Embrace the Wild Land

by Rosanne Bittner

  Abbie tugged at her bindings, but such efforts over the past three weeks had been useless, only reopening the scabs at her wrists where the leather ties had rubbed her skin raw. She had given up screaming for help. There was no one to hear her in this Godforsaken place—a damp, dripping, smelly mine shaft, at a gold mine long deserted, one of those discoveries that had proved to be only a fluke. Now the shaft held a woman who had been beaten and starved and kept from her children in an effort to make her tell Winston Garvey something that she stubbornly refused to tell. The crueler Winston Garvey was to her, the more determined she was not to tell him who had taken Joshua. The thought of the poor boy in the hands of the sadistic ex-senator gave her the strength she needed to hang on; and that strength was only enhanced by the determined belief that Zeke would come for her. Somehow he would find her and help her.

  Every two days Garvey came to see her. She dreaded his visits—for the man seemed to take delight in hurting her. He never did enough to kill her, for he wanted her alive. She knew his idea was to wear her down, through pain and starvation and her own longing for her children. Each day she grew weaker. Each day she missed her children more. Each day a little more hope faded from her soul. She prayed that she would not lose so much strength and hope that she would give up and tell Winston Garvey what he wanted to know. But she was not certain how much longer she could hold out.

  In between Garvey’s visits to the mine shaft, she lay with her arms tied over her head to a stake in the floor of the shaft, her ankles tied to two more stakes. She was freed only two or three times a day so that she could go to the bathroom. The two men who had been with those who had attacked them in Kansas were her guards, taking turns sitting with her. She hated and feared both of them. They had not touched her wrongfully, but she knew it was only on the order of Winston Garvey. Both of them watched her with hideous leers, Buel’s scarred face and neck and Handy’s smashed face both revolting to look at.

  She had had a lot of time to think, and one thing she knew was that Winston Garvey wanted no one, not even these two men, to know about his half-breed son. After she had been captured from the ranch, all the men but Buel and Handy had split up, and only Buel and Handy had brought her to this place. Apparently Winston Garvey did not want the rest of the men to know anything about where she had been taken. And when Garvey came to question her, even Buel and Handy were ordered to leave. Garvey always questioned her alone.

  She closed her eyes and prayed again, her stomach growling from hunger, her lips dry from thirst. In the distance she heard the carriage again. He was coming. “God give me strength!” she prayed.

  The minutes it took for the man to come inside to where she lay passed too quickly, and then he was there, looking down on her where she lay on a damp mattress. “Pretty day out there, Mrs. Monroe,” he spoke up with a smile. “Wouldn’t you like to see some sunshine? Wouldn’t you like to hear the birds, see the blue sky, see your lovely children?”

  She glared at him. “Go to hell,” she said weakly.

  Garvey chuckled, putting his thumbs into the pockets of his vest. He wore a white suit, obviously expensive, and several rings on his fingers. “Now, now, sweet lady, is that any way for a nice woman like you to talk?” He knelt down. “It would be so easy, Mrs. Monroe,” he continued, grasping her jaw tightly. “So easy. You simply tell me where that boy is, and you can go home.”

  “It’s too late for that,” she answered. “Whether I tell or not, my husband will still come after you, Winston Garvey. You are a dead man.”

  He put on an air of unconcern. “I am too well protected,” he announced. “Your husband tries to harm me, and he’ll hang from the highest tree in Denver, with all of its fine citizens coming out to watch. We’ll make a holiday out of it.”

  She watched him smugly, her hatred of him giving her renewed strength. “You don’t know my husband!” she sneered. “What a fool you are, Winston Garvey! You could have left us alone, and no one would ever have known about your half-breed son. Why couldn’t you have left things as they were? Now there will not be anyplace in this country … where you can go and be safe from Zeke Monroe! You don’t know him.… the way I know him. You think … power and money … can keep you safe. But there are other powers, Garvey—stronger powers … stronger than all the money you might have … all the people you might own.”

  The man leaned closer. “Must I remind you again that we can go back at any time and begin killing off your children—one by one?”

  She stared back at him, undaunted. “My children are with the Cheyenne by now. If you want to send your men to the village and try to take them from the Cheyenne warriors, go ahead and try!”

  The man chuckled. “All I have to do is send in soldiers.”

  “Oh? And what excuse will you give?” she answered. “How would you explain it?” She glared at him in stubborn defiance. “You were too much of a coward to face my husband man to man, or even to raid our ranch when Zeke was there! Are you that afraid of him that you had to wait until he was gone? And how do you know if he will even come back? He could be dead.”

  “That, dear lady, is your problem, not mine. If you choose to lie here this way for another month, perhaps six months, maybe forever—you will just lie here. Unless you tell me what I want to know. It’s your decision whether or not you will ever see your children again. You can demand your own fate, my dear. Just say the words.”

  “Why should I? As long as I say nothing, and until my husband comes, you have to keep me alive!”

  The man’s face darkened with anger. This woman was smarter than he had figured. He had thought, since she was a white woman married to a half-breed, that she must be ignorant and slutty. But she was beautiful and intelligent, amazingly perceptive, and worst of all, she had incredible strength and courage. He had not expected the kind of woman that was brought to him, and her own character had foiled some of his plans. He had expected her to fold and weep and tell him where he could find his half-breed son within a matter of days. But she had held out for three weeks, and every threat he had used had been to no avail.

  Abbie saw the worry in his eyes, and she smiled through her pain and weakness. “What you don’t understand, Mister Garvey,” she spoke up haughtily, “is that I have it figured out.”

  “He grasped her hair and pulled. “Shut up, bitch!”

  She winced with pain but just got angrier. “You won’t kill me—or harm my children!” she spit at him. “Your only hope is to keep us alive. You brought me here in the hopes … I would tell you where that boy is. But you figured … that if I wouldn’t tell … you would get your answer from my husband when he returns. You think that just to get me back, he will tell you what you want to know. But if I am dead, why should he tell you anything? There would be no purpose. So you dare not kill me—or harm our children. Because you know Zeke Monroe will come for you if you do. You think that by having me as your captive … you have power over my husband. But I will tell you now, Winston Garvey … that this is the biggest mistake.… you have ever made! My husband won’t tell you … anything. He will simply … kill you. And then he will find me on his own.”

  “You talk cocky for a woman who’s looking for a beating!” the man snarled, glowering.

  “And you’re supposed to be an intelligent man,” she sneered. “You fool! You could have left it all alone and never suffered. But men like you … aren’t happy unless they have their finger … on everything and everyone. Is your hatred of Indians so terrible … that you need to kill an innocent little boy who is the product of you and an Indian woman? Or is it just that you fear your own demented son will one day find out his father slept with a squaw! That he’s related to an Indian!”

  Garvey backhanded her hard and she tasted blood in her mouth. Then he stood up and began removing his clothes.

  “I am Winston Garvey!” he growled. “I own a good share of Colorado and the people in it! I own gold mines and banks! One lice-infested half-breed Indian does not
frighten me, Mrs. Monroe. And one thing I know for certain. If that man of yours fought outlaws and all other odds to come and find that sister-in-law of his years back, he’ll most certainly come to find his own woman. But there is just one way he will get her, and that is by telling me where that boy is. He can’t get you back any other way, and I’m too powerful and too well protected for him to try to come after me himself. And if he kills me, he’ll never find out where you are, so that would do him no good. No one comes around this place. You’ll die of starvation and be eaten up by rats before your husband ever finds you here!”

  She spit at him and he slapped her again. He removed his shirt and shoes, then unbuttoned his pants. Her eyes widened in horror, and he began to smile.

  “I’ve decided pain can’t make you talk, woman. You’re too proud. So I thought that perhaps injuring that pride would make you talk faster than injuring your person.” She looked away when he stood before her then, completely naked. Her mind raced. Surely he wouldn’t do this! She belonged to Zeke. To Zeke! No other man had ever touched her. He was right. This was worse—much worse—than being beaten. She felt his fingers untying her tunic and he pulled it down to expose her breasts, then jerked it up from the bottom to her waist. He grinned at her sudden quiet desperation, her sudden loss of haughty dignity and strong determination. He bent over her, grasping one of her breasts in his fat palm, his ugly, wide lips and double chin close to her face.

  “Tell me, bitch,” he told her with a lurid grin. “Just tell me where that boy is, and I won’t take my pleasure in your lovely body. I won’t even send in Buel and Handy and let them have their turn. Is that what you want, white squaw? Would you really go so far as to let other men touch you? Is that stinking little half-breed worth it?”

  She met his eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Please don’t do this,” she said quietly. “Isn’t there even … one ounce of decency in you?”

  He only chuckled, and she could feel his fat belly touching her stomach. Her head reeled and she felt vomit in her throat. “No, Mrs. Monroe. A man doesn’t get ahead by being decent.” He ran a hand over her breasts again, taking pleasure in her tears. “You’ll talk. When Buel and Handy come in here for their turn, you’ll talk.”

  She turned her face away, looking at the buckskin shirt and the little music box nearby. Zeke! She belonged only to Zeke Monroe. No matter what these men did to her, they could not change that. Zeke! She would think only of Zeke. But was she truly strong enough to bear this? Yes. She would be strong for Zeke, and for the little crippled boy. She would not betray a child. She would think only of Zeke. He would come! He would come, and somehow they would live through this. She heard Garvey, somewhere in the distance, calling for Buel. She felt an ugly heaviness on her body, and she wondered if she had fainted, for it all seemed far away, as though it were taking place in a nightmare and not in reality.

  Zeke paced inside the farmhouse, looking like a panther needing to get out of its cage. His father came out of the bedroom where Danny had been put down, and Lance followed. Hugh Monroe walked up to Zeke and put a hand on his son’s arm, but Zeke jerked it away.

  Hugh Monroe sighed. “I know how you feel about me, Zeke. But before you run off again, I have to tell you that no matter what you think of me, I thank God you were forced to come here … thank God I’ve seen you again. And I want to thank you for searching for Danny like you did … bringing him home.”

  “Home! Maybe it’s home to Danny, but not to me!”

  “Zeke!” the elder man snapped. Zeke whirled and faced his father. “I’ll say it now because I’ll never have the chance again. I love you. Why can’t you understand that? I never wanted you to suffer.”

  “Then why didn’t you leave me out there with my mother where I belonged?”

  “Because you were my son. My son! I wanted you with me. You have sons. If you had to go away, would you leave them behind?”

  Zeke’s eyes momentarily showed a hint of understanding. He thought about Wolf’s Blood. But then he hardened again. “If you loved Tennessee so damned much and missed it so much, fine. I can understand that. All men have a place they need to call home. But, goddamn it, why didn’t you bring both of us back with you? Why did you have to leave her behind and take me from my mother? Why did you sell her to that Crow bastard, you goddamned son of a bitch?” His fist clenched. “God, how I’d love to hit you!” he hissed.

  The elder man stood straighter and did not move or flinch. “Then hit me,” he dared. “You’ve been wanting to all these years. Go ahead. A man of your strength would probably kill an old man like me with one punch. But so what? You hate me anyway. I give you permission to hit me and take the chance. Perhaps I do deserve it.”

  They stood there glaring at each other for a long, tentative moment, and Lance watched in terror. He did not want his father hurt, nor did he dare to try to stop his brother. But then Zeke suddenly turned away.

  “You can’t do it!” Hugh Monroe challenged. “You can’t do it because deep down inside you have to face the reality that I am your father—your real father. You can’t hurt your father. It goes against everything that is Zeke Monroe. And if you dig deep enough, you just might even discover there is a small bit of love buried down there somewhere for me. Tell me it isn’t so, Zeke!”

  Zeke whirled. “It isn’t so! I won’t hit you, old man, only because you sired me. But that’s the only reason. There is no love in ray heart after what you did to my mother!”

  “Use your head, Zeke. How do you think Gentle Woman would have survived here in Tennessee? How do you think the white women would have treated her? Leaving her there was the kindest thing I could have done for her. I didn’t want to do it, but I wanted to come home.”

  “You never loved her! She was just a squaw to you.”

  “Yes, she was! I can’t help that I am white, Zeke. I can’t help what I grew up on—being taught it was all right for a white man to go out West and hunt and trap and take Indian woman to care for his needs while he was there. Damn it, Zeke, that was the way it was. What else can I say? Thousands of men did it! That was a way of life for a while. And I thought if I had any children by her, I could leave them when the time came that I wanted to come back to Tennessee. But I … I didn’t expect to have such … such strong feelings. You were my son—my little boy. I wanted to bring my son home. He was so handsome, so strong, so intelligent. I loved you. I loved you so much. But I couldn’t bring her here. It would have been terrible for her. So I had to make a choice. My choice was to come home and bring you with me. I can’t change any of it now. It’s over. And don’t think I haven’t had some regrets. I can’t count all the times I have wept over you.”

  The old man turned away, and Zeke stood there breathing heavily. He suddenly felt closed in, smothered. “God, I’ve got to get out of this stinking house,” he growled. He turned and stormed out the door.

  Lance quickly followed. “Zeke,” he called out. “Wait!”

  “Leave me alone!” Zeke fumed. “I’ll not wait till morning. There’s still some daylight left. I’m leaving tonight, soon as I repack my gear.”

  “Zeke, he’s an old man!” Lance begged, grasping his brother’s arm. “He’s waited all these years to see you again. Can’t you stay one lousy night?”

  Zeke stopped walking and glared at his brother. “You don’t understand, Lance, because you were too young to remember. You were just a baby when I was growing up here—listening to constant insults, fighting my way through school because every day other kids picked on me and started fights with me. I was called every name in the book, whipped by teachers, forced to sit in the back pew in their churches, hated by my stepmother. The only time I was even close to happy was when I would go off to the swamp alone. Danny understands, because he was old enough to remember. Danny was always good to me, always understanding. That’s why I searched for him. I owe him a lot. But I don’t owe anything to that old man!”

  “You owe him your damned life!” L
ance growled. “His blood runs in your veins.”

  Zeke’s eyes blazed. “And how I wish I could drain myself of that blood!” Lance sighed resignedly and Zeke turned away. “It isn’t just that, Lance,” he spoke up, his tone of voice softening. “Being here makes me think of Ellen. You can’t know … what it was like for me. She was … so special—this … sweet, young, pretty white girl who was all goodness and tenderness. She used to come and meet me in the swamp … and we’d talk, just talk. And before we realized what we were getting ourselves into, we were doing more than just talking, and we knew we loved each other. But we also knew what the people would say … and that her father would never allow it. So we ran away—found an old preacher who agreed to marry us. No one knows it but … by then Ellen was already pregnant. If I had been … older … wiser, I never would have let any of it happen. But I was just a kid myself then, and crazy in love with that pretty white girl who was so sweet to me. Then her father sent those men after her to bring her back. But when they finally caught up with us, they raped and killed her and our son instead, out of pure meanness and terrible prejudice. All of them had known her—and they learned to hate her just because she’d married a half-breed.” He whirled. “I had a right to kill those men the way I did. If I could do it twice over, I’d do it.”

  Lance signed. “Ellen’s brother still lives over the hill, you know.”

  Zeke stared off into the distance, his eyes filled with terrible pain. “I know,” he said quietly.

  “He never believed those men killed Ellen. They were all friends of his. He thinks you turned wild and killed her and your son yourself, and that you killed all those men out of pure meanness.”

  Zeke met his brother’s eyes. “And what do you think?”

  Lance smiled a little. “I think it’s the way you tell it. That’s because I’ve met your wife, Zeke, and any man who can make a woman like that glow with love and happiness the way she does, and can sire all those beautiful kids, has to be a damned good man. He can’t be as mean as they say.”