Ride the Free Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  Abbie blushed and looked down. “Thank you.”

  “It is good to have you here,” Gentle Woman added. “I will have a daughter now, and soon a grandchild! When Swift Arrow’s wife and son died of the spotted disease, my heart was very sad. Now there will be happiness again in our family, and my lonely half-blood son will smile again. I only hope that some day Swift Arrow will also find another woman to warm his hardened heart.”

  Their eyes held, and Abigail knew already that she liked this woman whose name seemed so fitting. Gentle Woman. Her eyes virtually glowed when she spoke of her sons, and Abbie could imagine the horror this woman must have suffered the day Zeke was dragged from her arms, while she was taken away by a Crow buck who had bought her from her white husband. Hers had not been an easy life. She had been stolen by a Ute at the tender age of twelve, raped, and made a slave until the Ute sold her to Zeke’s father. He kept her with him until he tired of her, then sold her to the Crow buck and took her little son back with him to Tennessee.

  “I thought … I thought you would be disappointed with Zeke’s choice,” Abbie told the woman. “Swift Arrow doesn’t like me, and I don’t think your Cheyenne husband likes me.”

  Gentle Woman grasped Abbie’s hands. “Listen to me quickly, my child, before they come to take you before the council. My Zeke is a man of great courage and suffering. He has lived among the whites and has been to many places. He is wise for his years and knows what is good and true. If he has chosen you for his woman, it says much about your worth. The others know this. I know this. Because you are special to Zeke, you shall be special to them. Swift Arrow and Deer Slayer and any others who might voice objections, they are also wise men, men who are cautious, men who have seen what the whites can do. They are perhaps more afraid only because they have not been into your world as Zeke has, and so they find it more difficult to judge you because they do not understand the whites so well and have nothing to compare you with. But in time I know you will prove yourself. You must go to the council with your chin held high and bravery in your eyes. You must speak only when they ask you to speak, and then it must be only the truth.”

  “But how can you … I mean … I’ve just arrived. How can you be so sure about me, ma’am?”

  Gentle Woman smiled. “Because my Zeke loves you. His eyes shine with pride for you. He is pleased. For many moons he has been alone, and now he has a woman beside him in the night, and she carries his life. It is good! If Zeke has chosen you, it is not for me to judge, only to accept. I have great trust in my son’s judgment.”

  Drums began beating and Abbie’s heart seemed to pound harder along with them. Zeke’s mother squeezed her hands and rose to walk to the tipi entrance. She looked out. Abbie could hear bells jingling and voices chanting and singing; these were mingled with clipped war whoops and coyotelike howls.

  Gentle Woman suddenly moved back as Swift Arrow entered, wearing layers of beads around his neck and a brightly feathered headdress. His face was painted with stripes of blue, and his bronze, muscular arms were adorned with copper bands.

  “Where … where is Zeke?” Abbie asked.

  “Do not ask questions!” he snapped. “Come with me! Your husband is with the council. We shall decide whether or not we can keep a white woman among us! Walk behind me, and do not speak! See if you can keep that loose tongue of yours from moving!” He left so quickly that Abbie had time for only a brief backward glance at Gentle Woman, who gave her an encouraging smile.

  Abbie hurriedly followed Swift Arrow, not noticing an Arapaho woman watching sullenly from a distance when she exited the tipi. The woman’s dark eyes burned with hatred and jealousy of the white woman Cheyenne Zeke had brought back with him.

  “Cheyenne Zeke belongs to Dancing Moon!” the woman hissed to herself. She spit in Abbie’s direction, but Abbie was unaware of the gesture, for she was now surrounded by Cheyenne villagers, who pushed her along behind Swift Arrow toward the council gathering.

  Six

  The Cheyenne priest sat cross-legged at the head of the council. His face was striped in yellow and his head was adorned with a magnificent headdress of eagle feathers. A brightly painted bonepipe breastplate decorated his chest. He was old, his dark skin showing the wrinkles of time and sun. And in his eyes shone the wisdom of a man who had lived many years and had known all of life’s trials and tribulations; this wisdom gave him the requirements needed to be a counselor for the People.

  Abbie sat motionless at the center of the circle of councilmen, Zeke among them, his face painted in white, his prayer color, and coup feathers tied at the base of his hair, which was pulled back into one plait that hung down his back. Abbie’s apprehension was quelled by his presence, for she could feel his strength and reassurance without having to touch him or look at him.

  The priest raised a polished, wooden pipe to the sky. “To the Wise One Above,” he said in the Cheyenne tongue, “Heammawihio.” He puffed the pipe and then pointed it at the earth. “To the God Who Lives under the Ground, Ahktunowihio.” He puffed the pipe again, and Abbie watched, aware of what the man was doing, for Zeke had taught her some things about the Cheyenne religion, and she had seen him practice it himself, offering a pipe to the gods of the sky and the earth, as well as to the powerful spirits that lived at the four parts of the compass. The priest waved the pipe in these four directions in honor of those spirits, enacting the ceremony called the Nivstanivoo.

  The pipe was passed on to the other men, who performed the same ritual one by one and puffed the sacred pipe. Abbie sat silently, as Swift Arrow had instructed her to do. She was glad she had the beautiful doeskin tunic that Tall Grass Woman had given her to wear. At least that, with her long, dark hair, made her resemble a Cheyenne woman, but there was no way to ever have skin quite so dark. Perhaps a few years of living with the elements would help. But at this moment she felt as white as the clouds she watched in the distance.

  The Cheyenne women of the village watched from the background, staring in awe at Abbie, curious to know about her, their faces friendly and eager. Dogs dashed about, and a small, fat puppy trotted up close to her. She wanted to reach out and pet it, but was afraid that anything she did or said might be a mistake, so she sat still and watched the puppy out of the corner of her eye, while the men began conversing. Her heart quickened when she noticed a couple of them arguing vehemently, certain they were arguing against her being there. She wished more than ever that she could understand the Cheyenne tongue.

  Then Zeke rose, walked close to her, and stood behind her. He began speaking, turning slowly and facing them one by one as he spoke, and although he used their own tongue, Abbie knew he was telling them about her and doing his best to convince them she should be allowed to stay.

  “This young woman, hardly more than a child, has shown me a strength and courage as powerful as any of our own women,” he told them. “I have told you that after what happened to the white woman I married in the place called Tennessee, I would never again marry a white woman. But, my friends, my brothers, with this girl it is only her skin that is white. Her spirit and her heart are as strong and true as any Cheyenne. And even though I feared she would suffer from her own people for choosing a half-blood for a husband, I could not turn her away, for she had no one, and I knew she must belong to me. Her heart lies here, next to my own.” He put a fist to his chest. “And because she knows that my heart lies here, with my mother’s people, she has given up the white man’s ways to come here with me. This in itself is a great sacrifice.”

  “And what are these things she has done to show you her strength and trustworthiness?” Swift Arrow spoke up.

  Zeke eyed his brother defiantly; then he swept his eyes around the circle of men again.

  “When first I met this woman-child,” he told them, “I was a scout for her people who were going to the far place called Oregon. Her mother had already died, and her father brought her and her sister and small brother west to start a new life. But her small brother
fell from their wagon and was crushed beneath it.”

  There were some gasps and whispers among them, for the Cheyenne were a people of gentle hearts. Abbie was amazed at the almost total silence in the crowd, except for an occasional whisper. Their eyes were riveted on her and on Zeke, for the Cheyenne delighted in hearing someone tell a story, whether it be fact or fantasy, a story of a warrior’s conquest or a story about spirits of the night. Now Cheyenne Zeke was telling them a story, and they all listened with enthusiasm, their faces lit up like little children’s, even Swift Arrow’s.

  “This was when I first learned about Abigail’s courage,” Zeke went on in the Cheyenne tongue with Abbie able only to guess at what he must be saying. “Her small brother developed a terrible infection that was slowly killing him. The pain was unbearable, a very bad thing to see, with maggots on the places where the bones showed through the skin. He was badly broken on the inside, in ways that would not mend. It was so terrible that Abigail came to me one night when he suffered worst of all, and she asked”—his voice dropped in his own grief—“she asked if I would … use my knife … in such a way that I would quickly end her brother’s horrible suffering.”

  Silence hung over them, and by the inflection of Zeke’s voice, Abbie knew he was telling them something that was difficult for him to talk about. She looked up at him and he glanced down at her. “I’m telling them about Jeremy,” he told her quietly. She looked away, wanting very much to hold him. Never would she forget what he had done for her that night. Never before and never again would he perform a more difficult task out of love, and the memory of it brought an aching grief to both their hearts. But Abbie loved her little brother. And no one could convince her that the decision she had made to end his suffering was wrong.

  Zeke pulled out his knife. “I ended the boy’s life quickly with this, in a way that was easy on him. I used the knife so that Abigail’s father would not know. It was quick and soundless.” He swallowed. “Until this very moment, no one has ever known, other than Abigail and myself. Now you know. This honor of sharing such a sacred moment I choose to share with you, to show you this girl’s courage and compassion.”

  His voice choked and he shoved the knife back into its sheath, pacing a moment before he continued; the People watched spellbound.

  “Abigail’s brother died as bravely as any dog soldier,” Zeke finally continued quietly. “He had the same strength and gentle spirit his sister has. She knew her decision would burden her heart forever, but she also knew she could not let his suffering continue, with no end in sight but death. There was no sense in letting it happen slowly.” He touched Abbie’s hair for a moment. “But Abbie’s father could not stand the loss, and in a night of drunken grief he took his own life.” There were some whispers among the People. “And so Abbie had lost two loved ones within a few days of each other and was left in a strange land with no one but her sister remaining. Her sister was not strong like Abbie, nor as wise and proud. She was vain and wanted fancy things and the comforts money brings. She had taken up with a fancy man on the wagon train—a gambler. After her father died, she ran off with her fancy man and Abbie was completely alone. Only days later we discovered her sister, Lee Ann, had been captured by vicious outlaws, and her lover killed.”

  Abbie closed her eyes against the pain when she heard the name Lee Ann. She wondered if she would ever be able to erase the memory of finding Lee Ann dead, a hole in her forehead from a bullet, her body naked and abused.

  “I will not tell you every detail, except that when I went after the men who captured Lee Ann, this brave girl insisted on going with me, thinking that if we found her sister alive, Lee Ann would need her. I tried to discourage her, but I knew if I left her behind she would follow me, and so I took her with me only because she would be safer that way. And by then I knew I loved her, and she loved me.” He stopped and knelt behind Abbie, putting his hands on her shoulders. “By that time we were already husband and wife, according to Cheyenne custom.”

  Some of the Cheyenne women smiled and whispered, aware of the meaning of the words, but most of the men sat with unemotional faces, except that Black Elk grinned. Amid the crowd of women, the jealous-eyed Dancing Moon watched, her heart burning with hatred for Abbie and a terrible desire for Cheyenne Zeke.

  “I had sent the wagon train on with a reliable man, to wait for us at the South Pass, while I and my good friend, Olin Wales took Abbie and went to search for her sister. But we were too late when we found her. When we knew she was dead I sent Abigail back to the wagon train, with Olin as her protection, while I went on to find the outlaws and avenge her sister’s murder. But the outlaws tricked us. They attacked Abigail and Olin, leaving Olin for dead and capturing Abbie. When I found the outlaws, they already had Abigail with them.” He stroked Abbie’s hair. “Thanks to the gods, I got there before they violated her, but they had beaten her and hurt her, and I don’t think I need to tell you what happened to those men.”

  Red Eagle grinned. “They felt your blade!” he put in.

  Zeke nodded, studying the luster of Abbie’s hair in the firelight. “There were many of them.” His eyes lit up with burning hatred, and his lips curled at his next remark. “But I had vengeance in my heart!” he snarled. “I surprised them, and I shot many of them with arrows before they even knew what was happening. I used my knife on the rest. But during the fight I took a bullet in my side; and Abigail, in spite of what she had been through, ran to one of the horses, grabbed a rifle, and shot one of the outlaws herself—a Crow renegade!” He rose. “This shows you her courage!” he bragged. “That was the first man she had ever killed. I was glad it happened to be a Crow!”

  They all laughed lightly, and Abbie breathed a little easier.

  “I was badly wounded,” Zeke continued. “We found a cave to hole up in, and Abigail, after all she’d been through, dug the bullet out of me. It was not easy for her to do, but she saved my life by doing it. And when she continued to show her courage and her strength after all the things she had been through, I began to be more sure I wanted her for my woman, for always. After I recovered enough to travel, we returned to the wagon train, and we discovered Olin Wales had also survived. My heart was glad, for Olin is one of the few white men who is a very good friend to me.”

  “What of the Crow arrow?” Swift Arrow asked. “You tell us she had taken a Crow arrow.”

  Zeke began pacing around the circle of councilmen. “Our wagon train was attacked by Crows. That was when Abbie shot her second Crow Indian. But she took an arrow in her back that exited her body at her chest, just above her left breast. It was a very bad wound.”

  There were more gasps and whispers, and stares of curiosity mingled with admiration for the white squaw who had killed two Crows and had even survived an arrow wound!

  “I removed the arrow myself. Later she got a bad infection from it. I had to cut her to drain it, and then I had to burn the infection out, deep inside, with a white-hot rod. It was a terrible thing for her to suffer through, and she almost died.” He turned his eyes to Abbie, and his voice gentled. “It was then I knew I must have her at my side forever,” he went on. “When we reached Fort Bridger, I asked her to marry me the white man’s way to make it official with her own people. But she was so weak that I had to leave her at Fort Bridger to mend. I came back for her this spring.” He turned to face the priest. “And then we came here to find the Cheyenne,” he finished.

  The old priest grunted something to Zeke, and Zeke bent down and grasped Abbie’s arm. “Stand up, Abbie girl,” he told her quietly. “I think we may have won the battle.”

  She looked up at him and he winked, as the old man walked close to her, then circled her, eying her up and down.

  “So … she has killed two Crow!” he exclaimed in the Cheyenne tongue.

  “She has killed three Crow!” Zeke answered. “Did my brother, Swift Arrow, not tell you about the one she killed when the Crow attacked my brother’s camp?”

  Th
e old priest glanced at Swift Arrow.

  “I… I did not have the chance,” Swift Arrow told him.

  The old man’s eyebrows lifted in doubt, and a faint smile passed over his lips. “When you are older, you will learn that telling about another’s heroics does not diminish your own, Swift Arrow. Could it be that you are jealous of this small girl?”

  Swift Arrow’s eyes blazed with anger, but the old priest had him on the spot. Swift Arrow looked around at the others, and some of them chuckled; but their laughter ceased when the old priest cast them chastising looks.

  “Swift Arrow’s heart is bitter with the loss of his loved ones to the white man’s disease. All of us feel some bitterness. In time, we will forget.” He looked at Swift Arrow. “And forgive,” he added. “For it is more noble to do so. Disease is an unseen enemy that cannot be controlled. Only the Great Spirit can say who shall and shall not get the disease. And this small bit of woman cannot control such power.” He turned to Zeke. “This killing of three Crow, it is strong medicine!” he declared. “You will swear by her? You will give your oath that if this woman should become a traitor to our people, you will suffer the punishment for her and be banished from our people forever?”

  “I give my oath,” Zeke declared staunchly. “Because I know Abigail would never be a traitor to my people. She is one with me, as I am one with the Cheyenne, and she carries my life in her belly. She is my woman and will go where I go and love what I love and sleep where I sleep.”

  The old man nodded. “Your word is good, Lone Eagle. We know you to be a great warrior, and I myself watched you bear the suffering of the Sun Dance ritual. I know that you speak the truth. But as one final proof, I would like to see the scar left by this Crow arrow.”

  Zeke put a hand on Abbie’s shoulder. “I will show only you—in the privacy of the priest’s dwelling.”