Chapter 82

March 1871 - Boston

"Why did you come here?" Rebecca asked quietly, as she and Timothy slipped out into the garden to make sure their conversation couldn't be overheard. Seeing him had come as quite a shock to her, though she had to admit to herself deep down that seeing him was a comfort. Even though he'd angered her more than words could describe, he still reminded her of what a good friend he was capable of being.

"I honestly didn't come for this reason, Rebecca," he said quietly, seeing the look on her face that made him regret his words. "I mean…well, I'm happy to see you. I just…I came to Boston for a friend. This friend needs me, and I couldn't ignore that. But last night, I saw where your mother had passed, and I…I thought maybe you could use a friend." Rebecca turned to look at him.

"And you thought you could be that friend? After everything?" she asked. She took a few steps away from him, and Timothy held his breath. He had been prepared for that, but hearing her rejecting him in that way still hurt.

"I was hoping so," he finally replied. "You…you are a wonderful friend, Rebecca. I'm afraid I haven't been so wonderful." Rebecca didn't disagree, and the way that she looked at him broke his heart. He could see a glimmer of regret in her eyes, but he knew that for her, family came first, and how could he expect anything less from her?

"Timothy, I thought you were the kind of person who would stick up for anyone who needed a friend, but when Michaela's pregnancy was announced, you did everything but that. You turned against my sister, and worse than that, you began treating me as if we weren't the close friends we'd become." She shook her head.

"I apologize for that, Rebecca. I know you have no reason to trust me or believe what I say, but I feel terrible for the way I behaved. My beliefs are…are a big part of who I am…"

"I can't expect anything else, Timothy, but I can expect tolerance, acceptance, and forgiveness." She shook her head. "I suppose I misjudged you." He shook his head firmly.

"No. Rebecca, I want you to see that I'm not…"

"Who I thought you were?" She shook her head. She needed to be angry. She needed time to think about all of the possibilities before she could even begin to think about forgiving him. Forgiving him would only happen if Timothy were to make some kind of gesture. She wasn't certain he was ready for that…whatever gesture it might be. "Whatever friend needed you is probably wondering where you've gone. You shouldn't be here." Timothy shook his head.

"I wish you'd listen," he said softly.

"And I wish there was something to listen to. But I love my sister, and I will support her in anything she chooses to do. I'm sorry if you can't appreciate that, but those are my choices." She put her hands on her hips. "Can you honestly say you've never done anything that others might see as wrong? Have you never made a choice for you and for your happiness that others disapproved of?" Timothy thought back to nine years ago, lying with Sylvia in his arms. He closed his eyes tightly, and Rebecca saw that something was troubling him. "What is it, Timothy?" He shook his head.

"You're right. I…I really shouldn't be here." With that, he turned and left, leaving Rebecca even more confused than when he'd arrived. But when sounds from the children's windows let her know that they were up and ready for the day, she rushed inside to tend to them in hopes of forgetting that the man she had fallen for was in Boston.

"Sully! I'm not hungry," she laughed, as they walked down the main street of Boston.

"You sure? You didn't eat much at breakfast," he pointed out. "Baby needs the food." Michaela rolled her eyes.

"I ate plenty, Sully. I couldn't eat another bite, and if you insist on me eating more than I can handle, I'm going to be as big as a house!" Sully put his arm around her.

"You're still beautiful to me." Michaela raised an eyebrow.

"Are you implying that I'm already as big as a house?" she asked, biting her bottom lip to stop her own laughter. Sully shook his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek, catching the glares of several passersby.

"'Course not. I'm just sayin' that no matter how big ya get, you're still gonna be the most beautiful woman I ever saw." Michaela smiled, as he held her closer with his free arm, as he carried their overnight things with his other arm.

"Would you like for me to carry something?" she asked, reaching out.

"Ah ah," he insisted. "You just relax." Michaela rolled her eyes.

"I'm very relaxed, Mr. Sully. But if you don't let me do something for myself, I'm going to grow frustrated very quickly." He saw the glimmer in her eye, and he knew that the sooner they got home, the better. Their time at the cottage had been more than wonderful, and it was a time he could never forget. He only hoped that things remained that perfect. He knew that was impossible, but being able to make love to the woman he loved without holding back for fear of being caught was something he couldn't explain. It was like being free. In many ways, they were still being bound by the chains of propriety and the standards that society had set for them. They were still sneaking about in order to be with one another. It wouldn't be long before they wouldn't have to hide any longer. They would be man and wife in a matter of a couple of months, and nothing would be able to stand in their way again.

"When do you think you ought to go back and see Landon?" Sully asked, trying to keep his mind off of his unquenchable desire to be with her. Michaela sighed thoughtfully.

"Perhaps next week."

"Why wait that long?" he asked. Michaela cocked her head to the side and glanced at him as they walked.

"Are you concerned about something?"

"'Course not. I just think that maybe…well, ya fell in the lake, and…" She could hear the apprehension in his voice, and she knew what he was speaking of. But, she smiled anyway.

"Sully, I'm fine. The baby's fine. Nothing has jeopardized that in any since we've been here. Promise me you'll stop worrying." Sully squeezed her hand.

"I can't promise that. I'll always worry."

"Well, perhaps I can't stop you from worrying, but if it'll make you feel better, I'll go visit with Landon tomorrow." Sully shook his head.

"No, it's alright. You should probably keep your appointment on the day ya settled on. I guess I'm just worried that somethin' bad—"

"Nothing's going to happen to me, Sully. I promise." The look in her eyes told him that she truly believed it, but what worried him more was that she had no control over that. Many bad things were inevitable, and with one wrong move, everything could be lost.

March 1871 – Colorado Springs

Carrie felt the warmth of something that felt like fur surrounding her body. She took a deep breath, letting smoke invade her nostrils. She coughed heavily, feeling pain all throughout her body, and she cried out.

"It is alright," came an unfamiliar male voice from nearby. For a moment, her mind flashed back to the cattle drives. She sometimes woke to unfamiliar voices and the scent of whiskey. But this was different. There was no whiskey. There were no stinking cowboys. All there was was the comfort of warmth and the soothing sound of a caring voice.

She slowly turned her head, and she focused her gaze on the two figures sitting near her. She gasped, seeing an Indian man and woman staring at her from across the flames. She tried to sit up, but the pain would not allow it.

"What…"

"Do not be alarmed," Cloud Dancing assured her. "I am Cloud Dancing. This is my wife Snow Bird." Carrie moaned in pain.

"What happened?" she asked weakly. Cloud Dancing nodded.

"You were shot. I found you and brought you and your horse back here." Carrie immediately remembered Jake pulling his knife, her getting it away from him, cutting him. Then she heard the gunshot.

"I remember now," she moaned, closing her eyes and placing her hand on her forehead. "Where am I?"

"You are safe," Snow Bird spoke up. Carrie swallowed hard.

"But where am I?" She looked around, noticing the odd shape of the dwelling she was in. "The reservation?"

"Yes," Cloud Dancing replied. "Until you are strong enough to return home." Carrie shook her head, something indescribable nagging at her…pulling her toward home.

"No. I need to go now. I need to go home." She tried to get up, but she failed miserably.

"Please. Do not move," Cloud Dancing urged. "The stitches need to…"

"I need to get home! Don't ya understand?"

"Something calls you?" Carrie stared at him for a moment.

"I can't explain it," she said quietly. "I need to go." Cloud Dancing and Snow Bird exchanged a glance.

"The Sprits have spoken to you," he said quietly. Carrie eyed him.

"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" She writhed in pain beneath the fur blanket.

"You feel the need to go home, yet you do not know why," Snow Bird spoke up. "The Spirits are calling you there." Carrie looked back and forth between the two.

"I just want to go home."

"You will go when you are strong," Cloud Dancing demanded. "Traveling now may kill you." Carrie shook her head.

"No. I'm strong. I can handle it." She started to move again, but the pain became too intense. Cloud Dancing moved toward her, and he held a cup up to her lips.

"What the hell is that?" she barked, angry that she had to count on someone to take care of her again. She wanted to be stronger than that.

"It will ease your pain," he promised.

"I don't care about that. I just want to go home. Ya can't keep me here."

"Tomorrow morning, if you are well enough, I will take you home." Carrie glared at him before reluctantly taking a large gulp of the bitter tea. She grimaced, and he put the cup away. "Rest now. You must regain your strength." Deciding not to argue anymore, Carrie closed her eyes and was quickly consumed by sleep and the sweet release from pain.

"She fights hard," Snow Bird said with a wise smile. "She has something to live for." Cloud Dancing took his wife's hand.

"Perhaps she has someone to live for as well."

A few townsfolk had decided to take a risk and get out of their homes for a little while. With no other reports of illness getting around town, several people had decided to stop by the mercantile to stock up on food, hoping Olive would let them in. After all, many of them had hungry children at home, and they'd run out of oats and dried beef already. There wasn't much left to use that hadn't spoiled already. The canned food would at least be decent, because the supplies hadn't run through since the epidemic had begun.

One of the people to brave the quarantine was Hank, who was in desperate need of tobacco. He'd used it all over the past few nights. Since Liddie had died, he hadn't been able to sleep. He hadn't been able to eat much at all. All that filled him now was whiskey and cigar smoke.

"Olive. Open the door!" Hank called out. "If ya don't open up, we're gonna have to break the door down!" The small group on the porch was already agitated from being cooped up in their homes for the past several days. The least that Olive could do was help them get what they needed.

"What's goin' on, folks?" Kid Cole asked, stepping onto the porch cautiously.

"Olive ain't openin' up. We need supplies," Hank barked.

"Did Doc Cassidy say it was safe to come outside?"

"No, but nobody's died in days. It's passin'," Hank snapped. "Ya can't expect us to starve, can ya?" Kid Cole shook his head.

"Step aside, folks." They reluctantly parted the way, and he stepped up to the door, peering through into the dim mercantile. "Miss Olive? You in there? It's alright. It's Sheriff Cole." When he reached for the door handle, he turned it back and forth a few times, hoping the lock would slip open, but he had no such luck. "Maybe she ain't willin' to open up just yet."

"Well, she better be," Hank sneered. "If folks don't die from the Diphtheria, they'll starve to death instead." Hank brushed past the sheriff, and before Kid Cole could stop him, he was kicking the door in. Just then, a rush of people crowded into the mercantile, causing Kid Cole to yell for Daniel, who just happened to be staring out his window at the boarding house, seeing what the commotion was all about. Deciding to brave the rowdy mob and the epidemic, he hurried out to help the sheriff.

"Sheriff Cole!" Mrs. Amburn exclaimed, as she stood staring behind the counter. "Sheriff Cole!" Kid Cole rushed in, seeing Olive sprawled out on the floor behind the counter.

"Daniel! Go get the doc!" When he arrived, Daniel froze for a moment, seeing Olive's pale body lying on the floor like that. But a moment later, he rushed over to fetch Doc Cassidy, as Kid Cole hurried around to try to help her. "Everybody get out 'fore I have you all arrested." The folks who had been picking up food and other supplies stopped what they were doing.

"Try it, Sheriff," Hank challenged, slamming two dollars down on the counter and stalking off to the saloon with his purchases in arm. Shaking his head, Kid Cole ushered everyone out of the mercantile and turned back to Olive. Slowly, he scooped her up into his arms and began to carry her outside.

At that moment, Daniel came across the street with Doc Cassidy, and immediately, Doc Cassidy shook his head.

"She has the Diphtheria," he pointed out.

"She's probably been lyin' there all night," Kid Cole observed, as he took Olive's limp body into the clinic. He placed her down on the examination table, and Doc Cassidy began to examine her. When he looked up, his eyes met Daniel's and then Kid Cole's, and he grimly shook his head.

"She's gonna…"

"She doesn't have much time. I suggest that you all go home and pray you haven't been infected." But before they could leave, Olive slowly opened her eyes.

"What happened?"

"Olive? Olive, can you hear me?" Daniel asked. Olive's gaze slowly turned toward him.

"Daniel?" she asked quietly. He nodded. He knew it would break Carrie's heart to know that her friend was in this dire situation. Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do. "I got it."

"I'm sorry, Miss Olive," he said gently. He looked at Doc Cassidy. "Ain't there anything you can do?"

"Her case is far more advanced. I'm afraid attempting to save her would be futile."

"But the least you could do is try!" Daniel demanded. Olive's hand met his.

"Do somethin' for me," she asked. Daniel took a deep breath. "For Carrie." She closed her eyes.

"What is it? What do ya need?"

"I need…her to know."

"Know what?" Kid Cole asked, standing behind Daniel.

"My daughter…my little girl." She slowly brought her hand to her neck and pulled out the locket from its hiding place tucked in her blouse. Daniel slowly helped her remove the chain, and he stared at it.

"She's got one just like it," he remarked, swallowing hard. "You're her ma?" Olive closed her eyes again, her tears slipping out.

"I didn't think it'd be right…to tell her. But I ain't gonna get the chance now." Then she was asleep, breathing shallowly but steadily. Daniel shook his head. He couldn't just let the mother of the woman he loved die. He had to help her. But he was powerless. He looked up at Doc Cassidy.

"You do whatever you gotta do to save her life."

"There's nothing…"

"Find a way!" he ordered, storming out of the clinic and toward the boarding house. Kid Cole followed after him. But when Daniel reached the place, Carrie's room was empty, and her horse wasn't in the stable. So, he mounted up onto his own horse.

"Where you goin'?" Kid Cole demanded.

"I gotta find Carrie. If I don't, Olive is gonna die before Carrie knows the truth."

After having a couple shots of whiskey, Hank had decided to check up on Jake. He hadn't seen him return to town, but he'd seen Jake's horse. He had been curious as to where Jake had gone, and if he got over there before he was too drunk, he figured that he might just get some answers out of him.

Marching up the steps of the barbershop, Hank peered into the dim room. The first thing he saw was enough to cause him to put his fist through the window and unlock the door.

A puddle of blood stained the wooden floor, and as Hank rushed in to see if he could help his friend, he was horrified by the sight of Jake lying in the barber's chair, his arm drenched in blood and continuing to bleed. He was certain that most of Jake's blood was on the floor already, but the least he could do was get him over to Doc Cassidy.

"C'mon, Jake. Don't you die on me."

"Hank?" Jake asked through slurred speech. "I got myself cut."

"Yeah, I see that. It's amazin' you're still alive…much less talkin'."

"It hurts." A moment later, Jake went limp in his arms, and Hank rushed out the door and toward the clinic. From each home gawked a pair of curious eyes or two, wondering what had happened, and as Hank burst through the door of the clinic, a surprised Doc Cassidy sprung up from his desk.

"What are you doing?"

"Just found Jake Slicker bleedin' like this. Looks like he's been bleedin' all night." Doc Cassidy moved over to the bleeding patient.

"That's a nasty cut." He began to examine the flesh. "Well, if he doesn't bleed to death, he's probably going to lose this arm." Hank shook his head.

"Ya best fix him, Doc. If ya let him die like ya let Liddie, you'll have to answer to me." Doc Cassidy looked up at him sternly.

"You know as well as I do that I…"

"Do I, Doc?" Hank asked. He looked back down at Jake. "You fix 'im. You don't, he ain't the only one that might lose an arm."

"Are you threatening me?" Doc Cassidy asked.

"No. I'm tellin' ya. So far, ya ain't proved nothin' as a doc. I'd rather have that woman sew him up. Least she ain't let most of her patients die." With that, Hank turned to leave.

"You should probably stick around," Doc Cassidy grumbled. "You might be able to help." Hank eyed him.

"How?"

"There's a procedure that transfuses blood from one person to another. It doesn't always work, but if one man gives his blood to another man, there seems to be a higher chance of the patient surviving." Hank shook his head.

"Ya ain't pokin' me with nothin'."

"Do you want your friend to die?"

"Ya said it don't work all the time anyway."

"But do you honestly want to say that you stood by and did nothing as your friend lay dying?" Hank wanted to reach out and slug the doctor for being such a hypocrite, but at the same time, he looked down at Jake's pale face and knew that if he didn't try, nobody else would.

March 1871 – Boston

"Ma! Pa! You're home!" Johnny exclaimed, as he rushed into the foyer. Sully put their overnight things down and hugged his son. "Did ya have a good time?"

"Sure did," Sully said, sneaking a wink at Michaela, who blushed.

"Where'd you guys go? What were ya doin'?" he asked. "Aunt Rebecca said you'd be gone all night." Sully and Michaela shared a glance, and neither looked eager to answer the boy's question.

"Well, we…uh," Sully began, unsuccessfully.

"I had a few old patients to see," Michaela tried. Johnny furrowed his brows.

"But…you don't have your medical bag, and…"

"Johnny! There you are," Rebecca laughed, coming out of the kitchen just in time to save Michaela and Sully from further interrogation. "Oh! Michaela! Sully! You're home."

"Yes," Michaela said with a smile. "I want to tell you how much I appreciate…" Rebecca shook her head, holding up her hand.

"There's no need. I thought it might do you some good."

"What might?" Johnny queried. Michaela flushed again, and she shook her head.

"Did you have a good time with Rebecca and Mary?"

"Yeah!" Johnny exclaimed. "We got lots of ice cream." Michaela and Sully glanced at Rebecca.

"It was a one time thing, I assure you. I don't think they'll ever eat that much ice cream ever again." Johnny laughed.

"Sure we will!" Michaela shook her head with amusement.

"Well, it's certainly lovely to be back. Rebecca, has Marjorie been by?" Rebecca shook her head sadly.

"She hasn't. I was hoping to visit with her today, but I began thinking that if she wants to see us, she'll come around. You know Marjorie. When people confront her, she simply pushes them further away." Michaela nodded.

"Yes…I know." She shook her head. "If we don't hear from her soon, though, I don't think we'll have any other choice. She needs to know that we're here if she wants to talk. We're all hurting over losing Mother…" Rebecca nodded sadly.

"She may want to help us go through Mother's things." Michaela nodded. They were putting it off, but at soon as the settlements from the will came through, they were going to need to do something. They would be leaving for Colorado Springs at the beginning of April, so they had very little time to act, yet the thought of sorting their mother's things…her past…it seemed so final.

"Mother!" came Mary's voice from upstairs. "Mother, would you braid my hair?" Rebecca smiled sheepishly at Michaela.

"It looks as if I'm needed for a little quality mother and daughter time. Why don't the three of you go for a stroll?"

"Can we?" Johnny asked excitedly.

"May we," Michaela corrected. Sully chuckled and tousled his son's hair.

"Why not? We could go feed the ducks down by the river."

"Isn't it a bit chilly for the ducks to be here already?" Michaela asked, looking at Rebecca.

"Actually, we spotted a few yesterday, didn't we, Johnny?" Johnny nodded. Michaela smiled.

"Well, alright. Why don't you go find some crumbs to feed to the ducks? I'm certain there's some stale bread sitting around in the kitchen somewhere." Johnny eagerly ran off to do as Michaela had asked. Rebecca smiled at her little sister.

"When you get back, I'd like to talk to you about something." Michaela straightened up.

"We can do that now if it's important." Rebecca swallowed hard and shook her head.

"Nonsense. You have a lovely afternoon. Mary and I will be here when the three of you return." With that, she rushed up the stairs to tend to Mary. Michaela turned to Sully, and she smiled a little.

"You sure you're ok?" he asked.

"Yes. Just thinking about everything that's happened…I can't help but feel a little overwhelmed." Sully nodded.

"It's normal," he assured her. "You sure you're up for goin' to the river?"

"Of course I am," she nodded. "I could use the fresh air." She flashed a bright smile in Sully's direction, and when Johnny came running out of the kitchen, he nearly smacked right into her.

"Careful," Sully warned.

"Sorry," Johnny said guiltily. Michaela winked at him.

"No harm done," she laughed. "Now come along. Let's get going."

"What if he's changed his mind? What if he doesn't want to marry me anymore?

"He hasn't. Of course he wants to marry you!"

"You don't know that! Perhaps…"

"Yes I do. Please, calm down. You're only getting yourself worked up over nothing."

"Nothing? It isn't over nothing. Perhaps it's all too much."

"Too much? If it were too much, he would have left months ago. He isn't that kind of man, and you know that perfectly well. You know he loves you. He loves you more than anything!"

"Yes…but…"

"There are no 'buts.' He loves you. Trust in that. When you walk down that aisle today, he's going to be there, smiling only at you."

"If he's standing there."

"There there, dear. Don't worry about a thing. You rest, and I'll see if I can find that groom-to-be."