For personal use and select distribution only © by Becky 2004

Michaela and Sully found Joshua at the base of the stairs inside the store. Robert E. had come over and was successfully holding him down with Jake and Loren's help.

Joshua was taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. He was bathed in sweat and shaking ever so slightly.

Several shelves were collapsed on the floor, their wares broken and scattered. Loren's moneybox was overturned as well, its contents dumped to the floor.

"What took you so long, Dr. Mike?" Loren demanded, his gruff manner no disguise for how frightened he was. "Can't you see we got an emergency here?"

Michaela got down beside Joshua and quickly opened her medical bag, taking out a syringe. Sully lingered near the door, poised to help when needed.

"What's wrong with him?" Dorothy said pleadingly, kneeling next to Michaela.

"Can't you see? The boy's drunk," Jake said with conviction.

Michaela shook her head. "He's sober, Jake. There's no alcohol on his breath. And his reflexes are fine."

"Good. Then he can clean all this up," Loren said briskly.

Michaela leaned closer to Joshua and gently squeezed his hand. "I'm going to give you a sedative, all right?"

"Do it," he replied weakly.

Michaela stuck the needle in his thigh, and moments later, Joshua relaxed and closed his eyes tiredly.

Jake released his grip on him. "What in the hell was that all about?"

"Joshua," Dorothy murmured tearfully, caressing his cheek.

"Jake, Robert E., could you help him to the clinic?" Michaela asked, standing up.

Robert E. and Jake strung Joshua's arms around their shoulders and hoisted him to his feet, dragging him out of the store. Michaela and Dorothy followed quickly behind.

"Wait a minute! Who's gonna clean up my store?" Loren demanded. "Joshua! Come back here!"

Sully stepped forward, pressing his hand to Loren's chest and quieting him. "I'll clean it up."

"Have some more water," Michaela instructed, holding a glass to Joshua's lips.

Joshua took a few sips. "You don't have to sit with me anymore. I'm all right now. You can go home."

"That's all right. I don't mind." She opened her pocket watch. "I can give you another dose of morphine now."

"No, I don't need it just now. I want to hold out a little longer." He gazed up at the ceiling pensively. "I guess I'm not gonna be able to hear Samuel Clemens. That's something I woulda liked to do before I leave this life."

"Shh," she chastised.

"Hell, I don't even remember what I was so angry about," he added.

She patted his arm reassuringly. "You couldn't help it, Joshua. It was out of your control. It wasn't your fault."

"You don't just want to cure the disease. You want to cure me, too."

She shrugged modestly. "I believe in treating the whole patient."

"You're good at it. I can't thank you enough, for everythin' you've done for me."

She took a deep breath. "And I also believe in treating the patient's family. Your Aunt Dorothy's waiting outside. She's so worried. Please, let's tell her what's wrong."

He sighed. "I reckon explaining this one away won't be easy."

"Then let's just tell her the truth," Michaela said.

"I'm not getting better, that's what the truth is," he murmured. "It's getting worse."

"It could be cyclical. You'll feel better soon. You'll have better days."

"If I don't?" he said, staring at her intently.

"Joshua…I'm not afraid anymore to tell patients that I don't know. This morning Sully and I had to put down the children's dog. She's been sick for awhile and I didn't know how to help her. I couldn't do anything for her. The reality of being a doctor is that sometimes I have to tell a patient there's nothing more I can do." She took his hand, squeezing it gently. "I know what's happening to you seems out of our control right now, but I promise you, I'll fight until I have nothing left to help you feel better. I can't promise that I can cure you, but I can try to help you feel better. I will never tell you there's nothing more I can do." She paused. "But fighting this is going to be a lot easier if we have your Aunt Dorothy supporting us."

He thought a long moment. "…Would you tell her for me? Break it to her gently?"

"I'll talk to her if that's what you want. As long as someone does."

He nodded. "All right. I suppose she oughta know."

"Joshua's resting comfortably now," Michaela said, closing the clinic door and walking to the bench where Dorothy was sitting.

Dorothy breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. Oh, Sully just left to ride out to the homestead and check on the children. He said he'd be back in a few hours."

"Good. It looks like I could be here awhile."

"Sully told me about Wolf. How's everybody doin'?"

She sighed. "I'm afraid Byron's furious with me. The way he sees it, I killed what he loved the most."

"Oh, poor thing," she murmured.

"He'll come around soon," Michaela said half-heartedly.

"I know he will," Dorothy said.

Michaela took a deep breath. "Dorothy, we need to talk about Joshua. I'm sorry to have to tell you this but he's very ill."

"He's gonna die," she said, closing her eyes.

"No, I can't be sure of that."

"Well, what is it? What's he got?”

"An illness I've never seen before," she began. "Something every doctor I've wired has never seen before, that's not in any textbook or journal I've looked through. I've been trying to find out what's wrong with him almost since he first came here. Unfortunately, I've been unsuccessful. The medical community is without a clue."

"You mean you knew he was sick? He told you? Michaela, why didn't you let me know?"

"I couldn't tell you," Michaela said simply. "He's my patient."

"I don't care what he is, but we're best friends!" Dorothy exclaimed. "At least we're supposed to be."

"Dorothy, Joshua's a grown man. It was his decision not to tell you and my opinion on the matter was irrelevant. I had no choice but to respect his wishes. As his friend I thought his aunt should know, believe me."

"Now you're his friend? I thought you were his doctor."

"Well, I'm both."

"And I suppose that comes before me, what I want," Dorothy retorted.

"I'm afraid in this case it does," Michaela said quietly.

Dorothy shook her head. "Runnin' the Gazette, I know everything that's happenin' in this town. Everything except what's right under my nose."

"Joshua's father told him not to come back," Michaela explained softly. "The illness he has seems to affect his behavior unpredictably. He has spells and becomes enraged, irrational. It seems he had a spell similar to the one he just had in the store and tore apart his house."

"So Randal turned him away?" Dorothy murmured, pressing her hand to her mouth. "How could he?"

"It's easy to become impatient with an illness like Joshua's. His father probably felt helpless. That's certainly no excuse, but-"

"Then Joshua came to Colorado Springs because…he had nowhere else to go," Dorothy said.

Michaela sat on the bench beside her. "Dorothy, Joshua's been in a lot of pain. He often has powerful headaches, and he's had insomnia for months. He can't sleep. He told me he sleeps about two hours every night. Sometimes less."

"Two hours! That's all? Oh, Joshua."

"And he has painful rheumatism in his joints, especially his hands and knees. He also has fevers frequently. He has other symptoms as well, but those are the main ones."

"How did he get this?"

"We don't know that either, but when he was traveling in Europe, he came down with something similar to the influenza. From what I gather, it sounds like whatever this is he must have picked it up there. I wired the hospital he stayed in but they've never heard of this either."

Tears appeared in Dorothy's eyes. "When's he going to get better? You have to cure him!"

Michaela put her arm around her friend, squeezing her shoulder. "I don't think I can cure him. I don't know how. I've been focusing on helping him manage his pain. I've been giving him morphine and other drugs."

"But ain't that dangerous? My Tommy...your medicine did more harm than good."

"It's not like Tom," Michaela said reassuringly. "I believe Joshua truly is in excruciating pain. He understands that I may not be able to cure him. But we're working together to help him feel better. We want you to help us, too." She drew her friend into her arms and gave her a gentle hug. "Dorothy, he's a very brave, wonderful young man. I see why you love him so much and I've become attached to him myself. I'd do anything to help him. We'll take this one day at a time, just like we have been."

Dorothy pulled away from her. "All this time….all this time I had no idea. I don't see how you could do this to me. I don't see how my best friend could do this!"

"Dorothy, as much as I care for you and cherish our friendship, Joshua is my patient and I have to put his rights first. Friendships and anything else comes after that. I'm sorry if you don't agree, but if you can't respect my obligations as a doctor…then you don't respect me as a person."

Dorothy lowered her eyes and stood up. "Well, maybe I don't anymore. Can I see him now?"

Michaela nodded, choking back tears. "He's upstairs. The front room."

Sully opened the clinic door and walked to the desk where Michaela was slumped in her chair and dozing, surrounded by piles of medical textbooks and journals. He gently touched her shoulder.

"Michaela?"

She slowly opened her eyes and sat straighter. "Hm?"

He squatted down to her level. "Mornin'. I just took the kids to school. The baby's with Grace."

She stretched her arms in front of her. "How are they? Is Byron still upset?"

"He wouldn't even talk to me at breakfast. Brian tried to get him to come here to the clinic before school and say good mornin' to ya. But Byron said he didn't wanna see ya."

"He trusted us to take care of his dog. He was counting on me to make her better and I let him down."

"Keepin' her alive woulda been cruel," he said.

"I know. I just wish it hadn't come to that." She bit her lip and held back tears.

“Michaela, he didn’t mean what he said to ya,” he whispered.

“He hates me,” she murmured, taking an unsteady breath.

“That’s the hurt talkin’. You know how much that little boy loves his ma. Michaela? Ya all right?”

“I’m all right,” she said. “It’s just been a long night.”

"How's Joshua doin'?" he asked, glancing at the door to the stairs.

She shook her head. "Dorothy and I were up with him the rest of last night. He developed another fever and his neck was terribly sore again. I gave him as much medicine as I dared, Dorothy massaged him and held a cool cloth to it. But nothing we did helped."

"Sorry to hear that," he murmured.

"Sully, this morning when he tried to get up he couldn't walk. His knees are so stiff with rheumatism he can't walk."

He thought a moment. "Would some canes help him? He could hold one in each hand, use them to support himself, take the weight off his knees."

"I suppose that might."

"Then it's worth a try. I'll start today."

She took his hand, squeezing it. "Thank you. I think Joshua would appreciate that."

“I expect the kids are gonna be wantin’ to visit him,” he remarked.

“What do you think about that?” she asked, stroking his hand with her thumb.

“It’s probably not a good idea, what with what happened at the store. I don’t wanna risk them gettin’ hurt, or catchin’ what he has. At least until we know what’s goin’ on with him, maybe they better stay away.”

“I agree. We’ll have to talk to them about staying away from the clinic for awhile.”

"How's Dorothy takin' this? She all right?"

"We quarreled. She was terribly upset that I kept all of this from her."

"Ya couldn't tell her even if ya wanted to. Joshua's your patient."

"That doesn't matter to her."

"She's upset about him bein' sick. She just took it out on you," Sully said reasonably.

She nodded. "You're right. I wish I could have it both ways. I wish I could be her best friend and be Joshua's doctor at the same time. But she's made that impossible."

"So be Joshua's doctor right now. They'll be plenty of time to work things out with Dorothy." He crouched down to her level. "Hey…you gonna be able to go to the spring social Saturday night?"

"No one's asked me," she replied impishly.

He let out a sigh. "You're still gonna make me ask ya? After all this time?"

"Yes," she said stubbornly.

He hesitated. "All right….Will ya go with me?"

"Go where?"

"Will ya go with me to the social?" he said grudgingly.

"….Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"If you were gonna go anyway then what was the point of me askin' you?"

She smiled and kissed him in reply.

"Michaela, what do ya say let's take the children along with us Saturday? Jack, too."

"We've never taken them to a dance before. It's too late for them."

"I know, but they're gettin' older. They could come at least for a few hours. Then we'll bring 'em home. 'Sides, it might be good to get them out of the house. It'll help cheer 'em up. Cheer all of us up."

"The baby's going to be cranky, Sully," she warned.

"Nah, he'll be all right. He likes music. He'll like it."

She smiled. "All right. I suppose we could."

"Good. I can't wait until Saturday."

Joshua flipped a page of his book and continued reading speedily as Dorothy opened the door, carrying a tray with a bowl of stew.

"Hey, Aunt Dorothy," he said absently, flipping another page.

She placed the tray on the night table and sat on the bed, smoothing his hair. "You're burning up with fever again. Oh, you poor thing."

"I don't notice it when I'm reading," he replied.

She kissed his brow. "I brought you supper. Grace's beef stew. Wait until you taste it."

He looked up hesitantly. "Beef?"

She patted his pillows. "Sit up so you can eat."

"I can't, Aunt Dorothy."

"You have to eat. You're getting so weak!"

"It ain't that. It's just I've been reading this Greek philosopher Porphyry. He wrote about vegetarianism. And I don't think it's such a bad idea."

"What's that? Is it like that communism you talk about?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Not exactly. There's a lot people now back East who don't eat meat. Just grains, milk, fruit, and vegetables."

"Don't eat meat! Ever? Why, you'd starve!"

"Nah, you don't starve. I think it's good for ya."

"Is that why you've been pickin' at your food so much? Don't tell me you're feelin' bad for the cows and pigs!"

"Well, that's part of it. But the transcendentalist Bronson Alcott says it goes a lot deeper than just being soft-hearted. I'm talking about the farmers, their wives, the folks that break their backs every day for pennies so the rest of us can have our pork roasts and ribs and ham loaf on our tables. Do you know it takes less land to feed a person with grains, fruits, and vegetables than it does to take care of just a few livestock?"

"No, I didn't. Now eat your stew," she said, placing the tray in his lap.

He picked up the spoon and took a small bite. "Someday it's gonna catch on. Even Michaela says a diet based on vegetables and grains might not be a bad idea. She's read about it, too."

"Well, there's another thing you have in common," she said quietly. "You're quite a pair."

He paused, resting the spoon on the tray. "Aunt Dorothy, is there something going on between you two? I thought you were supposed to be close."

"Nothing you need to worry about," she murmured. "We just disagree about a few things."

"You disagree about me, that's what it is."

"It doesn't matter," she replied, smoothing his damp hair lovingly. "All I care about now is gettin' you well. Oh, Joshua, I hate seein' you suffer."

He rested against the headboard tiredly. "I count myself lucky to be here. Michaela's a good doctor, Aunt Dorothy. She won't let me suffer. She promised."

"I know she's a good doctor. But I don't know about our friendship anymore."

"Make things right with her," he murmured, taking her hand. "Remember what Emerson says: 'The glory of friendship is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when he discovers that someone else believes in him and is willing to trust him with his friendship.'"

"You're growing too fast for me," Michaela said, kneeling beside the chair as she pinned the hem of Katie's lacy blue gown. "I'm going to have to let this down at least an inch before the social, young lady."

Katie wiggled her toes impatiently. "Mama, I don't know how to dance."

She removed a pin from her lips and pierced the hem with it. "I'll teach you a few steps before Saturday."

"Tuck it under," Sully instructed softly. He was standing behind Byron, helping him learn to lace his tie.

"Teach me now!" Katie said, giggling and jumping down from the chair.

"Wait, one thing at a time," Michaela replied, lifting her back onto the chair with a groan. "First I need to finish this so you have something to wear! Now hold still."

"Pull it up to your neck," Sully went on, patting Byron's back. "There ya go. It's a little loose, but that's good for your first time. Let's try it again."

Byron sunk into the nearby chair and pulled off the tie. "No, I don't want to do this."

"Ya wanna tie your own tie for the dance, don't ya?" Sully replied.

"No. I don't wanna go," he murmured, glancing at the fire where Wolf used to rest in the evenings.

"Everybody's goin'," Sully said. "You'll have fun."

"Byron, would you like me to teach you to dance, too?" Michaela offered, standing and walking to his chair. "I think it's easier than tying a tie."

"I don't wanna go! Leave me alone!" he retorted, eyes welling with tears.

"Dancing's simpler than it looks. How about I teach you and Katie something right now? Put your hand here." She grasped his hand and directed it on her waist, but he immediately snapped it away.

"No! I said I hate you! Go away!"

Michaela slowly backed up and turned around. Tears she had been so careful to hold at bay now flowed freely.

Sully took hold of Byron's arm. "Hey, that's enough of this. I want ya to start behavin'. And start treatin' your ma a lot better than ya have been."

Byron looked up at him and leaned back in the chair.

"Tell her you're sorry," Sully went on. "Right now."

Grudgingly, Byron stood and approached Michaela, gently tugging on her blouse sleeve. He raised his eyebrows with surprise and upset as she turned back around, face streaked with tears.

"I…I'm sorry," he choked. "Mama, don't cry."

She drew him to her side and held him close, composing herself with a deep breath.

He stroked her arm comfortingly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"Oh. I know," she whispered. "Sweetheart, I know you're still very sad about Wolf, and that's all right, but Papa and I thought the dance would be a nice thing to do as a family. We want everyone to come. It won't be the same without you." She cleared her throat. "You'll have a good time even if you don't want to dance."

"I won't have any friends there," Byron said quietly.

"Yes you will. You'll have Papa and me," Michaela said weakly. "And probably some of your schoolmates."

"I don't like any of them."

"Joshua will come," Katie said helpfully.

"I don't know if Joshua's gonna wanna come, Kates," Sully said. "He ain't been feelin' so good lately."

"Can I visit him?" Byron asked. "I want him to play baseball with me again."

"Now's not the best time to visit him, Byron," Michaela said.

Katie climbed down from her chair. "Why? Does he have a catarrh?"

"Well, I don't know what he has, sweetheart," Michaela explained. "I don't think other people can catch it, but I can't be sure. Papa and I want to be careful, so we want both of you to stay away from the clinic for now."

"That means ya wait outside after school for your ma to come out," Sully added. "Don't go inside, all right?"

"Maybe I can make him a card," Katie suggested.

Michaela patted her shoulder. "Yes, I bet he'd love that."

"I'll draw a picture," Byron offered.

"He'd like that, too."

"Will he be all better soon, Mama?" Katie asked.

Michaela glanced at Sully, and he reluctantly nodded. Slowly, she put her arms around Katie and Byron. "I don't know. I'm not sure I can help him. But I'm trying. He may be sick for a very long time."

"Forever?" Katie whispered.

Michaela swallowed and nodded.

Byron sighed. "I hope he can come out of there soon. If he's sick forever, will he have to stay inside the clinic forever?"

Michaela kissed his head. "I hope not."

"Sully, I don't think it's even," Michaela said as she watched him run the brush across the back wall of one of the new recovery rooms.

Sully dipped the brush into the thick white paint and brought it back to the wall, running it up and down in long, skillful strokes. "What do ya mean?"

She crossed her arms. "This wall looks brighter than the others. You're putting the paint on too thick."

He slowed his strokes and turned his head to look at her. "That's ‘cause it's wet. When have you ever painted a room?"

"It's not because it's wet. We painted Katie's room before she was born."

"I painted," he amended. "You watched."

"Only because you wouldn't let me do anything. You made me sit in a chair."

He dipped his brush into the bucket again. "I had no choice. You were fixin' to climb up on a ladder if I hadn't stopped ya."

"I'm just saying it doesn't look even."

He held out his brush. "You wanna do it?"

"I can't paint and see my patients at the same time."

"Then why don't I do what I'm good at, and you go do what you're good at," he replied.

She took a step back. "Are you going to make it more even?"

He painted several more strokes pensively, then finally put his arm down and turned to face her. "I'll try, all right?"

She smiled impishly. "I love you."

He turned back around, concealing his amused expression, and dipped his brush into the bucket just as a massive thud from upstairs caused them both to start.

"Joshua," Michaela murmured, turning and hurrying up the stairs with Sully close behind.

Joshua was sprawled on the floor, panting and struggling to get up.

"I'm sorry," he muttered as Sully and Michaela grabbed his arms. "I'm sorry."

Sully hoisted him back onto the bed and Michaela lifted his legs onto the mattress.

"You're burning up," Michaela said, touching her fingers to his brow.

"I'll bring over some ice, son," Sully said, turning and swiftly exiting the room.

Joshua banged his fist forcefully on the mattress and looked away as Michaela covered him up.

"What happened?" she murmured.

He glanced at her. "I was trying to walk. I was trying to get myself out of this place."

"I'll bring you a bedpan. You don't have to get up."

"You know what I mean. I mean get out of here for good," he retorted. "And yes I do have to get up. I don't wanna die in a hospital."

"You're not going to die," she said unsteadily.

He grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. "Michaela, please. I'm beggin' ya. Please teach me how to give myself that medicine. I can't be here anymore. I want to be home." His eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I can't put my Aunt Dorothy through this anymore. I…I can't make her watch me like this. You're the last hope I got."

She took a deep breath. "Sully said he'll have your canes ready by tomorrow. Oh, and Katie made you a card. It's downstairs. I'll go get it."

He sighed. "You ain't listening to me."

"I am!" she replied. "But you don't understand. I've never done anything like this for a patient."

He nodded. "All right. So don't do it for your patient. Do it for your friend."

"Good. Slow and steady," Michaela instructed as Joshua carefully pushed down on the piston of the syringe, injecting a dose of morphine into his thigh. He was lying on his side in bed, breathing deeply. Pain had dulled any sense of modesty he had, and he had without hesitation pushed back the blankets and pulled his nightshift up to expose his thigh as soon as Michaela came into the room with the morphine and a syringe.

"All right, I got it in there," he said nervously.

"Now pull the needle from your thigh, quickly. You're doing fine, Joshua."

Joshua bit his lip and yanked out the needle, handing the syringe to Michaela and looking up at her with triumph. "Nothin' to it."

"Soon you'll be giving yourself injections effortlessly. It just takes some practice."

"I reckon you practiced on patients like me, when you were first learnin' how to work one of those?" he asked curiously.

"Actually, my father used to make me practice giving injections to tomatoes."

He smiled tiredly, resting back against his pillows and closing his eyes.

Michaela dampened some cotton with carbolic acid and wiped the site of the injection. "I don't want you skipping this part of it. Always keep the area clean." She covered him back up with the blankets and sat on the bed, wrapping his brow with a cool cloth. "Should I find your Aunt Dorothy and bring her here?"

"Not just yet," he murmured. "Michaela, how much morphine ya got here at the clinic?"

"Don't worry, plenty to last you weeks and I've already ordered some more. Just come to me every few days and I'll give you a new bottle."

"That's if I get well enough to get out of this place," he replied.

"Joshua, you will," she said reassuringly. "This is just a spell. It'll pass."

"I don't think it's gonna pass this time. It feels different. I used to be able to get through the pain just by lying still, taking deep breaths. Now that's useless. Even all the medicine you're giving me…it's just taking the edge off is all. And it makes me feel so tired, sometimes I don't know what's going on around me. I don't like not even knowing what's going on."

"We can try different drugs," Michaela said helplessly. "We could even try some herbs, certain teas. You might be surprised."

He swallowed hard. "Michaela…maybe one of these days, you could give me something that'll help me go to sleep. You must have something. You know…like how you helped your pup?"

She stared at him for a moment, perplexed. "Well, but I couldn't do anything for her. I had to put her down."

"Just like you can't do anything for me. Would you…would you find me something to take, too? A little too much of something?"

Shock registered across Michaela's face. "Joshua, what do you mean? I'm here to help you, not…No, you don't mean that."

He looked up at the ceiling. "You're right. It wouldn't be a good idea to get you involved."

"Joshua, there's so much more we can try to make you feel better," she said firmly. "You don't have to give up. We just need to be patient. I promised you I wouldn't give up on you. The least you can do is not give up on me."

"Don't mind me. That's just the pain talking." He smiled. "I didn't mean that. I ain't ready to give up just yet."

She sighed, relieved. "Well, good. Because I'm certainly not either." She rubbed his arm reassuringly. "It's all right to feel discouraged. It's normal to have those thoughts. But there's still hope. Sully's going to make you some canes to help you walk, and we'll keep trying different medicines, and I'm going to search all the harder for answers."

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Close your eyes and rest now," she instructed, picking up a pitcher. "I'll bring up some more water." She walked into the hall, nearly colliding with Byron, who was waiting outside the door.

"Byron, what are you doing!?" she exclaimed.

Startled, he weakly held up a paper. "I did good on my test."

"Mama told you not to come inside," she scolded, taking hold of his arm and leading him back down the hall. "Didn't you listen?"

He looked up at her hesitantly.

She turned him to face her. "Byron, I specifically told you and your sister that you are not to come in here. How much clearer do I have to be? I don't know what to do with you anymore."

Tears appeared in his eyes. "I…I'm sorry. I want to show you my test."

She led him down the stairs and out the front door. "Wait here on the bench for me. I'll be done in a few minutes."

"I'm gonna get punished?"

"I don't think that's unreasonable, do you?"

He bent his head and sat on the bench.

She softened, sitting beside him. "Byron, I love to have you visit me and my patients at the clinic. But with Joshua so sick right now, I think it's better that you not come inside. Not only does Mama not know what he has, but he needs lots of rest and quiet to get well. When Joshua's feeling better and can go back to stay with Dorothy, then you can come to the clinic again."

"I want to see Josh."

"Sweetheart, he's feeling so sick right now that having visitors would be very tiring for him. He wants to see you, too, he told me so, but not until he's feeling better. He wants to see you when he looks well."

Byron stared at his feet. "But when I'm sick I want you to see me. And Papa. Why doesn't he want to see me when he's sick?"

She gave him a reassuring hug. "When he feels better he will. He'll want to have lots of visitors, especially you. I promise."

"Thank you for coming here, Reverend," Dorothy said as she led him up the clinic stairs.

"I'm glad to come," he replied, his Bible tucked under his arm.

"He's so sick," she said unsteadily. "I just thought maybe it would help. Maybe you could help. Pray for him."

"I already am prayin’ for him," he replied with a soft smile.

She rapped lightly on Joshua's door.

"Come in," Joshua called. He was poring through a collection of essays by Friedrich Nietzsche and barely paused to look up.

"In here, Reverend," Dorothy said as she held the Reverend's arm and led him into the room. "Joshua, I brought someone."

Joshua slowly looked up from his book again. He tiredly pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"I brought our Reverend," Dorothy explained, guiding him to the side of the bed. "I thought maybe…maybe he could do something for you."

The Reverend held out his hand as he sat on the bed. "Hello, Joshua."

"Hello," Joshua murmured, clasping his hand.

"How are you feeling?"

"He's reading again," Dorothy said with a smile. "This boy's never too sick to pick up a book."

The Reverend grinned. "What are you reading?"

"Uh, Nietzsche," he reluctantly said.

"Oh, I've never heard of that book. What's it about?"

Joshua cleared his throat and closed the book. "I have a strong feeling it wouldn't interest ya, Reverend."

"How's your head?" Dorothy asked sympathetically, stroking his brow.

"Not good," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Where's Michaela? I want her to give you more medicine," Dorothy said. "She can't just leave you up here to suffer! I'm going to talk to her."

"No, I'm fine for now," he replied.

"Times like these can make somebody question God," the Reverend murmured, patting Joshua's arm.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"You know, the Lord has a plan for you."

"I ain't sure I like this plan."

"Do you believe in the Lord, son?"

Joshua hesitated a moment. "Yes, sir. I think so."

"Then the Lord's gonna take care of you, Joshua," the Reverend said reassuringly. "He'll see you through this."

"Yes, sir," he replied softly.

"Mind if we read from my book?" he asked.

"Go ahead. I like that book, too."

The Reverend handed his worn leather Bible to Dorothy. "Let's turn to…let's turn to the Book of Joshua. I think it starts at verse six. Just the first sentence."

Dorothy turned to the passage and sat beside the Reverend. "‘Be strong and of a good courage,’" she read softly.

Joshua felt tears suddenly appear in his eyes as he watched his aunt struggle to remain composed.

Dorothy took his hand and squeezed it tight. "I love you, Joshua."

He swallowed hard. "Be strong, Aunt Dorothy."

She nodded and leaned down, kissing his brow as the Reverend held onto her other hand in support.

Michaela knocked on Joshua's door and walked into the room, holding a pair of carefully shaped and sanded canes under her arm. "Joshua? Are you awake?"

He slowly opened his eyes. "Michaela?"

"Good morning," she replied, placing the canes on the end of the bed and opening the curtains. "How did you sleep?"

"I had a bad night," he murmured.

"Did you take some more morphine?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I gave myself two injections. One at about midnight and the other about five this morning."

She took hold of his arm and helped him sit up. "Would you like some breakfast?"

He shook his head. "I don't have an appetite."

"You're losing weight," she remarked quietly. "I don't want to see you lose anymore."

"Aunt Dorothy's worried about that, too. Every time she comes to visit she's got something new to force down my throat."

"I know it's difficult to eat when you don't feel like it, but I want you to try. It's important to keep your strength up."

"All right. Maybe a little later."

She picked up the canes. "Sully brought these by this morning. I think he got the length exactly right."

"He did a good job," he murmured, holding out his hands. "But today ain't a good day to use them. I wouldn't be able to hold onto them even if I could stand up. Look."

She rested the canes against the bed and took hold of his swollen, inflamed hands. "Joshua. Oh. Wait here and I'll bring you something."

He winked. "That's all right. I don't feel a thing. That morphine sure helps."

"Have they flared up this much before?" she asked, carefully laying his hands back on the bed.

He shrugged. "I don't remember seeing 'em this bad before. I guess they look pretty awful."

She sat on the bed with a discouraged sigh. "I wish I knew what this is. I wish I knew why this is happening to you." She glanced at him and gently patted his arm. "I'm sorry that I don't know. I'm sorry I don't have an answer."

"I don't need an answer," he said reassuringly. "Not anymore. I just needed the pain to go away, and you did that for me. And I'm grateful."

"I'm glad," she whispered.

"Michaela, I gotta ask you something. When I'm gone-"

"Shh, don't say that," she chastised.

"Look, we both know I'm not getting any better," he said sternly. "Now I want to ask you to do something for me and I don't want you interrupting."

She reluctantly nodded.

"When I'm gone, do an autopsy."

"An autopsy?" she murmured.

"You’ve got to look inside, see if you can find out anything. You’ve got to do it. Maybe it'll help somebody else with this. Will ya promise?"

She took a deep breath. "If that's what you want. Yes."

"Good," he whispered. "Well, if it's all right with you I think I'm gonna sleep some more," he said, shifting to his back.

"Of course. Go ahead." She pulled the covers up to his chest.

"Are you gonna sit here and watch me?" he asked. "Sounds fun."

She rose to her feet. "I suppose that's not necessary. I'll be downstairs."

"Michaela, I'm fine. You don't have to stay here at the clinic on a Saturday morning. I'm just gonna be up here sleeping."

She hesitated. "Well, I was thinking about making some house calls. I haven't seen Mr. Whiting in town in a few weeks. He hasn't been getting on very well since his wife passed away and I thought I would ride out to his cabin and check on him."

He nodded. "You go do that."

"But it's quite far out of town. I would be gone at least until mid-afternoon and that's if the weather cooperates."

"Yep. And I'll be here sleeping."

"Are you sure?"

He closed his eyes. "Michaela, you got other patients who need you. You can't forget about them."

"I suppose."

"Tell this Mr. Whiting fellow I said hello. And tell him he's got the best doctor there is looking after him. And believe me I've met a lot."

She tucked the covers up higher with a smile. "Sleep well."

Katie and Byron ceased playing their game of jacks in the dust and looked up at the sky. Dark, ominous clouds were passing swiftly over the mountains. Suddenly, a bolt of white lightning flashed in the distance.

"Oh, no," Katie said, rising to her feet as a few droplets of water fell on their faces.

Sully gathered up the pile of wood he had chopped and walked across the yard. "It's gonna storm. Let's get inside."

Byron packed their jacks into the box and closed it, tucking it under his arm.

"Papa, will it stop raining before the dance?" Katie asked as she climbed the porch stairs and sat on the bench.

Sully piled the wood beside the door. "It'll be over by then."

Brian shut the door to the barn and jogged across the yard, joining the family on the porch and shaking the water from his hat. "I got the animals safe inside."

Byron leaned against the railing as it began to rain harder and the wind picked up. "Hope Mama's not wet," he said quietly.

"She'll take cover," Sully replied, folding his arms and watching the rain soak the road. "She's fine."

Michaela climbed down from the wagon and made her way through the mud to Flash. She grabbed the rope on the bridle and tethered it to a tree, then rested against the trunk and glanced at the dark sky.

Flash whinnied as another bolt of lightening touched ground a few miles away.

"We'll have to wait it out Flash," Michaela said, peeling off her soaked shawl and holding it over her head.

Flash stamped her foot a few times in the mud and lowered her head as the rain beat down relentlessly.

Michaela continued to watch the sky restlessly. "I just hope we make it home in time for the dance."

Brian pounded halfway down the stairs, his shirt and vest unbuttoned. He leaned over the banister. "Pa, where's my razor?"

Sully wet a comb under the pump and boosted Byron onto the kitchen table. "I don't know. Where ya last left it."

Brian sighed. "I don't remember where I last left it. I'm gonna be late pickin' Sarah up."

"Use mine," Sully called. "We'll look for yours later."

"Thanks!" Brian shouted as he raced back up the stairs.

Sully parted Byron's hair and combed it flat while the little boy lowered his head and stared at his newly shined shoes.

"So, ya gonna dance with any girls tonight?" Sully asked.

"Girls!" Byron exclaimed, pressing his hand to his brow and giggling. "Papa, no!"

Sully tapped his nose. "There's that smile I've missed."

Katie bounded into the room and twirled around, holding the hem of her lacy blue gown. "Look at me!"

"Whoa, you look beautiful!" Byron said.

Katie giggled and did another twirl.

Sully sat her on the table beside Byron, eyeing the dark red smudge of color on her lips suspiciously. "Where'd ya get that?"

Katie averted her eyes. "What, Papa?"

He grabbed a napkin and gently dabbed at the rouge. "You know what. You were in your ma's things, weren't ya?"

She lowered her head. "All right. Yes."

He gave her forehead a kiss. "Now why would ya wanna cover up your pretty lips, huh?"

"Papa, Mama promised she'd curl my hair and put it up fancy," she said sadly. "Like hers."

He patted her back. "She's gonna have to do that some other time, Kates."

Byron held out his hands. "When will she be back?"

"She said she might go on some house calls. She'll be back in time for most of the dance." Sully tilted Katie's chin up with his finger. "Hey, you go upstairs and pick out a ribbon. I'll tie it in your hair."

Katie smiled and hugged him. "Thanks, Papa."

Sully lifted her down. "Hurry up. We gotta go soon."

Michaela pulled back on the reins, slowing the wagon to a stop as a few sheep emerged from the brush on the side of the road and crossed in front of her. Seconds later a man emerged, his sheepskin jacket soaked and the brim of his sombrero holding a small puddle of water. He glanced up at Michaela and burst into a large smile, his tan skin specked with water droplets.

"Doctora! Hola!" he called cheerfully, raising his staff in greeting.

She waved. "Good evening, Mr. Lopez."

A dozen more sheep followed behind him, and he gave them a gentle prodding with his staff. "I am sorry. I will get my sheep gone soon so you can go."

"Oh, that's fine. Take your time. How are you? How's your wife and the children?"

"Good. How are you, doctora?"

She grinned. "Wet."

"You go out in this rain?" he asked.

"I was trying, but I had to turn back. The road was getting too muddy. I was worried about my horse."

"This storm! It scared my sheep," he explained. "I am trying to bring them home, but they want to go in all other directions."

Suddenly a little black dog brought up the rear, barking relentlessly at the last few sheep as they made their way sluggishly across the road.

"Pilar!" Mr. Lopez scolded, squatting down and picking up the dog. "Your manners! Say hello to the doctora!"

The little dog barked excitedly and licked her master's cheek.

Mr. Lopez rubbed the dog's plump belly. "She has babies soon."

"Oh, she's having puppies?"

"Si. My little ones, they say to their papa we keep them all!" he said with a chuckle. "But you must take one."

"How much do you want for one?" she asked.

He shook his head, placing the dog back on the ground. "For you, nothing. You help us with your medicine. I want you to take one. For your little ones."

"Thank you. I'll give that some thought," she replied, picking up the reins.

"Adios, doctora," he said, stepping back from the road.

Michaela smiled and gave the reins a flick. "Adios, Mr. Lopez."

Sully stood on the church porch and watched the road pensively as everyone else enjoyed the social. Couples were twirling around to an upbeat reel, while others were gathered around the punch table. Still others lingered outside, chattering and laughing.

Shortly, the number ended amid clapping and cheering. Brian and Sarah stepped out onto the porch, hands locked.

"No sign of Ma?" Brian asked as they joined Sully.

"Not yet. Probably just got held up in that storm," he replied.

"She'll be so disappointed to miss the social," Sarah spoke up. "I hope she makes it."

"She don't show up in another hour I'll go look for her," Sully said reassuringly as the band began playing again. "Sounds like they're startin' up a waltz. You should get back to dancin'."

Brian smiled and squeezed Sarah's hand. "See you later, Pa."

Katie jumped down the steps to Sully and grabbed his arm with a giggle.

"Hey, Kates," he said, drawing her to his side. "Ya havin' a good time?"

"Miss Grace taught me a fast dance," she said with a wide smile.

"She did, huh? Where's your brother? Is he dancin'?"

"No, he won't dance. Not even a little! He left."

"Where'd he go?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It was a long time ago."

He sighed and took her hand, stepping down from the stairs. "Well, let's go find him."

"Papa, there he is!" Katie shouted as Byron walked across the bridge toward the church.

Sully jogged to him and grasped his arms. "Byron, the social's in the church. What're ya doin'?"

"I don't know. Takin' a walk," he said quietly.

Sully brushed off his suit coat of dust. "Don't run off alone like this. You know better. It's a good thing your ma's not here."

"Papa, the saloon is really noisy! What're they doin' in there all night?"

Sully patted his chest with a wry smile. "Ask your ma that one." He put his arm around him. "Invite me next time ya take a walk. I don't much like dancin'."

Byron looked up at him with surprise. "Really? You don't want to dance either?"

He squeezed his shoulder. "Nope. At least not without my favorite partner."

Byron smiled, pleased, and put his arm around Sully affectionately as they ascended the stairs and rejoined the gathering.

"Dorothy, will you stop with all this frowning?" Loren said as he stood next to her at the back of the church and watched the younger couples dance.

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black," she replied, taking a sip of her punch.

"Well, you should be out there dancing," he said, gesturing forward.

"Oh, Loren. I'm too old for that kind of thing anymore. Truth is, I can't stop worryin' about Joshua all alone over at the clinic. I feel terrible he didn't feel up to this."

"He's probably glad to finally get some peace and quiet," Loren replied. "Last thing the poor boy needs is all this tomfoolery. He's where he should be."

"Maybe I should stop by for a few minutes. Just to see how he's doin'"

"Well, maybe it's not a bad idea. Just to check up on him."

She handed him her punch glass. "Hold this. I'll be back soon."

"Don't be too long," he called as she stepped out of the church.

Dorothy wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders against the cool night air as she made the short walk across the bridge and to the clinic. She opened the clinic's front door and walked up the stairs to Joshua's room. The door was shut, but light from a lamp glowed from underneath.

She knocked on it softly. "Joshua? It's Auntie Dorothy." She knocked again. "Joshua?" She slowly opened the door, pausing in the doorway as she observed her nephew curled up on one side in the dim lamplight, his back to her and the covers pushed to the end of the bed.

She softly smiled and walked to the bed, grabbing the covers and drawing them up over him. Suddenly, she noticed his hands, sprawled in front of him, rigid and blue.

"Joshua?" she murmured, touching his shoulder and turning his limp body to his back. A faint streak of dried vomit trailed down his cheek and collected on the pillow. She immediately straightened, pressing her hands to her mouth as her breath began coming in quick gasps. Numbly, she glanced at the empty bottles of morphine on the nightstand, then returned her gaze to the young man. Her hand trembling, she pressed it against his cool brow, then snapped it away.

"Oh, no. Oh, Joshua. No." She backed up several steps, unable to stop staring at his blue, motionless face, and his eyes fixed and staring up at the ceiling. "Oh, this can't be. Joshua!" Frantically, she turned around, rushed down the stairs and ran back to the church.

The band was in the midst of another lively reel when she burst through the doors.

"Loren! Loren!" she shouted. "Loren, somebody! Help me!"

The band gradually ceased playing and everyone turned their attention to Dorothy.

Loren quickly emerged from the crowd, still holding Dorothy's punch glass. "What're you doin'? Dorothy!"

She struggled to breathe as tears slipped down her cheeks. "Loren. Oh, you have to help. Joshua. Oh, I don't know what to do!"

Sully retrieved Byron and Katie from the punch table and led them to a bench against the wall, quietly but sternly telling them to stay put. Then he joined Dorothy, grasping her arm.

"What's goin' on? Catch your breath," he said calmly. "Somethin' wrong with Joshua?"

She nodded several times, then fell into desperate, uncontrollable sobs. "He's dead," she choked out, pressing her hands to her heart. "…Joshua's dead!"

Sully was no more than a half mile out of town when he spotted the wagon. Michaela looked tired and her clothes and hair were damp, but she remained staunchly resilient, waving brightly at Sully when she saw him appear.

Sully quickened his horse's pace, leading it to the wagon and pulling him to a fast stop.

"I'm sorry," she said, drawing the reins back tightly. "The rain came so suddenly. I had to stop and take cover. I never made it to any house calls."

"You all right?"

She leaned forward and gave him a kiss. "I'm a little wet and I'd really like a warm bath. Aside from that I'm fine. But I feel terrible about the dance. How was it?" She suddenly noticed his tense expression. "Sully? What's wrong?"

"Ya better get over to the clinic fast. It's Joshua."

Michaela pulled back the sheet draped over Joshua's head, drawing in her breath. "Joshua!" Frantically, she reached into her medical bag.

"Don't bother. He's gone," Jake said, crossing his arms.

Michaela pressed the back of her hand to the young man's pale cheek. It was clammy and fast growing cold. He had been dead for at least a few hours, probably more. She glanced at the night table. Two empty bottles of morphine were scattered on a tray beside a syringe. "He overdosed."

Jake cleared his throat. "Dr. Mike…what the hell happened? You lose track of how much you gave him?"

"I didn't give him anything," she replied, picking up the syringe in disbelief.

"How else did he get too much? Nobody else knows how to work a needle."

"Except him. He knows…knew how," she whispered.

"How would he know how? And what was that letter all about?"

She glanced up at him. "What letter?"

"Dorothy's got it downstairs. I think you better take a look."

Michaela rushed out of the room and down the stairs, Jake following her. Dorothy was sitting on the bench near the desk, Loren and Grace sitting on either side of her helplessly and the Reverend standing nearby. She was quietly sobbing, hunched over as if she had been kicked in the stomach.

Michaela walked to her and gently squeezed her shoulder. "I'm so terribly sorry, Dorothy. If there's anything I can do I-"

"Where've you been all night?" she demanded. "You just took off and left him!"

Michaela shook her head. "I was…I was caught in the storm."

Dorothy numbly handed her a piece of paper. "You gave that morphine to him," she said coolly. "You helped him die."

"What?" Michaela exclaimed.

"Read it," Loren murmured.

Michaela turned the letter upright and backed toward the light of the lamp, reading it in a whisper. "'Dear Aunt Dorothy, I’m sorry to do this to you, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I want to be sure Michaela knows how grateful I am for all she's done for me. Nobody else could've helped me like she did. Tell her thank you for understanding how much I needed that medicine, and for not putting up such a fight about giving it to me like all the other doctors have. Don’t blame her, Aunt Dorothy. She was just helping me end the pain. I love you. Joshua.'" Michaela dropped the letter on her desk in disbelief. "Dorothy, he's talking about how I took care of him. You can't believe he means I helped him…helped him commit suicide!"

"It does sound a little suspicious," Loren admitted.

"Just a little," Jake added.

"It sounds clear to me," Dorothy said. "I wired Joshua's father. He's comin' out here on the next train."

Jake cleared his throat. "Uh, Dorothy, I best take him over to my shop now."

Dorothy nodded tearfully. "Thank you, Jake," she whispered.

Michaela swallowed. "Jake, wait. He wanted me to…" She took a deep breath. "Dorothy, I know this is difficult to think about right now, but I need to perform an autopsy-"

"Autopsy!" Dorothy exclaimed. "You mean cut him open? No, you ain't doin' that. You ain't touchin' him!"

"Dorothy, I don't know what was wrong with Joshua. Doing an autopsy might help me understand it better. It might help patients in the future. And I can confirm he overdosed."

"I know exactly what happened. I don't need any autopsy to tell me."

"Dorothy, he wanted it. He asked me to do it."

"I don't believe that! Don't you lay a hand on him! You leave my boy in peace!" She stood, grabbed the letter from the desk and rushed to the door, pausing for a brief moment and eyeing Michaela vehemently. "Randal and me are pressin’ charges. You’re not gettin’ away with this!" She opened the door and slammed it behind her.

Michaela sunk onto the bench. "I can't believe she thinks I…."

Loren straightened his vest. "Well, we all know you wouldn't do somethin' like that." He cleared his throat. "Right, Dr. Mike?"

"This is all just a misunderstanding," the Reverend added.

"Say, what were you doin' all night anyway?" Loren asked.

"Makin' yourself scarce?" Jake questioned.

"Jake, stop that," Grace scolded. "Dr. Mike would never think of such a thing!"

"I s'pose," he said with a sigh. "Why don't you go home for now, Dr. Mike. I'll take care of things here."

"Thank you, Jake," she murmured, opening the door and stepping onto the porch.

Sully and Brian were waiting beside the wagon, still dressed in their finest for the social. Brian was holding Jack, who was fast asleep.

Sully stepped forward. "Ready to go?"

"They think I did it, Sully," she whispered.

"I know. We'll talk about it later. Let's take the kids home."

Michaela glanced at the bench where Byron and Katie were waiting tiredly. Byron had pulled off his tie and one of Katie's shoes was coming unlaced.

"Was the dance nice? I'm sorry I couldn't make it." Michaela kneeled beside the bench and tied Katie's shoe.

"Yes. They had punch to drink," Katie whispered.

"You look handsome, Byron. And smell good, too. Did Papa give you some of his cologne?"

He nodded. "Wish you coulda come, too, Mama," he said hoarsely.

Surprised, Michaela caressed his cheek. "Oh, I do, too."

He reached his arms up and Michaela immediately lifted him off the bench, giving him a comforting hug and kiss.

Sully took him from her and boosted him into the back of the wagon. "Let's go home," he said.

"Joshua was very, very sick," Michaela said weakly as she stroked Katie's hair. "He just couldn't feel that way anymore."

Katie hugged her stuffed bunny to her chest and sniffled as tears dripped onto her pillow.

"Oh, sweetheart," Michaela murmured, taking her handkerchief and dabbing at the little girl's cheeks. "It’s all right. Mama's sad, too. We lost a special friend."

"He won't ever come back?" Katie whispered. "Like Wolf?"

"…Y-yes," Michaela replied, leaning down and kissing her brow. "It's very late. Try to close your eyes and sleep, all right? We'll talk about it more in the morning."

Katie nodded but didn't close her eyes as Michaela tucked the covers snuggly around her and walked out of the room.

Sully was waiting in the hallway, head lowered and arms crossed.

"Is Byron asleep?" she asked, slowly walking to him.

He glanced up. "Not yet. But I got him to lie down."

"Katie won't sleep either." Her lip trembled. "He was so kind to both of them. How am I supposed to explain to our children why he's gone….when I don't even understand it myself?"

He reached out and rubbed her arm. "It's all right."

She shook her head. "Oh, Sully. I wanted him to get well. I wanted to help him get well."

"I know. It's all right," he murmured.

"I didn't see," she went on as tears suddenly flowed. "Why didn't I see this? I…I failed."

He grasped her shoulders. "Listen to me. Nobody saw it. Michaela, he didn't want us to."

"I could have stopped him."

"Maybe not. He just decided to give up," he went on firmly. "He was in a lot of pain. Probably more than he was lettin' on, even to you."

"It was my morphine that did this," she replied. "Dorothy's right. I did this."

He stepped forward and drew her into a tight hug. "Michaela, ya made a decision. Ya did what ya thought was best."

She held onto his back and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. "He didn't give me a chance to try. I promised myself I could help him. I don't understand this."

"Some things we ain't meant to understand," he murmured, slowly rocking her.

"Sully, I wanted my patient to get better," she said, taking a deep breath. "But even more, I wanted to tell my best friend he was better. I wanted to tell Dorothy he was cured, that e-everything was fine."

He wrapped his arm around her waist. "We all did … We should try an' get some sleep. It's been a real long night."

"She sound serious when she said that?" Sully asked, his hands folded across his stomach as he looked up at the ceiling. Early morning sunshine poured through the lace curtains, but the rest of the household remained sound asleep after an exhausting night.

Michaela toyed with the strings at the neck of her nightgown. "She's already wired his father. He's coming. He'll probably be here tomorrow, if not the next day."

"Then what? They'll take ya to court?"

"They could. They have a case. A good one. I could be fined and lose my license, I could even go to prison. Dorothy said she doesn’t want me to get away with this."

"Dorothy can't really believe that's what happened. You're friends."

"I have to admit it does look suspicious. In the letter, I know Joshua was talking about how I took care of him these past few weeks, but the way he worded it could be interpreted much differently."

"I know. I read it myself," he murmured, sliding his arm around her back and holding her to his bare chest.

"And then there's the fact that I left town. It looks like I gave him the morphine and then left town so I wouldn't be around to revive him. Jake said I made myself scarce."

"That's not what you were doin'," he said firmly. "We'll just tell the judge that's not what happened."

"Will he believe me?"

"He's gotta."

"How much money do we have saved in the bank?"

He sighed. "Not much since I been outta work. Thirty dollars maybe. Not near enough for a decent lawyer if that's what you're thinkin'."

"Well, I could sell some of the instruments in the clinic."

"You ain't doin' that," he immediately said.

"…We could always ask my moth-"

"No," he said even more firmly. "We ain't askin' your ma for any money."

"Do we have a choice? I don't think I could successfully defend myself. Dorothy can use Joshua's letter in court and I would surely lose. Especially if Joshua's father brings his own lawyer."

He paused. "There's Matthew. He knows somethin' about the law. You and him together could come up with a defense. We could owe him."

She reached her hand across his chest and caressed it lovingly. "I didn't do it, Sully. I didn't have anything to do with Joshua's death."

"You don't have to tell me that. I know ya didn't."

"You believe me?"

"Course I do." He turned on his side and held her face in his hands. "Look at me. I believe ya. So let's figure out how we can get the judge to believe ya. Believe us."

Brian placed his coins on the counter as he counted them. Sarah watched silently, her hand looped around his arm.

"I'm eight cents short," Brian finally said, glancing up. "Could I owe ya, Horace?"

Horace looked at the telegram. "I'm sorry, Brian. I don't give credit. You'll have to take out some words."

"Wait a minute. I think I have eight cents," Sarah said, opening her drawstring purse and retrieving a dime. She placed it on the counter. "All right, Mr. Bing. Send that telegram."

"Yes, ma'am," Horace said with a smile, walking to his chair and sitting down.

"I'll pay you back," Brian said, reaching his hand up and caressing Sarah's shoulder.

"No, you don't have to," she replied. "'Sides, I want to help, too."

He gave her a small kiss. "Thank you."

She smiled tenderly and took his hand as they strolled out of the telegraph office. "I just pray there's somethin' she can do, Brian."

"She'll know what to do," Brian said with confidence. "Don't worry."

Sully lifted Byron and Katie down from the wagon as a drizzly rain bore down on them. Michaela took the children's hands and led them to the cemetery, Sully at her side and Brian, who was carrying the family Bible, following close behind.

"Take off your hat," Michaela said to Byron as they joined the small group of mourners gathered around Joshua's casket under the old oak tree.

Byron reached up obediently and pulled off his Sunday-best felt bowler, clutching it to his stomach as he gazed at the large pile of freshly overturned soil.

Michaela spotted Dorothy standing between Loren and the Reverend, waiting for everyone to assemble. She was staring at the casket, head lowered and a handkerchief pressed to her nose.

"Mama, do I put my flowers on now?" Katie whispered, holding up a small bouquet of yellow poises.

Michaela nodded, nudging her toward the casket.

Dorothy snapped her head up and watched as Katie laid the flowers on the casket, then quickly returned to Michaela, grabbing her hand again.

"What are you doin' here?" Dorothy asked coolly, staring at Michaela.

Michaela swallowed and glanced at Sully. He put his hand on her back in support.

"No. No, I don't want you here," Dorothy went on.

"I…we wanted to pay our respects," Michaela replied, taken aback.

"Shall we begin?" the Reverend spoke up.

"Not until she leaves," Dorothy said firmly.

"Dorothy, you've suffered an enormous loss," the Reverend said, touching her arm. "But we can all stand together under God to mourn."

"Dorothy," Loren said quietly. "I s'pose Dr. Mike has a right to be here."

"She has no right. No right!" Dorothy exclaimed, tears forming in her eyes as she continued to stare at Michaela. "You took him away from me. Now I'm askin' that you at least let me bury him in peace."

Michaela stood unmoving for a moment longer, then glanced up at Sully and nodded at their wagon.

He nodded in agreement and they turned to leave.

"Wait," Dorothy suddenly said.

Michaela turned back, looking at her friend hopefully.

"…Sully and the children can stay," Dorothy whispered, turning her attention to the casket again.

Michaela's face fell with disappointment. She hesitated for only a second before numbly passing the children's hands to Sully's. "Stay here with Papa and Brian."

"No. I want you," Katie whimpered, glancing at the casket uneasily.

"Hush. Stay with Papa," Michaela replied .

"Come'ere, Kates," Sully murmured, drawing the children to him and wrapping his arms securely around them. He glanced at Michaela helplessly. "We'll meet ya at the clinic?"

Michaela bit her lip and nodded, turning around once more and making her way out of the cemetery as the Reverend began the service.

"Let's bow our heads. Lord, we come here today with heavy hearts. Console us as we mourn and grant us grace to entrust Joshua to you. Forgive his sins, and grant him peace and rest."

"I saw another group of drifters in town today," Matthew remarked as he finished his pie. "They asked me about work. I had to tell 'em this town doesn't have anything for ’em."

"Everybody's feelin' it," Sully said. "Even out here."

"Is it ever gonna get better?" Brian asked. "Seems like people have been outta work forever."

"Adam Smith says it has to get better eventually, Brian," Michaela said reassuringly. "It just may be awhile."

"I wish Joshua were here," Brian said quietly. "He knew all about inflation and deflation and Adam Smith, right Ma? He could tell us when this is gonna end."

"Yes, I bet he would have," she murmured.

"Somebody's ready for bed," Sully said, nodding at Katie and Byron who were both rubbing their eyes discreetly.

"All right, you two. Time to say goodnight," Michaela said. "I'll come up and tuck you in shortly."

Byron and Katie reluctantly got down from their chairs and exchanged hugs with everyone before scurrying up the stairs.

"…How they doin'?" Matthew asked, glancing at the stairs. "Still missin' Wolf I bet. And now this."

Michaela picked up the coffee pitcher and stood to refill everyone's cups. "Yes, but I think they're doing a little better."

"It'll take some time," Sully added, holding up his cup as Michaela topped it off.

"Now that they're upstairs, I gotta talk with you about somethin'," Matthew began. "Look, Joshua's father is gonna bring a lawyer with him when he makes it out here, and chances are he's gonna be a good one."

"You're good, too, Matthew," Sully said.

"Maybe I've read a few books but I don't know near enough to argue a case like this well. I'm willin' to give it a try, but I want ya to know right now I think ya should hire a defense attorney that's got experience with this kinda thing."

Michaela sat back down. "The truth is we can't afford a real lawyer."

Matthew glanced at his younger brother. "Brian and me been talkin’. We got a little money saved up at the bank between us. We could help ya pay for it."

"I want ya to have my money, Ma," Brian said. "Ya don't have to pay me back."

Michaela reached across the table and patted Brian's hand. "That's so generous of you to offer. You don't know how much that means to me. But a trained, experienced lawyer is extremely expensive."

"A lot more than all of us have put together," Sully explained, taking a swig of coffee.

"But what if Matthew's right and Mr. Jennings brings the best lawyer around?" Brian asked worriedly. "What if ya lose, Ma?"

"It won't come to that, Brian," Sully replied, looking at Michaela. "All of us'll work to put together a defense. As long as we just tell the truth, the judge is gonna see that."

Brian sat back in his chair, not convinced. "I s'pose."

A demanding knock on the door startled everyone. Sully rose from his chair and cautiously opened the door to reveal Dorothy and a heavy-set, dark-haired man bearing an eerie resemblance to Marcus Jennings.

"Evenin', Dorothy. Come in," he said, opening the door wider.

Dorothy glanced at Michaela and then quickly averted her eyes, stepping into the room. The man followed her inside. He was dressed in an old suit and he hadn’t shaved in at least a day. "This is my brother-in-law Randal."

Michaela stood, placing her napkin beside her plate. "Mr. Jennings. I'm so sorry for your loss. I'm…I was your son's doctor."

"It was you!" he growled, immediately grabbing Michaela by the shoulders and thrusting her against the bureau, causing the candlesticks and the porcelain figurine to fall to their sides.

Sully, Matthew, and Brian all reacted before Randal had time to do anything else. Sully grabbed Randal by the arm and forcefully pulled him off Michaela, gripping his collar and holding him in place. Meanwhile, Matthew and Brian rushed to their mother, standing guard at her sides protectively.

Randal tried to pull away from Sully's steadfast grip. "I'll kill ya! Ya killed my son!"

"Randal, what're you doin'?!" Dorothy exclaimed. "No, don't hurt her!"

Randal made another lunge for Michaela, but Sully pushed him against the wall relentlessly, grabbed his arm and twisted it hard as Randal let out a low groan. "Ya stay away from her!"

"Everybody just take it easy!" Matthew shouted. "Sully…let him go."

Sully reluctantly loosened his hold on Randal but kept his watch on him, ready to counter any other moves Randal had up his sleeve. He glanced at the stairs, where Katie and Byron were in their nightshifts and peeking beneath the banister, watching the scene with wide eyes. "Get back to your beds!" he shouted more sternly than he had ever been with the children before.

Katie and Byron shook with surprise and immediately scampered back upstairs.

Dorothy took a deep breath. "We just-just wanted to tell you the circuit judge'll be in town Thursday. The arraignment’s at noon."

Michaela nodded breathlessly.

"What kind of doctor are ya, anyway?" Randal demanded, rubbing his arm. "What kinda doctor puts down their patients like animals?!"

"What kind of father are you, Mr. Jennings?" Michaela retorted angrily. She suddenly felt a rush of energy and stepped toward him. "You disowned your son. You told him never to come back. He was sick!"

"He wasn't sick. The boy was a lousy drunk, that's what. It started after his ma passed on. He was disgracin' our good name with his tirades! It was for his own good I sent him packin'."

"Stop, Randal, please," Dorothy begged.

"He was not a drunk," Michaela said. "He was a very ill young man and you didn't care. Perhaps if his own father had been around to support him through this he never would have thought about committing suicide. If you're going to blame someone I'd consider yourself, Mr. Jennings."

"How dare you put this on me!" Randal exclaimed. "Damn incompetent woman doctor. My lawyer's gonna see you hanged by the end of the month, mark my words. I can't wait to see you kickin'!"

"No!" Brian cried. "You can't!"

"Get outta here," Sully said, grabbing Randal by the arm again and forcing him toward the door. "Come near our property again and I'll be the one pressin' charges."

"Wait a minute. I got a warrant here," Randal retorted, digging in his breast pocket and pulling out a document.

"A warrant?" Dorothy said. "Randal, you didn't tell me about that!"

"Let me see that," Matthew said skeptically, walking to him and grabbing the crumpled piece of paper.

"Issued by Circuit Court Judge Frederick Webster of Denver," Randal said. "You gotta go to jail until Thursday."

"Nobody's goin' to jail," Sully spoke up.

"The law says you have to," Randal spat back. "Now where's your sheriff?"

"We don't have a sheriff right now," Dorothy explained.

Randal sighed. "Well, then I'll have to wire a marshal. But you can't stay here."

Michaela took the paper from Matthew and read it. "That's not necessary, Mr. Jennings. I'll go freely."

"Michaela, no," Sully murmured. "We'll fight it."

"It's a legal document, Sully," she replied. "He's right. I have to."

"Just for a few days, Sully," Matthew spoke up reassuringly. "Just until Thursday. Then the judge'll let her out."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Randal retorted. "You ain't comin' outta there. My lawyer's askin' for bail to be set at one thousand dollars."

"One thousand dollars!" Brian cried.

"We'll see about that, Mr. Jennings," Matthew said angrily.

Randal eyed Matthew with amusement. "Who's this whippersnapper? This your lawyer?"

Sully took a step in front of Matthew. "Ya got what ya wanted. She'll go to jail. So it's time for ya to leave, Mr. Jennings."

Randal stroked his chin as he eyed Michaela. "You must have a mayor. I'll find him and have him keep guard of ya until Thursday." He grabbed Dorothy's arm. "Come on."

"Randal, I don't think she really needs to go to jail," Dorothy said weakly. "She isn't going to leave town."

"Quiet, Dorothy. You let me handle this," he said, leading her out the door.

"Is there a chance anyone…anyone at all could have seen Joshua right before his death?" Matthew asked as he sat at the desk in the sheriff's office and wrote in a notebook. Piles of casebooks were atop the desk amid endless stacks of paperwork.

"Ya didn't have any other patients stayin' there?" Sully asked, standing near the desk.

Michaela shook her head as she slowly paced the small cell, arms crossed. "No one. It was just him."

"Maybe somebody came to pick up a medicine," Sully suggested.

"On a Saturday evening during the church social?" Michaela replied.

He sighed and leaned back against the desk.

"Dorothy was the first person to find him," Matthew said as he reviewed his notes. "It was about nine o'clock."

"She came back to the social about quarter past," Sully added. "That's when the rest of us went over to the clinic."

"So Joshua did this sometime between when Dorothy last visited him that mornin' and when she came back to check on him," Matthew said. "Maybe we could prove Dorothy was the last person to see him alive, instead of you. Did anybody see you? Somebody could testify that you weren't in town the whole day."

Michaela shook her head with frustration. "No one we know. It was so quiet on the road on the way out. I passed Mr. Lopez on my way home after the storm and we spoke for a minute or so, but that doesn't prove much."

Matthew wrote for another few seconds. "There's gotta be somebody, Dr. Mike. Don't worry, we'll keep thinkin'."

"Maybe somebody's seen somethin' and is afraid to speak up," Sully offered. "Or maybe they think somethin' they saw means nothin'."

"That could be," Matthew added.

"The question is, how do we get any potential witnesses to speak up?" Michaela said.

"Well, in the meantime we can get some of your patients to testify," Matthew said as someone knocked on the door outside. "We'll prove you're a good doctor."

Sully walked to the door and opened it, drawing in his breath.

Michaela's eyes widened with astonishment and she rushed to the edge of the cell. "Mother! What are you doing here?!"

Elizabeth Quinn stepped into the room, Brian at her side and a tall, stylish young man standing behind her. "Michaela, what kind of reception is that?"

"I'm sorry, Ma," Brian said hoarsely. "I had to wire Boston."

"And thank goodness he did," Elizabeth said, putting her arm around her grandson affectionately. "If it weren't for Brian I wouldn't have any idea what was going on."

"Why didn't ya tell us you wired your gran'ma, Brian?" Sully asked, voice slightly on edge.

"I was afraid you'd be mad," he explained. "I've heard you talkin'. You know, about not havin' money for a lawyer. Even Matthew said you should hire a real lawyer."

"I'm not trained to argue a case like this," Matthew admitted, standing up.

"I didn't know who else to turn to," Brian said, removing his cowboy hat.

Michaela tentatively held out her hand through the bars. Elizabeth walked to the bars and reached her arms in, embracing Michaela warmly.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Michaela murmured. "I just didn't know you were coming."

"This entire thing is simply absurd. And I can't believe they think it's necessary to put you in here, for heaven's sake!" Elizabeth replied. "Don't worry, I've brought my own lawyer. We'll have this all taken care of in no time. Michaela, you remember your father's friend, Harold Preston. He passed away a few years after Josef. He did such fine work drawing up our will and taking care of other such matters.” She turned around and pulled the man forward. “This is Mr. Preston's son of the same name. And he's just as talented as his father."

Harold held out his hand and shook politely with Michaela. "Dr. Quinn, I'm pleased to represent you." He had a briefcase stuffed neatly with papers and pamphlets tucked under his free arm.

Sully stepped forward. "Elizabeth, we appreciate this but-"

"But I'm confident Matthew can represent me," Michaela said.

"That's right. Matthew can do it just fine," Sully added defensively.

"Michaela, we are not sending you to trial without proper counsel," Elizabeth retorted. "This is very serious if you haven't realized."

"Ma, you gotta let Mr. Preston defend ya," Brian said pleadingly. "He's argued and won lots of cases. He can win this for ya."

"Certainly," Elizabeth concurred. "Sully, be reasonable. With all due respect to Matthew, surely you wouldn't want Michaela to face the judge without the best possible lawyer at her side."

Matthew closed one of his casebooks. "Like I said before, I don't think I have the kind of experience ya need for somethin' like this."

"See?" Elizabeth said with satisfaction.

"Well, perhaps you and Matthew could work together, Mr. Preston," Michaela said hesitantly.

Harold removed his hat, revealing slicked back, dark hair with a few dignified streaks of gray. He eyed Matthew skeptically. "Well, I'm not used to working with a partner, but I don't see why he couldn't offer his suggestions."

Michaela glanced at Sully. His pride was wounded, but to his credit he was not saying anything. "We can't pay you, Mr. Preston," she said, vocalizing what she knew Sully was thinking.

"I've taken care of it," Elizabeth replied briskly. "So it's settled. Harold Preston Jr. will be your attorney."

"May I use the desk?" Harold asked, immediately laying his briefcase on top of Matthew's book and pulling out some papers.

Elizabeth took hold of Michaela's hands. "Where are my grandchildren? In school?"

"Yes, but the baby's at the cafe with Grace," Michaela said, smiling proudly. "You have to see him, Mother."

"He's a Quinn," Sully spoke up.

"That's a relief!" she replied with a smile. "Oh, little Jack. Yes, I must see him. I've been waiting to see him for a year!"

Brian took her hand with a grin. "I'll walk you over there, Gran'ma. Come on."

Sully walked to the bars, arms folded. "Where's she gonna sleep? In town?"

Michaela hesitated. "No, we can't make her stay in town, Sully. She can have Katie's bed I suppose."

"And where's Kates gonna sleep?"

"Well, we'll just have to set up a cot for her."

"Michaela-"

"Excuse me, Dr. Quinn? Might we discuss more pressing matters?" Harold said, looking through his papers and handing several of them through the bars. "I've taken the liberty of speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Jennings and the prosecutor for the state, Mr. William Herndon."

Matthew blinked. "William H. Herndon? Ya mean President Lincoln's former partner?"

"That's correct. He's getting up there but he's still as sharp as ever. We have our work cut out for us. Mr. Herndon and I have drafted a plea agreement. Just sign where indicated." He retrieved a pen from the desk and dipped it in the inkwell.

"Wait, what am I signing?" Michaela asked, flipping through the papers.

"Well, in short, it states that you plead guilty to all charges as part of an exchange."

"An exchange for what?" Sully asked skeptically.

He pointed at the papers. "It's all outlined here. They’ll reduce the charges to manslaughter. The prosecution will ask that you forfeit your license to practice medicine. Additionally, they'll ask for restitution to be paid to Mr. and Mrs. Jennings to the tune of three thousand, five hundred dollars. They'll ask for only five years prison time."

"Wait a minute. You're not signin' that," Sully said. "You're not givin' up your license, Michaela."

"I can't plead guilty, Mr. Preston. It would be lying," Michaela said. "I didn't help anyone die, or so much as consider it."

"What's that got to do with anything?" he exclaimed. "You must plead guilty. It's our best chance. I worked very hard to secure this agreement. You don't want to know what Mr. Jennings originally asked for. As far as plea agreements go, and I've seen my fair share, this is a very fine one indeed."

"Maybe you should at least look at it, Dr. Mike," Matthew said quietly.

Michaela handed Harold the papers. "I'm sorry, but I won't do it. I can't lie."

"You realize then I can't promise that I can win this case for you. The evidence against you is quite strong." He stepped closer to her. "Dr. Quinn, let me be frank. Mr. Jennings wants you hanged, and Judge Webster will make no bones about sending a woman to the gallows, he's done it before, so don't count on that to save you. If you're convicted, you'll be lucky if you're sentenced to prison for the rest of your natural life. I must strongly advise that you sign this and be done with it. If it's the money I can assist you in securing a reasonable loan."

"You heard her," Sully said. "She's not signin' anything. She's pleadin' innocent."

He dropped the papers to his side in exasperation. "You're mad! Both of you! And there's no such thing as pleading 'innocent,' Mr. Sully. One pleads guilty, not guilty, or no contest." He laid the papers on the desk. "I'll leave these here. In the event you have a change of heart. In the meantime we have much to prepare, so let's get started."

Jack rubbed his eyes and whimpered as Sully lifted him into the highchair and tied his bib.

"Look, Jack. Carrots," Brian said encouragingly, putting a bowl of the mashed vegetable on the table.

Sully dished up a spoonful and held it to the baby's lips. "Time to eat supper, Jack."

The baby shook his head and whimpered louder.

Sully pressed the spoon to Jack's lips with determination, but the baby only writhed away.

"I knew he wasn't gonna eat," Brian said with a sigh.

"What's this about not eating?" Elizabeth asked as she carried a stack of plates into the room and placed them around the table.

"He's goin' through a phase," Brian explained. "He only eats when Ma feeds him."

Elizabeth put down the remaining plates and took the bowl from Sully. "Let me try. I'll get him to do it."

"Trust me, nobody can except his ma," Sully said, reluctantly handing her the spoon. "Don't waste your time."

Elizabeth glanced at Sully defiantly and held the spoon in front of Jack. Instantly, the baby calmed and opened his mouth wide. Elizabeth fed him the spoonful and dished up another, and Jack chewed vigorously and clapped his hands.

Brian looked at Sully with amazement.

Sully crossed his arms and sighed. "Figures," he muttered.

"Only eats for his ma," Elizabeth said, shaking her head and giving Jack another heaping spoonful. "Sully, I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life!"

Brian shrugged. "Ya want me to finish settin' the table, Gran'ma?"

She smiled and wiped Jack's mouth with his bib. "Yes. Thank you, Brian. The roast only needs about five more minutes and then we can all eat."

"I'll get the kids," Sully murmured, grabbing his jacket off the hook and walking outside.

He spotted Katie and Byron near the oak tree. Byron was working on digging a small hole with one of Michaela's garden trowels, and Katie was standing next to him patiently, a bundle of wildflowers in her hands.

"Your ma wouldn't want ya usin' her tools without askin' first," he remarked as he joined them. "That's her shovel for the garden."

"We're just borrowing it. To play," Byron said weakly. "Your shovel is too big, Papa. I can't lift it."

"What're ya playin'?" Sully asked hesitantly.

"Funeral," Katie said.

Sully slowly squatted to their level. "…Whose funeral?"

Byron dug up another small pile of dirt, not answering.

Sully reached out and rubbed Katie's back. "If there's anythin' ya wanna ask me, it's all right." He smoothed Byron's hair. "Are ya missin' Joshua? He was pretty nice to ya, wasn't he?"

Byron nodded solemnly.

"Why did he die?" Katie asked quietly.

Sully took a deep breath. "He was real sick, Kates. But most of the time sick people get better. Most of the time your ma can make 'em better."

"I miss Mama," Byron said, eyes suddenly filling with tears.

"She'll be back here soon. She just has to stay in town for a few days. Miss Dorothy and Mr. Jennings want her to stay in town."

"Why's Miss Dorothy hate her?" Katie questioned.

"She doesn't hate her," Sully said softly. "She's just sad ’cause Joshua's gone. Sometimes when somethin' sad happens folks get angry. Miss Dorothy got angry, and she thinks your ma didn't do a good job makin' Joshua better."

"But Mama's the best doctor," Byron protested.

Sully caressed his cheek. "Yeah, you're right. The judge'll be here tomorrow and he'll help them work it out. Your gran'ma brought us a real good lawyer who's gonna help us win."

Byron sighed. "I don't like Miss Dorothy anymore. I wish she’d go away."

"No, you don't mean that," Sully murmured. "Hey, remember how you felt when Wolf died?"

Byron swallowed hard, nodding.

"Well, that's how she feels," he explained. "She's hurtin'. As soon as she starts feelin' better, she's gonna see this for what it is. She'll stop bein' so angry at your ma." He drew them into his arms in a warm hug, then stood and took their hands. "Let's go inside and wash up. It's time for supper."

Katie looked up at him. "…Did you cook it?"

He chuckled. "Don't look so worried. Your gran'ma did."

"Good!" Byron exclaimed, letting out a dramatic sigh of relief.

Sully tickled their chests and they burst into giggles. "Get inside with ya!"

Sully nudged his chair even closer to the bars and clasped Michaela's hand securely in his. They had been sitting in silence for some time, taking comfort in the simple presence of each another.

"Sully, it's getting late," Michaela remarked at last, her voice hoarse from disuse.

"Ya want me to stay here with ya tonight? I don't mind."

"The children need you at home."

"I s'pose you're right. They been pretty upset, confused. Askin' questions."

"What have you told them?"

"Just that Dorothy's angry with ya, that she thinks ya didn't do your job. But that the judge was gonna be here real soon and straighten things out."

"Let's hope that'll suffice for now," she murmured, standing up. "Will you tell them I love them and that I miss them? And kiss them for me?"

He stood up with her. "Course I will."

She nodded bravely. "You should start back."

He reached his hands inside the bars, caressing her arms. "Were ya cold last night? Ya want me to have Jake bring ya another blanket?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Ya want somethin' to eat? Or maybe another pillow."

"Sully, it's late."

He pressed himself against the bars and drew her close. "I know. I guess I just ain't lookin' forward to goin' home without ya again."

"We could pretend we're at home," she said as cheerfully as possible. "We could pretend we're just about to say goodnight."

He hesitated, then drew her lips to his in a slow, gentle kiss. Then, he pulled back and gazed at her for a long moment, smiling softly and caressing her cheek. "…G'night."

She pressed her brow to his and inhaled shakily. "Goodnight."

A group of reporters were gathered around Randal, Dorothy, and their lawyer outside the church as Sully pulled the wagon up and found one of the last empty patches of grass for it near the church.

"Mr. Herndon, how many murder cases have you done?" a reporter asked, pencil poised over a notebook.

"Twenty-two," the lawyer replied proudly.

"How many did ya win, sir?" another asked.

He pretended to brush off some dust from his suit coat. "Won nineteen, two had a hung jury. Lost one."

"You're representing Randal Jennings?" a young man asked as he scribbled furiously.

"I'm representing the great state of Colorado," he said impatiently. "And the truth."

"Did that lady really do it, sir?"

Randal stepped forward. He would answer this one. "Hell, of course she did it!"

"Mrs. Jennings, do you think she did it?"

Dorothy blinked a few times, collecting her thoughts. "I know she did it," she finally said resolutely.

Brain climbed down from the wagon. "Where'd all these reporters come from, Ma?"

Michaela eyed the reporters uneasily as Sully grasped her waist and helped her from the seat. "I don't know, Brian."

"That's her!" one of the reporters shouted, and the group of men immediately swarmed toward Michaela.

"What do I say?" Michaela whispered, glancing up at Sully.

"Nothin'," Sully murmured, putting his arm around her and walking to the back door of the church.

"Dr. Quinn, did you do it? Did you kill Mr. Jennings?"

"Are ya pleadin' guilty?"

"How will you plead?"

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

Michaela lowered her head and allowed Sully to lead her up the stairs and into the church, Brian following close behind them.

The reporters gave up on Michaela and turned their attention to the judge as he walked across the bridge and approached the church. He was flanked by Matthew, Harold, and several townsfolk.

"Do you expect to employ the death penalty again, sir?" one of the reporters immediately asked.

"I don't have time for press, boys," Judge Webster said impatiently. "What I need is a reliable gentleman to serve as courtroom clerk."

Jake immediately stepped forward, removing his hat. "I'm mayor of this town, judge. I'll do it. Jake Slicker. I've been watchin' Dr. Mike over at the jail."

"Good, get inside and let's get started."

Jake cleared his throat. "Uh, what's the clerk do exactly?"

The judge eyed him up and down. "Anything I tell you to do. Now get inside."

"Yes, sir," Jake said hoarsely.

Jake folded his hands in front of him and looked out at the crowd. He planned to take his appointment as courtroom clerk very seriously.

"All rise for the honorable Judge Frederick Webster!" Jake shouted.

The judge emerged from the back door, made his way to the bench and sat down. "Be seated!" he barked. He filled a glass with water from a pitcher, sipped at it and glanced absently at the papers on his desk for a long moment. Finally, he looked up. "Dr. Quinn, you have been charged with first degree murder--the willful, deliberate and premeditated killing of Joshua Randal Jennings via poison in the form of morphine. This is an offense punishable by death. Do you understand the charges?" He glanced up from his papers and shuffled them impatiently. The church was packed with dozens of onlookers and the benches had filled so fast that townsfolk had to stand at the sides and in the back. Several more were waiting outside, listening through the open windows.

"Yes, your honor," Michaela said. Harold sat at her right next to Matthew, and Sully sat steadfast at her left.

"As to the preliminary hearing?" the judge said.

"We'll waive our right to that, your honor," Harold said. "We'd like to proceed straight to trial."

"Let's get on with it," the prosecution spoke up in agreement.

"Good, then let's proceed. Dr. Quinn, how do you plead?"

Harold gently took hold of her wrist and bent his head to her level. "Don't do this, Dr. Quinn," he whispered in her ear. "Guilty. Say it. Guilty!"

Michaela glanced at Sully, who was staring at the judge. She swallowed hard and touched her fingers to the desk.

"Dr. Quinn? Please enter a plea," the judge prompted.

Michaela took a deep breath and shared a glance with Matthew. He gave her a subtle nod. "Your honor, I plead not guilty," she said firmly.

The crowd reacted with hushed conversation and Harold tipped his head back with a deep sigh.

Dorothy sat silently beside Randal and William Hendron, a tall, imposing man in his sixties. He had a long face, small, narrow eyes and a wiry, neatly trimmed white beard. His suit was old-fashioned but spotless, and he wore a large, black silk tie.

The judge scribbled a few notes on his papers. "You may request a trial by jury or by the court."

"Will the jury be made up at least in part by women, your honor?" Michaela asked.

William laughed ardently. "Women! You can't have women on the jury! They're irrational and far too weepy. I won't stand for such a charade."

"That's him," Matthew said in a whisper. "William Hendron. Looks like a man who's won a lot of cases."

"He's not going to win this one," Harold whispered back.

"I've never overseen a trial with women on the jury, Dr. Quinn," Judge Webster said uneasily.

William cleared his throat. "Your honor, if I may? The recently enacted Civil Rights Act, which might I add I support unequivocally and in fact for years personally fought for the implementation of, allows for Negroes to serve on juries. But it doesn't say anything about women."

"I concur with Mr. Herndon," the judge said. "To answer your question, Dr. Quinn, our government dictates that juries be made up of gentlemen who are citizens and at least twenty-one years in age. And perhaps we can even have a few Negroes. But I find women to be constitutionally unqualified."

Michaela nodded. "Given that any jury selected would not include at least some women--my rightful peers--then respectfully, your honor, I don't see the point. Therefore, I request a trial by the court."

The judge glanced at the opposite side of the room. "Does the prosecution have anything more to add?"

"We agree to a trial by the court," William said. "Though not for said reasons. For efficiency's sake, your honor."

"Well, that does makes it easier. So ordered," the judge said, tapping his gavel on his desk for effect. "Moving on to the bond."

"The defense asks that Dr. Quinn be released," Harold said. "There's no flight risk here."

"Absurd," William said. "Judge, this is a murder charge. We ask that you send the defendant back to jail without bail. Anything less would be most unprecedented."

"Judge, Dr. Quinn has an infant and two young children at home," Harold said. "Not to mention her husband and mother. I assure you she's not going anywhere. I see no reason to deprive those poor children of their mother during this."

"Sentimental hogwash! You can't release a murderer to the streets!" Randal spoke up while Dorothy stared at her hands uncomfortably.

"Judge, please, be reasonable!" William protested.

"Mr. Herndon, lower your voice. Bond is not a punishment. Its sole purpose is to prevent the defendant from escaping trial. You have not convinced me this defendant is at risk to flee. Dr. Quinn, I release you on your own recognizance. As a matter of course, I’m suspending your medical license pending the outcome of the trial. We'll begin tomorrow at nine. I expect to see you here."

"Yes, your honor. Thank you," Michaela said.

"Good. I need a drink. Dismissed." The judge tapped his gavel again.

The crowd erupted into loud discussion as the judge got up and left through the back door.

"Ya did good," Sully murmured, gently touching Michaela's arm.

"Well, the damage has been done," Harold remarked. "After this I desperately need a drink myself, but there isn't time. Let's get back to your homestead. We have a lot more work to do."

"The baby's really taken to Mother," Michaela said, closing the bedroom door and removing her robe. "He sat on her lap all evening and didn't fuss at all. Have you ever seen him so content?"

"Hard to believe this is the first time he's seen her," Sully remarked absently. He was lying under the covers, hands tucked under his head.

"What did you think of Harold Preston today?" she asked, climbing under the covers beside him.

"He's good I s'pose. Got ya outta jail," he murmured. "Michaela, did your ma really have to show up here with him without so much as warnin’ us?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know either. But Brian meant well."

He sighed. "Elizabeth ain't exactly somebody we have time for right now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean. She always shows up here sayin' she's come to help, then she just makes more work for me and especially you. She has a habit of makin' everything harder, Michaela. And she always ends up makin' ya upset somehow."

"Well, perhaps that's true to some extent," she admitted. "But this time I don't see how we can refuse her help. I need a good lawyer, Sully. I'm beginning to believe I don't have much of a chance without one." She picked up the papers on the nightstand from Harold, slowly looking over them.

"Ya ain't thinking' of signin' those, are ya?" he asked worriedly. "Changin' your plea?"

"We're taking a large risk if I don't."

He shifted to his side. "But to turn over your license? No, you can't give all that up. I can't imagine you not being a doctor anymore."

"My mother's right about the seriousness of this. At least this way I can be assured I would only go to prison for five years. Sully, you realize they could even hang me. My license won't be any good then."

He took the papers and climbed over her, standing and strolling to the fire. "I'll take her charity if it means you can win this and keep on bein’ a doctor." He threw the papers into the fire and they curled and rapidly burned.

"I don't know why anything someone does for us has to be charity," she said impatiently. "Why can't Mother just do something nice for us? Why do you always have to hold a grudge?"

"Michaela, I take care of our family, always have," he said angrily. "And if I could, I'd hire somebody like Harold Preston."

"Of course, Sully, but you can't. We both knew from the beginning that we could never afford a lawyer like that. You haven't been able to find steady work and the townspeople only pay me what they can. With half of them without jobs as well that's not very much. That's the reality of our lives. But it's not my mother's fault that she has always had more money than she could use. I just wish you would stop taking everything she does so personally."

He sat back on the bed and fluffed his pillows forcefully. "Things bein' as they are, I'm gonna have to start payin' her back for this lawyer she dragged out here. A little every day."

"You're so stubborn," she retorted.

"Not as stubborn as you and your ma," he replied, folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes.

She watched him for a long moment, then took a deep breath. "Sully? Sully…are you sleeping?"

He slowly opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry about my mother," she said unsteadily. "I hate when we quarrel."

He drew her into his arms. "No, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just…I just want this all to work out. I want this lawyer to be as good as your ma says he is."

"Are you frightened?" she whispered.

He held her tighter. "…Some."

"Me, too. More than just 'some.'"

He tilted her head up. "Hey, we're right about all of us bein' stubborn. But that's what's gonna help us win this."

"Yes," she said, caressing his cheek.

"I know she just wants to help. And I bet it feels good to see her after so long," he admitted.

"Mm. And it's so nice for her to finally get to meet the baby," she added.

"I reckon it'll be good to have your ma around," he went on optimistically. "She's good for the kids. She'll keep 'em all away from this."

"Yes. We just can't have the children anywhere near the trial."

"Yeah, I know. I don't want them around all that."

She smiled teasingly. "We agree."

He chuckled softly and kissed her. "Get some sleep. We wanna be rested for tomorrow."

Katie stood in the back of the wagon and held onto the seat for balance. "When will you be done?" she asked. "After lunch?"

"Five o'clock, sweetheart," Michaela replied, turning in her seat and rubbing the little girl's arm. "Around suppertime."

"That's long," Byron said despondently.

Sully pulled back on the reins, stopping the wagon in front of the clinic. "It won't be too long. You'll see."

Elizabeth climbed down from the wagon and reached her hands up for the baby. "Don't worry, dears. It'll fly by."

"Yeah, you're gonna be spendin' it with Gran'ma," Brian added.

"Bye-bye, sweetheart," Michaela said, kissing Jack's cheek and then giving him to Elizabeth. She turned back to Katie and gave her a reassuring hug. "Behave today. Help out with the baby and do what Grandma says. And no running in the clinic."

"What if we want to play tag?" Byron asked, climbing down from the wagon.

"Tag!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Byron, let's play a game a little less strenuous, all right?"

"No tag either, young man," Michaela said with a smile.

Elizabeth opened the clinic door. She backed up, gasping. "Oh, no! Michaela!"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Oh, Michaela."

Byron pointed inside. "Look at the mess!"

Michaela climbed down from the wagon and hurried to them. Sully followed quickly behind and opened the door wider. Papers, medicines, and instruments were scattered on the floor. The desk was overturned and every drawer had been pulled out and emptied of its contents.

Michaela stepped over the remains of a lamp and squatted down, picking up her ophthalmometer. It was bent and the glass was shattered. "It's broken!" she said in disbelief.

"Who did this?" Brian cried, stepping into the room.

Sully turned and spotted Dorothy and Randal walking toward the church. He rushed out and immediately grabbed Randal's wrist.

"What were you doin' in there? You're trespassin'!" he shouted.

Randal pushed him off. "I have a search warrant. I can go wherever I damn well please."

"Sully, we just needed some things from Joshua's room," Dorothy explained quietly.

"Did ya have to destroy the place in the process?" Sully demanded.

"Destroy the place?" Dorothy repeated, raising her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Michaela joined Sully, carrying her ophthalmometer.

"It's going to take me years before I can afford another one," she said quietly.

Dorothy glanced inside the clinic. "Oh, Randal! What did you do?"

"I was gatherin' evidence," he retorted. "Come on, Dorothy, let's get to court and get on with it."

Michaela watched them go, clutching her ophthalmometer tighter.

"I'm sorry," Sully murmured, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Tell that to the Reverend," she replied. "I won't be able to examine his eyes again for a long time."

Sully sighed and climbed onto the wagon seat as Brian got into the back. "Michaela, let's go."

Elizabeth took a deep breath and forced a cheerful smile. "Well, children, I suppose the first thing we're going to do is clean all this up. You have to get to the church, Michaela. You can't be late the first day of the trial."

Michaela handed the ophthalmometer to Elizabeth and then numbly hugged Byron and Katie as they looked up at her silently.

Sully reached his hand down and helped Michaela onto the seat. "See ya this afternoon, kids," he murmured.

"Bye, Mama," Katie said, clutching Elizabeth's skirts.

"Bye-bye, Mama," Byron echoed hoarsely.

"Good luck," Elizabeth called.

Dorothy smoothed her skirts and folded her hands in her lap. She stared forward, taking great pains to avoid making eye contact with Michaela. The crowd listened to her testimony in silent fascination.

"How did you discover the body of your nephew, Joshua Jennings?" William asked from his desk.

"I was worried about him at the clinic while the rest of us enjoyed the social," she explained. "I wanted to check on him. So I walked from the church to the clinic and went upstairs to his room."

"What time was it?"

"It was nine o'clock. I remember because folks were startin' to leave the social."

"And describe what you saw," William prompted.

Dorothy hesitated, closing her eyes briefly. She took a deep breath. "Well, he was lying on his side in bed.”

“Left side, or right?”

“His…his left. First thing I noticed was how blue he was. I went to turn him over and he was so still, so cold. And…and he had thrown up. It was all down his cheek." She reached her hand up and wiped at a few tears. "I touched him…he was so still."

"What did you find on the table next to the bed?"

"Two morphine bottles and a syringe, some cotton," Dorothy stated. "And a letter."

William stood and picked up two empty morphine bottles and the letter. "Your honor, the prosecution would like to enter into evidence said letter, bottles and syringe."

Judge Webster sat back in his chair. "Mr. Slicker, bring that up here and put it on my desk."

Jake immediately perked up from his place beside the witness stand and walked to the prosecution's table.

William paused. "If it would please the court, I'd like to read the letter aloud. I have questions for the witness that pertain to its contents."

The judge nodded. "Go ahead."

William unfolded the paper. "The letter dated the twenty-fifth of April reads as follows: “'Dear Aunt Dorothy, I’m sorry to do this to you, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I want to be sure Michaela knows how grateful I am for all she's done for me. Nobody else could've helped me like she did. Tell her thank you for understanding how much I needed that medicine, and for not putting up such a fight about giving it to me like all the other doctors have. Don’t blame her, Aunt Dorothy. She was just helping me end the pain. I love you. Joshua.''"

Dorothy pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and nose as Jake brought the letter, the bottles and the syringe up to the judge's desk.

The judge pulled out his monocle and examined the letter for a brief moment, then placed the monocle back in his pocket. "Continue, counselor."

"Why did your nephew write such a letter, Mrs. Jennings?" William asked.

"Because he knew folks were gonna hold Michaela responsible for his death," Dorothy said rigidly. "He wanted to protect her. They were friends."

"Oh, they were friends. Did the defendant talk to you about her friendship with him?"

"Yes. He had just graduated from the University of Illinois and they seemed to have a lot in common. He said Michaela wouldn't let him suffer. And she said…Michaela told me she would do anythin’ for him."

"Michaela said she would do anything for him," William repeated. "Why, she was even willing to kill him!"

"Objection," Harold spoke up. "Your honor, please. Mr. Hendron isn't asking the witness a question."

"I'll withdraw that," William said. "No further questions."

"The defense?" the judge asked.

"Mrs. Jennings, did Dr. Quinn ever say point blank she was willing to kill Joshua?" Harold asked at once.

Dorothy shifted in her chair to face him. "Well…no. Not to me."

"Did she ever give any indication she had intentions of even so much as considering helping him commit suicide?"

"She said she'd do anything," Dorothy retorted. "And I know she talked about it with him."

"How do you know?"

"Joshua told her he wanted an autopsy done," she explained. Tears filled her eyes again. "She was ready to go right ahead and cut him open."

"And when was the last time you yourself saw Joshua Jennings alive?"

Dorothy thought a moment. "Well, it was that morning. Just before lunchtime."

"Is it possible you were the last person to see him alive, and not the defendant?"

"No, it's not," Dorothy said. "Michaela saw him right before she gave him that morphine!"

"How do you conclude that?"

"Michaela's the only person that could have given him those injections."

"I beg to differ. Are you aware Joshua was capable of administering the morphine himself?" Harold asked.

"No. That can't be," Dorothy replied.

Harold held up a folder. "Judge, I have Joshua Jennings' medical records here, drafted by the defendant throughout the month of April. These records specifically state that Joshua was administering at least some of his morphine injections on his own, and it notes the date and time of each injection he administered, along with, of course, the date and time of the injections the defendant gave him herself."

"Bring it up here," the judge said, motioning with his fingers.

"Why was she letting him do that?" Dorothy exclaimed. She looked at Michaela for the first time that day. "Michaela, what were you doin’?"

"Mrs. Jennings, I'll ask the questions please," Harold said calmly, returning to his seat. "So given that you now know that Joshua was capable of giving himself injections all on his own, is it possible that he committed suicide on his own as well? Is it possible Dr. Quinn was not there all day, knew nothing about Joshua's desire to die, and in fact Joshua was alone when he took two bottles of morphine and injected the contents into his thigh?"

"She knew. Read the letter," Dorothy said resolutely. "I think it speaks for itself."

"…That's all, judge," Harold said, folding his hands on the desk.

Judge Webster wiped his face with a handkerchief. "Thank you, Mrs. Jennings. You may step down. We'll recess for lunch and resume at one o'clock." He banged his gavel.

"That was good, Mr. Preston," Matthew said approvingly.

"His medical records are about the only piece of evidence we've got," Harold replied. "We're going to have to lean heavily on those."

"I just wish we didn't have to rehash Joshua's death down to the last detail, or read that letter," Michaela said. "It's upsetting Dorothy."

Sully took hold of her hand and squeezed it in agreement.

"I'm afraid we've got to," Harold said. "Dr. Quinn, you're going to have to accept that we may have to upset Mrs. Jennings to win this case."

"I'm so glad the children are with Mother," Michaela whispered.

"Who they calling next?" Matthew asked.

Harold looked over his notes. "A Dr. Cassidy."

"Dr. Cassidy!" Michaela exclaimed. "Why are they calling him?"

"We'll find out," Harold replied.

"Dr. Cassidy, you've reviewed Joshua Jennings medical records. What do you make of them?" William asked.

"Well, the patient presented a variety of bewildering symptoms," Dr. Cassidy said, flipping through the chart in his lap. "Without having examined him myself, it's difficult to say. But it could have been any number of things. My best guess was that it was two or three ailments combined together."

"Dr. Quinn has written that the diagnosis was unknown," William said. "What about that?"

He closed the chart and looked up. "It's hard to believe Dr. Quinn was the first person to stumble upon some new disease no one in the medical community has ever seen before!" he said with a chuckle. "I have my doubts she investigated this fully. Perhaps her examination of Mr. Jennings was incomplete. I've known her to be an impatient woman and I would say it's likely she simply gave up on the young man."

"Then you would describe her as an impatient doctor?"

"Oh, that's not the half of it," he replied. "She's headstrong, indignant, and rude. She does not value the professional opinions of her colleagues. She's certainly never listened to me. Her medical practice is a circus. Children coming and going without discipline, patients bringing in chickens and smoked hams as part of some crude barter system she has set up, Indian concoctions and the like all over the place. An absolute circus."

"So she's a bit of an eccentric then?"

"Her methods sometimes border on quackery," he replied.

"And what about this here, about Joshua Jennings giving himself his own morphine injections. If you were his doctor would you allow him to do that?"

"Oh, absolutely not. Never!"

"Why do you think Dr. Quinn would allow him to do such a thing?"

"Didn't have time to bother with it herself, that's all I can think of," he said with a shrug. "She didn't have time for the young man's constant regiment of injections. Between running a medical practice and raising a family, it's no wonder something suffers."

"Was she negligent?"

"Undoubtedly so."

"If it wasn't for her, would Joshua Jennings still be alive?"

"Well, it's possible. Yes."

Dorothy sat back in her seat, her face falling.

"No further questions. Thank you, doctor," William said.

"The defense?" the judge prompted.

Harold cleared his throat. "Dr. Cassidy, how exactly would you have treated Joshua Jennings? Suppose you too were unable to diagnosis whatever was plaguing him? What would you do then?"

He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Well, it appears the poor boy was in constant pain. I too would have probably prescribed morphine. It's one of the strongest, most effective drugs we have. But I certainly wouldn't have let him administer his own injections!"

"I want you to be honest with yourself and all of us as well," Harold began. "Do you truly believe Dr. Quinn is an incompetent doctor? Or does it just trouble you that she doesn't do things the way you would?"

"I beg your pardon, young man, but I graduated from University of Pennsylvania Medical School at the very top of my class. I was taught fool-proof methods that I continue to practice today."

"So in other words, you're saying every good doctor will approach a case exactly as you do? That no other method could prove successful?"

Dr. Cassidy shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

Harold flipped through his papers. "Might I read you some numbers? According to her records, in just ten years here, Dr. Quinn has performed more than five hundred successful surgeries. She has seen more than four hundred children through measles, mumps, chicken pox, and various other ailments. She's repaired almost eight hundred broken bones, and she's given out thousands of stitches. She's delivered two hundred and eighty infants, including three pairs of twins and one set of triplets. Thirty of all those births were cesarean sections, and of those thirty she lost just six mothers and five infants. And a mere twenty-nine of those infants mentioned did not live until their first birthday. Today most of them are happy and healthy children. Dr. Cassidy, do you know what the infant mortality rate is in this country?"

“Enlighten me, Mr. Preston,” he said impatiently.

“About three in ten,” Harold replied. “But at Dr. Quinn’s clinic, that statistic is reduced to one in ten.” He stared at Dr. Cassidy. "She has helped a paralyzed man walk again and a blind little boy see again. She nursed Robert E. back to health when he was severely burned, took care of Grace's eyes after an accident that nearly took her sight, gave Loren Bray a successful blood transfusion, operated to save Myra Bing when she was close to death, and saved the lives of countless other townsfolk. Would you call that a poor record, Dr. Cassidy?"

Dr. Cassidy glanced at Michaela hesitantly, then returned his eyes to Harold. "No, I would call that an excellent record. Mr. Preston, I'm not trying to say Dr. Quinn isn't a successful doctor. In fact I believe she is and the numbers prove it. I'm saying some of her methods would be disputed by every physician in the American Medical Association. Now, let me be clear. These methods are not necessarily dangerous. In fact as much as I would never, never support some of her ideas about practicing medicine, I do think Dr. Quinn is all but harmless. What's a little tea here, some ground up flower petals or what have you there? Harmless. But you can be sure those same questionable methods will be to blame the one time when things go terribly wrong for her. That was the case in the death of Michael Norris, an infant in her care back in '71, and that's the case today."

"Dr. Cassidy, do you believe she killed Joshua Jennings?"

He took a deep breath. "I believe she grossly mismanaged the case. I did not say she killed the young man. I wasn't there. I have no idea what transpired."

"Thank you. No further questions."

"Good!" Dr. Cassidy replied, standing and stretching his arms. "If you need me I'm headed to the saloon."

"Court's adjourned until tomorrow," the judge said, banging his gavel. "Let me join you, doctor."

Katie and Byron were waiting outside of the church when court disbanded. Elizabeth stood next to them with the baby carriage, reaching her hand in to tickle Jack's cheek.

Michaela's expression brightened as soon as she spotted the children. She hurried to them and enveloped them in a tight hug. "You came to meet me!"

"I'm sorry, Michaela. They heard your clock chime five and they insisted we come over here," Elizabeth said.

"That's all right. I'm glad you did," she replied, reaching into the carriage and picking up Jack. "Were you a good boy today, sweetheart?"

"He slept nearly half the afternoon!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

“Gran’ma got the clinic all cleaned up, Mama. I helped,” Byron informed her proudly.

“Good. I’m proud of you,” she said, caressing his hair lovingly.

Sully came out of the church, followed by Brian and Matthew. The children only paused briefly to greet them before returning to Michaela's side and taking care to stay close to her.

"Did I hear your ma got him to go to sleep?" Sully asked as he took the baby's hand and kissed his head. "He's always had a problem with that. It's all I can do to get him to settle down for five or ten minutes."

"Well, I didn't have any difficulty at all," Elizabeth replied. "Perhaps it's not Jack who has the problem, Sully."

Dr. Cassidy approached the group with determination. "Dr. Quinn! Good, I caught you."

Michaela nodded politely, shifting the baby to rest over her shoulder. "Dr. Cassidy. This is my mother, Elizabeth."

"Madam, I pity you," he told Elizabeth, reaching up and tipping his hat.

"I pity you, sir," Elizabeth retorted with a smirk.

Dr. Cassidy cleared his throat. "So, here you are back on trial, and here I am back in Colorado Springs testifying again!"

"Well, I am sorry you had to make such a long trip," Michaela replied earnestly.

"No, no, I was more than glad to," he said as he looked over the children. "Dr. Quinn, may I say that it does me good to know you've finally seen the light and embraced motherhood wholeheartedly!" He placed his hand on Katie's shoulder and peered down at her with a smile. "And look how pretty and grown up this young lady is! So you're the one who gave us so much trouble back in the day."

Katie shrunk back and cuddled against Michaela.

"I'm a doctor, too. Wholeheartedly, Dr. Cassidy," Michaela replied, putting her arm around Katie. "I don't plan to give up medicine anytime soon."

He chuckled. "Well, that's for the courts to decide, now isn't it? Good day!"

Michaela opened the door to the church and quietly walked into the room. She was surprised to find the Reverend kneeling at the front pew, hands folded and head bent in deep concentration.

She raised her lamp and walked down the aisle. "Reverend?"

He opened his eyes. "Dr. Mike? What're you doin’ here?"

She placed her lamp on the opposite pew. "I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd take a ride and I ended up here."

"I couldn't sleep either," he remarked, sitting on the pew. "Something I can help ya with?"

"No, that's all right," she murmured.

"Dr. Mike, if there's anything you want to ask me, you can."

"I've just been feeling very uncertain about things," she reluctantly said. "Especially about Joshua."

"Have a seat," he said, patting the place beside him. "I ain't been feeling too good myself. When Dorothy asked me to visit him, I had no idea he was feelin’ that desperate. If I had known, I...”

She joined him and rested her hands in her lap. "No, this certainly isn't your fault."

"Sometimes there's just nothing I can say, nothing I can do to help somebody like him," he murmured.

"You did your best. I know Joshua appreciated that you came to see him."

"I suppose," he murmured.

She hesitated a long moment. "Reverend, I was wondering, do you think he's in heaven? He…he committed suicide."

The Reverend was quiet a long moment. Clearly, he had been doing his own soul-searching about the matter. "I'm not sure if I can answer that."

"I suppose only God can," she admitted quietly.

"That's right. I do know Joshua's been a loyal servant here on earth. But sometimes even the most loyal servants have trouble coping with what God gives them. I do know that I believe in a compassionate Father, a Father who forgives all our sins."

She nodded, glancing up at the cross.

"As a matter of fact, I was just prayin' for Joshua," he added. "And you."

"Me?"

"That's right. I was prayin' the Lord would show you the way through this. That He'd help you speak the truth."

"Reverend, I didn't kill him," she said. "I know everyone thinks I did, but it's not true."

He slowly nodded. "All right, so what're we gonna do next?"

"We? What do you mean?"

"Dr. Mike, you're my friend. If you say you didn't do it then you didn't do it. And I want to help."

She placed her hand atop his. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

He thought a moment. "Why don't we pray about it? Join me?"

She slowly knelt down with him and bowed her head as the Reverend prayed aloud for courage and guidance.

"How can you want to see her, what with what's happening?" Sarah asked quietly as she and Brian lingered outside the Gazette.

Brian glanced at the Gazette sign. "I always have at least one article in each issue. Dorothy depends on me to help her find out what's happenin' around town. What do you want me to do? Quit writin'?"

"Brian, she wants your ma thrown in jail," Sarah replied.

"But that don't have anythin' to do with the Gazette. We gotta keep puttin' out the news, no matter what." He leaned forward and pecked her cheek. "I gotta go. See ya later?"

She sighed. "See ya."

Brian stepped onto the porch and rapped quietly on the open door, his reporter's notebook and a few papers tucked under his arm, and a pencil stuck behind his ear. Dorothy was writing at her desk, her hand specked with ink.

"Miss Dorothy?" he murmured, stepping into the room.

Dorothy snapped her head up and dropped her pen. "Brian!" she replied with surprise.

"I wrote up an article for next week's Gazette," he explained, holding up the loose papers. "I was wonderin' if maybe ya might have time to look at it now."

"Brian, you still…you still want me to put your things in the Gazette?" she asked, slowly standing up. "But, the trial."

He took a deep breath. "I know. And I don't understand why ya won't believe Ma. Fact is, this whole trial thing makes me real angry." He walked to her and held out the papers. "But that don't mean you stop bein' a good editor. The best editor I know. I wouldn't trust anybody else to do as good a job with this."

"Oh, Brian. I'm always happy to look at your work," she murmured, taking the papers from him. "And publish it. Why don't you bring a chair over?"

He grabbed a chair and placed it next to hers, taking a seat as she scanned the article with her pen.

"Well, let's move this paragraph up closer to the beginning," she said.

"That'd be good," he replied as he watched her circle several sentences.

"Oh, and visible is spelled with an 'i', not an 'a,'" Dorothy said as she made the correction.

"Excuse me, Dorothy?" Preston said as he stepped into the room and held up a copy of the Gazette. "Dorothy, what's this?"

Dorothy and Brian turned in their seats to face him.

"Why, it's this week's Gazette," Dorothy said.

He sighed. "Yes, I can see that. But where's the story about the trial? I've looked through this entire thing and I can't find one mention of it! You call the cafe's menu for the week more worthy of the front page than our town doctor and a member of the council accused of murder?"

Dorothy reluctantly stood up. "Preston, I can't write a story about that. I'm directly involved."

"Then have Brian do it if you must. I've read some of his articles. Not bad for a schoolboy."

"I'm sorry, but I can't write it either. It wouldn't be right," Brian said resolutely.

"Who's going to write it then?" he demanded impatiently.

Brian shrugged. "I guess if folks wanna read about it they'll have to get a Denver paper."

"No, we're not going to lose all our readership to the Denver papers," Preston retorted. "This is a story happening right here in Colorado Springs and I want the Colorado Springs Gazette to be the publication townsfolk turn to for the latest happenings. At least the literate ones." He slapped the Gazette on Dorothy's desk. "If you have to, pay one of the reporters here from Denver to do it. But I own half this paper and I want you to start covering the trial. On the front page." He turned and walked toward the door, then suddenly pivoted back around. "See if you can't get that artist to do some work for us, too. He drew a lovely rendering of Michaela for The Post." He reached up and tipped his hat. "Good day, Dorothy. Brian."

Brian looked up at Dorothy. "…What're ya gonna do?"

Dorothy folded her hands. "I s'pose I'll have to do what he says and start printin’ Denver's articles. I can't afford to make Preston unhappy."

"I guess he's right. It is news." Brian stood and pushed his chair against the wall. "I better head home. It's gettin' late."

"Oh," she murmured. "Brian, thank you for bringin’ your article over. It's very good. As always."

He nodded, lowering his eyes. "Thanks, Miss Dorothy."

Matthew sipped his coffee and eyed Brian angrily.

Brian focused on his food and busily cut his venison, as silent as he had been the entire meal.

"Where'd you run off to this afternoon?" Matthew finally asked.

Brian slowly glanced up. "…No place."

Michaela silently dished up another spoonful of mashed peas for the baby and fed it to him as she watched Matthew with concern. He was rarely bad tempered, and especially not at his younger brother.

"No place? You disappeared for a couple hours," Matthew replied briskly.

Everyone else ceased eating to listen to the boys.

"I just went over to Sarah's," Brian said, resting his utensils across his plate. "Is it all right with you if she sees her beau once in awhile?"

"Eww," Byron spoke up, and Katie covered her mouth and giggled.

"That's all?" Matthew asked.

"I don't have to answer to you," Brian replied.

Matthew put down his coffee cup. "Brian-"

"All right, what is going on?" Elizabeth asked firmly. "You two haven't spoken a word to each other all evening until now."

"I saw you go into the Gazette, Brian," Matthew said impatiently.

"Brian, you went to see Dorothy?" Michaela asked with surprise. She put down the baby’s spoon, but Jack pulled on her hand until she dished up another bite for him.

Brian put his napkin on the table. "I wrote an article about that barn fire at Mr. Ritner's. I wanted her to put it in the Gazette, that's all."

"You didn't tell her anythin' about the trial, did ya?" Matthew asked.

"We talked about my story, not the trial," Brian retorted.

"I don't want ya talkin' to her at all," Matthew told him. "I don't know what you were thinkin' goin' over there."

"But what about my writin'?" Brian asked. "You can't tell me what to do."

"I can when it comes to this case."

"He didn't mean any harm, Matthew," Michaela said quietly.

"Dr. Mike, he could've compromised everything," Matthew replied. "What if he had told her somethin' about our case? Even somethin' he thinks ain't significant? Then she'll go and tell her lawyer and that's it for us."

"I wasn't gonna tell her anything, Matthew," Brian said. "Don't you trust me?"

"I thought I did, till I saw ya talkin' to Dorothy. Who do you want to win this anyway?"

Brian stood and pushed his chair in forcefully, then walked to the door, opened it, and slammed it behind him.

"Uh-oh," Katie murmured.

"…Ya don't have to be so hard on him, Matthew," Sully said.

"You sayin' you're gonna let him spend time with the prosecution like that?" Matthew asked.

Elizabeth sighed. "Well, I suppose Matthew's probably right. It's probably better Brian avoid the Gazette for the time being."

"What about his writin'?" Sully asked.

"Sully, Michaela's on trial. I'm afraid his writing may have to wait," Elizabeth said.

"You're right. Michaela's on trial. This should be up to her," Sully replied.

Michaela reluctantly stood up. "I'll go talk to him."

Matthew sat back in his chair. "Dr. Mike, I'm not sayin' he should give up writin' all together. I'd never want him to do that. Soon as this is all over he can go back to workin' at the Gazette. I don't mean to make him feel bad, it's just right now, we can't have anybody talkin' to the prosecution."

"Michaela? What're ya gonna tell him?" Sully murmured.

She took her shawl off the hook and wrapped it around her shoulders. "…I don't know."

Michaela found Brian standing at the base of the porch stairs, hands in his pockets as he gazed at the road absently.

"Matthew's just worried," she said. "He feels a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. We're all just a little on edge right now, that's all." She took a few steps down. "I know you and Dorothy are close and I know this must be difficult for you, too. I'm sorry if Sully and I haven't been there for you."

"No, I'm fine, Ma. Really," he replied, slowly turning. "Pa says Miss Dorothy's just hurtin' right now. Once she starts feelin' better things'll change."

She took another step down so that she was eye level with him. "I'm afraid this entire ordeal has made our lives very chaotic, hasn't it?"

He nodded. "Ma, you and Miss Dorothy have always been there for me, since I first knew ya. It's just hard watchin' ya go through this. Writin' helps take my mind off things." He took a deep breath. "But I don't want it to interfere with the case. That's more important. If you want me to stop, I will."

"You're a man now and capable of making your own decisions. I'm not going to tell you to stop. I couldn't do that." She rubbed his arm. "Being a doctor is who I am, and I know what it feels like to be denied that. Just like being a writer is who you are. Keep writing, Brian."

"…All right," he murmured. "I will."

"Good." She reached out and took his hand. "Let's go back inside and finish supper with everyone."

Continue