Chapter 81

March 1871 – Boston

Marjorie closed her mother's journal again after having read through it fully a second time. She couldn't help but feel her heart wracking with guilt from keeping this book away from her sisters. But she couldn't think of anything else to do. If they knew their mother's secrets, it would only cause more discord in the family.

Did Michaela even know that she was cherished from the moment she was born, because she was certain to be the last child? To an extent, Marjorie was certain that she did. She'd been the golden child since before she was born, even though she didn't turn out to be the boy her parents had wanted and expected.

Rebecca didn't deserve to be kept in the dark about her twin brother. Marjorie knew that now. But if Rebecca found out about her brother and about her true father, it would put their mother's name to shame! The good Quinn name could forever be spoiled because of Elizabeth's well-kept lies.

Sighing heavily, Marjorie moved to the window, looking out as she did most every night. She couldn't help but feel that she was betraying her mother. But why shouldn't she? Why should she give the book to her sisters—as her mother had asked—when her mother had left everything to them anyway?

Her own selfishness was getting in the way again, and she didn't care. It was her mother's fault she was that way. She had to be selfish when it came to her mother, because the time she'd gotten with her had been cut short by her sisters…even in the end.

Destroying the journal seemed like the best idea, but then again, she knew that if she destroyed it herself, she would be immediately filled with the guilt of knowing that she had defied her mother's wishes. No, she couldn't do that. There had to be another way. Until she knew the answer, she would have to keep her mother's journal safe no matter what.

Nightfall had come quickly, but to Sully and Michaela, it was just another blissful piece of their perfect day. Despite a small argument, everything had gone according to plan, and Sully was grateful that he'd been able to make Michaela smile and laugh and be happy for a little while in the midst of the struggle her family was going through.

Michaela had a blanket draped over her shoulders, and she held it tightly around herself, keeping warm, as Sully's hand soothed her back.

"I'm not certain why I feel so comfortable here," Michaela said quietly, as they stood by the shoreline, gazing out over the lake, as the moon and the stars shimmered over the still waters.

Sully nodded, and he looked up into the dark sky, searching for answers.

"A while back, you told me why." Michaela turned to him, and he looked back down to meet her eyes.

"I did?" she wondered, thinking back. Sully nodded.

"Yep. Ya once said that we always end up near the water…and it was startin' to feel like home." Michaela smiled at his good memory.

"We first met at the ocean. It isn't a wonder that water has a pull on both of us." Sully smiled and hugged her close. She rested her head against his chest, and she breathed in his scent, closing her eyes and relaxing her body against his.

"Think the baby'll be the same?" he asked. Michaela smiled.

"She might be," she said softly. "Or she may be terrified of water for the rest of her life after today's incident." Michaela giggled at the memory of falling nearly headfirst into the cold lake.

"She?" he asked, smiling at the possibilities.

"Or he," Michaela allowed. "I must warn you, Mr. Sully. Girls are a strong force of a breed in my family."

"I noticed. So long as she's just like her ma, I wouldn't have it any other way." Michaela smiled brightly. After a brief pause, Sully spoke up again. "Michaela."

"Hmm?"

"Look." She pulled back and followed his gaze. Their star was shining down at them as always, watching over them even when they didn't realize it. They hadn't gazed at the stars in so long, and doing so now brought them back to when things were a little simpler.

"Our star," Michaela breathed. "It's been a long time since we've needed it."

"But it's always there," he pointed out. "Even if we don't think we need it." Michaela nodded, and Sully felt her shiver under the blanket. "C'mon. Let's go back inside. There's a nice, warm fire, and—"

"No," she replied. "Let's stay out here a little while longer." Sully nodded and held up his hand.

"Don't move. I'll be right back." Michaela waited patiently, gazing out over the calm lake, as Sully returned inside to fetch something. A fish jumped up, causing the water to ripple, and Michaela stared intently, as the ripples spread out and smoothed over, and the lake went back to being as calm and peaceful as it had been before.

She was deep in thought when he returned with another blanket, and she jumped in surprised when he spread it out over the grass. She smiled, as he sat down and reached for her hand, and she happily took it with her own. Sitting down in front of him, she let him stretch his legs out, so she could sit between them, leaning her back against his chest and pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Sully smiled, moving his hands down her covered shoulders and surrounding her body with his loving arms. She leaned her head against his shoulder and turned her head, looking up at him, and they kissed softly, enjoying a breezy night alone together under the stars.

After a while, Sully's back grew tired, and he lay back, as she turned in his arms, lying atop him. She opened her blanket up enough to cover his body too, and she smiled down at him, seeing the starlight reflecting in his eyes.

He gazed up at her, smiling as her hair, curled from being drenched in the lake earlier, framed her face and spilled down onto his chest. He could see the sparkle in her eyes, and when she smiled, he offered his lips to her, waiting for her to take the plunge. When her lips came crashing down onto his in a fervent kiss, he opened up to her and held her close as their passion combusted once more.

March 1871 – Colorado Springs

He'd thought he had stopped the bleeding hours ago, but as he dismounted his horse in the darkness of the quiet town, he realized that his wound had begun to bleed again. He'd thought long and hard about going to see the doctor, but then he knew that if anybody knew he'd been hurt, they'd suspect him first off. He was certain she was dead. He hadn't meant to kill her, but it had been the only way to stop her from spreading those lies all over town. Well, as far as the town knew, they were lies. They didn't have to know. Now they never would.

Rushing toward the barbershop, he prayed that nobody would see him, but he didn't see the pair of eyes that followed him from the darkness of the empty saloon. He didn't notice the trail of cigar smoke that swirled up into the air.

He pushed the door open and rushed inside, hurrying first to the oil lamp to give himself some light and then over to the washbasin. With his shaving razor, he tore open the bloodied arm of his shirt and examined the deep knife wound that spread across his upper arm. He winced in pain, and he knew that it needed medical attention. Well, he could sew as good as any doctor, he thought, so he pulled up a bottle of whiskey, laced a piece of thread through a needle, and he began a painstaking attempt to save his own life, though he knew that if Carrie really was alive, he was as good as dead anyway.

Jake groaned angrily and took another swig of whiskey, as he poked the needle in and out of his lacerated flesh. The pain intensified, and he continued swigging whiskey from the bottle. His hands were already shaking from his drunken state. He hadn't been sober for a while, and his thoughts were crashing together. His memories were playing through his mind as if he was watching a play. He couldn't focus on just one, and as his hand shakily stitched his arm, he grew dizzy and sat down in his barbering chair.

She was riding. He was chasing. She looked back. She sped up. Her horse skidded. She fell. He stopped. Talking. Struggling. The knife. The gun. The trigger. Blood…so much blood.

He shook his head, feeling weak from the loss of blood and from the alcohol. He couldn't think straight anymore. He couldn't keep his fingers steady to finish the stitching, and only moments later, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out in the chair, his half-sewn-up harm still trickling blood at a steady pace, as the whiskey bottle shattered on the floor, spilling its poison onto the wooden planks, stinking up his wretched life even more than it already had.

"How is the girl?" Snow Bird asked, as she entered the teepee with a pot of hot water. Her eyes met her husband's, and he merely shook his head.

"She has lost a lot of blood." He looked down at her pale face. "I have removed the bullet and sewed up the wound. Her survival is up to her now. I must keep her comfortable." Snow Bird nodded, and she placed the steaming pot nearby.

"Will she wake soon?"

"It is hard to tell." He took a cloth, dipped it in the water, and looked at his wife. "Will you clean her? Dress her in warm clothes?" Snow Bird nodded. "Good. I must find the man who did this." He started to leave, but Snow Bird's hand clasped his arm firmly.

"It is too dangerous, husband," she said quickly. "At least wait until morning."

"The trail will be cold."

"He couldn't have gotten far. If the knife was used to wound him, he must be very weak now." Cloud Dancing shook his head, not certain of those words.

"The Spirits say she is connected to our friends. Our friends are not here, but we must do everything to see that she is safe." Snow Bird nodded.

"I agree. But the most important thing is that she is well first. The rest will come later." Cloud Dancing heard the wisdom in his wife's words, and he nodded.

"I will leave you with her. I will return with food." Snow Bird nodded again and watched as her husband left. When he was gone, she turned to the young woman.

"What kind of person could hurt a young woman like yourself? What kind of past does your heart remember?" Silence filled the teepee, and Snow Bird quieted, finishing her task in silence.

March 1871 – Boston

Sylvia looked over at the door, as Timothy walked through with that morning's newspaper in his hands.

"This what you were lookin' for?" he asked, a smile spreading over his face as he carried it in. Sylvia nodded gratefully.

"Yes. Thank you, Timothy." Timothy sat down in the chair beside her bed and handed her the paper. "Where's Gabby?"

"She went straight to her room as soon as we got back." Sylvia frowned, but she tried to hide her despair.

"She's always hiding herself when she's upset. She thinks that if I see her cry…" She took a deep breath and shook her head. "Anyway…I want to see if they placed my advertisement."

"Advertisement?" Timothy asked. "What for?" Sylvia began to flip through the pages.

"It's usually on the sixth page," she said thoughtfully, coughing hard. The paper fell to the floor, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Timothy bent down and slowly picked the paper up.

"Can…can I get you anything?" She shook her head as she struggled for breath, taking in deep, wheezing gasps of air. Swallowing hard, Timothy turned to the sixth page, scanning the small, black letters for the advertisement. Then he saw it. "You're looking for a home for Gabby," he said sadly. He looked up to meet Sylvia's gaze, but her gaze fell on the wall beside the bed.

"It's the third notice I've put in the paper. I've contacted all of the relatives I could think of, but it seems as if nobody wants to take on the burden of a nine-year-old girl." Timothy looked up at her.

"Nine years…" He let out a long breath. "It's amazing to think that…I could have just as easily…"

"Timothy," Sylvia interrupted. "You shouldn't think about it. It was a long time ago, and…"

"No. No, I haven't thought about it enough," he said, shaking his head. Sylvia took a deep breath.

"I need to rest now, Timothy. Could you please…come back tomorrow afternoon?" Timothy sighed heavily, and he nodded his head.

"I'll be back tomorrow. Get some rest. I'll see you…" But her eyes had already closed, and she was drifting off to sleep. Slowly, he left her room, and he left the house. Once outside, he sat on the stoop to catch a breath of fresh air. He opened up the newspaper again and looked at the notice. He'd never seen Sylvia in a more desperate situation. Thinking back to their time together, he couldn't help but think about how close he'd come to being that child's father. She'd assured him that her future husband was the father—that he'd been too eager to wait for the wedding night—and even though Gabby would have been lucky to have a father like him, it just wasn't so.

Closing his eyes tightly, he thought about life back in Colorado Springs. Everything he had said or thought about Michaela and Sully could have easily been said about himself had it not been for Sylvia's abrupt engagement at her mother's bidding. Fortunately for Sylvia, she had come to love the man she married, and Timothy knew she'd been happy. Through the few letters he'd received over time, he'd known, but he had also known that she was the one and only woman he'd ever been with, and it pained him that she had to be a reminder of a life he'd left long ago. He'd never loved her, and that was the part that hurt the most. She had been a friend and nothing more, and he had almost been a father because of a lifetime he would never forget…could never forget, no matter how hard he had tried.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention back to the newspaper, and that was when he saw it. His heart stopped for only a moment as he saw that name scrawled across the page in fine print.

Elizabeth Quinn of Beacon Hill Boston, Massachusetts.

Dead? But they'd been going because she was ill. Now she was gone?

His mind flew to Rebecca, and his heart ached, wondering what pain she was most likely going through. She had made it clear that she was in no way going to accept the way he'd reacted to Michaela and Sully's secret. Now…now with Sylvia back in his life, he couldn't help but realize that perhaps Rebecca was right. Tolerance and forgiveness were essential, and he had always known that, but he'd let the town's opinion pressure his own, even though he knew deep in his heart that he could have easily been in the same situation.

Closing his eyes, he wondered if Rebecca could ever forgive him. She was a good woman—a caring woman—and he had started to fall in love with her from the day he first met her.

He stood up, putting his hat atop his head, and he decided to find a place to sleep for the night. He had a lot of thinking to do.

"I'm not sleepy!" Mary insisted, as Rebecca tucked her covers in around her. Rebecca sighed, shaking her head with exhaustion.

"Darling, if you lie still and close your eyes, I'm sure you'll fall asleep soon." She kissed Mary's forehead, but Mary turned away.

"I miss Grandma. She would always tell me the stories about princesses…"

"I could tell you a story if you'd like," Rebecca offered. Mary considered her mother's words for a moment before shaking her head.

"No. Grandma did them just right. It wouldn't be the same." Mary sighed sadly, and Rebecca swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?" Rebecca asked. Mary shook her head again. "Alright, sweetheart. I'll let you sleep." Rebecca started to get up, but Mary grabbed her hand.

"Mother, could Johnny tell me a story?" Rebecca paused for a moment.

"Sweetheart, Johnny's sleeping."

"No I ain't," Johnny said from the doorway. Rebecca turned to look at him. "I couldn't sleep either." Rebecca smiled a little and motioned for him to come in.

"Tell me about the Cheyenne," Mary said with a yawn, as Johnny sat down on the other side of her bed. Rebecca remained holding her little girl's hand, and she smiled, as Mary's eyes lit up when Johnny began telling her a story. She was grateful for her daughter's friendship with Johnny, because if it wasn't for him, Mary would probably still be locked up in her room and refusing to see people. Somehow, Johnny was able to take her sadness away by just being there, and Rebecca hoped that they would remain that close forever, because even at such young ages, they had a connection that many people spent their entire lives dreaming of having. Her daughter was lucky.

In the morning, Michaela woke in Sully's arms. The sun was shining brightly through the window, causing her to squint and shield her eyes from the warm rays.

For the first time in a long time, Michaela woke without a heavy heart or a feeling of dread. Today, she was waking up with the man she loved, and she refused to let anything get in the way of her happiness. She wanted to forget all of her grievances for just a little while longer.

"Mornin'," Sully's voice whispered into her ear. Michaela smiled, and she turned to see his tired face smiling at her. She turned to face him, and he pulled her closer.

"Good morning," she breathed, as she planted a kiss upon his lips. When she pulled back, she saw that familiar glimmer in his eyes, and he gently rolled her over, showering her in kisses, as she giggled and writhed beneath him. Her struggle was futile, however, as she surrendered to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him closer. "Sully!" She laughed, and he pulled back for only a moment.

"What?"

"If you keep that up, we'll never make it back to Beacon Hill today." She grinned, when she saw his smile broaden.

"Would that be so bad?" He kissed her again, and she gently pushed back on his chest.

"Sully!" she laughed. "Are you forgetting that there's a little boy waiting there…eager to tour the city with his pa?" Sully shook his head.

"And his ma." Michaela smiled and sighed softly.

"He's happy, Sully. I wasn't certain if he could ever accept me into his life in the way he has." She shook her head. "I was wrong." Sully nodded and lay back on his side, and she turned to face him.

"I see a lot of Abagail in him when he gets mad or when he's sad. But I remember lookin' at him when he was a baby and seein' me. I remember that the girls…they were so much like their ma. When he came along, I remember thinkin' that he looked just like me. I was so proud of him."

"You should be proud of him, Sully. He's a good boy." Sully nodded. "He's going to be a wonderful big brother to our baby." Sully's hand moved to her belly.

"That's still so far away." Michaela nodded.

"I'm certain that by the time the pain starts, it won't have seemed so long." She giggled, but Sully frowned a little.

"I don't wanna see ya in pain, Michaela," he confessed. "When ya almost lost the baby, I couldn't stand seein' ya hurtin' like that." Michaela nodded, and she gently ran her fingers through his curls.

"There isn't any need to worry about that right now, Sully. We have months to prepare, and when the time comes, I know the pain will all be worth it when I hold that baby in my arms." She smiled. "I've delivered enough babies to have noticed that as soon as the baby's born, most of the mothers seem to forget they were even in pain. Just to hear that baby cry…to count their fingers and toes…to know that they made the right choices for the right reasons, and their baby is here for a purpose." Sully's heart skipped a beat, feeling her words sinking in, and he nodded. Without the need for further words, Michaela kissed him softly before sitting up in bed and starting to pull herself up.

"Where ya goin'?" he asked, taking her hand in his. This time, she didn't give in, and she quickly got out of bed, pulling on her robe.

"It's a beautiful day, Sully. I think we should start enjoying it…"

"We can enjoy it right here," he suggested, as Michaela laughed.

"You're insatiable," she whispered, leaning down to allow him one more kiss before she pulled away and started into the washroom to bathe and put on a fresh dress for the day. She smiled, as her bare feet slapped against the wooden floor, and by the time she reached the washroom, she could hear him following behind. A moment later, she felt his arms encircle her, and she spun around, putting up no fight as he pulled her in for another earth-shattering kiss, and the rest of the morning was put on hold a little while longer.

"Martha! Could you get the door, please?" Rebecca asked, rushing down the stairs, as the knock sounded for the fourth time. It wasn't until she reached the foyer that she realized that Martha and Harrison had the day off. "Just a moment!" she called out, feeling foolish. She quickly straightened her hair in the mirror, but she still felt as if she looked dreadful. Picking up after two children could cause a lady to look wearisome, after all.

The knock sounded again, and Rebecca let out an exasperated sigh, rushed to the door, and before she pulled it open, she took a few deep breaths to compose herself. Finally, she turned the knob and prepared to greet the eager visitor. But when she saw those eyes staring back at her, her heart stopped for a moment, and she gasped.

He took his hat into his hands, and he opened his mouth to speak.

"Hello, Rebecca," he said quietly, his voice full of regret. She couldn't figure out what to say to him. She couldn't decide what to do or how to act. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat and forced out the only word she could think of.

"Timothy."