Meet the New Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

  As she watched Bonnie Monroe slipping away toward death’s hands, she determined that somehow she must find Swift Arrow. It gave her something to think about, another buffer to ease the pain of the death of a loved one. Yes, somehow she would find her brother-in-law.

  It was January of 1882, three years after Zeke’s death, when Abbie sat beside a dying Bonnie Monroe, who spoke to her in a whisper. “The top drawer … of my bureau,” she told Abbie, who had to lean over to hear her. “An … Indian necklace. Get it.”

  Abbie frowned, going to the bureau and opening the drawer. She lifted personal clothing that was Bonnie’s, under which an Indian necklace, a bone hairpipe choker that looked familiar to her. She picked it up and carried it over to Bonnie, whose eyes teared when Abbie held it out for her to see.

  “It was … Zeke’s,” Bonnie told her, forcing her voice to come through more clearly. “He gave it to me … all those years ago … after he saved me from those outlaws down in … New Mexico … when I first met him. I was … a young missionary. I … loved him, Abbie.” The words were sorrowful, as though she thought she had to confess to the sinful feelings she had once had for Zeke Monroe so many years ago. “I think … he knew. He gave me the necklace … in friendship … and told me to always keep it … made me promise to always … help the Indian in my work. I … kept my promise.” She reached up with a weak hand and closed it around Abbie’s hand that held the necklace. “You … keep it now. He said … his Cheyenne mother made it. You keep it. And … don’t hate me … for loving him. He behaved as … nothing more than a good friend. It was … such a long time ago … before I even married my first husband.”

  Abbie’s eyes teared and her throat ached. “I’ve always known,” she replied softly, squeezing the woman’s hand. “Did you think I didn’t, or that if I did I wouldn’t understand? What woman who is rescued at the hands of Zeke Monroe, and who is with him alone for several days, is capable of not falling in love with him? He was easy to love … so easy to love.”

  She put her head down against Bonnie’s hand, crying quietly. Bonnie smiled, a soft, satisfied glow to her face. “And so was Dan,” she answered. “He was … so much like Zeke. And he … thinks the world of you, Abbie. He’ll be … so lonely … when I’m gone. Stay close to him … help him. You … understand how he will feel. Promise me … you’ll watch after Dan. He’s been … so good to me … and to Josh.”

  “I promise,” Abbie whispered. She swallowed, breathing deeply and meeting Bonnie’s eyes again. “But don’t you worry about Dan. He’s a strong man. His Army years made him sure and independent. He’ll be fine. But I’ll make sure he’s never—” She stopped. Bonnie was looking at her but not seeing her. Abbie knew without even checking that the woman was dead.

  A terrible blackness filled her entire being. She carefully put down her hand and reached up to close her eyelids. “I love you, Bonnie,” she whispered. Another one gone. Too many. She had watched too many die. She looked at the necklace, her hand trembling. Zeke. He had touched so many lives. His strength and spirit seemed to continually permeate the air wherever she went. She held the necklace to her cheek, then kissed it.

  How she missed his strength! How she missed the times when she could literally collapse into his strong arms and he would hold her and assure her all was well. And how she missed being a woman in the physical sense. But she only missed it in the sense that she could no longer enjoy the ecstasy of being one with Zeke Monroe. She never even considered such things with any other man, and yet there was a distant, gnawing need that went unfulfilled. How could a woman live all those years with a man who was such an expert at bringing out the passion in her, and then suddenly live with nothing but emptiness beside her in the night? She kissed the necklace again, then dropped it into the pocket of her dress. She took a blanket and covered Bonnie’s face, shuddering with sorrow. She must go and tell Dan. That would not be easy, but at least his daughter Jennifer was on her way here from Denver. That would comfort him. Jennifer herself was recently widowed, so for a while they would have one another to cling to. Jennifer was bringing her own daughter, Dan Monroe’s only grandchild by blood, whom he had never even seen yet. The timing was perfect. Abbie thanked God they were coming.

  April of 1882 brought news that Margaret had given birth to her third child, another son named Lance Clayton after one of Zeke’s white brothers. That brother had once lived on the ranch, helping Zeke run it after the Civil War. But Lance had been killed the day the Comanches raided the ranch and rode off with LeeAnn. Abbie was pleased that Margaret named a son after the man. Her count of grandchildren was now up to seven: three boys from Margaret, a boy and girl from Wolf’s Blood, a boy from LeeAnn, and a girl from Ellen.

  But still there had been no appearance by Swift Arrow. And worse, Abbie had not heard from Wolf’s Blood in many months. Dan kept a constant flow of letters and messages going between Fort Custer and Fort Bowie, where an officer was now stationed whom he knew well. All they could discover was that vicious cheating on the Apache reservation was leading to more unrest. Many Apaches had fled to Mexico. In one of these flights, many had been found by soldiers and shot down. White men were doing their best to agitate those who remained on the reservation, deliberately keeping them stirred up so that the Apaches would make trouble, would be removed, and the land belonging to the reservation would be up for grabs to white settlers. Newspapers printed outlandish stories of Apache deprivations, convincing whites that the Indians were as worthless as snakes and should not be entitled to their reservation lands.

  General Crook, an experienced Indian fighter and a man who had learned his lessons well when fighting the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne in earlier years, was sent to try to solve the problem with the Apaches. Over the years Crook had developed a respect for red men as human beings, an attitude still not taken readily by most Army men or civilians. He arranged to meet with Geronimo and his renegades in Mexico. Called Gray Wolf by the Apaches, Crook managed a parlay with Geronimo himself, convincing the man to surrender and return to Arizona.

  The Apaches were returned, but there was much criticism of Crook for being too easy on them. Abbie and Dan could see the plotting and scheming in messages they received and in local newspapers they read, except for Joshua’s paper. The young man tried his best to find out the truth, but all he had to go on was the news coming out of Arizona and New Mexico, much of which they had trouble believing. It was rumored that Crook had made some kind of deal with Geronimo. And Geronimo himself was made out to be some kind of monster, worthy of nothing less than a hanging.

  Through all of this, between 1882 and 1884, Abbie could discover no news of anyone called Wolf’s Blood. Perhaps when joining the Apaches, her son had changed his name again. Perhaps something had happened to Sonora and her grandchildren, and as a result Wolf’s Blood was again on the warpath with Geronimo and the other renegades. If he were coming back as he had originally promised, he should have returned by now. What had happened to her son? What had happened to her precious Wolf’s Blood? And what of Swift Arrow, who still had not come to see her?

  March of 1883 brought another grandchild, a son to Ellen, called Daniel James. And May of 1884 brought a son to LeeAnn and Joshua, called Lonnie Trent, the first name being that of another of Zeke’s white brothers and the second being Abbie’s maiden name. Jason was a full-fledged doctor, working on the reservation, and LeeAnn still taught there. Abbie at least had the two of them, plus young Matthew, now six, and the new baby. And Dan’s beautiful daughter Jennifer was also with them now, having returned from Denver to stay for good, or at least until she thought her father didn’t need her anymore. Her presence, and that of Dan’s little four-year-old granddaughter, Emily, named after Dan’s first wife and Jennifer’s mother, brought the man much comfort and joy. Jennifer was an exquisite beauty, with thick auburn hair and sea-green eyes. She was the image of her mother, Dan’s first wife, a beauty by anyone’s standards. Her mother had been spoiled and fragile ho
wever, unable to cope with frontier life, and the marriage had not been a happy one. But at least one good thing had come of it—Jennifer, as beautiful as her mother but much stronger. She stayed in Montana, teaching at a school for white children, lonely herself for her own dead husband.

  The spring of 1885 brought little progress for the Northern Cheyenne, who continued to balk at any kind of assimilation into white society. They did not want to give up their old ways, and Abbie could not help but agree with them. To be the way the agents and teachers wanted them to be was simply too drastically different from the way of life they had always known. Children were taken from homes and sent to distant schools, their hair cut short, their buckskins traded for cotton dresses and pants. Distraught, lonely parents drank and often fought. Nothing was more important to the Cheyenne than closeness to their children, and bringing them up in the Cheyenne way. They felt helpless and empty.

  Abbie sometimes tried to forget all of it, for it brought her much pain. And on a warm spring night she agreed to be Dan’s company at a dance held for the whites on the reservation and in surrounding areas. She fussed the whole day, wanting to look pretty not for Dan, whom she considered only a close friend and dear brother-in-law, but for that strange “presence” she always felt. She looked in the mirror at dark eyes set in a face that looked perhaps forty, even though she was fifty-five. The gray at her temples seemed to make her prettier, she surmised, or at least that was what Zeke would tell her. And her waist was still small. She stood back and studied her soft yellow dress with its full, ruffled skirt and flowing pagoda sleeves. The bodice was cut just low enough to reveal some of the fullness of her breasts, and her shoulders and neckline were still trim and young-looking. She was pleased with her appearance, considering all she had been through.

  But then her throat tightened. Why did it matter? Who cared now? She suddenly realized that she was still taking care of herself for a man who was not even alive anymore. She still dressed for Zeke Monroe. He had been gone for six years, yet she still wondered how he would think of the way she looked. She had been gone from the ranch for a long time now, and it had been closer to seven years since last she lay in her husband’s arms. Yet she cared what he would think of how she looked.

  Dan was at the door then. Abbie and Jason lived in a small cabin near Dan’s house, where he lived with Jennifer and his granddaughter. She swallowed her sorrow and greeted Dan, putting on a shawl and leaving with him, feeling suddenly lonely again.

  The dance was the most fun Abbie had had in a long time. It was the first time in seven years she had danced at all or worn an extra pretty dress—not since that lovely week she and Zeke had spent in Pueblo. How could it have been so long ago?

  The evening went by almost too quickly. She could tell as Dan walked her back to her cabin that he wanted to talk to her about something. She had suspected for a long time that perhaps he thought he loved her, and she supposed she had tiny womanly feelings toward him. But it was only out of loneliness, and he still seemed more a friend than anything else. She knew he was feeling the same way. It seemed logical they should end up together. And yet somehow it could not be the deep love husbands and wives should share—the kind filled with desire and passion. But then at their ages perhaps desire and passion were no longer necessary ingredients to a marriage. Abbie had known so much of it with Zeke that it was difficult to think of marrying a man that she did not have physical feelings for.

  Dan left her at the door with a kiss on the forehead, leaving things still unsaid. Abbie watched him disappear into the darkness, and turned to open the door. It was then she heard someone call her name softly.

  She hesitated, her heart pounding. The voice sounded familiar, but she could not quite place it.

  “Do not be afraid,” she heard then—a man’s voice. “Do not run away.”

  She frowned, looking at the corner of the cabin from where the voice had come. There was a bright moon, and a lantern hung from the porch overhang. A man emerged from the side of the house, his hair long, his movements making no sound at all, for he wore soft moccasins and buckskin clothing. He stepped into the light, taller than she, but not quite as tall as Zeke. Yet it was almost like looking at Zeke. She stared, astounded, bewildered, her heart fluttering like a little girl.

  “Swift Arrow!” she whispered.

  He looked magnificent—not at all the way she had pictured him, thinking him to be forlorn and ragged, perhaps a drunkard by now, old and disillusioned. He stood straight and strong, a hard look still about him, even though he must be sixty. Surely not! He had always been the most handsome of the three Cheyenne brothers, but age seemed to have been good to him. In an instant she realized he had dressed his best for her, wearing bleached buckskins, brightly beaded and painted, heavily fringed. He wore a bone necklace choker-style around his muscular neck and a gold earring in one ear. His hair was brushed out clean and long, braided at one side with beads wound into it.

  He studied her with dark eyes, which were lit up now with a love so obvious it could not be denied. He stepped closer, his eyes falling to the full bosom for a moment, then meeting her own eyes.

  She reached out with a shaking hand. It had been so long since she had seen a Cheyenne man stand so proud and handsome. For a moment she was back at the village where Zeke had taken her when only sixteen, where she had first met this man. She touched his arm, and he had to force himself not to grab her then and there. How many years had he loved her? Forty perhaps. However long it had been since first his brother brought her to his village. Did she ever change? She was still so beautiful. He could grab her right now and ride off with her and no one would know—not for a while—not until he had taken her to his dwelling in the mountains and forced her to submit to him. But perhaps it would not take much force. Perhaps he reminded her of Zeke. Still, she was Abigail, a woman he admired above all others, a woman he respected, his brother’s widow and a respectable, gentle woman, the mother of his favorite nephew, Wolf’s Blood. He had waited all these years to tell her his true feelings, but he could not bring himself to do so even now. The fact remained that she was white, and he was full-blooded Cheyenne. He had just seen Dan leave her. Dan. He was the proper man.

  “Why have you waited so long?” she asked, searching his eyes.

  He swallowed, feeling on fire at the touch of her hand on his arm. “I could not come before,” he told her in a strained voice. “It was … too hard. I knew it would take you many years … to get over my brother’s death … if indeed you ever would. And when I myself heard, I went into deep mourning. I cut myself many times and drank much whiskey and was full of sorrow. My brother was a great man. Such men, it seems, should not die at all.”

  “It’s been so terrible,” she answered. “And Wolf’s Blood—”

  “I know about Wolf’s Blood. I have my spies who keep me informed, for I do not like to come here.”

  “But you should come, Swift Arrow. No harm will come to you. Come and visit with us. Stay here—”

  He stepped back as she stepped closer. “No. I have always been alone. I cannot bear to see how my People must live here. So I stay in the mountains alone. But for a long time I have wanted to come … just to see you, Abigail … to make sure you are well … to see if …” His eyes roved her lovely form again, and she felt herself reddening under his gaze, felt her heart pounding. She had not had these pleasant feelings since Zeke. “… to see if you had changed,” he finished. “I see you have not. Do you never age, Abigail?”

  Her eyes teared. “Swift Arrow, there is so much to talk about. I have thought about you so often. And to this day I remember with such fondness those days when I was so young and you taught me the Cheyenne way.”

  “I was not very nice to you then. I did not want you to be there. I even hit you once for looking upon the Sacred Arrows like a foolish child. Always I have regretted that.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said with a soft smile. “We grew to be great friends, and you learn
ed to accept me. We became sister and brother.”

  His jaw flexed with repressed desires. “Yes. Brother and sister.” His eyes fell to her bosom again. Then he stepped back more, holding his chin high, looking down on her rather haughtily, reminding her of the way Zeke looked sometimes—proud, so proud.

  “I … cannot stay,” he told her. “I only want you to know I am well, and I wanted to be sure that you were. I go now.”

  “No. Swift Arrow, wait!” she called out desperately. She reached out and grabbed at his arm.

  He turned and startled her when he suddenly grabbed her close against him, pressing her breasts against his chest, embracing her in strong arms, his face close to hers.

  “I tell you I must go now,” he told her in a gruff voice. “What I want cannot be. I only wanted to see you once more, to tell you I am well and you are in my prayers always, Abigail, as you have been for all these many years … as any man would pray for his … sister.”

  In the darkness it seemed Zeke himself was holding her. A rush of desire swept through her, but in the next moment he let go of her. “I go. You will not hear from me again, Abigail, but I will remember you always. And do not worry about getting word to me about Wolf’s Blood. I will know. I pray for him also.”