“Sometimes I have to be alone, Edwin.” She turned back and faced the gravestone. “And I was worried about Lillian, out here in the cold.” He felt her tremble and moved his arm around her shoulders.
“You stop that talk.” He sighed deeply. “Damn, I wish I could help you more, Abigail.” He gave her a squeeze. “Look, as soon as this spring snow leaves, you can plant a garden if you wish, and maybe we’ll go riding. Would you like to go riding? You can take that old thing of your father’s that you call a rifle and hunt if you wish. I suppose you miss those things. I don’t know quite how to treat you, you know. You’re so different from the frail, fainting women I’ve known in the past.”
She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes and smiled softly. “Dear Edwin. You needn’t do anything. You’ve already done more than we can ever repay. And these things that have happened to me were beyond your control.” She turned away from him and stepped back from the grave, staring across the prairie at distant purple mounds shrouded by the thick snow, the Rockies, those stalwart pinnacles of the West that stayed the same in spite of all that happened beneath their great shadows. “Where could she have gone, Edwin? Denver? Do you know what it would be like for an innocent child in a place like Denver?”
“Don’t torture your mind any more than necessary, Abigail.”
She swallowed and breathed deeply. “Sometimes I think it’s better to know a loved one is dead … than to not know what has happened to them … to wonder how they must be suffering. God, what has happened to Zeke and my LeeAnn?” She turned to face him, and her heart tightened at the look of utter love on his face. She reddened slightly and looked down.
“I do love you, Abigail. You know that, don’t you? I’ve said it in my actions, in the way I look at you, the things I do for you.”
“Don’t say that, Edwin.” She turned away. “It isn’t right that you should say it. I am married, and I dearly love my husband. There can never be anyone but Zeke for me and you well know it. I daresay that if he … if he doesn’t come back … I will never remarry. And I have so much to think about. I wish you wouldn’t… say that. It only makes my heart heavier. You’re a fine and good man, but I can never return any love you might have for me.”
He breathed deeply and stepped closer, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I know I have no right, but when one’s heart is as full as mine, it sometimes feels as though it might burst if the words aren’t spoken. I feel better just saying it. I… I know full well the foolishness of it—the wrongness. Yet I would trade all my possessions just to see your eyes light up when you speak my name as they do when you say his. You have shared a past of love and hardship that creates a bind between you two, one that not even death can break. But we are at least good friends … are we not?”
She turned around and met his eyes. How lovely she was! Though thinner and paler than usual, her beauty and strength shone through her large, brown eyes.
“You know what we are. I would never deny that friendship, Edwin, unless I thought you would do something to dishonor it. I’m deeply sorry to hurt you, but there is only room in my heart for Zeke Monroe.”
He smiled, sadly but handsomely. “And what a lucky man he is.” He reached out and took her arm. “Come back to the house, Abigail. I’ll survive my unrequited love, my dear. I’ve survived other things, and I feel better for having spoken of it. You shouldn’t be offended, you know. I simply stated my feelings. I’ve not dishonored you, and I certainly didn’t expect you to fall into my arms. I know full well I can’t expect miracles. Still, I daresay you’d best not tell your husband, if it’s possible to keep such a thing a secret. I become chilled at the thought of Zeke Monroe coming after me in a jealous rage.”
She smiled then, stirred by the thought of Zeke Monroe in action. Few men went up against her husband, and those who did were those who had not heard of him before. All of them regretted their challenge. “He wouldn’t do that,” she replied. “You’ve been too kind, and you’re treated me with respect.” She sighed deeply. “But I’m worried about him, Edwin. Not just what he’s doing now. Zeke is capable of taking care of himself in the worst situations. I’m worried about what is going on in his mind. He said things before he left… things that made me wonder if he was thinking we could no longer be together, as though he thinks he has ruined my life up to this point and that I should be given a chance at a better one. He talked as though there was no future for us.” She looked down at the snow as they walked. “I couldn’t live without him, Edwin. Perhaps I could survive his death, but I couldn’t bear being without him when he’s still alive—couldn’t bear his leaving me. He can be so stubborn sometimes. I’m so afraid he’ll leave me, just because he thinks it’s best for me. He’s come close to doing that a couple of times, only because he loves me so much. Once, when I almost died after having Jeremy, he… he stopped sleeping with me because he was afraid another pregnancy would kill me. It was a terrible time. I got strangely ill, weaker every day until I could no longer get out of bed without help, and when he came back to me completely, I got better again. It’s so strange that two people can love each other so much that they become physically ill when something comes between them. I would never want that to happen again.”
They reached the steps that led to the Tudor arch at the entranceway of the Gothic mansion of Sir Edwin Tynes, and they walked beneath the carriage porch and through the doors, closing them and stomping off their boots. “I’m sure it will all work out, Abigail. It might surprise you to know that I hope it will. I want your happiness above all things, even if it means I can never have you.”
She met his eyes and pulled a hood off her hair. “You are a remarkable man, Edwin.”
He shrugged. “No more remarkable than Zeke Monroe—or yourself.” He waved his arm. “Look around this mansion. I would give it all to you in a moment, yet I can tell you are anxious to get back to your cozy little cabin and be with your husband and children. I hope that happens for you, Abigail.” He took her hooded cape, one that had belonged to his first wife, and handed it to a maid who approached them then to take their wraps.
“You have a letter, ma’am,” the maid told Abbie, handing her an envelope as she took the cloaks.
Abbie glanced at Edwin, then back at the maid, taking the envelope. “A letter? Perhaps it’s from Dan.” She looked at the return address, a number and a street in Denver—no name. Her face paled. “Edwin, it might be from Margaret. It’s from Denver. There’s no one else in Denver who would write me, except… but no. She wouldn’t write. She has no reason.”
“Who?”
She looked up at him and reddened slightly. “Just … someone.” She walked toward the drawing room. Edwin followed her, ordering tea to be brought to them. Abbie sat down beside the fireplace, carefully opening the envelope with trembling fingers.
“Do you want me to open that and read it first?” Edwin asked.
“No. It’s all right.” She removed the letter, quickly looking at the back page first. “My God, it’s from Anna Gale!” she exclaimed, her heart tightening. Why on earth would Anna be writing to her?
“Who is Anna Gale? Is she the woman you meant before?”
Abbie stared at the name. “Yes,” she answered quietly. “She’s a … rather infamous prostitute … in Denver.” She began reading the letter and Sir Tynes frowned, wondering how someone like Abigail Monroe would know a Denver prostitute. He watched her face pale more as she read, and after several minutes she handed him the letter and just stared at the flames of the fire while the maid brought them tea and Sir Tynes read the letter.
Dear Zeke and Abbie,
Normally, for obvious reasons, you would never have heard from me again. I have, unknown to you both, sent messengers your way to find out how you both are doing, for I have worried ever since the night Zeke came to me to see if I knew where you, Abbie, had been taken after you were kidnapped. I will not mention those details, as we all know I canno
t in case others should see this letter. But to my great relief, my spies, so to speak, informed me that you were, indeed, rescued, Abbie. I knew Zeke would find you. It seems he can do anything. My biggest concern was your condition, and I am told you are doing well. I was also relieved to learn that neither of you had been involved in that horrible massacre at Sand Creek, and that your oldest boy was there but recovered from his wounds. See how clever I am at finding out about people I care for, even though I am not worthy to set foot on their doorstep?
It was several months ago when I learned about Sand Creek, and that was the last I heard. So you can understand my shock and surprise when I discovered your eldest daughter, who is really but a child, here in Denver. I passed her on the street, and although I had never met her, she looked familiar, very much like her father and older brother, I suppose. I stopped her and spoke with her and discovered who she was. I almost fainted when she told me. I told her I had known her father at one time, but I did not go into any details. I asked her about his well-being, and she told me the terrible news of LeeAnn and Lillian. That is how I knew where to write you. I am so very sorry, Abigail. Part of the reason for my letter is to inquire whether Zeke has returned yet and whether LeeAnn is all right. Zeke is such a capable man. Surely he will find her. What a terrible time you must be going through, Abbie.
I also want to inquire about Margaret. I know how you must be suffering, but Margaret seemed so bitter. When I asked why she was in Denver and where she was staying, she told me she had come there to make money, that she lived over the Golden Saddle saloon. She didn’t go into any further details, except to say that if her father ever came looking for her, I could tell him exactly where she was and that she was perfectly happy. Then she promptly walked off. I sensed that something terrible must have happened to her, and I knew that you didn’t know where she was or what she was up to. I know about places like the Golden Saddle, even though I have personally quit the business of prostitution. I run a “respectable” boarding house now. Don’t laugh. I’m trying. Not that I will ever equal the likes of Abigail Monroe, but the older I got the more I hated myself and what I was doing. So I figured, what the hell, I’d give honest living a try. I made my bundle during the first big gold strike, and although I’ve been lucky and the years have not yet taken a terrible toll, I’m not getting any younger. The time will soon come when men won’t pay so much for a woman of my age, I realized then it might be too late for me to get into anything else and straighten out my life. So, here I am.
I don’t want to step in where I don’t belong, Abbie. Perhaps none of this is any of my business. I just thought you should know where your daughter is and what she is probably doing. She is very beautiful and will undoubtedly get rich, but she is too precious to be doing this to herself. She is, after all, a Monroe—much too special to destroy her life. I think she wants you to know where she is. She almost dared me to tell you, which means she is secretly asking for help, so there is still hope.
I will gladly talk to the girl for you and try to get her to go home if you wish. But until I hear from you, I will simply keep informed as to her well-being. From personal experience, I know how rough some of those men can be, and the fact that she looks all Indian means they will be even less considerate. I have a feeling you don’t know where she is, and I am sure that with all you must have on your mind, Abbie, this was a problem you simply could not handle. I am so sorry, and will do whatever you ask. I will stay out of it completely if you tell me to do so. I have no doubt that Zeke Monroe will never allow this to continue when he gets back. If he or anyone else is coming for her, have them see me first and we can talk to Margaret together. Lord knows I am familiar with all the bad things about prostitution—all the reasons why it is a road to nowhere—but then I had many reasons for getting mixed up in that business whereas a girl like Margaret had no reason to at all, not with all the love she has waiting for her at home. How lucky she is to have a family, parents! That is something I never had. If there is anything I can say to her that will help her while she is still young and able to turn her life around, I will gladly do it.
My love to all of you, and, pardon me, especially to that big half-breed Indian who so rudely interrupted my life and my heart more than once. Forgive me, Abbie, for sending such sorry news. I will wait to hear from you. I give you one little warning. In view of the mood Margaret is in right now, if you send me to drag her away, she will only become more bitter and you might lose her for good. She would probably only run off again. It is better to give her a little time, in spite of what you know she is doing. Let her learn a few lessons on her own. Of course, you can’t leave her there forever, but I wouldn’t rush in immediately either. Trust me to watch out for her. If anything dire happens to her, I will help her and see that she is not harmed. But being almost a stranger to her, there is little I can do, and without your permission, I cannot really tell her the details of how I know you both. So I will simply keep an eye on her and leave the rest to your discretion. I know I will hear from you or see one of you on my doorstep soon. Come to me at the address shown on this letter.
I pray for you. God bless.
Yours, Ann Gale
Edwin looked over at Abbie. “Dear God, I’m sorry, Abbie.”
She met his eyes, her own clear and proud. “She’ll come back. She’ll soon learn her folly. She isn’t born to endure such a life. Somewhere along the way her Monroe pride will bring her home. Anna is right, you know. I can’t go and drag her out of there. I’ll have to be careful.”
“You’re amazingly calm.”
She smiled, almost bitterly. “I have expected it, after what she did to pay her way to Pueblo. Besides, there are times when I have to be cold and hard, Edwin, or go crazy. This is one of them.”
She picked up a cup of tea and sipped it, and his heart ached for her. He knew full well the torture she was silently suffering. “Do you want me to send someone to Denver to try to talk her into coming home?”
She sighed deeply. “I don’t quite know what to do. I don’t want to lose her completely, Edwin. I don’t want to be accusatory or to embarrass and demean her. I think perhaps I will write to Anna, have her keep a watch on Margaret, maybe even talk to the girl. Then, if Zeke isn’t back within another week, I’ll make the trip to Denver myself. There isn’t much else I can do. But this looks like a bad storm. I won’t be able to get a letter through for the next couple of days so maybe one of your men could make it as far as Pueblo and send a wire to Denver over the telegraph lines. The way it’s snowing right now, he might not even be able to get that far.” She rose and paced. “Damned weather! Why couldn’t it have kept thawing?” She folded her arms. “I have to think about this. I have to be very careful, Edwin. Very careful. Margaret and I had something special. I don’t want to lose that.”
“I’ll do whatever you ask.”
She turned to face him. “I know you will. I’d like to reply to Anna right away, if you have a pen and paper I can use.”
“Certainly.” He took out a pipe. “How on earth do you know this Anna Gale?”
He began stuffing his pipe. She didn’t answer right away, but turned and walked to the window. “When I was telling you about Zeke’s and my past, I left out Anna.” She stared at the long icicle on the overhang. “I left her out because to tell you the whole story about her would mean telling you something that no one knows about me and Zeke, Wolf’s Blood, and Anna.”
“You said you were abducted a couple of years ago, but you couldn’t tell me by whom or why because you would have to tell me something no one must know about. Does it have to do with that?”
“In a way. Years ago Zeke was searching for his Cheyenne sister-in-law—she had been sold for whiskey—and his search led him to Anna. That was when she was deep into prostitution down in Santa Fe. She owned her own place. Only Anna could give Zeke the information he needed. By then he’d been through hell. He’d been wounded, had been away from home a long time. He was tired and
desperate. Anna was well guarded. If he had beaten her or hurt her to get his information, he’d have been arrested and hung, for he was Indian. Anna was more wicked then, younger, wilder. She … wanted Zeke. She demanded only one price for the information … and he paid it.” Abbie stared out the window for several silent seconds. “I’ll tell you how much Zeke loves me, Edwin. The Cheyenne believe in making personal sacrifices for their loved ones, usually when they die. Relatives have been known to slash themselves several times, to let blood, over lost loved ones. I have seen Zeke do it himself. And when he was untrue to me, the Indian in him made him want to suffer. He seemed to think he had to show me how sorry he was by making a physical sacrifice, by letting blood, so to speak. He slept with Anna Gale to get his information, and after he left there, he cut off the end of a little finger. He wanted to feel the pain, hoping it would relieve the pain in his heart, because he was afraid his white woman would never forgive him for what he had done.” She smiled softly. “He did not have to tell me everything, but he did—because that is the kind of man he is.”
She sighed and walked back to her chair. “Ironically I met Anna a few years later when we went to Denver to see a doctor about my dangerous pregnancies. Some white men picked on Wolf’s Blood, and Zeke went to the boy’s rescue and landed himself in jail. Anna saw it all. Zeke had not given her a thought in years, thought she was still in Santa Fe. She saw me standing there, helplessly watching those men drag Zeke off to the jail, and she hurried to my side, offered me a place to stay. I didn’t even know who she was, and when I found out I hated her at first. But she helped get Zeke out of jail—he could easily have been hung—and she gave us a free place to stay when we learned I needed an operation. I’m not sure what we’d have done without her help. We were forced to talk, got to know each other, discovered we were not so different, except that our lives had been led in different directions by fate. We actually came to like each other, even though I knew she loved Zeke. She told me she’d never forgotten that one night with him, in spite of all the men she’d known. She said he’d made her wish she had lived differently, and that she greatly admired me. I learned about her past, came to understand a little better why she had become the way she was. But she said then that she wanted to live a better life someday, in spite of the great deal of money she made. She’s an exceedingly beautiful woman. I’m glad she has the boardinghouse.” Abigail sipped some more tea. “A few years later she helped us again. She had information that helped Zeke deal his own form of justice to my abductors … and it also helped him find me. We owe her a great deal.”
Climb the Highest Mountain Page 25
