“Come out of that wagon, white woman!”
Abbie turned around to see Swift Arrow riding beside her. “What on earth do you mean?” She let out a quick scream when Swift Arrow reached over the side of the wagon and thrust one arm around her waist, lifting her onto his horse with a strength that surprised her, considering his age. All the children and grandchildren laughed when he kicked the fine Appaloosa gelding Morgan had brought for him from the ranch and headed away from the rest of them at a gallop. Abbie swung a leg over the horse’s neck and perched herself in front of Swift Arrow, clinging to her husband’s arm as he held her fast. She thought how age had not changed him so much. He was still solid, had always been a strong, vital man.
“You are embarrassing me, Swift Arrow!” she shouted. “I’m fifty-seven years old!”
He only laughed. “Does it not feel good to ride free this way? You are not so old, woman, that you cannot still do these things.”
“I didn’t mean that I was too old for riding. But we’re acting like children!”
He slowed the horse, waiting for the others to catch up. Abbie looked at him, and they kissed. It was then she saw his eyes were wet. “What is it, my husband?”
He took a deep breath, made a sweep with his arm. “All this land, such big country, but not big enough for Indian and white man to share. It has been so many years since I was last here, Abbie. Do you remember? Once the Cheyenne roamed all this land, from down along the Arkansas almost up to Canada, and now we are confined to that little piece of land in Montana, while the Southern Cheyenne are living on an even smaller parcel of land in that hot, dry Indian Territory.” He met her eyes, studying her lovingly. “But it was not just white settlement and soldiers that drove me to the north. Do you remember?”
She studied his handsome face. “I do. But at the time I truly was not aware of the real reason you left and never returned, never rejoined the Southern Cheyenne. I never realized how deeply you cared.”
He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “I have loved you since only a few weeks after Zeke first brought you to our Cheyenne village, when you were only sixteen summers. He was a lucky man, and I, too, am lucky to have you for whatever years we have left in this life. Do you know why I pulled you out of that wagon and decided to remind you whose woman you are now?”
She turned back around and leaned against his chest. “Why?”
He settled both arms around her, and his horse dropped its head to graze quietly. “Because here, in this land called Colorado, here you were Zeke’s woman. Here you will feel the memories, feel his presence. Here you will be surrounded by Zeke Monroe, my brother, who loved you as much as it is possible for any man to love a woman. For the next few weeks I will lose you to that memory, but I do not mind so much. I know that you need this.”
She ran her hands along his powerful forearms. “I also need you, Swift Arrow. When the memories become too painful, I will need you to hold me like this, remind me that I am still alive, still a woman with needs, still loved, that I am not alone after all.”
He turned the horse. “Look at those two wagons full of children and grandchildren. Look at those fine grandsons who ride near to us now, so handsome and proud. I have no children or grandchildren of my own blood, and that is a loneliness that will never leave me. I know that your heart will always belong to Zeke, but I am grateful that I can relieve some of my own loneliness through his children and grandchildren, and in your arms. I am grateful to have this much. I love you and yours as much as Zeke would have. I would die for any of you, as he would have.”
“I know that, Swift Arrow. And I am grateful in turn to have a little bit of Zeke with me, through you; yet I love you only for who you are. And there were times all those years ago when I knew I could have loved you as a wife, if I had not already loved and belonged to another.”
He leaned around to see her face, frowning. “This is true?”
She kissed him again. “This is true.”
His eyebrows arched, and a teasing look came into his eyes. “Then it is a good thing you never said so to me or to Zeke. Just think of how we might have fought over you. Oh, that would have been a bad one! And Zeke with that knife of his … I think perhaps I would have been scattered all over Colorado.”
Abbie laughed. “I think perhaps you are right.”
The rest of the Monroe brood caught up with them then, and they began teasing the two about behaving like young lovers.
“I think our uncle is feeling like a young warrior again,” Margaret called out to Swift Arrow.
“I am still a warrior!” Swift Arrow reminded her, raising a fist.
“Grandma, are you all right?” Matthew called to Abbie.
“Of course I am,” Abbie answered with a smile.
“But you are too old to be riding off like that,” Wolf’s Blood teased.
Abbie’s mouth dropped open, and she faced her son. “Too old? I can do anything now that I could do forty years ago! I’ve been riding horses since I was a little girl, and I’ll have you know I’ve shot three Crow Indians, had an arrow dug out of me and given birth to seven children out here with only your father to help. I’ve fought outlaws, dug a bullet out of your father, come out here on a wagon train, lost my entire family on the way. I’ve lived with Indians, cleaned and dressed buffalo hides, made pemmican—”
“Wait! Wait!” Joshua protested. “Save all of that for when I can write it all down! You’re supposed to start at the beginning and give me all the details, remember? I’m going to make you famous, Abbie.”
Joshua had told her on the train that he wanted to write a book about her. Abbie waved him off and the others laughed.
“She should be famous,” Dan added. He, too, was smiling, and Abbie thought how, in spite of his blond hair and blue eyes, when he smiled, he seemed so very much like his half brother, Zeke; his mannerisms, the sound of his voice. “I like Josh’s idea of writing a book about your life.”
“Mother is made of the stuff it took to settle and tame this land,” Margaret said. “I wish I had her strength.”
“Now you’re all beginning to embarrass me,” Abbie told them. She wondered at the hint of trouble she’d detected in Margaret’s last statement. There had been something there in her daughter’s dark eyes. Something was wrong. She would have a talk with Margaret as soon as they were settled in at the ranch.
The ranch. They would all sleep under the stars tonight, and by tomorrow noon they should be there. She could only hope Jeremy would come too, before some of them had to leave again.
They heard the cry then, and all laughter and talking ended for the moment as all eyes turned upward. The cry came again, a familiar sound anyone who’d grown up in this land knew, except that such things were usually heard closer to the mountains.
An eagle was circling overhead. Abbie’s heart nearly stopped beating, and she felt Swift Arrow’s grip tighten around her. Even the youngest grandchildren fell silent.
“Father,” Wolf’s Blood said softly.
The eagle swooped down, gliding over their heads and flying off toward the mountain peaks on the western horizon.
“Dear God,” Margaret muttered.
Abbie could not find her voice. There had been another time when an eagle flew near her, when she had gone to the top of the mountain on which Zeke was buried. She had needed to know Lone Eagle was still with her, and he had come, in the form of an eagle, circling close enough for its wing tip to touch her cheek … and she had not been afraid. She had only been comforted.
It was nearly noon the next day when the family procession crested a low hill below which lay the main ranch house, the original log cabin Zeke had built for his Abbie-girl thirty-five years ago. This was where he had agreed to settle into ranching, to lead a white man’s life because it was best for his white wife, who had already given him two children and had lived in Indian camps until then, never complaining. Abbie could not help the quick squeeze she felt in her heart, the lump
in her throat. She asked Margaret to stop the wagon, told them all to go ahead of her. She wanted to take her time and walk in, alone.
They all left her, and she stood staring at the cabin for a long time, noticing that Margaret and Morgan had added a couple of rooms. How many times had she waited down there, watching this very hill, looking for Zeke to come back to her after being out scouting, or rescuing a child or helping the Cheyenne in some way. And he had always—always—come back … until that one time when he already knew he was dying … She glanced to a stand of trees several hundred yards behind the house, where a creek meandered across the property, where she knew the grass was green and purple irises grew. How many times had she and Zeke gone there to be alone, to make love in that soft grass, to say good-bye. Their last moments together had been spent there.
She walked down the hill, watching a herd of Appaloosas grazing in the distance, seeing more horses in a corral near the biggest barn. She remembered when the original barn burned down. Zeke had worked so hard to build this one. The horses outside were so beautiful, and those in the corral looked like thoroughbreds, a sleek black one especially beautiful. Morgan had done a wonderful job of continuing to breed fine horses, strengthening the herd Zeke had had to rebuild after the Comancheros who stole LeeAnn away also stole most of his horses.
What a day that was. She had seen Zeke Monroe in many battles, but never had he fought so viciously, or managed to keep fighting in spite of severe injuries, as on that day. It had devastated him not to be able to keep them from taking LeeAnn, and it had taken him months of searching to find her. He’d risked his life yet again to save her.
That was Zeke, and that fierce fighting pride was in all his children and grandchildren. Already young Zeke, Nathan, Hawk, Wolf’s Blood, Swift Arrow and Jason were at the corral admiring the thoroughbreds. The younger children were climbing out of wagons and running everywhere, Lonnie chasing chickens, his strong, chunky little legs making the boy too quick for LeeAnn, who held Abbie on one hip. Emily and Matthew were heading into the barn to go exploring, and Lillian and Danny went chasing after them. Jennifer and Rebecca followed Margaret into the house, and Morgan, Dan and Joshua began carrying in luggage.
Abbie drew in her breath, praying for strength. It would not be easy going inside the house, seeing the mantel clock Zeke had bought her over thirty years ago still sitting above the fireplace, his mandolin resting in a corner of the main room. She could still hear him playing it, could hear his deep singing voice as he entertained her and the children with Tennessee mountain songs. In the main bedroom sat a brass bed, another gift from Zeke. He’d been so proud and happy to bring it to her. After years of sleeping together Indian-style on a bed of robes, he had decided his white woman deserved something better. It had never been easy for him to live the white man’s way, but he’d done it … for his Abbie.
She took another deep breath and headed toward the house. She was determined not to spoil this reunion by constantly crying and talking about the past, but her awareness of Zeke’s presence was almost overwhelming. Ever since seeing the eagle yesterday, she had felt him with her. How could he not be here? His heart lay in this land, and his blood ran in the veins of practically every person running about the barn and corral.
Young Zeke headed her way then, on a horse. “You want to ride the rest of the way, Grandma?”
“I’d rather walk. Will you walk with me?”
“Sure.” The young man jumped down from his horse, dwarfing Abbie with his fine physique. “Were you always this little, Grandma, or are you shrinking?”
Abbie laughed. “No, I am not shrinking! Five feet two inches is not all that little, but I always did have trouble keeping enough meat on my bones. Besides, when I’m surrounded by men the size of you and your father, I can’t help but seem shorter than I really am. Your grandfather and I used to draw stares whenever we were together in public. It wasn’t just that I looked so white and he looked so Indian, it was the difference in size. I am sure we made quite a comical couple.”
Zeke grinned, but he felt a pain in his heart. What would people think if they saw him and Georgeanne together? He needed to talk to his grandma about that, but he would give her time to get settled in and to rest. She stopped walking and looked up at him.
“You are so handsome, Zeke! How I wish your grandfather could see you now.”
He shrugged. “Thanks, Grandma. I wish he could see you. Mother says you’re fifty-seven now. But you sure don’t look it. She says grandpa was always proud of how pretty you are, made you use creams and such to keep your skin soft. I guess it worked. You’re a really pretty woman.”
“My goodness!” Abbie laughed lightly. She placed an arm around the young man’s waist, and they walked down the hill together. “Tell me something, have your parents decided where on earth everyone’s going to sleep?”
Zeke laughed. “Yes. The women and youngest children in the house, the men and older boys in the barn. We have an area all cleaned out, with clean straw and quilts and all that. It’s plenty warm this time of year, so we’ll survive.”
“Oh, yes. Believe me, the Monroes have survived conditions much worse! Which reminds me, your mother made a strange remark on the way here. She said she wished she had my strength. There’s nothing so strange about that, but it was the way she said it, as though something was troubling her. Is there something going on I don’t know about?”
“No. Everything is fine,” he answered, too quickly.
Abbie stopped walking and faced him again. “Zeke Brown, I’ll have you know that your grandfather could not hide it from me when something troubled him. Your mother is exactly like him in that way. Something is wrong, and I want to know what it is!”
Zeke sighed and looked down at the house. “She told me not to say anything.” He met his grandmother’s eyes again, and he knew she was not going to walk one more step without learning about the problem. He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Mother will hang me for this.”
“No she won’t. I won’t let her.”
Zeke smiled sadly and dropped the reins of his horse to let the animal graze. He folded his arms, and it struck Abbie that this first grandchild of hers was already a man, going on nineteen years old, with the build and countenance of someone much older. Wolf’s Blood had always been that way, and Hawk was fast following. “We’ve got some problems with an adjoining landowner, the man who bought all the property that Englishman owned for so many years.”
Another pain stabbed at Abbie’s heart. She and the children once stayed with Sir Tynes for protection while Zeke went searching for LeeAnn. During that time her little daughter Lillian had died. She still lay buried on Tynes’s property. That had been one of the roughest periods for her and Zeke … And Sir Edwin Tynes had fallen in love with her. He had offered her the chance to live in his stone castle, the chance to be wealthy and to travel, to lead a life most women dreamed about. But she had only wanted her Zeke, a simple life here on this ranch. Sir Tynes had returned to England, taking his broken heart with him. “I didn’t know the property had finally been sold. It sat unused for so many years.”
“Well, I guess the Englishman died, so the family could finally sell off—” He frowned. “What’s wrong, Grandma?”
Abbie had paled and turned away. Edwin was dead! Another person from her past gone. So many! Too many! And there would surely be more before she breathed her last breath. “Sir Tynes was a wonderful friend,” she told him. “I didn’t know he’d died.” Had he thought about her in his last hours? She felt almost guilty for not being able to be with him, tell him good-bye.
“I’m sorry, Grandma. I didn’t know you knew him that well.”
She took a deep breath and faced him again. “So, there is trouble with this new owner?”
Zeke nodded. “His name is Carson Temple. He’s a blustery, bigoted, bragging loudmouth.” And I’m in love with his daughter, Grandma. I don’t know what to do. “He wants the ranch because so much of it border
s the river. The man owns eight thousand acres of prime grazing land, some of it also bordering the Arkansas. He doesn’t need this measly eight hundred acres, but some men want all or nothing. He’s one of them.”
Abbie held her chin proudly. “Well, he can’t have it, and that’s that. I own this property, legally. I have the papers to prove it, and I came here with the intention of signing it all over to Margaret and Morgan. So, there is no problem, is there?”
Zeke picked up the reins of his horse. “I wish it was that easy, but the man has been harassing us, making threats of what can happen if we don’t sell out to him, that kind of thing. He’s the kind who has enough money and influence to do whatever the hell he wants and get away with it. It keeps my folks constantly on edge and on guard.” And if they knew I’ve been seeing Temple’s daughter, they would be furious. And that doesn’t even come close to the rage Temple would feel if he knew. It all seemed so damn hopeless. Already he ached for Georgeanne, missed her. He’d come so close at that last meeting, so close to having her totally, to branding her as his own; and she’d wanted it as much as he had.
Abbie frowned with concern. If Zeke Monroe were alive, he’d know what to do about this. Carson Temple would lose some of that bluster if he had to face Cheyenne Zeke. The trouble was, Zeke had lived in a time when a man could deal his own justice, which in Zeke’s case meant killing a man if necessary. Men couldn’t do such things so easily now and get away with it. There were laws in this land now, white man’s laws. Margaret was half Indian, and Morgan half Negro—two strikes against them. However, the real owner of this ranch was Abigail Monroe, a white woman who still had a lot of fight left in her!
“We’ll talk about this in a few days, Zeke. And don’t you worry. We’ll get it settled. Maybe I’ll pay a personal visit to Mr. Carson Temple. Believe me, after all the years I lived with your grandfather, one thing I learned was not to be afraid of anything or anyone. Carson Temple is nothing. He’s just another human being, no better than anyone else for all his money.” She placed a reassuring arm around his waist again, and Zeke in turn put an arm around her shoulders, thinking how small they were physically, but how big they were emotionally. She was probably the only person who would understand his love for Georgeanne.
Eagle’s Song Page 5
