Meet the New Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

The girl frowned. “But he’s better now. He looks fine.”

  Abbie shook her head and turned away. “He’s not fine at all. And you know how his Indian heart operates, Ellen. He doesn’t want to die a crippled, bedridden man. He … wants to die honorably.” She turned and faced the girl. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Ellen studied her mother’s sorrowful brown eyes, then her own eyes teared. “You mean … he’s thinking of … dying?”

  “He thinks about it all the time now. I can see it … feel it. The only question left is how he will die.” She looked back out over the horizon. “He has truly given up this time, Ellen,” she said quietly. “It started with the Little Bighorn, and got worse when the railroad came through the north section. And then when those pitiful stragglers came back south, what was left of the once-proud Northern Cheyenne …” She swallowed. “It broke his heart, Ellen. The Southern Cheyenne already gave up a long time ago. He goes to see them, and he finds nothing but drunken, broken men … men who once rode proud and brave. There used to be no warrior more feared than the fighting Cheyenne, Ellen. They were the bravest fighters, the most daring, the best horsemen. Your father was as good as any of them, and your brother. It’s been hard on Wolf’s Blood, too, and I still fear he will leave us and go south with Sonora. The Apache are still fighting. God only knows what would happen to Wolf’s Blood if he went there. But the only thing keeping him here now is your father. Sonora has talked often lately of going back to her people, and Wolf’s Blood would take her if not for Zeke. He’s still young and likes new, exciting things. Once Zeke is … gone …”

  Her words were choked off by new tears. Ellen put an arm about her waist and walked her toward the cabin. “Mother, stop this. Nothing has happened yet, and Father looks well. I think you’re exaggerating.”

  Abbie pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “I wish I was, Ellen. How I wish I was. But I’ve been with Zeke Monroe for thirty-three years. Your father is fifty-eight, Ellen. And last winter there were days … when he couldn’t go out and work … couldn’t ride. To him that is the most humiliating thing that can happen to a Cheyenne warrior.”

  Ellen spent the next hour trying to comfort her mother, worried now herself. She could not picture life around the ranch without Zeke Monroe. Her father came riding in then, the mare tamer and much more obedient. He dismounted at the house, tying the horse and coming inside, where Abbie had started peeling potatoes, trying to look busy. But she could not hide her eyes, and his heart ached at the sight of her. He looked from her to Ellen, then back at his wife.

  “Abbie, if you do much more crying this spring you’ll create a whole new creek on this place,” he teased, walking to the water bucket and taking a drink. Ellen watched him. Yes. He moved a little slower, although he looked as strong as ever. She hadn’t realized it before, but he didn’t seem as nimble, and there were tired lines of hard living on his face, new ones that were not there before. He caught her look and scowled at her. “An expectant mother should look happier than that, Ellen. You have life in your belly, which should only remind you that for every life that is lost more than one comes into this world. People go on—life goes on.”

  He walked to Abbie, taking the small knife from her hands and pulling her out of the chair. “You and I are going to Pueblo for a few days, Abbie-girl. Hal tells me he heard there’s a circus there, with those strange animals we’ve never seen—elephants and tigers and such. I want to see them. Sounds like fun, don’t you think?”

  She met his eyes as he pulled her close. “Pueblo? But … your work here—”

  “To hell with it. Morgan and Jason can handle it. You and I are going to have some fun. I want to see if elephants really are bigger than buffalo. And maybe we’ll go square dancing. They even have a playhouse, I’m told, where you can go and watch actors put on a real live show. You can buy a new dress or anything else you want.”

  “But, Zeke—”

  He kissed her lightly, then pulled back, and she knew he wanted to do one last nice thing for her. She felt like a condemned person, but he pleaded with his eyes that she not think about it. “It’s been a hard winter, Abbie-girl. I want to be alone with you—do something different—show you something exciting. And I want you to see a doctor while we’re there. Maybe he can fix you up with some kind of tonic. You haven’t looked this way since—” He thought of the time she’d collapsed and seemed to be slowly dying, after Jeremy was born and Zeke had refused to come to her bed anymore, for fear another pregnancy would kill her. She needed him in every way. What was she going to do when he wasn’t there at all? Somehow he had to prepare her. “Since Jeremy was born,” he finished. “I’m worried about you.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re worried about me? Don’t you have things a little backward?”

  He grinned and kissed her forehead. “Say you’ll go to Pueblo with me. And promise me you’ll have a good time.”

  She rested her head against his chest. “I’ll go.”

  In spite of Abbie’s worry over her husband, she had to admit that the trip was a good idea. She doubted that in her whole life she had had a better time than that memorable week. Both of them felt like children at the sight of the strange animals from another land. Zeke was surprised at the size of the elephants. And there were camels with humped backs, as well as striped tigers and men who actually went into cages with them, ordering them around with a whip. Zeke commented that he’d like a job like that, something daring and dangerous. They watched people fly through the air on the trapeze and a man walked on a tightrope, all under a huge tent. They ate popcorn dripping with caramel candy and watched painted clowns walking around on stilts. It was the most unusual thing either of them had ever seen, and Abbie wished Jason and Ellen and the others could see it, deciding that if this thing called a circus came back to Pueblo, the children should come.

  They both actually laughed, more than they had laughed in months. Zeke bought her a dress, and they attended a packed barn dance, Zeke wearing a bright blue calico shirt with bloused sleeves that accented his broad shoulders. He wore white man’s cotton pants and leather boots, his hair neatly braided to one side, beads decorating it. He was the picture of stunning handsomeness, and Abbie did not miss the fact that many women there stole glances at the tall, dark Indian man; nor was Zeke unaware that several men were appreciating his wife’s beauty. At forty-eight, Abbie looked fifteen years younger. She had always been blessed with youthful looks, and even though now she looked like a woman in her thirties, she carried that look with stunning beauty.

  Both of them surprised others there when they danced a waltz with smooth flow, laughing inwardly at the surprise in the eyes of some of the people, who did not expect a man like Zeke Monroe to be able to dance at all. He was proud of his Abbie, as she moved with graceful beauty in the soft green sheathlike, form-fitting dress, its skirt consisting of tier after tier of silk ruffles. The dress was fitted at her small waist, the bodice low enough to reveal the fullness of her bosom and edged in lace. She was still a beautiful woman, and he buried the torture of wondering if and when she would take another man after he was gone. He could not blame her if she did, and knew her well enough to realize she would not settle for anything but the best. If Abigail Trent Monroe gave herself to anyone again, he would be a good man, an honorable man, one who would not disgrace the memory of her first husband.

  They danced for hours, mostly square dances, some of the women giving flirting looks to Zeke when they could get away with it, most of them curious about him and his white woman. A few were not allowed to participate in the square dancing because when they had to change partners their husbands did not want them “touching” an Indian. Both Zeke and Abbie were aware of some of the prejudice there, but neither let it bother them. They were here to have fun, and they were having it.

  The week went by much too quickly. They had not spoken of sad things or of the future. They had only enjoyed the present, making love every night. All too soon they w
ere on their way back to the ranch, but in no hurry, and one night before getting home Zeke took out his mandolin. She had not asked why he packed it in the first place, and it had been years since he had played it for her. When first she met him on the wagon train, he had surprised everyone when he played the haunting strings and sang Tennessee mountain songs for the travelers. His melodic voice, his ear for the perfect tone, and the beautiful songs he sang enraptured everyone. Most of the songs were his own, made up during all the many hours he had spent alone as a small boy, in the swamps behind his father’s house.

  A small campfire glowed nearby, and Abbie sat beside him as he strummed the strings of the instrument she loved so much, humming softly. “Thought I’d sing you a few songs, Abbie-girl, like I used to do,” he told her quietly.

  She smiled. “Will you sing that mountain song I love so much?”

  He nodded, then stopped for a moment. “Didn’t you miss Tennessee, Abbie, at any time over all these years?”

  She picked up a stick and traced it in the sand. “A little—but just at first. After being with you it didn’t matter anymore.”

  Crickets sang loudly across the plains, and stars shone down on them. They felt like the only two people in the world. But in the distance a train whistle reminded them that they were not. He picked at the strings again for a moment.

  “Promise me you’ll remember me like this, Abbie,” he spoke up, meeting her eyes. She just stared at him, her throat constricting. It was the first time he had hinted that this trip had been a last good time together. “Still strong, not too old-looking yet. If ten men came here tonight wanting to take you, I’d fight them all off.”

  She managed a smile. “Of course you would,” she said in a near whisper.

  “Remember me this way, Abbie. That’s why it has to be. I don’t want you to remember me old and broken. I was always strong for you, my back always straight, my skills sharp. All you need is to look at Wolf’s Blood to remember me.” He shook his head. “My God, we’ve been through a lot, Abbie-girl. Thirty-three years is a long time. I’ll never forget how you looked that day I was going to ride out to find your sister and wouldn’t let you go along. You actually pointed your pa’s old Spencer at me and told me I’d better let you go or else.” He strummed some more. “’Course, I hadn’t put my brand on you yet, but I wanted you more than ever right then.” He gave her a wink. “And I never thought for a moment you’d pull that trigger.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll never forget the winter I waited for you at Fort Bridger after you took the rest of them to Oregon. I was so scared you wouldn’t come back, Zeke. The day you rode in was the happiest day of my life.”

  He held her eyes. “I’d never have left you there. In all those years, I’ve always come back to you, haven’t I? Have I ever failed you?”

  Her eyes teared more and she shook her head.

  “You remember that, Abbie. And I’m telling you now that I make another promise. When I die, I will still come back to you. I will be with you forever, just as alive in your heart and soul as if my body was lying next to you in the night.”

  “Zeke, don’t …” she whimpered, looking down then and grasping at her aching chest.

  “I have to, Abbie. Someone you love never really dies. You just remember that I will come to you. I will prove to you that I am still with you, even after death. You listen, Abbie. Listen to the voices. Listen to your dreams. I will be there. I will tell you what to do, where to find me. Do you believe that?”

  She nodded.

  “Don’t shame me, Abbie, by being weak and simpering. That’s not my Abbie. You be strong, like the little girl I met all those years ago. You take that doctor’s tonic for your health. And you let the children and grandchildren be your reason for going on. And you remember that I love you and will always, always be with you. Be strong for me, Abbie. You can do it. And if you love me, you will understand why I will do what I must do. Let me be the man that I am, Abbie. You always have over these years. So do it now.”

  She met his eyes, her shoulders shaking. “Will you … be here in January when Ellen’s baby is born?”

  He sighed deeply. “I don’t think so.” He strummed the mandolin again. “If Jeremy or LeeAnn ever come home again, Abbie, you tell them I love them, will you? Tell them I never once stopped loving them and I hold no hard feelings.”

  She nodded again, tears streaming down her face. He turned his eyes to the fire, strumming a moment before he began the song she loved.

  “See the mist a-risin’,

  Out there upon the hill.

  The mornin’ sun’s a-comin’ up,

  And dawn is bright and still.

  “I’ve lived on this here mountain

  Since I was freshly born.

  And there ain’t nothin’ nicer

  Than a misty mountain morn.

  “Lord, I know heaven’s pretty,

  And death I do not fear.

  But I hope that heaven’s mornin’s

  Are like the one down here.

  “I’ve lived on this here mountain

  Since I was freshly born.

  And there ain’t nothin’ nicer

  Than a misty mountain morn.”

  It had been a long time since he seemed all Tennessee man to her. It was not as important a part of his soul as being Indian was, but for her he would be Tennessee tonight. She knew he would soon enough be Indian again, and he would die Indian. And although this night he sang Tennessee songs about the Smokies and the green hills of that place, she knew she would never go back there, even if he died. She had been in this land too long. To leave it would be to leave Zeke Monroe—Lone Eagle. No! She would stay here in the great West that he loved, and she would die here too. It was only fitting.

  With the time it took for travel, Zeke and Abbie were gone over three weeks. It was August when they returned, and Wolf’s Blood rode out to greet them, his face solemn. He had been going through his own torture, fully aware of his father’s feelings of late. He, too, knew why Zeke had taken his mother to Pueblo. Now his own heart raced, for if ever there was a time to die honorably it was now. But he wondered how he would survive without the father that he worshipped.

  He met them on a rise before they even rode down to the ranch. “Soldiers were here,” he told Zeke.

  Abbie’s heart pounded with dread.

  “What’s wrong?” Zeke asked.

  “They need us. The Northern Cheyenne have broken loose and are running north to Red Cloud. They are led by Wild Hog, Tangle Hair, and Little Wolf and Dull Knife. We are to help track them and bring them back. It will be bad for them, Father, if they choose to fight.”

  Their eyes held. “Yes, it will,” Zeke told the boy. “How soon must we go?”

  “As soon as we can.”

  “No, not yet!” Abbie protested. “We just got back!”

  “Time is important, Mother. Even as it is, this could take all winter.”

  Silence hung in the air and Abbie grasped her stomach, hanging her head.

  “Do me a favor and spruce things up inside your tipi, Wolf’s Blood,” Zeke ordered. “It hasn’t been used for a long time. I wish to use it tonight.”

  The boy blinked back tears, understanding. “Yes, Father.”

  “And bring out Kehilan. I want to see him.”

  The boy nodded. “I want to go with you.”

  Zeke smiled for him. “And I want you with me. It will be as you predicted, Wolf’s Blood. We will be together. But you must be strong.”

  The boy swallowed. “I am your son. The best man has taught me strength.” He turned his horse and galloped down the hill, and in the distance a wolf howled a long, lonely wail. Zeke’s long hair blew in the soft breeze. He took hold of the reins to Abbie’s horse, realizing she was too stunned to even pick them up herself and ride down the hill.

  “We’ll sleep in the tipi tonight, Abbie,” he told her, his back to her, “like in the old days.”

  She ma
de no protests. It was fitting. Soon he would leave, perhaps tomorrow. The soldiers would go after the runaways, and Zeke would go with them. The runaways would stand and fight, Abbie was sure. And when they did, Zeke would fight with them. She knew it in her heart. He had his chance and he would take it.

  The wolf howled again, followed by a distant train whistle; one a sign of the past, the other a sign of the future. Zeke Monroe had been caught between the two, as well as caught between the two worlds of Indian and white. His mind and soul had been tortured by his two bloods. Perhaps it was good that he would go out of this world and find some peace.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The night was sleepless. How could either of them sleep with the terrible premonition that this was their last night together, after all the years, all the loving, all the hardships, all the sharing and sacrificing? How could he make love to her enough? How did a man say good-bye to such a woman? He had never been able to in all these years. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to now. But the memory of the past winter, the vision of being too crippled to ride or even get out of bed haunted him. He was Zeke Monroe, and he was Lone Eagle, the warrior.

  She touched every part of him, and he left no part of her untouched or unexplored. He must remember every curve, every feature, everything about this woman who had been his since she was fifteen. And she in turn wanted to forget nothing. She could not touch him enough or study deeply enough his lustrous black hair, the high cheekbones and straight nose, the perfect lips, the thin scar on his left cheek, the handsome, dark eyes, and the bronze skin. She ran her hands over a still-firm chest and muscular arms, the hard, flat stomach and muscular thighs. Yes, he was scarred, so many scars from so many battles, many of them for her own defense and protection. How did a man survive so many wounds and then be sentenced to die from a hideous disease he could not control? It was not fair. But life had never been fair to Zeke Monroe since he was four years old, and his white father dragged him from his Indian mother’s arms, taking him to Tennessee, where he suffered ridicule and rejection. No, life was never fair to a half-breed.