Meet the New Dawn (37 page)

She covered her face, memories reeling through her tortured mind. How young she had been then! How scared, until Zeke Monroe told her it was he who would remove the arrow, promising her he would stay with her even after she passed out. And when she had opened her eyes again, he was there, just as he had promised. Always he had been there in her greatest hour of need: rescuing her from peril, invading her in the night to satisfy her womanly desire for him, holding her when she needed comfort.

Wolf’s Blood put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right, Mother?”

She nodded, taking her hands from her face and looking at the platform again. Six months. Six months already since his death. But he had left four months before that. Ten months since that heated night they spent in the tipi, since they splashed and laughed and washed one another in the stream the next morning. They would never do such things again. Yet she knew he was only gone in body.

She stood up, staring at the platform a while longer, then turned to her son. “He isn’t really there, you know. That’s just a shell on that platform. His spirit is with us right now. He said he would always be with us. And he told me I would find him here, at the top of the mountain. I have to go higher, Wolf’s Blood, and I have to go alone.”

He frowned and rose, facing her. “That would be dangerous. There are more grizzlies around here, and other dangers. What if you fall? What if—”

“I have to go to the top of this mountain alone, and I’ll have no argument about it,” she told him flatly. “Zeke told me to go, and I am going. And since he told me, I am not afraid. His spirit will protect me. He will speak to the animals so that they don’t
harm me, and I will not fall.” She looked up past where the waterfall made its appearance from places higher up. The mountain rose higher on that side. It was a gradual rise, but very high. They were already several thousand feet up.

“I can get up there and back down by nightfall,” she told her son. “But if I do not come down until morning, do not be afraid. I don’t want you coming after me, understand? If a second day goes by, then you can come.”

He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“That makes little difference. I am going higher, and your father will come to me. Don’t you see, Wolf’s Blood? I don’t even care if I die up there. I can’t think of a better way to die than high on a mountain, climbing toward the heavens to meet my husband. But I won’t die, because he’ll be protecting me. And he told me once that I would live to be an old woman, that I would live among the People again and would find a way to help them. Nothing is going to happen to me here. I have too much to do yet.”

He sighed deeply, glancing at the rocky ridge high above them, so high that the few pine trees that dotted its top looked tiny. He looked back at his mother, a small but determined woman. He put his hands on his hips. “I can see why Father seldom bothered arguing with you about anything.” He looked up again. “I will let you go, but you must take my handgun and plenty of food and a good warm coat. It will be colder up there. Here we are out of the wind and it is warm.”

“I’ll take whatever you think I should take. Just don’t tell me that I can’t go.”

He scowled, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. But if it makes you happy, I will let you.” He walked away to prepare some gear for her, and she turned her eyes again to the platform.

“I’m coming, Zeke,” she said softly.

It was a difficult climb. She had purposely put on winter moccasins and worn a tunic beneath her buffalo robe coat. The weight of the coat hampered her climb, let alone the supplies Wolf’s Blood had packed onto her back. Her hair was blowing long and loose, the way Zeke always liked it, and she wore a
leather band around her forehead, Indian-style.

Her breathing was soon labored, and her hands bled from often grasping large boulders while she made sure of her footing. In some places she could walk vertical to the rising mountainside, weaving her way sideways instead of climbing straight up.

The first part of the climb had taken her through thick pine, then through bright green aspen. She grasped their white trunks to help her along. She ran into thick pine again, glancing around constantly to watch for bears. After about two hours of climbing, resting, climbing again, she emerged above the tree line, that invisible barrier where trees suddenly ended and the top part of the mountain was bald, or at least appeared that way from the ground below. Actually it was not bald at all, but was covered with green moss and an array of wildflowers, the colorful rocks decorated with green and orange lichen.

She climbed ever higher, the wind whipping at her now that she had emerged from the trees. The pine trees at the top of the rocky ridge were closer now, sparse, half-dead, and gnarled, for they didn’t belong there at all. Somehow they had grown there, but now were dying again, for this was a place where few things survived—God’s place and no one else’s. There would be no animals up here. Just the wind.

She turned to look out, gasping at the sight. She could see over several ranges of mountains now, peak after peak that stretched north and west. She was awed by the majesty of it. The wind groaned and whined through canyons and cervices, rushing past her with incredible force so that it was difficult to stand. She had never been this high, never seen such splendor. She felt small, so small and insignificant. She wondered if the men greedy for gold had ever stood in places like this and seen how unimportant were all the things they craved.

Memories roamed her mind again. How quickly life passed! What small things humans were! She had passed through forty-eight years of life in what sometimes seemed a day, and someday she would walk the heavens with Zeke and none of it would matter. She opened her arms, wishing she could embrace the mountains, wondering if perhaps she should stay there forever and ever, never going back to life and problems
and all the things so silly and unimportant.

Yet she knew she must go back. Her children needed her. Her grandchildren needed her. The Indians needed her. Yes, she would go back. Soon enough she would return to places like this and live forever with Zeke. She turned and kept climbing, and another hour found her at the very top.

She removed her heavy gear and spread out a blanket. Zeke had promised he would come to her here, and she believed him. She sat down on the blanket, and for another hour she simply stared out at the most breathless sight any human could wish to see. If there was a place on earth that resembled heaven at all, this had to be the place. And surely it was close to heaven, for some of the distant peaks were shrouded by clouds, others rising above the clouds. Below her a cloud moved with misty silence, but she was above it, and the sun shone down, bringing little warmth in such high places. The wind howled and whipped at her hair, and she waited.…

The afternoon grew late, and the long climb and high altitude took their toll. She lay down on the blanket and was soon asleep. How long she slept she was not sure, but she suddenly awakened when she thought she heard Zeke call to her again. She sat up straight. The sun was lower, shining through two peaks behind her and lighting up the sea of mountains in front of her with splendid colors.

She stood up, her heart pounding. Far in the distance she could see an eagle floating silently on the wind. For some reason she could not remove her eyes from the eagle. She grabbed hold of a gnarled, hardened pine tree with one hand, steadying herself as she watched the great bird come closer to where she stood, circling, dipping, circling, its wings spread majestically, its white crown gleaming in the sunlight.

Her eyes would not leave the bird. It was overhead now, high above her, circling, circling. It dipped lower, and for some reason she was not afraid. Was it coming to attack her? Was she near its nest? No. It didn’t seem to be after her, yet it came ever closer. She stood frozen in place as it dipped very near then, circling around where she stood. It called out several times, an eerie screech, as though it were truly trying to talk to her. Shivers went down her spine as it came even closer. She
did not budge as it circled so close then that a tip of its wing touched her cheek.

It began circling a wider arc again, and she felt weak, “Zeke!” she whispered.

It called out once more, circling close, a wing tip touching her cheek again. Then it circled away, its great wings floating up and down, then spreading still again, as it let the wind carry it. Tears welled in her eyes, and her throat constricted. “Zeke!” she whispered again.

It was him! Of course it was! His spirit was in the eagle. Wasn’t his Indian name Lone Eagle? Didn’t he consider the bird his sign, his protector? The bird soared in magnificent form then, and its perfection and beauty reminded her of her perfect and beautiful husband. This was his sign! This was his way of telling her he lived and was with her! His spirit was not dead! Of course not! Men like Zeke Monroe did not die!

“Zeke!” she called out then. Tears streamed down her face. “I love you! I love you, Zeke Monroe!”

The bird called out again, and she watched it circle, around and around, then slowly drift away, circling again, drifting away, finally disappearing into a cloud. She stared at the spot, but the eagle was gone.

She stood transfixed, shivering, but at peace. A glorious feeling came over her that she had never felt before. Fear left her. Sorrow left her. She felt strength warming her blood and bones. She would be what her Zeke had expected of her—strong and brave. She was Abigail Trent Monroe. She had survived things few humans could survive. And she had done it for him. Now she would do this for him.

She smiled and cried at the same time. She was still Zeke Monroe’s woman. His death didn’t change that. Nothing could change the fact that she belonged to him, and he to her. She had not disappointed him in life, nor would she disappoint him in death.

“I love you!” she cried out again. Her words were carried away in the wind, over the many peaks. Did he hear them? Of course he heard, for the mountains heard, the wind heard, the eagle had heard. He had come to her, just as he had promised before death! He was not dead at all! He was just gone for a
while, and some day she would rejoin him. Then they could both soar among the mountains, greet the sun, and walk on the clouds.

She sank to the blanket. The sun was setting. She would bundle up and stay here the night, going down in the morning. Her heart was lighter. She would make it now. She could bear the next few years, for she had her children and grandchildren, and she knew Zeke was with her, wherever she went.

She was suddenly hungry. She chewed on a piece of jerked meat and ate some jam and bread. Moments later she fell into an exhausted and peaceful sleep. And while she slept, the eagle returned, perching on the gnarled pine tree beside her. It made no sound. It only watched her. When she awoke in the morning, it was gone. But a feather was caught in the bark of the tree. She caught sight of it, picking it off the tree with a trembling hand. Her eyes widened and her heart pounded. She looked around, but saw nothing. She looked up into the heavens then.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Surely God had been good to her after all. He had brought her Zeke Monroe, in life and in death. She shoved the feather into her dress, next to her heart.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Anna Gale took a quick look in a hall mirror, patting the sides of her upswept hair and fretting again over the gray that was showing around the temples. The once beautiful and notorious prostitute of Denver still had a fine shape to her, although a few pounds heavier. Her eyes were still clear and provocative in their beauty. But she was fifty now, and time was beginning to tell.

The “respectable” boarding house she ran now was quiet, most of its occupants off working or shopping in midday. She walked to the front door, her taffeta dress rustling. She could see the shadows of two figures through the fancy frosted glass of the door, and she opened it with a smile.

Anna’s smile quickly faded as she stared at a woman she had not seen in years, and a man who took her breath away. He was a replica of Zeke Monroe, and yet he couldn’t be Zeke. Zeke would be much older now. How many years had it been since she had seen him? Fourteen? Fifteen?

“Hello, Anna,” Abbie spoke up. “May we come in?”

The woman was speechless. Why on earth would Abigail Monroe come to see her, of all people? She stepped aside without saying a word, her eyes moving from Abbie back to the handsome Indian man with her. Old desires and a long-buried love was stirred in Anna Gale’s soul as she stared at the man, closing the door. She looked back at Abbie.

“Abigail Monroe! You … you’ve hardly changed, Abbie.”

Abbie studied the woman who at one time would have gladly
stolen Zeke from her. She had aged, but prettily. “Nor have you,” she told the woman.

Anna smiled nervously, touching her hair again. “You needn’t try to be so kind, Abbie. I am perfectly aware that I have changed a great deal.”

Abbie smiled softly, turning to the Indian man, who glanced around the house as though someone had just caged him up. “This is our son Wolf’s Blood, Anna. He was just a boy when you last saw him, twelve or so, I think. He’s thirty-three now, and I must say he’s nervous as a she-cat with new cubs. He hates cities as much as his father did, but I insisted he bring me here. I thought I should see you once more, and I intended to find our son Jeremy, but—”

She stopped talking, noticing Anna paling visibly. The woman grasped the back of a chair, staring at Abbie. “You said … as much as his father … did?” She accented the word “did,” and Abbie’s eyes sorrowed.

“I’m sorry. I … didn’t mean for it to come out quite that way.” She swallowed. “Zeke is dead, Anna.”

The woman just stared at her. She looked then at Wolf’s Blood. Surely Zeke was not dead, for here he stood, in all his masculine splendor! But no. This was the son.

“I’m sorry, Anna. But I thought you would want to know.”

The woman swallowed, her eyes quickly filling with tears. “He … can’t be. Men like Zeke … don’t die!”

Abbie stepped up and took the woman’s arm. “All men die, Anna. We are surrounded by life … and death.” She patted her arm. “Is there someplace we can go and sit down?”

A tear ran down Anna’s face, and she put her hand over Abbie’s. “My God, how can you bear it?” she whispered.

“We all have things that we must bear,” Abbie replied. “That’s the way life is. I had to accept it, or lose my mind.”

Anna’s lips quivered, and she covered her mouth with her hand, putting an arm around Abbie and leading her to the parlor. How could they be enemies now? Their differences had been many years ago, and though Anna Gale had tried, no woman could take Zeke Monroe from his Abbie, so no real harm had been done.

Anna sat down in a plush velvet chair, hunching over and
crying quietly. She took a handkerchief from a pocket of her dress and blew her nose, while Abbie sat down on a loveseat and Wolf’s Blood walked to stare out a window at the busy street. Denver had grown tremendously since he was here once as a young boy. Not even a fire nearly twenty years ago could stop its growth. He remembered his father talking about a time not so long ago when there was nothing at all in this place but wild land, until someone discovered gold along a creek.

“I can’t believe it,” Anna was saying between sobs. “Such a … beautiful man … so strong and powerful … so skilled … so wild and free.”

“His spirit still lives,” Abbie replied. “I am sure of it, and that helps me go on. And every time I look at Wolf’s Blood, I know that Zeke still lives.”

Anna blew her nose again, glancing at the tall, broad, muscular young man standing at the window, wearing buckskins, his hair long. She remembered a time when Zeke Monroe had come to her needing information about a sister-in-law and Winston Garvey. How long ago had that happened in Santa Fe? Twenty-five years at least. A ravishing, man-hungry Anna Gale had made Zeke pay dearly for the information—with his body, servicing her like a stud bull because it was the only way she would tell him what he wanted to know. That had been a mistake on Anna’s part, for she had not expected to fall in love with the man. After that one night she didn’t see him again for years, until he got in trouble once while in Denver and Anna used her wiles with the sheriff to help Zeke. It was then she had met Abbie, for they were in Denver so Abigail could have an operation to prevent her from having any more children.

The two women came to know one another. Abbie forced herself to forgive Anna Gale and befriend the woman, for she had saved Zeke from a hanging. Anna in turn developed a great respect and admiration for the woman Zeke was married to, readily understanding his devotion to his Abbie. How Anna wished she could be like her, but her life of prostitution had been carved out for her when she was an orphaned youngster, before she even came west.

Anna wiped at her eyes. “You’re lucky to have your son—to
have someone close who is such a fine example that Zeke does live.” She blew her nose again. “Oh, Abbie, how? How did it happen?”

“He was scouting for the Army. He was at Fort Robinson, trying to convince some Northern Cheyenne to come back to the reservation in the South. There was a skirmish. The Cheyenne tried to run away, and killed some soldiers. Zeke decided to help his people rather than the Army. He killed a soldier and was shot.”

Anna shook her head. “But he’s been in so many scrapes, so many battles, Abbie. How did he suddenly get so careless?”

Abbie toyed with the strings of her purse. She had dressed in white woman’s fashion for her trip to Denver, wearing a stylish dress of mint green, Zeke’s favorite color on her. Her hair was swept upward and covered with a feathered hat. She sighed deeply, struggling to stay in control of herself.

“He … wanted to die fighting, Anna. He had a crippling disease—arthritis. It got very bad … so he could barely walk and it was torture for him to ride a horse. He had warned me long before that he would not die a crippled old man. He died the only way a man like Zeke can die, Anna.”

The woman nodded. “I see. And I agree. It’s hard to believe someone like Zeke could get any kind of disease.”

Abbie stared at her lap. “It was hard for all of us to believe. But he was riddled with old wounds and scars, Anna. For all any of us know, perhaps that had something to do with it. It’s hard to say. He was the worst in the winter time, and in damp weather. He put up with it for several years before finally deciding he could not bear another winter, afraid that the next one would put him in bed to stay. He … took his last chance at dying with honor.”

Anna sniffed and dabbed at her eyes again. “I can’t believe this! It’s like a bad dream.”

Abbie swallowed. “I know. It is for me, too, but I’m learning to adjust. Wolf’s Blood and I have been to the place in the mountains where he left the body—on an Indian platform.” She would not tell the woman about her experience on the mountaintop. Only Wolf’s Blood knew, and no one else would. It was a personal thing, something no one else would ever
believe or understand. And it gave her new strength.

“When did all this happen?” Anna asked in a choked voice.

“It was early last January. It’s been nearly seven months now.”

Anna breathed deeply and rose, walking over to Wolf’s Blood. He studied the woman curiously, aware of the part she had played in his father’s life, for in their many talks Zeke had often mentioned Anna Gale. He could see the beauty the woman once carried, for she was still beautiful, even at her age. She looked at him lovingly, and he caught a brief glimpse of the way she must have once gazed at his father, a fiery twinkle in her eye for just a moment, a daring, hungry look. But it lasted only briefly, and her eyes teared again as she looked at him.

“You’re a good son, bringing your mother here like this—taking her to the mountains. This must have been very, very hard on you, Wolf’s Blood. I know you and your father were very close. He talked about you all the time.” She reddened slightly then, wondering if she should have said that. She turned and met Abbie’s eyes. “Abbie, about that time a few years ago, when Zeke came here to take Margaret out of that brothel and stayed here at the boarding house—”

“I don’t want to even bother talking about it,” Abbie interrupted. “We were going through a bad time then. Margaret had run off, LeeAnn had been carried away by Comanches, and our little Lillian died. Zeke was going through a terrible guilt, thinking I would be better off without him. I knew what he would do when he came here—knew he’d do everything he could to prove to himself he could get by without me. But it’s all water over the dam now, Anna. And in some ways you helped him a great deal. That’s all that matters.”

Their eyes held, and Anna’s teared more again. “I loved him,” she said in a husky voice, holding her chin proudly.

She saw no animosity in Abbie’s eyes. “I know that,” Abbie replied. She rose from her chair. “Why don’t we go and have some tea, Anna? I’ll tell you what’s happening with the children, and the grandchildren.”

The woman breathed deeply and smiled gratefully. Yes, Abigail Monroe was a woman of quality and gentle understanding. “Grandchildren?” she asked. “I never even considered
… My how time flies! How many do you have?”

“There are five now—at least that we know of. Our daughter LeeAnn went east several years ago, and I am afraid has decided she wants nothing to do with Colorado or her Indian heritage anymore. We have completely lost touch. If she has any children, we wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, Abbie, that’s terrible! How sad! Then the girl doesn’t even know her father has died!” She led Abbie toward the kitchen, the two of them still talking. Wolf’s Blood stared out the window again at the fancy office building on a distant hill where they had gone to find his brother Jeremy, only to discover the man was in Europe with his high-society wife. They had learned from those who knew him at the office that Jeremy had no children, and that his wife did not want any. When the man they spoke with asked if he could give Jeremy a message, Abbie had simply stared at him with cold eyes.

“Tell him his father is dead,” she had said flatly.

The man frowned. “His father? But … ma’am … he told us his father died a long time ago—some rancher down in Texas.”

Never had Wolf’s Blood felt more sorry for his mother than at that moment. She had wavered, and he wondered if she would faint. He had taken her arm. “Let’s get out of here, Mother.”

“But … who shall I say was here?” the man asked. “And I’m afraid I’m very confused here.”

Abbie managed to stay calm. “Who we are apparently doesn’t matter to him,” she answered. “You tell him a white woman and an Indian man were here—and that they came to tell him his father is dead. He’ll know who it was.” She had turned and walked to the door, then stopped, looking back. “And tell him we hope he had a nice time in Europe.”

However much the incident had hurt his poor mother, Wolf’s Blood couldn’t tell. Her only statement was that she was glad Zeke had not lived to know just how badly his own son had deserted him, and she declared that she did not want to speak of Jeremy again.

Wolf’s Blood clenched his fists. How he would love to batter his brother’s face. He had never told her of the time he and
Zeke had seen Jeremy in Dodge City. Zeke had said not to mention it, wanting to save Abbie the hurt. But she had been hurt anyway.

He gazed beyond the buildings to the mountains that loomed all along the horizon. Out there, far to the South, lay the
Sangre de Cristo
’s, and his father’s burial place. It was done now. They would probably never go back there again. There was no use in hoping none of it was true, no use in hoping to see Zeke Monroe come riding over a ridge on one of his grand Appaloosas. Going to the site with his mother had helped him realize that himself, even though his father had died in his arms. It was over, and Zeke Monroe rested peacefully in a beautiful green cove deep in the mountains, where only animals dwelled and water thundered and splashed nearby to keep him company. It was time to go home—to Sonora, to the ranch. It was time to go on living. He would have to be strong on his own. There was no Zeke to turn to for strength and advice, no Zeke to talk to over campfires, to smoke the prayer pipe with, to race with. That was the hardest part. There would be no more morning rides. But he had memories—precious, precious memories—and when he closed his eyes and tried very hard, he could be with his father, could hear his voice, almost talk with him again. And he could remember a man about his own age, riding with a small Indian boy beside him, racing toward the sun.

Charles Garvey rose to greet his visitor, who had refused to give his name to the secretary. His eyes widened when the young man entered, for he looked familiar, and Garvey quickly remembered he was the same person who had argued with him in public over Indians a few years earlier. His eyes hardened, and when Joshua put out his hand Garvey refused to take it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly.

Joshua only smiled. He took a chair, then took a cigar from a box on Garvey’s desk and lit it. Garvey reddened with anger, sitting down himself.

“Quite a successful man now, aren’t you, Charles?” he commented, puffing the cigar.

Charles closely scrutinized the handsome man before him, perhaps ten years younger than himself, with hazel eyes. The only thing that detracted from his fine looks and build was that he also walked with a limp, only he needed more than a cane to assist him. This young man wore a brace, which showed through at his foot where it wrapped around his shoe.