Wheels
by Mary Ellen Snodgrass
"What a day!" Michaela shivered beside the upstairs hearth as oak splits fluttered into flame over a heavy back log. Her boots set out to dry and dress and petticoats pulled free, she huddled in the blue and white afghan and tucked it closer over shimmy and pantaloons. With a free hand, she slipped wire pins from her updo. Raw winds beat at the window and pelted rain on the north side of the homestead.
Sully's moccasined feet eased silently upstairs. "Michaela—"
"I'm in here, Sully," she called. After months of marriage, his ability to sense need in his wife and family always amazed her. She made an effort at straightening her posture, but couldn't conceal the day's misery and fatigue. "And I'm wet through and through."
He frowned at her crouch by the fireplace. "You're shiverin. How'd you get so wet?" He grabbed a towel from the washstand, stooped, and gathered up coppery strands of her hair.
"The creek was overflowing. I thought it safer to come around the long way by the bridge. I don't trust Flash pulling the wagon in deep water." She leaned forward and placed her forehead on her knees to let him rub and stroke her hair dry. "That feels wonderful." She laid her head on his thighs and drew heat from his body. "You're always warm." She inhaled the familiar fragrance of his buckskins. His moccasins bore the clean smell of wet grass.
"You know you shouldn't be out in a downpour in your condition," he scolded, shaking water from her drippy tresses. "What if you catch a sore throat?" His voice sounded more worried than peeved.
"It's not a condition, Sully," she retorted. "Pregnancy can't stop me from treating sick patients. And my throat feels fine." Annoyed at his coddling, she pushed him away and finished the job of brushing rainwater from her hair.
He sighed and gestured frustration. "Well at least let me drive tomorrow. Then if you get in a bad way—"
"I'll be fine tomorrow. It may be drier by morning. And I have only one appointment, with the Colonel." Michaela attempted to pull herself upright, but Sully held her close and began tending her cold toes, arches, and ankles with firm, even massage.
"I think you're a better masseuse than I am," she murmured, leaning into his pressure on her feet.
"How's the Colonel doin?" Sully asked without letting up the soothing friction on chilled skin.
Michaela took special care of Colonel William Lloyd Evers, a veteran of the Mexican War and a close neighbor to the Sully homestead. Since a stroke numbed his left side at age 73, he depended on his wife Cilla for daily care and regular physiotherapy from Michaela to improve muscle tone and raise his spirits.
She had to admit, "The sessions are better for his morale than for his coordination, which has changed little over the past three months. He will never walk normally again or ride horseback or even drive a buggy." She was careful to avoid negative terms like "housebound" lest the Colonel give up hope and wither away.
"I'm goin along with you tomorrow," Sully insisted. Before she could open her mouth, he growled, "No argument. It's my baby too." He pulled his eyebrows down in an effort to look stern and husbandly.
Michaela recognized his obstinate mood. She had no choice but nod "yes." She pulled his palm over the bulge that housed their first child and nestled against his shoulder. There was no better refuge on a chilly day.
"The baby's finally settled in for a rest," she sighed, feeling low in her abdomen for movement.
"I think a nap would do us all good," he grinned, leaning in for a kiss on her belly and one on her nose. "It's been a dreary afternoon."
"I don't have to convince you," she observed, glimpsing his cheer as he pulled back the comforter and plumped pillows. "You're always ready for a good long nap."
He yanked shirt and buckskins off, dropping them where they fell, and slid off his moccasins.
"Jus takin care 'a my family," he smirked while hustling her under the covers and squeezing in close. "It's my job."
They settled into a heated kiss and some afternoon "holdin."
__________
Sully was unusually eager to get moving toward the Colonel's house the next morning. "I spread some quilts over the wagon seat," he yelled. "Everthin's ready."
The morning looked gray, but less soggy.
Michaela lifted her medical bag from the mantle and tucked loose strands into her single plait. It was the best she could do with flyaway hair a day after a dousing. "I had hoped for more sun. The roads are a mess."
"I even heated stones for your feet," he added.
After a hand up, she eased in against Sully's side, arranged her boots on the warming stones, and discussed her hopes for the Colonel.
"I don't know that this therapy is doing much more than cheering him up. I wish I could see some more muscle tone."
"He's not a young man, Michaela," Sully observed. "After years in the saddle, if he was goin to get better, I think you'd've seen it by now."
"I just wanted some sign that the muscles can make him less tottery and stabler on his feet." Her voice betrayed disappointment that some conditions, particularly strokes, were beyond her skills.
He flicked at the reins and kept Flash moving to high ground to avoid mud holes. "The Colonel's just tryin to age with some dignity."
"I think you're right. He's posted to forts around the Dakotas and always made a name for tough soldiery. But no war could be as devastating as a stroke." She looked somber as she considered a frail patient who had little to look forward to.
Sully considered the damage that brain disease did to the elderly. "What causes strokes?"
"A broken vessel in the head. There's not much to do but help the body hold on to as much strength as possible. There is no medicine for it," she added.
"I could ask Cloud Dancin," he proposed.
"I've already asked. I've done everything I can think of. At least his speech wasn't affected." She gazed up at her husband with forlorn eyes. "The paralysis to limbs is usually permanent."
When the wagon reached the Evers property, Sully gave Michaela a boost to muddy ground and waved at Cilla Evers. "Morning. I'm deliverin the doc to your door."
"It's so good to see a friendly face," Cilla beamed, drying her hands on her yellow cobbler's apron. "This rain was gettin us both down." She waved Michaela in past the Colonel, who sat in the door in his wheelchair. With a stage whisper, Cilla advised, "Grumpy as a old bear with a thorn in his behind. Heaven help you!"
Will Evers rocked restlessly in his chair and tugged at his mustache. "Good to see you, Dr. Mike. Glad you came along, Sully." The two men shook hands.
"You, too, Colonel." Sully felt at ease with a neighbor he considered a valuable friend.
The Colonel gazed down at his withered legs. "Somethin I want to ask you."
"What's that?" Sully crouched at eye level and listened to Evers's proposal to sell Starfire, a valuable roan mare.
"Can't see me or Cilla ever saddlin Starfire or hitchin her to the buggy again. You think you might find a buyer? I could use the cash." The admission came hard for the proud military man who, in 1846, rode with Robert E. Lee over Texas and across the Rio Grande. Now the Colonel's mount was a chair on wheels.
"Maybe," Sully eased into a touchy conversation while hiding private thoughts. "Lots of folks lookin for handsome horseflesh or breedin stock these days. Starfire is sure a beauty."
"Beauty or not, she's gettin stale in the barn." The Colonel spoke with genuine affection for his mare. "She's too young to retire to pasture and I can't tend her through breedin."
To the old man's woebegone face, Sully nodded agreement and placed a comforting hand on the Colonel's shoulder.
"Sellin Starfire is another way of givin up part of my life. Without arm strength and balance, even harnessin that rambunctious mare is out of the question." He looked beyond solace and thought over days with the U. S. Cavalry when he lived in the saddle.
"I'm looking forward to much improvement today," Michaela interposed and smiled at the Colonel in familiar Dr. Quinn mode. "Let's get started on your weight lifting." She eased his chair through the door and halted it near the fireplace. Without babying her patient, she spread a lap robe in place and began checking his vital signs and examining his neck and shoulders for signs of replenished strength.
The Colonel made little comment about pushing and pulling at wooden dumbbells that Sully had carved from soft pine. "Don't seem like weights," he snorted. "More like toys." His hands gripped the bars, but struggled to lift them two at a time. "Heavy toys."
"Whatever we call them, they're a start," the doctor encouraged, leaning his forearm up toward his shoulder for a test of muscular resistance. The arm remained flaccid, too weak to budge the weight more than an inch without help. "How does that feel?"
Refusing to be cajoled like a sick child, he grunted, "Like you're doin all the liftin."
While the puffing and sighs issued from the Colonel, Cilla ushered Sully to the front porch at his request. She gazed uphill to where he stared. "What're you lookin for, Sully?"
"Jus lookin. Thought I might check on Starfire." He gestured toward the spiffy roan, who nibbled lush timothy at the fence line and shook her mane to discourage a horsefly. "Maybe curry her and ride up the main road a bit to give her a workout and a taste of meadow clover."
"Oh, that would be a great help," Cilla agreed. "Will worries that she'll get too fat to fit in the buggy harness," she chuckled, patting her own chubby middle. Her eyes softened at sight of the handsome roan stretching her neck and flicking her ears. "I miss ridin double with Will. I could sure use the exercise."
The walk to the barn gave Sully a good view of the Evers property. He walked the property, making mental notes of necessary upkeep and the supplies he would need to get the Evers family through the winter. His mutterings took careful stock: "Barn roofin looks uneven and soft in places. Fence posts leanin out of alignment, pullin a swag in the barbed wire. Odds and ends of hard wood framin need renailin. One whole side of the oats bin's rotted through. The salt lick looks unsteady."
On the ride home in the wagon, Michaela noted Sully's unusually quiet mood.
"What did you do while I exercised the Colonel's arms?" she began with a prod to his middle.
"Jus walked the pasture and studied the barn." His stolid concentration bemused her.
"The barn? What's wrong with the barn?" She looked back over her shoulder at the receding outlines of the Evers' outbuildings.
"I think the Colonel might be too proud to ask for help. He's gonna need some repairs to get through the heavy snows this winter."
"I'm sure they will." She tucked her cold fingertips into his pocket.
When his focus shifted, Sully wrapped his wife in a warm hug. "You warm enough? Need another quilt?"
"I'm fine," she assured him. "Just a little sleepy. I don't get much rest with the baby wiggling when I lie down." She rubbed lightly where a flutter tickled her side. "There's more activity every day."
"Maybe if we squeeze in a nap before dinner, he will too," Sully smirked. "Do you both good."
"Naps seem to be a favorite hobby with you these days," she noted, wrinkling her nose and tweaking his ear. "And who said this baby will be a boy?"
"I spose the expectant father can get tired too," he teased. "And odds are at least half that our baby will be a boy, right?"
"It's not like poker, Sully," Michaela noted. "My father's experience proved that odds are unreliable. That's how his fifth and last child turned out to be another daughter."
He braced her against his side. "I know Dr. Quinn was disappointed, but I'm not sorry that he didn't get the son he wanted." He kissed her topknot. "I'm happy with his fifth daughter."
"You know, Sully, he never said that. I think he spent more time with me than with the other daughters. He seemed pleased to have me," she recalled with a tender smile.
"I know just how he felt," Sully concluded.
At the front porch, he lifted Michaela down from the wagon seat and hustled her upstairs to bed for their afternoon snooze, his favorite time of the day.
__________
On Wednesday morning, Michaela looked out at the porch where Franklin Abrams and Jay McDaniels leaned on the railing.
"Sully, what are Frank and Jay doing here? Should I make more coffee and biscuits?" She tied on her apron and shuffled through staples on the shelf over the pump.
Sully shook his head. "No time." After untying the apron, he wrapped her long wool shawl around her. "This ain't a picnic, Michaela. We're goin to the Evers place to look over the mare."
"What for? Is she down?" Michaela was confused about the morning's agenda.
"I found some potential buyers for Starfire," Sully began. "They're ridin along with us."
Michaela's curiosity refused to be shoved aside so hastily. "There's more to this gathering. Why are Franklin and Jay loading boards and tools on the wagon?"
"Nothin gets by you, does it?" Sully clammed up in his usual fashion to keep from answering her queries. "Let's go." He grabbed her elbow and aimed her toward the door.
"Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?" Refusing to budge from the kitchen, she pursed her lips and put on her most stubborn face. "Well. I'm waiting."
"Just a few repairs to the Colonel's barn and fencin, that's all," Sully began. "Nothin big."
At his admission, she kissed his cheek. "You always hide your good deeds. That's why I love you. You're a good man, Byron Sully." She thought of the many times he had made their homestead more comfortable for her and the children and done kindnesses for others.
With a huff of embarrassment in front of Jay and Frank, Sully set her medical bag on the seat and helped her onto the wagon while the neighbor men found spots on the load in back.
"All set," Franklin signaled.
Jay snickered at the little domestic scene that colored Sully's cheeks with red. "Nothin wrong with bein good, Sully."
__________
While Michaela ramped up the Colonel's exercises, the three men examined Starfire, rode her bareback across the paddock, then settled in for some hammering and post straightening.
"Sully," Cilla called in a shaky voice at mid-morning. "Can you come check on Michaela?"
He turned a worried profile toward the porch. Dropping his hammer and ruler, he loped up the steps. "What is it? She sick?"
Before Cilla could size up Michaela's symptoms, Sully was at his wife's side and lifting her from a swoon beside the Colonel's wheelchair.
"She was okay one minute, then slippin to the floor the next," Cilla fussed. "I couldn't do a thing." She pressed a damp cloth to Michaela's cheeks and neck.
"Wake up, Michaela," Sully urged with a jostle to her shoulders. "Open your eyes. I got you."
Michaela looked dazed, then remembered her last moments of consciousness. "Just a little wooziness," she tittered, struggling to sit up. "It happens in the early months." Self-consciously, she stroked her belly as though protecting her babe from harm. "Let me get back to work on the Colonel's therapy."
"Not too fast," Sully commanded. "Take your time. I think you've overdone it lately." He stroked her hair while examining her color and checking for fever or a lump on her head.
"Don't be silly. I'm just a little lightheaded." Michaela pulled herself up straight and tried to look cool and professional.
The Colonel reached his good hand to her trembly fingers. "You do look a bit ashy. Maybe you could stretch out on the daybed for a few minutes." He winked. "Wouldn't hurt."
Cilla nodded agreement and pointed Sully the way to the Colonel's office. "Let me cover you with a comforter to ward off a chill. I don't want you catching the sniffles." Cilla fluttered around in grandmotherly fashion, twitching over the fainting spell like a mother hen. "Perhaps a cup of camomile tea with honey would warm up you."
"All right, a cup of tea and just a short rest," Michaela agreed. "Then I have two more sets of exercises before we quit for the day." Her slump belied her business-like tone.
"I'll be the judge of that," Sully whispered. "You just stay put until I get back." He led the two curious helpers out to the barn. Within an hour, the trio had tightened the roof and reframed the feed bin. Jay loaded rotted boards and rusty tin sheets while Franklin checked the shutters for weathering. Sully finished up their project by realigning and rehanging the barn door on new hinges.
"Looks solid," Franklin commented to Jay. "Let's check the back bay for varmints."
While Michaela packed her stethoscope into her medical kit, Cilla rolled the Colonel's chair to the porch to set him at ease. His curiosity piqued, he demanded, "What are you doing, Sully? I thought you came to look at Starfire?"
"We did, Sir," Sully nodded. "Jay may have an offer for you to consider. While we were puttin Starfire through her paces, we found a few spots on the barn that needed nailin up. Nothin major."
The Colonel looked over the ruined wood on the wagon and up at the barn roof and shutters. "Nothin major? Looks like you completed all the chores that've been hangin fire since my stroke."
"We're grateful, Sully," Cilla spoke in a subdued tone. "We can never repay your kindness."
"Jus being neighborly," Sully brushed off the thanks.
"I may have another project for you to tackle." The Colonel gestured toward the shed.
Sully eased the old man's chair down the stone steps and pushed him to the open doors.
"See, I've been thinkin that, without Starfire, I could put my old buggy to better use." He gestured into the gloom at the dusty frame and bonnet, a handsome four-wheeler that hadn't been in use since early fall.
"Uh-huh," Sully replied. He rubbed his hand over the dry leather hood, which needed a thorough cleaning and oiling to keep it from cracking. "A fine lookin buggy."
In private, the Colonel leaned in for a consultation before returning to the house to finish his consultation with his doctor. At the end of their conversation, Sully shook hands with the Colonel and waved Frank and Jay back to town with the wagon.
"Sully, I'm done for the day." Michaela stepped onto the porch and looked at the departing wagon. "Why did you send the men away? How will we get home?" She looked seriously put out with her husband.
"Dr. Quinn," the Colonel began with a formal address. "You and I both know that my weak side will never be strong enough for me to ride or even to saddle a horse or drive the buggy."
"Now, Colonel," she began, wagging her head.
"No 'Now, Colonel,' Dr. Mike." He paused and swallowed with effort before beginning. "Cilla and I have decided to return to Denver to live in comfort without the worries of a farm." His jaw set at an angle that Michaela recognized as mulish.
To keep the peace, she concurred. "That might be wise before winter sets in. But you would return by spring." She smiled to show her faith in her patient's recovery.
With a curt nod, the Colonel pressed on with his decisions. "Sully and I have been talkin about the transfer of Starfire to Jay . . . and about the sale of the farm. Sully's agreed to be land agent in my absence." He lifted his weak hand and laid hand on hand on his lap as though releasing responsibility to the younger man.
Michaela had no opportunity to interrupt. She widened her eyes at Sully and listened to the rest of the Colonel's proposal.
"Cill and me, we don't need much," he summed up. "And Denver has some good restaurants and stage shows we'd both enjoy. I think some evenins out might do us both good, don't you, Cill?" He embraced her with his good arm.
The Colonel's wife laid her head on Will's cheek and admitted, "I think it's time to go, Michaela." Her eyes misted at the thought of leaving the home they had made shortly after the Mexican War. "Past time," she added. "You've been steady company, Dr. Mike, but we probably should give up livin way out from town without any help."
The Colonel cleared his throat and got to the point of the deal with Sully. "I can't pay you enough for keepin up my spirits, Dr. Mike, but I can ease your hard travelin."
"What do you mean?" she interjected. "You don't owe me anything. We're neighbors."
Cilla smiled a "yes" to the deal. "The buggy, Dr. Mike, was my pride and joy. Now it's yours."
For once, Michaela was speechless.
__________
On the ride home, Sully chirruped to Starfire and guided the buggy easily across dry ground. "Smooth as puddin," he smiled. "Quite a change from the wagon. Jus what a country doctor needs to get around."
Michaela's surprise was evidence. "I can't believe you worked out that arrangement so fast."
"The Colonel had made up his mind. All I had to do was say yes." Sully looked pleased with the exchange of carpentry and supplies for transportation for his busy wife.
"I rested just a few minutes and woke up the new owner of a buggy," Michaela exulted, running her fingers along roll-down canvas curtains that would keep her dry all winter. "I'm going to miss Cilla and Will, but I'll love having my own buggy."
He smooched her loud and long. "Jus goes to show you what can be arranged durin one little ole nap."