For personal and select distribution only � February 1998
by Pam Hunter

According to the Concise Oxford Dictionary, a definition of ‘romance’ is: "a prevailing sense of wonder or mystery surrounding the mutual attraction in a love affair".

PART 1

Sully emerged from the dimness and coolness of the barn, narrowed his eyes against the bright sunlight and took a deep breath of the fresh spring air. It was one of those magical days he loved - the breeze still a little crisp, the sun’s rays warm, and the sky an even, deep, clear blue for as far as the eye could see. This was his favourite time of the year - the time when the spring bulbs in Michaela’s garden at first timidly, and then boldly, put in an appearance in defiance of the ongoing cold and hardness of the ground, the trees were sprouting into fresh green leaf and the native animals were shyly emerging, seeking the sun, having survived the harshness of the winter. That reminded him - he must remember to take Brian and Katie up to the thicket over the rise from the homestead sometime soon - it was about time for the doe to put in an appearance with her young family.

And this year there was even more reason to be satisfied with life. He still found it hard to believe that he was at last a free man, able to ramble freely around their homestead and the woods, and free to accompany his family into town - to the livery, the clinic, the mercantile, even the church, as he had this morning - without fearing repercussions from the army or the law. He again took a deep, contented breath.

As he slowly exhaled and then squinted into the strong, late afternoon sun towards the homestead, he observed Michaela come quietly out their front door, leather-bound book in hand, and wander aimlessly across the yard to the bench under the big oak. She sat down in the sparse, dappled shade, opened the book to her place and then proceeded to stare off into space.

Sully’s brow creased in consternation. He’d been aware for a couple of days that Michaela didn’t share his contentment at the moment and he was at a loss as to why. In the time since Christmas, since he’d at last been able to return home a free man, they’d had to conquer many pent-up feelings and frustrations - he’d thought fairly successfully. Then, just as things were finally settling down, Michaela had been shot by a madman out for revenge, and they’d had to confront and defeat further inner demons. Once more, he’d thought that life was finally returning to normal, only to have Michaela sink into this depression, or as he’d heard it described by others, melancholy. It was rare to see her like this. Over the years, even in their darkest times, she had maintained some degree of optimism, at times working hard to raise *his* spirits.

His mind wandered back over the years since they’d been married, searching for some rhyme or reason to her present behaviour. Early on, she’d been depressed when she began to think she was too old to conceive, but her answer to that dilemma had been to prove to everyone that, even though she may not be able to bear children, she wasn’t too old to climb Pikes Peak! And, of course, her prognosis had been proved incorrect because she’d discovered she was pregnant with their beloved daughter Katie very soon after. He smiled to himself at that joyous memory.

His thoughts returned to the present and as he watched her, sitting lost in thought in the mottled late afternoon sun, he realised that she hadn’t turned a single page of her book since she’d sat down. Something was definitely troubling her. He hated seeing her this way. It gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and he found himself checking on her, wondering when and if she would emerge from her present mood, or at least give him some indication of what was worrying her. He desperately wanted to go to her, hold her, tell her that whatever was worrying her would pass, that everything would be alright, but he was also reluctant to go to her right now - any overtures of concern he’d made to her in the past few days had been rebuffed, not unkindly, but promptly. His eyes remaining fixed on his troubled wife, he sauntered through the gate and across the yard, to sit on the porch steps and lean against the railings.

Again his mind went back. Just before Katie was due, in fact about this same time of year, she’d become quiet and withdrawn. At the time he’d put it down to the stress of the very late stages of pregnancy, combined with her work at the clinic. His eyes narrowed and his brow creased in frustration as he tried to perceive what else may have been effecting her.

Next he considered their second year of marriage. Everyone had told them that the first year was always the hardest - he would definitely have to disagree with that old adage. Of course, most of their problems of last year were associated with outside forces, and they’d worked their way through them, mostly together (he hung his head a little when he realised that they’d not been as together as they might have been, and he was ashamed of his selfishness on a number of occasions). He vainly tried to remember what had been happening around this time last year. Of course there’d been the incident in February with his friend Daniel staying at the homestead – his heart beat a little faster with that troubled memory, he’d also had a number of differences of opinion with Matthew, and the troubles at the reservation had been escalating, and yes he could recall Michaela withdrawing into herself for a while. Again he’d put it down to their problems at the time, but now he was indeed beginning to wonder. Was there a pattern to her behaviour?

What about before they were married? Spring, the year they were engaged - they’d had the wrangle with Ethan Cooper over adopting the kids, and then came the massacre of the Cheyenne at Washita. His head dropped and tears sprang readily to his eyes. To this day he could never understand or forgive that tragic, Custer-initiated incident and he knew that it still affected Michaela, sometimes recurring in fearful nightmares. But as for the time leading up to that terrible day? She *had* been a little withdrawn, even though they’d finally won out over Ethan, and the kids were able to stay with them in Colorado Springs instead of heading off to San Francisco.

He went one year further back – the new school teacher had arrived and then not turned out as well as the townspeople had hoped. He’d felt real sorry for Michaela and the kids when it turned out that the teacher was beating on some of the students and had even hurt a very young and impressionable Brian. A couple of times around then he’d felt like Michaela wanted to reach out to him, but then her shyness or inhibitions had come to the fore again and she’d put some distance between them as she’d often done throughout their courtship.

Now, in the yellowing light of the approaching sunset, Michaela was leaning back against the gnarled tree trunk, not even pretending to read, just staring off into the distance. She was probably not even aware that he was silently and lovingly observing her. He’d been taken aback after church this morning when she’d tentatively asked the family if they wouldn’t mind skipping the church picnic, that she’d rather come home. It hadn’t worried Brian, he’d had plans to join some friends at the creek to fish, and Katie was still too small to realise that she was missing anything. So they’d come home, had a cold Sunday lunch, and then Michaela and he had set out to catch up on some chores - she inside the homestead and he out in the barn. Katie was obviously taking a nap because he hadn’t heard a peep from her for at least an hour.

He stood up, stretched his tired muscles and then slowly, but resolutely, walked towards Michaela - maybe she just needed a little holding.

Sully was less that three feet from her before she registered his proximity. She turned and gave him a wan smile. "Finished your chores?" she asked quietly as she scooted along the bench a little to make room for him to sit down beside her.

"Yep, wasn’ too much to do ..... not used to bein’ home so early on a Sunday," he replied, resting a comforting arm around her shoulders.

She leant in to him and rested her head on his shoulder. She sighed and continued to stare across the open fields, towards the mountains which were gradually changing colour as the sun sank lower in the sky.

Gently taking her hand in his he asked with concern, "Somethin’ worryin’ you Michaela? You’ve bin real quiet."

"I’m fine Sully, the warm sun has just made me a little sleepy that’s all. We’d better listen for Katie, I don't know how much longer she’ll sleep, seeing she slept almost all the way home from church this morning."

Sully knew that the mention of Katie was just an attempt to change the subject. He tried one more time. "You’d tell me if anythin’ were wrong, wouldn’t ya Michaela? You wouldn’t keep any secrets ...." He bit his lip and then added uncertainly, "We both know that only causes problems."

Michaela looked up into his eyes. "Nothing’s wrong Sully, I just don’t feel like being sociable at the moment, that’s all." Her unusual, beautiful eyes were pleading for his understanding. Then she added with a smile which didn’t quite reach those eyes, "How about a game of chess before supper?"

Realising that the subject had just been closed, Sully accepted her invitation and they rose and walked hand in hand across the yard to the front door.

PART 2

Early the next morning, as Sully drew the wagon to a halt in front of Michaela’s clinic in town, the family was met by Matthew who reached up to take an eager Katie from her ma’s arms. "Hey Sully, Dr Mike, Brian and you little Katie," - the last directed at his giggling little sister whom he was jiggling on his hip.

Sully and Brian leapt to the ground from their seats on the wagon, sending a spray of fine dust high into the air, and then Sully reached up to gently lift Michaela down.

"Dr Mike, Horace was lookin’ for you earlier. He said you should come down to the train station when ya got to town, said somethin’ about some packages arrivin’ on this mornin’s train," Matthew informed Michaela carelessly, his focus on Katie who was squirming vigorously in his arms, playfully determined to tip off his wide-brimmed hat.

"Packages?" exclaimed Michaela, wonderingly. "I’m not expecting any medical supplies. In fact, I spent most of Saturday taking inventory before putting together a new order for later this week."

"Then you take Katie inside an’ I’ll go down to the station an’ git whatever it is," said Sully, decisively. He smiled at his wife, nodded at Matthew and Brian, gave Katie a quick kiss as she was handed from Matthew to her ma, and strode purposefully up the street.

Michaela watched his retreating back, her brow furrowed in consternation. She knew that he was worried about her at present, and she dearly wanted to dispel those worries, but it was difficult to do so when she was uncertain as to what the problem was herself. She’d found herself staring off into space many times lately, even at her desk in the clinic, where she was normally able to focus her thoughts no matter what arose. And she was filled with a restlessness which left her feeling despondent, unsettled. Spring had a habit of doing that to her. She shook herself from these further reveries, waved to Brian as he set off for the school-house, and stepped onto the clinic porch.

Poring over some patient files at her desk some fifteen minutes later, she was surprised when Sully knocked and then entered the clinic, empty-handed. She looked at him, her eyebrows lifted in a query.

"Ahhh…. Michaela …. I think you betta come down to the train station with me …. See for yourself," he said mysteriously, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Michaela looked at him anxiously. "What is it Sully? Is something wrong?"

He reiterated, "I think you betta see for yourself." With that he reached across and removed her woollen shawl from where it hung on a hook behind the door, and held it out to her.

With an exasperated sigh Michaela let him drape the shawl around her shoulders and they left the clinic.

Arriving at the station, Michaela was immediately aware of a buzz of excitement amongst the few assembled townsfolk. Its focus was a large wooden crate resting on the ground only a few feet from the railroad tracks. Several townspeople, including Matthew and Grace, were walking around the crate, reading the attached baggage labels.

Grace called out excitedly, "Dr Mike …. Dr Mike …. Its for you …. all the way from Boston!"

With that Horace Bing exited the telegraph office and handed Michaela a white envelope. "This come with the crates Dr Mike," he said with authority, indicating the large crate and a relatively smaller one sitting some four feet away from it. Reluctant to return to the telegraph office with his curiosity unsatisfied, he hovered behind the family as Michaela contemplated the envelope and the crates with some misgiving. Knowing her mother’s penchant for sending inappropriate gifts (‘to help bring some civilisation to the wilderness of the Colorado frontier’, mother had explained more than once) she was a little apprehensive.

As if reading her thoughts, Sully said quietly, "You’ll never know unless you open it."

She looked up at him a little worriedly and then nodded in resignation, though she was also suddenly conscious of a tiny and unexpected skip of excitement in her heartbeat.

She walked up the steps of the train station followed by an entourage of family and townspeople, seated herself on a wooden bench, waited for Sully and Matthew to sit themselves beside her, and then tore open the envelope.

Scanning the contents, she said quietly, "Its from mother," affirming what everyone had already guessed. Then she read so softly that only those seated by her could hear.

"April 24^th, 1873

I hope that this missive finds you and all your family in good health, especially after the trying times of the past few months. You have been in my thoughts almost constantly."

Michaela paused, glanced up at Sully and then leaned into him a little, unconsciously reassuring herself of his presence beside her. Then she continued to read,

"As you would understand, each year at this time I am wont to become introspective, and find myself in contemplation of my own mortality. As each year passes, my mind dwells more and more on my dear children’s and grandchildren’s futures and less on my own, which we must all accept, is limited."

As Michaela continued to read, Sully was struck by the similarity between the tenor of Elizabeth Quinn’s letter and Michaela’s demeanour during the past few days. He suddenly recognised that this letter may well provide the answers he’d been seeking. He came back to the present in time to hear Michaela read,

"As these six years have passed and I have come to realise that your life is now in Colorado Springs, and that you no longer consider Boston home, I have become more and more concerned about the fact that you are so far away, and, as our youngest daughter, may not receive what I know your father and I would have wanted you to have. Consequently, this year I have finally taken a few small steps to ensure that you receive some of what should rightfully be yours. Accompanying this letter you will find two crates. They contain a number of items I hope that you will cherish, and upon their disclosure, come to understand why I have chosen to send them to you. My wish is that they will stay always within your family so that your children will know a little more of their grandparents and the family from which you come.

Mother."

"Oh mother," whispered Michaela tearfully. Her hands were trembling and came to rest, with the crumpled letter, in her lap. Sully reached out and took the letter from her, refolded it carefully and then took her hand in his.

"Dr Mike, are ya gonna open the crates here?" asked Matthew quietly. He was one of the few who had heard the gist of the letter.

She looked up at him through her tears and then again at Sully. His blue eyes were asking a million questions, but she knew that he wouldn’t verbalise them here in front of so many people. Turning back to Matthew, she replied soberly, "I think I’d like to open them at home. But I don’t know how we’re going to get them there. They look awfully heavy."

"They sure are Dr Mike," intervened Horace with his usual eagerness. "That’s why they’re sittin’ there near the tracks, me an’ the engine driver couldn’ move ‘em any further, specially the big one."

Michaela looked at Sully anxiously. "Sully?"

"We’ll git ‘em on the wagon somehow," he said reassuringly, inwardly unsure as to how that task was going to be accomplished.

"I’ll help," offered Matthew.

"An’ Robert E could help ya late this afternoon," suggested Grace, who was consumed with curiosity about the contents of the crates. "But you’ll need help at the homestead too. No use gittin’ them on the wagon this end an’ then not bein’ able to git ‘em off at the other."

Michaela smiled. She knew her friend was almost as curious as she was about the packages from Boston. Before she could speak, Sully kindly suggested to Grace, "Then you and Robert E’ll haveta come out to the homestead late this afternoon an’ then stay to supper." Michaela looked at him in surprise - she had been going to suggest the very same thing. She nodded at Grace in total agreement with his proposal.

Grace beamed, "We’d be honoured Sully, Dr Mike, an’ I’ll bring one of my apple pies for afters."

"That’s settled then, you know how I feel about your pie!" said Sully decisively. "Now we all got things we gotta do before we can satisfy our curiosity." He leant across and kissed his wife and then offered his arm to Grace to accompany her back to the cafe. She blushed at his attention, but took his arm and they wandered off in the direction of the livery.

Michaela watched them go and not for the first time wondered how Sully so often knew the right thing to say or do. Grace had been through such a bad patch during the last few months and Sully’s considerate attention, plus being asked to participate in a Sully family occasion later on today, would do more for her than any doctor could. She smiled to herself, took one more wondering look at the crates now standing forlornly by the railway tracks, and began to amble slowly back towards the clinic.

PART 3

Late that afternoon, Sully, Robert E and Matthew were all wondering whether the muscles in their arms and backs would ever feel normal again. It had taken a colossal effort, and the assistance of a helpful Horace, to load the crates onto the wagon and tie them securely for the trip out to the homestead. And now they all stood in the dusty yard, peering up at the wooden boxes in the late afternoon sunlight, considering how they were going to *unload* the wagon without doing any damage to either themselves or the crates’ contents, and then there were still the porch steps to be negotiated!

Standing on the top porch step, Michaela worriedly eyed the tired faces of the men who were slowly circling the wagon. Then she suggested, "Sully, would it help if we opened the crates *on* the wagon and then maybe we could bring some smaller items inside before trying to unload the heavier?"

Sully looked up at her in relief and Grace, standing beside her, reacted with some excitement. "Robert E, we’ll need somethin’ to pry the wooden lids off," she called animatedly, taking Michaela by the hand and tugging her down the porch steps.

Within seconds, Sully had a number of tools in hand and had hauled Michaela up onto the wagon to stand beside him. Grace stood on the road at the back of the wagon looking up at them, her eyes alight, while Matthew and Robert E waited, hoping to hear that their unloading task was to be made easier.

At that moment Brian arrived at a run from the direction of town. "Ma, Sully, what’s goin’ on," he exclaimed excitedly, when he spied the crates on the wagon and noted the look of expectation on the faces of those standing watching.

Grace eagerly told him where the crates had come from and about the letter that accompanied them. Meanwhile, Sully was prying the top boards off the larger crate and removing the straw packaging which was protecting the contents, while Michaela peered anxiously over his shoulder. Suddenly she gasped and reached over the edge of the crate to touch something she’d spied. "Oh mother!" she gulped, echoing her reaction of this morning.

Sully swung round to face her, momentarily distracted from his task of disclosing the crate’s contents. "Michaela?" he asked with concern.

She turned to look at him and then asked softly, "Can we dismantle the end of the crate? That way you’ll be able to slide it out and off the end of the wagon."

By his time Grace was almost dancing with excitement, waiting to see what the crates contained, what had evoked Michaela’s reaction. Her hands were clasped tightly under her chin and she smiled delightedly at Michaela’s obvious emotion when she saw the contents.

By now Brian was also caught up in the excitement and called out, "What is it ma?" Only a tug on the arm from Matthew prevented him from jumping up onto the wagon to join Sully and Michaela.

"I’m gonna need your help Robert E ..... here with these wooden boards," said Sully, as he rapidly dismantled the end of the crate, passing the boards to Robert E and Matthew.

At last a large piece of fine furniture was revealed, dust-smeared from the straw packaging and the train travel. Between them, the three men (with a little help from Brian) managed to slide it off the wagon and set it gently on the dusty ground.

Grace’s eyes widened in wonderment and she ran her hands lightly along the smooth, polished mahogany. "Oh Dr Mike," she exclaimed. "I aint seen anythin’ as fine as this since New Orleans."

In awe, they all stood around a very large and heavy, beautifully crafted, mahogany desk, its round cornered surface inlaid with gold embossed green leather, its six small drawers finished with brass handles. Michaela stepped slowly forward and, as Grace had done, she ran her fingers along the finely polished wood, but it was obvious that she was not admiring the beauty of a piece of furniture, but rather had gone back in time, assailed with memories of long ago.

Sully cleared his throat and then asked for all of them, "Michaela?"

Michaela shook herself from her daydreaming and said quietly, "It was my father’s. It sat in his study cum library for as long as I can remember. Mother knew that this particular piece would please me much more than anything else from our home. After father returned from his rounds or hospital visits, I used to sit with him while he read the newspaper, or attended to patient files, or wrote in his journal. I don’t remember ever *not* doing that ... it seemed as if he always welcomed my presence, no matter how noisy or immature it was." By this time Michaela’s eyes had welled with tears and she was having trouble controlling her emotions.

Observing this, Grace, in her usual wisdom, wrapped her arms around Michaela’s shoulders momentarily before bringing matters back to the present. "Well fellas, you gotta a lot of work to do to get that desk inside the homestead, an’ whatever’s in the other crate .... and Dr Mike and Sully, you’ll haveta decide where its to go .... an’ on top of that, we’ve still got supper to fix ... so let’s hop to it."

A half hour later, the desk and the matching mahogany and green leather chair, which had been in the other crate, were at last inside the living room doorway, and Grace, and a decidedly preoccupied Michaela, had chicken frying on the stove and potatoes and biscuits baking in the oven.

While Robert E, Matthew and Brian slaked their thirst, Sully took Michaela aside. "Where do you want us to put the desk Michaela?" he asked, as his eyes roved around the living room. "Maybe you’d rather have it down at the clinic," he suggested hesitantly, while wondering what the others’ reaction would be if they were asked to reload the desk onto the wagon.

Michaela looked up at him and suggested tentatively, "I’d rather have it here at the homestead if its alright with you. After having to burn all the furniture at the clinic last year I couldn’t bear something like that happening again. Mother said she wanted us to keep it in the family. Do you mind?"

"Course I don’ mind," replied Sully swiftly. "Its kinda big so we’ll need to move a few things. How ‘bout over there to the left against the back wall ... you’ll get plenty of light from the window by the fireplace when you’re workin’, an’ there’s a lamp right over it so ya can see at night."

In reply Michaela hugged him fiercely. "Thank-you," she said softly.

Sully came back inside, after seeing Grace and Robert E off home after supper, to discover Michaela seated in the carved mahogany chair at her father’s desk, now positioned in the assigned corner of the living room as if it had always been there. She had extinguished many of the lamps but had lingered in this corner. Throughout their animated supper with their friends and family, her eyes had often strayed to the desk in the corner, and he’d watched as she’d drifted away from them, lost in her memories. She was again running her fingers along the smooth woodwork, lost in thought, and in the other hand was another note covered in Elizabeth Quinn’s copybook script. He moved up quietly behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "What ya got there ..... somethin’ else from ya ma?" he asked softly.

"Mmmm ....... it was under the front cover of the first of these," she answered just as softly. She leaned back to reveal three, black, leather-covered journals, a little the worse for wear. "They were in the top drawer of the desk," she explained. "They’re my father’s. For as long as I can remember he kept a personal journal and mother sent these three to me. She explains in her note that after I’ve read them I’ll understand why she’s sent these in particular. There are many others which she’ll send to me in due course. She also says that although father always kept a journal, he didn’t write in it every day, sometimes the notations are as much as months apart, but he always wrote about important happenings, medical cases which worried him, things he didn’t want to forget, personal thoughts, and so on." She spoke in a hushed tone, obviously greatly moved.

"Michaela, will ya explain somethin’ to me?" asked Sully as he moved around to lean cross-legged against the desktop to face her.

"What’s that Sully?" she asked.

"In her letter ya ma said that ‘at this time of year’ she starts gettin’ a little melancholy. Seems to me, that same thing happens to you. Why?"

There was a pregnant pause while Michaela pondered his question and then she speculated, "I guess its the Spring. My father died on May 6th. Until *you*, he was the most important person in my life. He taught me, guided me, loved me - something I realise my mother never understood or accepted, until now. We both lost someone very special that Spring. For months after his death we both mourned - but apart. We were both so lost in our own grief that we were unaware of the other. Although I have *you*, each Spring I find myself thinking of him and what he meant to me, what his death meant to me. And I suppose this year I’ve found it even harder because of losing Marjorie so recently. I hope you can understand that." She once more ran her hands thoughtfully along the edge of the desk. "So many of my memories of father are associated with this desk and his study."

Sully reached out to cup her face lovingly with his hand and to tenderly stroke her cheek with his thumb. He then grasped her hands gently in his, drawing her up to stand before him. "Sure I can understand," he said quietly, as he turned to sit in the chair she had just vacated and to gently pull her down to sit across his knees. He gave her a light tender kiss on the cheek and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "Tell me about him," he offered soberly.

Michaela turned to look into his eyes, reassuring herself that he really *was* interested in her relationship with her father, and then she nestled back into him as she began. "From the day I was born, he used to bring me into his study while he worked. At first he’d just rock me, or read to me. Then as I grew older he’d read me more detailed stories, explain items from the newspaper or listen to me read or watch me draw. None of the other girls ever ventured into his study - it was if they were frightened to. I never understood that, or never discovered whether there was reason for them to feel that way. I know father could be a little forbidding at times, though he was rarely that way with me. Rebecca was the only other person who would enter his study, but only if he wasn’t expected home. Sometimes, if he was very late or detained by a case at the hospital, I’d go in to find Rebecca waiting for me - to sit me on her knee and read to me as father would’ve. She was fifteen when I was born and, in his absence, always did what my father would’ve done. For so many years he was the centre of my existence and after he died I missed him so much," she lamented.

"And now?" he asked quietly.

"Now?" she reiterated. "Now most of the time you and the children consume my thoughts, my life. As the years go by, as mother said in her letter, one’s focus changes. But in Spring, I don’t know whether its the change in the air, the scent of the flowers in the garden, or what it is, but my thoughts, for just a little while, go back to father."

"Its alright to feel like that Michaela .... an’ I don’ mind at all if you want to talk to me about ‘im ... at least now I’ll understand if you git all melancholy again."

"All melancholy!!" she exclaimed. "Have I really been that bad?"

"Well, I have bin a bit worried ..... its bin a little strange around here lately," he replied with a half-smile. "Now, its gettin’ real late, so why don’ you go on up to bed while I finish puttin’ out the lamps an’ lockin’ up."

Michaela gave him a grateful smile and a loving kiss before standing and moving towards the stairs.

PART 4

When Sully at last entered their bedroom it was to discover Michaela engrossed in the first of her father’s journals. She lay propped up against the pillows, the lamplight causing the copper streaks in her hair to flicker. Her brow was puckered in thought and she occasionally ran her tongue along her upper lip, a habit she had when she was nervous or concentrating on something. Sully hastily discarded his clothing and climbed in beside her, to cradle her in his arms. When she looked up at him there were tears glimmering in her eyes, but these were not tears of sadness, for her eyes shone brightly and a slight smile creased her mouth.

"Listen to this Sully - its the journal he was writing when I was born. She began to read softly,

"February 15th, 1833.

Have just left Elizabeth. She is exhausted but has delivered another healthy baby girl. It was apparent that she was disappointed to have given me a fifth daughter, but as soon as I saw the child any slight disappointment I may have felt dissipated. She lay strangely quiet in my arms, looking up at me. When I handed her to Elizabeth the child began to cry, however she ceased as soon as I again held her. I fear that this must be the last child for us. Each confinement leaves Elizabeth more exhausted, physically unable to cope. The past few months have been extremely trying for her. As soon as Elizabeth wakes we must discuss the child’s name. I would like to use the name we had planned, but alter it to suit a daughter. I’m not sure how Elizabeth will react to the name Michaela, especially as the other girls all have more traditional names. Of course, the child may resent my choice in the future, but I hope that will not be the case."

She trailed off, mulling over the words written so long ago by her father. "I never did resent being called Michaela and, in fact, it was father who shortened my name to Mike, when I was still very little. My mother and sisters were never very happy about that, except Rebecca ….. she still calls me Mike sometimes," she mused.

Sully smiled and then picked up the journal which she’d laid down across her knees and flicked through a few pages, moving forward in time. Unconsciously he was scanning for Michaela’s name to appear again. A notation caught his attention. "Here he’s writin’ about ya agin, Michaela," he said eagerly.

Michaela emerged from her reverie and looked up into his eyes as he read.

"April 2^nd, 1833.

I sit here at my desk with Michaela cradled in my arms. She is looking up at me and once again I am struck by her unusual, but beautiful, eyes. One is green, the other is brown. In all my years as a doctor I have never seen this phenomenon before. I was incredulous when it became apparent that her eyes were going to be different. Elizabeth still insists that they will change and eventually become uniform. I now doubt that very much. Besides, I like them. Even though she is only a few weeks old, they give her character, and I swear that there is a watchfulness about her I have never seen in another child of her age."

"Couldn’t have said it better myself," said Sully quietly and lovingly. "I’ve always loved your eyes, their colours, the way they can flash fire when you’re angry or go all soft when you’re lookin’ after Katie or Brian." He again ran his thumb across her cheek and then leant down to lightly kiss each eyelid. "Time to sleep now Michaela. You can read some more tomorra." He reached across to blow out the lamp on the nightstand, casting the room into shadow and leaving only the low flickering flames of the dying fire to take the edge off the midnight darkness. He tenderly kissed Michaela’s forehead, before sliding down with her under the covers and pulling her against himself, to cradle her devotedly.

Michaela raised herself up enough to claim his lips with a long and loving kiss before giving a contented sigh and drifting off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Sully lay awake for a while, a smile upon his lips, just revelling in holding her. At times like tonight she wasn’t afraid to show her vulnerable side to him, a side that few townspeople (except perhaps Dorothy) were ever allowed to see. She held herself aloof from them, even close friends like Grace and Robert E. He guessed that Grace was probably aware Michaela wasn’t as strong and indomitable as she wanted the world to think, but wasn’t going to let her friend know that.

Michaela stirred a little, curling herself up against him, even closer, hooking her leg over his, and his body responded as it so often did when Michaela was near. He looked down on the beautiful face that had filled his dreams – day and night – for the past six years. He dearly wanted to wake her and love her, right now, but he guessed she needed her sleep, especially after the excitement and emotion of today. Instead he drew her hand to his lips, inhaled the sweetness of her skin and then softly kissed each finger. In her sleep she grasped his hand tightly and brought it down to rest in the valley between her breasts. He chuckled softly to himself and then he too drifted off to sleep.

Sully was woken by a small flock of birds squabbling over nesting rights in a nearby tree, encouraged by the warming, early morning sun. He rolled over to discover that Michaela was already up and had left their room, her crumpled nightgown was hanging over the back of a chair. His eyes fell on the journal they’d shared the night before and he slumped back against his pillow and wondered how she would be feeling this morning. The arrival of the crates from her mother had definitely lifted her spirits yesterday and perhaps today he would learn more of her childhood and her relationship with her parents. He loved to hear about her early life in Boston, her life before he entered it. Each anecdote added colour and depth to the Michaela he loved. It made him feel that he understood her better, that sharing brought them closer.

He rose from their bed and washed and dressed quickly. After leaving their bedroom, he popped his head into Katie’s room but she too was nowhere to be seen. At the top of the stairs the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and then baking biscuits tantalised his nostrils, and so coming down he expected to see Michaela and his daughter in the kitchen. He was surprised when it was empty. Suddenly a high-pitched child’s giggle emanating from the living-room assailed his ears and he came around the corner of the chimney in time to see Michaela lift Katie high in the air above her head, laughing up into her daughter’s happy face. They were seated in the wingback chair closest to the desk, which now had several pieces of paper open on its surface. The change in Michaela compared to her demeanour during the last few days was remarkable. His heart suddenly felt full almost to bursting. The need to hold them, to cherish them, was too compelling to ignore. He walked quickly across the living-room to kneel on the floor in front of them.

"Mornin’," he said quietly, leaning across to kiss first his wife and then his daughter. "You two look real happy this mornin’," he remarked with a smile.

"We are, aren’t we Katie?" returned Michaela, once again lifting her daughter high and causing her to giggle. "Even though this little one had me up at the crack of dawn, wanting her breakfast. There’s biscuits baking for you and me Sully, Brian’s already gone. He said something about helping Dorothy before school." She handed a chortling Katie to her father and then reached across to the desktop to pick up a small shiny object. "Look Sully," she exclaimed excitedly. She held her closed fist out to him and then uncurled it slowly to reveal a small, delicate brooch in the palm of her hand. It consisted of a beveled gold bar on which were four, small, deep-set, glittering stones – a diamond, a ruby, a sapphire and an emerald – set in a diamond pattern, and the pin on the back was linked with a short, very fine, gold chain. "Its my mother’s. I found it at the back of the drawer that held my father’s journals. I don’t know how I missed it last night. I must have been so excited about finding *them* that I didn’t look any further. It was in an envelope with another note from her."

Her eyes were shining with delight and something else, something Sully was hoping she would soon explain. She immediately saw the questions in his eyes and continued, "You see, from the time I was quite small I used to ask her if I could wear it. She always told me I wasn’t big enough or old enough, although it was a smaller and less conspicuous or gaudy piece than most of her other jewellery. Then when I was older and attending the occasional social she always told me I might lose it. I could never understand that – the other girls were permitted to wear some of her jewellery from a very young age, or so it seemed to me. I always felt as though she didn’t trust me."

Sully smiled at her puzzlement and underlying excitement, and reached out to take the simple, but extremely striking piece from her. He studied it carefully, running his fingertips over the scrolling of the gold bar and the smoothness of the multifaceted stones. Katie, watching her father with the sparkling brooch, with a self-satisfied giggle suddenly reached out and snatched it from him and, as small children are wont to do, immediately put the end of it in her mouth. There were ill-tempered grizzles when Sully gently extricated it from her but she quietened when he let her finger it, copying his earlier actions, while he grasped it tightly. Then he turned back to his wife and tentatively suggested, "Michaela, maybe it was a favourite of hers, an’ she really *was* worried you’d lose it, ya know how ya git involved in thin’s an’ forget everythin’ else."

Michaela momentarily looked affronted before having to concede that his remark held an element of truth. She blushed a little before continuing. "In her letter Mother’s tried to explain why she acted like she did. I’m not sure that I understand her. She says that she was often worried that I wasn’t interested in many of the girlish things that my sisters had been at the same age, and then, when I did express an interest, it was in something as simple as this piece rather than the more striking and elaborate pieces. She even admits that she resented this and made up excuses for refusing to let me wear it but she’s sorry for that now. Does that make sense to you?"

Sully considered her comments and his possible response to them for a moment before he replied, "Well put it this way Michaela. I remember you once said that ya ma had no time for people who don’ conform. Imagine how she felt when you were spendin’ most of your time with your pa, rather than her an’ your sisters, you were studyin’ hard at school an’ sayin’ that you were wantin’ to be a doctor, an’ then ya didn’t even like some of the same kinda things they did. She didn’t understand ya then ……. but maybe she does a little better now," he said quietly. "An’ maybe she understands herself a little better too," he added cryptically.

Michaela sat for a moment lost in thought, absorbing Sully’s logical argument. Then she asked a little anxiously, "*You* don’t think I’m strange because I do the things I do, or act the way I act, do you?"

"Course not," he replied definitively. "Wouldn’ta married ya if I did. I love ya for who you are, just the way you are." He gave her a quick kiss and then added with a wry chuckle, "Think them biscuits are gettin’ a little well done."

Michaela gave a small squeal and bounded up from the chair to rescue their breakfast. He laughed out loud as she scampered across the living room and then mumbled under her breath as she flung the oven door open and removed the offending "burnt offerings". Perplexed, Katie looked up into his smiling face for a moment, her eyes wide, before clapping her hands and joining his laughter.

At breakfast Sully suggested quietly, "Thought I might take Katie up to the thicket this mornin’ …… see if the doe’s about. I could bring her into town with me after."

He watched as conflicting emotions flew one after the other across Michaela’s face, but all she said was, "I think she’d like that, but it’s a long way to carry her or for her to walk."

"We’ll ride, her up in front of me," he said, watching her carefully to gauge her reaction.

Again she paused before answering. "As long as you think you’ll both be alright like that." She swallowed her misgivings and added, "then you can bring her into town and I’ll have coffee with you at Grace’s. I’ll want to hear about the doe."

Michaela passed a delighted Katie up to Sully and he positioned her securely in front of him on the saddle, between the saddle horn and himself. Michaela took a step back from them, desperately longing to say all the things she’d heard her own mother say a million times; things about being careful, keeping a watch on the baby, not over-tiring her, and so forth. Instead she climbed the porch steps and waved to them as they set off. Deep down she knew that there was really no reason to worry. Sully would never do anything to hurt Katie or put her in danger, she was the love of their lives and he would always do everything in his power to keep her safe. Still, it was hard to hold her tongue.

She stood for a moment in the doorway of the homestead watching father and daughter disappear into the distance then she sighed and turned slightly towards the interior of the homestead. Her eyes alighted on the desk in the far corner.

A shaft of late afternoon sunlight pierced the heavy French lace curtains, fell on the desk strewn with papers, files and books, and spilled across the thick, patterned carpeting. He leant forward concentrating on the file open before him, his brow creased in concentration. The small child sat on his knee, her pinafore looking just a little too big, her long coppery hair falling in two braids down her back. She was drawing furiously, chalk dust flying into the air and powdering the work he was attempting to complete. Every now and then he softly blew the chalk away and gently pushed her slate a little further away from his work. She was oblivious to his inconvenience, exclaiming over her masterpieces and eagerly drawing his attention to them. He would lean across, patiently express his delight at her prowess and then unobtrusively go back to his work.

Her heart beating just a little faster than usual, Michaela held her breath and closed her eyes, holding onto the memory, and then turned back towards the road in time to see Sully rein in his horse and circle back so that Katie could again wave to her ma. She watched as Sully leant forward to whisper into Katie’s ear. She looked so tiny and so pleased with herself sitting up in front of her pa, alternatively waving and clapping her hands. Sully too gave her a wave and then wheeled his horse around to head off once more towards the woods.

She turned from the road and took a single step through the front door of the silent, empty homestead, before once again losing herself in memories engendered by the desk in the corner.

He sat with the Boston Globe open in front of him, his spectacles resting on the tip of his nose, his moustache and sideburns lightly sprinkled with silver. The girl child perched on the corner of the desk was listening attentively as he patiently explained the intent behind an illustration lampooning a local senator and his actions. She was leaning over, almost lying on the desk, her long silky hair tied back with a large lilac bow, her black polished boots resting against the arm of his chair. She was pointing out various features on the page, earnestly demanding detailed explanations of what she saw. Occasionally he would reach out to pat her gently on the back or shoulder when she showed her understanding of a concept, or questioned something that was written there.

She sighed and then shook herself from her daydreaming. Today was a working day and she was expected at her medical clinic in less than half an hour.

PART 5

The sun was low in the sky and a cool breeze had sprung up causing Sully to yearn for the welcoming warmth of the homestead. He pushed the front door open and immediately looked for Michaela and the children. He spied his wife industriously polishing the mahogany desk and chair in the corner. Her hair had fallen forward over her face and her hand fairly sped across the surface and over every nook and cranny, removing the dust and grime of neglect and from the train journey. She glanced up at him as he entered, giving him a beaming smile before resuming her polishing.

"Brian home?" he asked.

"Mmmm, he’s upstairs, doing his homework."

"Where’s Katie?" he then asked as he approached her.

"She’s been asleep ever since we arrived home from the clinic. You really tired her out this morning," Michaela replied, but with no hint of reproach.

Sitting himself on the arm of the nearby wingback chair, Sully watched as she vigorously rubbed the beeswax into the dark wood. "She was so funny this mornin’," he chuckled. "I couldn’t get through to ‘er that she had to be quiet. So every time the doe came out of the thicket, she squealed an’ clapped her hands, so it’d run away agin. Then of course she’d cry, wantin’ to see it agin. Had to give up in the end."

"She’s still so little Sully. She’ll understand soon enough," answered Michaela with a smile.

"I know it, but it was real funny when it was happenin’." He stood and moved across to the desk, running his hand along the smooth, now gleaming, wooden surface as Michaela had done yesterday. His fingertips encountered a slight indentation which he explored. It was a scratch in the wood, about twelve inches long, now difficult to see after many years of polish being worked into it.

Michaela looked up from her polishing in time to see what he was doing and, transferring her polishing cloth to the other hand, she joined him in running her fingers over the scratch. She said dreamily, "*I* did that. I thought father would be so angry. I was about eight. Father used to sit me up on the desk while he read the newspaper and we’d talk about anything he thought I might understand. One afternoon I got so excited about something we were looking at, I stretched across the desktop and the buckle on my shoe dug into and dragged along the wood. I felt it happen but father didn’t notice. I sat up straight, spread my skirt over the scratch and then wondered how I was going to continue to hide it from him. Father finally realised something was wrong when I resisted his attempts to take me into supper. When he saw the scratch all he said was, ‘Oh Mike,’ and then he told me that I would have to work with Martha in polishing it out. For months I badgered poor Martha for polish, thinking that I could make the scratch disappear." She once again ran her fingers over the indentation. "But it never did," she said with a wry chuckle.

Picturing Michaela as a young, inquisitive child was not too difficult for Sully. Her child-like vulnerability and enduring belief in the goodness of people were to him two of her most endearing qualities. He suddenly felt overwhelmed with his love and need for her. He startled her by grasping her by the waist and lifting her to sit on the corner of the desk, over the scratch, bringing her eyes level with his. Looking into their depths, he said mischievously, "No trouble coverin’ it now, ya got a little bigger since then."

She caught the glint in his eye, blushed a little and then separated her knees so that Sully could move to stand between them. "A lot bigger," she said breathily, mesmerised by his blue-eyed gaze as he slowly brought his face to within inches of hers. "Much, much bigger," she whispered again, as she tilted her head a little so that he could claim her lips with his.

She closed her eyes as Sully began to place numerous delicious, teasing kisses to the corners of her mouth, before leaning in to her and slowly deepening the kiss. Instinctively her lips parted and their mouths moved together in a familiar, intensifying rhythm. Sully’s hands began to slide caressingly along her thighs to her waist and then slowly up over her breasts to cup her face and she gave a low moan in response, savouring his loving attention. Hearts began to race and it became difficult to breath, their fervour threatening to overwhelm them. Both could feel their bodies responding each to the other, and a half-hearted attempt to pull apart was short-lived - the strength of their desire for each other was just too strong to resist.

As their mouths continued their passionate assault, Michaela’s hands moved lovingly of their own accord up Sully’s back and shoulders until they reached the nape of his neck, where they sensuously massaged his flushed skin and raked through his long hair. He shivered a little and moved even closer to her, so that she was left in no doubt of his desire for her. Then he clasped her to himself, so that he could feel *her* along the length of him. She responded in kind by wrapping her legs securely around his, crossing her ankles at his knees. The rapturous kissing and caressing seemed to go on forever.

Michaela’s hands were beginning to move downwards to his shirt buttons and Sully was seconds away from suggesting that they venture upstairs when a loud and very embarrassed coughing could be heard from the bottom of the stairs.

Both heads swivelled to see a red-faced Brian attempting to gain their attention. "Uh …. um …… ma, pa, Katie’s awake an’ callin’ out for ya," he mumbled awkwardly, his eyes roaming the room, avoiding catching theirs.

Michaela, also not knowing where to look, quickly uncrossed her legs from behind Sully, her face as red as Brian’s. Sully on the other hand chuckled and replied, "Thanks Brian, will ya go up to her, we’ll be there in a minute." Brian nodded and then turned and willingly scampered up the stairs away from them.

There was a moment’s silence while both tried to regain some equilibrium, inhaling deeply and then softly sighing. Sully again gazed into Michaela’s beautiful eyes still heavy with desire, and he tenderly ran his thumb across her flushed and swollen lips.

She dropped her eyes to the floor. "What’ll he think Sully?" she asked in an embarrassed whisper, all the while aware that neither was as yet in a fit state to follow their son upstairs. In fact, she was very glad that she was still sitting down, albeit precariously on the very edge of the desk.

Sully smiled lovingly at her and said placatingly, "We got a little carried away, but he’ll git over it Michaela. At least he knows his ma an’ pa love each other."

Despite the blush suffusing her skin, she returned softly, "Well I’d have to agree with that." She ran her tongue along her top lip nervously and suggested, "We’d better go up and see if they’re *both* alright." Then she smiled broadly and teased, "Are you?"

"Just give me a minute, I’ll be fine," he murmured, smiling wryly at her attempt to lighten the moment. He stepped back a little and Michaela slid from the desktop to the floor. As she turned to go, her lips brushed his ear and she whispered, "Tonight," scurrying off before he could reply. He watched in astonishment as she disappeared up the stairs. Could this be his shy, proper, Boston-bred wife? Her hushed promise meant that it was a little longer before he joined them upstairs in Katie’s room.

By the time they’d started supper all three had overcome their embarrassment and talked easily about a range of topics including Brian’s latest school project and his next contribution to the Colorado Springs Gazette. Any awkwardness had been quickly dissipated by a babbling and exuberant Katie who’d woken full of life after her long nap and kept them all on their toes for the next couple of hours.

After supper and after Katie had been put to bed once again, Michaela sat at the desk in the lamplight and attempted to catch up on a few of the numerous patient files she had brought home with her from the clinic. Brian and Sully sat comfortably in front of the fire sharing Brian’s latest short story. Instead of concentrating on her files, Michaela found herself listening to the two seated behind her. Brian tended to become very excited about his writing and sometimes she ruminated that he might eventually become a novelist or a newspaper reporter. When Colleen had been his age, she’d already decided to become a doctor, but Brian was still a little unsure of his future. He was such a gentle and sensitive boy and Michaela sometimes worried that he’d think too much about others when deciding what he might do, rather than of himself. Would he have the strength to make a decision about future schooling or work even if it meant moving away from his home and family? Her heart lurched at the thought of he too leaving them to study or work.

Suddenly she was caught unawares by Sully laughing wholeheartedly at something Brian had just read. She heard Sully compliment him on his imagination and use of words and she smiled to herself at the easy manner between the two.

"Well, guess its time I went to bed," yawned Brian after a time. He gathered up his papers and began to move towards the stairs. "Night ma, night pa."

"Brian, wait," called Michaela. "Come here for a minute."

Brian changed direction and approached his ma seated at the desk, his eyebrows lifted in a query.

"Brian, listening to you read your story reminded me of when I used to spend so much time with my father in his study. In fact I used to spend so much time there, reading, writing, drawing, that he gave me this bottom drawer of the desk all to myself, for my own things," she explained softly.

Her voice had taken on that dreamy quality that Sully had heard so many times during the past few days.

"I expect that you might like to write at this desk when you get home from school or when you’re absorbed with a new story," she continued. "How about we allocate the same drawer for you. You can keep your books and papers and pencils in it and nobody will be allowed to use it except you. What do you think?"

Brian smiled at her in delight. "That’d be real great ma, especially cos its the same drawer you used when you were a kid …. but what about Katie when she gits a bit bigger?"

Sully waited with bated breath for Michaela’s next words. He could sense that her response was going to be very important to the boy. Since Katie’s arrival Brian was sometimes a little unsure of his place in their family.

Michaela’s eyes softened. "Well, later on, when she wants to draw and write, she can use the desk and have a drawer too. How about this bottom one on the opposite side? But I’d like you to use this one if *you’d* like to," she suggested hopefully.

"I sure would," said Brian happily. "I can make sure that I’ve always got enough paper and pencils - nice and sharp - then I can write any time I feel like it. Thanks ma." He moved forward and gave her a hug. "Maybe I’ll write a story about you an’ ya pa some day," he suggested, as he again moved towards the stairs.