He turned and disappeared into the darkness. She called after him, but he did not reappear, and moments later she heard a running horse. The sound faded away, and she walked on rubbery legs back onto the porch of the cabin. She clung to a porch post, trembling, feeling on fire. One moment. One brief moment and her mind and heart were whirling! She had not seen him for nearly twenty-three years, and in that one moment it seemed like yesterday, and she had felt sixteen again, had felt close to Zeke again. But it was not Zeke. It was his brother, Swift Arrow.
She pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders, suddenly shivering. Why did she feel this way? She thought about a conversation she and Zeke had had many, many years ago in which he had hinted that Swift Arrow had deep feelings for her. She had ignored the true meaning of what he had been trying to tell her, and had ignored the true reason Swift Arrow had stayed in the north and had never come back south. She had always had Zeke. She would not and could not consider how any other man might feel about her, nor had she had any feelings other than friendly ones toward any other man, not even Sir Edwin Tynes.
She walked to the door. She would not tell anyone she had seen him. He wanted to be left alone and she didn’t want to make trouble for him. But she knew she would not soon forget this night, nor how it felt in that brief moment he had wrapped strong, hard arms around her. She touched the doorknob, then stopped when she heard the screech of an eagle. She frowned. An eagle at night? It couldn’t be. Yet there was no mistaking the call.
Chapter Twenty-Six
In April of 1886 the news came. Several renegade Apaches had surrendered to General Crook, who had become their friend. But Washington would not abide by Crook’s promises to the Apaches, and in fear for their lives Geronimo and Naiche (son of Cochise) had fled with twenty-four warriors back into Mexico. Thousands of soldiers were searching for them—thousands against not quite thirty frightened, desperate men. Because of the breakaway, some of those who had originally surrendered to the hated squalor of Bosque Redondo, the Apache reservation in the deserts of New Mexico, were arrested and shipped to Fort Marion, Florida, to the dreaded, mosquito-ridden, swampy prison that waited there for its Indian “convicts”; waited to claim their lives through despair, heat, deprivation and disease; the place where many red men died of broken hearts, far, far from their beloved homelands.
It was only then, when some thorough roll calls had been taken as Indian men were arrested and questioned, that news came of Wolf’s Blood. Dan gave Abbie the news with tragic eyes, his face gray with sorrow. Her heart pounded when she opened the door to see him standing there with a message in his hand.
“What is it?” she asked quickly.
Dan sighed deeply and stepped inside. “I’m afraid Wolf’s Blood has been sent to Fort Marion with several Apache men,” he told her. He watched her go white. “I’m sorry, Abbie.”
She grasped a chair. “How? Why? He’s Cheyenne! He should be sent up here!”
“He rode with the renegades, Abbie. From what I can find out Sonora was killed in some soldier attack two or three years ago.”
She sank into a chair. “No!” she groaned. “Wolf’s Blood! My poor son!” She looked at him with wide, desperate eyes. “What about Kicking Boy and little Iris?”
“I am told two children by that name are at Bosque Redondo. Their ages are, according to record, fourteen and thirteen, and they are listed as descendants of Apache and Cheyenne parents.”
She rose, her horror replaced by a stubbornness that was unique to Abigail Monroe. “We must get them out of there! And I will get my son out of Florida!” she declared.
“Abbie, that won’t be easy—”
“You can do it!” she interrupted. “You have connections through the Army! You must try, Dan! I want my grandchildren here with me! And I want my son! I am going to Florida right away. I am going to stay at that horrible place with him until he is released or until one of us dies, but he will not stay in that hellhole alone without seeing his mother and children again. We will get Kicking Boy and Iris and we will go to Florida and get their father!”
“Abbie, I don’t know if that’s possible—”
“We’ll make it possible! What do you think Zeke would do if he were alive and heard his son was in that place? He would go and get him, even if he had to fight his way in and take him illegally!”
He grasped her shoulders. “All right. Calm down. I’ll see what I can do.”
Her eyes filled with tears, her heart screamed with desperate pain. Wolf’s Blood! Her precious Wolf’s Blood! “Please, Dan!” she said in a near whisper. “Get him out of there! And find a way to let me have my grandchildren!”
He kissed her hair and patted her shoulder. “You sit tight and wait. It might take a few days to get the proper clearances. And it’s a long way to Bosque Redondo, let alone a trip all the way across Texas and the south to Florida. Are you up to something like that?”
“For Wolf’s Blood? Just the thought of finding my grandchildren and getting him out of there gives me strength.”
He sighed and nodded, going to the door.
“Thank you, Dan,” she spoke up.
He met her eyes. She would be easy to love, if he let himself think of her as a wife rather than as a sister. But she had been restless for the past year, often mentioning Swift Arrow and commenting on her concern for him. He saw a strange longing in her eyes when she spoke about the man. Between that and knowing there could never again be a man as important to her as Zeke, he had been unable to allow any feelings for her to build into desire. She was, after all, Abigail, and even though Zeke was dead, it didn’t really seem so. And he had known her too well over these years, had thought of her only as his brother’s wife, a superbly honorable and respected woman. Perhaps in time he would ask her to marry him, out of a sense of duty, out of honor, out of a feeling he should protect and care for his brother’s wife. He nodded to her and went out. Yes, he loved her, but not in the way he had loved Emily and Bonnie. Still, what man wouldn’t want a woman like Abigail for a wife, in spite of getting older? She had been the finest wife a man could want, just as Bonnie had been to him. He had married Bonnie more out of practicality than love. Her son needed a father and his daughter needed a mother. But that practical marriage had quickly developed into not only a deep, abiding love, but a sexually pleasurable relationship as well. Perhaps it could be that way with Abbie. But something about her remained so untouchable. Was it Zeke Monroe’s memory that kept him from thinking of her as anything but a sister? Perhaps it was foolish for him to feel that way. Perhaps he was wasting these years, for Abigail Monroe was exceedingly gracious and beautiful for her age, and there could not be a lot of time left for either of them. Should they live them out alone just because they were not sure what was proper, or because they did not have strong physical urges for one another? Wasn’t friendship enough for two such people?
Of course there was Rebecca Moon to consider. She was perhaps forty-five, a missionary woman who had come to the reservation not long ago to teach the Indians. She was a pleasant person, who had been widowed for many years. Dan found her attractive and knew Rebecca in turn often stole glances at him and seemed to make excuses to talk to him. He liked her very much. But Abbie must come first. She was as lonely as he, as much in need of a mate as he was. He would have to do some deep thinking. But first this thing with Wolf’s Blood had to be straightened out. He hurried to the fort’s telegraph office.
The train click-clacked over the Southern Pacific tracks, from El Paso across Texas, basically following the Rio Grande, on into Louisiana and through New Orleans, changing trains and going on, through Mississippi, Alabama, and into Florida, toward its eastern coast. It had been a strenuous trip for Abbie, who had first gone to Bosque Redondo, where she had been reunited with her precious grandchildren. Kicking Boy was tall and muscular for his age, looking very much like his father and grandfather, and just as handsome. Iris was exceedingly pretty. Both of them well remembered their gra
ndmother, and the light in their eyes at hearing she was going to try to get their father out of Florida was worth the tiring trip. They were ragged and depressed when first Abbie found them, two lonely children living with a preacher and his family, who did not treat them well. Now the proper papers had been signed. The children would be held at Bosque Redondo and cared for until Abbie returned from Florida to take them north with her.
The emotional reunion with the grandchildren had given Abbie a boost, but still her emotions suffered from all the ups and downs she was experiencing. The next step was to get Wolf’s Blood out of Fort Marion, and on the trip there Abbie experienced one of the most painful happenings in her life. She had watched the terrain change as the train rumbled east. She had not been back here since going west at fifteen. She had forgotten how thick were the forests, how tall the hardwood trees. How strange it was to see all of this again—so much green, so much swamp and forest. How odd to feel the humid summer heat that never bothered her as a little girl because she was used to it. But she wasn’t anymore. She was used to a drier climate now, and could see why this type of environment was killing the Indians. At one time places like this were home to her. Somewhere north of these tracks lay Tennessee—her old home, her mother’s grave. Was it really she who had left Tennessee forty-one years ago? Surely it was someone else, a young girl called Abbie Trent, whose body was not yet developed into a woman’s, whose fiesty strength was to help her survive the tragedy that lay ahead for her, and whose heart knew what kind of man she wanted. Then that man had stepped into the light of her father’s campfire, and little Abbie Trent was instantly a woman in her desires and in her heart.
She struggled to breathe, feeling as though a pillow were over her face. It was August of 1886, the worst time to be traveling through the South. But she would not wait for better weather. Wolf’s Blood could be dying this very moment—desperate and lonely. She glanced at Jennifer, who had insisted on coming along, leaving her daughter behind in Montana for others to care for. Why had the woman been so persistent about coming? She had often asked about Wolf’s Blood, frequently mentioning the one and only time she had met him, when she was twelve and Zeke and Abbie had gone to Fort Laramie. Jennifer had often shown Abbie the old war shield and the coup feather Wolf’s Blood had given her that day, and her eyes would sparkle. And Abbie sensed that her son had left a lasting impression on Jennifer Monroe, one not just of a warrior cousin, but of a man who easily attracted young women. But they were cousins, and Cheyenne custom forbid marrying into family.
She frowned. Why had such a thought even entered her mind? The two of them had met only once, years ago. And Wolf’s Blood had never looked at white women with any desire. What made her think Jennifer had any feelings for him other than as a cousin, or that the very proper, very beautiful young woman would look at any Indian man—even one only part Indian—with any thoughts of marriage? She had simply come along because she wanted to be with Dan, because she was concerned about the long trip and its effects on him, and because she had become a good friend of Abbie and thought she could help her. Still, the look in the girl’s eyes when she spoke of Wolf’s Blood made Abbie wonder.…
To the North lay the Appalachian and Blue Ridge Mountains—home. She could hear Zeke’s mandolin and his melodic voice singing mountain songs to her again. When she was a little girl, swinging in her backyard and dreaming of handsome princes and being swept away someday, she had no idea the direction her life would take, or that her prince would be a tall, dark Indian man whose eyes and touch commanded her surrender.
She thought about the ranch. On their way south to the Apache reservation, they had stopped to see Margaret and Morgan and their third boy, already four years old when Abbie saw him for the first time. Little Zeke was seventeen, tall and handsome like his grandfather, a strong young man, loyal to his parents, a big help on the ranch. Nathan was equally handsome, not quite as tall, and fifteen years old by now. Thus Morgan had two fine sons to help him on the ranch, and a third one growing into it.
The ranch looked marvelous, the horses as beautiful as ever. Morgan and the boys had done a fine job with it. But walking there, seeing the house, all brought back memories that made Abbie’s heart hurt so badly she felt physical pain. She thought she was over it but that wasn’t so, and she could not bring herself to visit the place by the stream where the irises bloomed. Some things were better left to memory and the past. To rekindle them was just too difficult, and she was not certain now that she could ever go back to the ranch to live. It was so much Morgan’s and Margaret’s now, and that was fitting. To go back would be like trying to make things the way they once were, and that was impossible. She was at least able to face that much now.
Ellen and Hal were happy, and she had seen little Dan, now three, as well as Lillian, already seven, the same age that Abbie’s own little Lillian had been when she died. But her granddaughter Lillian was a hardy girl, who could ride a horse and even helped her father on the ranch.
Yes, her children were all doing well. LeeAnn had stayed in Montana with Joshua, for she had just given birth two months earlier to their second child, a little girl named Abigail Iris, a name that brought tears to Abbie’s eyes. That made grandchild number ten, as far as she knew. Had Jeremy ever had any children? She had never heard from him. She shook off the sorrow of it. At least he was apparently doing all right. The important thing now was to get Wolf’s Blood and take him back with her. Perhaps if she could get him to Montana, his presence would make Swift Arrow come down to the reservation to see his beloved nephew. The thought of it made her heart beat harder again. She had never forgotten that night he had come, the feel of his arms around her. But it had only been for a moment, and that was over a year ago. She had not seen him again, nor did she expect to—unless Wolf’s Blood could flush him out.
The heat and squalor of Fort Marion made Abbie shudder. Her son could not be here! Not in this horrible place! Indians died like flies here, if not of disease then of broken hearts. The children of these men had been taken from their mothers back on the reservation and shipped to Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where they were to be firmly schooled in the white man’s ways, but where they also quickly died. To the Indian, family was everything, and these families had been split apart by order of the United States government. The old ways had been brutally and forcefully ended, with no thought to a quickly vanishing culture, no thought to the Indian as a human being. Abbie had arrived at Bosque Redondo just in time to keep her own grandchildren from being sent off to Pennsylvania, where she might never have found them.
A guard led Abbie to a squalid fenced-in area, where men sat around just staring, flies and mosquitoes landing on their sweaty skin, biting at them so cruelly that they no longer even brushed them away, for they had become calloused to the bites. The smell was overwhelming—filth and waste, dirty hair and dirty bodies of men who no longer cared. She had begged Dan to let her come here alone, and against his better judgment he had relented. Papers had been left with the prison master, verifying that the one called Wolf’s Blood was not even Apache but Cheyenne and belonged in Montana; also verifying that he was three-quarters white, even though he did not look it.
Men stared but did not move as a guard took her through the gate, watching all of them warily. “Wolf’s Blood!” the man called out harshly. “Front and center, wherever you are!”
A moment later a man appeared from behind an outhouse. He was tall, still handsome, but as dirty as the others, his hair nearly to his waist and dusty. Abbie felt an awful pain in her stomach. So thin! He was so thin! The hard muscle was still there, but there seemed to be no extra flesh around it. His face was thin, but the eyes! Everything about him was Zeke, and it took her breath away. It had been so long since she had seen him—so long since she was so cruelly awakened to the memory.
He stared at her in near shock, walking closer to study her. “Mother?” he asked, obvious surprise in his voice. The dark eyes were suddenly angry. “What in G
od’s name are you doing in this stinking place?”
Her eyes teared. “Wolf’s Blood!” she whispered. She stepped closer, touching his arm, while the guard watched in near shock himself. He had been told this lovely white woman had a son here, but found it difficult to believe that this wild-looking Indian could be related to her at all.
Wolf’s Blood jerked back. “Go away!” he hissed.
Her eyes widened. “What are you saying? I’ve … come to take you out of here, Wolf’s Blood.”
“And I cannot go!”
Her heart pounded with dread. “Of course you can go! I have papers—”
He stepped closer. “You would have me singled out, just because I carry white blood? No! I will not use my white blood to be treated more special than my friends here! I will not leave them!”
She sucked in her breath, scrambling to think fast. She had not expected this. Wolf’s Blood! Her son! He turned to walk away, and she strutted up behind him, grasping his arm and jerking on it, making him turn back to face her.
“How dare you!” she declared, her anger and stubbornness rising then. “Do you know what I’ve been through trying to find you? Do you know how strenuous this trip was? And have you forgotten your promise to me? You said you would come back! You promised!”
His eyes teared. “That was before Sonora was murdered in front of my eyes, and my son and daughter dragged from our home! I have not seen them in years! For all I know they are dead.”
“They are alive!” she retorted. “I have seen them! They are waiting right now at Bosque Redondo, and I will get them when I return and take them north with me—and their father!”
He swallowed. “Kicking Boy—and Iris? They are alive? Well?”
“Yes, my son. Please come home.”
His eyes hardened again. “I cannot. I would feel like a traitor using my white blood that way.”
“Damn you!” she blurted out in desperate pleading. “You’re acting just like your father those times when he suddenly thought I would be better off without him. Why do you have to be so damned much like him?” Tears began slipping down her cheeks. “Look at me, Wolf’s Blood! I am your mother. I’m not getting any younger. Don’t think of it as being singled out or treated special because of your blood. Think of it as doing something for your mother before she dies. I’ve spent most of my life always wondering about you—my firstborn, my son, my precious Wolf’s Blood! You’re the replica of your father, and now he is gone. I need you. I’ve let you wander and fight and do what you thought was right all these years. All I am asking now is for a few years back—a little time to have my son with me! I’ve lost so much. I don’t think I could bear going back without you! I can’t go on losing and losing, Wolf’s Blood! Please come back with me, son. Help me pick up the pieces.”
Meet the New Dawn Page 45