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Michaela slowly opened her eyes. The grayish tinge of daylight indicated that it was still very early. All was quiet in the house.
The baby kicked once again, prompting a sleepy smile to its mother's lips. If only she had that kind of energy! But right at that moment, she only felt deeply lethargic, nestled comfortably under the warm covers with her husband spooned tenderly against her back. She actually felt more rested than she had for some time: her workload had lessened somewhat during the last two weeks, enabling her to snatch a few hours of extra sleep during the day.
A light stroke on her belly told her that Sully also was awake.
"Mornin'," he breathed against the back of her neck, stirring a few locks of her night-tangled hair and tickling her skin softly.
"Good morning," she replied as she cuddled closer to him.
"Baby woke ya?"
"Mmmh, our little one is rather active this morning…"
"Is she? Let's get a look at that…"
She?…Before she had time to wonder further about his choice of word, he had thrown back the bed-clothes and helped her onto her back. He bunched her nightgown up to expose her swollen abdomen and leant forward to place a delicate kiss on her bulging navel. A smile teased the corners of Michaela's lips as she observed his maneuver, and she grinned openly when, rubbing ever so gently his stubbled cheek on the taut and sensitive skin of her belly, he whispered: "Knock, knock!"
The baby did not react, prompting Michaela to comment: "He's upset because you mistake him for a girl."
"Nope, it's 'cause I didn' talk loud enough, he couldna heard me…"
Just at that moment, the baby moved again, causing the stretched skin that protected it to ripple.
"See? You said he and he kicked."
"So you're a boy, huh?" Sully asked softly, his lips pressed against her belly. He was rewarded by another movement, this time more pronounced. Delighted wonder made the blue of his eyes shimmer like the sea under a summer sun.
Seeing her husband in complete awe of the phenomenon eased somehow Michaela's previous trepidation. She realized that, even if Sully's behavior had sometimes been questionable, he would never have given up someone as innocent and vulnerable as a child, alone and defenseless. Sully would never have considered an ailment such as Thomas' like an infamy he should erase from his life at all costs. She knew him well enough, how could she have doubted him? She reached down to run her fingers into his hair. Her touch made him look up and when their eyes met and locked, he smiled that little grin she loved so much, the one that told her he was content with their life. She smiled back at him, her heart swelling with her love for him. Although she had not asked him anything, he must have sensed somehow what she needed; he slid up to oblige and gave her the softest kiss. When he pulled back, he gazed intently into her eyes.
"Big day today," he reminded her. "Nervous?"
She almost answered no, but she knew Sully would see through her dissembling and guess she was not as confident as she wanted everyone to think.
"A little," she admitted at last in a low tone. He answered by threading his fingers with hers, his eyebrows raised expectantly as if he was waiting for her to elaborate.
"I trust Philip when he says that Dr. Bowen is a highly competent physician, caring and disinterested…"
"So what? D'ya think your patients will keep up seein' him when you go back to the Clinic, that you're gonna lose them?"
Michaela lowered her eyes. "I know it's silly… Yet it almost happened with Andrew, and he was just out of medical school. Dr. Bowen is much more experienced."
"Yep, but folks soon found out you were still the best doc' 'round here. You'll keep your patients, Michaela, an' you'll get lots more of 'em, I'm sure of it."
Again Michaela felt awash with her love for him. "Thank you," she breathed. To convey more eloquently her appreciation of his faith in her, she brought his lips to hers and kissed him soundly, endlessly, her body and mind awakening fully at last. When she finally pulled back to catch her breath, she caught a look of surprise mixed with longing on his face, to which she replied with a smoldering gaze and a flirtatious smile. Sully took in her impassioned mood immediately, but before acceding to her mute yet unequivocal invitation, he asked huskily:
"Ya sure? We haven't in…"
Her smile grew wider as she finished his sentence: "…in far too long, so I think it's high time we made up for lost time… don't you?"
He chuckled softly at her innuendo. "I appreciate your enthusiasm…"
Some time later, as rays of the rising sun were tracing lacy patches of light on the quilt, Michaela stroked absent-mindedly Sully's hair as he was drifting off into a satiated sleep, his face buried in her neck, while she remained wide awake. Her previous anxiety had resurged, but she could no longer pinpoint where it came from. Somehow she sensed it was not actually related to Dr. Bowen's impending arrival and its potential consequences, and now that she had convinced herself that Sully would never behave like Mr. Tanner, then what? Why was she still feeling so restless?… She tightened her hold onto her husband's shoulders: she would let him sleep for another hour or so, and then they would face what may come together.
* * *
"There he is!" Philip exclaimed.
Michaela squinted as she tried to make out the features of their future colleague in the clouds of smoke that came from the hissing engine. He was assisting a woman down the train, shouting something at her no one could hear over the frenetic hubbub at the depot. She studied the pair as they strolled toward Philip: two Easterners, conventionally dressed; the man was slightly taller than Sully but not as strongly built… her cheeks warmed a little as she compared the newcomer with her husband.
"Mortimer! You haven't changed a bit, lad!"
"Neither have you, Dr. Munroe. Glad to see you again." The two men shook hands warmly, before Mortimer Bowen turned toward her, politely taking off his hat and offering his hand straightforwardly.
"You must be Dr. Quinn. How do you do?"
"How do you do," Michaela echoed with her most welcoming smile, taking the proffered hand. His hold was gentle but secure, his countenance confident and friendly. She had to admit that he was quite handsome as well: he had large, strikingly clear green-blue eyes, a thin, straight nose and proud chin, and his dark hair tumbled in waves onto his wide forehead; a dimple at one corner of his mouth gave his physiognomy a touch of good-natured irony. No doubt he would catch the eyes of many ladies in town.
Dr. Bowen stepped aside: "This is my fiancée, Lucy McRae. Lucy, these are Dr. Michaela Quinn and Dr. Philip Munroe," he introduced as he drew forward his female companion, whose dollish face blushed crimson as she shyly nodded in acknowledgment. Michaela smiled reassuringly at the young woman.
"People around here call me Dr. Mike. Welcome to Colorado Springs," she said brightly, wishing to put Miss McRae a little more at ease. But Michaela's friendliness did not have the expected result for Lucy only shrank back and remained demurely behind her fiancé. Disappointed, Michaela told herself she would try again to break through the younger woman's reserve.
"How about I help you carry your things to the boarding house, Mortimer, while the ladies go to Grace's and have a cup before we meet them for lunch?" offered Philip.
It seemed that Philip had noticed Lucy's reticence too. Michaela exchanged a look of connivance with him, then took the other woman's arm with authority, stirring her away from the depot. On the way to the Café, she tried to make small talk, inquiring about Lucy's background, only to obtain monosyllabic, barely audible answers. Michaela was starting to wonder about Lucy's state of mind: such an excessive shyness certainly could not be natural. How would she react, then, when she met the townfolks?
The lunch rush had abated, so Grace was able to stop and chat for a minute, although Lucy did not warm up to her either, even pushed discreetly her cup of coffee aside. Now Michaela hoped the men would join them soon, because she had run out of things to say! Maybe Lucy would feel more comfortable once her fiancé would be here…
While she was conversing with her colleagues about their futures arrangements, Michaela kept casting surreptitious glances to Lucy, who had barely touched her blanquette. Her previously flushed face was now ashen. Realization dawned on Michaela and she cursed herself for not recognizing the obvious: the poor thing was certainly sick from the train ride, but felt too embarrassed to admit it. Michaela wriggled awkwardly to get her medical bag from under her seat, fished out the small sachet she was looking for, making sure there was paregoric too, just in case. She waved at the nearest waitress, asking her for a cup of hot water.
"Are you feeling all right, Michaela?" asked Philip solicitously.
She nodded briefly, busy with her preparation. She watched as the plants infused, then handed the cup to Lucy. "Here, drink this, it'll make you feel better."
"What's that?" questioned Mortimer, pointing at the small bag of herbs.
Michaela searched for disdain or wariness in his expression, but discerned only curiosity. "Clove," was her concise answer.
"Clove? You…" Mortimer studied his fiancée's complexion for a few seconds. "Gosh! What's wrong, Sweetheart? Feeling poorly?"
Humiliation brought twin spots of red onto Lucy's pale cheeks and tears to her eyes. Her gaze fell to the cup in her trembling hands. In a split second, Mortimer rose from his chair, almost upsetting the table, and came around to crouch next to his fiancée.
"You should have said something, Lu," he reproached softly. "Drink." He looked up and met Michaela's eyes. He gave her a disenchanted smile. "Some doctor I am…"
Michaela smiled back in commiseration. She could hardly blame him, since there had been times when she had missed that kind of things, until someone would point them out to her, like when Sully had suffered from megrim or, right before her wedding, when Marjorie had contracted a venereal disease from her adulterous husband… Michaela swallowed hard the lump that had been forming in her throat with the memory of her sister and focused again on her newest patient. "How are you feeling?"
"A little better, thank you," Lucy answered softly.
"I'd better get you to the boarding house, so you can lie down," suggested Mortimer. Lucy acquiesced with a small nod, excused herself to Michaela and Philip and stood up somewhat shakily to follow Mortimer, who had slipped his arm round her waist for support.
"Never one to miss anything, are you?" chuckled Philip.
"Quite the contrary, believe me…"
"What I can't believe is that neither Mortimer nor I saw that the poor girl was feeling so unwell!"
"We often miss what's right under our noses. Besides, you were getting re-acquainted with your protégé," she pointed out indulgently.
"What do you think of him?"
"He's just like you told me, and he seems quite open-minded too…"
Her remark made Philip laugh heartily: "Back when he was still in medical school, he would get into trouble every so often because of that, challenging his seniors' old ways, willing to make experiments, no matter how controversial, as long as he thought it made sense. I'm sure you two will get along just fine."
"He doesn't appear to be adverse to the idea of woman practicing medicine and using herbal remedies, at least."
"Mortimer respects too much his fellow human beings, no matter their age, gender or color, to even think that a female physician can't be as competent as a male."
"He's taken after you in that regard, then."
Philip smiled at the compliment: "I'm afraid I can't take the credit for that. I only had him under my wing for a few short weeks, and then, he was much more a partner than a student to me…"
"So you told me. I'm looking forward to our collaboration."
"That's it, exactly. It's going to be teamwork," Philip stressed in his most assertive tone.
"Who are you trying to convince, Philip?" she glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're the one who fears that Mortimer might take over your practice," she teased. Their eyes met and they burst into laughter.
* * *
"There… done…"
Dr. Bowen sighed with satisfaction as he tied the last stitch on a nasty gash inflicted by a saw on Jim Driscoll's thigh.
"How many cuts and other lacerations did we sew up these last two weeks?"
"I lost count long ago," Michaela admitted wryly as she sprayed the sutured wound with carbolic acid one last time. "I'm afraid we're going to see many more of these during the coming days. With the population explosion we've been experiencing since last summer, the town is in dire need of improvements. Why, next week, they'll start building the new schoolhouse, as soon as they finish expanding the church…"
"Speaking of new buildings, your husband showed me the blueprints he drew for my future clinic. I must say that I'm impressed: he is very talented."
Michaela smiled warmly at her colleague, pleased by the compliment to Sully. "You don't have to tell me that. Our home is the perfect proof of his talent."
"Indeed it is," he agreed. He scrubbed the blood off his hands energetically, then toweled them dry, observing Michaela meticulously dressing the cicatrix.
"There's something I've been meaning to ask you ever since I started working with you…" Mortimer began.
"What is it?"
"How did you manage when you had to perform major operations when you were the only physician available?"
"Well… from the beginning, I had Colleen with me, of course… and when she wasn't available, there always was someone in town willing to help, Grace, Dorothy, even Jake or Hank!"
"Hank?"
"Huh uh, he assisted me once, when I had to remove Horace's appendix… Actually a lot of people in Colorado Springs have lent me a hand sometime…"
Mortimer frowned: "I mean no disrespect, but isn't it risky to let unqualified people handle potentially dangerous drugs and utensils?"
It was Michaela's turn to scowl, slightly offended for her friends who had generously offered their assistance, but she understood the younger physician's concern.
"The townspeople may not be qualified by academic standards, but I never had to worry for they had always followed my instructions."
"I'm sure they did. But have you ever thought of hiring a professional?"
"A nurse, you mean?"
Mortimer nodded.
"I've dreamed about it, even considered it seriously once or twice, but I could have never afforded paying someone permanently," Michaela explained in a rueful tone.
"I understand. What would you think if…"
Urgent knocking interrupted his suggestion. He opened the door, revealing a distraught and sweating Margaret, her son in her arms. Michaela immediately registered the baby's stillness.
"Dr. Quinn? Please, help me…"
"Mrs. Tanner! Please come in."
Mortimer stepped back to let the woman in, nodding politely in greeting. Margaret nodded back shyly.
"Mrs. Tanner, this is Dr. Bowen. Mortimer, this is Margaret Tanner, and her son Thomas."
Michaela voluntarily made the introductions short: from Margaret's aspect, she surmised that the poor woman had come from the farm on foot, and she would have never walked all the way with her child in her arms if it had not been serious. Michaela flashed a glance at Mortimer, mutely signaling him that she was leaving their still sleeping patient into his care, while she took charge of Margaret and Thomas, whom she led to one of the recovery rooms. Without further ado, she took the infant from Margaret, lay him on the bed and unfolded the blanket he was swaddled in. Little Thomas' state made her heart constrict with sorrow: the poor child's lips were blue, his fingertips a ghostly white, and his breathing was shallow and wheezing. He was also distressingly thin, hinting at a lack of proper nourishment. She instinctively knew that Margaret wasn't to blame for that. Given Thomas' depleted condition, one could easily guess that the baby had not eaten much for some time; if she remembered correctly, when Sully had come back from the search party, he had mentioned that Thomas had not drunk the milk he had been given, and it had happened five weeks before!
"How long has he been like this?" Michaela asked gently.
"A few days, a week, maybe…" Before Michaela could voice her consternation, Margaret added: "I kept pesterin' Vern about fetchin' a doc, but he wouldn't do it, sayin' it was useless…"
"Then why didn't you ask the Slickers for help?"
Margaret hung down her head and replied in a barely audible, choked whisper: "They'd better not be seen with the likes of us…"
"How can you say that?" Michaela admonished softly. "They care about your welfare, for the three of you…" She sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue about such a matter now.
"Please," Margaret implored brokenly, "please, help my son… my baby…" Now crying openly, and desperately, she sank to her knees at the bedside, her hand cupping her child's small head.
Michaela, her eyes tearing as well, placed a comforting hand on the young woman's shoulder. "I'll try my very best," she pledge.
* * *
A light touch to her back roused Michaela from her drowsy state. She had nodded off while perusing for the umpteenth time her medical books, in search of an answer, of anything that might give her a clue about what to do…
"Time to go home, Michaela," Sully stated.
"I can't, Sully. I can't leave now."
"Whatever it is, Doc Bowen can handle it."
"Where is he?"
"Upstairs, with Margaret." He crouched down next to her chair, in that attentive attitude he was used to having when he was listening to her doubts, or her aspirations, sometimes to her fears.
"You know…" It was not a question.
Sully merely shrugged.
"Oh, Sully… Thomas is dying, and there's nothing we can do to prevent that… Why does this have to happen, why?" Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks unchecked, until Sully reached out and lightly dabbed at them with his fingertips.
"Sometimes, bad things happen, for no reason at all. You outta know that better than anyone…"
"I know, and you're right, of course. It's just…"
"Michaela, I wish ya could do somethin', too," he completed her thoughts. "I really do, but you said it yourself, nothin' anybody can do. There's no point in ya stayin' here any longer." He patted her belly meaningfully.
Interlocking her fingers with his, she shook her head. "I just can't leave, Sully. I might not be able to help Thomas medically speaking, but I can offer my support to Margaret as a woman, and as a mother. It's the least I can do."
Sully shifted his gaze to their linked hands resting on her belly. His mouth twitched and twisted but he did not utter a word.
"What's on you mind?"
Sully looked up again, still silent.
"Sully? Tell me what's bothering you…"
"I understand ya wantin' t' stay here with Margaret," he finally spoke, "an' I wouldn't say anythin' if…"
"If what?"
"If you weren't pregnant."
Michaela opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off: "You need to rest, and I reckon the whole thing upsets ya more than ya let on. All this worryin' ain't good for you and the baby."
Again she tried to place a word, and again he would not let her. "Hear me out. I know better than tellin' you what to do. If you really want to stay, then stay. But promise me you're gonna lie down and try to sleep, and that you'll send for me if ya need anythin'. Promise?"
"I promise… Actually, I need you to do something."
"Sure, what is it?"
"Find Vernon, and bring him in."
"You're right, he should be here. I'll try the Nugget first, then head to the farm, if I can't find 'im there."
Michaela stood up, rubbing her lower back to ease the seemingly perpetual stiffness.
"Here, let me help ya upstairs," Sully offered, winding his arm around her waist. Michaela almost protested, but she had to admit that his loving care was wonderfully comforting, as if his arm was acting like a barrier against her concerns. She relaxed against him as they slowly ascended the stairs. A soft humming broken with faint sobs could be heard coming from the room Margaret and Thomas were settled in. As they reached the top step, they saw Mortimer's head poke out, a gloomy expression on his face. No words were required. Sully took off in search of Vernon, followed by Mortimer, while Michaela went inside.
Margaret was perched on the edge of the bed, rocking back and forth her son, in a dazed motion. Her cheeks were stained with the tracks of dried tears as well as fresh ones, and her eyes were staring fixedly, almost soullessly, ahead. Michaela sat next to her and tentatively put her arm around the distressed mother's shoulders. Margaret did not react, apparently oblivious of everything around her. After a few minutes, though, she stopped in her humming, letting the ominous rasp of Thomas' labored breathing fill the air.
They heard the clock downstairs striking seven, and then, nothing but a suffocating silence. Discreetly Michaela slipped her hand under the blanket, her fingers checking the baby's armpit for a pulse she knew would not be there any more. She swallowed the tears which were welling up anew, determined to remain strong for Margaret's sake. She could only tighten her embrace, conveying silently her sympathy and her support, knowing words would be of no comfort to the grieving mother. Even though Margaret did not emit a sound, Michaela could tell that she was well aware of her son's death, for she had stopped her rocking and was now pressing the tiny body convulsively to her bosom.
Heavy footsteps in the staircase heralded the return of the men. Mortimer was the first to come in, followed closely by Sully dragging an inebriated Vernon. Michaela looked on in disgust and pity as the man made his staggering way to his wife. Margaret glanced up at him balefully before returning her gaze to the lifeless form in her arms.
"He's dead… ain't he?" Vernon whispered.
"Yes," Michaela answered, keeping her voice low as well. "I'm sorry."
"Better this way… for everybody." He took advantage of the stunning effect his comment had on everyone to stumble out of the room. By the time Margaret registered her husband's departure and called out to him, it was too late. She finally burst into loud, gut-wrenching sobs, leaning heavily against Michaela, who could no longer hold back her own tears either, tears of mourning, as well as tears of fear, and anger. And, most of all guilt: nothing she had said or done had been enough to prevent that tragedy…
Eventually, Margaret departed with the Slickers, who had offered to take care of everything, Jake promising to try and talk some sense into his neighbor. But, just as Margaret would be haunted by the ghost of her lost child for a long time, Michaela felt that herself would never forget the Tanners, and all that had happened during the course of the three months of Thomas' short life.
Vernon's last comment kept resounding in her mind, long after Sully had taken her home, and late into the night… "Better this way…" For whom?