Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny) (37 page)

She nudged her horse forward, but that trip to the wagon train was the longest and hardest journey of her life. They rode the rest of the way without saying another word, Zeke staying ahead of her deliberately to keep from talking to her. His stubborn mind was made up.

They reached the wagon train and he went about his business, answering questions from the men while Mrs. Hanes whisked Abbie away, fussing about the awful experience they’d all had and carrying on about poor David and LeeAnn. She insisted that Abbie change into a nightgown right away and lie down to rest from the terrible journey.

Abbie blindly obeyed, feeling numb and weary, yet she could not sleep, for her heart was heavy with awful loneliness. She kept thinking about the cave and remembering those quiet days with Zeke. The cave was far away now, and she’d never see it again—just like she’d never see her family again, or even their graves. She was filled with desperation and black sorrow. It was all over now. Everything was over.

Sixteen

Abbie awoke to hear Willis Brown shout, “Indians!” She was not sure what time it was or how long she had slept after finally managing to get her restless mind to settle down. Now she awoke reluctantly, realizing just how worn out she truly was from that horrible encounter with Givens and his men and the aching loneliness brought on by her family tragedy and by her love for Zeke. She started to drift off again when she realized people were rushing around outside and guns were being cocked. She stretched, rubbed her eyes, and moved to the back of the wagon. The sun’s position told her it was late afternoon. She’d slept all the night before, and on Mrs. Hanes’s insistence, she’d stayed inside the wagon and slept most of the day, while Olin led her oxen. She had seen nothing of Zeke since they’d gotten back, and she surmised he would make sure she continued to see little of him as they headed for Fort Bridger, where he was to leave them. That recurring thought brought back the awful ache to her heart, but it was dimmed somewhat by the excitement
of the moment.

The wagons were circling, and people were bustling about, pulling the stock inside the circle. Mr. Hanes was shoving his children inside their wagon, and Mrs. Hanes was hurrying over to Abbie’s wagon.

“What’s wrong?” Abbie asked, as the woman came closer.

“Indians are coming—quite a lot of them,” the woman replied. “Zeke says they’re Crow, and he doesn’t completely trust them. Crow like to make war. He said you were to stay inside the wagon, Abigail. All the women are to stay inside.”

“But Zeke will be right in the middle of things!” Abbie protested without thinking. She searched her trunk for a clean dress. “I want to be out there! I want to see! What if he gets hurt?”

Mrs. Hanes grabbed her arm. “Abbie, the orders are for the women to stay inside. You know how important it is to do what Zeke and Olin say. They know what’s best.”

Abbie’s heart pounded with apprehension. All she could think of was Zeke. It was as though she had an obligation to be at his side. After all, she loved him, and until they reached Fort Bridger, she still considered that she belonged to him, and he to her, even though he continued to insist they must not think that way. Her eyes teared as she heard the men’s voices; but she pulled her arm away and removed her gown, revealing the scratches and faint bruises still left from Givens’ men. Mrs. Hanes noticed them and looked away, as Abbie pulled on a slip, insisting she had to go. She picked up her dress, but Mrs. Hanes grabbed it from her.

“No, Abbie!”

“But, he’s all alone!”

“And how would it look for you to go running out there, dashing up to his side?” the woman asked gently.

Abbie blushed, suddenly realizing how revealing she’d been about her feelings. Her eyes teared more, and she turned away. Mrs. Hanes touched her shoulder.

“Abbie, I’m a woman, too. Did you really think I don’t know that you love him?”

Abbie swallowed and sniffed. “Nobody … is supposed to know. He doesn’t want anyone to know … for fear of me getting a bad name. But he loves me, too. He truly does, and I don’t care who knows it!” She burst into tears, and Mrs. Hanes put her arms around her. Abbie cried against her shoulder, longing for her own mother.

“But Zeke
does
care, Abbie. And if you truly love him, you have to let it be
his
way, because he’s older and he’s been through more, and he knows what’s best. He’s just looking out for you. That’s all.”

“But if … if you know, then everybody must know!” Abbie sobbed.

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. Perhaps a few just suspect. No one has said anything as far as I know.” She stroked the girl’s hair. “And what is the truth about what happened out there, Abbie? I saw your bruises. Did Givens’ men get hold of you?”

The girl just cried harder for a moment, and Mrs. Hanes held her tightly. “You poor child! Did they … rape you?”

“No,” the girl choked out. “Zeke got there first.” She pulled away from the woman. “Oh, you should have seen him, Mrs. Hanes!” she added, grabbing a
handkerchief to blow her nose. “He got them all—all of them! He was magnificent—everywhere at once! I never saw a man like Cheyenne Zeke! Not ever! He’s the most wonderful, strongest, bravest, and yet the kindest and gentlest and—” Their eyes met and Abbie blush deepened before she looked away. “I don’t care what you think,” Abbie added in a near whisper. “I would never have wanted it to be any other man but him. And I’ll never love another man or let another man touch me—not ever!” When she bent over and cried more, Mrs. Hanes touched her head.

“Oh, Abbie, Abbie! You’ve let yourself in for a terrible, terrible hurt. And so has Zeke. It’s such a shame the circumstances are what they are.”

“It’s for sure … an awful ache, Mrs. Hanes,” the girl sobbed. “I hurt … so bad! So many awful things have happened. But … it feels good to tell somebody. It’s so hard … to keep it inside.”

“Of course it is.”

Abbie’s body jerked in quiet sobs for a few minutes, while Mrs. Hanes just sat stroking her hair, aching for this half-woman, half-child whose mind and heart were so torn. What a terrible trip this had been for her! Abbie blew her nose again and sat up, wiping at her eyes.

“You don’t … think I’m bad?” she whimpered.

Mrs. Hanes smiled softly. “What a woman does when she’s in love is never bad, Abbie. And I’m very sure Zeke knows that, too. But after what he’s been through, he’s so afraid of what others
would
think. If he’s asked you to keep it hidden, then that’s what you must do.”

Abbie sniffed and pulled on her dress. “He’s …
leaving the train … when we get to Fort Bridger,” she told the woman. “He said he could find good scouts there to finish the trip. He thinks it’s best … to leave before we get to Oregon … be on his way and never … see me again.” She pressed her lips together, a new wave of tears wanting to come.

“Oh, Abbie, I’m so sorry,” the woman said with sincere sympathy. “But we’ll take good care of you. You’ll have a home with us, and in time your heart and mind will heal. You’ll grow into a woman and you’ll meet another man. Life will be good for you.”

Abbie shook her head. “It will never be good for me, not without Zeke. And I
am
a woman.
He
made me that. Besides that I even killed one of Givens’ men myself, and I dug a bullet out of Zeke and nursed him back to life. We have something special. Something I’ll never have with another man.” She breathed deeply to stop the tears. “It … feels good to tell somebody. I thank you for listening and not condemning me, ma’am. I need a friend I can talk to.”

The woman leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be your friend, Abbie. And I agree. You’ve been through too much to be called a child any longer. I’m very sorry—about you and Zeke. Whatever happens, we will support you, Abigail. And for now I’ll keep the secret, too.” She squeezed the girl’s hand. “I must get back to my own children, Abbie. Please promise you’ll stay inside the wagon like Zeke asked. He’d be very upset if you got out. You wouldn’t want to upset him at a time when he needs to concentrate on those Crow Indians, would you?”

Abbie sighed. “I guess not. I can peek, though, can’t I?”

The woman smiled. “I suppose. Just don’t let those Crow see you!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hanes patted her arm and left the wagon, and Abbie scurried to the front, folding back the canvas and staring out to the place where the men had gathered outside the circle of wagons. She spotted Zeke right away, standing out ahead of the others and waiting as a large band of Crow men approached; the rest of the tribe had halted far in the distance. This time Zeke did not paint himself or brush out his hair, and Abbie suspected to do so was a sign of respect and that he felt little of that for the Crow. He appeared to be determined to simply act relaxed and unafraid. He leaned on his rifle and lit a cheroot, smoking casually as the Crow warriors came closer. Her heart pounded with pride and fear.

Perhaps the Crow did not put fear into Zeke’s heart, but they put fear into the hearts of the rest of the travelers. They wore paint: black on their faces, white around their eyes, and yellow and black over their chests and arms. Abbie watched Morris Connely, who stood a little behind the others, wipe his brow. Apparently Zeke had ordered all the men to walk out and greet the Crow, but Connely was not too happy about the decision. Willis Brown stood staring with his arms folded in front of him, and the preacher stood next to him. Abbie prayed both of them would keep their mouths shut and let Zeke do the talking.

The apparent leader of the band of Crow men rode forward, sitting proudly on his mount in front of Zeke. He looked Zeke over, while Zeke glared back at him. Then the Crow grinned.

“You are tall, and your moccasins are fringed with square designs on the toe.” The man spoke in a deep voice. “You have the look of a Cheyenne about you.”

Zeke shifted his feet. “Perhaps that’s because my mother
is
Cheyenne,” he replied.

“And your father?” the Crow asked.

“Hugh Monroe, from Tennessee.”

The Crow burst into laughter and his Pinto pony whinnied and tossed its head.

“A half-breed,” the Crow sneered. He raised his chin a little. “I am called Iron Hand, and I am
all
Indian!
Crow
Indian! A true Cheyenne would not be afraid to do battle with a Crow, were it not for some of the yellow, white man’s blood that runs in his veins!”

Zeke shifted again, taking the rifle and slowly handing it back to Kelsoe, then throwing down his cheroot. “Why don’t you climb down off that horse and we’ll find out just how much Cheyenne blood I’ve got in me,” he replied calmly. The Crow eyed the big blade he wore on his belt.

“I do not fight with a man whose name I do not know,” he replied proudly.

“Glad to oblige,” Zeke replied. “I’m called Cheyenne Zeke.” The Crow seemed to flinch a little and a flash of fear shone in his eyes for a fraction of a second, but he quickly forced it away. He nodded.

“I have heard of you among my people,” he answered, still sitting straight and proud.

“Then maybe you know how I got the scar on my cheek, and what happened to the Crow Indian who put it there,” he answered. “I’d be glad to give you a demonstration if you like.”

The Crow grinned slightly, obviously struggling to
figure a way out of the predicament into which he’d put himself.

“Let it be known that the Crow and the Cheyenne have come to peace,” he finally answered. “I did not come here to fight you, Cheyenne, only to test you out. We are here to trade.” He rode the Pinto in a circle around Zeke.

“And just what do you have to trade?” Zeke asked. “And what do you want in return?”

The Crow scanned the wagons and grinned evilly. “You have … women perhaps?”

“Not to trade,” Zeke answered. “We can give you food—maybe a couple of horses.”

The Crow chuckled. “We need no food or horses. But we can trade some horses to you … for rifles and whiskey.”

Now Zeke grinned a little. “No way. Food’s all we’ll bargain with—and a few horses. It’s all we have to offer.”

Iron Hand’s grin faded. “You are in no position to argue!” he said haughtily, as another Indian who had remained farther back with the rest of the tribe began riding forward.

“We all shoot straight,” Zeke answered, watching the rider in the distance. “But we’ve done you no harm, and you’ve no reason to do us harm. I was of the opinion that the Crow wanted peace now. Do you intend to dishonor the Crow name?”

The Crow smiled a little again. “You speak with a clever tongue. Will you trade for tobacco?”

“We can give you some.”

The Crow backed his horse. “I will discuss it with my warriors.” The approaching Indian came closer,
and it was obvious to Abbie that he was not a Crow. He was dressed differently, especially to the fact that he wore a turban. She’d seen few Cherokee in Tennessee, as most had already been run out by the time she was old enough to think about Indians, but she knew by the turban that this odd-looking Indian did not belong on the Plains. He belonged in the Smoky mountains of Tennessee and Kentucky. He was Cherokee. She frowned with curiosity and her heart pounded with fear at the ensuing few seconds and events. At first, no one was sure why the Cherokee was with the Crow or why he had suddenly ridden forward; but as he came closer, scanning the settlers, his eyes rested on Connely. There was a brief moment of almost stunned recognition between the two men, then Connely paled and turned, fleeing to the inside of the circle of wagons and ducking down behind his own wagon wheel, panting and sweating as though greatly afraid.

Zeke frowned with curiosity himself, totally confused at this sudden turn of events. The Cherokee began ranting and raving at Iron Hand in the Crow tongue, while Zeke kept looking from them to the spot where Connely had disappeared inside the circle, his expression changing from confusion to anger as the Crow and the Cherokee argued heatedly. He apparently knew what they were saying, and it most definitely had something to do with Connely, as Zeke continued to look back, his own eyes growing angrier and more disgusted by the minute.