Written by: Diane Schlichting

Copyright August 17, 1997

Quinnatics have accessed this site since Aug. 18/97.

ichaela sat at her desk, a patient's file before her. She paused in her recording of patient data, gazing up into space, thinking of how to phrase the next section.

The patient, Mr. Elijah Crane, has been displaying periods of vacantness. Mr. Crane is often found by his family, sitting in a chair or standing by a window staring fixedly at nothing. There does not seem to be any cause for this affliction. He has no memory of these episodes. Diagnosis: Epilepsy??

Michaela stopped, not sure if she whole-heartedly agreed with that diagnosis, but not knowing what else it could be. She would have to do some more research to see if there could be another cause for Mr. Crane's affliction . . .

Suddenly, the door burst open and Colleen flew into the room.

"Dr. Mike, you gotta come quick. Andrew has a patient who's in a real bad state and he needs your help."

Michaela rose from her desk, grabbing her shawl and her medical bag. She was grateful that Sully had taken Katie to the general store earlier; she wouldn't have to worry about taking her along now.

"What's wrong with the patient?" she asked as they left the clinic, locked up and boarded the buggy.

"He's got a real high fever, he's had fits and he can't keep anything down. Andrew says he's dehydrated, been sick for days and hadn't told anyone."

The buggy lurched and bumped down the dirt road to Preston's hotel. The early spring breeze was cool and Michaela tucked her shawl more tightly around herself as Colleen drove on. Michaela was thinking about the symptoms, wondering what it could be. She hoped it wasn't contagious, they didn't need another epidemic in this town!

They finally arrived at Preston's hotel. Colleen brought the buggy to a halt and got down, handing the reins over to a young boy. Michaela followed her daughter out of the buggy and into the hotel's medical office.

Andrew looked very relieved upon seeing Michaela. The patient was writhing on the table, moaning loudly.

"Dr. Mike, I'm glad you could come."

"Andrew," Michaela nodded a greeting at him then turned her attention to the patient. As she began her examination, she asked Andrew for the symptoms.

"He has a high fever, loose bowels, frequent vomiting, occasional seizures and drowsiness. Just today he began showing signs of dementia."

Michaela pulled back the sheet that had been draped over the patient. She looked closely his chest, listened to his heart and lungs. She opened the patient's mouth, examining his tongue and throat for signs of a rash or coating. She found nothing. She lifted his eyelid and held a candle close to his face. The man groaned and writhed, trying to escape the light.

She put the candle aside and felt along his arms, testing the joints. The patient moaned fiercely when she bent his elbow and wrist, likewise when she did the same to his knees and ankles.

She raised the sheet and looked at Andrew. "He has a high fever, but his lungs are clear and his heartbeat is strong. He has pain and swelling in the joints, and appears sensitive to light. What do you think, Andrew?"

Andrew ran his hand through his hair. "I honestly don't know, Michaela. I feel strongly that it is some kind of infection, but I don't know from what or where it is originating. He has no open wound that could be the source. Maybe something to do with the blood?"

Michaela pulled the sheet up, uncovering the man's legs to the knees. She pressed against his knee joint, gently turning the leg. Loud moans revealed the man's discomfort. She examined his calves, running her hands along the tibia. As she came to the ankle, she stopped, looking closely.

"Andrew? Did you notice this? There is a faint rash here. There also seems to be something under the skin. . ."

Michaela peered closely, reaching for a pair of tweezer and a small scalpel. She made a small incision and pulled out a small brown object. She held it up to the light.

"What is it?" Colleen asked, looking closely. Andrew too, leaned forward, unsure of what she held.

"It's a tick. You can pick them up walking through the brush. I've heard that you can get quite sick from these, but I've never seen anyone with these symptoms before."

"Maybe there's something else wrong with him? Maybe the tick was carrying some other disease?" Andrew volunteered.

Michaela placed the instruments in the pan of alcohol for disinfecting. "That could be, Andrew."

"Perhaps we should take a blood sample?" Andrew suggested. He glanced at Colleen who stood to the side, quietly observing.

"Good idea. Maybe we can see something under the microscope."

Andrew moved to the shelf to get the needle while Michaela swabbed the patient's arm with some alcohol. His skin was very warm to the touch, but felt moist. At her touch, the man began to moan again, trying to pull his arm away.

"Colleen, try to hold him down, please," Michaela asked. Colleen moved to the man's head and placed her hands on his shoulders. She was surprised at the heat she felt as she pressed down firmly.

Andrew came to Michaela's side, needle ready. He examined the forearm, looking for a vein. It was difficult to see one clearly.

Michaela stood next to him, holding the patient's arm down. As the needle pierced his skin, the man screamed and lurched up.

"No!" he yelled. "Don't kill me, please!" The man stared blankly ahead, not really seeing the three people attending him.

"Colleen! Hold him down." Michaela cried, struggling herself to hold the arm still.

Colleen pushed down with renewed strength and the man struggled to escape the pain being inflicted upon him and fought some vision only he could see.

"Almost there," Andrew said, watching the needle pull the blood slowly from the man's body.

"There," he said, pulling the needle out of the man's arm.

"NO!! I won't let you do this!" The patient suddenly renewed his struggle, shaking off Colleen and bolting upright, lashing out with his arms and fists. Michaela lost her grip on his slippery skin and the patient's arm swung out, smacking Andrew's hand and knocking it downward. There was a loud cry of shock and pain as the needle he was holding was driven into Michaela's arm, the plunger depressed.

Although the patient continued to struggle on the table and yell for the unknown assailant to stop, his cries fell on deaf ears. Everyone stood frozen. They all stared in shock at the needle sticking out of Michaela's arm, half of the vial of blood missing.

"Ma," Colleen asked, her voice shaky with worry.

Michaela stared down at her arm, at the needle tilting oddly from her arm, wagging slightly back and forth as her arm began to shake. She stood frozen, unable to react.

"Oh God! Oh my God," Andrew was beside himself. He couldn't believe what had just happened. He stared in horror and Michaela's arm for a long moment before he had the sense to pull the needle out. He hurriedly laid the needle on a nearby table and pulled Michaela over to a chair, pushing her into it.

Michaela appeared to be in shock. She said nothing, staring at her arm in disbelief, at the red that was now staining her sleeve.

"Ma, are you all right?" Colleen hovered over her mother's shoulder, frightened by the implication of what had just happened.

Michaela didn't respond. She staggered backward. She was having difficulty catching her breath. Her mind was racing and yet time seemed to have slowed down. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She couldn't fathom what would happen. She had been injected with the patients blood. Infected blood. More than likely, she too would become sick. The thought made her stomach tighten and a faint sheen of perspiration broke out on her skin. She suddenly felt faint.

Feeling panicky, Andrew reached for the bottle of alcohol and turned to Michaela. "We have to disinfect it," he muttered, undoing the button on her sleeve and pushing the material up out of the way. He wiped off her forearm, seeing the tiny puncture wound the needle had left. He liberally poured distilled alcohol over the spot.

Michaela's eyes rose to meet his. She was coming out of her shock, the realization that she had just been infected with whatever disease the moaning patient behind her on the table clouding her expression. An unknown disease for which there might not be a cure.

Andrew felt the panic rising again as he met her fearful gaze. Colleen was gently rubbing Michaela's shoulders. "Andrew, what should we do? Should we use a tourniquet?"

"Good idea. You get that started."

While Colleen found a piece of leather to use as a tourniquet, Andrew's gaze skimmed over his shelves of medicine. Bottle after bottle neatly labeled and lined up on the many shelves. All useless right now. His gaze settled on a jar containing murky liquid. With a renewed sense of purpose he picked up the jar and unscrewed the top. "We have to draw the blood out. This will work." He reached into the brown liquid and pulled out a small brown object. He placed the object on Michaela's forearm, just above the puncture wound which was seeping blood and struggled to bring out another one.

Michaela stared down at the brown thing on her arm, watching it get slightly larger, hearing Colleen's voice as though from a distance asking what he was doing. Suddenly, it registered what the brown creature was and with a screech, she jumped out of the chair before Andrew could put another leech on her. She swatted at the one on her arm and it would not come off. She grasped its slimy body and pulled, but it only stretched out, its mouth still firmly attached to her arm, its body thickening as it sucked her blood.

"Get it off!" she cried, looking from Colleen to Andrew as the panic built up inside of her. "Get it off me!"

Andrew stared dumbly, trying to tell her that it would help. Colleen ran to his shelves, searching among them for some sort of salt. Finding a bottle, she went to her mother's side and grabbed her arm.

"Hold still," she cried, as Michaela was still trying to dislodge the ugly creature by force. She paused for a moment while Colleen grabbed her arm and poured some salt on the fat leech. The moment the salt hit its slimy body, it shriveled up into itself and let go, falling to the floor. Without a thought, Michaela stomped on it with her boot, sending a spray of blood across the wooden floor boards and the hem of her dress.

"Michaela, I'm sorry. Please, I didn't mean for this to happen," Andrew pleaded with her, his stricken expression matching hers. "Let me try to help you." Without a word, Michaela turned and ran out of the room, her pounding footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Andrew turned to Colleen, hoping to find an understanding word. Colleen simply gathered up her ma's things and left without a word. Andrew stared after her, the only sound in the room the moaning of the patient on the table, temporarily forgotten during the crisis, but a haunting reminder of what might come.

Colleen ran into Grace's cafe, spotting Sully with Dorothy, drinking coffee, holding Katie on his lap. "Sully!" she cried, running up to his table.

"What's wrong, Colleen?" he asked.

Colleen paused, gasping for breath. "Ma. She was helpin' Andrew. They were treating a patient who is desperately ill. There was a struggle and she was accidentally injected with his infected blood."

"Oh my God," Dorothy breathed, pressing her hand against her bosom.

"Where is she?" Sully's mind spun with the possibilities of what could happen.

"She ran off. I don't know where she went."

Sully thought for a moment. He thought he knew where she would go. He rose, handing Katie to Colleen. "You watch Katie. I'll go find her."

"Do you know where she is?" Colleen asked his retreating form, holding Katie to her breast.

"Think so," he called over his shoulder as he ran out of the clinic. He ran to the livery, and, mounting his horse, headed out of town. There was a spot, a meadow, where he and Michaela occasionally went to be alone. He rode quickly toward the place, hoping to find her there.

He pulled his horse to a stop, seeing her sitting against an old oak. Her knees were drawn against her chest, arms clasped around them, forehead resting on her knees. He looped his reins over a tree branch and approached her quietly. He knelt down beside her, laying a hand upon her shoulder. "Michaela?"

She raised her head. Her eyes were red from crying, her cheeks tear-stained. "Oh, Sully!" she cried, reaching out for him. He clasped her to him, stroking her back reassuringly. "It's okay. It's alright. Ssshhhh. I'm here now." He held her as she cried. Finally, she quieted. "Andrew. The patient..."

"Sssshhh," Sully murmured. "It's okay. I know. Colleen told me."

She looked up at him, anguish and fear clouding her expression. "Sully. I've possibly been infected too. I could get sick, I could die. We don't know what he has."

"You're not gonna die. I won't let you. We'll figure out something."

"Sully, I don't even know what he has."

"It doesn't matter. I won't let you get sick."

She leaned against him, welcoming his comfort although she knew that his words were hollow. There was no way he could prevent her from getting sick, no way that he could stop the progression of the illness; whatever it was.

A tense two days passed and Michaela still didn't show any signs of illness. The patient, a Mr. Randall, grew progressively worse. His fever continued to ravage his body. He was unable to keep anything in his stomach and the episodes of dementia increased in severity. His condition was deteriorating and there was nothing Andrew or Michaela could do about it.

Michaela left the clinic at Preston's hotel, not speaking to Andrew. She got into the wagon and waited for Colleen. Andrew approached, laying his hand on the wheel, looking up at Michaela.

"Dr. Mike, I want you to know. I am truly sorry for what happened. It was not my intention for you to be. . . infected."

Michaela glanced at him then looked away. "I know that Andrew, it was an accident."

"I hope that you don't blame me."

Michaela sighed. She looked at him and forced a smile. "Of course not," she said shortly. Colleen came out then and Andrew helped her into the wagon. With a snap of the reins, Michaela urged the horses on, leaving Andrew behind in the dust.

"Ma, maybe we should write to the doctors in Denver. Maybe they can help," Colleen suggested as they drove back to town.

"I already sent them a telegram, Colleen. I haven't received an answer yet."

Colleen reached out her hand and placed it on Michaela's leg. "I'll help you at the clinic, Ma. So you can rest. I'll read your medical books until I find something."

Michaela smiled at her daughter. "You have your own books to study."

"I know, but this is more important. I want to help."

Michaela nodded and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

They stopped at the post office on the way to the clinic. Horace was back to his old self again, showing signs of his depression only occasionally. Michaela smiled at him. "Any mail for me Horace?"

Horace put down his papers and came to the counter. "Not today, Dr. Mike. Still no word from the doctors you wrote to neither."

"Will you let me know the minute anything arrives, Horace?"

"Sure thing, Dr. Mike. The minute it gets here."

"Thank you, Horace."

She walked back out to the wagon and climbed up to the seat. Taking the reins from Colleen she drove on to the clinic. "Will you get Katie for me, Colleen. I left her with Grace again."

"Sure, Ma."

Colleen walked off in the direction of Grace's and Michaela entered the clinic. She put her things down, took off her shawl and went to her book shelf. She scanned the titles of the books until she found the one she wanted; Infectious Diseases and their Treatments. Pulling the thick volume down off the shelf, she retired to her desk and began perusing the various illness and ailments currently known to mankind.

It was later, when she leaned over the fenced-in portion of the clinic that Sully had made, to pick up Katie that she first noticed the pain in her arm. Her whole forearm ached, the wrist and elbow especially. Carrying Katie with her to the window, she held her daughter with her left arm while she awkwardly tugged up the sleeve of her right.

The entry wound was no longer just a pin-prick. The area surrounding it was red and puffy, warm to the touch. Michaela stared, confused. Infection had set in although Andrew had liberally disinfected the area.

She turned back toward her desk, but winced as the light from the window struck her eyes. Shielding her face with her hand, she walked to the mirror and looked at her reflection closely. She unfastened the top few buttons of her blouse with one hand and spread the folds of the fabric apart. Her skin was smooth, a creamy white undisturbed by rash. Her neck was sore though and she gently massaged the tender flesh, closing her eyes.

She felt with certainty that she was becoming sick. Whatever mysterious ailment Mr. Randall had, she had become infected with it as well. Tears filled her eyes and slid slowly down her cheeks. She pressed her face against the softness of Katie's hair, wishing with all her might that she could turn back the clock, change things.

The tinkling of the clinic bell brought her sharply to the present. "Just a minute," she called, putting Katie down. She hastily buttoned up her blouse as she turned toward the door. The door stood open and Colleen was framed by the sunlight pouring through the opening.

Michaela did up the last button, but not before Colleen realized what she had been doing. "Ma?" she asked, feeling her concern rise as she saw Michaela wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"Yes, Colleen, what is it?" Michaela tried to ignore the look in her daughter's eye. She stooped to pick up Katie once more, hugging the child to her.

Colleen shut the door and walked to the examining table. She clasped and unclasped her hands, a habit she had when worried. "I just came from seeing Andrew."

Michaela looked up sharply, her guard down for the moment. Her voice stuck in her throat, but she managed to speak. "How is Mr. Randall?"

Colleen fidgeted some more, wringing her hands in her distress. Her blue eyes were wide with fear; of the knowledge she held and of what it would bring. "He...he died this morning after we left. Andrew says he didn't recognize anyone at the end. He lost consciousness and Andrew was unable to revive him."

Michaela gasped, feeling as though someone had pushed all the air out of her lungs. She sat heavily in the nearest chair. She stared at Colleen without really seeing her, bright spots of light exploded at the periphery of her vision. She felt as though she might faint.

Colleen was shaking her shoulder, calling to her. She vaguely looked up at her daughter.

"Ma? When I came in just now. You were doing up your blouse. Are you sick too?"

Blue eyes met green eyes in an intense expression of fear. Michaela's barely imperceptible nod was met with Colleen's "Oh, ma!" as she pulled her adoptive mother's head against her breast and hugged her tight.

Sully put his elbows on the table and braced his forehead with his hands. He closed his eyes and heard again his wife's ominous words. It seems I've contracted this illness too. Mr. Randall died this morning...

Not since the time when the Dog Soldiers had abducted her had Sully felt this twisting pain in his heart. The fear he had felt then, that the Dog Soldiers would rape her and kill her, was similar to the fear he felt now. The fear and the anger. Only this time there was no where to direct the anger.

"You're sure?" he asked softly, raising his head and looking at her. She sat across the table from him, poised and controlled except for the single tear that escaped and slid down one cheek unnoticed.

Michaela nodded, repeating her symptoms to him. "Sensitivity to light, painful joints, drowsiness and headache."

"Is it contagious?" he asked, momentarily worried.

"I don't think so. Colleen and Andrew seem unaffected and they both had contact with Mr. Randall."

Sully reached out a hand to her. It shook slightly and suddenly Michaela's own hands had risen to clasp his between them. She clutched it to her bosom, kissing his knuckles and pressing her cheek against his captured hand.

"Oh, Sully. I don't know what's going to happen now. My arm aches dreadfully and it hurts to move my hand. This afternoon I had pain when I picked up Katie. Mr. Randall experienced dementia and. . ."

"What's that?" he interrupted.

"It's when the patient doesn't recognize those around him. He sees things that aren't there and responds to them."

Her eyes met his over their clasped hands. Twin pools of anguish and fear, the brimming tears shimmering in the lantern light. "Sully. I'm afraid."

Sully's own eyes shone in the light with unshed tears. He rose from the table and came to her, not once letting go of her hands. He knelt next to her chair and tenderly smoothed a lock of hair out of her face with his free hand. "I know," he whispered. "I'm afraid too, but we're in this together. I'll do everything in my power to make sure you get well."

"But what if you can't? What if there is no cure for this illness? Sully, we don't even know what it is!"

With a heavy heart, he leaned forward and kissed her, his lips feather-light on her own. "We'll find out what it is. We'll go to Denver or Boston and find out. I won't let you die, Michaela."

She turned her head to his shoulder, her arms holding him tightly to her while his hands twined in her hair. She could only pray that he was right. That in Boston, the doctors could be of some help.

The telegram from Boston had arrived two days ago and Sully had immediately booked passage on the train for the entire family. A doctor by the name of Marshal Grant had agreed to take on Michaela's case and was currently researching and conferring with other Bostonian doctors, anticipating her arrival.

After much discussion, it was agreed that Colleen and Brian would come along to Boston. The children could look after Katie when necessary as Michaela had stated plainly that she would not be parted from her young daughter for such a long time. Sully, fearing the worst, felt the children should be along just in case. Although he prayed every night that they would find some medicine to help Michaela, he could not turn aside the evidence of the death of Mr. Randall. Not used to practicing religion, Sully prayed in the only way he knew how, seeking refuge in a small clearing next to the homestead and asking the spirits for assistance and guidance in the way of the Cheyenne.

Sully sorely missed his friend, Cloud Dancing. He wished the native healer were still with them in Colorado Springs, feeling sure that Cloud Dancing would have been able to help Michaela some how. Ever since the fiasco at the reservation and his subsequent fall off the cliff and recovery in a nearby cave, Sully had keenly felt the empty space left by his friends absence. So often he had wished for Cloud Dancing's assistance during his recovery. And now he needed him again. Sully cursed the army and the government that had sent his friend into hiding in the northern Cheyenne lands.

So Sully prayed on his own to the Cheyenne spirits, singing the haunting chants while seeking guidance and the strength to go on facing Michaela's steadily worsening illness.

It had pained Sully greatly to watch Michaela this past week. Her face, normally on the pale side lost whatever colour it had ever possessed. Her eyes, usually sparkling with life, full of adventure and vigor were dull and misty with unshed tears. In the past two days she had been unable to eat, vomiting up anything that passed her lips, including the Willowbark tea Sully often made for her to help ease the pain of her swollen joints. The worst was the confusion. It came and went, without predictability. Sometimes she would sit up in bed, crying out, wondering where she was. This frightened Sully the most.

Walking had become very painful and she was often unsteady and clumsy. She no longer was able to pick up her daughter. Andrew had visited her at the homestead often, usually once in the morning and again at night. He left medicines and salves to sooth the painful joints. Sully had watched him from the doorway one evening as Andrew gently rubbed Michaela's wrists with the salve he had brought. Michaela lay on the bed, green eyes staring without understanding at the young doctor.

The pain and guilt in the young man's face was difficult for Sully to see. The dark shadows under Andrew's eyes that belied his sleepless nights as he tried to find something that would reverse the course of the illness.

"It's ain't your fault," Sully had said softly.

Andrew had paused in his ministrations, looking up at the shadow in the doorway.

Sully had sat down on the bed then, taking his wife's hand in his own, resuming the task of rubbing in the salve. "It ain't your fault," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

However, Sully's words had little effect on the young doctor. Andrew blamed himself and nothing Sully said could change the fact that it had been because of his poor self-confidence that he had summoned Michaela to his clinic that day. That it had been his hand that had held the needle that had poisoned Michaela.

Andrew had not been able to accept this absolution. The only way he could forgive himself would be if she recovered. And if she didn't? His mind had asked. Then even God would not be able to absolve him of his guilt.

They arrived at the train station a little early. Sully pulled the wagon to a stop and quickly jumped down. Brian handled the reins while Sully went to the back of the wagon where Michaela lay. Despite the warmth of the spring day, she was bundled up in blankets. Sully climbed up and knelt next to her. He gently brushed her hair out of her face.

"How you feelin'?"

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around slowly.

"At the train station. Remember? We're goin' to Boston."

"Boston?" her voice was soft, questioning, but without understanding.

Feeling that sense of dismay rise within him, Sully helped her to sit up. Colleen got down, took Katie from Brian and went up to the platform, speaking to her friends. Robert E. arrived and took the reins from Brian, allowing the youngster to help Sully.

A small crowd had gathered at the station, wanting to see Michaela and family off. Dorothy and Loren were there, Grace and Jake and Horace. Hanging back slightly were Preston and Hank; not ones to get emotional, but caring nonetheless.

Sully gently lifted Michaela into his arms and got down off the wagon, a steadying hand from Horace and Loren assisting. He carried Michaela to the bench on the station's porch and set her down gently. Wanting to look respectable, Michaela had insisted on wearing one of her good, Boston dresses in a moment of lucidity. She would not have the town see her off in her nightdress!

Dorothy was at her side immediately, Grace on the other, helping her to sit up. Michaela winced as they grasped her arms; they were unaware of the pain it caused her.

"Now you listen to me, Michaela," Dorothy's voice was strong and firm, not belying the fear she felt for her friend. "You're going to get well. Those Boston doctors are gonna fix you right up. Sooner than you know it you'll be back here fit as a fiddle."

Dorothy stroked her friends hair, loose about her shoulders. She smiled at her, trying to hold off the tears that threatened.

"That's right, Dr. Mike," Grace added. "Now then, I've fixed ya a basket to eat on the train. Ya gotta keep your strength up."

Michaela looked back and forth between the women and slowly her eyes cleared. She smiled at Grace. "Thank you, Grace," she whispered, her voice weak and faint. She lifted a hand as though to touch her face, but it wavered in the air and started to fall back to her lap. Grace quickly grabbed it and held it snug within her own brown hands. Grace's brave smile wavered at the sound of Michaela's voice. She forced the smile back, handing the basket to Brian who stood beside her, watching over his ma.

"Brian, you see to it that she eats," Grace ordered him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied automatically, taking the basket and tucking one arm through the handle. He lifted the cloth that covered the contents and peered inside to see what goodies it might contain.

The sound of the train's whistle startled everyone. They turned to look at the approaching train and then turned back to Michaela. Robert E. returned from taking the wagon to his stables. He put a hand reassuringly on Sully's shoulder. "I'll keep an eye out on your place for you."

"Thanks, Robert E., I appreciate that."

"No trouble. Grace and I, we'll be praying for you."

A look too filled for words passed between the two men as they shook hands, then embraced. Preston came over to Sully, looking embarrassed.

"Sully, I er,...I wanted you to have this." He held a small envelope out.

"What is it?"

Preston stared at the man who wavered between acquaintance and enemy. He looked down at the paper in his hand. "The medical bills and lodging," he began and stopped. He looked up again, meeting the clear blue gaze. "This should cover any payments you might need to make."

Sully was surprised. He had never expected Preston to give them anything. He had seemed too greedy to part with his money.

"We don't need your charity."

Preston sighed. "Look, I know that we have had... difficulties... in the past." He stopped and looked over at Michaela, leaning against Dorothy, her eyes closed. "I want Michaela to get the best treatment. Will you take the money?"

Sully paused a moment then reached out and took the envelope. He would use it, only if he had to. "Thank you."

Preston nodded and, with a touch to his hat, turned and walked away. Sully glanced at Robert E. and saw his own disbelief mirrored in the blacksmith's eyes. "Will wonders never cease," Robert E. muttered. Sully smiled briefly at the comment.

The train had come to a stop now and the workers were unloading some supplies. Horace came up to Sully, glancing at his pocket watch. "You'll have to board now, Sully. It's time."

Sully nodded and walked up to the bench again. He knelt down in front of his wife and gently touched her on the knee. Her eyes fluttered, taking a moment to focus. She looked from Dorothy to Sully.

"It's time," Sully said softly.

She nodded and slowly, painfully raised her hand to reach for Dorothy. Dorothy clasped her hand in her own and smiled at her. "Goodbye, Dorothy," Michaela said softly. "You've been the dearest friend."

Dorothy's eyes widened at these words, ringing of finality. Her tears slid unchecked down her rosy cheeks. "Oh, Michaela! It's my pleasure to be your friend, but you're comin' back. I'll be waitin' here for you when you do. I'll send you copies of the Gazette so's you'll know what's goin' on here. Sully can read them to you, keep your mind off your troubles." She paused here and leaned forward to kiss Michaela on the cheek. "You get well now, hear?"

Michaela smiled faintly and nodded. Turning to Grace, she said goodbye to her also, receiving a kiss on the cheek and more words of encouragement and well wishes.

They men gave their best wishes as Sully carefully lifted Michaela into his arms. As he walked down the steps Hank suddenly appeared beside him, a bottle in his hands. He stopped Sully with a hand on his arm. "Here," he said gruffly. "I thought this might help with the pain. You know?" He shrugged, tossing his hair over his shoulder and out of his eyes from the blowing wind. "It's my best whisky. Very medicinal." He raised his eyebrows humourously at Sully and Michaela then tucked the bottle into the basket that Brian carried. He turned back to Michaela reaching out as though to touch her. His hand paused in midair, then fell to his side once again. "I hope ya get well real soon."

Startled by his kindness, Michaela barely had time to mutter a thank you before Hank had turned and, arm around one of his girls, he headed off toward the saloon. Sully continued down the steps and over the platform. As he approached the small stair that led up to the train Michaela pressed her hand against his chest and whispered, "Wait."

Weakly, she turned her head to look at the townspeople once more. She raised her head and smiled at them, struggling for strength.

"Thank you all for coming to see us off. Keep us in your hearts and your prayers."

The townspeople uttered their best wishes, some with tears in their eyes as Sully climbed aboard the train, followed by Brian and Colleen holding Katie. The Reverend followed them in, glancing back at his congregation as he entered the train.

Sully had settled Michaela into a seat next to the window, blanket laid over her legs to keep in the warmth. She looked up as the Reverend approached. Sully nodded at him. Getting down on one knee, the Reverend met her gaze, looking with remembered moments into her green eyes. He had once proposed to Michaela, and he felt the tug at his heart as he looked at her now. He said a small prayer for her, blessing their journey and praying for a return of health.

He picked up her limp hand, holding the fragile fingers gently, remembering their strength and dexterity in surgery. He smiled at her and kissed the back of her hand lightly. "You will be in my prayer's, Michaela. I will ask God to help you overcome this illness."

Michaela raised her other hand to his, clasping it lightly. She smiled at him, her eyes sharing remembered moments. "Thank you, Reverend."

"All aboard!" came the engineer's call.

The Reverend nodded and rose, releasing her hands. "Well, I best be going now. Sully." He shook Sully's hand, wishing him well and said goodbye to the children. With a final glance at Michaela, he got off the train.

"Let's take our seats," Sully said softly. He took the basket from Brian and stowed it on the floor under the seat. Sitting next to Michaela, he drew her against his side, his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. Colleen and Brian sat opposite them as the train began to move. They waved to the townspeople standing on the walk as the train picked up speed, whistle blowing shrilly.

Michaela watched through squinted eyes as the buildings disappeared from view and she wondered briefly if she would ever again see the small humble town that had become her home in the last five years.

The train ride to St. Louis was uneventful. Colleen and Brian had moved to other seats so as to look out the windows and watch the passing scenery. Sully sat in the seat opposite Michaela, alternately watching his wife sleep and watching the hills pass by outside. Aside from another young couple, they were alone in the car and time dragged by for all concerned.

In St. Louis, they transferred to another train, this one equipped with a sleeping car, to take them across the country to Boston. Sully, having settled Michaela once again, sat quietly, holding his sleeping daughter in his arms. Colleen and Brian sat next to each other, talking quietly amongst themselves.

The ticket master came by, requesting the family's tickets. He glanced at the proffered paper and punched it, looking at each member of the family in turn. He frowned as his gaze lit upon Michaela, sleeping lightly, her brow covered with a light sheen of perspiration and creased with pain.

"What's wrong with your wife?" he asked Sully, handing back the ticket.

"She's sick. We're takin' her to Boston. To the hospital there."

"It ain't catchin' is it?" he asked, clearly concerned.

"No. It ain't contagious. She's a doctor herself. We'll be fine."

"Humph." The ticket master continued to stare at Michaela for a moment longer, as though expecting some sort of reaction out of her.

Sully reached for her hand and took it, showing the man that he wasn't afraid to touch his wife.

Deciding, the man straightened up. "Well now, you folks have a good trip. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you." Sully watched the man move on to the next seat then glanced at Colleen. He smiled reassuringly at her and Brian, then brought Michaela's hand to mouth for a soft kiss. With a sigh, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. It would be a long journey.

Things took a turn for the worse on the third day. Sully awoke to find Michaela moaning, struggling feebly with the blanket, her legs moving as though to kick it off. Raising himself on one elbow, he reached over and turned on the lantern.

Michaela's previously pale face was now flushed. Her cheeks were rosy red and a film of perspiration covered her face. Her skin appeared tightly stretched over the bones of her face.

Sully laid a cool hand on her forehead and was dismayed to find it very warm. He stroked her hair, murmuring soft words, trying to ease her back to sleep. She wouldn't quiet though, and continued to struggle weakly with the blanket as though the weight of it were causing her discomfort.

With a heart-heavy sigh, Sully got out of the bunk and struggled into his clothes. He crossed the small corridor and pulled aside the curtain to the bunk where Colleen and Brian slept.

"Colleen," he whispered, shaking her shoulder. It was still early and he didn't want to wake anyone else up.

"Wha'?" Colleen came awake slowly, looking sleepily up at Sully.

"It's your ma. She woke up with a fever."

His words sinking in, Colleen sat up and threw back the blanket. "I'll get her bag," she said, following Sully back to their compartment and picking up her mother's medical bag. She opened it carefully and rummaged through it until she found what she wanted. Withdrawing a small jar of white powder, she looked up at Sully.

"I need a glass of water. We'll give her quinine. It should help with the fever."

As quietly as possible, Sully went off in search of a glass of water while Colleen sat at her mother's side and wiped her face with a small towel. Michaela continued to moan softly, tossing her head as though to escape from terrible visions.

Sully returned with the water and Colleen carefully measured a spoonful of quinine and stirred it into the water. Putting the medicine aside, she turned to Sully.

"Help her sit up a bit, so she'll drink it."

Sully sat on the bunk and gently eased Michaela into a sitting position. She opened her eyes and stared unseeingly at Colleen.

"Ma? Ma, you gotta drink this. It'll make you feel better." She carefully placed the glass against Michaela's parched lips and tilted, allowing a little of the liquid to moisten her mouth. Michaela turned her head away and the liquid dribbled down her chin.

Colleen's voice rose, with anxiety and anger. "Ma. Come on now. You gotta drink this. Don't turn away." She tried again and this time was able to get Michaela to swallow some. They continued in this painstaking fashion until the glass was empty and then Sully allowed her to lie down again. He smoothed the damp hair from her brow, saying softly, "Its all right. You can sleep now. Sleep."

He looked up at Colleen and saw the worry in her eyes. Then, he looked to the doorway and saw Brian standing there, eyes wide.

"Is she worse?" he asked softly, looking from his sister to the man he idolized, the man he now called pa.

"Come here, Brian," Colleen said softly, holding out her hand. Brian came to stand beside her, comforted by his sister's arm around him. There didn't seem to be a need for words. They all knew how sick Michaela was and they all wondered if she would make it to Boston.

Sully stayed by Michaela's side night and day. Colleen sat with him occasionally, but he often sent her to the main car, to keep Brian company and to watch over Katie. He barely touched the meals that Colleen brought him and Michaela hadn't eaten anything in days. She drank the quinine and an occasional glass of water, but turned away or vomited anything more substantial.

Sully sat and watched her wasting away. Already thin to begin with, she became even thinner, her skin translucent so that he could see the tiny veins beneath the surface. Her face alternated between pale as the sheets and red when flushed with the heat of the fever. She worsened at night, her skin fairly glowing with the heat of fever. The quinine helped for a while, but then the fever came raging back, seeming worse than before.

Her disorientation grew steadily worse. She would often wake from her feverish dreams, not recognizing Sully or the children. She would cry out to her mother, her father and sometimes even David. It cut Sully like a knife through the heart to hear her cry out for her former fianc�. And when she spoke to him as though he were David, it hurt even more.

In the long hours sitting by her side, Sully had cried softly to himself. He had prayed, both to the Cheyenne spirits and to God, seeking assistance wherever it might be found. He had poured his heart out to her, beg and pleaded with her to fight and to live, to no avail. She lay unresponsive, moaning now and again when a feverish dream haunted her.

Katie had become more difficult to manage. She cried and fussed, not wanting to eat. It seemed she sensed her mama was ill and wanted to be near her. Finally, to ease the other passengers as well as himself, Sully took Katie and lay her down on the bunk, her small head resting on Michaela's stomach.

The child quieted immediately, raising herself up and looking down at her mother's flushed face. To Sully's surprise and joy, Michaela opened her eyes and looked at her daughter. She weakly raised her right hand and placed in on Katie's back. Katie gurgled with happiness and lay her head down again on her mother's stomach.

"Michaela?" Sully asked, leaning over so that she would see him.

Michaela's eyes seemed over bright with fever, but she saw him, he knew she did.

"I love you, Michaela," he whispered fiercely, pleading with his eyes for her to hear.

Michaela stared at him a moment longer and then closed her eyes, drifting off into a peaceful sleep for the first time in hours. Sully sat back, his spirit a little lighter. She had responded to Katie. Maybe all was not lost. He gently rubbed his daughter's back as she slept, keeping a watchful eye.

They arrived in Boston on a rainy morning. After seven days of confinement they were all eager to escape the train, looking disheveled and weary, but grateful for the fresh air. Michaela's mother was at the train station to meet them, as was previously arranged. She gasped and paled when she saw her daughter, carried in Sully's arms.

"Oh my! Michaela!" Shocked, hand pressed to her breast, she rushed to her daughter's side. She reached out a gloved hand to touch her daughter's face, but stopped and placed it on her shoulder instead. Michaela lay as though lifeless in her husbands arms, her long hair dull and sweaty, hanging limply over his arm and swinging with the motion of his walking and the slight breeze that wafted through the station. Her face was pasty white, with the exception of her rosy cheeks. Her eyes were closed and her lips were cracked and pale, slightly blue at the corners.

"Mrs. Quinn," Sully said politely, greeting his mother-in-law and shifting Michaela's slight weight in his arms.

"Sully, I had no idea she was this sick. Please, come quickly."

She motioned with her arm toward a carriage, visible through the windows of the station. Greeting her grandchildren, she followed Sully out into the rain while one of her servants retrieved their luggage.

Feeling the rain on her face seemed to revive Michaela somewhat. She stirred in his arms, opening her eyes and looking up at her husband's face. "Sully?" she whispered, her voice rough from disuse.

"We're in Boston, Michaela. We'll be at the hospital soon. He bent his head and kissed her forehead lightly. When he raised his head again, her eyes were closed again.

Struggling slightly, he entered the covered carriage, holding Michaela on his lap. The children climbed in with their grandmother and, once their luggage was secured in back, they headed off for Boston Memorial, the best hospital in the country.

Sully sat in a chair beside her bed. It was quiet now, late in the evening, the rustle of patients, nurses and doctors in the hall had disappeared. The children and Mrs. Quinn had all gone home to supper and their beds. Sully couldn't bring himself to leave.

He held Michaela's hand, slim and fragile looking, the frail bones very evident beneath her skin. She looked small and helpless in the hospital bed, the only spot of colour against the white of pillow and sheets was her hair. Even that had lost some of it's colour; dull and sweaty, it lay in disarray over the pillow.

Upon their arrival, the doctor had decided to treat her fever first, giving her medicines and packing her in ice. It had worked; now hours later her fever had all but vanished and the terrible shivering that had followed had finally subsided. She lay still now, sleeping peacefully, heavily medicated.

Sully had met Dr. Marshal Grant and been impressed with his quick manner and honesty. He had admitted that he didn't know what was wrong with her, had been unable to find sufficient research in the literature. But he would try everything he could, and Sully appreciated the forthrightness of his words. They would treat the symptoms, Dr. Grant had said, one at a time and hopefully, by then, she would be strong enough to fight off the original illness.

Now, as darkness settled in and the hospital grew quiet and still for the approaching night, Sully had time to be alone with her. He gently wiped her face and neck with a damp cloth, wanting to keep her cool so the fever wouldn't return. As the hour approached, he roused her enough to take some water. Dr. Grant had stressed that it was important for her to remain hydrated.

She opened her eyes as he lifted her head. She drank a few sips of water and then turned her head away. Sully gently lowered her back to the pillow, wiping away beads of perspiration with the cloth.

"Sully?"

She hadn't spoken since arriving at the hospital. She had been lost once again in her disorientation, not recognizing loved ones.

He barely heard her, her voice so low and hoarse as to be nearly inaudible. He bent close to her, holding her hand and stroking her cheek affectionately.

"I'm here. It's all right. Dr. Grant says you're doing much better."

She gaze up at him as though she hadn't heard. "Sully? Don't leave me."

"I won't. I'll stay right here, all night. You close your eyes and rest now. I love you," he whispered, kissing her forehead, relieved to feel its coolness against his lips.

She remained awake for while longer, her gaze entwined with his, volumes of unspoken words being shared. Finally, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, her hand still clasped tightly within Sully's own.

The fever returned during the night. Sully was awakened by her thrashing, an out flung hand striking him in the face as he slept with his head cradled in his arms on her bed. Dr. Grant valiantly tried to fight the fever, to keep it down enough to avoid damage to the brain cells. He used medicine and ice, to no avail. Michaela sank deeper into a fevered delirium.

Michaela grew weaker and weaker, unable to fight the fever. Midway through the next day she appeared to regain awareness.

"Sully? Where are you? Help me!" She called out for Sully, sitting up in bed, reaching for him. Yet when Sully approached, speaking softly to her, she drew back and screamed. With the fear of a cornered animal, she fought him. Sully tried to hold her, stop her from hurting herself and himself. Michaela only struggled harder and screamed louder, fighting something or someone no one else could see.

The doctor rushed into the room, the children and Mrs. Quinn, right behind him. They stared with wide-eyed fright as Michaela launched herself at Sully with a terrible cry. Sully was taken off guard and they fell to the floor in a heap, limbs writhing for purchase on the tile floor. He was amazed at her strength and the violence with which she fought. Fear clenched his heart. This was not his Michaela, the woman he loved. It was as though she were overcome by an evil spirit.

Michaela suddenly stopped struggling and raised her head, seeing Dr. Grant approach. She scuttled backward like a crab, pressing herself into a corner screaming for them to get away, to leave her alone. She alternately cowered beneath her raised arms and struck out with clenched fists.

Sully and Dr. Grant approached her slowly. When they were close enough, they reached out and grabbed her. Michaela's loud scream of protest was deafening. Brian put his hands over his ears and Colleen pressed her face against Mrs. Quinn's shoulder, her tears falling unnoticed. As for Mrs. Quinn, she had gone quite white, her lips pressed in a tight line and her eyes closed against the unbearable sight of her daughter fighting and struggling like a person gone insane.

"Take her to the bed," Dr. Grant shouted over her constant screams.

The two men struggled to guide Michaela to the bed. Although a slight woman, thin and ravaged by illness, her delusions gave her unparalleled strength. In her dementia she felt she was fighting for her life. Sully held Michaela down while Dr. Grant and two nurses who had just arrived restrained her with leather straps.

"We'll have to keep her restrained until the dementia has passed."

Sully looked appalled. He glanced at Dr. Grant and then back at his wife who now lay sobbing on the bed, her arms and legs securely tied down, her head turned to the side, face partially hidden by her hair. He ran a hand through his hair, deeply disturbed at the sight of Michaela being restrained.

"Dr. Grant?"

The men turned at the sound of Mrs. Quinn's voice, surprised to see her and the children there.

"Is my daughter going to live?"

A sudden stillness settled on the room as she uttered the words that everyone had been afraid to ask. Dr. Grant looked from Mrs. Quinn to Sully and finally at the children. The pause lengthened and in their hearts, they all knew his response before he gave it. "It doesn't look good. We don't know what the illness is and I don't know what else to do for her."

"Can't you give her laudanum or some other medicine?" Colleen asked, tears streaking her cheeks.

The doctor shook his head. "That wouldn't be a good idea. We don't know what laudanum would do to her in this state. It's best to just let her body try to heal itself."

"Heal itself!" Sully cried, furious at what he was hearing. "She's not healin'! She's gettin' worse. Isn't there anythin' you can do?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sully. We can only wait, let the illness run it's course. Perhaps we have seen the worst of it."

"The worst of it!" Sully repeated again. "The last patient with this illness died!"

The doctor looked a little pale. He didn't like admitting to a lack of knowledge. "Again, I am sorry, Mr. Sully. As I said once before, we will treat the symptoms we can. The rest is up to her."

Dr. Grant turned and left the family alone. Michaela had stopped struggling and lay still, her gasping breaths the only sound in the room. Sully sat down in the chair by the bed and began to wipe her face and arms with a soft, damp cloth. It was all he could think of to do.

Mrs. Quinn and the children stayed for a few moments and then left.

Horace walked into the caf�, looking around. He spotted Dorothy and Loren and Jake sitting together at a table and hurried towards them.

"A telegram came from Sully," he said, coming up to the table. He sat down in the empty chair while the Reverend, Robert E. and Grace came to stand by them.

"Well, what does it say?" grumbled Loren.

"How's Michaela?" Dorothy asked at the same time.

Horace cleared his throat. "He says they arrived well in Boston. Dr. Mike's gettin' worse. High fever and dementia. They don't know what's causin' it. What's dementia?"

"It's when the patient behaves as though in a different reality." No one had heard Andrew come up behind them. They turned to look at him now.

"You mean she's crazy?" Loren asked.

"No, not really. Dementia only lasts for short periods of time, but it can be quite severe."

"Oh. Well, that's good news, I guess," Loren muttered.

"I hope it is good news. Michaela's done a lot for this town and I for one can't bear the thought of her not comin' back."

Jake looked up at Dorothy, surprised. "What d'ya mean? We got along fine before she came here."

Dorothy looked up sharply. "Really, Jake?! Are you forgettin' all the good things she's done for this town? For you? She saved your life, mine too. And Loren's. She's helped so many of us since she got here. If she hadn't come, Lord knows where we'd all be right now."

They were silent for a moment remembering all the ways in which Dr. Mike had helped them, medically or otherwise.

"Remember when the canning jar exploded?" Grace said softly, touching her eyes. "She saved my eyes for me. Pulled out the glass with that other doctor, David, her fianc�."

"Her fianc�?" Andrew asked, looking up at Grace in surprise. "I thought she and Sully..."

Grace smiled at him. "She and Sully weren't engaged yet. David was her fianc� from years back. She'd been told he was killed in the war. Turns out he wasn't. He was badly injured, but when he recovered, he came here to see her."

"I remember," Dorothy said. "Poor Michaela. She was so confused. David was her first love, the man she was going to marry suddenly returned from the dead. She didn't know which way to turn, but she made the right choice."

"You mean choosing Sully." Andrew was eager to hear more information about Dr. Mike. He hadn't known about David.

"Yes. David was her past, but Sully, and the children, they were her future."

They were silent a moment, remembering and thinking their own thoughts.

"What I remember about her is that she would help anyone. Didn't matter if they were rich or poor, Indian, immigrant, criminal, friend or foe. She would be there the instant something happened and wouldn't stop when others told her to go away. She was arrogant and demanding as a drill sergeant, but she would do everything she could to help someone who needed it, no matter the cost to her or her family."

Everyone stared at Jake, surprised that he, of all people, would see her in such a light and would speak of it to his friends. Dorothy, who always had a suspicion that Jake had feelings for Michaela, smiled at him. Embarrassed by the sudden attention and the grinning, knowing looks from those around the table, Jake got up and left in a huff.

Andrew quickly took his vacated seat and listened while the townsfolk shared their stories about Dr. Mike and how she had touched their lives. It became evident to Andrew that she had indeed touched the life of everyone in town in some way or another and if she died, there would be an empty place in the hearts of everyone she had known.

The next few days passed very slowly. Everyone was sullen and withdrawn. The children came by for a couple hours every day, but Mrs. Quinn would not let them stay any longer. Instead, she took them around Boston, showing them the sights, trying to keep their spirits up. Sully remained by Michaela's bedside, leaving only for short walks to ease the tension in his legs and back from sitting for so long. He was afraid to leave her side, afraid that while he was gone, she would slip away.

It was very late on the evening of the fifth day. Sully stood by the window in Michaela's room, looking down into the street that was faintly lit by the moon. No one was about, the streets were silent, the houses dark. A gust of wind rustled the leaves on the nearby trees, causing a small branch to tap against the glass.

Sully closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool glass, his hands lightly gripping the windowsill. Michaela was dying. He knew it now within his heart. One just had to look at her to realize that she would soon leave this earth. She had lost a lot of weight since coming to the hospital. Her skin was very pale, almost translucent. The bones of her face and hands were very prominent. Her hair was dull, seeming to have lost all it's colour. And her eyes. . .

Sully couldn't bear to look into her eyes anymore. They already appeared lifeless, when they weren't clouded with the confusion of her illness. She looked beyond him whenever she awakened from her fevered dreams. Even when the fever released it's hold on her, she didn't appear to see him. She saw only what was in her mind's eye, the people of her real life had ceased to exist for her.

Brian and Colleen could gain no reaction from her. They talked to her, touched her. Called her by name and called her Ma. Nothing could reach her. Not even Katie, the one time Sully had allowed her to be brought in, could elicit a response from Michaela. Her mother had tried without success to reach her, to draw her back to the real world. It was hopeless.

Sully sighed deeply, his fingers tightening on the wooden sill. Why? Why was this happening? They had been so happy, starting their life together, creating a new family as well as enjoying the one they already had. Michaela had even mentioned the possibility of a second child to him. And now? Would he lose her too, as he had once lost Abigail?

Sully couldn't bear the thought of losing Michaela. Feeling the terrible pain of imagined loss rising within him, he turned with a cry and walked quickly to her bed. He stood over her for a moment, looking down at her sleeping form. She was quiet now, deeply asleep. Doctor Grant had at last relented and given her laudanum. The dementia had eased off and she had slept. She seemed so peaceful he could almost believe that everything was all right, that she was only sleeping.

He sat down on the bed and untied the leather strap that held her wrist down. He leaned across her and undid the other strap. Sully took her by the shoulders and pulled her upright, cradling her head. He put his arms around her and held her limp form against his chest, pressing her head to his shoulder. And with a release of all the pent up emotions of the past few days, he wept.

The tears came slowly at first, as he began to rock gently back and forth. Michaela lay still in his arms, as though dead and it frightened him. "Michaela," he crooned softly, kissing her temple, his lips brushing against her damp hair. "Oh, Michaela, please. You've gotta fight this. Don't give up. The children need you to be their ma. Katie needs you. I need you. Oh, God, Michaela, I need you so. Don't leave me. Not now. There's so much I still have to share with you, to do with you. Please. . ."

His throat constricted, choking off the rest of his words. He closed his eyes and sobbed, his tears falling into her hair. He continued to rock, soothing himself more than Michaela who continued to lay heavily in his arms, asleep.

Something was touching his cheek. Sully opened his eyes, surprised by the beam of sunlight that was slanting through the window, bathing him in it's early morning warmth. He was sitting in a large chair in front of the window, Michaela cuddled on his lap, a blanket thrown haphazardly over them. He vaguely remembered carrying her there in the middle of the night.

Fingers lightly brushed against his cheek again. His heart missed a beat as he realized that she was awake. He shifted, easing her head from his shoulder, supporting her to sit up. He looked into her eyes and felt a wave of relief wash over him.

She was there. Her eyes, those beautiful green eyes, were no longer washed out with illness nor over bright with fever. They shimmered with tears, but it was he who Michaela saw, not some vision from a nightmare.

"Michaela?" His voice was rough with feeling.

"Sully." A whisper, barely heard, but there.

With a release of tension, Sully pulled her to him in a crushing hug. He held her tightly, caressing her back, stroking her hair. "Oh thank God! Oh Michaela! Thank God."

Michaela lay against him weakly, her hand upon his shoulder, her fingers pressing lightly. They sat so, as the morning sun rose into the heavens, bathing them in it's healing warmth. What seemed like an eternity later, Sully stood and carried her back to the bed. He laid her down gently and covered her with the blanket, then sat by her side. He smoothed her hair away from her face, looking down at her.

She was still very pale and haggard looking. Her eyes were rimmed with dark shadows, her cheeks slightly hollowed out. But she had spoken and she was herself again. That's all that mattered.

Sully bent and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "You sleep now. You need your rest. I'll be right here when you wake. Go to sleep."

Michaela closed her eyes and drifted off. For the first time in days, Sully felt renewed hope. She would live, he would see to it.

Dorothy removed the last copy of her paper from the press. She laid it down on the table to dry, staring at the black, shiny print, but not really seeing it. Her thoughts were with Michaela. The last telegram had come two days ago. Things were not going well. In the few brief words Sully had written, Dorothy could tell he feared for her life.

Her heart was heavy, thinking of life without her best friend. She felt the familiar prickling sensation of oncoming tears and blinked rapidly. She didn't want to cry. Not now, not yet. To cry would make it seem she had given up. She hadn't.

Picking up the latest issue of the Gazette, Dorothy left her office and headed up the street to the post office. Horace was inside, listlessly sorting mail.

"Afternoon, Horace."

He looked up, startled. "Oh. Afternoon, Miss Dorothy."

Dorothy saw that he was as upset as she was. In fact, she had noticed that most of the townsfolk seemed to be feeling the absence of the Sully family. She forced a smile.

"I wanted to send the latest edition of the Gazette to Sully. Will you post it for me?"

"Oh, sure." Horace took the paper from her and placed it on his desk. Just then, the telegraph machine began its familiar ticking. Horace moved quickly, grabbing his pencil and notepad, transcribing the tinny clicks to legible words.

Dorothy stood by the counter, waiting patiently, but as the message progressed, she noticed that Horace began to brighten. When the clicking stopped, he turned to her with a big grin.

"What is it, Horace?" Dorothy asked anxiously, hoping for good news.

Horace could barely contain himself. "It's Dr. Mike. She's gettin' better! Sully says she's gonna make it."

"Oh Horace!" Dorothy pressed her hands to her rosy cheeks, smiling. "How wonderful! Let's go tell everyone."

With happiness and relief just bursting forth, the two rushed about town, telling all the good news.

Michaela was feeling better, more lucid than she had in a long time. Her body felt alien to her, heavy, tired and sore. She didn't remember much about the last week, but she had vague impressions, whether from dreams or not she didn't know. Whatever the illness was that she had had, it seemed she was going to recover. It took a great deal of energy for her to sit up and getting out of bed was nearly impossible. She had made one trip across the hall, leaning heavily on Sully. She couldn't ever remember feeling so weak. And yet, she felt more alive somehow. As though having been so close to death had given her a new sense of being.

Sully sat on the edge of the bed bowl of meat broth in hand. He carefully spooned up a portion of broth and brought it to Michaela's mouth. She dutifully swallowed, then dabbed at the drop of liquid on her lips.

"Sully?" she ventured softly.

"Yeah." Sully put the spoon in the bowl, waiting.

Michaela twisted the napkin, then looked up at him. "I want to go home."

Sully paused. "I know you do, but you heard Dr. Grant. You gotta stay here for another couple weeks. They don't know what was wrong with you and they want to be sure you ain't gonna get it again."

Michaela tried again. "I don't want to stay here any longer. They can't do anything for me that I or Andrew can't do at home. Sully, I miss Colorado Springs. I want to go home."

Sully sighed deeply. He knew this would happen. He knew the minute Dr. Grant had suggested Michaela stay for another two weeks that she would have any of it. Stubborn, she was. He spooned up more broth and held it out to her.

Carefully, Michaela pushed his hand down, putting the spoon back in the bowl. "Sully. I'm better now. All symptoms of the illness are gone. There hasn't been anything new for the last week. I'm getting stronger every day. Let's go home."

A heavy sigh. "Michaela. . ."

She took the bowl from him, eyebrows raised. "I can do this myself!"

Sully watched as she ate the rest of the broth. He could see her tiring, but she was stubborn and finished every last drop. He took the bowl from her and she lay back against the pillows, eyes closed.

He leaned forward, stroking her cheek lovingly. He kissed her lightly on the lips. Michaela opened her eyes in surprise. She smiled at him. "I know that I'm not fully recovered, but you can nurse me on the train. It is a week long journey. Surly by then I'll be myself again."

Sully looked deeply into her eyes and smiled back at her. He kissed her forehead and pulled the blanket up. "We'll see. Now get some rest."

Michaela closed her eyes. She was pretty sure that she had convinced Sully to take her home. She could rest easier now, knowing that home wasn't so far away anymore.

Horace grabbed up the telegram and ran out of the office. He rushed over to Grace's Cafe as it was lunch time and most of the townspeople would be there. He ran into their midst, yelling and waving the paper.

"Hey, everyone. They're comin' back. Dr. Mike's comin' back!"

Matthew stood up, grabbing his arm to stop him. "They're comin' back? When? What did Sully say?"

People gathered round, Grace, Robert E., Dorothy, Jake, Loren and Andrew.

Horace straightened feeling important to share the news. "Sully says the doctors are lettin' Dr. Mike out of the hospital early. Said they're leavin' Boston on Thursday's train. That means they'll be here next Monday!"

"Let me see that," Matthew said, taking the telegram from Horace.

"Oh thank God," Dorothy exclaimed. "It will be so good to have them home again."

"I'm glad she's all right," Loren added.

"Yeah, me too," Jake chimed in softly.

"Well," Grace said, grinning at all. "Let's celebrate. Who wants another slice of my apple pie?"

Grace hurried off amongst a chorus of "I do's" as everyone settled down to talk about the good news.

Michaela couldn't wait to get home. As the hills and mountains began to flash by her mind drifted to the homestead, the town and her friends. She missed everyone terribly and she missed her home. It would be good to see Matthew again. She felt a pang of sorrow that he hadn't been able to accompany them to Boston due to his duties as Sherif.

She sighed, leaning her cheek against the softness of Katie's hair. The child snuggled on her lap, content to have her mother's complete attention at last. Michaela was still weak from her illness, but she was grateful that she could once again hold her daughter in her arms. Lying in the hospital she had often ached to hold Katie and knowing that she couldn't physically do so had tortured many of her hours.

She breathed in the scent that was uniquely Katie's; freshness, milk, powder and diaper. She kissed the soft spot of her daughter's temple, cuddling the child against her breast. She caught Sully's eye and smiled.

"It feels so good to hold her again. For a while, in the hospital..." she paused, nuzzling her daughter's downy hair. "I thought I would never hold her in my arms again."

Sully felt his heart wrench. He had been so frightened that he would lose her in those long, dark hours that he could scarcely get enough of looking at her now that she was well again. He had so many things to say that he didn't know where to begin.

Sensing his unease, Michaela looked up. "I felt you there, beside me, holding my hand, easing me through the hours. It helped, Sully. When the darkness beckoned, when I felt it would be easier to give up than to keep fighting. It helped me to know that you loved me, that you needed me."

Sully held her gaze as he rose and sat beside her. He reached up and gently cupped her face in his hand. He smiled slightly. "I never left your side, when things got bad. I prayed and prayed that God would give you back to me. I couldn't live without you, Michaela. I need you as much as I need air or water or food. You are my life, my being and I give my soul and my love to you forever."

Deeply touched by his words, Michaela's eyes filled with tears. A single drop slid smoothly down her cheek. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you," he replied hoarsely, smoothing away the tear with his thumb. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly and gently, but deepened the kiss as she responded to him.

It had been a long time since he had kissed her. A long time since he had felt his desire for her rise within himself, causing his blood to run fast. His knowledge that he had nearly lost her sharpened his desire now and he wished that they were alone so he could make love to her. Sully wanted more than anything to hold her and cherish her, to love her with a passion born of the fear of losing her and the relief that she was still his.

Michaela sighed as he kissed her, his mouth gently urging. She felt his need and his fear, felt her own desire kindled like a small fire that spread heat throughout her limbs. When Sully drew back, her cheeks were flushed with passion and she smiled at him, promising fulfilment later, when they were alone.

Brian and Colleen came back just then, laughing and talking. "Here ma, I brought you something to eat," Brian said, handing her a small pastry.

Michaela smiled, accepting the treat. "Thank you, Brian. That was very thoughtful of you."

Colleen gave Michaela a knowing look, seeing her flushed cheeks and the expression on Sully's face. She knew that she and Brian had interrupted them. She smiled to herself, thinking how very special their love was.

The train ride seemed to last forever, but eventually they arrived. As they neared Colorado Springs, Michaela sat up straighter, watching carefully through the window for the first glimpse of the town she had missed so dearly, the town that had become her home.

They passed by familiar hills, trees and streams. They cut across the road that would lead to their homestead and she felt an ache in her chest at the thought of their house. She closed her eyes and could picture every room and every object. She opened her eyes again as they rounded the bend and there! There it was, the small town of Colorado Springs. The familiar buildings, the train platform, and her friends, all standing there waiting for her return.

The children were talking excitedly, as eager as she to be home. Sully gripped her hand in his and she squeezed back. They exchanged a smile and Michaela looked back out the window as the train pulled to a stop. Brian was off like a shot, through the passageway and out the door to greet his friends. Colleen followed behind. Sully took Katie in his arms and helped Michaela to stand. She was still very weak and found being on her feet very difficult.

They walked slowly down the passageway, the last to leave. Voices reached them from outside, familiar and comforting. As they reached the doorway, Sully turned back to her, smiling.

"Are you ready to go home, Michaela?"

"Yes."

Taking her hand, Sully turned and started down the steps, leading her down. The voices hushed as Michaela appeared, making her way down the stairs very slowly. People were shocked at the sight of her. She was much thinner than she had been, and she was unsteady on her feet. The townspeople were not used to seeing the strong, independent Michaela Quinn looking so helpless.

Dorothy broke the silence. She stepped forward, holding out her hands to her friend. "Michaela. Oh, I'm so glad your back and feelin' better."

Michaela smiled at her and accepted Dorothy's hug. She hugged her back, but Dorothy noticed how weak her grip was. Her friend may be over the illness, but she had a long way to go to become her former self.

Others took this as the cue to step forward. They greeted Michaela with smiles, hugs and small touches. It all passed by in a blur for her, so happy to be back that individual words didn't seem to register. She was only aware of how warmly everyone welcomed her back. No matter how long it took her to get well, she was home now, among friends and family. That was all that mattered.

Author's Note: Mr. Randall initially became ill with what is known as Mountain Fever (or Colorado Tick Fever). If untreated, a serious complication is Encephalitis. This is what he passed on to Michaela. Encephalitis is most often caused by a viral infection that leads to an inflamation of the brain. Symptoms include sudden fever, headache, vomiting, photophobia (light hurts the eyes), confusion, disorientation and clumsiness. Loss of consciousness, coma, seizures and dementia are serious symptoms. Some cases can be mild with no side effects, others deadly. Neurological impairment is a serious complication.

Below are links to my other
Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman stories.

[ Dr. Quinn ] [ Up ] [ The Anguished Heart ] [ To Live with Fear ] [ Into the Fire ] [ The River ] [ Snowbound ] [ The Outlaw ] [ Beneath the Shadow of the Moon ] [ Avalanche! ]

Disclaimer: Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman is created by Beth Sullivan. This story in no way intends to infringe upon any copyrights therewith. If anyone associated with DQMW objects to this site and wishes for it to be removed, I will do so when asked in writing. The story content is my own and is copyrighted August 17, 1997. This story may not be stored on any other server without the author's prior permission. Links to this site would be appreciated, although please inform me when you do so.