~.~
X.O.X
Tuesday, 27th July, 1869
Four Days Later – 14 Weeks Gestation
X.O.X
~.~
Sully remained patiently resting on the bench outside the clinic, the hot sun streaming through onto the porch, where he lay prostrate, arms draped in relaxation over his face, eyes closed. Unable to recall a moment when he'd felt so calm; everything was just as it should be. Sully exhaled loudly, a hand dropping down to stroke Wolf's warm fur by his side.
"Quite comfortable there, I trust?" He heard a soft, feminine voice several feet from him. Nearly falling from the bench, Sully pulled himself into a sitting position, his eyes opening slowly, expecting his eyes to lock on Michaela's delicate features.
"Gotcha! Thought Dr Mike'd caught ya, didn't ya?" The young girl giggled, still working on her 'Bostonian' accent for the play.
"Don't ya ever scare me like that again," Sully struggled to find his voice, just glad he'd opened his eyes before opening his mouth.
"Sorry," Colleen flashed a cheeky grin in Sully's direction, aware he was only teasing.
"Finished early?" He muttered, surprised when Brian appeared nowhere in sight.
"Yeah, they're just workin' on the fight scene. Brian needs more practice," Colleen replied, her schoolbooks clasped against her chest as they heard the Clinic door open.
"Thought I heard voices out here," Michaela stepped through the door, medical bag in her right hand.
"Afternoon, yeah, um, busy day?" Sully and Colleen shared a knowing exchange, before he crossed the porch to stand by Michaela's side, his right hand brushing her arm ever so slightly.
"Not especially. Where's your brother?" Michaela was beginning to feel uncomfortable with Sully's continual proximity, this only having increased since their conversation the previous Friday evening.
"Still rehearsin'. The Reverend said they'll only be ten minutes though," Colleen responded, her eyes narrowing, noticing the sharpness in Michaela's tone.
"Well, I just need to go over to the store, pick up a few items for supper," Michaela changed the subject quickly, beginning to stride along the porch towards the Mercantile.
Sully frowned slightly, although no-one noticed. He'd picked up on the coolness of her dismissal, and quickly moved to her side, Colleen tilting her head, unsure of her plans.
"Michaela, everything all right today?" He narrowed his eyebrows, catching her right arm once again.
"Today was fine, Sully. I only saw a few patients, nothing serious," she responded, the pair turning when they heard Brian's exulted cries.
"Ma! Sully! Wait up!" The young boy called, racing down the main street, managing to dodge wagons and horses, his books strapped over his shoulder, and script clutched protectively in his right hand.
"Afternoon, sweetheart. How was school?" Michaela squeezed the boy's shoulder, his attention quickly being directed towards Sully.
"Ahh, Sully? Can you help me with somethin'. It's for the play," The boy lowered his gaze, his eyes flickering between his mother awkwardly, not wanting her involved.
"Sure, Brian, what's up?" Sully bent down, seeing the secrecy hidden behind the boy's eyes.
"Ah, thing is, wanted to ask ya, um," Brian trailed off.
Michaela took the hint, gesturing for Colleen to join her.
"Oaa, have fun," The young girl chuckled she and Michaela continuing on towards the general store.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Colleen, will you get some potatoes for supper, please?" Michaela dismissed the young girl, arriving at the counter, Dorothy's pleasant face greeting her.
"Afternoon, Michaela, what can I help you with?" Dorothy smiled, closing the lid of the cash tin, to give Michaela her complete attention.
"A tin of lard, please and Colleen's just fetching some potatoes," Michaela smiled, setting her medical bag on the counter to retrieve her purse within it.
"Didn't see you at church, Sunday. Anything wrong?" Dorothy muttered, Michaela predicting the question.
"No, ah Brian had a slight fever, didn't want to risk it developing, with the play so close," Michaela exaggerated the truth; Brian had complained of a slight headache, and she'd conveniently been persuaded he had a mild temperature.
"Probably for the best. Those children have been working ever so hard. Wouldn't want anything to go wrong now. Hope you're not comin' down with it too, though," Dorothy frowned slightly, noticing the drained expression on Michaela's face.
"Oh, I, doubt that, you know what Brian's like; slightest little illness and he's dying," Michaela dismissed her friend's concern, as Colleen appeared by her side, placing the groceries on the counter gently.
"Thank-you," Michaela smiled, Dorothy scribbling the items down on a crumpled piece of paper.
"Just you've been lookin' awful tired, Michaela. That's one dollar seventy." Dorothy removed the pencil from the paper, slipping it thoughtfully behind her left ear.
"Ma was tendin' to Hank all last week," Colleen defended, as Michaela paid for the groceries, remaining silent.
"Oh, how silly of me, yes. Glad to see he's made a complete recovery. Gettin' so dangerous 'round here lately," Dorothy paced from behind the counter, Colleen sensing that her presence was being surreptitiously shunned, and took the groceries out to the wagon.
"And what's this I hear 'bout you and Sully?" Dorothy turned the corner of her mouth up, crossing her arms against her chest, noticing Michaela's eyebrows raise in surprise.
"Dorothy, how on earth?" The physician let out a slightly disbelieving gasp, surprised at how quickly word had spread.
"Well, been helpin' out with the play these last few days and well, out of the mouths of babes," Dorothy smiled warmly, grasping Michaela's arm supportively.
"We're, taking it one day at a time, I think," Michaela glanced back out towards the main street, seeing Matthew approach with the wagon.
"Probably a wise decision," Dorothy released her grip, noticing Michaela prepare to leave.
"I'll ah, see you for coffee tomorrow?" Michaela turned, about to leave when Dorothy's reply sent chills running over her skin.
"Of course, glad to see you're, ah, lookin' a little healthier these last few weeks too. Was gettin' worried," Dorothy meant to refer to Michaela's weight gain supportively. Having noticed just how much weight she'd dropped since her abduction, Dorothy assumed Michaela would be relieved to be returning to a slightly more normal appearance.
"I, ah, must be going," Michaela felt her mouth gape, her mind replaying Dorothy's words, her ears still not quite believing she'd heard them.
With that, Michaela turned and swiftly exited the store, her mind still reeling as she climbed up onto the wagon beside Sully, handing her medical bag back to Brian, Sully coaxing Bear into a gentle walk.
Michaela felt her surrounding's moving quickly around her, looking from her hands, clasped neatly in her lap, back to the children, and back out towards the buildings around them.
See, Michaela, you knew you were only fooling yourself. If you don't take dire action soon, it's going to be impossible to hide.
~.~
X.O.X
Friday, 30th July, 1869
Three Days Later – 14 weeks gestation
X.O.X
~.~
Michaela placed the hot cup of freshly brewed chamomile tea in the middle of the table, careful not to make any unnecessary noise as she resumed her seat, various medical textbooks open beside her, none proving to be of any assistance.
Leaning forwards to adjust the lamp in front of her, Michaela picked up the pencil that lay across the current journal she was reading and idly began trying to focus on the words before her eyes.
Turning a page, doubtful she would find any solace in the following chapter, Michaela glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece: Three-forty. Taking a slow sip of the herbal tea, Michaela hoped it might relax her; however realized tea or no tea, she would not be getting any sleep tonight.
Moving to the index of the textbook beside her, Michaela knew any research would have to be subtle. She knew there were unspoken procedures, and during her time in practice with her father, had seen evidence to this extent. Michaela was also aware that this was not something she could possibly attempt without assistance.
She knew she would have to consider, less invasive alternatives. However, these were by no means guaranteed to be successful. Again Michaela found herself in the middle of what seemed an unending debate.
Michaela, are you aware of what you're contemplating? Do you hear yourself?
She was fully aware of exactly what she was contemplating.
I know, I know this is something I do not believe in. I know in every scientific rationale, that this is murder but, I, I'd have to move away. I couldn't expect the children, I couldn't expect anyone to bear this.
She let her gaze drop downwards, her eyes focusing on her now almost flat stomach, the buttons of her dressing gown proving the only source of distraction.
Michaela, you can procrastinate as long as you feel is necessary but the longer you wait. This isn't a decision, this is an indecision. Not deciding, is deciding.
Michaela felt her eyes narrow, her arms rested on the table in front of her, as she grappled with the vague logic her mind was producing.
Maybe I could mention it? No. What am I thinking. Michaela Quinn, you've never in your life needed anyone's help making a decision before now, nothing is going to change that. Don't you dare let it.
She felt exhaustion creep upon her, her eyes dropping closed every few seconds, the time they remained closed, seeming to increase exponentially.
It was at that moment that her father's face crept back into her mind, the images and voices from the dream several days earlier morphing with her memories of their time working together in Boston into a blurred juxtaposition of unreality.
Michaela soon became aware of the tears flowing silently from her eyes. Chastising herself immediately, swiping at her cheeks with her hands, she was reminded of the fragility of her emotional state, her self-directed frustration only being heightened by this realization.
Managing to pull herself back under control, she cleared her throat, directing her attention as clinically as possible to the textbook in front of her.
Finishing the now cold cup of tea beside her, she found her thoughts drifting from the text before her, random faces flashing into her head once again. Michaela knew she was exhausted. She also knew that she should be trying to get more sleep, not less. Michaela looked towards her right, seeing the quilt and top sheet on her bed drawn back invitingly, the low flame of the lamp flickering in front of her. Michaela knew she couldn't give in. Not until she found a solution, not until she knew how to handle this. This was not going to be easy but the alternative was, unimaginable.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Father, I need your help," Michaela looked around, the brightness of the corridor causing her eyes to squint unconsciously.
"I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your mind, Michaela," Josef appeared beside her, extending his right hand out slowly for them to continue on their previous journey down the seemingly endless corridor.
"I, I haven't. I don't know what to do. Help me." She drew a quick breath, Josef turning slightly to his left, realizing Michaela was not following by his side.
"I am trying to show you the way, Michaela. Come," he beckoned once again, their eyes meeting, Michaela trusting his voice implicitly, taking an initial step forwards.
"Where are we going?" she queried, feeling the tips of her fingers clasp the sides of her skirt nervously.
"You wished for me to show to you the way out of this predicament. I am trying to," Josef turned sharply, feeling Michaela turn from his side.
"Predicament? Predicament! How dare you!" she felt her voice leave her, its volume and pitch echoing into the distance. Her jaw dropped open, appalled at the callousness in her father's tone.
"Michaela, come along," Josef reached for her right arm, his statement dismissive of her previous outburst.
She felt unable to respond, never having imagined her father to be so cold and heartless. Despite her reservations, Michaela felt obliged to continue; she'd never once disobeyed her father, and this hardly seemed the appropriate time to start.
"Are you going to help me?" She whispered, feeling the desperation build in her chest.
"I intend to show you how to help yourself," Came the cryptic reply, Michaela once again pulling away in frustration.
"I haven't the time for this. Either help me, or leave me alone," she frowned, noticing the amused smile cross his face.
"You think this is funny?" she gasped, her breathing becoming somewhat heavier and strained.
"No, of course not. You're still my Mike, though. Determined to do everything on your own, in your own way," Josef turned back to her, his expression melting into a neutral expression of sincerity.
"Why won't you listen to me? Why won't you take this seriously?" She felt her shoulders rise and fall with each breathe, her cheeks flushing as she continued ahead of him towards the wooden door in front of them.
"Mike, wait! It is not time yet," Josef commanded, watching her move into the distance in front of him.
"I haven't any more time, Father. I can't wait any longer!" Michaela looked downwards, seeing the black tips of her boots appear from underneath her skirt, trying desperately to increase her speed. It was useless.
"Michaela? Michaela." He remained stationary, his voice knowing and precise.
"Father, please don't stop me, please." Her gaze, still downcast, saw her feet slow their pace. She was no longer able to move forwards, her feet frozen against an invisible force.
"Not yet, Michaela," he repeated, his voice monotone and decisive. She turned back towards him, his outline blurring before her eyes.
"I can't wait any longer. I can't," she recognized the familiar sinking of the floor underneath her, the fading away of her own voice.
"Father, please," The blackness was engulfing her once again, the long corridor pulling away until she could no longer see it, a small light in the distance all that remained.
"Dr Mike? Dr Mike?" A voice. Where was she? The small light was growing closer.
"I can't," she heard herself whisper, aware of a hand on her shoulder, as the light invaded her eyes completely. Michaela felt herself arrive back into her body once again, slowly awakening with a jolt, taking a few seconds to recognize her surroundings.
"Dr Mike, you gotta wake up," Colleen squeezed her right shoulder softly, her voice soothing and encouraging.
"Where, I," Michaela pulled instinctively against the contact, removing her head from her hands, realizing she'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table in the early hours of the morning.
"You been out here all night?" Colleen whispered, turning off the dull light from the lamp just in front of Michaela's right hand, idly beginning to close the textbooks scattered around the table.
"I guess I fell asleep," Michaela pulled herself wearily into an upright position, her limbs stiff and sore from the tension-filled few hours of sleep.
"You go freshen up, I'll clean up out here," Colleen gestured to the fresh pitcher of water beside the basin on the small table next to Michaela's chest of drawers across the room.
"No, you start breakfast," Michaela watched the girl's eyes drop to the open textbook in her hands, her voice coming out much more desperately than she'd intended.
"All right," Colleen picked up on the sharpness in her mother's voice immediately; she closed the book in her hands and placed it gently back against the wooden table.
Michaela stood awkwardly, overwhelming tiredness pulling at her, her eyes stinging, her head throbbing. Quickly closing the half a dozen books around her, Michaela stacked them into a careful pile, her glance shifting subtly across to Colleen, who was collecting the necessary plates and glasses for breakfast, seemingly unaware of the trail of evidence Michaela had unwillingly fallen asleep around.
"You sure you ain't worried about Myra?" Colleen innocently enquired, placing the crockery on the corner of the table, her right hand moving forwards gesturing to the stack of medical journals and textbooks.
Michaela felt her heart jump, picking up the pile of books and carrying them to the edge of her bed, purely to avoid having to look her daughter in the eye as she lied to her.
"Yes. What, what had you planned for breakfast?" Michaela carefully began untangling her hair, crossing around the end of the bed to arrive at the pitcher of water, pouring it slowly into the basin.
"Was gonna do oatmeal and biscuits," Colleen began stacking the wood into the stove, the gentle trickling of water the only audible sound in the small space for several moments.
"Fine," Michaela replied unemotionally, taking a breath and bringing a handful of water to her face, letting the coolness erase the confused memories from the previous night's dream.
Colleen watched silently as Michaela splashed the water against her skin, the young girl's eyes shifting between her mother and the assortment of obstetric textbooks stacked at the end of the bed. Her mouth open slightly, about to say something, however closed it again; It wasn't her place. And besides, it would only upset Michaela more if her suspicions were wrong. No, it wasn't her business.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"'Bout time I got rid a these things, itchin' something shocking," Hank eagerly began removing his shirt, having just been instructed to sit on the edge of the examination table.
"Well, the stitches needed to stay in for seven to ten days, Hank. Have you noticed any bleeding from the wound?" Michaela placed her left hand delicately on Hank's upper arm, helping him to lay down flat on the padded table, allowing her better access to the sutured bullet wound on the left side of his chest.
"No, nothin'. Just been drivin' me mad these last few days. Pretty impressive though, 'least I showed those filthy, good-for-nothin' robbers who was boss," Hank nodded to himself, masculine pride oozing from every pore.
"Hank, you nearly died. I hardly think money was worth dying over," Michaela carefully examined the small scar, opening the suture set beside her, to locate a pair of scissors and tweezers.
"Didn't know they were actually gonna shoot me, did I?" Hank rolled his eyes, wincing as she tugged lightly on the first suture. "'Sides, money's something I fight for," Hank felt her hands leave his chest, taking the chance to gaze back up at the physician, the words slipping quietly from his lips. "I bet you fought," Hank narrowed his eyes, watching the immediate distraction consume her. The pair remained in silence, Michaela carefully placing the stitch onto the fresh white gauze beside her suture set, not intending on responding to him.
Hank, very aware of the influence his words had had on her, realized the significance of not getting a verbal reaction.
"You didn't fight, did you?" he watched her eyes focus deliberately on the removal of the next suture.
He let his head sink back against the padded examination table, however never shifting his gaze from her face, part of him amused at his revelation; he'd be popular at Jake's in a few hours, however, most of him was aware of a heaviness rising from his stomach. It was a feeling Hank had never been able to identify with a word, a feeling he knew he didn't like, it made him feel vulnerable. Although unable to articulate the emotion, Hank felt the snarl begin to spread across his lips. It was the same over-confident, mocking smile he always wore when he was trying desperately to shield his true feelings. Unfortunately for Michaela, Hank's strategy when confronted with his own insecurities, was to move the spotlight onto someone else's.
"Bet that wouldn't go well back home. Ain't you 'ladies' supposed to defend your honor at all costs, something like that," he chuckled lightly, tucking his hands under the back of his head, gazing up at the white-painted ceiling, his attention being drawn to the gentle twinges radiating from his chest, as each stitch was delicately removed.
"That mother a yours would certainly have a thing or two to say. Last time she was here, Horace and I didn't have so much as a little differing of opinions, and she was lecturin' us about actin' all uncivilized, some such nonsense. You'd sure be able to tell her a thing or two about the real meanin' a the word, wouldn't ya? Oww," Hank unintentionally winced as he felt the scissors pinch his skin, pulling away automatically.
"Sorry," Michaela's voice was indescribably flat; her apology out of mere habit than any conscious decision.
"All right, I know better than to goad someone with a sharp implement against my skin," Hank let his arms drop back against his side, as he noticed Michaela swallow and try desperately to steady her hands back over his chest, biting her lower lip in anguished concentration.
Their gazes alternated, Hank glimpsed the perspiration forming on her brow, as Michaela looked tensely between her work and his face, each knowing that the other was watching them.
"There," Michaela's voice was hollow and strained, Hank not comprehending her statement until he heard the metallic instruments clink against the metal tray, his head darting instantly back towards her.
"Right, thanks." He nodded uncomfortably, pulling himself into a sitting position and slowly slipping his left arm into his shirt sleeve.
"You'll need to take it easy for a few weeks, though," Michaela tried to study his expression, beginning to sense a hint of apology within his sullen, hidden eyes.
"Will do. Ah, know I 'ppreciate ya savin' me and all," he cleared his throat, reaching to place several coins on the edge of the table. Michaela refused to reply, and merely closed the lid of the suture set, with a simple nod of acknowledgement.
Hank rocked his head from side to side, as he paced thoughtfully towards the clinic door, a hand dug into his right pocket. As he was just about to reach his left hand for the door, Hank paused, turning back to the middle of the room, his left arm still extended, palm facing upwards.
"Listen, I, maybe I'm not the right person and all but ya gonna have to talk to someone, Michaela. Ain't just something you can forget about." He saw her fists clench either side of the wooden instrument case. Hank lowered his head, realizing he'd said enough when he saw her knuckles whiten in tension.
Michaela remained frozen, her feet numb against the floor, until the soft click of the door closing, sent her fists slamming down against the padded table.
"I can't do this," Michaela heard the words fall from her mouth, pounding her hands once against the table, her fury only increasing when she felt the moisture rush to her eyes.
"Stop it," she knew why she was crying, and it only mad her angrier. This in turn made her more emotional, which fueled her anger in a vicious circle, the battle only ending when Michaela reached for the closest movable object; the polished wooden instrument case in-between her two clenched fists.
An exasperated, cheated screech immediately filled the room, quickly melding into the clattering of instruments against the floor as she sent the wooden case flying across the room towards the door.
Michaela felt her breathing quicken, now occupied with the task of cleaning up the destruction several feet from her, this proving enough solace for the time being, allowing her to take control of the overwhelming emotions swirling around so powerfully inside her.
The tears trickled silently down her face.
~.~
X.O.X
Tuesday, 3rd August, 1869
Four Days Later – 15 Weeks Gestation
X.O.X
~.~
"You just have another slice a that, remember, you're eatin' for two now," Horace slid the freshly cut piece of apricot pie in front of Myra, who rolled her eyes, although quietly enjoying Horace's newfound over protectiveness.
"Ain't you gotta get back to the office? What if someone needs to send a telegram?" Myra chewed slowly on a mouthful of pastry, surprised at Horace's casual dismissal for his work responsibilities.
Both looked up as Jake and Dorothy appeared opposite them.
"Don't mind if we join you, do you? Just seemed like such a pleasant day for afternoon tea and well, saw you over here, couldn't resist reiterating the congratulations!" Dorothy beamed, Jake remaining dignified whilst the women fussed between themselves for several moments.
"So, tell me, bit quick weren't it? Come to think a it, the whole weddin' was a bit quick, elopin' like that and all. You sure you ain't had ulterior motives?" Jake chuckled lightly under his breath, watching the slightly offended horror creep across the father-to-be's face.
"Now, don't you go startin' up stuff like that Jake, you know Myra and I," The tall, dark-haired man trailed off, blushing obviously.
"Was only foolin' with ya," Jake continued, as Grace made her way over to them to ensure the four townspeople were given fresh cups of coffee and offered afternoon tea.
"No, I'm fine. Two's my limit," Myra resisted Horace's encouragement of another slice of pie.
"Well I should hope so. Weight can creep on without ya even seeing it when ya expectin'," Grace muttered under her breath, turning and bitterly leaving the small group.
"So how far along a ya? Thought a any names yet?" Dorothy swamped her attention back on Myra, Horace wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Jake maintaining his expression of concealed ill ease.
"Well, we ain't quite sure a course, but Dr Mike reckons must be at least eight or nine weeks by now, so musta been on our honeymoon," Myra smiled coyly in Horace's direction, Jake clearing his throat; that was just too much information.
"Aw, well I think it's lovely. After all, you've both waited so long to be together." Dorothy smiled, Myra squeezing Horace's hand and nodding slowly.
"Just never thought it'd all happen this fast but it's a blessing. Just so long as the baby's healthy, that's all I'm worried about," Myra's face widened into an excited grin. Dorothy met Myra's joy, with a tender squeeze of her hands, looking up slightly, as she noticed Sully passing nearby. He remained quiet, however had been observing the small party from a distance, on his way to Robert's E's next-door.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Afternoon, Robert E. Need any help there?" Sully watched Robert E. struggling to balance the wagon wheel as he was re-ironing it.
"Thanks, been keepin' to yourself these last few weeks? Ain't seen ya 'round town much," the Blacksmith replied, as the two men worked to finish the task before them, their unspoken bond of friendship allowed the work to be carried out effortlessly.
"Truth is, ain't been 'round town much," Sully gazed off into the distance, knowing that for Robert E. to have commented, his absence must have been quite conspicuous.
"'Round the homestead then?" Robert E. narrowed his eyes, noticing the slightly lost expression cross Sully's face.
"Yeah, most days, here and there. Children always like havin' someone to play catch with, help 'em with stuff. Brian's been workin' awful hard rehearsin' for the play, been tryin' to give him some pointers about how to be nice to women. Dunno if it's really sinking in though. You know what boys a like at that age," Sully helped Robert E. refit the wheel to the wagon, the pair dusting their hands in satisfaction.
"Yeah, guess I do," Robert E. drifted off, deep in thought, both men realizing what he was referring to.
They exchanged a subtle glance of understanding, Robert E. changing the subject immediately.
"'Fraid this whole thing with Myra's got Grace mighty down at the moment. Poor woman's convinced she ain't never gonna have a baby a her own. Try to keep sayin' it ain't time yet, that when God's ready but ya know what women can be like when they put their minds to something," Robert E. looked across at Sully, a knowing smile creeping across his face.
"Sure do. Seems like one minute I think I'm gettin' somewhere with Michaela, then, goin' backwards," Sully shook his head, Robert E. nodded and rested his back against the fence, his arms folded across his chest.
"Seems like whatever we say it's wrong thing, don't it? Just last night, mentioned to Grace, maybe she oughta go see Dr Mike, see if there's anything wrong or somethin', well that just set her off even worse. Ain't spoken a single word to me since. Now, maybe I shoulda kept my mouth shut, was only tryin' to help," Robert E. idly began dusting the front of his shirt off, Sully dropping his head and resting a hand on Robert E's shoulder.
"I ain't claiming to be an expert on the subject, but what with Abigail and now Michaela, learnt there are just some things we men ain't allowed to talk about. S'ppose it's like something they feel is their job. Like if we were havin' trouble providin' food and a home for 'em, we'd feel we were lettin' 'em down, right?" Sully turned to glance at his friend, Robert E. nodding without hesitation.
"Well, guess, it's the same for Grace. Feels like it's her responsibility to raise a family for you both. That ain't happening and now with Myra, she's, well, feelin' jealous. Coz it seemed so easy for her and you and Grace been findin' it tougher." Sully waited until Robert E. had absorbed his words, the Blacksmith's stance shifting somewhat.
"Guess you're right, just gotta be patient. Maybe she'll go see Dr Mike on her own. She's always been like that though, best if I don't push her. She'll sort matters when she's good and ready." Robert E. bent down, watching as Wolf amused himself in sniffing at his shoe, responding affectionately to the rub behind the ears.
"Yeah, just wish Michaela'd talk to me. Seems like one minute we're fine, next she won't even look at me. Good luck though. Come on boy," Sully patted his thigh, Wolf obeying and following behind him immediately.
"Thanks, Sully," Robert E. smiled softly, returning to the wagon he was working on.