Embrace the Wild Land (10 page)

“You’d best get under the covers,” he told her. She could see his dashing, handsome smile in the dim light. “I’ll warm you up soon enough.”

In spite of the darkness he knew she was blushing, and it excited him as it always did, for in so many ways she was still the little girl he had claimed and married those many years ago. And in spite of his own strength and power, she had a hold over him, this small woman whom he could easily break into little pieces with his bare hands. Yet those big hands held nothing but gentleness for his woman, and she had a way of making him feel weak.

She climbed under the robes, which they preferred to regular blankets, for in winter they were much warmer. In moments her body heat warmed the soft fur of the skins that made their bed. She watched him undress, taking in the hard muscle and commanding physique. In the next moment he moved in beside her under the robes and naked bodies touched in familiar but still exciting moves, for each knew exactly how to please the other now. He moved over her with expert hands and lips, whispering words of love, their lovemaking synchronized to perfection over years of touching and loving and sharing bodies in the ultimate expression of that love. She soon felt the rippling pulsations of intense desire, and her body cried out for him.

He moved on top of her, his lips lingering on her breasts, then her throat, as he moved between her slim thighs. She felt his long hair brush against her bare skin
as it hung over his shoulders while he bent over her. In the next moment her Cheyenne warrior was surging into her, taking his pleasure in her and giving her pleasure in return. They moved in perfect rhythm, loving, sharing, giving and taking, each under the other’s power, each feeling weak from it. This was her man, and she had chosen well. When she was with Zeke Monroe, she never had to be afraid.

She arched up to him in sweet abandon, whispering his name and grasping his arms tightly, and he drank in the beauty of her small form beneath his body, always amazed that he could invade her this way without hurting her.

“Abbie, my Abbie!” he whispered. He came down close against her, enveloping her in his powerful arms as his life poured into her small body. “Abbie,” he groaned again, suddenly feeling a terrible fear of his own and feeling like a small boy who was going to be left all alone. He had been too lonely all his life. This woman was his only refuge from that lonely world, his only link to love and happiness.

She felt the urgency of his embrace and she kissed his chest. “We have this moment, Zeke,” she told him softly. “Let’s lie here in each other’s arms and not think about tomorrow.”

She felt him shudder, and he pulled her close against himself as he rolled to his side. He layed his cheek against hers, and she felt a wetness. And she knew this was one of those moments when even Zeke Monroe was afraid. He was a man of fierce pride and courage and strength, a man of vicious vengeance and superb fighting skills. It was not man or the elements he feared. Rather, it was the things he could not see, the intangible, the element of fate that frightened Zeke Monroe. He feared where destiny and his Indian blood might lead him, pulling his loved ones with him. It was that
secret side of him that only Abbie had seen and understood—the fear of the lonely little boy that dwelled within the man. And it was that tiny, vulnerable part of him that she loved the most. No one but Abbie knew this hidden part of the man who was called Lone Eagle.

They lay in each other’s arms, each drawing strength from the other, each praying to his and her own gods. Soon they were asleep, as the treasured mantle clock ticked softly and the unfinished snow moccasins lay in the rocker. Abigail Monroe would not return to her sewing this night.

Eight

Sweet-smelling smoke wafted into the air, as Zeke held the sacred pipe out to the four directions, offering it in the sacrifice called
Nivstanivoo
. He drew on the smoke, then held the pipe up to
Heammawihio
, God of the Sky, the most powerful, and down to
Ahktunowihio
, God of the Earth. He puffed it again and breathed deeply, raising the pipe again while his eyes were closed.

“Oh, great
Maheo
, our father spirit, bless my firstborn son. May his life be long and healthy, and may you fill him with courage and take from him his pain when he offers his flesh at the Sun Dance in this his fifteenth year.”

He opened his eyes and handed the pipe to Wolf’s Blood, who sat near him. “Offer the pipe in the same way,” he told the boy. “The spirits will know your heart is pure and your courage is great. They will help you bear the pain of the Sun Dance sacrifice, for in spite of your white blood, they will know you are a true Cheyenne.”

The boy took the pipe reverently, offering it as his father had done. Father and son sat alone on a hillside that overlooked Zeke’s ranch and the Appaloosa herds
below. Both were painted in their prayer colors, Zeke’s face striped in white, Wolf’s Blood’s in blue. They wore only loincloths that warm spring day of 1862, and their bodies were also painted in prayer colors, as well as bedecked with strands of bone and bead necklaces. Zeke’s hair hung long and loose, the eagle feathers he had earned for his own courage tied into one side of it.

This was a special moment, a weekly ritual now between father and son, as Zeke prepared his first-born for the upcoming Sun Dance celebration and sacrifice. It would not be easy to watch his beloved son suffer, yet he would do so with pride and love and would not stop Wolf’s Blood from doing that which was in his heart to do. The boy handed the pipe back to his father.

“You are probably the only son I have who will be all Indian in his heart,” Zeke told the boy. “You were raised among my people in your early years, taught the warrior ways by your uncle, Swift Arrow, as is the custom. But things are changing, Wolf’s Blood. The people are being forced into ever-shrinking territory, and I fear that one day, as we lose the freedom to ride and hunt and join our brothers to the north, we will also lose a part of ourselves and our old ways. It will be up to ones like you to preserve the language and the customs and the religious ceremonies.”

Zeke looked into Wolf’s Blood’s eyes, which shined with worship. “I will not let such things be forgotten, Father. There is something … inside of me. Something that cries out to be free … to ride and hunt and feel the wind in my face, to open my arms and hold the whole universe, to laugh and sing and sacrifice my flesh to the spirits so I will know that I am one with the whole earth and with the animals. This thing inside of me—it cares nothing for books or for white man ways. It longs only to …1 don’t know … only to … be. Just to be.”

Zeke smiled softly. “You don’t have to explain to me, son. I know what you’re trying to say.”

“It is hard, having this white blood in me.”

Zeke’s eyes saddened. “Yes. It is hard. It was harder for me, for I was forced to grow up among whites who hated me, forced to sit in their schools and wear their clothes, told I was worthless and ignorant. I knew that wasn’t true, but I was alone. I hope you never know that kind of loneliness.”

“You wish this, but I, too, will know such loneliness, Father. I feel it in my bones—see it in my dreams. The life I choose to live will create the loneliness, for I will one day have to leave this home—and my mother.” He swallowed. “And I shall have to leave you, for your place is here with my mother.”

Zeke nodded, his eyes full of pain. How he loved this son, already tall and muscular for his age, with a handsome, finely chiseled face framed by shiny black hair that hung straight and long, nearly reaching his waist. His dark eyes already made the young Cheyenne girls steal flirting glances at the makings of a fine husband. To look at him made Zeke think of his own youth and all its tortures. At least Wolf’s Blood had grown up away from the cruelty of white rejection, yet now white encroachment would surely bring some of those same problems to his son’s doorstep.

“It will be very hard for me to watch you go, Wolf’s Blood,” he spoke up, his voice tender with emotion. “I love you. And I love being with you. My heart glows with pride in you. But soon you will be fifteen, and you will make your sacrifice. And not many winters after that you will be a man and go your own way, the way of the people. You will take a wife and have your own family.”

“I am not sure that I want a wife,” the boy mused, taking on an air of manliness. “My uncle, Swift Arrow,
says taking a wife can make a man weak. He is a great Dog Soldier. The best Dog Soldiers do not take wives. I cannot be a Dog Soldier because of my white blood, but I can still be a good warrior and prove I am as good as the Dog Soldiers.”

Zeke suppressed a smile. “You can be a good warrior
and
have a wife, Wolf’s Blood,” he replied. “Swift Arrow speaks as a man full of bitterness. He lost his first wife to the white man’s disease and his second wife to the soldiers’ guns. That is why he does not marry again. He is full of hatred. He stays in the North with the Sioux, where the Indians still ride with more freedom, still hunt where they choose and do as they please. But now the soldiers ride hard against those in the North also. It will be bad for them.”

The last words were spoken sadly and quietly as Zeke took out his knife and began sharpening the huge blade against a rock that he held in his other hand.

“There is a new kind of war coming, son,” he went on, scraping the blade against the rock almost angrily. “You will have to understand this kind of war if you want to survive. It won’t be a war fought with guns and lances. It is a white man’s kind of war—one fought with power and riches, laws and the pen. And it’s part of the reason your mother thinks book learning is important. In that respect, she is right.”

The boy frowned. “I do not understand. How can a man fight without weapons?”

Zeke sighed, seemingly lost in thought. “There are all kinds of weapons, Wolf’s Blood, and sometimes there are ways to get what you want without breaking the white man’s law and getting into trouble. And there are some men who will look at you and smile and shake your hand, but who can do you more damage than the fiercest warrior you might face in physical battle.”

Wolf’s Blood reached over and petted his wolf, who
lay lazily on its belly beside its master. He ran his fingers through the animal’s thick fur. Zeke stopped sharpening the knife and eyed the boy and wolf for a moment. The two of them fit together well, both wild, a part of the earth and things that are untamed. Wolf’s Blood met his father’s eyes then, seeing pain there.

“There is something you wish to tell me, Father,” he said. “It is about this other kind of war.”

Zeke nodded. “I want you to understand your enemies, Wolf’s Blood. Know who they are and be ready for them. Your worst enemies will be men like Winston Garvey, scheming, selfish, power-hungry animals. They’ll smile at you and shake your hand, but on the inside they are considering just how they can kill you and get you out of their way. They are men who will stop at nothing to get what they want, and they use white men’s laws and courts to back them. They are educated and clever, and you must always be prepared to outwit them.”

“Winston Garvey is the man who kept my aunt, Yellow Moon, as a slave? The one who is the father of her half-breed son?”

Zeke nodded. “You are the only child old enough to remember what happened to the child after Yellow Moon was killed by soldiers. The baby was badly crippled, his foot and leg twisted, an affliction the white man calls clubfoot. Abbie, who loves everything that walks, wanted to take him, but she already had four children of her own, and your brother Jeremy was only a baby himself at the time. I thought the burden of a crippled baby would be too much for Abbie. Besides that, the child needed help, the kind we couldn’t give him. We took him to missionaries north of Fort Laramie. Remember that?”

“
Ai
. The woman’s name was Bonnie.”

Zeke returned to sharpening his knife. “Yes. Bonnie
Lewis. Her husband, Rodney, is a preacher up there, and her father, who is also there, is a doctor—a good one. A year before that I had saved Bonnie’s life when I rescued her from a band of outlaws. We became good friends. That was down near Santa Fe. She had told me then that if there was ever anything she or her father could do for me, that I should tell them. So Abbie and I took Yellow Moon’s crippled boy to Bonnie.” He smiled softly. “Bonnie is a good woman. Soon as she set eyes on that poor crippled baby, she wanted to take him and see if her father or one of the fine doctors they knew back east could help him. Abbie and I agreed. Bonnie’s father knew all the right people who could help the boy. So we left him there. As the months went by, Bonnie grew to love him more and more, until finally she wrote and asked us if she and her husband could legally adopt him. Bonnie can’t have children of her own—at least it appears that way. She’s been married several years now and still hasn’t conceived. That makes the boy even more special to her. She’s a kind, loving woman, and Abbie and I decided it was best for the boy to remain with Bonnie and her husband.”

He set down the knife and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m telling you these things, son, for a reason. You knew we left the boy with Bonnie, but we never told you we received letters after that regarding the boy’s progress, operations he has had to help correct his crippled foot, or the fact that Bonnie adopted him. We haven’t said much about it because for one thing we want the other children to forget about their half-breed cousin. We don’t speak of him, and it’s best they forget him and know nothing about where he is. But you remember enough that you should know the rest so that you are prepared.”

The boy frowned. “I do not understand. Prepared
for what?”

“Prepared for the fact that the boy’s real father, the one who kept Yellow Moon as a slave and fathered the child, might one day discover the boy’s identity. If he does, he will have the child murdered. The last thing Winston Garvey wants is for anyone to know he slept with Indian women or worse than that, fathered a half-breed son. You know enough that it’s dangerous for you not to know it all. If you know the whole story, you won’t be as likely to spill something that you shouldn’t. You and I and Abbie are the only ones who know of the boy’s whereabouts. Bonnie and Rodney and Bonnie’s father know the story behind the boy and will never reveal his origins to anyone west of the Mississippi. My white brother, Danny, also knows, because he helped us find Bonnie when we first took the crippled boy to her. But Danny knows he must never tell anyone. Even his wife knows nothing about it.”

Wolf’s Blood sighed and shook his head. “You are confusing me, Father. Why should Winston Garvey care that he had a half-breed son? Many half-breeds are born—to the trappers and mountain men. A man should want his son.”

Zeke thought for one painful moment about his own white father, but quickly pushed the thought away.

“Of course a man should want his son,” he told the boy. “But not men like Winston Garvey. If Garvey ever finds the boy, he’ll murder him. I’m sure of it, because I’m sure of the kind of man Garvey is. I found that out when I rescued Yellow Moon from him in the first place. He lived down in Santa Fe then. I’ve seen men like that before, Wolf’s Blood. He’s just like the kind of men who chased the Cherokees out of Georgia, rooting the Indians out of their rightful homes and sending them on a long walk of tears and death to Oklahoma. It was one of the most pitiful things I have
ever witnessed, hundreds and hundreds dying along the way, all because the whites decided they wanted the Cherokee land. That’s the kind of man Garvey is. He hates Indians. He made that obvious when I went after Yellow Moon. He tortured Yellow Moon and kept her purely for sexual pleasures. The only way I got her out of there was to threaten to expose his sexual involvement with Indian women as well as the fact that I knew he consorted with a well-known prostitute. Garvey takes pride in his fine citizen reputation. He didn’t want that ruined. Besides that, I threatened to return to his ranch with all the Indians necessary to wipe the man out, and that I personally would take Garvey’s scalp. He apparently believed me. He handed Yellow Moon over to me. I couldn’t take her through violence because the man had a virtual army protecting his ranch. So I used white man’s tactics—threatening to expose his fine standing as a righteous, God-fearing ex-senator. Few people know what the man is really capable of doing, or that he is scheming at this very moment to own as much of this territory as he can get his hands on, and to rid Colorado Territory of most of its Indians—all of them if he can do it. The last thing he wants is for anyone to know he has a half-breed son. Hatred and resentment toward the Indians are being nurtured by schemes of men like Garvey, and the man has a son who is going to be worse than the father. That is what I mean about understanding the trickery of the white man, Wolf’s Blood—about being prepared for men like Winston Garvey and his son, Charles. And because of the danger to the life of Yellow Moon’s half-breed son, you must be aware of all the details. The boy Yellow Moon gave birth to was fathered by Winston Garvey. And because Yellow Moon was first the wife of my brother, Red Eagle, she is considered a sister-in-law. After I rescued her from Garvey, your uncle, Swift Arrow,
took her for his wife, because Red Eagle was dead. It is often the custom for a Cheyenne man to take in a dead brother’s wife. Then Yellow Moon gave birth to Garvey’s son, and even though he was not fathered by Red Eagle or Swift Arrow, we consider him your cousin, because he was born to Yellow Moon and she was a part of the family. Now the boy lives with the missionaries, Bonnie and Rodney Lewis. His name is Joshua, and he’s a cripple. He’s eight years old now.”

Wolf’s Blood picked up a stick and poked at the fire. “I think I understand, Father. But how would Winston Garvey know about the child? Joshua was not born until many months after you rescued Yellow Moon, and he was born far to the north, in Sioux country, after Yellow Moon went there to live with my uncle, Swift Arrow.”