F o l l o w i n g A D r e a m

C h a p t e r F o u r


by Sandi99

"Not many people know this but I nearly died in a
cave-in. The summer of
'59. Wasn't much older than you are now. I was working
a silver mine up
near Cripple Creek. We'd just started our shift when
it happened. Thought
they'd just dig us out. Didn't think it would take
twenty-two days."

Sully to Matthew
'Crossing The Line'




As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the
store, I spotted
her. She was standing beside a shelf that ran along
the side wall, a bolt
of cloth in her arms. An elderly lady fingered the
material, talking to
the young woman about measurements and seams. As the
girl stared over at
me, she no longer seemed to be listening to her
customer. She had dark
brown hair and blue eyes, a slim build and milky white
skin. I'd never
seen anyone so delicate. She looked like one of those
china figurines,
fragile and beautiful. For a long moment, our gazes
locked. Neither one
of us seemed to be able to look away.

"Can I help you with somethin'?"

The storekeeper's voice shattered the moment and I
turned toward him. He
stood behind the counter, his arms folded across his
chest. His mouth was
puckered as if he'd just sampled something sour.

"I need some supplies," I answered, quietly.

"Looks like ya came to the right place for 'em," the
man growled. He
nodded toward the dark-haired girl. "Abigail, you go
on back to your
customer now. I can look after this one.

The girl blushed and lowered her gaze, her eyes fixed
on the bolt of cloth.
The elderly woman beside her kept up a steady stream
of chatter.

"State yer business, young fella. What're ya looking
for?" The store
owner's stare reminded me of a bear defending his den.

This was my first encounter with Loren Bray. It
didn't go well. I could
tell that he'd already judged me. He saw me as a
threat. He would hold
onto this opinion for a very long time.

"I'm from the minin' camp at Cripple Creek, southwest
of here," I told him.
"Some of the fellas sent me into town for supplies."
I moved over to the
counter and handed him a list. "Got any of these?"

He scanned the paper. "Most of it," he muttered.
"Got the chewing tobacco
and the whiskey." He looked me up and down. "Ya old
enough ta drink
whiskey?"

"Yeah, I am. But it ain't for me. I don't drink."
He raised his eyebrows
and I shrugged. "Don't chew tobacco neither."

"Sure ya don't," he answered, sneering. "And I
suppose ya go ta church
every Sunday too." He snorted. "Don't gamble
neither, right?" I shook my
head. "So why's there a deck of cards on this list?"

"Ain't for me. The cards and all that other stuff is
for the other men in
camp."

"Well," he said snidely, "….looks ta me like you're
nothin' short of a
saint. Ya don't drink, chew tobacco, gamble …. What
do ya do, Mr. … ?"

"Sully." I held out my hand. Loren Bray ignored the
gesture and I let it
fall to my side again.

"I just work at the mine," I informed him. "That's
all. I'm a powder
man."

"Powder man?" Abigail moved away from her customer
and set the bolt of
cloth down on the counter. "Isn't he the person who
sets the dynamite
charges?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"So …..Ya found any … gold yet?" Loren winked at
Abigail and chuckled.

He was mocking me. My back went up. "Nope. But the
operation I work for
has been finding lots of silver."

"Isn't it dangerous?" Abigail continued. "Blowing up
those rocks? Men get
hurt doin' that, don't they?"

"Ya have to be real careful." I looked directly into
her eyes and I heard
her pull in her breath, sharply. "Ya gotta know what
you're doin'."

"And you do, I suppose," Loren challenged. "Ain't ya
a little … young to
know so much, boy?"

"I've been minin' since I was fifteen years old," I
told him, then I
returned my attention to Abigail. "There's a lot of
men down there in
those tunnels. Ya can't afford ta take risks. Too
many of 'em could die."

"My daughter don't need to know about that sort of
thing." Loren put an
arm around Abigail's shoulders and drew her up against
him. "She's gittin'
married in a few months and she won't be associatin'
with no … miners.
She's marryin' a nice young man. He's plannin' on
workin' in
the store with me. Ain't that right, Abigail?"

"Yes, Papa." Abigail's voice was so soft that I had
to strain to hear it.
She kept her eyes downcast. I didn't understand it
but I knew something
wasn't right.

An older woman approached from the back of the store
and Loren called out
to her. "Maude. You'd better come on over here and
help Abigail measure
out Mrs. Bowman's material. She don't know how ta do
it right."

"Yes I do, Papa," Abigail objected, jerking her head
back up and frowning
at him. The storekeeper ignored her.

"Go on with your mother now, Abigail. I'll round up
the supplies for this
fella and send him on his way."

Loren released his hold on her shoulders and gave her
a gentle push in his
wife's direction. Just before she turned to obey him,
Abigail glanced at
me once again. The expression in her eyes reminded me
of deer cornered by
a wolf – desperately trying to escape but, at the same
time, ready to
accept her fate.





Abigail Bray had never rebelled against her father.
He'd arranged the
courtship with Martin Anderson and Abigail saw no
reason to object. Martin
was kind and somewhat handsome, in a dry sort of way.
He had a thick curly
mop of brown hair and brown eyes. He wore brown suits
and brown shoes.
Everything about him simply faded into the background
but, as potential
husbands go, Martin was as good as any of them.
Colorado Springs had few
eligible men and, out of the ones that were around,
most were unsuitable.
There was the barber who drank too much and the
long-haired saloonkeeper
who kept company with whores. The telegraph
operator had a face that resembled a horse and a tall,
skinny body to
match. The rest of the men in town were either
married or seemed to prefer
the company of their hogs. Martin Anderson was a cut
above the others.
Besides, Abigail had just turned eighteen years of age
and she
had no other suitors.

She'd never been in love with Martin. Her mother told
her that love didn't
matter.

"A good match is more important, Abigail," she said.

Up until that day, Abigail believed her. Then Sully
stepped inside the
store. Her attention had instantly been drawn toward
him. She'd noticed
his broad shoulders beneath the heavy fabric of his
shirt, his narrow hips
and slim waist. He'd glanced in her direction and his
rugged, chiseled
features created a fluttering sensation in her
stomach. Mrs. Bowman had
been speaking to her. The woman seemed oblivious to
the fact that, from the
moment Sully entered the store,
Abigail hadn't heard one word she said. When Abigail
moved over to the
counter to talk to him, he'd pinned her with his
intense blue eyes. She
felt as if they'd pierced through to her soul and she
drew in her breath.
His voice was low and deep, incredibly strong and
masculine.

After he left the store, Abigail could still smell the
scent of his
aftercare. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes.
She wanted to savour
the memory of this man. She wanted to remember those
vivid blue eyes as
she lay in bed at night, recall the curve of his
perfectly molded lips,
picture the golden highlights in his honey brown hair.
How was it possible
to feel so attracted to a stranger? Surely such
thoughts couldn't be
proper?

"Afternoon, Abigail."

Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring into
Martin Anderson's
face. He'd entered the store silently. As she
studied his appearance, she
suddenly realized that Martin was quite plain and
ordinary. She envisioned
her future with this man. It yawned out ahead of her
– as plain and
ordinary as Martin. Reality crashed down around her,
leaving her weak with
despair.

Martin reached out to touch her arm. "What is it,
Abigail?" he asked, his
face wrinkled into lines of concern. "Are you ill?"

She opened her mouth to reassure him, then thought
better of it. "Yes,
Martin. I'm afraid I am. I think I'll just step
outside for a few
minutes, for a breath of fresh air. It's so stuffy in
here."

He cupped her elbow with the palm of his hand and
guided her toward the
door. "I'll accompany you," he offered.

"No!" Her voice was shrill with alarm and she lowered
it quickly. "It
isn't necessary, Martin. Truly it isn't. If you
don't mind, I'd like to
be alone for a while. I'll just take a walk by
myself."

Martin hesitated and she looked up at him, widening
her eyes and donning
her most charming smile. "Please? I'll be fine. I
promise."

"Abigail," her mother called out. "Are you sure you're
alright? Perhaps
you should lie down in your room for a spell."

"I'm fine, mother," she assured Maude firmly. "What I
need is some fresh
air."

She slipped out of the store before anyone else could
object and closed the
door behind her. Then she scanned the street,
searching for a glimpse of
Sully. She caught sight of him on the far edge of
town. He was heading
back toward the mining camp. Hitching up her skirt,
she
scrambled down off the porch and scurried after him.

"Excuse me," she called out when she was close enough
to capture his
attention. He halted abruptly and spun around. When
he saw her
approaching, a slight smile curved the corners of his
lips.

Abigail drew up alongside him, winded and flushed. It
took a moment before
she regained her breath. She suddenly realized that
she had no excuse
prepared. She'd chased after him with no plan in her
head. He was
studying her curiously, waiting for an explanation.
She drew a deep
breath and plunged in.

"I was wonderin' … seein' that you're walkin' and all,
if you'd like to
borrow a horse?"

If he found the offer strange, coming from a complete
stranger, he covered
up well.

"Thanks, but I'd rather walk."

He turned and started off along the roadway again.
Abigail fell into step
beside him.

"It's a long walk to Cripple Creek, isn't it?'

He shrugged. "I don't mind."

There was a moment of silence as she searched for
something else to say.
"I was thinkin' about what you said, bout the minin'
camp and all. I
really find it interestin'." She bit down on her lip
and grimaced. Her
feigned interest was a feeble attempt to hold his
attention. She was
certain that he'd see through her act. "I'd like to
learn more about it,"
she finished, in a whisper. She dropped her gaze to
the dirt at her feet
and studied each step she took, thoroughly
embarrassed. What was she doing, chasing after this
man? She didn't even
know his full name.

At first, he didn't answer. When she could no longer
stand it, she looked
up at him to gauge his reaction. She was certain
she'd see disgust in his
expression, even mockery, and she steeled herself
against it. To her
surprise, Sully was smiling down at her and making a
valiant effort to hide
his amusement.

"If you're interested," he told her softly, "I'd be
happy to tell ya
anythin' ya want ta know."

Up until that day, Abigail had quietly conformed to
everyone's
expectations. She accepted her father's choices,
accepted her limited
selection, accepted her uneventful past and unexciting
future. Up until
that day, Abigail hadn't let herself believe in love
at first sight. She
never counted on meeting Byron Sully.



Throughout the rest of the spring and into the summer,
Daniel and I stayed
on at Cripple Creek. There was a rich deposit of
silver and lots of work
for those who wanted to make a honest dollar. Daniel
had starting scheming
again. He said that, once we had enough money under
our belts, we'd strike
off on our own. He still had a dream of owning a
mining operation and he
wasn't about to let it die. I was more interested in
going into Colorado
Springs once a week, to visit Abigail Bray.

The encounters were never easy. Abigail had to sneak
out behind her
father's back to meet me.

"He doesn't understand, Sully," she explained. "He
keeps tellin' me that
he knows what's best for me."

We were sitting on a fallen log in the woods outside
of town when she
repeated this statement. I studied her face.

"So, you still seein' Martin?"

She blushed. "I try not to but I can't stay away from
him altogether or
Papa will get suspicious. My mother invites him over
for dinner every so
often … we end up spendin' time together."

"But, you don't want to marry him, do ya?'

She reached out and grabbed hold of my hand. When she
looked at me, her
eyes were moist with tears. "No. But I feel so …
trapped. Papa arranged
everything. All the folks in town know that Martin
and I are engaged and
they've made plans for a big weddin' an all. I don't
know…."

I pulled my hand away from hers and stood up abruptly.
"I don't play
games, Abigail. If ya wanna be with me, you gotta
make a choice."

She rose to her feet as well and touched my shoulder.
"I do, Sully. I
want to be with you more than anything else. Ya gotta
believe me. But I
can't just …" She shook her head in a helpless
gesture. "Papa will be so
angry and …"

"Ya gotta tell him sooner or later. There's no point
in puttin' it off."

When she didn't respond, I pulled her into my arms.
Kissing her, I felt
her body relax against me.

"I will," she promised, when she finally stepped back
again. "Just give me
some time. I gotta figure out the right way to tell
'im. Please be
patient, Sully."

Abigail seemed like a little girl, in a lot of ways,
even though she was an
eighteen year old woman. I loved her gentleness and
her soft-hearted,
compassionate nature. But I felt like she needed
someone to protect her,
someone to take care of her. When I was with Abigail,
I
wanted to shield her from harm. She would have never,
intentionally, hurt
another living soul. I sometimes wonder if she would
have married Martin
Anderson and sacrificed her own happiness for the sake
of her father, if
things had stayed the same. I've often thought that
she might have turned
her back on me, even though she swore that she'd
fallen in love with me..
The cave-in changed all of that. It made Abigail face
her true feelings.
Afterward, she seemed to grow much
stronger.

We'd just started our shift that day. It was August
of '59. I was working
in a tunnel that had been closed down just the week
before, so they could
reinforce it. Everyone thought it was safe now. I
was down there with
three other men and I was setting powder charges at
the end of the tunnel..
The others followed me, clearing away the fallen rock.
I'd planted several
charges without any problems.

The final charge shook the whole tunnel. The
supporting beams above our
heads groaned and creaked, then they split. I
flattened myself against the
wall of rock in front of me, my arms covering my head.
Tons of dirt and
rock rained down around me. Overtop of the rumbling
and chaos, I could
hear the other three workers screaming. When
everything settled, the
silence was eerie. I couldn't hear another human
sound – not a cry or even
a breath. I wouldn't know until later whether any of
the men survived.
The dust was as thick as a velvet curtain. I couldn't
see
anything around me. All I knew was that I lay on the
floor of a damp
tunnel, enclosed by an impenetrable mound of rubble in
front of me and a
solid wall of rock behind me. And I felt like I'd
caused it. I felt like
it was my fault.





When word of the cave-in trickled into Colorado
Springs, icy fingers traced
a path across the back of Abigail's neck. She
shuddered. No one needed to
tell her. She knew. Sully promised to meet her the
day before, in the
woods, and he'd never shown up. Even without that
clue,
Abigail could feel it, sense it. Something was
terribly wrong. She
charged across to the livery and arranged for a
buckboard and horse. Robert
E. never asked her for a reason and she told him
nothing. Returning to the
store, she raced to her bedroom to pack up some
clothes and supplies. As
she stuffed the items into a carpetbag, a shadow fell
over her. She looked
up to see her father framed in the doorway.

"Whattaya doin'?" he asked, frowning.

She fastened the bag before answering. "There's been
a cave-in at the mine
out at Cripple Creek. I'm goin' to see if I can
help."

She tried to push past her father but he blocked her
escape. "Why in
tarnations would ya do such a thing? You can't help
those men. Most of
'em are probably dead already."

Abigail's eyes grew round with terror. "Don't say
that!" she hissed.

Loren studied her, suspiciously. "What do ya think
you could do, anyway?
Dig 'em out? You'll just get in the way out there."

She squared her shoulders and stared him down. "I'm
goin', Papa. You
can't stop me."
"What the devil has got you so fired up? Why're ya
runnin' off like this?"
When she refused to answer, he shook his head in
disgust. "If ya think
that young fella you took a shine to a while back is
out there, you can't
know that for sure. Sides …"

"Papa," Abigail interrupted, pulling in a deep,
steadying breath, "Sully
was in that cave-in. I know it and I have to go to
him."

"How could ya know that? And what in blazes do ya
mean – ya gotta go to
him? You're talkin' crazy! You've got no business
runnin' out there after
him. He don't mean nothin' to ya."

"You're wrong, Papa." Abigail swallowed back her fear
and injected
conviction into her voice. "We've been meeting once a
week for a long time
now – in the woods outside of town. I'm in love with
him, Papa. He said
he'd meet me yesterday but he never showed up. He
woulda gotten
word to me, instead of lettin' me wait out there, if
he was able. I know
that he was in that cave-in and …."

"What're ya saying?" Loren's face had grown pale with
shock. "Are ya
tellin' me that you've been sneakin' round behind our
backs all this time?"
When she didn't answer, he shook his head,
incredulous. "I never thought
a daughter of mine would do such a thing. What are ya
thinkin', Abigail? What 'bout Martin? You're gonna
ruin all your chances
with him."

Abigail gave a small shrug, her expression
unconcerned. Loren's voice rose
in volume. "I forbid you to go out there, Abigail.
Do you hear me? I
forbid you to ever see that man again."

She would never know where the courage came from but
she shoved against his
shoulder with one hand, forcing him aside. "You can't
stop me, Papa. Not
anymore. I'm going to Sully and there's nothin' you
can do about it."



The air went bad right off. It was heavy, hanging
over my head like a
waterline cloud. At times it felt like my lungs would
explode from the
effort of pulling in a breath.

The tunnel had filled with water and my legs had been
pinned under the
debris. I didn't think they were broken. I could
move them a bit, but not
enough to work them free. The water level rose
half-way up my body and I
worried that I might drown. But it stopped rising
after a while
and I just lay there, my clothes constantly soaked, my
skin growing as soft
as bread dough.

I found out that two of my companions were alive but
one had been buried up
to his waist and the other had a broken arm from a
falling beam. He could
move around but he wasn't able to lift the weight off
my legs. The third
man lay beneath the mound of rubble in front of us,
buried
alive.

The fella who could move around, Harry Thatcher,
brought us food and water
for a spell. But the rats swarmed over the area and
they soon ate up all
the food, even though Harry tried to kick at them to
keep them away. There
were just too many of them. There wasn't much he
could
do. It's a funny thing about rats. We couldn't
escape the debris all
around us but, somehow, they got through it and worked
their way into our
end of the tunnel. Maybe they could smell death and
they were waiting,
watching. It felt that way after a while. I'd try to
sleep but they'd be
crawling on me, biting at me. So I stayed awake, as
best I could. As long
as I was talking and moving my body a bit, they left
me alone.

After a while, my skin got so soft that it would tear
off every time I
moved. So I'd just lie there, talking to Harry to
keep the rats at bay..

The man who was half buried, Walter Young, died after
a few days. He
complained about having a lot of pain in his abdomen
before he passed on.
I guess he was all broken up inside. I could see him
from where I lay, the
debris around his waist making it look like he'd been
cut in
two. Once he was gone, I couldn't stand to look at
him anymore but I had
no choice. Harry couldn't move him so Walter stayed
there – staring over
at me with his sightless eyes as if he was accusing
me, blaming me. It was
almost a relief when the last candle went out. I
didn't
have to look at his corpse anymore.

But, when the candle was gone, you can't imagine how
dark it got. I've
never seen darkness like that before and I've never
seen it since. There
wasn't a pin prick of light anywhere. I could hear
Harry's voice, hear the
rats stirring beside me, feel them against my skin.
But I couldn't see
anything – nothing at all. Not even outlines. Out of
everything, I think
this was the worst part – that suffocating blackness.

We lost track of time, Harry and me. We made a game
of it for a while.

"How many days do ya think it's been?" I'd ask him.

Then, together, we'd try to figure it out but we never
could. It felt like
years. We wouldn't say it to each other but both of
us were pretty sure
we'd never get out again – that the tunnel would be
our graves. Harry told
me not to blame myself – that I was just following
orders and doing my job.
He blamed the mine owner for being too cheap to
reinforce the area
properly. The owner's name was Harding. Harry's
words couldn't bring our
two friends back from death but they did make me feel
a little better.
After a while, we stopped talking. I'd just lay there
and think about
dying.

I got so exhausted that I'd end up sleeping, somehow.
The rats woke me up
all the time but I'd go back to sleep again, if only
for a few minutes. I
kept having the same dream over and over again. The
darkness prevented me
from seeing her but I could feel her hands stroking my
forehead, pushing my
hair away from my face. I could smell her perfume.
Lilac scented – just
like my mother's. But she wasn't my mother. That
much I knew. She wasn't
Abigail either. I don't know how I could tell but I
could. She had long
hair and she wore it loose. It touched my skin as she
leaned over me. And
she had a beautiful voice. Soft yet confident.

"You're going to live, Sully," she'd tell me. "We're
going to be together
some day."

Then I'd wake up with a start and realize that I'd
been dreaming again. I
was still trapped in a tunnel, starving to death,
surrounded by rats and
the stench of death. But the dream kept repeating and
I think it was the
only thing that saved my sanity. I'd close my eyes
and wait for
her to come to me. She'd kiss me, wrap her arms
around me, and I felt like
… I felt like I'd come home, like I'd found a part of
me that was missing.
I don't know how to explain it but, because of her, I
hung on. I didn't
want to let her down. I didn't want to leave her.

Afterward, when they dug us out, I convinced myself
that this woman was
Abigail. I let myself believe it but now, after all
this time has passed,
I know better. I think back then I wanted to believe
it so badly that I
talked myself into seeing her face, hearing her voice,
every time I
remembered the dream. I wanted to be with Abigail
and she wanted to be
with me. I couldn't
let a dream come between us. It seemed too …crazy.

When Harry and I heard the sound of digging, I was too
weak by then to call
out. So was Harry. We just lay there, listening to
the shovels and the
voices of our rescuers, hoping that they wouldn't stop
until they found us.
When they'd managed to clear away some of the rubble
and
the light from their lanterns reached us, it hurt my
eyes. It had been so
long since I'd seen anything except complete
blackness. I squinted up into
the face of the man leaning over me, half blind and
too far gone to speak..

"Sully." Daniel's voice reached out to me, urging me
up from the dark pit
closing in around me, yanking me away from death.
"God, Sully."

He started shouting. "Over here! Over here! We need
some help over
here!"

Then hands were pulling the weight off my legs, Daniel
was dragging me out
by the shoulders. Someone else grabbed my feet and
they lifted me into the
air.

"Careful, careful," Daniel cautioned when a low groan
escaped me. "Be
careful with him."

"God!" another man muttered. "Look at him! He ain't
gonna live."

The last thing I remember, before
I passed out, was Daniel's low growl as he threatened
the man. "You say
that again, and it'll be you who won't live! Help me
get him outta here."

It was August twenty-fifth, 1859 – twenty-two days
after the cave-in.




Harry and I both recovered. I was a good week before I
could stay awake
long enough to know what was happening around me.
During that time,
Abigail sat beside my cot in the medical tent,
spooning soup into my mouth
and forcing me to drink. I remember a doctor coming
in every so often,
applying salve to the rat bites and checking the cuts
and bruises on my
legs. And I remember people saying the same thing
over and over.

"He was lucky. He should be dead right now. Just
plain lucky."

Sometimes the voice belonged to Daniel, sometimes to
Abigail. Most of the
time, the words came from strangers.

When I finally had the strength to stay awake and
talk, Abigail and I
began to make plans. She told me that she loved me
and she was never
leaving me again.

"I almost lost you, Sully. Nobody, not even my
father, can keep me away
from you now. When I thought you were dead down
there, I realized how much
you mean to me. I can't go on without you, Sully. I
want to spend the
rest of my life beside you."

I don't know if I ever asked her to marry me or if we
just assumed we were
getting married without ever saying it. But, three
weeks after they dug me
out of that mine at Cripple Creek, we were standing
together in front of a
minister in Manitou, exchanging wedding vows. When we
got back to Colorado
Springs and told Abigail's parents, Loren lost
control. He took a swing at
me.

"I'll kill you!" he roared.

Hank Lawson and Jake Slicker happened to be in the
store and they grabbed
hold of Loren, pinning his arms behind him.

"Don't be a fool, Loren," Hank growled. "Ya can't go
up against 'im. He'd
knock ya flat."

Maude hustled us out of the store before Loren could
break free again.
Outside, she kissed Abigail on the cheek and told her
that she understood,
that she'd try to talk to Loren on our behalf. I
don't know what she said
but it never did much good. By the time Maude gave us
the
land where I built the homestead, Loren Bray had
disowned his daughter.

"As far as I'm concerned," he told Abigail when she
tried to plead with him
later, "I no longer have a daughter. My daughter is
dead."

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