CHAPTER 6
"Hold your fire!" Sully barked at his men, his eyes glued to the door of the station.
An older man Sully judged to be in his sixties came slowly out with his hands raised high.
"Don't shoot troopers! I ain't armed!" he hollered loud enough for the soldiers to hear.
Sully motioned for the man to walk toward them and he nudged his horse forward, ever mindful of someone else possibly coming out the door.
When the man reached the patrol, he gazed up at Sully, relief flooding his eyes.
"Am I ever glad you men are here. Got your doc inside, but he's in a bad way..."
"What's your name?" Sully interrupted.
"Clifford Cooke. I'm the station agent."
"Are you alone here? Is there anyone inside with you?" Sully queried, not taking any chances.
"Naw sir, just my missus and me run this here station. She's inside tryin' to do what she can for the doc..."
Sully instinctively knew that the man was telling the truth, so he motioned for the patrol to continue on to the yard of the station, where he dismounted. The old man trotted alongside Sully's horse, explaining what had gone on there, including how the last stage had left two days before.
"And you say this man here," Sully motioned toward the dead man hanging over the saddle, "is the one who did the shootin'?"
"Yessir," the man answered as they quickly entered the station house. "That's Mr. Vincent. He was the husband of the lady tryin' to have the baby, and when she died, and the baby was born dead, he just up and went crazy. Grabbed the doc's gun and shot him with it, screamin' 'Murderer!' The trooper that was with the doc drew his gun and shot Mr. Vincent, but the fella shot back and killed the trooper..."
Sully had by this time made it to the captain's side, and as he knelt down next to him he could tell instantly that the prognosis wasn't good.
"Then Mr. Vincent staggered outside, chased all the horses away, and somehow managed to climb up on one and rode off into the night. T'weren't nothin' we could do but wait for help since he run off all the horses and the next stage ain't due 'til Friday," the station agent finished his rushed narrative.
Sully nodded in response, removing his gloves and cap as he leaned over Captain Lewis, glancing at the station agent's wife with a small smile of acknowledgment.
"I done the best I could, but he bled an awful lot...and the bullet's still in his side," Mrs. Cooke offered gently.
Just then, David opened his eyes and focused on Sully, drawing in a ragged breath.
"Lll...Lieutenant Sss...Sully," he rasped, attempting to move his arm, but wincing at the pain the action caused.
"I'm here, Captain. You're gonna be fine. We're gonna get you back to the fort and..." Sully began, but the captain interrupted.
"No...Lieutenant...listen...to me..." David rasped barely above a whisper, managing to grab hold of the front of Sully's uniform and draw him down close.
"Tell M...Michaela...I'm sss...sorry. Tell her...I love her...tell her...she's the m...most..." he stopped, gasping for air, the bullet that was lodged in one lung shifting with his exertion. Then his head relaxed back on the pillow and the air slowly escaped from his remaining lung. He was dead.
Sully checked the man's pulse and then laid a hand on his face, gently closing his eyes for the last time. The way his life had slipped away had brought back a painful memory for Sully. With a heavy sigh, he hung his head. Despite the tension between the two of them since Michaela's arrival, Sully had respected the knowledge and talents of the skilled surgeon. This ain't no fittin' way for a soldier to die...
"Michaela...was that the doctor's wife?" Mrs. Cooke asked gently.
Sully shook his head sadly, and mumbled, "No, she was his fiancée."
"Aw the poor man...he musta loved her an awful lot...I bet he called her name a dozen times durin' the night, God rest his soul," the woman replied before silently rising to go and stand by her husband.
"Yeah...I guess he did..." Sully murmured, the whole situation causing him entirely conflicting feelings.
OOOOOOOO
It was a somber patrol that entered the gates of the fort that evening.
Sully and the troop had spent time at the relay station rounding up the scattered horses, helping to bury the late Mr. Vincent, and offering what they could to comfort and reassure Mr. Cooke and his wife. Then Sully had issued the orders to carefully and respectfully wrap the bodies of Captain Lewis and Corporal Maxwell and tie them on two borrowed horses for the long ride back to the garrison.
With Audrey, Mary, and Amelia hovering at her elbows, Michaela stepped out onto the porch of her quarters as the soldiers rode in. She took one look at the two wrapped bodies and erupted into tears, whispering, "Oh David..." Although she had been expecting it, actually seeing the evidence still caused a tremendous shock.
Sully rode over near her and dismounted, handing his reins to a private nearby. Then slowly and respectfully, he took off his dusty gloves and approached her, waiting for her to shift her gaze from the captain's wrapped body to him.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Quinn. There was nothin' we could do," he murmured softly, trying to be as gentle as he could under the circumstances.
"How was he killed?" she whispered, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.
Sully briefly explained the situation, pausing as he mentioned the frenzied grief the shooter had experienced the moment his wife had passed, then finished with what happened after they arrived.
Looking into her eyes in true sympathy, he murmured, "His last words were to tell you he was sorry...and that he loved ya very much."
"Oh David," she whispered again, deep feelings of both sadness and guilt stabbing her soul as she remembered how she had planned to leave him in a matter of days before this senseless tragedy. The tears fell faster as she dissolved under an avalanche of emotion.
Sully pursed his lips in a slight pout for an instant before reaching a hand to gently caress her arm, whispering, "I'm sorry."
She nodded in gratitude as the women at her sides hovered and comforted the distraught doctor, physically turning her around and leading her back inside her quarters.
"There, there, dear, I know this has broken your heart. There's nothing for it now but to have a good cry..." Mrs. Davenport cooed as she shepherded the grieving doctor through the door, the other two ladies following closely and fussing over the distraught Michaela.
Sully watched her go, then sighed tiredly and turned toward the colonel, asking permission to delay his report until he had a chance to freshen up. The colonel, a man who at times cared enough about his men to bend a few stiff military rules, told him to come to his office in the morning to give a full detailed report.
With a weary salute, Sully turned to walk toward his quarters as others set about making arrangements for the funerals. With the hot conditions, it wouldn't make sense to go to the trouble of transporting David's body all the way back to Boston. He would be buried with honors in the fort's small cemetery.
For Sully, it had been a very long day.
OOOOOOOO
Several hours later, Sully lay on his back in his bunk, hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. His body was bone weary, but he remained jarringly awake.
Thoughts and feelings raged through his mind and heart like wildfire.
Captain Lewis was dead. Michaela's fiancé was...out of the picture.
He wanted more than anything to head straight across the compound, knock on her door, and take her in his arms. He wanted to be the one to give her comfort, but army protocol would frown deeply on such a thing. He had no clue what do to next...or what she would do now. Would she leave and go back to Boston? How long should he wait before he said something to her...and exactly what should he say? Um, Michaela...could you be happy living on a lieutenant's salary?
"Pfft, yeah right," he muttered in disgust.
Then the pendulum of his thoughts swung the other direction, and he felt the familiar pang of sorrow and now even guilt over the memory of his wife. I promised her I'd mourn her and Hannah forever...that I'd never allow myself to be happy, because they had to suffer and die...and now...I'm tossin' 'em aside and wantin' another woman...lovin' another woman. The guilt of that thought made him almost sick to his stomach and he rolled over on his bunk to stare at the wall as the memories came rolling back like a heavy, suffocating blanket of fog...
"Sully...Sully help me," Abby gasped as Sully gripped his wife's hand, striving to focus on her face through a haze of frightened tears. He turned his head, his eyes imploring Charlotte, the midwife, to keep trying.
She gave him a sad look and a tiny shake of her head. There was nothing she could do.
"Denver...we gotta get her to a doctor in Denver!" Sully suddenly exploded. "Get her ready, I'll go hitch up the wagon!" he added and was gone before Charlotte could say a word. She shook her head; knowing they would never make it...but also knowing they had to at least try.
Hurriedly gathering towels, blankets, and other items she thought they might need, she held the door open as Sully swept back in and scooped his heavily pregnant wife up in his arms, deftly maneuvering down the porch steps and over to the wagon. He sat her up on the tailgate as she moaned in pain, and quickly helped Charlotte get her situated in the back.
"Now don't worry about us, Sully – you just drive this thing as fast as it'll go, you hear?" Charlotte admonished as he swiftly climbed up in the seat. Swallowing dryly he nodded, took up the reins, and snapped them hard at the horse's rump, yelling a loud "YAH!" The horse took off down the drive, the wagon a cacophony of jingling chains and creaking wood as it rattled and jostled around the curve, and onto the road to Denver.
The miles seemed to stretch on and on, made even longer by his wife's screams that cut through him like a knife, each one slicing deeper and deeper. And with each scream, he would lash the horse with the leather reins, yelling for it to go faster...faster...faster...
After a particularly loud, piercing shriek, Sully turned his head to look into the back, instantly wishing he hadn't. He was horrified to see Charlotte in the act of bringing his newborn child from between his wife's thighs and up onto her stomach, trying to unwrap the umbilical cord, a bluish, rubbery looking thing, from around its neck. The sight made his stomach almost convulse.
Abby kept screaming...and Sully nearly let go of the reins when he saw the baby...so blue...so...death like. He whipped his head back around and lashed out at the horse again, urging him faster. Tears welled in his eyes and he swiftly wiped them away with the back of one hand, repeating a litany in his mind, If we can just get her to Denver...If we can just get her to Denver...
Finally just a few miles from their destination, he felt a hand touch his arm and he turned to see Charlotte imploring him with tears in her eyes.
"Sully...she wants you..."
He glanced down at his wife, and yanked the horse to a halt, jumping down and climbing up in the back of the wagon to kneel near his wife's head.
"Abby? Honey? I'm here...you gotta hang on..."
"Ssssullly," she slurred, so weak from loss of blood, despite Charlotte's desperate attempts to staunch the flow, that she could barely focus.
"Sshh, honey...I gotta get ya to Denver..." Sully whispered, drawing her head against his chest and pressing his lips against her sweat-dampened hair.
"Ssulllly, I...I'm scared...to die..."
"You ain't gonna die," he argued forcibly.
Weakly, she clutched at the front of his shirt. "I...I'm scared...you'll...forget me...and the baby..." she whispered, exhausted tears slowly slipping down her face.
"Never!" he vowed, sniffing back tears. "Never, I swear. I'll never forget you...or our baby...I'll never love anybody else."
"P...promise?" she breathed softly, the trauma of the circumstance making her not realize the awful predicament she was inflicting on her husband. Not realizing the lengths he would go to keep that promise...
"I promise...now you just rest, and I'll get ya to that doc..." he began to admonish, but paused as he realized she had gone totally limp in his arms, her head falling to one side as her last breath slowly released.
"Abby? ABBY? NOOOOOOO!" he yelled, shaking his wife, trying to bring her back.
After that, the memory always degenerated into a wild frenzy of scattered images, running, yelling, falling, crying...and Charlotte's sensible voice talking him back from the brink of near insanity. Talking him out of doing something stupid...
With a jolt, he realized that hearing the story of Mr. Vincent reacting tragically to the very same trauma had brought it all back.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Sully finally drifted off to sleep, only to suffer a familiar dream/memory of Abby's father, Loren Bray, sneering at him that it was his fault his daughter and granddaughter had died. Sully saw himself again running, running far away.
But as the night wore on, the images in Sully's mind eventually, mercifully changed and mellowed, to a pair of mismatched eyes, gentle hands, and long, silky, chestnut hair...