Embrace the Wild Land

by Rosanne Bittner

  Zeke read his eyes, understanding the meaning of the words, and Abbie reddened. “No,” Zeke answered.

  “She scratched him!” Wolf’s Blood spoke up. “She scratched him good on the face and kicked him into a tub of water. She told us. She held her rifle on the man and chased him away!”

  Swift Arrow watched her eyes for a moment, remembering the brave, fiesty young girl Zeke had brought to his people those many years ago. She had not changed. He grinned and then started laughing. “I can see it!” he exclaimed.

  Zeke smiled himself, pulling Abbie close again, and the other children smiled, some of them giggling. Swift Arrow sat down and Abbie scurried to get him some meat.

  “What is happening in the North, Swift Arrow?” Zeke asked his brother.

  Swift Arrow sobered then, and the air was suddenly heavy. Abbie handed the man a tin plate full of meat, and he felt warm at her closeness. He knew the next few days would be very hard for him. There was a rich womanliness about her that filled a man’s nostrils and stirred his insides. Zeke Monroe knew what he was doing when he claimed this woman. He looked at Zeke.

  “Things are bad,” he told his brother. “The Great White Father in the East has passed a law that gives land away to new settlers. They come by the hundreds, Zeke. By the thousands! They swarm about the land like bees. They shoot at us whenever they please, but if we shoot back we are called savage. Whole villages are punished for what one or two men do. Many more Sioux and Northern Cheyenne have died from disease. Our children starve. And it is only the beginning!”

  Zeke sighed and closed his eyes. “I know, my brother. On the way here Black Elk’s horse got caught up in a barbed wire fence. We had to kill it. I’ll never forget the look on Black Elk’s face—the hopelessness in his eyes.”

  “In the North we fight!” Swift Arrow answered. “Our brothers in the South think that by continuing to be friendly, they will be treated better, given more land and rights. And for now it is so. The Great White Father has declared that more food and supplies should be given to the peaceful Indians. My brothers in the North are angry over this, because the Southern Cheyenne have lead the whites to believe that we all agree to the Treaty of Fort Wise. But we do not! It is not a legal treaty. There are only a few signatures, and the primary chiefs have never signed it. And I tell you this, my brother. Those Indians who remain peaceful will one day suffer just as much as those who choose to fight. It is not just the warring Indians the soldiers will come for. It is all Indians! For the white man wants his land—north and south, east and west. There will be no place for us.” He bit off a piece of meat and chewed quietly for a moment, and Zeke stared at the flames of the small cooking fire. He knew his brother was right. “We in the North have decided that if the white man sees fit to kill us off like so many flies, then we shall do the same,” Swift Arrow continued between bites. “If violence is the only thing they understand, then they will discover what a violent people we can be. We have raided many farms, burned the houses and stolen the horses! They plant fields and we burn them.” He moved his eyes to Abbie. “It is not a safe place for white women,” he added.

  Their eyes held. “And you? Have you killed white women?”

  He studied her for a long, quiet moment. “No,” he replied. “Only the men.”

  She looked down. She knew why he would not kill white women.

  “I remember when we would go out on the hunt,” Swift Arrow continued. “And all we would see for miles and miles would be rolling plains, sometimes black with buffalo. Such visions are gone forever now. You remember those days also, my brother, when first you came out here and found our mother and lived among the Cheyenne. Those were good days.”

  Zeke nodded. He missed his mother, and the thought of being torn from her when he was very small renewed his hatred for his white father.

  Swift Arrow sighed and bit into the meat again. “No more of this talk,” he declared. “We are together again. And this is Wolf’s Blood’s time.” He put a hand on Wolf’s Blood’s shoulder. “It is good to be here. When I finish eating I shall go and see Black Elk and his family.” He set his plate down and faced Wolf’s Blood fully. “Tomorrow you begin to fast. Make your father proud, Wolf’s Blood. Remember that the spirit of the wolf is in you. The wolf is strong and rugged. And remember that if you cry out you will bring much pain to your mother’s heart and you will frighten your brothers and sisters. When they pierce your flesh, think only of the wolf, and of your honor. Blow on the bone whistle. Remember that. This is why a whistle will be put to your lips. Blow it—hard. Breathe deeply and blow and blow. It helps the pain. It is made of the eagle bone and will carry your prayers to the spirits.”

  Wolf’s Blood nodded. “I shall remember, my uncle.”

  Swift Arrow turned and looked at Zeke, who sat wearing only a loincloth. He studied the many scars on his brother, some of them from his own sacrifice at the Sun Dance. “In spite of your white blood, you proved your courage at the Sun Dance,” he told Zeke. “Your son will do the same. Watch him with pride, my brother. Look at him as a warrior, not as a little boy.” He turned his eyes to Abbie. “And you must do the same. It is hardest for the mother.”

  He suddenly leaped to his feet. “I go now. I will come back in the morning.” He bent down and picked up the remaining meat. “Thank you for the food, Abigail. You are a good woman.”

  The remark brought a smile to her lips again and Swift Arrow grinned back. He nodded and quickly left, suddenly needing to get away from her.

  In the deep of the night all was quiet. The children slept soundly, but Abbie lay awake, staring at a star she could see through the hole at the top of the tipi. There was so much to think about this night. It was good that Swift Arrow had come, but the joy of it was broken by his sorrow over what was happening to the Indians, and by the fact that her son must begin his ordeal the next day. She stirred and realized Zeke was not beside her. She sat up.

  “Zeke?”

  “I saw him go out, Mother,” Wolf’s Blood spoke up. “I think he took whiskey with him. Perhaps you should find him.”

  She frowned and held a robe in front of her. “Your father almost never drinks,” she replied. “I think you’re right, Wolf’s Blood. I had better go find him. Turn around so that I can put on my tunic.”

  The young man turned over and she quickly put on a plain tunic, wanting to save the white one for the ceremonies that would begin in the morning. She went outside, where many campfires still burned. In the distance, at the center of the circle of hundreds of tipis, was the Sun Dance lodge. The pole at the center of it, which was the center of the sacrifice, cast an odd shadow created by a fire that burned inside the sacrificial lodge.

  “Zeke?” she called out again. She walked into the darkness behind their tipi, for she had not seen him anywhere in the light of the fires. “Zeke, where are you?”

  She gasped as a strong arm grasped her about the waist and pulled her close, and in the next moment his lips were on hers, kissing her savagely, a light odor of whiskey on his breath. She knew it was her husband, and yet somehow he was different, his soul torn by the fact that Swift Arrow loved her, his heart torn by the knowledge of what his son would suffer in the next few days, and his physical needs enhanced by the whiskey that he had drunk to try to forget the ache of what was happening to the people.

  He released the kiss, but kept a tight hold on her so that it was difficult even to breathe. “I want you,” he told her flatly. “I can’t take you inside because my need is so strong that the children would hear.”

  Her heart pounded with a desire that was close to fear, for this was a rare moment when he was much more savage than white, when his needs would be feasted on her in more of a rage than in love. But this was her husband. She would not fight him, even though he had been drinking.

  “Then take me where no one can hear,” she answered. “After tomorrow neither of us will want to do this for a while. Our time and our hearts will be spent on Wolf’s Blood.
”

  He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the darkness, where already he had a blanket ready. Somehow he had known she would come searching for him and would go with him. He laid her gently on the blanket, then removed his loincloth, looking even bigger and more powerful in the soft moonlight. He bent over her and pushed up her tunic, and she was naked beneath it. She let him pull it over her head, and then he was bending close, tasting her body with his lips, claiming her as though he needed to prove she belonged to him. It was not necessary, but she knew that for him it was. In this moment he could also forget about his son and what the next day would bring.

  He lay down beside her in the opposite direction, nestling his face against her belly, then moving down to taste her sweetness, his strong hands gently pressing her thighs apart. This always brought a blush to her skin but fire to her blood, and tonight especially it felt so right, for she was his woman and he had a great need this night.

  She cried out in an ecstasy he forced from her, for to be totally claimed by this man meant an awakening of great passion. He moved back up her body, lingering for a moment on her full breasts before moving to the curve of her neck. His lips were moist with her own sweetness and she trembled with a mixture of lust and invaded modesty, a modesty this man had ways of sometimes breaking down completely. He realized it was still there, in spite of all the children and all the times they had made love, for this was Abbie, and she was really no different than the first time he had taken her. That was what always made it exciting, and still the challenge was there to get her to totally let go of her inhibitions and give to him her most secret parts.

  “My Abbie-girl,” he whispered, moving between her legs. “You lie here on the grass like an Indian, and tomorrow your son will begin his suffering because you have let him be Indian. What have I done to your life?”

  “You have made me happy,” she replied. “Nothing less.”

  He rested on his elbows, grasping the hair at each side of her head, and in the next moment he surged inside of her, his long hair brushing across her lips. She grasped his powerful wrists in her hands and arched up to him in return, tingling with the extent of his power and the knowledge that she had been chosen to be the woman on whom he spent his passions. She gasped at the savageness of his thrust and moaned his name. He wanted to be more gentle, yet somehow he could not. The whiskey made him want to take her and take her, consume her, ravage her. He was almost angry with her for being so damned sweet as to marry him and love him, forcing him to do that which he had wanted most not to do—marry another white woman. He loved her, and yet sometimes he hated her for making him love her by her own goodness and unselfish love.

  He came down on her, wrapping his arms around her and rolling over quickly so that she was on top of him. “Be free tonight, woman of Lone Eagle,” he told her. “Do not be like a white woman. Be Lone Eagle’s woman.”

  She had never done such a thing, yet somehow this night she felt strangely uninhibited, and for the next few moments she was wild and alive and so much in love with this man that it hurt, remembering the times he had risked his life to save her, more times than she could even count over the years. With this man she was never afraid, and with this man she was more alive than at any other time in her life. She leaned down and he tasted her breasts, then rolled her over and poured his life into her as a cry of spent passion exited his lips.

  He lay there limp then, sorry for his savageness, sorry for the whiskey, and suddenly overcome by his concern for Wolf’s Blood. “Hold me, Abbie,” he groaned. She put her arms around his powerful shoulders, and when he rested his face against hers, she felt a wetness on her cheek.

  “He’ll be fine,” she told him gently. “He’s the son of Lone Eagle.”

  Twelve

  The special herbs that the shaman put on the fire created more sweet smoke, which the man then fanned over Wolf’s Blood’s face. The boy groaned slightly, and Zeke’s fingers dug into the earth, where he lay face down praying for his son.

  “Zeke, it has to be done,” Abbie told him again. “Just like it had to be done when I nearly died from the arrow wound.”

  “I can’t,” he moaned. “Not to him.”

  “You can and you must!” she pleaded.

  He raised his head, looking at her with red-rimmed eyes, his face showing his torture. “No.”

  She sucked in her breath, wanting to scream at him. She glanced at her son again, her heart wrenching at the sight of his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. How courageously he had suffered the Sun Dance! For three days and nights he had danced constantly around the central pole with the others, without eating or drinking. On the fourth day he had stood silently while the skewers were placed through the flesh of his breasts, the back of his shoulders, his upper arms and his thighs. And again he had danced, dragging the weights that were attached to the skewers, until the flesh weakened and the skewers tore through and he collapsed. He knew then that he could endure all things.

  His father had proudly carried the boy to their tipi, and both he and Abbie nursed him. But something had gone wrong. Infection had developed in one thigh. If not for the boy’s already weakened condition, perhaps he would have healed more readily, but the infection had brought him so much pain, on top of his other wounds and his lack of nourishment, that Wolf’s Blood could not bring himself to eat, which acted as a vicious circle, making him weaker. It had been five days since the ordeal had ended. The other wounds were healing, but the one in his thigh had only gotten worse, and the boy was failing rapidly.

  “I don’t see where there is a choice,” she told Zeke sternly. “The infection must be drained. The shaman’s medicine is doing him no good. And you are the best man with a knife. It’s your duty, Zeke Monroe!”

  “Leave me, woman!” he growled. She flinched as though he had hit her. Never had he spoken to her in such a tone. For a brief moment an apology swept through his eyes, but then he turned away and put his head down again. Abbie blinked back tears and left the shaman’s tipi, where Wolf’s Blood had been taken. She shuddered with confusion. If Zeke did not do something soon, she would have to do it herself. But she would be clumsy at such a thing and perhaps only make the boy worse. She walked to their own tipi, where Swift Arrow sat outside, keeping guard over the rest of the Monroe children, who slept restlessly, all of them worried about their brother. Black Elk sat with Swift Arrow, both men gravely concerned.

  Abbie approached them, her face strained, obviously forcing herself to stay calm. “Come and walk with me a moment, Swift Arrow,” she told the eldest of Zeke’s Cheyenne brothers.

  Swift Arrow looked up at her with terrible sorrow in his eyes. He loved Wolf’s Blood as his own son, and he loved this woman. How tired she looked! How drawn and lonely. He rose and nodded toward the darkness. Abbie turned and he followed her as she walked away from the tipi, so that the other children would not hear her concerns. Swift Arrow walked up close behind her, and the scent of her hair was pleasant to his nostrils.

  “The boy?” he asked.

  “I need your help, Swift Arrow. Sometimes you can talk to Zeke when I can’t.” She turned to face him. “If Zeke doesn’t cut out that infection, our son will die. It’s as simple as that.”

  “To do such a thing would be impossible for Zeke. It is his son. He cannot take the knife to his son.”

  “If he doesn’t take the knife to him, it’s the same as killing him!” she almost growled. “Please … help me, Swift Arrow!” she added, her voice turning to more of a whimper. “Talk to him! Make him understand he has no choice. He won’t listen to me.” Her body jerked as a sob caught in her throat. “If Wolf’s Blood dies, Zeke dies also, Swift Arrow. Don’t you … see? I will lose them both! Please. If for no other reason, then do it for me.”

  He felt as though lightning had struck him. She knew! She knew that he loved her. He stepped back slightly, mortified that she should know, suddenly ashamed and embarrassed.

  She swallowed and reached out t
o him. “Zeke … told me once … that to be loved by a Cheyenne Dog Soldier was the greatest honor that could be given to me, for it shows that I have truly become one of the people. There is no shame in loving someone, Swift Arrow, not when it is done with the honor and respect you have given me. And I know that your love for Wolf’s Blood—and for Zeke—is also strong, strong enough that perhaps you will find a way to make Zeke understand, words that I have not yet found. I beg you to try, Swift Arrow. I … I feel so guilty. I’ve heard some of the others whisper … saying my son has too much white blood in him … and that is why he did not heal.” Her voice began to break. “I … can’t bear to hear them say that,” she whimpered. “And … if Wolf’s Blood dies … Zeke will blame me … because I am the one who is all white. He never … should have married me!” Her shoulders shook in a sob and she hung her head, and in the next moment Swift Arrow was standing close, pulling up her chin with his hand.

  “This is not the proud, strong young girl my brother brought to the people those many winters ago,” he told her gently. “Your white blood is strong, Abigail, as strong as any Cheyenne blood. My brother loves you much more than his own life. It is not you he would blame, my sister. It is himself. Always he has feared that side of himself. And always he has blamed that side of himself whenever tragedy comes to him. I have seen this in him, the child in him that sometimes still hears the voices of those who insulted him back in that place called Tennessee—those who almost convinced him he was not worth spitting on. Now he feels helpless. He has told himself that he does not deserve the beautiful woman he married, or the fine son she gave to him. He has given up the fight before it even began.”

  She reached up and took his hand. “Talk to him, Swift Arrow,” she said quietly. She sniffed and squeezed his hand. “Please. You think it isn’t your place to interfere, but I do. I’m asking you to do this … for me, and because of your love for Wolf’s Blood.”