For personal use and select distribution only © by Becky 2004

"Loren, come on. Vote yes," Jake pressed.

Michaela took a deep breath. "Wait. Loren, don't vote."

"Dr. Mike, he has to," Jake said firmly.

"No, he doesn't. I'll…I'll resign. I'll step down from my position. Effective immediately."

The crowd reacted with gasps and fervent conversation.

"Michaela, you can't do that," Preston spoke up. "They have to vote."

"Yes I can, Mr. Lodge," she retorted. "It's parliamentary procedure."

Jake cleared his throat. "That settles it. Dr. Mike's off the council." He stood. "Well, I guess the meeting's over. Adjourned."

Loren reluctantly approached Michaela as she stood up and solemnly put on her jacket.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Mike," he murmured.

She paused and gently grasped his hand. "It's all right. I understand."

"We're gonna miss ya," he added. "Well, at least I will."

She swallowed hard. "Thank you, Loren."

"No, I owe you thanks," he replied, squeezing her hand and walking away.

All the bedroom windows were dark when Michaela and Sully finally arrived at the homestead late in the evening.

Sully jumped down from the seat and walked to the horse, commencing to unhitch him without helping Michaela down.

After a moment, he glanced up at her. "Go to bed. I'll take care of this."

Michaela slowly climbed down on her own, gazing at him with concern. "What's wrong? Sully, why won't you speak to me?"

"I just did."

Chastened, she took a step back. "…You didn't say a word the entire ride home."

"Guess I wasn't in the mood for talk," he muttered.

"My, that must have been a long meeting," Elizabeth said as she opened the door and stepped onto the porch.

Michaela slowly turned. "Mother, how are the children?"

"They missed you as usual. But they're all fast asleep. Even Jack."

"Good," Michaela murmured.

Elizabeth took a step down, rubbing her arms against the cold. "You don't look like you have good news. What happened at the council meeting?"

"No, it's not good news. I resigned from my seat."

"You resigned!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Michaela, why? You must go back and tell them you made a mistake! You don't want to resign!"

"What she did was quit," Sully said.

Michaela turned to face him, drawing in her breath in shock and hurt. "….Sully, I had to."

He eyed her sternly as he unbuckled one of the straps. "What's wrong with you? Why won't ya fight this?"

"It's not something I want to fight right now," she said weakly.

"Guess I don't understand how ya can give up nine years on that council just like that. Remember how hard ya worked to get on it in the first place? Ya weren't afraid then. I don't understand why ya think Jake and Preston is somethin' to be afraid of now."

"I'm not afraid," she retorted. "And I'd appreciate it if we would not have this conversation in front of my mother."

"At least your ma agrees this is a big mistake, too." He looked to Elizabeth for support.

Elizabeth backed toward the door and grappled for the doorknob desperately, quickly turning it. "Well, it's getting late! Goodnight!" She shut it just as quickly, leaving Michaela and Sully alone.

Sully went back to unhitching the horse, brow fixed and head lowered. "Things're gettin' a little crowded here."

"Fine, tell my mother to leave," she replied impatiently. "Just explain to me who's going to look after the children all day when we're in court. Who's going to make sure they have something to eat and done their homework and get them to school each morning? Who's going to take care of the baby? You could show a little appreciation for everything she's doing for us."

“I'm tryin'!” he retorted. “But she ain't exactly makin' it easy. She's stubborn as an ox.”

“You're just as stubborn is she is,” she said, tears of anger and frustration forming in her eyes. “No, you're even worse!”

He slammed his fist on the post. “Get inside. It's cold out.”

“…Are you coming in?” she asked quietly, backing up a few steps.

“I got chores,” he said briskly, grabbing another buckle and forcefully pulling it loose.

Sully slowly opened the bedroom door. He had sat outside, giving himself a good hour to cool down, and he was amazed at what time could do. Now all he felt was guilt. He was too hard on Michaela, too hard on Elizabeth, too unwilling to hear their side of things.

Michaela was in bed. She had put up a good fight with sleep, but was finally dozing, streaks of tears drying down her cheeks and a handkerchief clutched weakly in one hand.

He carefully sat on the bed and unlaced his muddy boots. Michaela slowly awoke and timidly wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Are you all done?” she whispered.

“…Yep.”

“Byron had a bad dream while you were outside,” she told him.

“He all right?”

“Yes. Mother helped me get him back to sleep.” She paused. “We…we had to change his sheets.”

He swallowed. “Tough on them, too.”

She nodded.

He stood and walked to the door.

She immediately sat straighter. “Where are you going?”

He paused. “…I don't know.”

“Sully, I don't want to fight with you.”

He sighed and turned back to the bed. "….I just don't want to see ya lose that seat. It meant so much to ya to get it." He folded his arms. "Ya coulda won that tonight, Michaela. This is a battle ya coulda won."

She slowly shook her head. "Not without making Loren choose between Dorothy and me."

He swallowed. "What do ya mean?"

"You saw yourself Jake was going to make him vote," she said unsteadily. "If he voted to keep me on he'd be betraying Dorothy. But if he voted to dismiss me, it would be our friendship at stake. I couldn't put him through that. I couldn't make him choose."

"That's why ya did this? Ya resigned so Loren wouldn't have to vote?" he replied, mouth falling open slightly.

She nodded tearfully.

He sat on the bed and drew her into his arms in a reassuring embrace.

"Sully, I feel like things are going from bad to worse. I've lost all my patients. And now I've lost my seat on the council."

"When this is all over, the judge'll give ya back your license and your patients'll come back," he said reassuringly. "And you'll get your seat on that council back, too. You'll see."

"I have bigger things to worry about. I could lose this case. I could lose y-you and the children."

"No, you can still win."

"Our last witness is Mr. Lopez. After him we have no one else," she said hopelessly. "After him the judge is going to find me guilty."

"He won't."

She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "Sully, could we talk about this realistically? Our witnesses are all but useless. No one was there. We don't have evidence like the prosecution has. That letter and the morphine. We have nothing compared with that. I can't count on the judge to rule in my favor."

He took a deep breath and sat closer to her. He found her hand, squeezing it tight. "If ya lose…what…what's gonna happen? Would ya go back to the jail in town?"

"For a few days," she explained. "Then I expect I’ll be sent to a prison in Denver or perhaps Topeka. Even Lincoln."

He gently stroked her back. "Would ya be with men? I mean, would ya…would ya be safe?"

"They would separate me I suppose. And I'd just have to wait there while you and Matthew and Mr. Preston work on filing an appeal."

"How long does that take?"

She sighed. "Weeks. Months."

"Years even," he murmured.

"Years," she echoed hoarsely.

He drew her into another tight hug. "We can't get ahead of ourselves. We gotta take this one thing at a time."

"Sully, I need to start facing the possibility that I might not win," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"We," he corrected. "We're in this together, remember?”

"We," she repeated with a reassured sigh.

He caressed her face in his hands and kissed her. Gradually, they reclined to the mattress, the kiss growing deeper.

At last he drew back, pressing his brow to hers. “Whatever happens we're gonna face it together," he whispered, claiming her lips once more.

"Good morning," Elizabeth called as Sully padded down the stairs, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

"Mornin'," he replied, strolling into the kitchen. "Breakfast smells good."

She lifted the lid off a pan of minced potatoes and added some salt. "The coffee's on the stove. Where's Michaela?"

He grabbed the coffee pot and filled a cup. "Thought I'd let her sleep a little longer. She's been tired." He blew on his coffee and took a small sip. "Elizabeth, look, I…I wanna apologize if I haven't made ya feel as welcome as I should have. You've been a big help. I know the kids can be a lotta work."

"Sully, don't worry about me," she replied. "And my grandchildren have been nothing but a joy. They aren't work."

He poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her. "I'm glad to hear that."

She took a seat at the table and added sugar to her cup. "Well, judging by all that commotion coming from your bedroom last night, it seems you and Michaela have reconciled."

He coughed with a start, then took another sip of coffee. "Uh, what do ya mean?"

"I'm merely trying to remind you as tactfully as I can how small this homestead is," Elizabeth replied.

Sully eyed her tentatively, leaning against the counter. "Is that so?"

"I was up last night getting myself a glass of water," she explained, averting her eyes. "One would have to be deaf."

"…Oh," he stammered.

"The point is you're on better terms now. Michaela's going to need as many people standing behind her as you can find."

"You're right, and speakin' of that, I asked Grace to come to the homestead today and stay with the children. You need a rest."

"Oh, there's no need for that. The three of them may be a little rambunctious at times but no more than Michaela ever was as a child. Somehow I managed her, and I can manage my grandchildren, too."

"I know, but I thought ya could come to the trial today. I think Michaela could use ya there."

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "You do?"

He gently caressed her shoulder. "We both need ya."

Elizabeth softly smiled. "Sully. Well, of course I will. I'll come to the trial if you want me there."

He gave her cheek a light kiss. "I gotta start the chores. Be ready to leave at eight."

Dorothy was waiting on the porch of the store when Loren unlocked the doors and opened them. He glanced at her with a start.

"Mornin', Loren," she said quietly.

He grabbed his broom and began sweeping the porch. "If you came here to lecture me about that meetin' the other day-"

"I didn't come to lecture. I just wanted to see you."

"…Look, Dorothy. I don't have a better friend in this town than you. And when this first happened I was angry, too. I wanted Dr. Mike to pay, too. But now that some time's past, I guess I ain't sure what happened the night he died. I don't think anybody is deep down. All I know is that firing Dr. Mike from the council was wrong. And I wasn't gonna vote for it no matter what anybody said."

Preston stepped onto the porch, glancing at his pocket watch. "Good morning, Loren. Good morning, Dorothy. Loren, you're five minutes late opening. I hope you have some red ink in stock. I'm nearly out and I need it for my bank notes."

"Inside. To your right," Loren replied.

Dorothy stepped closer to Loren. "I never wanted her dismissed, Loren. I know how much being on that council meant to her. And what having her on it meant to us womenfolk in the town. Oh, I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"Well, it's too late now," he said gruffly, leaning his broom against the wall, stepping into his store and walking to his cash box.

"That's the reason I came. Maybe you could talk to Jake for me. Make him change his mind."

“Dorothy, you got Dr. Mike on trial for murder and you’re worried about her gettin’ kicked off the council?”

She paused, blinking slowly.

“Dorothy, she’s your best friend!” he went on. “Or was.”

“I need to get back,” she murmured. “I haven’t made Randal breakfast yet.”

"I don't trust him, that Randal Jennings." He swallowed, putting his cashbox on the counter and opening it. "…He reminds me too much of Marcus."

Dorothy swallowed, not replying.

"Dorothy, this is where you run off to!" Randal exclaimed as he walked into the store, a book in hand.

"Good morning, Randal," she said quietly.

"When are you gonna have my breakfast ready? It's past eight o'clock already."

"Why don't you make your own breakfast?" Loren asked firmly.

"What got into you last night, old man?" Randal replied. "Why didn't you vote to fire that murderer?"

Loren pulled out a stack of bills and counted them. "That's my business, ain't it?"

Randal sighed and laid the book on the counter. "I've been looking at some books in the sheriff's office and we may have a problem when it comes to hanging Dr. Quinn."

Dorothy narrowed her brow. “Hanging her?”

"What sort of problem, Mr. Jennings?" Preston asked, walking to the counter with a few bottles of ink.

"It's her weight. She's too light." He pointed to the text. "Gallows are built for the average man. Two-hundred pounds or so. Dr. Quinn must be half that. The distance that she would drop wouldn't kill her. At least not right away."

"Randal, we're not really going to ask the judge hang her, are we?" Dorothy said. “But…”

Preston picked up the book, skimming it. "He's right. She would need to drop a much farther distance than a man or we might have a botched execution on our hands. Not good at all for the town's image."

"I've done a few primitive calculations," Randal said, pulling out a small piece of paper from his back pocket. "When you build it, you men have got to get the distance right. Too short and it won't kill her. But too long and it could result in decapita-"

"Randal!" Dorothy exclaimed, pressing her hand to her mouth in horror.

He eyed her sternly. "What's wrong with you?"

"If you're not buyin' something then get out of my store," Loren ordered. He pushed the book forward. "Take this with ya."

Randal grabbed the book. "I don't know what's gotten into you two. In case you forgot my son's dead. In case you forgot he was murdered!" He walked to the door, then paused and turned back around. "And I'm gonna see to it his killer is executed right!"

Preston laid a few coins on the counter. "Loren, he's just trying to help. Can you imagine what would happen if we did foil it? And when I consider the men of this town who would be in charge of building the gallows, that's a realistic possibility."

"Who says she's gonna go to the gallows?" Loren replied. "She just might win!"

“Loren, we’re just talking. Nothing wrong with thinking ahead.” He chuckled. "Besides, I've been to the proceedings. There's no case there." He patted Dorothy's back. "Don't worry, Dorothy. You've got this one easily. Michaela's guilty as they come. It's only a matter of time now."

“Excuse me,” she murmured, walking to the door and swiftly exiting.

“Michaela! We were just having a lovely conversation about you!” Preston said cheerfully. “I have to get back to the bank. Good day. Well, at least it is for me.”

Michaela walked past him quietly and approached the counter. The baby was in her arms and Byron and Katie were trailing very close behind her. They had refused to wait in the wagon with Sully and Elizabeth. Their obvious reluctance to let Michaela out of their sight had not abated.

“Mornin’, Dr. Mike,” Loren said, eyeing her with concern.

“Loren, we just needed to pick up a few groceries before we head to the church.”

Loren leaned on the counter and gazed at Byron’s black eye. “Nice shiner!”

Byron looked up at him, proudly exhibiting his badge of honor. “Thanks!”

“Don’t encourage him, Loren,” Michaela scolded, placing her basket on the counter as Byron and Katie scurried off to examine the toy shelves.

He frowned. “Sorry, Dr. Mike. What can I get for ya?”

She handed him her list. “I hope you have plenty of coffee in stock. We’re going to need lots more of it.”

“Sure thing,” he replied, skimming the list and retrieving a pencil.

“Mama, I want to get this,” Byron said, returning to her side with a wooden train engine and placing it on the countertop.

“Young man, we go through this every time we come here,” she said tiredly. “Between you and your brother and sister we have plenty of toys at home. We don’t need any more.”

“Put it back,” he said knowingly.

“Put it back,” she replied, briefly caressing her hair. “That’s staying at Mr. Bray’s for now.”

“Mama, I just had an idea for Jack’s name,” Byron suddenly said, returning to the counter. “How ‘bought Mr. Bray?”

Loren glanced up at a start. “What? Whose name?”

Michaela placed Jack on his feet and let him look into the glass counter. He pressed his hands to the glass and giggled. “It’s my mother’s idea. She’s intent on giving Jack a middle name. We‘ve broken with years of Quinn family tradition and that‘s not sitting very well with her.”

“How ‘bout Trouble,” Loren quipped. “Trouble’s gettin’ his fingerprints all over the glass I just polished.”

Michaela smiled and picked Jack up. “I’m sorry, Loren.”

He grinned. “Leave your basket here, Dr. Mike. Come back after the trial today and I’ll have your list filled.”

“The trial,” she murmured.

“Oh. Sorry to bring it up,” he replied, lowering his head.

“That’s all right. Speaking of that I have to get to the church.” She glanced across the store at Katie, who was flipping through a picture book. “Time to go, sweetheart.”

Loren leaned over the counter and peered down at Byron. “You don’t like candy, do you?”

Byron’s mouth dropped open. “No, I like it!”

He chuckled. “Well, in that case, I’ll see what I can do about addin’ some licorice to your ma’s list.”

Michaela grasped Byron’s hand. “What do you say to Mr. Bray?”

“Thanks, Mr. Bray!” he replied, beaming up at him.

Michaela swallowed hard. “Thank you, Loren. For everything. I know how difficult this has been for you.”

He sighed, slowly nodding. “Well, don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself.”

"That's right. She saved my life," Hank said, removing a cigar from his breast pocket and twirling it between his fingers.

"It was brain surgery, wasn't it, Mr. Lawson?" Harold asked.

"Yep. Cut me right open with them saws. Wish I coulda seen it myself." He put the cigar between his teeth and lighted a match.

"Mr. Lawson, must you smoke in my courtroom?" the judge asked, eyeing him distastefully.

Elizabeth leaned forward and touched Michaela's back. “Are you sure you want to put…him….up there, Michaela?”

“It's too late now,” Matthew muttered.

“We don't have much choice, Mother,” Michaela murmured.

Hank slowly removed the cigar and shook out the match.

"Thank you," Judge Webster muttered. "Continue."

Harold cleared his throat. "You've known Dr. Quinn for awhile, too, haven't you? Ten years?"

"Sounds about right."

"As far as you can tell, is she a good doctor? A decent, law-abiding citizen?"

He chuckled. "Decent? Never known anybody half that buttoned-up. Ya oughta seen her when she first come here. Got rules for ever'thing.” He paused a moment. "As for bein' a good doctor. Well, all I can say is I've seen a hell of a lot more healthy people come out of her clinic than dead ones."

Harold smiled softly and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Lawson. No further questions."

William stood with raised eyebrows. "Mr. Lawson…what kind of establishment is this that you run anyway? If establishment is the right word."

“Oh, no. I knew he was going to bring that up,” Elizabeth whispered.

Harold pressed his fingers together and Michaela watched Hank nervously.

"The Gold Nugget," Hank replied proudly.

"A saloon?"

"A saloon. Hotel, restaurant, too. We got it all."

"And who are those scantily clad ladies who linger around your place all night?"

"Which one caught your interest? I'll tell her to save ya some time."

"I'm interested in the truth, Mr. Lawson," William retorted. "And I'll ask the questions here. Let's talk about the true nature of your business. You run a brothel with liquor, poker, and prostitutes. Correct?"

"Couldn't of said it better myself."

"Liquor, poker, and prostitutes," William repeated with a shake of his head. "And you count yourself a reliable witness? An upstanding citizen of this town?”

"Least one step above a lawyer," Hank replied with a grin.

"No further questions!" William cried, face flushed as he took his seat.

The judge rapped his gavel. “We'll recess for lunch.”

“Now I know why I don't come to this trial!” Elizabeth remarked, pressing her hand to her heart. “I'll stay at home with the children from now on, thank you very much. That was exhausting!”

“Hank can be exhausting,” Michaela replied, glancing at Sully.

He put his hand on her back. “What do ya want from the cafe? Some stew?” he whispered. “Let me bring ya somethin'.”

She sighed. “I don't think I can eat.”

“I for one can't stomach a thing after….that,” Elizabeth said.

“How'd I do?” Hank asked with a grin, slapping his hat down on the defense's table.

Michaela reluctantly turned, forcing a small smile. “I know you did your best, Hank. Thank you.”

“Why don't you folks stop by the saloon? I got a sarsaparilla just waitin' for ya, Matthew. On me.”

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, but Harold quickly grasped his arm.

“Some of us got work to do, Hank,” Matthew said evenly.

Harold stood and shook Hank's hand. “Thank you for testifying, Mr. Lawson, but I'm afraid it's not quite time to celebrate yet. Mr. Cooper's right. We still have quite a lot more work to do.”

Byron grabbed Michaela's slippers from the floor and pushed on her back. "Mama, wake up."

She slowly turned, eyes closed as she reached out and touched his hand. "It's too early, sweetheart. Go back to bed."

He tugged on her shoulder. "Wake up. You gotta wake up."

Sully reached across Michaela and gripped the little boy's arm. "Byron, you know what time it is?" he said hoarsely.

"No," he murmured. "I can't tell time."

"Well, it's not time to get up yet. Go back to bed like your ma told ya."

"Papa, something's wrong with Jack."

Michaela immediately opened her eyes. "What's wrong with Jack?"

"He's cryin'. I told him to be quiet but he won't stop. He's really hot. I touched his head."

Michaela and Sully sat up simultaneously. Byron held out Michaela's slippers and she quickly put them on. Then he grabbed Michaela's hand and led her to his bedroom, pointing at Jack's crib. "He's in there."

Michaela reached in and lifted the whimpering baby from the covers, feeling his brow. "Oh, Jack, Jack. What's wrong? Oh, you're warm."

Sully pressed his hand to the baby's head. "He's got a little fever. Should I make some willow bark tea?"

She nodded. "Yes, let's see if we can get him to swallow some."

"Put him in our bed. We best keep him separated from the other kids," Sully added. He paused and tousled Byron's hair. "Ya did the right thing comin' to wake us up. Ya did a good job."

Byron smiled. "I'm a good big brother, Papa."

Sully stooped and kissed his head. "You sure are. Now you get back in bed, get a few more hours of sleep. I bet Jack'll be good as new when ya wake up again."

"Yes, he'll be fine," Michaela added with a smile, patting the baby's back.

Michaela reached across the baby and grasped Sully's arm, awakening him from a light sleep.

"Feel him," she whispered.

He pressed his hand to the baby's pale back, looking at her with alarm. "He's burnin' up."

She kissed Jack's head and held him to her nightgown. "Maybe we should try the tea again."

"He can't keep it down," he murmured.

She stroked the baby's head. "I could try giving him something else but I'm afraid he'll just spit that up, too. Perhaps we should take him to the clinic."

He got out of bed and grabbed her medical bag off the vanity, handing it to her. "Let's get his temperature 'fore we do anything else."

"You're right." She sat up in bed and opened the bag, finding her thermometer case and opening it. "Hold this," she said, handing him the thermometer and turning the baby to his back. She quickly unpinned his diaper and bent his legs. "Now hold his knees still. I need him very still so I can insert it." She took the thermometer from him.

"Ya gonna put it…put it in there?" Sully asked hoarsely.

"Yes."

He gulped. "You really gotta do that?"

"The rectum gives us the most accurate temperature. He's too little to hold a thermometer under his tongue."

Jack cried and struggled to squirm as Michaela inserted the thermometer, but Sully's firm grip kept him from moving.

Sully wrinkled his brow in sympathy and stroked Jack's head with his free hand. "Michaela? It won't hurt him will it?"

"It's not hurting him. But I wouldn't say he's enjoying it," she admitted with a small smile.

"That's good," he murmured.

"Sully, look at his rash."

"It's just a diaper rash," he said.

"Scarlet fever can look like a diaper rash. A rash could mean any number of things. Rubella, measles."

"Where would he pick somethin’ like that up?"

She struggled to compose herself. "One thing at a time. Let's see what his temperature is first." She removed the thermometer and held it near the lamp. "Oh, no. One hundred and four. Sully, what do we do?"

"You know what to do," he said calmly. "Just think."

She took deep breath. "We have to cool him down. We need ice. Lots of it."

"Brian!" Sully called.

Brian appeared in the doorway seconds later, buttoning his shirt. "Yeah, Pa? Somethin' wrong?"

"The baby's sick. I need ya to go into town and bring back a block of ice."

He stepped into the room, hoisting his suspenders over his shoulders as he eyed his baby brother worriedly. "What's he got?"

Michaela opened Jack's mouth with a tongue depressor and peered inside amid his protests. "There's a chance it's scarlet fever. I don't know yet."

"I'll be back as fast as I can," he said, disappearing and pounding down the stairs.

"Sully, he hasn't wet his diaper all night. He's dehydrated," Michaela said, kissing the baby's head. "We have to try to get some fluids into him."

"Maybe we should give the tea another try."

"No, tea could dehydrate him more. Let's try water. Perhaps he'll take it if we warm it up a little for him."

"I'll go downstairs and get it," he said.

"Jack, sweetheart," Michaela whispered, leaning over the baby and smoothing his damp hair. "Oh, my sweetheart. Oh."

Sully paused and caressed Michaela's shoulder. "It's not scarlet fever. I know it ain't. He's gonna be fine, Michaela."

"Where are they?" Harold whispered as he opened his watch. "Thirty minutes late."

Matthew sat back in his chair and glanced at Judge Webster. "He's gettin' impatient."

"Well, he's not the only one," Harold replied, sticking his watch back in his pocket. "Mark my words, I'm going to bill Mrs. Quinn for today, whether my client comes to court."

"It ain't like Dr. Mike to do this," Matthew said. "Somethin' has to be wrong."

He chuckled. "Yes, something's wrong indeed. Dr. Quinn isn't here!"

Judge Webster looked at the clock on the back wall and heaved a large sigh. "What on earth is going on, Mr. Preston? Where's your client?"

William stood. "Your honor, I move we find Dr. Quinn in contempt of court for failure to appear at her own trial."

"Was I talking to you?" the judge snapped.

William lowered his head and sat back down.

"I apologize for my client's tardiness, your honor," Harold said carefully. "In fact, Mr. Cooper and I are beginning to suspect something is wrong. But I'm sure she'll be here any minute."

"I'm afraid I'm not as sure as you are, young man," the judge replied, grabbing his gavel. "This is unacceptable. I have no choice but to fine Dr. Quinn twenty dollars for failure to appear in court. I allowed her to return home on the condition that she promise to appear in court every day. Now, she has squandered my generosity. If she doesn't show up in the next five minutes I'm sending her back to jail without bail."

"But, your honor-" Harold began.

Judge Webster banged his gavel. "So ordered."

"Wait, maybe somethin' is wrong!" Dorothy suddenly said.

Everyone turned to look at Dorothy. The judge eyed her with bewilderment.

She cleared her throat. "What I mean, sir, your honor, is that Michaela…Dr. Quinn is never late. It's just not like her. I just got a bad feeling about this."

Randal grabbed her arm firmly. "What are you doing? Be quiet."

She reluctantly fell silent, bringing her fist to her mouth worriedly.

Suddenly Brian burst through the back door of the church and ran into the room. "Matthew! Ya gotta help!"

Matthew immediately stood and grabbed his hat. "What's wrong, little brother? Dr. Mike?"

He shook his head, panting. "It's Jack. He's got a high fever. Ma and Pa sent me to town with the wagon to bring back some ice. I need help."

Robert E. got up and made his way out of the pew. "Bring the wagon round to my place, Brian. We'll get it."

"Brian, is he going to be all right?" Dorothy asked, slowly standing up.

"…Ma thinks it might be scarlet fever," he whispered.

Dorothy drew in her breath. "Oh, no. Oh, Jack."

"Let's go, Brian," Matthew said, putting his hat on and hurrying to the door.

Jack was crying relentlessly when Brian returned to the homestead. He and Matthew used heavy iron tongs to carry a large block of ice inside, Robert E. behind them.

Sully took the ice from them and hoisted it onto the table.

"How's he doin'?" Matthew asked.

Michaela carried Jack from the kitchen to the front room. He screamed over her shoulder, refusing to drink from the bottle she held to his lips.

Katie and Byron lingered with Elizabeth by the fireplace, all three still in their nightclothes and watching the scene silently.

"Put some ice in the tub," Michaela said as she laid Jack on the table and stripped off his damp nightshift and diaper.

Sully pulled out his tomahawk and chopped off a few small pieces from the block, dropping them in the basin of water.

"Put him in," Sully instructed, sweat breaking at his hairline.

The baby screamed piercingly as Michaela lowered him into the cool water.

"It's all right, sweetheart. I know it's cold," she murmured. "I know. It's all right."

Brian reached his hand into the water and smoothed it over his brother's warm head. "It's all right, Jack. Ma's gonna get you well, don't worry."

Sully added several more ice chunks to the water and then rested his tomahawk on the table and tried to catch his breath.

Michaela glanced at Matthew, and it suddenly dawned on her. "…The trial!"

Robert E. twisted his hat in his hands. "The judge fined ya twenty dollars for not showin' up, Dr. Mike."

"How can that man do that?" Elizabeth exclaimed, stepping forward. "Her child is sick!"

"Don't you worry about the trial," Matthew said. "Harold and I are takin' care of it."

"I'm sorry, Matthew," she replied.

He shook his head. "It's all right. Like I said, we'll take care of it."

Byron approached the table, covering his ears with his hands. "Mama, he won't stop crying. Why won't he stop?"

"He's just cold, sweetheart," Michaela said unsteadily. "The water's cold."

Elizabeth grabbed Byron's hand. "Come onto the porch with me, Byron."

She led Katie and Byron outside and sat on the bench, letting out a sigh.

"It certainly is a beautiful morning," Elizabeth remarked. "These mountains are so beautiful. We don't have mountains in Boston."

"Why'd Jack get sick, Gran'ma?" Katie asked, gripping her arm and swinging her stocking feet beneath the bench.

"Little ones get fevers. Your mother got them when she was a baby."

"Mama was a baby?" Byron exclaimed in disbelief. “Really?”

Elizabeth chuckled. "Of course she was. A very difficult baby. Thank goodness I had Martha to help."

"Who's Martha?" Katie asked.

"Oh, she's my chamber maid. And the very best as far as servants go."

Byron looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "Servants? What's that?"

Elizabeth hugged them close. "Good heavens, you children never stop asking questions. A servant is…well, something your parents really ought to consider!"

"I want to go to Boston and see Martha," Byron said.

"I would love that, dear. I want all of you children to come. Perhaps next Christmas."

"What if Jack can't come?" Katie whispered with a small sniffle. "What if…what if he dies?"

"Yeah, he might die, like Josh died," Byron added sadly. “We'll have to have a funeral again and dress up.”

"No, dears. Don't think that. It's just a fever, that's all," Elizabeth said unsteadily. "He is not going to die."

Dorothy carefully wrapped a loaf of warm bread in a cloth and laid it beside the pot in her picnic basket. She turned for a brief moment as Randal opened the door to the Gazette and took a few steps into the room.

“I'm headin' to the café now for supper. Come on, Dorothy.”

She closed the lid of the basket. “I can't join you today, Randal.”

He chuckled. “What? Why?”

She slowly turned, tucking the basket under her arm. “I'm going out to the Sully homestead to see how the baby's doin'. And bring everybody some of Grace's soup.”

“You're going out to the…what in tarnation? You're not goin' anyplace.”

“Randal, believe me I don't want to see Michaela. But that baby's sick. I've been so worried just sittin' here. I gotta do somethin'.”

“How can ya want to give them help?” he asked, walking to her and grabbing her arm. “Don't you realize she's a murderer?”

“But Jack might have scarlet fever. He could….he could die!”

“Who cares if he dies!”

“Randal, how can you say that?! He's an innocent baby! Trial or not I still love those children. They have nothing to do with this.”

“She's their mother. Far as I'm concerned those bastards can't be any better than her. Maybe we should have them thrown in jail, too.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Well, that's the cruelest thing I've ever heard. No, you’ve gone too far. Now I'm goin' out there whether you like it or not. Let me pass!”

He backed up and slammed the door closed, then returned to her and raised his hand, striking her firmly across the cheek. “You ain't goin' anywhere!”

Michaela paced in front of the hearth with the baby, speaking softly to him and pressing a cool cloth to his head as Sully watched the two pensively.

"Here, Ma. Try this," Brian said, joining her by the fire and holding out a bottle filled with warm milk.

"Not right now. It's more important that he sleeps," she replied.

"I'll hold him," Sully offered. "Sit down. Give your arms a rest."

She reluctantly nodded and laid the baby in Sully's arms. "I'll bring him a fresh cloth for his head," she said tiredly.

Harold Preston knocked on the door and opened it, his briefcase and papers nowhere in sight. "Dr. Quinn, how is the baby?"

"I'm sorry about the trial, Mr. Preston," she replied.

He waved his hand. "No, no, please. How is Jack?"

"The fever's down a little," she replied. "We're watching him carefully."

"Well, I'm sure he'll come through fine."

"I owe the court twenty dollars," she said with a sigh.

"Not anymore. I paid it," he replied. "Let's sit down."

"You didn't have to pay that," Sully said, taking a step toward him. "I coulda-"

"I know it wasn't your fault you missed court today," he replied. "I can take care of twenty dollars."

Sully swallowed. "Thank you."

"Please understand your child's health is most important right now," Harold went on. "But I'm afraid neither the judge nor Mr. Herndon are very amused by all this. How soon do you think you can be back in court?"

Michaela glanced at the baby, taking a seat across from Harold. "I don't know. I'm hoping this won't last long."

"Tomorrow?"

"Oh, no. Not tomorrow."

"The next day then?"

She hesitated. "I'll try. Depending on how he's feeling."

"Couldn't you leave him at home for the day with your mother? Just for the day," Harold suggested, folding his hands. "Dr. Quinn, what I'm trying to say is that Mr. Herndon is going to keep asking the judge to send you back to jail. He's a very good lawyer as you no doubt have realized, and he can take this incident and make it work against you, convince the judge you should be held in contempt of court. Now, I'll certainly do my best, but I can't guarantee that something terrible won't happen."

"My baby's sick," she said angrily.

"Yes, well, he doesn't care. And I don't think the judge does either. Certainly you don't want to go back to jail."

"She'll be back in court tomorrow," Sully said, rubbing the baby's back.

Michaela stood. "Sully, no."

"I'll stay with him," he explained. "Me and your ma. You can come during lunch to look in on him."

Michaela walked to the baby and smoothed his hair worriedly. "He's so ill. How can I just leave him?"

Harold sighed. "You might have to leave him for a lot longer if the judge gets impatient enough to send you to jail."

Michaela kissed the baby's head tearfully. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Oh, I love you so much. I'm sorry."

Sully put his arm around her reassuringly. "Ya got no choice. We can't risk you goin' back to jail."

She sighed. "My baby doesn't understand that. What he understands is that I'm his mother. I should be here for him."

"I'm sorry. I wish there were more I could do," Harold said. "Well…I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Quinn. Nine o'clock."

She closed her eyes. "I'll be there."

Michaela joined Harold and Matthew at the desk two minutes before nine o'clock. Her hair, which she usually twisted in a neat bun for court, was hanging limply down her back. Her face was pale with dark circles under her eyes. She hadn't slept for more than a few hours since Jack had taken sick, and it was beginning to catch up.

Harold looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm ready to start."

"How's Jack this mornin'?" Matthew asked, putting his hand on her back.

"The fever's down a little. But he won't stop crying. Sully and I were up with him all night."

"Well, that explains it," Harold remarked.

"Explains what?" Michaela asked.

"Nothing, Dr. Quinn. You just don't seem…your usual self. It's rather important that you present yourself at this trial as, well…a respectable woman."

"You stay up all night with a sick baby," she replied with a smirk. "Then try looking respectable."

He nodded. "All right. Your point has been taken."

Matthew smiled and patted her hand.

The judge banged his gavel. "Order. Court is now in session."

William stood. "Your honor, the prosecution moves to-"

"Just a minute. Sit down," the judge said. He turned all his attention to the defense. "Dr. Quinn? How is your son?"

Dorothy glanced at her anxiously.

"….Better. Thank you, judge," Michaela replied softly.

Dorothy let out a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness," she whispered.

"Well, glad to hear that. Although not showing up the other day was very disruptive, Dr. Quinn," the judge went on. "I understand circumstances would not allow, but I would have appreciated it if you would have at least sent someone here to tell us what was happening. I'll have you know we all waited half an hour for you. That's half an hour of my time that you wasted. Half an hour I will never get back. And that's half an hour the good people of Colorado paid for via taxes in which nothing whatsoever was accomplished. Nothing. And I was quite perturbed."

"Precisely, your honor," William remarked, glancing at Michaela scornfully. "….What's this? Your honor, the defendant is sleeping!"

Harold glanced at Michaela. Her eyes were closed and her head was slowly dropping. "Dr. Quinn! Wake up!" he whispered, pinching her arm.

Michaela snapped her eyes open and focused on the judge exhaustedly.

"What's going on?" the judge exclaimed. "Dr. Quinn, were you sleeping?!"

Matthew stood. "Your honor, look, our client needs more time. Dr. Mike needs more time. Please give her at least a few days to take care of personal matters."

"Well, perhaps she could rest up in jail," William suggested. "I move we hold Dr. Quinn in contempt of court."

"Mr. Herndon, she's been takin' care of her baby!" Dorothy said. "No, don't send her to jail for that. It's not Jack's fault."

Michaela looked at Dorothy with surprise and appreciation.

The judge sighed and motioned with one hand. “Counselors, approach the bench.”

“Go ahead, Matthew,” Harold said encouragingly.

Matthew and William walked up to the judge.

“Your honor, the prosecution moves-” William began.

“Mr. Herndon, you're giving me a headache. I suppose Mr. Cooper is right. This isn't working. How many days does your client need, Mr. Cooper?”

Matthew hesitated. “We'd like four, your honor.”

“Four!” William exclaimed. “This is most unprecedented, your honor.”

“I'll give you two. Return to your seats,” the judge said. He looked at Michaela. “We'll take two more days. Go home, Dr. Quinn. Take care of your son and get some rest. I want you back here Friday refreshed."

"Get some sleep, Dr. Quinn," Harold said, patting her back. "Please."

Michaela walked to the prosecution's desk. "Dorothy, thank you," she whispered.

Dorothy nodded. "It's not Jack's fault," she repeated weakly.

"Don't talk to the defense," Randal retorted, grabbing Dorothy by the arm and leading her out of the room.

"It gives me the chills, Sully, the way he orders her around," Michaela remarked as she rocked Jack in the chair beside their fireplace. "Have you noticed?"

Sully ran his razor down his upper lip and rinsed the blade. "I noticed."

"I think Dorothy's afraid of him," she added. "You should have seen her this morning. The moment she tried to defend me Randal quieted her. And then he pulled her out of the room before we could talk. He looked ready to twist her arm. All I wanted to do was say thank you. But she's afraid to go against him."

He tilted his head back and ran the blade up his neck. "Sounds like Marcus."

"That's what scares me the most," she replied.

"It was kind of her to say somethin' in your defense to the judge. She didn't have to do that."

"She's a mother, too. She understands," she whispered, glancing down at Jack. She looked back up. “Sully, what do you remember about Marcus Jennings?”

“Marcus? He was a hard-workin' man, when he wasn't drinkin',” he replied. “Abigail called him Uncle Mark. Loved him like she did her own pa.”

“But when he was drinking?”

“…You knew it just by lookin' at Dorothy,” he said quietly.

“Sully...Dorothy had a bruise on her cheek this morning. A large one."

“A bruise?” he murmured.

“You don't think Randal could have…?”

“I don't know what to think anymore,” he replied, rinsing his face, patting it with a towel and then joining Michaela at the rocking chair. "Let's see how you're doin', big boy." He felt Jack's head. "Still warm."

"I don't know why it hasn't broken yet," she said worriedly.

"It will. I'll bring him up some more water, try an' get him to drink."

"Yes, let's give it another try," she replied.

"I'll make some breakfast for us, too. What do you want?"

"…Sully?"

He slowly squatted down, rubbing her hand.

"I was angry at Dorothy when Joshua died," she murmured. "I was angry that she blamed me when I had nothing to do with it. And I've been angry this whole trial when she hasn't stood up to Randal or her lawyer. But I don't feel that way anymore."

"What changed?"

She held Jack close and looked down at him. "I thought we might lose him. His fever was so high. He's so young and small. I felt terrified, helpless. If that feeling is anything like what it feels like to actually lose a child…Sully, Joshua was her son as much as Jack is our son. The pain she must be going through right now. I can't fathom it. And the worst part of it all is that I can't help her. I can't be there for her. She doesn't want me there."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Shh. It's gonna get better for her." He took a deep breath. "…I know it gets better."

She swallowed and nodded, giving him a soft kiss that grew deeper and lengthier. "…I like kissing you better when you're clean shaven." She smiled suggestively. "Lots of things are better when you're clean shaven."

He tapped her nose. "Why do ya think I bother to shave every day? Now what do ya want for breakfast? Mama's gotta keep her strength up, too."

"I'll have what you're having," she said lovingly.

"That doesn't help me much cause I was gonna have what you're havin'."

She smiled. "How about a little oatmeal?"

"That sounds good. I'll make up a bowl for Jack, too," he said, stroking the baby's hair. "Maybe he'll eat."

She nodded cheerfully. "We'll give it a try."

Dorothy rapped lightly on the homestead door, clutching her basket in her hands.

After a long moment, Sully opened the door, looking very tried after another long day taking care of the baby. “Miss Dorothy?” he murmured. “…Come in.”

“No, no, I can't stay long,” she said. “Sully, how's Jack doin'?”

He stepped down and closed the door after him, folding his arms. “That why you come out here?”

She swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Sully…those children mean so much to me.” Tears suddenly appeared in her eyes. “The thought of somethin' happening to any of them…I just, I care about them, that's all. That hasn't changed.”

He reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder, eyeing the dark bruise across his cheek. It looked even worse than Michaela had described. “We care about you, too. You know that. If somethin's wrong, just tell me and I'll-”

“Nothin's wrong,” she replied, closing her eyes.

“Dorothy, ya gotta get away from him,” he said softly.

“Away from who?” she replied, blinking a few times.

“You know what I'm talkin' about. Michaela and me are worried.”

“Michaela said she's worried?” she asked in disbelief.

He nodded. “What are ya gonna do? Wait until he tries to kill ya like your husband?”

“He's not Marcus,” she retorted.

“You're right. From what I'm seein', he might be even worse than Marcus. He know you even come out here?”

“I need to get back, Sully,” she replied. “Here's some soup.”

He took the basket. “We appreciate this. Jack's doin' better. Thank you.”

“Glad to hear that,” she said breathlessly, swiftly turning, hurrying down the stairs and climbing into her buggy.

Sully watched her drive away, then turned and grabbed the doorknob just as Michaela's voice startled him.

“Sully!” she cried.

He rushed inside, placing the basket on the table and joining Michaela beside the fire.

She was holding Jack in one of the chairs, pressing her hand to his head. The baby was motionless in her arms, eyes closed and lips parted ever so slightly.

Sully swallowed hard. “What is it?”

Michaela looked up, letting out a giant sigh. “The fever's broken.”

He squatted down to the baby's level, smoothing his hair and kissing his brow. “I told ya. I knew he'd be all right.” He gave the baby another kiss. “You're gonna be all right, Jack.”

Michaela inhaled tearfully and kissed the baby's hair as he continued to sleep peacefully. “Oh. Thank God.”

Sully found her hand and squeezed it. “Ya did good, Dr. Mike.”

She squeezed back, smiling with relief.

Harold flipped through Michaela's records pensively. Finally, he handed Michaela one of the thickest folders. "You've done quite a lot for Horace Bing. What about putting him up on the stand?"

Michaela opened the folder, unloading its numerous papers on the table. "He's a possibility."

"He voted to fire her at the council meeting," Matthew spoke up, pushing his pencil over his ear. "I don't think he's on our side."

"He has a business. He was afraid it might suffer because of me," Michaela explained.

"We'll have to give him some thought," Harold said, picking up another medical record.

"What do you think, Sully?" Michaela asked, turning in her seat.

Sully sat forward in his chair. "I think ya should put him up there. He'd have a lot to say about your doctorin'."

"Brian?" Michaela asked.

"Sure," he muttered, remaining intensely focused on the article he was reading.

"Moving on," Harold said impatiently. "What about this one here? Jason Boss."

Brian stood up abruptly and threw the newspaper down on his chair. "I can't believe this."

"What's the matter, Brian?" Sully asked gently.

"The article about the trial. In this week's Gazette. It's full of lies."

"What does it say?" Michaela asked.

"It makes us all look foolish," he explained angrily, walking to the table. "It calls Robert E. colored."

Harold cleared his throat. "Well, Robert E. is colored, son."

Brian sighed. "I know that. But it says no judge has ever trusted a colored man's testimony and it's not gonna start now. And it says Robert E.'s ignorant. Just 'cause he don't have much schoolin' doesn't make him ignorant, right Ma?"

"Robert E. is one of the most intelligent men I know," Michaela said. "This article sounds more like an editorial."

"Don't read it if it's gonna upset ya, Brian," Sully advised.

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

He rested his hand on the back of her chair. "I can't just not read it, Ma. How can Miss Dorothy print somethin' like this? Trial or not she's supposed to be fair. How can she print that Denver reporter's articles when he doesn't give a damn about the truth?"

"Watch your language, young man," Michaela said sternly.

"I told ya I didn't want ya workin' for Dorothy," Matthew spoke up. "Ya shoulda listened to me, Brian. I told ya."

Brian crossed his arms. "Fine. You were right and I was wrong. Happy now?"

"Hey, don't take this out on me, Brian," Matthew said, standing up.

"That's enough," Michaela said, rising to her feet and standing between the boys. "We're all working for the same thing, remember? We're supposed to be a team."

Brian returned to his chair and grabbed the newspaper, crumpling it and throwing it on the fire. "Tomorrow I'm gonna go to the Gazette."

"You're still gonna work for her? After all this?" Matthew asked.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm gonna tell her I'm quittin'."

Brian stepped onto the Gazette porch and turned around as he heard two pairs of footsteps close behind him. "What are you two doin'? Don't follow me."

"Where you going?" Katie asked.

"I gotta talk to Miss Dorothy. Go back to the clinic with Gran'ma."

"She's changing Jack's diaper," Byron explained. "Yuck, I don't wanna see that!"

"Or smell it!" Katie added with a giggle.

Brian sighed and folded his arms. "Then wait on Ma's bench outside until she's done."

"Can we wait here? Please?" Katie asked sweetly, taking a seat on the Gazette bench.

Brian boosted his little brother beside Katie. "All right. Fine. But don't move from this spot. Wait right here."

"We won't move! Not even an inch!" Byron vowed.

Brian removed his hat and placed it on Byron's head, covering his eyes. "Ya better not," he said lightly.

Dorothy suddenly appeared in the doorway, putting on her cape. "Oh, Brian. I was just about to head to the church."

"Can I talk to you?" he replied coolly.

"Of course." She stepped back into the Gazette. "How's your article about that new family who moved into town coming? I'm gonna need it by tomorrow."

He followed her inside and closed the door. "I'm not writin' it anymore."

"Why? But I thought you were almost finished."

"Miss Dorothy, I can't work for you. Not if you're gonna keep printin' those articles from Denver."

She sighed. "Oh. That's why you came here."

"That reporter's lying!" he said angrily. "You always told me a reporter's job is to get to the truth. How's callin' Robert E. ignorant the truth?"

"Well, he's not the best writer I've ever read, but I don't have much of a choice. Preston's makin' me put his articles in."

"Stand up to him!" he retorted. "Tell Mr. Lodge ya won't print it."

"Oh, Brian. I wish I could. But if I do that I could lose my Gazette!"

Brian reached up and removed his reporter's notebook from around his neck, holding it out. "You can have this back. If I can't trust my editor to be fair, then I don't wanna write anymore."

"Brian, what are you sayin'? You're givin' up writin' for good?"

"It's not worth it," he said quietly. “Take it.”

Dorothy slowly grasped the notebook and placed it on her desk.

"I gotta get to the church. It's almost nine o'clock." He turned swiftly and rushed out of the Gazette.

Dorothy walked out to the porch and watched him hurry toward the church. She let out a deep sigh, suddenly noticing Katie and Byron sitting on her bench, looking up at her timidly.

Dorothy slowly knelt to their level. "Aren't you supposed to be with your grandma?"

Katie nodded. "She's in the clinic."

Byron pinched his nose and clutched his older brother's hat to his stomach. "She's changing Jack's diaper!"

Dorothy chuckled softly. "Oh, I see. How is Jack? I heard he's better."

“All better now,” Byron replied. “Mama fixed him. She fixes everybody.”

"Miss Dorothy? Is Brian mad at you?" Katie asked curiously.

She swallowed and took a seat beside her. "Seems everybody is these days."

Byron eyed her tentatively. "Why you want Mama to go to jail and leave us?"

Dorothy drew in her breath, suddenly speechless.

"How come you want her to go away?" Katie added tearfully.

"Oh. I don't…I don't want her to leave you," she said unsteadily. "I…I just…I want justice to be served."

"Jus-tice?" Byron repeated, wrinkling his brow.

"Byron, Katie!" Elizabeth called, stepping into the street with Jack on her hip. "Come along."

The children obediently scampered to Elizabeth and clutched her skirts.

"Go inside now, dears," she instructed. "It's chilly out." She gazed at Dorothy for a long moment, brow narrowed ever so slightly, then followed the children inside and shut the door firmly after them.

Teresa was busily grading papers when Michaela opened the schoolhouse door and slowly walked down the aisle. "Mrs. Slicker? Do you have a minute?"

"Dr. Quinn," Teresa said as she glanced up. "You have come to talk about Byron. How is he doing?"

"He'll survive. I'm so sorry about what happened. I can assure you I was horrified to learn he started a fight."

"Gregory should not have been teasing him. His actions were just as intolerable."

"Apparently they're being teased quite frequently," Michaela murmured.

"Some," she admitted, putting down her pen. "But I am proud of Katie and Byron for how patient they are. In the meantime I will do my best to help them through this. They certainly should not be blamed for your actions."

"Mrs. Slicker, do you think I'm guilty?" she asked with surprise.

"That is irrelevant. I am supposed to teach your children, and that is all."

"I just don't want to pull them out of school," Michaela replied, resting her hand on the front desk. "I want them to have some sort of normal routine."

"I won't let it come to that," she replied.

"Actually, the children aren't the main reason I came here," Michaela began. "My lawyer and I wanted to ask you a favor."

Teresa eyed her cautiously. "Yes?"

"I think you know Alejandro Lopez. He lives a few miles south of town with his family."

"Si. I have seen them at Mass," she replied.

"Mr. Lopez is going to be testifying. He saw me on the road the night Joshua died and can place me many miles from town. His testimony is crucial. But he has some difficulty with English. I know he would feel much more comfortable if someone helped him. And I know his testimony would be clearer if it could be done in his native language."

"You want me to translate," she replied.

"Yes. I know it's a lot to ask but-"

"I cannot," she said, picking up her pen and returning her concentration to the papers.

"Mrs. Slicker, your English is flawless."

"That is not why," Teresa said.

She stepped closer to the desk. "What is it? Why won't you do this?"

She reluctantly looked up. "You're right, I do think you could be guilty. And if you are, it would be a sin for me to give you help. For that reason I won't. I wouldn't help Mrs. Jennings either if she asked. I don't want to be involved."

Michaela's shoulders fell with disappointment. "I implore you to reconsider. We need you. But I respect your decision."

She swallowed. "Gracias."

"For what it's worth…Sully and I both appreciate what you're doing for Byron and Katie. You're a wonderful teacher."

"Well, I think they are wonderful children. Katie is a joy to work with. Byron is, too." A small smile escaped her lips. "Well, he is most of the time."

Michaela slowly grinned. "Yes."

"I have much work to do. Good day."

"…Good day," Michaela murmured.

Loren knocked on the door of the Gazette and walked inside. “Afternoon,” he said quietly.

Dorothy was sitting at her desk, weakly clutching an envelope and its accompanying letter. She briefly glanced up. “Afternoon, Loren.”

“That paper you ordered just came in. Want me to bring it over?”

“No, I’ll come by and pick it up tomorrow. Thank you, Loren,” she replied.

He approached her desk, eyeing her furrowed brow and solemn expression worriedly. “What you got there? Somebody write you a letter?”

“Oh, news from Tommy,” she whispered.

He brightened. “Tom! He wrote ya? Well, good!”

She lowered her eyes and quietly folded the letter.

“What’s wrong?” he questioned. “Ain’t it good news?”

“…Last Christmas Tommy wrote that he…he might come this summer. Come here to Colorado Springs to see me. I been lookin’ forward to it for months.” She tucked the letter back in the envelope. “Turns out now he can’t.”

Loren’s face fell. “Oh. Well, young folks are always busy.”

“Yes,” she said, leaning back in her chair and letting out a quiet sigh as tears suddenly slipped down her cheeks.

He walked up to her and very gently put his arm around her. “Oh, Dorothy.”

“I’ve lost them, Loren. All three of them.” She took a deep breath. “Joshua was like my…my last chance. And now he’s gone, too.”

“Well, I know. Why don’t you go visit Tom this summer? Get a train ticket,” he suggested weakly. “Tell ya what, I’ll even go with you. I guess I can leave the store for a week or so.”

“Loren, Tommy doesn’t want to see me. Neither do the girls.”

“Of course they do! What do you mean?” he exclaimed.

“I know why they don’t write, why they don’t visit. I s’pose they want to forget. I don’t blame them. Lookin’ at me brings back everything they’re tryin’ to get away from.”

He pulled a chair forward and looked her in the eyes. “Now you listen to me. The way Marcus treated you was not your fault. And it wasn’t the kids’ fault either. All I can say about him is I’m sorry I didn’t speak up. I’m sorry I stood by and watched you come into town week after week, beaten up worse every time.” He shook his head. “Twenty-two years I didn’t say anything, Dorothy. But I’m not gonna be a coward anymore. I’m gonna say somethin’ now. I want Randal away from you. Come back to the store. Stay with me. Please, you gotta get away.”

“Randal’s in a lot of pain, Loren. He lost his wife last year and now his son’s gone, too,” she murmured.

“There you go makin’ excuses again!” he cried, gesturing at her bruised cheek. “That’s no excuse to treat a woman like that, especially one as good as you! Dorothy, Joshua wouldn’t want to see you like this. He‘d say the same thing.”

“I‘m not going to let him die in vain. Loren, I gotta see this through. For him.”

“See it through? You mean hang Dr. Mike?”

She gasped. “No, of course not!”

“In case you haven’t noticed that’s exactly what Randal wants done.”

“He’s just angry,” she said dismissively. “He’s just talking. He doesn’t mean to really go through with it.”

“I gotta get back to my store.“ He stood up and walked to the door, then turned swiftly back around. “I just hope you’re right. But I think he’s more than just talk. I promise you this, Dorothy: He lays a hand on you again, I’m gonna see to it he’s the one who pays.” With that he opened the door and slammed it behind him.

"The defense calls Alejandro Lopez," Harold said.

Alejandro walked quietly to the stand and took a seat.

"That's your witness?" Randal spoke up.

Judge Webster banged his gavel. "Silence. The swearing in please, Mr. Slicker.”

Jake approached the bench. “Place your left hand on the Bible,” he instructed. “Raise your other hand.”

Alejandro tentatively did as told.

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

“Si. I swear,” he replied.

“Go on, Mr. Preston," the judge said.

Harold pointed at Michaela. "Mr. Lopez, do you know this woman?"

He nodded. "Si."

"Did you see her outside of town the evening of April twenty-fifth?"

"Si."

"How far out of town? How many miles?"

"Diez y seis," he said rapidly, wringing his hands as he struggled to come up with the word in English.

"Take your time, Mr. Lopez," Harold said.

"Ah…six-teen? Six-teen miles."

"And if you can recall, about what time was that?"

He stroked his chin. "Six."

"Six o' clock?"

"Si," he replied.

"So to the best of your knowledge, at six o'clock in the evening, on April twenty-fifth, Dr. Quinn was a good sixteen miles from Colorado Springs. Is that correct?"

"Si, senor."

"Thank you, Mr. Lopez. That's all."

"The prosecution," the judge said.

William began to chuckle, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, your honor, but is the defense serious about this witness?"

The judge glared at him. "Get on with it, Mr. Herndon."

William cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. Mr. Lopez, has Dr. Quinn offered you and your family medical services in the past?"

Alejandro wrinkled his brow with confusion.

William sighed and pointed at Michaela. "She give you help?"

Alejandro smiled. "Ah! Oh, si. Si."

"How much does she cost? How many dollars for her help?"

Alejandro glanced at Michaela uncomfortably. "She say, 'No, pay me later.'"

"Oh, so she's helping your family for free? For nothing?"

Sweat began forming at his hairline and he shifted in his seat. "I pay when we sell wool. I promise. Please, I promise I pay."

"Mr. Lopez, after you've paid all your other debts you still expect to have money left over to pay back Dr. Quinn?"

"He's frightening him," Michaela whispered, leaning toward Harold.

"Judge, the witness isn't on trial," Harold spoke up. "Must Mr. Herndon interrogate him in such a matter?"

The judge glanced at William. "Where are you going with this, Mr. Herndon?"

William smiled. "Just trying to determine this witness' credibility. Bear with me a few more seconds."

The judge sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"Let's be realistic, Mr. Lopez. You're never going to be able to pay Dr. Quinn back," William said. "At least not in cash. But…testifying on her behalf, that's a fair tradeoff for her medical services, wouldn't you say?"

Harold rose to his feet. "Your honor! For heaven's sake!"

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

Harold slowly sat back down. "I should have known he was going to try something like that."

"Step down please, Mr. Lopez," the judge instructed.

Alejandro looked up at him fearfully. "I go to jail?"

"No, you go home," the judge replied.

He sighed with relief, put his hat on and rose to his feet. He walked to Michaela.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "My English, it's not good."

She took his hand. "No, you did just fine, Mr. Lopez. Thank you."

He squeezed her hand with a smile, then released it and walked out of the church.

"We really could have used Miss Teresa," Matthew remarked.

"I don't think it would have made much of a difference," Harold said with a sigh. "Most people don't trust Mexicans, and Mr. Herndon knows that."

"Let's just hope the judge trusts him," Michaela said.

Sully grasped Michaela's arm as they descended the steps of the church. “Wait for me in the wagon,” he said.

“Where are you going?” she asked curiously.

“I just want to talk to Harold,” he replied.

“All right,” she said reluctantly.

Sully caught up to Harold at the bridge just as Horace gave him a telegram.

Harold read it speedily and burst into a thrilled grin, holding onto the railing.

Sully cleared his throat. “Good news?”

“Oh, Mr. Sully. I didn't see you standing there.” He folded the telegram and put it in his pocket. “Yes, very good news. It's a boy. Nora's had a boy."

“Nora?”

He smiled softly. “My wife.”

“I didn't even know ya had a wife.”

“Yes, we were married a few years ago.” He blinked a few times. “I can't believe it. I'm a father!”

Sully shook his hand. “Congratulations. What're ya gonna call him?”

“Well, I suppose he'll have to be Harold the third,” he said. “The wife and I hadn't really discussed it yet. I…we thought I would be home in plenty of time.”

Sully swallowed. “I'm sorry. We've kept ya from-”

“It's all right. None of us expected the trial to last this long."

“About the trial,” Sully said cautiously. “Who else ya gonna call to the witness stand?”

“There's no one else to call, Mr. Sully,” he said with a sigh. “We'll have to proceed straight to the closing arguments tomorrow.”

“Every time I see Michaela…I wonder how many days we got left together.” He took a deep breath. “Tell me the truth. Am I gonna lose her?”

“If she had simply pleaded guilty like I told her to at least I could have promised you something,” he replied. “But that not being the case…well, I'd say right now it could go either way. The prosecution built a strong case. We didn't have much to work with ourselves but we made the best of it. Still, I know this judge. He's fond of the gallows.”

“But he's fair, too, right?” Sully asked unsteadily.

“He tries to be. But with a case like this it would be hard for any judge to find the truth.”

“If you were in my shoes, what would ya suggest?”

“I'd suggest you and Dr. Quinn say your goodbyes,” he replied quietly. “As a precautionary measure.”

He slowly nodded, grasping his arm. “Don't tell Michaela I asked. I don't want her to know I….”

“You don't want her to know you're afraid?”

Sully took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“Of course,” he replied, glancing across the meadow at Michaela. She was standing beside the wagon, arms crossed, watching them skeptically. “But I think she already knows, Mr. Sully.”

Elizabeth raised her skirts and walked down one of the rows of the garden. "Are you two picking or eating?"

Byron and Katie looked up guiltily from their bucket, filled a mere few inches with strawberries. Their fingers and lips were stained pink, evidence to the latter.

"…Pickin'?" Byron said quietly, running the back of his hand across his mouth.

Elizabeth smiled. "I don't believe that for a second. I'm going to be the one to blame if you don't have an appetite at supper, so I strongly suggest we do some picking now." She squatted down and removed the ripest strawberries from a vine, placing them in the bucket. "I don't know what your parents could mean about Jack being a disagreeable baby. He's as sweet as can be for me. I just put him down for a nap and he went right to sleep without any protest!"

"When are Mama and Papa coming home?" Katie asked, placing a strawberry in the bucket.

"At five, just like always," Elizabeth said.

"When's that?" Byron asked with a sigh.

Elizabeth patted his back reassuringly. "Only another hour or so. It won't be long."

"Is Mama going to jail, Gran'ma?" Byron asked quietly.

"…No," Elizabeth said. "No, Byron. Mr. Preston is the most talented lawyer in all of Boston. He's going to help her win. Of course this would be easier if there were actually a few witnesses!"

"What's a witness?" Katie queried.

Elizabeth sat back and rested her hands in her lap. "Well, a witness is someone who saw what happened. Unfortunately, no one saw Joshua the night of that church social. No one at all."

Byron dropped a small handful of strawberries into the bucket, thinking a long moment. "But…I saw him, Gran'ma."

Elizabeth looked at Byron with a start. "You saw him? No, you must be mistaken. What you mean is that you saw him before that, Byron."

"Don't tell Mama," he whispered. "She's gonna be real mad. I'm not supposed to go visit him. I just wanted to see him."

"Mama said we can't go see him," Katie spoke up. "You're in trouble."

Elizabeth took his hands. "Byron, listen to me. You went to see Joshua the night of the social? Are you positive?"

He nodded. "He had a shot in his leg."

Elizabeth pressed her hand to her heart. "Oh, my goodness. Why on earth didn't you speak up before?!"

His eyes filled with tears. "Josh made me promise. Mama's gonna be so mad at me. Please, don't tell her. I’ll get punished."

She smoothed his hair. "No, dear. Now don't you worry about that. In fact I have a feeling everyone's going to be very happy!"

"They are?" he murmured, looking up at her with surprise.

She kissed his head and gave him a reassuring hug. "We'll tell Mama about this together. The second she gets home. Everything's going to be fine."

Michaela, Matthew, and Harold gathered in front of Byron, looking at him intently. Sully, Brian, and Elizabeth hung back near the door.

"You're sure you went to see him that night?" Michaela asked.

"Are you mad?" Byron replied.

Michaela caressed his cheek. "Oh, my sweetheart. No. No, of course not." She lifted him onto the table.

“That where you went when ya took that walk? Your ma’s clinic?” Sully asked.

Byron nodded tearfully.

"Now, listen, Byron," Harold said urgently. "I want you to tell us exactly what happened. Spare no detail."

"Just think back to that night," Michaela added.

Byron took a deep breath and concentrated. "Josh couldn't go to the dance. I thought he was sad. So I went to go visit…"

Byron looked around him vigilantly before opening the clinic door. The streets was empty of townsfolk, most of whom were at the church. Across from the clinic, a piano was playing inside the saloon and the bar was bustling with activity. A drunk were staggering to the outhouse out back, a bottle of whiskey in hand, but no one noticed the quiet little boy as he snuck into the clinic. Byron shut the door behind him and walked across the shadowy front room to the stairs.

"Who's there?" Joshua suddenly called.

Byron walked up the stairs and opened the door to Joshua's room. "It's me," he said shyly. He eyed Joshua uncertainly. He was pushing down on the piston of a syringe, stuck firmly in his thigh.

Joshua removed the syringe and put it on the tray next to two small bottles, filled with a clear liquid. "Byron, what do you think you're doing here?"

"I want to visit," he said simply, slowly approaching the bed. "Does that shot hurt?"

"Not anymore. I got used to 'em," he explained. "Listen, you can't be here. You can't tell anybody you came here. Especially your ma." He motioned with his fingers. "Come here."

Byron took a few steps closer to him.

"It's a secret, all right?" Joshua whispered, speech slightly slurred as he held his finger to his lips. "Don't tell anybody I took your ma's medicine. Don't tell your ma you came here. I explained everything in a letter. She'll read it later."

Byron hesitated, biting his lip.

Joshua held out his hand. "Promise, Byron. Don't tell anybody you came to see me, all right? Come on, shake on it like a man."

Byron took his hand and gave it a small squeeze. "I won't tell."

Joshua eyed his pressed brown suit and tie. "Look at you all dressed up. Now why would you want to be here? Get back to the dance now. Go on with ya."

"All right."

"You're a good kid, son," Joshua whispered, tiredly picking up the syringe again and filling it with another dose of morphine. "It was nice to know ya."

Harold stepped back and briefly pressed his hand to his mouth. "What luck! All right, we'll put him on the stand straight away."

Michaela wrapped her arm around Byron. "I don't know about that."

"Dr. Quinn, he's an eye witness," Harold said firmly. "He saw Joshua giving himself the morphine! In fact, as far as we know he's the only person who saw what happened!"

Matthew reached out and laid his hand on Byron's shoulder. "What do ya say? All ya have to do is sit up front and Mr. Preston'll ask ya a few questions."

"Nothing complicated," Harold added. "Just repeat what you told us for the judge."

Byron shook his head vehemently.

"No, he's only six years old," Michaela said protectively.

"Well, we're definitely going to have to downplay that," Harold replied with a chuckle. "Whatever you do, don't mention how young he is around Judge Webster! Of course the prosecution will bring it up, but we'll just have to do our best to show he's reliable."

"You're not putting my grandson up there," Elizabeth said, crossing her arms and stepping forward. "There must be another alternative, Mr. Preston. I know, you could write down what Byron said and read it in court."

"That would never work," Harold said. "No, the most effective approach is to call him as a witness. Trust me on this."

"Would the judge even believe him?" Brian spoke up. "I mean, I know he ain't lying, but he's just a kid."

"We're gonna have to hope that he does," Matthew said.

“Ordinarily I would never look to a child for a witness,” Harold added. “But we have no choice.”

"Mama, no. I don't want to go to the trial," Byron whispered, tugging on her blouse sleeve. "No. Please."

"Shh, you don't have to, sweetheart," Michaela said, helping him down from the table.

"But Dr. Quinn, he must!" Harold said resolutely. "Why, this entire case could hinge on his testimony!"

Michaela drew Byron to her side and held him close. "I don't care. I'm not doing that to my child. I can't put him up there in front of all those people. I can't subject him to that. No, I don't want him in that courtroom."

"My daughter's absolutely right, and believe you me I don't say that very often," Elizabeth spoke up. "None of us ever wanted Byron or Katie or Jack anywhere near the trial. That was half the point of me even coming here, so that someone would be here to keep the poor dears away from that horrid spectacle."

"You'll have to figure out somethin' else, Mr. Preston," Sully added in support, walking to Michaela and putting his arm around her.

Harold sighed with frustration. "Well, then we'll have to debrief him and write down what he says. But as your attorney that's certainly not what I advise."

"We're done discussing this, Mr. Preston," Michaela said, holding Byron to her tighter.

Brian tossed a pile of hay to the side as he raked out one of the stalls. Byron was raking much more slowly in the adjacent stall, head bent as he concentrated on his work.

"You know, everybody's real glad you saw Joshua," Brian remarked.

"How come?" Byron asked.

"B., don't ya understand? You were the only person who saw him. Ma can win now." He tossed another pile of hay to the side and swiped at his damp brow with the back of his hand. "You sure you don't want to go up there and testify?"

Byron paused in his work and shook his head anxiously. "No. I don't want to go to jail!"

Brian rested his rake against the stall and walked to him. "Go to jail? What? B., you're not goin' to jail. Is that what you think testifyin' means?"

He nodded vigorously.

Brian bent to his level. "No, that's not it at all. You can't go to jail. You're just a witness. Truth is, Ma's the one who's gonna be goin' to jail. Or even worse, she might….But you can help her, B. All you have to do is go up there and repeat what ya told us."

He shook his head.

"What's scarin' ya?" Brian asked. "Listen, it's easy. The Reverend did it. Kirk did it, too. Miss Dorothy and Robert E. went up there. See? Everybody's done it." He caressed his arm. "B., if you go up there, who knows, maybe the judge'll believe ya. And if he believes ya, then he'll see that Ma's been tellin' the truth. And then she won't have to go to jail. But she needs you to go up there first. She’s countin’ on you. She needs your help."

"She does?" Byron whispered.

Brian nodded. "So what do ya say? How about givin' it a try? All ya do is sit up there in a chair."

Byron thought for a long moment. "I don't want Mama to go to jail."

"Well, then go up there," he said encouragingly. "You can do it."

"…I'll try," he reluctantly said. "But I don't know how."

"Mr. Preston'll help ya through it," Brian said with a smile. "Don't you worry."

Harold stacked a few sheets of paper while Matthew and Michaela rested back in their chairs exhaustedly.

"There, that should be all of it," Harold said. "Four pages explaining everything Byron saw, for Judge Webster's review."

"Dr. Mike, you positive you don't want Byron to testify himself?" Matthew asked.

"Matthew, yes," Michaela said impatiently. "He'd be terrified up there. It's exploitation."

"I just wanna be sure ya understand how important his testimony could be," Matthew said gently.

"Oh, she understands, young man," Harold remarked. "She's just blatantly ignoring our advice. Again. I've gotten used to it by now."

"The well-being of my child is most important to me," Michaela said. "I'm just not willing to sacrifice him in the hopes that it will improve my own situation, and I'm not going to apologize for that."

"That's admirable, Dr. Quinn, very martyristic, I'll admit," Harold said. "But it's not going to win you this case."

Sully stood from the wingback chair and slowly strolled to the table. "Mr. Preston?"

Harold quickly glanced at him as he folded the papers. "…Yes?"

"I just been thinkin'. And maybe I got an idea."

"You have an idea, Mr. Sully?" Harold asked skeptically. "I wasn't under the impression the law interested you."

"Maybe I ain't read much about it, and maybe this'll turn out to be a bad idea, but at least hear me out."

"Tell us, Sully," Michaela said encouragingly.

He sat in the chair next to her. "Look, what's the reason we don't want Byron to testify?”

She thought a moment. “Well, because we’ll have to put him up there and make him answer questions while hundreds of people watch.”

“Right. 'Cause of all those people there, all those folks lookin’ at him, talkin' about him, reporters writin' articles about him, drawin' up a likeness. Nobody wants to put him through that, me included. Even if we did let him go up there, chances are he'll be so scared he won't be able to say anything anyway."

"Can you tell us something we don't know?" Harold asked impatiently.

"Let's clear the courtroom," Sully said, glancing at Harold and then Michaela. "Let's ask everybody to leave so Byron can testify."

Harold chuckled. "The judge would never permit that."

“He might. Ask him,” Sully replied.

"Byron's a juvenile. He's gotta have some rights," Matthew remarked.

"If everyone left then I suppose it would be just like telling us again," Michaela admitted. "He'd be much more comfortable."

Brian opened the door and led his little brother inside. "Ma? Pa? Me and B. had a talk. And B.'s got somethin' to tell ya."

Michaela held her arm out as Byron walked to her. She enveloped him in a warm embrace. "What is it?"

"I'll go to the trial," he whispered.

Michaela raised her eyebrows with surprise. "What?"

"I'll go."

"What made you change your mind?" she asked.

He sniffled. "I don't want you to go to jail. I want to help."

Michaela gave him a reassuring hug. "Oh, sweetheart. You don't have to do this."

"No, I can do it, Mama."

"We'll clear the courtroom," Sully said, rubbing Byron's back. "It'll be all right, son."

Harold breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, thank goodness. All right, Mr. Sully. I'll ask the judge to clear the courtroom. No guarantees of course. But we'll give it a try."

"Good idea, Sully," Matthew said with a nod.

Harold cleared his throat. "Yes…yes, very good idea indeed," he admitted. "Well, then. We've got to practice what you're going to say, young man, so let's get started."

Michaela stroked Byron's hair protectively and watched Matthew as he flipped through several sheets of paper.

"What was Joshua doing at the clinic?" Matthew asked.

"He had a shot in his leg," Byron said faultlessly.

"That's perfect, sweetheart," Michaela said proudly.

They had arranged the chairs to replicate the courtroom, with a witness chair for Byron facing Matthew, and a chair to represent the judge in the center.

"Dr. Mike, ya better not stand near him," Matthew suggested. "Ya won't be able to do that when he's up there testifyin' for real."

"That's true," she said, reluctantly taking a seat beside Sully at the table.

"He's doin' great," Sully remarked. "He's gonna do fine up there, Michaela."

She let out a relieved sigh. "With his testimony I know we can win."

He grasped her hand and smiled.

"Byron, look at me. When we're all done, we're gonna say no further questions," Matthew explained patiently. "Then it's Miss Dorothy's lawyer's turn to ask you questions. Just remember you're helpin' Ma. Answer them the best ya can."

"I can answer," Byron said bravely.

"Good, now I'll be Mr. Herndon," Matthew said, flipping through the papers again.

"You're Mr. Herndon?" Byron asked. "But you don't got a white beard."

"It's pretend. To practice. Pretend I have a white beard. Can ya do that? Now, Byron, you expect us to believe that you walked all the way to the clinic by yourself?"

He giggled. "Are your still Mr. Herndon? You're not tall like him."

Matthew sighed. "Byron, ya gotta concentrate, all right?"

"We've been practicing for an hour. Can't we give him a rest?" Michaela said.

Matthew walked to the little boy and gave his hair a gentle tousle. "All right. We'll take a break. Ya did good, Byron."

He smiled, glancing at the door as they heard a horse outside.

Harold opened the door and joined the gathering. "All right, I tracked down the prosecution and told them about our new witness. Byron will testify at nine tomorrow, after which we will rest our case."

"Did they say anything?" Michaela asked worriedly.

Harold put his briefcase on the table. "Mr. Jennings wasn't very happy about it, to say the least. He gave me quite an earful."

"Nothin' we do makes him happy," Sully said.

"We've just thrown a wrench in things, that's all," Harold said, squatting to Byron's level and pointing at his chest. "Son, you're our wrench. And it's about time we had one."

A loud crash broke the still night, awakening Michaela and Sully from sleep.

"Sully, what was that?" Michaela immediately said, getting out of bed and grabbing her bathrobe.

Sully rushed to the bedroom window and pushed back the lace curtains, peering outside as a dark figure took off on horseback. "Somebody's outside," he said, finding his shirt across the back of a chair and slipping his arms into the sleeves.

Michaela struck a match and lighted the bedside lamp. "Who?"

"Check on the kids," he replied, putting on his belt and pulling out his tomahawk.

Brian, Elizabeth, and Katie were in the hallway when Michaela opened the door.

"What the heck's goin' on?" Brian said frantically. He was tucking his nightshift into his pants, prepared to go outside and investigate.

"It sounded like a window breaking!" Elizabeth exclaimed, holding out a lantern.

"I'm scared," Katie whimpered, taking hold of Elizabeth's free hand and cuddling against her side.

"Brian, come on. The rest of ya stay here." Sully clutched the boy's arm and led him to the stairs.

"Why isn't the baby crying?" Michaela said, opening the door to the boys' room and hurrying to the crib. It was empty. Michaela turned to Byron's bed, pulling back the sheets. He too was missing. "Byron!" she cried. She turned around urgently. "Sully! Sully, hurry!"

Sully raced back upstairs and into the room. "What's wrong?"

"Byron and Jack! They're gone!" she said frantically.

Elizabeth and Katie entered the room, Brian following behind them.

"Look at the window!" Brian exclaimed.

The lower two window panes were shattered and smashed in, covering the floor below with tiny pieces of glass.

"Oh, my Lord," Elizabeth murmured. "What happened?!"

"Byron!" Michaela called again.

"Byron!" Sully said as he stuck his tomahawk back in his belt.

“Byron! Jack!” Michaela shouted desperately.

"Here. I'm here!" a tiny voice spoke up from the bureau.

"Byron!" Michaela cried, rushing to the bureau and throwing open the doors.

The little boy was curled up among the shirts and trousers, holding the baby to his chest and trembling. Michaela immediately reached in and dragged them out. "Oh, thank God. Thank God." She picked up Jack and kissed his head several times, holding him firmly to her breast. Remarkably, he was smiling and content. He hadn't shed a tear. Sully joined her and picked up Byron.

"I'm here," Byron repeated, breath coming in gasps.

"You all right, son? We got ya," Sully said soothingly, rubbing his back. “Take a deep breath.”

"I heard a robber climbing outside the window," Byron explained. "I got Jack and hided."

"Byron, how on earth did you get Jack out of his crib?" Elizabeth asked.

Byron shrugged. "Just lifted him out."

"He didn't cry?" Brian asked incredulously.

"Nope," Byron said. "I told him he has to be quiet just this once so the robber won't get us."

"You see his face?" Sully asked.

"No. It's dark."

"That wasn't no robber. It was Mr. Jennings. It had to be," Brian said.

"Mr. Jennings!" Michaela exclaimed, caressing Jack's head protectively. "But why?"

Sully held Byron closer. "Cause we got him as a witness now."

"Oh, no," Michaela murmured, reaching her hand up and smoothing Byron's hair.

"What're we waitin' for?" Brian said. "We gotta go after him, Pa! I'll get the horses saddled."

"Brian, we got no proof," Sully said.

Brian eyed Sully in disbelief. "Proof? Look at the window! He was tryin' to hurt my brother!"

"He wants to hurt Byron?" Katie asked tearfully.

"But why's he want to hurt me?" Byron asked with a sniffle. "Is he comin' back?"

"Hush, hush," Michaela said, placing the baby back in his crib and taking Byron from Sully. "We won't let anyone hurt you. He won't come back. I promise."

"He sure won't," Brian said vehemently. "Not if we have anything to say about it."

Sully put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Look, he's testifyin' in a few hours, then it'll be over. You and me’ll stay outside, keep watch of the place until then." He glanced at Michaela. "Keep him up here. And try to get some sleep."

Michaela nodded, giving Byron's head a kiss as Sully and Brian left.

"Michaela, I never trusted that man," Elizabeth remarked, rubbing Katie's back. "But to think he would actually go after an innocent child! This is just terrible!"

Michaela sat in the rocking chair with Byron and held him all the closer. "Maybe he shouldn't testify after all. We have his testimony in writing. We could use that instead."

"I think that's a wonderful idea," Elizabeth said. "Byron will stay here with me tomorrow and you can have Harold read his testimony in court."

"No!" Byron spoke up. "No, Gran'ma. I gotta go up there."

"You still want to?" Michaela asked.

"Matthew said I'm helping," Byron said. "I help Mama. So she doesn't get hung."

Michaela hugged him. "Oh, sweetheart. You're being so brave."

"Oh, I wish we didn't have to do this," Elizabeth said worriedly. "Well, Katie, let's find something to patch this window with until it can be fixed properly."

The crowd was bustling with conversation when Michaela and Sully entered court, Byron between them. They led him to the defense's table and sat him in a chair.

Sully caressed his head and then walked to the prosecution's table, eyeing the grimy bandana wrapped around Randal's right hand.

"How'd ya hurt yourself?" Sully demanded, grabbing his arm.

"Don't touch me, ya Injun half-breed," Randal retorted, pulling his arm away.

Sully grazed his fingers along the handle of his tomahawk. "I know you were at my homestead last night, Randal Jennings."

"Sully, what do you mean?" Dorothy asked.

"Somebody was on the roof, broke my son's bedroom window," Sully said, glaring at Randal. "What were ya plannin' to do? Shoot him? He's a child!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Randal said, rising to his feet.

Michaela joined Sully, eyeing the bandana wrapped around Randal's hand. "You need to have that cleaned and bandaged properly, Mr. Jennings. You should come by my clinic."

"What, so you can kill me, too?" he replied. "You couldn't pay me enough to go inside that hellhole. Get away from me. You make me sick!"

“All rise for the honorable Judge Webster!” Jake shouted over the commotion.

Judge Webster banged his gavel. "Court is now in session. Take your seats."

"Ya best show some manners around my wife," Sully said sternly, grabbing Randal's arm again.

"Gentlemen, is there a problem?" the judge spoke up. "Please take your seats."

"Sully," Michaela said, grasping his hand.

Sully reluctantly followed her to their table and lifted Byron into his lap, holding him close. "I love ya," he whispered.

Byron smiled softly and held his hand. "I love you, Papa."

Dorothy eyed Randal's blood-soaked bandana for a few seconds. "Randal, how did that happen anyway? It looks bad."

He sighed, glancing at her reluctantly. "…Look, Dorothy, I wasn't really gonna hurt the runt."

"You mean it's true?!" she whispered. "You went to their homestead?!"

"I just wanted to scare him a little, shake him up, that's all," he whispered back.

"How could you?" she said, pressing one hand to her mouth. "But Byron has nothin' to do with this!"

"Well, he does now, doesn't he?" Randal retorted.

Harold stood and folded his hands behind his back. "Your honor, before we call our final witness, Byron Sully Jr., we would like to request that we close this portion of the trial to spectators. We'd like everyone not directly involved with the proceedings to leave."

"What on earth?" William cried. "Your honor, he can't be serious. This is a public trial."

"What's the meaning of this, counselor?" Judge Webster asked calmly.

"The witness is a juvenile, sir," Harold explained. "For his protection we'd like everyone to leave. I'm thinking of his best interest."

"Are they talking about me, Mama?" Byron whispered.

Michaela rubbed his back. "Yes, sweetheart."

"This is ridiculous," William protested, standing up. "Utterly absurd. I won‘t stand for such a manipulative charade."

"It's done. Mr. Herndon, sit down. Everyone not directly involved with the proceedings will leave right now. All of you go on home." The judge banged his gavel and sat back, watching impatiently as the townsfolk slowly disbanded, some more grudgingly than others. Finally the room was empty of the public, save for one young man standing at the side wearing a stylish hat, his pencil poised over a notebook.

The judge cleared his throat, pointing his gavel at him. "You, there. Please leave."

The man looked up from his notebook briefly. "Jeffrey McCallum. The Denver Rocky Mountain News?"

"I don't care if you're Rutherford B. Hayes! Get out of my courtroom!"

"But, Judge, you can't seal this off to the newspapers, too. Like the man said, it's a public trial. We have every right to know what happens here."

The judge thought a moment. "I'll make a transcription of the proceedings available following the boy's testimony. Now leave, young man."

"Yes, sir," the reporter muttered, turning and walking out the door.

The judge sat back. "Now, let's continue."

"Thank you, Judge Webster," Harold said. "The defense calls Byron Sully Jr."

Michaela stood and lifted Byron down from Sully's lap, taking his hand and walking him to the chair. "Sit up here, sweetheart," she whispered, boosting him onto the chair.

"Mama, I changed my mind," he told her quietly. "I don't want to sit here."

She pressed her brow to his and kissed him. "Be a good boy and answer Mr. Preston's questions like we practiced. I love you. Just tell the truth, all right?"

He nodded bravely.

Michaela returned to her seat as Jake approached the stand.

“Put your left hand on the Bible,” Jake said.

Byron timidly laid his right hand on the book.

Jake cleared his throat. “Uh…your other left.”

Byron swapped his hands quickly.

“Now raise your other hand. You swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

Byron nodded.

The judge cleared his throat. “You have to say 'yes,' son.”

“Yes son,” Byron whispered.

The judge raised his eyebrows. “….Good enough. Well, now that you've sworn him in, I want you to leave, too, Mr. Slicker.”

Jake looked up at him, eyes widening. “Me, too? Why do I have to leave?”

“Do as I say, Mr. Slicker. Immediately,” the judge snapped.

Defeated, Jake walked quickly down the aisle and out of the church.

"Byron, do you remember the social here at church a few weeks ago?" Harold asked amiably.

"…Yes," Byron whispered.

"You got dressed up and drank punch, and had a good time, right?"

"It was fun," Byron said, relaxing a little.

"During the dance, did you walk to the clinic to visit Joshua?"

"Yes."

"Byron, you went to see Joshua?" Dorothy asked with a gasp.

"Mrs. Jennings, quiet please," the judge said.

“You went up to his room, opened the door and saw him in bed?”

“Yeah.”

"Why did you do that, Byron?" Harold went on.

Byron shrugged. "I thought maybe he's sad he can't go to the dance. Mama told me he's sick and I can't go see him 'cause it's maybe catchin'."

"Is that why you didn't speak up right away? You were afraid your mother would be angry with you? You thought she'd be mad you went to see him?"

Byron glanced at Michaela. She gave him an encouraging nod. "Yes," he murmured. “She told me not to but I did anyways. I was bad again and didn’t listen.”

Michaela glanced at Sully and he put his arm around her soothingly.

“And so you kept your visit a secret, Byron?”

“Yes.”

"What was he doing when you went to see him?" Harold asked patiently.

"He had a shot in his leg. He was having medicine in a shot 'cause he's sick."

"He was giving himself the shot?"

"Yep. I thought it hurt but he said it doesn't anymore. It hurts when Mama gives me a shot."

"But your mother wasn't there?"

"No. She went to go see house call."

"Did Joshua say anything else to you?"

"He said…shh, don't tell. He said don't tell Mama he took her medicine. And he said go away 'cause I'm not supposed to be there."

"You're sure your mother wasn't at the clinic? How about at the dance? Was she at the dance?"

"Nope. House call."

"Joshua was all alone then?"

"All alone."

Harold stood, holding out a bottle of morphine between his thumb and forefinger. "Byron, son, was this the medicine Joshua had?"

"Um…yes."

"How many bottles did he have with him, Byron?"

Byron bit his lip. "I don't know."

"Think hard, son. Was there more than one?"

He scrunched his eyes. "…Yes."

"How many?"

"Two," he whispered.

Harold sat back down with a pleased smile. "Thank you, Byron. No further questions."

"The prosecution?" the judge prompted.

William grinned snidely. “Byron, my name's Mr. Herndon. I had a practice for a number of years in Illinois. Do you know where that is?”

Byron bit his lip timidly. “I don't know. Far away?”

“Far away, yes. Do you study the states in school?”

“Yeah.”

“What else have you been learning in that little schoolhouse?”

Byron eyed him uncertainly. “Pluses and minuses. And about Washin'ton. Everybody's crooked there.”

He chuckled. “Indeed. Mrs. Slicker's your teacher, correct?”

Harold stood up impatiently. “Excuse me, your honor, but what does this have to do with anything? Is this for the record?”

“Get to the point, counselor,” the judge scolded.

“Yes, your honor.“ William stroked his chin thoughtfully. "How old are you, young man?"

"….Six," Byron whispered.

"What's that? Speak up," William prompted, touching a finger to his ear.

"Six," Byron said a little louder. "Goin' on seven."

"When you say you saw Joshua, what time was it?"

Byron swung his legs in his chair and bit his lip.

"Can you even tell time?" He pointed to the clock at the back of the room. "Can you read the time on that clock?"

Byron studied the clock intently. "I can't see it."

"Judge, he needs his spectacles," Michaela spoke up. "Sweetheart, put on your spectacles. In your pocket."

"Put them on, son," Judge Webster instructed. "I'll wait."

Byron dug into his pocket and pulled them out, slipping them over his ears.

"Now look at the clock," William said impatiently. "And tell us what time it is."

Byron screwed up his face and stared forward.

"I'll give you a hint," William said slyly. "Half…half past…? ni…ni…"

Byron's lower lip began to tremble. "It's hard. Maybe six?"

"You can't tell time, can you, boy?"

Tears quickly formed in his eyes. He shook his head.

"He's just learning!" Michaela said defensively.

"Dr. Quinn, please don't interrupt," the judge chastised.

"Can you tell me what the word 'morphine' means? Morphine?" William asked persistently. "Yes or no, son."

"No," Byron said timidly.

"What about suicide? Ever heard of that?"

"I…I don't know."

"Do you even understand what we're all doing here? Do you understand why we're having a trial for your mother?"

Byron studied Michaela thoughtfully. "Mama has to get a trial 'cause Miss Dorothy said she's a bad doctor."

William chuckled for a long moment. "Well, close enough. So let me get this straight. You can't tell a lick of time. You don't know what morphine is and you haven't even heard of suicide. For heaven's sake, you barely understand why we're here in the first place! And you're trying to tell me that you're sure you saw Joshua the night of the social. You're positive you saw him alone, giving himself morphine with a syringe. Young man, forgive me but you don't seem positive of anything!"

Tears slipped down the little boy's cheeks. "I s-saw him."

"If you saw him why didn't you speak up right away? Byron, Joshua died and you never said a word! You never told anyone you saw him until now! Why not? Because you never saw him in the first place, isn't that right?"

"It was a secret. Me and Josh had a secret," he said weakly.

"Byron, you love your mama very much, don't you?" he asked.

"…Y-yes," he whispered.

"See? So you're just trying to help her, that's all. That's not being a bad boy, telling a little lie to help her out. You would lie to save mama from going to jail, now wouldn't you? You don't want to see her go to jail. No, you're not a bad boy. No one's going to punish you, son."

"Lying is bad," he said resolutely.

William stood taken aback for a moment, then strolled to the stand, leaning on the rail. "Did you really see Joshua, son? Come on, be honest. Or did your mama tell you what to say? Did she make up this ridiculous story and instruct you to repeat it here?” He slammed his hand on the rail. “What did Mama tell you, Byron?!"

"She said tell the truth!" he retorted, bursting into sobs.

"Stop it, William. Stop!" Dorothy exclaimed, standing up and rushing to him. "He's scared to death! We can't do this anymore!"

"Mrs. Jennings, return to your seat!" the judge said.

"No!" she retorted. "Not until he stops!"

"Judge, might I have a word with Mrs. Jennings?" William asked.

"Make it brief," the judge said.

"Stay there, Byron," William instructed, pointing at him. "I'll be right back."

Byron sniffled and rubbed his eyes as William led Dorothy by the arm to their desk.

"What do you think you're doing?" he whispered edgily.

"We were on to something, Dorothy!" Randal added, fist clenched.

She shook her head. "He's just a child. How can you do this to him? Can't you see you're frightening him?"

"We have to paint him as the unreliable witness that he is," William said. "I know what I'm doing, Mrs. Jennings. I've been practicing law for thirty years. So just sit back and let me take care of this."

"No. That's it. You let him go now. You let him go or I'll…I'll fire you!"

"You can't do that, Dorothy!" Randal cried.

"All right, everyone calm down. Let's not be rash," William said, raising his hands. "I'll let the witness go. But let me warn you, you're making an incredible mistake."

"He's just a little boy," Dorothy said tearfully. "The mistake was to let you question him in the first place."

"Mr. Herndon, I'm losing my patience," the judge spoke up. "Are you quite done?"

William turned to face the judge. "My apologies, your honor. We have no further questions for the witness."

"Take him out of here, Sully," Michaela said quickly.

Sully rushed to the stand and picked Byron up. "Come here," he whispered, carrying him out of the church and to the safety of the outdoors. Once there, he put him on his feet, giving him a comforting hug. "How ya doin'? You all right?"

"Did I do bad, Papa?" Byron asked, rubbing his nose.

Sully removed the boy’s spectacles and stuck them back in his pocket. "No. No, son, you were great," he said, taking his face in his hands and wiping away the tears with his thumbs. "Your ma and me are real proud of ya. You did so good. I’m so proud of ya."

"I don't want Mama to go to jail and never see her again."

Sully smoothed Byron's hair from his damp brow. "She won't, thanks to you. She's comin' home to us."

"You sure?"

Sully swallowed, grasping his hand and squeezing it. "I hope so, Byron. Let's take ya home to stay with your gran'ma. Come on."

"Your boy was very good," Harold remarked as he and Michaela sat at the kitchen table amid piles of endless paperwork. "Especially the way he worked up such convincing tears! Right on cue! Did you coach him in that? Well done." He dug around a few casebooks and found his saucer and cup of tea.

"Those were real tears, Mr. Preston," Michaela said.

"Regardless, they worked. I could tell the judge was moved."

"I hated to put Byron through that," she murmured, taking a sip of her tea. "He was so frightened up there."

"It had to be done." He flipped through his papers. "Well, I suppose we're through with our witnesses. Unless you can think of anyone else? All that's left is the closing argument."

"Not yet. I want to testify," she said calmly.

He glanced at her, then returned his eyes to his papers with a chuckle. "Very amusing, Dr. Quinn. Can we discuss our closing argument now? We'll really have to put the emphasis on Byron."

"I said I want to testify. I have to go up there and tell the judge what happened."

"Good God, you're serious," he said, dropping his papers to the table. "Do you realize how risky that is? I would never advise you to go up there. Why, it's mad! No, you can't do that. Absolutely not."

"I'm confident once I'm on the stand I can convince the judge," Michaela said passionately. "If I'm just given a chance to speak, I can tell my story. I haven't been able to say a word in my own defense this entire trial."

"And that's as it should be! Once you're on the stand the prosecution will have free reign to question you. They'll be thrilled to see you up there! It'll be their chance to twist and distort every last detail against you. You might be up there for hours. You could always take the Fifth, but in my opinion that makes you look even more guilty."

"That's the point, I'm not guilty," she said firmly. "If I could just explain-"

He stood up irately. "And sabotage all my hard work! Dr. Quinn, we have your son as a witness now. Albeit, we'd have a lot more convincing case if he was a little older than six, but that's all we have to work with. We have a chance now that Byron's testified!"

She shook her head. "Judge Webster isn't sure Byron's reliable. I was watching him the entire time. He thinks Byron's confused. I know Byron's not lying, I know he saw what he saw, but I don't blame the judge for not being sure. Can we really trust him to believe a six-year-old, the defendant's child, over all the other witnesses the prosecution brought in? Mr. Preston, Judge Webster thinks I'm guilty. He's going to convict me. I just know it."

"Now, now. Don't give up yet. There's a glimmer of hope! It's not impossible to win this!"

"I'm going to say this one more time. I want you to call me to the stand tomorrow," she told him slowly and resolutely. "And I want you to ask me what happened."

He stared at her for a moment, breathing deeply, then grabbed his papers and briefcase and stormed out of the homestead. He untied the reins of his buggy from the hitching post, muttering to himself.

Sully and Matthew looked up from the stump where they were stacking newly chopped wood.

"Mr. Preston? You're leavin'?" Matthew called.

"I just need to take a drive. Get some air."

"Somethin' wrong?" Sully asked, picking up his ax.

"Is something wrong?" he murmured. "Is something wrong?!" He threw his briefcase and papers to the ground. The wind caught several loose papers, blowing them in all directions. "Mr. Sully, I'm beginning to agree with the prosecution. Your wife is a maniac!"

Sully shared an amused glance with Matthew.

"What happened?" Matthew asked.

"She just sabotaged our case, that's all. We're ruined. I'm ruined," Harold retorted. "She's going to testify tomorrow!"

"She's going to what?" Matthew exclaimed.

"You heard me," he said, climbing into his buggy and taking hold of the reins.

Matthew threw his wood onto the pile of kindling. "We gotta talk to her, Sully," he said urgently. "We gotta stop her."

"Maybe it's not a bad idea," he said, shrugging.

Matthew walked up to him. "Listen, trust me on this. It's a bad idea. Mr. Herndon's the best lawyer around. He'll make her look like a fool up there, not to mention guilty as sin. Even Dr. Mike won't be able to talk her way out of it. I agree with Mr. Preston. She can't testify."

"You sure?" Sully asked.

"Sully, if she testifies, we'll lose. We will lose this case. That I promise ya."