Chapter 10:

Sully balled his trembling hands into tight fists as he made his way down the many corridors towards Michaela's room. He had been up since dawn, anxiously awaiting this moment but now that it had finally arrived, he found himself fighting the urge to run in the opposite direction. His chance encounter with Michaela the day before had caught him off guard and it had taken all his self control to maintain the necessary façade of indifference. Yet as their hands had accidentally brushed against each other, the thrilling sensation of her soft skin against his after so many weeks apart had proved to be his undoing and he had felt his front slipping. Fortunately he had been able to regain his composure before she realised, but his heart ached as he recalled how hurriedly she had pulled away from him, shock and alarm reflected in her eyes. She had been afraid of him.

Throughout their early courtship, he had constantly had to struggle against her insecurities, her apprehension at letting someone into her life for fear of being hurt or left alone again and above all, the profound sense of propriety, deeply engrained in her since youth, which staunchly governed her mind when it came to matters of the heart. It had taken much time and effort on his part to finally convince her to open her heart to him, to trust him and to let him love her the way she deserved to be loved.

It seemed surreal that in an instant, the carefree, passionate woman who had held his heart had disappeared only to once again be replaced by the gritty, reserved doctor who had come to Colorado all those years ago, a seemingly impenetrable wall around her heart, hell-bent on gaining the respect of society as a professional, irrespective of her gender.

The cruel injustice of the situation threatening to overwhelm him, Sully wondered how he would bear to face her now and have her look at him in that way again, like a stranger. He just didn't know if he was strong enough.

Lifting his head up slightly to ascertain his whereabouts, Sully caught sight of two women deep in conversation with a portly man at the far end of the passage, a door standing ajar beside them. His mind still absorbed with its own musings, it took several minutes of casual observation before he registered their familiar features which even from a distance were clearly morose. Panic instantly extended an icy claw and seized his heart in an unyielding grip, stilling its beats and forcing the very air out of his lungs. Thoughts in complete disarray and barely heeding what he was doing, he dashed towards the small group, his boots slapping against the stone tiles as he ran. Three pairs of eyes turned in the direction of the sudden noise and widened in shock as Sully hurtled towards them, coming to a halt a mere foot in front of them

"What is it? What's happened to Michaela? Is she ok?" asked Sully frantically, his gaze shifting rapidly between the three of them.

"She's alright Mr Sully, don't worry" replied Rebecca soothingly "she's just tired."

Unconvinced, Sully turned to Dr Davis who nodded in agreement.

"Dr Quinn is running a mild fever and was complaining of severe headache. It is not uncommon for patients who have undergone a major trauma to have some degree of relapse in their symptoms although I suspect her emotional state may have contributed to her condition. I have given her some laudanum to help her head and with some rest, I suspect her temperature will normalise of its own accord. I'll keep an eye on her but I don't envisage any long term complications."

Sully closed his eyes and released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, the agonising pressure in his chest lessening somewhat. Dr Davis watched as relief flooded over the young man's face and out of courtesy waited until Sully re-opened his eyes before taking his leave.

"Thanks" said Sully quietly, extending his hand to the doctor. Dr Davis smiled and shook Sully's hand cordially before heading off down the corridor.

"I'm very sorry Mr Sully."

Sully turned to face Elizabeth and was shocked to see her regarding him with a mixture of torment and guilt.

"Once again I made the grave mistake of pushing my daughter too hard and now she is suffering because of it" she continued.

"Mother," began Rebecca softly but Elizabeth lifted her hand to silence her.

"I shouldn't have continued to talk with her, not after her painful reaction to the news of Charlotte's death. But I was so desperate for her to remember. The fault is mine, Mr Sully, mine alone."

Sully considered the astounding woman standing in front of him for several minutes before he spoke. Something she had witnessed had had a profound effect on her, and Sully found himself wondering what had happened between Michaela and her mother to provoke such a dramatic change. Her habitually proud, often hostile eyes were now dark oceans of repressed agony, and her notoriously haughty demeanour had been replaced by one of frailty and vulnerability. For the first time, Sully failed to see a vibrant, indomitable character before him, but in her stead an aged woman, her back bent under the weight of the burdens Life had carelessly bestowed upon her, exhaustion etched deeply in her lineaments.

"Mrs. Quinn, I don't blame you for what happened to Michaela" he said, "her body's just tryin' to deal with everything that's happenin'. We all want her to remember. It's just gunna take some time, that's all."

"Mr Sully is right Mother" supplemented Rebecca, placing an arm gently around her mother and supporting her weight. "You're just tired and upset. Let me take you home. After a rest you'll feel much better I'm sure"

Elizabeth nodded wearily and allowed Rebecca to guide her away from Michaela's door. Just as they reached the narrow passage leading to the hospital exit, Elizabeth turned back to Sully.

"I can't help my daughter anymore. She needs you" she stated defeatedly before disappearing around the bend.

The heavy curtain had been drawn over the window, blocking out the last rays of afternoon sunshine. In the semi-darkness, Sully made his way noiselessly over to the bed and gazed down at his fiancées form. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead and strands of her long hair had stuck to her dampened cheeks, accentuating the gentle curves of her countenance. As he watched, she shifted restlessly, hands pulling at the coverlet and a soft moan escaped her slightly parted lips. Extending a hand to caress her face, his fingers were inches from her brow before he realised what he was doing and quickly withdrew. Almost as though she sensed another's presence, Michaela moaned again and rolled slightly towards Sully, her brow suddenly furrowing and her eyes continuing to move beneath the lids that resolutely hid his image from her sight.

Sully swallowed hard as unbidden, a memory crossed his mind.

The influenza epidemic had struck the town badly and every day, news came of another person who had been infected, another person who hadn't made it through. To him, they had simply been names, meaningless names of faceless individuals. As he cradled her head gently in his lap, he found himself wishing that she could have been one of them, just another nameless victim of no consequence to him. Each raspy breath she took punctured his heart anew, flooding his soul with such pain that even he, who had lost everything a man could lose and was no stranger to anguish, recoiled from it in horror. As he brushed the long, coppery locks away from her delicate face, his gaze traversed her features, revelling in her beauty. He didn't know why he was so drawn to her, why her wellbeing concerned him so much. All he knew was that she had to live, she had to survive. Her family needed her; her friends needed her, he….

Almost as though he had read his mind, Cloud Dancing suddenly turned towards him.

"Will she live?" he had asked his brother desperately.

The reply echoed in Sully's mind, "That is up to you."

A sudden noise in the hallway hastily recalled Sully to the present. Reaching inside his pocket, he pulled out a small red rose, its dark green sepals nestling comfortably between the few petals that had already uncurled from the bud. Placing it on the table next to Michaela's bed, he glanced down at her one last time before he straightened, preparing to leave. Just as he was about to turn away, Cloud Dancing's words resounded again in his ears. Then, he had been terrified Michaela would die before he had a chance to tell her how much she meant to him. Now as he stood before her, even with the knowledge that she would probably have completely recovered by the morning, he realised that he wouldn't make the same mistake again, he couldn't take a chance. Bending over her, he tenderly placed his lips on her forehead.

"I love you," he murmured before stepping away and making his way quietly from her room.

Michaela writhed against the sheets, trying to find a cool spot to soothe her heated skin. The blood pounded through her veins and hammered unrelentingly against her skull. Moaning in pain, she tried to lift her arm up to her head but her limbs felt feeble and clumsy.

Fumbling in the darkness, her fingers collided with a knuckle, then another. The hand suddenly jerked against hers as the figure in the chair by her bed started awake, and she felt it softly arrest her wandering fingers in its own. Gradually opening her eyes she tried to focus on the person sitting beside her but the room was dim and her vision was hazy. Before she could react, the stranger's hand released hers and the sound of receding footsteps rang in her ears.

Time seemed to stretch out in an eternity and Michaela lay in a stupor, images and sounds blurring into an unfathomable mass within her mind. In the confused state between sleeping and waking, she thought she sensed a slight movement above her before a light, feather like touch caressed her forehead. The air stirred momentarily, brushing against her ear, as soft as a whisper. Yet even as she struggled against her heavy eyelids, silence was again restored and the presence around her had gone.

The day was far advanced before Michaela awoke, the pain in her head all but gone and her mind pleasantly refreshed. Turning onto her left side, she noted a breakfast tray had been left for her on the side table although judging by the curdled state of the porridge, it had clearly been there for quite some time. Smiling to herself as she recalled her mother's indignant sermon the morning before, she pulled herself into an upright position and pushing the coverlet down, contentedly surveyed the small room. A flash of red at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned back to the table. Almost concealed by the large, wooden tray lay a small red rose. Carefully, Michaela picked up the stem and lifted the flower up to her face. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, breathing in its distinct perfume. A sudden thought struck her and she opened her eyes. Curiously she glanced around for a note or token of some kind that would give her a clue as to the origin of the simple gift. When she found none, she settled back against the pillows in confusion. Perhaps Mother left it, she thought rationally, or Rebecca. She always likes to add her own touch to the places she visits.

As she fingered the velvety petals, Michaela felt her mind begin to work frantically, wandering deep into the undiscovered recesses of her memory, probing, searching, before a sudden image burst over her consciousness.

She tugged sharply on the reins, pulling her sweating horse to a halt in front of the crowd. Leaping out of the saddle, she was immediately surrounded by a throng of spectators, the thunderous applause ringing in her ears. Making her way towards three gentlemen standing apart from the others, she paused for a moment and lifted her chin. Triumphantly she snatched the hat off her head, liberating her long locks that immediately uncurled and cascaded down her back. Her eyes glinted in satisfaction at their startled expressions and when, despite furious protests, the rose laden wreath was laid on her horse's back, she felt her heart swell with joy.

As she reached up to reclaim her horse's bridle, she heard someone approach her. She smiled slightly, instinctively knowing who it was. Lifting her gaze, she gratefully accepted the single, crimson blossom and raising it to her face, buried herself in its softness, her soul awash with the unspoken pride and admiration of its donor.