by Becky

Sully jogged back to his bench. "Keep it up, Kates," he called. "You're doin' fine."

"Just do exactly what you're doing, David," Preston shouted to his hurler.

The hurler threw yet another fastball and Katie missed again.

"Strike three, that's the game," Loren said. "Eagles win it!"

The Eagles rushed to Preston, throwing their hats in the air and hugging each other excitedly.

"Hey, good job," Sully said to his team. "All of ya played real hard out there. I'll see ya at practice next week."

The children sadly gathered up their bats and gloves and hats and trudged off to find their parents. Byron sunk onto the bench as Sully gathered up some balls in a bucket.

"We stink," Byron muttered, throwing his hat on the ground.

"Yeah, we stink bad," Red Eagle added.

"Hey," Sully said, joining them. "I don't wanna hear talk like that."

"But it's true!" Byron replied.

Michaela rushed over and smiled at the children. "Good job, Wolves. You all played so well!" she said cheerfully.

"No we didn't," Byron muttered, crossing his arms sourly. Michaela picked up his hat and brushed it off and put her arm around him sympathetically, holding him against her. Sully glanced at her disapprovingly. He didn't want her to coddle the children when they were being poor sports. He wanted them to learn to lose with dignity.

Sully put the bucket on the bench resolutely. "I want the three of ya to go over there and shake your opponents' hands."

Byron glanced up in disbelief. "But, Papa!"

"Part of bein' a man is losin' like a man," Sully replied. "Holdin' your head high even when things don't go your way and sayin' good game."

"Are you gonna shake Mr. Lodge's hand, Papa?" Katie asked.

Sully hesitated, glancing at Michaela. She nodded in Preston's direction.

"Yes, aren't you going to shake Mr. Lodge's hand, Papa?" Michaela said wryly.

He eyed her grudgingly. "Yeah, sure. Come on, let's go."

He jogged over to Preston, who was still celebrating with his team. The children followed him and reluctantly talked to a few of the other little boys, shaking their hands and congratulating them.

"Good game," Sully said, extending his hand.

Preston smiled and shook his hand. "Still want girls on your roster? Or will you be making some adjustments?"

Sully eyed him firmly. "We'll see ya next Saturday."

"Oh, you're on," Preston replied.

Sully held his clipboard in his lap and studied the team lineup, gripping a pencil in one hand. Michaela was standing near the vanity, changing out of her clothes in the dim firelight. He looked up to watch her and smiled softly as he thought back to the first few months of their marriage. She was still so shy, and took care to change into her nightgown quickly and discreetly, no matter he had already seen and explored every inch of her body on their honeymoon. Now she had grown so comfortable in their marriage she was perfectly content to walk around their room without a shred of clothing, and he watched with pleasure as she put away her dress in the wardrobe and folded her stockings and undergarments before even reaching for her nightgown.

"You're gettin' bigger," he whispered.

"Am I?" She paused to examine her profile in the mirror, resting her hands atop her belly.

"It kickin' ya a lot?"

"Oh, yes. All the time now," she said wryly. She grasped a sleeveless nightgown and slipped it over her head, threading her arms through the sleeves and tying the string at her neck.

"That's good," he said with a soft smile.

She sat at the vanity and picked up her brush, running it through her hair. She paused, looking at his reflection as he looked at the lineup again, making a few notes with his pencil.

"You were awfully quiet at supper tonight," she remarked. "Still disappointed about the game?"

"Guess I'm just a little angry at Preston. Not that I expected him to hold to anything. But he promised me it wasn't gonna be too competitive."

"I have a feeling Preston's definition of competition is different from ours."

"I asked him to pitch underhand to the girls," Sully said, looking up impatiently. "And he wouldn't do it. There's no reason he couldn't of done that."

"Well, I'm not sure it's right that the girls get special treatment."

"I ain't talkin' about special treatment. But most of the girls ain't had nearly the same amount of time with a ball and bat as the boys have. I'm tryin' to even things out a little, make it fair for everybody."

"I suppose."

"Michaela, he keeps this up and we're gonna lose every game. We're no match for him and his team the way he works 'em." He sighed. "Maybe we should hold more practices, like he does. Maybe I should be harder on the kids."

"I just want the children to have fun. I thought the whole idea of this was to restore the town's morale. The moment it stops being fun it's not worth it."

He put the lineup on the nightstand. "All right, guess I was a little disappointed we couldn't pull off a win."

"Perhaps I could cheer you up," Michaela said, strolling to the bed and climbing in beside him. She smoothed his hair and kissed him. "You were the best team out there in my eyes. The best coach."

"Is that so?"

"The handsomest coach, too," she added, reaching her hands toward his shirt and unbuttoning it.

He shifted toward her and instinctively grasped her left breast with his hand. He suddenly withdrew, remembering how sore she had been lately.

"Sorry, I forgot," he murmured.

"No, it's all right. I've been feeling a lot better lately. They hardly hurt at all anymore."

He raised his eyebrows with surprise. "They don't? That's good."

He watched lovingly as she lifted her nightgown over her head and dropped it aside. She certainly could make him forget anything he was worrying about in a heartbeat. The Wolves and the Eagles were the last thing on his mind as she grasped his hand and drew it back up to her breasts, silently giving him consent to caress her as much as he wanted now that she wasn't feeling so uncomfortable.

She suddenly smiled and moved his hand lower to the left side of her belly.

"Feel that foot there? Feel that kicking?" she whispered.

His eyes brightened. "Yeah. It ain't hurtin' ya, is it?"

"No. It's reassuring," she replied, placing her hand atop his and looking down.

He shifted down lower to gently kiss her belly. This time, Michaela didn't pull away or act uncomfortable. In fact he looked up to find her smiling softly. He was happy she was finally making a real effort to try to be a little more optimistic about the pregnancy. He gave her belly another few kisses. "You just keep growin' strong, just like ya been doin'. Your ma and me can't wait to meet ya."

"He had no further intercourse with spirits, but lived upon the total abstinence principle, ever afterwards," Michaela read from the wingback chair, her voice tired and hoarse. "And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge, may that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one! The end."

She lowered the book with a soft smile. Byron was fast asleep in Sully's lap, his head tipped back and his mouth open wide. Red Eagle and Katie were crouched on the floor on some pillows, eyes drooping.

Elizabeth was smiling in her wheelchair and Brian stood beside her, resting one hand on the back.

"Oh, what a beautiful story," Elizabeth remarked. "And a beautiful tradition."

"Indeed," Michaela said, putting the book aside. "All right, it's time everyone get to sleep."

The children were too tired to protest. Red Eagle and Katie got to their feet and Sully gently sat Byron up and rubbed his back.

"Time to go to bed, son," he said.

"Is it Christmas mornin' yet?" Byron murmured groggily.

Brian smiled and lifted him down from Sully's lap. "Not yet. Ya gotta go to bed so Santa can come. I'll put 'em to bed, Ma."

"Goodnight," Michaela called, blowing them a kiss. "Sweet dreams of sugarplums."

Elizabeth grasped the wheels of her chair. "Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning."

"Do you need help, Mother?" Michaela asked, rising from the armchair.

"Oh, no. I'm fine."

"I'll come check on ya around two," Sully said.

"Yes, fine. Thank you." She disappeared down the hall.

Sully strolled to the fireplace solemnly. He fingered Red Eagle's empty stocking, tacked to the mantle beside a row of stockings varying in size.

Michaela came to his side and rubbed his back. "Cold night. Do you think we'll get some snow?"

"Don't know," he murmured.

She kissed his shoulder sympathetically. She knew what he was thinking. Christmas was going to be rather meager this year. They had really been struggling to make ends meet lately. She hadn't been working near as much as she thought she would be able to, so ill with morning sickness sometimes she couldn't even go into the clinic. And Sully was so busy trying to keep things running and take care of her mother when Michaela couldn't, he hadn't had much time to look for jobs either. When he did work they needed nearly every penny for food and clothes and other necessities.

"Sully, we're doing the best that we can," Michaela finally said. "That's all we can ask."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "The children don't have to have a lotta toys and other things. It ain't that. I just…"

"What?"

"I don't want 'em feelin' like we don't love 'em as much this year."

"Oh, Sully. They know how much we love them. I know they do. No amount of presents could ever change that."

He smiled, reassured, and drew her close.

"Besides, perhaps Santa will show up after all and help us out," she said wryly. "We'd better leave him some cookies."

"Maybe," he replied with a soft chuckle.

Sully stood beside Michaela and patiently rubbed her back as she leaned over their washbasin.

"Cracker?" he murmured.

She nodded and he opened the tin on the vanity, pulling out a small wheat cracker and handing it to her.

She chewed it slowly as he looked back at the three children. They were lingering in the doorway in their nightclothes, being extraordinarily patient given what they knew was waiting for them downstairs.

"Hang on, kids," Sully said. "Just a little longer."

"I'm sorry I'm ill on Christmas," Michaela murmured. "I know all you want to do is go see what Santa brought you."

"It's all right, Mama," Byron said.

"Yeah, I just want your tummy to feel better," Red Eagle added.

"Maybe Santa brought you tummy medicine, Mama," Katie said.

She smiled softly. "That would be nice."

Sully fed her another cracker. "What do ya think? Can ya make it down?"

She straightened and took some deep breaths. "All right. Let's try it." She walked gingerly to the children and grabbed Byron's hand. "Let's go see if Santa came."

The children beamed and padded down the stairs. Elizabeth was waiting for them by the tree, still in her nightgown and bathrobe and beaming in her wheelchair. Claudette and Brian were dressed in their finest and setting the table for Christmas breakfast.

"Mornin', everybody," Brian said. "Merry Christmas."

The children looked at the tree, shocked. Underneath was a multitude of presents of all sizes, each of them wrapped in beautiful red or green or gold wrapping paper. Their stockings were stuffed full, toys and peppermint sticks overflowing out of them.

"Whoa! We musta been extra good this year!" Byron exclaimed, bolting to the tree.

"What on earth?" Michaela murmured, glancing at Sully in disbelief.

He looked back at her, equally confused, as the children began tearing through the presents.

It suddenly dawned on Michaela. Elizabeth must have somehow bought all the gifts. She suspected she had probably employed Claudette and Brian to help her wrap them and place them under the tree and stuff the stockings before everyone woke up.

Michaela shook her head. "Mother, you shouldn't have. It's too much. Children, thank your grandmother for all these wonderful presents."

"What, it wasn't me!" Elizabeth protested wryly. "It was St. Nicholas!"

"An easel an easel an easel!" Byron screeched, tearing back the wrapping paper from the wooden contraption, a smaller version of an easel well suited for a child, and struggling to stand it erect. "Mama, Papa, look! An easel!" He was so excited he dropped it.

"Oh, Santa must have gotten your letter!" Elizabeth remarked.

"Marbles!" Red Eagle yelped. In sheer exhilaration he dumped a large pouch of colorful marbles on the floor and they rolled everywhere as Elizabeth laughed.

Sully put his arm around Michaela and drew her close as he watched the children dig into their presents ecstatically.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, gently caressing his chest. "I mean, is this all right?"

He watched Elizabeth for a moment. She was glowing, delighting in watching the children enjoy their presents. Katie was climbing into her lap, hugging her and showing her a beautiful porcelain doll wearing a silk dress. "Makes her happy to spoil 'em. Look at her."

She watched her mother, sighing softly. Not too long ago she was confined to her back in bed, so dejected and bad-tempered. It was wonderful to see her looking so healthy and cheerful.

"It's all right," Sully murmured, kissing her head reassuringly. "Just this once."

"I'm afraid I don't have a tree full of presents for you," she said, resting her head against him.

He placed his hand on her belly. "Far as I'm concerned we've already given each other a better present than anything we could ever buy."

She smiled and rested her hand atop his, tilting her head back and kissing him. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he whispered, rubbing her belly lovingly.

Michaela drained the last bit of hot apple cider into the sink and pumped some water into the cast iron pan. She reached for a washcloth and the bar of soap, lathering the cloth with lots of bubbles.

Sully came up behind her and massaged her shoulders.

"Byron wanted to bring his easel to bed with him," he said with amusement.

"Oh, dear," she replied with a soft chuckle.

"I talked him out of it."

She smiled and worked the cloth inside the pan.

He kissed her cheek. "Why don't ya let me finish down here, you go on up? I'll put your ma to bed."

"You don't mind?"

"Course not. I'll be up in a minute."

Michaela put the cloth aside and dried her hands on a towel, then headed for the stairs. She paused in the doorway of her mother's room. "Goodnight, Mother. Merry Christmas."

"Goodnight, Michaela," Elizabeth replied.

Sully finished washing the pan and rinsed it off, then dried it thoroughly and hung it up. He headed to Elizabeth's room where she was in bed, reading before she turned down the lamp.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked quietly, folding his arms and leaning against the door jam.

"I don't want to hear it, Sully," she retorted, turning a page. "I can buy whatever I want for my grandchildren and you can't stop me. They're so dear and they deserve everything I could possibly give them. This is the first Christmas I've spent with your family and I wanted to give them a nice holiday and I don't care what you think."

He stepped to the bed. "You gonna let me get a word in?"

She lowered her spectacles and gazed at him impatiently. "All right. Tell me how furious you are and let's get it over with."

He stepped closer to her, leaned over the bed and gave her cheek a sweet kiss. "Thank you."

She immediately softened, gazing up at him. She swallowed hard. "Oh, Sully."

He grasped her hand and squeezed it gently. "Merry Christmas."

Michaela refilled Sully's coffee cup as everyone dug into their breakfast. Michaela had tried to engage the children in a conversation about the Vikings they were studying in school, but they only wanted to talk about baseball. Even if they didn't do very well during the games, they certainly seemed to be having fun, and she was happy about that.

"Wanna watch me practice my hurling after school, Auntie?" Byron spoke up.

"No thank you. I can't," Claudette replied, adding sugar to her coffee.

"Why?" Byron said, pouting.

"If you must know I have plans."

"What plans? Can I come?"

"I didn't know you were going out today, Claudette," Elizabeth spoke up.

Michaela took a seat and watched her older sister curiously.

"Preston…Mr. Lodge is going to take me for a drive," she said shyly.

"Oh, him," Byron said as Michaela tucked a napkin into his collar. "He must think you're awful pretty. He always comes to see you."

"Byron, really," Claudette scolded, pressing her hand to her heart.

Elizabeth put down her silverware. "If he's coming by here every day to court Claudette and bring her flowers, I think we ought to have him over for dinner. Don't you agree, Michaela?"

Michaela cleared her throat, glancing at Sully. He just kept eating his eggs, making no move to show whether he approved. "Well, I suppose that's the only polite thing to do."

"I'm not going to twist your arm, Michaela," Claudette said scathingly. "If you don't want him over here just say so."

"No, please. Invite him for supper," Michaela said. "Perhaps Friday night? I'll get a pie from Grace's."

"Oh, yea! Pie!" Byron remarked, picking up his glass of milk and taking a big gulp.

"Is he gonna be our new uncle now?" Katie asked.

"Uncle Preston," Byron added, wiping a milk mustache off his upper lip with his hand.

Sully nearly choked on his coffee. He coughed and pressed his napkin to his mouth and Michaela gave him a startled glance.

"Good heavens, of course not!" Claudette said. "Michaela, they're always so outspoken!"

"Children, hush," Michaela scolded gently. Sully squeezed her knee beneath the table and gave her a discreet, amused grin.

"I don't know why you permit them to speak at the table in the first place," Claudette griped. "Children should be seen and not heard. These children especially."

"Mama says we have good ideas, too," Katie spoke up.

"That's a matter of opinion," Claudette muttered.

"He has been calling on you quite frequently," Elizabeth remarked. "Is there something you want to tell us, dear? Perhaps this is a little more serious than you're letting on?"

Claudette turned bright red. "No, Mother," she said firmly. "Not that this is anyone's business in the first place."

"If you marry Mr. Lodge then you can live in Colorado Springs forever," Byron spoke up excitedly. "Then you can come to all our baseball games and we could see you all the time. Please, Auntie, will you marry him?"

"I'm not going to marry him!" she exclaimed. "And I am most certainly not going to stay in this Godforsaken town!"

"How come your cheeks are so red?" Byron asked. "Are you sick?"

Claudette reddened all the more. She got up and took her shawl off the rack. "I need some air! Have a good day at school!"

"Bye," Red Eagle murmured.

"Guess that settles that," Sully remarked, taking a bite of his eggs.

Preston had parked his buggy at the top of a beautiful lookout of a canyon. A full moon shown down on them and the stars were shining brightly. Preston held her hand tenderly as they enjoyed the pleasant night in silence.

"May I kiss you, Miss Atkins?" he suddenly spoke up.

She smiled at him shyly. "You may."

He turned toward her and put his arms around her back, drawing her close and pressing his lips to hers.

Her sisters and friends in Boston would be absolutely scandalized to know she was off alone in the woods with some man she had only just met, but she trusted Preston completely not to do anything she didn't want. Her late husband had certainly never asked when he wanted to kiss, let alone make love, or consulted her about how many children they would have or where they would live or anything important in their lives. She had been led to believe all marriages were like that, and had long been convinced Michaela and Sully were some strange exception to the rule. She had never questioned it until Preston had treated her like such a queen.

He pulled back briefly. "Are you cold?" he whispered, smoothing a stray hair from her brow.

"No, just fine," she whispered back.

He resumed his gentle caressing of her lips with his, then gradually moved his lips across her cheek to her ear.

"Stay on in Colorado, Claudette," he murmured against her ear.

"I can't," she said shyly.

"You can. You can live in my hotel."

"That's not very proper. People will start to talk."

"Not if we get married," he replied, caressing her cheek lovingly.

"Oh, Preston. And I was having such a good time. Let's not talk about this, hm? Let's just kiss."

"As you wish," he replied wryly, drawing her all the closer.

"I won't do it, Michaela. I know I'm going to fall."

"You won't fall if I'm holding you. I won't let you."

Elizabeth eyed her defiantly. "Dr. Hanson said I can't stand."

"Dr. Hanson also said you wouldn't be able to sit up or use a wheelchair and that the bones wouldn't fuse. But he was wrong." Michaela drew down the covers and helped her sit up and touch her feet to the floor. "I want you to hang onto my shoulders and we'll slowly lift you to your feet."

"Michaela, please don't make me do this," she murmured.

Michaela squeezed her arm. "Mother, look at me. I won't let you fall. I promise."

Elizabeth reached up fearfully and grasped Michaela's shoulders. Michaela wrapped her arms securely around her waist. "We're going to hold it for five seconds. Then as you get better we'll hold it longer. Ready?" She drew in her breath and slowly hoisted Elizabeth to her feet. Elizabeth squeezed her shoulders and panted from the effort. After what seemed like forever Michaela lowered her back to the bed.

"Very good, Mother!" Michaela exclaimed, smiling.

"Oh, that's so painful," Elizabeth muttered. "I know, I know. Good pain."

"I'm sorry it's uncomfortable but this is the only way to teach your muscles how to support your weight again."

"Just help me lay down," Elizabeth said impatiently.

Michaela hoisted her legs back onto the bed and covered her up.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she whispered.

Elizabeth eyed her critically. "You're going to need a bigger corset, Michaela. Look at you."

Michaela glanced down with embarrassment. She quickly crossed her arms in front of her. "No I don't."

"You're only going to get larger. Is it the money? I'll go to the mercantile and order you one if that's the problem. I'm afraid a good corset can be expensive."

"No, don't," Michaela quickly said. "Besides, I don't usually wear a corset. And especially not while I'm pregnant."

"Don't wear one! Oh, Michaela, are you trying to kill me?"

"It's too uncomfortable," she said defensively. "I don't care if it's improper. I don't need one anyway."

"Well, you do now."

Claudette rapped on the door and entered, all smiles. "Good morning!"

"Good morning," Michaela replied.

Claudette eyed Elizabeth with concern. "Now what's the matter?"

"Your sister's not wearing a corset!" Elizabeth said firmly.

Claudette waved her hand. "Oh, well I knew that! It's obvious."

"Look at how swollen she's getting. Don't you think she needs one?"

"Certainly she should rein them in especially now," Claudette said in agreement. "But it's pointless to argue with her. She always gets her way. If she wants to walk around free as a bird disgracing everyone as she goes then that's what she'll do, despite anything we say."

"I can't believe we're talking about this," Michaela said, burying her face in one hand. "This is so humiliating."

"You should be humiliated," Elizabeth said grouchily.

"Well, I hope you've done your exercises, Mother. I was thinking you could get in your chair and I'll take you for a walk," Claudette said.

"She just stood up for the first time," Michaela said, looking up. "But I'm afraid that made her a little tired."

"Did you, Mother? Well, that's wonderful!"

"No matter it was the single most painful moment of my life," Elizabeth griped.

"Don't exaggerate," Michaela scolded. "You did excellent, Mother. You're well on your way."

"To what?" Elizabeth replied.

"To walking of course. I'll bring you a cane from the clinic tomorrow," Michaela replied.

"Yes, I think that's a lovely idea, Mother," Claudette added. "You're going to be able to walk all over town with a cane."

"Well, you're in a delightful mood, Claudette. Mornings never agreed with you before. Did you have a nice buggy ride?" Elizabeth asked.

"It was fine," Claudette replied evenly, removing her gloves. "He says he'll join us for supper Friday."

"Where did you go?" Elizabeth probed.

"He showed me some canyon with a strange name. I can't remember it for the life of me."

"Waldo Canyon? Of all places he took you to Waldo Canyon?" Michaela replied in disbelief.

"Yes, that's the one! How did you know?"

"I…lucky guess," Michaela stammered, backing up a few steps. "I think I have some laundry to do."

"What's so special about Waldo Canyon, Michaela? Out with it!" Elizabeth ordered.

She bit her lip. "Well, it's just…Waldo Canyon lookout is where….well, where sweethearts around here go to…it's a place couples drive out to sometimes."

"You mean it's a kissing lookout?!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Well, sometimes," Michaela said, clearing her throat awkwardly.

Elizabeth shifted to look at her older daughter. "Did he take you out there just for that, Claudette?"

"Mother, really!" Claudette exclaimed. "Must you interrogate me so? I'm a grown woman."

"I don't mean to interrogate you," Elizabeth said apologetically. "I'm just curious. After all, you've shown no interest in courting since…"

"Well, I've never met anyone like Preston before. He's so…sensitive."

"Preston? Sensitive?" Michaela said. "Claudette, I'm afraid you don't really know him at all."

Claudette eyed her crossly. "Please, Michaela, don't. I kept my mouth shut when you introduced us all to Sully for the first time. And believe you me I had plenty to say."

Elizabeth rested her hands in her lap. "Well, at least when Sully was pursuing a courtship with Michaela he wasn't whisking her off to some remote lookout in the middle of the night to take advantage of her. Not that I know of anyway."

"I'll just, um, I'll get to that laundry," Michaela said, quickly exiting the room and shutting the door.

Elizabeth patted the bed. "Come sit by me, Claudette."

Claudette strolled to the bed and sat on the mattress.

"Don't misunderstand me," Elizabeth said. "You've been a widow for too long, dear. You more than deserve a little happiness again and I think seeing Preston is a good thing, as long as you're careful."

"What's so terrible about being a widow? You're a widow, too, Mother. I don't see you trying to change that."

"That's different. I'm an old woman. I've lived my life. You…you have so many more years to look forward to. It breaks my heart to think you've sworn off love forever."

"You know what he did to me, Mother," she murmured hoarsely. "And to my son. My little boy, God rest his soul."

"But that was him, Claudette. That was Charles," Elizabeth replied. "That's not every man."

"Well, perhaps I'll marry again someday. But right now I'm not taking any of this very seriously. Unless Mr. Lodge has intentions of moving to Boston, anything we may have is over when I leave."

Michaela cleared her throat as she sipped her coffee. Preston sat at one end of the table beside Claudette, slowly cutting his slice of roast. Every conversation Michaela tried to start ended quickly and awkwardly until even she had run out of things to say. Sully was silently digging into his potatoes at the other end of the table, making no effort whatsoever to help her engage their guest. Even the children were being relatively quiet, everyone's subdued demeanors throwing them off.

Preston coughed uncomfortably. "Where's Brian tonight?" he finally asked.

"He's with his sweetheart Sarah," Michaela explained.

"Yuck," Byron whispered. Red Eagle and Katie giggled quietly and focused on eating their roast.

"I don't know, I think that was rather rude," Elizabeth said as she added salt to her carrots. "Letting him go off to her house when we're having company over."

"No, no, not at all," Preston admonished. He glanced at Claudette, a twinkle in his eye. "The boy wants to be with the woman he loves. We can hardly blame him for that."

She smiled back at him shyly and ate another bite of potatos.

Everyone fell silent until Preston cleared his throat again. "Sully, any progress with this wheelwright business Michaela was telling me about?"

Sully glanced up, mouth full.

"We're still uncertain if we're actually going to try it," Michaela spoke up helpfully. "We'll have to talk about it again."

"You know, I think the whole thing's actually brilliant," Preston replied. "I suspect it was probably your idea, wasn't it, Michaela?"

She glanced at Sully, who was looking less than amused. "Well, it just sort of came about naturally after we all saw Mother's wheelchair that he made," she said.

"Papa's good at wheels," Katie explained, glancing at him reverently. Sully gave her a very small smile and returned his attention to his food.

Preston sipped his coffee. "Let's face it, Robert E.'s backed up for a month with orders. It makes sense to have one man doing all the wheel wrighting. Then Robert E. can focus on what he's good at, horseshoes and whatever else he's doing. And leave the wheels to you."

"And I s'pose my business fails you'll be more than happy to take our homestead out from under us," Sully said tightly, grabbing another biscuit from the platter and buttering it. "Turn us over to the streets."

Claudette pressed her fingers to her brow and shook her head. "Typical," she muttered.

Michaela tried to give Sully a look of warning, but he refused to meet her eyes. Now he was staring down Preston.

Preston cleared his throat, resting his elbows on the table and pressing his fingers together. "It won't fail."

"If it does?" Sully retorted.

"Sully, certainly no one likes to be in debt to anyone. It's understandable. I still think this is a very low-risk business proposition and you have no idea how many strings I've pulled to put together the best loan possible for you and Michaela, with very low interest. But I realize that may not be enough for you."

"It's not," Sully said firmly.

"Right. So I was thinking, what's eating up the most funds? What do you need money for the most?"

"Well, mostly for rent," Michaela explained. "We'll need to rent someplace in town or close by to set up the business. Or perhaps buy I suppose. Sully already has most of the tools he'll need and I'm going to keep the books so we won't need to pay anyone to do that."

"Precisely. Rent," Preston said with a smile. "Rent is why you need a loan."

"What are you getting at, Mr. Lodge?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"Why don't you just work out of your home? Then you won't need to take out any loans," Preston said. "You could set aside a portion of your barn for your work area. Granted, it'll make it a little more inconvenient for customers to get out here. But I think once word gets around about your fine work you'll have no trouble at all."

"Oh, what a lovely idea, Preston," Claudette said, glancing at him in admiration. "You're so clever."

"Thank you, honey," Preston replied, grasping her hand and kissing it.

Sully glared at him skeptically. "Let me get this straight. You're tellin' me how to start a business without a loan from you? What do you get out of this?"

"Sully, more businesses around town means more business for me. That's all it really comes down to. This is about prosperity. I assure you there's no ulterior motives here. If Colorado Springs has a reputation as the town you can depend on for anything you could possibly need, more people will want to come here."

"And that means more folks for your hotel," Sully muttered.

"Precisely," he replied with a smile. "I'd be happy to refer my guests to you. If you would do the same.

"Oh, you're a genius," Claudette praised. "Of course, Sully. You can have your business at home."

Preston nodded. "You want to be close to home anyway, don't you? Now you won't have to give up whatever it is you do around here while Michaela's working. What do you do all day anyway, Sully? Dishes? Laundry?"

"Well, who wants pie?" Michaela blurted.

Michaela studied the chessboard intently, searching for the winning move. Claudette was standing nearby watching and Sully was reading in a chair. Preston had certainly given her a run for her money, and the game had gone on for nearly an hour. Sully had taken the children upstairs and tucked them into bed some time before, Brian had returned from Sarah's soon after and headed upstairs as well, and even Elizabeth had retired for the evening.

Finally Michaela grabbed her bishop and moved it toward his king. "Check."

Preston wrinkled his brow and studied the board. He pushed his king one space to the right, his only possible option.

Michaela grabbed her knight and moved it toward the king. "Check and mate."

Sully smiled to himself and folded his arms, pleased that Michaela had beaten Preston. It was a small consolation to him the way Preston's baseball team trampled all over his team so badly.

Preston shook her hand amicably. "I was hoping you wouldn't see that. Well done, Michaela."

"Well done yourself. I had no idea you played chess."

"When I wasn't boxing, I was learning the game of kings." He glanced at the clock. "Well, I've far exceeded my welcome." He rose and grasped Claudette's hand, leading her to the door and helping her with her cape. "Here you are, honey," he murmured.

Michaela and Sully followed to see them out.

Preston removed his hat from the rack and put it on. "Supper was superb, Michaela. Thank you very much."

"Not at all," she replied.

"Goodnight, Michaela," Claudette said, stepping forward and kissing her cheek. "And thank you."

"Why, you're welcome, Claudette," Michaela replied, pleasantly surprised.

Preston nodded at Sully. "Good evening, Sully."

"Night," Sully murmured, grasping the door frame.

"Drive carefully," Michaela called as the couple descended the stairs.

Sully shut the door after them and then returned to the sitting room, sinking into a chair and gathering the chess pieces.

Michaela joined him and opened the box for the pieces, helping him place them inside. "Well, that went well, wouldn't you say?"

"He calls her honey?" Sully blurted.

"Apparently," Michaela replied. "What's wrong with calling her that?"

"Nothin'. It's just silly."

"Kirk calls Faye honey. I think it's rather sweet."

"That's different. They been married forever."

She examined a small knick on one of the black rooks with her finger. "Sometimes I wish you'd call me that. Or something similar. Like darling or sweetheart."

He gathered a handful of pawns and placed them in the box. "Why would I do that?"

She placed the rook in the box. "I don't know. It just might be nice."

"Nothin' wrong with the name ya got."

"But, perhaps you could try?"

He took a deep breath, gazing at her. "Honey." He shook his head with a chuckle. "Nope, can't do it."

She eyed him with exasperation and put a pile of pawns back in the box.

"Michaela, I just can't call ya anything else without laughin'. Sides, you don't call me anything but Sully either."

"Well, maybe I'll start calling you by a pet name. Rebecca used to call me cabbage."

"Cabbage?" he uttered.

She smiled impishly and placed the last of the pieces in the box, closing it.

"You realize if she marries him he's gonna become part of the family," he remarked.

"I don't think Claudette's nearly as enamored with him as he is with her. I don't think she's very serious about taking their relationship any further." She chuckled. "But can you imagine? We'd be related to Preston!"

"I try not to."

She grinned and slowly sat on his lap, wrapping her arm around him and kissing him. "Just think, the two of you would be brothers. You could go fishing together, hunting, talk about baseball. Discuss troubles you're having with your wives."

"You're killin' me," he muttered, gently tickling her ribs.

She screeched and pushed his hands away.

He gently caressed her belly, gazing down at her. He stopped short and burst into a smile. "I just felt it move. Ya feel that?"

"Mm," she replied

He stroked her belly. "Let's get ya somethin' to eat before bed."

She kissed his cheek. "No, let's just go to sleep. I had a big supper."

He gazed at her with surprise. "You're supposed to try to eat something' more before bed. Andrew said ya gotta."

"But I'm tired," she replied simply.

"Sit here. I'll make ya somethin' right now."

She shook her head, getting up off his lap. "No. Sully, I don't want to eat right now."

He grasped her arm. "Michaela, look at ya. You're too thin. I'm worried about ya. What do ya want me to make ya? Oatmeal?"

"I don't want to eat and then lay down straight afterward. I'll get indigestion."

"Well, we'll sit ya up with some pillows," he said with a shrug.

"I can't fall asleep like that," she said, shaking her head as tears suddenly fell down her cheeks. "Sully, please. Just leave me be!"

He drew in her breath, taken aback by her sudden outburst of emotion. "Hey, hey. What is it? Sit down."

She shook her head, sinking into the chair. "I'm just so tired of this. I'm tired of trying to eat when it does no good. I'm tired of everyone telling me what I should do. And I'm tired of this whole pregnancy. I'm too old for this."

He grabbed her hand. "You're doin' fine. We're already more than halfway there. We'll make it."

"I'm the oldest mother in this town. Everyone's looking at me, probably thinking how irresponsible this is."

"Stop sayin' that. That ain't true."

"Then why are they staring?" she demanded.

"Michaela, if they're lookin' at us it's cause they're happy for us. We're gettin' a second chance. Folks remember what we went through losin' Jack. They know how much this means to us."

"We never talk about him anymore." Her lip trembled. "What if we forget him?"

"I ain't forgotten him. I think about him every day. And I know you do, too. We're keepin' him with us." He rubbed her arm, desperate to help her feel better. "Maybe we should think about namin' the baby after Jack if it's a boy."

She shook her head. "No, the child would feel burdened." She looked up at him with a sigh. "I still don't know how I became pregnant. After all those months of trying? I must have been ovulating when you arrived in Boston. I certainly didn't realize I was. Had I known I…"

He sighed and folded his arms. "Michaela, we been over this a dozen times. Point is ya got pregnant, don't matter how. Whatever reservations you or me may got about havin' another baby, nothin' we can do to change anything. Now we gotta do what we can to make sure you and the baby are as healthy as ya can be." He reached out and tenderly smoothed her hair. "I know this ain't been easy. But it's just a few more months. I know you can do it."

She looked up at him and suddenly burst into helpless tears. He slowly got down to her level and drew her into his arms, sensing she just needed a chance to release some bottled up emotions. He held her close and rubbed her back, patiently letting her cry against his shoulder.

Byron opened Elizabeth's door. "Gran'ma, wanna play checkers?" he asked. He stopped short as he realized Elizabeth was asleep. He moved to carefully close the door so as not to disturb her as his eyes fell on her wheelchair in one corner of the room. Smiling stealthily, he tiptoed to the chair and grabbed the back of it, pushing it out of her room and into the sitting room.

"Come on, let's play with Gran'ma's chair," he said, pushing it toward the front door. "Let's race."

Katie and Red Eagle looked up from the checkerboard.

"You're not supposed to play with it," Katie warned.

"Gran'ma doesn't care," he replied dismissively.

"Mama said we couldn't," Red Eagle replied, getting up and following him out the door. Katie quickly followed him, loathe to miss any excitement.

"We'll just race it a few times then put it back. Mama doesn't gotta know," he replied.

Katie and Red Eagle shared apprehensive glances as they followed him outside.

"Help me lift it down," Byron said, motioning for Red Eagle.

Red Eagle picked up one of the wheels, groaning. "Whoa, it's heavy!"

"Yeah, I know. It's gonna go fast," Byron said eagerly. He pushed it out back toward the hill, working with all his might to get it to the top. Then he looked down at his nervous brother and sister. "Katie! Red Eagle! Watch this!"

"I don't think you should, Byron!" Katie called. "What if it crashes?"

"I don't like this. I'm going back inside," Red Eagle said, crossing his arms.

"It won't crash. Just watch," Byron said, hopping into the seat and pushing off with his feet.

The chair rattled and weaved down the steep incline. Byron's eyes widened as he quickly realized the chair was out of control. He tried to grab the wheels and put his feet on the ground to slow it down, but it was no use.

"Byron!" Katie cried, running toward him just as the chair hit a big root and catapulted the little boy out of the seat. He landed hard on his side and rolled several times until he reached level ground.

Byron groaned and rubbed his head as Katie helped him sit up slowly.

"Oh, no! Byron!" Red Eagle said, rushing to his side and clutching his arms.

"I knew you shouldn't of done that!" Katie said, brushing off dried leaves and bits of grass from his vest and shirt. "Oh, you're hurt!"

He touched his forehead where a scrape was bleeding. He looked at the blood on his fingers and suddenly burst into sobs, crying both from the scare of a rather rough ride and at the pain of the nasty scrape.

"Oh, no. We're in trouble now," Katie said.

"Don't tell Mama," Red Eagle warned.

"We gotta," Katie said sensibly. "We gotta take you to Mama so she can help."

Byron cried harder and leaned on his siblings shoulders as they hoisted him to his feet and dragged him around the back of the house, heading to the garden.

"More," Michaela instructed as she cut some leaves from her thyme plants and placed them in a basket. "Give them a good drink."

"My back hurts," Claudette griped. She was wearing one of Michaela's straw sunhats and a pair of gardening gloves. "Now I know why I pay a gardener. What an awful chore."

Sully watched her out of the corner of his eye as he hoed some loose soil. Usually gardening was something he and Michaela found relaxing, and it was always nice to spend time together working side by side. But Claudette had been belly aching the entire time, procrastinating on every task they gave her to do and taking countless breaks to fan herself or get some water. Still, he was happy she was at least speaking to Michaela and showing some interest in helping her out around the house, even if she complained all the way through it.

"What with the rain we're havin' I wouldn't give 'em too much, Michaela," he remarked.

"Basil likes lots of water," she said defensively.

"You're gonna drown 'em," he said skeptically. He glanced at her and gave her a teasing smile.

"I won't. I know what I'm doing," she replied, smiling back at him intrepidly.

"Mama! Mama!" Red Eagle shouted.

Michaela quickly glanced up and put down her shears. "Red Eagle?"

Red Eagle and Katie supported Byron as he made his way up to the garden. He was crying inconsolably, tears streaming down his face.

"Mama!" Katie called. "Byron hurt himself!"

Michaela got to her feet and took off her gloves as Sully joined her. "What is it? What happened?" she asked, smoothing back his hair from his brow and calmly examining the scrape.

"I fell. I fell," he sobbed, gasping for air.

"Is he all right, Michaela?" Claudette asked worriedly, putting the watering can aside.

"He's fine. Oh, it's just a scratch, sweetheart. Shh, calm down. You won't even need a stitch."

He stepped forward and hugged her tightly, his tears unending.

She embraced him warmly and then put her arm around him. "Shh. Let's go inside and Mama'll clean you up. Oh, don't cry."

Sully picked him up, cradling him in his arms. "Come on, son. Let's get inside."

He carried him to the back door of the house and Michaela, Claudette and the children quickly followed. He sat him on the kitchen table and Michaela found her medical bag and opened it, selecting a clean cloth and dampening it with some carbolic acid. She gently pressed it to the scrape and Byron whimpered and sniffled.

She bit her lip. "I know. That stings a little. How did this happen? Did you trip? You'll have to watch where you're going next time."

Red Eagle and Katie stared down at the floor guiltily. Sully suddenly noticed the culpable looks on their faces. He placed his hand on Byron's shoulder.

"Byron, your ma asked ya a question. What happened?"

Byron was a little frightened by the serious tone in his voice. He knew lying was only going to make matters worse. "I fell off Gran'ma's chair," he said in a small voice.

"Grandma's chair. What were you doing in Grandma's chair?" Michaela asked, perplexed.

"Racing it down the hill," he whispered.

Michaela lowered the cloth, staring at him in shock. "Racing it! Byron!"

Sully folded his arms. "Thought your ma told you not to play in it."

"Yes, I certainly did," Michaela said.

"I know, Mama. I just forgot," Byron said helplessly.

He glanced at the other children angrily. "You take part in this, too?"

"Yes, sir," Red Eagle murmured.

"Wait, it was my idea!" Byron spoke up. "They just watched. They told me not to."

Sully walked briskly to the front door and opened it, walking outside.

Michaela dabbed a little salve on his brow, then wiped her hand off with a towel. "How's the scrape feel? Better?"

He nodded, chastened by the look of sheer disappointment in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mama. I just wanted to race."

"You know I've always wondered, what is it with men and their obsession with racing?" Claudette spoke up. "They start out racing bullfrogs or toy buggies and move on to greyhounds and horses. You never see girls interested in anything like that."

Michaela glanced at her with raised eyebrows, then shook her head and returned her attention to Byron, gently cleaning his flushed face with her handkerchief.

Sully suddenly reentered the room from the front door, carrying the chair. He put it down in front of everyone. Byron was too afraid to look at the damage. He bent his head as everyone else examined the chair.

"Oh, my God," Michaela murmured. "Sully, the wheel!"

"Uh oh," Katie whispered.

Sully rested his hand on it. "Busted it up pretty bad. I'll have to make a new one to replace it. That'll take a couple days at least."

Michaela glanced at the little boy furiously. "Byron Sully! Do you see what you did?!"

He let out a soft sob and glanced at the chair briefly. One wheel was bent and misshapen and the chair was covered in mud and dust.

"My goodness he's a destructive child," Claudette remarked. "First that mummy in the museum, then Mother's bust and now this."

"I don't even know where to begin," Michaela said. "We have a very serious problem here, young man."

"For starters, get up to your room," Sully said. "You won't be playin' with Katie and Red Eagle or any of us, any of your friends, the rest of the week. You're gonna sit by yourself and think about what ya did wrong."

"What about an essay?" Claudette suggested. "Have him write an essay about the importance of respecting other people's property."

Sully glanced at her in surprise. "That ain't a bad idea. You can get started on that right now."

"And you won't be going to your baseball game this week either," Michaela added impulsively.

He looked up in shock. "Baseball! But I can't miss it, Mama! I have to go!"

"No you don't. Not as long as I'm your mother," she retorted.

"No, please. Do anything to me. Anything. I'll write a hundred essays. I just can't miss that game!"

"You're not going and that's the end of it. Now go up to your room."

"Don't make me miss baseball," he pleaded, getting down from the table. Tears appeared in his eyes and his sobs started up again. "Mama, please. Please." He turned in defeat, his tears increasing, and slowly made his way upstairs, crying all the way.

"Just how I like it. Thank you." Elizabeth picked up her spoon and stirred it.

Upstairs, Byron let out yet another long, disparaging cry. Michaela grimaced and sat on the settee with her own cup, taking a sip. Sully had the wheelchair on its side over on the table and was working at removing the wheel with his tools.

"Mama, I'm sorry!" Byron cried once more through his door. "I'm sorry!"

"How long is he going to do that?" Michaela asked. "He's been crying for two hours. I can't stand it."

"Oh, that's nothing!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "You cried all day once when your father and I had to punish you. You got up right against your door and screamed through the crack at the bottom to be sure we heard you. It was a wonder you had any voice left after that."

"I don't remember that. What was I being punished for?"

"It's funny, I can't recall. I just remember how pathetic you sounded. And how amazed I was at your perseverance."

"Mama! Mama!" Byron cried again. "Mommy!"

"I can't do it. I'm going to him," Michaela said, putting her teacup aside.

"Michaela, we gotta be strong," Sully said as he searched for a hammer in his toolbox. "Goin' to him is exactly what he wants us to do. Ain't gonna accomplish anything."

"He could be hurt," she protested weakly.

"He ain't hurt. He'll get tired and fall asleep. He'll be fine."

"Perhaps I was too harsh," Michaela said worriedly, sitting back. "Perhaps I should tell him he can go to his game after all."

"Ya weren't too harsh," Sully said. "Ya see this chair?"

"Yes, you did the right thing," Elizabeth said. "He has quite an active imagination and a very adventurous spirit. I love that about him. But at a certain point he's going to have to learn some self-control." She reached forward and patted Michaela's hand. "Sometimes parents have to do things that are very difficult to help their children learn and grow. I know I did. I wanted to go up to you when you were crying like that, too. But your father wouldn't let me. He said if we gave in we were in for even worse battles with you. And he was always right when it came to raising you. After all, look how you turned out."

Michaela smiled softly. "Thank you for the validation, Mother. I really need that right now."

Sully lifted the broken and mangled wheel from the chair. "Got it off. But it won't be until tomorrow I can get started on makin' a new one. Guess you're gonna be without it for a few days, Elizabeth."

"That's all right. I'll survive," Elizabeth replied. "I still can't believe the depth of your skills, Sully. Nothing seems to faze you."

"I told him he should have been a wheelwright," Michaela said with a proud grin.

He smiled modestly and placed the wheel aside. He paused, glancing upstairs. "Ya hear that?"

Michaela followed his gaze. "No. What?"

"Exactly. He stopped cryin'," he replied.

She sighed with relief.

"Go up to bed. Both of you," Elizabeth instructed. "You both must be exhausted."

Sully joined her at the bed. "Night, Elizabeth. Appreciate the support."

"Certainly," she replied, giving him a gentle hug. "Goodnight."

Michaela stood and kissed her cheek. "Sleep well."

Elizabeth looked up at her reverently. "Michaela, you're such a wonderful mother. Much better than I ever was."

"I don't know about that," Michaela said, giving her cheek another soft kiss. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sweetheart," she replied.

Sully held out his hand to Michaela and she clasped it. Together they walked up the stairs to Byron's door. Sully held his finger to his lips and slowly opened his door.

Byron was curled up on his side on the floorboards in front of the door, fast asleep as tears dried down his cheeks. Red Eagle was sound asleep in his own bed across the room, completely undaunted by Byron's prolonged and forceful protests.

"Oh," Michaela murmured in sympathy, crouching down and smoothing the little boy's damp hair.

"Let's put him to bed," Sully whispered, stooping and carefully lifting Byron into his arms. Michaela pulled back his bedcovers and Sully laid him on the mattress. Then she tucked him warmly under the sheets and quilt.

He moaned softly and smacked his lips, turning his head to the side as he slept on.

"Night-night. I love you," Michaela whispered, giving his brow a kiss and gazing at him.

Sully put his arm around Michaela and guided them out of the room, closing the door.

"Told ya he'd tire and fall asleep," he said.

"How did we end up with such a challenging child?" she asked, breathing a sigh.

"Fact that you did the same thing when you were his age might be our first clue," he replied.

"No you don't. Don't blame this on me," she retorted. "Don't forget, half of him belongs to you."

He chuckled softly. "Wasn't my half that broke the chair."

She giggled and stepped forward, hugging him. "Oh, I love you. Let's go to bed."

"Just lie still, dear," Elizabeth told him. "More ice is coming."

Elizabeth glanced up quickly as Davey's teammate let out a high-pitched groan from the examination table. Michaela was in her apron and sleeve protectors and held a needle and thread as she carefully stitched the child's bleeding knee.

"I know, I know," Michaela soothed. "Almost done, sweetheart. You're being such a brave boy."

Preston knocked on the door and opened it. His shirt and vest were soaked and water dripped from his baseball cap.

Michaela glanced at him as he shut the door. "Did you find his parents?"

"No," Preston replied.

"Did you even try?"

"Michaela, how should I know where they are? His mother will be here anyway in two hours to pick him up."

"Two hours!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Preston, how long are your practices?!" Michaela added.

"Two and a half hours," he said matter-of-factly. "Why?"

"Don't you think that's a little excessive? You know there is such a thing as too much practice."

"I ask you who won the past three games?" he retorted smugly.

"All those children are going to come down with pneumonia playing in this weather," she added. "Sully cancelled his practice today and I think you should, too."

"When I was a boy studying boxing I trained night and day, rain or shine. And was all the better for it. I'm not going to let a little shower stop us." He glanced at Elizabeth with confusion. "What happened to your wheelchair? Where is it?"

"It's a long story," Elizabeth replied.

Michaela put in another stitch and her patient whimpered again.

"I want my ma," the little boy spoke up.

"Preston, hold his hand," Michaela instructed.

Preston looked at her in disbelief. "Hold his hand! Michaela, is that really necessary?"

"Do it," she ordered.

He grudgingly walked to the table and lightly squeezed the little boy's hand. "That was a good slide, Curt. Worth every stitch, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir," he said tearfully.

Michaela put the last stitch in and then cleaned his knee with her carbolic acid.

"All right, Curt. All done," Michaela said, cutting a length of bandage and wrapping it around his knee. "But I'm afraid you won't be able to play in Saturday's game."

"Oh, Michaela, he doesn't really need to sit out the game does he? He can play," Preston protested.

"No he absolutely cannot," she said firmly. "Or I'll know who to blame when he breaks those stitches."

"Fine," he muttered, pulling out a bill from his pocket and putting it on her desk. "Here, does that cover both of them?"

"Yes," Michaela said, walking to her other patient and crouching down beside Elizabeth. "How does he look?" she asked.

Elizabeth removed the ice pack to reveal a large, nasty black and blue bruise.

"I've never seen such a bruise," Elizabeth remarked. "It looks so painful!"

"It is," Davey remarked, gritting his teeth.

Michaela patted his shoulder. "My sister's fetching some more ice for you, all right? We'll keep icing it."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you," he replied.

"Claudette's here?" Preston spoke up. "I didn't know she was in town today."

Michaela stood. "Yes, she went to the ice house."

Preston folded his arms nervously. "Oh. Well, perhaps you could tell her I'll pick her up at six o'clock tomorrow."

"Where are you whisking her off to this time?" Elizabeth demanded. "Waldo Canyon again? Michaela told me the significance of that place. I know what you were doing there."

"Mother," Michaela scolded.

Preston shifted uncomfortably, folding and unfolding his arms. "Oh, well, we…I was just going to take her to the café for dinner."

"You gonna marry Dr. Mike's sister, Coach?" Davey asked.

He cleared his throat. "Well, that's up to Miss Atkins," he said uncomfortably.

Elizabeth and Michaela shared a glance and Preston tipped his cap at them.

"I have to get back to the other boys and continue practice. Excuse me." He rushed out the door and back into the rain, eager to be out of there.

"Mother, Claudette doesn't intend to marry him," Michaela said quietly.

"No, I know she doesn't," Elizabeth replied.

"Well, he seems to think she does. Perhaps you should talk to her."

"Why do I have to talk to her? You talk to her," Elizabeth retorted.

"I wouldn't know what to say," Michaela protested.

"Fine, then don't talk to her."

"All right, I'll talk to her," Michaela replied hesitantly.

Michaela awkwardly rolled over to her side and pushed a small pillow against the small of her back. It was no use. Her back still ached unbearably and no position she assumed or any amount of pillows seemed to help. To make matters worse, she felt Sully stir beside her and touch her shoulder. Now not only was she wide awake but she was disturbing him as well.

"I woke you," she whispered with dismay.

"Don't worry about it. What's goin' on?" he whispered.

"I can't seem to fall asleep," she admitted. "I think I might as well just get up."

He squinted at their clock on the mantle. "It's only about four. Little too early to get up just yet."

"I'll come back to bed. After I make a cup of tea."

"Want me to make it?"

She turned her head to glance at him. "No, I have it." She puckered her lips and softly pecked his, holding them there for a long moment. "Mmm. I'm sorry I'm keeping you awake. Go back to sleep, get some rest."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "Come right back up."

She nodded and pushed back the covers, standing up and putting on her bathrobe and slippers. She paused to give him a small but reassuring smile and then opened their door.

As soon as she closed it she grimaced and reached behind her, arching her back as much as she could and pressing her hands to it. She hadn't let on to Sully exactly how much her back had been bothering her lately. She didn't want him to fret over her and there wasn't much he could do anyway. In fact she was trying to downplay most of the discomforts of the final few months of pregnancy, part of her not wanting to worry Sully and part of her hoping if she ignored what she was experiencing, it might go away.

Satisfied she had given her back a good stretch, she straightened and made her way to the stairs, walking down them and heading to the kitchen. She had never found pregnancy particularly easy or enjoyable, as some mothers she had seen at her clinic claimed it was. She was feeling better about the coming child, it was just the journey there she wished she could speed up. It frightened her how challenging this particular pregnancy seemed to have become. She had only reached her seventh month and she was already going through much of what had before been usually reserved for the very final few weeks. She was barely sleeping and as a result exhausted, her back was constantly sore and aching, and lately she had been feeling a sensation of uneasiness that seemed to get worse by the day. So much so that a few times she had been so overwhelmed her heart suddenly pounded against her chest, her palms would sweat and she couldn't catch her breath. Thankfully Sully had never been around to see her panic, and she had always been able to think about something else and slowly bring herself back in control.

She remembered being nervous about giving birth when she was pregnant before, but usually she had managed to put off most of her anxiety until the very last few weeks, when childbirth became less of an abstract idea that wasn't going to happen for a very long time and more of a reality that was eminent.

Wrinkling her brow, she opened the stove damper, struck a match and threw it in.

She was just anxious about the birth, she decided, which was perfectly normal and natural even having been through it before. She grasped the edge of the table and leaned forward over it, trying to take some of the pressure off her back as she mentally tried to talk herself through what would happen when her labor started. She had long ago gathered everything she would need and put it in the cabinet at the clinic: towels, clean cloths, lots of clean sheets, warm blankets, basins, a warm cap, booties, and some shifts for the new baby. She always had her instruments handy, everything from clamps and scissors to forceps and scalpels, if it came down to it. She had herbs stocked up should she want them: chamomile and red raspberry leaves to soothe and relax her during the labor, blue cotash for postpartum bleeding. And she would be surrounded by a good support system. Andrew would give her and the baby expert medical attention, Sully would comfort and encourage her as he always did so wonderfully, and her mother could look after the children so she wouldn't have to worry for a moment about them and could focus on the task at hand. There wasn't much Michaela could do to make the birth any less painful or arduous, but at least she could rest assured they were doing everything they could to insure a smooth and safe delivery.

She sighed unsteadily. Still, there was something about going to the clinic that really unnerved her. The idea of traveling all that way at any given hour once labor started was not very appealing, nor did she like the idea of moving into the clinic for who knew how many weeks or days ahead of her due date and just wait for things to start there. Certainly living there would be extremely disruptive to their everyday routines, especially given that her mother was living with them now. But she had no idea how Sully would feel about planning the birth any differently, perhaps staying at home and having a midwife deliver the baby, as Faye and Dorothy had suggested. Most midwives certainly must have a lot of experience and expertise, but as far as she knew even the most capable midwives felt the need to call in a real doctor when something major went wrong. If a midwife attended her delivery, she wasn't sure she would know what to do if there were any complications. Then again, being at the clinic might only serve to make her frightened and nervous, with Andrew hovering over her and a variety of scalpels and other surgical instruments ready to go. She wanted herself and everyone around her to be as calm as possible through the labor and delivery, and she wanted a normal and uneventful a birth with little or no interventions, and that might be difficult to achieve anywhere but at home.

Feeling very confused and uncertain, she reached for the kettle and placed it on the stovetop to warm the water. She glanced up as she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. At first she thought Sully was being impatient and had come down to check on her, and couldn't believe that he wasn't going to let her make a simple cup of tea without interfering. He doted on her to the extreme lately, and while she appreciated him and at times sincerely needed him, at certain points she still wanted to hold onto a bit of her original independence. However she quickly realized it wasn't Sully coming down the stairs. The footsteps were much lighter and softer, certainly one of the children.

Byron suddenly appeared in the back doorway, dressed for the day, wearing his spectacles and clutching his tablet and a pencil in both hands. "Mama? What're you doing down here?"

"Your little brother or sister is keeping me awake," she murmured. "The question is what are you doing up already? Do you know what time it is?"

He walked to the table and climbed onto the bench, placing his tablet in front of him and opening it to a blank sheet of paper. "I wanted to get up early and get a head start on my essay Auntie says I have to write."

"Oh," she whispered, taking down a cup and saucer from the shelf. "You're being very motivated."

"What's motivated?" he asked curiously.

"Well, it means you're eager to work hard on something until you've completed it to the best of your ability."

He smiled, realizing her remark had been a compliment, and began writing.

"Why I shouldn't touch other people's stuff without asking," he said aloud as he wrote the title.

Michaela pulled out a chair and sat near him, resting one hand on her belly and watching him work for a moment. After Byron had cried and carried on so much when Michaela punished him, the next morning he got up without a word to anyone and completed all his chores without being asked. Over the past few days he said little but did everything Michaela and Sully told him to do without one word of protest. He worked diligently on his homework, completing it well ahead of his brother and sister, and he practiced his reading with Elizabeth from his storybooks, gave Sully a hand in the barn and with stacking the kindling and handed him his tools or anything else he needed as Sully worked on a new wheel for Elizabeth's chair. Byron also took it upon himself to assist Michaela and Claudette with cooking supper and setting the table, and even gathered some wildflowers from the woods and put them in two vases, placing one on their dining room table and the other on Michaela's vanity. He didn't once mention the baseball game he was about to miss, and Michaela was loathe to bring it up again given how much he had cried when he first heard he couldn't go. Though he walked around with a heavy heart, somewhere along the way he seemed to have decided to accept his fate and just do the best that he could with it until it was over. He was being so sweet and helpful Michaela was tempted again to rescind the punishment, but Elizabeth and Sully's gentle reminders that they were doing the right thing and that this would be a good lesson for him, gave her confidence to carry through with it.

Michaela had to admit she was a little proud of herself for being so strong. She certainly didn't play favorites with the children, but if any of them could melt her heart it was Byron. He had a way of talking her right back down whenever she became angry with him. She had been giving in to him since he was a toddler, largely relying on Sully to discipline him, and everyone knew it, most of all Byron. It may have been sweet when he got away with things when he was younger, but he was older now and it was time he learned that his mother had boundaries for him, too. She tapped her fingers gently on her belly. With the new baby coming, their family growing from three to four young children, she had to be able to muster some courage to discipline her little ones when necessary or things were going to grow out of control very rapidly.

"Easier said that done," she muttered aloud with a wry smile.

Byron glanced up at her. "What, Mama?"

"Nothing," she said, leaning forward and gently rubbing his arm. "How's it coming?"

He paused and looked up, pressing the end of the pencil to his chin. "Are you going to the baseball game today? Who's gonna stay with me here?"

"Well, I was planning to go. I was going to ask Auntie to stay with you."

He put his pencil down, looking disappointed.

"Do you want Grandma?" she asked. "I'm sure Grandma would be happy to stay."

He swallowed hard. "It's just…I wish you could stay. You're the best when I need help with my homework."

She squeezed his hand, touched. "Oh, sweetheart. All right. I'll stay. If you'll help out Mama a little, too. Mama's been feeling very tired lately."

"Oh. Does the baby get heavy to carry around after awhile?"

She chuckled softly. "Yes, it does."

He gazed at her pensively, taking a deep breath. "Mama, I'm really sorry about what I did. You told me not to but I did it anyway." He swallowed hard. "Do you forgive me? Do you still love me the same?"

She shifted closer to him and smoothed his hair. "Sweetheart, there's nothing you could ever do that could cause Mama to love you any less. Mama's not angry at you. Mama was upset at the choices you made. Do you understand the difference?"

He nodded, relieved.

"I know maybe that surprised you a little when Mama punished you. But Mama and Papa need to step in when you make poor decisions so that you learn to make good ones."

He bit his lip thoughtfully. "It won't be so bad missing the baseball game."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Cause it'll be just you and me here. You can help me write a really good essay."

She smiled and kissed his forehead. "I'm proud of you, you know that? And of course I forgive you for what happened. Mama and Papa both forgive you."

He smiled back and shifted forward, hugging her tightly.

"You shouldn't race the chair because it could break," Byron read from his tablet, his pencil stuck behind his ear. Michaela listened attentively from the wingback chair. "The chair is to help Gran'ma because she hurt her hip and it's not a toy. I learned I should always ask if I want to sit in it and be real careful with it. The end. By Byron Sully."

Michaela smiled and clapped. "Very good. That's a very good essay."

He took off his spectacles, pleased.

She held out her arms and he stepped into her embrace. "Come here. All right, monkey. I'd say your punishment is over."

"I can go to the next baseball game?"

"Yes you certainly may." She looked behind her as they heard a wagon pull up outside and a horse braying.

"They can't be back already." She got up from her chair and held Byron's hand and they walked to the front door, opening it.

It was sprinkling outside, Michaela was surprised to discover. She had been so focused on helping Byron with his essay she hadn't noticed the raindrops lightly tapping against the windowpanes and roof.

"Rained out," Sully said as he jumped down from the wagon. Brian, Red Eagle and Katie climbed out the back with their bats and gloves. Elizabeth was in the back tucked under a blanket.

"The baseball field's in a big puddle of mud!" Red Eagle added.

"Mr. Lodge wanted to play anyway but Pa and Mr. Bray made him cancel," Brian said.

"Good, no child should be out in this wet and cold rain," Michaela replied, walking down the porch steps with Byron. "Mr. Lodge would have them playing in a blizzard I'm afraid."

"Where's Aunt Claudie?" Byron asked.

"You didn't lose her on the way home I hope," Michaela added, giving Sully a wry smile.

He walked past her and gave her cheek a teasing kiss. "Who me?" he whispered.

"I'll give you three guesses," Elizabeth said.

"Mr. Lodge!" Katie squeaked.

"Oh, she's with him?" Michaela replied.

"Isn't she always?" Elizabeth retorted. "Help me inside out of this rain, Sully. For heaven's sake."

Byron suddenly let out a soft sob. "You couldn't play?" he murmured with dismay. "Oh, no. You couldn't play!"

Michaela rubbed his back. "Byron, it's all right. We can't stop the rain."

"I just wanted them to play," he said, looking up at her sadly. "I don't want them to miss out. They're not supposed to get punished, too."

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, holding him close to her.

"We'll just play next week, Byron," Red Eagle told him reassuringly, giving him a comforting hug. "Don't worry."

"I'm sorry you missed your game," he said, rubbing his cheeks of tears. "I'm sorry."

Katie hugged him too and Michaela and Sully shared a proud smile at the three children comforting each other.

"Well, let's get inside," Michaela announced. "Byron wrote a very good essay he wants to share with everyone."

Michaela opened the front door and walked inside, hanging up her jacket and placing her medical bag on the table. The house was strangely quiet given that she knew Claudette and her mother were both supposed to be home. The comforting smell of cornbread baking filled the air.

"Mother?" Michaela called, walking into the kitchen.

"Shh, Mother's sleeping," Claudette scolded, walking into the kitchen from the back entryway with a laundry basket full of clothes.

"Claudette, what are you doing?"

She placed the basket on the table. "Laundry. Where's your soap?"

"Laundry? I didn't know you knew how to do laundry."

"Of course I do. I'm not helpless. We better do some now before it starts raining again. Soap, Michaela?"

Michaela approached the sink and bent down, pulling back the cloth and finding the bar of lye she used for laundry.

"What's that good smell? Is that cornbread?" Michaela asked, handing the soap to her.

She balanced the basket against her hip and headed for the back door. "Yes, I thought you could have it with supper. Mother and I made it."

Michaela quickly followed, all the more intrigued. "But you're not even staying for supper. I thought you were having supper with Preston again. At least that's what he said."

"I am. I didn't say it's for me. It's for your family. Enjoy it. Besides you shouldn't be cooking in your condition anyway."

She smiled with amusement. "What exactly would you have me do in my condition?"

Claudette approached the wash basin and put the basket on the ground. "If you want to be the talk of the town gallivanting all over the place awkward as you are that's your problem. I'm not going to concern myself anymore. And I'm not going to concern myself with Mother anymore, either. If she wants to stay here, fine. Certainly I'm still very worried about her, but I've given up on trying to bring her home. It's all too taxing."

Michaela raised her eyebrows, surprised at her sister's sudden change of heart. "Oh. Well, good." She watched as Claudette dipped a cloth into the water and scrubbed it vigorously against the washboard. "You're right. You do know how to do laundry."

"Just because I have servants doesn't mean I can't do things like this myself if I have a mind to. It's just why do it yourself when you can pay someone else to?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes I wish we had servants. It can be so overwhelming sometimes. But if we all chip in it's amazing how quickly we can finish everything. And some of the best talks I've ever had with my children have been while we're hanging laundry or mucking out the stalls or cooking a meal together."

"I don't see why you can't talk while over needlepoint or tea."

"Did we talk to our mother when we were doing that?" Michaela replied. "At least about anything meaningful."

Claudette sighed. "I suppose not," she admitted. "But mother's changed now. She talks to us now. She's…she's mellowed." She smiled softly. "We're spending precious days with her. Someday we'll be very glad we did. That's what Preston said."

"Oh, you've been talking to Preston about this?"

"Why, is that a problem?"

"Of course not. It's just…well, it's obvious he cares for you."

"It is?" she murmured.

She chuckled. "Yes. Claudette, he was talking about marriage."

"Michaela, this is hardly an appropriate conversation."

"Claudette, I'm not sure why I'm worrying about Preston, but I am. I think he cares for you a lot more than you do him. He's going to be hurt when you go home."

"Well, maybe I will marry him if he insists on it."

"And move to Colorado? You'll be miserable here and you know it."

"Don't tell me where I will and won't be miserable," Claudette retorted.

"I think you should be honest with him," she murmured. "For both your sakes."

Claudette sighed, plunging the cloth into the water. "I suppose."

Claudette took a sip of her water. "Well, I suppose that worked. You win all your games. That young man who stands on that part in the center and throws the ball seems quite good."

"The hurler? Oh, yes, he's decent. Teaching proper technique is essential. If he maintains the same stance he should throw strikes every time. He has it in him to pitch a no hitter if he works at it."

"Preston, I'm sorry, all this baseball jargon is going right over my head."

"Well, that's all right. I wouldn't expect a woman to understand such things." He gazed into her eyes. "I'm so glad you could join me tonight."

She looked up hesitantly.

"Claudette, I can't bear the thought of you going back to Boston."

"Oh, Preston," she murmured.

He took both of her hands in his. "I love you. Marry me."

Claudette gazed at him hesitantly. "Oh, Preston. I don't know if that's such a good idea."

He squeezed her hands. "Not a good idea? What is it? If you don't have feelings for me I'd rather you just tell me. I can bear it."

She bit her lip shyly. "It's not that. I care for you. I just…I'm not ready for any of this yet. Not with anyone. I…I put my trust in my husband. And he violated that trust in the deepest possible way."

"Claudie, what could have happened to you to make you so afraid to give love another chance?" he murmured.

"Claudie," she repeated with a soft chuckle. "I always hated it when people called me that."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, that's all right. I don't mind when you do," she replied wryly. She sighed. "Preston, please don't make me speak of it. Please just believe me." She glanced up. "I'd like it very much if we could keep in touch. I'd like to write to you."

"Write? Does this mean you're going home?"

She nodded. "Clearly Mother's happy here. I suppose it's not as bad as I first thought. And I've done nothing to change her mind about all this. If anything she's more resolute. But at least I can go home knowing that she'll be all right here."

"Well, you always have a place to stay at the Château when you want to visit."

She smiled shyly. "Thank you." She folded her hands. "Preston, how far do you suppose San Francisco is from here?"

"San Francisco? Oh, I'd say about a thousand miles. A few days on a train."

"I was thinking perhaps I could visit my daughter Mollie first, before I head home. I'm halfway there already."

He smiled. "Well, I'm sure she'd like that."

"I don't know about that. We never did get along very well. She's so…different. I'm afraid she resembles her aunt much more than me."

"My father and I never had much in common either," he admitted. "But it meant the world to me when he came all the way out here to visit me."

She smiled softly. "Well, I miss her terribly, no matter she probably hasn't thought about me for more than two seconds since she left. I think that's what I'll do. Besides, I hear San Francisco's just lovely."

"Send me a postcard," he said, squeezing her hand.

"I will. I promise," she replied.

He raised her hand to his lips and gave it a loving kiss. "If you change your mind…my offer still stands. I'll wait for you, Claudette. I'll wait."

She pressed his hand gently to her cheek and smiled softly.

Michaela finished stacking the last of the breakfast dishes and then wiped the counters down with a cloth. Her mother was taking a morning nap and Claudette was outside reading on the porch.

She glanced up as the front door suddenly opened. Claudette dragged the back end of the crib inside, groaning dramatically with the effort.

"Claudette, what are you doing? I thought you were reading," Michaela called, putting the dishcloth aside and joining her.

"What does it look like? I'm getting the crib out so Sully can put it together. Michaela, for heaven's sake you're about to give birth. Where exactly do you plan to put your baby when she arrives? Not on the floor I hope. Or what, perhaps on a bear skin? Is that what the Indians do?"

"I'm not about to give birth. My due date's not for another few months. There's plenty of time for all this."

She leaned the crib against the table. "Well, you look like you are. In any case you better get things ready now before you're too tired to do anything but lounge around."

Michaela still couldn't believe what she was seeing. "How did you get up to the loft in those petticoats?

"What, you think a city girl can't climb ladders?"

Michaela touched the beautiful stained wood, swallowing hard. "Claudette, I appreciate this but-"

Claudette held up her hand. "Michaela, I know how you've been feeling about the baby. I mistakenly overheard." She lowered her eyes solemnly. "When my Robby died I never wanted to be happy about anything ever again. I know how that feels." She gently patted her sister's arm. "Putting together your baby's crib is a good thing. I promise it's going to be all right."

Michaela swallowed hard and slowly nodded. Her sister had lost her son, too, and she did know exactly what it felt like to lose a child. She felt safe in her presence.

Claudette smiled softly and turned to the cabinet next to the door, reaching into her basket and pulling out a few small canisters of oil-based paint and two brushes.

"I bought these at Mr. Bray's store. I thought we could paint some flowers on the end. Perhaps some lilacs. Make it a little more feminine. It'll be a whole new crib."

Michaela suddenly choked up, struggling to keep tears in check. She hadn't wanted the crib in the house because her son had died in it. Now Claudette was offering to change the crib so it would feel new again, so it wouldn't remind her so much of a very painful past. So she could move forward with her new baby. Her simple gesture made all the difference.

"Yes, I'd like that," Michaela murmured, inhaling unsteadily.

"Good then," Claudette replied, handing Michaela a brush and pulling two chairs around to face the crib. "Do you remember that art appreciation class Father and Mother made us take one summer over at the gallery? You must have been about eight and I was fifteen."

Michaela instantly brightened as she took a seat. "With Professor Pierre Ledoux. He was so young and handsome and we both tried endlessly to impress him. One day we were fighting over a canister of black paint and spilled it all over our best pinafores!"

"Remember Martha desperately trying to get that paint out and Mother scolding her?" Claudette said with a chuckle as she unscrewed a can of white paint. "Poor Martha!"

She grinned, unscrewing her can of green. "I blamed it all on you and ran to Father. And you ran to Mother. We both pleaded our cases incessantly. I had Father convinced."

"And I had Mother convinced. We certainly knew how to pit them against each other, didn't we? Oh, we could be terrible."

"Yes, we could," Michaela said, smiling wide as she painted a few flowing leaves and stalks on the wood.

"Oh, the way you could cry for Father. You were such a little thespian. He believed anything out of your mouth if you just sobbed a bit for him. I thought I was the master of that until you came along."

"Well, I learned from the best."

Claudette smiled reverently. "It was a good childhood, wasn't it? Despite all the pulled hair and paint spilling and biting."

"See, at least I don't bite you anymore," Michaela said. She gently squeezed her arm. "Yes, indeed. It was a good childhood."

Sully entered the bedroom and leaned the back end of the crib against the wall. "Thought maybe I'd stain it first 'fore we put it back together. Put a nice seal over what ya painted."

Michaela smiled from the vanity as she dipped her pen into the inkwell. She was wearing her nightgown and bathrobe and had already unbraided her hair and brushed it thoroughly. "Yes. Thank you." She continued to write on her stationary.

"You been workin' on that awhile. Who you writin' to? An old beau?"

She smiled impishly. "Of course not."

He strolled to the fire and squatted down, stirring it with the poker.

"Sully, I've been thinking a lot about the birth lately," she began tentatively. "Who I want to be there, how I want it to go."

He added another log to the fire. He was pleased she was planning ahead like this. He thought it was good for her to be thinking about all of this, instead of just ignoring her pregnancy like she had for so long, as if it wasn't really going to happen. "We should talk to Andrew pretty soon, make sure he don't got any big plans to go anywhere once your due date gets closer," he replied. "And we could move into the clinic a couple weeks before, make sure ya make it there this time. Your labor went real fast with Jack, remember? Couple hours, wasn't it?"

She paused and rested her pen across the paper. She made no movement to show she was pleased, nor did she act upset. She just seemed pensive.

He rose to his feet. "Michaela, somethin' wrong?"

"No, nothing. That sounds reasonable. Very…methodical."

"Ain't that a good thing?" he asked in confusion.

She rested one hand on her belly. "It's just, Faye was telling me about this woman she knows in Manitou. Apparently she's delivered several babies with very few complications over the years. I don't even know if she'd be willing to come out this far. But I thought I could write her and at least ask."

"You sayin' you want a midwife?" he asked, taken aback.

"I'm thinking about it, yes."

He glanced at the letter she was composing. "Instead of Andrew? But he's a doctor."

"I know he is. And I trust him completely. But I also know how quick he is to intervene. He'll insist on operating or doing some other kind of intervention at the drop of a hat. I think a midwife would be able to support me and my wishes a lot better."

He suddenly looked a little nervous. "What wishes are those?"

She shrugged. "I'd just like it to be as calm and peaceful as possible. I don't want a doctor checking me constantly, bombarding me with questions. And I don't want to take any medicine. I know how Andrew likes to encourage chloroform despite how dangerous it can be for the baby. We've disagreed on this for years."

He strolled over to her. "Ya might have to take it ya end up needin' an operation. Whatever we need to do to have a healthy mama and a healthy baby."

"It frightens me, Sully. I don't want a cesarean section. The recovery is so much more painful, and I'll be laid up in bed for weeks. I won't be able to care for the baby, let alone the rest of our family."

He squatted down to her level and rubbed her thigh. "Ya got us, me and your ma. You know if it came down to it we'd help wherever we could."

She shook her head. "I need to be given a chance to deliver our baby normally before we resort to that. And to do that I need to feel safe and comfortable. I'm beginning to think the best place to accomplish that would be right here."

"Wait, you don't want to go to the clinic either?"

She squeezed his hand. "The clinic is familiar to me. But our home, our bedroom is the most relaxing place I know. You created such a safe haven for us and it's where I feel the most comfortable going about something so private. Besides, I delivered Jack here."

"That was an accident. We tried to make it to the clinic."

"Just the same it was the most beautiful moment of my life. So why not plan this birth the same way?"

He gently stroked her belly, thinking about it a long moment. "Where am I in all this?"

She smiled softly. "Oh, Sully. With me of course. That is, if you want to be."

"Course I do," he replied, leaning forward and giving her a soft kiss. "Tell ya what, maybe we could compromise. We'll get things ready to deliver the baby at home. But we'll talk to Andrew and see if he'll come out here and help, too. Have a doctor and a midwife."

"I know you'd feel better if I had a doctor by my side, and I want to respect that if I can." She bit her lip shyly. "But wouldn't that be rather expensive, a doctor and a midwife?"

"Hey, I ain't worried about money. Not when it comes to this, all right?" He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "You get in touch with that midwife. See if she'll come out."

"Oh, good," she said with a smile. "I'll mail my letter tomorrow."

"Fact is, Michaela, you and Andrew both said you're at a higher risk for complications. I just wanna be sure we're doin' what we can to take that seriously."

"I do take that seriously. But it'll help to surround myself with people who believe in me. If Andrew's going to be at this delivery I want him to understand I don't want him offering me medications or doing any kind of procedures unless I or the baby are truly in jeopardy."

He drew her into a comforting hug. "Course I believe in ya. I just don't want ya feelin' like ya failed if things don't go like ya planned. However this baby ends up bein' born, long as you and the baby come through safe then that was a good delivery."

She smiled gratefully.

"Why don't you write down how ya think it should go, everything ya want and don't want," he told her. "Then we'll take that to Andrew. The midwife could take a look, too."

She caressed his face and kissed him. "Thank you." She bit her lip. "Sully, let's not tell Mother about this. Not yet anyway. I don't want her worrying."

"She's gonna find out eventually."

"I'll discuss it with her. When the time is right."

Michaela took the kettle off the stove and poured the steaming water into a teacup. Then she put the kettle back on the stove and picked up the cup, heading to the outhouse.

Michaela was surprised but pleased when Claudette had approached her earlier that morning interested in testing out her theory about dairy being the cause of her digestive problems. Michaela had poured her a tall glass of milk and Claudette had drunk it down. Not half an hour later Claudette began to feel very ill, and had spent the better part of the morning in the outhouse.

Michaela rapped on the door. "Claudette, are you all right?"

"Positively wonderful!" she retorted irritably.

"I made you some weak chamomile tea. I think it'll help."

She waited a long moment until Claudette at last opened the door, shutting it quickly behind her and leaning against it exhaustedly. Her brow was bathed in sweat and she looked very pale.

"Well, it was the dairy," Michaela said.

Claudette glanced at her exasperatedly. "Thank you, Michaela. I hope you're not going to charge me for that brilliant conclusion."

"No, that one's on the house." She handed her the cup. "Here, drink. I don't want you to get dehydrated."

Claudette took a small sip.

"As soon as you're up to it we'll go upstairs," Michaela said. "You can rest in my bed today."

"Your bed? Michaela, you don't want someone as ill as me in your bed."

"It's all right. I just want you comfortable. Besides, I don't think you can make it all the way back to the Château. Not yet anyway."

"Oh, heavens no," she said in agreement.

"You'll have to be careful to avoid all dairy from now on, give your stomach a rest for awhile. Then if you want to, you could try slowly introducing very small amounts to see if you can tolerate it in moderation."

"What a shame. I really did enjoy cream in my coffee."

"Yes, well, your bowels didn't." She sighed, swallowing hard. "I'm just glad it wasn't something more serious. Sometimes these symptoms can indicate things like cancer."

"Oh, nonsense. I'm just like Mother. Fit as a fiddle. You are, too, come to think of it. It takes quite a bit to bring down a Quinn."

Michaela smiled. "Yes."

"Thank you, Michaela," Claudette murmured.

"You're welcome," Michaela replied, gently squeezing her arm.

"Who knew what a little fresh air and sunshine could do?" Claudette remarked as she sat next to Elizabeth in her room. "I'm loathe to say it, but Michaela was right."

Elizabeth smiled. "I'm glad you two are speaking again. I'm glad my girls are on good terms."

"Well, it was all getting too complicated anyway."

"You have a safe trip out there, dear," Elizabeth said. "I don't like the idea if you going all that way to that strange city all by yourself."

"Oh, nonsense. I can take care of myself. Besides, Mollie said she would meet me at the train station."

Elizabeth handed her an envelope on the nightstand. "Here, make sure she gets this. Give my best to the precious dear. And to William when you get back to Boston. Kiss them for me."

Claudette glanced at the envelope. "Is this money, Mother? You really shouldn't."

"She's a young woman in the prime of her life. She ought to have fun."

"Mother, you spoil her."

"I spoil all my grandchildren. It's what a grandmother is supposed to do." She inhaled bravely. "Well, Claudette, I'm very glad you came out here. I hope this has been some reassurance to you it's not quite as rustic out here as it sounds. I'm not going to keel over of cholera or influenza or some such anytime soon."

"Let's hope not. Any idea when you'll return to Boston?" Claudette asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Elizabeth said. "I'm very comfortable right here at the moment. I think I'll at least stay until my granddaughter is born."

"Might you never return, Mother?" Claudette whispered.

Elizabeth smiled softly. "Oh, of course I'll come home. But right now I'm just trying to take this one day at a time. I can't think too far ahead."

"You sound just like Michaela. She's corrupted you."

Elizabeth held out her arms. "Well, this is goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Claudette replied. "But, you're not coming to the train station tomorrow?"

"Oh, Claudette. You know I hate those places. Why must everyone insist on such a long and dramatic farewell? This isn't a Greek tragedy. No, kiss your mother and I'll see you off here."

Claudette swallowed hard and shifted forward, drawing her into a gentle hug and kissing her cheek. "Goodbye, Mother."

"Goodbye," Elizabeth said, gently patting her back. "Safe journeys."

Michaela sat at her desk and slowly flipped through a medical textbook, a crooked smile on her face as she paused and studied an anatomical drawing of a fetus nestled in the womb. At last she was able to picture her baby when she never could before. She imagined it all curled up inside her, sleeping on and off during the day and awake most of the nights kicking her. She pictured her sucking her thumb, listening to her mother's heartbeat and voice and waiting patiently to greet the outside world. As if on cue she felt the baby shift around a bit, perhaps working its way into a new position for the afternoon. Michaela smiled elatedly and pressed her hand to her stomach to feel.

Michaela hadn't stopped for a moment until now to really marvel at what was happening inside her. She had just been too afraid to enjoy her pregnancy, too afraid something might go wrong and often recalling the kind of sheer grief she and Sully and the whole family had just been through saying goodbye to their baby boy Jack. She had been downright frightened to love the new baby as much as she had loved Jack. Jack had been everything she had pinned her hopes on, a fresh start for their family during troubled times. He had been such a beautiful, adorable baby, and she and Sully both worshiped him with every ounce of their beings, showering him with as much love and affection as parents possibly could. She had taken for granted that all her children were fairly healthy, that nothing serious had ever touched them. And then just like that crib death had ripped him from their arms.

But painting the crib with Claudette had given her a little boost of confidence. Perhaps everything actually would be fine, as everyone around her kept promising her. Perhaps it would be all right to be happy about this baby after all, and to make plans, to begin bonding with it and loving it. Just that morning, over breakfast, she had even started to talk with Sully about a few baby names she had in her head. Eva, Melody, or Emma, names she had come across in novels recently. He had been more than pleased she had brought the subject up on her own, though he hated all her suggestions, naturally. That was to be expected when the two of them put their heads together. She certainly loved him as deeply as a wife could love her husband, and they had learned to compromise a great deal over the years, but on many levels they were still very different people who often had very different tastes. And with Elizabeth, Claudette and the children adding their two cents too, it had made for a very impassioned discussion that really didn't go anywhere. But that was all right. They still had plenty of time to find the perfect name.

Her happiness was only slightly tempered by the mild headache she had had since that morning. Just as she was thinking about taking some medicine for it, someone rang the bell.

Michaela closed her book. "Come in," she called.

Preston opened the door and shut it after him. Sweat marked his brow and he was pale.

Michaela got to her feet and approached him. "Preston? What can I do for you?" She reached up and felt his brow. "You're feverish."

"I think I've come down with something," he said weakly.

"Why didn't you see Andrew?" she asked curiously. Preston hadn't come to her clinic in ages, not since Andrew had begun working for him. Michaela assumed he always went to him whenever something was ailing him. Or perhaps he just took some of his health resort tonic and left it at that.

"He's out of town," Preston said.

"No he's not. I just had lunch with him at the café."

He sighed impatiently. "Well, if you must know, Michaela, I'd really rather see you. Andrew's going to give me a hard time about this if I know him. As a matter of fact I'd appreciate it if you don't mention this visit to him."

"I don't understand."

"Well, there's something wrong…down there. It's…it's become unbearably painful."

"Oh. When you urinate you mean?"

He nodded stiffly.

"Well, let's see what we can do then. I'll get you a gown," she said, guiding him to her examination table.

"How long has this been happening?" Michaela asked as she gazed at her thermometer in the light. Preston was on his back beneath a sheet, enduring the examination uncomfortably.

"Not long. A week."

She put the thermometer aside and pulled back the sheet from his torso, stopping short. "Oh, no."

"What's that mean, 'oh, no'?'" Preston demanded, lifting his head and looking down.

"Preston, have you by chance paid a visit to any of Hank's girls lately?"

"No!" he retorted with offense.

"Preston, I believe you have the clap." She swallowed hard, glancing at him and covering him back up with the sheet. She knew the most likely way Preston had contracted such a thing was over at Hank's saloon. She never thought Preston would be one to pay a visit to a prostitute, but apparently he had.

He looked up at her. "The clap. Is that serious?"

"Who was it? Or perhaps I should ask who were they? Preston, you have to tell me the truth."

"It was just one of Hank's girls. Last month. There was no one else."

"As a doctor, it's not for me to judge the actions of my patients, but as Claudette's sister I'm appalled you would do such a thing while pursuing her."

"You have it all wrong, Michaela."

"Preston, she cares for you!" she said firmly. "She cares for you deeply!"

"Don't worry about Claudette. I haven't spread it to her. I'm sure of it."

"That's not the point!" she retorted angrily. "If you're seeing other women she has a right to know!"

"It wasn't like that. It was before we were ever courting. And it was all Hank's idea."

She walked briskly to her medicine cabinet and found a canister of herbs. "Oh, well if it was all his idea then who am I to hold you responsible?"

"Michaela, I felt terrible after what happened. I couldn't sleep a wink. All I could think about was your sister."

Michaela spun around. "My whole family, myself included, we stood back and let her husband treat her like dirt because speaking up wasn't the proper thing to do. We let it go on for years for propriety's sake. Well, I told myself I would never let that happen again. Not to someone I love."

"You're right, I don't deserve her," he blurted. "Well, you can rest easy. She called it off."

"She did? I didn't know that."

He shrugged. "She's going back home. It's not realistic. I suppose I knew that."

She slowly nodded, part of her feeling sorry for Preston. He really had gone out of his way to be kind and loving to Claudette. And Claudette had probably enjoyed her stay in Colorado a lot more because of him.

"Please don't tell her, Michaela," he murmured. "She doesn't deserve to be hurt again."

She slowly rejoined him and handed him the tin. "Brew this herb into a tea. It's ground marigold. It should ease your discomfort. And hot baths might help too. If it doesn't clear up within a few weeks come see me again."

He sighed, grateful that he would soon be feeling better. "Thank goodness this town has you. Thank you, Michaela," he murmured.

"You're welcome," she murmured.

Claudette selected an elaborate dark green hat from Loren's shelf. She put it on and looked at her reflection in the mirror for a long moment. Dorothy was filling a basket with canned goods nearby and watching her.

"I'll take this one," Claudette announced, placing it on the counter.

"Four dollars," Loren said, holding out his hand impatiently. Claudette had been browsing for half an hour. He had never seen such an indecisive shopper. She must have tried on every hat in his store twice, and it made him nervous. At least after all that she was buying something.

She opened her purse. "I can't get over how cheap Colorado is! I've saved a fortune shopping here in your store."

"Lucky you," he muttered, grabbing the money from her and putting it in his cash box.

"Oh, that's a pretty hat, Miss Atkins," Dorothy remarked with a smile, joining them at the counter with her basket. "I know what it's like to have red hair and it's always hard to find a good color."

"What difference does it make what color you wear?" Loren asked.

"A world of difference, Loren! Lots of colors clash with redheads," Dorothy explained. "You have to be careful what you wear."

"Never heard of such foolishness," he protested, packing the hat in a hat box and tying it securely with a string.

Claudette smiled. "The hat's actually not for me. It's for my daughter Mollie. She's a redhead, too. And she adores hats just like her mother."

"Oh, well she's going to love that," Dorothy said.

Loren handed over the hat box. "Here you go. You have a good trip now."

"Yes, safe travels," Dorothy added.

"Thank you. It was lovely to meet both of you," she replied with a soft smile, heading toward the door. She stopped short as she spotted Preston walking out of the clinic, his face solemn. Taken aback, she lingered unnoticed in the store, watching him walk down the long porch and round the bend. She waited for him to enter his bank, then walked out of the store and headed briskly to the clinic.

Claudette threw open the door, barging inside.

Michaela was standing in front of her cabinet stirring some medicine in a glass. She glanced at her sister.

"You might knock first," she remarked.

"What was Preston doing here?" she retorted.

"That's confidential." She put the spoon aside and drank down the contents of the glass.

Claudette eyed her curiously. "What's wrong with you?"

She put the glass down. "Me? Oh, I'm fine. I just have a little headache."

"You stare at medical textbooks too much. You're going to ruin your eyes. No wonder you get headaches."

"Father read every day of his life and his eyes were fine."

"You know I think I've figured you out. It's all that reading you did as a child that turned you strange. You'd be sitting in a lovely townhouse on Beacon Hill right now looking after your husband and children and enjoying your confinement if you had never picked up a book. I blame Father honestly."

Michaela chuckled with amusement and placed the headache powders back on her shelf.

She put the hatbox on Michaela's desk. "Thank goodness for modern medicine. I remember when the only painkiller we had was whiskey."

"Yes, we've come a long way," Michaela said in agreement. "There's no reason pain can't be managed very effectively these days."

"I'm glad to hear your say that. Thank goodness I was nearly comatose with chloroform when my children were born. I never had to suffer like Mother said she did."

"Oh, I didn't know you had chloroform," she replied.

"Oh, of course! I highly recommend it. The whole process was as simple as getting my hair curled."

Michaela couldn't help chuckling. "Hair curled?"

"Please don't put yourself through all that again if you don't have to, Michaela. There's nothing shameful about taking medicine."

"I don't know. Chloroform can be so dangerous. And I wouldn't remember anything when I woke up."

"Why on earth would you want to remember it?" she replied. Claudette spotted a chart on Michaela's desk and quickly opened it. "The clap!" she exclaimed.

Michaela spun around. "Claudette, don't look at his chart!"

"How did Preston get the clap?" she demanded, closing the chart.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss any of that with you."

"Oh, you're so two-faced. You freely discussed my condition with everyone. You told the whole town about my rather embarrassing struggle with dairy."

"I did not tell the whole town. I only talked about it with Andrew and Mother. Andrew and I often discuss our patients. And Mother is family."

"It was those…those prostitutes, wasn't it?" she said. "Those tramps he swore to me he has nothing to do with. Well, he's a liar! He's just like the rest of them!"

Michaela swallowed hard. "There's a little epidemic of it going around at the saloon. I told Hank those girls aren't supposed to work but apparently they still are."

She looked back at her, shaking her head and biting back tears. "I'll be perfectly happy to never so much as speak to another man again."

"Claudette, you don't mean that," Michaela protested, approaching her.

"How do you do it, Michaela? How do you trust your husband so much? How do you know he won't stray?"

Michaela swallowed hard. "I don't know. I just do. We've built up a very strong trust in each other and our marriage."

"Well, I felt the same about Charles. Only to find out he'd been cheating on me since before we were married. Well, I paid the price for marrying him. As did Mollie and William."

Michaela clasped her shoulder. "Claudette, there are plenty of good, decent men out there. You mustn't give up hope."

"Well, I must not be very good at finding them. I always had a knack for picking out all the bad apples."

"That was not your fault. Charles was responsible for what happened. He's responsible for the decisions he made, not you, and certainly not your children."

"He told me it was my fault often enough. Apparently I couldn't quite fulfill all his needs." She lowered her eyes tearfully.

"He was cruel to tell you that. It wasn't your fault," Michaela whispered, squeezing her arm.

Claudette nodded and took out her handkerchief, dabbing at her tears. Michaela stood with her and gently rubbed her back. Claudette had never confided in her like that. She was such a private woman. Charles's affair had scandalized the whole family, and Claudette had gone into seclusion over it for years. When she finally reentered Boston society again, she was all the more strict on the rules of propriety, never so much as allowing herself in the same room with a man unaccompanied. She whiled away her days with her lady friends or with her mother or sisters. And no one had ever brought up Charles's name again. Michaela was glad Claudette had been able to talk about that painful past a little today. She had a feeling it had been cathartic for her. Old wounds certainly were still there, still fresh, but perhaps she had taken the first step to truly healing.

"I'm all right," Claudette finally said, folding her handkerchief. "I'm all right. We should head over to the station. I don't want to miss my train. After all, my daughter's expecting me."

"She's wonderful, Claudette. Both of them. She a prominent young writer and he a Harvard man. I'm so proud of my niece and nephew."

"Well, there's two good things that came out of that marriage. Mollie and Wills," she said with a small smile. "It wasn't a complete waste."

"Certainly not," Michaela said with a soft smile.

"Yes, I will," Claudette replied, glancing behind her worriedly as a porter loaded her many carpetbags and hat boxes and trunk into one of the cars. "I do so hope they're careful with my luggage. Those are my most expensive hats and not easily replaceable. You there! Be gentle with that!" She turned back to the children, giving Katie and Red Eagle each a light kiss on their foreheads as Michaela looked on. "Goodbye. Study hard in school."

Byron looked up at her tearfully. Michaela was rubbing his back in a vain attempt to comfort him. "I don't want you to go, Auntie," he whimpered. "Please don't go."

"Oh, Byron, please don't carry on so or you'll make your auntie cry herself," Claudette replied, putting her hand on his shoulder.

He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "But you're gonna miss our next baseball game."

"Oh, dear. Tragic. Well, you'll have to write me a letter I suppose. Tell me how it went. Think you can sit still long enough to do that?"

"I guess. Promise you'll come visit again?" he replied hoarsely. "Come see me again, Aunt Claudie?"

"Oh, I suppose I might. Someday. And you can always come back to Boston you know." She gave him a gentle hug and Byron threw his arms around her waist tightly.

"Bye, Auntie. I'll miss you. I love you."

She cleared her throat. "Yes, me, too," she stammered, kissing his head awkwardly and straightening. "Well, I best get on the train before I miss it."

"Goodbye, Claudette," Michaela spoke up.

Claudette stepped toward her and kissed her cheeks. "Goodbye, Michaela. Take good care of that mother of ours." She cast her eyes toward Michaela's belly with a small grin. "And take care of yourself, too. Remember, burnt toast."

"You were right. It works," she replied with a soft smile.

"Claudette!" Sully called, jogging across the tracks and joining them. "Don't get on the train yet."

"Sully?" Michaela replied. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at home with Mother."

"She's here. She's in the wagon."

"But we already said our goodbyes at home!" Claudette replied in disbelief. "Michaela, did she say something to you?"

"No, not a word," Michaela said with a surprised smile.

"Guess those goodbyes weren't good enough," Sully replied, picking up Byron and patting his back. "She's just across the tracks."

Claudette scurried across the tracks and found the wagon parked nearby. Elizabeth was reclined in back on a mattress, leaning against several pillows and covered with a quilt.

"Thank goodness I caught you in time," Elizabeth said as she approached.

"Mother, what do you think you're doing?" Claudette demanded. "What happened to your hostility toward long and dramatic train station farewells, as you put it?"

"Why does everyone throw a fit when I do something different? Can't a person have a change of heart?"

Claudette smiled softly and took her hand. "I'm going to miss you."

"And I'll miss you." She smiled lovingly. "Claudette, I want to thank you for all your help, especially after your father passed away, you've been someone I could really depend on. I suppose I took it for granted my girls would always be close by. That is until Michaela took off for Colorado. Well, I'm so thankful at least you stayed around."

"Why wouldn't I stay around? You're my mother."

Elizabeth leaned forward and kissed her cheek as the train whistle blew. "I'm so lucky to have you. Goodbye, Claudette. See you soon."

Claudette smiled tearfully. "Goodbye, Mother."

Sarah held her fishing pole in the water with one hand and threaded her other arm with Brian's, snuggling close to him on the log. He was staring at the water, resting his elbows on his knees as he held his pole loosely in his hands.

"You're awful quiet," Sarah remarked. "Worried about tomorrow's game?"

"What game?" Brian replied, blinking.

"You know, the baseball game. The one you can't stop talkin' about."

"Oh, that. No, I ain't worried. Sides, it's just for fun." He cleared his throat.

"Want some lemonade?" she asked.

"Lemonade? Yeah, sure."

She reached into her picnic basket nearby and pulled out a canteen, uncorking it and handing it to him.

Brian tilted it back and took a small swig, then handed it to her. She put the top back on as he put his fishing pole aside and straddling the log to face her.

She watched him curiously, smiling impishly. "What're ya doin'?"

He clasped her hand in his. "Sarah, I…we….I…there's somethin' I wanna talk about."

"Brian, your hands are like ice! What's the matter?"

He took a deep breath to compose himself. "Sarah, you're the most beautiful, smart, special girl I ever met. These five years we been courting have been the happiest years of my life."

She smiled tearfully. "Oh, Brian. Me, too."

"And there's somethin' I wanna give you. Hang on," he said, quickly reaching under his jacket and fumbling to find what he was looking for.

"There is?" she asked expectantly.

"Here it is," he said, pulling out a square package in the shape of a book.

"Oh. It's um, it's bigger than I thought."

"Open it," he encouraged, putting it in her hands.

She tore off the brown paper, looking at the title of the book in confusion. "Oh. Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. My favorite play. It's nice. Thank you." She swallowed hard and put the book aside.

Brian's face fell. "Ain't you gonna read it?"

She shrugged, unable to hide her disappointment. "Well, I've read it before. I'll read it later."

He grabbed the book and handed it to her. "Just read it. Trust me."

She raised her eyebrows with impatience. "Oh, all right." She opened the book to the first act, suddenly stopping short. Inside, Brian had written the words "Will you marry me?" in big red letters above the first act.

"Oh, Brian!" she exclaimed, looking up.

"Well?" he asked with a big smile.

"Yes!" she cried. "Yes, yes. Oh, yes!"

He got to his feet and took her into her arms, spinning her around.

"Now here I was thinking, a book!" Sarah said with a big chuckle. "Now what's he getting me some silly ole book for? Is this his idea of a joke?! You're lucky, Brian Cooper. You were about to really hear what for from me."

He laughed and gave her a big kiss. "I love you."

"Oh, I love you, too," she replied, smoothing back his hair and kissing him again. "Married. We're finally gettin' married!"

"One-hundred thirty beats per minute," Andrew said, putting his stethoscope aside and writing on Michaela's chart.

"Andrew, could I listen a moment?" Michaela asked tentatively. She was laying in a hospital gown in the Château clinic, rather quiet throughout the routine examination until now.

Sully glanced at her, taken aback. Andrew immediately handed over the stethoscope and she put it in her ears and pressed the bell to her stomach. She burst into a smile and looked up at Sully.

He was so thrilled to see her smiling like that he was nearly moved to tears. He smoothed back her hair.

"Sound good?" he asked hoarsely.

She nodded and sighed.

"How's that morning sickness?" Andrew asked.

"It's a little better," Michaela said. "For some reason burnt toast seems to help."

"Well, whatever works."

"We wanted to make sure you were gonna be around for her due date in April," Sully said.

"Yes, of course," he replied with a smile. "I'd be happy to come to the clinic if you prefer. But you're certainly welcome to come here."

Michaela sat up, grasping Sully's hand. "Actually, Andrew, we were hoping you would be willing to come out to the homestead for the delivery. I'd really strongly prefer to have the baby at home."

"Oh," he replied, raising his eyebrows.

"She wrote it all down, everything she wants," Sully said, unclasping Michaela's medical bag beside them and handing Andrew a few sheets of paper.

Andrew flipped through them curiously. Michaela loved details, and predictably her plan for the birth was as detailed as possible, outlining every possible aspect of the delivery and what she preferred to see happen.

"And I've written the midwife in Manitou," Michaela explained tentatively. "We're hoping she'll be able to come out, too."

He lowered the papers. "Midwife?"

"I hope that doesn't offend you, Andrew," she said gently.

"No, it doesn't offend me. Just surprises me. But I attended several births at home when I was doing my residency in Boston. Believe it or not I'm used to being around midwives."

"Oh. Good," Michaela said, pleased. "I hear she's wonderful. I just hope Colorado Springs isn't too far for her."

"This looks fine," he said, handing the papers back. "I'll do my best to help you achieve what you want. As long as you both understand if anything goes wrong we may have to deviate a little from what you might have preferred."

Michaela nodded reluctantly.

"We understand," Sully said, gently rubbing her back. "That's why it'd make us feel a lot better we have you around. We both trust ya to know what to do if that happens."

"Thank you, Andrew," Michaela added. She shared a pleased glance with Sully. She was so happy that everything was coming together. She had convinced Sully that home was the best place to deliver their baby, Andrew was on board and now she need only hear back from the midwife to complete her plans. She squeezed his hand excitedly. April was sneaking up on them. She had been neglecting preparing for the baby and she was beginning to feel overwhelmed and a little intimidated by everything that she knew needed to be done. But at the moment she just felt happy. As if sensing her thoughts Sully gave her a big hug, holding her to his chest. He was clearly happy about all this too, ecstatic really, and that made her all the more excited for April to come.

The baseball players were lined up out in the field warming up, stretching and playing catch, as Sully and Preston finalized their batting orders to show to the umpire.

Loren was over by Elizabeth, engaged in a lively conversation with her and laughing every few moments over something or other. Dorothy pretended to be writing in her notebook, but she found herself trying to listen to the couple talking and glancing over at them often.

"Someone should sell food at these games. I'm starving," Michaela remarked as she took a seat between Dorothy and Faye.

"Well, at least you have an appetite," Faye remarked, the baby in her lap dressed in a tiny Wolves jersey Faye had stitched herself. Kirk was nearby setting up the chalkboard for keeping score and writing down the team names at the top.

Michaela watched Brian clean off home plate with an old paintbrush from the barn. "It's amazing how quickly I forget how sick I've been. As soon as my stomach settles down I'm craving something strange again. Lately all I can think about is that ice cream parlor in Boston we took the children to. I'm about to get on the next train and go back there."

Dorothy chuckled softly. "Oh, that's all part of the joys of havin' a baby."

Elizabeth and Loren suddenly burst into loud laughter again and Dorothy quickly straightened and watched them intently.

"Dorothy, is there something wrong?" Michaela asked.

"Hm? No," she replied, raising herself a little off her chair and watching as Loren squeezed Elizabeth's shoulder.

Faye followed her gaze. "Mr. Bray and Mrs. Quinn sure are like two peas in a pod."

Michaela grinned. "Yes, they are."

Dorothy sighed and sunk back into her chair impatiently.

Preston shielded his eyes and looked toward the spectators. "Loren, stop fraternizing with the fans and come do your job!"

"All right, all right," he replied, jogging over. "Let's play ball!"

Michaela stepped down from the post office and read a brief letter with a happy smile. Sully strolled beside her and looked through the rest of their mail. Most of it was for Elizabeth, as usual, and there was a telegram from Claudette from San Francisco letting them know she had arrived safely and was having a grand time touring the city with Mollie and meeting all her friends and visiting the newspaper where she worked.

"Your sister got to San Francisco all right," he remarked as they headed to the livery.

"Good," she murmured as she finished reading her letter.

"You look pleased. Who's that from?"

"I'd be happy to come to Colorado Springs and consult with you and your husband and discuss being your midwife for the blessed event," Michaela read, folding the letter with a smile. "Shannon McDonnell."

"Good, she's comin' out here."

"She says she often assists mothers outside of Manitou. Apparently she's the only midwife around for miles. Although it's going to be several more weeks before she'll be able to get away."

"That's all right. We got time."

"How much do you suppose she costs?" she asked curiously.

He put his arm around her. "Michaela, don't worry about it. Like I said, if this is what ya want we'll find a way to make it happen."

They approached the livery where Robert E. was building up the fire in the range.

"Afternoon, Robert E.," Sully called.

"Afternoon, folks. How's everybody?"

"That wagon still for sale?" Sully asked.

"Still for sale. Right out front."

Sully broke away from Michaela and examined the used buckboard. It had a wide front seat and a large cargo area in the back, and he guessed it could probably withstand several hundred pounds, which was what he needed for all the lumber and other tools he would have to carry in it if he eventually started a wheelwright business. He ran his hands across the sides and squatted down to take a look at the axles. He suddenly spotted Michaela on the other side running her hand down the spokes of a wheel and investigating it intently. Sully chuckled and joined her.

"What are you smirking about?" she asked blankly.

"You don't know anything about wagons."

"Yes I do. I've learned," she said defensively, running her hand down another spoke.

"All right, tell me about the wheels," he challenged.

She swallowed hesitantly. "Well, they're…. they're good wheels." She sighed. "All right, I don't know anything about wagons."

He kissed her head with amusement. "You're right, they're good wheels."

She smiled. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I do. It's a little bigger. I think we're gonna need that. We got a growin' family."

She nodded. "What's he selling it for?"

"Robert E., how much ya say you're sellin' this for?" Sully asked.

Robert E. joined them, wiping soot from his fingers with his bandana. "That one there's thirty dollars."

"Thirty dollars? Is that before or after we sell our old wagon to you for the parts?" Michaela asked.

"I thought you were holdin' on to your old wagon," Robert E. said in confusion.

"No we're not. Why would we? It's falling apart," Michaela said.

Sully folded his arms. "Michaela, I was thinkin' maybe we better keep it for now."

"You were? Oh. Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe Brian could use it. I could fix it up for him."

She gazed at him curiously. "Brian? But he can just borrow our wagon if he needs to."

He rested his arm up on the fence. "I don't know, there's somethin' about havin' your own wagon makes ya feel grown up."

"I don't want him to feel grown up," she protested a little petulantly.

"He's nineteen. I think it's high time he have one of his own."

"Well, if you really think so," she murmured. "I suppose we could hang onto it, try to fix it up. But in the meantime we're in desperate need of a new wagon for ourselves."

Sully put his arm around her and smiled. "Robert E., we'll take it."

Sully clicked his tongue at their horse and gripped the reins tightly. "Easy, Buck," he said. The horse whinnied and raised his front legs a few inches into the air. Michaela gripped Sully's arm, a little startled.

Sully glanced at her. "Sorry. He's a little skittish. Not used to this wagon." He pulled back on the reins slowly. "Easy, boy. Take it easy."

"I think he prefers our other wagon," Michaela replied with a smile.

"What do you think of it so far?" he asked.

"It has a smooth ride. But I'm afraid it might be a little too big for me. Do you think I could handle it if I need to drive myself somewhere?"

"You can handle it," he replied wryly.

She gazed out at the road. "Sully, I've been wondering about Loren."

"What about him?"

"He and my mother have been getting along so well lately. You don't think he might be sweet on her."

"Sweet on her? Nah. He's just found a new best friend. They both have."

"I'm not sure how Dorothy feels about his new best friend."

He slowly nodded, realizing. "Dorothy jealous?"

"I wouldn't call it that. But I don't think she's overly excited about any of this either. Dorothy and Loren were inseparable until Mother moved here."

"Don't see why the three of them can't all be friends," he replied sensibly. "They all got things in common."

"I suppose."

"Maybe Dorothy just needs to hear Loren still cares about her. One thing I've learned about women, they seem to like to be told the same thing over and over."

"Oh, is that what you've learned being married to me?" she replied with a grin.

He gave the reins a gentle slap. "One of the things. That, and how to fold my shirts."

"Perhaps I should try to talk to her," she said pensively. "I know this is all in her head."

Brian held the boarding room house door open for Sarah and she stepped outside, hands folded in front of her. They slowly headed down the street toward the post office.

"What do you think? Be honest," Brian said.

"I think it's nice," she replied. "It has a good stove, nice furniture. Pretty view. I think we better take it before somebody else does."

"It ain't too small?"

"When Daddy died and Mama lost the house, we had to stay in a flat in the seventh ward that was a lot smaller than that and not nearly as clean and nice. It's not too small for me. Not to start out, anyway."

"What about that white picket fence ya wanted?" he murmured.

"You'll get me my white picket fence," she replied, grasping his hand. "Just not right now. I can wait."

He leaned forward and kissed her. "I love you."

She smiled. "I love you, too."

"I got just enough saved to make three months rent," he said. "After that I guess we're on our own."

"And God's good graces," she added as they crossed the tracks and stepped up to the window.

"Hey, Horace," Brian said. "Any mail?"

"Hey, Brian, Sarah. Let me get it," Horace replied, walking to the boxes and pulling out a large stack of letters. "Here ya go."

Sarah eyed the pile with surprise. "Land sakes, I've never seen a family get so much mail."

"It's mostly Gran'ma's. She's got lots of family and friends at home worried about her," Brian said as he flipped through it.

"What for? But she's doing so well."

"Guess they can't believe that," he said with a shrug. He headed to his horse tied to the hitching post outside the mercantile and put the mail in his saddle bag. "Let me take ya home." He mounted Taffy and then reached his hand down for her, lifting her behind him.

"Oh, Brian, I'm so excited," she murmured, wrapping one arm around his waist and hugging him close. "We're finally gonna do this."

He smiled and gathered the reins. "Looks that way."

Michaela opened the oven door with a towel and peered at the roast inside. Elizabeth sat beside her in her wheelchair, holding a potholder.

"It looks dry, Michaela," Elizabeth said critically.

"It's not dry," she protested, picking up a spoon and basting the roast with the broth in the bottom of the pan.

Brian entered the kitchen, dressed in his good trousers, pressed white shirt and vest and nervously tying a string tie around his neck.

"Oh, are we wearing ties tonight?" Michaela asked.

"Just want it to be special," he said. "How's the roast?"

"Dry," Elizabeth said.

"It's fine. Don't worry," Michaela said, shutting the oven door and opening the pot of carrots on the stovetop. "Sweetheart, could you set the table?"

"Ma, I was thinkin' we could use the good china tonight."

"Good china? Why?"

"We never get it out. Thought it might look pretty. And that lace tablecloth Gran'ma gave ya."

She covered the pot of carrots. "I don't know, Brian. I'd hate for the children to spill something on that."

"They'll be careful. Please, Ma?"

Elizabeth waved one hand. "Oh, let him get all that nonsense out, Michaela. It might be nice to have a fancy supper for once."

"All right," she said with raised eyebrows. "You can use the good candles, too, then. In the drawer on the right."

He beamed and walked to her side, giving her cheek a big kiss. "Thanks, Ma." He rushed out of the room, heading back to the sitting room and opening the cabinet where they kept the good china and quickly pulling out a large stack of plates.

"Be gentle with my china," Michaela called.

"I will," Brian called back.

Michaela glanced at her mother curiously.

"What was that all about?" Michaela asked.

"I have no idea," she replied. "As if I ever know anything that's going on."

Michaela suddenly flinched, putting aside the spoon and towel and glancing down. "Mother, feel this." She pressed Elizabeth's hand to the right side of her belly.

Elizabeth burst into a smile. "Oh, my. I think that baby's anxious to be out of there."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that. When the time comes, I was hoping you could stay with the children."

Elizabeth rested her hands in her lap. "Certainly, Michaela. That's what I'd prefer to be doing. You and Sully can go ahead to the clinic and don't worry about a thing here."

Michaela took down a bowl for the carrots. "About that. We're not going to be going to the clinic. Unless there's an emergency that is."

"Oh? What do you mean? Are you going to Andrew's clinic?"

She turned from the stove, inhaling unsteadily. "No. I want to have the baby here. At home. Andrew said he'll come out here to assist and we're going to try to have a midwife come as well."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows with surprise. "Oh. I see."

"I can't think of anyone I'd rather have with the children than you. You can play with them down here or take them for a walk. Reassure them if they're frightened. I want them nearby, but I certainly don't want them to be upset by anything that's happening. Anything they might hear."

"No, of course not. Yes, I'll stay with them."

"Then you're all right with this?"

"Yes, of course I'm all right with it," Elizabeth said. "Truthfully, I hate hospitals myself. You and your sisters were born at home and everything went just fine. Especially with you, it was nice that I didn't have to be carted to and from the hospital in the dead of winter." She nodded resolutely. "The important thing is that you give birth where you feel the most comfortable. If that's at home, then so be it."

Michaela spooned the carrots into the bowl. "I had no idea you felt so strongly about this, Mother."

"Well, I've told you that you were born feet first, dear. I'm sure they would have butchered me open had I gone to the hospital. That may have saved you but it probably would have killed me. But I knew all along I was quite capable of delivering you safe and sound if I was just given the opportunity to do so. Thankfully your father had faith in me, too."

"I appreciate your support, Mother," Michaela said, putting her arm around her. "I feel a lot better knowing you're here."

"Good," Elizabeth said with a smile as Byron and Red Eagle entered the room. "I'm sure it'll be a smooth delivery, uneventful. As soon as the baby's here and everything is fine we'll wonder why we made such a fuss in the first place."

Byron grabbed a carrot out of the bowl and took a bite out of it.

"Byron," Michaela scolded.

He looked up at her innocently. "What?"

"What? Don't stick your fingers in the food like that."

"Papa does it."

"Papa does a lot of things he shouldn't."

"Mama, how do babies get born?" Red Eagle asked, glancing at her belly. "At school they said this big bird called the stork is gonna drop the baby off at our door. Is that true?"

"Yes, precisely," Elizabeth quickly said.

Michaela glanced at Elizabeth disapprovingly, then caressed Red Eagle's shoulder. "No, that's not true actually. Who told you that?"

"I know how babies get born," Byron said matter-of-factly, popping the rest of the carrot into his mouth. "It's just like when Bessie had a calf. Right, Mama?"

"That's right," she said, clearing her throat. She grabbed a towel, opened the oven and took out the roast.

"Oh, good gracious," Elizabeth muttered.

Red Eagle stared at Michaela's belly, fascinated. "Does it hurt?"

She nodded. "Yes. Some. But it doesn't last long. I hope."

Byron looked up at her. "Can we watch the baby get born, Mama? I wanna see. I won't be bored even if it takes a long time."

She picked up a carving knife and a large fork and began slicing the roast. "Oh, sweetheart. I don't think that's what you really want. Grandma's going to be here and you can stay downstairs with her. You'll have a lot more fun with her. But I'd like you close by, is that all right? You can come up and meet the baby and see me, just as soon as she's here."

He smiled softly, pleased. "Oh, goodie."

"We'll talk about this later when we're not about to have company over, all right?"

"Yes, please for heaven's sake, let's not bring this up in front of company!" Elizabeth added, patting Byron's back.

Michaela dished up some slices of roast onto a platter. "As long as your brother's wearing a tie I want you two to go put on ties, too."

Byron's mouth dropped open. "But Mama!"

"But it's gonna choke us, Mama!" Red Eagle added.

"Go up and do it right now before they get here," she said firmly.

Elizabeth smiled as they scurried upstairs, racing each other to their room.

"Yes, of course I'll stay with them," Elizabeth remarked. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

Michaela smiled at her appreciatively. "Thank you, Mother. You're really helped to make things easier on Sully and I."

Elizabeth patted her arm. "Good," she said. "I'm glad."

Anna Marie Sheehan carried a large platter to the table. She had made a delicious layered cake that was dripping with soft apples, powdered sugar and cinnamon.

"Apple stack cake," she explained. "It's a recipe passed down from my grandmother."

"Oh, that looks wonderful, Mrs. Sheehan," Elizabeth remarked.

"I want a piece!" Byron spoke up eagerly.

"Byron, be patient," Michaela scolded.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Sarah helped her mother dish up several slices of the cake and passed them around the table until everyone was served.

Sarah resumed her seat next to Brian, surprised that he hadn't touched his cake.

"What's wrong with it?" she asked.

"Huh?" he replied.

"You're not eating."

Brian glanced at her and slowly put his napkin on the table, standing up. "Uh, I got an announcement to make."

Michaela glanced at Sully curiously. He shrugged, letting her know he didn't know what was going on either.

"Actually, it's somethin' I been wantin' to ask you, Mrs. Sheehan. And I want everybody to hear."

Anna Marie slowly lowered her fork, looking up at him expectantly.

Brian shifted nervously. "Don't know where to start. Uh, well, Sarah and I been talkin' about this for some time. We've thought about it a lot, and then talked about it some more."

"Talking about what?" Elizabeth asked.

"Mother, shh," Michaela said.

Brian cleared her throat, laying his hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Mrs. Sheehan, I love Sarah like I never loved anybody else, and I can't imagine spending a day without her, let alone the rest of my life. I promise I'll be good to her, and take care of her the best I know how. What with her pa passed on, I can't ask him for her hand. But I can ask her ma. I'd like your permission to marry your daughter."

Anna Marie glanced at Sarah, who was beaming. She was too afraid to see how Michaela was reacting, let alone Brian's grandmother.

She took a deep breath, slowly rising to her feet. "Yes, Brian. You have my permission."

He burst into a grin. "Oh, good. Good!"

She laughed and hugged him. "Good!"

"'Bout time ya got around to this," Sully spoke up, standing up and shaking Brian's hand. "Congratulations."

"Thanks, Pa," Brian said.

Michaela was determined not to act like she had when Matthew first told her he was getting married. She had panicked and forbade it, and Matthew had hated her for it. "Well, we've got to start making plans," she said as cheerfully as she could. "What about a summer wedding? You could have it in the meadow like Sully and I did."

Brian resumed his seat. "Actually, Ma, we were thinkin' about havin' it in a few weeks. On the sixteenth. The Reverend said it wouldn't be a problem."

"We were thinking you could be our flower girl, Katie," Sarah added. "And Byron and Red Eagle, you can be the ring bearers."

"Oh, yes!" Katie said with a grin. Byron and Red Eagle just kept eating their cake, much more concerned with the sweet treat than in whatever the adults were discussing.

"Wait, a few weeks!" Michaela exclaimed.

"A few weeks!" Anna Marie repeated. "Sarah, we'll never have you ready in time!"

"We don't want anything too fancy, Mama. I'm just going to wear my Sunday best dress and we're not going to invite anybody but family and a few friends," Sarah explained. "No need to wait around six months for summer to get here."

"Sides, we want to get married now," Brian added. "We figured we been courtin' five years now. We've waited long enough."

"What about your homestead?" Sully spoke up evenly, taking a sip of coffee. "Thought ya wanted to get that built first fore ya get into all this."

Brian took a bite of his cake. "We're gonna rent in town, at the boarding house. I'll work at the Gazette and pick up some other odd jobs and save up for a house."

"Oh, this is all so ridiculous," Elizabeth spoke up. "We can't put together a decent wedding in two weeks. And you're not ready to be married! No, you must put this off."

"I just don't understand what the rush is, that's all," Michaela said, glancing at Sarah and clearing her throat.

Elizabeth looked at Sarah, her face falling. "Tell me she isn't."

Brian glanced at Elizabeth, puzzled. "Isn't what?"

Michaela glanced at her mother, suddenly realizing what she meant. "Oh, no. Oh, Brian."

"Oh, no." Elizabeth glared back at her daughter. "I told you they needed a chaperone! Maybe next time you'll listen to me!"

Anna Marie's mouth fell open in shock as she looked at her daughter. "Sarah!"

"Well, at least he's doing the honorable thing," Elizabeth said.

Brian suddenly stood up. "You think that's why we want to get married? I don't believe this."

"Is it?" Anna Marie whispered.

Sarah suddenly burst into tears. "Mama, how could you think such a thing?"

Brian guided her to his feet. "Come on, Sarah."

"Brian, where are you going?" Michaela asked, shifting in her chair. "We still have so much to discuss."

"I need some air," Brian retorted, grabbing Sarah's shawl and his cowboy hat and coat off the rack, opening the door and shutting it firmly after them.

They all sat in silence until Byron wiggled in his seat and glanced at his mother.

"Mama?" he spoke up, clutching his fork. "Could I have Brian's piece? He didn't really touch it."

"No," Michaela said absently.

"Don't want it to go to waste," he murmured.

Michaela reached forward for Brian's cake plate and handed it to the little boy. "Split it with Red Eagle," she said.

Anna Marie cleared her throat awkwardly. "Well, I better be going."

Sully stood. "No, stay, Mrs. Sheehan. I'll make us all some more coffee."

"You sure?"

"We're sure. After all, we're gonna be family now."

"Apparently sooner than we think," Elizabeth added cynically.

Michaela put her shawl over her shoulders and stepped outside. Anna Marie was grasping the porch post and gazing out at the quiet road.

"Still no sign of them?" Michaela asked.

"He probably just took her home. I should head back, see if she's there."

"I'm afraid I need to apologize for my mother. It was hardly appropriate what she said."

"No, it's all right. She only said what everyone was thinking." She sighed. "I'm sorry, Dr. Mike. He took me off guard. I didn't know what to do except give him permission."

"That's fine. After all, they're both of age. I suppose even if you didn't give permission they would get married anyway."

"It was real polite of him to ask, anyway. You and Sully, you've done such a fine job raising him. I think the world of him, really I do. I couldn't ask for a nicer young man for Sarah to end up with."

"Well, you know how we feel about Sarah," Michaela replied.

"I just remember how I felt when I fell in love, how hard it is to see anything else. Not that I regret marryin' Sarah's daddy. Not for a second. But we got married real young, too, and before we knew it we were in over our heads with a mortgage and debts sky high and a baby on the way. Sometimes I wonder how we ever got back on our feet."

"That's what I'm afraid of. That they're in over their heads."

"I just don't want anybody to lose their temper about this. If we're not careful next thing we know they'll run off and elope. And nobody wants that."

Michaela raised her eyebrows. "Elope? Oh, goodness no."

"Well, I'll talk to Sarah about slowing down a little. Putting this off for awhile. If she'll even speak to me."

"Yes. And we'll talk to Brian," Michaela said.

Anna Marie stepped down the porch to her buggy and climbed up. "Thank you for supper, Dr. Mike. It was delicious."

"Good luck," Michaela called.

"Good luck to you, too. I think we'll both need it," Anna Marie replied, gathering the reins and starting her buggy toward home.

Brian sat on the steps of the train station, his arm wrapped tightly around Sarah and she cried softly, dabbing at her tears with her embroidered handkerchief.

"I'm so sorry about this, Sarah," he whispered. "Please don't cry."

She sniffled. "They all think I'm some kind of….they think I'm no better than one of Hank's girls." She sniffled again. "Maybe I should head over to the saloon right now, see if he's hiring. They all expect me to act like one of them anyway."

"Don't say that," he murmured. "That ain't what they think."

"I bet they're thinking we were doing things we shouldn't when they were all in Boston. We had the homestead to ourselves so much of the time."

"Wish they knew all we did was have a few picnics, maybe kiss some."

She glanced up at him fearfully. "Kissin' ain't wrong, is it? A couple's allowed to do that before tying the knot, I always thought."

"Kissin' you could never be wrong," he whispered, pressing his lips gently to her cheek.

"Here all along it's been so important to us to wait until we're married. Are we supposed to share that with the world? It's so private, Brian!"

"It is private, and it should stay that way. Far as I'm concerned they got no right to be askin' us about that, and we don't gotta tell anybody anything."

"I just can't believe after all the good talks me and my ma had about growing up, everything I told her about how I felt about it, she thinks I would just go back on all that, get myself in a fix like that without so much as a place to call home with you."

"I know. I was hurt, too," he replied, tenderly stroking her hair from her damp brow.

"Even if we were doing something improper, I don't see what it matters to them. We're adults!"

"Guess they never stop feelin' like they gotta be parents," Brian said with a soft sigh. "You're so pretty. Don't cry."

"Brian, it's so cold out here. I'm shivering."

"Here, take my jacket," he said, reaching for the top button of his coat.

"That's silly. Then you'll be cold, too."

He sighed and gazed down the street. A light was still on at the boarding house downstairs. The manager was still awake. He reached into his pocket, counting the small wad of cash. Then he grabbed her hand tightly, drawing her to her feet.

"Come on, Sarah. I know where we can get warmed up."

Sully opened the bedroom door. "He got out to the main road. I lost Taffy's tracks there."

Michaela closed her book, looking up at him worriedly. "Couldn't you check in town?"

"Michaela, I'm sure he's fine," he replied, sitting on the bed and pulling off his boots. "He needs a little space is all. Let's give him that."

"It's just it's so cold out."

"He's been out in cold a lot worse than this. He knows how to find shelter, food, start a fire. I taught him, remember?"

She rested the book on the nightstand. "I'm glad he had such a good teacher."

He lifted his shirt over his head and then climbed in beside her. She gently stroked his arm.

"Thank you for trying to find him. I know he's fine, at least physically. I suppose there's not much we can do now until he comes back."

He smiled softly and shifted toward her, putting one arm around her and pressing his lips to hers, kissing her for a long moment before pulling back and looking into her eyes.

"Try to get some sleep. G'night," he whispered.

She shifted all the closer and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him against her and kissing him a little harder. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but quickly settled into the kiss. She slowly reached her hands up to her nightgown and began unbuttoning it. She paused and lifted it over her head, putting it aside, and then pressed her lips to his again, deepening the kiss all the more.

Just as she reached for the button of his buckskins he cut their kiss short. "Michaela, wait."

"What is it?" she whispered shyly. "I know. I must not be very…appealing right now."

"No, no. You are. I just I…" He swallowed hard. "I don't wanna start somethin' we can't finish is all. Ya sure it's all right this far along?"

She smiled softly, touched. "It's perfectly all right."

"But are ya gonna be comfortable?"

"Well, we could stop if I'm not. But right now I'm very comfortable." She caressed his cheek. "I just feel so close to you right now. I'm carrying the child we want so badly, and you've been so supportive every step of the way. Being with you feels all the more fulfilling lately."

He stroked her arm, gazing at her belly pensively.

She swallowed hard. "Unless…you don't want to?"

He cleared his throat. "It ain't cause I feel any different about you. I just wanna be sure this ain't gonna bring on labor or anything like that."

"No. The uterus is a very strong muscle. I assure you the baby will barely feel a thing."

"Here, lie down," he murmured, patting her pillows. "Get comfortable."

She smiled softly at his doting attention and relaxed against their pillows, turning slightly on her side and drawing him down with her. He gently kissed her neck and then slowly worked his kisses down to her breasts.

"What do you think?" she whispered.

"About what?" he asked, sensuously running his hand along the inside of her leg.

"I mean of how swollen I am. I don't remember if they've ever been like this before. I feel so…awkward. Even Mother had to say something to me about it."

"For some reason your ma likes to point out the obvious." He glanced at her full breasts appreciatively. "I think you're beautiful. I think it makes everything else you're goin' through worth it."

She giggled. "It does, does it? Maybe to you."

"Come 'ere," he murmured lovingly, drawing her close as he pressed his lips to hers.

Michaela took the pot of coffee off the stove and filled Elizabeth's cup, Sully's cup and then her own. Elizabeth added sugar and cream to her cup, brow fixed worriedly.

"It's been twelve hours, Michaela," Elizabeth spoke up impatiently.

"I know how long it's been, Mother," Michaela replied with a sigh.

Sully opened the front door. "Still no sign of him," he remarked.

"Where could he be?" Michaela replied, sinking into her chair. "Oh, Sully, I thought for sure he'd be back by morning."

"I'm dreadfully worried about him. Out there in that cold somewhere all night," Elizabeth added.

"He's a man. He can look after himself." Sully joined them at the table and picked up his cup. "He probably just needs a day or two to cool off after what happened, think things through. He'll turn up."

Elizabeth sipped her coffee, embarrassed to admit it was probably her harsh words that had driven Brian to take off in the first place. Everyone looked up with a start as someone knocked rapidly on the door.

Sully quickly rose to answer it, opening it wide.

"Mrs. Sheehan. Come in."

She stepped inside. "Mornin', Sully. Sarah didn't come home last night. Is she here?"

"No, she ain't. I thought Brian would bring her home."

"So did I. But I never saw either one of 'em."

Elizabeth wheeled her chair into the room, followed by Michaela.

"Sarah and Brian are both gone?" Elizabeth demanded.

"Brian's gone, too?" Anna Marie replied, mouth falling open. "Oh, no."

"They eloped. I knew this was bound to happen," Elizabeth said, glancing up at Michaela critically.

"No, they wouldn't." Michaela swallowed hesitantly. "Would they?"

"This is all your fault, Michaela," Elizabeth accused. "Letting those two love birds run wild with no supervision whatsoever and not noticing a thing wrong with it."

"My fault!" Michaela exclaimed. "I'm not the one who suggested Sarah was with child. That was you, remember? You insulted them, Mother."

The children heard all the commotion and quickly rushed down the stairs, still in their nightclothes.

"Hey, Mrs. Sheehan," Byron called. "Where's Sarah?"

"She just married your brother," Elizabeth replied. "They're probably on their honeymoon."

"She did? But I was gonna be the flower girl," Katie protested.

"Honeymoon!" Anna Marie exclaimed in horror. "Oh, I've got to get into town. I've got to speak with the Reverend!"

"We're coming with you. We'll follow you," Michaela said, glancing at Sully for approval.

He nodded. "All right. I'll hitch the wagon." He headed outside for the barn.

"I'm coming, too," Elizabeth said resolutely.

Michaela took her coat down from the rack. "What about the children? Someone needs to stay here with them."

"Bring them with us. If I'm truly responsible for all this like you say then I want to be the one to get to the bottom of it."

"Goodie! We never get to come!" Byron exclaimed.

"I'm going, Michaela," Elizabeth said firmly.

She sighed, putting her coat on. "All right, fine. Children, hurry and get dressed."

"Yippie!" Byron shouted.

"Yes, ma'am!" Red Eagle said as they scurried up the stairs excitedly.

Michaela raised her hand and rapped on Loren's door. Anna Marie and Elizabeth were at her sides and Sully lingered behind them with the children.

"Heavens, Michaela. That'll never get him to come." Elizabeth raised her fist and pounded fiercely on the window for a very long moment. "Loren! Answer the door!"

"I'm comin'!" the storekeeper called, making his way around the counter to the door as Elizabeth continued to pound away.

"Who is it, Loren?" the Reverend asked, clutching his coffee cup.

"How should I know?" He threw open the door. "Don't you know what time it is! We're closed!" he exclaimed. He stopped short. "Elizabeth!"

"Hey, Mr. Bray!" Byron shouted. "Guess what? Brian got married!"

"What, married? What in tarnation? Who? When?"

"We need to speak with the Reverend immediately," Elizabeth said as Michaela pushed the wheelchair straight past Loren and walked inside. Anna Marie, Sully and the children followed behind them.

"Reverend Johnson, did you marry those children last night?" Elizabeth demanded.

"Who?" the Reverend replied blankly, standing up and clutching his cane. "Who's children?"

"Brian and Sarah Sheehan," Elizabeth said with exasperation. "We think they may have eloped."

"Well, no. No, I haven't talked to them since they asked me for the church in a couple weeks."

Anna Marie leaned against the counter. "Thank the Lord."

"Well, then where are they?" Elizabeth asked. "Do you suppose they took off for the next town?"

"Oh, no," Michaela said.

"All right, everybody just hold your horses," Loren said, approaching the group. "I saw Brian last night. And Sarah."

"You did?" Michaela exclaimed.

"The boy knocked on my door at about nine o'clock," Loren explained. "Wanted to know if he could borrow a few dollars."

"He say what for?" Sully asked.

He folded his arms. "He only had enough for one room at the boarding house. He wanted to get two rooms for some reason."

"And I suppose you loaned it to him," Elizabeth said.

"Well, I didn't know what he was up to," he said defensively.

Sully folded his arms thoughtfully. "Sounds to me like he scraped enough together to get a separate room for Sarah."

"Brian!" Katie shouted, spotting her brother out the store window and rushing outside. Brian closed the boarding house door, Sarah at his side.

Brian hugged his little sister, lifting her off her feet. He and Sarah were dressed in the same clothes they were wearing from the night before.

"Brian, we didn't know where you were!" Katie said.

"I'm sorry, Katie," he said, patting her back as the other children rushed outside and hugged him. "What're you all doin' in town at this hour?"

"Sarah, I was worried sick!" Anna Marie exclaimed, rushing off the porch and holding out her arms. "Thank goodness you're all right!"

Sarah hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry, Mama. I didn't mean to worry you."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what happened," she said, caressing her daughter's cheek tearfully. "I don't know what I was thinkin'! Oh, will you forgive me, darlin'?"

Sarah nodded and held her tighter. "Let's go home. I need some fresh clothes." She glanced at Brian and squeezed his hand. "See you later?"

"Sure. I'll come by this afternoon," he said, kissing her hand and helping her into their buggy.

Brian slowly turned to face his family. Elizabeth was staring at him crossly and Michaela and Sully looked tired and concerned.

"Brian, we were so worried," Michaela finally said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Considerin'."

"I can't believe you spent the night with that girl," Elizabeth spoke up disapprovingly. "Do you know what that looks like coming out of that boarding house with her at this time in the morning?"

"I don't care what it looks like. Point is Sarah couldn't stop cryin' last night. I had to stay with her." He squeezed Katie's shoulder. "I gotta go."

"Wait, where are you going?" Michaela asked.

"Got work to do at the Gazette. Miss Dorothy's expectin' me." He spun around and walked briskly toward the Gazette.

"Michaela, do something," Elizabeth demanded.

She dropped her hands at her sides. "What am I supposed to do? Mother, he's of age."

"He has to come back here and discuss this," Elizabeth said firmly. "You can't just let him walk off like that!"

"Brian, wait!" Michaela called.

Sully stepped closer to Michaela. "Both of ya just leave 'im be. He's all right. That's what we come out here to find out, right?"

"Oh, what a disaster," Elizabeth muttered. "I knew this would happen. I told you so."

Michaela glanced at Sully helplessly and he put his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder.

"Let's head home," he murmured.

Michaela opened her medical bag on her vanity and looked through it, doing another inventory of everything she kept in it. Then she opened the cabinet and looked inside, running her hand down the stack of towels, the receiving blankets and the bottles of carbolic acid and chlorine water for disinfecting. She felt a little compulsive, checking and rechecking everything, but it was the only thing she knew to do to calm her fears.

She looked back in her medical bag, suddenly searching frantically. She took nearly everything out and then looked up in a panic. She didn't have a pair of retractors if she needed a caesarian section. They were at the clinic. They weren't absolutely necessary if it came down to it, but they were certainly standard instruments every doctor should have.

She suddenly felt her palms sweat and her heart pump hard against her chest.

"Oh, no," she murmured, pressing her hand to her heart. It had been awhile since she had last worked herself up into a panic like this, but it was no less pleasant or easy to cope with.

"Think of something else," she whispered, sinking into her chair and clutching her belly.

"I need to head into town, pick up some things at the store," Sully remarked as he entered the room. "Wanna come?"

Michaela shook her head stiffly and tried to smile.

Sully wrinkled his brow, glancing at all the instruments strewn on the vanity. "What're ya doin'?"

"I was just, I was making sure we have everything we need for the birth."

He walked to her side. "We got everything. Don't worry about it."

She shook her head. "I forgot retractors. We'll need them if I need surgery. They're at the clinic."

"Andrew'll bring his own," he said with a shrug.

"No," she said irrationally.

"All right. Calm down. I'll stop by the clinic when I'm in town, bring 'em back."

"You don't know what they look like."

"Michaela, you're sweatin'," he said worriedly. "You're shakin', too."

"My heart's beating so fast," she said breathlessly.

He pressed his hand to her chest, alarmed when he felt it pumping hard and quickly.

"What's goin' on? What's wrong?"

"I don't know. It's my nerves," she replied, struggling to explain. "I just, I get anxious about it sometimes."

He stroked her arm soothingly. "About what? Havin' the baby?"

"I don't know. Partly that. Sometimes it seems to happen for no reason at all."

"It's happened before?"

She nodded reluctantly. "I don't understand it. I've never been a particularly nervous person. Now I'm so tense and jumpy all the time."

He squatted down beside her and held her hand. There was truth to that. Michaela was usually very stoic, at least in public. She needed to be for her patients to trust her. It was an admirable trait, one she had learned from her father, and she wasn't one to panic except under the most dire of circumstances. But lately she did seem out of sorts, much more anxious and restless, and certainly a lot more solemn and brooding. He had always chalked it up to the baby and hadn't thought anything of it until now.

"Well, you're pregnant," he said helpfully. "It's all right to be a little nervous sometimes."

"Not like this," she said, shaking her head.

"Slow your breathing down," he instructed. "Take some slow breaths. I'm here."

She tried to comply, slowly breathing in and out and willing her heart to calm down and the terror coursing through her veins to diminish.

"I tell ya lately how proud I am of ya?" he murmured, rubbing her belly soothingly. "All that mornin' sickness you been puttin' up with and everything else, ya still take such good care of me and the kids and your ma."

She smiled softly and continued to focus on breathing.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded. "They usually don't last too long."

"I think I better bring Andrew out here, have him take a look."

"No, not for something like this."

"Michaela, your heart was beatin' so hard. It scared me. Maybe there's something wrong with it."

"No, I know it's just nerves," she said. "I just need to find a way to relax when I work myself up."

"Sounds like a good idea to me. Why don't ya lay down, I'll rub your back."

"I thought you were going into town."

"I'll go later," he replied, grasping her arm and helping her to his feat. "After I tend to my wife." He guided her to the bed and helped her lay down on her side, then got behind her and kneaded her shoulders in his hands firmly. "Probably the weddin' too that's got ya worked up."

"I suppose."

He pressed a little harder on her shoulders. "How's this?"

She nodded, suddenly choking up. He immediately noticed and got down beside her, drawing her against him reassuringly and kissing her cheek.

"Shh. It's all right."

"I just need to keep going over and over everything. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"That's fine. It's fine," he replied.

"I feel a little crazy."

"It's not crazy. If it helps, go through all your instruments and things. Sometimes the more prepared folks are the better they feel."

"I don't feel myself at all," she said despairingly. "I don't know what's wrong."

"I don't think I'd feel myself either if I was goin' through everything you are," he said. "You're bein' so brave. Baby's gonna be here in two months. We just gotta hang on two more months."

"Two more months," she repeated hopefully. She swallowed. "Sully? Don't tell Mother about this. It'll worry her."

"I won't. But why don't ya talk to your ma about havin' the baby at home? I think now's a good time. Knowing the kids are gonna be safe with her will help ya feel better."

"You think so?"

He nodded and resumed stroking her back. "And I'll keep practicin' my back rubs. You're gonna want lots of those when you're havin' the baby, right?"

She smiled softly. "Yes, I probably will."

He smiled and kissed her, then soothingly worked the sore muscles of her shoulders with his skilled hands.

Sully sat on the top of the porch steps, finishing his coffee under the bright full moon. He spotted Brian on Taffy, trotting into view on the road. He slowly rose and walked toward the barn as Brian dismounted and led his horse inside.

Sully opened the barn door just as Brian was hoisting Taffy's saddle off and putting it on the side of the stall.

"Ya just come from Sarah's?" Sully asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Yep," Brian replied quietly.

"How's she doin'? Better?"

Brian glanced up, pouring some oats into Taffy's trough. "Upset. Insulted. Most of all hurt."

"Guess your gran'ma said some things that were hard to hear."

"It ain't Gran'ma that bothers me. She don't know Sarah that well. It's Ma. And Mrs. Sheehan. They just went along with it."

"Your ma just wants ya to do what's best. She didn't mean to hurt ya."

"We're not doin' anything wrong, Pa," Brian replied. "Is that what she wants to know? We're waitin' until marriage. We always wanted to wait until marriage."

"Brian, you don't gotta explain yourself to me," Sully said. "You're an adult, ya got a right to some privacy."

He swallowed hard. "Sarah's the most special girl I ever met. Least I can do is show her enough respect to hold off until we're husband and wife. If ma don't know that, I guess she don't really know me after all."

"She knows. This is all just a lot to take at once. First ya say you're gettin' married, then ya say you're doin' it in two weeks."

"We just don't want a lot of fuss over it. Your weddin' was nice, but it was just too big and fancy for us. We just wanna get married now and start our lives together."

"Ya know, an engagement's an important part of a man's journey with the woman he loves. It's a good time for the two of ya to get everything ready for your lives together. Talk about everything ya need to work out. Maybe even go see the Reverend a few times. If ya waited until summer, you wouldn't have to rush all this."

"We'll be ready. We'll just be pretty busy the next couple weeks."

Sully nodded. "You're a man. You can make this decision for yourself."

"Pa? Thanks for not gettin' upset about all this. Thanks for treatin' me like a man."

"Ya deserve to be treated like one," Sully said, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. "And every man needs his own wagon. Ya thought about that yet?"

Brian shrugged. "Guess that's partly why we want to live in town. We can't afford a wagon right now."

"Your ma and me were gonna sell our old wagon to Robert E. for the parts. You know it's in pretty bad shape, but I think if we put a new set of wheels on it, it could hold up for a few more months until ya can afford your own."

"You're givin' me the wagon, Pa?"

"Can't promise it ain't gonna break down on the side of the road, but at least it's somethin'. Think of it as an early weddin' present."

Brian smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Pa. Thank you."

"Will ya help me put those wheels on?"

"Sure thing."

"Let's head inside. It's gettin' late."

"I think I'll stay out here awhile if that's all right. Do some thinkin'," Brian replied.

"All right," Sully replied, squeezing his shoulder. "Night, son."

"Night," Brian replied, folding his arms across the top of the stall and leaning forward.

Sully opened the front door and hung up his jacket. "What smells so good?" he called.

Michaela flipped over the last few pancakes in the skillet and turned to glance at him as he walked into the kitchen. A platter beside her held a tall stack of pancakes more suited for a big family or perhaps a very large man. He couldn't imagine Michaela intended to eat them all herself, but everyone else was asleep except for the two of them. She had set the table for one person, with a napkin, fork and knife and a tall glass of milk. She had also put out a pitcher of syrup and a plate of butter.

"Pancakes," she replied simply. "I was craving them."

"Are all those for you?" he asked skeptically, putting his coffee mug in the sink.

"Mm-hm."

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "We just ate a couple hours ago. And as I remember it you had seconds of everything."

"I can't help it. I'm hungry again. The baby is, too." She removed the last pancakes with a spatula and placed them on top of the stack.

"I don't think even the baby wants to eat that much."

"Stop looking at me like I'm fat," she said petulantly. "I'm pregnant. I'm allowed to eat as much as I want."

"I ain't sayin' you're fat. You're perfect."

She grinned wryly. "Good recovery."

"Just wonderin' how somebody as small as you is gonna pack away all that."

"Watch me," she replied, taking a seat at the table and drowning the pancakes with syrup.

"It's good to see ya eatin'," he said more seriously. "I'm glad."

"Sometimes I wonder why I bother to eat at all. I just lose it again every morning."

"Didn't think it could last this long," he said sympathetically.

"Morning sickness sometimes continues throughout the pregnancy." She cut into the thick stack and took a large bite.

He leaned against the table. "I'm sorry this ain't been easy."

"I'm all right. I'm just not sure I'm up to planning a wedding right now."

"Sounds like they wanna keep it simple. Don't think they expect anybody to do much. Brian just got home. We had a good talk."

"Oh, good. Did you talk to him about postponing?"

"Tried to. Seems he's pretty sure about this though."

"I don't understand why they can't wait until summer. Mother's still so frail right now, I'm not exactly feeling my best, and we all just got back from a long trip to Boston. Once the baby's born and Mother's doing better then we can talk about having a wedding." She took another bite of the pancakes, averting her eyes.

"Sure ya ain't just makin' excuses?" he asked. "Tryin' to get 'em to postpone it cause you don't wanna see 'em married?"

"All right, maybe I am making excuses. But is it so wrong of me to want them to think long and hard about this? Marriage is such a big step, and it doesn't sound to me like they've planned all of this out. And he can't be serious about living in the boarding house. That's no place to begin a life together."

"They been courtin' five years. They've had plenty of time to talk about all those things."

"He was my little boy, Sully," she whispered. "Matthew and Colleen were nearly grown when I took them in, but Brian was still so young. I was just thinking the other day he was Byron and Red Eagle's age when Charlotte died. You and I raised him together. He's been through everything with us. And now he doesn't need us anymore."

"He needs us. A boy always needs his ma and pa," he said reassuringly. "Just in different ways now. So he don't need ya to wipe up his spills or comb his hair or help him with homework no more, but he still needs your love and support. You're right, marriage is a big step. But the best thing we could do for him right now is stand by him."

"I didn't stand by him," she said guiltily. "I turned on him when I always promised myself I wouldn't do that again." She took a bite of the pancakes. "It's just, Mother was frightening me making me think about all the times they've been alone. I've been second guessing everything when perhaps I shouldn't have."

"They ain't been together, Michaela. They're waitin' until they get married. I didn't ask. He told me."

She sighed, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. "I suppose I knew that deep down."

"Kinda a shame, really. Mighta been interesting to have an uncle or aunt the same age as their niece or nephew."

"It's not funny, Sully," she scolded.

"Just 'cause you don't wanna be a gran'ma," he replied perceptively.

"That's not why!" she replied defensively. "I'll be thrilled to be a grandmother. Just, a very long time from now." She ate another bite intrepidly.

He chuckled and sat beside her, gazing at her lovingly. She couldn't help but smile. She cut him a small piece of the pancakes and held out her fork, feeding it to him.

"That's all you're getting," she said, giving him a stern look.

He tenderly caressed her cheek as he swallowed. "I meant it when I said you're perfect."

"Mother says I'm glowing," she said shyly.

"Your ma's right." He paused. "Did I just say that?"

"Yes, and I'm making a note of it," she replied with a smile, leaning toward him and giving him a soft kiss.

Michaela knocked firmly on the sheriff's office door, holding her medical bag. Matthew was sitting at his desk writing a letter. He glanced up and saw Michaela through the window.

"Come in," he called.

Michaela opened the door and slammed it behind her, looking at him desperately.

"What's wrong, Dr. Mike?"

"It's your brother."

"Byron?"

"No, Matthew. Brian," she said impatiently. "He proposed to Sarah."

He raised his eyebrows. "He did? She say yes?"

"Of course she did. They're getting married next month. On the sixteenth." She shook her head tearfully. "Oh, Matthew."

He stood up, guiding her to his chair. "All right, all right. Just stay calm, Dr. Mike. Here, sit down."

She sunk into his chair. "He invited Mrs. Sheehan over for supper the other night and then he asked her for Sarah's hand. Just like that, without a word to Sully or me. Did he say anything to you about this?"

"No, nothing," he replied. "But can't say as I'm really surprised. You know he's head over heels for her."

"He's so young. I thought it was just puppy love," she murmured.

"You thought that was puppy love?" he replied incredulously.

"Do you know something I don't know?"

"No, it's just, he's been courtin' that girl five years. They've been pretty serious for awhile now. I guess marriage was gonna come sooner or later."

"I just don't know what could have put the idea in his head that they need to get married right this minute. I don't understand what the urgency is." She sighed. "Your grandmother went so far as to imply Sarah might be with child."

"No, that can't be it," he said incredulously.

"No, it's not," she murmured. "Far from it, fortunately."

His face suddenly clouded. "Oh, no."

"What?" she demanded, sitting straighter.

He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Well, I sorta had a talk with him about all this awhile back."

"What kind of talk? What did you say?"

"He was askin' me about Ingrid, and I was just tellin' him some of what I was goin' through at the time, man to man. How we wished we hadn't put off gettin' married."

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "Matthew!"

"I didn't mean he should tie the knot right now. How was I supposed to know he'd take it that way?"

"You've got to do something. You've got to stop this."

"He ain't so little anymore. I can't tell him what to do."

"You could at least try to convince him of the benefits of waiting. Encourage him to put it off until the summer. Please, Matthew?"

"Dr. Mike, how am I supposed to do that?"

"You talked him into this. You can talk him out."

Brian opened Elizabeth's door, carrying a breakfast tray with oatmeal, a cup of coffee and some slices of apple.

"Mornin', Gran'ma," he called softly.

Elizabeth slowly opened her eyes and he placed the tray on her bed.

"Brian? Is it your turn to look after the invalid?" she replied.

"Ma went into the clinic early and Pa's helpin' out Robert E. in town." He walked to her curtains and drew them apart, letting in the sunshine. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, and you? I'm glad you decided to come home. We were all worried."

He approached the bed and helped her to sit up. "Didn't mean to worry anybody. Guess Sarah and me just needed to get away for a little bit after what happened."

"Oh, Brian, you can't mean to really marry that girl. At your age?"

"I don't understand, Gran'ma. You got married young, too, didn't ya? How old were you?"

"As a matter of fact I was eighteen. I already had an infant and another on the way by the time I was your age. But things were different back then. I didn't have the kind of choices that you do. Think of everything you're giving up. All the opportunities at your fingertips."

"I made my choice. I want to do this. And I'm not givin' up anything. Only difference is Sarah's gonna be by my side."

She stirred her oatmeal, brow fixed with disappointment.

Brian slowly sat on the bed. "Gran'ma, we really need you. We thought maybe you could talk to Grace about food for the weddin', and help Sarah decide how to do her hair. And help us pick out flowers, the music, who we should invite."

She glanced up, slowly relenting. "You want me to plan your wedding?"

"Sure. You've got the most experience of anybody. After all, you planned all your daughters' weddings, didn't ya?"

"Yes. Well, except your mother's. I tried to, of course. But she had other ideas." She took a bite of her oatmeal. "Oh, when I think of how spectacular that wedding could have been had she only listened to me."

"As long as you keep it simple, you can do whatever ya want this time. We don't really care."

She sipped at her coffee pensively. "Perhaps Grace could sing a solo. And you should have roses. Lots and lots of white roses."

Brian shrugged. "Sure, that sounds good."

"You need a new suit, young man."

"Nah, I'll just wear my Sunday suit. It's fine."

"Nonsense, you're not getting married in that old thing. I'll give you some money and you can go see Loren and purchase the best suit he has. It'll be part of my wedding gift. I can let it out for you if the trousers are too short."

He smiled. "Thanks, Gran'ma."

"Don't just sit there. Bring me some paper and a pen. We've got to start writing this all down. We've got a wedding to plan!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a grin, getting up and heading out of the room.

"Some of you did very well on your history test," Teresa said as she passed back a small stack of papers to her students. "Others of you, not so well. I want you all to look over your tests and correct your answers. And if you received more than six incorrect I want you to stay after school and we'll talk about taking this test again. You may work together with your partners."

Teresa handed Katie her paper and the little girl beamed, then the teacher stepped forward and handed Byron and Red Eagle their papers.

"Hey, only two wrong," Byron whispered proudly. He looked at Red Eagle's paper. "Whoa! You got none wrong!"

"That's cause Gran'ma helps us study," he said with a grin. "Need help correcting your answers?"

He grabbed his pencil. "Yeah. Thanks."

Red Eagle noticed Davey sitting in front of them, burying his head on his arms.

"You all right? Are you sick?" Red Eagle asked, poking his back with a pencil.

"Leave me alone," he muttered.

"Did you do bad on your test?" Byron asked quietly. "That's all right. I do bad lots of times!"

"My ma's gonna skin me alive she finds out I failed," he whispered unsteadily.

"Oh," Byron said, gazing at him sympathetically.

Teresa tapped her ruler lightly on her desk. "Boys? Work on your tests, please."

"Yes, ma'am," Red Eagle replied, picking up his pencil.

Brian slipped into a thick navy blue vest and buttoned it up, looking at his reflection in the store mirror.

Loren swiped off the dust from the shoulders with a small brush. "Now that's what I call a suit. Put on the coat, too."

Brian grabbed the matching coat off the back of a chair and put it on, holding his arms at his sides.

"Trousers don't fit right," Brian remarked. "Too short."

"Your legs are too long is what it is. I'll have to send them out to a tailor in Denver."

"It's all right. I don't think there's time. Sides, my gran'ma said she'd let 'em out if this happened. She's real good at sewin'."

"Elizabeth Quinn," Loren remarked reverently. "A woman of many talents."

Brian smiled at his reflection and pulled on the ends of the vest. "I'll take it, Mr. Bray."

Loren beamed and walked to a nearby shelf. "Let's get you a tie, too. If a man's gonna get married he oughta be wearin' a new tie."

Matthew walked into the store as Loren handed Brian a navy blue string tie. Brian put it around his neck and tied it, noticing Matthew in the mirror.

"Hey, Matthew," he called, turning around. "What do ya think of my new suit?"

"Uh, it's uh, it's nice," Matthew stammered. "Looks kinda expensive, little brother."

"Well, of course it is. Finest quality," Loren remarked.

"Don't worry, Gran'ma's payin' for it," Brian said. "So I guess ya heard. Sarah and me just got engaged."

"Dr. Mike told me," Matthew replied, clearing his throat. "Brian, could I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure," Brian said with a shrug.

"In private?" Matthew added, pointing his thumb behind him.

Brian crossed the room and followed him out to the porch.

"Don't get it dirty," Loren called.

Matthew removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair nervously. "Listen, Brian-"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell ya about the engagement myself," Brian said. "What with the weddin' in two weeks, me and Sarah have been awful busy."

"Oh. Well, that's all right. Brian, ya know, gettin' married, that's a real important thing. Not something ya just do on a whim."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I want everybody most important to me to be there."

Matthew blinked, putting his hat back on. "Right. What I'm tryin' to say is, when I was tellin' ya about Ingrid awhile back, I think maybe ya didn't understand what I meant."

"I understood," Brian said. "Hey, Matthew? I was wonderin', would you stand up with me on the big day? Be my best man?"

"Best man? Well, I-"

"It'd mean an awful lot to me. You been the best big brother I could ever ask for. We sure been through a lot together."

Matthew slowly sighed, losing his gumption under Brian's earnest, ingenuous gaze. "That we have," he murmured. "Course I'll be your best man."

Brian smiled and hugged him, slapping his back firmly. "Let's get you a new suit, too. Mr. Bray's got lots to choose from. Come on."

Dorothy squeezed her wrist with one hand and grimaced. She stretched her fingers, trying to ease the discomfort, and went back to setting her type.

Michaela rapped on her open door, face somber.

Dorothy glanced up. "Michaela, just the woman I was hoping to see. My rheumatism's really been acting up lately."

"Oh. Well, you could come by the clinic this afternoon and I'll take a look," she murmured.

Dorothy looked at her more carefully, sensing something amiss. "Michaela?"

She looked up, suddenly falling into tears.

"Oh, Michaela! What's wrong?" Dorothy wiped her hands on her apron and approached her, drawing her into a comforting hug.

Michaela sniffled, clutching her friend's shoulders. "Oh, Dorothy. Brian's getting married," she said despairingly.

Dorothy sighed, patting her back. "Yes, I know."

She pulled back. "You do? Did he say something to you?"

"No, not a peep. Except to drop off my invitation."

"Invitation? I didn't know he'd already made up invitations."

"You didn't? Why, you didn't write them yourself? It looks like your handwriting." She walked to her desk, moving aside a few papers until she uncovered the folded piece of thick paper.

She handed it to Michaela and she opened the invitation and glanced at the slanted script.

"Dorothy, this is my mother's handwriting!" Michaela exclaimed. "I don't understand. Mother was beside herself when Brian announced their engagement. Why would she be writing up the invitations?"

"Oh, well Brian and Sarah must have asked her. They probably thought she'd have good penmanship."

"I suppose," she murmured.

"Let's head over to the café. Get some coffee and talk."

Michaela nodded despondently, dropping the invitation on the desk and following her friend outside.

"Well, he's awfully young," Dorothy remarked, threading her arm with Michaela's. "But lots of folks get married young and do just fine."

Grace spotted them as they entered the café and hurried over to them, carrying her coffee pot.

"Oh, Dr. Mike. I was hopin' to run into you. Do you have a minute?"

"Certainly, Grace. Is something wrong?"

"It's the menu. Now, I don't see why I couldn't do the roasted duck with honey sauce and the new potatoes and the baby peas. And Loren says he'll order the champagne and that we'll just have to hope it arrives in time. But I just don't know about that corn and crab soup."

Michaela looked at her in utter confusion. "Corn and crab soup?"

"That's right. Where am I supposed to get the crab from? If I were back in New Orleans I'd only have to walk to the market. But this is Colorado Springs. Now don't worry, I have the solution." She smiled brightly. "I was thinking we could take that off the menu and replace it with my spinach and sweet potato soup. Everybody loves it and I'm sure it'll taste just like home to Sarah."

Michaela shook her head. "Menu? Grace, I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Grace suddenly paused, sensing something off. "For the weddin', Dr. Mike. The reception menu."

"I didn't write any menus. I don't know anything about this," Michaela said.

"Mrs. Quinn sent it to me the other day." She cleared her throat, glancing at Dorothy. "…Oh."

"Mother wrote the menu, too?" Michaela replied in disbelief. "I don't understand."

Grace stepped back uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Dr. Mike. I just assumed you were a part of it, too."

She shook her head in disbelief. "No I wasn't a part of it. I wasn't a part of the invitations, either."

Dorothy touched her arm. "Now, Michaela, I'm sure it's not what it looks like."

"First my son tells me he's getting married in two weeks, then my own mother helps him plan the wedding behind my back? All this time she led me to believe she hated the idea."

"Well, maybe she's had a change of heart."

"Why didn't he ask me to write the invitations and decide on the menu?" she asked, crossing her arms with frustration.

Dorothy shrugged. "Well, Michaela, to be fair you don't seem very happy about the whole thing. Maybe he was afraid to ask you."

"I'm his mother!" she exclaimed.

Grace shifted awkwardly. "I gotta check on the stove," she said, spinning around and hurrying back to her kitchen.

"Dorothy, he can't get married. Not like this." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I need to head home. I have to speak with my mother right now."