He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and leaned against a tree, afraid to build a fire because he might be spotted. He’d made his way north, keeping to the mountains, pretty sure he’d completely lost the soldiers who had been chasing him. He could not help feeling proud that at least he had not lost his old skills at fooling soldiers, tricking them, leading them on a wild-goose chase. He remembered he’d deliberately taunted a whole company of soldiers once, getting just close enough for them to shoot at him and take up the chase. He’d led them right into a trap, a canyon where Cheyenne and Sioux waited. Many soldiers had died that day!
He had wanted to be a warrior again—but not this way … not this way. Jenny! His beautiful, precious Jenny, smiling and kissing him at one moment, falling to the ground with an ugly bullet hole in her head the next. He was not even sure how many days had passed since that awful point in time. Three days ago he had vented his rage and sorrow, crying out to Maheo and cutting his arms and chest in his agony, wanting to feel the pain and to make a blood sacrifice. He had loved and lost two wives. There would be no more now, only loneliness … utter loneliness. Missing, wanting, needing Jennifer was a pain that would last a long, long time, as would the feelings of guilt, for he was sure her death was his fault. If she had not been with him that day, a white woman with an Indian, she would still be alive. Dan would still have his daughter. Emily would still have her mother.
Adding to his grief was the fact that he could never again be with Hawk and Iris. He prayed they would go with Jeremy, learn to live a new way, fight their battles the white man’s way, much as he hated the ways of the whites. He prayed Hawk would not rebel and get himself in trouble. If only he had a chance to talk to him, hold both of his children just once more, tell them he loved them, urge them to get off the reservation and not waste their lives there. They were still young enough to need a father and mother. Maybe Jeremy and Mary could be that for them. He trusted Jeremy now, had no doubt that his brother would do all he could for the children, for Jeremy dearly wanted to make up for all the years he’d lost with his own father and the rest of the family. Believing Hawk and Iris would be taken care of was all that kept him going.
He heard a wolf howl not so far away, and he watched the dark shadows. He was not afraid, for he felt a close kinship with these creatures. He’d had two wolves as pets when he was younger, and he could not help wondering if now they felt his sorrow and loneliness and wanted to comfort him. He sat very still, not caring if a whole pack of them did come and tear him apart. There was really nothing left to live for, except to somehow see his family again, including his mother, whose heart must be shattered over this … and Swift Arrow. He sorely missed his uncle.
Bastard! Stupid, drunken, white bastards! Like so many of those who had come here and stolen Indian lands. Why should such worthless, bigoted people be allowed to take away so much? He was glad he’d killed them. It had felt good to kill them—and to fool the soldiers and trick them into losing his trail. Guards or not, he would find a way to get onto the reservation and see his children and his mother. If he could do that much, it would relieve his loneliness, at least a little.
If only he could hold Jennifer once more, tell her how he loved her … make love to her. He leaned his head back against the tree. He missed her so, missed the family, the warmth and happiness he’d experienced at the reunion … He missed his mother.
Now, because of one drunken white man, all of them were gone from his life. For the last few days he’d lived on berries, vegetables from a settler’s garden he’d raided one night, and on raw squirrel. He’d killed it with a silent toss of his knife, but couldn’t cook it for fear of making a fire. There were plenty of chipmunks and prairie dogs in these mountains. And of course there was still some big game in these parts, mountain goats, mountain lions, deer, elk, moose. Yes, he could survive physically, but he was not so sure how to manage his heart and emotions.
There came the howling again, this time from several wolves, still to his right and many yards away, from what he could tell. Closer, he heard a whining sound. His horse began to snort and whinny, and Wolf’s Blood slowly rose, walking over to be sure the animal was tied tight enough so it could not get away. He reached up and grabbed the animal by the mane, talking softly to it, trying to calm it, but the terrified steed reared and yanked. Snapping the rope before Wolf’s Blood could check the knot, it whirled and ran off into the darkness.
Wolf’s Blood stood there alone, hoping the horse would not injure itself. If he could not find it in the morning, he would simply go on by foot until he found a camp or settlement where he could steal another mount as he made his way north. For now all that mattered was the fact that many wolves were nearby, either stalking him … or coming to join him. He stood very still, all senses alert. Without a fire, he could not even see their eyes.
He heard the whining sound again, even closer. At more of a distance he could hear soft yips, a growl, and even farther off another howl, then another and another. Rather than being afraid, the sounds filled him with hope and happiness. His old companions, the wolves, knew he was here! They sensed his loneliness and knew he was cold. Yes! His friends were coming.
He knelt down, keeping the blanket around himself. “Hello, my wolf friends,” he said softly. “I am glad you have come. Please stay with me.”
Bright moonlight burst forth as a cloud passed from the moon, and now he could see a little better. Four! He’d seen at least four of them. One came closer, whining again. It was a young one. It sniffed around him, and he moved not one muscle. “Welcome, Oh-kumhka-kit,” he whispered. He daringly and very slowly moved one hand out from under the blanket, and the little wolf began licking it.
Wolf’s Blood grinned. Surely his father had sent the wolves to keep him company. The ground beneath him was packed soft with pine needles, for he was high in the mountains, amid a thick forest of spruce. He lay facedown into the needles, breathing deeply of their sweet scent … waiting. He would either be attacked and ripped apart, or these wolves would comfort him.
He felt them coming then, one … two … three. The little one was burrowing its nose into his neck, sniffing, whining, licking. A bigger one lay down on one side of him. Another lay across his legs. Another lay on the other side of him. More piled around him, until he was covered in furry warmth.
“Thank you Maheo,” he prayed, “for taking away the cold.” His heart felt a little lighter to know the wolf spirit was still with him, to know he still had this kind of power. Yes, he was still a warrior, still a part of the wild things. And just as he was now comforted, he knew it was a sign that his beloved children would also be comforted. Maheo would see that they were taken care of. And somehow his mother would know he was all right.
He could sleep now. He closed his eyes in warmth and comfort, utterly exhausted from days of riding and hiding, shivering cold at night, hungry for a decent meal, weary from many tears, worn out from sorrow. Sleep suddenly came easily, and he welcomed it.
He had no idea what time it was when he’d drifted off, how long he’d slept before a shaft of sunlight broke through the treetops and shone down warmly against his face. He opened his eyes, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and to realize he was alone. He quickly awakened then, looking around. The wolves were gone … all but one. The young one that had approached him the night before. He blinked, trying to remember. If not for the little one still lying nearby, he would have to wonder if they had really come at all. Was it a dream? Surely not. Here was this oh-kumhka-kit, watching him. The young wolf rolled onto its back as though begging to have its belly rubbed.
Wolf’s Blood grinned, reaching over and scratching its stomach. “So, little one, you will stay with me. You will be my companion. Your mother has given you to me.” He remembered another time, years ago, when a small wolf had appeared to him after white men had killed his first wolf pet. He and his brothers and sisters had been out looking for a Christmas tree for their mother. That was how i
t was for him. The wolves simply came. They knew when he needed their spirit power.
He stood up, noticing the horse that had run off the night before now stood grazing nearby. The spirits were being good to him today! He rolled up his blanket and tied it onto the horse, using only rope, as he had discarded the saddle many days ago. He hated white men’s saddles. He walked over and picked up the young wolf, which licked at his face. He plopped the wolf over the horse’s back, and, amazingly, the horse did not protest, as though it understood it need not fear. Wolf’s Blood leapt onto the horse, keeping the wolf in front of him as he took up the reins and left the magical spot where last night he’d slept warmly among a pack of wolves.
“Ha-ho, Maheo,” he said, thanking the Great Spirit for bringing the wolves and helping ease his broken heart. He headed north, not even aware that an eagle winged its way behind him from treetop to treetop.
Margaret looked up from sweeping the porch to see a lone rider coming on a sleek, roan-colored horse, and even from a distance it was obvious the rider was a woman. She set the broom aside, calling for Morgan, who was in the house finishing his lunch. “Someone’s coming—a woman.”
Morgan left the table, coming out onto the porch, followed by Nathan and Lance, both eager to see who it might be. It was very unusual to see a woman riding alone in such big country.
“It’s her,” Margaret commented. “It must be.”
“Who, Mother?” Nathan asked.
“That girl who got our Zeke in so much trouble. Carson Temple’s daughter.”
“If she’s his daughter, she can’t be very nice,” Nathan said.
“Zeke loved her. Let’s remember that and give her a chance,” Morgan reminded them, studying the rider as she came closer. She reined her horse to a slow walk when she saw them all watching her, obviously hesitant to come closer. Morgan stepped down off the porch, nodding to her. “You’re Georgeanne, aren’t you?”
Georgie could not help feeling apprehensive. Surely these people hated her for what had happened to Zeke. Apparently her father had convinced Zeke not to see her, for she had not heard from him since her father had had her dragged away from that last liaison. The threats probably involved his family, and she hoped she was not bringing them terrible problems by coming here to see Zeke. She was determined to convince him they could find a way to be together.
She urged her horse closer, studying Morgan Brown. He was quite a handsome man, with more features about him that spoke of his Negro blood than Zeke had. She glanced at the woman who was now stepping off the porch. Indian! She looked pure Indian, and anyone could tell she’d been quite beautiful when she was younger. She was still attractive. This had to be Zeke’s mother. She looked back at Morgan. “Yes, I am Georgeanne,” she replied.
Morgan caught the hint of a lingering Southern accent. It brought back memories he would rather keep buried.
“I know that my father has hurt all of you deeply,” Georgeanne continued, “and I have come to apologize and to … to see Zeke. Surely we can work something out—”
“Zeke is gone,” Morgan interrupted. “And what your father did to him deserves much more than a simple apology.” He could not keep back his anger. “How can you sit there and think words can make up for our son’s almost dying! Or for the threats your father posed to us! Your father is the one who should be here apologizing! If he didn’t own the law in Pueblo, I’d have him arrested for attempted murder! As it is, if we have any more trouble from him, I have a brother-in-law in Denver who will send out a U.S. Marshal!”
Georgeanne felt sick inside. She struggled against tears, trying to comprehend this man’s anger. Something much worse must have happened to Zeke. Her father had promised not to hurt him any more than the blow to the head. “I … I don’t understand, Mr. Brown. I didn’t know that hit on the head brought him close to death. Where is Zeke? Why isn’t he here? I need to see him! I want to know he’s all right!” Tears began spilling down her cheeks then.
Margaret had walked up beside Morgan, and she put a hand on his arm. “Calm down,” she said. She looked up at Georgeanne, thinking how utterly beautiful this young woman was. And she sat her horse well, obviously an experienced rider. Her tan-colored, suede riding outfit—a split skirt, white blouse, short-waisted jacket—was set off by brown leather boots and a narrow-brimmed brown suede hat was perched atop auburn hair. “Miss Temple, don’t you know what your father did to Zeke?”
Georgeanne shook her head, wiping at her tears with a gloved hand. “I’m not sure … what you mean.”
“You don’t know he was dragged home by the ankles, tied to your father’s horse?” Morgan demanded. “He was a bloody mass of torn flesh by the time he got here, half dead.”
Georgeanne paled visibly. “My God!” she cried. She doubled over then, grabbing Princess’s mane and weeping against her neck. “Oh, God, Zeke … I didn’t know! I only … stayed away for your protection. If I … had known … I would have found a way to come here … be with you.”
Margaret reached up and grasped her about the waist. “Climb down from there, Miss Temple. Come inside.”
Georgeanne dismounted, remaining bent over and still weeping as Margaret kept a hand at her waist and led her into the house.
“You two stay out here,” Morgan ordered Nathan and Lance. The two boys stood outside the screened door, watching and listening as Georgeanne was led to the kitchen table. She sat down on a chair, and Margaret told Morgan to find her a clean handkerchief. After he retrieved one from the bedroom chest, Georgeanne blew her nose and wiped her eyes, finally gaining control of herself.
“It can’t be true,” she sniffled. “My father promised he wouldn’t hurt Zeke any more than he had. He promised!”
“Carson Temple isn’t a man to keep promises,” Morgan growled, taking a chair across the table from her. “Not if it involves Indians and Negroes. You ought to know your own father better than that. Zeke says he was conscious enough to know the man hit you—his own daughter! In my whole life I’ve never laid a hand on my children! To have some other man do that to my son was the same as sticking a knife in my belly! If I could get away with it, and if my family didn’t need me like they do, I’d kill Carson Temple! I’m sorry to put it that way, but it’s the truth, girl. And now because of him, my precious firstborn son is gone!”
Georgeanne shivered, meeting his dark eyes. “I didn’t know about Zeke being hurt that bad. My father … had me taken away, but he promised not to do any more harm to Zeke. After that I stayed away long enough to let my father calm down … let him think I’d given up on Zeke. I didn’t want him to do him more harm or to hurt either of you or the ranch.” She looked at Margaret pleadingly. “Please don’t blame me for this. I love Zeke! I truly love him! I’m not like my father. You have to believe that. My father is a brutal man who hates those of different backgrounds, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s his fault my mother …” She closed her eyes and hung her head. “Maybe you don’t know.”
Margaret sat down next to her, putting her hand on Georgeanne’s shoulder. “Zeke told us about your mother. I’m sorry.”
Georgeanne wiped at her eyes again. “He drove her to it. I’m sure of it. He tries to control people, tries to control everything and everyone around him, does whatever he has to do to get what he wants.” She turned to Margaret. “I came here to show you my own feelings haven’t changed. I wanted to meet you, to prove to you that I’m not like my father. And I came to see Zeke, to make sure he was all right, to tell him I love him and that we can find a way to be together. My father went away on business, so I came as soon as he left.” She looked around the simple log cabin, such a far cry from the cold, stone mansion she lived in. She had everything most people could ever want, but she would trade it all to live here with Zeke—to be his woman, sleep next to him. “Where has he gone? How badly was he injured? And why did he go away? Why didn’t he talk to me first, at least send a letter to me?”
“Because he’s determ
ined to forget about you,” Morgan answered. “He knew if he saw you again, he’d not be able to leave. He figured it was best to end it, Miss Temple, for your own sake. He was afraid that even if you could be together, you’d suffer in other ways for being married to someone of color. Besides that, he didn’t want any more trouble for us right now. He figured your father was just waiting for him to try to see you again. It would give the man an excuse to come here and burn us out, which is exactly what he threatened to do if Zeke kept seeing you. He’s got the power and the men to do it, Zeke knows that. But I think his biggest fear was that your father would kill me, and he’d have blamed himself for that. I told him I’d find a way to handle all this, but he wouldn’t listen. He was determined the best thing to do was to just go away, get out of your life, leave your father no excuse to come here and destroy us. His grandmother is coming back here in a few weeks with legal documents proving ownership, and that will be that. But there will be an awful emptiness in our lives as long as Zeke is gone.”
New tears came to Georgeanne’s eyes. “And in mine. He won’t be able to forget me, Mr. Brown, any more than I can forget him. I’ll never do that! And I’ll never stop loving him! I want you to know this.” She looked at Margaret. “My feelings are sincere. I have to find him. Please tell me where he is!”
Margaret shook her head. “We don’t know. He said he would write, but that he would not be back for a long time. I’m sorry, Miss Temple, but our son is a wise, generous man willing to make sacrifices for his family. I love him, and I happen to agree this is probably best, in spite of the fact that I believe you truly do love him. We can’t always have what we want in this life, child, and sometimes loving someone means giving that person up. He needs to let go of you, and for a while we must let go of Zeke. He’s never been out on his own, away from the ranch, so maybe it’s best he does some exploring. You were a part of that outside world, something different, beautiful, well traveled. You know about things he’s never seen and done. Until he has had some of those experiences for himself, he could never be sure he truly loves you, could never be strong enough to face what you must if you choose to be together. I hope our son did not … take advantage of your love. I hope there is no danger that you … that he could have left you carrying his child. Please tell me it never went that far.”
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