For personal and select distribution only � February 1998
by Pam Hunter

Author’s note: In ‘The Circus’ Heart stated that she was seeking a couple with a bond "beyond law, beyond blood" and she chose Michaela and Sully. My head tells me that such a bond between lovers is not possible, but my romantic heart wants desperately to believe that it can exist, that its song can be heard in the cry of a bird or can be seen in a dream of lilies in a field. This story is written from my heart ………

The crackling of the fire, a snap of a twig, a heavy thwack, fierce pain, streaks of white light, stars and then blackness ..............

She woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in their bed, aware that something was wrong. Had someone called out to her? She listened intently. Everybody appeared to be asleep. She felt beads of perspiration on her brow and a sharp pain behind her eyes, but all was quiet except for the cicadas singing under the front porch. She lay back down, almost reluctant to sleep in case she heard the desperate voice calling to her again. At last tiredness overcame her once more and she drifted off into a restless, dream-filled slumber.

The warmth of the summer sun on his face roused him. The pain in his head, especially behind his eyes, was excruciating. He struggled to open them but seemed unable. The tinkling of the stream beside which he’d made camp last night was impossibly loud and the twittering of the birds in the boughs of the trees above him was deafening, intensifying the pain in his head and causing him to cover his ears with his hands. As he did so his fingers encountered something sticky above his ear and across his temple. Putting his now sticky fingers to his nose he smelt the unmistakable odour of blood.

She woke as the sun rose above the mountains in the distance and spilt across the windowsill of their bedroom. Expecting that her uneasiness from the episode during the night would have dissipated, she was amazed to realise that her pulse was still racing and there were again beads of perspiration on her forehead. She rose slowly and was inexplicably drawn to the open window. It was a beautiful summer morning, nothing out of the ordinary in the air. So why did she feel so unsettled, even frightened?

He ran his hands through his long hair and then with his fingertips he carefully explored the contours of his face, trying to ascertain his injuries. His heart was pounding and the thumping in his head was making him feel nauseous and disorientated. His left eye was swollen shut and the bloody stickiness formed a drying, rough trail down the left side of his face and his neck. But the most terrifying fact was the blackness.

Standing at the open window she took a deep breath of the clear, early morning air, closed her eyes tightly and prayed to God that her family was safe. She didn’t know what compelled her to do so, but her prayers had never been more vehement. She shook herself, turned to her dressing table, took up her antique hair brush and began to smooth the night-tangles from her long coppery hair.

He reached to his right seeking the canteen of water he knew he’d placed there the night before. His hands encountered the edge of the blanket on which he’d been laying and then the long grass, slightly damp from the dew. A wave of helplessness overwhelmed him as he groped in the warm darkness for his familiar belongings. His shaking hands at last encountered a strap which he seized with relief, drawing the canteen towards himself. He removed the stopper and drank thirstily before tipping a little of the cooling fluid onto his hands to damp, and then wipe, his sore and bloodied face.

She turned to the washstand on which stood a pretty china bowl and pitcher. She undid the buttons on the front of her crumpled nightgown and let it fall softly to the floor before soaking a clean white cloth and washing her unusually restless body. This restlessness worried her. She was always a little uneasy when he was away, but this was to be only a short trip - one or two nights at the most - and she had high hopes that he would be home by nightfall. She finished washing and quickly donned her customary long, full skirt and simple, high-necked blouse before going to wake the others.

The cooling water felt good on his face and he was able to wash away most of the worrying stickiness. With the tail of his shirt, soaked with water, he wiped at his eyes expecting that when he’d finished they would open and he would be able to see. But the blackness remained, as did the fierce pain. With his hands he searched the ground to his left seeking the belt on which his knife and tomahawk were sheathed, but as he explored further and further outward from the blanket he encountered nothing more than grass and dry earth.

The coffeepot was on the woodstove sending a pleasant aroma throughout the living area of the house, and gradually the appetising smell of baking biscuits combined with that of the coffee to draw the other occupants to the cosy kitchen. Throughout the early morning chatter, and while plans were made for the day ahead, she remained quiet, unable to dispel the uneasiness which assailed her. Gradually, when all efforts to cheer her failed, the others also quieted, obviously concerned about this strange mood in which she was greeting the new day. She stood at the kitchen table, plate and knife in hand, lost in thought, while the others watched her warily.

For the first time since he’d woken panic assailed him. Never before had he felt such helplessness, such fear. Unconsciously he groaned out loud. His sound was greeted and answered by a soft whimper. Suddenly a cold dampness nudged his hand and he recoiled involuntarily before realising with relief what had touched him. He reached out to pull the animal against himself, running his hands through the long, thick fur and inhaling the familiar scent. But then his hands experienced another unpleasant, but familiar, sensation - the same stickiness, beginning above the animal’s front left leg and continuing on down to its paw. He sighed and the animal whimpered in response, its body trembling, its left leg lifted from the ground and bent at the joint. Tearing a strip from the tail of his shirt he used a little of his precious water supply to wet the cloth. He held it against the animal’s wound, before pulling it gently to lay across his legs stretched out in front of him.

Breakfast over, she completed the necessary morning tasks as a matter of habit, all the while dwelling on the strange sensations assailing her. All but one of the others in the house, unable to elicit reasonable responses from her, gradually went about their day’s routine, albeit a little worriedly, leaving her to her own devices. The other, as yet too young to be receptive to her mother’s strange mood, demanded her usual time and attention, keeping her busy on a conscious level, while her subconscious became more and more aware of something pulling it in an unfamiliar direction.

Drinking again from the now nearly empty canteen, he considered his limited options. While ever the throbbing pain in his head persisted, leaving him disorientated, there was no gain in moving away from the familiar blanket and the nearby stream. He carefully stoppered the canteen, tore another piece of cloth from his shirt with which he bandaged as best he could his canine friend’s injury, and then he lay down on his back to absorb the warmth of the strengthening sun. With the loss of his sight, his other senses heightened and he became aware of a slight rustling in the nearby brush, the rushing of the mountain water over the smooth rock bed, the smell of damp grass and dusty foliage and the calling of the birds to their neighbours. What he didn’t hear was the sound of his horse grazing near the tree to which it had been tethered last night. He dozed off into a pained and restless sleep.

All through the morning she found it difficult to concentrate on her work, her patients and their troubles. Several times she’d fumbled and dropped her instruments and she’d close her eyes and take a deep breath before continuing. Her assistant watched her anxiously. Her behaviour earlier at home was excusable, after all her husband was away and she was responsible for the family. But here? Here she was always in control, focussed on her work. At lunch time she excused herself and walked the short distance to the telegraph office where she sent two telegrams - one to each of the towns where she knew her husband had business during the past two days.

The canteen was empty! His dilemma was whether to venture from the blanket which was now his familiar refuge, or to remain where he was. Despite the pain behind his eyes he tried vainly to recall his surroundings when he’d settled here for the night. Was it only yesterday? He resolutely slung the canteen over his neck and shoulder and tentatively struck out on hands and knees from the blanket towards the tinkling sound of the stream. Progress was slow but the sound of the running water gradually became more persistent. In his eagerness he moved a little too quickly and suddenly found himself sliding downwards over the rough ground on his hands and stomach. Stinging pain assailed his hands as they scraped over the exposed tree roots and rocks on the bank of the stream before he landed in a crumpled heap at the water’s edge. Relieved that he had suffered no serious injury in his quest, he knelt and reached out to scoop handfuls of the pure mountain liquid over his head and shoulders, letting its cooling softness wash over him. He dipped his head into the water, face first, remaining there as long as he was able to hold his breath, savouring its soothing effect on the pain behind his eyes.

Deciding that her best course of action would be to return home, where her inability to concentrate would be less hazardous to everyone’s health, she bundled up the little one and set out in the wagon. As she travelled her eyes were drawn to the north where heavy, grey storm clouds were building. Her brow creased and a frisson of fear swept through her. She shook herself, knowing that it was unlikely that the storm would even reach them before it blew itself out. So why the fear, the dread? The young child beside her suddenly demanded her attention, so her eyes and thoughts returned to her immediate surroundings and matters at hand.

Having sated his immediate thirst and eased the pain in his head somewhat, he filled the canteen to the brim, replaced the stopper and began the short but arduous journey back to the blanket and his companion. The climb up took longer but was not as painful as the short trip down. Then, upon reaching the top of the bank, he realised that he had no clue as to the direction of his belongings. He called to his companion who answered with a soft whine giving him a sense of the direction to take. He crawled slowly forward and with relief finally felt the edge of the blanket and then a wet tongue lapped at his hand in greeting. He settled back into his earlier position. All at once he was aware of the atmosphere around him changing. The earlier warmth on his upturned face was gone, there was an ominous howling in the wind rushing through the tops of the trees and he could smell the increasing dampness in the air. Drawing his injured friend close against himself, he lay down and pulled the edges of the blanket up over them to wait for the anticipated onslaught. He did not have to wait long. Thunder rumbled around them and then the rain began, at first in sparse, huge drops falling weightily on them, then gradually building until it drummed against his skin and the blanket which gave them little protection. Within minutes he was soaked through, but could do nothing but wait it out, praying that it was only a summer storm which would pass quickly, letting the sun once more burst forth to provide comfort and drying heat.

At home, amid her familiar surroundings, her restlessness did not lessen. She sat on the front porch for a long time watching the sky to the north change dramatically from grey to black to silver and then split apart to finally let the summer sun beam through once again. When the sky was once more an even azure blue for as far as the eye could see, she rose and ventured back indoors to haphazardly complete a number of largely unimportant tasks - all the while waiting, often crossing to the window to watch the road to the north, searching for an oh so familiar rider. But even as the sun began to sink low in the west and the other occupants of the house returned home for the night, the familiar rider she sought did not appear.

As suddenly as it had begun, the rain stopped, the air cleared and the sun once more warmed his skin. He threw back the sodden blanket and rolled away from his canine friend who, despite the injury to its leg, had stood and was vigorously shaking the water from its fur. He shucked off his buckskin jacket and pants and blue cotton shirt, spreading them over the bushes behind him to dry, and then he stretched out to bask in the warmth of the summer sun, deriving some small comfort from its heat. He lay there, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head and concentrating on whatever he could hear and smell around him, especially the increased flow of the stream - the volume doubled by the unexpected summer rain, the re-emergence of the birds in the branches above and the tuning up of the cicadas’ voice in the nearby dense foliage. Then, with dread and for the first time, he allowed himself to contemplate what his future might hold if his sight did not return in the very near future, if the damage to his eyes proved to be permanent.

She watched as their tiny daughter played with her toys on the floor in front of the cold fireplace. In so many ways she was like her father - her clear blue eyes and fair hair, her stubbornness, and her love of animals and the outdoors, seldom showing fear of what the vast world might hold. She once more impatiently rose to peer out the window - searching - then at last, with dread and almost against her will, she recognised her uneasiness for what it was. Something had happened to him, and at this stage she was at a loss to know what to do about it.

In his mind’s eye he could see his beautiful wife and daughter as if they were standing before him. With profound sorrow he realised that if the blackness was to be a permanent fixture in his life he would never see his daughter as she grew and blossomed into womanhood, or watch the firelight play on his wife’s coppery, waist length hair or see her blush with shyness when giving herself so willingly to him. Tears welled up in his sightless eyes and he despaired of ever reaching home, let alone seeing his family again. He lifted his face to the sky and emitted a loud, longing wail - a plea to the spirits for their aid.

Although she had given up hope of her husband’s return on this day, hoof beats could be heard rapidly approaching the house. She flung the door open, expecting to see him coming towards her, only to be brought up short by the approach of the telegraph operator from town bearing a reply to one of her telegrams. She read it quickly, handed it wordlessly to her eldest son, and quickly climbed the stairs to the bedroom. When her son entered the room it was to find her laying out riding clothes for the morning. Despite his adamant protests she descended the stairs and strode out to the barn where she collected her leather saddlebags, bringing them back inside and packing them with food, numerous cloths and medical supplies. Securing assurances from her eldest daughter that her younger would be cared for, she announced that she would be leaving at first light.

As the heat of the sun lessened in its intensity, and the birds settled with the sunset, he contemplated another night here in this place which was supposed to have been a temporary, one night camp before he rejoined his beloved family in the home he had built for them. He drew the edges of the now dry blanket around himself and prayed that he would not encounter any night visitors as he had the night before. As the cold settled around him his fear increased accordingly. He reasoned that this was illogical - whoever had attacked him last night had gained what they’d coveted and would not be back - and yet he could not dispel his fear. At last he succumbed to the pain in his head and the aching of his hungry body and slept fitfully.

At dawn she rose, dressed quickly, checked on her young, sleeping family members and left the house as quietly as possible. As she entered the barn she discovered that her eldest son had saddled both her horse and his. He refused to listen to her objections to his accompanying her and they set off in the cool, misty air, an uneasy tension between them. They travelled at a fast pace towards the town from which last night’s telegram had been sent, the town where he’d last been seen. It was obvious that the son believed their quest to be a lost and unnecessary cause, arguing that if anyone knew how to look out for himself he did, but she refused to be swayed. Her son argued that any route may have been taken and that something may have occurred to change his plans, but again she was adamant that she would find him, that she knew his habits and likely route and that he needed her.

Again the heat of the sun was what roused him first. The pain behind his eyes was not as acute as yesterday and the swelling beneath his left eye had gone down a little. He sat up carefully and tentatively opened his eyes to the sky above. The fierce sun made him squint and close his eyes tight, and pain shot through his head from behind his eyes to the nape of his neck. Amid the pain it suddenly dawned on him that he had reacted to the light and, shading his eyes from the bright sun with the palms of his hands, he hesitantly peered through half-closed eyes to register that it was indeed true, that he could now discern colour, if not detail. He heaved a great sigh of relief. Surely this must mean that his sight would return, that his blindness had been only temporary? The sudden painful cramping of his empty stomach abruptly overwhelmed his feelings of relief.

Mid-afternoon they stopped by a stream to drink and to water the sweating horses. They had rested very little, only short breaks to eat and drink before once again mounting their horses and continuing on. The son watched now as she restlessly paced up and down beside the stream. He wondered what it was that drove her on, that compelled her to continue with this needless quest. She, on the other hand, was wondering if they were nearing their quarry. By her estimation they were some five hours from the town he’d left around midday just two days ago. Surely, somewhere around here he would have made camp - she must not be wrong about this! She had been in the woods with him often enough to know that he would have camped by a stream, somewhere just off the main trail, so that no length or time would be added to his journey home. She called to her son and they mounted up to once again continue the search.

He sat, his chin resting on his drawn up knees, trying in vain to ignore the biting cramps in his stomach and the pounding in his head. The return of even limited sight should have filled him with elation, however the increasing peril of his present situation was beginning to weigh heavy upon him. He was waiting …… For what? For who? Suddenly, he felt the body laying beside him tense, and he caught on the wind the sound of approaching horses still some distance away - two of them moving slowly. Contrary to his normal reaction in such a situation, his heart began to pound in fear. If the riders were the same as those he’d encountered just two nights ago he would be totally defenceless against them. He lay down on the blanket in much the same position as he had been in when he woke yesterday, feigning death, the wolf quiet by his side.

She was beginning to tire of this endless search. What if her son had been right? That his plans *had* changed and he was now heading for home? She drew her horse to a halt, closed her eyes and took deep breaths of the warm summer air. And suddenly she knew that he was close. Her eyes turned to her son who was watching her inquiringly and for the first time in two days a half-smile appeared on her face. She moved slowly forward, her eyes seeking anything out of the ordinary. As she rounded a bend in the stream and came to the edge of a clearing shaded by aspens, she spied the one she had been searching for. The scene before her made her face pale and her breath catch.

The horses had stopped some twenty feet away, he could hear their snorting and panting, but for several moments there had been no movement from the riders. He heard a stirrup leather stretch and creak as a person’s weight was put on it and the rider lowered himself to the ground. The second rider dismounted and took a few hesitant steps towards him. Then he felt the tension in the animal laying beside him ease. He risked the raising of one eyelid and encountered a blur of colour and vague shapes. He could just make out two figures, small in stature, but there was something strange about the attire of one. It was the colour! A block of vibrant, rich blue against the browns, greys and greens of the woods. Realisation washed over him.

He closed his eyes against the harsh light, gulped and called weakly, "Michaela!"

The figures ran towards him and she dropped to her knees at his side. "Sully!" she breathed, as she reached out to gently run her fingertips over his swollen face and then to take him into her arms.

For a long moment they merely held each other, oblivious to the world around them while the son watched in awe of the moment. Whatever the bond which existed between these two, it was greater than could ever be imagined. That they could call to each other, through time and space, was completely beyond understanding and to be envied.

The younger man watched as she drew back to tenderly examine her husband, to ascertain his injuries. He saw tears well up and roll silently down her face when she realised the damage to his eyes. He listened to her gentle yet confident reassurances that he would recover, that she would do all within her power to make it so. And as she gently bathed his wounds and washed the dried blood from his neck, chest and hands and forced him to eat slowly the food she had brought with her, he learned more of the special bond that tied these two together as surely as if they were one. Even as he followed her instructions to build a fire and set water to heat, he watched husband and wife - together - seemingly unaware of his presence. Many times in the past he’d watched her care for her patients but her ministrations had never been like this. The current which passed between these two was almost tangible and yet on the other hand so intimate that he felt compelled to turn away, to give them some privacy. He was almost relieved when both asked him to set out for the nearest town, to hire a wagon and to return for them the next day - though he was reluctant to leave them unprotected until she agreed to keeping his gun beside her, within reach.

She sat in the twilight before the fire, her son’s firearm on the ground beside her, the wolf curled up at her feet, her husband’s head and shoulders resting across her lap. She was gently massaging his scalp with one hand, providing what relief she could for his pain. The other hand was clasped firmly in his. Tomorrow their son would return with the wagon and they would set off on the long journey home, but now all that mattered was that he was safe, that she could hold him in her arms again, that being together, even like this, made her feel complete. She silently prayed again to God that he would recover and she thanked Him for leading her to her lover’s side.

He lay there absorbing her strength, her confidence, through the feel of her. The soft and loving movement of her fingers against his skin was lulling him into a very relaxed state and he silently thanked the spirits for answering his plea, for guiding her to him. He daringly opened his eyes to peer up at her and, though her features were indistinct, he could discern the firelight playing on her coppery hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. He was reminded of pictures he’d seen in storybooks, of angels, their halos aglow. She was *his* ministering angel, who had appeared out of nowhere today to bring him back from the brink of who knows what. When he was a little better he would ask her how she’d managed to find him, how she’d known that he needed her, but at this moment all that mattered was that she was by his side, holding him, for together they could overcome anything.

THE END