“Abigail, you are a woman who is not afraid of risks. He needn’t think it forever. Only long enough to make him see what he really wants.” He smiled, a boyish eagerness in his eyes.
“Edwin, that’s terrible!”
“I know,” he replied, still smiling. “Quite daring, isn’t it?” He turned to leave the room. “You think about it. Soon he will return with Margaret. Don’t let your hope dwindle if it takes him awhile. He said he would return, and you say he never breaks his promises. When he comes, don’t make leaving you an easy thing to do. Make it difficult, Abigail, as difficult as you can make it. Use the only tool that seems to rouse him from his own self-pity and sorrow. Use his jealousy—his possessiveness of Abigail Monroe.”
He left the room, and she walked back to look out at the storm. Denver. Anna Gale. Margaret. What a mixture for Zeke to walk into. He hated Denver, hated busy places full of laws and white men. He would have to face the horror of finding his daughter inside some saloon, selling herself, and his only refuge would be Anna Gale. Anna would help him, keep him out of trouble. But she would do more than that, for Zeke would be wanting to prove that any woman would do, that he could go off alone and leave Abbie to what he thought was best for her. Perhaps Edwin was right. Perhaps Zeke’s possessiveness, which he was struggling to bury, was the only tool she could use to keep him.
Chapter Nineteen
Margaret closed her eyes, preparing to shut off her mind and senses so she could bear the pawing hands of her customer. His breath was foul with whiskey and his whiskers hurt her chin. His calloused hands moved roughly over her body. The man thought he was showing the pretty squaw a good time, for her eyes were closed, surely in ecstasy, but she seemed a bit stiff and quiet. No matter. Indian women were easy to please. She would relax soon.
The door suddenly burst open, slamming against the wall. Margaret and the man with her both jumped to a half-sitting position, startled to see a huge man standing before them, apparently an Indian but wearing a white man’s suit.
“Father!” Margaret gasped.
Her customer’s eyes bulged. Father? “What the hell?” he grumbled.
“Get out!” Zeke growled.
The man slowly rose, staring at the fiery dark eyes of the Indian. He picked up his long underwear. Margaret trembled at the look in her father’s eyes and pulled a sheet over her nakedness. Her customer hesitated before he began to put on his clothes.
“Look, mister, I already paid for this damned squaw! I don’t know who the hell you are, but—”
His words were cut off when Zeke whipped a huge blade from under his suit coat, holding it out menacingly. “Get out of here right now, or I’ll cut off something that will make it impossible for you to lie with any woman!”
The man swallowed and quickly put on his long-johns, gathering up his other clothes to finish dressing in the hallway. He kept a careful eye on Zeke as he eased past him, picking up his gun and hat, and then hastening out. Zeke followed the man with his eyes, grabbing the door and slamming it shut as soon as the man was gone. Margaret jumped again at the loud bang the door made. Zeke shoved his knife back into its sheath and struggled to stay in control. He wanted to beat her, strangle her, throw her out into the street, and then drag her home. But this was Margaret, his first daughter, his Blue Sky, so he also wanted to grab her and hold her and tell her he loved her. Abbie and Anna had both told him to be careful or he would lose her forever. He turned his eyes back to her, and she cringed against the head of the bed, looking small and childish.
“How dare you do this!” she hissed, hurt and sorrow in her voice.
“Dare?” His anger rose again. “I am your father! I’ll do whatever I damned well please! You’re my daughter—Abbie’s daughter. I’ve come to take you home! Get dressed.”
Her dark eyes flashed, reminding him of his own. “I’m long past taking your orders, Father!” she said, a challenge in her voice. “I’ll get dressed when I feel like it! And I don’t want to go home. I’m perfectly happy here.”
“Are you now?” he sneered sarcastically, his eyes roving over her curving form beneath the sheet, making her feel embarrassed that he knew she was naked beneath it. “Where is your pride, Margaret?”
She tossed her head. “I lost it in the bed of a man who said he’d marry me—a man I loved, one who turned around and told me squaws are for sleeping with but not for marriage! The dark skin I inherited from you, dear Father, has branded me for life! I have you to thank for that. A dark beauty they call me. Oh, yes, I am beautiful! But my kind of beauty is meant for all men, not just one!”
Her heart ached at the look in his eyes, yet she could not stop herself from hurting him. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t be torn inside herself. She had said the very thing that would hurt him most; right now she wanted to hurt him.
He stepped closer to the bed, studying her. She could tell he wanted to hit her but was holding back. His jaw flexed with repressed anger as he took in the satiny dark skin of her shoulders and arms. “Do you think you shock me, sitting there naked in front of your own father?” His eyes suddenly softened. “All I see is my little girl… my little Blue Sky … the shy one … the scared one. You were always afraid of strangers. Now you sleep with them. This isn’t you and we both know it. You got hurt. A lot of people get hurt, Margaret. I lost count of my own hurts a long time ago.”
She looked away. “Please go away, Father.”
“Not until I’ve had my say. You can fight me all you want, but behind your defiant eyes I see my Abbie. The goodness of her soul runs in your own veins. Half of you is me, Margaret, but the other half is Abigail Monroe, the best woman who ever lived, as far as I’m concerned. And you can’t deny the good side of you forever. Part of you wants to be like your mother, and there’s enough good left in you to do that—to come home and make some man a good wife, to live respectably.”
Her eyes welled with tears and she could not bring herself to look at him. He sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed. She was like a wild kitten that might dart off at any moment.
“Even the other half, my half,” he continued, “the wild, savage half of you, even that can be strong and proud.” He reached out and touched her hair gently, but she jerked away. He sighed and rose from the bed. “Damn it, Margaret, you’re part Indian, but you look all Indian, just like I do. So face it, admit to it, and be proud of it. You have every reason to be proud of that part of you. Come home with me and be what you are!”
Her body jerked in a sob, but she quickly swallowed back the tears and met his eyes with her red, tear-filled ones. “How can I be proud … when everyone around me with white skin continues to remind me that I should be ashamed? When they tell me I’m only good for one thing? It’s easy for you! When someone smears your name or throws insults at you or attacks you, you can wield your knife or pull a gun or use your fists. You’re a man—big and strong! But what can a woman do? What is there left for me?”
“Yourself! You have only yourself, Margaret! That’s all any of us have in the end! How do you think I felt back in Tennessee? I was a small boy, helpless, like you are now. The kids constantly picked on me at school. I got in a fight nearly every day. I was made to sit in the back of the room—at school and at the church full of pious people. My stepmother always dragged me there because she hoped the ‘devil’ would be preached out of me! I was called stupid. ‘Look at the dumb Indian!’ they’d say. They’d laugh, sometimes throw rocks. My stepmother detested me because I was the offspring of the Indian ‘squaw’ my father had lived with. That ‘squaw’ was your grandmother, Gentle Woman, a beautiful, generous woman who fit her name perfectly! I quit going to school and spent most of my time in a nearby swamp—alone. That was the only way I could be happy! But I never lost my pride, Margaret. I knew I was Indian, I knew I was intelligent, and I knew they were wrong! I was Cheyenne and I was proud! Don’t tell me about hurt! Don’t tell me about that swine you thought you loved and who hurt you! I’ll te
ll you hurt, Margaret! Hurt is when the woman you love with your whole being is raped repeatedly and tortured and murdered, her head shaved and her arms cut off! Hurt is seeing your baby son lying in a bloody heap on the floor with his head cut off, because his father was Indian! That’s hurt, Margaret! That’s what Tennessee did to me, and that’s the kind of risk your mother took when she married me! She doesn’t deserve the treatment you’re giving her. She’s brave and good and she loves you! She’s lost a daughter to death and perhaps a son for all we know! And you haven’t even asked about LeeAnn!”
She looked at him, eyes wide, realizing he was right. “I—”
“She’s all right.” He sneered. “She went through some terrifying moments and was badly abused, but she wasn’t raped.”
She looked away again. “I’m glad she’s all right… and I’m glad you’re all right. But I’m not going back, Father. I … I can’t yet. Not now. Maybe not ever. The damage is done.”
He moved closer again, bending down and grasping her arm. “That’s foolish talk, Margaret! It’s never too late, not when it comes to your parents—to home! We love you! We want you away from this place! We don’t look at you any different than we ever have. All Abbie wants is to see you come home with me.”
She kept her eyes averted. “I can’t yet. Please let go of me!”
He crushed her arms tighter. “You’re coming with me, and you’re coming now, Margaret Monroe, if I have to drag you naked through the streets!”
“No!” She struggled, desperately clinging to the sheet. “If you make me go now I’ll run away again, I swear!”
“Don’t be a fool, Margaret!”
“Let go of me! If you don’t, I’ll scream and men will come and arrest you!”
He stiffened, then let go of her with a jolting shove. He walked to the door. “I’m staying at Anna Gale’s boardinghouse. She says you’ve met. She also said she’s talked to you about stopping this foolishness before there really is no turning back.”
She met his eyes, her own burning with defiance. “She just told me those things because you’re her friend. I’ve talked to others in Denver about Anna Gale. She was the richest prostitute in the city, and she loved it! She got rich doing what I’m doing. She has no right to tell me I’m wrong.”
“She’s also a lonely woman who wishes she could change it all.”
“Does she? And just how well do you know her, Father? Does mother know you’re sleeping at that woman’s house?” Her lips curled in an ugly sneer, and he felt that a knife had been plunged into his heart.
“If I were sleeping with Anna Gale, it would be to help convince myself I don’t need your mother. I’ve already decided that once I get you home, she’ll be better off without me, Margaret. Living with me has only brought her pain and sorrow.”
“What are you talking about, better off without you?”
“When you come to your senses I’m taking you home. Then I’m going north, and if all of you are lucky, I’ll be killed in a Sioux war and that will be the end of this hell!” He opened the door. “I’ll be at Anna’s. When you’re ready, you come. If I have to wait a week, then I’ll wait. If it’s a year, so be it. But I promised your mother I’d not return without you, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to break that promise!”
He turned and left, this time closing the door quietly. She stared after him. There was a certain hopelessness about him she had never seen before—a giving up. He seemed to be holding a gun to his head, ready to pull the trigger. She shuddered and curled up under the blankets, crying bitterly, wanting to run after him. But her shame was too great, as was her childish refusal to admit she was terribly wrong. She had dug a deep hole for herself. Perhaps she could never climb out of it.
Wolf’s Blood heard arguing in the outer room. He rubbed at his slowly healing shoulder, wondering if he would ever again have full use of his arm as Bonnie Monroe had promised he would. It felt strange to call her Bonnie Monroe, but he was glad to see the happiness in his white uncle’s eyes. Wolf’s Blood had little use for whites, but he knew that Dan Monroe was his father’s favorite white brother and that there was great affection between the two men. He also knew that Bonnie was the woman who had taken little Crooked Foot, the half-breed boy born of Zeke’s dead sister-in-law and the hated Winston Garvey. He had seen Crooked Foot, called Joshua by his adoptive mother. The boy had had several operations on his club foot and now walked rather well in spite of a brace from ankle to hip. Wolf’s Blood liked the boy, who often came to visit with him, full of questions about the Indians. The boy didn’t seem to know a thing about his origins, and Wolf’s Blood suspected he was not supposed to tell. Watching the boy made Wolf’s Blood miss his mother more than ever, for it was to keep Joshua’s identity hidden that Abigail Monroe had suffered the rape and torture when Winston Garvey had wanted to locate the boy so he could kill him. Wolf’s Blood knew how proud his mother would be if she saw the boy now, how glad that she had not given away his whereabouts. For Joshua was pleasant and intelligent, and he had an air about him that made one suspect that here was a great man in the making. Already the boy spoke of going East to school, to study law and get into politics and do what he could to help the Indians. The lad had a natural sympathy for Indians, although he did not realize he was half Indian. Wolf’s Blood knew the day would come when the boy would be told about his true identity, but that was up to Bonnie and no one else.
The door opened, and Dan entered. Wolf’s Blood could see an officer in the outer room before Dan closed the bedroom door. The boy didn’t like being at the fort. There were too many soldiers around, all ready to hang him. His only protection was Lieutenant Dan Monroe and the fact that they were related. Dan walked to the bed and sat down on the edge of it.
“I’m having a time keeping them from throwing you behind bars or shooting you, Wolf’s Blood. I nearly lost my commission when I brought you back here to heal.”
“I am grateful,” the boy told him. “I do not want to make trouble for you.”
“I know that.” Dan studied the heavy bandages around the boy’s upper left chest and shoulder. “Wolf’s Blood, the best I could get out of my senior officer was an agreement to let you go free, as long as you promise to go back home to Zeke and Abbie and not to return to Swift Arrow and make war.”
The boy sighed, turning to gaze out a window, past the wooden buildings of the fort to the freedom of the hills beyond. “I cannot make such a promise. I know I should go home. My sister Lillian has died, and my parents are suffering.” He met Dan’s blue eyes with his dark ones. “Have you heard yet if my father came back from searching for LeeAnn?”
“Not yet.”
The boy made a fist in anger. “I should be with him! I should have gone along to help him! Now it is too late. I can only pray he will be all right and that my sister will not be harmed. But when I think of how it is for the white women my own people attack …” He thought about the girl her had killed. “Poor LeeAnn. It can only be bad for her. Perhaps my father does not want me to come back. He may be angry. Perhaps LeeAnn could have been saved if I had been there to help.”
Dan grinned. “One thing I can guarantee, Wolf’s Blood: Zeke Monroe wants to see his son again, under any circumstances. He would most definitely love to have you come home, and so would Abbie. I’m sure she needs you right now, Wolf’s Blood. I wish you’d give it serious thought.”
“I have vowed to fight with my people.”
“Fine. But you’re badly wounded anyway. It will take time for you to heal, even after you’re well enough to travel. Go home to do the healing. Then you will have helped me keep my end of the bargain. My senior officer doesn’t need to know if you head north a few months from now. That’s up to you. But I can’t save you much longer without a promise that you’ll go south. Even at that, you’ll risk running into other soldiers who won’t know what has happened here and who might shoot you on sight.”
Wolf’s Blood gazed out the window again. They bot
h heard the long, lonely cry of a wolf somewhere in the distant hills. Wolf’s Blood sat up straighter, and there was a wildness about him that suddenly filled the room. “Do you hear it?”
“That wolf? We’ve been hearing it for a couple of weeks. It’s giving the men the jitters.”
Wolf’s Blood looked at him and grinned. “Good. It is my soul they are hearing, crying for my people.”
Dan frowned. “Your soul?”
“My soul is in him, in that wolf you hear. He is mine, my pet, as you white people call such things.” He looked back out the window. “He waits for me. It all waits for me—the land—the wind—the wolves.” The lonely wail came again, and the boy’s wild, dark eyes flashed back to Dan. “I will think about what you have told me. Perhaps the lonely call of my wolf is also the voice of my father, calling for me.” His eyes teared. “If something happens to my father, much life will go out of me forever.”
Zeke paced the kitchen while Anna put away some dishes. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep from going over there and tying her to my horse,” he grumbled.
She turned and went to a drawer, taking out a small piece of paper and a pouch of tobacco. “Hang on, my friend. I’ll go talk to her again if you’d like. I don’t know how much good it will do. Besides, she probably hates me because she thinks something is going on between us.” Anna smiled enticingly. “I wish to God she were right.”
She liked his wild restlessness, was touched by his need to get free of Denver and its suffocating effects. That was what she loved about him, he was so different from other men, unaffected by the whites around him. Conversations around the supper table with her other boarders were always interesting, they asked endless questions about Indians, sometimes arousing Zeke’s ire by their ignorance and misconceptions. A few times she had thought Zeke would explode and hit someone, and occasionally a guest would suddenly excuse himself or herself, afraid of the long-haired, dark man whose handsome face revealed a hard life and an experience beyond their grasp. Whenever Zeke was gone, he became a conversation piece, and two guests had left because they feared to stay in the same house with an Indian.
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