For personal use and select distribution only © by Becky 2004

"Miriam!" Michaela called, waving from the wagon. Sully helped her down as Brian jumped down from the back.

"Michaela!" Miriam replied, turning from Dorothy and Randal and rushing to her. She was dressed in a silk, blue-striped traveling gown and held a folded, lacy umbrella at her side.

"I can't believe you came all this way," Michaela said, hugging her tightly.

"I suppose I had no choice. I was summoned," Miriam replied. "Michaela, I couldn't believe it when I heard. To think you would ever dream of such a thing! I feel just dreadful testifying for the prosecution. Against my own friend!"

Michaela took her hand reassuringly. "Like you said, you have no choice."

"Well, I'll simply tell them everything I know. You were the very brightest student in our class, the most promising, and subsequently the most successful, I daresay."

Sully and Brian joined the women and Sully held out his hand. "Miriam."

She shook with him. "Sully, it's good to see you. And Brian, look at you!"

"Good to see ya again, Dr. Tilson," Brian said with a smile.

"When'd ya get in?" Sully asked.

"This morning, after a horrid two-day train ride," Miriam said with a sigh. "We were delayed hours due to a rainstorm in the mountains."

Michaela eyed her worriedly. "You must be so tired. Two days on a train. You should stay with us tonight and have supper with us."

"Michaela, I would simply adore that, and I would love to catch up, but I'm afraid I must get back to the family. This all happened so suddenly. Robert asked me to leave on the afternoon train as soon as I've testified."

"Oh, that's too bad. How is Robert? And the children?"

"Oh, he's busy night and day at the hospital, trying to be all things to all people, and succeeding, as usual," she said with a smile. "And listen to this, Rachel keeps telling me she wants to be a doctor, too!"

"That's wonderful, Miriam."

"As for Robert Jr., he's as tall as his father! And he has a sweetheart. A lovely girl who lives across the bay in Pacific Heights."

"No, a sweetheart?!" Michaela exclaimed. "How old is he?"

"Fifteen next month," she said with a sigh. "Oh, Michaela. Where does the time go? And your little ones? I can't believe you have three now!"

"They're all as stubborn as their ma," Sully spoke up.

"They sure make things interestin'," Brian added.

Miriam chuckled. "I had a feeling they would. And I suspect the three of them are constantly looking up to their big brother."

Brian smiled proudly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Byron and Katie are in school and the baby's at the clinic with my mother," Michaela explained. "Sully and I don't want them at the trial."

"Oh, goodness no. They shouldn't be," Miriam said, glancing behind her as the townspeople began filing into the church. "Well, it looks like it's time to start." She took a deep breath. "I shall do my best, Michaela."

"I know you will," Michaela replied.

"True, Dr. Quinn's built a solid career," William replied. "Solid, but questionable, wouldn't you say?"

Miriam shifted in her seat. "If you're referring to some of those Indian remedies she uses … well, I must confess I don't know much about them. But Michaela assures me they work."

"Then she has often questioned the prevailing opinion?"

"Well, I suppose. But perhaps sometimes it should be questioned!"

William reached for a thick textbook and opened it to a marked page. "Did you take the Hippocratic Oath when you graduated, Mrs. Tilson?"

"Yes, of course I did," she replied.

William glanced at the judge. "Your honor, would you mind if I read a portion of this to the court?"

"Proceed," he replied.

"'I will apply dietetic measures for the benefit of the sick according to my ability and judgment. I will keep them from harm and injustice," William read clearly and loudly. "‘I will neither give a deadly drug to anybody if asked for it, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect. In purity and holiness, I will guard my life and my art.'" He closed the book. "Is that the oath you and Dr. Quinn took, Mrs. Tilson?"

"Yes, that's part of it."

"Do you agree with it?"

"Of course I do," she retorted. "First do no harm. It's sacred."

"Then if Dr. Quinn did indeed murder Joshua Jennings, she would be violating this oath, correct?"

"Yes, but-"

"Did the defendant ever question the validity of this oath?"

Miriam paused, taking a deep breath.

"I want you to think back," William instructed. "And tell us what she has questioned."

Miriam walked across the library to the rows of desks, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. She spotted Michaela at one of the desks, massive textbooks and piles of papers surrounding her.

Miriam slammed her small pile of textbooks beside Michaela. "I cannot look at another formula. I'm going to go cross-eyed." She paused. "Michaela?"

Michaela quickly glanced up, then returned her eyes to her textbook and continued reading.

"What are you studying now?" Miriam asked.

"Philosophy," she replied absently, turning a page.

Miriam leaned on the desk beside her. "You know perfectly well you're going to ace the final examination. Why don't you give it a rest now?"

"Miriam, have you ever thought about the Hippocratic Oath?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean have you ever thought about what it really means? We're going to be raising our hands and reciting it at commencement ceremonies next month. Shouldn't we know what we're saying?"

Miriam turned the book toward her. "Are you implying that you don't agree with it? But all it's saying is that we shall do our best as a doctor for our patients. What's to quibble with?"

"I don't mean that part," Michaela said, flipping back a page and pointing at one of the paragraphs. "But what about this? 'What I may see or hear in the course of treatment or even outside of the treatment in regard to the life of men I will keep to myself.'"

Miriam smiled. "What's the problem with that? Confidentiality is imperative."

"I know, but it's just so absolute," Michaela replied. "What if we were to treat someone in a prison, and he told us about his crime? Perhaps he told us the name of the person who conspired with him. Are we supposed to keep pertinent information like that to ourselves?"

Miriam chuckled. "Michaela, that's absurd. Your imagination!"

A few students studying nearby eyed them with annoyance.

"Shh!" chastised one young man.

"Come on. Let's leave this horrid place," Miriam said.

"And it says we should never perform an abortive remedy," Michaela went on energetically. "At first I agreed. But what if the mother's health were in danger? Are we supposed to stand back and let her die because of the Hippocratic Oath? Are we supposed to tell her husband we can't do anything for her?"

"Well, it won't come to that," Miriam said weakly.

"What if it does?" Michaela replied.

"You there. Shh!" the man said again.

Miriam closed the book and stacked it on her pile. "Michaela, what you need is to get out of this gloomy library. We've been studying all day. I know, let's walk back to the dormitories and have a cup of tea."

"I suppose," Michaela replied, reluctantly removing her cape from the back of the chair and tying it at her neck. "Miriam, I'm not being completely unreasonable, am I?"

Miriam smiled, threading her arm with her friend's. "No. But almost! Now let's get us out of here!"

"Then Dr. Quinn was questioning things even when she was in medical school," William said enthusiastically. "Even then she was willing to push the limits, correct?"

"I think it's fine to approach things with a critical eye," Miriam said desperately. "Asking questions has just always come naturally to her."

William stood and folded his arms. "But is there a point, Mrs. Tilson, when one should stop asking questions?"

Miriam folded and unfolded her hands, taking a deep breath. "Yes," she finally murmured. "I suppose so."

"Thank you," William replied, resuming his seat.

"The defense?" the judge said.

Matthew grasped Harold's arm. "Let me question her, Mr. Preston," he whispered.

"No, I'd better do it."

"Mr. Preston, I know this witness better than you do. I know what we should ask."

Harold glanced at Michaela uneasily. "Well, it's ultimately up to Dr. Quinn."

"Go ahead, Matthew," Michaela said, squeezing his arm supportively. "Ask."

"You better know what you're doing, son," Harold warned, sitting back in his chair.

"What's the delay over there, counselors?" Judge Webster spoke up. "Do you think I enjoy wasting so much time watching you fumble around over there?"

The crowded chuckled softly and Matthew shuffled his papers with embarrassment.

"Sorry, your honor," Matthew said, clearing his throat. "Mrs. Tilson…Dr. Tilson, you said you shared many classes with the defendant during medical college?"

"That's right," Miriam replied, her voice much more relaxed.

"What kind of student was she?"

"She was hard-working and dedicated. She would study constantly, sometimes until the wee hours of the morning. It was all I could do to get her to join some of us for dinner downtown on a Saturday night." Lillian chuckled at the memory. "And she wouldn't just study what was required. Oh, no. She brought along dozens of books of her father's, and she was always looking through those, and she would read every medical journal or periodical she could get her hands on. I’m afraid she irritated some of our classmates. She read the newspapers every day, too, all the reports about the coloreds and the growing dissent in the South. She kept up with everything going on in Washington."

"Did all of her studying pay off?"

"Michaela was valedictorian of our class. As far as I know her marks were perfect."

"What do you mean? You can't be saying Dr. Quinn is a perfect doctor."

"Matthew, what are you doing?" Harold demanded in a whisper.

"Trust me," Matthew whispered back.

"This better be good," Harold muttered.

"No, she's not perfect, Mr. Cooper," Miriam said cautiously. "We can't be perfect."

"Then she has weaknesses?" Matthew prompted. "Dr. Quinn has weaknesses as a physician, Dr. Tilson?"

"Matthew," Michaela whispered uncertainly.

Sully gently laid his hand atop hers. "He's got this, Michaela," he whispered.

"Yes…I did notice one weakness," Miriam said, folding her hands thoughtfully. "Death is a reality for doctors. We are taught that we must not show our patients sadness or fear. We must not become involved. But I noticed Michaela has been apt to take the loss of a patient very personally. At least when I knew her best, it was a struggle for her to distance herself."

"For example?"

"For example. Well, I know there was a little girl she was helping her father treat back in Boston. Apparently, he was even letting Michaela go on house calls to see the girl without his supervision. Oh, we were all so jealous. If my memory serves me, the child had suffered a very serious bout with scarlet fever that left her forever weakened. Michaela kept talking about returning home for the Christmas holiday and treating her again. She was convinced she could help her somehow. But then one afternoon Michaela received a telegram from her father, letting her know that the girl had passed away, that it was too late."

Michaela's face fell at the revelation of a heartrending memory long tucked away. Sully squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Miriam stared blankly forward. "She wept and wept, and nothing any of us did consoled her. I remember she wanted so badly to take the next train home. But she was dependent on her father's money, and he refused to send her any for a ticket. He wouldn't let her leave school." She refocused her attention on Matthew. "She told me later that little girl was the first child she lost who she had treated on her own. Six years old the poor thing was. Whenever someone so young dies it's especially tragic, but a doctor never forgets the horror of the first." Miriam pulled out a hankie from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose.

Matthew paused a moment for Miriam to compose herself. "…So, this weakness we've been talking about. Does it make her a bad doctor?"

Miriam took a deep breath. "It may not be a very wise idea to become so sensitive to ones patients, but I maintain that, that same sensitivity has contributed to Michaela's success as a physician. Patients should feel that their doctors care about them, know their names, and are fighting not just for them but with them. Most doctors just treat faceless cases. I'll admit that's what I did before I stopped practicing. It's a safe way to go about practicing medicine, but it's not very rewarding. Of course if you want rewards you're going to have to accept great setbacks, like the child with scarlet fever." She glanced at Dorothy. "And like your nephew, Mrs. Jennings."

"The Dr. Mike you know," Matthew went on. "Would she ever harm a patient?"

"I was there when Michaela received that telegram from her father," Miriam replied. "I remember her face. It was as if a part of her died along with her patient. She wanted with all her heart to be that child's doctor, to persist and persist until the child was better. Harming a patient, even in an attempt to bring some sort of compassionate end to suffering? Why, Michaela doesn't even know the meaning of harming a patient."

"No more questions. Thank you, Dr. Tilson," Matthew said.

"Good, Matthew," Harold said, nodding. "Very nice."

"Step down please, Mrs. Tilson," the judge said. "Court's adjourned until tomorrow."

"You did wonderfully, Matthew," Michaela said, eyes brimming with tears.

"You all right, Dr. Mike?" Matthew murmured. "I'm sorry I had to bring up that little girl. I remembered you told us about her once a long time ago. I had a feeling Miriam would be able to tell the court about it."

She nodded and reached her hand up, smoothing away a tear from her cheek. "It's not that so much. I'm just so proud of you. That was perfect."

He patted her hand with a wry grin. "Nobody's perfect, right?"

"Mr. Herndon thinks he is," Harold remarked, crossing his arms as he watched his counterpart neatly packing his leather bag with papers. "We'll see if we can't cut him down to size."

Dorothy sat quietly in her chair and picked at her chicken and dumplings. Randal sat across from her and ate heartily, occasionally lifting his coffee cup for Grace to refill it.

“Eat,” he remarked, briefly looking at her plate. “It’s good food.”

“It’s wonderful food. I’m just not very hungry.”

“That nigger woman sure can cook, can‘t she?”

“Randal!” she exclaimed.

He glanced up, holding his fork in midair. “What?”

“Don’t say that word. She’s my friend.”

“You’re friends with a nigger?” He put the fork in his mouth and chewed energetically.

She sat back in her chair with a sigh. “…Randal, I want to talk to you about somethin’.”

“All you do is talk,” he said impatiently. “You talk almost as much as that doctor. I can barely hear myself think.”

Chastened, the swallowed hard.

After awhile, he gave her another glance. “Well? What is it?”

She cleared her throat. “It’s just that, I didn’t know you got a warrant from the judge, or that you were gonna do what you did to the clinic. I never know who any of our witnesses are gonna be. And…I want Michaela to face the consequences for what she did…but don’t you think this is gettin’ out of hand? I didn’t know this would mean prison…”

“Dorothy, she murdered my son. Your nephew! What the heck did you want to do? Give her a little slap on the wrist?”

“No, I…I don’t know what I wanted.”

“I don’t understand you. Joshua ain‘t comin’ back, you know that.”

She put her napkin on the table. “I loved that boy just as much as you did. I’d just like to be a part of this, that’s all.”

“So you can foul it up?” he replied. “Last thing we need is a woman meddlin’ with things. Me and my lawyer got everything under control. You let us take care of this. Marcus put up with too much from you! No wonder he left ya!”

“Marcus didn’t leave!” she retorted. “The drink killed him. Just like it’s gonna kill you!”

“Damn you,” he retorted, standing up and slamming his fist on the table. “And damn him, too!”

“Randal! He was your brother!” she said tearfully.

“A lousy brother. And a lousy husband, too, who I see now didn’t know how to put a woman in her place!” he said angrily. He grabbed her arm and squeezed it so hard she let out a small cry. “I don’t want to hear anything more out of you. I’ve got enough on my mind. You want to win this case, don‘t you?”

“….Yes,” she whispered.

“Then keep your mouth shut and let us men do what needs to be done,” he said, releasing her hand and storming out of the cafe.

Michaela leaned back in her chair tiredly. The oil in the lamp on the table was running low. She could hear Elizabeth in the kitchen, whispering to the baby as she finished giving him a bath. Sully and the rest of the children were talking and laughing outside on the porch, giving Michaela, Harold, and Matthew space and quiet to work.

"Mr. Preston, we've been over this a dozen times," she said with a sigh.

"What do ya say we call it a night?" Matthew suggested, closing his casebook.

"That sounds like a good idea," Michaela replied.

Harold folded his arms. "I just want you to be honest. Attorney-client privilege, Dr. Quinn. I can't breathe a word of what you say." He paused, stroking his chin. "Do you understand? It's confidential."

Michaela glanced at Matthew, who shrugged.

"I have told you everything," she said. She swallowed. "What is it? You think I did it."

He raised his hand. "Wait a minute. I didn't say that."

"She's tellin' the truth, Mr. Preston," Matthew said in support.

"As your lawyer, it's not really important to me if you're innocent or guilty. All I'm trying to tell you is that it's not the end of the world if you did have anything to do with the crime. I can help you come up with something Judge Webster will believe. But only if I know all the facts first."

"How can it not be important if I'm innocent or guilty?" Michaela exclaimed. "And what are you saying? That we should lie to the judge?"

Harold sighed and stood, picking up his briefcase. "Mr. Cooper's right. It's time to call it a night." He walked to the coat rack and removed his hat, then opened the door. "I'll see you in court tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Matthew murmured, standing and gently placing his hand on Michaela's shoulder. "Look, he's just trying to do his job, Dr. Mike."

"He doesn't believe me, Matthew. He's supposed to be defending me and he isn't even sure himself if I'm innocent."

He paused. "Hey, why did the Lord make snakes before he made lawyers?"

She smiled softly. "…Why?"

"To practice." He squeezed her shoulder and grabbed his hat off the table. "'Night, Dr. Mike. See you tomorrow."

She waited for Matthew to close the door, then stood and joined Elizabeth in the kitchen.

"My, you've been working hard. Are you three all done for tonight?" Elizabeth asked as she rinsed Jack's hair.

"Yes, finally," she replied. "Thank you for bathing the baby. You didn't have to."

"Nonsense, I love doing this," Elizabeth said, lifting Jack out of the tub and laying him on the nearby towel. "There we are, my dear. Fresh as a daisy."

Michaela unfolded another towel and dried the baby's head and chest. "Jack's taken to you. You love looking after Grandma, don't you, sweetheart?"

"And Grandma loves looking after him. He's just wonderful," Elizabeth said, sliding a diaper cloth under the baby's bottom and drawing the sides together. "And Sully's right. He's a Quinn, thank goodness. He looks just like you when you were this age."

"He does?" she replied with a pleased smile.

"Although I'm afraid I can't muster much enthusiasm for his name."

"What? What's wrong with his name?"

"Nothing. It's just, why not pass on to him a good family name? A name people are going to take seriously when he's older. What if he grows up to be a doctor one day? He very well could! Would you trust someone named Jack to operate on you?"

Michaela handed her a pin. "Mother, Sully's never going to let me name a child of his Ezra. I gave up on that ages ago."

Elizabeth pinned together the baby's diaper and slipped a nightshift over his head. "Jack Sully. It just sounds so…Colorado."

"Good," Michaela replied, lifting Jack off the table and kissing him. "I want him to sound Colorado."

"…I suppose," Elizabeth said quietly. "Well, what's his middle name at least? You never told me."

Michaela hesitated. "Actually he doesn't have one."

"Doesn't have one!" Elizabeth blurted. "Michaela! Why on earth not?"

"I don't know. I couldn't think of anything when I was pregnant with him. Sully couldn't either. And then after he was born it just didn't seem important anymore."

"You two had nine months to think about it and you still couldn't come up with anything?! Michaela, at least give the poor child a middle name to fall back on."

Michaela rubbed the baby's back and he rested his head against her shoulder. "Well, I suppose he should have one. I'll have to give it some thought."

"Honestly, I've never seen parents dawdle as much as you and Sully do. For heaven's sake."

Michaela cleared her throat. "Why did the Lord create snakes before he created lawyers?"

Elizabeth wiped droplets of water from the table with the towel. "To practice of course."

"Oh. You know that one?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I was listening. Michaela, you mustn't take Harold too seriously. He does have a point. His job is to defend you and your innocence is irrelevant, at least in his mind."

"But how could he honestly defend me if he thinks I'm guilty?"

"He's a lawyer, Michaela. They do that all the time. The point is he's a good one. That's what's important."

"Do you think he can win this for me?" she asked quietly.

"If he can't…no one can," she replied.

Michaela opened the door, wiping her sooty hands with a towel. "Loren, is something wrong?"

He glanced inside. "We need to talk. Are you busy?"

"Not exactly. I was cleaning my stove."

"You don't have any patients?" he asked incredulously. “Oh, I forgot. The judge took away your license.”

"Sully built two new recovery rooms for me. And now there's no one to use them."

"Oh," he muttered, stepping inside and gazing at the jars on her desk. "Dr. Mike, you've got to stop selling those preserves. You're puttin' me out of the business!"

"I thought you said yours were selling like hot cakes."

"I lied," he said grouchily, pulling on the ends of his vest. "Look, you do the doctoring and I run the mercantile, all right?"

She shook her head. "No. Faye's preserves are the best I've ever tasted. And if you refuse to stock them then I have every right to sell them here. There's nothing wrong with a little friendly competition, Loren. That's what Adam Smith would say."

"Who the heck's Adam Smith?"

"Someone who's on our side." She grabbed the door and began to close it.

Loren stopped it with his boot. "Fine. Fine! Tell that girl I'll stock her preserves. I'm too old for this."

"You'll give her a fair profit?" Michaela asked skeptically.

"I'll give her fifty percent. And I'll cut you in on ten percent if you agree not to pester me with any more propositions!"

She grinned. "Deal."

"Good!" he replied, turning around.

"Loren, wait," she called, stepping forward.

He spun back around. "Now what is it?"

"Loren, how's Dorothy doing?" she asked quietly.

"Oh," he murmured. "Well, she's doing all right. Considerin'." He paused. "It looks like I'm gonna be testifyin' tomorrow."

"You are?"

He folded his arms. "I don't want to, that's for sure. I don't know why those lawyers want to put me up there. I don't know what happened. Seems nobody does!" He sighed. "It just don't feel right, testifyin' against you. After all, you saved my life. But I can't testify against Dorothy either."

She gently squeezed his hand. "It's all right. Just answer their questions the best you can. I can't ask anything more of you."

He sighed again. "I guess that's what I'll do."

"See you tomorrow," she said.

"See you in court."

"Were they together frequently?" William asked.

"Well, I guess so," Loren said quietly, wringing his hands.

"Don't you think that's a little odd, Mr. Bray? A little suspicious?"

He hesitated. "I guess they both liked stickin' their noses in the same books. A bunch of foolishness if you ask me."

"You're sure that's all it was?" William pressed. "Just a mutual interest in…books?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything," he retorted.

"Mr. Bray, what were the townspeople saying about them?"

He glanced out at the crowd. "Oh, folks talked. They always do. It's no wonder, what with Joshua over at the clinic every day, showin' up at Jack's birthday party and followin' Dr. Mike around all the time like a schoolboy sweet on her."

"Then there was something happening between them!"

"I don't know. All I said was folks talked."

"Did you talk as well, Mr. Bray?" William asked.

He sighed. "Well, maybe. Some. But the truth is I didn't know anything more than anybody else."

"Did Mrs. Jennings tell you anything about their relationship? You must have talked to her about this at some point."

Loren paused for a long moment. "Yes," he finally said. "She found them at the clinic one morning. Joshua had his shirt off. Maybe Dr. Mike was givin' him some sort of medicine. Who knows."

William raised one bushy eyebrow. "He needed his shirt off to take his medicine?"

"His back was hurting," Michaela whispered, glancing at Matthew. "I was just rubbing his back."

"I know," he whispered.

"Well, it does seem a little strange," Loren said quietly.

"This young man Dr. Quinn was spending all her time with, sharing her books with, inviting to dinner, and now you say Mrs. Jennings saw them together. It sounds like they were quite infatuated with each other. So fond, perhaps, that she conspired to help him die?"

"All I can say is I don't know," Loren replied impatiently. "And I don't understand why you put me up here in the first place."

William sat down. "That'll be all, Mr. Bray. I turn you over to the defense."

"I gotta answer more questions?" Loren demanded.

"Just a few, Mr. Bray," Harold said, flipping through his papers. "I have your medical records here."

"Aww, why do you have to go lookin' at those?" he said crossly. "It's private. Or at least I thought it was."

"We subpoenaed them, Mr. Bray," Harold said, pulling a paper toward him.

"Subpoenaed? What the heck's that? Speak English."

"When did Dr. Quinn first treat you as a patient?"

"She called it a hernia. Jake couldn't help me so I had no choice but to go see her."

"And what did she do for you?"

"Objection, your honor," William said.

"Overruled. Let's hear this," the judge said.

"Dr. Quinn operated on you and saved your life, isn't that correct, Mr. Bray?" Harold asked.

"Your honor, I object!" William said loudly. "We're supposed to be talking about Joshua Jennings. I don't see how some operation Dr. Quinn performed on the witness ten years ago has any bearing on this case."

"It has every bearing, your honor," Harold said, looking at the judge. "This witness wouldn't be here to testify for the prosecution in the first place if it wasn't for Dr. Quinn!"

"It's irrelevant, your honor," William retorted.

"All right, boys. Calm yourselves," the judge said, pressing his fingers together thoughtfully. "Objection overruled."

William smiled. "Thank you, your honor."

Harold closed the medical file. "Your honor, may I have one moment please?"

"Go ahead," he replied.

Harold turned to Matthew. "All our questions were based on that operation."

"What do we do?" Matthew asked.

"They're friends," Sully spoke up, leaning toward Harold. "Ask Loren about their friendship."

"Yes, until Mr. Herndon tells the judge that's irrelevant as well," Harold replied. "We have nothing else. I'm sorry, Dr. Quinn. I have to let the witness go."

Michaela nodded her consent, letting out a discouraged sigh.

"It's just one witness," Matthew said reassuringly. "It'll be all right."

Harold took a sip of water. "Your honor, we have no further questions for Mr. Bray."

Loren stepped down. "I'm goin' to the saloon!"

The judge banged his gavel. "Court's adjourned."

Katie and Byron rushed out of the clinic and ran to Michaela and Sully. Michaela hugged them tightly. "Oh, my sweethearts. Brian and Matthew went ahead to the cafe. Are you ready for supper?"

Katie and Byron nodded eagerly.

Michaela led them into the clinic where Elizabeth was waiting with Jack.

"How did it go today?" Elizabeth asked as Sully took the baby from her and raised him into the air playfully.

"The same. How are the children behaving?"

"Oh, just wonderfully. They're angels."

Michaela hugged Katie and Byron to her sides. "I missed you. What did you do with Grandma today?"

"Read some storybooks," Katie said.

"Went for a walk," Byron added. "Mama, how many more days is the trial?"

Michaela rubbed his back reassuringly. "Well, it depends, sweetheart. Every trial is different."

"Will this trial be long? Two more days?" Katie asked.

Sully caressed her hair. “Probably longer than that, Kates.”

Michaela stooped to her level. "It could be two weeks, Katie. Perhaps more. I just don't know."

"They've been so full of questions," Elizabeth said quietly.

"They always are," Michaela replied, rising to her feet.

"Well, you were exactly the same way as a child, Michaela," Elizabeth said whimsically. "You exhausted your father and me!"

"I'm hungry, are you?" Michaela asked.

Byron giggled. "Yep! My stomach's growling!"

"Good, let's go to the cafe!"

"Dr. Mike!" someone shouted outside. "Dr. Mike!"

Michaela walked to the door and opened it.

Kirk Davis was lifting his wife from the back of their wagon into his arms. Her skirts were soaked through with dark blood and her skin was drained of all color. She tried to speak, but no sound came from chalky, parched lips. She weakly held onto Kirk's neck with one hand and rested her head against his chest.

"Oh, my God," Michaela murmured, taken aback for only a moment before she sprung into action. "Kirk, bring her inside! On the table!"

Kirk hurried into the clinic, carefully laying his wife on the examination table. Sully handed the baby back to Elizabeth and helped lift Faye’s legs onto the table.

Byron backed up against Elizabeth fearfully. "Faye!"

"Mother, get the children out of here!" Michaela ordered.

Elizabeth ushered the children toward the back door. "Come along, darlings. Quickly."

Kirk took hold of Faye's hand. "Dr. Mike's gonna take good care of ya, all right, honey? Faye? Faye!"

Michaela retrieved her stethoscope from her desk and listened to Faye's heart. "Kirk, what happened?"

He smoothed back his hair restlessly. "I don't know. All of a sudden she hunched over at supper and started bleedin' like this. She's been havin' some spottin' off and on for about four days, but not much. She promised me it was nothin'."

Michaela raised the girl's legs into stirrups and pushed up her skirts. "Has she expelled any tissue, Kirk?"

"A little," he said, stroking Faye's brow soothingly. "It's all right, honey."

"But not the baby," Michaela said.

He swallowed tearfully. "I don't think so. Just some blood clots."

Michaela glanced at Sully. “Get Andrew.”

He briefly touched her shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Michaela pressed down on Faye's belly and slipped two fingers between the girl's legs as Sully hurried out of the clinic. "Faye, listen to me. This is very important. You've been bleeding for four days, is that right?"

Faye managed to nod.

"Are you having any cramping, or contractions?"

"No. Not much pain at all."

"Have you passed the baby?"

Faye shook her head tearfully. "I don't think so."

"It's still alive?" Kirk asked. "You can save it?"

Michaela withdrew her blood-soaked hand and dried it on a towel. She rushed to her cabinet, pulling out a pile of sheets. "I suspect the afterbirth has detached from the uterus. That's where the baby grows? I've seen this before."

Kirk shook his head in bewilderment. "Well, what did you do before? The baby made it. His ma, too. You saved them. Right?"

"Kirk, I'm afraid this early the baby can't survive when the placenta detaches," Michaela explained gently, retrieving her instrument case and opening it. "We call it placenta abruption. Massive hemorrhaging almost always ensues. Usually it happens much later during the pregnancy, but it can happen at this stage, too." She laid out her instruments on a sheet, including a scalpel and several clamps. "I've seen this three times myself — the mothers all bled to death before I even arrived. To save your wife, we have to operate. The judge suspended my license, but I have no choice except to start until Andrew can get here." She paused and looked him in the eyes. "You need to understand I can't be sure whether the baby's still alive. I can't tell you for sure. You have to give me permission now to operate. Kirk, you have to decide."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, gently touching his hand. "I'll need to make an incision in her uterus and deliver the baby and all the remaining tissue. Kirk, there's a chance the baby might still be alive. Once I've removed it from the womb, it can't survive. Not at eighteen weeks. But if I don't do this now, we'll lose both of them."

He took a deep, shaky breath and caressed his wife's shoulder. "All right. Do it. Save Faye. Hurry."

Kirk was sitting on the bed, holding Faye's hand tightly in his and vigilantly watching her every move. "Hey, Dr. Mike. She just woke up a few minutes ago," he whispered.

"Good," she replied, placing the tray on the night table and sitting on the bed across from Kirk. "I brought you some warm broth, Faye. Do you feel like trying some?"

Faye slowly looked around the room. "Danielle," she whispered. "Danielle?"

"She's with Grace, honey, remember? She's fine," Kirk said.

Faye pushed back the covers and sat up, immediately letting out a groan and slumping to one side. Michaela and Kirk quickly grabbed her arms and guided her back to the pillows.

"No, don't try to get up yet," Michaela said. "You've lost a great deal of blood. You're going to need to stay in bed for several days."

"…I thought I was going to die," she murmured.

Michaela covered her back up snuggly. "Well, you had us worried for awhile. But everything's going to be fine now, I promise. You'll regain your strength soon."

"That's right. You'll be better in no time," Kirk whispered, stroking her hair from her forehead. "Dr. Mike, I think she's got a fever."

Michaela felt her patient's brow pensively. "Just a small one. That's normal."

"What did I do wrong?" Faye asked tearfully. "What did I do?"

"No," Michaela immediately replied. "Listen to me. It was nothing you did. You didn't do anything, Faye. No one's at fault."

"Maybe if I'd come to see ya sooner, when the bleeding first started," Faye went on.

"Then I would have told you the same thing," Michaela replied. "That I had no choice but to operate. Faye, when this happens, when the placenta detaches as it did in your pregnancy…then women can't carry their babies to term. If we can diagnosis it in time, delivering the baby is usually the safest thing to do. But most of the time we can't detect it, and the mother suddenly starts hemorrhaging, dying within hours. You were very lucky."

"Thanks to Dr. Mike," Kirk said, stroking Faye's cheek. "She knew just what to do. She saved your life, honey."

Faye closed her eyes tiredly, but maintained her steadfast grip on Kirk's hand.

"Faye? Faye?" Kirk murmured.

"It's all right. Let her sleep," Michaela said, gently touching his arm.

"Thanks for trying to make her feel better, Dr. Mike."

"I'm afraid it was just the truth. There was nothing anyone could do."

"We're so grateful we got you. One of the first things Faye said when she woke up, she said, 'where's Dr. Mike?' She wanted to see ya. She feels safe with ya. Both of us do."

"Good, I'm glad," Michaela said, watching Faye sympathetically.

"Listen, for what it's worth, Faye and me don't believe a word about what folks are sayin' about ya, and we think this whole trial thing is a waste of time," he went on. "So if there's anything we can help ya with, you just let us know. I mean that."

"That means a lot, Kirk. Thank you," she said unsteadily. "…But let's focus on helping Faye get better. That's more important to me right now."

“She hasn’t eaten,” Andrew remarked, dipping his pen into the inkwell.

“I think she will once she starts feeling better,” Michaela replied. “Could you bring her up some more laudanum? It’s been several hours.”

“Of course,” he replied, closing the chart and walking to her cabinet.

She cleared her throat. “Andrew? Thank you. I appreciate this.”

He mixed the laudanum with a small amount of water. “I think you did exactly the right thing under tremendous pressure, Michaela,” he replied. “At least you saved one of them.”

“It was a difficult choice,” she murmured.

“But the right choice,” he replied, giving her an approving nod and turning for the stairs.

Michaela reclaimed her seat at the desk and opened Faye’s chart. She was tempted to pick up her pen and make her own notes, but tried to be content with simply reading Andrew’s.

"Mornin'," Sully said as he shut the front door behind him and approached Michaela's desk. "How's Faye doin'?"

"She's resting," Michaela replied, standing from her chair and embracing Sully tightly.

Sully rocked her gently. "Hey, you all right?"

"Yes." She pressed her cheek to his chest. "…No. Sully, I didn't want to operate."

"Ya had no choice," he said reassuringly.

"I keep seeing Kirk's face when I told him…when I said there was no hope for the baby, that I was going to have to operate whether it was alive or not."

"Shh," he said, rocking her slowly.

"I've been feeling so helpless lately," she went on, closing her eyes as a few tears slipped down her cheeks. "I couldn't do anything for Joshua, and then I couldn't do anything for the children's dog…and now I couldn't save Kirk and Faye's baby. I almost lost Faye in the process."

"All ya can do is your best," he replied. "These things happen."

"But they're not supposed to happen to people we love," she said, reaching her hand up and wiping away her tears. "Or to who our children love."

"No, you're right. They ain't," he murmured.

She slowly pulled back, holding onto his arms. "How are Katie and Byron?"

"Your ma's with 'em, we thought they better stay home from school today. They were pretty upset, thought for sure Faye wasn't gonna make it. I kept telling' 'em she was fine but they wouldn't believe me. Not after they saw her like they did."

"Perhaps they could visit Faye when she's feeling better. That might help."

"That'd be good."

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his back once more. "Are you all right, Sully?"

He closed his eyes, caressing her head. "…Yeah. I've just been thinkin' how lucky we are, how much I love ya."

"I love you, too," she whispered.

He kissed the side of her head and held her even tighter. "Michaela, Randal Jennings came by last night when I was waitin' outside with Kirk."

"Mr. Jennings? Whatever for?"

"He wanted to know what you were doin' in there."

She pulled back. "Did you tell him?"

"No, I figured it wasn't any of his business. But if he really wants to know he's found out somehow."

"I wonder why he's so curious," she said.

"Probably checkin' up on ya, lookin' for things to use against ya in court."

"If he finds a way to use this in court I'll never forgive him," she said firmly. "Kirk and Faye don't deserve that, not after all they've been through."

They split apart as someone knocked on the door. Michaela opened the door, drawing in her breath. "Dorothy?"

"Grace made up a bowl of soup for Faye," she stammered, holding up a tray with the soup, a mug of steaming coffee and a copy of the Gazette. "I was…well, I was just headin' this way. I thought I could bring it over."

"Oh," Michaela said, frozen in place in bewilderment.

Sully cleared his throat. "What she means to say is why don't ya come in?"

Dorothy reluctantly stepped into the room.

Sully stepped toward Michaela and gave her light kiss. "I got some things to do. I'll come by in a few hours."

"Brian told me what happened," Dorothy explained as Sully shut the door after him. "Well, I'll just leave this here." She put the tray on Michaela's desk.

"Dorothy, wait. About the trial-"

"Let's not talk about that now," she interrupted, folding and unfolding her hands. "It's more important Faye's all right."

"But it's about Faye. I understand you might summon some of my patients to testify, and you have every right to do that. But I'm pleading with you…don't summon Kirk or Faye. Don't bring up what happened to Faye at the trial. They already have enough to cope with right now."

"Michaela, of course not. Never," Dorothy said defensively. "I would never dream of such a thing! I'll tell Marcus and William as soon as I see them."

"Thank you," Michaela said, brow narrowing. "Dorothy, you mean Randal. You said Marcus."

"No, I couldn't have," she murmured.

"Yes, you did. I heard you."

"How's Faye doin'?" Dorothy asked. "It's just terrible what happened."

Michaela glanced at the door to the stairs. "Physically she's improving. But she's heartbroken about the baby."

"Do you think maybe….maybe I could see her? I bet she hasn't had many visitors. Times like these, folks never know what to say, so I reckon they think it's better if they just don't come by in the first place."

"You're right. No one's come by," she admitted. "Although I think perhaps that's because of me."

"Oh," Dorothy said uncomfortably.

"I'll…tell her you're here," Michaela offered.

"I'll bring up the soup," Dorothy said, picking up the tray again.

Michaela led the way upstairs to Faye's room. She found Kirk sitting in a chair beside the bed, whispering to his wife reassuringly. She was curled up on her side beneath several blankets, staring forward without blinking.

Andrew stood nearby, holding the glass of laudanum. Apparently Faye had refused to take it.

Michaela noted the tray on the nightstand and the untouched bowl of cool, watered-down porridge. "You didn't eat your breakfast, Faye," she said, pressing her hand to the girl's brow. "But I'm pleased to see the fever's finally gone."

"I just can't eat anything," she murmured.

Michaela removed her stethoscope from her neck and listened to her chest. "Are you feeling sick to your stomach? Or you just don't have an appetite?"

"Her stomach's fine," Kirk spoke up. "She just won't take a bite. I've been tryin' all morning, Dr. Mike."

"Well, we'll talk about that later. You have a visitor, Faye. Do you feel up to it?"

"Really? Somebody came to visit me?" she asked, perking up ever so slightly.

"Dorothy did," Michaela said, straightening and leaning toward Dorothy's ear. "Encourage her to eat," she whispered.

"You came to visit, Miss Dorothy?" Faye murmured. "But…I'd think you'd be busy, what with…"

"I'm not too busy to see you," Dorothy said. "Nobody can say no to Grace's vegetable soup. She made it up special for you," she went on cheerfully, placing the tray on the nightstand.

"Everybody's so kind to me," Faye murmured. "I don't know why."

"Well, then you don't know Colorado Springs. That's the kind of town this is," Dorothy said, slowly taking a seat on the bed. "How you feeling today?"

"Just real tired. I sleep all the time. I always fall asleep on Kirk when he wants to talk to me."

Kirk took her hand and kissed the back of it. "I don't mind. Dr. Mike says that's normal right now."

"Your body needs the rest to heal," Michaela explained, patting her shoulder. "I'll be downstairs if you need me." She nodded at Andrew and together they left the room.

Faye watched her go, then slowly returned her gaze to Dorothy. "The both of you must have a lot more important things to take care of right now than to fuss over me."

"Hush now," Dorothy chastised. "Don't you worry yourself about the trial."

"It's all so silly," Faye replied. "I'm real sorry about your nephew and all, but why do you have to bring in a judge and fancy lawyers and all that? Why don't you and Dr. Mike just sit down and talk, work things out?"

"It's all one big misunderstanding," Kirk said in agreement. "Dr. Mike didn't do anything of the kind, Miss Dorothy. She couldn't of."

"There's no witnesses to say she didn't," Dorothy retorted. "And you didn't see Joshua's letter."

"I reckon I'm just glad she was here when we needed her," Kirk said, stroking Faye's brow lovingly. "Who knows what woulda happened."

Dorothy paused to digest it all. "Well, let's talk about something else. I hear Loren agreed to stock your preserves."

"He tells us he already sold six jars," Kirk said proudly.

"Ain't that somethin'," Dorothy said. "Oh. Faye, I brought you this week's Gazette."

"I don't think I can keep my eyes open to look at it. Sides, I can't read very well. Only small words." She thought a moment. "Would you read it to me, Miss Dorothy?"

Dorothy hesitated, then unfolded the newspaper. "Of course I will. You don't need your eyes to listen. You just close them and lay back."

"Don't take offense if I fall asleep," Faye murmured. "Read that part in there ya always have about weddings and engagements."

"Don't you want to hear the news on the front page?" Dorothy questioned.

"Looks like there's a good one there about crop prices, honey," Kirk said, glancing at the paper. "And there's a piece about that fire last week."

"Brian wrote that one," Dorothy added.

"That's all sad news," Faye said. "I want somethin' nice. Weddings and engagements. Please?"

Dorothy smiled and turned to the back page. "Here we are. 'Mr. and Mrs. Eli Jameson of Town Line Road are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter, Willa, to Mr. Carl Victor Tucker of Boulder…"

"Just a little," Faye admitted, resting a bowl of warm broth back on the nightstand.

"Well, a little's better than nothing. I brought some visitors." She drew the children forward. "Go say hello. It's all right. Go on. It's Faye."

"Katie and Byron?" Faye murmured, instantly brightening.

The children needed no further prompting. They broke away from their mother and rushed to Faye's bedside.

Faye embraced them warmly. "Oh, it's so good to see you. Oh."

Katie eyed Faye in disbelief. "I thought you went to heaven!"

"No. Your mama wouldn't stand for that. She's a good doctor."

"Are you sad your baby died?" Byron asked quietly.

Faye swallowed, struggling to nod. "Yes, very sad."

"And mad?" he prompted.

Faye sniffled. "I suppose. A little."

Byron hugged her again. "Don't worry. When my dog died I got mad, too. And really sad. But not anymore. See? It got better, Faye."

"It'll get better. You're right," she replied, closing her eyes as tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Children, let's let Faye rest," Michaela said, stepping forward.

Faye held Byron and Katie close and kissed Katie's head. "No, it's all right, Dr. Mike. I like having them here. They make me feel better."

"We do?" Katie exclaimed.

"More than you know," she said, giving the little girl another kiss.

Michaela turned with a start as she heard someone pounding up the stairs and racing down the hall, generating clamor akin to thunder. "Dr. Mike!"

"Kirk, I knew that had to be you! Do you always have to make such a ruckus?" Faye asked, resting back against the headboard with a sigh as Kirk rushed into the room.

"He's noisy!" Byron said with a giggle.

"Mr. Jennings and that lawyer fella just gave me this," Kirk said, out of breath as he handed Michaela a piece of paper. "What the heck's goin' on?"

Michaela quickly read the document. "Oh, no. It's a court summons."

"Mr. Jennings said I gotta show up tomorrow at nine to testify. He said I'll go to jail if I don't!" He rested his hand against the doorframe. "What can I say about the whole mess? Why do they want to put me up there?"

"I'm so sorry, Kirk. I can't believe this. I asked Dorothy not to," Michaela said. "She gave me her word she wouldn't!"

"But why do they want Kirk on the stand?" Faye asked. "He sure doesn't know anything one way or the other. Neither of us do."

"I suspect they want to talk to some of my patients," Michaela explained. "They want to see how I've handled other cases as a doctor."

Kirk sighed. "Well, don't worry. I'll just tell 'em the truth. That you're the best doctor around. That ya saved Faye."

"No, Kirk. Don't talk about that in front of all those people," Faye said, suddenly bursting into tears. "Don't tell everybody about the b-baby."

Kirk quickly rushed to her side and stroked her arms. "No, honey. I won't. No, shh. Oh, don't cry, darlin'. I won't say a thing."

"Don't cry," Byron said helplessly.

Michaela dropped the summons on the night table. "Kirk, unfortunately you have to talk. Whatever questions Dorothy's lawyer asks you, you have to answer, and truthfully."

"No," Faye said, shaking her head despairingly.

Kirk swiped at her tears with his thumbs. "Well, I know what we'll do. I went to see a trial once in Houston, and this bank robber, when they asked him a question he said…what was it? The Fifth Amendment. Yeah. Then he didn't have to answer anything. I'll say that, too, honey. The Fifth Amendment."

Michaela gently touched his shoulder. "You can only take the Fifth if you're the one on trial. You're just a witness, Kirk."

Kirk stood and grabbed the summons, crumpling it up in frustration. "Damn lawyers. They got no right. They got no respect for my wife. Or our baby!"

Faye covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

"Don't cry, Faye," Byron said again, his eyes tearing up with sympathy.

Michaela gently pulled the children from the bedside. "Let's go downstairs. Come on."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Mike. I just don't understand why they have to do this," Kirk spoke up.

"I'll talk to Matthew and Mr. Preston as soon as I can," Michaela said, nudging the children into the hall. "Perhaps we can make a request that they cancel the summons. Or at least delay your testimony a few days."

"Lotta good that'll do," Kirk muttered, kneeling beside the bed and taking Faye into his arms.

"The prosecution calls Kirk Davis," William Herndon said resolutely.

Kirk rose from his seat in the back of the courtroom and slowly walked to the chair up front, head lowered. Michaela glanced at Dorothy from the other side of the room, eyes reflecting deep hurt and betrayal.

Jake approached the stand with a Bible, holding it out. Kirk laid his left hand on top of it and raised his right hand.

"You swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" Jake asked.

"Yes, sir," Kirk murmured.

Dorothy sat back in her chair in despair. "Oh, Randal. We can't do this. I promised Michaela!"

"What are you doin' goin' around makin' promises to her?" Randal demanded.

"Is there a problem?" William whispered, leaning toward Randal and Dorothy.

"No problem. Go on. Ask him," Randal said.

"Mr. Davis, in what capacity do you know the so-called doctor?" William began.

"Our families were neighbors when we lived in California last year," he said quietly. "We all moved to Colorado Springs together when me and Sully lost our jobs. She's our doctor. And a good one."

"Has that murderer been treating your wife this week?"

Kirk hesitated. "Dr. Mike has. Yes. Until Dr. Cook could get here."

"And what's wrong with your wife?"

"Faye got sick," he said simply. "She helped her."

"Dr. Quinn helped her?"

"Yes, sir."

"What exactly did she do to 'help' her, Mr. Davis?"

"Well, she…she-" he stammered.

"William, don't," Dorothy pleaded.

"The woman sitting over there…she killed your baby, did she not?" William demanded, pointing at Michaela.

"Ya got it all wrong!" Kirk said curtly.

"Yes or no, young man. Did she give your wife an abortion?"

The crowd let out a simultaneous gasp and erupted into conversation.

"Order!" the judge said, banging his gavel. "Order!"

The crowd gradually calmed, but many people continued to whisper.

"Was it an abortion, Mr. Davis?" William pressed.

Kirk twisted his hat in his hands. "Well…I guess. But-"

"Ah, so she did! She just freely handed it out. Sounds so familiar. Why, what else do you suppose 'Dr. Mike' has been freely handing out?"

"My wife was bleedin' to death," Kirk said crossly. "What were we supposed to do? Just let her die?!"

"That's all. No further questions," William said.

"The defense?" the judge asked.

"No, questions, Harold. Please," Michaela whispered.

"You can't win a case if you don't ask questions, Dr. Quinn," Harold protested.

"Just let him ask a few," Matthew said. "Dr. Mike, we gotta let Kirk explain what really happened."

"It's my decision, isn't it?" Michaela said intrepidly. "I'm the one on trial."

"What's going on there, Mr. Preston?" the judge asked impatiently. "Do you have questions for the witness or not?"

"We have….no questions for this witness, your honor," Harold reluctantly said.

"Thank you," Michaela murmured.

Harold nodded in acknowledgment.

Kirk looked at the judge. "No, you gotta listen to me. She saved Faye's life! And she's helped a lot of other people in this town. Why don't ya get them up here?"

"That'll be all, Mr. Davis," the judge said. "Please step down."

"Judge, but this whole thing is hogwash!" he exclaimed. "They're twistin' everything around!"

"Mr. Davis, step down!" the judge ordered. "Right now or I'll have you removed!"

Kirk put his hat back on and hurried down the aisle, opening the front door and slamming it behind him.

"Dr. Quinn?" Harold asked, watching her suspiciously.

"Let it go, Michaela," Sully murmured, touching her back.

She stepped away stubbornly and walked briskly to Dorothy, grabbing her arm and turning her to face her. "How could you do that?" she demanded. "How could you let your lawyer do that to Kirk and Faye?"

"Dorothy, get in," Randal ordered, climbing into the buggy and holding his hand down.

Dorothy led Michaela a few paces away. "I couldn't stop him, Michaela. I just couldn't stop him."

"He's your lawyer, Dorothy!" Michaela retorted.

Dorothy dropped her hands at her sides desperately. "I'm sorry! I didn't want to draw those two into it anymore than you did. I feel awful about their baby. It's just awful."

Michaela shook her head. "If that's the case then why didn't you stand up to your lawyer? You could have stopped this and you didn't. I trusted you!"

"I trusted you, too, Michaela," Dorothy said slowly. "I trusted you to make Joshua better. And instead he died. You killed him!" She turned and reached for Randal's hand, climbing onto the seat.

"Dorothy, wait!" Michaela said, grabbing the side of the seat.

"Get away from us, woman!" Randal said vehemently, giving the reins a slap.

Michaela backed up and watched them go, hands folded. Sully walked to her, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Michaela, let's go."

She closed her eyes as tears slipped down her cheeks. "She promised."

"You're tired," he whispered. "Come on, let's head home. Get some sleep."

Harold joined them, briefcase tucked under his arm. "That was their last witness, Dr. Quinn."

She opened her eyes and swiped at her tears. "And now?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid sleep is going to have to wait. Now, it's our turn."

Sully looked up from the Gazette as he tenderly held Michaela’s stocking foot in his lap and rubbed it between his thumb and fingers. Her eyes were closed, her head was slowly dropping to one side and her grip on the thick casebook in her lap was weakening.

He gently squeezed her foot. "Michaela?"

She quickly opened her eyes and struggled to refocus on the text. "Hmm?"

"It’s gettin’ pretty late. How much longer ya gonna read that?"

She shrugged. "Until I’m finished. Don’t wait up for me. You should go to bed."

"That’s all right. I’ll wait," he replied. "…Ya nervous about tomorrow?"

"A little. But I’m relieved, too. Now it’s our turn to present our case, to have our say."

"Think of any more witnesses?"

She shook her head. "So far it’s just going to be the Reverend and as many of my patients as we can find who can attest to my character." She sighed. "I can’t see the judge ruling in my favor based on just their testimonies. It’s going to be an uphill battle without any eye witnesses."

"Eye witnesses?"

"Someone who was actually there, who saw what happened," she explained.

"Which is what we ain’t got," he murmured.

"I’m just going to keep reading every casebook I can get my hands on until I find something that could help."

"We’ll find somethin’ eventually."

"I hope before the judge makes his decision. Sully, as long as you’re staying up could you make me some coffee?"

He guided her feet back to the floor. "Sure."

"Strong coffee," she added with a grin.

He stood and dropped the newspaper on the seat of his chair. "Strong coffee it is."

"The defense calls the Reverend Timothy Johnson."

The Reverend stood up in the front of the room and touched his walking stick to the ground. Brian clutched his arm and led him to the stand.

"Step up, Reverend," Brian instructed. "Here's the chair."

The Reverend reached out and grasped the back of the chair. "Thank you, Brian. I have it now."

Brian patted his shoulder once and returned to his seat behind his parents.

Jake walked to the Reverend as he took a seat and guided his hand to the Bible. “Reverend, raise your right hand. You swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do,” the Reverend said.

"Reverend Johnson, how long have you known Dr. Quinn?" Harold asked.

"About ten years. We met when she first came to this town."

"And what is your relationship?"

"Clergymen often work closely with town doctors. As do I with Dr. Mike. I would say we have a very close professional relationship. She has often sent for me during times when a patient is in need of counsel, or is approaching death. She's sought my advice and I've sought hers."

"How would you describe her as a doctor?"

"Well, she's very talented. She's saved countless lives in this town. She's managed a handful of epidemics, and once she traveled hundreds of miles to another town to help me with their influenza."

"What about Dr. Quinn as a person? How would you describe her?"

The Reverend looked in Michaela's general direction. "Just as she is as a doctor. Caring and compassionate. She's a devoted wife and mother. She loves this town. And this town loves her." He took a deep breath. "She was there for me when I went blind. She fought to try to make me see again. That was seven years ago, and she still hasn't given up. Maybe I don't always agree with Dr. Mike's methods, but she’s never done anything with ill intentions. No matter what she does, she does it with the best interests of her patients in mind. She wouldn’t hurt a patient…kill a patient. She makes us better."

"Thank you very much, Reverend," Harold said. "No further questions, your honor."

"Does the prosecution have questions?" the judge asked.

"Oh, plenty of them," William said, stacking his papers. "Reverend, you said you don't always agree with the defendant’s methods?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Are you familiar with many of her cases?"

"Yes. I've been with her as she’s treated patients many times."

"Then perhaps you'll remember this. Do you recall Dr. Quinn treating a patient with rheumatism some years ago? A one Abner Foley? And advising that patient to get a dog?"

"…Yes, I do."

"A dog, Reverend? Was she serious?"

"I believe the dog was helping him," he replied. "Dr. Mike says his hands opened right up."

"So she says. Surely they taught her something in medical college that would really help that poor man. And what about that engineer? John was his name. She performed a very risky surgery on him to remove a little scarring. How did you feel about that?"

"Well….God's plan for John was to be in that train wreck," the Reverend said quietly.

"So Dr. Quinn interfered, once again, with God's plan?"

"Folks were afraid of John," he said weakly. "She wanted him to have a more normal life."

William glanced behind him at the defense. "What about Byron Sully over there?"

Sully raised his eyebrows with a start. He looked at Michaela, who gave him an equally clueless shrug.

"Mr. Sully was temporarily paralyzed some years back following a fight," William went on. "He couldn't move from the waist down."

"Yes, Dr. Mike saved him. He started walking again."

"Really, or did time simply heal him? Isn't it true that Dr. Quinn, listen to this, took him for a swim?"

"I think she did. Several times. In the hot springs."

"It was helpin' Pa feel better!" Brian spoke up suddenly.

"Brian, shh," Michaela chastised.

"But-"

"Quiet, Brian," Sully said sternly.

"If I may continue," William said. "Reverend, you're telling me that was her course of treatment for a paralyzed man? Send him swimming? Is this woman a quack?"

"That's not all she did for him!" the Reverend said firmly. "And I don't see how it could hurt!"

"What about the girls at the saloon?"

"What about them?" the Reverend replied impatiently.

"Dr. Quinn's treated them, hasn't she? How do you feel about that?"

"We're all God's children," he said resolutely.

"Has Dr. Quinn been advising those prostitutes, and her other more-respectable patients as well, about preventing pregnancies?"

The Reverend folded his hands atop his cane uncomfortably.

"Oh, this is a contentious subject between you two?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, she knows I don't agree with her if that's what you're asking. But-"

"Reverend, you‘re a man of the cloth. A respectable citizen. What's your stand on the matter?"

"The Bible's pretty clear. God commands us to be fruitful and multiply. From Genesis."

"So in the course of her practice Dr. Quinn blatantly ignores the Bible."

"Well, not the whole thing," he said defensively. "Just…that part."

"Is she playing God, Reverend? It sounds like playing God has become a habit for her."

"Dr. Mike happens to think ladies should have a say in the matter. Now, maybe there's something to that. She and I have both seen families in this town with far too many mouths to feed. All I'm saying is that I trust what the Lord teaches us."

"Does…she…play…God? Answer the question with a yes or no."

"…I suppose some would say so," he murmured. "Yes."

William smiled. "No further questions."

Harold rubbed his temples with his fingers. "There goes that."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Mike," the Reverend said quietly as he stepped down from the stand.

"It's all right, Reverend," Michaela murmured.

"We'll recess until tomorrow," the judge said. "Court's adjourned."

Teresa looked up from her lunch as Katie and Byron walked inside the schoolhouse and silently took seats in the back. Just as silently, they unpacked their tin pails and resumed eating their lunches.

Teresa watched them for a long moment, slowly taking a sip of water.

"Katie, Byron, you’re not eating outside with the others?" she finally asked.

Byron glanced at Katie and took a bite of his apple.

"Can we eat in here?" Katie asked.

Teresa stood. "Katie, are the children teasing you again?"

Her eyes welled with tears and she nodded.

"Who? Who was teasing you?" Teresa asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Katie lowered her head and picked up her sandwich, taking a bite.

"If you don’t tell me, then I won’t know who to send to the corner," Teresa said.

"Everybody," Byron whispered. "They can’t all fit in the corner."

Teresa sighed, gathering her plate and cup. "Well, it’s cold today. I wouldn’t want to eat outside either." She walked down the aisle. "May I eat my lunch with you?"

Byron studied her for a moment, then slid over on the bench to make room.

Teresa smiled and sat beside him, placing her plate and cup on the desk.

"What’s those things?" Byron asked, eyeing the wrapped tortillas on her plate. "That’s not a sandwich."

"Where’s your sandwich, Miss Teresa?" Katie asked.

"I like sandwiches, but I like flautas de pollo better," she said, handing one to Byron. "Would you like to try it?"

Byron took a small bite and chewed experimentally. "Hey, poy-yos taste good!"

She patted his shoulder. "If there’s anything I can help you with I want you to talk to me." She paused. "I see your grandmother has been bringing you home from school. Has she been looking after you?"

"Yes," Katie replied. "Mama says we can’t go to the trial. We have to stay at home with Gran‘ma."

"What do you do with your grandmother? That must be fun, spending time with her."

"It’s fun. I don’t want to go to the trial," Byron said as he chewed. "I don’t want to go in there."

"That’s fine to feel that way. I don’t want to go either," Teresa replied.

"Everybody else wants to go," Katie remarked. "There’s lots of wagons out there."

"People are curious," Teresa explained.

"What’s curious?" Katie asked.

"Well, Katie, it means they want to see what’s happening in there."

"Not me. Can I have another one of those things?" Byron asked, pointing at Teresa’s plate.

She smiled. "Of course. Would you like me to bring you some flautas tomorrow that you can take home? You can share them with your family."

Byron bit into another flauta pensively. "All right. Thanks."

Teresa sighed. "The least I can do."

Michaela paused at the edge of the café and grasped the fence, glancing up at Sully. "I’m not sure I can do this."

"No harm in just talkin’ to ‘em," Sully said sensibly.

"I suppose you’re right."

He grasped her hand and led her into the vacant café where Grace and Robert E. were waiting at a table with a pot of coffee.

"Evenin’, Dr. Mike, Sully," Robert E. said as he and Grace stood up.

Sully shook Robert E.’s hand. "Evenin’."

"Take a seat," Grace said, picking up the pot and filling four mugs with coffee. "Well, ya wanted to meet with us?"

"Is it about the trial?" Robert E. asked.

"Yes it is," Michaela said, pulling her mug toward her and taking a sip.

"Where’s that fancy lawyer of yours?" Grace asked.

"I didn’t want to bring lawyers here. It‘s just us," Michaela explained. "I’ve talked to Matthew and Mr. Preston and all of us think it would be in my best interest to ask you to testify."

Robert E. nodded staunchly. "Sure, Dr. Mike."

"Anything you need, we’re here," Grace added.

"I should tell you what we’re going to ask you on the stand before you agree to this," Michaela said.

Robert E. took another sip of coffee. "About those burns I had? I‘ll talk about that."

"No, it’s about Anthony, Robert E.," Sully explained gently.

Robert E. slowly lowered his cup, glancing at Grace.

"What about Anthony?" Grace whispered, lightly gripping Robert E.’s arm with one hand.

"I didn’t know what was wrong with Anthony, just like I didn’t know what was wrong with Joshua Jennings," Michaela said. "And I was their doctor until their deaths. The cases are very similar."

"We wanna show the judge she’s treated patients like Joshua before," Sully added.

"Anthony would be a good example of how I’ve treated terminally ill patients," Michaela went on. "You saw me around Anthony. You can tell the judge how I handled his case."

Robert E. folded his hands thoughtfully.

"I know I’m asking something of you I probably have no right to ask," Michaela said as Sully laid his hand atop hers. "And I would never want to disrespect Anthony’s memory. I wish we never had to bring his name up in such a setting. But he can help me. We‘re running out of witnesses and I have to do everything I can if I want to convince the judge of my innocence."

"You can help us," Sully murmured.

Robert E. glanced at Grace with a soft sigh. "What do ya say?"

"If Anthony were still here…he’d want us to do this," Grace whispered, eyes welling with tears. "But Robert E. should be the one to testify. It’s gonna be hard enough gettin’ them to listen to a Negro. But a Negro and a woman, too…we all know I don’t have a chance in that courtroom."

"…All right," Michaela said reluctantly.

"It’s settled. I’ll do it. I’ll testify," Robert E. replied..

Sully nodded, rising to his feet. "We’ll see ya in court tomorrow."

"Wait, how you folks doin’?" Robert E. asked.

Michaela slowly stood. "One day at a time."

"Is there anything we can do?" Grace asked. "I’ve got some stew warmin’ on the stove you could take home."

"You’ve already done more than we could ask of you," Michaela said, stepping forward and giving her a warm hug. "Thank you, Grace."

"Thank Anthony. He woulda told his ma and pa to do this," she said unsteadily, closing her eyes.

"Was she ever able to determine exactly what he had?" Harold asked, looking up from his notes.

"No, sir," Robert E. replied. "But she worked hard to find out what it was. She wired some doctors back East. And she had us take him to see Dr. Cook, too. To get a second opinion."

"What did Dr. Cook have to say about it?"

"The same. He didn’t know either."

Harold took a deep breath. "I know it’s difficult to speak of, but please tell the court about the last few weeks of Anthony’s life."

"His kidneys started failin’," he murmured. "He got real weak and he couldn’t leave the clinic. Dr. Mike fixed a nice room for him upstairs. It was peaceful, quiet there. Grace and me would stay there with him, even spend the night sometimes."

"Was he in pain?" Harold asked.

"No," Robert E. replied, glancing at Michaela. "Thanks to Dr. Mike. She made sure he didn’t suffer any more than he had to." He looked down at his hands. "She didn’t just come into the room to give him his medicine. She stayed with him, too. She sat with him, kept him company, so’s me and Grace could have a rest. She‘d stay late, sometimes into the morning, to be sure our boy was comfortable and sleeping well. And she was there for me and Grace, too. She helped get us through it."

"Robert E., Anthony passed away under Dr. Quinn’s care. And yet you’re happy with the way she treated him? Despite the outcome?"

"Yes, sir. Dr. Mike did everything she could for him. I know that for sure," Robert E. said resolutely.

Harold stroked his chin. "If you could do it again, you wouldn’t have taken Anthony to see someone else? To Denver?"

Robert E. shook his head. "He was in the best place he could be. The night he died, the moment our son passed on, me and Grace was holdin’ one of his hands. And Dr. Mike….Dr. Mike was holdin’ the other."

Harold clasped his hands beneath his chin. "Thank you. No further questions. Your witness."

William stood up. "Robert E., I want to extend my sympathies. To lose your son…it’s just tragic."

Robert E. eyed him cautiously.

William thought a moment as he buttoned his suit coat. "Did Dr. Quinn give Anthony morphine to help him with his pain?"

"Yes, sir. Sometimes. When it got real bad."

"Was he drugged with morphine during his final moments?" William asked.

"Yes, sir," Robert E. murmured.

"Was Dr. Quinn emotionally involved in your son’s situation? Did she feel for the pain he was in?"

"She cared about him, if that’s what ya mean. Cared about us, too. Always has."

"Robert E., did you or your wife ever ask Dr. Quinn to speed along your son’s death?"

Robert E. inhaled angrily. "Of course not. No!"

"But had you asked," William went on. "What do you think she would have said? You’ve admitted she was emotionally involved."

"Objection, your honor," Matthew said forcefully.

“This is speculation, your honor,” Harold added.

"Overruled," the judge said.

William smiled briefly. "Well, Robert E.?"

"We didn’t ask," Robert E. said, gazing at him piercingly. "It never crossed our minds."

"But he was in so much pain," William said, sitting back down. "And he was going to die anyway. Why would you and your wife and Dr. Quinn want to see him suffer like that?"

"That was in the Lord’s hands," Robert E. said softly. He glanced at Grace. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "It was out of our hands. We did all we could…We did all we could."

"Was Dr. Quinn ever alone with Anthony during those final few days?"

"Sometimes. Like I said, she stayed with him so Grace and me could try to get some sleep."

"So how do you know she didn’t speed things along for him? How do you know Anthony didn‘t beg her to help it along? Like Joshua Jennings did."

"You’re talkin’ about my son," Robert E. said, standing up heatedly. "He was the bravest boy I ever known. He’d never want that. And even if he did, Dr. Mike would nev-"

"Robert E., you said you weren’t there all the time. If you weren’t there all the time, how can you be so sure?”

"Your honor, I object," Harold said. "This is cruel."

“Your honor, I’m merely suggesting that all these witnesses don’t know Dr. Quinn as well as they claim,” William said.

“Move on to your next question, counselor,” the judge replied.

"That’s all. I have no further questions," William said.

Robert E. stepped down and Michaela stood as he walked past her.

She grasped his hand, stilling him. "Thank you, Robert E.," she whispered.

He nodded briefly, eyes focused on Grace as he put his arm around her and led her out of the church.

Katie kneeled on one of the chairs and stirred the cookie batter as Elizabeth studied the recipe intently.

“One more egg, Katie,” Elizabeth said with a smile, picking up a brown egg from the basket on the table. “Byron, would you like to crack it?”

He climbed onto the chair beside Katie. “I’m not allowed, Gran‘ma. I’ll get a shell in it and ruin it. That‘s what Brian says.”

“Oh, no you won’t. Not if we’re careful,” she said, standing behind him and reaching her arms over his shoulders. She gently hit the egg on the table. “Now, you help me. We just carefully pull it apart.”

Byron bit his lip as he and Elizabeth applied gentle pressure to the egg. It split neatly down the middle. Elizabeth pulled apart the pieces and dropped the egg into the bowl, and Byron placed the shells on the table.

Byron beamed. “I didn’t ruin it, Gran’ma!”

“Of course not, dear. I can’t wait to tell your parents what wonderful helpers you’ve been this afternoon.“

“Gran’ma, do I have to go to school tomorrow?” Byron asked.

“Of course you do! Why would you ask such a thing?”

“I want to stay home with you,” he said, hugging her arm.

Katie looked up from her stirring. “Me, too, Gran’ma. I want to stay home.”

“Oh, but you have to go to school and learn. You enjoy school, don’t you? What did you learn today?”

“Nothin’!” Byron replied.

“Nothing! Well!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I’ve never had a good feeling about that little schoolhouse, or that teacher of yours for that matter, but it’s hard to believe you learned absolutely nothing today.”

“Nope, not a thing,” Byron affirmed zealously. “So can we stay home? Jack gets to stay home.”

Elizabeth slowly took a seat, wiping her hands on her apron. “Byron, Katie…did something happen? Is something wrong at school?”

“No,” Katie said quickly, exchanging a glance with her little brother.

“….No,” Byron whispered hoarsely.

“Well, good. The truth is I would love to have you stay here with me. But I don’t think your mother would approve. She believes in that school and she’s firm about you going. Now, let’s get this batter on a tray and start baking these cookies. We want them finished by the time everyone gets home, don‘t we?”

“Yep. Can I lick the spoon, Gran‘ma? Please?” Byron asked.

Elizabeth chuckled. “Yes! You can lick the spoon!”

"Good, Matthew. Good," Harold said, grabbing his pencil and circling several paragraphs in the thick casebook. "We’ll keep that in mind."

Michaela looked up from her book and sat back in her chair tiredly. "There’s nothing in this book."

"That’s all right, Dr. Quinn. We’ll keep trying," Harold replied, picking up a few of the medical charts. "Now, what about our witnesses?"

"I stopped by Mr. Perkins’ cabin today," Michaela said.

"How did it go? Did you ask him to testify?" Matthew replied.

"I didn’t get a chance to. He pulled out his Winchester and told me to get off his land."

"He pulled a gun on you?" Harold murmured. "Oh, my."

"I haven’t had much luck either," Matthew said. "Mrs. Green, Mr. Frobush and Widow Caraway all said they’re busy."

"Mrs. Craig told me the same thing last week," Michaela said dejectedly. "These people aren’t busy. They just don’t want to testify."

Harold sighed. "Dr. Quinn, I told you from the start that we don’t ask witnesses to testify. We tell them!"

"I know, but I think they should testify because they want to," Michaela replied. "Not because a court summons orders them to."

"I’m the lawyer here, aren’t I?" he replied, his voice growing increasingly louder. "I’m the one who has been through and won more than thirty criminal cases. I’m the one who trained at one of the best law firms in the country. I know what I’m doing, if you would simply heed my advice!"

"I’m the defendant," Michaela retorted. "And I refuse to force my patients to talk about their private medical histories. Not without their consents first."

Harold slammed his papers on the table. "Tell me, Dr. Quinn, who else do you expect me to put up on the stand? We’ve been through all of your medical files for any potential witnesses. Unless you‘ve found someone who was there when Joshua died? Do please tell us who that might be!"

Michaela bent her head. "….No. I haven’t."

"Maybe he’s right," Matthew said gently. "Maybe we’re gonna have to summon a few people."

Michaela looked up again. "Perhaps not. There’s always…Hank."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Hank? You’re jokin’."

"I operated to relieve pressure on his brain, remember?" Michaela replied. "Right before Horace and Myra were married. And he made a full recovery against overwhelming odds."

"Dr. Mike, ya can’t be serious about puttin‘ Hank up there," Matthew said .

"Wait a minute. Who is this Hank person?" Harold asked, stroking his chin.

"Well, he runs the saloon," Michaela explained. "He may not be the most…respectable man in town, but he’ll tell the truth. We can depend on that."

"Forget it. Even if we could use him, he’s never gonna agree to testify," Matthew said dismissively.

"He might," Michaela replied. "I think I can persuade him."

"I wouldn‘t be so sure of that," Matthew said incredulously.

"All right. I’m willing to give him a try up there," Harold said.

"You‘re makin‘ a mistake, Mr. Preston." Matthew said. "Look, we ain’t desperate."

"You’re wrong, son. We are desperate," Harold replied. "If this man can tell the judge anything that would place Dr. Quinn in a better light, then we have got to put him on the stand."

"You haven’t met Hank," Matthew replied, glancing at the clock on the mantel. "…It’s midnight already."

Michaela followed his gaze. "It can’t be."

"I’m afraid it is," Harold said. "And we have to be in court tomorrow." He gathered his papers and tucked them into his briefcase, standing up. "Goodnight, Dr. Quinn. Goodnight, Matthew."

Matthew grabbed his hat and put his hand on Michaela’s shoulder. "Night, Dr. Mike. Get some sleep, all right?"

"You, too. Goodnight," she replied, standing and picking up another book. She blew out the lantern as Matthew and Harold walked out the door, then made her way upstairs, opening the door to Byron and Jack’s room. She gave each of the boys a gentle kiss, then went to Brian’s room and adjusted the covers snuggly around him. Finally, she entered Katie’s room.

"Mama!" Katie called, sitting up in her cot, her hair tousled.

"Shh, don‘t wake your grandma. Go back to sleep," Michaela whispered, walking to her cot at the foot of the bed and sitting on it.

"You didn’t tuck me in," Katie said sadly.

Michaela placed the book in her lap and stroked the little girl’s hair. "I’m sorry, Katie. Mama had a lot of work to do tonight for the trial. I‘ll tuck you in now."

"I don’t like this trial," Katie said, reluctantly laying back down.

"I know. I don’t either," Michaela said, pulling the covers up to her chin.

"Can you read me a book? How about that book you have?"

"A whole book? Sweetheart, it’s so late. You need to go back to sleep, all right? Besides, you don‘t want to read this one. Believe me."

"All right," Katie whispered.

Michaela leaned down and kissed her. "I love you. See you in the morning?"

Katie hugged her neck. "Night."

Michaela quietly exited the room and slowly opened the door to the master bedroom, shutting it carefully behind her.

Sully was dozing in the rocking chair, a blanket sprawled across his lap. He had waited up for her.

Michaela swallowed guiltily and unlaced her shoes, slipping them off. Then she got into bed, opened her book and turned a few pages.

Sully gradually stirred in the rocking chair, folding his hands across his chest. "Ya finish down there?"

She glanced up. "Yes. Did I wake you?"

"I wasn’t asleep."

She smiled softly. "Yes you were."

"Maybe for a minute," he replied, standing and walking to the bed. "Ain’t ya even gonna put on a nightgown?"

She covered her mouth and yawned. "Oh, I can’t. I’m too tired."

He leaned forward and gave her ear a soft, tantalizing kiss. "It’s real late. We should…go to sleep."

"Mm. In a minute."

He rested his hands on the mattress and sighed. "Ya always say that. And a minute always turns into hours."

She turned another page and pored over its contents. "I will. As soon as I finish looking at this casebook."

He climbed into his place in bed, watched her for a moment, then shifted forward and began unbuttoning her blouse. "…I‘ll help ya into a nightgown," he whispered, kissing her neck as he parted her blouse with his fingers and cupped her breast in his hand suggestively.

"…Sully, I really need to read this," she said tiredly, reaching her hand up and grasping his wrist.

He sat back with a sigh. "Do ya have to think about the trial every single minute? Do ya have to be workin' like this, day and night?"

She turned to look at him, startled. "Putting together a decent case takes a tremendous amount of time. Harold and Matthew and I have been working almost every spare moment and we still barely have enough time."

"I know that. But what about you? Ya ain't gettin' enough sleep. You're workin' yourself until ya can't anymore."

"I don’t have much of a choice right now."

He grasped her hand. "I’m just worried about ya is all. Ya keep pushin‘ yourself like this and sooner or later it‘s gonna catch up."

"I’m fine," she said unsteadily.

"You’re not fine, Michaela," he whispered.

She shook her head desperately as tears suddenly flowed. "I’m sorry. Sully…"

He shifted closer and took her hand.

"I don’t know what else to do except to keep pushing myself," she went on as tears flowed faster. "I don’t know what to do. I just have to keep going."

He rubbed her back helplessly. "Michaela."

She closed the book and turned to face him, holding him tightly.

"Oh. Shh," he murmured, hugging her close as she cried.

Byron watched Gregory angrily as he sat at the edge of the crowd. Katie sat next to him, her storybook forgotten as she listened with wide eyes as the children talked.

"Hey, how do you know all this?" a child spoke up.

"Well, 'cause my pa's seen one," Gregory replied proudly. "In Kansas a few years back. It was a triple hangin'. Billy Brooks and his gang. And my pa said Billy kicked for fifteen minutes!"

"He did not," another child said skeptically. "Nobody can kick for that long, Greg."

"Did so," Gregory said, taking a step toward Byron and Katie. "The marshal is gonna have to come out from Denver. He'll put a sheet over your ma's head, tie her legs and arms up good, and then put the rope around her neck real tight." He demonstrated with his hands around his neck. "The preacher reads a prayer, and then the marshal says, 'Lord have mercy on your sorry soul,' and he pushes the lever. And that's it, she's a goner!" He tightened his grip and pretended to gag and choke.

"No!" Byron suddenly cried.

Gregory chuckled. "What's wrong? I'm just tellin' the truth."

"Are not," Byron retorted, standing up.

"Well, my pa told me so!"

Byron clenched his hands in fists and eyed his much taller classmate heatedly. "He's a liar!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, at least he ain't a stinkin' murderer like your ma!" Gregory replied.

Byron lunged forward and took a swing, hitting Gregory hard in the lip. Gregory immediately hit back, striking Byron in the nose. The boys attacked each other with full force, falling to the ground and rolling and struggling in the dust. The other children quickly gathered around the fight, shouting and cheering it on.

"Byron, no," Katie cried, pushing her way through the crowd. "Stop. Stop! Gregory, don't hurt him! Byron!"

Gregory threw one last solid punch to Byron's left eye before Teresa grabbed them by the arms and pulled them to their feet.

"Byron! Gregory! Why are you fighting?"

"He called my pa a liar!" Gregory said, pressing his fingers to his bloody lip.

Byron struggled to hold back tears as he squinted his wounded eye. "He said…he said my mama has to go to the gallers."

"The gallows," Gregory corrected, shaking his head with a laugh. "Heck, you're so dumb you don't even know what that is!"

"Gregory, apologize to Byron right now."

"Why do I have to apologize? It was just the truth. His ma is gonna be hung! Everybody knows that. Except dummy here."

Byron narrowed his eyes and tried to make another charge for Gregory, but Teresa's grip was solid.

"That's enough!" she said sternly. "You two are spending the remainder of the day in the corner. As for the rest of you, recess is over."

"Aww, Miss Teresa," several of the children grumbled.

"Inside!" she ordered, nodding at the door. "Ahora! Now!"

"Thanks, Miss Grace," Katie said.

She stooped and gave her head a kiss. "Run along now."

Robert E. strolled to the stove and grabbed a mug, helping himself to the coffee on the back burner. "What was Katie doin' here, Grace?"

"Oh, seems Byron got himself into a fight at school," she explained, pulling down a stack of plates and spreading them on her table. "Katie says he's got a big black eye to show for it. I gave her some cold meat to put on it."

"Ain't ya gonna go over there? See how he's doin'?"

Grace glanced at the tables, crowded with dozens of customers. "Everybody's come into town for that trial. And they're all hungry for supper. I can't leave the café for a second." She opened a pot and quickly dished spoonfuls of steamed green beans onto the plates.

He grabbed a towel and opened the oven, taking out a few of the baked potatoes inside and placing them on the plates. "Grace, you know Dr. Mike didn't want to put me on the stand. You know she didn't want to bring up Anthony."

"Robert E.," she said sternly.

"Grace, what is it? You've been avoidin' me for two days."

"Avoidin' you!" she exclaimed, quickly dishing up another spoonful of green beans. "Like I said, the café's busy!"

"The café's always busy what with the way you cook. Now what's goin' on?"

She slowly rested the spoon on the table and looked up. "….What if we had asked?"

"Asked what?" he murmured.

"Robert E., he was sufferin'!" Her eyes welled with tears.

"You mean asked Dr. Mike to…to help Anthony die? Grace!"

She turned, pressing her hands together and bringing them to her chin. "Everybody's talkin' about what a terrible thing it is if Dr. Mike gave Dorothy's nephew that morphine. How she should be locked up. Even…even hanged. What's so terrible about it is all I'm wonderin'."

He stepped closer to her. "Grace, it's a sin. The Lord knows the moment of our birth and the moment of our death and that ain't for anybody else to decide. Not even a doctor."

"What if it hadn't been quick for Anthony?"

"It was," he replied firmly.

"What if he had held out the way he was goin' for weeks? I'm not sure I could've just stood by and watched him…watched our son go through that!"

"So you'd tell Dr. Mike to kill him?"

"No!" she cried, spinning around to face him. "I'm talkin' about lettin' sick folks die with some dignity. With some compassion!"

"Grace, it's wrong. You know it is."

"That's easy to say," she murmured, clutching the cross around her neck. "But when I was holdin' Anthony in my arms those last few hours, so much medicine in him he didn't even know where he was, didn't even know who his own ma was…I wished things had been different."

He gently put his arm around her. "Sugar, I do, too, sometimes. But we can't go back and change things. We can't have regrets!"

She broke away from him and returned her attention to the food. "I got customers to tend to, Robert E."

Byron was sniffling and gasping, his steady flow of tears insuppressible. He held a small piece of cold venison against his eye as Katie stood beside the examination table and rubbed his arm in a futile attempt to comfort him.

"Oh, stop crying, dear," Elizabeth said, rinsing the cloth in a small basin of warm water. "What is it? You can tell Grandma. Oh, it's all right. Tell me."

"They're gonna put a rope around Mama's neck, Gran'ma," he said, gasping harder. "He said she's a g-goner."

"What on earth? Who said? Who told you that?!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

His tears flowed faster. "Gr-gre…"

"Gregory," Katie said helpfully.

"Oh, you poor things," she said, giving Byron a reassuring hug. "Don't worry, Byron. Grandma will take care of everything." She went back to work cleaning his face as Michaela and Sully opened the door.

"Everyone else is already at the café-" Michaela's eyes widened and she rushed to the table. "What happened?!"

"He had a little misunderstanding with another schoolmate," Elizabeth said.

Michaela pulled back the meat to reveal Byron's eye, swollen shut and bruised dark blue. "Oh, my God! You call this a little misunderstanding, Mother?"

"Grace gave us that meat for him," Elizabeth explained. "She really is a wonderful woman, Michaela. So kind and generous."

"Can you see out of it, Byron? Does it hurt?" Michaela asked, pressing her fingers to his eyelid and attempting to draw it open.

"Oww, Mama! That does!" he cried, pushing her hands away.

"Let me take a look at your nose," Michaela replied, tipping his head back and examining his nostrils. She touched the bridge. "Thank goodness it's not broken. What about your asthma? Are your breathing all right? Take a deep breath for me."

"Mama, no. I can breathe good," Byron insisted.

"The child was teasing Byron and Katie about the trial, that little heathen," Elizabeth went on. "He told them that you're…that you're going to be hanged, Michaela."

"Oh, no," Michaela murmured, stepping back and glancing at Sully helplessly.

"Who were ya fightin' with, son?" Sully asked gently, hands in his coat pockets.

"Gregory," he replied, pressing the meat to his eye again.

"What's this young man's last name, Byron?" Elizabeth demanded. "I'd like to find his parents and have a little talk with them!"

"Shays," Katie said with a small hiccup.

"Shays. I'm going to remember that one," Elizabeth said resolutely.

Michaela suddenly noticed a sizable rip on the sleeve of the little boy's blue plaid shirt along with a few specks of blood on the bodice. "Byron Sully! I just bought this for you and now look at it. It's torn and stained with dirt and blood. I can't believe this."

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" she replied.

"…Mama, what's gallows?" he asked.

Michaela swallowed and patted his arm. "Stay there. I want to examine you more carefully." She walked across the room to the basin and poured water in it.

Sully joined her at the basin and watched her scrub her hands vigorously with the bar of soap. "Ya wanna calm down?" he whispered.

She scrubbed harder. "Calm down? Sully, do you see him?"

"It's just a shirt. He's got others. And his wounds are gonna heal soon enough." He gently touched her arm. "…He was only defendin' you, Michaela."

She put the soap back in the dish and rinsed her hands, drying them with a towel as she watched Byron with sympathy. "We haven't explained anything to them," she murmured. "It's no wonder they're confused. We haven't taken the time to explain to the two of them what's happening. I thought I was protecting them."

"Me, too," he admitted. "What do you say we spend some time with 'em tonight? The four of us."

"Oh, but Harold and Matthew usually work all evening. I always help them, Sully."

"They won't mind if they're on their own for one night. 'Sides, I think the kids need ya more right now. They need both of us, Michaela."

"All right," she replied. "Then I'll tell Harold and Matthew I can't work with them tonight."

He nodded. "Good. Tonight then."

Katie giggled as Flash grabbed the apple from her hand and chewed it vociferously.

Byron climbed onto the fence and pet the horse's nose. "She sure likes apples!"

"Sure does," Sully replied, patting Flash's neck.

"Are you spoiling my horse?" Michaela called, walking across the yard and joining the three at the fence.

"She's hungry, Mama," Katie said. "She ate two whole apples!"

"I want to ride her," Byron spoke up.

"Let's get you healed first, young man. Then we'll talk about taking her for a ride." Michaela caressed his cheek and examined his injured eye. It had turned a nasty black and blue, but after keeping ice on it for most of the evening the swelling had gone down. "How is that feeling, sweetheart? Any better than it looks?"

"It hardly hurts anymore," Byron said cheerfully, squinting his injured eye. "You fixed it, Mama."

She patted his shoulder. "No more fights, all right?"

Byron sighed. "But Gregory said-"

"I know what he said. But fighting him didn't accomplish anything, did it? Aside from this big black eye."

"That's what we want to talk to ya about," Sully spoke up. "About what the kids at school have been sayin'."

Byron stepped down from the fence. "I don't like them. They lie."

"Well, they're probably exaggerating at the least," Michaela replied, putting her arms around Byron and Katie. "Let's sit on the porch."

"I know your ma and me have both been real busy with this trial," Sully explained as they crossed the yard. "But that don't mean we forgot about you."

"That's right," Michaela said, sitting on the top porch step and guiding the children down to either side of her. "If there's ever anything you want to talk about we're here."

"Mama…everybody says you killed Joshua," Katie whispered.

"Well, that's why I have to go to court," she explained. "Because the judge thinks I might have killed him."

"Josh got sick," Byron protested. "Sick people have to go to heaven sometimes."

"Yes, he was sick. You remember when Wolf was sick, and Mama gave her some medicine to go to sleep?"

Byron lowered his head and nodded.

"Well, Dorothy and Mr. Jennings and their lawyer think that I gave Joshua medicine so he would go to sleep, too. They think I helped him die. That's why some people say that I killed him. Perhaps you've heard some of them call that murder." She paused and caressed their shoulders. "Do you understand?"

"I guess," Byron murmured.

"But they're wrong," Sully added, resting his hand on the railing. "And we'll win the case, and it'll be over."

"But everybody says you'll lose," Katie spoke up.

"Then what?" Byron asked anxiously. Suddenly he hugged Michaela's waist tight. "Mama, don't let them tie a rope around your neck!"

"Sweetheart, oh. If we lose, we'll file an appeal. That means we'll ask for another trial. There's lots of things we can do to fight it before…before it comes to that."

"They'll tie it tight, Mama," Katie said.

"You'll choke," Byron said tearfully, closing his eyes.

"Oh." Michaela held him close and looked to Sully for help.

"Hey, I won't let anything happen to your ma," Sully said, caressing Byron's hair. "I promise, all right?"

Byron reluctantly nodded.

Michaela kissed his head. "If we lose, at least we'll know we've done our best and told the truth. We've always taught you how important it is to tell the truth, right?"

Katie nodded and rested her cheek against Michaela's shoulder.

"Those kids at school just wanna scare ya," Sully said. "I know it ain't easy, but try not to listen to 'em."

"And certainly try not to fight them," Michaela said with a small smile.

"What do ya say? Ya feel better now?" Sully asked, taking a seat beside Katie.

"A little," Katie said.

"Me, too," Byron added.

"Is there anything else you want to ask?" Michaela said.

"Yes. Can I feed your horse another apple?" Katie replied.

"Me, too? She's still hungry," Byron said.

Michaela chuckled and held them to her sides. "Of course! Let's all feed her."

“You got yourself some stubborn horses, Sully,” he replied as he sat near the range and polished a harness with oil. “They never wanna stand still.”

“Michaela likes 'em that way,” he replied, digging into his pocket. “How much I owe ya?”

Robert E. glanced up hesitantly. “Nothin'.”

He eyed him skeptically. “Robert E.-”

“Ya got enough to think about. Consider it a favor,” he replied.

Sully sighed deeply and put the money back in his pocket. “This lawyer we hired, he ain't cheap.”

“Thought that was Mrs. Quinn's doin'.”

“It was. But I'm gonna pay her back.”

“Sully, how ya gonna do that?” he asked incredulously. “Nobody in this town can afford a lawyer like him.”

“I'll figure out somethin'. Truth is, it's the least of my worries.”

Robert E. put down the harness and rose to his feet, wiping his hands with a cloth. “Ya doin' all right?”

“She's fine. She's been tired, but she's got lots of help.”

“I meant you, Sully. How you feelin'?”

He hesitated a long moment. “Helpless,” he admitted quietly.

Robert E. walked to him and rested his arm on the corral. “Must be tough, those lawyers takin' over everything.”

“I reckon they know what they're doin'. Not much I can do.”

“Sully, you were an Indian agent. You dealt with the law all the time.”

“That was different. Robert E., we're talkin' about murder.”

“All the more reason for everybody to try to help. Maybe the person ya least suspect is gonna be able to find out a way to solve this, win this for Dr. Mike.”

He nodded, considering his friend's words. “I best be goin'. Thanks, Robert E.”

“Didn't take hardly any time at all,” he replied, glancing at the horses.

“I meant thanks for the talk,” Sully said, holding out his hand.

“Sure thing,” Robert E. replied, squeezing his hand firmly.

“Thank you,” Michaela replied, nodding at the row of lamps on her desk. “Could you fill all of those up?”

“Sure thing,” he replied, setting the can on her desk.

“How are the windows coming?” Michaela called, glancing into one of the recovery rooms.

Byron trooped out with a bucket of sudsy water and a damp cloth. “We need fresh water.”

Sully followed behind him and took the bucket. “Let me get that, son. Go back and help your sister.”

“But I already did enough,” he protested.

“How many panes did you do?” Michaela asked skeptically.

“A whole two!” he said earnestly.

Michaela picked up a scalpel from her instrument case and dipped it into a basin of carbolic acid. “Do two more and then you can stop for the afternoon.”

“No more streaks,” Sully added.

“All right,” he muttered, returning to the recovery room.

Suddenly, the baby squealed and scampered unsteadily into the front room, a huge grin on his face and his hands and overalls damp with sudsy water. Elizabeth came chasing after him and swiped him off his feet with a chuckle.

“Jack! You're going to tire Grandma out!” Michaela said.

“This little one crawled all over the wet floor,” Elizabeth replied.

“He's gettin' into everything these days,” Sully said, rubbing the baby's back lovingly.

Michaela fished out the scalpel and dried it with a towel. “He's probably feeling cooped up. Let me take him outside, Mother.”

Elizabeth handed her the baby and caressed his head. “Have you and Sully thought about a new name for him yet?”

Sully raised his eyebrows. “What's wrong with the name he's got?”

"Nothing, Sully," Elizabeth said gently. "It's just Michaela tells me you two never bothered to give him a middle name."

“Hey, Grandma's right,” Brian remarked as he filled a lantern to the top with kerosene. “He doesn't have one.”

Sully shrugged, glancing at the baby. "Guess I never gave it much thought."

"No, apparently not," Elizabeth replied. “I made a list of possibilities. Granted, it was quite difficult to find anything that went with that first name of his, but the children and I picked out a few. Let me get it.”

Sully eyed her distrustfully. “He's fine the way he is.”

Elizabeth folded her hands. "Sully, all I'm suggesting is that you at least give this some tho-"

“I gotta get the water,” he replied, turning and exiting out the door.

Michaela gave Elizabeth a small shrug, then slowly followed Sully outside to the pump at the trough. She placed Jack on his feet and held onto his hands, letting him toddle a few steps on the porch. “We could at least look at the list,” she said quietly.

“You look if ya want,” he replied, holding the bucket under the spout and pumping it full of water. “I can already guess what's on it.”

“You're never usually this cynical, Sully,” she replied with a wry smile.

He turned to face her and placed the bucket on the porch. “I thought ya did your spring cleanin' a few weeks ago.”

“Yes, I did. But I can't just sit in there. I have to keep busy. And with no patients, cleaning's the only thing left to do.”

“I understand,” he murmured, squatting down and holding out his arms to Jack. “Look at you walkin'. You're ready to run soon, ain't ya?”

Jack giggled and reached one hand out to Sully.

“I miss him when we're at court all day,” Michaela said, kissing Jack's head lovingly. “And then I have to spend most of the evening with Harold and Matthew preparing for the next day. I miss all of them.”

“It'll be over soon,” he said reassuringly, squeezing Jack's fingers. “Things'll go back to normal. Your pa and ma are gonna be back soon, Jack, don't ya worry.”

“I hope so,” she whispered, glancing out at the road and straightening as she spotted Mrs. Barrett climbing into her wagon while her sons loaded a few crates into the back.

“Seth,” Michaela called, walking a few paces down the porch.

The young man walked around one of his older brothers and glanced at Michaela hesitantly, a heavy sack of flour in his arms. “Howdy, Dr. Mike,” he replied.

“Seth, get in the wagon,” Mrs. Barrett snapped.

Michaela walked a few more steps, grasping one of the porch posts. “How's your cough? Better?”

“Get in the wagon, Seth. Now!” Mrs. Barrett said even more sternly.

“Yes, ma'am,” Seth muttered, discreetly letting out a small cough and handing the sack up to one of his brothers and climbing in.

Michaela crossed the street and approached the wagon, looking up at Mrs. Barrett. “We can make an appointment for him to see Dr. Cook. I think he should be looked at again.”

“Don't come near us,” Mrs. Barrett said as her oldest son picked up the reins. “Don't you come near us ever again! Drive, Frank. We're goin' home right now.”

Michaela backed up, face falling. “Mrs. Barrett…but….”

Frank gave the reins a firm slap and the wagon quickly rolled past, leaving Michaela standing in its dust.

Sully joined her a few moments later, carrying the baby.

“What was that about?” he murmured.

She dropped her hands to her sides. “Nothing. I just lost another patient, that's all.”

He put his arm around her and held her to his chest. “It'll be all right, Michaela.”

She glanced up at him, nodding uncertainly just as Jack grabbed a loose tendril of her hair and pulled hard.

She grimaced and pried the baby's fingers from her hair. “Jack! What are you doing to Mama?”

“Mama!” the baby replied.

“Told ya he was a trouble maker,” Sully said.

“Our children are keeping me going,” she whispered. “And you. You keep me going, Sully.”

He squeezed her shoulder lovingly. “We'll get through this. All of us.”

He banged the gavel powerfully. "So ordered! Court is dismissed!"

Jake grabbed Michaela by the arm and handcuffed her, leading her down the aisle.

Sully tried to break away, but Matthew and Harold held him back tightly. "Michaela…Michaela!"

Michaela pivoted to face him, holding the poker in one hand. A vigorous fire was blazing behind her. "…Sully?"

He sat up in bed, taking a deep breath and blinking a few times. "What're ya doin'?"

She stood and leaned the poker against the stones. "Just adding another log to the fire. I was cold. What's wrong?"

He took another deep breath and glanced around the room, quickly regaining his senses. "…Nothin'."

She returned to the bed and smoothed back his hair. "Sully, you're sweating terribly. Do you feel ill?"

He swallowed and wrapped his arm tightly around her. "Wake me up next time. I'll tend to the fire."

She smoothed his damp hair a few more times. "Don't be silly. I'm not going to disturb your sleep just for that."

"It's all right. Sides, I wanna do it myself. I don't like the way ya lay the logs."

"What's wrong with the way I lay them?" she demanded, searching his eyes.

"You don't like the way I paint, and I don't like the way ya build up the fire."

"Oh," she replied.

“Get in. I’ll warm ya up,” he whispered.

She smiled impishly and pulled back the covers, and he drew them up over her warmly and then rubbed her arms.

“Better?”

She kissed him. “Much better.”

He studied her for a moment as he rubbed the cold from her thigh. "Michaela, what's your ma got against Jack's name?"

She glanced at him. "All Mother's saying is that it's not the sort of name one would normally hear in Boston. And she's right. It's not."

He propped himself up on one elbow. "So?"

"So, that's all. We love his name. That's what matters."

"She's tryin' to give him a middle name, too," he said quietly.

"Well, that's just tradition."

"Whose tradition? Your ma's?"

She caressed his chest. "Sully, what would be so terrible about giving him a middle name? Katie and Byron have one."

He sighed. "Nothin'. It's just if we're gonna do that, I should have a say in pickin' it out. Last time I checked, I'm his pa. Unless you got somethin' to tell me."

"That's not funny. And my mother was just offering suggestions."

He narrowed his brow. "Why you takin' her side?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side. I just think you're being too hard on her. She's been looking after the children every day for weeks now. She must be exhausted. But she's never complained once."

"I guess you're right. I guess we're lucky she's here." He sighed and folded his hands across his chest, closing his eyes.

She lay quietly for a moment, then glanced at him again. "Sully, tell me what's wrong with my fires."

"Ya ain't gonna let that go, are ya?"

"No," she replied wryly.

He opened his eyes and turned to face her. "Ya can't just drop the logs on. Ya gotta stack 'em. Then the fire burns longer and we won't have to get up again."

She curled up against his chest. "You could of told me this before. How long have we been married now?"

He shrugged, stroking her hair. "I didn't wanna argue about it. It was somethin' I was willin' to put up with."

"Put up with?" she replied defensively. "What else have you been putting up with?"

He rested his head against the headboard with a sigh. "Nothin' else."

She looked up, eyeing him competitively. "I'll have you know I've never liked the way you fold your shirts. You don't do it neatly at all."

He ceased stroking her hair. "They're my shirts. Why do you care?"

"I don't, except you put them next to my blouses in the bureau and then they don't match."

"Why does it matter if they match? Nobody's lookin' in our bureau."

She smiled. "I thought you said you didn't want to argue."

He caressed her cheek. "What do ya say we kiss instead?"

She shifted up higher and brought her lips to his in reply, taking hold of his hand and caressing his fingers with hers.

After a moment, he pulled back and eyed her mischievously. "If it bothers you that much you fold 'em."

She grinned. "Sully, thank you."

"What'd I do?"

"You made me smile. You made me forget about the trial for a little while."

He hugged her comfortingly. "I wish it would just go away."

"Me, too."

"Well, it ain't in our bedroom."

"Thankfully. Speaking of that we should get some sleep. Goodnight. I love you. Even when you fold your shirts wrong."

He gave her a gentle kiss. "I love ya, too. G'night."

Michaela walked through a thick haze of cigar smoke and approached the bar, eyeing Hank with determination.

Hank was leaning on the bar, a prostitute clinging to his arm. Lifting one eyebrow in surprise at seeing her in the saloon, he met her unwavering gaze. “Afternoon, Michaela. I'd need a drink too if I was in your shoes.” He placed a glass in front of her and filled it with whiskey.

She nudged it back in his direction. “I'm not thirsty.”

“So, ya finally seen the error of your ways, and ready to leave Sully for a real man?” He grinned.

“Hank, please,” she said with a flustered sigh. “I want to speak with you. In private?”

He grabbed the glass and tossed back the whiskey, then gave the prostitute the bottle of liquor. “May, go take care of my customers.” Motioning his head for Michaela to follow, he strolled to an empty table and turned a chair around, straddling the seat and propping his arms on the back. “What I hear, you've got yourself in a helluva mess.”

Michaela took a seat nearby. “That's why I came to see you. Hank, I want to ask you to testify at my trial.”

“What about?”

“As a character witness.”

“'Case ya hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly considered a man of character in this town.” He put a cigar between his teeth and lighted it.

“My character, Hank. Not yours. You've known me for a lot of years now. You've been a patient of mine, and you can affirm that I'm a good doctor. I know we've had our differences, but I think we've learned to respect each other. I can trust you to answer their questions honestly on the stand.”

He puffed on the cigar pensively. “Why me?”

“The truth is I'm running out of options. No one wants to testify on my behalf.” She lightly bit her lip.

“Woulda thought the whole town'd be willin', 'specially since most of 'em owe ya their lives.”

“I suppose they think I'm guilty.”

He blew a few smoke rings to the side. “Are ya?”

She folded her hands on the table. “I'm sure you've already decided I'm guilty, like most everyone else. Does it really matter how I answer that?”

He slowly drew in his breath. “Yeah….it does, Michaela,” he murmured.

She softened. “I'm innocent. I didn't do it. And I need your help.”

He sighed. “Seems things were a lot simpler before all these lawyers and judges in fancy suits rode into town, when we settled disputes with a good pistol and sharp shootin'. Far as I'm concerned, that's all ya need.”

“If that were still the case, I'd already be swinging from a rope,“ Michaela said mildly. “Hank, I'm just asking you to answer the questions that my attorney and the attorney representing the state will ask you. That's all.”

“Trial brings in a lotta newspaper men,” Hank mused.

“Yes, you should see them all,” Michaela said encouragingly. “It would be good publicity for the saloon.”

“I ain't sure the Gold Nugget needs that kind of publicity. We got a reputation to maintain.”

“Yes, I see,” she replied, glancing around.

“Still, I testify, they'll all be comin' in here, drinkin', whorin', talkin' to me instead of goin' down to the competition. It oughta be good for business.”

“Are you saying yes?” she questioned hopefully.

“Ya really think it would do some good for me to testify?”

“Yes, I do.”

He gave a slight nod in her direction. “I'll be there.”

She permitted herself a soft smile. “Good. We start Monday in the morning at nine.”

“Little earlier than I'm used to.” He grinned, standing as she got to her feet.

Michaela gave him one last look. “But you will be there?”

“With bells on.”

"It certainly has drawn in a lot of people," Preston remarked as Jake trimmed his hair with scissors and a damp comb.

"Seems like half of Denver came out just to watch the trial," Jake replied. "Ain‘t too good for business though. Nobody’s thinkin’ about a haircut at that trial all day."

"Yes, you’re right," Preston replied, pressing his fingers together. "You know, Jake, I think you should go to the town council meeting tomorrow and try to push through that measure again to pave our streets. What must all these outsiders think of us, the dreadful condition our roads are in?"

"Every time I bring that up, Dr. Mike and everybody else shoots it down. It's no use."

"You're not presenting it right, that's the trouble," Preston said. "Why don't you let me write up something for you to say. You and I together will convince them."

Jake snipped at the banker's sideburns. "I don't think there's gonna be a town council meeting tomorrow anyway. Everybody's so caught up with this trial they ain't interested in voting on things like where the line is between the O'Brien and Fisher properties."

"You have a point, and I bet you any spectators would only come to see Michaela. We'll be a mockery of the democratic process." He started. "Wait a minute. We already are a mockery!"

"How so?" Jake replied defensively.

"We've got a murderer sitting on our council!"

"Who? You mean Dr. Mike?"

"Of course Dr. Mike. Jake, we've got to get her off there. Or risk never being taken seriously again."

"What do you mean? You mean fire her?"

"Not fire. Impeach her." Preston stood and stripped off the towel Jake had draped across him. "Where's the town charter? I want to look at it."

Jake grabbed the thin leather book off his desk and Preston quickly flipped through it. “Here, right here. ‘In the event a complaint is raised against a councilman, the council shall call a session to take a majority vote to censure or dismiss.’ I'll have Dorothy print up an announcement. You can hold an emergency meeting tonight."

"Wait a minute. Loren's on Dorothy's side. He'll go along with this. But how are we gonna get Horace and Robert E.?"

"Robert E.'s probably a lost cause," Preston said. "But you don't need him. We can persuade Horace and that's enough. In fact, let's go talk to him right now!"

"Good afternoon, Horace," Preston said, slamming his hands on the counter.

Horace looked up from a stack of letters. "Can I help you with somethin', Preston?"

Jake stepped beside Preston with a smile. "You can help both of us, Horace."

"How's business been going for you these past few weeks?" Preston began.

Horace wrinkled his brow. "Well, about the same. Why you ask?"

"Because business hasn't been good for us, Horace," Preston said, folding his hands atop the counter. "Investors have heard about Michaela and this trial. And no one wants to invest in a town that lets a regular murderer sit on its council."

"And everybody's so busy goin' to that trial they don't have time to get a haircut," Jake added.

Horace put the letters on the table and walked to the counter. "Really?"

"I might go out of business," Preston said. "And all because of Michaela."

"Look Horace, let's get to the point," Jake said. "We can't have Dr. Mike on our council anymore. She's gonna run this town into the ground. What're you gonna do when nobody wants to send telegrams here anymore? Think about that, Horace."

"What are you going to do when people stop wanting to come here?" Preston added. "When they stop running the trains here because no one's on them?"

"They wouldn't really stop the trains, would they?" Horace asked, glancing outside at the tracks worriedly.

Jake smiled. "They won't, Horace. Not if the leaders of this town have anything to say about it. We're callin' a meetin' tonight and we want your vote. We want Dr. Mike off our council."

"Off the council? You mean for good?"

"Think of the train, Horace," Preston said, reaching through the window and grasping his shoulder. "So, can we count on seeing you there tonight?"

Horace hesitated. "All right. I'll be there."

"I don't know why we even have to have this meetin'," Robert E. said, clutching his hat. "She hasn't been convicted of anything."

"I'm innocent until proven guilty," Michaela spoke up.

Jake held up his hand. "Dr. Mike, you'll get a chance to speak later." He glanced at Horace. "You got anything to say?"

Horace hesitated, glancing at Michaela. "I s'pose it doesn't make the council look very good. We have a duty to help run this town and that should come first. We can't even have our meetings anymore without two-hundred people showin' up."

"Precisely," Preston spoke up from the front pew. "Well said, Horace."

"Loren?" Jake asked, eyeing him sternly.

Loren wrung his hands as he looked at Dorothy, standing quietly in the back corner. Then he glanced at Sully, who was lingering near the side door, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "Well…I haven't noticed any drop in business at the store."

Preston stood up. "You will, mark my words. As soon as people realize there's a killer sitting on the town council."

Michaela closed her eyes and sighed.

"You're out of order, Preston," Robert E. said impatiently.

"I apologize," Preston replied with a sneer. "I would never want to interfere with the parliamentary procedure this council has always followed so stringently."

"I just ain't sure it's right to fire Dr. Mike just ’cause of the trial," Loren said tentatively. "Like she said, innocent until proven guilty."

"Loren, what're you doin'?" Jake demanded in a whisper. "I thought you were on Dorothy's side!"

Loren shrugged helplessly. "I'm just not sure about it all. It doesn't seem right. Can we do this?"

Jake held up the leather-bound book. "The town charter permits emergency dismissal of its members if something like this should happen. I'd say we've got good enough reason to do this. It's…democratic."

"That's right, we're supposed to be democratic," Michaela said. "And our Constitution's Fourteenth Amendment says no person can be found guilty of a crime without due process. I haven't been convicted. At least wait until the judge reaches a verdict. Then I won't protest if you want to go ahead with this."

"Fourteenth Amendment, Fifteenth, Fiftieth--what's the difference? All I'm saying is it could be days before we get any verdict," Jake replied. "And in the meantime-"

"And in the meantime our town council is being made a mockery of," Preston spoke up.

"Can we vote? It's getting late," Horace spoke up.

"All right, let's vote. All those in favor of dismissing Dr. Mike from the council raise your hands." Jake raised his hand, and a few seconds later, Horace slowly raised his.

Jake glanced at Loren, who stared forward uncertainly.

Jake sighed. "Those opposed?"

Robert E. raised his hand resolutely.

"Loren, you didn't vote!" Jake exclaimed.

"Well, I…I can't," he said quietly.

"You gotta!"

Loren glanced at Dorothy again, then looked at Michaela, then returned his gaze to his hands indecisively.

continue

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