Meet the New Dawn (17 page)

“But … the barn. There will be … so much to do!”

“Don’t worry about it.” He called out to Ellen to bring the gauze, and then began the tedious procedure of wrapping the ribs and arm. He was gentle, but it didn’t seem to matter. She could not help but whimper at the pain, and it tore at his heart. It had been a long time since he’d had to see her in pain—not since … He put away the horrible memory of how he’d found her in the cave after Garvey and his men were finished with her. To think of it now was more than he could bear. There had been another time he’d helped her—a time when the pain had been much worse than this. She was only fifteen then, badly injured by a Crow arrow that he had to remove himself—a wound which later had to be burned out because of infection. There was still a scar on her back and near her left breast from that terrible time. It was then that he’d known he loved her too much to live without her. She seemed no different to him now. To him she was the same little Abbie.

He finished with her and covered her, bending down and kissing her forehead. “I don’t suppose you planned this just to keep me around a while longer, did you?” he teased.

She forced a smile. “Of course I did,” she answered.

Their eyes held and his teared. “This damned land has hurt you again, Abbie-girl. I’m sorry.”

“Since when are you responsible for thunderstorms and lightning and fires?” she asked. “Don’t be silly.”

He bent close and kissed her lips lightly. “Try to sleep. Things will look better in the morning. I’d best go back out and get things in order. Sonora and Ellen will stay.”

“How many did we lose, Zeke?” she asked.

“I’m not certain. Only four, I think. That’s a hell of a lot better than when the Comanches raided.”

“But the barn! The feed! Can we replace them?”

“We’ll make do. But I’m glad now for the scouting job. Looks like I’ll need the extra money more than I thought.” He rose from the bed.

“Zeke,” she called out. “I love you.”

He picked up a piece of rawhide from the dresser, pulled his wet hair behind his head, and began tying the rawhide around it. “I love you, too,” he answered. He walked out, and her injuries brought on a depression as the thunder still boomed far in the distance now, the rain only a light patter on the roof. There was another loud crash outside, and she struggled not to cry because the sobbing made her ribs hurt. She watched some stray lightning through the window.

“You’re such … a savage land,” she whispered. “That’s how our destinies will be … isn’t it?” She sniffed, tears running into her ears. “Savage. It’s only … fitting.”

Ellen came inside then, rushing to her mother’s side. “Mother, don’t cry! Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Not that much,” Abbie whimpered. She looked at her daughter. “I hope … life is good for you, Ellen.”

The girl frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed, gently removing the towel from her mother’s thick, lustrous hair. “It already has been, Mother, being here with you. I like it here. I won’t go away like LeeAnn did.”

Abbie reached over with her good hand and patted the girl’s arm. “Thank you, Ellen. Sometimes it seems … we have no control over our destiny. It frightens me sometimes … things that can’t be controlled … like the elements … like tonight’s storm. All of life is that way, Ellen.”

The girl took her mother’s hand. “And what would you change if you could, Mother?” she asked curiously.

The barn outside gave one last rumble and Abbie looked toward the doorway. “Nothing,” she replied. “I wouldn’t change anything, if it would mean not being with your father.”

It was three days before the horses could be rounded up, three days of intense pain for Abbie. The men were gone almost
constantly bringing in horses, while the women waited on Abbie and took care of the horses already there.

By the fourth day the task of picking up the debris began—a messy, tedious job. But the pile of embers had to be removed before a new barn could be built. Abbie forced herself up, insisting on doing a few things for herself at least part of the day so the women could have a little time to rest from doing household chores plus taking care of the many horses.

On the fifth day Abbie noticed Zeke seemed to have trouble lacing his buckskin shirt, finally leaving it untied and going out to work. A small fear gnawed at her, and she went outside where her rocker had been set, at her insistence, so that she could watch the clean-up procedures and get some fresh air. She sat down slowly, angered at her injuries. She should be helping, but Zeke was upset that she was doing even this much.

She watched the men work, while Ellen and Sonora fed horses and Margaret took turns between tending to the babies and filling water troughs. One thing was certain. They were a family, a hardworking, close family. Maybe LeeAnn and Jeremy did not want to be a part of it, but the others did, and she had them all with her. She had that much to be thankful for. She noticed Wolf’s Blood and Sonora stealing occasional looks. The two of them had had little time together since the fire, much to Wolf’s Blood’s regret, she was sure. They made a beautiful couple, and she wished her son would make up his mind and take a wife. Zeke would like nothing better than for his oldest son to have sons of his own. He’d had his days of riding and making war. It was time now for other things. He was almost the same age Zeke had been when he married her. Yes, there was a time for making war, and a time for making love.

She watched Zeke saw at a piece of burned wood. Part of it was still good, and all good pieces must be saved to be used over. Their work was cut out for them. Not only would they have to travel to Fort Lyon to get supplies for a new barn, but before long they would have to go west along the river toward the mountains to find heating wood to cut for the winter supply, which would take time away from building the barn.
The structure was needed before winter, or at least a smaller building with stables; some kind of shelter for the horses that once were kept in the barn. It would be costly and time-consuming, for surely not all supplies needed would be found at Fort Lyon. Zeke would probably have to go to Pueblo. She felt sorry for him. There would be no time for scouting for a while, yet he needed the money now more than ever, and it angered her that Jeremy was not there to help. At least Zeke would be home a little longer, but she didn’t want it to be this way for him. And worse than that, he’d probably go out on longer missions when he got around to scouting for the Army, just to make up for the money he’d be losing now.

She wished she could go and help him, but her arm and ribs were still much too sore to do any work. She noticed then that he had stopped sawing before the wood was cut through. He put his head back and squinted, rubbing his shoulder and elbow. He was a strong man. It was not like him to tire in the middle of cutting one piece of wood.

Her heart tightened when he appeared in pain. He flexed his hands, unaware that she was watching him. He started sawing again, then suddenly kicked the piece of wood and the saw to the ground, rubbing at his arm once more. She wanted to think he was just angry over their misfortune, but it was more than that. He was in pain. She watched him remove something from under his buckskin shirt—something tucked into the waist of his leggings. A small bottle. He uncorked it and took a swallow, then put it back.

Abbie frowned in alarm. Whiskey? It was not like her husband to drink whiskey other than on special occasions of celebration. Again she worried over what it was he was not telling her—why he sometimes hinted that she would do just fine without him, that he had lived longer than the average man in this land. Why did he say such things? He was strong, tough. Because of his Indian blood she’d always expected him to live until very old, like so many Cheyenne men. And yet she’d never been able to picture him that way.

He took a water bucket from Sonora, who was bringing it to him and the others to drink. He sunk the dipper into it and then
poured it over his head to cool off. His long hair was braided to keep it away from his face. He flexed his hands again, and Sonora went on to take water to the others. Zeke picked up the piece of wood, angrily setting it back on the barrels to finish sawing it, but she could see it was done with great effort. A few minutes later he came to the house, stopping short when he saw her sitting there, as though to wonder if she’d been watching him. He could tell by her eyes that she had and he cursed the damned arthritis that had flared up again. It wasn’t supposed to bother him in warm weather, but the storm had cooled things off the first three days afterward, and it had kept raining, releasing a pain in his bones that had lingered even though now it was very hot again.

He leaned down, smiling and putting his hands on either arm of the rocker. “How’s my Abbie? I’d rather you stayed in bed, you know.” He kissed her lightly.

“I feel pretty good today,” she answered, watching him closely. “If I don’t move around too much, the pain isn’t too bad, except if I laugh or cough.”

“Well, those ribs had better heal soon, because I miss making love to my woman.” He kissed her neck and stood up. “I forgot my tobacco.” He turned to go inside.

“Zeke.”

He stopped, not turning around.

“What’s in that bottle under your shirt? Surely you aren’t drinking whiskey.”

He sighed deeply. “It’s just a little something for pain, Abbie—nothing to be upset about.”

“What kind of pain?”

He turned and met her eyes. “Look, Abbie, I just get the aches once in a while. You know what I’ve been through in my lifetime. A man doesn’t fight his way through life like I have without suffering the consequences. These old bones gnaw at me sometimes, that’s all. So I asked a doctor at Fort Lyon if there wasn’t something I could take that would make me feel better. The last few days I’ve worked extra hard and my bones are telling me so. That’s all. I’d have given you some of the stuff when you were hurt, but I knew if you laid still the pain
wouldn’t be too bad, and I knew you’d question me up one side and down the other wanting to know where I got the stuff.”

She held his eyes. “What is it?”

“It’s called laudanum. You took some when you had that operation in Denver.”

She blinked back tears. “And it’s only to be used in cases of extreme pain, not just for a few aching bones.”

He just grinned and knelt down beside her, taking her hands. “Abbie, don’t exaggerate things in your mind, all right? Let it be, Abbie. Just let it be.”

She looked down at his hands. Why hadn’t she put it together before? She’d noticed at other times that his knuckles were strangely swollen, like they were right now. But she’d ignored it. She had thought that surely it was just from hard work. But no. It wasn’t just that. They’d never looked that way before. And besides, it seemed to come and go. She rubbed at his hands gently. Her grandmother had had a similar ailment, and had ended up a crippled old woman, bedridden and hardly able to do anything for herself. She met his eyes again. Zeke Monroe would never allow himself to be brought down to such a humiliating condition. It all made sense now. She knew the other reason for the scouting. It gave him an out. When he knew he would be so crippled he could never ride again, he’d find a way to die honorably. There was no other way for Zeke Monroe to leave this world.

He saw the knowing tears well in her eyes and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “It’s not as bad as you think, Abbie-girl. If it were, I’d tell you. Just relax and get yourself healed. Don’t cry. You’ll just make your ribs hurt.” He squeezed her hands. “I’m okay. I’m too goddamned mean to give up anything without a hell of a fight, and you know it. So you’ll just have to put up with this wild Indian for a few more years yet.”

She sniffed and held his hands tightly. “Promise?”

He gave her a handsome grin. “Promise. And that includes making love to my woman, so don’t do anything to slow the healing process.”

She smiled through tears. “Can I … do anything, Zeke?
Can’t I help you in some way?”

He patted her hand. “You can sit here and get well. And you can ignore any terrible thoughts that are going through you mind. I don’t want to talk about it, Abbie. What’s the use in worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet? Let’s just take one thing at a time—one day at a time. All right?”

She nodded. “All right.” She sniffed again, her lips quivering. “I need you Zeke,” she whimpered.

He grasped her chin in one hand and gave her a quick kiss. “Well here I am, so what are you crying about?” He gave her a wink and rose, going into the house for the tobacco and coming out with a cigarette in his mouth. He walked down the steps and back to his work, and she watched his long, ambling gate, the slim hips that stirred her, his animallike grace. Surely, surely there was no sickness that could truly defeat such a man. She would not think about it. She could not think about it. Not Zeke. Not her Zeke. He looked wonderful. He’d be fine. This was just a passing thing.

The night was warm, a soft breeze keeping away the mosquitoes. Sonora carried eight-month-old Nathan back to Margaret’s cabin. She had been watching the baby to give Margaret some relief. Wolf’s Blood came out of the tipi with Little Zeke, putting his nearly two-year-old nephew on his shoulders and joining Sonora. She knew inside he’d been watching for her so he could walk with her.

“Do you think Margaret had time to rest?” she asked him.

He laughed lightly. “I think she and Morgan did more than rest.”

Sonora blushed deeply. Even in the darkness Wolf’s Blood sensed she was reddening. Sometimes he’d say things to deliberately embarrass her, finding it amusing that even with her dark skin, he could see her blushing. She hoisted Nathan up to get a better hold of the boy as they walked.

“I think perhaps Margaret is very lucky,” she said daringly.

“To have Morgan?” he asked. “I think so, too. Morgan is a good man. My sister did well. I am glad for her.”

“I didn’t mean just that. I meant … she is lucky to be able to … to have the man she loves. Some women … can only dream.”

He stopped walking and she went a few steps further, then turned to face him in the moonlight. His heart pounded. Her long dark hair blew in the soft breeze, and he could see the fringes of her tunic dancing in the wind, almost inviting him to touch the soft roundness beneath the dress.