Chapter 113

June 7, 1871 – Colorado Springs

Michaela covered the little boy in a clean blanket in one of the recovery rooms above the clinic. Mr. Anderson was sitting at his side, and he was wringing his hat in his hands. Surgery hadn't been necessary, and the boy had woken, but he'd quickly gone back to sleep. Michaela had explained that the boy would need to be monitored, and then she'd asked Mr. Anderson to carry him upstairs. A long journey home wasn't something that the child needed right now.

"You're sure he's gonna be alright?"

"I believe he'll be fine. If he wakes and is in pain, let me know, and I'll give him some laudanum." She started toward the door, but Mr. Anderson cleared his throat.

"Thanks for helpin' him. I know ya…didn't have to do what ya did."

"I'm a doctor. I took an oath, and it's my job to…"

"After the things I said, some doctors wouldn't have helped me. I may not think what ya done was right, but…ya took good care of my boy, and that's what counts." Michaela's gaze faltered. She didn't even know the man. How could he even think that she cared of his opinion?

"I'll be downstairs," she replied quietly, turning and walking out of the room. She shut the door and closed her eyes, collapsing against the wall and cradling her belly. She was tired, and she missed Sully. She worried where he might be and if he was all right. Deep down, she knew he could take care of himself, but another part of her was horrified that she might lose him. She'd come too close too many times.

As she made her way down the stairs, she gripped the railing, feeling every bone in her hand tensing at her own grip. She knew she needed to relax for her own sake and for her babies'. Just as she was stepping out into the examination room, the door opened, and Timothy walked in. He saw the tears in Michaela's eyes, and he noticed her brush them away, hoping he hadn't seen them. He cleared his throat and removed his hat.

"I heard Mr. Anderson rose quite a…ruckus earlier."

"Who told you?"

"Mary," he said sheepishly. "I'm sorry he was giving you a hard time."

"It's not your fault, Reverend."

"Nor is it yours," he said quietly. "They just need time."

"You were one of them, Reverend, before Gabrielle came into your life."

"It's amazing how quickly a child can change your own opinions." His eyes followed her, as she crossed the room and sat down behind her desk. "You can talk to me, Michaela. We may be fixin' to be family, but I'm still your Reverend. If there's anything you wanna talk about…"

"It's nothing I haven't talked about before…or thought about a hundred times a day." She shook her head. "I'm fine, Reverend."

"No you're not," he said gently. "You're exhausted. You need to give yourself time to—"

"Don't you think I know that? I think about it constantly. There isn't a moment that goes by that I'm not worried that something terrible is going to happen. I know how they look at me, and quite frankly, it's not surprising. I don't expect people to believe the things I believe. I don't expect them to agree with my choices, but I suppose I expected acceptance…if not as a woman as a doctor. I am their doctor."

"And they know it."

"I don't think they really do, Reverend."

"They'll come around, Michaela. I've lost a few people from my congregation, but for the most part…"

"It isn't the same," she whispered. "Everything I've done in my entire life has been judged based upon the fact that I'm a woman. I'm always a woman first in their eyes. Now, I suppose I'm a doctor last, a woman second, and a common trollop first." She choked on her own words, closing her eyes and feeling the ache of pressurized tears. Timothy let out a slow breath, his head turning downward in sorrow.

"I don't think people understand. Folks get scared when somebody does somethin' they ain't used to."

"All of my life, I've been taught that the choices I've recently made are sinful. In Boston, we were taught that we'd pay for our sins. Unplanned pregnancies were frowned upon, but they were punishments. They were the mark of shame that those young girls would wear for being so sinful." She shook her head. "I don't feel as if I've done anything wrong! Sometimes I wonder if that's my sin. Perhaps I'm a fool for not feeling guilty."

"You're not foolish, Michaela," he assured her. "You and Sully…ya love each other. I loved Gabrielle's ma too, but it wasn't the same for us. We couldn't work out. Then I decided to make up for the things I'd done wrong in my life. I became what I am now, but I never stopped thinkin' about Sylvia or how I'd never have changed a thing…and you wouldn't either." Michaela shook her head.

"No, I wouldn't. I just feel…torn sometimes. I've searched for acceptance all of my life, yet my actions and my choices have turned more people away than I'd ever imagined." She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm happy with the life I have now. I have a beautiful home, a wonderful husband and son, and I'm going to bring two new lives into the world." She looked down. "But at what cost? What am I supposed to tell them when they're old enough to understand? I've gone over it a million different ways in my head." Timothy reached out, placing his hand on hers, patting it softly before drawing away.

"Tell them that God loves everyone, and choices exist so people can do what's right for them." Michaela closed her eyes, and a tear slipped loose, running down her tired, pale cheek and onto the front of her blouse.

"Thank you, Reverend," she said softly, her voice still uncertain. Sensing that she wanted to be alone now, Timothy stood up.

"Will we see ya at the prayer meetin' for Ruth tonight?" Michaela nodded.

"I'll be there," she whispered, stroking her belly absent-mindedly. With a nod, Timothy placed his hat back on and left the clinic, shutting her into silence and leaving her with her thoughts.

After hours under the hot June sun, the search party was weak, weary, hungry, thirsty, and highly uncomfortable. They'd stopped for about ten minutes an hour ago to water their horses and get something to drink themselves and fill up their canteens. But, the sun was drying them out quickly. Sully figured they were about ten miles outside of Manitou already, and if they kept going, they'd catch up with them. The tracks were becoming easier to follow for Wolf, and Sully guessed that Jim was resting twice every three hours for Ruth, which showed he was concerned for her health, which was a good thing for both them and for Ruth.

"They passed through her…not more than two hours ago," Sully concluded, crouching down in front of the tire ruts.

"They're slowin' down," Kid Cole murmured, deep lines of concern etched into his face. He knelt down next to Sully.

"Think he's doin' it on purpose?"

"No, Jim's smart, but he wouldn't try to get himself caught."

"Can we hurry this up already?" Hank barked from his horse. He glanced over at the others, seeing that Andrew was looking slightly green. He snickered. "What's the matter, Doc? Ain't used to this whole ridin' business, huh? Guess back in Boston, ya rode around in fancy buggies and never heard tell of saddle sores." Everyone turned their attention to the doctor who only swallowed hard and barely moved in response to Hank's words.

"Dr. Cook?" Horace asked worriedly.

"Somebody better help him 'fore he falls off that horse," Robert E. warned, dismounting his horse. He and Sully rushed over to the horse.

"Andrew? Andrew, are ya alright?"

"Fine. I'm…I…fine." He closed his eyes and began to teeter to the side. He slid out of his saddle, and Sully caught him, bringing him to the ground.

"Andrew!"

"I'm…good. I…" Sully sighed heavily, looking around desperately for any herbs he could use to help the man, but there were none close at hand.

"He's burnin' up," Sully muttered to Robert E. Robert E. shook his head, removing his cap and running his hand over his smooth head.

"What're we gonna do, Sully? We need him…"

"I can go lookin' for herbs, but that could take too long. He needs Michaela."

"Who's takin' him back?" Kid Cole asked. "We gotta get movin' if we're gonna stay on the trail." Sully looked around at the group, and he noticed that Horace looked the most haggard.

"Horace." Horace's eyes widened. He hadn't expected Sully to put him in such an important position such as Andrew's caretaker. "Can ya do it?"

"Yeah. I…I think so." Sully nodded, and he turned back to Andrew, who lay sweating on the ground. "We're gonna get ya back to town. Horace is gonna go with ya. Can ya ride?"

"I don't…think so," he said with a shake of his head.

"Alright. I'll build a littler. You'll be on your way home in no time."

Ruth was thankful that Jim had given her a little privacy to attend to private matters, while he went off on his own to do the same. Unfortunately, he hadn't allowed her any freedom with her hands or ankles, so she had to make due with what she could. But once she had relieved herself, she pulled herself back onto the road, searching for signs of Jim. She heard him whistling and humming an out-of-tune song just yards away, so she knew that if she was going to make a run for it, she had to act quick.

Despite the severe state of pain and dehydration she was in, she kept envisioning that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. She kept seeing Kid Cole's face; her knight in shining armor. She'd never known a man quite like him, but she thanked God every day for him. He'd saved her when she hadn't known how to save herself.

"Hope you're all done, darlin'. We're headin' on in a couple of minutes," Jim called from nearby. Ruth cringed and leaned up against the wagon, bracing herself against it and pulling tightly against the ropes, trying to break them, though each time she'd tried before she'd only ended up hurting herself more. "I know you'll understand one day, Ruth. Ya just gotta give it time to sink in. We're meant to be together, and ya know it! Otherwise, God wouldn't have put us together in the first place!" Sweat poured down her face with each passing second. When she finally felt the ropes begin to loosen, she slid down into the dirt and pried her hands loose. The bruised, swollen, bloodied flesh was a horrendous sight, but she kept thinking of Kid Cole. If she could just get away, maybe he'd find her.

She worked on the knots around her ankles, and her sore, tired fingers finally managed to wiggle the knots loose enough so she could slip her feet out. She wasn't even certain if she could walk at that point, but she pulled herself up and took off in the opposite direction. There was no way she was going to let him win.

Running blindly, she stayed on the road until she heard his angry cries upon returning to the wagon. Then she veered off, hoping she'd not get lost. She just had to stay hidden. She had to stay away from him.

"Ruth! Where are ya? Ya can't do this to me! Not again!" She kept running, but his voice was growing nearer. "Ya know I'm faster than you! Ya know I'm gonna find ya sooner or later, so ya might as well come back here. It'll be a whole lot worse if I have to track ya down!" Her legs ached, and she stumbled, all breath leaving her body for a moment. She gasped, trying to find the ability to take in air again. Her pulse raced, her eyes shed fresh tears, and she kept running, pounding her bare feet into the soil, praying silently for mercy.

She wanted to cry out for help, but he'd find her. How did he always manage to find her?

"Ruth!" His voice was more distant now. Her lungs burned for fresh air. She wondered if it was too soon to get back on the road, but she could no longer see where she was going. When she stumbled onto the dirt path again, she looked behind her, seeing nothing but blurs and fuzzy shapes. She blinked a few times, hearing the beating of horse hooves on the ground.

"God, no." She turned and kept running. The rumbling behind her grew louder, until she heard the crack of a pistol. She lurched forward and fell onto her knees, praying that if this was the end, it would be over soon.

Later that evening, folks gathered inside of the church for their prayer meeting. The children were all outside playing in the schoolyard. Each seat was filled, and Timothy stood at the front of the group, his eyes surveying every face. Even Mr. Anderson was there to send good thoughts in Mrs. Cole's direction.

Clearing his throat, Timothy spoke up, and everybody's eyes turned up to him. He stood there, his jaw firm and his eyes directed at Michaela and then at his future wife.

"Thank you all for coming this evening. I know Ruth Cole would be pleased to know that so many folks care about her and wish her a safe return home. It's been a difficult couple of days, but I have faith that our search party is going to bring her and her unborn child home safely." His eyes glazed across the back row, where Mr. Anderson sat with his hat in his hands, the picture of the perfect churchgoer. He then glanced at Michaela, who not two hours earlier had endured his blatant verbal attack on her personal and professional life. "Ruth Cole is one of the most generous people we've come to know. She's always there to help out when folks need her. She didn't give it a second thought when Carrie James asked her to look after the mercantile when she went to tend to her sick pa in Texas. She helps Grace take soup to folks when they're sick. She's there to offer an ear to talk to when nobody else'll listen. I've never known somebody who'd go out on such a limb for anybody else, 'specially if they're strangers. But Ruth Cole don't judge easily. She sees people for who they are inside. She seems the good in 'em, and that's a rare quality in a person."

Murmurs rose up from the back of the congregation, but silence soon swept over them again. Michaela looked up at Timothy, and her cheeks were glowing red. All she wanted to do was get up and walk out, but she knew she couldn't do that. She had to stay for Ruth.

"When I came back from Boston with my daughter, I expected I'd be leavin' town for good. I didn't expect so many folks to keep comin' to me for guidance, but they did. I expected to be cast out of this town, but most of you folks found it in your hearts to let me stay on here. Ruth did too. She came to town a stranger, but she never missed a day of church. She always gave me a smile, and she knew. But she kept comin' back. But recently, I've wondered why. I look around at the faces here, and I wonder how you can forgive me, yet you can't bare to tolerate someone else in the same position." Michaela felt her entire body trembling. He wasn't naming names, but she knew all eyes were on her. She was grateful and embarrassed at the same time for Timothy's words. "I've watched each week and folks come to church with smiles on their faces and their hats in their hands, and when they step out of God's house, they cast stones at those who aren't like them. They fear what doesn't even hurt them." Timothy's gaze caught Michaela's, and she shook her head, as if telling him it was alright. He didn't have to go on. She mouthed 'no," but he kept going. His hands shook as he grasped the podium. "There are many good folks in this town. Some of ya wouldn't be here today if Dr. Quinn hadn't stitched ya up and prevented infection after a nasty cut. Some of ya wouldn't still be here if it wasn't for Grace's fine cookin'. We've had times when crops were bad, and all we could do was rely on Grace, who spent every moment of every day cookin' to feed the hunger of those who came payin'. Everybody in this town is important in one way or another, yet as humans, we find faults in others that we fear may affect us, and we try to cast them out. Why?"

"Reverend?" Grace asked, noticing the way his gaze faltered.

"We've been a community that takes care of its own, yet we refuse to take care of those who don't follow the way we think," he murmured.

"Some folks can't be saved!" Mr. Dickinson called from the back. "Some folks don't wanna be saved!"

"But don't folks want acceptance? Don't they want to fit into society and live their lives as normally as they can?"

"Some can't," he said with a firm shake of his head.

"It's alright, Reverend," Michaela said softly, as his gaze fell upon her again.

"It isn't alright. As a parent, I know what I want for my child. I want my child to be raised to care 'bout folks as much as Ruth Cole cares. As much as Dr. Quinn cares about her patients…"

"Even though she's done some good things, she's still a sinner, and that's that," Mr. Anderson pointed out defiantly. Despite the way he'd softened toward Michaela earlier, he still held his beliefs, and they weren't swaying.

"Jonathan, did she not just save your son's life hours ago?" the good Reverend asked. "Did she not insist on treatin' him even though ya didn't want her to? Would he have died had she not stepped in?"

"Maybe she did, but maybe he'd have been fine. I couldn't let him die. But that ain't the point…"

"So we must cast her away? We must throw stones because…"

"Please!" Michaela exclaimed. "That's enough!" She stood up, and all eyes turned to her.

"If she's a sinner, then so am I, and I will not stand before folks who look down upon one person for their choices and not everyone else. Before ya judge somebody else, take a good look at your own choices. Not a one of ya can tell me that everything you've done in your lives has been commendable. I will not have folks in my congregation who can't accept folks when they got their own sins to deal with." Silence filled the room. Rebecca's hand flew to her mouth at Timothy's decision. She glanced at Michaela, taking her hand. Michaela slowly sat back down, and Timothy stepped down from the podium, feeling a mixture of emotions for what'd he just said. "I'll see you on Sunday, if you find it in your hearts to forgive yourselves and those around you. Have a pleasant evening and keep Ruth Cole in your prayers."

The entire crowd had frozen in time, their expressions full of guilt, surprise, awe. As Timothy left out the back door of the church, Michaela and Rebecca were the only ones to move. Michaela, out of guilt, and Rebecca out of worry for the man she loved.

"Reverend," Michaela called out, seeing him marching down the back steps.

"Timothy, please wait!" Rebecca urged.

"I'm sorry," he said with a fervent shake of his head. "I didn't mean to make Ruth's prayer meetin' into some…public podium…I just…I got carried away, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Michaela. I shouldn't have used you as an example."

"There aren't any other women in the town that you could have used, Reverend," she said softly. "I'm sorry that our conversation earlier sparked…"

"It didn't. It's been weighin' heavy on my mind for a long time. I just couldn't stand it anymore. I'm sorry." He turned to Rebecca. "Forgive me?"

"You…you were wonderful, Timothy," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him, holding in comfortingly. "I'm proud of you."

"I'm not even sure what I just did," he said, his head spinning inside. "I was so close to…to just leavin' that church for good…tellin' 'em to find a new reverend."

"They still need you," Rebecca assured him.

"I know. I just don't know how much I can help 'em now."

Upon returning to the clinic with the children, Rebecca and Mary went upstairs to their rooms to prepare for bed. Michaela's heart was still pounding, and her fingers shook, as she pulled her hair out of its pins and let it drape down her back. It still felt like some sort of strange dream. He hadn't been the same up there. She hadn't expected him to say those things to the people who had trusted him for so long. But she knew he was right. She'd also not thought that much about it, but he was a man of God, and having a daughter out of wedlock for a man of the cloth would have been taken very seriously back in Boston. But, they'd had something to compare it to in Michaela's pregnancy. He'd lost some of his congregation, but never had he truly told them how he felt about them and the way they lived their lives. She only hoped it wouldn't cost him, though she knew that was almost inevitable.

Her thoughts turned to Sully, and she wondered if he was alright. She hoped they'd found Ruth. Maybe they were on their way home. She couldn't wait to see her friends and her husband again. Every moment he was away felt like she was losing more time with him. She knew it was silly, because he'd be back in no time, but time had always been against them before.

"Dr. Mike!" Shouting from outside startled her, and she jumped up, pulled her robe around her body, and padded down the stairs as quickly as she could. When she opened up the door, she was faced by Horace, who had pulled Andrew up into a somewhat standing position, but he was on the verge of unconsciousness.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "What happened?"

"Don't know. He just started getting real weak out there, and he was warm. He ain't gotten no better. Sully built a litter so I could bring 'im back to town."

"Bring him inside. Just over on that table." Horace hoisted Andrew up slowly but surely, and he sprawled out, his eyes fluttering open but not registering where he was or who he was with.

"Andrew?" she asked, worry creasing her brow. "Andrew, can you hear me?"

"Mmm," he hummed.

"Do you know where you are?" He didn't respond, and he closed his eyes, going weak on the table. Michaela held her breath and listened to his heart through her stethoscope.

"Is he…"

"He's just passed out," Michaela assured Horace. "Could you get me some cool water, please?" Horace nodded and left the room to fetch some, while Michaela hurried over to her cabinets and rummaged through them for the quinine and a thermometer. She could already tell his fever was dangerously high, and all she could do was hope that it was nothing life threatening and that he would be better soon. An epidemic was the last thing anyone needed, and the state of his condition made her fear for the rest of the search party. They were without a doctor now, and on such a dangerous mission, what would happen if someone was hurt and there was nobody there capable enough to take care of them?

She closed her eyes for a moment, ridding herself of those terrible thoughts. When Horace re-entered the room with the water, Michaela began mixing up a concoction of quinine and water.

"Hold his head, will you?" Horace did as he was asked, and Michaela held a cup to the young doctor's lips. She managed to pour a little liquid in, and Horace tilted his head back. Andrew swallowed unconsciously, and Michaela realized that it was going to take a lot of work to bring him back to health.

The moon hung invisibly in the air, covered by thick blankets of rain clouds that waited for the right moment to rip open and spill their contents onto the weary travelers. Kid Cole sat steadily on his horse, having not eaten much at all that day. He was too concerned for his wife, and each hour that passed and brought no hope was like a punch in the gut.

Sully rode alongside him, while Hank and Robert E. followed behind closely. Wolf ran ahead, picking up the scent now and again, but the various thunderstorms had washed most of it away.

"Ya ask me, this is a waste of time," Hank muttered, taking a drink from his canteen.

"They ain't askin' you," Robert E. replied, his voice low and gravely. Hank was on his last nerve, and it wouldn't take much more to push him over the edge at this point. He wasn't normally a violent man, but the last thing he wanted right now was Hank yammering on and on in his ear about how impossible this excursion was. Maybe they should've sent him back with Dr. Cook instead of Horace. At least Horace knew how to stay positive sometimes.

The only thing lighting the way were the fireflies that lit up here and there, giving only brief glimpses of the road ahead, but Sully knew they needed to stop soon. The road ahead was uncertain, and if the horses were injured, finding Ruth would become an even more difficult task.

"We gotta stop and rest soon," Sully encouraged Kid Cole.

"You think he's restin'?"

"Yeah. I do." Kid Cole shot Sully a look. "I know ya don't wanna believe it, but I think that somewhere in his head, he loves her…or thinks he does. He's gonna wanna let her rest."

"He kidnapped her. He…he took her against her will," Kid Cole said quietly, his eyes angry in the darkness. "I ain't gonna let him get away with this, Sully. I'm gonna kill him." Sully looked forward, seeing Wolf's shadow just ahead. "I wanna kill him."

"Hell, I think we all wanna kill him, Sheriff. He's draggin' us all over creation. I say whoever puts a bullet in him first…free drinks for a week." Sully cast Hank a warning glare, but he wasn't sure he received it. He heard the cocking of Hank's pistol followed by a dry laugh, as he twirled it on his finger.

"Put that thing away, Hank. Ain't nobody needs to be doin' any shootin' if Ruth's in the way. We came here to save her…not make it worse."

"I never said I wanted to hurt the lady, did I?" Hank shot back. "Just wanna exact some of my own revenge for being drug out here. Ya know what this is doin' for my business?" Up ahead, Wolf began to snarl, and Sully pulled back on the reins, slowing his horse to a halt. He held his hand up, hoping the others would see it in the darkness. Luckily, all of the men halted, and the only sound was that of Wolf's growl and the wind blowing through the trees on either side of him.

"What the…"

"Shh," Sully insisted, placing his hand on his belt and grasping his tomahawk. "Don't move." With almost no sound, Sully dismounted from his horse and crouched down, feeling the ground with his bare hands. They were definitely going the right way. Without the moonlight, however, it was impossible to see the tracks. He'd ask Hank for a match if it wasn't for Wolf's growling. He had the feeling they were being watched, and he stood, listening to the sounds of nature all around him.

"We're bein' watched," Robert E. guessed.

"Nah. Damned dog's probably just heard a rabbit."

"Will the two of ya stop talkin'?" Kid Cole demanded. Hank started to protest, but the distinct roar of bobcat echoed through the air, making the hairs on the travelers' necks stand on end. Panic rising in his chest, Sully mounted up on his horse, and the group took off down the road. They were riding blind, Wolf leading the way, as they heard their assailant stampeding after them, rabid, hungry, and gaining speed by the second.