Chapter Thirteen
The thunder and lightning had passed, but it was still raining. The rain felt freezing against Sully's already cold skin. The pain woke him up, and when he opened his eyes, the sky was dark from the night. He was lying on his back; blood and thick mud were matting in his hair. He groaned as the rain droplets pierced his head wound, and he sputtered, spitting rainwater out of his mouth. He coughed some more and lay there, looking up at the blackened sky.
"Michaela," he moaned, reaching out toward the sky. He needed her now. He needed her more than anything. He felt his heartbeat slowly calming, and he swallowed hard, tasting him imminent death. This was it. This was how he was going to die, and he was sure of it. He was going to die, and he'd never get the chance to tell Michaela he loved her.
God, when he thought of that, his heart began to race. He couldn't do that. He couldn't leave this world without her knowing how much he cared. No. The next time he saw her face, he was going to look into those hypnotizing eyes and tell her his true feelings. He wasn't going to die. He couldn't die. Not today.
Thunder rumbled far off in the distance, and Sully felt sick to his stomach. He was dizzy, and he knew he needed to get out of there. He'd finish his surveying job a little late. Welland Smith would just have to understand the circumstances. He pushed his hands into the ground, and his fingers dug into the dark brown muck. He lifted himself onto one foot and then the other, but the other gave out, and he fell back down. The dizziness caused from his head wound was too much. His stomach lurched, and he leaned over and threw up. The waste washed away with the furious rain, and Sully collapsed again. His ankle was broken. There was no denying that. Maybe he was going to die after all.
He tried to sit up, but the pain in his head and his ankle overtook him. He screamed out his frustration, and he soon heard growling from nearby. He decided that screaming was not a good thing in this situation, no matter how bad the pain was. He found a large tree root sticking out of the mud just near him. He grabbed onto it and squeezed hard. It took the focus from the pain, and he focused on squeezing that tree branch and holding onto it for dear life.
The growling continued, and Sully froze. He let his head fall back into the mud again, and he waited. Something was out there. He was going to die one way or another.
"Michaela," he whispered softly, believing he was breathing his last breath. Everything went black, and once again, he was rendered unconscious.
He woke in a matter of minutes. Something was licking his face. Was he dreaming? No, he didn't think so. Something was certainly licking his face, and he felt something heavy and warm pressed against most of his body. He felt like he couldn't breathe.
He opened his eyes, and he nearly screamed out, but the breath never came to pass through his lungs to give him sound. He was staring into the yellow eyes of a large gray wolf. The wolf was licking the blood from his face, and he wondered why he had to die being eaten by a wolf. It was pretty ironic that he had dreamed about western nature all of his life, and here he was, experiencing it first hand. Not only was he experiencing it, he was about to become part of the food chain.
Without oxygen, Sully's lungs began to burn. He didn't want to die like this either. He wanted to live. He wanted to have a chance to make things right and tell Michaela how he felt.
"Get off," he said with as much force as he could muster. He tried pushing the large beast. He didn't care if it angered the animal. He just needed to breathe. But, much to his surprise, the animal obeyed and backed away. He stood nearby, his yellow eyes gleaming behind the sparkling rain. Sully looked at the wild wolf, and he was dumbfounded.
Sully slowly moved his hand to the wound on his head, and he felt the warm blood still trickling. He felt light headed again, and his eyes met the wolf's. The wolf put his head down a little, his eyes still locking on Sully's. His mouth shut tightly, and he watched this human bleeding to death.
Sully lay back down, but his eyes stayed trained on the animal's. The wolf sniffed the air and put his head back down. What was he doing, Sully wondered?
The cracking of a tree branch startled the animal, and he began to snarl, bearing his teeth. Sully swallowed hard, afraid to move out of worry that any sudden movements would cause the wolf to attack. But, to Sully's surprise, he heard a voice.
"Ho'nehe." The voice was thick and deep, and Sully wondered what language he was hearing. The wolf stopped snarling and moved toward Sully. He heard footsteps coming near him from behind, and he began to shiver from the cold. What a sight he must have been.
The wolf moved toward him again, and his nose pressed to Sully's cheek. Sully didn't have the strength to scream out, and he closed his eyes. Surprisingly, the wolf started to lick him again. It was then that a figure appeared out of the shadows. He was tall with tan skin and hair as black as the night. A single feather was adorned in his hair in the back, and he wore strange beads and animal skins as clothing. Sully said nothing. He merely stared at the man before him.
The native knelt down beside the wolf and put his hand on Sully's shoulder. Sully was too stunned to jerk away, and something about the man was calming. He wasn't afraid anymore.
"Ehaomohtahe," the man said, looking at the wolf. Sully swallowed hard. This man certainly was an Indian. The dark native turned his attention to Sully. "Netsêhesenêstsehe?" Sully shook his head.
"What? I don't understand you," Sully said weakly, coughing as the rain stopped, and the night grew still. The older man smiled uncertainly.
"You speak English. You speak the white man's language," he said with a nod. Sully nodded, closing his eyes for a minute. The pain was becoming more intense, and the wolf began to whine.
"I am a white man," Sully pointed out almost deliriously. The Indian was silent for a moment before he gave another nod.
"I see that, but you do not have a white man's spirit." He paused. "Netonêševehe?" Sully shrugged his shoulders, clearly not understanding. "What is your name?"
"I'm Sully," he said groggily. Cloud Dancing firmly clasped his forearm, and Sully was silent.
"I am Cloud Dancing." Sully nodded to let the man know he heard him, and a moment later,his mind faded out of consciousness again, and he was again submerged in silence and darkness.
Ethan had gone to the nearest town to pick up supplies, and he'd left three hours ago. Charlotte knew he wouldn't be back until early morning. Most likely, he would stop at a saloon and have a drink before heading home, then he'd pass out on the road and not wake until the sun came up.
She sighed and climbed out of bed. She moved across the small room to peek in at Colleen. Colleen was her little sweetheart. She was ten-years-old and absolutely beautiful with golden blonde hair, much like Charlotte had as a young child. Snuggled up next to her was Brian. He was all of five-years-old and quite a gentle child. Matthew slept in a bed not far away. He was the oldest. She couldn't believe there would be fifteen years between her oldest and youngest child. She had never expected this pregnancy, but that didn't mean she wanted it any less.
Brian's birth had been difficult, and she'd delivered the child with Colleen's help while Ethan was in town playing poker with some of his friends. Brian had nearly died that night, but Matthew had managed to clear his windpipes to get him breathing. Young Colleen, just five-years-old had delivered her little brother, and it was something she'd never forgotten. To this day, she knew she wanted to be a midwife when she grew up.
Charlotte put her hand on her belly. She was a midwife too, and she had been able to coach her daughter through the delivery. She'd nearly died that night too, but her strong will had kept her holding on long enough for Matthew to ride an hour to find the nearest doctor. She'd lived, and so had her little Brian. Charlotte thanked God everyday for her children.
She yawned and moved back over to climb into her bed. She pulled out her diary and skimmed over the pages. She didn't bother locking it, because Ethan couldn't read, curious Brian couldn't read, and both Colleen and Matthew were old enough to respect their mother's privacy.
She began to write her private thoughts onto the pages, not taking notice to the fact that she frowned as she wrote.
Dear Diary, I've finally told Ethan. He took the news better than I thought, but I know he's wondering how we're going to raise this baby. At least this child will be depending on me for nourishment for a while, but I know that in the long run, four children are going to be pretty hard to take care of on our money. We told the children today, and Colleen's the most excited. She wants a little sister. Brian's not too sure about not being the youngest anymore. Matthew's just stunned. He's happy, but he kept going on about how no other kids his age had new brothers and sisters. Ethan put on a happy face all evening as the family celebrated, but I know he's taking it hard. Oh, I am so happy, though. This child will be so loved, and I can't wait to hold it in my arms. September is so far away, yet I know that it'll be here sooner than I think. I already have a name picked out. If this baby is a girl, which I'm almost certain it will be, I want to call her Katherine, after my grandmother. Katherine Cooper will be a cherished child. If it ends up being a boy, which I know Ethan would prefer, I already know we'll call him William. William Cooper. He'll look just like his father, and I hope he has my sense of money. Ethan never knows when to stop spending, but he won't listen to me. For now, I don't want to think about anything but the baby. My children come first in my life, no matter what. I hope Ethan realizes that now. Sometimes, I know he gets frustrated with me, but I can't put his needs first when I have three…soon to be four children who need my constant attention. Being a wife and mother is an exhausting job, and I've found that being a mother has been worth the hard work.
Charlotte closed her diary and put it away. She turned down the lamp and pulled the covers over her body. She fell asleep quickly that night, and though she was happy about the baby, her dreams sent her visions of an uncertain future, but those dreams would be forgotten by morning.
Michaela finished the last of her chamomile tea. Her stomach still wasn't settling, and she didn't know why. She'd felt fine all morning. Just after she'd read Sully's letter, she'd started to feel dizzy and stiff. She had taken a nap, but she still felt ill. Her father had checked on her, but he could think of no reason except that she was lethargic from all of her long hours at the hospital. He had advised her to take a few days off, and he promised to see to her patients.
She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. She was cold, shaky and dizzy, and she didn't like feeling that way.
She swallowed hard and threw her covers back. She slowly moved toward the window and looked up at the night sky. There wasn't a cloud for miles that she could see, and the moon and stars seemed to be giving off more light than usual. She knew it was just her imagination, but she was a dreamer.
She was feeling a little better, but she couldn't settle She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, so she decided to go for a walk. Despite her gut telling her to stay in for her own well being, she slipped into a clean dress, brushed her hair out and slipped out of her room. She was silent as she moved down the hall, past the room Sully used to sleep in every night. Light was coming from her parents' room, so she was extra cautious as she slipped past it and toward the stairs.
Once she grabbed her coat and slipped outside safely, she pulled the coat around her body and started walking. She didn't know where to go, but she decided to stay by the street to avoid danger in the back streets of Beacon Hill.
The first place she thought of was her sister Marjorie's house. Marjorie usually stayed up late, because she had two little ones who never liked to sleep. Poor Marjorie rarely got to bed before midnight.
As usual, light was coming from the parlor, so Michaela decided she wouldn't be intruding. She walked up the steps and tapped on the door. Marjorie was the one to answer the door, and she looked surprised to see her younger sister. She and Michaela hadn't always gotten along nor seen eye to eye, but they were close, and they knew they could count on one another to listen when they needed to talk.
"Michaela? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Michaela nodded with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Michaela. Come in. Come in." Marjorie ushered her youngest sister through the door and closed out the cold night air. Michaela walked into the parlor without removing her coat, and Marjorie followed, her housecoat trailing behind her. "What's happened?"
"I'm not sure," Michaela breathed, moving toward the hearth to warm her hands. She swallowed her tears and looked up at the pictures on the mantle. There was a family portrait of Marjorie, Everett and their two young children, Grace and Emma. She smiled a little, thinking of Sully's words about building a home for his future family. She hoped that future family would be hers as well.
Marjorie came to stand beside her sister. She saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, and she knew this was serious.
"You obviously came to talk. What is it?" Michaela turned to her older sister.
"I'm not sure," she repeated. "I haven't felt right all day."
"Maybe it was something you ate. Did you speak with father?"
"Yes. He thinks I'm just tired," she explained. They moved to sit down in two very large, comfortable chairs.
"Perhaps he's right," Marjorie offered.
"Perhaps."
"Did anything happen today to make you feel this way? Michaela, has David done something?"
"Nothing more than usual," Michaela said with a discontent sigh. She shook her head. "I received a letter from Sully today, but it was nothing upsetting. It made me happy."
"Oh," Marjorie replied with a knowing smile. "Michaela? Did you ever stop to think that you're feeling this way because you miss him?"
"Of course I miss him," Michaela said softly, her lower lip trembling a bit. She missed him with her entire being. She missed his companionship and their walks home. She missed talking to him about anything and everything. She had gotten so used to having him around, and it was difficult to adjust to not seeing him everyday.
"How are mother and father?" Marjorie asked curiously.
"Father's fine," Michaela said quietly. "Mother is more than fine. I swear, she can't make it any more obvious that she's happy he's gone. I'm amazed she didn't throw him a going away party. She was so eager to get rid of him. I don't think that woman wants me to be anything but miserable."
"Michaela, you know that isn't true. She loves you."
"She has an odd way of showing it." Marjorie decided to change the subject.
"You said you received a letter? So, how is Mr. Sully?"
"He's fine," Michaela replied quietly. "He's busy doing work for Mr. Smith." Marjorie nodded.
"When is he coming home?"
"He'll be here in June." Marjorie grinned at the way Michaela's pitch rose just a little bit. Yes, it was obvious. Michaela Quinn was finally in love!
"You really love him, don't you?" Michaela let a tear slide down her cheek, and she nodded sadly.
"Yes. I really do," she whispered. She shook her head a little. " Am I crazy?"
"Why would you be crazy?"
"He doesn't want anything to do with Boston. I don't want anything to do with Boston half of the time. How can I expect him to come back here, when I know where he really wants to be?"
"I learned a long time ago, Michaela, that love takes a lot of work. Love means giving up some things and taking others. You shouldn't have to be unhappy to be happy." Michaela knew what her sister was saying. Sully shouldn't have to be in a place he didn't want to be just to be with her. She had to make a decision. She was either going to spend her life with him and be happy or stay in Boston and watch her career continue to be stunted as her social life floundered. Being in Boston and being in love with a man who was hundreds of miles away was a miserable feeling. "You need to tell him, Michaela. Tell him you love him."
"I will," she said softly. She would tell him as soon as she saw him. Telling him on paper didn't mean the same thing. People said 'I love you' on paper all of the time, and the true meaning was lost without lips and eyes and hearts connecting in person. "I'm afraid."
"What's to be afraid of? I've seen the way Mr. Sully looks at you. If you're afraid of rejection, I don't think it's possible for you to be rejected by him. He cares for you, Michaela. He loves you. Believe that." She pulled her sister into a hug. "Besides, his feelings for you get Mother all riled up." They both laughed together, and Marjorie brushed the tears out of her sister's eyes. "Feel better?"
"A little. Thank you," Michaela whispered. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was getting late! "Oh, Marjorie, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up so late."
"It's fine, Michaela," Marjorie replied tiredly. "I'm always here if you need to talk." Michaela stood and started for the door. "Would you like some company on the way home?"
"I'll be fine," Michaela assured her. "It's only a five minute walk."
"You're sure? I could get Everett to…"
"I'll be fine," Michaela replied again. "Good night."
"Good night, Michaela." Michaela closed her sister's door and stood on the porch until the light went out. She felt comfort in the fact that she had her sister to talk to, though she would have rather talked with Sully. She missed him so.
She shivered in her coat, and her long hair blew in the harsh breeze. It was going to rain soon, she could tell, and she wasn't sure she'd make it home before the storm started.
Sure enough, rain droplets began to sprinkle down, gently at first, but they grew rough and stung her skin as she looked for the quickest route home. She swallowed hard as thunder rumbled and lightning struck. She made a quick detour through an alley she'd taken many times before. But this time, she felt something was wrong.
She moved quickly, and she was just nearing the end of the alley, and she could see the light coming from her parents' bedroom window. As she was about to cross the street, two arms grabbed her from behind, and she went to scream out. But, one hand clasped over her mouth. She tried to fight him off, but her arms were pinned back. She tried to scream again, but the grip grew tighter.
She felt herself being dragged back into the alley. Tears were streaming down her face. She was released and thrown onto the cold, wet ground as the rain poured down. She peered into the darkness and saw the figure moving toward her.
"If you scream, you'll be sorry."
Cheyenne Word List: (Ho'nehe Wolf), (Ehaomohtahe He is sick), (Netsêhesenêstsehe Do you speak Cheyenne?), (Netonêševehe What is your name?)