ya’ll understand when you’re bigger.” He nodded across the churchyard where a
gathering of boys had organized a game of marbles. “Why don’t ya go over there an’ watch?”
“All right, I watch,” Byron agreed. “Bye, Brian!”
Brian smiled and tousled his hair. “See ya in a little bit, B.”
“I’m gonna go swing,” Katie said, uninterested in attempting to push her way to the front of a group of loud and
rowdy boys, and only to watch a silly marble game. Yes, that sort of thing was definitely for boys.
Aware that he was by far the smallest child among the group, Byron stood tall and made his way to the center of
the gathering. Enthralled, he watched two of the boys crouch to their knees and fire their colorful shooters in the
dust. The game was for each other’s marbles, and the boys took it very seriously. Bickering and shouting were
plentiful among the small gathering.
After a few minutes, Byron could stand it no longer, and boldly took a step forward. “Can I play?” he asked one
of the older boys. He recognized the child; Richard was his name, a schoolmate of Brian’s.
“Ya got any marbles?” Richard asked, bending to one knee, amused by the little boy.
Byron looked down and stuck his hands in his pockets, pulling them inside out. “No,” he admitted, looking back
up.
“He can’t play. He’s too little,” spoke up one of the younger children.
“Anybody can play if they got marbles, and if they wait their turn,” Richard announced.
“Where’d I get marbles?” Byron queried.
“Ya gotta get ’em at the Mercantile,” explained another boy. “They’re a few pennies each. You could do chores
for Mr. Brooks an’ get pennies.”
“Yeah, my pa lets me sweep the barn,” another added. “I get eight whole pennies for that each week.”
“I not a-llowed in barn,” Byron said quietly. That had been the rule, ever since his attacks had started. He wished
he could go in, pet the animals and help Cal and Brian with the chores, but his mother had forbid it, at least until
they were sure his asthma was under control.
“Well, ya can find something else then,” Richard reassured him. “There’s plenty of chores somebody your age
can do. My pa used to let me ride along with him when he went to Denver t’ trade. I’d help him out.”
“Mine, too,” spoke another boy.
Byron thought a moment. “Cal, he says I can help him wid streetcars. And he is the best driver in Col-rado.”
“Silly. You’re not big enough to drive those streetcars,” a boy not much older than Byron accused.
“My pa lets *me* drive the wagon sometimes,” the boy’s older brother bragged.
“I am too big ’nough!” Byron retorted. “He says I could!…My pa says I can help! Then I can get pennies!”
A few of the older children burst into giggles.
“Your pa?” echoed the eldest, Aaron. “Mr. Brooks ain’t your pa, stupid.”
Byron stuck out his lower lip. “Is, too.”
Aaron stepped up to Byron, hands on his hips. “Oh, yeah? My pa says your pa’s body is rotting on the bottom of a
creek, and his soul’s burnin’ in hell.”
The two boys shooting marbles paused, looking up at Aaron and Byron silently.
“No, is not!” Byron shouted, tears threatening. “He went t’ heaven ’cause there’s an acc-dent an’ God wanted
him. Mama said! Sull-wee went to heaven when’s me was a little baby in her tummy. Then I was in there a long
time and then Cal helped my mama get me born and then I wasn’t in her tummy no more.”
“That’s bad talk about babies,” a younger child put in spitefully. “I’ll tell on you.”
“God wanted Sull-wee!” Byron returned, feeling quite defenseless. “My mama said so!”
“Yeah? You ask Dr. Mike for the truth then,” Aaron went on. “Ask her and she’ll tell ya it’s his own fault. I
remember it clear as day. Got into a big mess with some Injuns and the army and he and this other soldier fell
straight over a cliff.” He picked up his Sunday school Bible, held it high over his head, and dropped it to the
ground with a smack and a small cloud of dust. “Smash! Fell to their death!”
“Yeah, I remember that, too,” spoke up another. “He was gonna get hanged if he hadn’t got killed. Mr. Sully’s a
traitor, everybody said. It weren’t no accident, Byron.”
“Hey, leave the kid be,” Richard put in. “He didn’t do anything.”
Byron struggled to keep his tears in check. “What’s a taitor?”
“You sure are dumb,” Aaron chuckled. “Didn’t nobody ever teach you anything? Means he did somethin’ real
bad. Means he’s a bad man, sorta like an outlaw, and everybody wants t’ see a rope ’round his neck.” He thought
a moment. “Bet you’ll grow up to be just like him. You’re his son, after all. Byron Sully the second. Ha!”
“Am not!” His fuse run out, Byron went after the boy, hitting him with his fists with all his energy. Aaron only
laughed and picked him up, tossing him in the dust with little effort.
“Hey!” Richard shouted, grabbing Aaron’s arm. “Ya wanna get us all in trouble? He’s gonna go rat on ya now!”
“What do I care? Nobody’s gonna believe some little kid,” Aaron said. He got back on his knees and picked up
his shooter. “Come on, let’s play.”
Hot tears slipping down his cheeks, Byron sat himself up, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Richard bent to his level,
helping him to his feet and brushing off his button down shirt. “Ya all right, Byron? Don’t tell, kid, please.” He
spotted the church doors opening. “Oh, there ya go. The meetin’s over. Go on to your ma. Go on.”
Sniffling, Byron obeyed, hurrying over to his mother and throwing himself against her legs. “Brynie?” Michaela
murmured, lifting him into her arms. He was hiccupping, his face tear-streaked, though he wore his bravest smile.
Cal rubbed his back as they began walking toward the wagon. “What’s the matter, little guy?”
“What in heaven’s name happened?” Michaela questioned. She took note of his britches, covered in dust, and his
face, streaked with dirt from touching it with his fists. “Look at your good Sunday clothes. How did you get them
so dirty?” she demanded. She took out her handkerchief and began wiping his cheeks.
Byron averted his eyes, fathoming the best excuse he could. “I…I fell, Mama.” He just couldn’t tell her what the
boys had said about Sully. He supposed he was afraid to tell her, afraid if he told he would find out she had been
lying to him all along. And he was scared, too. Scared his pa really had been a bad man, and was in…in hell, that
bad place in the Bible that nobody talked about. Byron glanced at Cal. He didn’t need to be scared. Cal was his
papa now. He could forget Sully.
“You fell?” Michaela repeated disbelievingly. “My goodness, that must have been quite a spill!”
“You didn’t let those boys pick on ya, did ya?” Brian asked, trying to read Byron’s troubled expression. “You
know you can come get me if anybody ever does, B.”
“Now what reason would they have to pick on Byron?” Michaela said, unable to believe anyone would
deliberately hurt her precious son’s feelings. She lifted him up on the wagon seat and climbed in.
Brian shrugged. “I’ll go tell Katie we’re leaving,” he said.
Byron toyed with his loose shoelace as Michaela put him in her lap to make room for Cal. “Can I get some
marbles?” the little boy spoke up quietly. “Can I get some, please, Cal?”
“Marbles?” Cal echoed, taking the reins in his hands.
“Yeah,” Byron affirmed. “Everybody’s pas give ’em pennies and then I go to Mr. Bway and get marbles. I want
blue ones. An’ red.”
Cal glanced at Michaela for approval.
“Perhaps sometime, if that’s what you really think you want,” she said, stroking her son’s hair worriedly. He was
keeping something from them, but what, Michaela couldn’t fathom.
***
Cal carried two steaming cups of coffee in his hand and walked on tiptoe down the hallway. Brian followed, and
behind him Katie and Byron. Brian and Katie each carried a generous platter of scrambled eggs, sausages, and
buttered toast with raspberry jam. His mouth fixed shut lest he be tempted to speak, Byron followed, holding two
wooden trays as if they were a heavy stack of firewood.
“Shh…” Cal murmured, glancing back at the children as he pushed open the master bedroom door with his
stocking foot. He placed the coffee cups on the nightstand and crawled onto the bed, kissing Michaela awake.
Surprised, Michaela’s eyes opened quickly.
“Happy…half Anniversary,” Cal whispered.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured.
The children entered the room, all smiles.
“Happy ’versary,” Katie said with a giggle.
“What’s all this?” Michaela asked, sitting up as she looked from one to the other.
Cal took the trays from Byron, placing one across Michaela’s lap and the other on his side of the bed. “All
this…is breakfast in bed.”
“We all helped,” Brian said, placing his plate on his mother’s tray.
“Even me!” Byron exclaimed, climbing up onto the bed, followed by his sister. “I helped stir up the eggs.”
Michaela kissed Katie and Byron and took Brian’s hand. “Thank you. This is wonderful.”
“You better taste it first,” Cal said.
“You, too,” Michaela invited, raising her eyebrows.
They each took a heaping spoonful of eggs.
“Mmm,” Cal said.
“Delicious,” Michaela added.
Byron eyed their plates, eyes wide.
“Did you eat?” Michaela asked.
“The three of us already did, don’t worry, Ma,” Brian assured her.
Michaela ticked Byron’s chin and gave him a bite of the eggs. “Here, darling. You have to taste your own
creation.”
“…Mmm!” he giggled.
Cal sat on his side of the bed and placed the tray across his lap. “There’s two special occasions today, actually,”
he began. “I got good news.”
“Oh?” Michaela said curiously.
Cal smiled. “I’m putting an advertisement in the Gazette. Gonna hire two drivers for my streetcars. Got enough
money now. I’ll work in the office a lot more now, and won’t get so tired and dirty.”
“Oh, Cal,” Michaela exclaimed. “You’ve been waiting for this day to come.”
Katie rose to her knees. “Now ya won’t come home all smelly!”
Byron pinched his nose. “Ew!” he laughed.
Cal growled and tickled the younger children, escalating their chortles.
Brian grinned and took his younger siblings’ hands. “Come on. Let’s let Ma an’ Cal eat in peace.”
Once the children had left the room, Michaela took the opportunity to thank Cal for the breakfast more intimately,
linking her fingers with his and kissing him for a long moment.
“You’re welcome,” Cal murmured wryly.
Michaela smiled and took up her knife and fork, cutting one of the sausage links.
“Aren’t ya excited, Mike?” he said, picking up a slice of toast. “Now, I can’t pay ’em much, they’ll have to know
that, but I’m sure two young boys Brian’s age would be happy to have their first job.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding people,” Michaela said half-heartedly.
“I’ll be home more,” he went on softly. “Won’t have to do all the work myself. I’ll be home more with ya,
Michaela…I love being with ya.”
She cleared her throat. “What about our new house?”
“Well, one thing at a time, darlin’,” he replied. “The house is next on the list.”
She nodded slowly. As much as she loved the homestead and the memories it sparked, every day she spent under
its roof with Cal increased her uneasiness. She felt as if she were living in the crowded burrows of a ship, longing
to break free from consuming claustrophobia. From the beginning, she had known that the best place for she and
Cal was a home of their own, where they could build their own memories. She realized money was tight, but it
seemed the only time Cal thought about their home was when she brought it up.
“It’s just you don’t seem very focused on it,” she ventured softly.
Cal looked up, startled. “On what? Our house?”
“All you talk about is the streetcar business. It’s all you think about,” she said, voice unsteady. She hated
arguments, especially when she was responsible for provoking them, but now that she had started, she couldn’t
stop.
“Mike,” Cal murmured. “That ain’t true. I’m gonna build us our home, soon as-”
“Soon as this, soon as that,” Michaela retorted mockingly, laying her silverware across her plate. “When is
*soon*?”
He took a deep breath, stroking her arm. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have a house of our own when we first got
married.” He kissed her softly. “But I promise you I’m gonna save every penny from now on. We’ve got it off the
ground, now we just gotta wait for the profit to come in. Won’t be too long.”
“I could help,” she offered in a whisper. “I could save, too.”
He shook his head. “This is my gift to you.”
“You’re just like Sully.” She drew in her breath, uncertain whether voicing that particular thought had been the
best idea.
Not knowing what to say, Cal picked up his toast and finished it in a few bites.
“I’m sorry,” Michaela murmured at last. “I know you work hard. I’m being selfish.”
“No,” he told her, taking her hand. “This can’t feel right to ya, living here. But really it won’t be much longer, I
promise.” He kissed the back of her hand sweetly. “We got our troubles like everybody else, but things are
looking up from here, Mike. Everything’s turning out as perfect as I pictured it. Let’s not think about things that
are just gonna make ya upset. Everything always turns out all right in the end, hm?” He leaned forward and kissed
her brow. “…I love you. I love you so much.”
“Yes, you’re right, and…” Michaela tilted her head up, pressing her lips to his. “I love you, too.”
“Mmm. You taste like raspberry jam,” he said wryly.
She ran her finger across his lips, eyes twinkling.
He cupped the back of her neck in his hand. “Well, it was my idea to have breakfast in bed. Now it’s your turn.
What do you wanna do?”
Michaela lips turned up into a crooked smile. “I know exactly what I’d like…no, love to do on our half
anniversary.”
Cal eyed her hesitantly. “What’s that?”
Her eyes lit up from the very thought. “Let’s go ice-skating.”
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç@áxäxÇ
“Wasn’t that wonderful?” Michaela exclaimed, out of breath as she sat on a fallen log to unlace her skates.
“Oh, yeah,” Cal grumbled, lowering himself carefully beside her and stretching his stiff back. “It was great.”
She laughed. “It isn’t very good of me to put you through such agony.”
He propped up his right foot on his opposite knee and began unlacing his skate. “I don’t think agony’s a strong
enough word, Mike.”
“You’re not still upset about falling, are you?” Michaela questioned. “No one was here to see. And you are
getting better, truthfully.”
He pulled off his skate and laced up his boot. “I’m more upset you ain’t being honest with me,” he teased. “I’m
getting worse at this, not better!”
She got down on her knees and helped him unlace his left skate. “You’re not really upset,” she told him with a
crooked smile.
He caressed her cheek as she tied his boot. “…Got something for ya.” He dug in his wool coat pocket, pulling out
a wrinkled package wrapped in brown paper.
“We agreed we weren’t going to get each other gifts,” Michaela scolded. She resumed her seat beside him and
reluctantly took the package.
“I know, but it ain’t exactly just for you…it’s for all of us. Just open it,” he instructed.
Sighing, she unlaced the string and carefully tore open the package. “Oh,” she said, somewhat puzzled.
“They’re ice-skates,” he explained with a smile.
“Yes, they’re very small ice-skates,” Michaela replied tentatively, holding then up. They were indeed the smallest
pair of skates she had ever seen. They had to have been special ordered, designed for a child no more than two or
three. “This is sweet of you, Cal, but Byron already has his own pair, and besides I think his feet are too big for
these as it is. He isn’t so tiny anymore.”
He chuckled. “They ain’t for Byron, Mike.”
She hesitated. “No? Who are they for then?”
He took her hand. “Well…they’re for our baby girl or boy, when we take ’em ice-skating someday.”
Dreading this moment, but realizing it was bound to come up sooner rather than later, Michaela drew in her
breath, not certain how to reply. “Our baby,” she finally murmured.
“Yeah, don’t that sound nice?” He stroked her palm with his thumb. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think we
should start, well…trying.”
“Cal...I don’t know if now is such a good time. We’re saving for a house. We’ve only just married.”
“We’ve been married six months as I recall. Most couples, they get pregnant the first year, don’t they? Seems as
good a time as any. Seems as though babies, they make things even better. Michaela, wouldn’t ya love to hold a
baby in your arms again? I remember the first time I held Byron. I won’t ever forget it. Wouldn’t it be wonderful
to have that again?”
She nodded uncertainly. “Yes, but...” She trailed off. There was that feeling again, that unexplainable uneasiness.
It appeared just before she had married Cal, just before their honeymoon, and now whenever she considered the
idea of a child. It was an overpowering force, one she wished she could control, one she knew she should be able
to get the better of.
She hadn’t told Cal that twice since their wedding, she had genuinely thought she might be pregnant, once late
that summer, and the other just after Thanksgiving. She didn’t tell him how terrified that had made her, and how
each time, she had taken a morning off from the clinic to see Andrew, to be sure she was mistaken. What Andrew
had interpreted as two great sighs of disappointment, were in fact sighs of immense relief. It was absurd, wasn’t
it? There was no reason she shouldn’t begin a family with Cal. None. She closed her eyes and saw Sully smiling
over Katie’s half-completed cradle. She snapped her eyes open, willing the image to disappear.
“I’d be somebody’s pa,” Cal went on, eyes glazed over. “I’d be so good to it, Mike. I’d give it everything I could.
I don’t wanna be a thing like my own pa. I’d never ever hurt it, I swear it.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Michaela assured him softly, squeezing his hand. She paused. “And you already are
someone’s pa, Cal. Three someones.”
He lowered his eyes. “It ain’t the same, Mike.”
“Why isn’t it?” she demanded, frustrated. She had been waiting for the right time to bring up the issue, and now
seemed appropriate.
“Because,” he murmured, “because…I’m their friend. I always have been.”
“You can be both,” Michaela told him. “You can be their friend and a parent to them as well. You’re the only ‘pa’
Byron and Katie have ever known.”
“No, Mike. It wouldn’t be fair to them,” he went on quietly. “And it wouldn’t be fair to you. I just can’t feel right
about it. I ain’t ready for that kinda thing.”
“You’re ready for us to have a baby, yet you’re not ready to be a father to the children we already have,”
Michaela said somewhat curtly.
“Michaela, you know it’s different,” he insisted. “Don’t pretend ya don’t see. Ya can’t change their blood.”
“I wasn’t aware blood was so important,” Michaela said. “I always thought it didn’t matter.”
“Then ya want the kids to forget Sully?” Cal questioned. “Or the older kids, ya want them to deny their father?”
“I didn’t say that,” Michaela said, tears suddenly springing to her eyes.
“Blood matters,” he said simply. He softened his tone, squeezing her hand tight. “I love your children so much.
More than ya know. But Mike, I got so much love in me, I want to share that with a baby that’s part of the two of
us, and part of our whole family. That’s what I’ve dreamed of, having a family with the most amazing woman
I’ve ever known. With you, Mike…Our baby would be the luckiest kid ever, having you for its mama.”
The tears Michaela had been struggling to hold back spilled down her cheeks. Cal had never asked anything of
her, and now the one thing he wanted, she was reluctant to give.
He put his arm around her comfortingly. “Please, darlin’. Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me what’s wrong.
Are ya scared? Ya did so beautiful with Byron. Ya did so good. You remember. And it was all over before we
knew it, hm? Don’t worry, I’m gonna be right there with ya again. I won’t let anything happen, I promise.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that.” She closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest. “I know you want
this.”
“You want it, too,” he encouraged, rubbing her back.
“...If we have a baby, I’ll have to cut back on my hours at the clinic,” she said softly.
He nodded. “Sure. We can do that. We’ll figure things out.”
“We need the money,” she pointed out. “We can’t afford to have the clinic open for any less time than it is now.
And of course after the baby is born, if I leave it with a sitter, that’s going to cost money.”
“I’ll look after it while you’re at the clinic,” Cal offered.
“You’ll drive a baby around in a streetcar all day?” Michaela asked. “We have so much to plan out before we
decide to do this.”
He scratched his chin. “Well...I...Mike, look, things are gonna work out. I promise. I don’t want ya worrying
about things like that.”
“Cal, I’ve done this twice before. It’s always harder than you think. The clinic is no place for an infant, I quickly
found out with Katie, exposing her to God knows what. I need to be home caring for the child.”
“So I’ll work more, and then you’ll be able stay home with it ’til it’s older,” he replied simply. He kissed her
temple. “…We don’t have to talk about this anymore right now if ya don’t want.” He raised his eyebrows. “…I
love you.” He cupped her flushed cheek in his hand. “That’s what’s important.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Cal. I’m sorry. It’s just, I don’t think we should decide this right away.
Having a baby...that isn’t something I take lightly. We’d be bringing a new life into the world. Things should be
perfect for it. Please, understand.”
“Things are perfect, as far as I can tell,” he murmured, kissing her head adoringly.
She pulled back. “We should think about it some more, before we make any rash decisions. There’s no cause to
hurry things.”
Relenting, Cal stroked her hair from her eyes. It wasn’t going to help anything to pressure her. She would see,
hopefully before long, that a baby would be nothing but wonderful for them. “All right. You’re right. We’ve
never rushed anything before and…and that’s been a good thing.”
“You *wanted* to rush the wedding,” Michaela teased shyly.
He tickled her stomach and she let out a chortle, pushing his hands away. “So did you, Mike, and don’t think you
can fool me!”
She grew serious, grasping the tassels of his scarf and bringing his lips to hers. “I love you, too, Cal. Nothing can
change that.”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “I know, darlin’.”
Michaela gave him a warm hug, kissing his cheek. “We’ll think about it some more, I promise.” She owed him
that, she thought, though she couldn’t see how any more time would make her feel better about the idea. Six
months time certainly hadn’t changed anything.
“Me, too,” Cal whispered, squeezing her tight.
***
“And Cal gave me three whole pennies for them,” Byron went on excitedly. “Wanna see Miz Gwace?”
Grace chuckled and rested her coffee pitcher on the table. “I would love to, pumpkin!”
“Byron, they’ll roll all over the table,” Michaela groaned.
“Here, Byron, you hold out your hands and I’ll pour the marbles into them,” Dorothy suggested from her seat
across from the two.
Agreeably, Byron carefully opened the leather pouch Cal had given him, handed it across to Dorothy, and cupped
his hands together as she emptied its contents into them.
“Ooo, those *are* pretty,” Grace told him, putting her hands on her knees and leaning over the table. “Let’s see,
we’ve got red, yellow, orange, and-”
“Blue!” Byron squealed. “They pwetty. Cal gave me pennies and I got ’em.”
Grace patted his head, smiling at Michaela. “Sounds like things are going just fine out at the Brooks’ place,” she
remarked.
Michaela nodded politely as Grace refilled her coffee cup. “Thank you,” she said.
“Well, it’s back to work for me,” Grace said, once hand on her hip. “G’day, ladies, Mr. Sully.”
“G’day, Miz Gwace!” Byron said. He took his pouch and began placing the marbles back into it, one at a time, at
once oblivious to the happenings around him.
“You don’t seem your usual self, Michaela,” Dorothy remarked worriedly. “You’re quiet. You seem tired.”
Michaela sipped her coffee. “I’m afraid I haven’t been getting much sleep.”
“Oh,” Dorothy chuckled. “Well, you’re still newlyweds.”
Michaela reddened. “Dorothy!” she reproached.
Dorothy only chuckled. “I’m sorry, Michaela.” She grew serious. “You really don’t look well. Just because you’re
a doctor doesn’t mean you can’t come down with something.”
“I’m just tired, that’s all,” Michaela insisted. “I’ve been…I’ve been having dreams at night.”
“Dreams?” Dorothy questioned.
“Nightmares,” Michaela clarified. “I’m afraid to sleep at night, and as a result I’m exhausted during the day.” She
hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal to her friend. “The nightmares…they’re about Sully.”
“Oh, dear. Well, what does Cal think?” Dorothy asked.
“I haven’t told him,” she admitted. “They’ve been persisting for a few weeks now. I keep waiting for them to end.
The longer I wait the worse they become.”
“Maybe you’re…” Dorothy said, a suggestion of a smile at the corner of her lips.
Michaela grimaced, shaking her head.
Sensing something from her friend’s reaction, Dorothy drew in her breath. She probed her eyes further. “…You
don’t want to be pregnant,” she said, surprised.
"No, I..." She hesitated. “I don’t know anymore.”
“You can tell me, Michaela,” Dorothy assured her.
Michaela sighed. “Cal keeps bringing it up, and I keep coming up with excuses as to why we shouldn’t,” she
admitted.
“And why shouldn’t you?” Dorothy said.
Michaela shrugged. “No reason whatsoever…except…every fiber in my being is telling me *not* to do it. That
I’m not prepared for this.”
“I suppose that’s normal,” Dorothy reassured her. “You’re just getting used to being married again. It’s a big
change. Thinkin’ about a baby on top of all that has got to be just too much.”
“But Cal’s so excited about it,” Michaela murmured. “He wants one so…and I feel terrible. I should be able to
give this to him.”
Dorothy nodded slowly. “You will, Michaela, when the time’s right. Now just ain’t the right time.”
“But what do I tell Cal?” Michaela murmured.
“Tell him what you told me,” Dorothy suggested. “Tell him about the dreams.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that. He’ll be hurt. No, Dorothy. I need to come to terms with this. This is all
ridiculous. I should want a baby as much as he. I need to reason with myself.”
“From the way things sound, you’ve already tried that,” Dorothy said quietly.
Abruptly, Michaela rose from the table. “I should get back to the clinic.” She took Byron’s hand. “Time to go,
Brynie.”
“But Mama, I am countin’ my marbles,” he told her, irritated.
“You can count your marbles at the clinic, but I won't crawl under my desk any more to look for the ones you
drop. That’s a promise.”
“Michaela,” Dorothy said, grasping her hand. “…Take care of yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Michaela said defensively. She softened. “Good day, Dorothy. Thank you for the coffee.”
“Good day,” Dorothy sighed.
***
Byron sat himself at the base of the porch stairs and emptied his pouch of marbles at his feet. He selected a small
stick and drew a circle in the dust, as he had seen the older children do, and caringly placed the marbles inside the
circle, one at a time. Once he was finished, he rose to his feet and peered up at the roof where Cal was working.
He had climbed up the ladder to the roof with a couple big long brushes, explaining something about cleaning the
chimney. Byron wished he’d do that some other time, and come on down and play with him, teach him how to
play marbles like the big kids did.
“Cal!” he called. “When ya gonna be done up there?”
Cal stood up on the roof and spotted the little boy. “Gotta do this, Squirt. You sit there an’ play. Don’t go
climbing up the ladder. In fact you’d better just stay away from it all together, all right?”
“…All right,” Byron grumbled, reluctantly obeying. He resumed his seat just as Brian and Katie came out the
front door, Wolf on a leash in front of them.
Byron immediately stood up, bursting into a smile. “Brian! Katie! Play marbles with me!”
Brian tousled his hair. “Sorry, B. Ma wants us to walk the dog.”
“Oh,” he sighed.
“She’s getting under Mama’s feet,” Katie explained.
“Underfoot, Kate,” Brian chuckled.
“Yeah. And Mama said get her out ’fore she goes crazy!” the little girl giggled.
Byron giggled softly. “Bad Wolfy.” He pet Wolf’s disheveled hair as the dog gave a bark and licked his hand with
her rough tongue.
“You can come walk, too,” Katie encouraged.
“…No, guess not,” Byron sighed, sitting back down and resting his chin in his hands.
Katie stooped down and gave him a hug. “That’s all right,” she told him sweetly.
“We’ll be back by suppertime, B.,” Brian assured him as they began their walk, Wolf in the lead and pulling Katie
along by the leash.
Byron heaved another sigh, staring at his marbles. He looked up at the roof again. Cal…his papa would play with
him, if he asked nicely. He would just go up there and ask him to come down…
“Byron, no, no!” Cal called. He carefully but hurriedly made his way down the roof and to the ladder, then
climbed down and around Byron, who had climbed three rungs off the ground and was half-way to the forth.
“What did I tell ya?” Cal said angrily, lifting the child off the ladder and into his arms. “What do ya think you’re
doing?” he demanded. “What did Cal tell ya? I said you’re not to climb up on this ladder for any reason!”
Suddenly, the little boy burst into tears. “I s-sorry,” he sniveled.
“Oh…don’t cry, little guy.” Cal carried him over to the porch, sat on the top step and put him in his lap, hugging
him close. “It’s all right. I just don’t want ya getting hurt.” He swallowed hard. “Couldn’t live with myself if ya
ever got hurt,” he added quietly.
Gradually, Byron calmed. He drew in his breath shakily and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Why ya
gotta go up there?” he asked. “I want ya to play with me. You can teach me ’bout marbles.”
Cal cleared his throat. “Well, we gotta sweep out the chimney every so often. It gets dirty just like everything
else. It’s real important we keep it clean.”
“Why?” Byron asked.
Cal shrugged. “Well, because…because normally the smoke and other things from the fire floats up the chimney
and outside where it can’t hurt us. But if the chimney ain’t clean, bad air can get trapped inside where it shouldn’t
be, and if we breathe it in that ain’t good for us at all. It’ll make us real terrible sick.”
Byron pondered it a moment. “I wanna help ya,” he said at last. “I help keep it clean.”
“I know ya do,” Cal murmured. “But this ain’t the kinda job where I need a lotta help, see. It’s a…a one-person
job. I know, you can help your mama inside with supper. Now don’t that sound fun, being with your mama?”
“No,” he replied simply, grasping Cal’s shirt. “I wanna be wid *you*, Papa.”
Taken aback for a moment, Cal let out a deep sigh. “Byron…no, ya can’t call me that. Ya can’t be calling me
that.”
“How come?” Byron asked quietly.
“’Cause I’m just Cal,” he told him softly. “Your real papa, Sully, he’s in heaven, you know that.”
Byron narrowed his brow angrily. Just when he finally had a papa, this Sully person had to ruin it. “Sullwee…Sull-wee in hell rottin’ in the cweek!” he exclaimed suddenly.
Shocked, Cal gripped his arms. “Where’d you hear that? Where’d you hear that, son?” he demanded.
Byron sniffled, clenching his hands in fists. “Aaron said so!”
“Well, Aaron’s very, very wrong,” Cal told him firmly.
“I hate him!” Byron went on, not convinced. “I hate Sull-wee!”
“Don’t you say that, Byron. Don’t you ever say that,” he told him sternly. “Sully loves you and you love him,
too.”
“But I never even see him!” he insisted. “Mama say papas give hugs and have whiskas and are nice. Sull-wee
don’t ever hugs me! I hate him!” He desperately tried to control his quivering lip. “He hates me,” he added softly.
Cal was speechless. He had no idea how upset Byron was over this. Even at four, the child had experienced the
same hurt, confusion, and sorrow as any adult experienced following grave loss. The difference was no one had
thought to ask the little boy how *he* felt about losing a father, even though they had never met. Cal paused. That
was exactly it. Because Byron had never known Sully, he had always assumed the child couldn’t have been
harmed by such a tragedy. He had been greatly mistaken.
Cal gave him a tight, warm hug. “Know what? It’s all right to be sad, Squirt. It’s all right to have those feelings.
It’s tough losing your pa, ain’t it?”
“It tough,” Byron quivered, burying his head beneath Cal’s neck.
“I’d love for ya to call me ‘Papa’,” Cal went on, “but I don’t think we should do that, ’cause Sully’s up in heaven
loving you with all his heart, that I promise you, and it just wouldn’t be fair to him. And ya can’t be calling me
that just ’cause you’re upset with him.”
Byron rubbed his eyes with his fists. “Why can’t you be my pa?” he asked. “Then them kids don’t be mean to me
’cause then I have a weal pa.”
Cal hugged him tighter. “Tell ya what, next time those kids are mean to ya, you come straight to me. Cal will take
care of it just as good as any pa could.”
“You will?” Byron asked softly.
“I will,” Cal affirmed.
“Cal…is my pa bad?” Byron went on softly.
"Is your pa...?" Cal nodded behind him. “See this house, Byron?”
Byron looked up at the homestead. “Yeah.”
“Know who built it?”
“Sull-wee?” Byron ventured, recalling his mother telling him about that.
“That’s right. And know why he built it? ’Cause he loved your mama *so* much, he wanted to give her the best
gift he could. Sully’s love for her, why, it’s as big as this house.”
“Whoa, it’s big,” Byron murmured in wonder.
Cal smiled. “How could anyone who loved your mama that much be bad, hm?” He kissed his head. “Sully, your
papa, was a very good man, Byron. The truth is…no one is sure what happened when he died, but we do know he
was helping other folks, Indians like Cloud Dancing, just like he’d always done. Sometimes, people say things,
even mean things, without knowing all the facts. It can hurt our feelings, but we just gotta remember they don’t
know anything. You say that to yourself the next time that happens. Say, those kids don’t know a thing about my
pa, and just walk away and come get Cal. They ain’t worth talking to if they’re saying mean things like that.”
Byron sniffled. “…All right,” he agreed.
“That’s a good boy,” Cal murmured. He paused. “…I love ya, little guy.”
“I love ya, Cal,” Byron whispered, hugging his waist.
Michaela stepped forward, swiping tears from her eyes. She had opened the door several minutes before,
remaining unnoticed until now. “Supper’s on the table,” she spoke quietly.
Surprised, Cal looked up. He placed Byron on his feet and gave his bottom a pat. “Go on, Squirt. Get washed up.”
He rose to follow the little boy inside, but Michaela caught his arm, stopping him.
“You’re wonderful with him,” she said.
He pretended not to notice her tear-streaked cheeks. “Wasn’t anything,” he muttered.
“I wish you would do it more often. He needs you,” she went on, disregarding his remark. “He looks up to you.”
“Don’t know why,” Cal said, still unwilling to accept it.
“Oh, I do,” Michaela told him with a small smile. “…You can still be a father to him,” she added, “even if you’d
rather he not call you ‘papa’.”
Cal let out a sigh and nodded reluctantly. He took her hand, kissing her cheek. “Let’s eat.”
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç@x|z{à
Michaela and Cloud Dancing continued their meanderings on the outskirts of the reservation along the beaten
path in the woods. Their conversation was light, their pace leisurely, and Michaela was reminded of the times
when they had first met, when Cloud Dancing would often walk with her, telling her the stories of his People.
"The children are well?" the Indian asked, his hands folded in front of him.
"Yes, very," Michaela replied. "Katie and Brian are thriving in school. And Byron's asthma seems better, with the
help of stramonium."
"He has the strength of his father," he remarked.
"Yes," Michaela agreed softly. "Oh, I nearly forgot." She snapped open the clasps on her medical bag and pulled
out a small leather pouch. "I was gathering herbs the other day, and I found one I'm uncertain of. I was hoping
you could help me identify it." She handed him the pouch.
"I'll do my best," he said, pausing in their stroll. He reached in and gently pulled out a handful of the herb: little
flowers each containing dark green leaves, three prominent sepals and three larger, withering pale yellow petals.
He ran his bronzed fingers delicately over the leaves, then held it to his nose and inhaled deeply. Michaela
watched him with admiration. She wished she could show the flowers as much respect as he did. When she saw
an herb she needed she would tear the plant from the ground by its roots and shove it into her satchel. It would
end up ground into a powder or torn up for tea leaves anyway, so what did it matter? Watching Cloud Dancing
made her want to pay greater attention to the herbs, take in their shape and color, and eventually be able to name
any one she saw.
Cloud Dancing handed her a flower, and she held it delicately in her hands, having a new regard for it.
"This is called beetroot," he explained. "Like a lily, but it is not." He pointed to one of the leaves. "Taste it," he
encouraged.
Michaela pressed a leaf tentatively to her tongue, her eyebrows narrowing. "Sharp and bitter. Is it good for
anything?"
"Nothing was put on this earth without a purpose," he replied. "Make the leaves into a tea, and it helps with
stomach sores. Ulcers. And if you boil the roots in milk..." he went on.
"What does that help with?" Michaela encouraged.
He averted his eyes as he tried to think of the word. "For...for a patient who...can't control...can't control
themselves?"
"Oh...diarrhea?" Michaela stammered.
The Indian nodded happily. "Yes, yes...works wonders." He laughed at the white man's saying. "Works wonders."
"Maybe I should be taking notes," Michaela said, reaching into her bag.
He placed his hand atop hers, stilling it. "No. You must learn to keep what I teach you in your head, and hold onto
it."
"How does one do that?" she asked uncertainly.
"You will learn," he told her.
"How much more do I have to learn?" she moaned, chuckling.
"Too much...but not as much as before," he added with a grin.
Michaela placed the herbs back in the pouch carefully. "Thank you, Cloud Dancing."
Cloud Dancing gazed at her knowingly. "Is this the only reason you came to see me?"
Michaela lowered her eyes as they continued their stroll. "Well...I..."
"The marriage is good?" he prompted.
"Yes, in many ways," she replied simply, unsure how to explain. "...Cal wants to try for a baby," she at last
blurted.
Cloud Dancing's expression remained unreadable. "This is good news."
Michaela wasn't sure whether he was making a statement or asking a question. "I suppose," she responded noncommittingly. They walked in silence for several paces, each with their own thoughts. Finally, Michaela drew in
her breath. "I'm content with the way things are. I'm content with my husband, my family, the life I've re-built.
Cal is a father to my children now, but it's different for him. I suppose I can understand that. I love Brian and the
older children dearly, but when Katie was born...it felt different. It was a feeling I've never known before."
"She was a part of you and of Sully," Cloud Dancing pointed out.
Michaela nodded. "...Cloud Dancing, I don't want another baby like Cal does. The idea alone frightens me so. I
keep thinking about Sully. I even have dreams about him. In my dreams...Sully reaches out to me, but I can't hold
onto his hand. I let him fall. I just let him fall. It makes absolutely no sense."
Cloud Dancing pondered her words. "...Marriage is a partnership. You each bring gifts to it; each make sacrifices,
out of love for the other. This makes a good marriage."
"Then I should give Cal a child," she interpreted reluctantly.
Cloud Dancing held up his hand. "Until you make peace with the past, you should not take this step," he said.
Michaela bent her head, a lump in her throat. "I thought I already had made peace with it. I don't understand this."
"Michaela, your love for Cal is not being questioned. That is not the root of your fears," he reassured her.
She looked up hopefully. "Then where is this fear coming from, Cloud Dancing?"
"You must be the one to search your heart for the answer," he advised softly. "The Spirits say the reason for these
dreams will make itself known. Soon, it will make itself known. You will have your answer."
Michaela sighed. "I hope so." She felt her eyes well with tears. "Cloud Dancing, Cal's given me everything. He's
always placed me and my family first, has never done anything without regard to us. Now he's asking one thing of
me, the only thing he's ever asked...and all I can think about is Sully."
"This marriage can't be the same as what you had with Sully," Cloud Dancing told her. "You and Sully were one
spirit. That spirit will never die. But you and Cal have formed a new spirit, and the feelings are strong. Different,
but strong. It will not be easy, finding the answer to this. But you will find it."
Michaela didn't reply for some time, then at last, she spoke. "Dorothy says the time isn't right now, for our baby.
But she's certain I'll know when the time *is* right."
"Dorothy speaks with great wisdom," replied the medicine man, looking Michaela in the eyes. Michaela paused in
her tracks, but Cloud Dancing continued on, leaving his brother's wife to ponder his words.
***
"Sully!" A bloodcurdling scream shattered the wee hours of the morning. Michaela bolted upright in bed, eyes
wide with terror, and her nightgown clinging to her body, damp with perspiration.
With a deep sigh, Cal pushed himself into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around his wife. "Shh...darlin'."
He pressed her head against his chest. "It's all right. Ya were just dreaming," he crooned softly, as he had nearly
every night for the past several weeks.
Michaela swallowed hard, clinging to him and trying to catch her breath. Cal tenderly pushed a tendril of hair out
of her eyes. It tore him apart to see her like this. He rocked her gently as she began to shudder in his arms. Finally,
the trembling eased and she calmed.
"You were dreaming about Sully again, weren't ya?" he asked softly.
She looked up at him, startled. "How did you know?" she asked hoarsely.
"...Ya cry out for him," he murmured, unable to disguise the hurt in his voice. "Ya cry out for him in your sleep.
It's been happening for weeks now."
She nodded reluctantly. "...I let him go, Cal," she told him shakily. "He reached for me...and I let him slip through
my fingers." Struck by the pain in his eyes, she lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I know how much this must hurt
you."
He took her hand, squeezing it tight. "I just hate seeing ya torment yourself like this."
Michaela relished the protection and comfort of his arm around her waist, her hand firmly clasped in his. She felt
safe in Cal's arms, safe to finally admit what had been plaguing her heart for weeks. It was a great relief to have it
out in the open, yet painful as well, knowing how much Cal had to be wounded by her words. "I don't understand
why this is happening now," she began. "It's been four years."
"Maybe," Cal ventured hesitantly, not sure how she would react to what he was about to say, "maybe it's a sign
your heart is ready to let go of the pain and..." He took a deep breath. "And move on."
"Move on?" she echoed. "Cal, we've been married for six months. How much further on do I have to move?"
He sighed. "I mean start a family of our own."
She stared at their joined hands. It had been a long while since he had first brought up the subject, yet time, as
Michaela had feared, had not lessened her uneasiness. "Cal..."
Stroking her hair, he tried once more. "Mike, ya know how much I love Katie and Byron. And Brian, too. I
couldn't love them any more if they were my own."
She nodded slowly but made no comment.
"So it's not 'cause of any lack of feeling for them that I want this." He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her
fingers tenderly. "I love you and I want to have a child with you, one that's part of us, of our love. Mike, there
ain't anything more for us to think over." He waited for her to speak, his breath held.
For a long moment, she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. She felt terrible. Cal had saved her life, given her
everything, and offered unconditional love. He was her most trusted friend, her husband, and her lover. She'd
mourned Sully, she knew she would always love him, but she had moved on, or so she had thought. Again, she
asked herself why: Why can't I give this to him? Finally, she turned to him.
"I..." She paused, taking a deep breath. "I wish I could explain. I just don't know if I'm ready." Her eyes pleaded
for understanding.
Frustrated, his hold on her hand loosened. "Darlin', ya've been saying that for ages now. Just when are ya gonna
be ready?"
She opened her mouth to reply, but he went on.
"Or maybe the truth is you'll never be ready, that ya don't want a child with me, ever." He barely paused to take a
breath. "I'm sorry I'm not Sully. I'm sorry that ya lost him, but there's nothing I can do about that. Sometimes...I'm
jealous of him even."
Michaela's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Jealous? Cal," she breathed, disconcerted.
"Yeah," he affirmed, "I know it sounds crazy, but ya cared for him so much. I guess I wish...I wish ya could love
me like ya did him." He immediately regretted his words, especially after seeing the pain they had inflicted on
Michaela.
"I do love you, sweetheart," she whispered tearfully. "I do love you. Don't do this. Tell me that's not what you've
been thinking all this time."
"Michaela, I can't compete with a ghost. You know I'd give ya the world. I know ya cared for Sully deeply, and if
I could bring him back I would." He looked into her eyes, now glistening with tears. "But I can't," he continued,
almost pleadingly. "Sully's gone, but I'm here. *We're* here, and...the time is right to move on."
She remained silent for several moments, gathering her thoughts. She never imagined after losing Sully she would
ever love again, but now she was married again with a new beginning. Cal had said he would bring Sully back if
he could, and she knew that he truly meant that. She cupped his cheeks in her hands, tears flowing.
"Cal, we have a new life now, one I wouldn't give up for anything."
He looked up hopefully.
"It's true," she went on, "I did love Sully, but you're right, *we're* here, and we've built something wonderful
together."
He stroked her arm guiltily. "Michaela...I'm sorry. I could never force ya to do something ya don't feel right about.
I don't care about anything, except having you in my arms."
She smiled and stroked his cheek. "...Let's have our baby," she whispered.
He blinked disbelievingly.
She kissed his cheek lovingly. "Let's have our baby," she repeated
"...Mike. Ya sure? Don't do this if you don't want to."
She kissed him again, certain she was doing the right thing. True, she would never desire another child as much as
Cal did, but what she did want more than anything was to see him happy. He'd done so much for her, he deserved
this, she loved him, and..."You're right. It's time to move on," she told him.
He pulled her into his arms, holding her close. "I love you, Michaela. You don't have to do this."
"I want to," she told him tearfully, stroking his hair behind his ears. "Cal...I can't promise anything. You need to
know that with Katie and Byron...it took some time before I became pregnant. Trying for a baby, it can be
exhausting..."
"But ya didn't give up," he finished, undaunted, "and we won't either," he told her. "And it'll happen. I know it
will."
"Mama, what's wrong? I hear ya cryin'."
Michaela and Cal broke apart. Katie stood in the doorway, thumb in her mouth, a fat tear trickling down her
flushed cheek. Hastily, Michaela gathered her composure and held her arms out for her daughter. Katie ran to her
embrace, climbing up onto the bed and letting out a soft sob.
"Sweetheart, it's all right," Michaela assured her, pressing her lips to her head as she rocked her gently. "Mama's
fine. I had a bad dream, that's all, just like you do sometimes."
"You dream about monsters, too?" the little girl asked in amazement, her weeping having ceased.
Michaela smiled through her tears. "Well, not monsters exactly, but my bad dreams frighten me just the same."
Katie patted her mother's hand soothingly. "It's all right, Mama. I'll stay with ya 'til the bad dreams go away," she
said, echoing words her mother had used so many times to reassure her.
Michaela and Cal looked at each other, holding back their chuckles.
Katie noticed the smiles on their faces. "What'd I say? I made ya happy, Mama?"
Cal rubbed her back as Michaela tenderly stroked her daughter's hair. "You make me very happy, my darling,
more than you'll ever know."
Katie grinned proudly. Looking up at Cal, she informed him, "I make Mama happy. She won't cry no more."
Cal tickled her chest. "Ya make both of us happy, Princess."
The little girl giggled and curled up, enjoying the attention.
Suddenly, a little voice piped up from the doorway. "I come in, too?"
Michaela looked up, smiling and holding her hand out to Byron. "Yes, you may come in, too." She hoisted him up
onto the bed and into her lap beside his sister. Byron enthusiastically gave his mother a hug.
"Mornin', Mama!" he said.
"Mmm, morning, Brynie," Michaela replied, kissing him lovingly.
Katie gave a momentary frown, realizing her special time with Mama and Cal was ending. Cal noticed the look of
dismay on her face and reached to lift Byron from his mother, seating him between himself and Michaela.
"Hey, little guy, what's got ya up so early, hmm?" Cal asked the squirming four-year-old.
In response, Byron reached up and threw his arms around Cal's neck. "Morning, Cal!"
"Seems both of our little ones are in need of some extra attention this morning," Michaela murmured.
"What's 'tention, Mama?" queried Katie, toying with the lace on Michaela's bodice.
Michaela chuckled. "Attention, Katie," she repeated, leaning back against the headboard and cradling Katie in her
lap. "It means, um...when someone listens to you and is so interested in what you're saying they don't hear or
think of other things.
"Oh," the little girl replied, happily resting her head beneath Michaela's neck. "I like 'tension, Mama."
"Yes, so do I," Michaela laughed. "And right now you have my undivided attention."
"Good." Suddenly frowning, the child said, "What am I s'pose to talk about?"
"So she don't take after her mother in every way," Cal said wryly.
"Very funny," Michaela replied with a grin. She felt relieved she and Cal had finally come to a mutual decision
about having a baby, and at that moment, truly happy. She had the two most special people in her life cuddled in
bed between she and Cal. Nothing was better.
***
The prisoner waited until after lunch, when the guards started to get drowsy from full stomachs, and then slowly
and nonchalantly passed around the tiny key to the other men. The day before, Jack had tucked it inconspicuously
in an old book of poetry and handed it through the bars to him. With that Jack had mouthed a silent "good luck"
and went on his way. The prisoner wondered if he would ever see the old librarian again, if the man would ever
know how appreciative he was for what he had done for all of them.
He and five other prisoners had been assigned to remove rocks and boulders from an area that would soon become
an addition to the prison. It was hot, arduous work, but as Jack had pointed out several times during the
organization of their escape, with only one guard in direct supervision of the men, it was the perfect opportunity
to break away.
Once each prisoner had unlocked their chains they waited for the signal from Five-twenty, a passionate and
determined young man who also had a family he pined for back home. He had been informally appointed in
charge of the escape, as it had been his idea in the first place. At last he raised his arm, and the six turned on the
guard. Using their chains as weapons, they pinned him to the ground and knocked him unconscious before he had
the chance to speak.
The prisoner strangled him about the neck with his filthy, rusted chains. He growled and cried out, enraged over
having lost four years of his life in the unbearable prison and looking to release that anger in whatever form he
could.
"Kill him!" one of his fellow prisoners urged, his hands in fists.
"Kill him, Two-o-four, or I will!" cried another.
The prisoner yanked the chains harder, but suddenly found himself utterly incapable of slaughter. With a warlike
cry, he released the chains and bounded to his feet. "No time for this," he muttered weakly. "Get to the river!"
"He's right!" Five-twenty agreed. "Run, men! Run!"
Finally freed from their chains, the prisoner ran toward the river. Every muscle in his body worked toward getting
to the water and to the canoes filled with supplies Jack had left for them earlier that morning. He inhaled deeply,
perspiration dampening his brow in the hot desert sun. It was amazing, how different it felt to breathe without
chains, to move his limbs freely, to stretch his legs and sprint. It was terrifying; it felt wonderful.
Within the minute the rest of the guards had discovered their escape. Shots rang out behind them and bells of
alarm echoed in their ears, but the prisoner knew he had made it. Jumping into his canoe with two other men, the
slightest smile appeared at his lips. He picked up his paddle and rowed with fierce strength. He was going home,
at last.
V{tÑàxÜ YÉÜàç@Ç|Çx
"Ready or not, here I come!" Cal shouted, his voice echoing throughout the dense woods. He looked behind a few
trees, a rock, and under some fallen branches. "By-ron!" he sang, "where are you?"
Byron stared at the man quietly, as he had been for the past several seconds upon coming across him. He was
filthy, disheveled, dressed in faded, tattered rags and hidden by a scruffy beard and scraggly, tangled dark hair.
His appearance was frightening, but strangely, the child was not intimidated. The man had stuck a fishing pole in
the muddy bank, letting the line float in the water, but he wasn't watching for a bite. He sat Indian-style, his hands
resting on his knees, palms up, and his head was tilted toward the sky, face relaxed and eyes closed.
"What ya doing?" Byron queried curiously, thumbs hooked in his suspenders.
The man spun around, startled. He met the intense blue eyes of the little boy, and suddenly, he couldn't speak. A
strange tingle crept up and down his spine. He squinted, studying the child. "I...uh," he finally stammered, "I'm
prayin'."
"Prayin'?" Byron echoed.
He nodded. "What are you doin' way out here, son?"
"Playing. Playing hide 'n' seek with my papa," Byron told him simply.
The man looked into the child's eyes again, gooseflesh rising on his chin. The boy was beautiful; there was no
doubt about that. Perhaps that was why he felt such a shiver.
"Byron!" Cal called, appearing from the dense trees and lifting the little boy into his arms. "There ya are!"
"Byron?" the man echoed with an amused, crooked smile.
Cal noticed the fisherman for the first time. "Well, hey stranger."
He nodded, his eyes remaining focused on the child. "Hey."
"Catch anything?" Cal queried, eyeing the fishing pole.
He shrugged, scratching his thick, unkempt beard. "Not t' speak of."
"Hm. Well, they don't bite much in the afternoon. Gotta get up real early for the best catch."
The man swiped a fly from his eyes as he gathered courage. "Ya live in Colorado Springs?" he asked softly.
Cal nodded. "Wife and I live a couple miles from town."
The man paused, as if contemplating whether to voice his thoughts. "This your boy?" he finally asked, standing
up. He searched for a similarity between father and child, turning up nothing save perhaps their personality:
friendly, inquisitive, and genuinely content with life.
Cal beamed, tickling Byron's chin. "Who, Squirt here? Naw, the cat dragged this one in. His ma and I decided we
might as well keep him."
Byron giggled, pushing against Cal's chest. "You're silly! I was a baby in Mama's tummy!" he insisted. "Now I'm
big," he informed the fisherman proudly.
The man grinned. He sure was a sweet little boy. "Byron's your name, son?"
Byron nodded, sticking a thumb in his mouth. "Yep. Bywon."
"I like it," he said, chuckling.
"Yep," Byron replied.
Cal glanced up at the sky. "Well, it's getting late, little guy. Best get ya home to your mama." He placed Byron on
his feet. "See ya around," he told the man, and then turned back to the woods, taking the boy's hand.
"See ya," the man called softly.
Byron squeezed Cal's hand tight, looking up at him lovingly, and then cranked his head around, gazing back at the
stranger. "...Bye!" he called, eyes twinkling.
The man gave him a little wave. "Bye," he whispered hoarsely.
***
"Mmm, that smells good," Cal said, entering the kitchen and running his hand down his wife's back lovingly.
Michaela spooned broth once more over the roast beef, and then turned to kiss him. "How was your walk?"
"Squirt ran me all over the place, as usual," he chuckled. "...We came across a man, fishing, and sitting way out in
those woods all by himself."
"Oh?" She picked up a towel and opened the oven door to check on the biscuits.
"He was awful strange-looking," he murmured. "Long hair, thick beard, clothes falling apart, eyes swollen like he
hadn't slept in days. Poor fella'."
"Perhaps he's a trapper," Michaela remarked, determining the biscuits were done and placing them on the
stovetop. "A trapper who hasn't caught anything," she added, opening the icebox.
"Awful cold time of year to be trapping," Cal replied. He smiled, watching Michaela labor so meticulously over
the preparations for dinner. He enfolded his arms around her and pulled her to him.
"What can I do to help?" he asked, the mere sight of his wife filling him with happiness.
"You can sit down," she bid, turning and pulling out a chair for him, "and enjoy your day off. You work too
hard."
"I think *you* work too hard," Cal replied, reluctantly taking a seat. "You've overslept near every day this week.
Are ya...are ya feeling all right, Mike?" he asked hopefully.
She turned back to the stove, knowing what he meant and slightly uncomfortable. "We've only just begun trying,
Cal. We've talked about not getting our hopes up so soon-"
"I know that," he murmured. He rose and walked to her side once more. "I just wanna know why you haven't been
feeling well."
"I feel fine," she said irritably, opening a drawer and gathering the silverware. "I haven't been oversleeping; it's
you who have been waking earlier than usual, wanting to be at work at the crack of dawn."
"That's so I can be home earlier," he whispered tenderly. "So's I can be with you. I love you, darlin'."
"I don't know how I put up with you," Michaela informed him, a teasing grin at her lips.
He kissed her cheek, taking the silverware from her. "You married me. Now you're stuck with me," he replied.
She couldn't help but smile. "If only I knew what I was getting into."
He gave her waist a squeeze and then began setting the table. "I got a surprise for ya. For all of us actually."
Her eyes lit up expectantly. "You're going to start on our house?"
He sobered. "Well, no. I mean yeah, real soon, but that wasn't what I was gonna say."
"Oh," she sighed. She cleared her throat. "What were you going to say?"
He smiled. "There's this photographer passing through town, Campbell is his name, and he's set up a little
temporary studio in Loren's store. They're old friends I guess. Anyway, I got to thinking we don't have a family
portrait of us. Would you like that, Mike? If ya want, he told us all to come at four o'clock tomorrow."
"Cal, this *is* a surprise," Michaela said excitedly. "I would love that. It's been so long since I've had the children
photographed. And you and I...we've never been photographed together."
He smiled. "That's right, and it's about time we had that done."
She picked up the roast pan with two potholders and placed it on the table. "Indeed," she replied with a grin.
***
"Hold it...hold it..." directed the lanky photographer.
Byron wiggled his nose impatiently. He had never wanted to itch it more in his entire life.
"Hold it...there!"
With a poof of smoke the photograph was taken.
"Beautiful! Beautiful!" the photographer exclaimed.
Byron scratched his nose vigorously and Katie sneezed, the smoke overwhelming. Cal pulled on his tie, struggling
to breathe. It was terribly uncomfortable, not to mention the long sleeved, heavy wool gray suit. He couldn't wait
to get back home and change. He was beginning to regret suggesting to Michaela they have a family portrait
taken. He had forgotten how women could be when it came to things like photographs, insisting everyone dress in
their finest, most uncomfortable clothes, comb their hair till there was nothing left, and scrub their faces red.
Michaela was no exception.
"It's over now?" Byron asked, pulling on his mother's fancy blue silk skirt.
Michaela smiled. "It's over." She bent down and scooped him up, planting a kiss on his nose. "You were a good
boy to stay still. Now the photograph won't be blurry, and you'll see yourself."
"I'll see you, too, Mama?" Katie inquired.
"Hm-mm. Everyone. Did you smile? We want to see that missing tooth."
Katie put one finger in her mouth, feeling for the space at the front. "Think so..." She tested her other front tooth,
and thought it was a little wobbly.
Cal fished in his breast pocket for his wallet. He handed the photographer a few bills. "This cover it?"
"That's it, sir," the photographer replied, pocketing the cash. "You can pick her up tomorrow. Frame included no
charge."
"I appreciate that," Cal said, reaching for his neck again to pull off his bothersome tie. Michaela grabbed his hand.
"Set a good example for Byron," she directed under her breath. Sighing, Cal reached for the happy four-year-old.
He too was attempting to loosen his uncomfortable black bow, but to no avail.
"Not till we get home, son," he said, pulling Byron's hand from the little tie. "Can't go through town with our
shirts all untucked and our ties hanging."
Byron scowled. "How come not, Cal?"
"'Cause we gotta look handsome," he answered with a smile.
"I don't wanna look handsome!" he announced defiantly.
"Well, your ma wants us to, so we gotta do what she says," he replied, kissing his head
"Can we see the photograph, Cal?" Katie implored, pulling on his hand, eyes dancing with excitement. "I wanna
see it!" She put one hand on her hat to steady it, and finally gave up and let it fall lop-sided.
"We'll see it tomorrow, Kate," Brian said, patting her back.
Michaela took Katie's gloved hand. "Ready to go?"
"Yep. What're we gonna do when we git home?" she inquired.
Michaela thought. "Well..." Katie and Byron were always one step ahead of her. "You can help me with supper..."
"Me, too!" Byron piped up, never one to be left out of anything.
"Then what?" persisted Katie.
"Then you can help us eat supper!" Cal spoke up.
"I'll help!" Byron squealed.
"Me, too," Brian laughed.
Cal boosted Michaela onto the wagon seat as Brian helped Katie and Byron into the back and climbed in after
them. This is what he had always dreamed of, Cal thought: a beautiful wife he adored with all his heart, bright,
happy children at their feet, a tight knit, loving family. Life seemed carefree and incredibly satisfying. Cal
supposed not every man could claim to be as happy as he had been since he had met the woman he loved.
Michaela grasped his arm with her hands as he took up the reins. He felt truly fortunate.
***
"This isn't just a little ride," Michaela called as she squeezed Flash's belly with her thighs, pressing her to catch up
to Cal's horse. Cal had woken her before the sun that morning, a picnic basket in hand, urging her to follow him
and assuring her that Matthew was coming over to look after the children.
Mischievously, Cal turned his head back, holding his reins with one hand. "Ain't much farther. Ya having trouble
keeping up?"
"No, of course not," Michaela retorted.
"Of course not," he chuckled, returning his focus to the narrow, muddy road at hand.
Obstinately, Michaela clicked her tongue, urging Flash on.
Suddenly, Cal brought his horse to a stop, gazing with a pleased grin into the woods. He dismounted, turning his
eyes to Michaela. "Ya recognize it?"
Michaela's expression softened as she got down from Flash and took hold of her bridle. "I do," she murmured.
"Cal...why did you bring us out here?"
He untied the picnic basket from his horse and then took her hand. "Wanted to take ya back to our place."
She smiled as they began walking toward the small trapper's cabin, relatively unchanged since they had taken
shelter there four years ago. "Our place," she experimented.
He leaned against the rotting door and pushed it open. "It's probably real dirty and dusty inside," he remarked,
"and full of cobwebs. Not very romantic."
"...It's romantic to me," Michaela replied shyly. Cal motioned her to enter, and she obliged. "I can't believe it's
been four years," she said. Whoever had lived in the cabin had probably abandoned it some time ago, never to
return. Things remained unmoved since the night of Byron's birth. Michaela grinned at the sight of the kitchen
table, lined with six or seven candles Cal had found for additional light, as well as a small pile of blankets and
towels they hadn't ended up needing, and finally a basin that seemed so small now, but had been plenty large
enough for Michaela to give Byron his first bath in.
"Looks just the same," Cal observed, removing a red-checkered table cloth from the picnic basket and laying it in
front of the fireplace as Michaela strolled around the room, taking it all in.
"I can't believe you brought us back here," she said, joining him on the blanket upon his beckon.
"This place is special," he replied. Tenderly, he cupped her neck with his hand. "This is where I first fell in love
with ya."
Tears came to her eyes. "Really? Here?"
"Right here," he affirmed, "the moment I gave ya Byron to hold. Ya got me with your smile."
She leaned forward and kissed his lips. "I love you," she told him.
He brushed back her hair. "When?"
"When what?" she chuckled.
"When did you first love me?" he asked, tapping her nose.
She pressed her forehead to his. "Hmm...You probably won't remember this. It was when I saw those silly
invitations you made inviting my friends to the homestead for a sewing circle meeting." She chuckled. "For
cookies and lemonade! And no one suspected they weren't from me."
"'Course I remember that," he laughed. "I can't believe you do. Ya have to admit I'm pretty clever."
"Exceptionally clever." She kissed the tip of his nose and wrapped her arms around his back. "Do you realize if
my train hadn't been delayed, and then if there hadn't been the stagecoach accident...I would have never met you?"
"Outta something bad came something good," he replied.
"Something wonderful," she amended, linking her fingers with his. Her face sombered. "I don't know what might
have happened to me..."
"Shh," he whispered. "I'm glad you're happy now, Michaela. That's all I ever wanted, but now to hear that you
love me, and I love you...it's..."
"...Beautiful," Michaela supplied, softly kissing his lips as her fingers worked at unfastening his shirt buttons.
***
Cal traced his fingers lightly across his wife's shoulder, down her arm, and finally along the base of her ribcage,
leaving his hand to rest on her belly. He pressed his lips to her cheek, weakly giving it a kiss. "We should come
here more often," he remarked breathlessly.
She smiled wryly, turning her head to face him and resting her hands over his. "I wouldn't mind."
"We should take Byron here sometime, too," he added. "Show him the place where he first started giving us
grief."
"Cal, don't tease him like that. He was always an agreeable baby. And we can't bring him here *now*," she
protested, embarrassed.
"Why not?" he questioned.
"Well, because," she replied quickly.
"'Cause we made love on the floor?" he chuckled. "I can just see ya trying to explain that one to him."
She pinched his arm. "You aren't funny."
"Yes I am," he rejoined. "...Mike? Are you mad?"
She smiled. "No."
"Mike?" He kissed her cheek. "You still want us to have a baby?"
She couldn't help but chuckle. Cal had certainly never been good with timing. "No," she said.
He raised his eyebrows, perplexed.
"No, I don't want us to have just any baby, but *your* baby would be nice," Michaela whispered, stroking a damp
tendril of hair from his brow.
"...But do *you* want it, darlin'?" he pressed softly.
She hesitated, recalling her conversation with Cloud Dancing and the advice he had given her. "...If it makes you
happy, then it makes me happy," she told him. "Very happy."
"...Oh, Michaela. You're so beautiful." He smiled and kissed her. "Wouldn't it be fitting, if it happened here?"
"Very," she agreed, squeezing his hands. "Cal, we never had our picnic," she remarked, nodding at the unopened
basket.
"Well, that depends on how you look at it," he responded, claiming Michaela's lips once more.
***
Michaela dismounted Flash and took hold of her bridle. She'd spent the morning gathering herbs deep in the
woods, and her satchel was brimming with various roots, leaves, and buds. It had certainly been a productive day
so far, and being alone in the calm, quiet woods was just what she needed. Not that she didn't enjoy being in the
company of those she loved, but she had come to realize that a few hours alone every so often served to relax and
refresh her like nothing else could.
Michaela clicked her tongue. "Come on, Flash," she bid. "The creek's just ahead. Let's have a drink, hm?"
Flash let out an agreeable whinny, as if in reply. Michaela smiled and led her onto a path off the road. She walked
a few hundred yards through the cool woods until she reached the creek, the water high from a recent rainfall. She
allowed Flash to drink her fill while she removed her gloves and washed her face with the chilly water.
Flash suddenly started and ceased drinking, her ears shooting straight up.
Michaela rose to her feet. "What is it, Flash?" She held her breath, listening to the sounds around her, listening for
danger, as Sully had taught her. A twig snapped, and Michaela shook. Hurriedly, she circled around the horse,
preparing to mount her and ride off.
Michaela felt her heartbeat quicken, and without intending to, she turned around. There he stood, on the opposite
side of the creek, staring at her just as incredulously with his piercing blue eyes, exactly like her son's. "Sully,"
she murmured, almost involuntarily. She shook her head, backing up against the horse. She was seeing things.
Yes, seeing things. Slowly, she mounted Flash.
"Michaela," he said. "No, don't leave."
The man wore a moth-eaten, off-white shirt and soiled
brown trousers, the knees poorly patched. His hair was
tangled and dirty and longer than Sully had usually worn it,
and he was very tan. "I'm just going to ride away,"
Michaela said, voice shaking. "I'm just going to go away,
and you're going to go away, too. Please."
"Michaela!" he called.
"Go away, please!" she demanded, her brow narrowed.
Distraught, Michaela gave Flash a firm squeeze with her
thighs, and disappeared down the path. She was terribly
angry with herself. Now she was *seeing* him, too. She put her hand to her chest as she urged Flash on. Her heart
was beating hard and fast. She's never had such a vivid image of Sully appear before her, not even in her dreams.
It was frightening, bewildering, and...too much like reality, too much like the real Sully. She was beyond
frightened. She was terrified.
V{tÑàxÜ Y|yàç
Byron tenderly stroked his mother's cheek, frowning. "You are sick," he determined. Mama had come into town
around noon and picked him up from Miss Dorothy's, taking him straight home. She had hastily put together a
ham sandwich for his lunch and left him alone in the kitchen to eat while she went upstairs. Well, he hadn't
exactly been alone. Wolf had sat in the chair next to the child and Byron fed the little dog scraps of meat now and
again, keeping her happy.
While Byron was eating, Michaela had opened the trunk at the foot of the bed. She kneeled on the floor and
flipped slowly though a handful of photographs: herself when she was about Byron's age, poised on her father's
knee, Sully and Abigail on their wedding day, the family portrait her first year in Colorado--the one Sully had
refused to stand in, and photographs from her wedding day: she and Sully, one of just herself, and a few of the
entire wedding party. Next, she came to photos of Katie, and couldn't help but let out a sigh. She had been such a
darling baby. Michaela regretted not having any photos of Byron as an infant. She'd been miserable and brokenhearted, and having her baby son's image preserved for the future had been the last thing on her mind. At the time,
she could barely think more than a day in advance. Well, she would always have the memory. Finally, Michaela
studied the photograph taken at Katie's Christening. It was the last photograph she had of Sully. For fear of
hurting Cal, she'd tucked it deep in the trunk, along with all other tangible memories of her first husband: the veil
from her wedding day, a love letter he had sent her while on a survey, old maternity dresses, a wanted poster of
Sully the army had printed, and finally black mourning garb. Michaela thought back to earlier that day. Four years
later, and her imagination could still conjure up perfect images of Sully, placing them in her dreams and now even
while she was awake. She wanted to tell Cal about what happened, about hearing Sully coming, hearing his deep
voice calling her name, seeing him so vividly before her, even smelling the unique though pleasant scent of him.
She couldn't tell Cal though. He would only be frustrated with her, angry even, and definitely hurt.
Then an idea had suddenly struck Michaela. "No...That’s ridiculous," she chastised herself. But what if it wasn't?
What if that image hadn't been her imagination....but Sully coming back as a ghost, perhaps to tell her something?
Michaela touched her finger to the photograph of Sully, feeling a chill. She had hastily put the photographs back
in the trunk and slammed the lid.
She'd been laying under the covers for an hour now, in her nightgown. Byron had come up after he had finished
his lunch, Wolf at his heels. He'd climbed straight up onto the bed, worried about his mother in bed in the
daytime.
"You're sick, Mama," Byron insisted once more.
"No, I'm not sick," Michaela reassured him softly, patting his hand.
Byron was like his father, and like Cal, too. He looked into her eyes, knowing they would not lie. "You are sick,"
he persisted. "I'll go get your black bag." He started to climb down.
"No, Mommy's fine. I'm just tired." Michaela pulled him to her and laid him down, cuddling him against her. He
looked just like Sully with his wide, inquiring blue eyes, just like the man that had appeared at the creek that
morning. She was afraid to look at her son. "Byron, sometimes people just want to be alone with our thoughts, to
think about things that might be troubling us..."
Byron thought a moment. "How come?" he asked.
Michaela chuckled, kissing his head. "Never mind. Close your eyes, sweetheart. Take a nap with Mama."
"No nap. Tell me a story," he whispered. "I know, tell me my story. That's the one where's I got born."
Michaela sombered. "No, not today."
"But that is the bestest story," he contended.
"I know, but I'm tired, darling," Michaela told him.
"All wight, then I will tell it," he announced. He tucked his head against her shoulder and took hold of her hand.
"Once 'pon a time there was me in Mama's tummy. And then there was Cal and he helped get me born. And there
was rain, too. Papa's in heaven but he looks just like me 'cept I am littler, and he is named after me an' named
Bywon. I was the bestest baby ever and Mama was extra happy 'cause she is my mama and she counted my toes.
The End--Oh, and there was ten toes and I had lots of hair. But Katie didn't have none 'cause Mama told me so,
but now she has some. The End." Byron looked up at his mother, anticipating her reaction. He was disappointed
to see her head turned away from him and her eyes unfocused. "That's the bestest story, right, Mama?" he asked
softly. Had she even been listening?
"...Yes, it is," she choked. Michaela recalled the night of her child's birth vividly, as if little time had passed. She
knew how wonderful it felt to have her newborn placed in her arms for the first time, but also how much the idea
of a child with Cal continued to frighten her, as much as she tried to convince herself it didn't. Perplexed by her
emotions, her heart heavy, she closed her eyes and once more saw Sully standing on the other side of the creek.
"Mama?" Byron persisted.
Michaela glanced down at him. "Byron...have you ever...have you ever seen things that...that aren't really there?"
He tapped his chin. "Um...nope," he said honestly. He coughed. "How come?"
"Oh, nothing. Your mommy's finally gone mad, that's all," she said dryly.
"What ya mad about?" Byron asked quickly, fearful he had done something wrong.
Michaela couldn't help but chuckle. "Nothing. Nothing, darling." She felt guilty for drawing him into her troubles.
"I love you, Brynie. Close your eyes with me, please?"
"I know, you afwaid of monsters," Byron informed her perceptively. He gave her cheek a loving kiss. "That's all
wight, Mama. I'll sleep with you. They won't come near." Tenderly, he took her hand in his, tucked his head
beneath her chin, and closed his eyes, dozing off not a minute later.
***
"Doesn't it look nice, Mike?" Cal asked, placing a rough sketch of their future home in her hands.
Michaela leaned back against her pillows. "It's very beautiful," she said unemotionally. She was thrilled Cal had
finally begun taking steps in order to start building their house, but couldn't find the energy to express her
feelings. Her thoughts remained focused on what had occurred earlier that day, on the ghost of a figure that had
approached her and called her name. He had looked just like Sully, though his dress and appearance was far more
rugged and filthy than she had ever known her first husband to be. After pondering it all for hours, she still had no
explanation.
"You don't like it," Cal at least murmured. "Oh, Mike. Is it too small? I wish I could add another floor but right
now money-"
"Cal, it's fine," Michaela insisted. She rolled his sketch and handed it to him. "It's just I can't wait until we move."
"Yeah, me, too," Cal said. "Mike, you don't look well at all. You sure ya don't want anything to eat? I shoulda
made ya eat something at supper."
She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."
"Well, lie down then," he instructed, placing his sketch on the nightstand and shifting down under the covers. "I
bet all ya need is a good night's sleep. That's what my ma used to say to me when I wasn't feeling well. Most of
the time she was right."
Michaela smiled faintly and obeyed, taking his hand beneath the covers. "I'm so happy you're my husband, Cal,"
she said suddenly, in a plaintive effort to push the past aside and focus on the present.
Surprised, Cal cleared his throat. "Me, too, Mike," he replied. He kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, darlin'."
She gazed at him for a long moment, her eyes traveling across features that had become so familiar to her. She
brought her free hand to his cheek and stroked it softly, trying to ignore the worry in his eyes. She wondered if he
somehow knew, somehow could read her expression and know what she had seen that day. But that was utter
nonsense, and so was the idea of Sully appearing to her. She was angry with herself, frustrated she couldn't
remove Sully from her every thought, and earnestly wanted to feel better.
She initiated the first kiss, pressing her lips to Cal's cheek, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips.
Powerless at her tantalizing touch, Cal ran his fingers through her hair and returned the kiss.
She nudged closer to him, almost desperately. "Hold me," she murmured. Instantly her thoughts shifted to Sully
standing on the opposite side of the creek, calling her name. She shut her eyes and let out a soft sob, willing the
image to go away.
"Oh," Cal murmured. "Don't cry, Michaela." He wrapped his arms around her tightly. "What is it? I got ya. I won't
let ya go."
She drew in her breath shakily. "Touch me, Cal," she pleaded softly against his ear. "Touch me. Love me, please."
He held her to him securely, perplexed by her behavior. He knew something was upsetting her, upsetting her
deeply, and she was keeping it to herself. His fingers made their way to her nightgown, unbuttoning it swiftly.
"I'm here. I love you," he told her, caressing her waist as he positioned himself over her.
"You're here," Michaela echoed, as if reassuring herself. She slipped his nightshirt over his head and kissed his
warm, strong chest. "You're here." She closed her eyes, gave a quiet sigh of pleasure, and allowed his passionate
caresses to carry her away from her confusion and distress. At least for a little while she could forget everything
and be Michaela...Cal's wife.
***
"Mike?" Cal planted a loving kiss to her cheek. "Darlin', ya gonna get up? We're gonna be late for work."
Groaning, Michaela slowly opened her eyes and stretched her arms in front of her. Cal was already dressed and
standing beside her, one hand caressing her hair. "Mmm, what time is it?"
"Eight o'clock. Are ya still feeling poorly?" he asked hazel eyes filled with concern.
"Hm? Oh...a little." Michaela had laid awake half the night, after Cal had fallen asleep in her arms, replaying what
had happened at the creek in her mind. She finally decided she should go to the creek again, just to make peace
with it, just to assure herself it had all been her imagination. And if it had not been her imagination, but a ghost,
she had to confront it. She had to find out what Sully wanted of her. Now she was bent on going, and she couldn't
fathom a way to tell Cal her plans without upsetting him. "But perhaps I should stay home today, just to be sure,"
she stammered.
He felt her forehead. "You're still a little warm, and you're awful pale. Yeah, you best stay home. I'll stay with
ya."
"No," she said, too quickly. She softened her tone. "I don't want you taking a day off. Perhaps you could help me
best by dropping the children off at school and then bringing Byron over to Grace's. I'll be fine. I just need to
rest."
"If that's what you want I will," he reluctantly agreed. He eyed her skeptically. "You sure you're all right, Mike?"
"I'm sure," Michaela said quickly. She hated lying. She was horrible at it, too. "It's just a little catarrh."
"Throat hurt?" he asked, bending to his knees and wrapping one arm around her back.
"No," she replied.
"Headache?"
"No."
"Tummy ache?"
She sighed. "Cal, no."
"Good, then I'll make ya breakfast," he said with a smile.
"I'm not hungry-" Michaela began.
He quieted her with a kiss. "I'll make ya breakfast, make sure you're all nice and warm under the covers, then I'll
head off with the kids. How's that sound?"
She couldn't help but smile, tiredly. "...All right. Could you send the children in first? I want to kiss them good
morning."
He tapped her nose with his finger. "Sure, but ya best put something on first."
Suddenly realizing her nightgown remained hastily strewn across the end of the bed, Michaela reddened. "Oh,"
she murmured.
Cal chuckled. "On second thought, I think you're a lot more beautiful without that nightgown. I know firsthand."
He picked it up, pretending to walk away with it.
"Cal, stop it," she chastised. "Come back with that!"
He laughed and returned to the bed, placing the gown over her head as she put her arms through the sleeves.
"You were about to make me chase you. I don't think you're funny in the least, Calvin Brooks," she went on,
barely able to keep back a smile.
"Oh, sure I am," Cal retorted, helping her button the gown. He grew serious. "I'll go get the kids. You stay in bed
today, all right? See you before supper?" he whispered tenderly, nuzzling against her cheek and then giving it a
kiss.
Michaela closed her eyes, feeling worse. He had no idea. He really didn't. "See you then," she replied hoarsely.
***
Michaela slowly dismounted Flash, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath and walked toward the edge of the
creek, looking up and down it. "Sully?" she called tentatively. She waited a moment, and then began walking a
few paces down the bank. She was beginning to become increasingly convinced what she had seen the day before
was indeed a ghost, if only one she had conceived in her mind. Perhaps he had a message for her, was back to tell
her something, and that was what her dreams about him had been leading up to. What he had to say, she wasn't
sure.
"Sully?" she called again, very softly. "What do you want? Why have you come?" Just like the day before, a twig
snapped. She turned swiftly around, and there he was, the image of Sully, standing no more than half a dozen
yards from her, this time on the same side of the creek she was. "Why have you come?" she demanded shakily.
Sully's face brightened and he let out a deep sigh. "Michaela,
it's all right. It's me. I was hopin' ya'd come back here. Oh,
Michaela." He walked toward her swiftly, a smile at his lips.
Michaela felt frozen. She wanted to run, but couldn't. Tears
welled in her eyes. "Please, Sully, what do you want from
me? Have you come to tell me it's all right to move on? Why
now?"
Sully gazed at her, confused. "I'm here. It's me." She took a
panicky step back. "No, don't leave," he called. "Don't be
scared, Michaela. It's all right. Please, I've waited so long..."
He reached her side in moments and wrapped his arm around
her waist, stroking her cheek with his free hand. "It's all
right. It's me. I'm home. I'm home," he soothed reassuringly. "You're so beautiful. Michaela." It felt wonderful to
say her name. "Michaela," he repeated, tears in his eyes.
She gazed at him, her throat dry, unable to move. "Sully...no, it's impossible. It can't be," she whispered. "You're a
ghost. You're a ghost." But it was too real. She could feel the warmth of his arms, the smoothness of his hand
against her cheek, the feel of his breath against her skin. No.
He smiled, stroking her hair. "I ain't a ghost." He eyed her worriedly. "It's all right, I'll explain later. All that
matters is we're together. Touch me. Touch me, Michaela. We're here."
Stunned, Michaela reached her hand up and pressed her fingers to his cheek. His beard was thick and unkempt.
She grazed her fingertips across his brow, down the bridge of his nose, and across his lips. He reached up and
grasped her hand, holding it tight against his cheek as a tear slipped down it. "It's me," he murmured.
And it was. Michaela let out a quiet moan as she felt her feet give way. Sully's strong, broad arms were under hers
in an instant, keeping her upright.
"Michaela? Michaela, here. Here, sit down," Sully urged, helping her to a nearby fallen log. "Sit down. You'll be
all right." He patted her cheek. "Stay with me, Michaela. It's me. It's Sully. Yeah."
"Sully," she choked, tears suddenly flowing. "I don't understand. How did you...? Y-you're..."
He squeezed her hand. "Oh, Michaela. I'm here." He kissed her brow. "I been in prison, in the New Mexico
Territory."
"Prison? New Mexico?" Michaela uttered, shaking her head in disbelief.
"It was all a big misunderstandin', but that don't matter. I escaped, and I'm home. We can talk about everythin'
else later." He cupped her cheeks in his hands. "I just wanna hold ya." He pressed her against him and wrapped
his arms warmly around her back, hugging her tight. "I love you," he whispered, rocking her slowly as the tears
came. "I'm so glad we're finally together. I love ya so much. I thought of ya all the time. You an' Katie and the
kids. Oh, I love you." He rubbed her back and stroked her hair, continuing to rock her tenderly.
Michaela held on, her entire body weakening as emotions took over and she burst into quiet sobs. "Oh, Sully,
you're here," she murmured again and again. "You're alive. Oh, you're here."
Sully held her close and let their tears flow for some time. At last he slowly pulled back, cupping her cheeks in his
hands. Lovingly he brought his lips to hers, kissing her with all the passion he could muster. He thought he
wanted to kiss her forever, to make up for four years of agonizing separation. He stroked her neck and began
unbuttoning her blouse. Suddenly he felt Michaela's cool, trembling hands clasp his wrists.
"Sully..." she murmured, her tears unabated. His kiss had slapped her hard with reality. It was as if she were in the
midst of a horrifying nightmare. "Oh, God."
"It's all right, Michaela," he reassured her softly. "I know. We'll take it real easy. I love ya."
She remained unable to control her sobs. "Sully."
"What?" he murmured, concerned. "Oh, Michaela. I'm here now. It's all over."
She shook her head, her breath coming quick. "Sully, I thought--we thought y-you were dead," she began
incoherently, having no idea how she was ever going to explain. "I wouldn't believe it for the longest time,
truthfully, but everyone kept p-pushing me to accept it, but I couldn't, and then I was at a medical conference and
then the s-stagecoach..." She dabbed at her nose with the back of her hand, unable to look at him. "And the driver,
Cal, we got to know each other and he h-helped me c-cope and...and I never intended anything of the sort but he
was so good to all of us and so caring and unselfish...I always told myself you'd like him. And he would like you.
I was grieving. Cal helped me. We developed a friendship-"
Sully rubbed her back. "Shh, it's all right," he told her sympathetically. "I tried sendin' word. I tried so hard but
they wouldn't let me. I'm so sorry. Everything's in the past now. Just try an' forget. We can pick up where we left
off."
She drew in her breath unsteadily. "You don't understand."
"Shh," he soothed, kissing her cheek. "Take some deep breaths. I'm sorry it's gotta be such a shock." He took her
hand and brought it to his lips, smiling at the sight of her wedding and engagement rings. All this time and she
had never taken them off. He started as he looked closer. Her engagement ring...it was different. It was smaller,
simpler, and different. "Michaela..." he began hesitantly.
"Sully, Cal and I became more than friends," she murmured.
He withdrew his hand from hers, his throat suddenly dry. "What do ya mean?" he asked slowly.
She couldn't stomach looking him in the eyes. It was unbearable to have to say this to him, but he needed to know,
there was no debate about that. "We....," she paused and took a breath, fighting hard to overcome the lump in her
throat. "We were married last July," she finished in a whisper.
Sully felt as if he were choking. "Married?" he echoed hoarsely. "How...who...Michaela!" He stood up abruptly.
"I'm sorry," she began as tears resumed. "I'm so sorry. Sully, we thought y-you were dead. We searched for
months and months but never found a thing. Cal was the only person who understood me. He was one of the only
people I felt safe with, I could trust. Sully, we never intended for it to be anything more but over time...we
realized after a long friendship...w-we began to court and-and decided to marry."
Sully paced back and forth, a vein in his neck throbbing. "I don't understand, Michaela. Ya never found anythin'!
Didn't that tell ya somethin'?!"
"It told me I had failed at finding my husband's resting place!" she cried. "It told me I'd never get a chance to say
goodbye that I'd never know what had really happened!"
"How could ya do this t' us?" he demanded. "Married...I thought of ya every day! Every day, Michaela! Michaela,
I made it. I survived that fall." He pressed his fist to his heart passionately. "Didn't ya feel that? Didn't ya know?"
"Sully!" she pleaded. "Sully, don't you see? I thought you were on the b-bottom of the creek, or washed up along
shore somewhere. There was absolutely no reason to imagine anything different. Not a trace!" She grew quieter.
"I had nightmares of finding your body. I'd picture remains and be dreadfully sick. It was horrible...I thought of
you, too, every day. Cal understood that. He understood what I was going through when no one else-"
"I heard enough," Sully cut in, eyes narrowed. He pursed his lips, willing her words not to affect him. He was
angry, enraged, but at whom? At Michaela, he told himself. Fighting hard not to let her see the pain across his
features, he changed the subject to something easier to speak of. "The kids...are they all right?" he asked. "Katie
an' Brian?"
"They're fine," she told him. "They're beautiful." She paused, glancing up at the sun. She would have to be getting
back. Cal would be picking up Byron and coming home for dinner in a few hours, and they'd wonder where she
was. She paused, her breath held. Gazing into his blue eyes, she slowly let out her breath. "Oh..." she murmured.
Sully paused. "...What?" he said quietly, pretending to be as aloof as possible.
She dabbed tears from her eyes. "Sully...I want you to meet someone."
He looked away, crossing his arms. "Who, your husband?" he retorted. "I ain't interested."
Hurt, Michaela stood up. "Please? Could you meet me here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock?
He crossed his arms, remaining cool. "Don't see the point. Go home to...to Cal."
She swallowed hard. "Please, Sully? For me?"
He paused for a long moment. At last, he gave a deep sigh. "Tomorrow at nine. You ain't here I won't wait."
She nodded tearfully. "Thank you."
Without saying goodbye, Sully stormed off, disappearing into the trees. Michaela was right. She had been given
absolutely no reason to think he was alive and every reason to believe he hadn't survived. If only he had tried
harder to send word! Communication to the outside was forbidden but he could have tried harder and gotten word,
somehow! He rubbed his eyes of tears of shock, betrayal, and incredible hurt. Just like he once had, Michaela had
been able to find love again after tragic loss, but that didn't make him feel any better. He focused his mind on the
children. He ached to see them and regretted not asking Michaela to bring them to him. He wanted to go to them
himself but he feared being seen by townsfolk. Everyone thought he was dead. They would have to be gradually
warmed to the idea of him being alive and well before he began walking around town as if nothing had happened.
He decided he would try to focus completely on the children and their happiness for now, for fear anger would
take over and he would do something he regretted.
***
Michaela barely registered that the wagon was in the yard as she dismounted Flash and led her into the stall.
Slowly she began unhitching the saddle, not certain she had the strength to do so. She continued to replay the
events of the past few hours in her mind. It was as if somehow it couldn't be possibly true, or was happening to
someone else and she was sitting back watching. But it was happening to her, and to Sully...and to Cal. She drew
in her breath. Sully was alive. How many times had she prayed and wished for this with all her heart? But then
she had slowly fallen in love with Cal, had stop praying and wishing and had begun the long process of putting
Sully to rest.
Her hands shook uncontrollably as she tried to unbuckle the saddle. As much as it was a miracle Sully was alive,
the unforgiving truth was that she was married to two men. The harsher truth was that she could not say she didn't
love one or the other. She loved them both, deeply. It was indeed a cold, cruel nightmare.
The barn door creaked open and she nearly let out a scream.
"Mike, where ya been?" Cal asked, coming to her side.
Startled, Michaela slowly turned around. She felt stiff, cold, and panicky. "Cal...what are you doing here?"
He cleared his throat. "Well, I...I was worried about ya home sick. I decided to take the afternoon off and stay
with ya, and when I got back here, oh, around one o'clock or a little after, the house was empty. Are you feeling
better? Did ya go to town or..."
Michaela turned back to Flash, lowering her eyes. "Yes, I um...I was at the clinic." She waited for a response from
Cal, and receiving none, turned back to face him. His arms were crossed and there was confusion in his eyes.
"You were at the clinic?" he questioned slowly.
"Yes," she said quickly.
"All afternoon?" he went on.
"Yes," she murmured.
He took a deep breath. "Michaela..."
Startled by Cal's use of her full name, something he rarely spoke, Michaela took a step back. She picked up
Flash's bucket of water to change it.
"Michaela, where ya been?" he asked again. "I stopped by the clinic before I left town to bring ya home some
medical books--thought maybe you might want them, being lonesome in bed all day. You weren't at the clinic,
Mike. It was locked up and empty." He stepped closer, taking the bucket. "Here, I got it."
"That is, I was at the clinic only in the morning," Michaela stammered, on the verge of tears. "I left well before
noon. Then I-I went for a walk." She was tired of being deceitful, but couldn't find the words to tell Cal what had
really occurred that afternoon. "I mean a ride, with Flash."
"Oh, yeah? You feeling better then?" he asked, walking toward the outdoor pump with the bucket.
Michaela followed him, her breath shaky. "Well, I..."
He paused in his steps, feeling her brow. "Mike, you really ought to be in bed. Don't know what the heck you
were thinking gallivanting all over the place today. Gosh, you're burning up."
"I'm freezing," she told him quietly, hugging her arms.
"We'll go inside and get ya in bed right now," he told her worriedly, placing the bucket at his feet. "I'll make ya
some hot soup, hm? Then I'm fetching Dr. Cook. This has gone on too long for my liking."
She shook her head. "Please don't bring Andrew here, Cal. I'm just not very hungry, that's all."
He took her hand, leading her toward the front porch. "Darlin', you're being foolish. No wonder you're sick. Ya
haven't eaten a thing in two days. You keep up with this, Mike, and I'll have to *make* ya eat, and that won't be
fun, I promise you."
"Cal," she murmured plaintively.
"I know, you're fed up with me. Well, it's like we were saying the other day: ya married me," he teased. "Now
you're stuck with me."
She stared at him for a moment, and then her knees buckled and her world went black.
V{tÑàxÜ Y|yàç@ÉÇx
Frantically, Cal removed his button-down shirt, rolled it up and placed it beneath Michaela’s neck. “Mike?” he
called anxiously, gently patting her cheek. “Wake up, darlin’. Come on.” Her skin was feverishly warm to the
touch, though she had complained of being cold. “Michaela,” he pressed. “Now enough’s enough. Stop this. You
gotta wake up now. Wake up, Michaela.”
Her eyelids fluttered and she gave a soft moan.
Cal let out a relieved sigh. “That’s it, Mike. Wake up.”
“Cal,” she muttered, slowly blinking.
“That’s it, darlin’. Yeah, it’s Cal. It’s Cal.” He stroked back her hair tenderly. “What do ya think you’re doing,
hm?” he questioned.
“What happened?” she murmured, struggling to focus on his face.
“What happened?” he chuckled. “Ya went and fainted on me, that’s what happened. That wasn’t very nice of ya.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking.
“Oh, shh, that’s all right,” he whispered. “That’s all right.” He carefully wrapped his arms beneath her back. “Can
you sit up? We gotta get ya inside and in bed.”
“I’m fine,” she protested, reluctantly allowing him to help her into a sitting position.
“No, you ain’t,” he said firmly. “We’re getting you in bed right this second and then I’m fetching Andrew. Here,
try standing up. Real slow now,” he instructed.
“Andrew? No,” she told him. “I’m all right, truly.”
He helped her rise to her feet, keeping one arm securely around her waist as they began walking toward the house.
“Michaela, ya’ve been acting funny all week,” he retorted. “Now you’ve got a fever and are passing out and on
top of it all trying to tell me everything’s fine. Everything is not fine, and we’re gonna have Andrew tell us what’s
going on. You gotta start taking care of yourself. Especially now-”
She sighed as they ascended the stairs. “It’s not what you think, Cal.”
“…Whatever it may be I want you better. Ya scared me there, Mike,” he admitted quietly.
Once inside, Cal helped Michaela upstairs and into a nightgown, all the while keeping his eyes on her
protectively.
“How do you feel now?” he questioned once she was snug under the covers. He wrung a cloth out over the basin
and pressed it to her forehead.
“Fine,” Michaela insisted, irritated by his fussing.
“Ya’ll be all right here while I get Dr. Cook?” he asked.
“Please, Cal,” she begged, “don’t go. It’s just because I haven’t been eating. I just haven’t had an appetite. It’s
only a catarrh.” Michaela knew she wasn’t in the mood to deal with a doctor and the numberless questions he was
sure to ask. Appeasing Cal was trying enough. “Don’t fetch Andrew. I’ll eat. I promise. I’ll be much better if I
just have something to eat.”
He took her hand in his. “You promise you’ll eat?”
She nodded. “I will. I’m sure I’ll feel nearly as good as new presently.”
“…All right, but if you don’t get better right away I’m getting him. No buts.” He gently stroked back her hair,
taking a deep breath. “Are ya pregnant maybe, Mike?” he asked softly, his voice filled with hope.
Michaela felt her throat tighten. If only it were that simple. “…No,” she choked. “At least, I don’t think so,” she
added.
Cal squeezed her hand. “Well, that’s all right. That’s all right.” He tenderly kissed her cheek. “It'll happen soon,
don’t worry. Let's get you well first.”
Michaela wanted to tell him about Sully, about everything that had happened that day, but couldn’t. She had
absolutely no idea where to begin and truthfully wasn’t sure if her present condition could withstand delivering
such an explanation. She knew she would have to tell Cal as soon as possible, but couldn’t do it now. She just
couldn’t do it now.
“Don’t be upset about it, darlin’,” Cal soothed. “Don’t worry about it. Just think about getting strong again. What
do you want me to cook ya? Anything you want.”
Michaela had to admit despite everything putting something in her belly sounded tempting, especially after being
unable to stomach a thing for almost two days, ever since she had first seen Sully at the creek. “A little soup?” she
murmured.
“A little soup it is,” Cal replied, kissing her softly.
***
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” Cal asked once more, taking Michaela’s hand before he descended the porch
steps for the wagon.
“I’m positive,” Michaela told him shakily, Byron in her arms.
“Mama feel betta’ now,” the little boy put in, hugging his mother’s neck lovingly.
“Well, you make sure you look after your mama this morning, all right, Squirt?” Cal instructed. “I’ll be back as
soon as I can.”
Michaela nodded stiffly. “We’ll be just fine. Go on to work, Cal. I’ll not have you taking a day off from work
when I feel fine.”
“All right, if you’re sure,” Cal sighed. He kissed her hand. “Take it easy today. No going to the clinic or for walks
or anything foolish like that. Stay in and rest for a change.”
“I will,” she said quickly.
“Do you think you could get me some more marbles, Cal?” Byron spoke up suddenly.
Cal chuckled, caressing his head. “More marbles? I just bought ya a whole mess of ’em, Squirt.”
“It’s easy. Ya just gotta give Mr. Bway pennies and ask for marbles,” he instructed. “I want more please.”
“Well, let me think about it,” Cal told him.
“How long ya gonna think?” Byron pressed.
Cal tousled his hair. “I don’t know. Give me a day at least!” He looked at Michaela wryly. “Ya sure we want
another one of these little guys? They can be a lot of trouble.”
Michaela kissed Byron’s head and gave Cal a small, forced smile.
Cal tapped her nose. “I’ll see ya at supper, darlin’.”
Michaela watched him go, waving as the wagon rounded the bend. The moment he disappeared from sight she
shifted Byron to her hip and walked briskly down the stairs for the barn.
“Where we going, Mama?” Byron asked curiously, playing absently with a tendril of her hair.
Michaela cleared her throat. “Byron, do you remember a few days ago, you and Cal were playing in the woods?”
The little boy thought a moment as his mother placed him on the ground just outside the barn. “…Yeah,” he
replied.
“Do you remember the man you met, the man who was fishing but hadn’t caught anything? He had a beard and
long hair?” She led Flash out of her stall.
“…Yeah,” Byron replied. “How come?”
Michaela avoided his eyes as she led Flash out of the barn.. “We’re going to go for a little walk in the woods and
say hello to him. You see, he’s…he’s Mama’s friend. But we must hurry as quick as we can. We’re late as it is.”
Byron put his hands on his hips. “Cal say no walks,” he scolded. “He say stay in ’cause you got fainted an’ got
sick an’ gotta go bed, Mama.”
Michaela bent to pick him up. “It’s all right. I feel better now. It’ll only be a little walk, I promise.”
“Maybe Cal come wid us,” Byron suggested.
“No, no. This is just for Mama and Brynie.” She kissed his cheek. “Can you keep it a secret, darling? Mama needs
you to keep this walk a secret, just for a little while, I promise. Shh, it’ll be our special secret. Just for you and
me.”
“Special sec-wet?” he asked slowly, warming to the idea.
“Yes,” Michaela told him. “Doesn’t that sound like fun? Just a little secret for awhile.”
Byron considered it for a moment, and then nodded his consent. “All wight. Special sec-wet. Just me and Mama.”
***
“Why we gotta sit here?” Byron asked once more, swinging his legs on his mother’s lap. “Can we play hide ‘n’
seek? I’ll be ‘it’ if you don’t want to.”
“Not today, Brynie,” Michaela told him, worried Sully wouldn’t be coming at all. “We must wait for Mama’s
friend.”
“Why?” he questioned.
“Because.” She put her finger to her lips. “Shh. You mustn’t tell Cal. At least not until Mama tells him. You
mustn’t tell Cal, Brynie.”
He gazed up at her quizzically. “How come?”
“There he is,” she said nervously, standing up with Byron in her arms as Sully approached from out of the pine
trees, where he had been silently watching mother and son.
“Hey!” Byron squealed. “I saw him fishin’!”
Michaela nodded. “Yes, I know. Hush, sweetheart.”
“Why do I gotta hush?” he demanded.
Sully stared at the little boy, puzzled. “Michaela...the boy I saw...ya know him?”
Michaela smiled through her tears. “Yes…very well,” she whispered.
“Mama, he was fishin’,” Byron went on happily, “but didn’t catch one fishy. Not even one, ’cause Cal says ya
gotta fish in mornings, ’cause fishes are wakin’ and then you can catch ’em. Right, Mama?”
Michaela tenderly kissed his head, gazing into Sully’s eyes. “That's right, my baby.”
“Michaela, he called ya...he called ya Mama,” Sully choked.
She nodded, unable to speak.
He took a shaky breath. “Is he...is he...?” He closed his eyes, remembering his chuckle over the little boy’s name
when they had first met. “His name’s Byron,” he at last uttered.
“This is who I wanted you to meet. This is Byron. Byron—after his...after his papa,” Michaela assured him softly.
Sully stood speechless, gazing at the contented little boy, unable to believe it.
“…Hold him,” she whispered tenderly, taking a step closer. “Hold him.”
Byron willing went into the stranger’s arms.
Breathless, Sully pressed the little boy’s head against his shoulder, eyes filled with tears. “Hey...hey, Byron.”
“Guess what? I’m four,” Byron informed him proudly.
“Four years,” Sully murmured, swallowing hard to keep his emotions in check.
“Do you see his eyes?” Michaela went on, placing her hand atop Sully’s. “And his chin, and his ears? His hair?”
“Mama, he sees me,” Byron told her, shaking his head. Mama sure could be silly sometimes.
Sully nodded tearfully. “He’s got your nose, Michaela.”
She gave him a quivering smile. “He has *our* temper.”
“Does he?” Sully managed to murmur.
“…He’s usually very shy around strangers,” Michaela added.
Sully felt his heart swell. The little boy knew who his father was, if only subconsciously.
They took a seat on the log, Sully holding his son as close as he could.
Byron began examining the tattered fabric of his father’s thin cotton shirt, running his fingers over it, not paying
attention to the conversation of his parents.
“He’s perfect,” Sully whispered, stroking Byron’s hair. “He’s beautiful. He’s so beautiful. Look at him.”
“He’s *ours*,” she replied in awe, so softly Byron did not hear.
“I can’t believe it,” Sully replied. He felt like a new father, proudly cradling his infant, his gaze alternating
between the woman he adored, and the little piece of heaven in his arms, a result of that love. “Michaela, we made
this,” he said, in wonderment.
“Shh,” she chastised quietly.
“When...” he replied. “When did we...?”
“...A few weeks before you passed awa--I mean, before you were missing,” she stammered. “A few months later I
realized I was carrying him. He was born that December.”
“Were ya all right? Was he?” he questioned anxiously.
“We were both fine...but...Oh Sully, I wanted—needed you with me, so much. I didn’t think I could do it without
you. I was so frightened. But then he was finally here and I laid eyes on him and held him … he was so tiny, but
so beautiful and had such a strong, healthy cry, lots of dark hair, and his eyes...He was your son. Our Byron. I
hoped you wouldn’t mind about his name.”
He smiled. “No, it...it suits him. I like it.” he whispered. His face sobered. “Michaela, you were pregnant. I left ya
all alone, pregnant with him.” He took her hand, pressing it to his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m not. You left behind a part of you in our child, in all of our children. They’re the reason
I found the will to go on when I thought you were dead, Sully.”
“Sull-wee, Mama?” Byron spoke up suddenly, turning his head to look at her.
“We gotta tell him,” Sully whispered to her. He caressed the boy’s head. “Please, Michaela. I can’t keep
somethin’ like this quiet. We gotta tell him.”
She dabbed at her tears with the back of her hand. “Why did this happen?”
He squeezed her hand. “We’ll get through it.”
“Things are so different. Four years is such a long time,” she pleaded.
“Lying’s only gonna make it worse,” he said.
She nodded. “You’re right.”
“Byron,” Sully murmured, shifting the child in his lap to face him.
“Yeah?” the little boy said, clutching his father’s arms.
Sully opened his mouth, but couldn’t find the words.
Michaela caressed Sully’s arm encouragingly. “Brynie, sweetheart, do you remember when we talked about your
papa, Mommy’s husband Sully? And Mommy told you he was in heaven?”
He nodded. “Sull-wee went t’ heaven when I was in your tummy,” he informed her. “We can’t see him but he
watches us.”
“That’s right...I mean...” She gathered courage. “Mama thought your papa died.”
The little boy scratched his head, eyebrows narrowing in confusion.
“You see, he disappeared,” Michaela went on. “He had an accident and was lost from us, and when people are lost
for a very long time, and then we’re fairly certain they’ve gone to heaven. So Mama assumed--thought--your papa
had passed away, and so did everyone else.”
“Sull-wee was lost,” Byron echoed slowly, trying to sort things out in his mind.
“Yes ... lost from us, but not in heaven. He was in prison far from Colorado and escaped.”
“Where’d he get lost to?” the little boy asked curiously. “Where is him?”
“I’m here,” Sully whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his son’s head. “I’m…I’m your papa, Byron.”
Byron let out a startled gasp, eyes widening. Immediately, he scurried into his mother’s lap, clutching her tightly
and burying his head against her shoulder.
Sully felt a lump in his throat. “Byron, it’s all right. I’m sorry...”
Michaela rubbed the child’s back soothingly. “Shh, sweetheart. I know. There’s nothing to be frightened of. Your
papa would never hurt you. Shh.”
“My papa in heaven,” he insisted softly, tears flowing down his face.
She rocked him comfortingly, Sully looking on helplessly. “I know it’s difficult to understand, darling. Don’t be
frightened. Your papa’s alive. This is...this is a very happy day.” She pressed her lips to his cheek, avoiding
Sully’s eyes. “Papa was in jail for four years, but it was for something he didn’t do. It was a mistake. He couldn’t
make contact with us—he couldn’t talk with us and let us know he was all right...”
“But I thought about ya every single day,” Sully spoke, carefully placing his hand on Byron’s back. “Every day I
thought about Mama, and coming home to her as soon as I could.”
Slowly, Byron turned his head to the side, thumb in mouth. “An’ me? Comin’ home to me?”
Sully smiled softly, stroking back his hair. “Yeah, you, too. I love ya, Byron. I love ya so much. You’re my son.
My son.”
Byron smiled faintly. “I got a papa now, Mama?” he asked. “I gots two papas now?” he said, eyes brightening.
Not knowing how to reply, Michaela placed him on his feet. “Sweetheart, I need you to do something for me, hm?
Can you look for some pretty flowers and pick them for mama? The prettiest you can find.”
Byron thought about it for a moment. “All wight,” he agreed.
Michaela kissed his head. “Good boy. Run along now, but don’t wander too far.”
“All wight,” he said, skipping off a ways into the woods, though not out of sight of his protective mother and
father.
Sully watched him for a moment, teary-eyed, and then turned back to Michaela, gazing at her for a long moment.
“We have a son,” he whispered at last, still unable to believe it all.
Michaela could do nothing but nod, overwhelmed as well. It seemed all of Byron’s life she had prayed father and
son could somehow meet. Now that it had happened, she could barely digest it all. Clearing her throat, she handed
Sully a large leather pouch. “I brought some things I thought you might want,” she began nervously. “Clean
clothes, a razor, scissors, soap.”
Sully opened the bag, pulling out a pair of buckskins. He brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Ya kept
’em all this time.”
“I have all of your things tucked away,” she replied softly. “I couldn’t bear to part with them. They were pieces of
you and I couldn’t bear to lose them, too.”
He bent his head, unwilling to be moved by her devotion to him, even after remarrying.
“What happened to you, Sully?” she asked. “You say you were in prison but I don’t understand. How? Why?”
He let out a deep sigh, knowing this moment would come. “Last thing I remember is gettin’ into a scrape with
O’Connor up on a cliff.”
“O’Connor was killed in the fall,” Michaela told him quietly.
“I didn’t know that,” Sully admitted. “Thought maybe he was though. I was nearly killed myself.”
“We couldn’t find a trace of you aside from your medicine pouch.”
Sully touched his bare neck. “I noticed that was gone. Somehow I got myself up on shore. I don’t remember
much. My head was scraped up pretty bad, my legs were broken. I tried to eat a little but I could barely move.
Next thing I know a band of bounty hunters came along, not speakin’ a word of English. Dragged me off the
ground and took me with ‘em.”
“They were from the New Mexico Territory?” Michaela asked.
He nodded. “Natives. Took me to the marshal in a small town there. I can’t remember the name, but the doc there
was real kind, stitched me up real good.” He paused. “Weren’t as good as you, though.”
Michaela stroked back his hair tenderly.
“They had a wanted poster, showed me it,” Sully went on. “It was for an Indian, he looked like he might have
even been Cheyenne. He robbed a bank and killed a man doing it.”
“They thought you were Indian, from your appearance,” Michaela concluded.
He shrugged. “Don’t know if they ever believed I was the right man, but I was good enough to get the bounty
they wanted. They didn’t seem to know a thing about who I was or about the army back in Colorado after me.
New Mexico’s a long way from Colorado.”
“Surely you had a trial,” Michaela pressed. “Surely you told them you were innocent.”
“They got me straight to trial ’fore I was even recovered,” he explained. “Couldn’t hardly put much passion into
defendin’ myself. The judge weren’t interested in listenin’ to me as it was.”
“How could he convict you with no evidence?” Michaela demanded, growing upset.
“It didn’t matter to him, Michaela,” Sully replied. “Later on, I heard he’d been railroading men, tryin’ to advance
his career. Had political aspirations. That judge put a lotta guilty men in jail, but he put a lotta men like me there,
too. Threw me in the territorial prison for thirty years, no questions asked.”
“Oh, Sully,” she murmured. “You must have been terrified.”
He sighed. “I tried not t’ think about it. I just thought about you. I knew you’d be lookin’ for me and I just kept
hopin’ ya’d hear about me somehow. I tried to escape ’bout three times, finally made it a week ago.”
“You must be wanted if you escaped,” she said. “They must be looking for you.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t thought about that much. Might be awhile ’fore they find me here, if they ever do.” He
looked up. “The army, they thought I was dead, too?”
She nodded. “I wrote to President Grant shortly after it happened. He gave you a full pardon. You have nothing to
fear here at least.”
He sighed. “Thank you, Michaela.”
She lowered her eyes. “The president was more than happy to give it to you. He was incredibly kind to all of us
after the accident.” She paused. “Were they kind to you, Sully? In prison?”
He swallowed hard. “…One fella was, Jack. He was the librarian there, and brought me books near every week.
Didn’t talk to him much, weren’t much interested in talkin’ to anyone, but he was real good to me, even got me in
on the escape…It was you that kept me going, Michaela. You an’ Katie an’ the kids. I’d close my eyes and see ya,
every night. Sometimes I could even feel ya.”
“I felt you, too,” Michaela told him tearfully.
“Ya thought I was dead,” Sully said quietly.
“You don’t understand,” she pleaded. “All the evidence pointed to a probable death. There was nothing.”
“So ya up an’ married,” he went on.
Bitterly hurt, Michaela could not reply at first. “Sully…marrying Cal wasn’t something I decided overnight,” she
began shakily. “You don’t know how much I agonized over what I was feeling. I thought of you all the time. I
prayed you could somehow come back for so long.”
“Ya thought I was dead,” Sully retorted. He knew he was hurting Michaela, he could see it in her eyes, but he
couldn’t seem to hold back. At last, he took a deep breath, determined not to carry on any longer. Focus on the
children, he reminded himself. “The other kids…can I see ’em?” he asked quietly.
She let out a soft sigh. “Yes, of course. I…I want you to. I’ll have to prepare them first…but of course you can
see them.” She glanced around them. “Where are you sleeping?”
“Got a little camp by the creek,” he replied simply. “It’s nothin’ new to me.”
“You can’t stay there forever,” she insisted. “We’ll figure something out.”
Sully glanced at Byron, happily playing with a small toad he had found. “Did…did he build ya a place to live?
Where is it?”
Michaela swallowed hard. “Well, he was planning on building a house in town but…we’re at our homestead right
now.”
His eyes narrowed. “Ya’re livin’ together at the homestead?”
“Sully-”
He stood up. “Have ya told him yet?” he asked sullenly.
She hesitated. “Not yet.”
Sully sighed. “Ya gotta tell him, Michaela.”
“I’ll tell him tonight,” she said quickly.
“An’ then what?”
She hesitated for an even longer moment. “I don’t know,” she said at last.
Sully tried hard to suppress the lump in his throat. “I’ll leave now, Michaela, if ya want. I’ll leave now. Just say
the word.” He tried to appear confident, though he was tearing apart inside. “I’ll leave. The kids…we can work
out somethin’.”
“No, Sully,” she begged, unconsciously grasping his arm. “Stay. There’s still so much to sort out. I don’t even
know whom I’m legally married to. I don’t know anything. So much is going through my head I have no idea
where to begin.”
“Lot’s goin’ through my head, too, Michaela,” he told her.
“I know,” she replied softly. She squeezed his arm. “You could stay in town or at the clinic-”
“I’m fine where I am,” he said quickly. “Can ya bring Katie and Brian tomorrow? Same time?”
She nodded. “I will. Oh, Sully. Brian’s missed you so much. And Katie…well, she doesn’t quite remember, but
she asks about you often and likes to hear about you and see photographs of you.”
“I wanna see ’em so much,” he murmured. He gazed at his son once more, instantly attached to the little boy.
“Ya’ll bring Byron along, too?”
She smiled softly. “Yes.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow then,” he murmured, turning and disappearing without another word.
“I got lotsa fwowers, Mama!” Byron shouted, emerging from the trees seconds later and hurrying to his mother
with an oversized bouquet of wildflowers and weeds scrunched in his fist.
“Thank you, darling,” Michaela told him, suppressing tears as she lifted him into her lap. “They’re beautiful.” She
kissed his cheek and held him to her tight.
“Ow, Mama!” Byron moaned, wiggling out of her embrace. “Ya squeeze me!”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, stroking back his hair with a small grin.
“Where’d Sull-wee go?” he asked, looking around. “He playing hide ‘n’ seek?”
She swallowed hard. “No, he had to leave. But we’ll see him again tomorrow…”
***
“An’ guess what else?” Byron went on, leaning forward on his knees as Katie and Brian stared at him. “He got in
jail but not in heaven and not even on the bottom of the creek, an’ now we gots two papas!”
“Stop it, B.” Brian scolded, pushing aside the checkerboard on his bed. He and Katie had been engrossed in their
game when Byron had tiptoed in after being tucked into bed.
Katie hugged one of Brian’s bed pillows, eyes wide. “Two papas?”
“Shh,” Byron replied, pressing his finger to his lips. “It’s a sec-wet an’ we can’t tell Cal. An’ Papa, he gots long
hair and wiskas an’ hugged me. An’ didn’t catch no fishes.”
“B.!” Brian said again, pulling his brother into his lap and straightening his little nightshift. “B, don’t say those
things! Ya can’t pretend like this! Ya wanna hurt Ma’s feelin’s? Ya wanna hurt Cal’s? Stop it now, Byron!”
“It’s not pwetend!” the little boy insisted. “I gots a papa now an’ he hugged me!”
Katie began to sniffle. “Papa’s in heaven,” she murmured, putting her thumb in her mouth.
Brian rubbed her back. “It’s all right, Kate. B.’s just bein’ a little kid. It’s all pretend.”
“I’m not little!” Byron shouted. “I see my papa and he love me!”
Brian took h