Part 2:

The gentle caress warmed his chilled skin and languidly he opened his eyes; the fire had burnt low, the glow from the embers falling full upon the delicate features. Still cloying at the mantle of sleep that clouded his vision, the outline of the prostrate figure remained blurred and thus guided by instinct, he reached out to caress the soft skin of cheek and jaw, the stray curls silken beneath his touch.

"Pa," she called softly, chaffing his cool fingers with her own, "Pa, it's awful late."

The voice, lighter than he remembered, jarred against his memory and blinking against the growing darkness, the images of memory hastily fled; the hazel eye melted into an emerald ocean, the flecks of azure like foam upon the waves. The familiar scent was replaced by one of life and youth; heavy with disappointment, his hand dropped listlessly back into his lap.

"Pa," she repeated, "it's late. You should head on upstairs."

"No," he insisted, "I reckon I'll stay here tonight."

"No," she said sternly, rising to her feet and putting her arm about him, urging him to stand, "you won't sleep, I know and your back will ache all day tomorrow."

Sully chuckled and allowed his daughter to pull him to his feet. When finally he stood before her, he extended his hand and tilted her chin up towards him.

"Always lookin' out for your Pa," he noted quietly, "just like…"

The image that had been haunting his dreams revived before him and he broke off, unable to continue.

"Shouldn't you be in bed too?" he queried, slipping his arm around her young shoulder, "gotta be up early tomorrow to meet your Grandma's train."

"I know Pa," conceded Michaela, "I just wanted to finish readin' my book first. I guess I didn't realise how late it was."

Arm in arm, father and daughter ascended the stairs and by mutual consent, paused in the middle of the landing between the two bedrooms.

"Night Pa," said Michaela, reaching up to kiss her father's pale cheek, "see ya in the mornin'."

"Night sweet girl," replied Sully, addressing her as he had done since the day she was born, though she had long since ceased to be a girl. He watched her retreating form, waiting for the click of the door behind her before he sought the gloomy cavern that was their room; his room.

"Mrs Quinn!"

A voice called from behind them; Sully and Michaela simultaneously raised their heads, scanning the passengers disembarking from the train. There she stood: but it was a very different Elizabeth Quinn that surveyed the humble surroundings before making her way to the narrow steps. He had once thought that nothing could shake the rigid form of his formidable mother in law. Yet she had never quite been able to brook the grief that had descended on her, on them all, and her frame bore a silent testament to it. Slightly hunched over, her steps shaky as she descended the steps, there was little left that resembled the once vigorous, imperious character that commandeered the social circles of Boston and the awe of the simple people of Colorado Springs. Stepping forwards, he grasped her arm and assisted her gently to the ground.

"Thank you, Sully" she murmured, glancing up at him with a grateful smile.

"Michaela," she exclaimed, as she noticed her grand daughter waiting anxiously a few feet away.

"Hey Grandma" replied Michaela delightedly, moving forward to vehemently hug the wisened old lady who had stood in the stead of both friend and guardian.

"Look at you," said Elizabeth, holding her grand daughter a little away from her, "How you've grown. You're quite the lady now."

Sully watched the bittersweet delight, so like the one that ever lingered in his heart, quiver in her eyes as she surveyed the form, the speaking likeness almost painful to encounter. When she spoke, her voice betrayed little of the inward agony yet the tears could not be suppressed and they rolled freely down the wrinkled cheeks.

"If ya aint too tired Grandma," began Michaela, taking her grandmother's hand excitedly in her own, "we're gunna have dinner here in town 'fore we go home. Lots of people wanna meet ya."

"That sounds just perfect," assented Elizabeth before adding with a touch of disdain, "traveller's cuisine leaves much to be desired."

"I got some things to do," interrupted Sully suddenly, "you go on to Grace's and I'll see ya there."

Elizabeth glanced in puzzlement between the closed expression on her son in law's face to the resigned if somewhat saddened one of her granddaughter. However, choosing not to pursue the subject, she merely shrugged slightly and suggested, "That's fine Mr Sully. Michaela and I will take a walk till you get back. We have a lot to catch up on."

"How are things Michaela," probed Elizabeth as they strolled back towards town, "really?"

"Just… fine," replied Michaela slowly, though her voice lacked the conviction and animation that their discussion had previously held.

"What's the matter?" queried her grandmother, halting their progress over the bridge and turning to look at her grand daughter.

"It's Pa," admitted Michaela reluctantly, "I've finished school now but he won't even think about lettin' me go away to college…I thought about it a lot and I know I wanna be a doctor. I read so many books but they just don't seem to be enough. I just gotta know more…sometimes it's all I can think about."

Elizabeth surveyed her young face, furrowed by sadness yet laced by a longing that was wholly familiar to her.

"Did your Pa say why you couldn't go?"

"No," said Michaela, twisting her hands together in frustration, "he don't like to talk about it."

"Why don't I have a talk with him," suggested Elizabeth, reaching out and steadying herself upon the wooden rail, "perhaps I can make him change his mind. Where is he now?"

"He's gone to see Ma" came the poignant response and with that she turned away to continue along the dust ridden path.

Three graves; a fearsome line attesting to the loss that on occasion had threatened to entirely overwhelm him, smother him in a shroud of impenetrable darkness. Yet it was by the third that he now sat; the name on the headstone had not faded like that of its siblings, the letters still bore out clear against the slab of grey. Reaching out he ran his fingers repeatedly over the name, as though the very letters could provide him with solace.

"Sorry I'm late," he murmured to the stillness, "your Ma just arrived. Figure she'll be by to see ya some time soon."

A protracted silence followed this utterance; Sully moved his hands to the earth that rested below the headstone, running his fingers gently over it as though caressing the tresses of some phantom form.

"I gotta talk to ya about Michaela," he continued, a slight tremble in his words, "she wants to leave, to go become a doctor, just like you.

"I can't let her go," he whispered, the tears filling his eyes, "I just can't."

"You have to."

A voice spoke from behind him; turning instantly, he recognised the approaching figure.

"I can't," he repeated, hiding his moistened cheeks from her sight, "she aint goin'"

"Michaela would have wanted her to go; she would be proud that her daughter was going to become a doctor."

"No!" cried Sully, his voice cracking beneath the suppressed fear, the grief, "She was a doctor, saved all those lives. But in the end it didn't matter; she couldn't even save herself."

Her aged knees protesting against the attempt to bend and sit beside him, she merely moved closer and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What happened was a tragedy Sully, no one could have prevented it. Even she knew that. But denying Michaela the chance to do something she loves, to make something of herself isn't the answer."

"What if I lose her too?" queried Sully in a low voice.

"You won't" assured Elizabeth firmly and giving his shoulder a squeeze, made to leave the cemetery. Pausing for a moment at the wooden gate, she turned back.

"You can't stop her Sully, it's her destiny."

Entering the barn quietly, he watched as she lovingly stroked the horse's nose, whispering softly to it and occasionally giggling as the horse, seemingly understanding her every word, nudged her with its cold nose. The creak of the door as it swung slightly in a chance breeze caught her attention and for a moment she was startled at the sight of an intruder. Yet a moment later, her features relaxed and smiling she turned back to her companion. Walking towards her, Sully stretched out his hand and ran it along the horse's back; it balked at the touch, stamping its hooves moodily, all trace of playfulness vanishing from its demeanour. Michaela laughed, rubbing the horse's nose in appreciation.

"She don't seem to like me much," joked Sully, taking a step back from the fractitious horse.

"She's just teasin' Pa," replied Michaela with a smile before adding quietly, "she's a real beauty."

"She and your Ma…" began Sully, at which Michaela instantly looked up, curious as to what had prompted her father to bring up a subject he usually avoided. Noting her look of interest, Sully swallowed hard before continuing.

"When they rode together…well, she could do anythin', wasn't afraid of nothin'.

"Michaela," he said after a moment's pause, "I'm not like your Ma. I was afraid…afraid that if I said ya could go to medical school, ya might never come back. That I'd lose ya."

"Pa," interposed Michaela softly, "you'd never lose me."

"I know," conceded Sully, "I sure am gunna miss ya when ya go away."

As the realisation dawned in her eyes, a broad smile lit up her features and in that moment she resembled her mother in a way she never had before.

"Ya mean I can go?" she asked, delight dancing across her lineaments.

"Your Ma would've wanted you to go," said Sully quietly, "and so do I."

"Thank you," she exclaimed, fairly leaping into his arms and embracing him tightly. Sully ran his hands soothingly over her back and for a moment they remained such, arms tangled together, each holding on to the other as a very lifeline of their existence. Finally, Sully broke away from her and bending down lifted up a small box that in her distracted state, she had failed to notice.

"This is for you," replied Sully to her somewhat bewildered expression. Reminiscent of a child unwrapping a birthday gift, she took the box from his grasp and hastily pulled the lid off. For a moment she was still, her attention directed to the contents hidden within the wooden frame. Almost hesitantly, she laced her fingers over the handle and lifted out the black, leather bag.

"It was your Ma's," explained Sully when she remained silent, "she'd want ya to have it."

At his words, she pulled the bag closer to her chest, her fingers running gently over the worn material as though the memories it held could heal the sudden ache that seared her heart. Yet even as she raised her tear filled eyes to his, she noted the reflection of grief that swirled within his darkened gaze, an anguish so palpable that she feared to stare too long lest she be wholly consumed by it. Instinctively, she wrapped her arm around his waist, resting her head against his chest, the bag nestling against her heart. She clung to it as a raft amidst the raging seas of pain, of fear and when she boarded the train that would bear her away from all that she had known, it was still clasped tightly in her hand.