by Becky

"Oh, I completely agree," Preston said as he drove his buggy on the road toward the homestead. "Mrs. Quinn has no business being here. She should be in Boston under the care of a professional nurse, or perhaps in a convalescence home. In fact one of the best ones is just across the river in Cambridge. My uncle spent some time there when he was ill. I could make some inquiries. Private, very luxurious."

"Thank you, but Mother insists she wants to give it a try out here for awhile," Claudette replied.

"Well, perhaps an insane asylum would be more appropriate then," he replied wryly.

She glanced at him and chuckled. "Yes, indeed."

He smiled back and gave the reins a light flick. "I hope you found your room comfortable. I try to provide my guests with all the amenities of back East."

"It was very nice, thank you. Much better than my accommodations of the previous night."

"Oh, can you believe that place? Of course, Sully's a skilled carpenter, but really, an outhouse next to the kitchen? That can't be all that sanitary."

"I don't think it is."

"I'm sure Michaela was a little surprised to see you here. Did she have some choice words for you?"

"I wouldn't know. I haven't spoken to her in months."

He glanced at her, amazed. "Really?"

"Yes, ever since she took our mother away from everything she knows best and everyone who cares for her the most. Why should I speak to her after what she did?"

He nodded. "Well, that's understandable. No you're right, you shouldn't. It's too bad you're not speaking to Sully, too. That could be interesting."

She sighed. "No, I do. Although I don't know why I bother. It's like talking to a five-year-old what with how atrocious his grammar is. I cringe every time."

"Thank you! Tell me, how could a sister of yours end up with him? You must have some insight."

"Not at all. Lord knows the entire family is still wondering how this happened. Mother cried for three days when she first found out they were engaged. So much for all the time and effort she put in over the years struggling to match her with someone, anyone suitable. You know, that's a big part of why Mother was so devastated when my sister first left for Colorado. She was afraid she might actually fall in love with one of the rustics out here and never come home again. And her instincts were correct I'm afraid."

"It's sad, really. Seeing someone as cultured as Michaela living like she does out here."

"I don't mean any offense, but what are you doing out here, Mr. Lodge? You're obviously quite well-bred yourself. Why not open a hotel in Boston?"

"Progress, Miss Atkins," he replied. "I envision a West as modern as the cities back East. It's not going to happen by itself. Educated, motivated men like myself must spearhead the way. Of course when I come across people like Sully I often doubt myself."

"Mm, yes," she replied as he pulled the buggy up to the homestead. Brian was opening the barn door and walking into the barn with a milk bucket.

Preston climbed down and lifted her to the ground. "Shall I call for you after supper tonight?"

"Yes, please do. Thank you, Mr. Lodge," she replied.

He took her hand and kissed it. "Preston," he replied.

"Auntie, Auntie!" Byron cried, throwing open the front door. "You're comin' to our poetry reading today at school! Mama said you could!"

"Oh, that's sure to be stimulating. Enjoy," Preston added with a toothy grin.

Michaela drew in her breath and reached behind her, struggling to fasten the last few clasps of her dark green gown.

Sully walked into the room, wearing a clean blue shirt and buckskins. The children's play didn't quite warrant a suit, but he was happy to shave and clean up a little. However Michaela, along with Elizabeth, had pulled out their finest dresses and hats, and naturally Claudette always looked ready to attend a Beacon Hill ball no matter what the occasion. Sully thought they were a little overdressed, but he didn't dare say anything.

"We're gonna be late," he said. "Stop fussin'. Ya look fine."

"I'm not fussing. I just can't get this clasp."

He approached her and grasped the ends, surprised at how tight a fit it suddenly was. "Hold your breath," he instructed.

She drew in her breath, and he quickly fastened the last few clasps.

"There. It's gonna be tight, but I got it."

She pressed one hand to her belly. "I can't be this big already. Do you think it's obvious?"

He hesitated, uncertain what she wanted him to say. Her waist was growing thicker, and he couldn't help noticing a large swelling where her usual flat belly was that seemed to have appeared overnight. It was especially conspicuous when she changed in the mornings and evenings, and he often found himself staring at her, lovingly taking in all the changes her body was going through and overwhelmed that everything they had hoped for had actually happened. On the one hand perhaps she might be excited to be getting bigger, as he was. But then again she might be self-conscious about it. He desperately tried to come up with a safe answer that wouldn't risk upsetting her.

"Uh, I don't know?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"What do you mean you don't know? You see me all the time. You can't tell if I look different?"

He nodded at her chest in a desperate attempt to change the subject. "Those sure are bigger. I guess ya look different there."

"Oh, no." She glanced down with dismay. "You're right, I look ridiculous."

"No, ya don't," he quickly said. "I like 'em."

"Of course you would," she replied grimly.

He chuckled softly. "Nobody's gonna be lookin' at your stomach. If they do they'll just think ya had one too many pieces of pie at supper last night."

She grinned. "You're no help at all."

"Your ma's waitin' in the wagon with your sister. Let's go."

They headed out of the room and toward the stairs.

"What do you think Claudette's going to think of their school?" she asked.

"I really don't care what she thinks, and you shouldn't either."

"It's just perhaps I should have talked to her about Teresa being a Mexican. And that it's just a little one room schoolhouse. It's a little different than the private teacher we had as children."

"You tell me how you're supposed to tell your sister anything when she won't even talk."

"I suppose that's true," she replied as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"That private teacher wasn't so perfect either. Ya said she beat ya with a ruler."

She turned her hand over and glanced at her palm, grimacing. "Yes, I can still feel that. You know, Claudette used to be left-handed. Our teacher tied her left hand behind her back and forced her to use her right hand. Then she beat her palms for not writing neatly. I'm so glad Teresa doesn't do that to Byron."

"See, there's one thing ya like about their teacher," he replied wryly, taking down her shawl and purse from the coat rack.

"Well, I know she would never lay a hand on them. I do appreciate that about her. She's so patient. More patient than I am, I'm afraid."

"Ya think Byron's gonna get through that poem?" He laid the shawl across her shoulders and handed her the purse.

"I don't know. I hope so. I'm just afraid he's going to panic and forget everything once he sees all the people there."

He took down his jacket and put it on. "He worked hard on somethin'. He never gave up. That's what's important. It's a good lesson for him."

"Yes, I'm proud of him," she said. "I feel like he's finally made some tangible progress." She nodded resolutely. "I'm happy with their school. And their teacher."

"Me, too," he replied, kissing her head as they headed outside.

"'Year by year, the same sweet story, You to other years will tell," Red Eagle recited, hands clasped behind his back. "Now we leave you, yet we love you. Gentle river, fare you well.'" He let out his breath, happy it was over, and looked at Michaela and Sully proudly.

The audience clapped for him and he took his seat as Teresa walked to the front of the room.

"That was good, huh?" Sully whispered, his arm around Michaela.

"And now, last but not least, Byron Sully will recite a poem entitled 'The Clock,'" Teresa said.

Michaela smiled at Sully, then looked back at the stage as Byron walked up, dressed in the Fauntleroy suit Elizabeth had bought him in Boston. Claudette was sitting at the end of the bench beside Elizabeth's chair, and Brian and Sarah were sitting behind them. The little boy looked right at his family just as Michaela had suggested he do, and tried to forget about all the parents and siblings crowded in the little schoolhouse staring at him.

"The Clock. There's a neat little clock, in the schoolroom it stands," he began slowly and nervously. "And it points to the time with its two little hands."

Michaela tensed and leaned forward, silently mouthing the words along with him as she held Sully's hand.

"And may we like the clock keep a face clean and bright. With hands ever ready to do what is right," Byron said, letting out a big sigh as he finished.

Michaela burst into a huge smile and clapped enthusiastically and the audience joined her.

"That's all?" Claudette whispered to Elizabeth. "That was more like a phrase than a poem."

"Oh, he worked hard on learning that little poem," Elizabeth scolded, clapping her hands.

Claudette sighed and lightly clapped her gloved hands. "I suppose Harvard's out of the question."

Teresa returned to the front of the room and gently placed her hand on Byron's shoulder as she looked out at the audience. "We're glad you could all join us today. We'd like to invite everyone to have punch and cookies outside. Thank you."

As everyone stood up and filed out to the meadow, Katie, Red Eagle and Byron quickly made their way to Michaela and Sully.

"That was real good, kids," Sully said proudly, resting his hands on Byron's shoulders.

"Did you like my poem, Mama?" Katie asked, beaming up at her.

"I loved it. You all did wonderful," Michaela said, hugging her.

"Well done, children," Elizabeth spoke up from her wheelchair, all smiles.

Byron rushed to her side and held her hand. "I didn't mess up at all, Gran'ma."

"You certainly didn't. All that practice paid off."

"I'm so glad you could come, Gran'ma," Red Eagle remarked sweetly.

"Oh. Me too, sweetheart," she replied.

Byron looked up at Claudette expectantly. "What'd you think, Auntie?"

Claudette raised her eyebrows. "Well…it was, um….interesting."

He grabbed her hand and pulled. "Come on. Come have some punch." He glanced at Sully. "Papa, help Gran'ma outside so she can have some punch, too."

Sully chuckled, grabbing the back of the wheelchair. "We will."

Claudette followed Byron and the children outside as Michaela lingered behind to help Sully and Brian get Elizabeth safely down the steep steps of the schoolhouse. Byron eagerly poured Claudette a glass of punch and then the three children took off for the swings with some friends.

Claudette spotted Teresa greeting some parents and boldly approached her.

"Mrs. Slicker," she said extending her hand. "Claudette Atkins. Byron and Katie's aunt."

"Ah, I see," Teresa replied, lightly shaking her hand. "I'm sure they were happy you could join us."

"About the curriculum, Mrs. Slicker. After today I'm very concerned about it," Claudette said, taking a sip of her punch. "What exactly are you teaching my niece and nephew?"

Teresa blinked. "I teach them what all children need. Reading, writing, their figures. History and geography."

"It's just I'm not very impressed with their progress, or lack thereof. Especially Byron's," Claudette went on critically. "Really, I mean a child his age shouldn't be struggling the way he does. His reading comprehension is appalling, his penmanship is barely discernable and his grammar is just downright sad. Granted, his father isn't setting a very good example for him, but I would think you would be able to counter the effects of that by now."

Anger flickered in Teresa's eyes. "Senora Atkins, I'm afraid I only discuss my students' progress with their parents. It's not appropriate for me to talk about such things with anyone else."

Claudette lowered her punch glass. "But I'm their aunt!"

"Yes, and I've never met you in my life," Teresa replied evenly. "If Dr. Quinn and Mr. Sully wish to talk with you about their children's schooling, they are welcome to do so."

"Mother said you were impertinent, but I had no idea! Just how much education have you had yourself? I didn't even know they had schools in Mexico."

Teresa eyed her vehemently. "I'm a teacher. This town hired me. Now if you'll excuse me!" She spun around and walked briskly back toward the school.

Sully and Brian were just lifting Elizabeth's wheelchair down the last step as Teresa brushed past them and ascended the stairs.

"All the children did so well, Mrs. Slicker," Michaela said cheerfully.

"Thank you," Teresa said curtly. She glanced at Elizabeth. "Senora Quinn." With that she opened the door and slammed it behind her.

"No wonder the children know nothing," Claudette remarked, lifting her skirts and approaching Elizabeth. "Look at who their teacher is!"

"Claudette, did you say something to her?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"Well, I had to after that. That poetry reading was pathetic. It wasn't even real poetry."

Michaela swallowed hard, hurt. She glanced at Sully and he put his hand on her back reassuringly.

"I thought it was good," Brian said quietly.

"Yes, it was so sweet," Sarah remarked.

"It wasn't meant to be some grand oration, Claudette," Elizabeth remarked. "It was just a little school play."

"Nothing's very grand in Colorado, is it?" Claudette retorted. She nudged Sully aside and grabbed the back of Elizabeth's wheelchair. "Let me take you to the punch, Mother. You must be parched."

Michaela clasped Sully's arm in her hands as he drove the wagon down the narrow, dusty road toward Kirk and Faye's. She had been quiet most of the trip, and he sensed she was feeling a lot of apprehension about facing their grief-stricken friends.

"I don't know what to say to them," she finally said.

He glanced at her, giving the reins a light flick. "When Jack passed on we didn't need anybody to say somethin'. It was enough to know folks were there for us."

"Faye had so many plans," Michaela murmured. "She said we'd shop for baby clothes together. And she picked out a pattern she wanted us to share for a christening gown." She glanced down at her belly, gently caressing it. "Sully, she knew our baby wasn't…wasn't planned. But she was trying to help me feel good about this just the same."

He put his arm around her reassuringly. He knew how hard it was for Michaela to be very excited about the new baby, given what a surprise the pregnancy had been and how ill she was feeling, not to mention how many other things they had to worry about at the moment, from her mother moving in with them to Sarah and Brian's courtship becoming more serious with each passing week, to Claudette visiting. Delivering Faye's premature baby had certainly not helped her spirits any.

"She's a good friend," Sully murmured, squeezing her shoulder as they pulled up to Kirk and Faye's cabin.

Kirk was outside, the wagon propped up off the ground as he held a wrench.

"Sully, Dr. Mike. Afternoon," he called cheerfully.

Sully jumped down from the wagon and helped Michaela to the ground.

"Somethin' wrong with your wagon?" Sully asked as Michaela took her basket out from the floor of their buckboard.

"Busted a wheel. Ran over a big rock. Never saw it comin'. I was just gettin' it off here." He put the wrench aside and approached Michaela, kissing her cheek. "Dr. Mike."

"How are you doing, Kirk?" she asked, squeezing his arm sympathetically.

"We're doin' all right," he said, removing his hat and wiping his brow. "We're doin' all right. Faye's inside. She'll be happy to see ya."

Sully touched her back. "Go on ahead. I'm gonna give him a hand."

She nodded and headed toward the door with her basket, opening it. She found Faye inside, sitting at the table with a small bowl of mashed up food and feeding one-year-old Danielle, who was sitting in her wooden highchair wearing a damp bib.

Faye turned and smiled, holding the spoon in midair. "Oh, look, Danielle! It's your Auntie Mike."

Danielle forgot her food for a moment and stretched her arms in Michaela's direction, opening and closing her fists.

Michaela immediately melted, bursting into a smile and walking to the baby, kissing her chubby red cheeks. "Oh, sweetheart. Look how big you're getting."

Faye smiled up at her appreciatively. "It's good to see you, Dr. Mike."

Michaela put the basket on the table. "Sully's outside with Kirk. We thought we could bring some soup by."

"Oh, thank you. The children's poetry reading, it was today wasn't it? How was it? We just…we weren't up to it."

"It was lovely. We missed you. Byron sent me with a card." She reached into the basket and pulled out a simple card on brown paper in which he had written "Get well soon Fay."

Faye opened the card, touched. "He's a little darlin', that boy is. You tell him I'll surely be in the front row the next time he has a school play or anything of the sort."

She gently clutched the young girl's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

She nodded. "I'm gettin' through. Kirk's been such a dear, seeing to my every last need. Reverend's been by lots of times, too. He's always got a good prayer in his head to say." She smiled at the baby. "And of course we got this little one to keep us on our toes, right Auntie Mike?"

"Mike!" Danielle shouted.

Michaela burst into a smile. "She said my name! She's talking? When did she start talking?"

"Two days ago. Not a peep until yesterday morning she woke up and couldn't stop. Mama and Daddy and cookie and milk. And now Auntie Mike," she added with a chuckle. She handed Michaela the bowl. "Here, you feed her. She wants you."

Michaela took the bowl hesitantly, taking a seat beside the highchair and dishing up some of the baby food for the little girl. "I've forgotten how to do this."

"Well, you better start rememberin'. You can come by any time and practice."

Michaela fed her a bite of the food and Danielle swallowed it and clapped her hands.

"Danielle sure do love squash." Faye smoothed the baby's wispy red hair. "Where's my manners? Can I get you some tea or coffee?"

"Oh, no thank you. I'm fine."

"Feelin' all right?"

Michaela swallowed hard. "Faye, we don't have to talk about-"

"Dr. Mike, it's all right," she said resolutely. "Really it is. Kirk and me, what happened has been real hard. But that don't mean I don't care about you. That don't mean we both stop bein' happy for the two bestest friends we have in the world. Please don't let what happened to us make ya any less joyful about your own baby."

Michaela nodded tearfully, squeezing her hand. "It's just, it should have been me."

Faye gazed at her in shock. "What do ya mean? Dr. Mike, don't say that!"

"No, I just mean, you're so young and strong and healthy. If I thought this was going to happen to anyone it would be me."

"Ain't our place to question the Lord's ways. The Lord had a reason to call our baby home early like He did. And if the Lord sees fit, we'll have us another. I have faith someday we'll have us the big family we want, just ain't gonna be on our own terms." She squeezed her hand tightly. "Now you tell me how you been feelin'. How's that mornin' sickness?"

She bit her lip. "I'm afraid it's still rather severe. Sully's worried."

"Course he is. Ya gotta get up in the middle of the night and eat somethin'," Faye advised.

"The middle of the night?" she replied skeptically as she fed Danielle another bite of squash.

"Yes, that's what I did when I was goin' through it. Maybe I got a little queasy but I never once threw up."

"Oh. Well, perhaps I'll try that."

Kirk opened the door, removing his hat and dusting it off.

"I'm tellin' ya, Sully, I never seen somebody change a wheel that fast," he said, walking to the counter and grabbing two glasses. "Dr. Mike, tell your man here he oughta start a wheelwright business."

Danielle pointed at Kirk excitedly. "Da-da!"

He smiled and waved at her.

"I have told him," Michaela said. "Just look at those wheels you made for Mother's wheelchair, Sully."

Kirk grabbed a pitcher and filled the glasses with cider, handing one to Sully. "I've seen a real wheelchair. My uncle lost his legs in the war and we had to scrape together every last penny to order one of those expensive things from the city. All that money and his wasn't near as nice as the one ya made from scratch."

"Wheelworkin', that's just something I taught myself so I could make that chair for her ma," Sully said dismissively.

Kirk shook his head in disbelief. "Sully, you don't get it. Folks don't just teach themselves things like that. You're supposed to be an apprentice first. It's supposed to take months and months of practice. But you put that chair together in a week like it's nothin'. Ya got a gift."

Sully took a sip of cider, contemplating it.

"I'll be your first customer," Kirk offered, glancing at his wife. "Honey, now you know we're overdue for a new set of wheels on that wagon."

"Yes it needs it," Faye remarked. "He's right, Sully."

"How do you suggest I start a wheelwright business?" Sully asked skeptically. "Folks are skimpin' and savin' at every turn these days. Nobody's gonna come to me."

Kirk walked to Danielle and lifted her out of her highchair. "Hard times or not, folks are always gonna need wheels. Heck, even cavemen needed wheels." He tossed Danielle into the air and the baby burst into delighted giggles. "How ya doin', darlin'? Ain't that right? Even cavemen needed wheels, sweet pea?"

"I don't know," Sully said, putting his glass down on the table and glancing at Michaela. "Robert E. usually handles any orders for wheels. Wouldn't wanna step on any toes."

"Kirk, honey, now be careful with her," Faye said. "She just ate."

Kirk threw Danielle into the air again. "Oh, she's all right, honey. Robert E's about the only man in town always gettin' plenty of work. I bet you he'd love someone to take over the wheelworkin' part so he can focus on everything else."

Sully picked up his glass again, mulling it over. "I'll think on it," he said noncommittally, taking another sip of cider.

"So sorry I'm late," Preston said as he gave Claudette a hand up into his buggy. "The plumbing burst on the second floor. Water was everywhere. And it's not as if you can just hire someone to come fix it straight away in a place as remote as this."

"Oh, my. I hope there wasn't too much damage." She sat down and smoothed her skirts firmly, frowning.

"Well, it ruined a few carpets. But I suppose that's the price I pay for having all the modern conveniences." He glanced at her, noticing her upset. "Is something wrong, Miss Atkins?"

She glanced at him. "I just can't get over the children's poetry reading today. It was downright embarrassing."

"Oh, that," he replied with a big grin. "Well, what did you expect?"

"When I was their age I could recite Wordsworth and Browning and Robert Burns. Byron's namesake is one of the greatest poets of all time. Why couldn't he recite something by him? Instead he was up there singing some silly little rhyme."

"Our education system is not exactly this town's strongest asset," Preston admitted, gathering the reins. "But what can you do when everyone's standards are so low?"

"That's exactly it. My sister's standards have fallen so much since she's been out here. I never thought I'd see a niece and nephew of mine being taught by a Mexican with nothing but a ninth grade education. It's amazing they've managed to learn anything."

"Yes, it's too bad," Preston agreed. "Of course, if I had children I'd be sure to send them to a private school in Denver. Or perhaps even a boarding school back East."

"Oh, yes, you'd have to," she replied.

"Do you have children?" Preston asked curiously.

"Yes, two. Mollie works for a ladies' newspaper in San Francisco. And my son William just started his second year at Harvard. He's studying ancient history. He wants to be a professor someday."

"You must be proud," he replied.

"Yes, I suppose," she murmured. "I do miss them terribly. I must admit I've been a little lonely since my little Will's gone off to university and I've got an empty nest now."

He put the reins aside and shifted a little closer to her, gently grasping her arm. "You look lovely this evening, Miss Atkins."

"Mr. Lodge," she replied nervously.

He leaned in all the closer and kissed her.

Claudette resisted at first, then slowly settled into the kiss, grasping the lapel of Preston's suit coat. Sully opened the barn door after checking on the animals for the night and walked across the corral. He slowed his steps near the carriage as he noticed the couple immersed in a deep kiss.

Sully cleared his throat awkwardly, opening the fence and shutting it behind him, and they immediately broke apart, looking at him with embarrassment.

"Uh…g'night," Sully murmured.

Claudette glanced at him with a shy grin and Preston grabbed the reins.

"Goodnight," Preston said quickly, giving the reins a firm slap.

Sully smiled to himself and climbed the porch steps, closing the door and locking it. Then he headed upstairs to the bedroom where Michaela was in bed tiredly reading a book. She smiled briefly at Sully as he shut the door.

He crossed the room and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off. She eyed him for a moment, sensing something amiss.

"Is Flash all right? Restless?" she asked. "Could you take her for a ride tomorrow, Sully? She needs the exercise and I'm afraid I won't be able to ride her for some time."

"Ya won't believe what I just walked in on," he replied.

"What?"

"Preston and your sister. Kissin'."

She closed her book, astonished. "Claudette and Preston? No."

He laid his shirt on the back of a chair and sat on the bed, pulling off his boots. "Makes sense. He's been agreein' with everything out of her mouth since she got here. Another one falls victim to a Quinn."

She eyed him wryly as he climbed under the covers beside her. "Are you saying you're my victim?"

He smiled and kissed her. "I fell the hardest of all of 'em."

She stroked his stomach sensuously, gliding her hand lower each time, and then shifted to kiss his chest. To have her take the initiative aroused him almost instantly, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Michaela," he whispered hoarsely. "Maybe we….maybe we shouldn't."

She stopped her tender caressing and looked up at him, disappointed and a little upset. "Why?" she whispered.

He smoothed back her hair from her eyes. "It ain't gonna hurt the baby, is it?"

She smiled with relief. "No, of course not."

"It's just ya keep sayin' you're worried about things goin' wrong. I just don't wanna do anything that could cause ya to worry more."

She sighed and cuddled against him. "I am worried. But I'm just trying not to let fear get the best of me."

He drew her close. "Ya know it's normal bein' worried. I know we ain't gonna feel completely better about this until this baby's in our arms. But it's all right to let ourselves have some hope about it, too. Bein' afraid all the time's gonna get real exhaustin'."

"You're worried too, Sully?" she whispered, taken aback.

He swallowed. "Sometimes. I know sometimes things don't go right and maybe we should be prepared for that. But I also think we should be prepared for a beautiful, healthy baby come about four months from now."

She bit her lip. "Sully, it frightens me. I can't see it. I can't visualize the baby. I always could when I was pregnant before. I don't know why this feels so different."

He kissed her brow. "Maybe Jack passin' on's got somethin' to do with it. Maybe it's hard to imagine we're gettin' a second chance at this."

She slowly nodded. "Sully, I don't know how to stop being afraid," she whispered.

"Your ma's had to take what's happened to her one day at a time. If she starts lookin' too far ahead she's never gonna recover. We gotta do that, too. Focus on right now."

She nodded, reassured. "Thank you for listening to me. For not belittling my concerns." She stopped short and looked down, flabbergasted.

"Michaela? What's wrong?"

She looked back up in surprise. "Nothing. I think the baby moved. I just felt a distinct movement."

He pressed his hand to her belly, intrigued. "I don't feel anything."

"No, you can't quite yet. But that was the baby moving deep inside. I'm sure of it." She gasped. "Sully, it just did it again! Oh."

He smiled happily and caressed her cheek. It was nice to see her have a moment of excitement about her pregnancy. He hoped it was the beginning of her feeling a lot more pleased and optimistic about it. "Sounds like we got a good healthy baby in there."

She beamed and looked up at him lovingly. He stroked her back as she shifted up to kiss him. Eventually he turned her on her side, her back pressed up against his chest, and joined them together, moving as slowly and gently as possible. He cradled her belly with one hand the entire time, as if to provide her further reassurance their baby would be safe and everything would be fine.

Katie and Red Eagle sat obediently on the porch outside the bank, content to watch the passing horses and wagons, but Byron would have none of it. He glared up at Michaela defiantly, his schoolbooks slung over his shoulder.

"Mama!" he protested.

"It won't take long, I promise," Michaela said, a leather portfolio tucked under her arm and her medical bag and purse in one hand.

"I just wanna go pet the horses for one second. Please!"

"No, I'm not going to let you wander around the livery all by yourself when Robert E. isn't even there. Absolutely not. It's dangerous, not to mention rude."

He glanced behind them at the empty livery. "Where could he be?"

"I don't know where he is. Probably out delivering an order. Now wait here patiently with your brother and sister."

"If he comes back then could I pet the horses?" he asked.

"Byron, just wait here," she said with exasperation, opening the bank door.

"No fair," he muttered, crossing his arms sourly.

Michaela opened the door wider and it nudged the tiny bell attached to the top of it. Preston was seeing another customer out and sorting through some papers.

"Oh, Michaela!" He burst into a toothy grin and shut the door after the customer. "Well, how are you this fine afternoon?"

"Oh. Fine, thank you. Yourself?"

"Couldn't be better! Couldn't be better! What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping to talk to you about a business my husband and I have been thinking about starting."

Preston had a dozen snide comments up his sleeve, starting with Sully and how he hadn't seen the man hold down the same job for more than two months, but he kept them to himself. "Yes? Go on."

"Well, we're thinking of opening a wheelwright shop here in town. That is, I suppose I was thinking. Sully's very skilled at assembling wheels and I know there's a need for it. But truthfully I'm not quite sure how to begin. I'm afraid I don't have that much of a business sense and Sully's never tried anything like this before." She handed him the portfolio. "I wrote down a few figures last night. Just some preliminary calculations."

He took the portfolio and opened it. "You've come to the right place. I can go over the numbers with you, look at the various loans you might take out."

She smiled. "Yes. Thank you, Preston."

He suddenly looked out his window, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Michaela turned, following his gaze. Byron had his lips pressed up to the glass and was blowing air forcefully against it, making a loud noise. He burst into hysterical giggles at Michaela and Preston's appalled reactions.

"Byron Sully!" Michaela exclaimed. She rushed to open the door, gazing down at the little boy crossly. "Byron, wipe that grin off your face! You're going to clean off that mark you made right this instant. And apologize to Mr. Lodge."

Preston removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to Byron. "Oh, no harm done. Tell you what, young man. You polish all my windows for me and I'll give you a quarter."

Katie and Red Eagle immediately got to their feet, intrigued.

"A whole quarter!" Byron exclaimed. "Really?"

Preston dug into his pocket and found a coin, flicking it in the air.

Byron caught it, bursting into a grin. Katie and Red Eagle gazed at the shiny coin in admiration.

"You all polish my windows and I'll give all three of you quarters," Preston added. "You can get a bucket around the side of the building."

"Yes, sir! Gee thanks, Mr. Lodge!" Red Eagle exclaimed, rushing off to do what he asked.

"Preston, that's far too much," Michaela said.

"I'd forgotten how beautiful your children are, Michaela. And so polite. You should be so proud."

She gazed at him in confusion. She had never known Preston to go out of his way to compliment anyone. "Why, thank you."

He guided her back inside. "Let's go in the back, sit at my desk. Please."

Michaela clasped her mother's hand in her right and Byron's in her left. The family was gathered around a scrumptious Thanksgiving spread, complete with a large, glistening turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, squash, cranberry relish and cornbread. Sarah and Mrs. Sheehan had joined them for the celebration, and Claudette was seated next to Byron.

"What I'm most thankful for is my family," Michaela said as the large gathering listened attentively. She looked across the table at Sully, gazing into his eyes. "I'm thankful for my husband and how supportive he's been through everything that's happened this year. And I'm thankful for my children. How unique each of them are and how much happiness they bring me every day."

Everyone smiled and then Michaela looked at Byron expectantly.

"Mama, mine's not that long," he whispered.

She grinned. "That's all right. It doesn't have to be long."

"All right. What I'm thankful for is that Papa taught me to play baseball."

Sully smiled proudly and shared a tender gaze with Michaela.

Byron looked at Claudette to his left and squeezed her hand. "Your turn, Auntie. Say what you're most thankful for."

Claudette sighed. "Must I share?"

"Come on. Everybody has to," Byron encouraged.

"Come on, Auntie. Say it," Katie added.

"Claudette, just do it. The food's getting cold," Elizabeth said.

She glanced at Elizabeth briefly. "All right, fine. I'm most thankful my mother is alive. She's been through quite a bit this year and I'm glad she's doing better."

Elizabeth smiled. "Thank you, dear. So am I."

"Amen. Now let's eat!" Michaela said as everyone released hands and began passing around the many platters and bowls and chattering happily.

"Wonder if your ma realizes there's somethin' going on between your sister and Preston," Sully remarked as he slapped the reins.

"No, I don't think so," Michaela replied quietly, holding onto the edge of the seat with one hand and staring forward uneasily.

"Ya gonna say somethin' to her?"

"I don't know. I suppose I'd better stay out of it. Claudette's angry with me enough as it is."

"She sure hasn't made things any easier."

"Part of the reason I wanted to bring Mother out here was so that she could get away from everyone who thinks she won't recover. Claudette's so pessimistic sometimes. It's not good for Mother's morale." She sighed. "But she'll get tired of Colorado soon enough and go home. She won't stay long."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Sully said with a small smile. "I think she may have just met her other half."

"Seems everyone's been bitten by the love bug these days. Brian's having supper at Sarah's again tonight. He turned down my turkey pot pie to go be with her."

"Even your turkey pot pie can't compete when a man's in love," he replied. "Michaela, I been thinkin'. We got plenty of land. We could part with that spot down by the creek with the pretty view."

"But we said we wanted to hang onto all our land if we ever raise horses someday. We'll need all of it for grazing. No, we can't sell it. We'll just have to take out more credit at the store and be all the more careful with how we spend our money."

"Not sell it. Give it away. We can spare a couple acres just to get 'em started."

"Get who started?"

"Sarah and Brian. I think we should give 'em some of our land to build a house on."

"Sully, no. We can't stop them from getting married, but we certainly don't want to encourage it."

"It ain't encouragin' it. It's just doin' something' nice for 'em. Makin' this easier on 'em."

She reached one hand up and clutched her stomach. "I don't want to make it easy on them."

"Michaela, if he's gonna build a homestead anyway, wouldn't you rather have him close by?"

"It's condoning it, Sully. I adore Sarah and I think they're a good match, but I'm not ready to go so far as to give them a piece of our land for a homestead." She grimaced and brought her other hand up to her stomach. "Oh, no, not again. Pull over, Sully."

"Pull over? Now?"

"Yes now or I'm going to throw up in the wagon."

"Whoa. Whoa!" he said firmly, quickly pulling back on the reins and stopping their horse.

Michaela climbed down and ran off the road behind a few bushes, coughing forcefully.

"You all right?" he called. He quickly found his canteen on the floor of the wagon beside his lunch satchel and climbed down. "Michaela?"

She emerged from the bushes after a long moment, looking pale and miserable. "Don't go back there," she said dryly.

He couldn't help letting out a soft chuckle. He opened his canteen and handed it to her. "Here, here's some cool water."

"Thank you," she muttered, tipping her head back and taking a few sips of the water as he rubbed her back. She rinsed out her mouth and spit out the water, then poured a little water into her hand to wash her face. "It didn't work," she said.

"What didn't work?"

"Faye suggested I get up in the middle of the night and eat something. So last night I got up around three o'clock and had some leftover turkey. But it didn't work."

"Guess it was worth a try. Ya wanna go home?" he asked. "I'll drive ya back."

"No, of course not. I feel a lot better now." She walked back to the wagon and he helped her up.

"Ya know, ya don't gotta work on a Saturday," he said, climbing up beside her and gathering the reins.

"I do when I'm this behind," she replied, taking out her handkerchief and dabbing at her neck. "I have a large shipment yet to unpack and half a dozen house calls to make."

He gave the reins a light slap. "G'up. Michaela, I'm worried about ya. Not sure I can watch ya do this much longer."

She glanced at him and chuckled. "Yes, must be difficult."

He smiled softly, putting his arm around her. "I'm sorry. Guess you're the one really sufferin'."

She rested one hand in his lap and squeezed his leg. "I'll be all right, Sully."

"Guess we just gotta remember it's all for a good cause," he replied, kissing her head lovingly.

"Working again, hm?" Claudette replied as she took a seat on the settee. "And on a Saturday, too."

"She said it just couldn't wait until Monday," Elizabeth explained.

"Where's Sully and Brian?" she demanded.

"Sully's in town. Working, too. And Brian's off with that lady friend of his. Again."

"And I suppose they left you here to look after the children while they do whatever they want all day. They're using you."

"Oh, that's silly, Claudette! I love to," Elizabeth said with a smile. "I love spending time with them. Besides, they're all reading their chapter books this morning for their book reports. They won't be any trouble."

"Can you believe that poetry reading?" Claudette exclaimed. "We've got to get Katie and Byron in a private school immediately. Or at least Katie. She at least seems to take after Michaela, thank goodness."

"Well, I did look into private school for her. I sent away for some literature," Elizabeth explained. "It's on the table over there. Michaela thought it was just lovely, but Sully told her no. Even after I offered to pay for it."

"Of course he dismissed this," Claudette said with a roll of her eyes, standing up and finding the pamphlet on the table. "Heaven forbid we might actually be right about something." She picked up the pamphlet, flipping through it. "Oh, Mother, this is beautiful!"

"I know, isn't it? Have you ever seen lovelier grounds? Reminds me of your school in Boston."

"Courses in the New and Old Testament, English literature, Latin, Greek history, music appreciation, ballroom dancing and watercolors. Oh, yes, she must go here! I wish I knew about this place when Mollie was a child."

"It's no use, Claudette," Elizabeth replied. "Sully's never going to agree to send her."

"Katie," Claudette called. She glanced at her mother. "We could convince Katie. I know we could. She has her parents wrapped around her little finger. They do whatever she wants. If she wants to go they won't be able to say no."

"I suppose," Elizabeth admitted.

"Katie," Claudette called again. "Come here please."

"You called me, Auntie?" Katie replied, standing in the doorway with her reader under her arm.

"Come sit beside me on the settee," she said, opening up the pamphlet to a beautiful drawing of the school grounds. "Come look at this."

"St. Mary's Academy," Katie read, taking a seat beside her aunt. "Englewood, Colorado. What's this, Auntie?"

"It's a boarding school," she said brightly. "A boarding school for young ladies where you can learn about art and music and history. Wouldn't you love to go to a big school like this with lots of other nice proper young ladies instead of that crowded little schoolhouse in town with all those country girls and boys? Your grandmother showed this to your mother and your mother thinks you should go."

"Well, Claudette, she didn't exactly say-" Elizabeth began.

"She does? But what about my brothers?" Katie asked.

"Your brothers? What about them? They'll just have to go to a school for boys. Or stay here."

"Oh." She flipped a page of the pamphlet. "It looks pretty. Where's Englewood? Is Mama gonna drive me there in the mornings?"

Claudette chuckled. "Of course not. A boarding school is where you stay overnight. You share a room with the other girls and eat all your meals there."

"You mean some kids don't live at home?" Katie replied in disbelief.

"No. Many well-to-do children go off to get their education at boarding schools. Your cousins did."

Katie's eyes welled with tears. "They never come home?"

"Oh, you can come home for Christmas," Claudette said dismissively. "Well, what do you think? It looks wonderful, doesn't it? If I were you I wouldn't want to spend another minute doing my lessons in that drafty little shack in town."

Katie glanced up at her grandmother, who was smiling expectantly. She swallowed hard and struggled to smile back.

"Good, it's settled then!" Claudette said, patting her back. "We'll tell your mother you can't wait to enroll!"

Byron stared at his paper and carefully wrote with his pencil. Red Eagle sat beside him and Claudette sat at the opposite end of the table, impatiently tapping her fingers on her arm as she watched Elizabeth help the children finish their assignments.

"That's very close, dear," Elizabeth said, putting her arm around Byron. "Still not quite."

Byron sighed and erased the word again. "R-e-e-s-i-n?" he asked.

"No, sound it out carefully," Elizabeth said patiently. "Rea-son," she said, annunciating the syllables slowly.

"Oh, this is torturous," Claudette said. "It's r-e-a-s-o-n, Byron."

"Oh. Thanks, Auntie," Byron said with a smile, quickly writing the word down.

"Claudette, that doesn't help him," Elizabeth scolded.

"Well, I couldn't take it anymore," she replied. "Besides, he was never going to get it anyway."

Michaela opened the door and stepped inside, Sully behind her. "Good afternoon. How is everyone?" she said cheerfully, placing her medical bag on the table.

"Hey, Mama," Red Eagle said. "We're almost done with our reports."

"I'm happy to hear that!" she said with a pleased smile. "Have Grandma and Auntie been helping you?"

"Yep. Auntie helps me spell," Byron said.

"Where's Katie?" Sully asked. "She finished already?"

"She said she wanted to read out on the porch," Elizabeth explained.

"She's not out there," Michaela said. "Are you sure she didn't come back inside?"

"Nope. Maybe she went to the barn," Byron suggested.

Michaela glanced at the little girl's jacket hanging on the rack. "It's chilly out. She doesn't have her jacket."

"She's around," Sully said, grabbing the jacket off the rack. "We'll find her."

Michaela opened the door and they walked back outside and headed toward the barn. Sully opened the barn door.

"Katie?" Michaela called.

Sully hurried up the ladder to the loft. "Not up here," he called.

"Where could she be, Sully?"

He climbed back down. "Let's check the creek. She wanders down there sometimes."

She nodded and they headed for the deer path that led to the creek.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have worked today," Michaela said worriedly. "Between my patients and helping out my mother I haven't been spending very much time with her. With any of them."

"Don't be so quick to blame yourself. She probably just got tired of bein' around her brothers all day, wanted some space." Their little girl's blond head caught his eye and he smiled. She was crouched down beside the creek on a log, poking a stick into the water. "There she is," he said with relief. "She's fine."

"Oh, thank goodness. Katie!" Michaela called. Sully grabbed her arm to steady her and they made their way down the incline to the creek bed. "Katie, don't wander off without telling Grandma where you're going. We were worried!" she began.

Katie turned to glance at her mother. Tears were drying in little lines down her cheeks and her face was flushed.

"Oh sweetheart, what is it? What's the matter?" Michaela sat beside and drew her into her arms and Katie suddenly burst into tears and hugged her mother tightly.

"Did something happen? Were your brothers teasing you?" Michaela asked patiently.

She shook her head.

"What is it, Kates?" Sully asked, stroking her hair. "Talk to Mama."

She drew in her breath in quick little gasps. "Auntie…Auntie….says I have to g-go to school…f-far away and can only come…h-home for….Christmas."

"What?" Sully breathed.

"Auntie said what!?" Michaela exclaimed.

Katie cried harder and buried her head against Michaela's chest.

Michaela rocked her. "Oh, Katie. Hush. Hush. You're not going anywhere. That's ridiculous. Why on earth would Auntie Claudette tell you such a thing?"

Katie rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "But she said you w-want me to go. Y-you like the school."

"St. Mary's? Well, I do think it's a very nice school. Just not for any of my children," Michaela said, kissing her head. "Mama would never send you so far away. And especially not against your will."

"Then I can still stay here with you? Miss Teresa can still be my teacher?"

"Of course Miss Teresa can still be your teacher." She took out her handkerchief and wiped the tears from Katie's face. "Shh, hush. Of course she'll still be your teacher. Of course you'll stay with me." She pressed the little girl's cheek against hers. "Oh, my sweet little girl. I'm sorry you're upset. Don't be."

Katie blew her nose, reassured.

Sully squatted down and laid her jacket over her shoulders. "Stop cryin', Kates. Nobody's goin' anywhere. Ya think we'd send our special girl away?"

She shook her head with a small grin.

"Come 'ere," he said, holding out his arms and lifting her off the log. "Come on, let's get back to the homestead. Get some supper started. That sound good?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder. He smiled at Michaela and she cupped her hand around his arm as they made their way back up the incline.

"No, no, no," Claudette scolded. "The blade should be facing inward. Toward the plate."

Red Eagle picked up the knife he had just laid beside a plate and turned it around. "Is that good, Auntie?"

"Yes, better. Byron, fix your knives, too. Weren't you listening? The blade should always face the plate," she instructed.

"How come?" he questioned.

"How come? Well, because that's how you do it."

Elizabeth laid a plate at the head of the table. "No one ever notices what way the blade faces."

"Mother, don't you think they should learn the correct way to set a dinner table? If you can't do something right don't bother to do it at all."

"Oh, well then you can set the table, Auntie," Byron said, holding out his pile of forks in her direction. "I know you'll do it right."

"Oh, good try," she replied with an amused grin. "No, that's your job. You finish."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, laying his last few forks on their respective napkins as Michaela opened the door and guided Sully and Katie inside.

"Oh, good, Katie. You're back," Claudette said. "I just set the table and I have some leftover soup warming on the stove for supper."

Sully eyed his sister-in-law firmly. "Go wash your face, Katie," he murmured.

Katie took off her jacket and hung it up and then headed for the kitchen.

Michaela pulled off her gloves, gazing at Sully worriedly. He had been fairly patient with her sister for the most part, but seeing Katie so upset had pushed him over the edge. She didn't know what he might do. She was afraid he might even forbid Claudette from coming to the homestead. She just wanted to separate them lest he say something he might regret.

"Sully, help me with supper," Michaela whispered, grasping his arm.

He brushed her off and glared at Claudette. "Ya wanna explain why we found Katie off by herself cryin', thinkin' her ma and me were gonna send her away to some boardin' school?"

"Crying?" Claudette repeated. "I can't imagine. She was very impressed with St. Mary's when I showed her their literature. She thinks it's a beautiful school with an impressive curriculum. And the fact is she's as gifted as Michaela was at that age. It would be a crime not to send her off to that school at once."

"But she loves her school in town and especially her teacher," Michaela spoke up.

Red Eagle leaned against the table. "Are we gonna send Katie away to school?"

"No, you can't!" Byron protested.

"Of course we're not," Michaela said dismissively. "No one's going anywhere."

"Point is our children ain't none of your concern," Sully said firmly. "You may be their aunt, but the raisin' of 'em still belongs to us. I want ya to leave my family alone, stop interferin' where nobody asked for your two cents. Nobody cares what you think, least of all me."

"Sully," Michaela warned softly.

"Well, you leave my family alone!" Claudette retorted. "From what I understand it was your idea to bring Mother all the way out here in the first place. Who's interfering with who's family now?"

"Your ma wanted to come. That's a little different. Maybe ya should take that up with her," Sully replied, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on the hook.

"Now, don't bring me into this," Elizabeth protested as she laid another plate down. "I'm just minding my own business setting the table."

"And as for caring what I think," Claudette went on. "I'll have you know no one cares what you think! All our family and friends back in Boston hate you. Yes, they do. They all say Michaela's thrown her life away not to mention her future in medicine marrying you and so do I. I personally think you're rude, dim-witted and lazy, cadging on my sister's hard-earned income all this time and forcing her to have God knows how many of your little ignorant children and making her conform to your rustic nomad lifestyle."

"Claudette!" Elizabeth exclaimed, shocked.

"It's true and you know it, Mother!" Claudette replied.

Byron and Red Eagle looked at their aunt, stunned, then turned their attention to Sully, wondering what he would say next. Katie wandered back from the kitchen to watch the spectacle.

"Ya wanna know what I think about you?" Sully said, stepping closer to her.

Michaela grabbed Sully's arm, holding tightly. "Sully, that's enough. Not in front of the children."

"Oh, let's hear it, Sully. Go on, don't let that stop you. Whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of them," Claudette retorted.

He narrowed his brow. "I think you're the most spoiled, selfish, stuck up woman I ever met. Nothin' more pathetic than somebody who's got nothin' better to do but spend money and talk about everybody behind their backs and meddle in everybody's business."

"Sully, stop it," Michaela said firmly. "Both of you stop it!"

He pointed his finger at Claudette lividly. "You are a guest in my home. If you can't show me and my kids, my wife who is your sister, you can't show us a little respect when ya open that mouth of yours, don't open it at all."

"Well, that won't be a problem!" Claudette replied. "I've wasted enough of my time already trying to have a civilized conversation with the likes of you." She walked to the rack and grabbed her shawl, opening the door and slamming it behind her.

Michaela sunk into a chair. "Oh, no. Oh, Sully."

He folded his arms. "What? It's about time somebody put her in her place."

"She's furious with us both to begin with. So now we make it worse?"

"Michaela, I think I have to agree with Sully on this one," Elizabeth said, putting her arm around Byron reassuringly. "That child needed to be put in her place and I've been far too cowardly to do it myself. Thank you, Sully. I'm afraid she deserved that."

Michaela and Sully glanced at each other in surprise, then looked at Elizabeth.

"Thanks, Elizabeth," Sully murmured, not knowing what else to say.

She nodded. "Well, let's eat supper. I'm starving."

"Checkmate," Michaela said as she slid her black rook to the last row on the board. She had trapped Red Eagle's king in less than five minutes, another short game of chess.

Red Eagle tipped his king over, sitting back in his chair.

"Shake hands with your opponent," Michaela encouraged.

Red Eagle held out his hand and shook with her.

"Nobody can ever beat you, Mama," Byron said with a discouraged sigh as he gazed at the board next to Katie. "Unless you let us win."

"Well, I've had a lot more practice than you have."

"Playin' somebody better than you is how ya learn," Sully spoke up from another chair.

Michaela placed her pawns along the second row. "Tell you what. How about I play without my queen this game? But you can keep yours."

Red Eagle smiled. "Yeah, let's do that."

"Good," she said as she placed her queen aside and set up her remaining pieces.

"I wanna play you without your queen, too, Mama," Katie said eagerly.

"All right. After this game."

Someone knocked firmly on the door.

"I'll get it," Byron said, rushing to the door and throwing it open.

Preston held out a bouquet of roses with a big smile. He stopped short and looked down at Byron. His smile faded. "Where's your aunt?"

"Hey, Mr. Lodge," he said, turning around. "Auntie! Aunt Claudie!" he shouted. "Mr. Lodge is here to pick you up! Auntie!" He spun back around. "What are the flowers for?"

Preston glanced at the bouquet, embarrassed. He lowered his arm to his side. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Auntie! Auntie! Mr. Lodge brought you a bunch of red flowers!" Byron called again.

Michaela moved her middle pawn out and glanced at Sully curiously.

"Byron, you're going to bring down the house with all that racket," Claudette scolded as she walked briskly toward the door. "I heard you the first time! I was just saying goodbye to your grandmother for heaven's sake."

"Oh. Sorry," he said. "Night, Auntie. Don't let the bed bugs bite." He reached his arms up for a hug.

A bit bewildered, Claudette awkwardly bent and patted his head. "Yes, goodnight. And please, practice trying to keep your voice down. Apparently no easy task for a boy like you."

He smiled impishly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Goodnight," Michaela called fleetingly as Claudette gathered her cape and purse from the coat rack and walked outside without a word to anyone else.

Preston shut the door and held out his arm, suddenly feeling very shy. "Did you have a nice day?"

She let out her breath, taking it gratefully. "Aside from being accused of being spoiled and selfish and stuck up?"

"Stuck up! Who on earth would say such a thing?" he demanded.

"Mr. Sully. Who do you think?"

"He's clearly jealous, that's all," he said dismissively. "Wishes his upbringing had been as refined as yours."

"If you say so." She noticed the bouquet of flowers. "What's this?"

He cleared his throat and held them out awkwardly. "Oh, it's um, it's roses. For you."

She gazed at him in confusion. "Whatever for?"

"Well, isn't it polite to bring the lady you're courting flowers?"

"Courting! Mr. Lodge, we're hardly courting!"

"It's Preston."

She stepped down from the porch and he helped her into his buggy, then climbed in after her.

"I was hoping…perhaps I could come around and court you," he said, his jovial mood fading with every skeptical glance she gave him.

"We shared one goodnight kiss, Preston. And one that was purely innocent. I apologize if I gave you the wrong idea, but I certainly did not come out here looking for any kind of relationship. I'm here for one purpose and one purpose only, and that is to bring my mother home."

His face fell with disappointment. He put the flowers beside him and slowly gathered the reins. "Well, I understand. But I was hoping you might find time to fit me in somewhere. I was hoping you could alter your plans."

"But it would be so pointless," she said with a shake of her head.

"Pointless? Why?"

"Well, because you live here and I live in Boston. We can't court. Besides, what would everyone think? Why, they'd think I'm going to become just like Michaela, falling in love with some simpleton out here and only returning to Boston once in a blue moon."

He gazed at her in shock. "Claudette, I'm not one of them. I'm from Boston myself."

"You don't live there anymore. That's all they'll care about."

"It's you I care about. You're….you're magnificent."

"Men are just full of lines like that, aren't they? I've heard it all. Preston, you're very kind. And this is all very flattering. But frankly I don't find any of this very practical, not to mention appropriate. We barely know each other! No, entirely inappropriate and improper. Please, let's get to your Château."

He gazed at her, never more hurt in his life. It wasn't often he chased after a woman, and when he did she was special. And he always felt he had a way with women. After all, very few ever rejected his advances, and none ever so bluntly as Claudette had. He didn't know what to do, how to save face.

"Preston?" Claudette murmured. "Your Chateau?"

"Yes, yes," he murmured, staring forward and slapping the reins.

"I never seen Papa get so mad," Red Eagle remarked as he lay in bed and absently tossed his bear a few feet into the air, spinning it around and catching it.

"He must not like Auntie very much!" Byron added as Michaela tucked the covers warmly around him.

Red Eagle glanced at him impatiently, throwing his bear up again. "Nobody likes her, Byron, don't you know that? Except Gran'ma. And Mr. Lodge."

"Why not?" Byron protested. "I like her. How come folks don't like Aunt Claudie, Mama?"

Michaela sat on the edge of the bed, uncertain how to answer. "Your auntie is a good woman. She raised two lovely children practically on her own, your cousins Mollie and William. You remember Mollie, Byron? We met her when we were in San Francisco."

"I don't know. Sorta."

"And Auntie's been looking after your grandmother in Boston for years, taking her to all her appointments and helping her with whatever she needs," she went on. "And she does lots of wonderful work with a group called the Christian Temperance Union that helps those who drink too much. You're going to encounter all kinds of people. And some people are harder to get along with than others. Your Auntie Claudette just happens to be one of those people." She rubbed Byron's arm. "I want you to know that not speaking to someone is not the way to get what you want. No matter how angry you might be with someone, you must always be willing to sit down with them and hear each other out. Nothing was ever solved by not communicating."

The boys seemed a little confused by her long-winded explanation. Red Eagle shrugged and kept tossing his bear and Byron eyed her curiously.

"Aunt Claudie said when you were little you bit her," Byron announced.

"Bit her? I did no such thing."

"Yes you did. Aunt Claudie said," Byron insisted.

"Well, maybe I did. But she used to hide my toys and books and poke me and tattle on me to Grandma all the time. I don't suppose she told you that part of it."

"No," Byron murmured.

"But that doesn't mean I was justified," Michaela hastened to add. "We were both rather cruel to each other. I'm glad you two treat each other a lot better than I did my sisters. It's important to respect your siblings. You share a childhood in common, and that's a special thing."

"Well, I did bite him once," Byron admitted, glancing at Red Eagle guiltily.

"You did?" Michaela exclaimed.

"Yeah, but I bited back," Red Eagle explained. "It was even."

"Oh, I see," Michaela said with a soft chuckle. "All right, give Mama hugs and kisses. Lots of them." She leaned down and drew Byron into her arms, closing her eyes as he kissed her cheek a few times. "Mmm, goodnight, monkey." She kissed his nose and then rose and walked to Red Eagle's bed, enveloping him in an equally tight embrace. "Night-night, sweetheart. Big hug."

Red Eagle gazed up at her pensively. "Maybe Aunt Claudie can't forget all the times you bit her, Mama. Maybe that's why she gets kind of mad sometimes."

"Perhaps," Michaela replied with amusement, kissing each of his cheeks. She straightened and walked to the door, cupping her hand around the top of the lamp on the night table. "Goodnight, boys. I love you." She blew out the lamp and grasped their doorknob.

"Love you, Ma," Byron called.

"Love you. Night," Red Eagle said.

"Love you," Michaela whispered one last time as she shut the door.

Michaela wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and stacked together a small pile of paperwork, then opened the front door. She spotted Sully just where he had been for the past hour, resting his hand on the porch railing and sipping a cup of coffee at the base of the stairs.

"Can I talk to you?" she called softly.

He turned slightly. "Kids in bed?"

"Yes, I just put them down."

He turned all the way to face her. "Michaela, I'm sorry I lost my temper with your sister in front of 'em. They never should have heard any of that."

"Well, this is your house. You had a right to demand a little respect. Besides, the children already realize Claudette isn't everyone's favorite person. It wasn't all that shocking for them."

"Byron sure likes her. Always hangin' onto her."

"Yes, although I'm not sure I quite understand why. She isn't very warm back to him."

He gazed at her lovingly. "I know why. Cause he's like his ma. Sees the good in folks 'fore he ever notices anything else."

She smiled softly and folded her hands, resting them atop her belly. "Actually, it wasn't Claudette I wanted to talk to you about. I've been thinking a lot about what Kirk said, about you being so good with wheels."

"Kirk." He shook his head. "It's no special talent, Michaela. Anybody can learn it."

"I love that about you. That you don't realize how exceptional you really are." She glanced down at the paperwork. "I was talking to Preston, and he laid out some figures for us."

"You talked to Preston? When?"

"A few days ago. Sully, I was just talking. I didn't commit to anything."

He ascended the stairs until he was eye level with her, a step below her, and glanced at the papers. "What's this, a loan?"

"Few people can start a business without taking out a loan."

"Business? Michaela, it was just a thought. I ain't serious about it."

"But we could be. Preston worked out the cost of tools and supplies, and we could talk to Robert E. about renting out a portion of his work area. You could do the wheelwrighting and he'll do everything else."

He looked off to the side pensively, pursing his lips. "If I start a business maybe we could afford one of them boarding schools."

"Sully, this has nothing to do with that." She grasped his hands. "Sully, look at me. Look at me."

He reluctantly met her eyes.

"What Claudette said, I know it may have been hurtful, but it wasn't true. Not one bit of it. You are the most hard-working, loving and supportive husband and father I could ever hope for. She can't fathom a partner as wonderful as you because she can't fathom ever being so happy. Don't you dare give my sister a second thought."

He reached up and gently stroked her cheek, giving her an appreciative kiss. "Let's see these papers."

She smiled and slowly took a seat on the porch and he followed, putting his arm around her.

"It's only a two-year loan, and Preston said there won't be any penalties if we wish to pay it off early with the profits we make."

"What if it don't turn a profit? What's our collateral, the homestead?"

"You really think it won't be successful? Kirk himself said your wheels are perfect."

"Michaela, I know I'm good at wheelwrightin'. Maybe this is gonna sound selfish, but hear me out."

She held his hand and gazed at him patiently.

"I got a knack for it, but that don't mean it's what I want to spend all my days doin'. I don't love it like I do other work I've done."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with expecting to be passionate about what you do. Too many people work jobs that they hate."

"I ain't passionate about wheels that's for sure."

"Well, what is your passion?"

He sighed. "I ain't sure right now. I been outta work so long I almost forgot what it's like to have a steady job to get up to every morning."

"As discouraging as it could sometimes be, you were very dedicated to being an Indian agent. Have you thought about looking into that or something similar?"

"Government's never gonna wanna hear from me again, you know that."

"I suppose. Well, you loved your job as a carpenter in Yosemite."

"It's so far. Too far from home right now." He sighed. "Maybe Claudette thinks I'm lazy, and if that's the case so be it. But right now I wanna stick close to home. I gotta be here so I can help take care of your ma, the kids, help ya out as the baby gets closer. Pretty soon you're gonna have to really slow down if I got anything to say about it."

"You don't ever feel restless?"

"No, not right now," he replied reassuringly. "Michaela, if you're askin' if I'm happy, I am. I'm real happy. Wish we had a few more dollars to our name, but we'll figure it out. Question is are you?"

"Happy?" she murmured. "Oh, yes. Very much so. I love having you home. And I appreciate your help with Mother. I wish we could always be together this much."

He smiled at her wryly. "Ya know maybe I am a little restless. I'm restless to see this new baby we got comin'." He glanced down at her belly and stroked it blissfully. "Can't believe how big you're gettin'. Seems like time's flyin' by."

"Not to me," she replied grimly.

He chuckled softly and squeezed her shoulder. "Michaela, thank you for lookin' into this. I ain't gonna say no right away. I wanna give it some thought. Let's both think on it."

She nodded, pleased, and cuddled up against him in the cool night air.

Sully made a trail of kisses down Michaela's brow as he lay across her, being careful not to put any weight on her belly. He had started their lovemaking slowly and gently, always worried about her and her comfort level now that her pregnancy was really starting to show. But passions had soon consumed them both and now their movements had grown in intensity as they panted together in the darkness of their bedroom. Lately she was showing a lot more interest in being intimate with him, and he certainly wasn't complaining. He considered it a sign that she was feeling better, now that she was well into her second trimester. She still said her breasts were sore, and he had to be careful not to so much as graze her chest or it was painful for her. But even though she was still often sick in the mornings, it wasn't happening nearly as frequently as before, the night sweats had stopped and she told him the offensive metallic taste she had in her mouth had completely gone away. They might as well enjoy this period where she was feeling a bit more normal, at least relative to the first few months of her pregnancy. There was no telling how long it would last.

He lovingly caressed her face and slid his other hand down between her legs as her mouth dropped open in pleasure.

"You all right?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied breathlessly.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes," she murmured, drawing his head down to kiss her. "Mm, yes, just keep doing that. That feels so good."

He smiled appreciatively. He loved when Michaela communicated her likes and dislikes to him instead of leaving him wondering if she might be enduring something she wasn't particularly fond of just to please him.

"Good," he replied softly, pressing his lips back to hers and kissing her deeply.

Preston clutched his whiskey glass as he leaned on the bar miserably. He was the only person in the Gold Nugget not enjoying himself. Men were playing cards, smoking good cigars, laughing and talking with Hank's girls. The pianist was playing a lively tune on the piano as Hank and a few other bartenders refilled glasses. Hank had been keeping his eye on Preston for the past hour, counting how many drinks he had downed. At last he removed his arm from one of his girls and strolled over to him.

"You lose all your money in one of them bank crashes or something?"

Preston looked up worriedly. "What crash? I didn't hear about any crash."

"That's the only reason I can figure you'd look this unhappy."

He held up the glass unsteadily. "Just fill me up, Hank."

Hank filled his glass half full. He never had to cut Preston off before, but tonight could be a first.

"You know what you need? You need to get yourself a woman."

Preston gave him a fierce look. "One of your girls? I don't think so. I have a little more class than that, Hank."

"You're the one sittin' here drunk as a skunk."

Preston sighed. He was reluctant to tell Hank about his problems, but the liquor was making his tongue loose. "Michaela's sister is visiting from Boston."

"Michaela's sister," Hank said wryly. "Which one would this be?"

"Claudette. She has red hair."

"Red hair, huh? You know what they say about redheads."

"No, Hank, what do they say?"

"You know. That they're easy. Least that's my experience."

Preston suddenly got to his feet and lunged forward, trying to grab Hank's vest. "Don't talk about her like that!"

"Hey, hey. I didn't mean anything by it," Hank said, helping him back to the stool. "I'm sure she's not easy. She is related to Michaela after all."

Preston glared up at him and took another drink.

"So what happened? She turned ya down?" Hank said knowingly.

"She said it was inappropriate and improper," he said, taking a drink.

He grinned. "Improper. Preston, sounds like you don't have much chance with that sister. She'll rope you into walkin' down the aisle before you so much as get a peek at her. Sounds like a waste of time to me."

"Hank, that was never my intention," he protested, looking up at him in disgust. "Believe it or not some people are actually interested in a real courtship. In actually getting to know the other person. In….in marriage. Eventually."

Hank leaned on the counter. "What would you want to get married for? Preston, why don't ya make it easy on yourself? Forget her and take one of my girls for the night. All the benefits of marriage without all the hassle."

"Hank, please."

"Come on, my girls are classy," he said defensively. "Some of 'em." He glanced toward a group of prostitutes giggling over and flirting with a pair of handsome cowboys sitting at one end of the bar. "Delia, come 'ere."

A young and pretty girl with beautiful auburn ringlets and bright blue eyes put down a bottle of whiskey and glanced at him.

He leaned closer to Preston. "I'll give you my best girl. Redhead, too. On the house."

"Hank," Preston protested.

Delia approached the men, cocking her head to the side sweetly as she studied Preston.

"This is Preston," Hank said. "He needs some cheerin' up."

Delia smiled and circled the bar, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Why so down in the dumps, darlin'?" she asked.

Preston glanced at her for a moment. He supposed she reminded him a little of Claudette with her hair and her pretty light blue eyes. When she leaned forward and kissed his cheek, he didn't protest.

"Take good care of 'im," Hank said. Delia winked at him and stroked Preston's hair.

Claudette pressed a damp cloth to her neck as she stood near her window and breathed in the morning air. She dipped the cloth in the basin nearby and pressed it to her cheeks as she felt her stomach rumble again stridently.

"Claudette?" Preston called, knocking on her door. "Claudette, I thought we were leaving at nine. It's half past."

"Just a moment!" she called. She quickly put the cloth aside and glanced in the mirror, buttoning the top button of her bodice and smoothing her skirts. She inhaled sharply and pinched her cheeks to give them some color, then walked carefully to the door.

She slowly opened it. "Good morning, Mr. Lodge. I think I'd like to rest here this morning. Do you mind bringing me out to the homestead later this afternoon?"

"Claudette, you look terrible," he blurted.

"Oh, well thank you," she muttered.

"Wait, wait. What I mean is…well, you don't seem yourself. Are you ill?"

"Just a slight colic of the stomach. I'll be fine," she said, gently clutching her belly.

"Let me get our hotel doctor. Andrew Cook."

She waved one hand. "Oh, I've been getting these spells from time to time for years. It's nothing to be concerned about. They always pass momentarily. Now if you'll excuse me."

He took a step forward, clutching her arm. "I couldn't go about my day knowing you're up here not feeling your best. No, I insist on you seeing a doctor."

"Oh, Preston. Really," she protested.

"Put on a nightgown and get in bed," he instructed. "I'll be back."

Andrew pressed his stethoscope to Claudette's stomach, raising his eyebrows. She had some of the most active bowels he had ever heard. Whatever was causing her illness, it was putting her digestive system through the ringer. He was surprised she was as calm and collected as she was.

Preston stood by the bed and watched, impatient with Andrew's methodical examination.

"When did it start?" Andrew asked.

Claudette looked up at him timidly. "This morning. After I ate."

He folded his stethoscope and put it in his bag. "What did you eat?"

"Oh, nothing really. Some coffee and a scone."

"You can't be suggesting it's our food. She ate what we were serving everyone else and no one else is ill," Preston spoke up. "Andrew, it's not cholera is it? Doesn't that usually involve stomach pain?"

"Cholera!" Claudette exclaimed. "My friends warned me I would catch some fatal disease out here. Oh, why didn't I listen?"

"Do you have any cramping in your legs, Miss Atkins? Or have you vomited?" Andrew asked a bit worriedly as he felt her brow.

"Oh, no. Not at all."

He shook his head, relieved. "No, I doubt it's cholera."

"Well, what is it then?" Preston demanded.

"Truthfully, I'm not sure. You might want to get a second opinion. You should have your sister take a look at you. The symptoms just aren't lining up. Perhaps she'll have some idea."

"Michaela? Oh, I can't see her," Claudette protested. "As if I would give her the satisfaction!"

"Andrew, you're the doctor. You diagnose her," Preston ordered.

"Preston, I'm really not comfortable giving you any definitive answer unless I'm certain. These kind of symptoms could be any number of things. If I had to guess I would say some sort of stomach infection. But that doesn't explain why it keeps recurring every few weeks. Something like that should resolve itself eventually." He opened his medical bag wider. "Let me give you some medicine for your stomach in the meantime. And it's important you drink as much water as you can so you don't become dehydrated."

"Don't worry, Claudette," Preston murmured, clasping her hand lovingly in his. "I'll take you to the best specialists in the country until we get to the bottom of this."

"Oh, Preston. I have no desire to get to the bottom of anything. As long as I can just get some relief and go on with my day."

Andrew stared at their clasped hands, suddenly noticing that somewhere along the way Preston and Claudette had become more than friends. He had never known Preston to be serious with anyone. Occasionally he took a wealthy single woman visiting his hotel to supper, but it had always ended there as far as Andrew knew. Preston always seemed too busy for courting, and too picky about the women he spent time with. Andrew cleared his throat awkwardly as he watched the couple gaze at each other.

Preston suddenly glanced at him impatiently. "The medicine, Andrew? Right now please so Miss Atkins doesn't have to suffer any longer."

"Oh, yes, yes. Of course," he said, quickly digging into his medical bag and pulling out a bottle of pills. "This is chlordane. You can take one pill every two hours until your symptoms cease."

Preston grabbed the bottle from him and opened it, handing Claudette one of the pills and a glass of water.

"Thank you, Andrew. I'll be adding this visit to your pay. Good day," Preston said, all his focus on Claudette as she swallowed the pill. Then he sat on the bed beside her and stroked her hair sympathetically.

"…Right," Andrew murmured, closing his medical bag and exiting the room. He shut the door, folding his arms. "Preston and Michaela's sister?" he murmured in disbelief. He let out a soft chuckle, walking down the hall and heading down the stairs.

"Preston said the loan is a low-risk one," Michaela explained over coffee and pie at the café.

"You know how Sully is," Dorothy said. "And we all know how he feels about Preston."

"Do you think that's what's stopping him?" Michaela asked curiously. "He just doesn't want Preston involved?"

"Hard to say. The whole thing would be a big change. I guess I can't picture Sully the type to have a business in town like a tailor or a cobbler."

"I suppose not," Michaela admitted, picking at her pie with her fork.

"Stomach still upset?" Dorothy asked.

"I can't seem to get a handle on it," she said. "Sometimes it lasts all day."

"Oh, dear. Have you tried getting lots of fresh air?"

She glanced at her wryly. "Dorothy, we live in Colorado. I think I get enough fresh air."

She chuckled. "Oh. I reckon so."

Faye suddenly approached them with her basket tucked under one arm and Danielle on her hip. Michaela and Dorothy were both surprised to see her in town. She hadn't been anywhere since her baby's death, and it was a relief to see her looking so much better.

"Faye," Dorothy called cheerfully.

Michaela moved to stand and greet her but Faye stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. "Don't get up! It's just me!"

"Won't you join us?" Michaela replied.

"How you doing?" Dorothy asked.

Faye sat beside her. "A lot better, thank you, Miss Dorothy. I was hopin' I'd run into you, Dr. Mike. The Christenin' gown pattern. I wanted to be sure to give it to you so you can get started." She reached into her basket and pulled out the bound packet with a drawing of a lacy gown on the front.

"Thank you," Michaela murmured, laying it beside her.

"Maybe we could help you with it, me and Miss Dorothy," Faye said.

"Oh, that'd be fun," Dorothy said with a smile.

"I'm not sure when I'll have time for this," Michaela said reluctantly. "I'm so busy."

"You're gonna have to squeeze in time somewhere to get ready for your baby," Faye advised.

"I suppose," she murmured.

Faye shifted Danielle over to her other shoulder. "Oh, Dr. Mike, I been meaning to tell you about my friend over yonder in Manitou. Shannon McDonnell."

"Oh, isn't that the midwife?" Dorothy asked. "I've heard of her."

"Midwife?" Michaela repeated skeptically.

"You know, for when your time comes." Faye paused. "You don't mean to say you're…are you gonna have Dr. Cook deliver the baby?"

Michaela was surprised by how taken aback Faye was. "Well, I assumed he would. I haven't really thought about it to be honest."

"Oh," Faye murmured. "Well, but wouldn't you rather have a woman there?"

"I don't know. I suppose that would be nice. But I'm the only woman doctor I know around here. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with a midwife. The only midwife I ever really knew was Charlotte Cooper."

"I had a midwife attend all my deliveries," Dorothy said. "Made me feel real at ease."

"She knows just as much as a doctor, at least when it comes to this," Faye said. "Shannon's delivered at least a couple hundred babies. Nearly all of 'em fit as can be."

"She does have a good reputation, Michaela," Dorothy added.

Michaela had never considered the idea, but Faye and Dorothy were making it sound ideal. "Do you think she would come out here? Manitou's quite far."

Faye cocked her head to the side. "Oh, I think she would. You should write her. Mention my name."

Michaela took a sip of coffee. "Well, I suppose I could talk it over with Sully."

"Sully?" Faye said with a chuckle. "He's not havin' the baby, Lord knows."

Michaela grinned. "No he's not."

They all giggled and even Danielle started giggling and smiling at the women's laughter. Faye passed the baby to Michaela and she held her in her lap lovingly and then looked back at her friends, never more grateful for their unwavering support.

Claudette drew her knees up toward her chest and turned to her back, letting out a soft gasp.

Preston was watching her every move dotingly. "What is it? Is it cramps?"

"I'm all right," she whispered.

He reached his hand out and placed it across her belly.

She flinched. "Preston, I really don't think…"

"Don't speak," he instructed, tenderly rubbing her stomach in a circle.

She reluctantly lay back and allowed him to continue. It felt too good not to. His hands were so large and warm, and the comforting touch did seem to ease the hard cramping, if only a little.

She was used to coping with her stomach ailment alone. Usually she just cancelled all her engagements and locked herself in her bedroom until it was over. Occasionally, when the spells were at their worst, she would ring for her chambermaid Dolly to help her. But she had sworn the maid to secrecy. No one but Dolly knew that she was so often ill, until now. She was too embarrassed about it all, and too proud to visit a doctor. And Dolly didn't have near enough gumption to stand up to her mistress and insist she get some real help.

Claudette thought she would feel humiliated to have Preston, a man, so involved with her care, but she soon found she didn't mind it as much as anticipated. He was so sympathetic and so helpful, bringing her whatever she wanted twice as fast as Dolly ever did, standing outside the washroom door when she felt the need to sit in there and gently calling to her to be sure she was all right, and tucking the covers around her and holding her hand when she tried to rest in bed. It was nice not to have to go through it all alone. She could really depend on him.

"You should take another pill Dr. Cook prescribed," he said, opening the bottle of pills and pulling one out. "Open."

She opened her mouth and he placed the pill on her tongue, then she washed it down with some water. All the while Preston stared at her intently.

She glanced at him curiously. "You're not ill, too, are you? You're looking at me so peculiarly."

"I can't stop thinking about you," he blurted.

She put the glass on the nightstand. "Oh, no. You're one of those."

"One of what?"

"Preston, quite honestly I've had lots of suitors interested in a courtship since my husband passed on, God rest his soul. Some of them take rejection well. And some, well, they're like you. They don't hear no. Or they hear yes instead of no."

"I'm not just any old suitor," he said. "You don't understand. I don't pursue just anyone. Claudette, when I kissed you the other night, why, I saw stars. Don't you realize how special you are?"

"You've been around, haven't you? You know all the right things to say. Is there some book you men can buy with all these lines? If not you should write one. You'd make a fortune."

"Claudette, I'm being serious. I'm trying to speak from the heart and you're mocking me."

She paused, gazing into his eyes. He actually did seem sincere. A lot more sincere than most men she had met. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

He clasped her hand tightly in his. "I know you've lost your husband and that must have been very difficult, and courting again, it's understandable you'd be reluctant."

"You know nothing about any of that," she said quietly.

"I'd like to. I'd like to get to know you. I just, I can't give up this easily. Not when a woman this extraordinary comes along."

"Oh, Preston. You're setting yourself up for disappointment. I'm really not worth your time, believe me."

"Let's let me be the judge of that, all right? Let me come by the homestead from time to time, take you out to supper, or for a walk. It doesn't have to be anything too momentous."

She bit her lip. "Well, I suppose it would be nice to get a break from Sully and Michaela and those ridiculous children once in awhile."

"There, you see?"

"All right, I suppose you can come calling for me. We'll try it," she said bravely.

He beamed. "We'll try it. She says we'll try it!"

"I have to be able to get out of bed first mind you," she added. "I hope this spell doesn't last too long or we'll never be able to court even if we wanted to."

"It won't. Rest, close your eyes," he instructed, crouching down and giving her brow a tender kiss. "I'm here."

Andrew rang the clinic bell, a medical journal tucked under his arm and his medical bag in hand.

Michaela opened the door a moment later. "Oh, good afternoon, Andrew."

"Good afternoon," he said. "I came across an article that might be of interest to you."

"Oh? Please, come in." She stepped back and he entered the clinic, shutting the door behind him.

He opened the journal and handed it to her. "It's about bone grafting. Dr. Macewen in Europe has had great success with it over the past few years."

She sat at her desk and skimmed the article, intrigued.

"His first patient was a three-year-old male with osteomyelitis in his right arm. Dr. Macewen took a bone graft from the tibia of another child and then reconstructed the patient's humerus where the infection had damaged the bone. The patient's arm healed and he thrived." He looked up hesitantly. "You might consider this for your mother's hip."

She lowered the journal to her desk. "Well, my mother's not three. Any kind of surgery can be very hard on someone her age. It's a miracle she survived her first surgery back in Boston."

He nodded. "Well, just take a look at it."

"Yes, I will. Thank you, Andrew."

He leaned against her examination table. "How's your sister? Feeling better I hope."

She closed the journal and looked up curiously. "Feeling better? I didn't know she was ill."

He blinked. "Oh. Oh, she didn't tell you?"

"She doesn't tell me anything. She's not speaking to me. What happened to our mother, well, it caused some strife between her and me."

"Oh, I see," he replied, clearing his throat.

"Did she come see you? What's wrong?"

"I took a look at her at the hotel the other day. She was having stomach cramps, diarrhea. She had very active bowel sounds and some abdominal distension. I prescribed chlordane as needed."

"She certainly doesn't act ill. And I doubt she told my mother. Mother would have told me by now. She can't keep anything a secret."

"I have a feeling your sister is a very private woman," he said. "She didn't even want me to examine her but Preston insisted on it."

"Could it be food poisoning? What did she eat?"

"That's what's so strange. She ate what everyone else ate. Just coffee and a scone."

"Did she have a fever? Any vomiting?"

"No."

"Well, it could be salmonella," Michaela said. "That takes a few days to manifest itself."

"Except she says she's had it ten years," Andrew said, folding his arms.

"Ten years? What?"

He nodded. "She says this has been happening to her every few weeks. I suppose she might just have developed sensitive bowels. Unfortunately, there's not a lot we can do for that."

"Or perhaps it's some kind of food allergy. Perhaps dairy," Michaela said pensively. She rose from her desk and pulled out a medical textbook off her bookshelf.

"No, I don't think so. She didn't have any dairy before the episode happened."

"She might have had cream in her coffee. Even a small amount can affect some people who are allergic." She opened the book and flipped through it until she found a short paragraph about the physician Hippocrates' findings on the relationship between illness among southern Europeans and drinking milk.

"Cream. I didn't think of that."

"Well, thank you for telling me, Andrew. Perhaps I could have my mother talk to her." She laid the book open on her desk.

"She's probably going to be angry at me for telling anyone, let alone the sister she's estranged from."

"Well, we're doctors. We're allowed to discuss our patients with each other."

He smiled softly. "Yes, I'm sure that will satisfy her. Have you eaten lunch? Care to join me in the café? Perhaps now would be a good time to arrange when you'll need me to come in and help out at the clinic."

She stood and reached behind her, untying her apron. "Oh, I haven't even thought about that yet. The clinic's been so busy lately. I certainly can't close it already."

"You are going to take it easy the next few months, aren't you? At least leave early?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I feel fine now. I don't see why I can't keep working as long as I'm feeling well." She hung up her apron and took off her jacket from the hook.

Andrew held her jacket as she threaded her arms through the sleeves and then he opened the door. "If you don't slow down just a little while you are feeling well it might all catch up to you at once."

"I appreciate your concern, Andrew, but I've done this three times before," she said defensively as they walked down the alley into the cafe. "I think I know when to slow down and when not to."

"But before you weren't caring for your mother, too," he pointed out. "Don't underestimate how tiring that can be even on someone who's not pregnant."

"Well, thank goodness I have Sully and the children to help," she said.

"All right, Michaela. I won't press you on it anymore. Just know I'm ready to take over whenever you need me. Don't worry about your clinic."

"Thank you, Andrew. I'm not worried," she replied, taking a seat at one of the café tables with a smile.

Claudette turned a copy of the Gazette over as she sat on the porch bench, raising her eyebrows. "This is it? Four pages?"

"It used to be even smaller than that," Elizabeth remarked from her wheelchair. "Well, go on. Read it."

"What would you like? The menu this week at the café or the price of feed and seed? I can hardly contain my excitement."

"Go to the politics. On the second page," Elizabeth instructed.

Claudette turned a page and shook the paper straight. "'The town council voted four to one Monday granting a motion to allocate fifteen dollars in the town treasury to repair the roof on the schoolhouse.' This dribble is what you call politics?"

Byron opened the door, carrying a glass. "Here's some water, Gran'ma," he called, walking to her chair.

Elizabeth took the glass, then leaned forward and kissed him. "Thank you, sweetheart. Come sit on Grandma's lap."

"Mother, should you do that?" Claudette said worriedly.

"Oh, he's light as a feather," Elizabeth replied, giving Byron a hand up into her lap and hugging him close.

"Here comes Mama," Byron remarked, pointing out at the road where Michaela was driving the wagon.

"Look at her driving in her condition," Claudette remarked disapprovingly. "She always has to make such a spectacle of herself."

"I don't know what you expect me to do about it," Elizabeth replied.

"You tell her to go into confinement of course. Convalesce. You did it, I did it, all your other daughters did it. What makes her so special?"

"What's confindment?" Byron asked. "What's cavaless?"

"Convalesce," Claudette repeated sternly.

Elizabeth patted his head. "Claudette, I can't tell Michaela to do anything. If I say something she'll only resist it even more."

"Oh, she's so embarrassing," Claudette muttered, grimacing. "First she takes off for Colorado and marries Sully, then she takes in some Indian boy and now this. She'll still be mortifying us on our deathbeds."

"Michaela!" Elizabeth said cheerfully as she pulled the wagon up to the porch.

"How is everyone?" Michaela asked as she made her way to the ground.

"Mama, Auntie says you're supposed to go to this place called confindment," Byron informed her. "I wonder how far away it is."

"I am, am I?" she replied, climbing the stairs and kissing his head. "How was school, sweetheart?"

"Good."

"And how are you feeling, Claudette? Better?"

Claudette glanced at her with surprise, then looking down at the newspaper and continued reading.

"What do you mean better?" Elizabeth asked. "Claudette, is something wrong?"

"Well, I don't know how she knows about that," Claudette said impatiently. "She's been spying on me or some such. I just had a bit of a stomach ache. Dr. Cook gave me some pills and I feel much improved."

"You got a tummy ache, Aunt Claudie?" Byron asked worriedly. "You better have Mama take a look. She always makes my tummy feel better when it hurts."

"No thank you. You tell her this is none of her business. Tell her to stay out of it!" Claudette retorted.

"When Mama got a tummy ache that meant she was gonna have a baby," Byron added.

Elizabeth chuckled quietly, kissing Byron's head.

"Oh, Byron, good heavens, no!" Claudette exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart. "You can rest assured it most fortunately is not that, young man."

"Claudette, it's just I suspect you might be allergic to diary," Michaela said persistently.

"What on earth?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Is that serious?"

"No, not exactly. It's actually quite common among those who aren't of northern European decent. Your system simply can't tolerate things like milk and cream. You'll be a lot more comfortable if you avoid all dairy products."

Claudette glanced at her mother worriedly.

"Well, maybe you should listen to her," Elizabeth said. "She is a doctor."

"Northern European decent? What is she suggesting now, I was adopted?" Claudette stood and handed Elizabeth the newspaper. "No, I'm fine. Just tell her to leave me be!" She walked briskly to the door, opening it and slamming it behind her.

Byron raised his eyebrows. "I don't think Auntie's in a very good mood, Mama."

"I'd be in a bad mood too if I had colic of the stomach as severe as Andrew said it was," Michaela explained. "He examined her at the Château the other day."

"Oh, poor thing," Elizabeth murmured.

Michaela sat on the bench and put her medical bag beside her. "I can't know for sure what she has without examining her myself. What I really need her to do is drink a glass of milk on an empty stomach. Then we'll know."

"I can't tell her what to do any more than I can tell you what to do," Elizabeth said. "I'm afraid you two are going to have to work this out amongst yourselves this time."

Michaela slipped her nightgown over her head and threaded her arms through the sleeves as Sully washed up at the basin.

"She's allergic to dairy. I know she is," Michaela said resolutely.

"How serious is that?" he asked, drying his hands off with a towel.

"She'll survive. It's just extremely uncomfortable at times."

He took off his shirt and balled it up, tossing it on a chair. Then he sat down and took off his boots.

"If she would just listen to me," she said, sinking into the vanity chair and picking up her brush.

"Don't think she's got it in her to listen to anybody," Sully replied.

"Except perhaps Preston," she replied wryly.

"She won't be too happy you go and discuss this with Preston."

She smiled. "I won't. I'll restrain myself."

He walked to her side and took the brush from her, running it down her long locks. "I got a feelin' it gets bad enough, she's gonna come to you eventually. Give her time."

"You don't realize how stubborn she is," she replied. "How much pride she has. You thought I was bad." She suddenly chuckled, shaking her head.

"What?"

"Byron wanted to know how far away confinement was. Apparently Claudette told him that's where I should go."

He smiled. "Guess they do things a little differently in Boston."

"A little?" she echoed skeptically.

He smiled and leaned down, folding his arms around her and kissing her cheek. "Let's get to bed."

Loren watched from the counter as Claudette looked through his store with a critical eye. She went through the rack of dresses, unimpressed, ran her fingers down his small collection of books, and then began picking up flatware and music boxes and anything that was breakable, turning them over and putting them back.

Loren couldn't help being a little nervous about a stranger touching all his merchandise. He had never seen someone browse so much without buying anything. Finally he left the counter and approached her. "Uh, can I help you with something, ma'am?" he asked.

She picked up a vase and quickly put it back. "Oh, you must be Mr. Bray. Mother told me you own this mercantile."

"That's me. Who's this mother of yours and who are you?"

"My mother is Elizabeth Quinn and I'm Claudette."

"Another one of Dr. Mike's sisters!" Loren exclaimed. "Well, you are one lucky daughter. That Elizabeth is something else."

"Yes, she is," she said with a pleasantly surprised smile. "She said I'd like you. Do you sell watch chains, Mr. Bray?"

"Of course I do. Why didn't you say somethin' in the first place?" he said, leading her to the front counter and sliding open the glass. He reached in and pulled out a small case, opening it up to reveal two gold watch chains. He smiled brightly. "Finest quality, hand crafted."

She glanced up at him. "Where's the rest?"

"Rest of what? This is all I have."

She hesitated. "Oh."

He put the case on the counter and reached for a catalogue. "I s'pose I could special order you somethin' else if you don't like those. Could take a couple months though."

She picked up one of the chains, holding it up to the light. "No, that's all right. I'll take this one. How much is it?"

"Three dollars twenty cents."

"Oh, is that all?"

"Why, do you think it should be more?"

"Well, in Boston a chain like this would be at least five dollars."

"Oh. Maybe we could pretend we're in Boston," he replied evenly.

She chuckled, touching his arm. "A sense of humor, too. That's wonderful."

"Hm," he grumbled, opening his money box.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a few bills and some coins, handing them to Loren. "Here you are, Mr. Bray. Could you wrap that up for me?"

"Sure, sure," he muttered, tearing off a long sheet of brown paper. "How's she doing anyway? I haven't seen her in awhile."

"Mother? She's all right I suppose. Given the circumstances."

"How long will you be visiting here?"

"Not long. Only as long as it takes to convince my mother to come home with me."

"Oh, that's what this is about!" he replied with a chuckle.

"Yes, and it's not funny. This is no place for an invalid."

"Well, maybe so," he replied, handing her a small wrapped box. "There you are. Tell Elizabeth I send my best."

"I certainly will. Thank you," she said, stepping out onto the porch and opening her parasol.

Dorothy stepped up onto the porch. "Afternoon," she said politely.

"Good afternoon," Claudette replied.

Dorothy headed to Loren's counter, watching out the window as Claudette walked toward the bank.

Dorothy gasped. "Loren, who was that? I've never seen a prettier parasol."

He smiled brightly. "Elizabeth's daughter. Dr. Mike's sister Claudette."

"Claudette? The one who's not speakin' to her?"

"Not speakin' to her? I didn't know that. Why?"

Dorothy waved her hand. "Oh, Michaela had an awful time of it when she told her sisters she was bringin' Mrs. Quinn out here. She said they all hated her for it. Claudette most of all. Apparently she stormed out and vowed never to speak to her again."

"Well, I'd hate Dr. Mike too if she dragged my mother halfway across the country."

"Loren, this is a good thing Michaela's doin'! See for yourself how well Mrs. Quinn's recovering!"

"Never a good thing to break up a family," he said critically. "Course I wouldn't expect somebody like Dr. Mike to think about how anybody else feels when she does somethin'."

"Loren, that's not fair. They've opened up their home to her. She's lucky she has a daughter as generous as Michaela lookin' after her. Lotta children these days move away and forget all about their folks. If anything like that ever happened to me…well, I'm not sure who would take care of me."

"Don't be silly. I'd take care of you," he said resolutely. "Just like you took care of me."

She smiled softly and patted his arm.

He folded his arms. "Well, it's gonna be lonely anyway once Elizabeth goes home. I'll say that."

"If she ever does," Dorothy said perceptively.

Claudette knocked again on the bank door, perplexed. She moved to the window and peered inside, seeing no one.

"Mr. Lodge?" she called, knocking on the window.

Jake walked out of his barber shop, shutting the door after him.

"Bank's closed," he called.

She glanced at him. "Closed? But it's the middle of the afternoon."

"Preston always closes the bank Thursday afternoons for our poker game."

"Poker game!" she exclaimed. "Where?"

"The saloon, down the street," he said, nodding toward the saloon. "I'm about to head there myself."

She glanced in that direction vehemently, gathering her skirts and heading down the street.

Amused, Jake quickly followed her, putting his hat on.

Claudette pushed open the swinging doors, waving her hand and coughing at the smoke. Jake followed her inside, folding his arms.

"Mr. Lodge!" she called urgently. "Preston!"

The men in the saloon shifted to look at Claudette, wondering what such a sophisticated woman was doing in there. Their talking and card playing ceased momentarily.

"Preston!" Claudette called again, looking around the room.

Hank eyed her curiously from the bar. "He's out back. Nature calls."

"Fine. I'll wait," she said resolutely.

Hank reached for a glass and put it on the counter. "What can I get you?"

Claudette marched up to the counter. "Are you the owner of this establishment?"

"That'd be me. You must be a Quinn. I can spot them from a mile away."

"That's co-owner," Jake said, approaching the counter. "We're co-owners."

"You're in on this, too, are you? Well, gentlemen, I hope you'll take some responsibility for the good women and children of this town when their fathers and brothers come home three sheets to the wind and take out all their troubles on those innocents."

Hank raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"I'm talking about violence in the home and its unambiguous connection to sinful establishments like this."

Hank poured Jake a shot of whiskey. "Are you one of those temperance ladies? Cause I about had my fill of them."

"Not to mention the large share of the household income a habit like this swallows. There are more families every day whose children go hungry while the man of the house drowns his troubles with whiskey," Claudette went on passionately. "Alcohol by its very nature is an outlaw, and I and my colleagues across this nation are working tirelessly to outlaw it."

Hank handed Jake his glass and poured himself a shot. "To the outlaws," he said.

"Cheers," Jake replied, downing his whiskey.

"Claudette?" Preston choked, stopping short as he entered the room.

Claudette spun around to face him vehemently. "Preston, how could you!"

He blinked. "What are you doing in the saloon?"

"No, what are you doing here?!" she retorted. "I don't believe this!" She let out a perturbed sigh and gathered her skirts, walking out.

The men in the saloon whistled and clapped their hands, laughing at Preston as he stood there. Finally he composed himself and approached his poker table.

"Deal me in. I'll be right back."

He rushed outside, spotting Claudette walking toward the bridge.

"Claudette!" he called, catching up to her. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the homestead!"

"You're going the wrong way," he said. "It's south of here."

She stopped in her tracks, spinning around and going back the other way intrepidly.

"Claudette, this is absurd. You can't walk all the way out there. Let me drive you."

"Don't come near me! I can't believe you frequent a place like that!"

"It's just my weekly poker game. It's nothing to be excited about."

"You didn't tell me you drank!" she exclaimed, stopping and facing him angrily.

"I…I don't," he stammered.

"Now you're lying to me, too. Men are all alike," she said vehemently.

"Claudette, calm down. Let's go over to my bank and talk. Please." He gently grasped her gloved hand. "Please."

She gradually nodded and he led her down the street and to his bank. He reached for his keys in his pocket and unlocked the door, guiding her inside and shutting the door after them.

He grabbed a chair and pulled it toward her. "Here, sit."

"So this is your bank. It's lovely," she murmured.

"Claudette, I'm so sorry if I offended you. Forgive me."

"When I was telling you about my involvement in the Women's Christian Temperance Union, I was under the impression you agreed with me. Now I find you in a place like that? I've been had."

"Well, the truth is I enjoy a good cigar and some whiskey and a poker game every so often. But I assure you I don't become intoxicated."

"Is that the truth?"

"Yes, it's the truth. I don't believe there's anything wrong with liquor in moderation. And I also think a man's entitled to have some fun with his friends after a hard day's work."

"I suppose," she admitted. "But you don't visit those prostitutes, too, do you?"

"Hank's girls? No, of course not."

"I still worry about that place," she replied. She paused a long moment, swallowing hard. "My husband held his liquor, too. At first."

He gazed at her solemnly, suddenly realizing. "Oh. I see," he whispered. He folded his arms, mulling it over. "All right, I'll give it up. I'll give up drinking."

She brightened. "You will?"

"If it's what you want," he murmured, squatting down to her level.

"Oh, Preston," she murmured. "No one's ever made such a sacrifice just for me."

"I find that hard to believe." He gently caressed her cheek. "A man with any sense would be willing to walk through fire to see you happy. It's but a small price to pay."

She smiled, touched, and handed him the small box. "I got you something. It's a thank you gift. For driving me to and from the homestead every day. And for taking such good care of me when I fell ill."

"Claudette, you shouldn't have. It was no trouble at all."

"No, I insist. Open it."

He tore back the paper and opened the box, pulling out the watch chain. He held it up and squeezed it. "This shall be a reminder to me to stop myself when I feel like heading to the saloon and getting a drink. Thank you, Claudette."

She smiled. "I've enjoyed our drives."

"As have I." He leaned forward and gave her lips a gentle kiss.

"Get some rest, Delia," Michaela said as she opened the clinic door. "I want to see you again in a week."

"All right, Dr. Mike. Thanks," the pretty young woman said, clutching the packet of herbs Michaela had given her.

Hank stood up from the bench outside and laid his hand on the prostitute's shoulder.

"All set?"

She smiled at him shyly.

"Hank, could I speak with you please?" Michaela said, brow fixed as she gestured inside.

"This'll just take a second," he murmured, giving the girl's bottom a gentle pat and heading inside.

Michaela shut the door firmly.

"Hank, that's the third case of the clap I've seen this month. You're not listening to me when I tell you these girls can't work. Who knows how many more people they've infected."

"I listened to ya. They didn't work. At least not on the weekends."

"Hank," she said with frustration. "If I see one more case I'm going to the town council. I'll shut you down until this epidemic is over. No activity. Don't think I'm not serious."

"She won't work, you can count on it."

"My fee is fifty cents," she said decisively, walking to her desk and sitting down. She wrote out the bill as he dug into his pocket for a coin.

"Ya wouldn't be the first to try to shut me down," he said with a chuckle. "Your sister paid my saloon a visit the other day."

"No she didn't."

"Yes she did. She was lookin' for Preston. But first she had to lecture me on the evils of drinkin'." He put the coin on her desk.

"Oh, yes she's heavily involved in the temperance movement at home. I think she's even written a few articles that the Boston Globe published." She quickly wrote out his receipt.

"She ain't married is she?"

She glanced up at him skeptically. "Why?"

"Just a question."

"She's a widow. Her husband passed away years ago."

"She must have a beau back in Boston."

"No, not that I know of." She tore off his receipt and handed it to him.

"Oh. It all makes sense now."

"What do you mean? What makes sense?"

"Sounds to me like your sister is just missin' the company of a man is all. I think she's, uh, frustrated. Kinda reminds me of how you used to be."

"Hank!" she exclaimed, mortified.

"You know, I know some nice fellas who'd be interested in a pretty lady like her. Lotta men seem to like red hair."

She stood. "Hank, you're not going to look for a beau for my sister!"

"I didn't say a beau. I just said a fella."

"Well, whatever you call it I'm certain her answer is no thank you."

"Michaela, all I'm sayin' is Preston's too polite, if you know what I mean."

"I for one like polite. Hank, please don't interfere in my sister's affairs. You've embarrassed me enough already."

"Well, I s'pose it'd be no use anyway what with the way Preston's fallen for her. She's already got him doin' anything she wants. He never did come back to the saloon after she dragged him outta there. That's the first time he's missed his poker game since I've known him."

"Oh, they're just good friends. They have a lot in common," she said dismissively.

"If Preston can't have you, I guess he'll settle for your sister."

Her face flushed. "That's absurd," she said firmly, walking to her door and opening it. "Don't you dare suggest that to either of them. Stay out of it, Hank."

"All right, all right," he said, holding up one hand. "See you around town, doctor."

He smirked and she slammed the door shut after him, leaning against it with an exasperated sigh.

"Wonderful sermon, Reverend," Michaela said, shaking the Reverend's hand. Sully and Brian were lifting Elizabeth's wheelchair off the church porch and the children had already run ahead to the meadow with their baseball and bat.

"Thank you, Dr. Mike," the Reverend replied with a smile. "Is your sister still visiting?"

"Yes, she's right here." Michaela glanced at Claudette, who was looking very bored.

"Miss Atkins. I hope you're enjoying your stay in Colorado Springs," the Reverend replied, holding his hand out in her general direction.

Claudette clasped his hand briefly. "Yes, Father, thank you," she muttered, quickly stepping down from the porch and eyeing Brian and Sully critically. "Be careful with her. You should go slowly on the steps," she scolded.

Michaela joined Sully and grasped the back of the wheelchair, pushing Elizabeth toward the meadow. Brian hurried ahead to grab the picnic basket and blanket out of the back of the wagon.

"Now what? Aren't we going home?" Claudette demanded.

"Nice day. Thought we'd have a picnic after church," Sully explained.

"On the grass?" she asked with disgust.

Sully shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Claudette opened her parasol and frowned. "I really think we ought to get Mother back to bed. She must be exhausted. I don't think she should be sitting among all the worms and beetles and lice and such."

"Oh, I'm fine, Claudette," Elizabeth admonished. "Don't worry about me."

Brian returned with the blanket and basket and Michaela helped him spread the blanket on the ground. Then they sat and began unpacking the basket.

Preston spotted the family and approached, wearing an uncharacteristically friendly smile.

"Good morning, Sully, Michaela. Mrs. Quinn," he said. He grasped Claudette's hand and kissed it, looking into her eyes lovingly. "Miss Atkins. Good morning."

Claudette permitted herself a small smile. "Good morning, Mr. Lodge."

Preston put his hands on his hips and looked out at the meadow where Byron was pitching a fastball in Red Eagle's direction that would be difficult for even the most talented child to hit. Red Eagle swung the bat hard and missed.

"I've been watching that boy of yours the past several weeks, Sully. He's got quite an arm on him," Preston remarked.

Sully glanced out at the meadow at Byron. "He's gettin' better," he murmured.

"I've been thinking, the two of us know quite a bit about baseball. I daresay we would have lost that game against the Traveling All-Stars if it weren't for us on the team."

"What're ya gettin' at?"

"A baseball league, Sully. This town needs a baseball league."

"Ya mean like the Colorado Springers?" Brian spoke up.

"Yes, but for the children. For the little boys in the town. It'll be informal of course, nothing too competitive. I could coach one team and Sully, you could coach the other. Loren could be our umpire."

"Sounds kinda fun," Brain said. "Could I help?"

"Well, I suppose. You could….be the equipment manager," Preston said. "What do you say, Sully?"

"I don't know," Sully said reluctantly. "I ain't sure it's such a good idea."

"You can't tell me you're too busy when you don't even have a job," Preston replied with a large smile. "Oh, come on, Sully. Like Brian said, we'll have fun. My team will play your team every Saturday." He folded his arms. "A baseball league is exactly what this town needs to restore morale given how hard the past few years have been. Everyone could come out and watch their children enjoy themselves and forget their troubles."

Sully glanced at Michaela. She was smiling softly and seemed to like the idea. She gave him an encouraging nod and then took out a bowl of fried chicken from the picnic basket and uncovered it.

"Ya'd have to let the little girls play if they want, too," Sully said. "And I don't want to cut anybody. I want everybody to take part."

"Girls," Preston repeated, glancing at Michaela. "You saw what happened when we let women join the Colorado Springers. Females aren't built for athletic pursuits."

"The girls play or I ain't interested."

"Fine, they can be on your team," Preston said.

"The sewing circle could make the uniforms," Michaela spoke up, handing Brian a stack of napkins.

"Oh, that sounds delightful," Elizabeth remarked.

"Ya need team names," Brian said as he laid a napkin by everyone's plate.

"You can be the Indians," Preston said.

Sully scoffed. "No."

"Maybe we could be the Wolves," Brian suggested. "That's a good name."

"Fine. And I want to be the Eagles," Preston replied. "Well, Sully, we'll have to hold tryouts. How's after school in the meadow tomorrow sound?"

"I'll see ya there," Sully said, briefly shaking with him.

Michaela sat at the dining room table with her sewing scissors and cut along a large piece of brown paper until she had cut out an outline of a child's button-down shirt. Then she took her pencil and wrote some dimensions along the sleeves.

She glanced up as Sully came in the door. He was carrying his toolbox and both ends of a crib. They had disassembled the crib and stored it up in the barn loft soon after Jack had died. Michaela had planned to give it to the next needy couple expecting a baby who visited her clinic and might have trouble affording everything the baby would require. But now they were holding onto the crib for their own new baby. She gazed at the crib pieces for a moment solemnly, then returned her attention to her pattern.

"House is quiet. Where is everybody?" Sully asked, placing his toolbox on the table next to her sewing basket and leaning the crib pieces against the table.

"They all took Mother for a walk."

"You didn't go with 'em?"

"No. I don't think Claudette cared for me to go. Besides, I wanted to finish this pattern before the sewing circle meets on Tuesday." She held up the piece of paper. "We can stitch Wolves or Eagles in black lettering on the front. What do you think?"

"Looks great. Thank you," he said with a smile. "I found the crib. Ya wanna help me put it back together? Might be fun."

She put the pattern back on the table and made a few more notes on it. "I'm…I'm not sure we should do that just yet, Sully."

He glanced at her in confusion. "Why? What else we got goin' on today?"

She shrugged. "I'm just not sure I want to, that's all."

"You thinkin' about Jack?" he whispered.

"That's the crib he died in, Sully."

"Michaela, I know we had somethin' bad happen to us. But we can't live the rest of our lives waitin' for it to happen again." He sighed. "Ya ain't been half as excited about this baby as you were when you were pregnant before. It's all right to be happy about this. Make preparations."

"And if something goes wrong?" she whispered.

"Ya gotta stop thinkin' like that. Why do ya always gotta think the worst? What's wrong with lettin' somethin' good happen to us?"

"I'm afraid, Sully," she admitted tearfully. "I'm afraid if I care about our baby too much…I won't be able to bear it if…"

"So you're just not gonna care about it at all. How long ya plan on keepin' that up? A couple more months? Or maybe until it's born? Maybe we better wait until it's a year or two old 'fore we start lovin' it, just in case somethin' happens."

"I'm sorry, Sully," she replied, shaking her head tearfully. "I can't help it."

He swallowed hard. "You're tellin' your ma she's gotta listen to you and do her exercises and focus on walkin' again. You're always tellin' her have a good attitude. Now here you are doin' exactly the opposite." He rested his hands on the table and looked her in the eyes pointedly. Just then Claudette quietly opened the door and Michaela glanced up at her. "You're so caught up with what happened to our little boy you don't wanna let yourself have any hope about anything ever again," Sully went on. He paused as he noticed Michaela looking past him at the door. He slowly turned and glanced at Claudette.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry," Claudette said awkwardly.

"It's all right," Sully murmured. "Your ma all right?"

"She's fine. Brian could use your help getting her chair up the porch stairs."

"Sure. I'll be there in a minute," he replied as she slipped back outside and closed the door.

He sighed and walked to Michaela's side, lovingly putting his arm around her. "I know how hard losin' Jack's been on ya. On both of us. I'm sorry."

"Sully, I do love our baby, from the moment I first knew I was pregnant. There's a part of you inside me. How could I not love it?" She grasped his hand and kissed it, sniffling. "I just need a little more time to get used to this. I want everything to be perfect for it. It wasn't the baby's fault Jack died. I want to feel completely healed when it arrives. But I can't face all this, all at once like this." She sniffled. "Please, let's hold off on the crib. Please, Sully."

"All right. We'll hold off," he whispered, bending his head and kissing her hair. He drew her tightly against his chest, caressing her face. "Don't know if ya ever feel healed after losin' a child. Maybe that's gonna take some time to accept, get used to. But it's time we feel ready to move on. Ready to welcome somebody new into our family and make a good life for 'em."

She nodded tearfully, resting her head against his chest and squeezing his hand.

Brian threw a baseball into the air and swung his bat at it, sending a high fly ball to left field. A little boy rushed forward and caught it in his glove.

"That's good. Throw it to third!" Brian shouted.

Preston watched the children from the sidelines, holding a clipboard and pencil. Sully stood near him, wearing the cap from his old Colorado Springers uniform that Michaela had dug out for him. About eighteen little boys had shown up for the tryouts and three little girls, including Katie. Some of them had more practice than others, but Sully was impressed with their eagerness and was looking forward to starting the league.

"Well, I've seen enough, how about you?" Preston remarked, glancing at him.

He nodded. "Let's divide 'em up."

Preston approached him, drawing a line down the center of the paper on his clipboard. "I think the fairest way to do this is to take turns picking teams. I invite you to pick first."

Sully gestured at him. "You pick first. The league was your idea."

"All right then. I'll take Davey Smith." He wrote down the name.

Sully glanced at the boys. Brian had lined them up in pairs and they were playing catch with each other. "I'll take Simon Anderson."

"Good choice, good choice. I'll take Byron Sully next."

Sully glanced at him in disbelief. "Ya can't pick my son."

"Why not? You didn't pick him. He's fair game."

"I didn't think I needed to pick him. I just assumed he'd be on my team. Katie and Red Eagle, too."

"You can have Katie and Red Eagle. I want Byron."

"Just put him on my team and stop wastin' time," Sully said firmly.

"Fine, fine," Preston grumbled, writing down the name. "We don't need him anyway what with the way Davey can hurl."

"Your pick," Sully said impatiently.

Sully and Preston alternated until they had each chosen nine boys.

"All right, I have my team," Preston suddenly said.

Sully glanced at the list. "What about the rest of the kids? We ain't put the girls on a team yet."

"Oh, them. Yes, you can have all three of them," he said. "Let's tell the children which team they're on and then I've got to start my team's first practice."

"You're practicin' already?"

He nodded with a big grin. "No time like the present!" He walked toward the field. "Boys, boys, gather round! Let's see you hurry over here. No walking!" he shouted.

The boys and three girls jogged over to Preston, worn out from the tryouts but eager to please.

Preston held up his clipboard. "Thank you all for coming today. I have here the final roster."

"What's a roster?" Byron spoke up, leaning on his bat.

Preston paused, glancing at him. "It's the list of which team you're on. The Wolves or the Eagles. I'll read it momentarily." He cleared his throat. "Right. Those who are on my team, I'll need you to stay late for our first practice. And I also want you to ask your parents to bring you by the Mercantile on Tuesday to pick up your uniforms."

"Mercantile?" Sully spoke up. "Thought the sewin' circle was gonna make the uniforms."

"They can make yours. I had mine special ordered from Denver."

"I hope I'm on his team," spoke up a little boy.

Brian glanced at Sully with raised eyebrows.

"Thought he said this wasn't gonna be a big deal," Brian whispered.

"Can we special order our uniforms, Papa?" Byron asked.

"Quiet please while I read the list," Preston said. "And please pay attention. I don't want to read it twice."

"Oh, look at how darling," Dorothy said, holding up a little gray buttoned-down shirt that said "Wolves" on the front in black lettering.

Michaela smiled as she stitched some lettering on another shirt. She had gathered the sewing circle at the homestead to make the baseball uniforms, and even convinced Elizabeth to take part. Elizabeth in turn had ordered Claudette to sit with them and help out. Sully and Brian were conducting a baseball practice outside, and every so often they would hear the crack of a bat or the children cheering.

"I don't see why you can't just order some uniforms from Denver, like Mr. Lodge did. It would be a lot easier," Claudette said as she worked very slowly at stitching a letter "O" on a shirt. Most of the women had already completed one or two uniforms, but Claudette was still procrastinating on her first.

"Oh, I don't know. This is fun getting together and making them ourselves," Dorothy remarked.

Grace threaded a needle. "Besides, it's been awhile since we've seen you at the sewin' circle, Dr. Mike, what with you in Boston for so long, and now that you've been so busy. This is a good chance to catch up!"

"You should spend more time with your friends, Michaela," Elizabeth remarked. "I hate to see you missing out on things like this because you're at home with me."

"Now that you have a wheelchair we can go to the sewing circle together," Michaela said with a smile.

"So this is what ladies do for amusement around here?" Claudette spoke up bitterly. "I'm about to waste away from sheer boredom."

"Claudette," Elizabeth scolded.

"Well, I am!"

"What sort of things do you and your friends do in Boston?" Faye spoke up timidly.

"Well, we have supper together and go out to plays or to the symphony. We hold balls and dance. And we go shopping."

"Shopping?" another woman repeated. "What do you mean, for groceries?"

"No, no, for things you really need. Isn't it lovely to try on new gowns and hats and boots?"

"Oh, that sounds grand," Faye admitted wistfully.

"You go shopping just for fun?" Dorothy asked. She suddenly giggled. "Can you imagine all of us marching into Loren's store trying on everything at once? He'd throw a fit!"

Michaela chuckled as she pictured it and the other women joined in.

"Well, I'm glad you all find me so amusing," Claudette muttered.

"Claudette, we're not laughing at you," Elizabeth explained. "Boston is just such a far cry from Colorado Springs, you know that."

"Mother, tell Michaela I'll have to excuse myself. I'm feeling a little warm," Claudette said, putting the shirt on the table and walking outside.

"Still not speakin' to you, Michaela?" Dorothy asked. "I don't know how she's managed!"

"How long's it been now, Mother? A few months?" Michaela asked.

"Oh, more than that," Elizabeth replied as she trimmed a thread.

"Michaela, that's terrible!" Dorothy exclaimed. "Your own sister!"

She shrugged. "In her opinion I deserve it. I'm the one who dragged Mother out here."

"Yes, but look at the result!" Dorothy replied.

"Yes, you look wonderful, Mrs. Quinn," another woman said.

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied with a soft smile as she continued to stitch.

Byron, Red Eagle and Katie burst through the front door, sweaty and dusty from practice. They scurried to the kitchen to get some water from the pump.

"Children, your manners!" Michaela called. "Say good afternoon to our guests."

The children slowly returned to the dining room, each carrying a cup.

"Afternoon," Byron spoke up, taking a gulp of his water.

"Oh, you all need a bath!" Michaela exclaimed. "How was practice?"

"Good. Byron hit a home run," Red Eagle said.

"Mama, are these the uniforms?" Katie asked with a big smile.

Michaela stood up with the shirt she was working on and helped Katie slip her arms into it and button it up. "What do you think?"

"I like it," Katie said, hugging Michaela.

"Hey, it almost looks like it came from a store," Red Eagle said. "You and your friends sure can sew, Ma!"

Michaela smoothed back his hair with a chuckle. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"Everybody's gonna wish they were on our team now," Byron remarked, fingering the sleeve of one of the uniforms reverently. "We're gonna kill Mr. Lodge's team!"

Elizabeth gasped. "Byron!"

"What, Gran'ma? That's what Brian said."

"We just want you to do your best on Saturday no matter how it turns out," Michaela said. "That's what matters."

"You want us to lose, Mama?" Byron murmured sadly.

"No, of course not. I'm just saying I want everyone to have fun."

"But it sure would be nice to win!" Red Eagle said.

"Yes, all right. It would!" Michaela replied with a laugh.

"Electricity, what a wonder that is!" Loren exclaimed as he read the Denver Post on the homestead porch. Elizabeth was sitting rather solemnly beside him with a mug of coffee. "It says here some theater in Boston lit completely with those electric lamps had its first play the other week."

"Bijou Theater over in Midtown. Yes I heard about that," Elizabeth replied.

"Maybe when you get home you could go see a play there." He lowered the paper, gazing at her curiously. "Elizabeth?"

She looked at him with a start. "Hm?

He folded the paper. "What's wrong? Those daughters giving you trouble again?"

"Oh, Loren. I don't know what to do anymore." She rested her mug in her lap, choking up ever so slightly. "It's just upsetting to know this is all my fault."

He shifted closer to her. "Oh, 'Lizbeth. It's not your fault."

"If I had just listened to Claudette and moved in with her, this never would have happened. She and Michaela would still be speaking to each other, and everyone would be happy."

"Everybody except you. You made the right decision coming out here. Look how much better you're doing," Loren said resolutely. "It was Claudette's choice not to speak to Dr. Mike, not yours."

"I know Michaela's not perfect, but I wish Claudette would let up a little. She's so cruel to her at times. And I'm helpless to stop it."

"You ain't helpless," Loren said. "You could speak up."

"No, no. I'd better stay out of it," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "I'll only make things worse."

"I did my fair share of speaking up when I should have kept my mouth closed when it came to my daughter. But don't you think it's been long enough? Families shouldn't go on like this."

"But Claudette's so stubborn. I don't think she'll ever want to reconcile with Michaela. And in fairness Michaela isn't the most forgiving person herself."

"Not unless somebody they both respect speaks up. Somebody like you."

Elizabeth took a sip of coffee pensively.

Loren patted her hand reassuringly. "It'll be all right. Anytime you need to talk you come to me."

"Thank you, Loren," she said gratefully. "Loren, why don't you join us for supper? We're having roast pork."

"I don't want to put anybody out."

"Nonsense, Michaela said I'm allowed to have friends over any time I like," she replied wryly.

"In that case, I'd love to."

Elizabeth clapped her hands in time with the beat and sat next to Loren at the table. He had Brian's harmonica pressed to his lips and was playing the Virginia Reel, a lively tune that had everyone clapping and the children on their feet bounding around the room. Brian grabbed a few spoons from the table and pressed them together, then drummed them against his thigh with a big smile. Loren eyed him as if sensing a challenge and began playing faster.

"I can't keep up," Brian laughed.

Katie giggled and spun around, holding the ends of her pinafore. Michaela glanced at Sully and beamed. Even he was really enjoying the music and clapping along with everyone else.

Finally Loren reached the end of the tune. He lowered the harmonica, out of breath, and laughed as everyone clapped and cheered enthusiastically.

"Loren, I never knew you could play like that!" Elizabeth exclaimed, clapping harder. "Bravo!"

"Aw, I'm rusty."

"No, it was wonderful, Loren," Michaela added. "Thank you."

"Play another, Mr. Bray," Byron encouraged, hopping up to sit on the table.

"You play almost as good as Gran'ma's phonograph in Boston," Red Eagle added.

"It must be past your bedtime. And I stayed a lot longer than I planned. I best be on my way."

"No it's not. We don't have a bedtime," Byron told him, swinging his legs.

"You mean you wish you didn't have a bedtime," Michaela said with amusement. "All of you go on up. School tomorrow. Get in your nightclothes."

"We'll come up and tuck ya in in a minute," Sully added, picking up his cup of coffee and taking a sip. "Listen to your ma."

Byron smiled impishly. "Yes, sir."

"What do you say to our guest?" Michaela prompted.

"Night, Mr. Bray. Thanks for the pretty music," Red Eagle said, heading toward the stairs.

"Night, Mr. Bray," Byron said, sliding down from the table.

"Night, Mr. Bray," Katie echoed.

He smiled at them. "I'll play you somethin' to go to sleep to." He raised the harmonica back to his lips and began a slow and mournful version of Beautiful Dreamer, adding lots of vibrato as he gazed absently into the flames of the fire.

Sully put his arm around Michaela and squeezed her shoulder as they listened. Michaela found her eyes wandering to her mother. She was gazing at Loren wistfully, completely mesmerized by the tune. When Michaela tried to catch Sully's eye and see if he was noticing what she was, he just looked at her and smiled and held her closer. At last she just relaxed and snuggled against him, enjoying the romantic tune.

"I'm sure he's fine, Dorothy," the Reverend said as he filled a mug with coffee in front of Loren's stove.

Dorothy paced restlessly. "It just ain't like him. Not showing up like that!"

"He probably just ran into Jake or Hank and lost track of time." He handed her the mug of coffee but she wouldn't take it.

"Loren Bray doesn't lose track of time," she insisted.

Suddenly Loren opened the store doors, a pleasant smile on his face. The sound of crickets chirping outside filled the room until he shut the door on them.

"Oh, evening, Dorothy," he said with surprise. "What're you doin' out here so late?"

"Loren! Thank goodness!" she exclaimed, approaching him. "Where you been all night?"

He removed his hat and jacket. "Where've I been? I was just over at the Sully place."

"We were supposed to have supper at the café!"

He sighed, his face falling. "Oh. I forgot. Elizabeth and me got to talking and she invited me for supper with them."

"I'm heading to bed. Goodnight, Loren," the Reverend said, putting the mug on top of the stove and heading for the stairs.

"Goodnight, Reverend," Loren said, walking behind his counter and pulling out his cash box.

"And you were supposed to help the Reverend with his sermon," Dorothy said impatiently. "Loren, what's gotten into you?"

He opened the cash box and pulled out the pile of bills from the day and began counting them. "Dorothy, Elizabeth needed to talk. She needed somebody to listen. A lot's been goin' on over there with that daughter of hers visiting."

"You and Mrs. Quinn been spendin' a lot of time together," she said, resting her hands on the counter. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you're sweet on her."

"Oh, Dorothy," he replied as he stacked his money together neatly.

"Well, you are over at their homestead a lot lately, taking her for walks and things. And now havin' supper?"

"Look, Dorothy, Elizabeth's a fine woman, and the two of us have a lot in common. She's going through a rough spell bein' in a wheelchair and having those daughters of hers at each other's throats about all this. I'm just trying to help."

"I s'pose," Dorothy said with a soft sigh. "Well, I better head home. Goodnight, Loren."

"Dorothy, I'm sorry about supper. Could we do it tomorrow?"

She smiled softly. "Of course. How's six o'clock?"

"I'll be there," he said, coming around the counter and seeing her out.

Michaela added a log to her stove and warmed her hands over it. She heard Sully outside hammering a wreath onto the outside of her door. He suddenly swung open the door and removed a nail from between his lips. "How's this?"

She glanced at the wreath. "Perfect. Thank you."

He walked inside and shut the door. "Ya cold? Temperature's really droppin'."

"No, I'm better now."

He held out a cut of mistletoe. "Where do ya want this?"

She walked toward him and guided his arm up above her head. "Right here."

He smiled and kissed her, caressing her face. "You are cold. Your cheeks're cold."

"Stop worrying over me," she scolded, returning to her desk and sitting down. "I'm fine."

He walked to her stove and opened the damper, inserting another log. "I ain't worryin'. Just think that's what a husband ought to do, keep his wife nice an' warm."

She smiled at him teasingly and went back to studying her textbook, making some notes on her notepad with a pencil.

He added another log and closed the damper. "What're ya workin' on?"

"Just a little research on food allergies for Claudette. I've actually found quite a bit about dairy. It's strange how it seems to be a lot more common in certain nationalities than others."

He shook his head at her and sighed.

"What?" she replied, perplexed.

"It's just, here she is not speakin' to ya, treatin' ya the way she has been, and here you are workin' as hard as ya can tryin' to help her feel better."

She looked back at him as if not understanding what his point was. "You don't think I should help?"

"I ain't sayin' that." He rose and sat on the desk "Fact is, I wouldn't expect ya not to help. You help anybody who needs it. One of the reasons I fell in love with ya. You're there for folks, no matter what."

She turned a page. "Well, this is just enjoyable for me. I like researching new things and trying to find answers."

He leaned forward and rubbed her back. "Past five o'clock."

She glanced at her clock in disbelief. "Already?"

He walked to the coat rack and gathered her coat and scarf. "Come on. No more workin' today."

She stood and tucked the notes inside the book, closing it. He held out her jacket and she threaded her arms through the sleeves, then turned with a rather surprised look on her face.

"See if you can feel this," she said, grasping his hand and pressing it to one side of her belly.

He smiled. "It kickin'?"

"There," she whispered. "That's a foot."

He smiled wider. "Yeah, I felt that. A little kick right there." He drew her into a warm hug. "It's kickin'. It's good an' healthy in there."

"Oh," she murmured, touched by how moved he was. She struggled to be as thrilled as he was, but just couldn't do it. It was still so early. So many things could go wrong. And the fact that they could feel the baby moving wasn't really indicative of much. That didn't necessarily guarantee it couldn't have any number of problems. She shook her head to clear the negative thoughts and tried to just enjoy the moment.

"I'm afraid I might be a little late picking you up this evening," Preston said as he jumped down from his buggy. "I'm conducting an evening baseball practice until seven o'clock."

"Oh, that's fine. Just get here when you can," Claudette replied as he helped her down.

Preston stroked his chin stealthily. "So, what sort of drills is Sully having his team do? And is he going to have Byron pitch the game?"

"Oh, I don't pay attention to that sort of thing."

He nodded. "Oh. Very well, then."

"I could find out if you want me to," she said, taking his hand.

He smiled softly. "No that's all right. Fair is fair. I'll see you tonight." He caressed her cheek and kissed her softly.

"Have a good practice, sweetheart," she whispered shyly.

He put his hands on his hips, watching her as she turned and ascended the porch steps. Sweetheart. He liked that.

Claudette opened the door and shut it behind her, surprised at how quiet the house was.

"Mornin', Aunt Claudette," Brian spoke up from the kitchen where he was washing the last of the breakfast dishes.

"Good morning," she replied, hanging up her shawl and placing her drawstring purse on the bureau. She headed to Elizabeth's room, opening the door. Elizabeth's bed was neatly made and the room was empty.

"Mother?" She spun around. "Brian, where's Mother?" she called.

"Oh, she's not here," he called back.

Claudette walked briskly to the kitchen. "I can see that. Where is she?"

He ran a towel across a plate. "Ma took her out to the hot springs this mornin'. It's part of her therapy."

"Therapy? What kind of therapy?"

He shrugged, stacking the plate on the shelf. "I don't know. But it works. Lots of folks come here to get cured by the hot springs."

"I want you to take me out there. Take me out there this instant!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Why? They'll be back in a few hours."

"Mother's going to catch her death going for a little swim at this time of year. And I'm putting a stop to it. Take me out there!"

Michaela lowered herself into the hot springs beside Elizabeth and grasped her mother's leg, kneading her calf muscles skillfully.

Elizabeth thought the hot springs were a waste of time at first, but after awhile she found she liked the soothing warm water and always seemed to feel better afterward. And Michaela was so good at massaging her sore muscles, applying exactly the right amount of pressure. Elizabeth had come to look forward to the treatments.

Elizabeth watched her for a long moment.

"You seem tired, Michaela," Elizabeth remarked.

She shrugged.

"I hope all my therapies and treatments aren't wearing you out. I feel just terrible the way you're working so hard for my sake."

"Nonsense, Mother. I can think of other people who have been a lot more demanding."

Elizabeth sighed, knowing exactly who she meant. "Michaela, you just can't let Claudette get to you," she finally said.

"I just hope she sees how good living out here as been for you, that's all," she said.

"Well, it's helped. But I'm still an invalid," Elizabeth replied.

"Mother, you could do so much more if only you tried. You've got to put in more effort if you want to see more progress."

"Claudette said I could live with her," Elizabeth said tentatively. "She said she and Dolly could look after me."

"No, Mother, you've come too far to leave now," Michaela replied sternly. "Please don't throw away everything we've worked so hard on. Why, I think you could even start walking around and climbing stairs if you worked at it."

"I don't mean to take her side, but she's right, my entire life is in Boston."

She swallowed hard. "It's all right. I'm used to you taking her side."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. It was going to take every ounce of willpower to set aside some pride and admit some of her own shortcomings, but she was prepared to do it if it would help her daughters reconcile. "Michaela, I made some mistakes when you were a child. You and your father were so inseparable, and he was so intent on turning you into a doctor if we weren't going to have a son. I left you completely to his care, and I regret that."

"I suppose I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to back with Claudette and live with her. You always got along so well together."

"Michaela, that's exactly what this is about. I never intended to make you girls feel I cared about any of you more than the others. But it's true your sister and I have always been the best of friends. But things between you and me have been much improved lately. You've changed and so have I. I love spending time with you and your family like I never thought I would." She sighed. "The point is Claudette's jealous of that, among other things. She's a little taken aback by the fact that you and I have grown closer over the years."

"I know how close she's always been with you," Michaela replied. "But you're my mother too and I want to see you, too. She and her children have spent more time with you than we ever will, living so close to you in Boston. I know it was my choice to live here, but I don't think it's asking too much to have you stay with us for awhile."

"I'm just trying to preserve the peace, that's all," Elizabeth said. "I love both of you dearly, and the way this is all turning out pains me." She sighed. "Losing Charles wasn't easy on her, especially how it happened. And to lose Robby, too."

Michaela bent her head. She hadn't thought about her nephew in a long time. But Robert's death at such a young age from tuberculosis had devastated the entire family, especially her father, and had nearly destroyed Claudette. And because her husband was with his mistress and not his family, Claudette had few people to lean on. It had been months before she got out of bed and began to function normally again, and not long afterward Charles had died of the same disease. "It was terribly tragic," she whispered.

"Michaela, I can't think of anything that would make a woman question herself more than when her husband walks out on her. You don't know how inferior she felt when that happened. You and Sully are obviously a very good match. None of us ever thought it would last, but here you are. I think it's hard for Claudette to see that."

"I'm very sorry her marriage didn't work out, but that doesn't mean I should feel guilty about being happy in mine."

"Of course not," Elizabeth said. "And I'm not making excuses for her behavior. I'm only saying I know how difficult this has been for her."

"You've soaked long enough." Michaela got out of the hot springs and grabbed a few towels from the back of the wagon. She wrapped one around her shoulders and then hoisted Elizabeth out of the water to sit on the edge. Just as she was wrapping Elizabeth in a towel, Claudette and Brian appeared on the road, walking toward them. Claudette hurried her pace as soon as she saw them, holding her hat to her head.

"What's going on here?" she shouted. "Mother, what are you doing?"

"Just my afternoon therapies, dear," Elizabeth said. "No cause for alarm."

She approached the hot springs and brought one hand to her nose. "Uh, it smells like rotten eggs!" She glanced at Brian. "Tell your mother I don't want her subjecting your grandmother to this filthy water any longer."

"It's not filthy. It's the sulfur that makes it smell like that," Brian explained patiently. "It's good for ya."

"This is voodoo witch doctoring," she retorted. "Your grandfather would roll over in his grave if he knew what a sham his daughter has become." She glared at Elizabeth. "You tell her I won't stand for this. You tell her I forbid this!"

"No, I won't, Claudette," Elizabeth suddenly retorted. "I've decided for myself I want to do these treatments so I'm going to do them. And from now on if you have something to say to Michaela, I want you to say it to her. I'm not going to help you deliver your messages anymore and neither will anyone else. She is your sister, your sisters are all you're going to have once I'm gone, and I'm putting a stop to this right now."

Michaela looked at Elizabeth with surprise. She had never stood up for her like that, especially not to Claudette. She was nearly moved to tears.

"Mother!" Claudette exclaimed, shocked. "Oh!" She lifted her skirts and turned, walking briskly away.

Preston slapped the reins as he drove his buggy back to the Château. Claudette was sitting next to him and had been rather quiet most of the trip.

"If there's a fly ball to right field, the runner should go about a third of the way between first and second," he explained. "He can go about halfway if the ball goes to center field, and nearly two thirds of the way if it goes to left field. Then he just has to wait to see if the ball is caught to know whether he has to hurry back to first base."

Claudette nodded apathetically, staring out at the road with her hands folded in her lap.

He glanced at her. "Would you like me to explain the proper technique when sliding?"

"Not right now, Preston."

"What's the matter, Claudette? Don't you like baseball?"

"Preston, I don't know enough about baseball to decide whether I like it."

"Oh. Well, it's quite simple. You'll catch on."

"It doesn't sound simple." She swallowed hard, no longer able to keep her emotions in check. She let out a small, involuntary whimper and tears suddenly spilled from her eyes.

Flabbergasted, he looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Claudette? What….what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured, quickly finding a handkerchief and dabbing at her nose.

He shifted uncomfortably, completely out of his element. He had always hated being around women when they were emotional, which seemed to happen a lot. But with Claudette, he suddenly found himself wanting to help her and comfort her as much as he could. "Is it your mother? I thought she was recovering quite nicely."

"She's doing wonderfully," she replied as more tears spilled down her cheeks. "That's the problem."

Preston pulled back on the reins. "Whoa, Caesar," he murmured. "Let me understand. You're crying because Mrs. Quinn is doing wonderfully?"

"I'd do anything for her. I'm perfectly willing to take care of her myself. I asked her to live with me ages ago. And she said no."

He slowly nodded. "I see."

"I believe she intends to live out here permanently. We used to be best friends. We did everything together. Now she loves Michaela more."

He couldn't help chuckling softly. "Oh, Claudette. That's ridiculous."

"It's true. She always used to gripe about how much she hated Colorado Springs and how rude and defiant Michaela's always been to her and how much she thought marrying Sully was going to ruin her life. Now she adores everything about them. Oh, Preston. What's happened?"

He laid his hand on her back helplessly. "I don't know. Perhaps she's decided she might as well just accept Michaela, faults and all." He paused, struggling to find words to reassure her. "Claudette, just because your mother moved out here doesn't mean she's stopped loving you just as much as she always has. One has nothing to do with the other. Women take everything so personally!"

She glanced at him, smiling softly. "We do, do we?"

"Yes. I try not to do business with them as a rule. Too unpredictable."

"But I thought you mentioned you were collaborating with Mrs. Jennings on her newspaper."

"I gave her a loan for that place and it was one giant mistake. I learned my lesson." He gently squeezed her shoulder. "Permit me to be honest with you?"

She nodded. "Please do."

"I know Michaela's done something nearly unforgivable uprooting your mother like this. But I hate to see you carrying on day after day about it. It's tiring you out and as a result you're not enjoying your visit here." He lowered his eyes solemnly. "My mother passed away from cancer several years ago. I wish I had gone to see her and spend time with her like you are. Instead I stayed where I was and worked. I missed my chance." He took her handkerchief and tenderly dabbed at a tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm not saying she's dying. She's actually doing very well. But the truth is at our age, our time with our parents is going to be limited regardless. We shouldn't squander it. Does it really matter where she lives? The point is you're spending precious days, weeks with her, and someday you'll be very glad you did."

She sniffled, gazing at him fondly. "I suppose that's all my sister's trying to do, too. Not squander what time she has left with her. I can't blame her for that."

He slowly nodded. "I suppose not." He gathered the reins. "Shall we continue?"

She grasped his arm with her hands and looked up at him appreciatively. "Yes, let's."

Michaela sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over a basin, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Sully had been dressed for some time, had gotten the children up and ready for school on his own and sent them into town with Brian. The entire time Michaela remained upstairs, still in her nightgown, too ill to even begin to get ready for the day.

"I think you're losin' weight. Ya should be gainin'," Sully remarked, standing beside her and folding his arms worriedly.

She glanced at him briefly. "I'll just have to try to eat as much as I can in the evenings when my stomach settles down."

"Still think we should have Andrew come out here."

"There's nothing he can do, Sully. He's just going to tell us to wait it out, just like he did last time."

"Wanna try some crackers? Maybe ya could keep that down."

The very mention of food sent her stomach reeling. She shook her head vehemently, clutched the basin and threw up again.

Sully grimaced, helplessly laying his hand on her back. "All right, I'm stayin' home."

"What about Robert E.?" she replied, weakly dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief.

He sighed. "Guess he's gonna have to fill those orders on his own."

"You can't just not show up today. You promised you'd help him. Besides, we need the money for the new wagon."

"Michaela, I ain't leavin' ya like this. Remember what happened the last time you were this sick?"

"Go to work, Sully. There's nothing you can do for me but watch me throw up. I know that sounds tempting, but I really think you'd rather be at Robert E's. I'll be all right. I'll drink water. I won't let myself get dehydrated again."

"And who's gonna take care of your ma?" he demanded.

"I'll manage."

He let out his breath skeptically. "I'll ride into town and find Brian, ask him to come back here. I want somebody here makin' sure you and your ma are all right."

"No, he was so excited last night about helping Dorothy with some editorial they're writing about yesterday's town council meeting. The last thing he wants to do is be stuck at home all day." She dabbed at her nose with the back of her hand. "Is Claudette here yet? She could stay with us. She sits with Mother most of the time anyway."

"Your sister? You know how useless she is."

"Sully. She's not useless," Michaela protested weakly.

"I ain't seen her lift one finger since the day I met her. All she does is supervise what needs to be done while everybody else gets their hands dirty, then takes credit for it all."

"Well, that's just because no one's asked her to do anything. I'm sure she could help Mother if we just asked. Just until my stomach settles down some."

"How's she gonna take care of ya when she ain't even speakin' to ya?"

"I don't need anyone to take care of me. I just need to rest for a few hours. Then I'll feel better."

He let out a big sigh, mulling it over. He didn't really trust Claudette to be capable of much, let alone helping out one woman who couldn't stop throwing up and the other who was incapacitated in bed, but he supposed it was better than leaving Michaela and Elizabeth alone. "I'll see if she's here," he muttered.

Michaela ran her fingers across the ends of her hair, making a face.

"Oh, it's even in my hair," she said despairingly. "I'm such a disaster."

"Ya want me to fill the tub for ya before I go? Take a warm bath?"

She smiled at him sheepishly. "No, that's all right. I'm just going to throw up again anyway."

"Ya sure it's normal?" he murmured worriedly, sitting on the bed beside her and putting his arm around her.

"I've seen patients even worse than this," she said reassuringly. "It usually doesn't last this far into the pregnancy, but it's been known to happen. Nothing's wrong, I promise."

He kissed her head. "Feel better. I love you."

"Have a good day at work," she whispered as he rose and exited the room, padding quickly down the stairs.

Claudette was just entering the front room and unpinning her hat as Sully came downstairs. He swallowed back a lot of pride and approached her.

"Mornin'," he said amicably.

She eyed him for a moment, sensing something off. "Mr. Sully."

"It's Sully. Ya can just call me Sully," he replied.

"As you wish. How's Mother this morning?"

"About your ma," he began hesitantly. "We were…I was wonderin' if ya could help her out today, look after her. I got some work to do in town that can't wait."

Claudette eyed him with confusion. "Where's Michaela? Why can't she do it?"

Sully nodded at the staircase. "Upstairs. Pretty sick. She ain't gonna be able to do much this mornin'." He pointed his thumb behind him at Elizabeth's room. "Look, your ma's doin' better lately. Just help her sit up, get her somethin' to eat, make sure she's drinkin'. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Claudette sighed. "Well, I'm not very comfortable with all this. But I suppose if it's just this once."

Sully cleared his throat. "And I was hopin'…maybe ya could help Michaela out a little? Maybe make her somethin' to eat she feels up to it?"

"Is she that ill? My goodness, what's wrong with her?"

"Just a little mornin' sickness," he replied, walking to the coat rack. He took off his jacket and grabbed his belt. Then he opened the door. "I appreciate this," he added.

She nodded timidly. "Hurry back."

Sully shut the door and Claudette walked to Elizabeth's room, knocking on the door and opening it. Elizabeth was already awake and reading. She lowered her spectacles and smiled.

"Good morning, Claudette," Elizabeth said.

"Sully says Michaela's ill," Claudette replied. "He says I'm to look after you this morning."

"Again? Oh, good heavens," Elizabeth murmured.

"He doesn't look all too concerned. What's this, the third time since I've been here she's been unable to get out of bed? I've never heard of morning sickness like this. She really ought to see a doctor."

Elizabeth smiled knowingly. "You're worried about her."

"No, I'm not worried," Claudette immediately said. "I'm merely suggesting Sully isn't taking proper care of her. If it's because they can't afford a real doctor perhaps you should help them out."

She turned a page in her book. "I'm afraid she's already seen Dr. Cook. He insists she's fine, that there's really nothing we can do."

They both glanced upstairs as they heard rather loud coughing and retching start up again.

Claudette pressed her hand to her heart. "I'm going to be sick myself if I have to listen to that all day." She cringed, unable to hide that she truly was a little worried for her sister's health. She glanced at Elizabeth helplessly.

"Don't look at me," Elizabeth said. "I certainly can't look in on her."

"Well, I don't know what you expect me to do," Claudette replied intrepidly.

"You could always make her some tea. Perhaps that would help."

"In that little kitchen of theirs? I wouldn't know where to begin!" Claudette exclaimed.

"Well, I admit it's a little crude. But heating a kettle isn't that hard." She glanced upstairs. "Claudette, listen to her. The least you can do is make your sister some tea."

"Oh, all right, Mother. All right," Claudette said impatiently.

Claudette intended to simply hand Michaela the teacup and saucer and leave without having to talk to her. She knocked politely on the door and when she didn't receive a reply she very slowly opened it, expecting Michaela to be sleeping in bed. She was taken aback to find her sister beside the vanity, crouched on the floor in her nightgown and leaning over a basin. A dresser drawer was open and a pile of petticoats were strung over the back of a chair. She was struggling to hold her hair back with one hand and looked wiped out, her skin pale and her face bathed in sweat.

Claudette put the teacup on the night stand, flabbergasted.

"Michaela, good gracious!" she exclaimed, coming to her side.

Michaela glanced at her, surprised that she had spoken to her. "Claudette," she murmured.

"What in the world are you doing?" Claudette demanded.

"I was trying to get dressed," she explained timidly. "But it's not going very well." Her face paled again, she coughed and vomited a little into the basin.

Claudette covered her nose and rushed to the windows. "Oh, it smells dreadful in here. Let me let some air in."

"I'm sorry," she muttered weakly as Claudette drew back the curtains and threw open the window.

Claudette returned to her side. "Can you stand? You should be in bed." Claudette crouched down and wrapped her arm around her waist, slowly hoisting her to her feet. Michaela leaned on her heavily as she made her way gingerly back to the bed.

"The basin. Hurry, I have to throw up again," Michaela murmured, nodding across the room.

Claudette grabbed the basin and a fresh hand towel and gave them to her. Michaela immediately gagged into the basin, vomiting some more, and her sister rubbed her back ever so lightly until she was finished.

"Uh! Sully never should have left you!" Claudette scolded, cringing dramatically. "What kind of husband would take off with you in this unfortunate state? A bad one, that's what!" She drew the covers up around her and smoothed them.

Michaela leaned back against her pillows, spent. "I made him go. Besides, I'm in this state all the time."

Claudette gasped. "All the time! Are you sure it's just morning sickness? What if it's one of those horrible epidemics always cropping up in backwards towns like this? Cholera, or influenza? Do you suppose you're contagious?"

"The last time I checked pregnancy wasn't contagious."

"Burnt toast," Claudette said resolutely.

"Burnt toast?"

"Yes, I lived on it when I was serving my confinement with Mollie."

Michaela suddenly chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Claudette demanded. "It's true."

"It's just, serving confinement? You make it sound like a prison sentence."

"Well, it might as well be. It isn't proper to be seen in public during such times. At least it's not in Boston. Of course here in Colorado no one seems to care about decency."

"I have decency. It's just it's not practical to shut myself away in the house for nine months. I have children and a husband who need me and I have commitments to the town council and the school board, not to mention my patients."

"It's not supposed to be practical. And really, Michaela, you shouldn't be working in the first place in your condition. But that's another story."

Michaela smiled. "We're talking. So we're arguing, but at least we're talking."

Claudette gently patted her hand. "Don't move. I'll make you that toast."

"Thank you, Claudette," Michaela murmured tiredly.

Sully stood in the corral and lifted up the mare's leg, bracing it across his thigh as he cleaned out the hoof with a pick. He noticed a deep crack in the middle of the hoof that looked a little infected.

"She's got a bad case of thrush in this hoof, Robert E.," he called.

Robert E. glanced up from across the corral where he was shoeing the other mare. "I know. She's had problems with thrush since she was a foal. I've tried everything. She'll never sell with hoofs like that."

"Ya try iodine? Sometimes that does the trick. Michaela's got an eye dropper we could use, make sure it gets in this crack."

"I heard my name," Michaela said, approaching the corral with her medical bag in tow. The color had returned to her face, she was smiling wide and she had swept back her hair in a long braid.

Sully was amazed at what a few hours could do. He smiled with relief and lowered the horse's leg. "Hey. Ya look a lot better."

"I feel better. I thought I'd go into the clinic for a few hours. Try to catch up."

He climbed over the fence and jumped down, giving her a kiss. "Claudette at home with your ma?"

"Yes, and you won't believe this. She started speaking to me."

"She did? What'd she have to say?"

"Plenty. She called you a bad husband, told me it's not decent for me to leave the house let alone go to the clinic, and then she shoved some burnt toast down my throat."

He chuckled. "Guess it went well, huh?"

"At least I kept the toast down," she said wryly.

"Let me walk ya to the clinic." He put the hoof pick aside and wrapped his arm around her, giving her head a kiss. "Glad you're feelin' better."

"The nausea went away as soon as I ate that toast. I just had a big lunch at Grace's."

"Good."

She shook her head, a little disappointed. "She didn't say anything about the baby. No 'congratulations.' No 'I'm so happy for you.'"

"Don't expect too much. At least she's talkin' to ya. I wondered how long she could keep that up."

She reached the clinic door and unlocked it and Sully stepped inside and helped her out of her jacket. She put her medical bag on her desk and crossed the room, opening the cabinet and taking out a small case. She unclasped it and selected an eyedropper. Then she opened the top drawer and found a dark bottle labeled iodine.

"Now that she's talkin', maybe the two of ya could come to some kind of understanding on your ma," Sully went on, hanging up her jacket.

"I said she's talking. I didn't say she's listening, too." She handed him the eyedropper and bottle. "If you run out of iodine I have more."

"Thanks. I'll pick you up after the kids' baseball practice? We'll take home supper from Grace's."

Her eyes widened eagerly as she grabbed her apron off the hook and put it on, reaching her arms behind her to tie it. "Supper. Yes, I can't wait."

"Glad to see your appetite's back," he added.

"For now," she replied with a smile, grasping the door and waving as he headed back to Robert E's.

Michaela rested the framed photograph of her wedding day in her lap and sat at the vanity, gazing at it wistfully. It was a large wedding party to begin with, and would have been even larger had Maureen and Claudette accepted her request to be her bridesmaids.

"Michaela?" Sully called from the stairwell.

"In here," she called back.

He appeared in the doorway. "Supper's on the table. Ya get a good sleep?"

"Yes, thank you."

He walked to the chair and rested his hand on the back. "What ya lookin' at?"

"Remember this?" she replied, tilting the photograph toward him.

He smiled. "Where'd ya find that?"

"Tucked away in the trunk. Look at how little Brian is," she said with an amused smile.

"He sure got a lot taller than I ever thought," he remarked. He kissed her cheek sweetly. "Bride hasn't changed much in ten years."

"Maybe her belly's a little bigger at the moment." She placed the photograph on the vanity and gazed into his eyes blissfully. "Every day I'm so happy that I married you. That was the best decision I ever made."

He kissed her cheek again. "Me, too."

She sighed. "Sometimes I forget not everyone is as lucky as me. Not everyone is this happy."

"What do ya mean?"

"Sully, remember how I told you Claudette's husband passed away?"

"Consumption, wasn't it? Before the war."

"Well, there's more to it than that."

He slowly crouched beside her, intrigued.

"Her name was Janice Owens," she went on. "Charles started seeing her not long after he and Claudette were married. Janice gave him tuberculosis, and he in turn gave it to my nephew Robby. It eventually killed all three of them."

He let out his breath. "You sayin' her husband had a mistress?"

She nodded. "We all turned a blind eye to it for years. That's what you do in Boston, pretend things aren't happening. Until Robby became ill. Then Father lost it. He threw Charles out, forbidding him to come near any of us ever again."

He swallowed hard, lowering his eyes. "I didn't know that."

"Robby used to say….he used to say, 'I'm going to be a doctor when I grow up, Auntie Mike. Just like you and Grandfather.' Right up until the end he was the most cheerful, optimistic little boy."

He bent his head and rubbed her hand.

"Sully, none of my sisters have had perfect marriages. You know what happened to Marjorie and Everett. And Mother said Edward's threatened to leave Maureen on more than one occasion. Rebecca's insinuated that she and Marcus haven't been without their problems either." She tenderly grasped his hand. "That's not to say we haven't had our own difficulties. But I've never once doubted that you loved me. I never once thought you might look elsewhere for love or support."

He caressed her cheek. "Everything I could ever need I'm lookin' at right now. And I always knew whatever it took to make it work between us I'd be willin' to do."

She leaned forward and hugged him, tears appearing in her eyes. "She's so unhappy, Sully. I can see it. And I can't blame her."

"Michaela, that don't mean she should begrudge us our happiness."

"Oh, I know. I'm not saying she should. But she's my sister and I still love her, despite the hurtful things she's said to all of us lately. I realize now she's carrying around a world of pain. I just wish I could help her."

"Not a lot anybody can do until she decides she wants things to change."

"Except try," she replied, hugging him tighter.

Sully and Brian walked through the front door carrying a lush evergreen spruce inside. Claudette and Elizabeth were sitting at the table with the children unpacking ornaments, stringing popcorn and writing letters to Santa Claus, and Michaela was in the kitchen.

Michaela carried a pan of steaming hot cocoa into the room. "Oh, that's perfect, Sully. Where'd you find it?"

"Up on the ridge."

"It's big," Elizabeth said a little hesitantly as she unwrapped a pile of candles from some old newspaper.

"Thought you liked everything big," Sully replied.

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes, well."

Sully and Brian worked on securing the tree to the wooden stand in the corner of the room.

"Gettin' colder," Brian remarked.

"Who wants hot cocoa?" Michaela asked.

"Me!" all three of the children said.

"I'll have some too, please," Claudette said. "This chill is going straight to my bones."

"I don’t think you'd better, Claudette," Michaela said as she filled up a mug with the steaming cocoa. "If you're having trouble digesting diary it'll surely make you ill. Let me make you something else."

She held her mug toward her stubbornly. "Fiddlesticks. Just give me a cup."

Michaela sighed. "As you wish."

"Auntie, read my letter to Santa," Byron blurted, thrusting his paper toward Claudette.

Claudette took it reluctantly. "Byron, I'm not sure the North Pole even has a post office. I think your letter's just going to be lost in the mail."

"Sure they do," he protested. "Mama, doesn't the North Pole have a post office?"

She smiled as she filled his mug. "I don't know why they wouldn't. Blow on it, sweetheart. Don't burn your tongue."

"And it's run by the elves," Katie added.

"And Mrs. Claus," Red Eagle added. "She reads the telegrams."

"Oh, really?" Claudette said, taking a sip of her cocoa. "Children, your imaginations are-"

"Perfectly normal and healthy," Elizabeth cut in, silencing her.

"What on earth is an e-z-l?" Claudette said as she skimmed his letter.

"An easel," Byron explained, blowing hard on his hot cocoa. "Did I spell it right?"

"Not even close. What a peculiar thing to ask for. Are you sure that's what you want for Christmas?"

"What? I need it to paint. Like the one at Gran'ma's."

Claudette grabbed an eraser and rubbed it on his paper. "Here, let's at least spell it properly so St. Nicholas knows what you're talking about."

Brian headed toward the door, putting his hat back on. "I'm gonna head over to Sarah's. Help her and her ma pick out a tree. That all right?"

"It's all right, as long as her mother is home," Michaela replied. "I'll save you a plate."

"No need. I'll eat over there. Bye, kids." He opened the door.

"Bye, Brian," Katie replied as she put the finishing touches on her letter.

Sully made his way back toward the table and took off his jacket and gloves. He came up beside Michaela and gently grasped her blouse sleeve, gesturing behind him. She followed him a few paces away from the table.

"You sure the kids should be doin' that this year?" he murmured. "Writin' to Santa?"

She smiled. "You don't think the North Pole has a post office either?"

He remained somber, bending his head and folding his gloves together. "Michaela, we gotta tell 'em. We gotta tell 'em Christmas ain't gonna be much this year."

She shook her head. "I can't, Sully."

"You want them to wake up Christmas mornin' to find out there's only a few presents under the tree? We gotta prepare 'em."

She sighed. "You're right. They need to know."

"Can you read my letter, Mama?" Katie asked. "I asked Santa for a doll and some dresses and a hat."

"Children, about your letters," Michaela said unsteadily. "Perhaps it might be a good idea you just ask Santa for one thing this year."

They all looked up at her curiously. Elizabeth folded her hands on the table and eyed Michaela and Sully.

"Santa's just very busy this year, lots of letters from lots of children," she explained hoarsely. "It's been a tough year for him, too."

Katie slowly lowered her pencil. "You mean, maybe he doesn't have enough presents to go around?"

She nodded. "That's right. Besides, Christmas isn't all about presents, is it? It's about being with the people you love and spending time with them."

"And it's about the Christ child," Claudette added. "Don't forget that minor detail."

"Oh. All right," Byron whispered. "I'll erase everything but the easel."

"Good, I'm proud of you," Michaela said, smoothing back his hair. She could tell the children were disappointed, but they were putting on their bravest faces.

"Michaela-" Elizabeth began.

Michaela shook her head sternly at her and grabbed the pan. "I'll make some more cocoa, then we can get to decorating the tree."

Claudette gripped Preston's arm as he drove his buggy back toward the Château. She was holding her stomach and enduring nearly unbearable cramps, and he felt helpless.

"Are you going to make it?" he asked. "A few more minutes."

"I'm not sure," she replied with a soft groan, closing her eyes as her face paled.

"I just had the seats reupholstered," he said, slapping the reins.

"Hurry then," she replied.

"We're hurrying," he murmured.

"I don't know why I'm so headstrong. Why did I insist on having a cup of that hot cocoa? Who was I trying to impress?"

"Well, try to hang on just a little longer, honey. We'll get you home and in a nice comfortable bed straight away."

"I just want a nice comfortable washroom."

"Yes, that too."

"I hate the fact that she's probably right," she grumbled. "She always has to be right."

"Who?"

"Michaela. She'll never let me hear the end of it if she's right about what's wrong with me. She'll gloat and rub it in every chance she gets. Not that I wouldn't do the same to her."

He smiled. "Sibling rivalry. How charming."

"Yes, isn't it darling?" she retorted.

He pulled the wagon up to the porch of his hotel and quickly climbed down. Then he reached his arms up for her and helped her carefully to the ground.

"There we are," he said. "Would you like me to carry you?"

"Nonsense. I can walk." She stepped forward and suddenly cringed, nearly doubling over with a hard cramp.

"Claudette!" he breathed.

"Maybe I'd just better lean on you," she replied impishly as he wrapped his arm around her waist tightly to steady her.

"There," he said soothingly, giving her temple a gentle kiss. "There we are. Let's get you upstairs."

"I learned how to lead off the base today," Red Eagle said breathlessly, holding onto Michaela's hand as she led the children up the store porch and inside. Byron was carrying his bat over his shoulder, his glove hanging off the end, and Katie had her glove tucked under her arm.

"You did? Did Papa teach you?" Michaela asked.

He nodded eagerly. "You take two big steps off the base. Never go too far in case you have to get back."

"You start running as soon as the pitcher throws," Byron added.

She placed her basket on the counter and spotted Loren on a step ladder stocking some shelves in the back. "There's Mr. Bray," she said stealthily. "Go sweet talk him."

The children giggled among themselves and approached the storekeeper.

"Hey, Mr. Bray!" Byron called.

"Afternoon," he replied as he rearranged some cans. "Now don't you be throwin' baseballs in my store. I heard about what you did to your grandmother's statue at her place."

Byron frowned. "It was an accident."

He chuckled, stepping down from the ladder. "I know it was. I just got some butterscotch candy in. You want some?"

"Mr. Bray, we have this thing called a baseball league," Red Eagle began. "We have our first game Saturday. Will you come?"

He folded his arms. "I don't know. I'm awful busy. Too busy for things like that."

"But it's to restore the town's morale," Byron spoke up in a perfect imitation of what he had heard his parents talking about.

Loren cracked a smile. "Restore morale, huh? Do you know what that means?"

"Nope," Byron replied frankly. "Do you?"

"It means it's foolishness is what it means. Waste of time," he replied with a chuckle, turning back around and taking out a can from a crate.

Katie tugged on his vest. "Mr. Bray? We really need an umpire on Saturday."

"An umpire is this man who tells you which ones are strikes and-" Byron began.

"I know what an umpire is," Loren retorted impatiently. "I was one once. Before you were even thought of."

"Oh!" Byron exclaimed. "Then you know how!"

"And I s'pose you want me to do it. Well, thanks but no thanks."

Katie glanced back at Michaela, disheartened. She gave the little girl an encouraging nod.

"But we can't play unless we have an umpire," Katie said sadly. "We'll have to cancel everything."

"All their hard work," Michaela added quietly.

Byron stuck his lower lip out in a pout and Red Eagle looked up at him dejectedly.

"Oh," Loren grumbled, hands on his hips. "All right, all right. I'll be your umpire."

Byron beamed and hugged him. "Goodie!"

"But don't expect me to make the calls in your favor," Loren added. "An umpire's gotta be fair, impartial. I'm not gonna just let your team win."

"Yes, sir. Never," Red Eagle said.

Michaela chuckled quietly and placed her basket on the counter. "Loren, I need some Epsom salts. And do you have any more of that soap from St. Louis? Mother likes it."

"Yep, right over here," he said, taking a bar of soap out of a basket nearby and then walking to his pharmacy shelf and selecting a box of Epsom salts.

"Afternoon, Michaela," Preston said, taking a cigar out of a box and sniffing it. "How's your team's practices going?"

"Just fine, Mr. Lodge. And we have an umpire now. Loren's generously agreed to help us."

"Good!" Preston said with a smile. "Thank you, Loren. There's a special place in heaven for you."

"Right next to you I s'pose. Those are finest quality. A dollar each," Loren said, glancing at the box of cigars. He walked to Michaela and put the soap and Epsom salts in her basket. "Anything else?"

"No, that's all. Can you put it on our account?"

He pulled out his ledger. "If these are for Elizabeth you can get the old timer's discount. Twenty-five percent off."

"Discount? I didn't know you were running a discount."

"Well, you wouldn't know would you? It doesn't apply to you. Only for folks sixty and older."

She smiled appreciatively. "Oh, well thank you, Loren."

"Old timer's discount?" Preston said skeptically. "I've never heard of anything like that."

Loren scratched down the items in his ledger. "That's because I invented it. Elizabeth inspired me."

Preston twirled the cigar in his hands. "You're giving people a discount just for being old?"

"Yep. And it don't apply to you neither."

"This is the most ridiculous business gimmick I've ever heard," Preston protested. "It's not fair. They didn't do anything except not die!"

"Well, life's not fair is it?" he said with a chuckle, slamming the ledger closed. "All set, Dr. Mike." He glanced at Preston. "You want the cigar or not? It's a dollar."

"No thank you. I'll come back when I'm sixty and it's seventy-five cents," Preston said firmly, putting the cigar back in the box and tipping his hat. "Michaela."

"See you Saturday," Michaela replied with amusement.

"Oh, that sun is so blinding out here," Claudette griped as she struggled to hold her parasol over Elizabeth while still leaving enough shade for herself. "Michaela, you're going to burn to a crisp. Come get under my parasol."

"Shh, Byron's up to bat," Michaela replied, leaning forward as she watched the game intently. It was rather comical how seriously the children were taking it, and they looked darling in their little uniforms and caps the sewing circle had made for them. Dorothy sat beside Michaela taking notes for an article for the Gazette and delighting in all the adorable children, and Sarah stood nearby and waved a small pennant flag she had made with a "W" stitched on it. Preston's team was clearly a lot better than Sully's team given how much more they had practiced, but the Wolves were holding their own. Red Eagle and Byron had both scored in the previous inning and now the Wolves had narrowed the score to four runs in the last inning. There was one little boy on second base and one out.

"Ball two," Loren shouted.

"What on earth does that mean?" Claudette demanded. "I don't understand this game."

"Good eye, son," Sully said from the team bench, clapping his hands. "Keep it up."

"It means the pitch wasn't in the strike zone," Michaela explained. "If he doesn't swing at it then it's called a ball."

"I'm lost. What's a strike zone?" Claudette replied.

"Oh, what does it matter, Claudette?" Elizabeth said. "Just enjoy the game."

"I can't enjoy something when I have no idea what's going on."

The hurler threw a pitch right down the line and Byron swung, connecting with the ball and sending a fast grounder in between first and second base. The boy on second headed for third and Byron ran toward first.

"Oh, go, sweetheart! Run!" Michaela cried, rising to her feet and clapping her hands as the spectators cheered.

"Run, Byron!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

The shortstop quickly picked up the ball with his glove and tossed it to first base. Byron slid feet first into the base just seconds too late.

"You're….out!" Loren shouted, swinging his arm for emphases.

"Well, he doesn't have to be so nasty," Claudette remarked.

Dorothy chuckled and continued to write in her notebook.

Kirk cupped his hands around his mouth. "I think the umpire needs to get himself some spectacles," he shouted.

"Honey, now stop doin' that," Faye scolded as Loren shot him a sour look.

Byron grudgingly got to his feet, covered in dust and chalk, and jogged back to his team, head bent unhappily.

"Good try, sweetheart," Michaela called. "Good try."

"Now what happens?" Claudette asked.

"The Eagles only need one more out and they win," Michaela said with disappointment.

"Oh! Well done, Preston!" Claudette shouted. "Well done, Eagles!"

Preston spotted her and gave her an appreciative wave.

Elizabeth and Michaela stared at Claudette, shocked that she would support the opposing team.

"Claudette!" Michaela exclaimed.

She bit her lip, glancing at them. "What?"

"What? You're supposed to cheer for Sully and the children!" Elizabeth said firmly. "We're the Wolves in case you forgot!"

"I'm just trying to be diplomatic," Claudette retorted. "Besides, Preston's been such a dear friend to me. I feel torn."

"Oh, good heavens," Elizabeth retorted. "Claudette, now is not the time to be diplomatic."

Katie walked up to the plate, bending her knees and taking a practice swing. Michaela had braided her hair in two pigtails and pinned her hat to her head so that it wouldn't fall off. She looked so little and sweet in her uniform, and Michaela was a little worried about her against all the rough and tough boys, but Katie didn't seem intimidated. She held her bat tightly and narrowed her eyes, waiting for the pitch. The hurler threw her a fastball and she swung, missing it.

"Strike one!" Loren shouted.

"Good try, Kates. Keep your eye on the ball," Sully called.

The hurler threw an identical fastball and Katie missed again.

"Strike two!"

"Oh, no," Michaela murmured.

"Oh, no," Dorothy echoed.

"Hold on. Time out," Sully called. "Time out!"

"Time out!" Loren repeated.

Sully jogged across the field to Preston, who was looking as cheeky as ever.

"Don't forfeit now, Sully," Preston said. "But we're so close to beating you fair and square."

"Preston, ya gotta have your hurler throw underhand to the girls," he replied. "It's too hard for 'em to hit those fast ones."

"Please. We're not changing the rules in the middle of the game."

"What do you care? You're gonna beat us anyway. I just want ya to beat us the right way. At least give Katie a chance to connect with the ball."

"Look, Sully, you're the one who wanted girls on your team. It wasn't my idea. If they can't hit our pitches that's your problem."

"This ain't right," Sully muttered.

"Time!" Loren called. "Let's play ball!"