"We talked," replied the medicine man, his eyes fixed on the tall red-head who had come to mean so much to him.

Never one to pry, Sully asked no further questions, hoping that Cloud Dancing might volunteer more information without them.

"She has been out here every day since," the medicine man commented. "I owe Flying Hawk a great debt of gratitude."

Puzzled by the his brother’s remark, Sully asked, "Why’s that?"

"If he had not brought his people here I might never have known that Dorothy was unsure of me …. or herself ….," Cloud Dancing explained.

"If Dorothy’s comin’ out here every day …. seems to me she aint unsure now huh?," said Sully with a smile. "How bout you?"

"I too feel more certain now."

"Ya love her?"

Cloud Dancing turned to look his friend in the eye and then smiled. "We come from different worlds but we share the same heart," he said sincerely.

Sully reached out to grasp Cloud Dancing’s arm. "I’m pleased that you’ve found happiness again with a woman. You know what sharin’ my life with Michaela has done for me." When the medicine man nodded in understanding Sully asked tentatively, "What now?"

"We must go forward slowly … there is no easy answer to the problems Dorothy and I face," replied Cloud Dancing gravely.

"How’s Flyin’ Hawk feel ‘bout her comin’ out here to be with you?"

"He has warned me against it … and yet he and his people accept her when she is here."

"I doubt whether you’d git the same reaction in town from folks like Jake an’ Hank," suggested Sully ruefully.

"I have already experienced their prejudice … more than once …. And I know Dorothy has experienced it also," Cloud Dancing admitted.

"Lot to think about hmmm?"

"Yes my brother … there *is* much to think about," Cloud Dancing concurred. He smiled and there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes.

"He’s worse … aint he ma?" asked Brian anxiously, his fearful eyes fixed on Michaela as she examined Little Blackbird. They were sitting on the cold ground, the very ill indian boy unconscious on his pallet in front of them. Around them was tense silence as Michaela continued her examination – listening to the boy’s heart, taking his temperature, minutely examining the wound on his leg, checking his pulse. With each procedure completed, the furrow in her brow became deeper. At last she sat back on her haunches and sighed.

"He’s not gonna git better … is he ma?" whispered Brian, already knowing the answer and yet needing to hear the words spoken out loud.

Michaela turned pained eyes on her youngest son. "I’m afraid not Brian," she admitted gravely.

Brian’s eyes opened wide and then his mouth clenched shut, the nerve in his cheek pulsating. He shook his head as if refuting the words, although he’d known in his heart what they were going to be. "You said he was gonna be alright …," he accused coldly. "You said he was improvin’!"

Michaela fought to hold back the tears which were close to the surface and yet she instinctively knew should not be evident to her son at this moment. She explained as calmly as possible, "I’m sorry Brian …. He *was* improving …. but I was worried about his poor condition from the start …. his colour …. the infection ….."

"But there’s gotta be *somethin’* you can do ….. We could take him back with us … to the clinic … or the homestead …. Its cleaner there ….. you could be with him more ….. help him ….," entreated Brian.

Michaela reached across to lay her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "I’m not sure that’s a very good idea ….. I want to talk to Cloud Dancing about what we should do …." When Brian’s face coloured in anger and confusion she added, "I doubt that taking him home with us will achieve anything …. He’s so very ill …. the long, uncomfortable wagon ride would be extremely difficult for him." She squeezed his shoulder and was startled when he pulled away from her touch. "Brian?" she murmured worriedly.

The boy, almost a young man, abruptly stood so that he towered over her. He regarded the small unconscious boy beside her and Michaela watched as he took several deep breaths, trying to control the tumultuous feelings churning around inside. He turned hooded eyes on her. "He don’ deserve to die ma …. He’s just a little kid." Tears welled in his eyes and he strove to prevent them falling. When they could no longer be held back he turned on his heel and took off into the woods at a run.

Michaela watched him go, her heart aching for him. It seemed that Brian, in his brief fifteen years of life, had seen far too much heartbreak. Her thoughts momentarily flew back to the time shortly after Christmas when she and Sully had argued about her mixed feelings when the Cheyenne returned. She’s warned him that becoming involved with them would again open everyone up to heartbreak and she’d been right. Then she immediately felt guilty. Sully hadn’t had anything to do with their return, and of course Brian had become involved with this small indian band well before she and Sully even knew they existed.

She reached out and gently brushed back a lock of dark, glossy hair from Little Blackbird’s fevered forehead. Brian was right. The boy was too young, too defenceless … he *didn’t* deserve to die. She bit her lip and took a deep breath. She’d seen children lose their battle with illness before, many times, but somehow the experience never became any easier. Instinctively she brought her hand back to caress the swell of her stomach and the child cradled safely within. She closed her eyes and said a few silent prayers – for Little Blackbird, Brian, the Cheyenne.

"You alright Michaela?" asked Sully with concern. He’d come up behind her as she sat beside the unconscious child, and was worried about her stillness.

She looked up and gave him a wan smile. "I’m alright Sully ….. but Brian isn’t …. He’s terribly upset about Little Blackbird …" When she saw Sully immediately look around seeking their son, she explained, "He took off into the woods …. over that way." She reached for him so that he could help her up from the hard ground, and groaned as she awkwardly rose to her feet. "He was angry with me," she said softly. "I suppose he had to be angry at something or someone …." Sully’s gentle, reassuring hand immediately went to the nape of her neck where he caressed the sensitive skin beneath her long fall of coppery hair. She leant in against him. Her eyes met the brown, understanding eyes of their medicine man friend. "I don’t know what to do," she murmured pleadingly.

Cloud Dancing nodded and momentarily rested his hand on her arm. "He will need some time my friends. You should be thinking about leaving …. It will be dark before you are half way home …." His eyes drifted to the section of the woods Brian had entered and they narrowed as the boy tentatively stepped once more into the clearing.

Brian slowly covered the gap between himself and his family. Sully reached out to place his hand on his son’s shoulder but Brian immediately shrugged it off. "You goin’ home soon?" he asked sullenly.

Sully glanced up into the rapidly greying sky and nodded.

"We takin’ Little Blackbird with us?"

Michaela turned pleadingly to Cloud Dancing who replied, "The boy should not be taken away from his people now Brian …. He should remain here …"

Brian’s brow creased in frustration and then he straightened his shoulders resolutely. "Then I’m stayin’ too …. He aint gonna die here without knowing that I care …"

"He knows Brian," said Michaela softly.

"Yeah well …. I gotta stay …."

"What about school son?" asked Sully.

"You sayin’ school’s more important than me bein’ with Little Blackbird?" demanded Brian unexpectedly. Leaving no chance for Sully to reply he turned to Michaela. "How long’s he got?"

"I don’t know Brian …. He might not last the night …. It might be a few days …..," replied Michaela.

"Well I’m stayin’ as long as it takes," insisted Brian, daring his parents to challenge him. When they did not, he again demanded of Michaela, "Is he in a lotta pain?"

"Not at the moment … he’s unconscious."

"Will he wake up?"

"He might."

Brian sighed exasperatedly. "You don’ really know …. do ya ma? ….. I bet you’re not really even sure what’s killin’ him." He shook his head angrily. "What’s the use of all those years of studyin’ an’ college …. an’ all those medical journals you read … if ya can’t even save a sick little kid." He sank to his knees beside the boy. "I’ll come home after ….."

Sully’s comforting arms came up to encircle Michaela’s shoulders as she looked helplessly down at her son who seemed to be blaming her for the indian boy’s condition. Tears silently ran down her face and fell onto his hands. He whispered against her ear, "He aint really angry at *you* Michaela …"

She nodded, unable to speak.

Cloud Dancing laid his hand on Sully’s arm and led them aside. "I will look out for Brian," he reassured them quietly. "If you try to force him to go with you, you will only feed his anger. He needs to face this on his own … it is part of becoming a man." He turned back to watch the two boys. Brian had picked up Little Blackbird’s hand and was quietly talking to him as if he was conscious. He asked quietly, "There is nothing more you can do for him Michaela?"

She shook her head forlornly. "There’s an infection or disease …. in his blood, or his liver, or both … neither of which I can heal … He’s too ill for man-made medicine to have any effect now Cloud Dancing …. yours or mine …,’ she murmured regretfully.

The medicine man nodded, his eyes sad and troubled. "He has had a difficult life," he remarked softly, almost to himself. "Losing his mother at birth …. his father in the ambush near Rawlins … now he will join them in the spirit world …. They will be together again …"

Sully’s arms tightened around Michaela and his hand joined hers resting on her stomach. He could feel her tenseness and an occasional silent sob wrack her body. "Shhh …," he whispered. "Its gonna be alright …."

"Bwian, Mama …. Papa…..!" A young, excited voice interrupted their silent mourning. Katie, one hand firmly clasped in Dorothy’s, was making her way towards them, waving a small, roughly made leather pouch in her other. When she reached them she held it up to Michaela. "See mama ….. mine.."

Dorothy smiled a little apologetically. "We made it together …. Rainbird was showin’ us how … it aint very good …."

Michaela bravely exclaimed over her tiny daughter’s new possession and then handed it to Sully. As small children are wont to do, Katie quickly lost interest in showing off the new pouch and noticed her brother sitting beside their friend. She immediately walked the few paces to them and plopped herself down on Brian’s knee. His arm automatically came up to support her. She snuggled in against his chest and began to chatter about her afternoon’s activities. When she gained no response from her brother who was usually so interested in anything she was doing, she turned to look into his eyes. "Bwian?" she asked softly in puzzlement.

Aware of his son’s distress, Sully reached down and swung Katie up into his arms. "Time we were headin’ home Kates," he said lovingly, lifting her high above his head, to her delighted squeals.

"Agin papa!" she insisted, her laughter a stunning contrast to the previous sombre mood.

Dorothy was watching Michaela worriedly. She looked pale, exhausted and even a little melancholy. She wrapped her arm around the doctor’s shoulders and asked quietly, "You alright my friend?"

Michaela nodded, but did not reply, not trusting herself to speak. Her eyes travelled to Brian and Little Blackbird.

Dorothy’s brow creased in realisation. "Nothin’ more you can do?" she asked softly.

"No," murmured Michaela. "Brian refuses to come home with us …. Wants to stay until the end." Again her eyes were glimmering with tears. "I feel *we* should also."

Dorothy squeezed her friend reassuringly. "You know that aint practical…. Not in your condition …. You need a warm bed an’ a full night’s sleep …." When her friend’s brow furrowed at her words she continued, "I know ….. I know …. You probably won’t sleep anyway ….. but it’ll do you no good to be stayin’ out here in the cold." She paused, thinking something through, and then offered, "Look Michaela …. I’m comin’ out here agin tomorrow ….. I’ll come in the mornin’ stead of the afternoon …. I’ll fetch ya if you’re needed out here …. How does that sound?"

"But the Gazette?" objected Michaela.

"Its alright …. This week’s edition is out ….. I don’t have to work in the mornin’ …. I can always do some work on it at night if I haveta. Besides …. don’t you have to be at the Chateau clinic tomorrow mornin’?"

Michaela nodded resignedly. "But I feel as if I should be with Brian …. Even though he seems to resent my presence at the moment."

The last comment brought Dorothy’s eyes flying to meet those of her friend. "Michaela?" she asked quizzically.

"Brian seems to be blaming me for Little Blackbird not recovering …. I know he’s not able to be rational at the moment …. But it still hurts …."

"Oh Michaela …. I’m sorry," consoled Dorothy. "I’m sure he’ll come round …. He’s a good boy …. an’ he loves his ma ….. He’s just havin’ trouble copin’ right now …. Me an’ Cloud Dancin’ll make sure he’s alright …. I promise."

Michaela nodded mutely and gratefully as Sully, carrying Katie, approached and suggested they head for home.

Sully jumped down from the wagon in the Chateau forecourt and headed for the front door. He wondered how Michaela would be this morning. The ride home from Palmer Creek last evening had been conducted in near silence, much to Katie’s dismay. Eventually she’d fallen asleep propped up between he and Michaela, something neither of them had been able to do successfully when they’d finally gotten to bed themselves. Michaela had tossed and turned, worsening the nagging ache in her back and no amount of attention from him had helped. And then this morning, despite her worry over Brian and Little Blackbird, she’d had to come out here to conduct a clinic. If he could possibly do it he meant to make sure that they went straight home, where he would prepare a simple lunch and then ensure that Michaela went to bed.

He took the front steps onto the Chateau porch two at a time and stepped into the lobby, expecting to see Michaela waiting for him, however she was nowhere to be found. Bailey, the clerk on the reception desk, hailed him. "Ah Mr Sully," he called. "Dr Quinn’s in the clinic …. There was an emergency this morning …. One of our guests collapsed. Dr Quinn is with him now."

The man groaned, whether it was due to this new piece of unwelcome information or the pain in his abdomen was difficult to tell.

"However," Michaela explained, "I believe that you have an acute case of appendicitis and there is no time to be wasted in sending for Andrew …. He will only concur with my diagnosis and assist me with the surgery."

By now Sully had moved close enough to recognise the ungentlemanly drunk from the previous Sunday night as Michaela’s reluctant, new patient. Despite her obvious discomfiture at the moment he couldn’t help but smile at the irony.

"So Mr Jensen ….. as far as I can see …. you have only two choices …. The first is to agree to the operation …. even though the thought of a woman, especially me, as the doctor in charge is distasteful to you …. or …. you can take your chances." She paused and shrugged her shoulders. "If you do that there is every chance peritonitis ….. that’s blood poisoning …. will set in quickly and you will die …. painfully." She paused again, regarding the man laying before her, and then asked diffidently, "What is it to be?"

The man tried to shift position on the table and moaned as the pain in his abdomen struck again. "How do I know you’re not just punishing me for that silly incident the other night? I was only having a little fun." he gasped.

Michaela’s face flamed red. "*Mr* Jensen," she said coldly. "I took an oath to preserve life …. and while I believe that some lives are worth preserving more than others …. I *have* never …. and *will* never …. put a life in jeopardy for the sake of revenge …."

This time her patient openly cringed. "Is the operation dangerous?" he asked, the superior tone suddenly missing from his voice.

In response Michaela’s tone also softened. "All operations are dangerous Mr Jensen … There is the possibility of infection …. and a doctor is never sure of how a patient will react to the anaesthetic …. But I have performed this procedure many times …. with a very high success rate …."

Sully suddenly expelled the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. This was the woman he knew and loved. He stepped forward into Michaela’s and Mr Jensen’s field of vision. "Michaela," he said softly. "Can I do anythin’?" There were two distinctly different reactions to his sudden appearance. Michaela smiled and nodded, while Mr Jensen groaned and murmured, "Not you too!"

"Mr Jensen here is just deciding whether or not to undergo a life-saving operation Sully … If he decides to go ahead, I’ll need your assistance," explained Michaela, unaware that he’d heard much of what had been going on between doctor and patient.

"You’re asking *him* to assist?!" asked Mr Jensen incredulously.

"As I have no nurse present at the moment …. and Sully has assisted me on a number of occasions before … yes," replied Michaela matter-of-factly. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Suddenly a sharp pain hit and the patient cried out in distress. His eyes flew from the doctor’s concerned hazel to her husband’s clear blue and he suddenly conceded. "Let’s get it over with," he said resignedly. "I can’t take much more of this pain."

"Good …. Sully, I’ll need you to wash up …. and then procure some boiling water from the kitchen … We have an operation to perform ….," ordered Michaela, her eyes alight with the challenge.

For the next hour and a half all thoughts of Brian and Little Blackbird out at Palmer Creek, or her discomfort due to her advanced pregnancy were banished from Michaela’s mind. Sully marvelled at how she was able to focus only on ensuring that the operation went without incident and that Silas Jensen survived. At last she stepped back and took several deep breaths.

"Finished?" asked Sully.

"Mmm … it went well I think," replied Michaela, as she arched her back trying to ease the ache.

"Right …. well how ‘bout you sit down … an’ I’ll do the cleanin’ up," suggested Sully. "Then I’m gonna arrange some lunch from the kitchen before I head into town to fetch Andrew."

Michaela regarded him in shock. "Andrew?!" she exclaimed.

"Well there’s no way you’re stayin’ here lookin’ after a sick patient til all hours," replied Sully, his tone adamant.

Michaela eyed him angrily and said quietly, "He’s *my* patient Sully and I won’t leave until I believe he’s going to be alright."

"But ya hardly got any sleep last night Michaela …. an’ you’re worried ‘bout Brian …. ya need to rest," protested Sully.

Michaela’s jaw clenched as she wrestled with the problem, inwardly knowing that he was right. She moaned with exasperation. "Alright," she agreed with disgust. "You can go to town and get Andrew …. but I *am* staying until the patient wakes and is coherent."

Realising that this was as much of a concession as he was going to get, Sully nodded and began to clear away the soiled linens and sterilise the instruments according to Michaela’s instructions.

For the second time that day, Sully climbed down from the wagon in the forecourt of the Chateau. It was now mid-afternoon and he peered down the road the way he’d come watching agitatedly for a sign of Colleen and Andrew in their wagon. Andrew had readily agreed to coming out to the resort to care for Mr Jensen, however he’d had a small number of patients waiting to see him and had deemed it necessary to deal with those first. Consequently, they looked like being much longer than Sully had hoped. Deciding not to wait, he vaulted the steps and headed for the clinic.

He approached the clinic door and tapped lightly not wanting to disturb Silas Jensen. When there was no response he quietly pushed the door open and entered. The patient was still lying on the table in the centre of the surgery and apparently asleep. Sully couldn’t tell whether he’d woken from the anaesthetic before now or not. Michaela was sitting slumped over the desk, also sound asleep, her body tilted uncomfortably sideways so that she was in danger of toppling over onto the floor. Her long coppery hair had fallen across her face and her head was resting on her folded arms. Sully walked quietly over to her and laid his hand gently on her shoulder. She woke with a start.

"Um … ah … Sully," she muttered. She looked wildly around at her surroundings, for the moment disorientated. "Umm …. I must have fallen asleep." She then darted an anxious glance over at her patient and rose quickly but awkwardly from her chair to hurry to his side. She laid her hand on Mr Jensen’s forehead and then her fingers on his neck feeling for a pulse. She sighed with relief. "No fever …. pulse and temperature appear to be normal," she remarked clinically. She then peered up into Sully’s face embarrassedly. "I shouldn’t have gone to sleep … what if he’d woken and perhaps rolled off the table," she said, mortified.

"He’s fine Michaela … you just said so," Sully reassured her. "Soon as Andrew gits here we’re headin’ home …. alright?"

Tears suddenly glistened in Michaela’s eyes. "I feel so useless," she murmured. "I couldn’t even keep awake to care for a patient. Thankfully nothing happened to him …. but it could have …." She rested her hands under her swollen stomach. "I feel like I’m a hundred years old …. I can’t keep awake …. I move slowly and awkwardly …. my feet swell up and hurt …. I can’t even lift Katie anymore …." She paused, fighting a losing battle with the tears and then she whispered, "And I can’t be out at Palmer Creek with Brian and Little Blackbird …."

Sully reached across to grasp her hand and lead her back to the chair at the desk. He dropped into it and sat her across his knee. "That’s what’s really worryin’ ya aint it Michaela?…. Wonderin’ how Brian’s copin’? …. I’ve bin wonderin’ that too …" He trailed off thoughtfully. "Cloud Dancin’ told me we gotta think of Brian as a young man now …. an’ he’s gotta cope with some things on his own … I reckon this is one of them …. If you were out there you wouldn’ be able to do anythin’ more for Little Blackbird … right?" Michaela nodded resignedly. "Cloud Dancin’ll look out for Brian … I know he will …." He gently caressed the swell of her stomach. "A few weeks … an’ you’ll forgit ya felt or looked like this," he consoled. "Just let me an’ the kids look after ya for a while huh? You know we all want to …. but ya don’ often let us …" He lightly kissed her neck.

Michaela quietly exclaimed, "Sully!" and quickly glanced across at her patient who was just beginning to stir. She smiled. "When Andrew gets here you two will have to get him into a bed in the recovery room next door … alright? …..*Then* I’ll go home and let you look after me," she conceded graciously. She sighed again and mumbled under her breath, "Just a little longer …."

Michaela and Sully finally arrived home a little before supper time and were met by an anxious Kathleen and Matthew and a tearful Katie. "We expected you home hours ago," scolded Matthew worriedly. "Where’ve you bin?"

Sully jumped down from the wagon. "Emergency at the Chateau clinic," he explained, as he circled round and reached up for a weary Michaela. "Ya ma had to remove a fella’s appendix an’ then wait for Andrew before we could leave."

"Is the man alright?" asked Kathleen with concern. "Is it someone we know?"

Sully chuckled. "Nah … you aint had the pleasure of meetin’ him, but me an’ Michaela have … twice …. You aint missin’ much."

The young couple looked at him questioningly.

"Let’s just say …. this fella might call himself a gentleman …. but …. puttin’ it politely …. he aint," Sully explained ruefully. "Andrew’s gonna have his hands full I reckon. Now let’s git inside. Ya ma’s real tired."

As Kathleen continued her preparations for supper, Sully settled Michaela in a wingback chair in front of a roaring fire and knelt down to remove her boots and stockings. "Sully!" she exclaimed. "Its not proper!"

Sully smiled up at her. "The kids aint gonna worry ‘bout you sittin’ in front of the fire with your shoes off ….. If your feet hurt … I’ll give ‘em a rub."

"But Kathleen?" she protested weakly, as he began to gently massage her aching feet and ankles.

"Kathleen’s practically one of the family … she won’t mind either."

Michaela didn’t argue any further. As Sully began to work his magic on her feet, she leant back and closed her eyes, savouring his loving attention. "I should be helping with supper," she murmured. Sully didn’t reply to that, he merely continued soothing her aches as she drifted off to sleep.

A while later, Kathleen called in a loud whisper, "Sully? Supper’s ready."

Sully looked up into the peaceful, sleeping face of his wife, debating whether to wake her to eat or to let her sleep. Suddenly his mind was made up for him when the rhythmic sound of hoof beats in the yard could be heard. He groaned inwardly. Surely something hadn’t gone wrong with Mr Jensen. Michaela would be real upset with herself and probably want to return to the Chateau right away. Of course it could be Brian returning. His heart pounded as he wondered what their son’s state of mind and attitude to Michaela would be. Matthew strode across to the window, pulled the lace curtain back a little and peered out. As their guest became visible in the lamplight on the porch, he said quietly, "Its Miss Dorothy."

Sully immediately gave Michaela’s knee a little shake to rouse her. "Michaela …. Michaela," he said gently. "Dorothy’s here." As Matthew went to answer the knock at the door, Michaela shook herself awake and tried to straighten herself up in the chair. "Sully … my shoes!" she exclaimed in a hushed but urgent voice.

"Its alright," he muttered in reply. "Tuck ‘em up under ya skirt … she’ll never notice." And he stood to receive their guest.

"I’m sorry to be comin’ in this late everyone," said Dorothy, as she entered. "But I was on the way home an’ I thought ya might like to know what’s bin happenin’ out at Palmer Creek today." She glanced across to Michaela who was still seated in the chair in front of the fire and regarding her anxiously. She walked across and sat herself in the other chair. "Its alright Michaela," she said reassuringly. "Brian’s fine … maybe a little cold an’ tired …. an’ he’s bin real quiet …"

"And Little Blackbird?" asked Michaela hesitantly.

"Not much change," replied Dorothy regretfully. "Cloud Dancin’ says he’s havin’ more trouble breathin’ …. reckons the boy probably won’t last another day." She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. "Brian’s takin’ it hard …. but he’s stayin’ by him …. Course Little Blackbird probably don’ even know he’s there …."

"Don’ think that matters to Brian Dorothy," said Sully quietly. "Its just somethin’ he’s gotta do …"

The older woman nodded and then said, "Thought maybe you’d like to give me another coat an’ blanket for him …. Weather’s awful cold …. I could take ‘em out tomorrow mornin’."

"How ‘bout we talk this over durin’ supper," suggested Sully. He looked up at Kathleen hopefully. "There’s enough aint there … for Dorothy to join us?"

"Yes …. yes …. of course there is … Its too late now to be going home to prepare a meal Miss Dorothy," replied Kathleen. When Dorothy appeared to be about to protest the young woman urged, "Come … please sit up while the food’s still hot." A nod from Michaela brought Dorothy to her feet and heading towards the table. Noticing Michaela looking embarrassedly down at her bare feet Sully hurried away upstairs and returned with her slippers.

Supper was a relatively subdued affair, even Katie was inclined to curb her normal chatter. Each adult found themselves thinking of Brian and the ill child hidden in the woods.

While Sully and Kathleen cleaned up after supper and Matthew went out into the bitter air to bed down the horses for the night and close up the barn, Michaela sat with Katie on her lap talking with Dorothy in front of the living room fire. Again Dorothy reassured the anxious mother that her son was well and coping. "What do you think ‘bout me takin’ out some extra things for him tomorrow Michaela?" she asked.

Sully, on his way in from the kitchen interjected, "I bin thinkin’ ‘bout that," he said quietly. "Thought I might go out there myself … first thing in the mornin’ …. if Matthew’ll agree to takin’ Michaela out to the Chateau. I’d be back well before noon." He looked appealingly at Michaela, but all he saw in her face was relief.

"That’s a fine idea Sully," she said quietly. She turned to their friend. "You don’t mind do you Dorothy?"

"Mind!? Knowin’ you two I aint surprised at all …. I half expected it … I’ll go out in the afternoon then …"

Sully nodded his head. "Good," he said and reached for Katie from Michaela’s knee. "You two stay there an’ talk … I’ll put Katie to bed …."

Michaela watched him go and then turned back to Dorothy. "Are you sure Brian’s alright?" she asked again, needing to be reassured.

"I’m sure Michaela …. He might need some lovin’ attention when he gits home …. but he’s fine …. Cloud Dancin’s lookin’ out for him," replied Dorothy.

Michaela nodded and then said mischievously, "You’re going out to Palmer Creek nearly every day now hmmm?"

Dorothy reddened and murmured, "When I can …"

"Uh huh …. I’m glad …. I was worried about you a couple of weeks back," remarked Michaela. "You seemed uncertain …. even a little melancholy …"

"I needed to work a few things out …. but everything’s fine now."

Deciding at last to be direct, Michaela said softly, "I’m pleased that you and Cloud Dancing like to be together …. He’s a very special man …"

"Yes … a *very* special man," Dorothy agreed sincerely. "When we’re together nothin’ else in the world matters …. I can say anythin’ to him an’ he listens …. an’ I love to hear his stories …. One day I’m gonna write that book again you know …. only this time it’ll be much better …. cos I now know him so well, an’ I understand more about the Cheyenne …"

"I wish I’d had the opportunity to read your book Dorothy …. But I’m glad that the one who matters most *did* have a chance to hear you read it …. I know it meant a lot to him ….," said Michaela gently.

Dorothy’s eyes momentarily shimmered with tears and she mused quietly, "Almost a year of writin’ and gone in an instant … I’ll never forget havin’ to burn it …. Its one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life …. an’ that includes havin’ to put up with Marcus at his worst …" She suddenly shook herself and then smiled. "Still what came out of the writin’ was worth havin’ to toss it in the forge …. I might never’ve got to know Cloud Dancin’ like I have."

Michaela reached across and grasped her friend’s hand. "And what now for you and Cloud Dancing Dorothy?" she asked, in an echo of Sully’s earlier question to his brother.

The older woman shrugged her shoulders and lowered her eyes. "I must admit I try not to look too far into the future Michaela …. Don’ seem to be any easy solution that’s gonna make things right …. I’m just livin’ each day as it comes an’ enjoyin’ the time with him."

There was a long silence while each mused over the problem and then Dorothy asked with concern, "And what about you Michaela? You keepin’ well?"

This time it was Michaela who shrugged her shoulders. "These last few weeks are so hard," she said softly. "The family, especially Sully, try to help …. but I feel so tired and awkward …"

"Musta bin hard doin’ that operation today …. havin’ to stand for so long," sympathised Dorothy. Michaela nodded and Dorothy gave her friend’s hand a comforting squeeze. "Just a couple of weeks to go Michaela an’ it’ll all be over …"

Michaela looked up into Dorothy’s blue eyes, glanced around to see that no one else was near and whispered, "Actually … I’m not sure its going to be as long as that …" When Dorothy regarded her quizzically she added, "This last day or so I feel as if I’m carrying the baby lower … that’s its moved down …. I don’t remember feeling like this with Katie …. but it feels quite strange …. and …. and ….. ominous."

Dorothy’s eyes lit up. "I remember feelin’ like that with a couple of mine!" she exclaimed conspiratorially. "It’s like the baby’s gettin’ ready …. right?"

"Exactly," replied Michaela, pleased that her friend understood.

"Have you told Sully?" asked Dorothy with concern.

"No …. I don’t want him to worry more that he is already," replied Michaela. "And you’re not to say anything … alright?"

"Alright," agreed Dorothy with reluctance. "But you make sure you don’ do anythin’ silly in the next few days …. "

While he’d been worried about her, he’d been just as concerned for Brian and the situation he was enduring at Palmer Creek. It didn’t seem fair that a kid as young as Brian should have to face what he’d faced in the past couple of years. Of course some of it was due to Brian’s compassion for folks, especially those in lesser circumstances than he. The plight of Little Blackbird and his people had touched Brian’s heart, and so, unhappily, also made it more vulnerable to hurt.

Sully had been amazed to find the indian boy still alive when he rode into the Cheyenne camp early, but it was obvious that it would only be a short while before he drew his last breath. Finally, much to Brian’s distress, and Cloud Dancing’s relief, Little Blackbird had passed on into the spirit world mid-morning, without having regained consciousness.

He took a deep, consoling breath of the crisp, winter air rushing into his face as he rode homeward. Brian seemed to have withdrawn into himself since his vigil at Palmer Creek began. He was too quiet, unable to put his feelings, his sorrow, into words. Sully could identify with such a reaction to grief, but he was also aware of how destructive it could be. When he’d tried to persuade Brian to return home the boy had argued he would remain with the Cheyenne until the traditional burial ceremony was held, and appeared incensed when Sully announced his intention of returning to Michaela. Although Sully had tried to explain his reasons, including the fact that Michaela could go into labour at any moment, Brian had pulled away from him, dismissed him, as one might dismiss someone who was of no consequence to them. That had hurt. If this was part of his son’s passage into manhood, as Cloud Dancing had advised, then Sully dreaded what else may come, and wondered what Brian’s attitude would be when he finally arrived home, hopefully some time soon.

Sully had felt torn while out at the reservation, a feeling to which, over the years, he’d become accustomed. One part of himself desperately wanted to stay, both to support Brian and to participate in the short mourning period of a people to whom he felt he belonged. However, a stronger feeling of belonging compelled him back to Michaela and his family at the homestead. Some years back nothing would have torn him away from the Cheyenne he regarded as family, but now there was a closer, dearer family which filled him, completed him, and he would do anything to ensure their safety and happiness. His thoughts centred on Michaela and he prayed to the spirits that she’d feel a little better today, though it seemed highly unlikely.

At last, in the distant, clear, blue sky, he spied curling palls of grey smoke from the homestead’s two chimneys and he was beset by a sense of urgency. He spurred his horse onward and finally rounded the bend and rode at full gallop into the yard.

The house, nestled into its hill slope, was very quiet, and yet, to its side, two long lines of washing flapped on the clothesline in the brisk breeze and from inside came the pleasant aroma of fresh baking. It seemed that Kathleen must have stayed home this morning. He bounded up the front steps, which he noticed had been freshly scrubbed and were still damp, and pushed the door open, expecting to be met by at least Kathleen and his tiny daughter, however inside was also unexpectedly quiet. He hung his buckskin coat on the hook beside the door and ventured into the kitchen where two pies, one pecan, one pumpkin, stood cooling on the table. He bent and inhaled the sweet smell of just baked pastry. Then a more succulent aroma tantalised his nostrils and he pulled open the oven door to see a beef and vegetable casserole simmering merrily in its heavy cast iron pot. Someone had definitely been busy this morning.

He stepped back into the living-room and, afraid of waking Michaela if she happened to be napping, called softly, "Kathleen?" His call was answered by a muffled "Up here .." His eyes immediately flew upwards and then it registered that it was Michaela’s voice he’d heard. Taking the stairs two at a time, he dashed up and into their bedroom only to discover that it was empty. "Michaela?" he called.

"In here …" she replied, again her voice sounding muffled. "In Kathleen’s room," she added.

Sully strode across the landing and into the room opposite, only to be brought up short by the sight which greeted him. His *very* pregnant wife was standing on a chair, straightening the lace curtain which hung over a sparkling clean window. She was currently on her tiptoes tweaking the lace edging. A pail of sudsy water and a couple of grubby cloths sat on the floor beside the chair.

"Michaela!" exclaimed Sully, his heart in his mouth. "What are ya doin’ up there?"

At the sound of horror in his tone Michaela emerged from behind the curtaining and regarded him quizzically. "Just what it looks like," she replied, a little affronted.

"Me or Kathleen coulda done it," Sully accused. "No need for you to be climbin’ up on furniture."

"I’m quite capable of doing some cleaning Sully. I am *not* an invalid!" Michaela retorted, her face aflame.

"I know you’re not an invalid Michaela," replied Sully, chastened. "But at the moment it probably aint a good idea to be climbin’ up on things … I worry ‘bout ya." He stepped forward as Michaela began to lift her skirts preparatory to getting down.

As Sully lifted her easily to the floor she placated, "I know you do … and I appreciate it … I really do … but mother will be here any day now and I wanted to make sure everything was ready for her arrival." She pulled a telegram out of her apron pocket. "Matthew gave me this from Horace when he came to collect me at the Chateau this morning. Mother was leaving Boston yesterday but couldn’t give us a definite time of arrival because snowstorms have wreaked havoc with train timetables."

"Don’ matter when she arrives …. Ya still coulda waited for us all to help ya …," admonished Sully.

"I know … but I felt so much better today …. and it was nice to have the homestead to myself for a while," Michaela entreated.

Sully eyed her dubiously and then abruptly changed the subject. "How was Silas Jensen this mornin’?"

Michaela smiled. "Actually he’s doing very well. Andrew seems to have worked some magic on him …. He was extremely polite … even solicitous …. And as for his health? … There was no sign of infection … though he’s experiencing some pain …. He seems to be healing nicely …. …"

"Good …. I’m glad its Andrew copin’ with him an’ not you," remarked Sully with a smug smile.

"Mmm …. Andrew’s even persuaded him to recuperate in the clinic in town so that he’ll have a doctor and a nurse available all the time …. Matthew’s going to help Andrew and Colleen move him this afternoon."

"Where *are* the others? Katie, Kathleen, Matthew?"

They all went into town after Matthew dropped me back here. Kathleen had to look after Michael … remember?"

"Mmm …. shouldna left ya here on your own though," mused Sully. "What if somethin’ had happened."

Michaela chuckled. "I know we’re hoping for a shorter labour this time Sully …. but it was only a couple of hours …. Nothing was going to happen in that time …"

"Yeah … well …. maybe you’re right …. But I bet ya didn’t tell the kids you were goin’ furniture climbin’!"

For a moment Michaela lowered her eyes, suitably humbled, and then she giggled. "You worry too much Sully … I’m fine …. In fact I haven’t felt this fine in weeks … Now if you’re really lucky and don’t castigate me any further … there’s a casserole cooking in the oven and fresh pie for dessert."

Sully smiled. "Yeah I know …. I checked …. sure smelt good." Then a thought occurred to him. "You tryin’ to tell me you did all the bakin’ on your own too? …. I spose next you’ll tell me it was you who done all that washin’."

In reply Michaela rose onto her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss and then scurried away before he could admonish her any further. As she preceded him out the door she mumbled cheekily, "And the windows in here, as well as changing the bed linen."

Down in the kitchen Michaela carefully lifted the steaming casserole out of the oven and began to stir it with a large wooden spoon, then all of a sudden she dropped the spoon back against the rim of the pot and looked at him aghast. "I … I … didn’t even ask about Brian …. or Little Blackbird …," she exclaimed, appalled at herself. "What must you think of me?"

Sully regarded her indulgently. "Michaela … ya got lots on ya mind at the moment … an’ you’ve bin so busy this mornin’ … its alright." He rescued the spoon, which was in danger of disappearing into the depths of the thick casserole gravy, lifted the pot and placed it back in the oven. He then grasped her hand and led her to a chair at the kitchen table. When she was seated he said quietly, "Little Blackbird passed away early this mornin’ Michaela …. he never woke up."

Michaela’s eyes filled with tears. "Such a dear little boy …. But at least now there’ll be no more pain…," she murmured. She looked at Sully anxiously. "And Brian?"

Sully shrugged his shoulders. "He’s real upset …. insisted on stayin’ out there til after the burial ceremony …. I dunno how he’ll be when he gits home …. seems real angry at the world …"

"Maybe you should’ve stayed ….," suggested Michaela tentatively.

"Thought ‘bout that …. but figured I hadta be *here* …. Don’ think Brian understood though ….. Cloud Dancin’ promised to talk to him ….," replied Sully.

Michaela nodded thoughtfully, longing to be with her son during this time of turmoil.

Sully reached out and took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Thought ya should be prepared for when he comes home …. He wouldn’ even talk to me this mornin’ …. He’s gone real quiet ….aint himself at the moment."

"Do you want to go back out there Sully? …. I don’t mind …. The children will be home this afternoon," Michaela offered, in turn giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

Sully shook his head. "Nah … I aint what he needs I don’ reckon … well not yet anyways … Time enough when he gits back …. He’ll need us then …"

Again Michaela nodded her head. "Alright ….. if you’re sure …. We’ll both be here for him when he comes home …" She tugged at his hand. "Come on …. help me bring the washing in …. then we’ll have some lunch."

Sully had great difficulty slowing Michaela down during the remainder of the day. She seemed to suddenly be filled with a restless energy, and the spectre of her mother arriving some time in the next few days egged her on. Every time he thought he’d settled her down to rest she’d abruptly edge forward in her chair and awkwardly rise to fetch, fix or clean something. The lethargy of the past few weeks had disappeared overnight and rather than be pleased by it, he tended to worry even more. Finally, the only way he could get her to sit still was to challenge her to a game of chess and so it was that the children discovered them huddled over the chess board when they returned home mid-afternoon.

By the conclusion of supper Matthew and Kathleen were feeling exhausted. Not only had they tried all afternoon to distract Michaela from overdoing things, but they’d also had to cope with Sully, who was obviously overly worried about his wife. Both, at different times, had quietly suggested that he was taking her restlessness too seriously, but their advice had fallen on deaf ears. At last the family banished Michaela to a wingback chair before the fire where Katie unwittingly kept her occupied - and still - with a favourite book.

Gradually Katie’s eyelids grew heavy and she nestled back against her ma, lulled by the warmth of the fire and Michaela’s lilting rendition of the familiar story. Sully sat opposite her lost in his thoughts while Matthew and Kathleen sat up at the dining room table discussing plans for their new homestead which would be started in the next couple of weeks. Abruptly, the peace was disturbed by heavy footsteps on the front porch, then the door swung inward and a dishevelled Brian entered. Michaela jumped in her chair, disturbing Katie, who began to whimper, however, upon seeing her brother she slid down from Michaela’s lap and ran to him. "Bwian!" she exclaimed, reaching out to be lifted up. Brian glanced down at her and then swung her up into his arms. Her arms instantly encircled his shoulders.

"Brian … are you alright?!" exclaimed Michaela, disconcerted by his sudden appearance.

Brian placed a reluctant Katie back on the floor and then removed his coat, hanging it on the hook by the door. "Yeah … I’m alright," he replied dully.

"Good to have ya home little brother," remarked Matthew, quietly and encouragingly.

"Have you eaten?" Michaela asked, watching her youngest son’s face and actions, trying to divine his state of mind.

In reply Brian began to move towards the stairs. "Aint hungry," he said soberly. "I’m tired …. goin’ to bed."

"Brian?…." Michaela’s question was cut short by Sully who reached out and grasped her arm. As Brian slowly ascended the stairs, Sully said quietly, "Leave him be Michaela …. Don’ think he’s in the mood for talkin’."

Michaela momentarily looked as if she was going to protest and then slumped back into the chair. Katie clambered back up onto her knee and asked quietly, "Bwian sad?"

"Mmm … a little sweetheart," she replied distractedly.

Katie picked up her book and handed it to Michaela. "Wead storwy …"

"But I just read that book to you Katie … besides you practically know it off by heart," rejoined Michaela.

Katie gave an exasperated sigh. "Not me," she explained patiently. Her eyes flew upwards. "Bwian ..," she added decisively. "Wead storwy …"

Michaela drew her tiny daughter into a tight embrace and lovingly kissed the top of her blond head. She looked across at Sully pleadingly. "Katie’s right …. I can’t just leave him up there all alone," she said quietly.

Sully nodded resignedly and reached across for his daughter.

Michaela lightly tapped on the bedroom door and when there was no reply she slowly opened it and stepped across the threshold. Brian, fully clothed, was lying on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his head resting on his folded arms. He’d lit only one lamp which cast eerie shadows on the wooden walls. He didn’t acknowledge Michaela’s presence as she tentatively approached the bed and then sat on its edge. She reached out and gently brushed back a lock of fair hair from his forehead. Again he ignored her and yet did not pull away.

Michaela’s heart was heavy. As she’d discovered in the past, it was unbearable to see one of her children hurting. She would gladly have taken the burden upon herself if the pain Brian was feeling would ease. She longed to draw him into her arms and hold him, rock him, as she had when he’d first come into her life as a bewildered eight year old. Now he was almost a man and perhaps not as receptive to such overtures, so she maintained a discreet distance between them. Slowly she edged herself further onto the bed and then drew her legs up to lay half on her side beside him, groaning softly as she did so. Unbeknownst to her, Brian’s concerned eyes momentarily flew to her as she uttered the barely audible sound.

When settled, her hand resting lightly but comfortingly on his arm, she remained silent - partly because she just didn’t know what to say, and partly because she was leaving the next step up to him. For many minutes they lay quietly side by side until Brian abruptly asked, "You really don’ even know what killed him … do ya ma?"

Michaela gulped and took a deep breath. Was he still blaming her for Little Blackbird’s death? "N-no …," she replied hesitantly. "I’d be guessing if I told you it was a disease of the blood, or a blockage in the liver … And I’m not going to lie to you and make something up …."

"You don’ think it was the infection … from the break in his leg?"

"I didn’t say that …. perhaps it was …. Though I’m inclined to think it wasn’t …," she replied more positively.

"But ya don’ know for sure?"

"No"

Brian sighed and Michaela was aware of his body tensing. "Brian …. you noticed how small Little Blackbird was for his age …?

He nodded.

"And the strange yellowish tinge to his skin?"

"Mmmm…"

"Both those symptoms suggest he’d had an illness for a long time … perhaps even since birth …. The infected wound on his leg probably didn’t help …. but I don’t believe it caused his death …," she quietly intoned.

There was a long silence while both mused over these salient points and then Brian murmured tentatively, "Ma?" His voice broke as he suggested, "Maybe if I hadn’ bin ridin’ along the creek that day …." He trailed off and took a few deep breaths.

Michaela reached out and gently grasped his hand. "It wasn’t your fault …"

"But if I hadn’ frightened him … he wouldna run …. an’ broke his leg …"

"Brian … if it hadn’t happened then … something like it would probably have happened shortly after … He was weak and his growing body wasn’t able to build up the strength it needed ….," she returned reassuringly.

"Maybe if I’d brought him here …. ‘stead of takin’ him back to Flyin’ Hawk …."

"I could’ve treated his *body* …. perhaps put off the inevitable for a short while …. but how do you think he’d have *felt* being taken away from his people? You did the right thing taking him back to them …..," comforted Michaela. Again she reached across to tenderly brush his hair away from his troubled eyes which now shimmered with tears.

"He was so little ma …. an’ so much happened to him …. kinda like Anthony … I don’ understand how God can let these things happen to kids like them ….." A single tear ran down his cheek and onto Michaela’s hand.

"I know its hard to understand … I remember talking with Grace about the same thing …. but I believe there *is* a reason … He’s just not made it apparent to us yet …." She gently cupped her son’s cheek. "You were a friend to Little Blackbird when he most needed one …. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons it turned out this way …. You’re a better person for having known him …. for staying by his side …." A silent sob suddenly wracked her son’s body and Michaela edged a little closer. She whispered solemnly, "I’m so proud of you Brian …. and so is Sully …. You care for people … give yourself to them willingly ….. You could’ve left Palmer Creek and come back here …. but you didn’t … He knew you cared …."

"But he wasn’t awake.."

"He knew …. I’m sure of it."

Brian sighed and swiped at his tears with the back of his hand. "When I was little …. I figured you could fix anythin’ …anyone …. You did that operation on my head …. an’ I was alright …. But now ….well …. It doesn’ work like that does it ma?"

Michaela bit her lip and tried to control the urge to burst into tears. "I’m sorry Brian," she whispered soulfully. "But you’re right … it doesn’t work like that …. I only wish it did …." She paused, mulling over how much to tell him, then she continued gently, "There’s so much medical science has yet to learn … to discover … and its so frustrating to know there are many illnesses and infections I can’t cure …. wounds I can’t heal …. All I can say is that each and every year …. there’s more I *can* do …. more ways I can help …" Brian had now turned his head and was watching her intently, his tears momentarily stilled. Assured that he was listening, she continued, "Do you remember Mr Foley? He had bad arthritis …. came here to try our hot springs?

Brian nodded. "He liked Mr Slicker’s dog …. I remember."

"Good …. well he’s an example of what I’m talking about. I could diagnose his arthritis …. and advise him that soaking in the hot springs would ease some of the stiffness and pain …. I could give him willow bark tea and a tonic …. but I couldn’t cure him …. Less than ten years ago he’d have been told he had rheumatism and the only treatment was warm lard or even leeches… as Jake suggested …. neither of which would have done him any good. You see medical science has identified the illness …..and several treatments …. but has discovered no cure … And then there are illnesses … diseases … we know nothing about …. like Anthony’s …. Not one of the doctors I consulted could shed any light on his problem …. I daresay the same would’ve been the case for Little Blackbird. It’s so frustrating … but I can only do my best for my patients …. keep up to date with all that’s discovered …."

Brian turned his hand to clasp his ma’s in sympathy. "Like readin’ all those medical journals …. right?" When Michaela nodded he said contritely, "I’m sorry I was mean to ya the other day out there …. I was just angry … I kept tellin’ myself he was gonna git better …"

"I understand Brian …. I really do …," replied Michaela, reaching out to lovingly ruffle his hair. In so doing she made an baffling discovery. She lifted a short, jagged lock of hair from just above his left ear and regarded it in puzzlement. "Brian?" she murmured.

"I cut it ma …. at the burial ceremony …. like the Cheyenne …. Cloud Dancin’ told me about it ….," he explained softly, a slow embarrassed blush suffusing his skin. He lowered his eyes and voice. "They were so quiet ma …. There was no-one to cry for him …." He suddenly clasped her hand again and held on tight as the tears he’d held in check for so long began to stream uncontrolled down his cheeks.

Michaela now pulled him close against herself, caressing his back and shoulders. "I know sweetheart," she murmured soothingly. "I know …. Its alright …. *you* were there …." And as she had so often held him comfortingly in the past, she held him and rocked him now, offering what little solace she could.