Meet the New Dawn (25 page)

His life surged into her, and they lay there breathing heavily, their skin hot with perspiration. But they didn’t care about the heat, and he didn’t care about his pain. He raised up on his elbows, remaining on top of her, bending down and kissing her hungrily again, searching her mouth with his tongue, enjoying her whimpers and grinning inwardly at how feebly she had argued against doing this. She arched her head back and he kissed her throat.

“Zeke, are you all right?” she whispered.

“What do you think?” he replied in a husky voice.

She could feel his passion returning, and he began moving inside her again. “I think you must be just fine,” she whispered back.

She could see him in the lamplight, and he grinned. “I told you this was the only thing left that I needed.” Their eyes held, flashing with passion as he moved rhythmically. She gazed at him with haughty, provocative, almost whorelike eyes as he moved inside of her, a look she had given to no other man, for no other man could bring out these things in Abigail Trent Monroe. He in turn took her as though she had no choice, and truly she didn’t, for when Zeke Monroe touched her, all resistance vanished, just as it had that first night he took her. He raised up to his knees, grasping her hips and pulling her toward him.

“Ne-mehotatse,”
he told her softly.

She closed her eyes and reached over her head, grasping the brass bars of the headboard, arching up to him and crying out his name when he pushed extra hard and his life throbbed into her once again. In the next moment he came down and enveloped her in his arms, thinking how precious their time was now.

“Abbie, my Abbie,” he groaned. “I wish I could hold you forever. Sometimes I wish all life outside of this bed would stop and there would be just you and me and love and this bed, and nothing more.”

She swallowed, a lump in her throat making it impossible to reply right away. She could only cling to him, and her chest jerked in a sob. “Zeke,” she finally managed to whimper.

“Don’t cry, Abbie-girl. I’ll always be with you this way—always—even after death. And then some day you’ll follow me on
Ekutsihimmiyo,
and we will be together—always and always.”

In November of 1873 a daughter was born to Wolf’s Blood and Sonora. She was named Iris, for the flower that Abbie loved so much. The ensuing winter was kind to Zeke Monroe. The arthritis flared only mildly, and he wanted to believe that perhaps it was going away. A little voice told him not to be so foolish as to imagine that could happen, but he felt so good that he allowed himself to think the disease would no longer plague him. His side healed, leaving an ugly scar and often flaring with recurring pain that he knew would probably torment him forever. He sometimes wondered how much injury and pain one man could suffer and still survive, and thought perhaps he had more scars and had taken more batttering than any man alive. It was many weeks before Wolf’s Blood’s back finally stopped bothering him, and even longer before he stopped suffering from recurrent headaches and dizzy spells.

By the spring of 1874 both men were strong again, and the summer was spent mending fences, finishing off the barn, helping in the birth of several new colts, and in branding. Zeke’s spirits were high, dashed only late that summer when Sergeant Daniels came calling on Ellen, and brought news
telling them that all of Zeke’s and Wolf’s Blood’s efforts at helping route out whiskey peddlers had had little effect. Whiskey trading was rampant again on the reservations, according to Daniels, who had served some time at Camp Supply and had been writing letters to Ellen all that winter and past spring.

“It’s bad, Zeke,” he told the man, as he sat outside on the porch rail, the entire family gathered around, enjoying the cool night air. “The Indians are getting so much whiskey now they’re almost crazy. They’re trading everything they can get their hands on for the stuff. The warriors trade needed rations for the whiskey and guns, and then the whiskey keeps them so drunk they don’t go out and hunt. The result is their families starve. Women are ashamed of their men, who no longer provide for them in the old ways. The young men are restless, drunk half the time, wanting to go to war again. Whiskey traders dress up like Indians and paint themselves so they can move in and out of the reservation undetected. More and more stray Indians show up, and there’s no food for them. I needn’t tell you what that will lead to.”

Zeke sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “They’ll break loose again. There’s no way to stop it.”

“They are not happy there,” Wolf’s Blood stewed. “It is no wonder they are drunk all the time. They cannot be men on the reservation. Some are even killing themselves.” He stood up, clenching his fists. “The white man has done this to them! Treaty after treaty is broken! They give them land, then take it away again, shoving them someplace new, always to worse places—hot, useless, barren land full of insects and disease! And then they wonder why the Indian is unhappy and drinks himself to death! Don’t they understand what it was once like for the Indian? Don’t they realize he once rode free—from Canada to Mexico, from the Sierras to the Mississippi River? All of this was theirs! All of it! Now what do they have? Nothing! Nothing but a barren wasteland to which they are confined like prison!”

“Calm down, Wolf’s Blood,” Margaret told her brother.

Sonora blinked back tears, holding her baby close as it breast-fed. Kicking Boy, now two years old, toddled around at
the foot of the steps. She wondered what was happening to her own people. It had been a long time since she had seen the beloved White Mountains, bathed in the Gila River, lived in the land of giant cactuses and red rocks. She missed home, but would not tell her husband so.

“Something else that keeps things stirred up are horse thieves,” Daniels told them, often glancing at Ellen, anxious to be alone with her. She watched him lovingly, and he liked feeling important, sitting there in his blue uniform and bringing them news. More than that, though, he liked the Monroes, and was as concerned for the Indians as they were. He knew how they loved the people, and realized the dangers that were mounting with unrest on the reservation. “White men raid the reservation and steal Indian ponies. The Indians are furious about it—claim that if it was the other way around they’d be tried and hung, but when white men do it to them, nothing is done about it.”

“Bastards!” Wolf’s Blood fumed.

Zeke watched his son, knowing the boy would like nothing better than to rejoin his Indian family and fight again. But he had Sonora now, and two children. And more than that he and Zeke had grown even closer, if that were possible. He would not leave the ranch unless it was with his father to do more scouting, for in spite of the problems, they both still knew that reservations were the Indians’ only hope of survival.

“You know what happened at Adobe Walls,” Daniels went on. “Renegade Cheyenne made a mess of things there for the buffalo hunters. Sheridan thinks that prompt and swift action against the hostiles is the only solution, with proper punishment, whatever that might be. Colonel Miles has been given full power to attack all Indians who are hostiles. A few renegades surrendered to the agency, but a lot of them are holding out because they don’t believe they’re protected from the Army. They’re not supposed to be punished if they come back to the reservation, but they remember Sand Creek and Washita. It’s been a dry summer, and the drought is sapping their ponies’ strength, so more and more have been straggling back, according to messages Lieutenant-Colonel Petersen gets. But there’s still a lot of trouble out there, Zeke. Too many have
broken away. Medicine Water is out there somewhere right now raiding with a war party. And so many Cheyenne have mixed in with warring Kiowas and Comanches that Miles is planning a big offensive: five columns, moving in all directions from Camp Supply to dig out hostiles and send them packing back to Camp Supply where they belong—or suffer the consequences.”

The air hung silent and Zeke smoked quietly. “Well, I guess we all know what the consequences are that he refers to,” he finally spoke up. He met Daniels’s eyes. “Petersen didn’t send you here to get me, did he?”

Abbie’s chest ached at the words, and Daniels sighed. “Not exactly. He did tell me to let you know what’s going on—kind of warn you that he might need you again. Miles is asking for the best scouts, but he said he’d try to leave you be. But if things keep going like they are, I don’t see you getting through another year without your services being needed.

Zeke threw down the cigarette and stepped it out. Wolf’s Blood looked at the deepening shadows, then jumped over the railing to the ground. “I am going riding,” he said sullenly, walking off toward the corral. Zeke watched after him, sighing deeply.

“He’s getting as restless as the renegades,” he muttered. “He’ll not go the rest of his life without making war once more.”

“The only thing holding him here right now is you,” Abbie spoke up. He met her eyes knowingly. “If he could, he’d take Sonora right now and go fight with the Apaches, and he still might.”

“If his father can keep him from making war, then I am glad,” Sonora spoke up. “I do not want him to be in such danger even though it is in his heart to join his People again. He speaks often about his uncle, Swift Arrow, and his days in the North with the Sioux.”

Zeke frowned, feeling guilty for keeping his son from his heart’s desire. Yet Wolf’s Blood had returned on his own accord, and he had Sonora now to think about. It was not just for his father that he stayed at the ranch. However, the fact remained that Wolf’s Blood all but worshipped his father, and
Zeke knew the boy would never leave again until his father rested in death. They heard a horse gallop off in the distance.

Sergeant Daniels cleared his throat. “Not to change the subject, but there is something else I’d like to talk about,” he spoke up.

Zeke leaned back, putting one foot up on the railing. “I’m listening.”

Ellen reddened and looked at her lap. Daniels looked from Zeke to Abbie, and back to Zeke. “In two years I’ll be out of the Army,” he told them. “I’m saving up—put some money down on some land east of here, only maybe a day’s ride. I intend to settle once I’m out—go into ranching like you’ve done.”

Zeke grinned, rubbing at his sore side. “And you want to settle with our daughter.”

Daniels grinned. “Yes, sir, with your permission. We’d like to be married next spring. I’ve got a long hitch ahead of me and am getting shipped down to Camp Supply till then. I think it’s best I wait till I get back to marry, seeing as how there’s so much unrest. If I come back all in one piece, we can marry. Then I’ll just have a year or so left, mostly right close at Fort Lyon.”

Abbie smiled and glanced at Zeke, who studied Daniels intently. “Well, son, I’d say by the look in Ellen’s eyes every time she talks about you, you must make her happy. Of course you can marry her. But I’d better not hear from her that you’ve mistreated her.”

Daniels put out his hand. “You’ll never hear that,” he replied.

Zeke shook his hand firmly. “Why buy land next to mine?” he asked. “Why not settle right here, help run this place?”

Daniels took a deep breath. “Well, sir, Ellen mentioned that. But this place half belongs to Morgan and Margaret, and someday it will pretty much all belong to them. I appreciate the gesture, but I want a place all my own. And we can always help each other out.”

Zeke nodded. “I can understand how you feel. Half of me is white. I know a man needs a place to call his own.” He rose, walking to the edge of the porch and looking out in the direction in which Wolf’s Blood had ridden. “And so does the
Indian. The trouble is, the two differ about what can be called their own.” He swung his legs over the railing and jumped down, looking back at Daniels. “Marry her and have a good life, Hal. All of you have a good visit. I think I’ll go for a ride myself.”

He walked off toward the corral, and Abbie shook her head. “Two of a kind,” she muttered. “Always have been and always will be.”

Chapter Fifteen

It was a hard winter for Zeke, and January of 1875 found him struggling with every step, literally perspiring with pain as he forced himself to ride and do his usual chores. Abbie could do nothing but watch him suffer. It seemed the arthritis attacked every joint this time, not just his back, elbows, and hands, but his shoulders, hips, and legs, so that no position was comfortable. His only deliverance was to be half drunk most of the time. Abbie didn’t know whether to be more worried about the arthritis or the fact that whiskey was becoming a needed item. He had always opposed too much whiskey for the Indians, and had deliberately not allowed himself to drink too much of it, knowing the effect it seemed to have on those with Indian blood. But this was a different matter, and too much laudanum was more dangerous than too much whiskey. When she watched him struggle just to get out of bed in the morning, she could not chide him for the whiskey.

What frightened her most was that under these conditions he would surely decide that soon he must find an honorable way to die. She could see him overcoming great pain out of pure stubbornness. He would not let the disease keep him in bed. That was one thing he had promised himself, and he was determined to keep the promise. Abbie could see in his eyes that he did not even want to talk about it. He suffered silently, but his struggling steps and swollen hands told all, and even Ellen and Jason and the rest of the family began asking questions. He could no longer hide his ailment, but the rest of
the family had strict instructions from Abbie not to mention it.

It was late January of that winter when the blizzard came, descending upon them from the Rockies with all the force that only nature herself can unleash. Zeke came from the bedroom before light, literally holding onto chairs and walls just to walk. Abbie was already up, knowing by the wind it was a bad storm, and heating the coffee early.

“It came down bad all night,” Zeke told her picking up a cup of coffee and slugging it down. “I’m going to get Wolf’s Blood and Morgan. We’d best string a rope from the houses to the barn and stables. I’ve lived out here long enough to know when a week-long blizzard is coming. We’ll be buried in another day or two.”

She studied the gnarled hands that clung to the back of a chair. “Morgan and Wolf’s Blood can take care of it. You’d better stay inside where it’s warm, Zeke.”

He slammed the cup down and looked at her with dark eyes that flashed with pride. “I’ll not stay inside while the others are out there in the cold doing my work for me. I’m just as capable as they are out there in the blizzard, or in bed with you! So quit looking at me like a goddamned cripple!”

She closed her eyes and turned away. The pain had made him snap at her about everything lately. He was not himself at all. Even when he made love to her, it was always almost angrily, as though he thought he had to prove to her that he was still capable of such things. She wondered if perhaps this was another thing of nature—a way of helping her bear losing him some day. Perhaps most people became ornery and bitter when they were dying, making life miserable enough for their loved ones that it was almost a relief when they were gone. She blinked back tears as he put on his winter moccasins and thick, fleece-lined deerskin coat. It had only been the last two weeks that he had been especially difficult, having few kind words for her. But it was so unlike him.

Her heart was suddenly lighter. Yes, it was so unlike him. She knew full well how much Zeke Monroe loved her. It all made sense now. He would never be cruel to her, no matter how much pain he suffered—unless he was trying to do the very thing she had been thinking, trying to make himself
obnoxious enough that it would be easier on her when he was dead. Her heart tightened. Did that mean this was the winter he had chosen to die? Surely not! Ellen was to be married in the spring. The spring.

She turned to face him, swallowing back tears. “There is always a spring, Zeke,” she said quietly.

He looked at her with a scowl and saw the pleading look in her eyes, the eyes that he loved so dearly. He returned to lacing his moccasins, a difficult job for him now. “Not for fifty-five-year-old men who find pain in every movement,” he growled.

“For everyone,” she answered. “And I … I don’t want to face spring … without you.” Her voice began choking then with the unwanted tears. “And if you think being mean to me … will make it any easier … that’s a stupid thought! I want to remember you the old way … the Zeke Monroe I married. I don’t give a damn if you’re so bad you’re carried around in a gunnysack! Just don’t … don’t turn into someone I don’t know at all. Don’t give me ugly memories, Zeke. I just want my Zeke, whether he … crawls across the floor or runs and jumps … whether he makes love to me every night … or never makes love to me at all. I don’t give a damn … about any of those things and you know it! It’s you I need … the person … the man … my strength and my friend. Don’t take those things from me when I might only get to have them for another week, another year. I feel like a woman condemned!” The tears came harder then, her words almost hysterical. “How long do I have, Zeke? How long? One day? One year? Three years?” Her fists clenched and she stepped closer, her face red with anger. “You tell me! You talk about not having much time left! What about me? Have you ever stopped to think that it’s the same for me? When you talk about you dying, you’re talking about me dying also!”

He stood up and grasped her arms. “Stop it!”

“It’s true and you know it! How am I supposed to go on without you—without my Zeke? You’re all I’ve had since I was fifteen years old! I’ve lived for you—for you and nothing else!”

Their eyes held, his full of bitter sorrow. “That isn’t true, Abbie. When I met you, you were a fighter—strong and
stubborn. And look at all you’ve been through. You didn’t survive because of Zeke Monroe, Abbie. You survived because of a strength inside yourself that you don’t even know you have. When I’m gone, then you’ll know. And you’ll look at all your children and grandchildren and know why you exist. It isn’t just for me, Abbie.”

Her eyes were wide with fear. “Don’t go—not yet,” she whispered. “And until you do … don’t take my Zeke from me. Let me have him the way he’s always been. If you love me, give me that much. Being cruel doesn’t make it easier, Zeke. I want every memory … to be good … like they’ve always been.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, pulling her close and embracing her. “I give up,” he told her, kissing her hair. “I never could resist those eyes of yours, or those tears. Much as this thing is killing me, I’ll try to hang on, for my Abbie.”

She broke into bitter weeping against his chest, wrapped in the still-strong arms and the fleece-lined coat. “And you won’t … be mean to me?” she sobbed.

He could not help a light laugh, in spite of his pain and the tragedy of the moment. “No. I won’t be mean to you.” He gave her a squeeze. “I’ve got to go, Abbie.” She pulled back and looked up at him, and he bent down to kiss her gently. “Just don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, Abbie. I do what I have to do. If you want me to keep going for you, then don’t stop me. Agreed?”

She nodded, reminding herself of his tender pride. The Indian in him made him more proud and stubborn than most, and yet that was part of what she loved about him. He gave her a smile and walked to the wall where his hat hung, putting it on and then buttoning his coat. He gave her another quick smile and went out, snow blowing through the door when he opened it.

Outside the wind howled fiercely, and Zeke struggled through already deepening drifts to Margaret’s cabin, rousing Morgan awake to the still-dark morning. Then he trudged to the new cabin they had built that past summer for Wolf’s Blood and Sonora. The tipi was still erected nearby. There were times when Wolf’s Blood preferred the house of skins, especially in the summer. He had never liked a house with
walls, nor had Zeke. But some things had to be done for practical purposes.

Wolf’s Blood frowned when he came to the door already dressed, also realizing this was going to be a bad storm. But he didn’t like the idea of his father being out in it. He knew how much pain the man had been in.

“Father, Morgan and I can—”

“Nonsense! I’m going to the barn to get some rope. And we’d best string it from the cabins to the main house also. I’ve known men to get lost in a blizzard and found dead ten feet from their own dwelling. I want nothing like that happening on this ranch. Let’s go.”

The man turned and trudged into the darkness toward the barn, which could not even be seen from Wolf’s Blood’s cabin. His son quickly planted a beaver hat on his head and went out, not wanting his father to walk to the barn alone. They made their way by literal instinct, lighting a lantern inside the barn. They were soon joined by Morgan. Zeke was already tying a rope to a post just outside the barn doors, while Wolf’s Blood watched the gnarled fingers work stiffly, his heart aching at the sight. The boy looked at Morgan with warning eyes. Both men knew better than to offer help or show pity. Zeke stood up then, handing the rope to Morgan.

“Make your way to the house with this. Take some extra and string some from the main house to the cabins.” He turned to his son. “Saddle up two horses, Wolf’s Blood. We left
Kehilan
and those two mares in the north corral yesterday. We’ve got to get them back to the barn and we don’t dare wait till daylight. This stuff is going to pile up fast and hard!”

“Zeke, it’s too dangerous to go out there before light,” Morgan objected.

“We have no choice. We’ll rope the horses together so we don’t lose each other. I can’t leave my prime stud out there.” He turned and walked back to help Wolf’s Blood, and Morgan just shook his head and began walking with the rope toward the house.

“That damned horse!” Zeke was cursing the stud Appaloosa. “Why can’t he mate any old place like other horses? Not
Kehilan.
He has to go off alone with his women.”

“Who would have thought yesterday we would have this problem?” Wolf’s Blood answered, putting a bridle on Zeke’s horse. “We had that thaw. Yesterday we could see lots of green. It was a nice day. I did not think those dark clouds over the mountains meant something this bad.”

Zeke threw a blanket over his horse’s back, then put on the flat Indian saddle he always used, wincing with pain as he did so. “It’s amazing how fast the weather can change,” he grumbled.

Wolf’s Blood quickly tightened the cinch for his father. “I could go alone,” he said carefully. “I can find anything on this ranch blindfolded.”

Zeke put a hand on his shoulder, and Wolf’s Blood straightened and met his father’s eyes. “Things can get too confusing in a blizzard. I’ll go with you and that’s that. I’m all right, Wolf’s Blood.”

The young man looked his father over, then turned and put his own saddle on his mount. Zeke watched him, the loyal son who was staying there out of pure love for his father. Wolf’s Blood was almost twenty-eight now. Zeke still thought of him as a boy, but he was most certainly a full-grown man and had been far longer than most. He was replica of his father, as tall and broad and strong, but perhaps even wilder at heart than Zeke.

They were soon mounted, a rope tied between the two horses from cinch ring to cinch ring so they could not lose each other. They headed out of the barn and around toward the north pasture, biting snow whipped by gale winds stinging their faces as they made their way slowly—and for Zeke painfully—toward the north corral, a half-mile ride. In such gales, a half mile could seem like ten miles, and that was how it felt for Zeke and Wolf’s Blood.

Morgan literally felt his way to the main house, tying the rope to a porch post. The door opened a crack. “Zeke?” Abbie called out.

Morgan went up the steps to the door. “It’s me,” he told her. “Zeke and Wolf’s Blood went to the north corral to get
Kehilan
and two mares he left there yesterday.”

“The north corral! How can they even see to get there!”

“Those two don’t need to see to find something,” he answered with a wink. But both knew how dangerous it was. “I’m going on to the cabins now, Abbie. We’re roping a path between all the houses. You just get a nice breakfast going. We’ll all need it by the time Zeke gets back.”

He only needed to walk a few feet from the steps before he disappeared again into the blizzard. Abbie shoved the door closed with difficulty and walked to her cook stove, putting in more wood and setting a black frying pan on the hot plate. She dug some bacon from the lard that preserved it and began cooking. She must keep busy. It was the only way to not worry.

Zeke and Wolf’s Blood reached the north corral after almost forty-five minutes of urging their mounts through deep drifts, using a cottonwood tree here, a nearly buried berry bush there as landmarks to tell them they were going in the right direction. When Zeke reached the fence he felt a great relief. He whistled for the horses, calling their names, shouting in Cheyenne. He heard nothing but the wind, his heart tightening. He did not want to lose
Kehilan,
but it would not be unlike the nervous animal to become confused in the blizzard and leap the fence. If he did and was lost, he would freeze or starve, whichever came first. He called again, whistled again, and finally there came a whinny. The unpredictable stud loomed into the light of the lantern Zeke waved.

“Here he is!” Zeke called to Wolf’s Blood. “Keep calling the mares.” He hung the lantern over a fence post, talking softly to
Kehilan
until he managed to get a rope over the horse’s neck. He tied it to a post to keep the animal in sight until the mares showed up. Both men kept whistling and calling until finally the mares made their way toward the light of the lantern. Wolf’s Blood roped both of them.

“I’ll take
Kehilan
,” Zeke shouted. “You lead the mares. Let’s move slowly along the fence until we get to the gate. Then we’ll swing them out and get back to the barn.”

“I am ready!” Wolf’s Blood shouted back. Zeke lifted the lantern, holding it in his left hand while he held
Kehilan
’s rope in the other hand, not even grasping the reins as he urged his horse forward with gentle Cheyenne commands. The animal obeyed, and they reached the gate. Zeke had to dismount to
open the gate, which was stuck against a large drift. He hung the lantern on a post again, then tied his own horse, still hanging on to
Kehilan.