Meet the New Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

  “I will go too!” the girl said anxiously.

  “No. You’re five months pregnant. The important thing is that nothing happens to Wolf’s Blood’s second child. And apparently Wolf’s Blood is all right. I’ll go alone and you help take care of the house until we return.”

  “But I should go—”

  “No you should not.” She gave the girl a reassuring hug. “Please listen to me, Sonora. Stay here and take care of yourself. If Zeke isn’t better in a couple of days, I’ll have Wolf’s Blood come on home and I’ll stay with Zeke.” She looked up at the lieutenant. “Give me a few minutes to change and pack.” Her eyes moved to Jason, who looked frightened. “Don’t worry, Jason. Your father will be fine. Go and saddle the roan mare for me.” The boy swallowed and nodded, running off toward the stables.

  Abbie turned and went inside, Morgan and Margaret following. “Mother, are you all right?” Margaret asked quickly, little realizing there was more to Abbie’s fear than just Zeke’s wound. He intended to die fighting, and she worried that he would give up and let this be the time.

  “I’ll be all right, as soon as I see him,” she answered, going into the bedroom. She soon exited, wearing a soft green summer dress with a split skirt for riding. The braid she had worn down her back was now wound at the nape of her neck. She put on a slat bonnet to protect her face against the sun. “I know I can count on the two of you to take care of things,” she told Margaret and Morgan. She looked at Ellen then. “And you.” She gave her daughter a hug, then moved to Margaret to hug her also.

  “Everything will be fine here,” Morgan reassured her. She smiled through tears, pressing his arm.

  “You’re a godsend, Morgan,” she answered. “Just when we thought things had gotten as bad as they could get, you came along. I knew then God was still watching out for me.” She turned to Sonora, who sat at the table with Kicking Boy on her lap, tears on her cheeks. Abbie patted her head. “You’re better off here, Sonora. You want a healthy child for Wolf’s Blood, don’t you?”

  The girl nodded. “Tell him I love him. Send him home,” she said quietly.

  “I’ll do both. But if Zeke is …” The words caught in her throat. “If he’s dangerously ill, he probably won’t come until he’s sure Zeke will be all right. You know how close they are.”

  The girl looked up at her. “If something happens to his father, part of my husband will die also.”

  Abbie could not answer. Her throat hurt too much. She picked up her carpetbag and grabbed a cape, heading out the door. With a few quick good-byes she was mounted, leaving with the lieutenant and his eight men, who all watched her sit straight on her horse, an obviously experienced rider. The fact that she was married to a half-breed Indian brought more curiosity than derision; and the rumors some of them had heard that she had lived in this lawless land—even sometimes among the Cheyenne—for over twenty-five years brought respect and admiration as they watched her now. Surely a woman of her obvious beauty and refinement must love her husband and family a great deal to stay on a lonely ranch, with little contact with civilization, no luxuries, and ever-present dangers. Most had expected an Indian woman, not believing the stories that she was white. And all of them were surprised at the air of respectability about her: a woman strong and stubborn, intelligent and brave, they soon surmised as they spent the next three days literally trying to keep up with her. She rode faster than they intended and slept little, refusing to stop more than twice a day for a few minutes rest and a little food. She was as capable of living under the stars as any of the men, and some of them tired before she did. By the time they reached Fort Lyon, they all held her in high regard, and any one of them would have put his life on the line for her.

  When they arrived she didn’t want to rest at all, demanding to be taken immediately to her husband. She was met in the outer room of the doctor’s quarters by Lieutenant-Colonel Petersen.

  “Mrs. Monroe,” he greeted, nodding his head. “I’m sorry you had to come here, but your husband—”

  “Where is he?” she asked anxiously. “You can tell me later what on earth happened. I just want to see him—now.”

  He sighed deeply and took her arm, leading her into a room where her husband lay in a large bed. A doctor was pulling covers over Zeke’s shoulders. She stared at his closed eyes. His face was thin. The doctor turned to her.

  “He’s out of danger,” he told her. “You’re his wife?” He looked surprised.

  “I am,” she answered, chin held proudly. “Will he be all right—truly?”

  “As far as I can see. Oh, he’ll have a hefty dent in his left side. Part of the flesh was literally blown away. The danger was in loss of blood and a bad infection. He’s recovering from both now.”

  Her eyes teared. “The lieutenant said you had to burn the wound.”

  He nodded, grasping her arm. “He’s a strong man. I could see he drew on some inner strength most men don’t have.”

  She had to smile. “I am not surprised. It’s the Indian in him.” She looked around the room. “Where is my son?”

  The doctor moved away as Abbie went to the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge of it. “He left last night—to be alone and pray, he told us.”

  She studied Zeke. “I understand.” She looked up at the doctor. “Is my son all right?”

  “His back was bruised very badly. Said a man hit him with a shovel. He took a bad blow to the head, too. It fractured his skull. There’s nothing can be done about that but let time take care of it. How either one of them managed to get here is beyond me.”

  She looked back at Zeke. “They’re stubborn men.” She leaned closer, putting a gentle hand on her husband’s forehead. The doctor and Petersen left the room, closing the door softly, and Abbie leaned down and lightly kissed Zeke’s lips. She pressed her cheek against his then, her tears wetting his own face.

  “Don’t you dare leave me yet,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare. You promised it wouldn’t be this time.”

  He stirred slightly and she swallowed back her tears, kissing his forehead, his eyes, his cheek. When she sat up, his eyes were open. He just stared at her a minute, then managed a smile.

  “Abbie,” he said, his voice weak. “Damn … you look good. I … could have used you … a few days ago … when the doc lit a small fire … in my side.”

  She wiped at her eyes, angry with herself for crying in front of him. “Thank God you’re alive,” she sobbed, smoothing back his hair. “Oh, Zeke, I should have been here!”

  “Couldn’t … be helped. Wolf’s Blood … can tell you what happened. I don’t have the strength.” He met her eyes sorrowfully. “I meant … to come home to you … riding my horse … everything fine. We had … a small problem with some … whiskey traders. I’m sorry, Abbie-girl. Things didn’t go … quite as planned. And I don’t … usually let a wound … get me down like this. Must be … old age.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniffled. “You were hurt bad. The doctor said he doesn’t know how you made it this far—that you survived on an inner strength most men don’t have. Now stop talking and get well so we can go home.” She sniffed and swallowed, touching his cheek. “You will be … all right, won’t you? Tell me you’ll be all right, Zeke.”

  He managed to move his arm and reach up and take her hand. “Sure I will, now that my Abbie is here. I told you I wasn’t … ready yet. Besides … when I die, woman … it will be more honorably … than from the bullet of some no-good … whiskey trader. It will be a real … Indian battle … soldiers and all.”

  She could not stop the tears then. The last three days had been filled with worry and hard riding and little rest, all the while frightened to death she would get to him too late and find he had died. She lay down carefully beside him and wept. He couldn’t move to embrace her, but could only hold her hand.

  “It’s all right, Abbie-girl. You’re stuck … with this mean son of a bitch … for a while yet.”

  It was three da
ys later when Sergeant Daniels rode into the fort with his report. He had gone to the Rage ranch as directed, intending to confiscate the supply wagons and arrest Julius Rage, unaware of what had already taken place. Zeke Monroe’s bed was soon surrounded by Daniels, Petersen, and Wolf’s Blood. Abbie sat in a chair beside the bed, putting down her Bible as the men entered. Wolf’s Blood still walked slowly, his back giving him pain. Zeke was propped against pillows half asleep when they entered. He stirred fully awake and rubbed his eyes.

  He nodded to the men. “Any more visitors out there?” he asked.

  Sergeant Daniels stared at him. He had seen what Zeke Monroe had done to Julius Rage, knowing for certain he’d never do anything to harm Ellen Monroe and have to answer to this man for it.

  “Daniels just got back from his investigation of the Rage ranch,” Petersen told Zeke.

  Zeke glanced at Wolf’s Blood, who shrugged and walked to the other side of the bed, wincing as he sat down in a chair.

  “So?” Zeke asked. “Is there a problem?”

  Petersen glanced at Abbie. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk in front of your wife—about the way you left Julius Rage.”

  Zeke shifted his position and reached for a pouch of tobacco kept on the table beside him. “My wife is fully aware of what I do to men who hurt my own. Rage fully intended to kill us both, but not before beating the hell out of my son in front of my eyes. They didn’t even give him a chance—just snuck up behind him and landed a shovel into his back. They chose not to play fair, so I did the same.”

  He began rolling a cigarette, and Petersen sighed. “You did a good job for us, Zeke, and thanks to you we know the sources of the problem, at both ends. But I can’t fully condone what you did to Rage. Half of Dodge City and the surrounding area are looking for two renegade Indians who murdered Julius Rage and two of his men. They know now that Rage was mixed up in whiskey trade, but they think the Indians that killed him were also mixed up in it—maybe trying to steal the goods back. We’re letting them think what they want. They’ll never know who the Indians really were, or that they worked for the Army. We’ve told the townspeople that we will make a search and take care of it. Daniels here says they seem calmed down, and we did at least recover the goods. We sent them on to St. Louis, according to what you told us. As soon as they’re claimed at the warehouse there and taken to West Enterprises, more arrests will be made. I thank you for a job well done, and am sorry Rage discovered what you were up to at the last minute like that. The killings you committed were apparently in self-defense, and with so many of Rage’s men at the ranch, you couldn’t very well just hold the man and try to tell the others the truth. They’d probably not have believed you and might have hung you, so I can’t blame you for doing what you had to do.” He sighed, grimacing slightly. “But couldn’t you have just … killed Rage outright … without using your knife on him the way you did?”

  Zeke took a long drag on his cigarette, his dark eyes frightening in their cold vengeance. “He hurt my son badly. I’ve done worse.”

  Abbie looked at her lap, thinking of Winston Garvey. Yes. He had done worse. Zeke reached out and took her hand, squeezing it, knowing what she was thinking.

  “I thank you for keeping me and my son out of the picture,” he told Petersen. “And I’m glad I got the information you needed—and equally glad for my pay. I’ll be heading home in a couple more days, and if you don’t mind I’d like to stay there awhile before taking on any more scouting jobs.”

  Petersen nodded. “Just don’t use your knife like you did on Rage in front of me, or I’ll have to arrest you.” A faint grin passed over his lips.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Zeke answered, his voice and grip on Abbie’s hand both noticeably stronger. Petersen nodded and left the room, while Daniels hesitated, nervously fingering his hat. He cleared his throat. “You wanting something, Daniels?” Zeke asked the man.

  “Yes, sir. I … uh … I’d like to keep calling on your daughter … soon as I get another leave … with your permission.”

  Zeke studied the man intently. He was strong and stocky, with kind eyes. “I already told you you had my permission for that,” he told Daniels.

  “Well, I … just wanted to be sure.”

  “You love Ellen?”

  The man reddened, feeling uncomfortable under Wolf’s Blood’s own warning look. He took a deep breath. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  Zeke just shrugged. “Then go ahead and keep seeing her. I’m not going to do to you what I did to Julius Rage, unless you do wrong by her. She’s a good girl. I have another daughter who was badly hurt by a man who promised love and marriage, then used her and left her—just because she had Indian blood in her. You wouldn’t have any ideas like that now, would you?”

  The man held Zeke’s eyes boldly. “No, sir. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Zeke smiled. “I don’t think you would either. I’m not holding you to any commitments, Daniels. Just don’t take advantage of her or lie to her. I’ll not see another daughter hurt the way Margaret was. Understand?”

  Daniels put his hat on. “Sir, if I hurt Ellen, you have my permission to carve me up any way you wish.”

  Zeke laughed lightly, wincing with pain when he did so. “Then you must love her very much.”

  Daniels smiled, then nodded to Abbie and left. Zeke turned to Abbie, her hand still in his. “You ready to go home, woman?”

  “Whenever you think you’re strong enough.”

  He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll be strong enough for more than that before too long.” She blushed and he turned to Wolf’s Blood. “Sonora will have a fit if you don’t get back pretty damned soon,” he told the young man. “I expect you’re ready to see your wife.”

  Wolf’s Blood grinned and rose, glancing at his mother. “She carries the baby well?”

  “She’s fine, Wolf’s Blood. We’ll make up a travois for your father and leave in a couple more days. I know you’re anxious to get home.”

  “I’ll not lay on any travois like a shriveling old man,” Zeke objected. “I’ll ride. I said I’d ride to my dying day and I will. and since I am not ready yet to die, I will ride home. I’ve had enough of this lying around anyway. The next time I lie in a bed like this it will be with you.”

  She blushed deeply and Wolf’s Blood laughed lightly, walking slowly out of the room. Zeke squeezed Abbie’s hand again. “Did you hear anything while I was gone from LeeAnn … or maybe Jeremy?” be asked carefully.

  “No,” she answered. “I wish I could tell you otherwise.”

  Zeke sighed, remembering the night he’d seen his son, remembering the hurt. He took a deep drag on his cigarette. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “So do I.” He patted her hand. “Well, Abbie-girl, I’m going to get some shut-eye so I’ll be strong enough to ride in a couple of days.”

  “Zeke, you shouldn’t—”

  “I’m riding, and that’s that.” He yanked on her hand. “Come here.”

  She gave him a chiding look, then leaned down. He grasped the back of her neck with more strength in his arm than she expected, pulling her to his lips. He kissed her hungrily, wrapping his fingers in her hair. He released the kiss and studied her brown eyes, so true and loving. “That’s the best medicine a man can get,” he told her with a wink.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Charles Garvey paced in his study as LeeAnn nervously brought him his coffee. He’d been gloomy all evening, and she hoped he would not take it out on her later. Often when he was angry, the emotion was expressed in the brutal way he made love to her, as though wanting to hurt her, and she suspected that if she did not cooperate, he would truly beat her. She wondered at how he could have been so charming before marriage, and so cruel afterward. He often bragged that she bored him at times, and that he preferred the whores he often visited to his own wife, unable to understand why she was not more responsive.

  LeeAnn didn’t care anymore how often he visited the whores. It only meant he would le
ave her alone, and that was just fine. She had paid a dear price for luxuries and elegance and social importance, and she well knew it. But she had no way out now. She would not disgrace herself and cause a scandal by asking for a divorce, and she told herself that when Charles Garvey was a little older and more settled, when he accomplished all his plans in life, he would mellow. But an inner instinct told her this man would go from bad to worse. There was something maniacal about him, a deep evil that did not often surface but was there nonetheless—something that bordered on insanity.

  She handed him the coffee, and he abruptly slammed a hand against the cup, sending it flying. LeeAnn jumped and backed away.

  “Bring me some bourbon!” he growled. “I don’t want that useless black brew tonight!”

  She walked on shaking legs to a table where various liquors were kept. She sniffed at a few, finding the bourbon. Liquor was something she was learning more about. Charles kept much more around than the common whiskey her father drank occasionally. Her husband drank everything—and often. And to soothe her own nerves and shattered romance, LeeAnn had done her own share of drinking lately. She poured his bourbon, then set up a second glass, pouring her own drink.

  “What’s wrong, Charles?” she asked, handing him his drink. She decided she had best be extra nice to him. Maybe she could calm him down and he would at least not hit her or be cruel to her in bed.

  He took the drink, studying her as he swallowed it quickly. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong!” he growled, tossing the glass into a fireplace. “Somehow the goddamned Army got its nose into West Enterprises and closed the place down!”

  She frowned. “What is West Enterprises?”

  He walked over to the table, picking up the bourbon and drinking it straight out of the bottle. He lowered the bottle, pacing again, his face dark with rage. “West Enterprises was one of my best sources of income,” he fumed. “It’s in St. Louis. I owned it, but it’s set up so that I am not even directly connected. The government won’t get me for this one!” He took another swallow.