Ride the Free Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  The old man nodded. “Very well.” He turned and walked through the circle of men, and Zeke put a hand to Abbie’s waist, urging her to follow.

  “Zeke? Where are we going?” she asked.

  “He wants to see the scar from the arrow,” he told her.

  “What!” She stopped but he urged her forward again.

  “It’s all right, Abbie. Trust me, please. Let’s get this over.”

  She blinked back tears and followed the priest. The three of them entered the old man’s tipi, where many headdresses and religious objects hung amid the priest’s personal belongings. Some of these were gifts from those who were grateful for his prayers and his faithful leadership in ceremonies. The priest himself stood dark and wrinkled and rigid, his arms folded in front of him, while Zeke unlaced the front of Abbie’s tunic and pulled it down over her left shoulder just far enough to reveal the scar left from the arrow but not enough to expose the whole breast.

  The old priest did not seem to look upon her with evil thoughts, only with admiration.

  “Ai. I know wounds,” he told Zeke. “This was a bad one. Your woman is strong.”

  “And brave,” Zeke told him, pulling the tunic back up.

  The priest turned and took down a leather belt with two gray feathers in it. Stepping closer to Abbie, he reached around her as she stood rigid and curious while he tied the belt about her waist. Then he stepped back.

  “Tell your woman this belt is my gift to her. The feathers are from the gray eagle, our most powerful medicine. They will protect her from arrows and bullets, and she will not again suffer such a wound.”

  Zeke explained, “This is a great honor, Abbie. A great honor indeed.”

  She nodded to the old priest. “Ha ho,” she told him, remembering the Cheyenne word for thank you. A faint smile passed over the old man’s lips.

  “It is not just because she has killed three Crow that I do this,” the old man added. “I admire her courage in ending her small brother’s terrible pain by asking you to end his life. This took great strength and wisdom, and it will forever be a burden to her heart.” He watched the agony that drifted through Zeke’s own eyes. “And a painful burden on your heart also,” he added.

  Their eyes held. “I … had become very fond of the boy,” Zeke replied sadly. “What I did was done out of love. It still grieves me in the night.”

  “I am sure that it does. It is strange, is it not that you can use that blade of yours in such savage hatred and then sometimes in love, as when you took the boy’s life and when you had to cut this small woman to save her from the infection?”

  Zeke nodded. “Love and hatred often lie close beside one another, my father.” He used the endearing term most young Cheyenne men used toward the older, wiser men who were not actually their fathers, but who were honored and respected as leaders. “I will give you two of my best horses in return for the gift you have just given Abbie,” he added.

  The old priest nodded. “I go now to tell the others of what I have seen and to tell them it is my decision that she should stay. She has no family. The Cheyenne do not turn away the homeless and lost. We will take a vote.”

  He turned and left the tipi. Then Zeke pulled Abbie into his arms, smothering her with a kiss before she could say a word. He pressed her tightly against himself, so tightly that she could feel his heart pounding and could feel his manly hardness pushing against her belly, for his pride in her made him want her as he never had before. His lips moved to her neck and his hands grasped her hips.

  “I love you, Abbie girl. There will be some celebrating tonight.”

  “Then … it’s all right?”

  “Yes, Abbie.” He lifted her off the ground, whirling her. “You’re Lone Eagle’s woman, and from now on you’re Cheyenne!” he told her.

  She smiled and threw her arms around his neck, and they kissed hungrily. She remembered the first time Cheyenne Zeke ever kissed her, the hot, terrible need she had had to have this man be her first. The fire of his kisses had never dwindled, and his touch made her want him as she had always wanted him, for he was a man who knew about women and had taught her everything about how to please him and receive pleasure in return. To be accepted by the Cheyenne was their last barrier. They had overcome so many barriers to be together. Now he was with his people, where he was happiest. And she was carrying his baby. The old priest would recommend she be allowed to stay. Nothing could spoil their happiness now. Nothing.

  After several minutes the priest reentered.

  “She stays,” he told Zeke. “Come.”

  He led them outside, where men and women began congregating around them, their faces now happy and smiling and welcoming. Zeke was shaking hands with the men and was suddenly whisked away for men’s games, as the entire village had decided to spend the rest of the day celebrating before beginning the hunt the next day. Abbie wanted to stay with Zeke, but the women already had her surrounded and were babbling to her in Cheyenne, touching her, ogling her, laughing, and visiting.

  Abbie was relieved when Zeke’s mother came to her rescue to interpret their questions, and if Abbie had been lonely for friends before, she could not be lonely now, for all of them seemed to want to be her best friend. Already, offers were being made to show her how to construct a tipi, how to sew skins, how to make pemmican. Some offered to paint her tipi, once she had made one that would be all her own. They dragged her about, showing her their fat babies and painted dwellings, while Zeke was off somewhere participating in war games and sharing stories of conquest with the men.

  The little puppy that had remained beside Abbie when she sat in the council circle now followed her again. The other women kept shooing it away until Abbie finally bent down and picked it up, cuddling it close.

  “It’s a darling puppy!” she told Zeke’s mother. “May I keep it?”

  The jabbering lessened, and some of the women giggled and looked at each other.

  “You mean, until it’s fattened up more?” Zeke’s mother asked.

  Abbie frowned. “I mean … as a pet … unless it belongs to someone else.”

  The Arapaho woman who had been watching sullenly and following the crowd of women laughed wickedly and stepped forward, pushing herself through the other women and confronting Abbie. She sneered at Abbie and the puppy and put her hands on her hips. She was beautiful to look at, but had a wild, animalistic air about her and a vicious look in her dark eyes. Her black hair hung long and tangled. Her tunic was open in a fetching manner, exposing more of her breasts than the other Cheyenne women did.

  “I speak your tongue!” she sneered. “I know what you say!” She laughed again and pulled the puppy’s ear. “Cheyenne do not keep dogs as pets!”

  “Be still, Dancing Moon!” Zeke’s mother said sternly. “Leave us!”

  “I will leave when I wish to leave!” the Arapaho woman spat back. She turned evil eyes on Abbie. “The Cheyenne eat their dogs, especially the fat puppies!” she said to Abbie in English. Abbie’s eyes widened in horror, and Dancing Moon smiled with pleasure at her obvious shock. “Do you still wish to live with the Cheyenne?” she sneered.

  “That is enough, Dancing Moon!” Gentle Woman barked. She put an arm around Abbie’s shoulders. “You may have the puppy, Abbie. It is yours. No one will harm it. We have many ways that you must learn to understand. There are things the white man eats that the Cheyenne will not touch. It is no different. You must understand this. Custom is custom and cannot be called wrong because someone else says that it is. We shall respect your feelings, and you shall keep the puppy.” She turned her eyes to Dancing Moon. “And you will stay away from Zeke’s wife!”

  “Wife!” She spit at Abbie. “I should be his wife!”

  “No honorable man wants one such as you for a wife!” Gentle Woman replied. “Only to make him feel good in the night. You are a disgrace!”

  Dancing Moon seemed unperturbed by the remark. She only leered at Abbie, who stood staring at her, feeling small and b
eaten. Dancing Moon smiled. “Perhaps,” she answered Gentle Woman, her eyes on Abbie. “But I am good at making a man feel good in the night. Zeke knows this, and he will remember when he tires of this little white nothing! I will have him back in my bed. Zeke is good with a woman, is he not?”

  Abbie’s fear and shock were replaced by burning jealousy and anger. She straightened, clinging to the puppy and looking Dancing Moon in the eyes, even though she had to look up. The Arapaho woman was much taller.

  “He’s the best,” Abbie replied calmly and quietly. “And he’s mine! He won’t be needing you anymore, Dancing Moon.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she whirled and left. Abbie watched her a moment, noticing her long, willowy legs and the way she had of swaying her hips when she walked. So, Zeke had slept with this one. It stirred a terrible jealousy Abbie had never felt before, and she vowed that this night when she made love to Zeke, he would find a wild and grateful woman in his bed and would have no desire for any other. For Dancing Moon would most certainly do her best to entice him away.

  “I am sorry,” Gentle Woman was telling her. “She is a bad one! Zeke only slept with her sometimes to relieve his manly needs. She means nothing to him, Abbie. Nothing. She means nothing to any man! That is the kind she is. She likes all the men. Some day she will cause great trouble and be banished. Zeke knows how she is. And he loves you. You are not to worry about filth like that.”

  Abbie looked at the woman. “Is it true … about … about eating dogs?”

  Their eyes held, Gentle Woman’s full of love and patience. “It is true, my child. But that is our way, just as the white man eats the egg of a chicken. What one thinks is bad, another thinks is good. It is all the same, Abigail. You will never be asked to eat the meat of a dog if this is distasteful to you. Zeke would not ask such a thing of you. And it is as I said. The puppy is yours to keep. We will tell all the village so that no one harms it.” She laughed lightly. “It will be a good joke! The Cheyenne like a good joke. The white woman keeps a puppy for a pet!” She patted Abbie’s cheek. “Yes, they will laugh at that one. But they do not laugh at you, Abbie. They laugh with you. When you learn the kind of happy people the Cheyenne are—the way they like to play jokes and tease—you will laugh, too, and will not be so serious. My Zeke, he always says the white man is too serious. He does not know how to—how do you say it?—relax? He cannot be himself. You be yourself, Abigail. Laugh with us and at us.”

  She turned and said something in Cheyenne to the women, and they all screeched with delight, laughing and poking at Abbie and pointing to the puppy. At first Abbie was offended, but she saw the friendship in their eyes, and she began to smile. There was a time when she thought she had lost everything. Then she found Zeke. Now she had an entire family again, and she was carrying Zeke’s baby. Yes, she could smile. There was only one fly in the ointment now. Her name was Dancing Moon.

  Abbie awoke to the smell of cooking meat, and turned over to see Zeke adding wood to a fire inside Swift Arrow’s tipi, which they continued to use until they would have one of their own. Two strips of smoked antelope lay in a flat, iron pan over the fire. Zeke glanced over at her and grinned, and she quickly took in the beautiful sight of him. He wore only the loincloth which briefly covered that part of him that had planted life in her womb.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” she chided him. “I should be doing that.”

  “I know. But you’ve been sick and I felt sorry for you. Besides, I’m happy about how well you’ve been accepted by the People.” He came over to her and removed his moccasins, crawling under the robe with her. “And don’t you dare tell anyone I started the fire and the breakfast,” he warned her, “especially not Swift Arrow.”

  She giggled and kissed his chest, and he pulled her close. “By the way, woman,” he teased, “you were pretty wild last night.” He moved down and made a growling sound in her neck. “You must have more savage blood in you than you think.”

  He felt her stiffen slightly in his arms, and he pulled back to see tears in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Abbie?”

  “Is that what it takes to please you?”

  He grinned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  She blushed slightly and looked away. “I’m talking about … Dancing Moon.”

  His grip tightened on her wrist and he raised up on one elbow. “Has that bitch been talking to you?” His instant anger surprised her.

  “I … didn’t have a chance to tell you last night. You were so happy and all, I didn’t want to bring it up. Why didn’t you tell me about her, Zeke?”

  Her tears of wounded love tore at his heart, and he felt a sudden desperateness at the knowledge that he had somehow disappointed her.

  “Abbie, there was nothing to tell,” he replied. He moved on top of her, taking her face between his hands. “She was just someone to sleep with when I needed to get something out of my system. And now that I have you I have no need for such a woman. Don’t you let anything she says upset you, Abbie. If she does upset you, you tell me, understand? I’ll set her straight.” She bit her lip and nodded. “Forgive me, Abbie. But how could I tell you? I tried once or twice, but there never seemed to be a right way, and she meant so little to me anyway.”

  A tear slipped down the side of Abbie’s face. “She’s … beautiful,” she said quietly.

  “Not like you,” he answered lovingly, his own eyes watery. “There isn’t a buck here who’d want her for keeps, Abbie, and if she isn’t careful, she’ll be banished from us. The only reason she hasn’t been already is because she’s Arapaho, and her people deal with their loose women more lightly than the Cheyenne do.”

  “She told me I couldn’t keep the puppy because the Cheyenne would eat it,” Abbie sniffed. “I want the puppy, Zeke.”

  His eyes hardened again. “I ought to beat her for saying that to you!” He wiped a tear on her cheek with his fingers. “Of course you can have the puppy, Abbie. No one will harm it.” He kissed her cheek. “You just have to understand that the Cheyenne have had dogs around for work and for food for centuries. It’s commonplace, like the white man killing and eating chickens or pigs. Since the People migrated west, dogs have become a minor part of their diet. They eat mostly buffalo meat and elk and all the other wild game. The dog is only eaten when the hunt has not been good, when there are little children’s bellies to be fed. You’ve never hungered that way, Abbie. If you knew what it was like to be that hungry, you would understand how a man can eat a dog.” His hands gripped her hair. “Don’t dwell on such things, Abbie girl. And don’t let Dancing Moon upset you.”

  She met his eyes. “Am I better than she is in bed?”

  He kissed her lips lightly. “You know the anguish I went through deciding to marry you, Abbie; I loved you so much and was afraid being married to me would bring you harm. But I gave in. Now why in hell do you think a strong man like myself couldn’t fight his feelings for you and had to marry you? Abbie, you know how much I love you. You know how hard it was for me to stay away from you. How can you ask such a foolish question?”

  She shrugged and sniffed. “I just … I don’t know anything more than what you’ve taught me. I just want you to be pleased with me.”

  He grinned a little, reaching over and moving the iron skillet off the fire. “You’re carrying my baby,” he told her. “And surely you know when I’m inside of you whether or not I’m pleased.” He moved between her legs. “You are my peace and my refuge, Abbie girl. You are the most pleasing thing that has ever happened to me.”

  She searched his dark eyes and knew that he spoke the truth. “Ne-mehotatse,” she whispered. Her chest swelled with a sob, and it tore at his soul to know she’d been hurt by his own kind. He stroked her hair back from her face and began kissing her salty tears.

  “Abbie, my sweet Abbie!” he groaned, his kisses becoming quick and urgent, moving to her lips, where he lightly ran his tongue along the insides of her lips, bringing fire to
her body again. She knew instinctively that he needed to make love to her now, to show her she was his only love. She knew that she must claim him in return.

  She closed her eyes as he quickly removed the loincloth, and she eagerly welcomed him into her body, wanting him never again to desire Dancing Moon. Her fingers dug into the hard muscles of his back and her breath caught in her throat as he took her with determined possessiveness and unspoken apology, his lovemaking more forceful than normal. Soon he would go on the buffalo hunt with the other warriors, but first he would comfort his woman and reassure her that he belonged only to his Abbie.

  The hunt was like nothing Abigail had ever seen. Specified warriors had herded the buffalo into the valley below the village campsite. The women watched, while mounted warriors yipped and howled and rode in circles around the herd, concentrating the great, black mass of bushy manes into a close group. Zeke was among those who rode around the animals, and Abbie watched with trepidation, for herding was a dangerous job and called for sure-footed horses and skilled riders. To fall under the hooves of the giant buffalo was to greet death, and Zeke’s mother had told her of how many warriors had died in other hunts.

  Soon the buffalo were surrounded, and other warriors rose up from hiding places and let go of their arrows, aiming for the kidneys of their intended prey. Some of the warriors who rode began singling out animals to spear with lances, and Abbie thought to herself that if she didn’t already know that Zeke was a half-breed, she would never have been able to tell there was one drop of white blood in him this day. He wore only a breechcloth, like most of the others, as the morning was already hot. His bronze skin glistened in the sun, and his hair was braided. He wore his coup feathers and carried lance and bow, and, of course, the knife.

  Zeke worked hard, for it took up to fifteen buffalo hides to make a tipi. He knew he would never be able to get that many, for this was a small herd, and they were getting smaller every year. But he would get as many as he could and then buy or trade for more with the other men. He was more worried that the small kill would mean a lean winter for the Cheyenne unless they found bigger herds in the fall, which was unlikely.