Michaela arrived out into the barn, not wanting Brian to go another night with this awkwardness between them.
Matthew was inside tending the fire for the night, so she knew they would have some privacy.
"Brian?" She looked around the barn, thinking it too early for him to be asleep already.
"Brian!" She checked each stall.
"Yeah Ma?" Brian poked his head out tentatively from the hayloft.
"Will you come down here please?" she called.
"Uh, sure," Brian replied nervously, making the climb down the ladder as slowly as possible.
Silently, Michaela extended her hand to him, leading him over to the bale of hay by the wall.
"Sully said the two of you had a good talk?" she launched into the conversation, patting the space next to her.
Brian simply nodded, taking a seat as far away from her as possible.
"It's good you've Sully to talk with, he cares a lot about you," she reflected.
"I know. He cares about you too, Ma," Brian eventually spoke, still looking down at his hands.
"Yes, I know he does." Michaela sighed.
"So you don't hate me?" Brian gradually moved his gaze from his hands up to her face.
"Brian, I love you more than anything in the world, and even if I am angry or upset with you, I'll always love you." Michaela brought her left hand around his shoulders.
"Thanks Ma," Brian looked away.
"What's the matter?" Michaela asked gently, seeing the uncomfortable look on his face.
"I apologize for scarin' ya," he wasn't sure whether to look at her or not.
"Apology accepted, Brian," Michaela replied, feeling the heaviness in her chest dissolve into a mixture of guilt and pride.
"Ma, can I have," he eventually plucked up the courage.
"May I have," she cut him off automatically.
Brian hesitated, briefly looking away before drawing a breath and looking back at her. "May I have a hug?"
Michaela felt the tears well in her eyes, immediately leaning forwards to embrace her son.
She didn't pull away until he did.
"Thanks Ma," Brian looked back up at her.
"Brian, I want you to know that I wasn't angry with you the other night. But you're right, I was scared. And that's not your fault," she admitted.
"Mr Bray said it's our job as men to treat women right, and make sure they feel safe," Brian explained.
"Mr Bray is a good friend to you Brian," Michaela replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand softly.
"I know. Like you told me Ma; people aren't supposed to hurt other people. But sometimes they do, like when Miss Chambers hit me, and I knew it was wrong. I didn't feel safe – and I felt bad tellin' ya," Brian admitted.
"Why Brian?" Michaela asked, remembering the little boy's protests as she'd rolled up his trouser leg that day.
"Because I couldn't stop it. Even though she was bigger than me, even tried to tell her not to, I still felt bad."
Michaela nodded, realizing how insightful Brian was.
"And do you still feel as though it's your fault?" she asked.
"No, because you told me it wasn't. But that ain't really what helped," Brian paused.
"What helped sweetheart?" Michaela continued.
"Well, the more I thought about it, I realised I didn't do nothin' wrong. And that it was okay to get angry at her. Then every time I did thing about it, I just focused on feelin' angry at her," Brian explained.
"And that helped?" Michaela wondered if she truly could source inspiration from a ten-year-old.
"Well, sorta both. I had you tellin' me it weren't my fault, and I knew I was allowed to feel angry at her. Then, I realized, sometimes I can't stop something bad happenin'. Just because I couldn't stop her, don't make it my fault. And most a the time I can stop people hurtin' me," Brian reasoned.
"And you feel better about it now?" Michaela squeezed his hand.
"Yeah, it were her done somethin' bad, not me. Just kept remindin' myself a that." Brian smiled.
Michaela nodded.
Brian shrugged, worried he'd said something wrong. "It's all right, ain't it?"
"You're very wise Brian," Michaela smiled. "Are you sure you wish to sleep out in the barn? You don't have to," Michaela clarified.
"Yeah," Brian answered immediately. "I'm gettin' too old to be gettin' dressed with Colleen," Brian scrunched up his face in disgust.
"I thought that might be the case." Michaela smiled, watching as the little boy ascended the steps back up to the hayloft.
"Goodnight Brian," Michaela called.
"Night Ma!" he replied, turning and glancing back over his shoulder with a smile.
Lowering her gaze with a satisfied sigh, Michaela brought her left hand to the side of her stomach, massaging it against the discomfort of stretching ligaments.
~.~
X.O.X
Sunday, 5th September, 1869
Two Days Later – 20 Weeks Gestation
X.O.X
~.~
The full moon softly illuminated the homestead through the single window. It was still, everyone in their respective beds, sound asleep.
It was late, after two in the morning, when the only sound to be heard was that of a horse approaching at speed.
The horse drew closer, before stopping quickly, it's rider dropping down to the ground, steps shuffled and fast.
Letting out a small whine, Pup kept still, hearing the footsteps on the porch.
Silence.
Moments later he let out a low growl, turning around as the door behind him opened.
Nobody stirred.
Quietly, the figure moved into the homestead, the door ajar behind him.
His footsteps were uneven and stilted as he oriented himself to the new surroundings, searching only for one face.
Colleen mumbled under her breath, feeling something brush her arm lightly. She rolled over, keeping her eyes closed, hoping her little brother would give up and go back to sleep.
Michaela remained peacefully asleep, oblivious to the presence that was now looming closer and closer towards her.
"Dr Mike?" the man's voice broke the silence of the homestead.
Michaela wasn't sure what had woken her. Reluctantly opening her eyes, she felt the lightening bolt of adrenalin hit, as the dark image hovered beside her.
It wasn't Brian, it was too big.
"I have to know," the voice spoke in an hypnotic, gravelly tone.
Although not sure if she'd felt his grasp before she'd heard his voice, Michaela managed to emit a moan of protest, feeling his hands on her shoulders.
I'm dreaming. This isn't real.
She tried to sit up and pull away from the intruder's strong hands.
"Gotta check," he muttered to himself, his voice so low as to be unrecognizable.
Trying to find his arms in the dark, Michaela felt her hands tangle in the bedclothes, not vocalizing further protest until she felt his hand on her neck.
"Please," she felt her breathing rise in her chest, still suspecting she was dreaming.
"Needa be sure," there was the voice again.
"Who?" Michaela eventually freed her arms, feeling her hands lock around the stranger's shirt cuffs.
She couldn't see his face, just an outline. And she could feel his cold hands against her skin. He kept one hand on her left shoulder, the other moved softly from her neck, around her throat.
Michaela could feel the roughness of his fingers. She could smell the remnants of alcohol. The adrenalin merged instantly into raw fear.
Managing to pry the stranger's hand from her skin, Michaela pulled herself with as much force as she possessed away from his grasp.
"It's all right," his voice softened, "Are you hurt?" his hand remained on her shoulder.
I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, please just let this be a dream, Michaela begged, forcing her eyes closed, willing the nightmare to end.
She kept her eyes closed until she felt his hands return once again to her neck.
The sensation of his hands were enough to convince her this was no memory. Opening her eyes, squinting against the moonlight, Michaela pushed violently against the man's arms, managing to move over towards the left side of the bed, before she felt his weight beside her, his arms either side of her body.
"Dr Mike, it's all right," the voice replied calmly.
Unnerved by the sound of her name, Michaela was beyond rational contemplation, pulling, pushing, squirming away from his touch.
Colleen opened her eyes to the sound of her mother's strangled cry.
Moving her head, the young girl blinked, her eyes suddenly focusing on the dark figure on the edge of Michaela's bed.
"Dr Mike!" she screamed, pulling herself from her cot, hearing and seeing the scuffle taking place across the room.
"Leave her alone!" she screamed, moving quickly across the room to the mantlepiece.
Colleen felt the cool metal of the shotgun in her hands, before she'd realized she'd even reached for it, pulling back the trigger and aiming the gun towards the dark figure.
Michaela recognized the young girl's voice from across the room, still pulling herself from the stranger's grasp. As the contact eventually severed, she pulled herself to her left.
Colleen felt her body shake as she discharged the weapon, aiming it as low as she could, hoping a shot to the floor would at least alert Matthew and bring the situation to an end.
Blinking at the bright spark of the gunpowder, Colleen held her breath, hearing someone drop to the floor.
What have I done?
Colleen felt her mouth dry.
She couldn't move.
Michaela felt the burning pain radiate up her left wrist, opening her eyes to realize she'd fallen from the left side of the bed. Bringing her hand protectively towards her, she waited for the pain to lessen, gradually recalling the events that had transpired up until that point.
The room was eerily silent, until the sound of the side door summoned Colleen's attention.
"Was that a gun?" Matthew yelled, noticing Colleen huddled by the fireplace.
"Colleen? What happened?" Brian ran into the homestead behind Matthew, lantern in his right hand.
Colleen swallowed, seeing her brother's face clearly with the lantern he'd brought from the barn. "I shot," she voiced in a hoarse tone, then realized she still didn't know who the intruder was.
"Dr Mike?" Matthew spun around, following Colleen's line of vision.
Matthew saw the slumped figure on Michaela's bed, "what the," he ran over, more concerned at that moment about his mother. "Ma!" he called as he scanned around the homestead.
Michaela kept her eyes focused on her injured wrist, only then realizing she must have fallen off the bed as the shot was fired. Michaela blinked several times when she saw the lantern light the floorboards beside her, forcing herself to take a deep breath.
Unsure whether it was the feeling of the stranger's hands on her shoulders and neck, or if she'd been winded by the fall, Michaela was still able to feel the tension in her upper body.
"Ma!" Matthew eventually found her by the side of the bed. "Here," he managed to help her to her feet. "What happened?"
Michaela looked from the slumped figure on her bed, to the children and finally back to Matthew, "I don't know."
"Well, who the hell," Matthew moved the lantern between him and the unknown individual, recognizing the man immediately.
"Jake?" Matthew blinked in disbelief.
Clutching tighter to her brother, Colleen buried her face in Brian's shoulder as hot tears began streaming down her cheeks.
"It's all right, Colleen. Only Mr. Slicker," Brian shrugged, looking over to Matthew for help.
"Why'd you shoot him?" Matthew tried to piece everything together, looking from the shotgun to Colleen and Michaela, and finally back down to Jake's still form.
Colleen looked to Michaela, the young girl's eyes large and terrified. "I, I woke up, heard Ma screaming, just saw this figure, didn't know who it was. 'Foren I knew what I was doin', I'd grabbed the gun," Colleen's voice remained high-pitched and broken.
"Is Ma all right?" Brian chewed on his lower lip, opting to remain huddled by the fireplace.
"She's fine," Matthew reassured his brother, noticing the vacant expression on his mother's face, "Dr Mike, ya all right?" Matthew frowned.
Michaela blinked, hearing the familiar voice. She drew a hesitant breath, keeping her eyes locked on the corner of the patchwork quilt.
"What happened, Ma?" Matthew struggled to make eye contact, uncertainty building in his stomach.
He saw Michaela jump at the Jake's groan of pain only several feet away.
"Aw, man. He's bleedin'," Matthew moved around to the other side of the bed, trying to inspect Jake for injury.
Only then did Michaela seem to hear the words Matthew had spoken, tentatively looking over towards Jake.
"Ma, it's his arm," Matthew indicated to Jake's left arm, indicating for Brian to bring the lantern closer.
Michaela turned her head, seeing the blood on Jake's shirt and Matthew's hands. She watched silently for several moments, alternating her gaze between Jake's face and injured arm.
"Dr Mike, what should I do?" Matthew looked up helplessly.
Frowning, Michaela leaned forward to inspect Jake's arm in detail.
"It's only a flesh wound," she spoke quietly, showing little interest.
Matthew immediately went to fetch her medical bag from the mantlepiece. "Here," he placed it between them on the end of the bed.
Michaela automatically reached for the clasp and opened the bag before remembering it would prove little use; William had removed everything bar her stethoscope, several bandages, and a pair of tweezers.
"Damn," she sighed, looking from her bag to Jake's bleeding arm.
Colleen let out a high-pitched moan of shock, not having moved an inch from the fireplace. "What'd I do?" she gasped, her breathing forced and panicked.
"It's all right, Colleen, Ma'll fix him," Brian stroked his sister's arm. "Colleen, how come ya shot Mr. Slicker?" Brian asked, confused.
"Didn't, didn't know it was him!" she spluttered, her chin trembling in disbelief.
"It's all right, Colleen. You didn't do anything wrong. You'll need to get dressed." Michaela heard the little boy walk barefoot back across the floorboards towards her.
Brian crept slowly over to the side of the bed, looking suspiciously between his mother and Mr Slicker. "It was just like my dream, Ma," Brian spoke quietly, looking up at her hesitantly.
"Brian, can you go hitch up the wagon, we can take him into town," Matthew instructed.
Not having time to think the suggestion through any further, Michaela nodded, her attention drawn to her patient, as Jake let out another semi-conscious groan of pain.
Brian shrugged, placing the lamp down on the bedside table and heading outside to get the wagon.
Michaela remained seated on the edge of the bed, waiting for Jake to open his eyes completely. She felt the shock wash over her, looking down to see her hand trembling against Jake's arm.
"Jake, wake up." She watched as the barber moved his head, oblivious to his present location.
"What, where?" he stuttered, recognizing the face that looked over him immediately. "Dr Mike? Where am I?" he gasped.
Michaela studied Jake's vacant expression, trying to integrate the terror she'd felt minutes earlier, with the genuine confusion on his face.
"Dr Mike," Jake repeated, this time more desperately, as he reached for her arm.
Michaela broke the contact immediately, her reply succinct and void of emotion, "You're out at the homestead, Jake. You've been shot."
"Homestead? How?" he answered slowly, managing to lift himself upright enough to see around the room.
"You don't remember?" Michaela frowned suspiciously, fragments of sentences from minutes earlier coming back to her.
"No," Jake replied, bewildered. "Dr Mike, Dr Mike, you all right?" Jake suddenly remembered the images from his nightmare.
"Not particularly, Jake. What on earth are you doing out here?" Michaela spoke in utter exasperation, anger slowly starting to rise to the surface.
"I musta had another nightmare," Jake trailed off studying her face intently. "But you ain't hurt. Musta been a dream," he felt the panic slowly dissipate. "How'd I get here?" he muttered helplessly.
Michaela sighed, "It's all right, Jake."
Michaela tried to make sense of what had just occurred. Whilst on a rational level, she felt she was beginning to understand Jake's actions, there was an emotional uncertainly that lingered.
"Dr Mike?" Jake looked over to her again, "Loren said, said you're havin' a baby. Is it true?"
Forcing herself to keep his gaze, Michaela could merely nod in confirmation.
"Was hopin' maybe that was a dream too," he sighed, moving his arm, and then feeling the sharp pain hit him again. Jake kept his tone even, "Dr Mike?"
"What Jake?" she drew a cautious breath, beginning to sense they were no longer in the same reality.
"My arm hurts," he trailed off, "Why does my arm hurt?"
Michaela frowned, seeing the blankness in his expression. "Just rest, Jake." She stood to check on his arm, before collecting her dressing gown from the back of the rocking chair, moving across to the dressing area to change.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Loren rolled over, reaching for his pillow in the darkness. Patting it out, he pulled the blanket back up around his neck.
Just as he felt slumber entice him, Loren startled at the sound of an approaching wagon.
Blinking, he sat up, hearing the horse's gallops become stronger.
He felt his tired, worn-out body crack and twinge against the movement, but forced himself to his feet, squinting through the window in an attempt to make out the wagon below.
It took him seconds, before he saw several familiar heads.
"Dorothy! Dorothy, wake up!" he bellowed, darting out into the corridor, to rouse her from her sleep.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Matthew, help me get him inside. I need you to look after Colleen and Brian. Take them upstairs," Michaela looked over to Matthew from the back of the wagon, feeling the horses draw to a halt.
"Sure, Ma," the young man answered, quickly securing the horses and arriving at the back of the wagon.
"Jake, Matthew's going to take you inside," Michaela touched his arm lightly, just enough to wake him from a light doze.
"Ma," Matthew extended an arm towards her, helping her down.
Both turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Michaela!" Dorothy called, remaining several paces behind Loren.
Loren's jaw dropped, recognizing Jake in the back of the wagon. "What happened?"
Matthew turned, remaining between his mother and Loren. "Dunno, Jake come out to the homestead."
"Aww, no," Loren trailed off, his gaze lowering.
"But what's wrong with him?" Dorothy interjected, seeing the blood on his trousers.
"Colleen shot him," Matthew shrugged, there being no easy way to answer Dorothy's question.
"She what?" Dorothy frowned, gripping Loren's shoulder.
"He'll be fine, it's superficial. Matthew, can you take him inside." Michaela saw several lanterns in the distance, and moved towards the Clinic door, having no desire to remain out on the sidewalk any longer.
"What the devil was Jake doin' out at your place?" Loren watched as Matthew lifted Jake from the wagon, rousing him and awkwardly getting him over to the Clinic.
"I've not yet been able to establish that, Loren," Michaela answered quickly, just wanting to get inside.
"He, he ain't been too well lately, Dr Mike," Loren muttered, feeling responsible for Jake's actions.
"That's one way of putting it. Excuse me," Michaela sighed, quickly following after Matthew.
"Hey, Mr. Bray?" Brian tugged on his sleeve, the older man looking down with a huff.
"What is it, boy?" he groused.
"How come Jake came out to the homestead at night?" Brian frowned, not having been able to clear that issue up.
"Come on, son. Let's get you up to bed, it's the middle of the night," Loren was just about to reach down to lift Brian up, when they all heard the clattering of objects from inside.
"Loren?" Dorothy looked up, all three moving briskly to the clinic door, unprepared for the scene that was to unfold.
Opening the door, Loren saw Jake, in the far corner of the Clinic, completely conscious, alert to any movement around him.
Michaela, Matthew, and Colleen remained around the examination table, eyes moving from the assortment of instruments, bottles and bandages Jake had just sent flying, and Jake's paranoid expression of terror.
"What's the matter with him?" Loren frowned, gently closing the door, and immediately getting everyone's attention.
"He just woke up, jumped down off the table," Matthew answered, seeing Jake's eyes dart over to the closing door.
"Loren?" the barber muttered in recognition. "Loren, ya gotta help me. You'll help me, won't ya?" Jake's voice dropped to a desperate beg.
Loren quickly found four pairs of eyes staring at him. "Ah, sure. Sure Jake," he cleared his throat, slowly walking across the room, careful not to step on any of the objects that were scattered over the floor. "Jake, it's me. Loren," he kept his voice low, watching as Jake's face seemed to calm.
"Loren?" Jake's eyes widened, "I don't understand what's happenin'. Don't remember nothin'. What happened to my arm?" he gestured down to the blood staining his shirt.
"Now, just calm down there, Jake, everything be all right. You hurt your arm and Dr Mike needs to fix it, all right?" Loren arrived beside him, carefully placing a hand on Jake's shoulder.
Jake looked suspiciously in Michaela's direction, "Dr Mike?" he stammered, as if struggling to recognize her.
Moving cautiously over to Jake's side, Michaela tentatively applied the gauze to the injury, not able to hide her wariness at Jake's unpredictable behavior. "Loren, do you think you'd be able to get him back to the examination table, so I can suture the wound?"
"Come on Jake, gotta come over lay on the bed," Loren squeezed Jake's shoulder, guiding him in a supported shuffle back towards the table.
Colleen backed quickly away the moment Jake came less than three feet from her. "I better take Brian up to bed," she muttered, turning around to where the little boy stood by the door. "Come on, Brian," she took his hand and disappeared quickly upstairs.
Michaela and Matthew exchanged glances at Colleen's sudden departure, however their attention was quickly drawn back to Jake, who Loren had managed to get laying on the examination table.
About to begin tending to his arm, Michaela felt Jake's hand on her wrist, "Dr Mike?" he murmured, still disoriented.
"You'll be fine, Jake. You just need a few stitches," she tried to reassure him, freeing her sore wrist from his grasp.
"But you're all right, ain't ya? Tell me it was just a dream," Jake kept his eyes on her, feeling the emotions of both reality and hallucination meld together.
"Everything is fine, Jake," Loren assured, patting his shoulder supportively.
"I'm sorry, Dr Mike. He's been outa sorts for weeks; drinkin', havin' nightmares. Got worse just after ya left." Loren watched as Michaela began cleaning up the bullet wound.
"Well perhaps that explains his peculiar behavior tonight," she sighed, aware of the throbbing from her left wrist, crossing the room and locating her suture set on the desk.
"And when ya were in Boston, just made it worse, coz ya weren't here. I tried to reassure him, but don't look like it done no good," Loren shook his head, seeing Matthew's stern glare.
"You can say that again. He nearly got himself killed tonight," Matthew asserted harshly, "not to mention all the grief he caused, terrifyin' everyone in the middle of the night."
"Matthew," Michaela cut him off abruptly, tying off the first suture, knowing she couldn't concentrate between the pain in her wrist and the conversation between the two men. "Would you go upstairs and check on Colleen and Brian, please?"
"Sure Ma," the young man nodded, "Let me know if ya need me," he shrugged and quietly made his way from the room.
"Aww, I've tried talking with him about it Dr Mike, don't seem to do no good. He came over to my place a few days ago, managed to calm him down. He keeps havin' these nightmares, from when we found you."
Michaela slowly continued suturing Jake's arm, trying to ignore both Loren's words, and the memories of Jake and Horace's faces that morning.
"Loren," Michaela glanced back at him momentarily, hoping he would take the hint.
She turned her attention back to Jake's arm, continuing the second suture.
"And when he has these nightmares, he thinks ya still out there, ya know. Like his mind ain't remembered that we found ya." Loren moved around the table making sure Jake was settled.
"I really need to concentrate, Loren," Michaela drew a breath, trying to finish the second suture, noticing the blood on her fingertips.
"Sure, Dr Mike," Loren muttered, clearing his throat.
Michaela blinked several times, trying to distract herself from the intrusive memories. She moved on to the third suture, feeling the tightness in her chest lessen.
Loren watched quietly as she completed two more stitches.
"It's just, he's been havin' awful dreams, about findin' ya, that it was too late,"
"Loren, stop!" Michaela glanced up at the ceiling exasperated.
Loren took a moment before tentatively replying.
"Aww, I'm sorry, Dr Mike. You must be real tired." He looked back down at Jake, remaining quiet whilst she finished.
Michaela finished the final suture, tying it off and dabbing at it with a clean cloth, ensuring there was no more blood loss.
"There," Michaela secured the bandage around Jake's upper arm, looking over as he groaned a semi-conscious acknowledgement of pain. "It's all right Jake." She shook her head as she remembered the past hour.
"I'll let him rest for a little while, then we'll move him upstairs," she spoke quietly.
Loren nodded, turning back towards the door, "Best go let Dorothy know he's all right," Loren opened the clinic door and stepped outside onto the verandah.
Dorothy stood from the bench the moment she heard the door open.
"Just you out here?" Loren asked, expecting to see more people.
"Yeah, most people were more interested in gettin' back to bed. I told 'em weren't nothin' serious." She frowned, "it ain't, is it?"
"No, Dr Mike says Jake'll be fine," Loren folded his arms as he took a seat tiredly. "Dunno what to do about him, though. Just seems to be gettin' worse."
"Jake?" Dorothy probed gently, slowly sitting down next to Loren.
"Yeah." He sighed. "Can't believe he really went out there, broke into the homestead in the dead of night. Jake's lucky Colleen's a bad shot."
The reporter in Dorothy locked onto one strange detail, "He broke in? I don't understand. Why'd Colleen shoot him?"
"How should I know? Jake musta gone out there to check on Dr Mike. Maybe Colleen just woke up first," Loren looked up as Dorothy stood up. "Where ya goin'?"
"Something about this doesn't feel right. Gonna see if Michaela's all right," Dorothy moved towards the door, Loren still absorbing her words.
Michaela looked up at the sound of the door opening once again.
"Jake's going to be all right, isn't he?" Dorothy asked as she stepped inside, gently closing the door behind her.
"Yes, he'll be perfectly fine in a few days," Michaela nodded, noticing that Jake had fallen back to sleep.
Dorothy arrived beside Michaela next to the examination table. "What about you?" she continued without missing a beat.
"I'm fine," Michaela replied automatically, maintaining her attention on the instruments she'd been sterilizing.
"Musta been pretty unnerving tonight," Dorothy ventured, carefully observing her friend's reaction. "Loren said Jake broke in."
Michaela kept her eyes lowered, concentrating on drying each instrument in turn. "Yes," she muttered succinctly.
"Musta been frightening?" Dorothy offered, not deterred by Michaela's characteristic stoicism.
Slipping the instruments back into the wooden case, Michaela sighed, eventually looking up towards her friend. "Dorothy, what do you want me to say? Yes, it was frightening. But it's over, and from the sounds of it, what Jake needs is our support." She closed the instrument case and placed it back on the corner of the desk, wincing against the pain from her wrist.
"Michaela?" Dorothy stepped around the table immediately, hearing her friend's gasp.
"I'm fine. It's just a sprain," Michaela drew a soothing breath, reaching for a bandage and beginning to secure it around her left wrist.
"Here," Dorothy arrived by her side, quickly assisting her. "How'd you do that?" she looked up as she finished tying off the ends of the bandage as neatly as she could.
Michaela shook her head, reluctantly having to remember, "I misjudged how close I was to the side of the bed. I fell," she shrugged.
"Heavens, are you all right?" Dorothy shifted her eyes from Michaela's face, down to her stomach and then back up.
"I wish I'd known it was Jake at the time, is all." Michaela felt the fear renew itself, remembering the sensation of his hands on her shoulders; of his fingers against her neck.
"I don't understand. What do you mean you didn't know?" Dorothy shook her head in genuine confusion.
"How could I? It was pitch black. I woke up to someone standing over me. The next thing I knew, he had his hands were on my shoulders and I couldn't move. I didn't recognize his voice; I couldn't believe it was actually happening. By the time I did, there was nothing I could do except try to get away. I heard Colleen screaming, and then the gunshot. I was still on the floor when Matthew came in and told us it was Jake." Michaela swallowed. "It wasn't Jake's fault; he couldn't help it," she reasoned.
"Well I must say, you're bein' extremely understandin' given the circumstances." Dorothy muttered, watching Michaela's eyes glaze over.
"I'll get Loren to help move Jake upstairs," Michaela spoke quietly, pulling herself back from the memories and sensations, quickly opening the door to fetch him.
Dorothy remained silent as Loren roused Jake and helped him to his feet, the two slowly making their way upstairs.
"Anything I can do, Michaela?" she offered, knowing when to leave well enough alone.
"No Dorothy." Michaela shook her head wearily. "I'll check on Jake and then try and get some rest."
"I'd be happy to sit with him overnight?" Dorothy offered immediately, seeing Michaela glance around the room, making sure everything was in order.
"It should be fine." she ran her hands wearily over her face. "I'll have Matthew fetch you if need be," she nodded, resting her hand on the banister of the staircase.
"If you're sure." Dorothy stepped forward to deliberately brush Michaela's arm, "Take care."
Michaela watched Dorothy turn and leave.
She waited, quietly lost in her thoughts, until Loren arrived back at the bottom of the stairs.
"Got him into bed. Seems to be settled all right," Loren informed her nervously, not confident given Jake's behavior over the past few weeks.
"Thank-you Loren. I'll have Matthew come and get you should we need any assistance." She waited at the bottom of the stairs as Loren made his way outside.
Ascending to the top of the stairs slowly, Michaela saw the flicker of the lamp in the first room, smiling as she entered, Colleen having turned down the bed for her.
Walking quietly down the hallway, Michaela looked in on Jake first. He was peacefully sleeping, the serene expression on his face oblivious to the night's chaos.
Michaela continued down to the final recovery room, cognizant of the baby's light fluttering.
Quietly arriving in the doorway, she saw all three children fast asleep, Brian wrapped in Colleen's secure embrace in the large bed, whilst Matthew slept protectively on the nearby cot.
She shook her head, momentarily marveling in her children's resilience.
Making her way back up to the first room, Michaela loosened her skirt and removed her apron and shoes, before slipping into the inviting bed.
Dimming the lamp beside her, she settled down in the familiar bed, immediately remembering the last time she'd stared up at this particular ceiling.
If only I'd known what the next five months had in store back then. There's nothing I could have done to change this, even if I'd known.
She rolled over onto her left side, sleep beckoning from behind her closed eyelids.
Able to feel the child's frequent fluttering movements, Michaela couldn't fall asleep. Her mind drifted back over the events of the last few hours, reassuring herself that there was no rational basis for the anxiety that she'd been feeling ever since.
Jake didn't mean it; he was only concerned for me.
Will he even remember?
Michaela slipped out from under the quilt, knowing she couldn't sleep. She was concerned for Jake, but knew that was just a convenient excuse to mask her worries.
She reached down for her shoes, lacing them up slowly.
She sighed, knowing Sully would be a bigger problem than Jake.
He won't understand what Jake was going through, how could he?
Michaela stood from the edge of the bed, moving quietly back into Jake's room, being sure not to disturb him as she took a seat quietly in the rocking chair beside the bed.
He remained peacefully asleep, the room lit only by one dim lamp.
Michaela scanned the sparsely furnished room, trying to keep her awareness on external cues rather than the fluttering of the child's movements within her, coupled with the memory of hands around her neck.
She swallowed deliberately, effortlessly able to recall the choking sensation from months earlier when the dog soldier had strangled her, mere moments before he died.
How does this war ever end?
She knew tension between the Indians and the army had settled down somewhat since her rescue, but that the smallest provocation could reignite the threats of war.
Where does this child even fit? Will it be as simple as how it looks when it's born? Will people see it as Cheyenne or White? Will I?
She forced the thoughts in her mind to cease, knowing nothing mattered until tomorrow anyway. As the baby eventually settled, Michaela felt sleep creep closer and closer.