THE MASK OF BLACK HAWK
By Linda Ellen
July 2012
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman (but those people aren't using them anyway!)
This is an expanded version of a challenge piece, where we had to use 3 pics and 3 quotes. One pic was of Michaela and Sully in bed, taken from the 2nd movie. Another was of Sully in war paint, tying her up in The Prisoner. The third was also from the 2nd movie, they are dancing, she in a gold dress, he in a tux. The quotes are in bold in the text. This is a satire, playing off of the Zorro legend. So, please no flames telling me how it's not 'canon', lol.
Sometime in 1867...
Michaela sighed as she rode along on Bear's broad back; her thoughts centered on her very mysterious landlord/friend...Byron Sully.
They had become quite close friends in the time that she had been in Colorado Springs. The time she had spent carving out a medical practice, getting to know her patients, and learning about all of the many things that made Colorado special. Among those things were mountain men – and the Cheyenne.
Just now, Michaela was headed out to the reservation to attend to her patients residing there. Her mouth moved into its customary half grin as she mused, in some ways, they have accepted me as a doctor more than the people of the town. Although they have their own medicine man, Cloud Dancing, with his particular manner of cures, they have welcomed my medicine, and that is so satisfying...
She glanced over at her escort for the trip, Matthew Cooper, the oldest of her three wards. He was just a boy, really, barely sixteen, but she was glad she had male company, as one never knew who or what one might encounter on the road. Matthew had insisted he accompany her that morning when she had stubbornly decided to forge ahead and venture out to the Indian camp for her planned appointment, after her normal escort, Sully, had canceled to make an unexpected trip to Manitou.
"It's only just over that next hill," Michaela mentioned.
The young man glanced at her and nodded, his eyes shifting around as he did his best to appear brave and sure...like his mentor, Sully. Matthew sure couldn't let his guardian know he was actually scared right down to his boots. The only Indians he had ever encountered were renegades, and he'd never even seen their camp.
As they topped the rise, the two riders paused for a moment to view the large sprawling Indian village, noting the smoke rising gently from the tops of the teepees. The sight was peaceful and serene, quelling some of Matthew's tension. With a glance at one another, they urged their horses forward.
OOOOOOO
Michaela smiled sweetly at the small Cheyenne girl as she applied a dose of life-saving vaccine. The child grimaced, but held still and silent, as all Indian children were taught to do from birth.
"There you are, all finished," the lady doctor soothed as she patted the little arm and smiled up at Cloud Dancing's wife, Snowbird. The Indian woman smiled also, and lovingly guided the child to move on so the next in line could step up. It was a young boy.
As Michaela prepared his arm for the inoculation, he whispered something to Snowbird. She smiled and glanced toward the doctor. "He asks if he can have two – one in each arm."
Michaela smiled sweetly, explaining, "He only needs one vaccination to protect him from smallpox."
Snowbird was amazed. "All his years?"
"Yes," the doctor answered with another charming smile as she completed the task.
"You bring us strong medicine," Snowbird murmured, astounded. None of her husband's herbs or remedies lasted a person's entire lifetime. What magic these whites possessed!
As Michaela opened her mouth to answer, shouts were suddenly heard in the camp. Startled, she turned toward the noise as Matthew moved protectively near, murmuring, "What the...?"
Several braves soon galloped into the village, yelling and whooping. War paint adorned their faces. One, however, looked different from the others...his hair was of a wavy texture, instead of the straight, raven-wing black of the Cheyenne. He wore a sleeveless buckskin shirt adorned with beads and feathers, buckskin leggings and colorful loincloth, and moccasins, and he was holding what appeared to be an injured brave draped over his horse.
Cloud Dancing ran to meet the group, calling out to them in Cheyenne.
From her position in the center of camp, Michaela watched as the Medicine Man lowered the injured man to the ground. The unusual brave looked her way, and she actually felt his stare. It made her a bit uncomfortable. He barked a question at Cloud Dancing, who answered and motioned with a jerk of his head over his shoulder, in her direction. They were obviously discussing her presence in the camp. Momentarily worried, as she had heard many stories of how vindictive and angry these 'dog soldiers' were, she nevertheless laid her instruments aside and stood to her feet. Gently brushing aside Matthew's whispered objections, she bravely made her way over to the newcomers.
"Cloud Dancing? May I have a look at this man?" she asked, politely elbowing past him and crouching to examine the brave. She missed the look the medicine man shared with the unusual warrior. "Why...he's been shot," she added, turning as she called over to Snowbird, still at the fire, "Snowbird, please bring me my bag..."
The other braves began to argue at once, but Cloud Dancing snapped a response in Cheyenne, gesturing to her. Although he had removed bullets before, he knew that in this case, Dr. Mike's medicine would be more effective – and the most important thing was always to do what was best for the patient. He had acceded months before that sometimes his medicine worked...and sometimes hers.
Michaela glanced up at the wavy-haired warrior, noticing, now that she was close, that the top half of his face down to the bridge of his nose was painted black, like a mask, and white stripes had been painted on his cheeks. She noticed, also, that he had whiskers, unlike the other Indian men, and she realized right then that he must be part white. His hair was slicked back with some kind of foul smelling grease. Before she could meet his eyes, however, he quickly looked away.
There was something about him...something that drew her...something familiar...but she just couldn't put her finger on it. Finally, with a small shrug, she directed Cloud Dancing and another brave to carry the injured warrior into the medicine man's teepee, where both of the healers worked to save him.
OOOOOOOO
After that day, as the months rolled on, the half-breed – Black Hawk - appeared in Colorado Springs periodically. Once, using sign, he served as negotiator and translator between the army and the Cheyenne during treaty counsel. Despite his help, however, it had not gone well for the Indians. Another time, he and his fellow dog soldiers came in the dead of night, searching for and finding stores of stolen government provisions in a lean-to behind the mercantile, and stealing them back to feed the People. Once when Cloud Dancing had been captured and held, Black Hawk and some other braves, with Michaela's help, worked to free him from Custer's grip. Black Hawk seemed to just appear in the nick of time, when needed, once stopping a soldier from beating an Indian man...once skillfully hurling his tomahawk, saving Cheyenne prisoners from hanging.
Always, Michaela stood watching with everyone else, completely in awe of the masked half-breed's prowess. Each time, as he galloped away bareback on his faithful black stallion, Max, short for Ma'xêhevovetäso (Cheyenne for Tornado), he acknowledged her with a nod. Once, he had even tossed her a leather pouch filled with willow bark, as Cloud Dancing had told him she was running low on her 'white man's medicine' for fevers.
This behavior, this partiality toward her, began to be noticed by the townspeople, and Michaela endured quite a few odd looks and whispers behind her back. Everyone wondered why the now infamous Black Hawk, half-breed champion for the Cheyenne – hunted day and night by Custer's army, seemed to have a soft spot for the unmarried lady doc.
These suspicions, however, did not extend to her beau, Byron Sully...
Over the months, Sully had become a fixture around the homestead he had rented to her and her friend Charlotte's children, of whom she had custody. He was very attentive, brought her gifts, such as beautiful carvings - of his pet wolf, an eagle for the mantel, and other realistic animals. He also brought fresh meat for the household, chopped wood, helped with the cow and horses, kept up with repairs on the homestead, and even went to church with her and the kids. But he never even mentioned the mysterious Indian, Black Hawk.
Many evenings were spent at the dinner table, as if they were family, while the children – even Matthew - gushed in fascination over Black Hawk's latest escapade. Discussed often would be what he had done to show Michaela attention, such as toss her a flower as he galloped past. The children had much fun at her expense, teasing her about her mysterious Cheyenne benefactor. But Sully always remained silent during those conversations, merely observing; his expression carefully neutral. He certainly never appeared to be jealous in any way. Michaela could never seem to find a way to actually ask him what he thought about the situation, or quite a few other subjects either. Many things about his past – and present – stubbornly remained a mystery.
As the time went on, the lady doc and the mountain man had quite a few adventures in the woods together, such as locating the source of mercury in the town's water supply. They also traveled together to Washington DC, to testify before congress regarding the plight of the Indians, taking Sully's best friend and brother, Cloud Dancing, with them. While there, her very courteous beau had looked quite dapper in a small selection of suits and even a tuxedo, accompanying her to a dance at the White House. Always the hero, Sully had even managed to be in the right place at the right time and save the life of the President!
At thirty-six, Michaela had resigned herself to never finding love, content to be a single woman and physician the rest of her days. But then Sully had entered her life. Michaela had fallen in love, totally and irreversibly, with the enigmatic mountain man. They were so different from one another in so many ways – breeding, education, affluence, range of experiences – and the fact that he was a widower, his wife and child perishing during a traumatic childbirth. These were things that he steadfastly refused to discuss. On the opposite side, however, were many things they had in common – the way they cared about the children, about doing what was right, about keeping one's promises, and remaining loyal to one's beliefs and to those you love...and about standing with the truth. With each passing day, she fell more and more in love with the handsome, quiet, brave ex-silver miner turned government surveyor. Two years after they met, she accepted his proposal of marriage.
However...she couldn't seem to help the attraction she felt for the mysterious Black Hawk. What was it about him that drew her so? He was a renegade half-breed Cheyenne...he slept in the wild, sported war paint, rode horses bareback, and barely knew two words of English. As man and woman, they should have absolutely nothing in common...but each time she was in his presence, she felt a fire deep within. A slow burning fire, complete with electric sparks. Her breath hitched and her pulse raced when she saw him, or if someone even mentioned his name. And although Sully could throw a tomahawk and a double-bladed knife with ease and accuracy...there was something about the way Black Hawk did it that sent her senses reeling. She felt an unexplainable excitement and...longing.
With each encounter, she held her breath with expectancy, hoping he would once again notice her, single her out...and when he did, she never failed to feel herself start to swoon, instantly berating herself for acting like a silly schoolgirl. Indeed, she would muse time and again, I'm acting just like Colleen when she had fancied herself 'in love' with Sully. Thankfully that period hadn't lasted long. So then...why can't I shake this secret, lustful fascination for Black Hawk? It was shameful. Sinful. And she couldn't tell a soul about it – not even Dorothy, her best friend. No one must know. And heaven help her if she ever found herself alone with the man...
Analyzing her own feelings, she had decided that Black Hawk had certain traits that reminded her of Sully. Something about the way he moved, even his voice – although she had never heard him speak other than softly and in Cheyenne. She had never seen him up close, at least, not close enough to clearly distinguish his features beneath the black paint. Once, when he had glanced her way, she had imagined that his eyes were blue – but had dismissed it as a trick of the sunlight – surely he possessed the black eyes of the Cheyenne...
She wondered if her mind had created this fascination to quell her anxieties about intimacy with her future husband...that subject had always been relegated to the realm of the unknown and something of which to fear. Being a spinster, and of good moral fiber, she was still innocent in the ways of a man, and the prospect of giving herself to Sully on their wedding night caused her a bit of anxiety. Why was it then...that she often found herself daydreaming – and even night dreaming – of kissing and more with the mysterious Black Hawk? Because, she berated herself often, Black Hawk is an absolutely unattainable man, and therefore the prospect of that ever happening is slim to none. I have nothing to 'fear' from him...
All of this kept Michaela feeling a bit unbalanced, but she forged on with wedding plans, determined to marry her soul mate and put away her schoolgirl crush once and for all. She refused to even think about the possibility that she could be in love with two men at the same time.
Was she that base? That wanton? No no...I love Sully, only Sully, she would remind herself. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him with unnecessary suspicions regarding her faithfulness. Period.
OOOOOOOO
-Months later
Michaela sighed dreamily and pulled back from her new husband's kiss, as they lay entwined in the beautiful four-poster bed in their hotel room in Denver.
Sully tilted his head back and gazed at his wife of two weeks, completely content as she smiled into his eyes. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of something fleeting in those mismatched eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. She settled her head in the curve of his neck and shoulder, staring at nothing.
After a few minutes, he murmured huskily, "Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?"
She swallowed softly, nuzzling his cheek with her forehead.
"Nothing..." How can I tell him? What if he walks out of my life forever...
"Don't seem like nothin'..." Sully responded softly.
She remained still, an inner battle raging.
"Tell me," he whispered lovingly, turning his head to press a kiss to her hair.
"I was thinking about...Black Hawk," she whispered, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.
Sully waited, but when she didn't elaborate, he pressed, "What about 'im?"
Drawing in a deep breath, she shook her head softly. "Just...thankful the Cheyenne have him as an advocate."
"Yeah," he agreed softly, drawing her closer to his body as he lapsed into thought.
After a few more silent minutes, and desperate to change the subject, Michaela's thoughts touched on an earlier discussion.
"We were talking earlier about Loren and Maude and Dorothy...Do you think a man can love two women at the same time?"
Sully's eyebrows furrowed as he reached to pick up a lock of her hair, allowing its silken strands to flow through his fingers.
"I dunno...could a woman love two men at the same time?"
His words jolted her and suddenly anxious, she leaned her head back to meet his eyes.
"Oh Sully...love me...now!" she murmured as she passionately captured his lips with her own.
With a growl of answered passion, he wasted no time fulfilling her request.
Michaela shut her eyes tightly as her husband made love to her, striving to push away the images of the virile champion of the Cheyenne.
OOOOOO
Back home in Colorado Springs several months later, Michaela was just locking up the clinic to go home. Her husband had gone out of town on business for Welland Smith, and the Department of the Interior.
Suddenly, bandits came running out of the saloon toward their horses, Hank the barkeep hot on their heels.
"Stop thieves! I'm bein' robbed!" he shouted, taking aim, but hesitating when he saw Dr. Mike in his line of fire.
Before she could think or move, one of the bandits veered his horse toward her, leaned down, and grabbed her around the waist with a muscled arm, hauling her over the saddle in front of him. She screamed and fought him, but he was much too strong. He and his compatriot galloped quickly out of town, taking her as a hostage.
Jake arrived outside, leveling his gun at the retreating thugs, but Hank knocked his arm down, the weapon discharging into the dirt.
"What'dya do that for? They're gettin' away!" Jake shouted in disgust, thinking Hank had lost his mind.
"Ya mighta hit the doc, the first one has her over his horse – didn't ya see?"
Just then, Brian, Colleen, and Matthew came running from the direction of the café.
"Ma!" "Dr. Mike!" they yelled toward the retreating horses.
Other townies gathered quickly in the street as the dust began to settle.
"Those men! They took Docta Mike!" Grace yelled.
"Where's Sully?" Loren shouted.
"He's away doin' a survey for Mr. Smith!" Colleen fretted.
"Nothin' for it but ta get up a posse! Who's ridin' with me?!" Hank shouted as he holstered his gun and ran for his horse.
OOOOOO
Hours later, Michaela strained at the bindings on her wrists, the gag in her mouth making her jaw ache. She was still wearing the light blue dress she had worn to attend Dorothy's birthday celebration at the café that afternoon.
What a time for Sully to be out of town...I hope someone was able to track me... she fretted silently, pausing to listen for approaching footsteps. The bandits had ridden to a deserted cabin and left her tied and helpless in the barn. She could hear them drinking and carousing in the house. How am I going to get loose? And if I do...how will I find my way back to town or home...
As always, a dashing figure galloped in her mind's eye...long wavy hair, black shiny paint camouflaging his upper features, white stripes on his cheeks and jaw, Indian war paint on his tanned, muscular torso. Black Hawk...the masked avenger of the Cheyenne people...still so mysterious...so...captivating. She both hoped and dreaded he would somehow find her. The thought never occurred to her to wish for her husband to be her hero. Sully was more than capable, and had saved her life on many occasions, but just then, it was Black Hawk for which her heart yearned. But it was impossible...how would he even know she was in danger? And why should he care...?
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the barn changed and she knew he was near. She didn't question how he knew or why he would come. Unconsciously holding her breath, her eyes darted around the shadowed interior until the small back door silently opened and closed. In an instant, he was by her side, swiftly and silently untying her gag and reaching for his knife to cut her bonds.
Then, taking her hand, he led her through the dark barn, out the small door and away undetected into the night.
Several hundred yards from the barn, Black Hawk helped the lady doctor up onto Ma'xêhevovetäso, and slipped effortlessly up behind her. A nudge from two moccasined feet sent the stallion toward town.
As they rode along, Michaela was ashamedly aware of the virile man pressed intimately against her back. What is wrong with me? I love my husband. Sully is my soul mate! But...then why do I feel so drawn to this mysterious man? I must be one of those sinful women who cannot be faithful to one man...she mused dishearteningly, guilt piercing her soul.
Black Hawk remained silent as they rode along. He could feel her anxiety and it weighed heavy on his heart. He knew she was torturing herself. Finally he could stand it no more and drew the horse to a halt in the woods not far from the Sully homestead. He slid off and silently offered his arms. She allowed him to assist her down, looked up into his shadowed face, and wrenched away a few feet to stand with her back to him.
"I'm a terrible person..." she whispered miserably, wrapping her arms tightly around her body.
"Nót'taš," he shook his head gently, one hand lifted toward her.
"I..." she paused, glancing momentarily over her shoulder at him. She knew he couldn't understand English, so she allowed herself to utter the words she had never told another soul. "I'm...attracted to you. And I'm so ashamed...because I'm...married. My husband's name is Byron Sully, and I love him with all my heart..." she paused again, tilting her head back and drawing in a shuddering breath, fighting tears of shame. "You remind me of him, in a way," she admitted in a whisper, "...and yet, in many ways you are his exact opposite..."
He could stand it no more; he couldn't keep causing her this pain. Stepping closer, he gently placed his hands on her arms.
"Michaela..."
She gasped and turned to face him. "You know my name?" she whispered, her eyes large in the moonlight. His countenance was totally in the shadows.
"Yeah. I know your name...and everything else about ya," he answered, turning so that the bright shaft of moonlight could fall on his face.
"It's me, Michaela. Sully."
Her eyes widened even more as she really saw this man called Black Hawk - up close for the first time. It WAS Sully!
"But...you...YOU are Black Hawk? W...why did you keep this from me?" she cried, backing away from him.
"Because," he quickly responded. Reaching out, he tried to take her in his arms, but she batted away his attempt as anger rose nearly to the boiling point. She couldn't believe her husband had deceived her so! He stopped, hands raised as if in surrender. "Somethin' had to be done to help the Indians – and I knew that you wouldn't go for me dressin' up and pretendin' to be some unknown crusader. Besides, if you knew it was me, and the army asked ya, you'd tell 'em," he added softly, but without malice. Her unwavering honesty was one of the things he loved about her.
They stared at each other in silence as she grappled with the unexpected revelation.
He held his breath as he waited for her reaction to the bombshell he had just dropped in her lap.
OOOOO
A year passed...
The lovers danced closely together, Michaela smiling up into her handsome husband's face. She loved to see him in a tuxedo...although picturing him in buckskins made her heart speed up.
He was thinking how beautiful she looked in her new gown, a breathtaking golden creation. He even loved the feathers in her hair...
"That was a close call Black Hawk had a few days before we left for Boston," Michaela commented, one eyebrow raised as she held her husband's azure blue gaze.
"Yep. But he can take care of himself," he murmured with a shrug.
"I still can't believe I..." she paused, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Didn't realize his true identity at first."
"Mmm hmm." His eyes sparkled.
"It was foolish."
"Yep." He tried not to grin.
Pausing, her eyes twinkling and mouth upturned with her sweet crooked smile, she quipped, "Must you agree with me all the time?"
He chuckled and leaned in for a soft kiss, whispering, "Just make sure you don't reveal his identity to...anyone in uniform."
Feigning insult, Michaela tapped him on the arm, waiting as he maneuvered them away from other dancers.
"I couldn't even if I wanted to," she pointed out, fluttering her eyelashes at him. He took the bait.
"Why's that?"
"Silly. Don't you remember?"
He frowned and shook his head. She grinned at him impishly.
"I took an oath!"
"An oath?"
"Mmmhmm. To love, honor, and obey you. You swore me to silence, remember?"
"That I did," he nodded in agreement, once more twirling her around the floor.
"You see...you're not the only one who – 'keeps their promises'," she replied with a triumphant grin.
With a chuckle, the couple continued to dance throughout the evening – but took the first chance they could to sneak off upstairs to their bedroom – the spare room in Elizabeth's home.
The half-breed warrior made an unexpected private appearance that night – sans war paint. Michaela was, as always, thrilled to catch a glimpse beneath the loincloth and the mask of Black Hawk, her sensuous renegade.
Indeed, between her polished husband and his dashing alter ego, the cultured doctor from Boston knew that she had ended up with the best of both worlds. ;)
~~The End~~