Chapter Twenty-one | Chapter Twenty-two | Chapter Twenty-three | Chapter Twenty-four | Chapter Twenty-five | more chapters
"Katherine, a letter from Thomas!" William cried, rushing inside their cottage waving the thick piece of paper.
"Thomas?" she replied. She was rocking little Will in the rocking chair in front of the hearth, trying to get him to fall asleep.
"Thomas. My cousin Thomas who moved to Virginia last spring."
"Oh. That Thomas."
"They're selling land, Kath! They're selling land in a place called New York practically for nothing!" he exclaimed.
"Hush, I'm trying to get the baby to sleep," she scolded.
"Pa! Papa!" Will cried, turning his head to look at him and grabbing Katherine's blouse sleeve.
"Oh, William, now he's wide awake again." She smoothed back his light brown locks. "Hush. Go to sleep, love."
"It's no matter. He should hear this, too," William replied.
"When was that letter posted?" she asked distrustfully.
He glanced at the date up top. "August."
"Three months! What if they've run out of land?"
"Oh, Katherine, they don't run out of land in America! We have no concept of how vast it is there. Kath, just listen. 'I have heard there is to be a sale of land along the river Hudson in New York State. The land is put at two pennies to an acre."
"How much is that in America? Is it the same as to'pence?"
"Well, I don't know. The point is it's not very much." He looked at the letter again. "'The Hudson Valley is a land rich and fertile, and suitable for growing corn, wheat, root vegetables, and keeping cattle. The woods are abundant with spruce, maple, and oak.'" He glanced up. "Katherine, this is our chance. We must go!"
"What of the new child?" she asked. "You mean for us to get on a ship across the Atlantic right this moment?"
"The child will be born on American soil. But we must leave right now."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, William. It's truly come to this?"
William held her hand guiltily. He knew how much she didn't want to leave. She loved the lush, rolling hills of Hampshire, and she always had a skeptical view of how wonderful everyone claimed America was. She was an intelligent young woman and not easily taken in. And she was so close to her family. She was very young when she had their first child, and unsure of herself at first. Her mother and sisters had been so supportive and were nearly raising him with her. But in New York there would be no one around to help with Will and the new baby, and they wouldn't know a soul. When she said goodbye to her family in England and got on a boat to America, it was very likely she would never see them again. He knew how much she was giving up. But the fact was he was the husband, and he must make the decision. She knew that, and he knew if he told her they had to go, she would comply.
"I know this is difficult, leaving your family behind," he whispered. "I'm very sorry."
She nodded in acknowledgment. She knew he wasn't just saying that. He truly did mean it.
"We must go, Katherine," he said resolutely. "We must be ready the day after tomorrow and travel to Liverpool to board the passenger ship."
"All right, William," she replied unsteadily. "We must go."
"My dear, brave Katherine," he replied, drawing her into his arms and rocking her lovingly.
Seagulls circled overhead as dozens of Englishman and Irishman lined up on the docks at Liverpool with their families and meager luggage.
Katherine sat on the only suitcase they owned and rested as she waited for her husband to tend to the tickets and sign the manifest. She looked up at the large sailing ship, its deck crowded with young, filthy sailors, then she gazed at the vast, gray Irish Sea, and felt an overwhelming wave of fear hit her once more. She wanted to stay where they were, give their farm another try next year, but William insisted a better life awaited them in just a few weeks time. Or months. He had never given her a direct answer as to how long it actually took to sail to America, and she had given up pressing the matter. She gently placed her hand atop her belly. Their lives would soon be changing again anyway, with the baby coming. She decided having a baby born on American soil, their new child a real American, was a nice thought, and she fixated on that and tried not to look at the intimidating ship.
“I’m back, darling,” William called as he approached her, their son on his hip and tickets in his hand. “Can you hold Will for a minute?”
She nodded tiredly and reached her arms up to settle the three-year-old in her lap. “Did you help Papa get the tickets?” she asked, stroking his soft brown hair.
He nodded and sucked on his fingers. “Mama, hungry.”
"Darling, don't suck on your hands, love. They're dirty," she scolded gently, pulling his fingers from his mouth.
“We’ll be eating better than the King once we get to America,” William said as he examined their tickets.
“He’s hungry, William,” Katherine said. “We’ve got to get him something to eat.”
“He’s going to have to eat when we get on the ship. I spent the last of it on these tickets. We need everything else to buy our land.”
“I suppose we have no choice but to go now,” she murmured.
He took the little boy from her and helped her to her feet. “Get up, darling. Are you doing all right? The line’s moving.”
“What do they have to eat on ships?” she asked hesitantly.
He picked up their suitcase. “I don’t know. I don‘t expect it would be any different than what we have to eat here.”
“The baby’s kicking me. I believe he means to tell me he doesn’t want to go,” she remarked.
“Well, his mother’s going, so I suppose that means he’s got to go, too,” he replied, gently putting his arm around her.
“Will it be better in America, William?” she asked, looking up at him and searching his deep hazel eyes. “Truly?”
He gave her brow a discreet kiss. “Katherine, we’re going to start a whole new life there. We’re starting over. And I promise it’s going to be better. I don‘t want to see England again. All I can say to this place is fair thee well.”
She glanced at the land one last time, then focused on the ship. “Fair thee well,” she repeated quietly.
William carried his young son up to the deck of the ship. The little boy was whimpering and restless after spending most of the day in the dark gallows, and William wanted to try to give him a little fresh air and sunshine, as well as give Katherine a break so she could get some rest.
The crew was bustling about the deck going about their daily routines. One man was climbing up the mast to the lookout post, while others were pulling and tying a variety of ropes as they worked the sails. Still others were mopping the deck and polishing the rails. Several other passengers were walking the decks to get fresh air, or to do some laundry with a bucket and some lye soap, or to just walk around and stretch their legs. One poor young man was retching over the side of the ship. The rough weather and huge waves had not been kind to passengers prone to seasickness.
The three-year-old whined and rubbed his eyes with his fists. "Pa, too bwight, too bwight," he cried.
William tried to shield his eyes from the brightness of day. "Don't worry. Your eyes will adjust."
The child just whimpered some more and wiggled around. "I want Mama. I want Mama. Mama. Mama."
"Mama needs a little quiet right now, wee one. Come look. Let's see if we see the mermaids. Come." He carried him over to the rail and pointed at the dark, salty water. "There. Look just there." He drew in his breath. "Oh, did you see her? You see the mermaid swimming past?"
Will hiccupped and searched the water. "Mew-maid?"
"Yes, there she is. Look!"
"Look!" the little boy cried, pointing at the water. He burst into a grin. "You see da mew-maid? I see! Papa!"
William chuckled and patted his back. "Good lad."
A crew member suddenly rang the bell furiously and crewman began scrambling around the ship, quickly taking down the sails. William noticed some ominous dark clouds up ahead and saw a bolt of lightning strike several miles away.
"All passengers below deck!" a crew member shouted. "Storm's brewing! Take cover below!"
"Come on, Will. We have to go inside now," William said, rubbing his back as he headed for the steep staircase at the bow of the ship.
"Stowm comin' den?" Will asked.
"Yes, a storm's coming then."
"Papa, the mew-maid be all wight in the storm?" he asked worriedly.
He kissed his head. "Yes, of course."
The stench below was much more noticeable after getting some fresh air for awhile. William nearly cringed as he made his way through the crowded steerage to their little cot where Katherine was dozing.
"William? What's the matter?" she whispered as she slowly sat up and clutched her belly.
"Looks like we could be in for a rather fierce storm," he said. "They want us to stay below.
"Mama!" Will cried, stretching his arms in her direction.
"Come here, darling," she said, settling him in her lap. "Come here. There, there."
Passengers were talking worriedly among themselves and they could hear the crew scampering above deck to prepare. They closed the portholes and secured the hatch, enclosing the steerage in near total darkness. A few women cried out fearfully and several children began weeping.
"William, what's happening?" Katherine asked nervously.
"I don't know, darling," he said, putting his arm around her tightly. "They're just buckling down the ship I reckon."
In a matter of minutes the ship began lurching violently and waves began crashing hard onto the deck. Salty, freezing cold water leaked between the floorboards and spilled down into steerage.
William scrambled to cover them with one of their blankets. "Here, darling. Here. Don't get wet."
Katherine clung to him like a frightened child, her eyes wide with fear. But she tried with all her might not to let their little boy know anything was wrong. The little boy held onto her arm as tight as he could and buried his face against her chest, quietly whimpering.
Suddenly the ship rode a very large wave and seemed nearly airborne for a moment. Passengers screamed and several started praying. Finally the ship crashed back down into the water with a thunderous splash.
"William!" Katherine cried in the darkness.
"I have you. It's all right," he said unsteadily. "Think about something else. Think about the Christmas holiday in America, in our new home. How lovely that will be."
She sniffled and closed her eyes. "Lord, please just get us to America safely. See us through this storm."
"There there," Katherine soothed. "There there." She sat beside Will and tenderly cleaned his scraped knee with her handkerchief and a little brandy another Englishwoman had loaned them.
She and William had let the little boy wander a bit on the ship floor and stretch his legs, and not ten minutes later he tripped over a latrine bucket someone had left out and landed hard on his knee. He screamed and cried and ran back to his mother. Katherine felt terribly guilty about the whole affair, but they couldn't keep Will cooped up on their cot the entire voyage either. Regardless, clearly the ship was not safe for young children, and she really wished they had waited until the baby was born and their children were much older before making such a dangerous voyage. If William had any regrets, too, he wasn't showing it.
"He's fine," he said. "Don't worry, Kath. It's just a scrape."
Katherine tied the kerchief around the child's knee and then gave his knee a gentle kiss. "There, that kiss can heal anything, aye?"
"Aye," Will choked, hugging her arm.
"You feel better now, darling?" she whispered, wrapping her arm around him and rocking him. "Yes, you feel better."
"Feel better," he echoed tearfully.
Katherine guided him down to the cot and stroked his hair. "There, you rest. Close your eyes."
"It's suppertime," William said. "Let me bring him something to eat."
"Yes, I think that'll help," she replied.
William got up and went up on deck where a crew member from the kitchen was distributing rations of salt bacon, peas and hard tack. Meanwhile Katherine stayed with Will and stroked his hair and hummed to him to comfort him.
"You want a little sip of water, Will, my darling?" she asked. "Mama will get you some water."
He hiccupped. "Water."
"Stay here," she instructed. She hoisted herself up off the cot and supported her belly with one hand as she made her way to the small bucket of fresh water in the corner of the hull.
"Where do ya think you're goin', lassie?" a man suddenly growled, grabbing her arm. His Scottish accent was heavy and slurred and barely discernable.
Katherine screeched and tried to shake him off. Another man stood up to block her path. They were both wearing traditional kilts and were very big and muscular.
"Why don't ya come join us t'night?" one of them asked. "Teach us how the English prefer it."
The other man reached up to stroke back her hair.
"Don't touch me," she said sternly. "Let me pass."
"How 'bout a kiss first?" one of them said with a laugh. "One kiss for a hardworking lad."
"No!" she cried. She glanced around desperately for help. None of the other passengers seemed to notice the predicament she was in, or if they did, they didn't care.
"Come on. Come on, lassie. Back here," the other one said. He grabbed her arm and pulled.
"No! No!" Katherine cried.
He dragged her to a shadowy portion of the ship between two cots and grabbed at her dress bodice.
Katherine slapped him fiercely. "No! William!"
"Lively one, this is!" the man replied, grabbing her wrists tightly. "Hold her down, Hamish."
"Let go of her!" William growled. He charged the two men and punched one of them hard in the mouth.
He clutched his lip. "Hold on there, Englishman. Keep your britches on. Just wanted to pay our respects to the lady."
"You stay away from her!" William grabbed Katherine and pulled her away. "Come on, darling. Let's go."
Katherine put her arm around his waist. "Oh, William."
"Oh, Kath, I'm so sorry." He kissed her head. "Oh, darling."
"We'll be there soon, won't we, William?" she whispered.
"Yes, we'll be there soon," he vowed.
The ship was lurching uncomfortably as another storm raged outside. William gripped the post of their nailed-down cot for balance and held Katherine’s hair back with his other hand.
She was hunched over, holding a small basin beneath her chin and breathing deeply as she tried to regain control of her queasy stomach. Mercifully, her frightening gagging finally seemed to be over, at least for the night.
He leaned forward and gave her cheek a soft kiss. “Want to get under the covers now?” She nodded and passed him the basin to take care of. He returned moments later as she was pulling the covers up to her chin and cuddling against their sleeping little boy. He sat beside her and stroked her hair soothingly.
Katherine had been terribly seasick since the day they departed, barely able to stomach more than a few bites of her meals. William had taken to going to the kitchen quarters in the evening and asking the cook for some broth. The cook was kind, giving him a spoon and a bowl with some broth every night, and Katherine could usually manage to keep that down. Tonight, however, another storm had sprung up, rocking the ship relentlessly. She soon lost the broth along with everything else. He was worried about how spindly her arms and legs were becoming, and how thin her face had grown, but more than that he was worried about her spirits. She was miserable, and he felt helpless.
Gradually, he slipped off his shoes and reclined beside her, gathering her to his chest as a huge bang of thunder sounded outside and a flash of lightening lit the steerage for a brief moment. Amazingly, most of the passengers were sleeping through it. Those who were awake were seasick, and he suspected listening to them all night certainly wasn't helping Katherine gain control of her own stomach.
Sickness was going around, and half a dozen had succumbed to it already. The coughing was endless. People seemed to cough until they couldn’t cough anymore and finally died. However, little Will remained as resilient as ever, William felt fine, and aside from her stomach, Katherine and the baby seemed to be doing all right physically. At least she wasn’t coughing.
“Katherine, you’re trembling,” he said, stroking her shaking back.
“It frightens me, the way this ship rocks,” she whispered. “I think it’s going to tip over.”
“No, that’s not possible,” he said, kissing her hair reassuringly.
“How much longer, William?”
“Not much longer,” he replied.
He should have known traveling in November the storms would be bad. He hadn’t counted on Katherine being this sick, however. He felt terrible watching her, and he worried constantly about their unborn child, what effect its mother’s ill health might have on it. He liked the nights, when he could gather Katherine and Will in his arms and dream of better things to come.
“Where do you think we are?” she asked.
“Closer to America than England.” He didn’t know if that was true, but he said it anyway.
She awkwardly turned to her back so she could look at him. “Tell me about America again.”
“Aye, America. America’s where there’s so much land they give it away for pennies. Everyone has as much land as they want. And the soil, it’s the richest soil you ever held between your hands. And it’s clean there, and warm, and it doesn‘t rain like it does at home. And there‘s lots of food. People are fat there, they have so much food.”
“Don’t talk about food,” she said. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and he knew she was teasing.
He smiled softly. “Sorry.”
She sighed. “I wish we had a lamp. I’d like to read.”
“We only brought two books,” he remarked.
“Still, I’d like to read Lord Byron. I don’t notice all this rocking when I read his poems.”
“It’s lucky you can read at all. I’ve wondered about the children. I don’t know about schools in America,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t know if they’ve had time to set them up.”
“That’s all right. I’ll teach our children if there is no school. I want them to be able to read Byron, too.”
“We’ll read in the morning,” he told her. “Close your eyes. You need to sleep.”
“You’re worried,” she said, gently taking his hand.
He sighed. She was good at making him be honest. “I just think perhaps we started out too late. I‘d just like to get there as soon as we can.”
She wasn’t quite sure when their baby would come and he certainly wasn’t either, but she was starting to look like she had just before Will was born, her clothes stretched to the limit and her walk slow and awkward. The baby didn’t seem to care his mother wasn’t eating much. Her belly kept right on getting bigger as he kept on growing inside her. William was beginning to worry it might happen on the ship, but he would never dare trouble Katherine with that possibility. It would only make her even more anxious. He wanted their baby born in America, where nothing could happen to it, like it could in England or on the horrific ship that was taking them away from there.
“It is a bit cold, even for November,” she admitted.
That wasn’t what he meant, but he nodded in reply and drew her even closer. “Are you warm now?”
“Oh, yes, I’m warm now. I don’t like going out on deck with that wind, but the smell down here is so hard to manage sometimes.”
“You smell beautiful to me,” he whispered lovingly.
She smiled shyly and squeezed his hand.
“Soon, Katherine,” he went on. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Here you are, son,” William whispered, sitting on the edge of their cot and holding out a small teacup.
His little boy sat up in bed and took it from him, taking a small sip.
“Good? Nice and warm?” William asked.
“Good,” the little boy said, running his hand across his pink lips.
“Under the covers with you,” he instructed, taking the cup from him.
“Mama,” he whimpered plaintively.
“Mama’s all right,” he said. “She’ll be back to us soon, Will. Go to sleep.”
He glanced across the room just as Katherine let loose a powerful growl. He seemed to be the only one up and worried about her. Everyone else had gone about their normal routines and went to bed when it got dark, as if nothing were happening.
That morning, Katherine had gotten up to use the little bucket tucked under their bed that was their latrine, and just like that, her water had broken. Some of it went into the bucket and most of it went on the floor. She burst into petrified tears and William had sprung out of bed, frantically clutching her arm and holding out a towel while she stood there and sobbed.
He didn’t know what to do until a curious girl no more than fifteen had happened to pass near them and walked over. From there, word had quickly reached the rest of the ship that the young woman with child needed help, and William had willingly handed Katherine over to the girl and two Irishwomen who had come over and acted like they knew what they were doing. Another woman had strung up some sheets in the corner of the hull, and from behind the sheets Katherine had been carrying on all day long and now well into the evening.
He tucked Will under the covers and gave him a gentle kiss. Then, tentatively, he approached the little corner of the ship, where Katherine’s cries had suddenly died down to whimpers. She had done that the whole time. She cried and screamed for minutes at a time, then would suddenly grow silent for a long moment before starting up again with her screams. He didn’t know what it all meant, whether it was supposed to happen this way, and was so worried and confused he felt like crying, and he hardly ever cried.
“Everything all right?” he called softly, nervously wringing his hands.
One of the Irishwomen pulled back the blanket, eyeing him angrily. “What’re ya doin’ here? Git back away!”
He blinked a few times. “I…is she all right? Why‘s it taking so long?” He tried to remember how long it took her with Will, but couldn’t. It must have been at least a few hours. He didn’t know. He had gone into town with his brother James and his cousin Milton, became sufficiently intoxicated at the pub, and when he sobered up and came back the midwife presented him with Will.
“Of course she be a’right. It takes time is all,” the woman said impatiently. “Git back away.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, stepping back and returning to the cot.
Katherine focused all her strength into bearing down, pulling back her legs for leverage and holding her breath.
"Harder," one of the Irishwomen encouraged. "Harder, child."
"I can't any harder!" she protested. She fell back against her pillow and gasped for air. "I'm sorry I'm doing this so wrong."
"You're doin' nothin' wrong, child. It's a stubborn one is all," the women said as she bathed her face with a cloth.
Both the women were midwives in their hometowns in Ireland, they had told Katherine, with a wealth of experience between them. When she had first gone into labor, she had prayed with all her might that somehow God would see her through it. And then just like that the Irishwomen had appeared, like two angels out of the darkness who were going to help her bring her second child into the world without event. As arduous as the labor was turning out to be, she felt safe with them beside her.
"Please don't touch me there," she suddenly cried. "No, that's painful."
"We have to, dearie. Let's see where this wee little one be now," the older of the two women said as she examined Katherine's progress with her skilled hands. "Katherine, child, we've got to git it born now, a'right? It doesn't prefer to be inside any longer."
"I think he must be big," Katherine muttered. "My other son was big, too."
"Oh, ye be havin' a bo' now, are ye?" she asked wryly.
She nodded. "It's what William wants. Sons. We're going to have a farm in America. I promised him sons for the farm."
"Good. Let's see if ye can make good on that."
"Pressure. On her womb," the other woman suggested.
"Aye, do it," she replied.
The women laid her arms across the top of Katherine's belly and pushed downward. Katherine screeched and writhed, grabbing her arm. It felt like all of a hundred pounds of bricks and she was suddenly very angry and all the more determined to get her child born so it would be over with.
"It's not pleasant, lassie. It won't be long now," she vowed, pressing down all the harder
"Should I bear down? What should I do?" Katherine blurted frantically.
"Yes, yes, bear down. All your might, all your might," the older women instructed. "Let's get him 'ere. Quickly now, child. We must get him 'ere quickly."
William sat beside Will and absently stroked the little boy’s hair as he slept. He couldn’t lie down himself and certainly couldn’t sleep. Not with Katherine so miserable. He winced at every cry she made and listened anxiously when she stopped crying. Occasionally, Katherine would cry out his name, but the Irishwomen wouldn’t let him come near, and he had to sit where he was, helpless to do anything for her.
Finally, as dawn was breaking and the other passengers were gradually rousing, Katherine’s crying stopped and didn’t start up again.
Unable to restrain himself any longer, William got up and approached the sheets.
Katherine looked up in disbelief as the older midwife held her glistening new baby by its ankles and slapped its bottom.
"What are you doing? You're hurting it," Katherine said desperately, her brow wrinkled. The baby let out a big cry and Katherine burst into a smile. "Oh, praise the Lord," she murmured. "Oh, sweet baby." She watched tearfully as the midwife tied off the cord and cut it. "Oh, look. You're a boy. You're a boy."
"Fine baby bo'," the midwife said. "Keep 'im warm, child. It's very drafty in 'ere. Keep 'im to your breast." She laid the baby across Katherine's chest and then covered him with a quilt.
"Oh, I can't believe you were just inside me," Katherine whispered, weakly smoothing the new baby's soft light hair. "Oh, you are big. I knew you were."
"A good size he is," the younger midwife remarked. "Good girl. A lesser woman couldn't 'ave done that."
"I just had a baby. I just had a boy," Katherine said in disbelief. "Oh, another boy. It's another boy."
"Your husband will be most proud," she replied.
"Am I the first woman to bring forth a child on a ship?" she asked.
"Oh, no, lassie. I'm sure that's not so," the older women said.
"Oh." Katherine gave the baby a soft kiss. "I'm sorry. You were supposed to be an American. I don't know what you are now. I'm afraid you're not anything more than just half American." She grimaced as both midwives moved down between her legs to examine her. She had torn, and quite badly, she suspected. She had felt the baby's head nearly splitting her in two when it came out. But however bad the injury was the midwives were doing their best to pretend everything was fine.
One of the midwives raised a bloody hand up to massage her belly while the other discreetly crossed herself, and Katherine suddenly felt very weak and nauseous.
"I can't hold him. I can't hold him," she spoke up hoarsely. "Please, take him."
The younger midwife picked the baby up and cradled him warmly. "There, there, boy-o."
“Everything be all right?” William suddenly asked from behind the sheets. “Katherine? Kath?”
After a long moment, the Irishwoman emerged from the sheets, a bundle of blankets in her arms. William got a quick glimpse at Katherine, and swallowed hard. She was under the covers, head tilted to one side and eyes closed. He had never seen her look so pale. He thought her lips even looked blue. The other Irishwoman was holding a towel between Katherine’s legs and looking worried.
“He’s a bi’ boy. A fine boy. Strong,” the woman with the blankets said as she approached him.
William glanced at the baby. He was pink and plump beneath the blankets, and had a small amount of fluffy light hair. He let out the tiniest cry, scrunching up one fist.
“Lad, ye know how t' hold 'im?”
“I don’t know. I think so,” he said nervously.
“Then hold 'im. I’m needed in there.” She laid the bundle in his arms and disappeared behind the sheets.
William stood silently, gazing at the baby for a long moment. He looked a lot like Will when he was born. He didn‘t know what to make of him. He just kept hoping he wouldn‘t cry until Katherine was awake and doing better and could tend to him. He wouldn’t know what to do if he cried.
“So you’re a boy after all. Your mother was right,” he whispered at last. “That will be good, when we get to America. You can help me. We‘ll work the farm, you and your big brother and me. We‘re going to have lots of land there. In America they give away land for nothing.”
He carefully crossed the room to the hatch, letting some of the morning sun warm the new infant’s face. He was a cute little thing, William was proud to admit. He had hair like Katherine’s, ears like hers, too, he thought, but he decided the infant had his nose and chin.
Suddenly, the little boy sniveled and opened his mouth wide, letting out a decisive cry.
William drew him back from the window and cuddled him lovingly. “Oh, don’t cry. We’ll be there soon. We‘re going to be there soon.”
“Well, I see you’ve done a’right with him,” the Irishwoman said as she approached William, drying her hands with a towel.
William was sitting on the bed, Will beside him. Will was eyeing his new sibling uncertainly, blue eyes wide as he watched it whimper and move its fists.
"Baby," Will said.
“You’re a bi' brother,” the Irishwoman said, tapping Will’s nose. “What d’ ya think of that, wee lad?”
“He’s pwetty little,” Will remarked quietly.
“Oh, they tend to be,” she replied.
He pointed his finger at the baby's wispy hair. "Baby. We keep him, Pa? We take him to Mer-ca?"
William chuckled softly. "Of course he's coming to America. That's your little brother, Will."
"Oh. He's mine," he replied. "Will's baby."
William chuckled and kissed the three-year-old's head. "Aye. He's all of ours."
“She be wantin’ to see 'im now," the Irishwoman said. "An' you.”
He stood up eagerly. “Stay here on the bed, Will, all right? I‘ll be back.”
“All wight, Pa,” he whispered.
He carefully carried the infant across the hull to the sheets and the Irishwoman pulled them back for him, finally letting him go inside.
“Katherine?”
She was under several blankets, resting quietly. A bit of the color had returned to her face, but she still looked frighteningly weak.
She gradually opened her eyes. “William? Is that the baby you‘re holding?”
He wasn’t sure what else he would be holding. “Yes, this be him. It‘s a boy. Want to hold him?” He crouched beside the bed.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Put him up next to my face, so I can feel him.”
He tentatively shifted the baby up to press his cheek to hers. “Here you are. You feel him?”
“Yes, that’s perfect,” she murmured. She puckered her lips over so slightly, pressing them to the baby’s, then closed her eyes and rested.
He tenderly smoothed her hair from her forehead. "It's a boy, Kath. You gave us another son. You're wonderful. Another boy. It's a boy."
She was so tired she could barely manage a soft little smile at his excitement.
“That was hard, wasn’t it?” he said, caressing her cheek.
“I’m sorry I took so long. You must have been fretting.”
He shifted closer to her, eyes welling with tears. “I’m just glad you’re fine. And him.”
“He’s fine. As for me I can’t even move, I’m so tired. I've never been so tired,” she said.
“You rest,” he instructed, stroking her hair. “You’ll be up and about soon. Katherine, we never talked about names. I didn’t think he’d come just yet. We‘ve already used my name on Will. Want me to look through the Bible? There’s names to be had in there. John, or David perhaps? Katherine?”
“Let’s call him Byron then.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Byron? Wherever did you ….. oh, Lord Byron?”
“That’s all I’ve read as I’ve been carrying him. He liked hearing the poems. He was always kicking me as I read. I fancy the name, don‘t you?”
He hesitated. He wasn’t sure he did, it had a funny sound to it, but Katherine was so taken with the name, and she was so beautiful, curled up with their infant. He decided that after going through all she had to bring the poor thing into the world, she could name him whatever she liked. “Byron Sully. Yes. I, uh, I fancy it. Anything you want, darling,” he said. Although he wasn’t sure their new son would like it as he grew older.
She pressed a kiss to the baby’s cheek. “Oh, William. Could he be any more perfect?”
He chuckled softly. “You’re not even looking at him.”
“I know. I’m too tired to open my eyes. But I can tell.”
“Well, I believe he is perfect.” He leaned forward and gave her lips a soft kiss. “Well done, Mrs. Sully. Well done.”
Sully opened the door to the recovery room and walked quietly inside. Michaela was dozing in a chair beside the bed, Byron's hand clasped in hers as he slept soundly. He was relieved the little boy had finally been able to relax and settle down. At least when he was sleeping he wouldn't be feeling any pain.
He pulled a chair beside Michaela and she stirred, blinking up at him.
"What time is it?" she asked hoarsely.
"Must be about five. Sun's just comin' up," he said. "How is he?"
"Better. He's been asleep awhile. Where's William?"
"Fell asleep on the cot downstairs. Thought I'd let him get some rest."
She rested her hand in his lap and held his as they both watched Byron a long moment. Finally Sully rested his elbows on his knees and stared forward pensively.
"It was called the Brig Emilie," he murmured.
"What?" she murmured, glancing at him curiously.
"The ship I was born on. It was called the Brig Emilie."
"Oh, Sully. William told you?" she asked.
"Yeah. He remembers. Says I was born about five days before they docked in New York. Ship was almost two weeks late, held up by a couple storms. Hadn't been for those storms I woulda been born on American soil."
"Oh, Sully," she murmured.
"I wanted to ask him about it. I wanted to find out what he knew."
"I think that's wonderful you talked about this," she said reassuringly. "Our past, it's who we are. It's important to know where we came from."
"I think he really loved my ma. At least at first," he said quietly. "They tried to make it in England, but their crops were ruined three years in a row. He heard about a land sale in New York and decided to bring her and my brother out here."
"I can't imagine your mother, how young she was to leave everything behind. And then to have to give birth on that long voyage. She must have had so much courage."
"Yeah. Sounds like it." He sighed. "I know I don't like to talk about her much. It ain't cause I didn't love her."
"Of course you did. It was very painful the way things turned out. If you didn't love her you wouldn't have gone through such heartache."
"Michaela, I only remember her as a child remembers. Now that I'm a man, hearin' about what she was like, how brave she was, what she sacrificed. She never told me those things. She never talked about herself. It was always about me and my brother. That's just how she was, selfless. Now I think I never really knew her at all."
She rubbed his arm. "Perhaps hearing her story will help you find peace. Will give you closure about everything."
He nodded ever so slightly and put his arm around her, drawing her close as they continued to watch their little boy sleep.
"No fever. That's a good sign," Andrew remarked as he felt Byron's forehead.
Michaela fed the weak little boy another spoonful of broth. "Appetite's improving, too," she remarked. "How does your leg feel, sweetheart? Better?"
He managed a nod and took another sip of broth.
"Thought ya might be up to a few visitors," Sully said quietly.
Michaela glanced at the doorway where Brian and the other children were lingering eagerly.
"What do you think?" Michaela asked. "Do you want some visitors? Do you want to sit up?"
"Here, we'll help you sit up, Byron," Andrew offered, grasping his arm.
"No. Lie down," he protested weakly.
Michaela smoothed his hair. "All right. You don't have to sit up if you don't want to."
"Byron," Katie choked as she stepped into the room. She walked to his bed and grabbed his hand. "Byron, I was so scared."
Byron looked at his siblings with relief but was too tired to show much emotion.
"Here, Byron. I brought your baseball glove," Red Eagle said, tenderly laying the worn leather glove beside him.
Byron clutched it weakly with one hand as Michaela fed him a little more broth.
"You're famous," Red Eagle murmured. "Miss Dorothy wrote a story about you in the paper. About how Gran'pa fought off the bear."
He blinked tiredly and then closed his eyes.
"You just keep gettin' better," Brian spoke up, stepping forward him and clutching his arm. "I need ya to carry the ring at my weddin'."
Michaela eyed him curiously. "Your wedding? I thought it was … "
He smiled. "Not anymore. We worked things out."
She smiled back. "Oh, Brian. That's good news. You hear that, sweetheart? Your brother's getting married and he needs a ring bearer. You have to get better so you can help him out."
"I like Sarah," he whispered.
Brian smiled softly and patted his hand. "I like her, too."
"Want some candy from Mr. Bray's?" Katie spoke up. "Or a toy? Byron? You want some gumdrops?"
Byron was so exhausted he couldn't speak anymore. He just closed his eyes and allowed Michaela to feed him the broth.
"What's wrong? Why won't he talk?" Katie asked, glancing at Michaela worriedly.
"It's all right, sweetheart. He's just very sleepy right now. He'll want to talk more when he gets his strength back."
Sully stepped forward and drew Katie against him. "Don't worry, sweet girl. He just needs to know we're here right now."
"I'm here, Byron," she whispered. "We're here."
"We're all here," Michaela added, smoothing his hair. "You just rest."
Michaela took the tea kettle off her stove and poured another cup of willow bark tea for Byron. Mercifully he was resting very peacefully, although she wanted to be right there ready with more medicine for him when he woke up.
Someone rang the bell as Michaela put the teakettle back. "Come in," she called.
Teresa opened the door and stepped inside. She looked even more solemn than usual and there was an intense worry in her eyes Michaela had never seen before.
"Oh, Mrs. Slicker," Michaela murmured with surprise. She added a few spoonfuls of honey to the cup to try to sweeten the tea's bitter taste and make it easier for Byron to get down.
"I apologize for disturbing you."
"No, not at all."
"Byron. Is he all right?" she asked hoarsely. "How is he?"
She sighed. "It's been a rough few days. But he's not feeling as much pain anymore."
"His leg. Will he keep his leg?" she whispered forlornly.
"I think so. I'm watching him carefully for signs of infection. So far he's healing well."
Teresa held out a large, colorful blue card. "The class made this for him. Can he have visitors?"
"I'm afraid not just yet," Michaela said. "But perhaps in a day or two? But, I could give him the card if you'd like. It's lovely."
"Oh. Yes." Teresa stepped toward her and handed her the card. "Dr. Quinn, I've been thinking. If … when he gets better and can return to school, I want to advance him with the other students. He can move on to the third grade."
"What do you mean? But I thought we already decided he would repeat second grade."
"That is true. But I could work with him separately. I could tutor him. Perhaps he could stay after school two or three days a week and study with me. I'll do my best to make sure he gets through."
Michaela put the teacup on her desk. "Mrs. Slicker, thank you for that. But Sully and I talked about this at length. I know I wasn't exactly receptive to holding him back at first, but I've come to believe that you were right, that repeating second grade is the best thing for him. We know there's going to be drawbacks. But Sully and I at least think we should try this for awhile."
"Oh. If you're certain."
"Yes, we've made the decision. But, about the tutoring? Do you think you still might be able to help him a little after school from time to time? I know how much he loves you. He works so well with you."
She smiled softly. "Yes of course. We'll start as soon as he comes back to school." She paused a long moment. "And, he should sit with his brother. They work very well together. I'll move his seat back to where he was."
Michaela swallowed hard. She and Teresa had often butted heads, and it seemed it was very rare that they ever agreed on anything. Michaela had always felt that Teresa was silently judging her, and the teacher had certainly made it quite clear she didn't agree with Michaela's decision to continue working after having children. But despite their differences, Michaela knew deep down that the town had done a great service for the children when they hired her as teacher, and she was glad she had stayed on for so long.
"I know I probably haven't told you as much as I should how much I appreciate you," Michaela said softly. "Sully and I both. The children are so happy at school. Even Byron. It's not a place they ever don't want to go to. I know that has to do largely with you. Thank you."
"Well, your children make it easy for me, Dr. Quinn. It is a pleasure to have them in my class," she said evenly. She headed for the door, then turned around. "Please let me know when he may see visitors. I would like to see him."
"I will," Michaela replied.
"In the meantime, I will keep praying."
Michaela nodded tearfully. "Thank you."
Byron clutched William's arm and gazed at the book in his lap.
"'It's just the life for me,' said Tom," William read as he turned a page. "'You don't have to get up, mornings, and you don't have to go to school, and wash, and all that blame foolishness. You see a pirate don't have to do anything, Joe."
"I wanna be a pirate," Byron spoke up softly.
William smiled at him. "So did I when I was your age."
Michaela entered the room with a small tray of medical supplies and felt Byron's forehead.
"What are you reading?" Michaela asked.
"Tom Sawyer. We found it on your bookshelf," William explained.
"It's a really good book, Mama," Byron remarked. "You should read it."
"I have," she replied as she placed the tray at the end of the bed and turned down the covers.
"You have? What happens?" Byron asked.
"I'm not going to tell you," she replied wryly.
"Aww," he protested.
"He's looking stronger," William remarked.
She nodded and patted the little boy's arm. "It's time to change your bandages, sweetheart."
"No," Byron whimpered. "No."
"William, you …. you might want to wait outside," Michaela said.
"No, I'll stay," he replied. "Don’t you worry, Byron. I'll stay with you, all right?"
"I'll try to be gentle," Michaela murmured as she cut down the length of the bandages and removed them, exposing his wound to air.
"Hurts," Byron said hoarsely, glancing down.
"Don't look at it, sweetheart," Michaela said. "Don't look."
"Shh, don't look," William soothed. "Close your eyes, son. Don't look."
Michaela examined the stitches carefully and determined they were taking well and then began gently patting down the wound with a cloth and some carbolic acid.
"No! It hurts, it hurts," Byron cried.
"I'm almost done. We're almost done," she said helplessly.
"Mama, please don't do that anymore. It hurts so bad."
"Do you want some more morphine? That'll help it not hurt so much."
"No," he bemoaned. "No more shots!"
"Sweetheart, you need to have the shot or it's going to keep hurting, do you understand? Let me get you some morphine."
Byron suddenly began crying. "I don't want anymore shots. I don't want you touching my leg. I wanna go home. Please, I wanna go home."
William glanced at Michaela. She was struggling with all her might to be brave and keep it together while she finished tending to the little boy's injuries. He smoothed back Byron's hair and gave his forehead a soft kiss. "Byron, son, close your eyes. Close your eyes."
Byron reluctantly closed his eyes and William smoothed away some of his tears. "Now think of your most favorite thing in the world. What's that?"
"Baseball," Byron choked.
"Baseball. Yes. Imagine you're stepping up to the plate and hitting that ball all the way out of the meadow. Can you see that?"
Byron hiccupped and got control of his tears. "Yeah. I hit a home run."
"Of course you did. You're one fine baseball player."
"See if you can get him to drink this," Michaela whispered as she handed William a glass filled a few inches with a cloudy liquid.
"What is it?" he asked, raising Byron's head off the pillow.
"It's morphine in powder form. It's not quite as effective as an injection, but at least it's something."
"Drink this. Drink it down, son," he instructed, guiding some of the liquid into the child's mouth. "Very good. Well done."
"Byron, this is going to help you relax and take a nice nap, all right?" Michaela whispered, stooping and kissing his cheek. "Close your eyes. I love you. Sleep, my darling."
She straightened and William got up, putting his arm around her shoulders reassuringly. "He is one tough young man, Michaela. He's going to make it through this just fine. He is so strong."
"He gets that from your side of the family," she replied tearfully.
"Oh, no, that's from his mother, too," he said.
"It's just so hard to see him in pain," she choked. "I'm hurting him."
"No, you're helping him. You're helping him," he replied reassuringly. "Here, you sit down. You must be exhausted. Rest awhile with him while he sleeps."
He guided her to his chair and she leaned forward and wrapped her arm lovingly around Byron and crouched down to kiss the back of his hand.
"Thank you, William," she whispered.
"Shh, rest," he replied, giving her back a gentle pat.
As the sun set Michaela cantered up to Brian's new homestead, relieved to find him standing in front of his workbench sawing a board.
He glanced up and took a swig from his canteen. "Hey, Ma. Byron doin' all right?" he called.
"Yes, he's fine. He's resting. Sully and William are with him."
He put aside his canteen. "Good."
"I thought you were going to join us in town for supper. Are you all right?" she asked as she dismounted and tethered the reins to a nearby tree branch.
"Sorry, Ma. I lost track of time," he replied. He was sweaty from work and looked very tired.
"Are you hungry? I brought you some biscuits."
"No thanks. That's all right."
She surveyed his homestead in admiration. It was simple but beautiful, with two large front windows and flowerboxes, and a large front porch.
"It's really coming along," she said. "It's going to be wonderful when it's finished."
He kept sawing, intently focused on his work.
"Brian, is something wrong?"
He straightened and stopped working a moment. He had always been able to talk to his mother about anything on his mind, and even now that he was a grown man he felt safe to tell her anything. "Got a letter from Ethan today," he murmured. "It's there. You can read it."
Michaela cleared her throat and found the piece of paper on his bench. "Dear Brian," she read aloud quietly. "I regret to inform you circumstances have changed and I must travel back East on very important business pertaining to my shipping fleet throughout the summer. Thus I will be unable to attend your wedding. Congratulations, may you find every happiness together. Your father, Ethan Cooper."
Michaela watched him as he sawed all the harder at the board. She had always tried very hard not to insult Brian's father in front of him, to be as diplomatic as possible and support him in maintaining a relationship with him, however small. But privately she deeply resented Ethan for manipulating Brian the way he did, constantly filling him with false promises and then backing out. Brian was a kind-hearted young man and a wonderful son whom she and Sully were so deeply proud of. Ethan had no idea what he had given up.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, not knowing what else to say.
"It's all right. Guess I never really believed he would come anyway. Guess Sarah was right. He don't care."
"It sounds like business is booming. He sounds very busy."
He finished sawing the board and tossed it aside. "Yep."
"It's getting late. What do you say you ride back to the clinic with me and I heat you up some leftover stew and make a fresh pot of coffee? Hm? I know you love my coffee."
He smiled softly and took off his work gloves. "All right. Let's head out."
"I regret to inform you?" Michaela said impatiently as she paced in front of the clinic stove. "It sounds like he's turning down a business proposition rather than writing to his own son."
"The man's insensitive, always has been," Elizabeth remarked from the desk chair where she was holding the baby. "This is nothing new."
"Insensitive? That's putting it mildly, Mother. I can't believe he's not coming. I can't believe he would do this to Brian."
"Brian's gonna have to learn eventually no matter how hard he tries, Ethan's always gonna be Ethan," Sully remarked, leaning against her examination table. "He's never gonna change."
"I feel so terrible about this," she said, shaking her head. "On the one hand I think he should try to keep contact with him. He is his real father. On the other hand, this relationship has been nothing but painful for Brian lately."
"Maybe it's time he cut ties," Sully replied. "But that's Brian's decision."
"Sometime I wish he would," she murmured.
"Don't worry, Michaela. We'll give him a nice wedding without Ethan," Elizabeth said. "He won't even notice his absence. He'll have the family he has now supporting him. We don't need Ethan around."
"That's right," Sully said. "We're his family now. We're all he needs."
"Sully, his face today," she murmured. "I could barely look at him he looked so devastated. He'd been cast aside, rejected for bigger and better things."
He approached her and caressed his shoulder. "He'll get through it. He's gonna be all right."
She sighed and put her arm around his waist, holding him close as he rubbed her back reassuringly.
Sully wrapped his arm firmly around Byron's waist and helped him stand up. Byron whimpered and glanced up at his mother warily.
"You're doing fine, sweetheart. Just don't put weight on it. Just balance on your other leg," Michaela instructed as she placed a small crutch beneath his arm. "Lean on this."
"This is tough," he whispered.
"Does it hurt?" Sully asked.
"A little," he admitted.
"You're doing wonderful. You're recovering so quickly," Michaela said, caressing his cheek. "You'll be better in no time."
"How long until I can play baseball?" he asked breathlessly.
"Not long," Michaela said, giving his forehead a kiss. "Not long at all the way you're going."
Elizabeth walked into the room leaning on her cane. "Michaela, Sully, we have to get to the train station right away." She stopped short. "Oh, look at him!" she exclaimed.
"Hey, Gran'ma," Byron replied tiredly.
She walked over to him and hugged him. "How do you feel, dear?"
"I got a cane just like you, Gran'ma," he replied with a soft smile.
She held him close. "Oh, yes you do!" She glanced at Sully. "I need you at the train station right away."
"Why?" Sully asked.
"Brian's wedding present. It's arriving right now!"
"Can I come, too?" Byron asked. "Please, Mama? I wanna see the present."
Michaela smoothed his hair. "I think you could. If we take it slow."
"What exactly ya get him?" Sully asked.
"You'll see," Elizabeth replied wryly.
"It's supposed to be on this train," Elizabeth said as Sully carried Byron across the tracks and Michaela followed with the baby.
Several railroad workers were gathered in the luggage car, setting up a ramp and several ropes to lower down a very large wooden crate.
"There it is! That must be it!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Oh, wonderful."
Sully cocked his head to the side and looked at the lettering on the crate. "Steinway and Sons. Queens County, New York."
"New York?" Michaela echoed in disbelief.
They all watched as the men slowly heaved the crate down the ramp to the ground.
"What is it?" Sully asked. "Looks about as heavy as a piano."
"It is a piano," Elizabeth replied.
He looked at her. "Elizabeth, you shipped a piano all the way out to Colorado Springs? How much did that cost ya to do that?"
"None of your business." She opened her purse and handed a dollar bill to one of the workers. "Well done. Thank you."
"Sure, ma'am, sure," one of them muttered as he hobbled away clutching his back.
Sully stared at the large box. "Why didn't ya just order one from Denver? Piano's a piano."
"No it's not. Steinway makes the best pianos in the world, everyone knows that. I'm not going to give my grandson and his new wife just any old piano. They should have the best. It's a beautiful upright made of cherry wood I selected myself from their catalogue."
"Jiminy, look at that," Kirk remarked with a whistle as he walked down the steps. "What's that, Sully, a piano?"
Loren took a few letters from Horace and wandered over to watch as he sorted through his mail.
"How'd ya guess?" Sully murmured.
"Morning, Kirk," Michaela said.
"Mornin', Dr. Mike," he said, putting his arm around her with a smile. "How's everybody?"
"We're fine. Where's Faye? I haven't seen her in town in a few days."
"Faye? Oh, she's been feelin' poorly lately. Some kind of catarrh."
"Oh, that's too bad. Do you want me to ride out and check on her?"
"Nah, no need for that. Sure it'll pass real soon."
"Well, let me know if it doesn't improve."
"I will."
"How exactly ya plan on gettin' this piano to Brian's place?" Sully asked skeptically.
Elizabeth smiled up at him sweetly.
Sully shook his head. "Oh, no. Elizabeth, I got work to do, haulin' a piano out there's gonna take all mornin'."
"Well, we can't just leave it sitting here," she protested.
"Who's gonna be able to lift it even if they wanted to steal it?" he replied.
Michaela giggled and rubbed Sully's arm. "Think of it as helping Brian. This is his wedding present."
"Well, I can't do this all on my own," Sully replied. He glanced at Loren.
Loren shook his head as he opened another letter. "Don't look at me. Remember what happened last time I lifted a piano?"
"I could help ya, Sully," Kirk offered. "I'll just round up some men. We'll get the job done in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
"Oh, you're just a dear, young man. Thank you," Elizabeth said.
"Sure, ma'am," he replied as he took off down the street.
"Sully, I wish you were more like Kirk. Positive. Accommodating," Elizabeth remarked.
"Accommodatin'," he muttered. He carefully put Byron on his feet. "All right, let me get some rope." He squeezed Michaela's shoulder. "Looks like I'm gonna be awhile. See ya later?"
She smiled. "See you later."
Sully walked gingerly into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Michaela was reading in bed and Byron was cuddled up beside her, asleep in the middle of the bed, his bandaged leg propped up on a pillow.
"What's wrong?" Michaela asked as he walked carefully to the vanity and slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
"Think I strained my back liftin' that piano," he muttered.
"Oh, dear." She put her book aside and walked over to him, helping him off with his shirt. Then she ran her hands down his back. "Where is it?
"Ahh," he murmured and she pressed her hand against his muscles. "Yeah, that's it."
She carefully rubbed his muscles with her fingers. "Does this help?"
"Yeah, that's better."
"Well, it's going to be a busy next several days. I'm afraid this is just the beginning. I hope you remembered my sisters arrive the day after tomorrow."
"How could I forget?" he muttered.
"Sully," she scolded. "It is a long trip. Give them a little credit."
"Just a card woulda been fine," he replied.
She pushed on his back and he winced. "Bite your tongue."
He chuckled softly and turned to face her, giving her a kiss. "I'm just foolin'. I'm glad they're comin' out."
"Even Claudette?" she asked skeptically.
He hedged a bit. "She's growin' on me. A little."
She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. "Can you believe it? Brian's getting married."
"Hard to believe," he replied.
She bit her lip thoughtfully. "He hasn't said anything more about Ethan to you, has he? I'm worried about him. I think he's taking what happened very hard."
"He's been pretty quiet since he heard from him."
"I don't want this to put a damper on his special day."
"I know. I'll talk to him, see how he's doin'," Sully said.
"Oh, you will? Oh, good," she replied, hugging him again gratefully.
Sully cantered up to Brian's homestead late in the afternoon. Brian was out front unloading a few essentials he had just picked up from the mercantile from the back of his wagon, including several lanterns and kerosene, a washboard and a small wooden tub for doing laundry, and some more lumber and thin rope to build a clothesline with.
"Need a hand?" Sully called as he dismounted.
"Sure, Pa. Thanks," Brian replied.
Sully grabbed the tub and Brian picked up the last few crates and they hauled them inside.
The interior of the modest homestead was fully decorated with furniture, a few paintings and a crocheted sampler that said "Home Sweet Home." In the corner of the room was Elizabeth's wedding gift of the Steinway piano, tied up firmly with a large canvas and rope not to be opened until they were married.
"Looks good," Sully remarked. "Ya can be real proud of yourself."
Brian pulled out a few tin cups from one of the crates. "I just did the buildin'. Sarah's the one who did most of the decoratin'."
"A woman's touch. Every house needs it."
"Yeah," he said with a smile.
"Ready for the big day?" Sully asked.
"I think so. We done just about everything on our list. All that's left is to hope for good weather for the reception."
Sully folded his arms. "Your ma, she, uh, she told me about Ethan."
"Turns out somethin' came up," Brian said softly.
"You all right? Know that musta been hard to hear."
"I'm all right, Pa. I'm not stupid. I know Ethan don't have much interest in me. In any of us. He don't wanna be in my life. He only writes me when he's got some big business deal he wants to brag to everybody about. He never asks about me."
"Son-"
"No, it's all right. I had a lot of time to get used to how things are gonna be with him. And I'm all right with it now. Guess I finally realized I can't keep holdin' my breath hopin' he'll change."
"Sure you're all right?" Sully asked, squeezing his shoulder.
Brian nodded resolutely. "Yeah, I'm sure." He breathed a sigh. "You're lucky."
"Lucky?"
"Your pa wants to be in your life. He cares about ya like I always wanted Ethan to care about me."
Sully was taken aback. He had never considered that William showing up in town had been lucky. He always saw him as someone he wanted away from him and his family as soon as possible. But when he thought about Ethan's rather cavalier attitude toward Brian, and in comparison how loving and caring and considerate William was toward both Sully and the children, Sully saw him in a slightly different light.
"I gotta go pick up Sarah. We got one last counseling session with the Reverend," Brian said, heading toward the door and grabbing his hat off the rack. "See ya later, Pa. Thanks for the help."
"Yeah. Sure," Sully murmured.
Sully walked up to the boarding house where William was opening the door and carrying a trunk out to the porch.
"William," he called.
William looked up and brightened.
"You ain't leavin', are ya?" Sully murmured.
William paused a long moment. "Well, this is Myra's trunk. I was just helping her bring it down. The train leaves in an hour."
"You oughta stay on for Brian's weddin'. It's next week. I know how much he wants his gran'pa there."
He nodded. "And I want to be there. I'd love to stay. And I want to be here for Byron as he recovers."
"So does he," Sully said with a soft smile. He cleared his throat. "Michaela invited ya for supper, right?"
"Yes. Yes she did."
"You're comin'?"
"I'll be there," he said.
"Good," Sully replied.
"I wish you could stay longer," Michaela said as she hugged Myra in front of the steaming outbound train.
"So do we. And we just hate to leave when Byron's still at the clinic. But Samantha's gotta get back to school."
"He'll be fine. Thanks to Sully and William," she said.
"Good luck with William," Myra added. "I'm glad he's gonna stay on here a little longer. I think he should."
"I'm glad, too," Michaela replied. She turned around. Katie and Samantha were hugging each other tearfully.
"Come on, Sam, sweetheart," Myra said. "Train's about to leave."
Horace gave Samantha one last hug and then gently clasped Myra's hand. "Did you really mean it? About sendin' Sam out here next summer?"
"Course I mean it, Horace," she replied. "I'll write to you and we'll make plans."
"I can't wait, Papa," Samantha said.
"Neither can I, honey," he replied, tapping her nose lovingly.
Michaela joined Horace and held Katie's hand as they all waved to Myra and Samantha. The train rolled out of the station, headed back to St. Louis without William on board.
Sully walked into the bank holding an envelope. Preston looked at him nervously from the counter, as if worried he might attack him again.
"What can I do for you?" Preston asked coolly.
Sully slid the envelope across the counter. "I wanna sell ya these."
Preston opened the envelope, flipping through the papers. "Union Pacific Railroad stock? How did you come to own this?"
"The railroad paid us in stock."
"I see. Well, I'm not interested."
"Why not?" Sully demanded.
He walked to his safe and turned the dial. "I put my hard-earned money in the railroad before and it almost ruined me. It's far too risky of an investment. They'll be through the roof one day and bottom out the next. Besides, I think the railroad is manipulating the market at the expense of honest investors like myself. I want nothing to do with them."
"How am I gonna get rid of these?" Sully asked.
"I don't know. Go to Denver."
"Go to Denver," he muttered.
"Or perhaps telegraph the railroad, try to sell them back." He opened up the safe and took out a few stacks of bills. "I can't help you, Sully. Now I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. Good day."
Claudette turned over her steak with her knife and fork, grimacing in disgust. She and Rebecca were seated in the dining car at a table for two as the train chugged across the vast Mississippi river.
"I said medium. Look at this. It's charred to a crisp!" Claudette bemoaned.
Rebecca glanced at her sister's plate. "Mine is just fine." She cut into it and took a bite.
"Good, I'm happy for you. Oh, this is just inedible." She waved her hand at a busboy. "Excuse me! Excuse me, young man! Over here."
The busboy made his way over, carrying a few empty glasses. "Yes, ma'am?"
"My steak," she said, pushing it toward him.
"What's wrong?"
"What does it look like? It's practically hard as a brick. I ordered medium. Please send it back and get me another cooked correctly."
He cleared his throat, then picked up her plate. "Yes, ma'am. So sorry."
Claudette took a sip of water with a flustered sigh. "We pay good money for first class tickets, I would expect the food would be first class, too."
"Mine tastes quite good," Rebecca said as she continued to cut her meat.
"Yes, you told me," Claudette retorted. "Even Michaela's cooking is better than the slop on this train."
Rebecca slowly lowered her knife and fork. "Claudette, speaking of Michaela."
"What about her?" Claudette replied disinterestedly as she buttered a roll daintily.
"Well, as I understand it, Mother said that last time you came for a visit, the two of you, well, you and Michaela weren't exactly getting on swimmingly."
"That wasn't my fault," Claudette replied firmly. "Michaela started it."
"Well, regardless, I think it might serve everyone well if you just make an effort to be nice to her. Sully, too. Behave yourself."
"Behave myself! I'm not five years old, Rebecca, for heaven's sake. And why does everyone pick on me as if this is all my doing? Michaela and Sully are as much to blame as anyone."
"No, I'm not saying that. It's just, they have the new baby and their son's about to get married. They don't need anything else to worry about. I'm only saying that all of us, we should all make an effort to get along and help Brian's wedding to run as smooth as possible."
"Well, of course. Of course I want it to run smoothly."
"Then you will?"
"Will what?"
"Behave," Rebecca said.
Claudette rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'll behave, whatever that means. If it makes you happy."
Rebecca smiled at her. "Good, then it's going to be such a wonderful visit. I can't wait."
Michaela finished sponging down Byron's chest and then she patted it dry with a towel. Then Sully helped him slip on his nightshift and button it up. He was lying on Michaela's side of the bed, a few storybooks and some toys beside him. They were all grateful he was well enough to be home, but he was going to need to stay in bed for at least a few more days.
"Is that better, sweetheart?" Michaela said, stooping and kissing his head. "Nice and clean?"
"Yeah," he whispered tiredly.
"How does your leg feel?"
He grimaced. "Kinda hurts."
"Achy hurt or sharp hurt?"
"Umm, achy."
"All right. I'll go downstairs and get you some medicine, all right?" She squeezed Sully's shoulder and then headed into the hallway.
"Ya gotta get a good night sleep," Sully said. "Your aunties are comin' tomorrow mornin'."
"I like Aunt Claudie. I like the aunties," he whispered.
"Yeah, I know ya do," he said with a soft chuckle. He took a seat on the bed and placed his arm underneath Byron's head. "Ya close your eyes, all right? Your pa's got ya."
"We're lucky Mama's a doctor, right, Papa?" he said. "She takes good care of me."
"Yeah, we're real lucky. She's a real good doctor."
"Was your mama a doctor, too?" he asked curiously.
Sully was a little taken off guard. The children so rarely inquired about his past. He sensed they had learned not to ask, given how standoffish he had always been about it. But William showing up in town had forced him to examine and talk about the events of his childhood more than he ever would have imagined. And in a strange way, it was almost cathartic.
"No, she wasn't a doctor. Some mamas don't go to work. My mama stayed home with my brother and me. But she worked real hard lookin' after the house and barn and the small farm we had."
"Oh. Was she pretty?"
He smiled softly. "Yeah, she was. Prettiest lady I ever met, next to your ma. She had real pretty light hair, just like Katie's."
"How did she die?"
"Well, she … she drowned, son."
"How? She didn't know how to swim?"
He fought tears. "Nope. She didn't." Michaela appeared in the doorway, holding a basin with a bottle of morphine, and lingered there, not wanted to interrupt their conversation.
"Were ya sad?"
Sully couldn't hold back tears any longer and one slipped down his cheek. "Yeah. It was a real sad thing when she passed on."
Byron glanced at him worriedly. "Papa?"
"It's all right, son. I'm just still a little sad sometimes when I think about it. I just, I really missed her for a long time."
"Oh. It's all right, Papa. You miss your mama." He wrapped his arm around him and snuggled up close.
"Yeah," he whispered emotively. He kissed his head. "You know what makes me feel better? Seein' how much you and your sisters are like her."
"I am?"
"Yep. You especially. It's like a part of her is still here."
Michaela quietly entered the room and put the basin on the night table.
Byron looked up at her. "Mama, Papa's mama died a real long time ago. She couldn't swim. It was really sad."
Michaela put her arm around Sully reassuringly. "Yes, you're right, sweetheart. But talking about it, sharing how we feel about it with others, that helps make it feel better."
"Yeah," he said, closing his eyes tiredly.
Michaela kissed Sully's forehead and stroked his hair. "You all right?"
He sniffled. "Yeah, I'm all right."
She kissed him reassuringly again. "I love you," she whispered.
He reached his hand up and clutched her arm. "Love ya, too."
"There they are," Michaela said as she wheeled Elizabeth toward the passengers. Sully followed behind them, carrying the baby.
"Mother! Michaela!" Rebecca called, waving at them and rushing forward, Claudette behind her.
Elizabeth held out her arms. "My girls!"
"Mother, you look wonderful! What a change!" Rebecca exclaimed, embracing her tightly.
"Thank you, dear. Claudette, I'm so thrilled you both could come. How was your trip?"
Claudette hugged her and kissed her cheek. "Excruciating. We were delayed hours in Nebraska or Iowa or some such irrelevant state by some kind of fierce hail storm."
"Oh. Well, at least you made your connecting train," Michaela remarked.
"By mere minutes. Huffing and puffing all the way." She kissed her sister's cheek. "Michaela."
"It's good to see you again," she replied with a smile.
Rebecca hugged her. "We're thrilled to be here." She turned to Sully as he held out the baby for them to see. Rebecca caressed the baby's rosy cheek. "Oh, Michaela! She is absolutely gorgeous! Mother's right. She looks exactly like you at this age. Oh, little Eliza. It's Auntie Rebecca, yes."
"Did I really look just like her?" Michaela asked, stroking Eliza's hair proudly.
"Oh, yes," Claudette remarked, eyeing the baby critically. "Look, Rebecca. She has the Quinn forehead. And she's obscenely chubby just like you were, Michaela. She's all our side of the family. I'm sorry, Sully, she doesn't look a thing like you."
"That's all right, as long as her personality is more like my side," Sully replied.
Claudette eyed him irritably a moment and then chuckled. "Oh. Yes, quite."
"Chubby?" Michaela said incredulously. "I was obscenely chubby?"
Elizabeth averted her eyes diplomatically.
Sully smiled wryly at Michaela and then passed her the baby. "Go with Mama, Eliza girl. Let me help your aunties get their luggage." He walked off toward the luggage car.
"I must say I do like her name," Claudette remarked. "Very fitting. Well done, Michaela. Vastly better than the other children's names. Much more dignified, not so country bumpkin sounding."
"She's my little namesake," Elizabeth remarked proudly.
"Well, where's the groom and bride to be?" Rebecca asked. "Busy with the wedding plans I presume."
"Yes, they're over at the church right now talking with the Reverend and finalizing everything," Michaela explained.
"And where's Byron?" Claudette asked. "He's still doing all right, isn't he?"
Michaela nodded. "He's fine. He's at the clinic resting. His grandfather's with him."
"Let's go over and see the poor dear right now," Claudette said resolutely.
"Yes, we want to see him first thing, Michaela," Rebecca added.
Sully nodded. "I'll load your luggage, drive ya over to the hotel after."
"Is um, is Preston … I mean, Mr. Lodge. He still owns it?" Claudette spoke up, clearing her throat.
"Yes, of course," Michaela said.
"Oh," Claudette remarked coolly. "Well, good."
"Let's see if he's awake," Michaela said as she opened the recovery room door.
Byron was in bed reading a storybook and William sat beside him in a chair.
Claudette took one look at his heavily bandaged leg and gasped dramatically. "Oh, poor baby!"
"Aunties!" Byron cried excitedly, putting his book down. William stood up and moved aside.
Claudette rushed to him and Rebecca followed behind.
"Oh, you poor, poor thing," Claudette bemoaned, cupping his cheeks and kissing him. "Oh! How could this have happened?!"
Michaela shared a surprised glance with Rebecca.
Byron hugged her tightly. "Auntie, I missed you. I missed you."
"How are you feeling, dear?" Rebecca asked, leaning down and giving him a hug.
"Hey, Auntie. Good."
"He's recovering very nicely," Michaela said, smoothing back his hair. "He can walk already, with the help of a crutch."
"I hope they find and put down the horrible vicious beast that did this to him," Claudette announced resolutely. "Oh, how dreadful!"
"No, don't kill her, don't kill her," Byron protested. "She had babies. She has to take care of them."
"Oh, dear," Claudette murmured. "Well, the important thing is you're all right."
Michaela clutched William's arm. "William, I'd like you to meet my sisters. Two of them at least."
Rebecca turned to him and beamed her usual friendly smile, shaking his hand. "Rebecca. So nice to meet you."
"Rebecca," he replied shyly.
"And this is Claudette. This is William. This is Sully's father," Michaela said encouragingly.
Claudette eyed his worn shirt and trousers, raising an eyebrow. "Hmm, well, I see the family resemblance," she remarked. She held out her hand. "Miss Claudette Q. Atkins of Beacon Hill."
He kissed her hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Claudette Q. Atkins of Beacon Hill."
She removed her hand awkwardly. "Yes, well."
"Are you older or younger?" William asked curiously.
"Younger," Claudette remarked resolutely. "Rebecca's the old one."
Rebecca smiled wryly. "Claudette's one of the middle children."
"You mean the forgotten children," Claudette remarked dryly.
William laughed and put his arm around Byron. "Well, I personally like middle children. Just like this one."
"Yeah," Byron remarked. "I'm in the middle, right, Mama?"
"Exactly in the middle," she replied with a smile.
"Well, dear, give your auntie another kiss and we must get to the hotel to freshen up," Claudette remarked, bending down and kissing Byron's cheeks again. "We'll see you soon."
"All right. See you later, Auntie. Mr. Lodge is gonna be so happy you're here."
Claudette reddened and quickly averted her eyes.
"Almost as happy as this little boy," Michaela remarked, grasping Byron's hand lovingly.
Sully grabbed a large trunk out of the back of the wagon and headed up the porch stairs as a bellhop helped Rebecca and Claudette down.
"Sully, what are you doing here?" Preston asked from the front desk.
"Ya didn't know? Michaela's sisters are in town for the weddin'. They're gonna need two rooms." He put the trunk down on the floor.
"Claudette?" he blurted.
"Claudette," he said with amusement.
Preston put down his pen and tapped the bell on the desk fiercely. Two bellhops came scurrying over.
"Go prepare the presidential suite immediately. Put out some flowers. Flowers and chocolates. And champagne. Yes, champagne. And bathrobes for the hot springs."
"Yes, sir," they replied simultaneously.
Preston smoothed his hair and brushed off his vest frantically. Then he walked in front of his desk and put his hands behind his back, smiling widely as the sisters entered the hotel. Sully headed back outside to help the bellhops with the rest of the luggage.
"Welcome, ladies," Preston said, gazing into Claudette's eyes. "Welcome back to the Château and Health Resort."
"Mr. Lodge," Claudette said, smiling softly at him.
He grasped her hand and kissed it. "Welcome. I'm having them prepare the same room you stayed in last time. It'll just be a minute." He glanced at Rebecca. "And the adjoining room for you, ma'am."
"Oh, good. It was a lovely suite," Claudette said.
"So, you're, you're here for the wedding?" he asked awkwardly. "I didn't realize."
"Well, he's too young, everyone thinks so," Claudette remarked, pulling off her gloves. "But he is our nephew, and I suppose we ought to be here. Besides, it's a good chance to visit with Mother again."
"I hear his fiancée is just darling," Rebecca remarked. "Even Mother just raves about her."
"I presume you'll be dining with us tonight?" he asked. "We're serving filet mignon."
"Yes," Claudette said firmly.
"No, we're not. Claudette, Michaela's making a turkey tonight," Rebecca protested.
Claudette glanced at her with irritation. "Oh, yes. That's right. I forgot."
"Oh, well, another time," Preston said.
"If you don’t mind we'd just like to freshen up here and then we'll be spending the evening at our sister's," Rebecca said with a smile.
"Yes," he murmured with disappointment. "Well, let me just get you checked in."
Claudette sat in awkward silence with her tea, William beside her. Rebecca was busy looking through Byron's tablet of drawings in front of the sitting room fireplace and was no help at all in making conversation with the old man. Byron had his feet up on the settee and was covered in a warm quilt.
"Well, you, uh, Mrs. Quinn says the family is from Ireland then," William finally said uncomfortably.
Claudette cleared her throat. "Yes. Don't the English hate the Irish?"
"I think it's the other way around," he replied with a soft smile.
"Well, the English are just jealous no doubt. After all, Ireland has more stable local governments, better school systems and I daresay a lot better food. At least that’s what my grandmother always said."
"I like America," he replied. "This is my home now."
"You have a very nice name. I have a son named William," she said.
"You do now? Well, then. And is he at home?"
"Yes, he's studying at Harvard. Top of his class. Harvard, that's a university in Boston. The very best university in all of the United States."
"I've heard of it once or twice," he replied wryly.
"The turkey needs another few minutes," Michaela said as she walked into the sitting room carrying the baby over her shoulder. Elizabeth followed her and Red Eagle and Katie were right behind.
"Good, then we have time for presents!" Claudette announced.
"Presents?" Michaela echoed.
"Children, go open your auntie's trunk there," Claudette instructed.
"It was all her idea," Rebecca explained. "She sent Martha running all over town last week buying all that nonsense."
Katie and Red Eagle scurried over to the trunk and lifted the lid, revealing a multitude of beautifully wrapped packages.
"It's not nonsense, Rebecca," Claudette protested. "Aunties are supposed to shower their new nieces with gifts, or didn't you know?"
"This can't be all for Eliza," Michaela protested, pulling out a few presents in disbelief. "Claudette, you shouldn't have."
"Yes I should. Well, don't just stand there mouth agape like you're hoping to catch a fly. Open them," Claudette ordered.
Michaela raised her eyebrows and handed a few of the presents to the children. "Help Mama see what's inside."
They all tore into the presents, revealing baby outfit after baby outfit from Boston's finest specialty clothing shops, lots of bonnets and booties, and a rattle, a rag doll and a set of colorful rubber rings that the baby could teeth on when she got a little older.
"Oh, how exquisite," Elizabeth remarked, admiring one of the shifts. "Where did Martha ever find all this?"
"Most are from a new dressmaking shop over in Cambridge," Claudette said. "The owner is from Prague and knows all the latest styles over there."
"Well, suffice it to say Eliza's going to be the most fashionable baby in all of Colorado Springs," Rebecca remarked wryly.
Michaela chuckled. "I should say so."
Red Eagle finished unwrapping the last present. "More clothes," he said, tossing another shift aside disinterestedly. "Auntie, you must really like Eliza."
"Claudette, these are wonderful, but I couldn't possibly accept all of it," Michaela finally said. "It's too much."
"Oh, nonsense. No it's not. If you were living in Boston I would have bought you twice this. Only because I had to haul them out here did I restrain myself."
"Just accept them, Michaela, for my sake," Rebecca said. "Otherwise if you don't I'll have to listen to her carry on for days about how ungrateful you are."
"She is the last of this generation of grandchildren, Michaela," Elizabeth remarked. "It's our last chance to really spoil a new baby for awhile."
Michaela chuckled softly and approached Claudette, kissing her cheek. "Thank you, Claudette. I love all of it." She tickled the baby's cheek. "And so does she."
"You're welcome," Claudette said, beaming up at her. "Oh, and Rebecca and I got something for you older children, too. I know I certainly felt brushed under the rug when my little sisters were born and I don't intend to do the same to you." She smiled and pointed at her trunk. "Go on. It's in the drawer there."
Katie opened the trunk drawer to reveal three rectangle-shaped presents. She and Red Eagle tore open their gifts, revealing a different colorful storybook for each of them.
"Tom Thumb! Gee, thanks, Aunties!" Red Eagle cried.
"Thank you, Aunties!" Katie echoed
"Did I get something?" Byron spoke up shyly from the settee.
"Here's yours, Byron," Katie said, grabbing the last present and scurrying over to him.
Byron beamed and tore open his gift, pleased. "Horses and Their Care," he read.
"That's specially for you, dear. I know how you love mucking about in the barn with those smelly things," Claudette said.
Byron held his arms out toward her and Claudette got up and hugged him. "Thank you, Auntie." He blew a kiss to Rebecca. "Thank you, Auntie Rebecca."
Rebecca chuckled and blew a kiss back. "You're most welcome."
"Thank you for bringing the aunties here and I'm glad Brian's getting married because I like Sarah," Byron said, eyes closed as the family held hands around the supper table. "Oh, and thank you for baseball. Amen."
"Amen," Michaela echoed.
"Amen," William said.
"Well, that was an interesting prayer," Claudette said with a raise of her eyebrows, putting her napkin in her lap.
Byron took her statement as nothing but a compliment and beamed at her. His leg was propped up on a chair in front of him and his little crutch was leaning against the table "Thanks, Auntie."
Brian stood up to carve the turkey as Sarah handed him plates. A moment later Sully walked in. "Sorry," he said, taking off his belt and jacket and hanging them up.
"Late," Claudette remarked quietly.
"I'm sorry, we had to start without you," Michaela said as she tucked a napkin into Red Eagle's collar.
He walked to her and kissed her lips. "That's all right." He glanced in the sling and tickled the baby's cheek. "Hey, beautiful. Missed ya." He gave Michaela another kiss and then took a seat beside her.
Claudette cringed at their unguarded affection. "Well, what kept you so long, Sully?"
He took a plate from Brian and immediately began wolfing down some turkey. "Just some business in town."
"Oh? Pertaining to what?" she demanded.
"Claudette, can't we just enjoy our meal?" Rebecca said.
"What did I say?" she retorted. "I'm just making conversation, Rebecca. I'm behaving myself just like I promised."
Sully shared an amused glance with Michaela.
"Just trying to get rid of this stock I got from the railroad when they paid me," Sully explained.
"What's stock?" Katie asked.
Michaela cleared her throat as she filled Sully's coffee cup and then topped off William's. "Stock? Well, it's a small portion of a business that anyone can buy. Then you own that portion of the business."
"Maybe you could get stock for the clinic," Red Eagle said.
She chuckled. "No, you don't buy stock in a doctor's clinic."
"Railroad sent back a telegram. They won't buy the stock back." Sully took a sip of coffee. "Said it's not their policy."
"Well, that's a shame," Elizabeth remarked. "It seems if the railroad gave you the stock in the first place they should be required to take it back if you don't want it."
"They would have to declare a share repurchase first, Sully," Claudette explained. "Submit a tender offer to you. Unless they do that, I'm afraid you're stuck with them."
Sully stared at her, impressed.
"What? I read the financial section of the Boston Globe," she said, taking a bite of her green beans.
"Only so she can talk to Mr. Lodge," Rebecca remarked with a wry grin at Michaela.
"That's not why!" Claudette exclaimed. "I just want to better myself, become more educated about our world. If that's all right with you."
"Newspapers are a very good way to find out what's happening," William remarked. "St. Louis has a good one I try to read when I can."
"Precisely. Thank you, William," Claudette said with surprise.
"I gotta find a way to get rid of these somehow," Sully said. "Preston don't even want 'em."
"Edward would buy them," Claudette said.
"Edward?" Sully replied.
"Yes, you know, Edward your brother-in-law. Maureen's husband. The man you lost your temper around last year and nearly killed."
"Oh, him," Sully said.
"Claudette, he didn't nearly kill him for heaven sake," Michaela protested. "It was just a little spat. And Edward hit him, too."
"Well, your husband started it. You severely injured him at least. You broke his nose, Sully. Or sprained it."
"You broke Uncle Edward's nose, Papa?" Byron asked, looking up at him in admiration. "Whoa."
"Whoa!" Red Eagle echoed. "You never told us that, Papa."
"Hush, eat your supper," Michaela scolded.
"The point is Edward has had Mother's capital heavily invested in the railroad for ages now, to glorious results," Claudette said. "He would buy that stock in a heartbeat if I know him."
"Edward's investing my money in the railroad?" Elizabeth questioned. "I didn't know that."
"How do you think you get such good returns on your trust, Mother? It doesn't happen by magic. It's because Edward takes risk."
Elizabeth sighed. "Well, I don't pay attention. Josef always took care of such matters when he was alive. And Edward never tells me what he's doing with it all."
"He sends you a trustee report every Christmas," Claudette said.
"Oh, I never bother to read that!" Elizabeth said. "I wouldn't understand it anyway."
"I'm afraid all this sort of thing goes right over my head, too," Rebecca remarked.
"I don't have much of a mind for it either," Michaela added. "But you seem to, Claudette. I had no idea."
"Anyone with any ounce of intelligence can understand how the stock market works, Michaela. You should read the newspaper. A real newspaper, that is. Not some three page newsletter."
"It's the Gazette, Auntie," Katie spoke up sweetly.
"Yes, call it what you like, but it's not very informative. Unless your life centers around the price of corn and church picnics."
"Guess if Edward wants the stock, he can have 'em," Sully said. "I'll send him a wire tomorrow."
"Why don't you want to keep the stock in the first place?" Claudette asked. "You could sell it when it goes up in value."
"I don't wanna own a piece of the railroad," Sully said firmly. "After what they done to the Indians. They treat their own workers real poor, too. Workers get hurt all the time, railroad hires scabs when there's a strike."
"Never mind. Let's not get into it," Claudette said. She smiled proudly at Rebecca. "See, aren't I behaving?"
Rebecca couldn't help chuckling. "Yes, for the most part."
"Pass some more of those good potatoes, Brian," Sully said. "Your ma's a good cook." He smiled at Michaela and she clutched his hand lovingly.
Expecting it to be Rebecca, she grabbed her cape off the back of the chair and her purse off the vanity. "Come in," she called.
"Sleep well, Miss Atkins?" Preston said as he entered the room.
"Oh, Preston," she murmured, taken aback. "I thought you were Rebecca. That is, I thought you were until you opened the door."
"My cook is preparing an omelet for you and some orange juice. It should be ready in five minutes. No cheese and no cream, don't worry."
She couldn't help being a little touched. "You remember. About the dairy."
"Yes, of course. How could I forget?"
She grinned despite herself. "Yes, true enough. Well, that's all very kind of you. Thank you. But Michaela was going to make breakfast for us. Sully's supposed to be picking us up any minute. I'm sorry."
"Oh," he stammered. He stepped toward her. "Will you be available later today to join me on a walk around the grounds?"
"We're helping Michaela with the wedding all day."
"Claudette, are you avoiding me?"
"Avoiding you?" she blurted. "No. It's just…well, I thought I made it clear where we stood last time I was out here."
"Yes. You said we couldn't court because you were about to go home to Boston."
"Precisely."
He smiled wryly. "But you're here now."
"No," she replied. "I mean, yes. Yes I'm here now, but-"
"Claudette, I'm sorry about what happened last winter. I know I wasn't everything I should be. But if you give me another chance at this, I think I could make you very happy."
"Preston, you do make me happy," she murmured. "But I'm afraid now isn't the time to embark on something like this. I'm only here for a week. Just for Brian's wedding. And I'm afraid most of my attention will be devoted to that. And to having a good visit with Mother given I never see her anymore thanks to Michaela."
"Still, I thought perhaps-"
"Preston," she said resolutely. "No."
She picked up her purse and headed for the door. He stepped back, allowing her to pass, and heaving a soft sigh of regret.
"Don't cut it too short," Brian said warily as he sat in Jake's chair in the barbershop. His grandmother and his aunts were managing every aspect of the haircut, leaving him nearly helpless.
"Just please, Mr. Slicker, make it even," Claudette ordered. "And give him some sideburns."
"Sideburns?" Brian blurted. "Never had those before."
Jake began snipping away at Brian's hair, a bit overwhelmed by all the direction from the women.
"You want to be stylish, don't you?" Claudette replied. "Then you must have sideburns."
"Stylish? Never really thought about it," Brian said.
"That's apparent," she replied.
"I think he needs a shave, too," Elizabeth remarked from her wheelchair. "Give this young man a shave while you're at it, Mr. Slicker."
Brian felt the coins in his pocket. "But-"
"Don't worry, dear, we'll take care of it," Rebecca said. "Part of your wedding present."
He smiled softly. "Thanks, Aunt Rebecca."
"Anything for our favorite nephew," she replied wryly.
"It just came in. I got it back here," Loren said as he led Michaela and Sully to the back of the store.
"Oh, Sully, it's beautiful," Michaela said, running her hand over the stovetop in admiration. "Even I would love cooking on this."
"Where's the pipe?" Sully demanded. "Stove won't work without a pipe."
"Hold your horses. Its separate. In its own box." Loren nodded at a crate on the floor.
"Good," Sully said, folding his arms. "Kirk and me'll pick it up this afternoon."
"I'll be here," Loren replied.
"What a wonderful wedding present," Michaela said, beaming up at Sully as she patted the baby's back.
"Yeah, they'll like it," he replied as they headed to the counter.
Michaela put her basket on the counter. It was brimming with dry goods, as well as some new tablets for the children, a few storybooks, a bonnet for Katie and two brand new shirts for the boys.
"Children," Michaela called. "Bring your shoes over here."
Red Eagle and Katie scurried over, each carrying a new pair of black shoes and sucking on some hard candy. Byron followed more slowly on his crutch.
Loren eyed all the purchases and quickly added them up in his head, frowning the whole time. "Sixteen dollars even," he said, looking at Sully skeptically. "I suppose you want that on your account."
"No, we'll pay cash," Sully said as he pulled out a large wad of bills from his pocket and counted it on the counter. "And pay off the rest of our account, too."
"The whole account?" Loren asked in disbelief, slowly opening his ledger.
"That's what I said," Sully said, glancing up at him.
Loren smiled softly. "Well, good. Good." He grabbed a pencil and opened to their page in the ledger, adding up the figures.
Michaela picked up a beautiful white vase on the counter with her free hand. "Oh, Sully. Look at this. Let's get this for them, too."
Sully put his hand on their back. "We're gettin' 'em that stove."
"I know. But a house isn't a home without a vase of flowers on the table. It's only a dollar. Please?"
He smiled. "All right. What's it come to, Loren?"
He turned a page in the ledger. "Hold on. I'm still countin'. You filled up a lot of pages ya know."
Sully swallowed, slightly embarrassed, but didn't say anything.
"All right, with the vase it all comes to thirty-eight dollars fifty-six cents," Loren said skeptically.
Sully counted out the money and put it on the counter.
Loren counted the money twice before putting it in his cash box. Then he wrote "paid in full" at the bottom of his ledger.
Sully watched him quietly, then he tentatively cleared his throat. "Loren, Michaela and me appreciate you extendin' credit to us the past couple years when times been tough. But from now on things are gonna be better. We won't need your credit anymore."
Loren nodded and closed his ledger. "Sure. Wasn't any trouble at all," he muttered.
"Thanks for the new shoes, Mr. Bray," Byron spoke up, mouth full of candy.
Loren smiled much more genuinely. "You're welcome. You need 'em. You're all growin' like weeds!"
The children giggled and followed their parents out of the store.
Anna Marie pressed both hands to her mouth as Sarah came down the clinic stairs and spun around in her lacy white wedding dress. It had an intricate bodice, long sleeves and a simple but pretty train.
"Oh, darlin'!" Anna Marie finally choked.
Sarah glanced at her. "Mama, what's wrong?"
"Nothin'. It's just, you're so beautiful."
"You're gorgeous, Sarah," Michaela remarked. "I love it."
She smiled shyly. "Thank you."
Rebecca and Claudette were standing nearby. Rebecca was holding a notebook with a list of everything that needed to be done for the wedding.
"Well, it's, uh, it's simple," Claudette remarked. Rebecca nudged her firmly in the ribs. "Simple but lovely," she added, nearly choking over the words.
"Here, let's put this on," Michaela said, walking to her with her veil and pinning it to her hair.
"I think it needs to be just a little tighter around the waist," Sarah said, pressing her hands to her belly.
"Yes, about half an inch. We'll fix that tonight," Anna Marie said, drawing together the fabric.
Suddenly the front door opened and Michaela rushed to it, pushing against it.
"No, Brian, you can't come in!" she exclaimed.
Anna Marie screeched and rushed Sarah into the stairwell.
"Dr. Mike?" Kirk called back. "It's just me. It's Kirk."
Michaela sighed with relief and opened the door. "Oh, I'm sorry, Kirk. We thought you were Brian."
He laughed as Sarah waved at him sheepishly.
"Afternoon, Sarah, Mrs. Sheehan. Afternoon, ladies."
"Afternoon, Kirk," Sarah said.
He gestured behind him. "Dr. Mike, can I talk to you a second?"
"Certainly." She closed the door after him. "Is something wrong?"
"It's Faye. She's still feelin' poorly. This is been goin' on about a week now. This mornin' she felt feverish, and she threw up a little. She's so sick she don't even wanna come into town."
"I'll ride out there right now. Just let me get my bag," she replied.
"Oh, no, I didn't mean you have to do that this late in the day. I just thought maybe if you're not too busy you could swing by tomorrow."
"Are you sure?" she replied. "I don't mind coming out right now."
He clutched her shoulder. "No, that's all right. You look real busy tryin' to get Sarah ready for the big day. But tomorrow would be good if ya can. Maybe early?"
"First thing, Kirk," she replied. "And in the meantime tell her I hope she feels better."
"Thank you, Dr. Mike," he said with a grateful smile.
"Cash in advance," Lucy said as she smiled suggestively at her customer and twirled a long tassel on her bodice.
"I'll pay when the job's done," the man replied as he eyed her up and down.
Her smile faded slightly. "Sorry, Mister. Hank makes the rules. Pay up."
He walked to her and grabbed her arm tightly, drawing her to him. He kissed her aggressively and then bit her neck hard.
She screeched, pushing against his chest. "Mister, what're ya doin'? Don't!"
"Shut up!" He struck her hard across the cheek.
"Hank!" she shouted, suddenly panicked.
"Just get on the bed," he growled, pushing her down forcefully and ripping off her pantaloons.
She kicked at him and clawed his face, but he was strong and held her down with his weight, keeping one hand firmly across her mouth. He tore open his trousers and forced himself on her fiercely while she whimpered and cried and desperately tried to call for help. Finally she gathered all her strength and pushed him off as hard as he could, sending him stumbling backward.
"Hank!" she yelled, bolting toward the door.
"Come 'ere, ya little whore," the man growled, quickly getting up and pushing her back on the bed again.
She screamed just as Hank threw open the door. He grabbed the man by the collar and punched him hard in the mouth.
"Get back, Lucy!" Hank said, drawing her behind him protectively
"Hold it right there!" the man said, drawing his revolver and pointing it at Hank resolutely. "One more move and I'll kill ya."
Hank slowly raised his hands. "All right. All right, take it easy."
"Oh, my God. Hank," Lucy whimpered, clutching his arm. "Mister, please leave us alone."
"Shut up!" he ordered as he buttoned his trousers with his free hand. "How much cash you got in this place? How much?"!
"I ain't sure," Hank replied, eyeing the revolver uneasily.
He cocked the revolver. "Now listen here. I ask the questions, and you give me the answers. Got it? Now how much cash you got in here?"
"About fifty dollars," Hank said.
He grabbed Lucy by the arm and held the gun to her temple. She sobbed and looked at Hank helplessly. "Get it," he ordered. "And meantime you breathe one word about me I'll blow this one's brains out right in front of ya. Go."
Hank rushed out of the room.
"Stop cryin'," the man ordered, glancing at Lucy impatiently. "You'll wake everybody up."
She bit her lip hard and struggled not to sob.
Hank quickly returned with a pile of cash, holding it out. "Take it. Take all of it. Just let her go," he said evenly.
"Put it in my saddle bag," he ordered, keeping the revolver pressed firmly to the girl's temple. "And hurry up."
Hank opened on the saddle bag resting on the floor and put the money inside. Then he held out the bag to him.
"Thank you. Thank you kindly," he replied, putting it over his shoulder. He pushed Lucy toward Hank violently. "Now you just sit right here a spell, don't be shoutin' for help or anything stupid like that. Just let me be on my way and we'll call it even."
Hank stepped aside and the man rushed out of the room. As soon as he left Hank grabbed his revolver and chased after him.
"Hank, no, he'll kill you!" Lucy cried.
"He ain't gettin' away with this!" he shouted.
He ran outside to find the man galloping toward the meadow out of town. Hank raised his revolver and shot at him three times. The man pulled back tightly on the reins and turned around, shooting back at Hank.
Lucy screamed from the doorway and the few townsfolk who were awake ran to take cover.
The man shot again and hit Hank square in his left arm. Hank shot back angrily, firing off two more shots until he was out of bullets. The man took the opportunity and galloped quickly out of town.
"Damn it!" Hank said, grabbing his injured arm.
"Hank!" Lucy cried, running to him. "Oh, good Lord!"
"I'm all right," he said. "We gotta go after him! He's gettin' away!"
"Forget him! You need a doctor!"
Matthew came running over pulling on his vest. "What's goin' on? What happened?"
"I been robbed!" he said angrily. "Took all my money and tried to hurt one of my girls!"
Lucy was in tears now. She rushed over to the clinic and pounded on the door. "Dr. Mike! Dr. Mike!"
"Get some men together, saddle some horses," Hank ordered. "We can't let him get away."
"Hold on, Hank," Matthew said. "Let's get you taken care of first. Then you give me a description of this fella and I'll go after him."
Lucy tried to open the clinic door but it was locked. "Dr. Mike!"
Hank pulled back his hand and examined his arm for the first time. It was bleeding profusely, but he was surprised that he wasn't in much pain. All he could think about was the outlaw who had raped one of his girls, and all the money he had taken with him to boot.
"Dr. Mike ain't here, sheriff!" Lucy cried, rushing back to them. "It's all locked up."
"She probably hasn’t come into town yet," Matthew said. "It's early. Come on, we'll get him over to Jake's. He'll know what to do."
"Oh, Hank," Lucy said tearfully. "Oh, he told us to stay put."
"You all right, Lucy?" he asked, giving her head a gentle caress.
"Yes," she said, rubbing at her tears and smearing her makeup. "Come on. Jake's gonna help ya."
"House calls already?" Sully said disapprovingly. "Sure you're up to it?"
"Just one house call. To Faye," Michaela said defensively. "And I'm up to it. I feel fine."
He placed a pile of breakfast dishes on the counter. "Ya said ya still feel faint sometimes."
"I never said that. I only felt a little dizzy that one time." She pumped some water into the sink to wash the dishes.
"That ain't what ya said," he replied.
She eyed him impatiently. "Don't tell me what I said. You're putting words in my mouth."
"Sorry, that's your job," he replied only half teasingly as he grabbed the rest of the dishes.
"Sully, Faye hasn't been in town in a week. Kirk thinks she's running a fever now. She's my friend and if she's too ill to come to the clinic I need to check in on her."
"Still feel better if I drove ya," he said, grabbing another glass and some napkins and putting them on the counter. "Don't like ya goin' alone."
"Eliza's coming with me. I won't be alone," she said with a wry smile.
Sully wasn't amused. He sighed.
"Sully, is this about my sisters? You don't have to entertain them. They're fine. They'll just spend the day with Mother. You won't have to play host all by yourself, I promise."
"It ain't them."
"Then what?"
"It's like I said, just worried about ya is all. What if ya faint again?"
She sighed. "I promise to turn around and come home the moment I don't feel well. Does that make you feel better?"
"Guess it's up to you. You wanna start goin' on house calls I can't stop ya."
"All right. I will." She paused and stepped toward him and rubbed his arm. "I know you're just concerned about me. I appreciate that. I won't do too much."
He gave her a soft kiss. "Good."
"I'll try to be back in time for lunch. I can meet you and Mother, Rebecca and Claudette for lunch," she said.
"Sounds good," he replied. "And take it-"
"Take it easy, I promise," she vowed, giving him another kiss.
Michaela knocked on the door of Faye's cabin and held the basket with her sleeping baby under her arm.
"Come in," Faye called weakly.
Michaela opened the door, surprised to find Faye balled up in bed in her nightgown.
"Faye, you should have sent for me earlier," she said, placing the basket on the table and coming to the bed.
"Oh, Dr. Mike. I'm miserable." She pressed a washcloth to her mouth and coughed.
"Tell me what's been happening," Michaela said, grasping her wrist and feeling her pulse.
"I just caught this terrible catarrh. Headache, runny nose. And I've got all kinds of funny twinges in my stomach, like I ate something bad."
Michaela felt her forehead and then took out her thermometer. "Hold this under your tongue," she instructed. She took out her stethoscope and listened to Faye's heart and lungs.
"Oh, and I'm so tired and achy," Faye said, shaking her head. "I make Kirk rub my back until he can't anymore and it still hurts."
Michaela removed the thermometer and looked at the reading, then shook it out.
"What do you think it is, Dr. Mike?" Faye asked. "It ain't the grippe, is it?"
"I'm not sure, but … Faye, could you be pregnant?"
She looked up in disbelief. "What? Pregnant? I thought this was some kind of catarrh!"
"Well, sometimes women feel poorly in the first few weeks. It can seem just like a catarrh."
Her eyes brightened. "Oh, my Lord. Well, Kirk and me, we just started tryin' again. You think it's happened already?"
"Let's find out for sure, shall we? Can you bend your knees?"
Faye nodded shyly and Michaela felt her uterus with one hand and slipped her fingers inside. Faye flinched and held her breath.
"I'm sorry, my hands are cold," Michaela murmured.
"It's all right," she said nervously.
A moment later Michaela smiled. "Oh, yes. You're pregnant."
Faye beamed. "Oh, Dr. Mike. Really?"
She pressed down on her uterus with both hands. "Really. Six, maybe seven weeks it feels like to me. When was your last monthly? A few months ago?"
"Come to think of it I did miss it this month. Oh, Kirk's gonna be so happy," she said, tears suddenly welling in her eyes. "Oh, what happy news."
Michaela squeezed her hand. "This is happy news."
Her face suddenly fell. "Dr. Mike, it's gonna work out this time, right? Nothin's gonna happen to it? I don't think I can put Kirk through all that again."
"You've had bad luck in the past," she murmured. "But that has no bearing on this pregnancy. You're going to take good care of yourself, all of us will help you and we'll hope for the best."
"And pray," Faye added.
"Yes," Michaela murmured.
Faye sniffled. "Oh. I'm havin' another baby."
She chuckled softly and gave the young woman a comforting hug. "Yes you are. Congratulations."
"Are you asleep?" Michaela whispered as she glanced down at the basket beside her feet. Eliza had her head turned to the side and she was dozing contentedly, swaddled in a quilt. "Good girl," she said. "We'll be home soon, all right?" She clicked her tongue at Flash and slapped the reins.
She shielded her eyes as she spotted a rider up ahead. His horse was moving at a very slow pace, the man's head was bent and he was clutching his shoulder with one hand and loosely holding his reins. His horse looked exhausted and was breathing heavily.
"Excuse me," she called. "Are you all right?"
He glanced up hesitantly, face bathed in sweat. "Ma'am." He blinked rapidly and struggled to focus.
"You're hurt," she said, pulling back on the reins and climbing down from the wagon. She grabbed her medical bag. "Can you get off your horse? Let me help you."
He reluctantly dismounted. "I uh, I was down by the creek cleaning my gun when it went off. Fool thing to happen."
"Sit down, let me take a look. I'm a doctor," she said.
He stumbled to a cluster of boulders and sat down and Michaela put her bag beside him. She helped him carefully off with his jacket, dropping it aside, and then unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it down his bloody arm.
He grimaced as she probed the bullet wound just above his arm. "It's a clean wound, the bullet went through. But there's a little shrapnel still in here. I'm going to need to remove it or it could become infected. Let me take you back to my clinic. It's about four miles down the road, in Colorado Springs."
"No, no. You do it right here. I got places to be." He found a flask in his back pocket.
"Your horse looks tired," she remarked. "I don't think you're going to get very far on him. Besides, you shouldn't be riding in your condition anyway."
"Just go on. Do it."
"All right," she said hesitantly, opening up her bag and taking out a cloth, some forceps and her carbolic acid.
The man drank from his flask as she cleaned his arm.
"Don't move!" somebody suddenly shouted. "By the power invested in me by the state of Colorado I'm placin' you under arrest."
Michaela spun around, shocked to see a tall and intimidating lawman pointing a rifle at them.
"Marshall Whitmore!" the injured man said with a chuckle. "Now what're ya doin' 'round these parts?"
"Shut your mouth, Peterson, and get your hands in the air," he ordered.
"All right, all right," he said, slowly raising his hands.
"What's this about, Marshal?" Michaela asked, backing up. "What did he do?"
"Robbed three businesses in Denver's what he done. Made off with about three hundred dollars. And killed a man in the process. A deputy. My friend."
"Oh, he died?" he replied. "What a shame."
"Who are you?" the marshal demanded, glaring at Michaela. "You aidin' and abettin' this criminal?"
"No, Marshal. No, I had no idea. I just came across him a minute ago. He's hurt. He's been shot and I'm a doctor."
"Well, you best be on your way, ma'am," he replied. "I'll take over from here."
"What about his injuries?"
"He'll get tended to, don't you worry your pretty little self. In jail."
Suddenly Peterson lurched forward, grabbed a knife out of his boot and stabbed the marshal directly in the chest. Michaela gasped and screeched in shock. The marshal grabbed Peterson's arm and then slumped to the ground, falling forward in the dust.
"Oh, my God. What did you do?" Michaela said hoarsely. "No!" She crouched down to try to help the marshal.
"Get up," he ordered. "Get in your wagon. Get up!"
"Wait, he could still be alive!" she exclaimed.
He dragged her to her wagon and hauled her into the back. "Sit down and don't say anything else." He withdrew his gun and pointed it at her. "Sit down! Now!"
Michaela climbed in back of the wagon and discreetly pulled the basket toward her and covered up the entire basket with a quilt so he couldn't see the baby. She was terrified of what he might do if he found out she had a baby with her. Meanwhile Peterson grabbed his exhausted horse and tethered him to the back of the wagon.
"Where are we going?" she asked unsteadily.
"That don't concern you."
"Please let me go," she begged. "Please, you don't need me."
"Don't tell me what I do and don't need," he spat, grabbing the reins.
"Please, please."
He spun around. "I do need ya. I need a hostage so that don't happen again. Now shut up and let me drive." He slapped the reins fiercely and sent Flash into a fast trot.
Matthew galloped north out of town, following the direction Hank had said the man went. He had been riding about half an hour when he came upon a man lying face down in the dirt just off the side of the road. He galloped faster and jumped off his horse. There was a puddle of fresh blood beside him.
"Mister!" Matthew shook his shoulder, then turned him over, revealing his deadly stab wound. "Marshal Whitmore," he breathed, immediately recognizing him. He pressed his hand to the side of the man's neck, feeling for a heartbeat. Nothing.
Matthew looked up in shock. He got to his feet and withdrew his gun, looking around him in all directions suspiciously. But whoever had killed the marshal was long gone.
* * *
"She'll be here," Sully said. He was sitting across from Michaela's mother and sisters at one of the long café tables.
"Uh, she's just like Father," Claudette griped, taking a sip of coffee. "Remember, Mother? He couldn't keep track of time if his life depended on it. Left us all just waiting here like this without a care on many an occasion. You would think he never learned what a clock was."
"House calls sometimes take longer than ya count on," Sully spoke up.
"Yes, she'll be here shortly," Rebecca spoke up. "Don't worry."
"I'm not worried. I just think we should order lunch before we spoil our appetites for supper," Claudette said. She waved at Grace. "Excuse me? You there. Yes, you. We'd like to order!"
Dorothy suddenly scurried into the café through the back entrance, wrapped in a shawl.
"Sully!" she called.
He glanced up and nodded in her direction. "Miss Dorothy."
"Sully, there you are. Where's Michaela?" she asked, out of breath.
"She's on house calls. Why?" he asked.
"Hank was shot this mornin'. Didn't you hear?"
He looked up at her with alarm. "No, what happened? He all right?"
"Shot!" Claudette gasped, clutching her heart. "Good gracious!"
"Seems some customer held up him and one of the girls at gunpoint and took all his cash. Hank got shot tryin' to stop him." She sighed. "He's over at Jake's. Looks like he's gonna be all right, but I think Michaela should take a look."
"She's due back any time."
"You let her know as soon as she gets in."
"I'll send her right over," he said.
Dorothy nodded and hurried over to Grace to ask her to prepare a tray of food for Hank.
Claudette dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief. "I hate this uncivilized provincial town. I hate fearing for my life at every turn! Bears and outlaws and Lord knows what all else."
"Oh, calm yourself, Claudette," Elizabeth scolded. "This doesn't happen that often."
"We have robberies in Boston, too," Rebecca added.
"Not like this! Not where someone just gets shot in broad daylight!" she protested.
"Why don't ya go ahead an' order," Sully said, standing up and putting his mug down. "I'm gonna go check on Hank."
"Send him our best, Sully," Elizabeth said.
"I will," he said.
"I think I mighta got him," Hank said as he sat on the bench in Jake's barbershop. "He was holdin' his arm when he left." Lucy was beside him as tearful as ever and no less distraught over the whole ordeal. A few other girls from the saloon had come over to lend their support.
Sully stood in the doorway and folded his arms, listening attentively.
"Here, Hank," Jake said as he handed him a glass of whiskey.
Hank downed it quickly. His arm was bandaged and in a sling and the bullet was sitting in a basin with some forceps off to the side.
"He might get away with stealin' my money, but nobody hurts my girls." Hank finished the last drop of whiskey. "Just get me on my horse and I'll bring him to justice."
"Take it easy," Sully said. "Why don't ya just let Matthew and the law handle it from here?"
Just then Matthew walked inside, clutching a worn wanted poster.
"You find him?" Hank demanded.
"Marshal Whitmore's dead," he replied. "Looks like he was stabbed."
"What?" Sully breathed.
"He was carryin' this," Matthew said, handing Hank the wanted poster.
Hank glanced at the poster.
"That's him," Lucy said, clutching Hank's leg. "That's him, Hank."
"That's him all right," Hank said.
"His name's Gray Peterson. Wanted for robbery and murder in Denver," Matthew said.
"Make that two robberies and murders," Hank said. "Sounds to me like he came across the marshal and had no choice but to kill him."
Sully took the poster from Hank and studied the man's face. "Where'd you find the marshal?"
"Couple miles north of town. Out toward the Davis place," Matthew said.
Sully looked up with alarm. "Dr. Mike's out there, Matthew."
"Dr. Mike?"
"She rode out to Faye's this mornin'. Hasn't come back yet."
Hank stood up. "What're we waitin' for? Let's get back out there."
"You stay put, Hank! You're in no condition to go anywhere!" Lucy exclaimed.
"Stay where you are and rest, Hank," Matthew said. "We'll take care of this."
"Just bring him back alive," Hank said. "I wanna watch him hang."
"Think Dr. Mike mighta come across him?" Matthew asked as they crossed the street to the sheriff's office.
"Sounds like they were on the same road," Sully replied. "Let's head over to Faye's first, see if Dr. Mike ever made it there."
"Good idea."
Claudette scurried over to the men with an impatient scowl.
"Sully, what's taking so long? Your food's getting cold!" she called.
"We're gonna go look for Michaela."
"What? You said she was fine!"
Matthew unlocked the sheriff's office. "Seems this man who shot Hank might have been on the same road she took this mornin'."
She crossed her arms. "Well, you'd better find her soon. Brian's rehearsal dinner's tonight! You can't be thinking we should cancel it!"
"No need to cancel it. We'll be back well before then," Sully said.
"Good, you'd better. She can't ruin his wedding."
"I'll get some supplies, Sully," Matthew said as he headed inside.
"What's going on?" William called, jogging over from the boarding house.
"Oh, Michaela's out there in those woods with some outlaw on the loose," Claudette griped. "I always said house calls were a bad idea. But did she listen to me? Of course not. Now see what's happened!"
"The outlaw who shot Mr. Lawson?" William asked with alarm. "Sully, that man's dangerous."
"How did the whole town know about that before we did?" Claudette demanded sourly.
"I'm sure she's fine. We'll find her," Sully said..
"I'm coming with you," William said. "Just let me get my horse."
"No, it's all right," Sully said. "We'll be all right."
"You need all the able-bodied men you can find out there. No telling what he could do," he replied.
"Probably a good idea, Sully," Matthew remarked as he walked back outside with some saddlebags. "Sounds like he's trigger happy. Better we have a lot of help."
Sully reluctantly nodded. "All right. Get your horse."
"I'll just be a minute," he replied, taking off back toward the boarding house.
Sully untethered his horse, glancing at Claudette. "Tell your ma we'll be back soon as we can. Kids need to be picked up from school at three o'clock."
"Yes, of course. We'll take care of them. Be careful."
"We will," he said as he mounted his horse.
Peterson pulled back on the reins. "Whoa!" he said.
"Why are we stopping?" Michaela asked. One hand was clutching the basket where the baby was still sleeping, lulled by the rolling wagon. She just kept praying and hoping with all her might Eliza would stay unnoticed for as long as possible.
"I need some water. Creek bed's just down here," he muttered.
"You should let me finish tending to your wounds," she said. "That shrapnel, it could-"
"Did I say you could talk?" he spat, climbing down from the wagon. "What're ya waitin' for? Get down. Come on."
"I'll wait here. I won't move," she vowed.
He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. "Come on. Hurry up!"
Michaela glanced at the basket worriedly and then climbed over the side of the wagon and followed him to the creek. She watched as he squatted down and washed his arm with the water and then took a long drink. She tentatively squatted down and dipped her hand into the water, taking a drink herself. Then he abruptly grabbed her arm again and dragged her back up the incline to the wagon.
Suddenly a tiny wail came from the basket.
He stopped short. "What was that?"
Michaela looked at the basket in a panic. She willed Eliza not to cry, but she knew now it was too late. Peterson had heard the baby, and whatever happened next was up to him.
He walked briskly to the wagon and pulled back the quilt. His face fell. "Oh, Christ. What the hell is this?"
"My baby," Michaela choked. "She's my baby. Please don't hurt her."
"I know it's your baby, God damn it," he retorted. "I look blind to you?"
"Just let us go," Michaela begged. "I promise I'll never breathe a word about you. I won't turn you in. Please believe me. You can just go on your way." She walked toward the basket but he spun around and held up his hand.
"Don't move. Stay where you are."
She stopped and looked in the basket worriedly as Eliza continued to fuss.
"Don't move," he ordered as he paced, folding his arms.
"Please," Michaela whispered.
"Christ, woman, shut up and let me think!" he retorted, pacing more quickly.
Michaela watched him pace. She grew more fearful and panicked with each step he took.
"All right, all right," he said at last. "Way I see it I got no choice. We gotta leave her behind."
"No, we can't leave her!" she screamed, rushing toward the basket, brushing past him and picking the baby up. "No, we can't!" Eliza wailed and kicked her legs. "I won't leave her!"
"We can't take her with us!" he shouted. "What do ya want me to do?!"
"I'll keep her quiet, I will, I will," she said desperately. "Please don't make me leave my baby. Please, I beg of you!"
"She ain't comin' with us and that's the end of it," he retorted. "Now give her to me."
"No!!" she shouted, tears pouring down her cheeks as she held Eliza all the tighter to her.
"Come on, we don't got time for this!" he cried. "Give her to me!"
"No, I'm not letting go! I'll die before I do! If you want to touch her you're going to have to kill me first!"
He raised his gun and pointed it at her forehead. Then he lowered it and growled, pacing in frustration. "Oh, Christ."
"You need me," Michaela said desperately. "You need a hostage. Well, you're not getting me without my baby. You'll have to kill us both. And then where will you be? Do you want to add two more murder charges to everything? And what about your wounds? You're a wanted man. How will you find a doctor? Infection could kill you within days if you don't let someone take that shrapnel out."
He waved his gun at the wagon. "All right, fine, we'll keep her. For now. Go. Get up there. And keep her quiet. You better keep her quiet or we're leavin' her behind. You'll never see her again. That's a promise."
Michaela let out an immense sigh of relief and quickly got back into the wagon. She rocked Eliza and rubbed her back fleetingly. "Shh, it's all right, it's all right," she soothed. "Everything's going to be fine. Mama's here, sweetheart. Hush. Hush."
Faye wiped down the table with a cloth as she looked up at Sully, Matthew and William curiously. "Well, I reckon she was here about ten o'clock. Why?"
"She ain't come back yet," Sully explained. "She said she was comin' right back once she stopped by here."
"What?" she breathed. "Where is she? She said she was headin' straight back to town."
"We ain't sure. But there was a murder this mornin'," Matthew said. "Sheriff in the next county over was stabbed not a couple miles from here. Looks like whoever did it mighta been the same man that robbed Hank's saloon."
"Oh, good Lord. You don't suppose she ran into him, do you?" Faye lifted the baby out of her highchair and held her over her shoulder.
"We're hoping not," William said. "That's why we went out to look for her straight away."
"Well, you get back out there. Bring her home safe."
"We will," Matthew said. "Meantime, you stay inside, keep your door locked until Kirk comes home."
She rubbed the baby's back. "All right, Matthew. I surely will. You men folk be safe out there, too."
"There's no flower petals in it," Katie said as she turned her flower girl basket upside down.
"Yeah, and where's the ring?" Byron added, holding up the ring bearer's pillow curiously.
"They'll be flower petals the day of the ceremony. Don't worry," Sarah said. "And the ring!"
"Oh," Byron said.
"Oh," Red Eagle echoed.
Brian opened the church doors and walked into the alcove. "Still not back yet."
"Oh, Brian. I hate for them to miss all this," Sarah said. "Maybe we could postpone until tomorrow."
"Ma would want us to go ahead. Sides, they ain't really in the weddin' party. We can get along without 'em here. And I'll just tell Matthew what to do as soon as he gets back."
"I can't believe they're not here yet," Claudette said irritably as she joined everyone in the alcove. "They're ruining everything."
"No, it's all right, Aunt Claudette," Brian said. "We'll just have to do without the candle lighting and my best man for the rehearsal."
"She's lucky you're so patient," Claudette retorted. "I don't know how you put up with this sort of thing from her all these years."
Brian chuckled. "I'll tell the Reverend we're ready to start."
"I always said she shouldn't drive alone," Claudette griped as she and Rebecca ascended the hotel staircase. "What exactly did she plan to do if the wagon broke down? She can't fix it."
"I have a feeling Michaela's become a lot more resourceful since moving out here than we realize," Rebecca replied.
"If she were resourceful, Rebecca, she would have been home by now," she replied. "And what about wild animals or Indians? She certainly doesn't carry a rifle."
"Well, I'm sure Sully's found her by now. We don't need to worry."
"I can't believe he let her go out there in the first place. I can't believe he didn't go with her."
Rebecca chuckled despite herself. "Claudette, you know as well as I Michaela makes her own decisions. I have a feeling she wants to be independent."
"Oh, right. It's one of those marriages."
They reached Rebecca's door and Rebecca pulled out her room key and unlocked it. "I'm sure Brian will send word by the morning. Goodnight."
"Goodnight. Sleep well," Claudette said she approached her own door. She unlocked it and headed to her vanity. Just as she was removing her cape and hat someone rapped lightly on the door.
"Yes. Who is it?"
"Preston," he called.
She smoothed her hair and approached the door, opening it. "Preston?"
He was holding a teacup and his brow was wrinkled with worry. "The doorman just told me you came in. It's so late."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, it's Michaela again. She went on house calls and never came back. And now there's this robber or outlaw or whatever he is on the loose, and bears and wild animals and God knows what else. Sully and his father took off in search of her."
"Oh, I hope she's all right."
"Don't worry, she is. She always does this. It's all because of Brian's wedding. The moment the attention is off her she has to get it back somehow."
He held up the tea. "I brought you something warm to drink."
"Oh, you didn't have to. Thank you. I adore a cup of tea before bed."
He nodded at the small round table on one side of the room. "May I?"
"I suppose," she murmured, stepping back and allowing him inside.
He placed the teacup and saucer on the table and then turned to face her. "Can I bring you anything else? Another pillow? Something to eat?"
"No, this is fine. Thank you," she said, taking a seat at the table and picking up the cup.
"Brian and Sarah were kind enough to send me an invitation to the wedding. Perhaps we could go together."
She took a sip of tea. "Hardly any kind of grand social event to bring someone to."
"But I'd like to go to it with you. I'd like you on my arm."
"Oh, Preston," she murmured. "Stop."
"Stop what? I can't help it."
"I'm here a week, remember? Just a week."
"Every moment with you is so precious to me." He crouched down beside her and held her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing her fingers.
"Preston," she protested.
He kept kissing her hand, turning it over to kiss her palm. "You're so beautiful." He shifted up and reached for the pins in her hair, loosening a few of them. "I love your hair."
"You do?" she whispered shyly. "My late husband never did. He said it made me look far too pale and sickly. And too Irish. He was a fifth generation American."
"No, you're beautiful." He gently kissed her chin, then her cheek.
"Preston? Perhaps we should …. we should …perhaps you should leave now." She was becoming less and less apt to stop him with every tender kiss he gave her.
He wrapped one arm around her waist, pressing his lips to hers. Claudette forgot all about propriety. She forgot all about her vow to call things off permanently with Preston. She put aside how utterly impracticable their whole relationship was. When he guided her to her feet and began unbuttoning her silk bodice, she didn't protest. Before she knew it they were backing up to the bed and turning down the covers as they both struggled to free themselves of their clothing. Preston got up briefly to lock her door, unbuttoning his vest as he went, then he turned off the lights and joined her at the bed, wrapping her in his arms once again.
Preston rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling in utter shock. He panted and dabbed at his forehead with the back of his hand.
"That was…that was….stupendous," he finally gasped.
Claudette buried her face behind her hands. She was lying beside him, equally in shock. "Oh …. my …. Lord. Oh, no. How did this happen?"
"No, Claudette, you were wonderful. You were fabulous," he said, turning his head to face her. "You were-"
"Preston, stop, you're making it worse," she protested with a groan. "I can't believe that just happened."
"What do you mean? What's wrong?" he blurted. "Oh. Is it a baby? You're worried you might become pregnant?"
"Oh, that's sweet," she murmured, dropping her hands to her sides. "I'm afraid I'm well past being able to conceive."
"Oh," he said. "Well, then what's wrong?"
"Let's just think about it, shall we? To start, we're not even married."
"We can get married. We can get married," he replied. "I'll marry you in a heartbeat."
"Oh, good gracious, here we go again," she muttered. "How on earth are we going to get married? We've talked about this before. I want to live in Boston and you want to live here. We can't have a proper marriage two thousand miles apart. It's ridiculous." She shook her head. "Oh, Preston, it's just not right, doing this without being married. I feel like I should, I don't know, take a bath. Or go to confession."
He caressed her cheek. "Claudette, we're wonderful together. We're meant to be together. Don't feel guilty about this. Oh, you were so fabulous."
She softened a bit and shifted to gaze at him. Her husband had never talked to her like this. He never once told her he was happy with their level of intimacy. When he wanted to make love it was never anything all that pleasurable for her. Charles would always just move beside her, unbutton her nightgown, take care of his needs and then move back to his side of the bed and go to sleep. He never told her he loved her, and they never held each other or talked afterward, as she had always secretly wished they would. If anything he made her feel like their love life was terrible, and moreover, that it was her fault.
"Was I really that good?" she whispered shyly. "You're not just saying that?"
"Do I look like I'm just saying that?"
"Well, thank you, I tried," she said, giving him a shy, soft kiss. "If that's the proper thing one should say in response."
He drew her to his chest. "Close your eyes, let's just get some rest. We can talk about it more later."
"I am rather tired," she admitted.
"You should be," he murmured wryly.
She snuggled up against his smooth, muscular chest. She loved a man with a hairless chest. She had always been repulsed by how hairy Sully seemed to be and wanted nothing to do with any men like him. Preston was really everything physical she had ever preferred in a man. And she loved him, she had to admit. She loved him even more deeply now that they had consummated their relationship. But as long as he refused to move to Boston, she knew marriage just wasn't going to be an option.
It had been dark for some time when Peterson finally pulled the wagon off the road and out of sight. He jumped down and grabbed a length of rawhide out of his vest pocket.
"Get down. We'll make camp here," he said.
Michaela cuddled the baby against her firmly and watched fearfully as he approached her swiftly.
"Come on, get over here. Put the baby down. Keep her in the basket."
"No!" she cried.
He yanked Eliza from her and put her in the basket, then grabbed Michaela arms and dragged her off the back of the wagon. She cried out as he spun her around, putting her arms behind her back and tying the rawhide tightly around her wrists.
"You don't need to tie me. I won't run. Please don't tie me," she said. "Please, I need to hold my baby. I need to tend to her."
"You're lucky she's even still alive. Now wait here while I build a fire."
Michaela gazed at the baby helplessly while he went off and quickly gathered some kindling and lit a fire. Eliza fussed on and off the entire time, and Michaela felt positively heartsick she couldn't lift her into her arms, nurse her and reassure her. She wiggled her wrists and desperately tried to get out of the rawhide, but he had tied it tight.
At last Peterson sat beside the fire and pulled out some jerky, chewing on it.
"Come over here. Sit down," he ordered.
Michaela reluctantly walked to the fire and crouched down across from him. She racked her brain for how to get out of a situation that was rapidly growing worse as the hours passed. She hadn't anticipated he would tie her up. If he didn't tie her up perhaps she could try to grab her scalpel out of her medical bag, or her chloroform. But first and foremost she just wanted to take care of the baby.
"She got a name?" Peterson suddenly asked, glancing at the wagon.
Michaela slowly met his eyes.
"The baby. She got a name?" he pressed.
She stared back at him blankly, and then looked away.
"I see. You're still sore about earlier today. Well, you can't blame me. Anybody else woulda done the same thing."
"I need to feed her," she said resolutely. "I need you to untie me and let me feed my baby. Right now."
"I make the orders around here, not you." He took another bite of jerky.
"She's hungry. And we can't leave her alone in the wagon all night! She'll freeze to death!"
Eliza suddenly let out a demanding cry that only made Michaela all the more anxious.
"She's hungry. I haven't fed her in hours," Michaela went on. "Please, I haven't fed her in hours. Please, please."
He sighed and got up, grabbing his knife. He spun her around and cut off the rawhide. "Feed your god damned baby if it'll keep the both of ya quiet. Jesus."
Michaela rushed to the wagon and scooped up Eliza in one arm and grabbed the basket in her other hand. She walked toward the woods in the opposite direction.
Peterson pointed his gun at her. "Wait just a minute. Get back here."
Michaela slowly spun around. "You said I could feed her," she said hoarsely.
"Stay over here by the fire where I can keep an eye on ya. Where I can see ya if ya try to make a run for it." He put his gun back.
Fearful of his probing gaze, but desperate to tend to the baby, Michaela reluctantly returned to the fire. She turned her back to him and crouched down over the baby, then unbuttoned her blouse and gave the baby the breast.
"Shh, good girl. There you are," she soothed in a whisper. "It's all right. It's all right." She picked up one of the blankets out of the basket and draped it over her shoulder and across the baby, shielding herself as much as possible while Eliza nursed.
Meanwhile Peterson slipped off his shirt and washed his wound with some water from a canteen, groaning softly. Then he took a swig of whiskey and wiped his sweaty brow.
At last Eliza finished feeding and nearly fell asleep at the breast. Michaela laid her in the basket and covered her up warmly and then buttoned up her blouse and jacket. She crouched down and kissed the baby's tiny cheeks. "I'll get us out of this," she whispered. "Mama won't let him hurt you. I promise."
She could feel Peterson's probing gaze on her. She reluctantly turned around and eyed his wounded arm. It was red and inflamed, and he was dripping with sweat.
"You're developing a fever," she remarked. "That shrapnel needs to be removed."
He took another swig of whiskey.
"Fine, sit there and lose your arm. I don't care," she said, returning her gaze to the baby and tenderly stroking her hair.
He eyed her a long moment. "I could lose my arm?"
"Once an infection develops it's usually too late. The sooner the better."
"You really a doctor? Didn't know they let women into medical school."
"They let me in," she replied.
"Well, go on, then, doctor. Get your doctor things."
She got up and walked to the wagon, grabbing her medical bag out of the back of the wagon. She walked to his side and crouched down beside him, taking out her carbolic acid and forceps. She cleaned the wound with some cotton and then picked up her forceps.
Suddenly he grabbed her wrist. "Don't be gettin' it in your head to try anything. I'm warnin' ya," he said.
She pulled her hand away. "This may be painful. I'll try to be as quick as possible."
He kept his eyes on her as Michaela worked at removing all the shrapnel. Then she cleaned his arm and bandaged it up tightly.
He traced her cheek with his finger as she tied off the bandage. He glanced at her wedding ring. "You got a husband? Bet he's mighty worried about you. I apologize about that."
She ignored him and cleaned her instruments off with the carbolic acid and a cloth.
"You from around these parts? You don't sound like you are. Where ya from? Back East?"
She slowly met his eyes. "I have nothing to say to you. You're disgusting. I'll never, ever forgive you for trying to hurt my baby." She abruptly got up and placed her medical bag in the wagon, then returned to the basket and picked up Eliza, rocking her soothingly in front of the warm fire.
Peterson nudged Michaela roughly with his boot. "Get up. Get up," he said.
Michaela sat up groggily and lifted the baby into her arms. Eliza was still asleep, but Michaela knew her routine well and knew she would most likely be ready for a feeding very shortly.
Peterson kicked some dust onto the coals of the fire. "Get in the wagon. Come on."
She eyed his perspiring brow. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "I should change your bandages."
"Stop doin' that," he barked, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the wagon.
"What?" she murmured.
"Stop tryin' to help," he said. "You're a hostage, remember?"
"I'm still a doctor. It's my job to help the sick and you're showing signs your wound could be infected."
"Just get in and be quiet," he replied, climbing up onto the wagon seat and grabbing the reins.
Preston lingered just inside Claudette's room and drew her to him, kissing her brow, her cheeks and her lips as she stood in her nightgown.
"You have to go," she protested, her arms wrapped around her waist. "You must go."
He held her face in his hands and kissed her again.
"Preston," she protested.
He smiled wryly. "All right, I'm leaving." He opened the door and headed out to the hallway. Rebecca suddenly came down the hallway, fully dressed for the day, and stopped short as she saw him leaving. He was buttoning up his vest and his hair was very disheveled.
Preston cleared his throat awkwardly and nodded at her. "Ma'am," he murmured.
"Good…good morning," she stammered. She hurried to Claudette's door and knocked on it firmly.
"Preston, stop it," Claudette protested. "Go away."
"Claudette, it's me!" Rebecca called. "It's Rebecca."
A silent moment passed and suddenly Claudette opened the door, her cheeks beet red.
"What was Preston doing in your room at this hour?" Rebecca asked.
"Preston? You mean Mr. Lodge? What do you mean in my room? I haven't seen him this morning. I only just woke up." She quickly buttoned up her bathrobe.
She was lying through her teeth, and Rebecca saw right through it. She eyed her perceptively. "Claudette, did you….have you…? What's Mother going to think?!"
"Don’t you dare breathe a word to Mother," she snapped. "It's none of her business. And it's none of yours either!" She headed to her washbasin and filled it with water from the pitcher. "I'm a grown woman, quite capable of making my own decisions."
"But you're…you're not married!" Rebecca gasped. "Are you going to marry him?"
"No," Claudette said firmly. "No I'm not."
"Claudette, you're going to scandalize everything you worked so hard to rebuild."
"I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Rebecca," Claudette retorted. "Please don't offer it." She glanced at her. "What are you doing up anyway? Besides snooping around in my private affairs."
"Oh. Well, Brian just came by to tell me. Sully hasn't found Michaela yet."
"What?" she breathed. "But she's been gone since yesterday! The baby's with her!"
"I know. And I'm getting worried. Mother's at the homestead with the children all by herself. I told Brian we would head right over."
"Yes, certainly. Just let me get dressed."
Around noon Peterson spotted an armed man approaching them on the road. His shiny badge reflecting in the sunlight.
"Damn it," Peterson muttered, pulling the wagon to a stop.
Michaela roused from a light sleep. "What is it?" she murmured.
"Get up here. Sit up next to me. Bring the baby, too."
"Why?"
"Just do it!" he shouted.
Michaela eyed him fearfully and got up, holding the baby tightly to her chest and making her way awkwardly over the back of the wagon seat. She sat next to him and watched the rider approach.
"Now, for all intents and purposes you're my wife and we're just takin' a Sunday drive out to Denver, all right?" He jabbed her in the ribs. "Ya got it?"
"Yes, yes," she murmured unsteadily.
The man galloped up to him and pulled back on the reins. "Mornin', folks. Sorry to disturb ya."
"Howdy, sheriff. Somethin' we can do for you?" Peterson replied.
"I'm Eli Jacobs, sheriff for Douglas County. We're on the lookout for an outlaw we think might still be around these parts."
"What's he done?" Peterson asked.
"Well, among other things we have our suspicions he might have killed Marshal Whitmore last night."
"Marshal Whitmore? No, he got himself killed?" Peterson echoed.
"Afraid so."
"What's this outlaw look like?" Peterson asked.
The sheriff pulled out a telegram from his pocket. "Six foot, two-hundred pounds. Dark hair and eyes."
"Well, you're lookin' at him, sheriff," Peterson said with a chuckle.
The sheriff chuckled back. "I reckon so. I take it you folks ain't come across anything."
"No, can't say as we have."
The sheriff looked at Michaela a long moment, a little taken aback by her troubled expression. "Ma'am, is everything all right?"
Michaela felt Peterson press the tip of his knife into her back. "Yes, sheriff. I'm fine."
"She's fine. We both just been a little tired. New baby in the house," Peterson added with a smile.
"Oh, right. Congratulations." He stopped short. "Wait a minute. I almost didn't recognize you. You're Dr. Quinn!"
"Oh. I'm sorry, have we met?" Michaela replied.
"Epidemic back in seventy-two up in Highlands Ranch. Town didn't have a doc at the time. You rode all the way up there with a shipment of quinine, saved a lot of lives."
"Oh, yes, I remember now," she replied. "Influenza."
"Done came down with it myself. You saved my life."
"That's what she does," Peterson spoke up, glancing at the sun.
He cleared his throat. "Well, I won't keep you. But be careful out here. This man's armed. You see anything suspicious you report it to the closest authorities."
"You can count on it, sheriff," Peterson replied, gathering up the reins and slapping them hard.
Sully, Matthew and William led their horses down to the creek to water them.
Sully patted Buck's shoulder and heaved a quiet sigh. Not one sign of Michaela all day.
"Sully, she's gonna turn up," Matthew said quietly. "We'll find her. Maybe she just busted a wheel, had to walk to the next town for help."
"Something's wrong, Matthew," he murmured. "More than just a busted wheel."
"Sully, Matthew!" William suddenly called from a few paces away. "Look at this?"
They rushed to him and crouched down beside him.
William pressed his fingers to the ground where there were a few dark spots in the dust. "That looks like blood to me."
Sully touched the ground.
"That could be his. Peterson's," Matthew said. "Hank thinks he shot him."
"He mighta come down here to wash up," Sully said as he stood up and examined the ground. "Boot prints. Somebody been here pretty recent."
"Looks like we're on the right trail," Matthew said, standing up and grabbing his horse's reins. "Come on, let's go."
Michaela watched Peterson build up the fire as she finished nursing the baby. Then she lifted the baby over her shoulder and patted her back.
"How long until we get there?" she asked tentatively.
"You'll know when we're there," he replied.
"What do you plan to do?"
He laid another log on the fire. "Stop askin' questions. I can't tell you anything and you know it."
"Why?" she demanded.
"Because it's better hostages don't know anything, that's why."
"What does it matter? I already know enough to send you to jail for the rest of your life."
He was silent a long moment, then he sat back. "Parker."
"Who?"
"Not who. It's a town. Parker, Colorado. We'll be there tomorrow. My brother's in prison there. Two of us are headin' down to Mexico once I get him out."
"How?"
"That's where you come in."
She let out a helpless chuckle. "You can't really think that's going to work. How exactly do you plan to use me to get him out?"
He eyed her impatiently, laying another log on the fire.
She shook her head. "You think you're going to threaten to kill me and then they're just going to let him out? They're not going to care about me. They'll just shoot you right there. Both of us if they have to. My son's a sheriff and no sheriff would ever let someone out of jail who's supposed to be there, hostage or not."
"Why don't you just let me worry about that," he retorted. He pulled out some jerky and gnawed on one of the end.
She chuckled again and tears suddenly formed in her eyes.
"Shut up!" he spat.
The tears slipped down her cheeks. "We're both going to die tomorrow if you go through with this. Please don't do this. Please, there must be another way."
"I know what I'm doin'! Stop tryin' to tell me what to do and go to sleep!"
"Please don't do this," she pleaded.
"Stop talking. Go to sleep," he ordered.
Rebecca carried a tray with a kettle and some teacups into the sitting room. Elizabeth and Claudette were in the wingback chairs trying to remain optimistic after a long, quiet day and no word from the search party yet.
Rebecca put the tray down and turned the cups over, then picked up the tea kettle. "How would you like your tea?" she asked, glancing up.
"Cream and sugar for me, please, dear," Elizabeth said.
"No cream for me," Claudette said. "You know how I can't handle it."
Elizabeth rested her hands in her lap and glanced at the clock. "I can't believe she's been gone nearly two nights now. I just can't imagine what could have happened."
"Well, it's typical of this family," Claudette remarked. "Always disappearing when something important is about to happen. Brian's going to have to postpone his wedding once again just for her."
"Michaela certainly never intended to be gone like this," Rebecca remarked as she passed Elizabeth her tea. "No, I'm certain she's been delayed for reasons out of her control."
"Oh, when I think about her and the poor baby out there somewhere," Elizabeth murmured fearfully.
"There's no use worrying," Rebecca said. "Sully and William will find her. They won't quit until they do."
"Yes, you're right," Elizabeth said. "I need to stop worrying." She cleared her throat and took a sip of her tea. "Mr. Lodge is going to wonder where you two are tonight."
"Well, no matter," Rebecca said. "We need to stay here right now. We'll still pay him for the rooms."
"How is he anyway, Claudette?" Elizabeth asked. "Mr. Lodge."
Claudette stirred her tea and pretended not to hear her.
"Claudette?"
"What?" she blurted.
"Mr. Lodge? How is he?"
"Well, he's fine I presume. Why, is there something wrong?"
Elizabeth eyed her curiously. "Nothing, dear. It's just, the two of you were inseparable the last time you were out here. I would have thought he would be thrilled to see you and spend time with you again."
"Mother, that was ages ago."
"Still, I can't imagine he hasn't at least tried to talk to you." Elizabeth stared her down a long moment. "So have you?"
"Have we what?" Claudette blurted.
"Talked."
Claudette shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yes, we've, we've…talked. Briefly. My goodness, it's warm in here!" She grabbed her fan from off the table and fanned her neck.
Elizabeth shared a glance with Rebecca. Her oldest daughter did her best not to give anything away, but Elizabeth's instincts suddenly told her something was off. She looked at Claudette again. "Oh, good gracious. No, you didn't!"
Claudette dropped her spoon and it went crashing to the floor. She quickly bent to pick it up, then raised her head and gave Rebecca a piercing look. "You told her! So much for sisterly confidences!"
"No, it wasn't me!" Rebecca said. "I haven't said a word."
"Tell me what?" Elizabeth demanded, glaring at Rebecca. "What haven't you told me? Why am I always the last one to know everything?"
"Mother, I truly don't want to be involved in this-" Rebecca began.
"They slept together!" she cried. "They did! I can see it all across her face! Good Lord, you actually slept with him."
"Mother, really!" Claudette exclaimed.
"When, how?" Elizabeth demanded. "Oh, Claudette, what are you doing?"
"All right, we did," she admitted. "But it was an accident. It was innocent."
"Oh, an innocent accident! Well then," Elizabeth retorted. "Claudette, have you gone mad? You must marry him immediately. No, I won't let you make the mistakes that your sister made, God rest her soul."
"Mother-" Rebecca said helplessly.
"Rebecca, this is between me and Claudette!" Elizabeth snapped.
"Marjorie was a grown woman, and so am I," Claudette retorted. "If I wish to invite a man into my bedroom I can do so any time I like."
"Oh, no. Oh, no. Where did I go wrong?" Elizabeth muttered despairingly. "I can't believe this. You of all my daughters, Claudette. I never would have dreamed. No, I absolutely insist that you marry him at once. How am I supposed to explain this to everyone? This is scandalous."
"I'm willing to marry him. If he agrees to move to Boston," Claudette said, taking a sip of tea.
"You know he's never going to do that! He said so himself!" Elizabeth cried.
"Well, I suppose we're not getting married then, are we?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "Then at least cease immediately with whatever you've been doing! Do you know what's going to happen to you if word gets back to Boston about this? Your fine reputation scattered to the wind. You know how hard we all worked to help you reenter society after Charles' death. Claudette, that was a very trying time on your mother."
"You should take care to be discreet, Claudette," Rebecca said gently. "If this is what you're choosing to do."
"Trying time for you!" Claudette retorted. "What about me? I'm tired of being locked away in that stuffy townhouse all night with Mollie three thousand miles away and William always busy with school and no one to talk to. Mother, I never feel lonely when Preston's with me. He makes me feel….feel alive. I'll do whatever I please and you can't stop me."
"Oh, Claudette, I don’t want you to be lonely," Elizabeth murmured. "Of course not. But this is not the proper way to go about combating loneliness!"
"Don't you think I know that? I never intended this. It just…happened."
"It just happened!" Elizabeth cried. "Explain to me how something like that just happens!"
"Keep your voice down. The children are sleeping," Claudette scolded.
"Gran'ma?" Byron called from the stairwell. "I can't sleep. Aunties?"
Claudette got up and walked to the stairs. "What's wrong, dear?"
"I can't fall asleep. I keep thinkin' about Mama. And Eliza."
"They're fine. Your father's going to bring them home."
"Promise?" he whispered.
"I promise. Come, let me take you back upstairs."
He held onto her hand and she helped him back up to his bedroom.
Matthew headed up the front of the search party while Sully and William followed close behind. He spotted another lawman riding toward them at full speed.
The other sheriff slowed his horse to a stop in front of the men. "Howdy, folks. Sheriff Jacobs. Douglas County," he said, shaking Matthew's hand.
"Matthew Cooper. Colorado Springs' sheriff."
He removed his hat. "You out lookin' for Gray Peterson?"
"That's right."
"Seen anything?" William asked.
He looked behind him. "Well, not a sign of him back that way. I suspect he may have headed north as a decoy. Maybe turned back south thereafter, headed down toward New Mexico."
"My wife's been missin' since yesterday," Sully spoke up. "We think he might have run into her. She was on the same road."
"Yesterday, huh? Well, it's possible. No tellin' what a man like that is capable of." He put his hat back on. "I think you should double back. There's nothin' back there."
"Nobody's seen a thing?" Sully asked.
"Nope. I talked to folks as far back as the old Stage Road. Ran into Dr. Quinn there and she said she ain't seen a soul."
"Wait, you said you saw Dr. Quinn?" Matthew blurted.
"Where?" Sully demanded.
"Well, like I said, on the Stage Road. Headed north. She was takin' a drive with her husband. Why?"
"No, Michaela is who we're looking for," William explained.
"She's my wife. Michaela's my wife," Sully said frantically.
"Dr. Quinn's your wife? But…oh, no. I think she was with Peterson. She had to be. He fooled me into thinkin' they were a couple just our for a drive! He must have your wagon."
"He's got her, Sully," William said.
"How long ago ya see 'em?" Sully demanded.
"Awhile. Early this morning," he said. "No tellin' where they are now."
"Let's go back to where ya saw 'em, go from there," Matthew said.
"She had a baby with her, sheriff," Eli said.
Sully nodded. "That's our daughter. She's seven weeks old."
"What are we waiting for? Let's go," he replied, turning his horse around abruptly.
Peterson pulled the wagon to a stop in the middle of the road. Then he circled in front of Flash and began unhitching her.
"What are you doing?" Michaela demanded.
"Parker's about a mile up ahead. We need to ride in on horseback."
Michaela was too afraid to ask what he intended to do with the baby. She lifted up the basket and placed it beside her, drawing it close and reaching inside to rub her belly while she watched Peterson unhitch the wagon.
At last he had Flash unhitched and he returned to the wagon.
"Get down," he ordered. "Now!"
She climbed down and moved to lift Eliza out of the basket, but Peterson stopped her, grabbing her arm.
"Not her. She's stayin' behind now."
"No!" she cried.
He pulled her away but she held onto the side of the wagon with strength she didn't know he had. "No, I'm not leaving without her!"
He tried to pry Michaela away from the wagon but her grip was solid and he was weak from his injury. "Come on. Let go, woman!"
"No, I'm not leaving her!" she cried. "I'm not leaving! I'm not leaving!"
He tugged on her hard and managed to yank her away from the wagon. Michaela immediately collapsed to the ground and clawed at it, desperately trying to get back to the wagon. Peterson had to drag her nearly every inch by the arm, and she fought him every step of the way.
"Stop it!" he finally ordered, shaking her arm hard. "Stop or I'll kill her!"
Michaela was nearly hysterical now, pulling against him with all her might and crying and moaning for her baby. She shifted around and spat in his face vehemently. "Let me go!"
He growled and wiped off his face. "Listen to me! Listen!" he said, shaking her again. "Either you cooperate and ride with me into town, or I can just kill her right now." He withdrew his gun and pointed it at the wagon, cocking it. "Which would you like?"
"No!" she cried in terror. "No, please don’t kill my baby!"
"Then get up!" he retorted.
She quickly got to her feet. "I'll go. I'll go with you. I'll do what you say."
"When this is over I'll let ya go. You can come back and get her," he said. "Ya got my word."
Michaela didn't trust him for a moment. It made no sense to let her go at this point. She knew and had seen far too much. But she had to have hope he might keep his word. "Just don't kill her, don't kill her," she begged. "Oh, my God. Please."
"You do what I tell ya and I won't," he barked.
Michaela looked back at Eliza mournfully. She was petrified of all the dangers of the woods that could befall a baby left alone, not to mention being exposed to the warm sun like that all afternoon. Even if Peterson did let her go like he said, Eliza could die of heat stroke and dehydration before Michaela ever made it back to her. Her heart was breaking to leave her behind, but she had no choice. At least this way there would be a chance someone might come along and find her in there. But if she didn't listen to Peterson and stop fighting him she knew full well he would make good on his promise and shoot the baby right then and be done with it. She let out a low, long sob of regret, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. "My baby," she whimpered helplessly.
"Good, we understand each other," he said, putting his revolver back into the holster and leading her over to Flash. He mounted the horse and then hoisted her up behind him. Then he grabbed the reins and kicked Flash hard with his boots. The horse whinnied and took off in a gallop toward town. Michaela looked behind them at the wagon, watching it grow smaller and smaller until she couldn't see it anymore . She prayed with all she had that a kind stranger would come across the baby very soon and rescue her from what was sure to be certain death.
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