Chapter 78

March 1871 – Boston

The hall was completely silent except for the clicking of Michaela's shoes on the floor, as she paced, waiting for Marjorie to arrive. Rebecca, Claudette, and Maureen were already inside, and since it was a family affair, Sully offered to stay at home and watch the children. Michaela would have rather had Sully there, but from the moment she had arrived, she'd known that even she was hardly welcome. Luckily, Rebecca was trying to keep the peace as always.

"I don't know why the two of you bothered coming," Maureen said, shaking her head, as she tapped her impatient fingers on the oak desk of Mr. Nichol's desk, waiting for him to show up with Elizabeth's will.

"We deserve to be here just as much as you do, Maureen," Rebecca scolded. "You have no idea how difficult this has been."

"Oh, I'm certain it was difficult to show up for Mother's last breaths while the both of you have been gallivanting about the wilderness for the past few months." Rebecca glared at her younger sister.

"You have no room to talk! You weren't even there to sit with Mother as she lay on her deathbed." Her voice was hard and biting, and Claudette glanced at her with surprise.

"Why, Rebecca, surely you don't think that…" Claudette began.

"I know that neither one of you bothered to take a few minutes out of your oh-so-busy lives as homemakers to come visit your dying mother as she lay struggling to live after her surgery!" Rebecca's heart was pounding, and she couldn't control it any longer. She'd been silent for long enough, and she was sick and tired of the way Claudette and Maureen passed their nonchalant behavior off with their excuses of being busy.

"You didn't care enough to accompany Mother back to Boston! Traveling all alone across the country! Why, she could have been hurt, Rebecca! You didn't consider mother's feelings then! You only put your own self first! We know that Michaela's always done that, but you? You surprised us all, Rebecca. Mother included! She counted on you, and you let her down," Maureen accused.

Rebecca took a deep breath and chose her words.

"Mother loved us, Maureen. She loved all of us, and you're sitting here accusing me of not being a loyal daughter. Worst of all, you're accusing Michaela behind her back. You have no idea how worried the both of us were the entire way here. We wanted to get here sooner, but a train can only travel so fast. If you want to place the blame, Maureen, you should look somewhere else, because there is nothing…nothing Michaela nor I could have possibly done for Mother. Our late arrival was unfortunate, but were are both grateful to have gotten to see her in the end. We got to give her a little peace of mind before she was gone. But where were you? You were only thinking about yourselves. You were less concerned about Mother than you were about your own petty schedules!"

"Rebecca!" Claudette exclaimed. "You aren't being very fair!"

"Fair? I don't believe anything about this situation is very fair, Claudette. Our mother is dead, and all we can do is sit here and bicker at one another. What would Mother think?" Before she could speak another word, Mr. Nichols walked into the room with a briefcase clutched firmly in his hand.

"Shall we begin?" Rebecca shook her head.

"We're still waiting for someone," she replied quietly, glancing out into the hall to see Michaela pass by the door again.

Out in the hall, Michaela looked at the clock again. Marjorie was late. What else was new? She had been scarce for the past few days. Perhaps she wasn't even going to show up to hear their mother's will. As angry as Michaela was at her sister for not having come to the wake, she couldn't begin to believe that Marjorie would even miss this day for anything.

Just a few moments later, a flash of red hair caught Michaela's eye, and she turned to see Marjorie rushing down the hall. As soon as Marjorie saw her, she slowed to a walk and straightened up.

"You made it," Michaela said almost impatiently, struggling to keep herself from yelling at the sister she was so upset with.

"I'm not late, am I?" she asked.

"Mr. Nichols just arrived," Michaela pointed out. "They're waiting on us."

"You didn't have to wait out here for me. I'm not a child. I can find my way in." Michaela stared at her for a moment.

"I was simply wondering if you were going to show up, Marjorie." Her features softened. "Why weren't you there yesterday?" Marjorie avoided Michaela's gaze. "We were hoping you would be—"

"We don't need to talk about this right now, Michaela. People are waiting on us."

"That's true, but I believe we all deserve an explanation for your absence yesterday. Where were you? What was so important that you couldn't even come to your own mother's wake?" Marjorie opened her mouth to speak, her eyes glaring daggers at Michaela to cover up her grief, but when the door to Mr. Nichols' office opened and the older man stepped out impatiently, Michaela turned and led the way into the room, feeling terrible for having snapped but a bit relieved at the same time. She knew that part of the reason she'd snapped at her sister was because of her changing moods, but another part of it was her increasing frustration with the sister she'd never been close to.

Once everyone was settled down comfortably, Mr. Nichols cleared his throat, as the room grew silent. "Now may we begin?"

Timothy clutched his suitcase in his hands as he walked down the cobblestone street. He hadn't expected to ever be in Boston, but now that he was here, he was already beginning to see why Michaela and Rebecca loved it so much. It was beautiful, even on a cool day. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, warming him under his black coat and hat.

Swallowing hard, he turned the corner and started up Mill Street, remembering the directions he'd received years ago in a letter. He was nervous, and he wasn't certain why he was here, but he'd made a promise a long time ago to help out if he was called. He couldn't turn away such a request. All he needed now was to face his past, and when he left this house today, he hoped it would be behind him once and for all. The last thing he needed was to remember just how close he'd come to being a hypocrite.

1344 South Mill Street was a cozy little brick house with little flower boxes sitting in the windowsills. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart beating a mile a minute, as his shaky hand fumbled with his pocket watch. There was nothing to be afraid of, was there? He knew the answers. He knew his mistakes were behind him. He hadn't been punished. But…but why was his heart beating as if he were a guilty man facing a jury of his peers?

A cry from inside of the house interrupted his thoughts, and he gasped, bringing his knuckles to the wooden door to knock. He expected a maid or a butler to answer, but instead, when the door opened, he looked down to see a small child staring up at him.

"Who are you?" the young girl asked, her face streaked with tears. Timothy swallowed hard, looking into exact duplicates of the eyes he knew so well but hadn't seen in so long.

"I'm…Reverend Timothy Johnson. Sylvia sent for me." The little girl paused, her back straight as she stiffened her lips and suppressed her tears.

"You're Timothy?" she asked, her mouth agape.

"Yes. You must be…"

"Gabrielle…Gabby Thompson," she said quietly. "Mother told me you were coming." She cleared her throat. "She's inside." The little girl brushed her long, blonde hair out of her eyes before stepping back and letting Timothy pass.

Slowly, he stepped into the house, and he swallowed hard, the heavy scent of flowers and burning wood.

The little girl rushed past him and into the back room.

"Mother! He's here! He's here!" she exclaimed. Timothy slowly followed the sound of her voice, and his hand quickly moved to his hat to remove it. When the little girl stepped into the hall, she cautiously waved him in.

"She'll see you now." The little girl stepped aside, and she watched Timothy move into the room. A moment later, the door closed behind him, and he peered across the room to see a beautiful young woman spread out upon her bed, her blonde hair spread out beneath her.

"Timothy!" she exclaimed with a bright smile, suppressing a cough, as he closed the gap between himself and the bed. "You made it."

"Sylvia," he said gently.

"Oh, Timothy," she said, shaking her head. "You haven't aged a bit!" He smiled, sitting down in the chair next to the bed.

"Neither have you. How are you feeling?"

"Oh, much better. The doctor says I'm nearly cured," she said, rolling her eyes. For a moment, she saw a spark of hope in his eyes and felt immediately guilty. "I'm sorry, Timothy. I'm trying to keep a sense of humor." Timothy smiled sadly.

"You always had one," he replied. "I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch. After your husband passed, I…I suppose I didn't know what to say. I know that's not very…very good of me, considering it's my job to help people, but…"

"Timothy, you don't have to explain yourself to me." She shook her head. "You have a life in Colorado Springs now. I couldn't expect you to drop everything and leave…until now, of course." She grinned. "I'm sorry if I was an inconvenience to you." Timothy shook his head.

"You were my best friend, Sylvia. Of course you're no inconvenience. I'm here to do whatever you need me to." Sylvia nodded and smiled a little, knowing this couldn't be easy for him, considering she was a blast from a past that he had wanted to forget. He was a man of God now.

"Good. That's good." She cleared her throat. "So you met Gabby?"

"Gabby," he said with a nod. "Yes. She looks like you…"

"Yes she does," Sylvia said with a smile. "When she was born, my mother said she looked just like me." She grinned. "I bet you never thought a tomboy like me could turn into quite the lady, did you?" She laughed a little, and Timothy shook his head, amazed that a woman in such a frail condition could laugh about her past that way. "We were quite the pair, weren't we?"

"Yes…yes we were," he said quietly.

"I believe you're the one that taught me how to…pickpocket, weren't you, Reverend?" Timothy shook his head.

"That was a long time ago, Sylvia."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry if it brought up painful memories, Timothy." She shook her head. "When my mother caught wind of how bad I'd been, she'd practically dragged me off back east and forced me to be…the proper girl she'd raised." She shook her head. "Of course she knows that deep down, I'm still the same girl I was." She coughed again, and her hand moved to her chest. "I bet you're wondering why I asked you here, aren't you?"

"Well, I am a bit curious, but I know you're sick, and…"

"You know I'm dying," she corrected. "I swore to myself after Henry died that I was going to stay as healthy as a horse and give Gabby a good life. Unfortunately, I'm all she has left, and I haven't been able to provide for her as well as I'd hoped."

"I'm here now. I promised I'd come, and I'm here. I won't leave until you tell me to get out." He smiled a little.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She reached for Timothy's hand. "You were my first friend, and…having you here now makes everything…a little easier." She took a deep breath. "Right now…I need to know…"

"What is it?" he asked. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

"Right now I need to know…if I'm going to Heaven." Timothy furrowed his brows.

"Why would you even question it, Sylvia? Despite the past, you're a good woman, and there's nothing you've done that's unforgivable, is there?" In that moment, he saw her smile fade, and she turned her head away.

"You might be surprised."

"To my daughters: Rebecca (Quinn) Buchanan, Maureen (Quinn) Johnson, Claudette (Quinn) O'Neill, Marjorie Quinn, and Michaela Quinn, I will a thousand dollars each from my small fortune," Mr. Nichols read from the piece of paper. Each sister looked around at one another, grateful that they wouldn't have to bicker over who got more money, because at least Elizabeth had been fair with her money even if she hadn't been with her heart. "To the chambermaid, Martha O'Reilly, and to the butler, Harrison Stewart, I leave five hundred dollars apiece."

Michaela didn't feel right about taking her mother's money, but in all honesty, she couldn't help but think that they might need it down the road, and she had already made up her mind to put it in an account for her children's college funds.

"I leave my pearls to Marjorie, because I know how she loved them so." Marjorie looked down into her hands, feeling a tug at her heartstrings. "And I leave my grandmother's cameo to Rebecca, because I trust that she will keep it safe and pass it down to my lovely granddaughter Mary one day. To Claudette, I leave the wedding ring your father gave me, and to Maureen, the engagement ring. To Michaela, I leave the rest of my estate, including the town house and the sum of twenty thousand dollars to contribute to funding a proper medical facility for your practice." A hush fell over the room, as Mr. Nichols drew up the rest of the papers.

"Twenty thousand dollars!" Claudette asked angrily. "That can't be!"

"I was there when she signed this paper herself, Mrs. O'Neill. Your mothers wishes were quite clear." Claudette sat back down, and Michaela's gaze met Marjorie's for a moment, but Marjorie looked away.

"Mr. Nichols," Michaela began, "I don't think I can accept…"

"Your mother wanted you to have it, Miss Quinn. She was very clear." Michaela sighed heavily.

"It doesn't seem fair," she said gently, and she saw Maureen roll her eyes. "I didn't ask for this."

"Oh no, Michaela, but you should have expected it," Maureen snapped. Rebecca spoke up next.

"I don't see any reason for bickering," she said softly. "Mother's wishes should be respected."

"Of course! You're going back to the wilderness with the favorite. Of course you don't mind. I'm sure she'll share some of that fortune with you."

"This isn't about money!" Rebecca retorted. Michaela sunk lower into her seat, trying to keep her back straight and her head up, but no matter what, her mother's plans were still causing problems for her. No, it wasn't Elizabeth's fault. She simply couldn't comprehend how her sisters could be acting so selfishly or how they could think she was that selfish. She didn't want the money, but it was what Elizabeth wanted. And, Michaela was a doctor who needed to expand her practice and make a better environment for her patients to be treated and recover in.

"There's something else," Mr. Nichols interrupted.

"What could be left?" Marjorie asked, frustration dripping from her voice.

"Yes, what else? Mother's left everything to…"

"Be quiet, Claudette!" Rebecca snapped. Michaela glanced at her eldest sister. She'd never seen her so angry and irritated before.

"To all of my daughters, I share the knowledge written in my journal. Writing it was difficult, but I feel that you all deserve to know the truth."

"Journal?" Michaela asked, glancing at Rebecca, as Marjorie held her breath. "I didn't know Mother was keeping a journal."

"Neither did I," Rebecca replied, glancing at Claudette and Maureen. Neither one of them looked as if they knew.

"Perhaps Mother wasn't thinking right when she wrote this. I don't recall a journal," Claudette said quietly. They all glanced at Marjorie.

"I was there, obviously," Marjorie said quietly, trying to decide the right thing to do. What would happen if they all knew? Why did they have to know? Perhaps everything would be better without them knowing.

"Do you remember a journal?" Michaela asked quietly.

"I would have said something if I did," Marjorie snapped, causing the rest of her sisters to jump in surprise. She stood up. "Is that all, Mr. Nichols?"

"Yes. Yes, I believe it is," he replied. She nodded and straightened her skirt before turning and leaving the room. Michaela looked at Rebecca and shook her head.

"Don't worry, Michaela. If Mother had a journal, I'm certain it'll turn up when we're going through her things." She squeezed her sister's hand. "Come along. Let's go home."

"What else does he say to Aunt Michaela?" Mary asked with wide eyes, as they sat in front of the doors that lead to the garden. Johnny grinned.

"One time they were at the reservation, and Pa looked at Cloud Dancin' when Ma walked away and said 'emo'onahe.'"

"What's that mean?" Mary asked with wide eyes.

"He said 'she is beautiful.'"

"Oh," she said with a nod. "Does she know what it means?"

"I think so. If she don't, she sure likes the way he says it. She always kisses him after he tells her all that gushy stuff." Mary giggled.

"They kiss a lot?" she asked. Johnny nodded his head quickly.

"Sometimes they think I don't see, but I do," he replied. "I don't get what the big deal is anyway."

"About what?"

"Kissin'," he replied. "I think it's gross." Mary giggled again.

"Me too." Just then, Sully came down the stairs wearing a suit, and both Mary and Johnny glanced at him.

"Why are ya all dressed up, Pa?" Sully knelt down.

"I'm takin' Dr. Mike someplace special."

"Where at?" Johnny wondered. Sully chuckled.

"Can ya keep a secret?" he asked.

"I can!" Mary exclaimed.

"Me too," Johnny decided. Sully nodded.

"Alright…" But before Sully could speak, the door opened up, and both Michaela and Rebecca came walking in.

"Sully?" Michaela asked immediately, seeing him all dressed up. A smile curled up at her lips.

"You ready to go?" he asked. She looked around.

"Now?"

"Sure," he replied.

"Well, I want to change, and I…"

"Ya look beautiful just the way you are," he assured her, as he stood and moved across the room to take her hand in his. "Trust me." A smile spread across her face, and she nodded. Leaving now sounded perfect. Besides, they had a lot to talk about concerning what she was about to receive from Elizabeth's will. So, she turned to glance at Rebecca.

"Don't worry. After the morning we've had, at least one of us deserves a relaxing afternoon." She smiled a bit. "Don't worry. I'll take the children to the park." Michaela nodded, and she turned back to Sully, not seeing the look that he and Rebecca had shared.

"I suppose I'm ready," she replied. "Where are we going?"

"I told ya…it's a surprise," he replied, seeing that sparkle in her eyes. "For the rest of the day, you're gonna relax, and I'm gonna take care of ya." She gave him a look as if to say "I hope so," before they turned and left the Quinn house quickly.

Rebecca turned to look at Johnny and Mary.

"Mother?"

"Yes?" Rebecca asked.

"Where are we going?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"The museum!" she exclaimed.

"The confectionary," Johnny said with an eager smile. Mary's eyes went wide.

"Yeah! Let's go there instead! May we, Mother? Please?" Rebecca laughed to herself, enjoying the company of the children. They were certainly a delight after the morning she'd had, and in many ways, much more mature company.

"Go find your coats, and we'll go to the confectionary," Rebecca promised. As the children rushed to get their coats, Rebecca sighed and took a moment to herself, finding her mind wandering to Timothy for the first time in days. It was times like these when she wished he was there to talk to. But that was over now. She had to move on and focus on her future with her little family, because they were all she had left in the world.

"Sully! Where are we?" Michaela asked, the morning's stresses completely gone for now. "Sully!"

"Don't look," he warned, as he pulled his arm tighter around her. "Surprises mean ya can't know 'til the right moment."

"Well, why did you send the driver back?"

"'Cause he don't go out this far." Michaela sighed.

"Well, where are we?"

"Don't ya have any patience?" he asked. Michaela rolled her eyes through closed lids, and she grinned when he gave her a squeeze. "Just a few more steps." When they stopped, Sully took Michaela's hand in his. "Alright. Now you can look." Michaela let out a sigh and opened her eyes. Only moments later, her gaze settled upon the surprise that immediately brought a smile to her face and a tear to her eye. Sully grinned at her reaction. "Look familiar?"

"Oh…Sully! It's perfect!"