Meet the New Dawn (31 page)

Abbie and Ellen watched from the fence. It was good to see Zeke mount up with little pain. The past winter had been the worst ever. The arthritis had gone to his hips, and most men would have been unable to even get up out of bed in his condition. But Zeke Monroe was a stubborn man, and he had refused to stay in bed. There had been days when he could not ride at all, and Abbie knew by his eyes what he was thinking. He had always said he would ride to his dying day—that the disease would not bring him to that point. Her chest ached so badly she wondered sometimes where her next breath would come from, and her nights were sleepless. She knew that he had already made up his mind he would not go through another winter like the last one, no matter how good he felt the next summer.

Zeke Monroe had become a quiet, determined man. He did not become angry and ornery as he had the last time the disease got bad. He had simply resigned himself to what must be, and although they did not discuss it, Abigail Monroe knew her husband well—too well. His determination to die honorably had become a silent topic. She was trying to be strong, trying to think about life without him, but it was impossible. She wondered sometimes what kept her going, for she had become thin and tired over the winter, and her chest hurt constantly. She could not eat or sleep. She was losing him! Losing him! Her life; her love; her whole reason for existing.

He rode the mare in circles for a while, then kicked the
animal’s sides and took off for a hard ride. Abbie watched after him, swallowing back tears, wondering if she had ever in her whole life cried as much or as easily as she had the past few months.

Ellen put a hand on her shoulder. “Mother, you don’t look well,” she told her. “You’re too thin and you have circles under your eyes. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? I think you need to see a doctor.”

Abbie faced the girl. They had been apart all winter because of the snows that separated the two ranches. But in the summer Hal Daniels often brought his wife to her parents’ ranch, for Ellen missed them dearly. Now she had come with the wonderful news that she was three months pregnant. The baby was due in January.

Abbie forced a smile, climbing down from the fence and helping Ellen off. “You shouldn’t be climbing around on fences, Ellen,” she chastised the girl. “You’re pregnant now and must be more careful.”

“Oh, Mother, I’ve been climbing around fences since I was old enough to walk.” She put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “And stop avoiding the subject. What is wrong with you?”

Abbie sighed and faced the girl, then could not stop the tears. She suddenly hugged Ellen tightly, crying for several minutes first, unable to speak at all.

“I’m sorry, Ellen,” she finally managed to say, pulling away and wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. She held the soggy handkerchief in her fist, watching the horizon where Zeke had ridden. “Your father … was very bad this past winter,” she told the girl. “Very bad.”

The girl frowned. “But he’s better now. He looks fine.”

Abbie shook her head and turned away. “He’s not fine at all. And you know how his Indian heart operates, Ellen. He doesn’t want to die a crippled, bedridden man. He … wants to die honorably.” She turned and faced the girl. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

Ellen studied her mother’s sorrowful brown eyes, then her own eyes teared. “You mean … he’s thinking of … dying?”

“He thinks about it all the time now. I can see it … feel it.
The only question left is how he will die.” She looked back out over the horizon. “He has truly given up this time, Ellen,” she said quietly. “It started with the Little Bighorn, and got worse when the railroad came through the north section. And then when those pitiful stragglers came back south, what was left of the once-proud Northern Cheyenne …” She swallowed. “It broke his heart, Ellen. The Southern Cheyenne already gave up a long time ago. He goes to see them, and he finds nothing but drunken, broken men … men who once rode proud and brave. There used to be no warrior more feared than the fighting Cheyenne, Ellen. They were the bravest fighters, the most daring, the best horsemen. Your father was as good as any of them, and your brother. It’s been hard on Wolf’s Blood, too, and I still fear he will leave us and go south with Sonora. The Apache are still fighting. God only knows what would happen to Wolf’s Blood if he went there. But the only thing keeping him here now is your father. Sonora has talked often lately of going back to her people, and Wolf’s Blood would take her if not for Zeke. He’s still young and likes new, exciting things. Once Zeke is … gone …”

Her words were choked off by new tears. Ellen put an arm about her waist and walked her toward the cabin. “Mother, stop this. Nothing has happened yet, and Father looks well. I think you’re exaggerating.”

Abbie pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “I wish I was, Ellen. How I wish I was. But I’ve been with Zeke Monroe for thirty-three years. Your father is fifty-eight, Ellen. And last winter there were days … when he couldn’t go out and work … couldn’t ride. To him that is the most humiliating thing that can happen to a Cheyenne warrior.”

Ellen spent the next hour trying to comfort her mother, worried now herself. She could not picture life around the ranch without Zeke Monroe. Her father came riding in then, the mare tamer and much more obedient. He dismounted at the house, tying the horse and coming inside, where Abbie had started peeling potatoes, trying to look busy. But she could not hide her eyes, and his heart ached at the sight of her. He looked from her to Ellen, then back at his wife.

“Abbie, if you do much more crying this spring you’ll create
a whole new creek on this place,” he teased, walking to the water bucket and taking a drink. Ellen watched him. Yes. He moved a little slower, although he looked as strong as ever. She hadn’t realized it before, but he didn’t seem as nimble, and there were tired lines of hard living on his face, new ones that were not there before. He caught her look and scowled at her. “An expectant mother should look happier than that, Ellen. You have life in your belly, which should only remind you that for every life that is lost more than one comes into this world. People go on—life goes on.”

He walked to Abbie, taking the small knife from her hands and pulling her out of the chair. “You and I are going to Pueblo for a few days, Abbie-girl. Hal tells me he heard there’s a circus there, with those strange animals we’ve never seen—elephants and tigers and such. I want to see them. Sounds like fun, don’t you think?”

She met his eyes as he pulled her close. “Pueblo? But … your work here—”

“To hell with it. Morgan and Jason can handle it. You and I are going to have some fun. I want to see if elephants really are bigger than buffalo. And maybe we’ll go square dancing. They even have a playhouse, I’m told, where you can go and watch actors put on a real live show. You can buy a new dress or anything else you want.”

“But, Zeke—”

He kissed her lightly, then pulled back, and she knew he wanted to do one last nice thing for her. She felt like a condemned person, but he pleaded with his eyes that she not think about it. “It’s been a hard winter, Abbie-girl. I want to be alone with you—do something different—show you something exciting. And I want you to see a doctor while we’re there. Maybe he can fix you up with some kind of tonic. You haven’t looked this way since—” He thought of the time she’d collapsed and seemed to be slowly dying, after Jeremy was born and Zeke had refused to come to her bed anymore, for fear another pregnancy would kill her. She needed him in every way. What was she going to do when he wasn’t there at all? Somehow he had to prepare her. “Since Jeremy was born,” he finished. “I’m worried about you.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re worried about me? Don’t you have things a little backward?”

He grinned and kissed her forehead. “Say you’ll go to Pueblo with me. And promise me you’ll have a good time.”

She rested her head against his chest. “I’ll go.”

In spite of Abbie’s worry over her husband, she had to admit that the trip was a good idea. She doubted that in her whole life she had had a better time than that memorable week. Both of them felt like children at the sight of the strange animals from another land. Zeke was surprised at the size of the elephants. And there were camels with humped backs, as well as striped tigers and men who actually went into cages with them, ordering them around with a whip. Zeke commented that he’d like a job like that, something daring and dangerous. They watched people fly through the air on the trapeze and a man walked on a tightrope, all under a huge tent. They ate popcorn dripping with caramel candy and watched painted clowns walking around on stilts. It was the most unusual thing either of them had ever seen, and Abbie wished Jason and Ellen and the others could see it, deciding that if this thing called a circus came back to Pueblo, the children should come.

They both actually laughed, more than they had laughed in months. Zeke bought her a dress, and they attended a packed barn dance, Zeke wearing a bright blue calico shirt with bloused sleeves that accented his broad shoulders. He wore white man’s cotton pants and leather boots, his hair neatly braided to one side, beads decorating it. He was the picture of stunning handsomeness, and Abbie did not miss the fact that many women there stole glances at the tall, dark Indian man; nor was Zeke unaware that several men were appreciating his wife’s beauty. At forty-eight, Abbie looked fifteen years younger. She had always been blessed with youthful looks, and even though now she looked like a woman in her thirties, she carried that look with stunning beauty.

Both of them surprised others there when they danced a waltz with smooth flow, laughing inwardly at the surprise in the eyes of some of the people, who did not expect a man like
Zeke Monroe to be able to dance at all. He was proud of his Abbie, as she moved with graceful beauty in the soft green sheathlike, form-fitting dress, its skirt consisting of tier after tier of silk ruffles. The dress was fitted at her small waist, the bodice low enough to reveal the fullness of her bosom and edged in lace. She was still a beautiful woman, and he buried the torture of wondering if and when she would take another man after he was gone. He could not blame her if she did, and knew her well enough to realize she would not settle for anything but the best. If Abigail Trent Monroe gave herself to anyone again, he would be a good man, an honorable man, one who would not disgrace the memory of her first husband.

They danced for hours, mostly square dances, some of the women giving flirting looks to Zeke when they could get away with it, most of them curious about him and his white woman. A few were not allowed to participate in the square dancing because when they had to change partners their husbands did not want them “touching” an Indian. Both Zeke and Abbie were aware of some of the prejudice there, but neither let it bother them. They were here to have fun, and they were having it.

The week went by much too quickly. They had not spoken of sad things or of the future. They had only enjoyed the present, making love every night. All too soon they were on their way back to the ranch, but in no hurry, and one night before getting home Zeke took out his mandolin. She had not asked why he packed it in the first place, and it had been years since he had played it for her. When first she met him on the wagon train, he had surprised everyone when he played the haunting strings and sang Tennessee mountain songs for the travelers. His melodic voice, his ear for the perfect tone, and the beautiful songs he sang enraptured everyone. Most of the songs were his own, made up during all the many hours he had spent alone as a small boy, in the swamps behind his father’s house.

A small campfire glowed nearby, and Abbie sat beside him as he strummed the strings of the instrument she loved so much, humming softly. “Thought I’d sing you a few songs, Abbie-girl, like I used to do,” he told her quietly.

She smiled. “Will you sing that mountain song I love
so much?”

He nodded, then stopped for a moment. “Didn’t you miss Tennessee, Abbie, at any time over all these years?”

She picked up a stick and traced it in the sand. “A little—but just at first. After being with you it didn’t matter anymore.”

Crickets sang loudly across the plains, and stars shone down on them. They felt like the only two people in the world. But in the distance a train whistle reminded them that they were not. He picked at the strings again for a moment.

“Promise me you’ll remember me like this, Abbie,” he spoke up, meeting her eyes. She just stared at him, her throat constricting. It was the first time he had hinted that this trip had been a last good time together. “Still strong, not too old-looking yet. If ten men came here tonight wanting to take you, I’d fight them all off.”

She managed a smile. “Of course you would,” she said in a near whisper.

“Remember me this way, Abbie. That’s why it has to be. I don’t want you to remember me old and broken. I was always strong for you, my back always straight, my skills sharp. All you need is to look at Wolf’s Blood to remember me.” He shook his head. “My God, we’ve been through a lot, Abbie-girl. Thirty-three years is a long time. I’ll never forget how you looked that day I was going to ride out to find your sister and wouldn’t let you go along. You actually pointed your pa’s old Spencer at me and told me I’d better let you go or else.” He strummed some more. “’Course, I hadn’t put my brand on you yet, but I wanted you more than ever right then.” He gave her a wink. “And I never thought for a moment you’d pull that trigger.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll never forget the winter I waited for you at Fort Bridger after you took the rest of them to Oregon. I was so scared you wouldn’t come back, Zeke. The day you rode in was the happiest day of my life.”

He held her eyes. “I’d never have left you there. In all those years, I’ve always come back to you, haven’t I? Have I ever failed you?”

Her eyes teared more and she shook her head.

“You remember that, Abbie. And I’m telling you now that I
make another promise. When I die, I will still come back to you. I will be with you forever, just as alive in your heart and soul as if my body was lying next to you in the night.”