Climb the Highest Mountain

by Rosanne Bittner

  “And just what would you do? Where would you go?”

  He let go of her and turned around, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter what happens to me. Maybe I’d just go north and join Swift Arrow.”

  “And ride into some battle where you know good and well you’ll be killed, because that is what you’ll want, isn’t it?” Her heart raced with aching love for him, hurt for him, yet she didn’t know how to help him. He was giving up! Zeke Monroe was giving up! She had to stop him somehow! If only Wolf’s Blood would come home! She suspected that would help.

  He only shrugged. “Why not? It would be an honorable way to die.”

  “Zeke, the children love and need you. Margaret is the only one who has had a real problem with her Indian blood, but we can work that out with her. She’s simply young and hurt. We all love you. You know how much I love you.” Her voice was breaking and she struggled for control. “Zeke, remember that day we were riding back to meet the wagon train, after you rescued me from those renegades? We made love the night before, and you were telling me good-bye then. I just realized it was almost the same when we made love before you left this time. You’re feeling the same way again—that you have no right to keep me. Do you remember what I called you that next day when you said we had no future and you were ending it once and for all?”

  He remembered the day well, could still see her sitting on her horse screaming at him as he rode away from her, telling him what a coward he was, scared of loving again, scared to stand up to the challenges they would face. But memories of his first wife’s murder had haunted him then. He had not wanted to drag little Abbie Trent into a life like his. He turned to face her, a slight grin actually passing over his lips at the memory of her shouting at him, screaming that he could go against Indians and outlaws and fight several men at once, but that he was afraid of a fifteen-year-old girl.

  “I remember,” he told her. “You said it could be different out here, that a half-breed could marry a white girl and they could live happy and free.” His smile faded. “But I warned you how bad it could be for you. And you failed to realize that the whites back East would come here, Abbie, bringing their barriers with them.”

  “And I said there are those who are strong enough to prove it can be different. I said you were that strong, and so was I. And we have been. We’ve survived many things, Zeke. We can survive this. I told you way back then that I didn’t care about a fancy house and fancy clothes, that I would live anyplace and put up with anything to be with you. I asked you even then what good a fourposter bed would be to me if I had to sleep in it with a man I didn’t love.”

  He drew in his breath and she saw jealousy flash in his eyes. It was practically the only tool she could use to keep him—make him angry, make him jealous. That always stirred a fire in him. But this time he was even going to fight that. She could tell. Still, she was not going to let him give up. “Is that what you want Zeke? To ride off alone and lonely, while some other man takes his pleasure with your wife, and she continues to suffer because there is only one man she wants?”

  “Stop it!” he growled. “I know what you’re doing. It won’t work this time.”

  She stepped closer. “I told you way back on the day we argued that I wouldn’t let you out of my life. I belong to you, Zeke Monroe, and I won’t let you go now. I was fifteen years old when you branded me, and you can’t change that fact, nor can you deny our love. You tried once before, after Jeremy was born. It almost killed both of us. What makes you think it would be any different this time, that either of us could survive without the other!”

  He swallowed and stepped back from her. “Maybe we have to try.”

  “Stop talking that way!” she said, her voice rising in panic. “I can’t believe what you’re saying. After all we’ve been through these past months, we need each other more than ever, Zeke! You’re my last remaining strength and hope—my last reason to go on living! My God, Zeke, we’re standing at our daughter’s grave! You’ve just brought another daughter back from hell, and Margaret is alone and afraid in Denver! If you intend to destroy me, you certainly picked the right way to do it. Your timing is … absolutely perfect!” She choked on a sob and hunched over, and then he was pulling her into his arms.

  “Jesus, Abbie, I’m not out to destroy you. I want to save you. I want you to have the good life you were meant to have.”

  “But it’s been a good life—a wonderful life! I have never regretted one moment of it!” She wept bitterly against his broad, muscular chest, against his self-inflicted wound. There it was. The Indian in him again. The side of him she could never fully reach. Indians had a way of doing what was right, foregoing all personal feelings. That was what frightened her. She could not be that way. He was turning to the Indian side of himself that was telling him it was best to leave her. And he might do it. But he was half white. There was a softer side to him that could not let her go. She knew that. She was sure of it. She must appeal to the Tennessee man who had settled down like a white man just for her, the Tennessee man who played the mandolin and sang mountain songs. She would find a way. She was sure she would find a way.

  He stroked the long, thick hair that hung down her back and she felt him trembling as he tried to stay in control. She looked up at him and he pressed her close, meeting her lips with groaning hunger. She returned his kiss with equal fervor, reaching up around his neck. How easy it was to be lost in him, to want him, to be hypnotized by his dark eyes and spellbound by his sweet lips. The kiss was long and heated, saying many things, expressing great sorrow and hurt, deep love, desperate needs. How good it tasted! How delicious! How comforting it was! He would take her to the house and make love to her, she was sure of it. Everything would be all right then.

  His lips left her mouth and traveled over her cheek to her neck. There were tears on his cheeks. “I’ll leave right away, Abbie,” he told her, his voice strained. “There is no time to lose in getting Margaret.” His head rose and he kissed her eyes. “And it’s best I go before I… before we …” He kissed her again, and she could taste his tears. Then he released her mouth and just held her. “I’m sorry, Abbie. I don’t want to hurt you. But it seems like I will, whether I stay with you … or go.”

  “You’ll stay with me,” she wept. “We have to be together.” She looked up at him. “Don’t go, Zeke. Don’t go without making love to me. Surely an hour or two—one night—won’t make a difference. We need that. We get our strength from it.”

  He shook his head. “No. It will only make it harder if… if you should want to consider staying here.”

  “But I thought that was settled! I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.”

  She saw him changing again, giving up again. “Home to what? I managed to save Kehilan and two mares that had been mistreated and probably won’t be worth anything now.”

  “We still have Sun and Dreamer, Zeke, and they’re both pregnant.”

  “That’s a far cry from a full herd. It takes ten months for a mare to deliver. Sun and Dreamer will deliver soon, but you’re talking another year before they can deliver again. That gives me two mares that I can’t sell because I need them, a stud I can’t sell for the same reason, two other nearly worthless mares, and two foals. Who knows if the foals will even survive? I don’t have any horses to sell, and I won’t for a long time.”

  “We’ve been in worse shape.”

  “Not with a whole brood of children to feed.” He walked toward his horse. “I’m leaving today, Abbie. You’ll think more clearly if I don’t touch you now. I want you to think very hard about a lot of things while I’m gone. Let’s go back to the house. I want to see Anna’s letter.”

  Anna! Her heart pounded with dread. She could not let him go this way, especially when he would be seeing Anna Gale! He was hurt, lonely. He was trying to prove to himself that he could survive without his family. Anna Gale was the last person he should see right now. Anna had been good to them, she cared ab
out them; but if she knew for one minute Zeke Monroe wanted her, needed to relieve his needs with her, she would surely let him, for her heart and body wanted Zeke Monroe!

  She met his eyes as she walked to her horse and grasped the bridle. She held her husband’s gaze. “You think too, Zeke. Think about the fact that if you leave for good you’ll be killing me.”

  Pain passed over his face and he reached out and touched her cheek. “I should have ridden out of your life when you were fifteen—when it would have been so much easier.”

  She took his hand and kissed the palm. “Don’t leave this way. Please. Stay with me one night.” She kissed his hand over and over, talking meanwhile. “You must… be to tired … and you’re wounded. And I… need you, Zeke. Please stay … just one night.”

  He pulled his hand away. How he wanted her! How he longed to take her, ravage her, devour her. But he thought about her abduction nearly two years ago, how he had found her, what she had suffered. If she had not been married to him, none of those things would have happened.

  “No,” he answered quietly. “But I will come back, Abbie. That’s a promise. I will come back before we make any final decision—and I’ll have Margaret with me. We’ll talk about it then, all right?” She nodded, holding back a sob. “Tell me true. Is Tynes treating you all right?”

  She nodded again, unable to meet his eyes because she wanted him so. “He’s been … wonderful,” she answered. “Very respectful. He is a gentleman, and he is very concerned about all of us.”

  He fought his torturous jealousy. “And he loves you.”

  “Yes,” she answered quietly. “But he hasn’t been disrespectful. He is like a good friend … that’s all.”

  He studied the woman he had loved for so many years. “I’m sure it didn’t take long for him to know that he loved you. You’re easy to love, Abbie girl. That’s the hell of it.”

  He turned and eased up onto his horse in one graceful movement, the tiny bell tinkling again. The only thing that made the thought of his leaving bearable was knowing he would come back. He would not break that promise. But how would he feel when he returned? Perhaps Anna Gale would help him make the final break. She must rely on Anna’s common sense and the brief friendship they had shared. Perhaps Anna could convince him that he must stay with his family. Perhaps seeing Margaret would help.

  “Zeke, you can’t go to Denver looking like … like that.” How she hated having to say it. “You’d be hung before they’d let you in any establishment.”

  He looked down at her proudly. He was all Indian, from the tinkling bell to his buckskin moccasins. His eyebrows arched. “Shall I cut my hair too?”

  Her eyes teared more. “No. Please don’t ever cut it.”

  He grinned rather sarcastically, but a bitter grin was better than none at all. “You read a story to the children once from that Bible of yours, about a man called Sampson. I think I would feel a little bit like he did if I cut my hair. It would take away some of my strength.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “If it would make you weak enough to stay with me, I would cut it off myself.” Their eyes held, and Cheyenne pride shone through his.

  “Then it’s best for you that I keep it. I’ll braid it neatly for the white men, though.” He snickered. “Perhaps your Edwin has a suit I could use.”

  “Don’t call him that. He’s not my Edwin. There is only my Zeke.”

  He looked at her almost as a raiding Indian would look at a white woman, sitting tall and proud, looking down at her as though she was at his full command. “Perhaps I only loaned myself to you, Abbie. Perhaps I belong only to the land after all.”

  She shook her head. “You’re trying to hurt me, trying to make me hate you. It won’t work.”

  His bronze shoulders glistened in the sun. “I’ll just go to Anna’s first,” he told her, ignoring her statement. “She’ll let me in no matter how I look. She can help me find the proper clothes.”

  Her heart raged with jealousy. “I am sure she can! I am sure there are a lot of things she can do for you, except give you back twenty years of your life and give you seven beautiful children!”

  His horse pranced in a circle, seeming to sense that his master was ready to ride again. “What about Wolf’s Blood?” he asked. “Has there been any word of him?”

  She wanted to hit him for avoiding a response to what she’d said. “None.”

  He gazed across the plains, dotted with melting snow. “Perhaps when I get back I should go north and find out what has happened to my son. I’m worried about him.”

  If only she were stronger!… She would pull him from his horse and tie him and make him stay until he was himself again. “If you went north, you’d join the Sioux and never come back, not in the mood you’re in.”

  He smiled proudly down at her. “It is the only way for a man like me to die, Abbie, and without you I would have no reason to live. You would have the children and all of this, and a fine man who loves you. You would survive.”

  “I have never heard you talk so foolishly in my entire life!” She climbed up onto her own horse. “I’m telling you right now that wherever you go I’ll follow you! I’ll never let you go! Never!”

  He was staring at Lillian’s grave marker, his jaw flexed in an effort not to soften. She knew a terrible struggle was going on inside of him. She couldn’t hate him or be angry with him. She knew him too well. He looked at her with softer eyes then, but just for a moment. “We must get to the house. I want to see the letter, and I have to restock my supplies while it is still daylight.”

  “Zeke, you must rest! You must!”

  “No! Every moment I rest some man is putting his hands on my daughter! My Moheya! She has a pride deep inside her that she does not even realize she possesses. Indian pride! I’ll shake it out of her if I have to! But I won’t come back here without her, even if I have to tie her and drag her behind me!”

  “Zeke, be careful. You’re right. She is proud. So, be careful how you treat her or we’ll lose her forever. She’s still so much a child.”

  He looked at her, the love in his eyes obvious as they moved over her. “When you were seventeen you had already given me a son. You were a woman.”

  “I was white. I had choices Margaret will never have. And I had a man who … loved me.”

  Their eyes held. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Abbie.”

  She rode up closer to him. “I know that.” She drew her cape back around her shoulders. “Please be careful with Margaret, Zeke. She must come back of her own accord, or she’ll just leave again. It has to be her decision, her desire.”

  “I will try, but it will not be easy.” He turned his horse and she followed. They headed toward the grand Tynes mansion.

  It seemed ironic that she had wealth and luxury at her fingertips, that she could grasp it at any time, yet all she longed for was to be back in her little cabin, with all of her children around her and with Zeke Monroe beside her at night on a bed of robes. Love has a way of making everything else seem unimportant. They rode side by side, he in all his Indian splendor, she on a grand thoroughbred, the yellow skirts of her expensive dress flowing in the wind, each a stark contrast to the other, bound by only one thing, one delicate bind—love. She had always thought that bind was made of very strong material. She could only pray now that it had not been weakened to the point of breaking. Zeke Monroe was suffering, and she did not know what to do about it. Somehow, while he was gone, she must think of a way to reach him. She was losing him! She was losing Zeke Monroe! It would be better to lose him to death than to lose him this way!

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dan ducked down into the rifle pit as another bullet sang past him. If he weren’t in command of this platoon of cavalry sent out to scour the southern portion of the Bozeman Trail, he would gladly down some whiskey. If he was going to die, maybe with some liquor in him, he wouldn’t feel the pain of the Indian tomahawk or lance that would take his life.

  They were s
urrounded by hundreds of Sioux, who darted in and out teasingly, taking turns badgering the bluecoats, laughing at them, cursing them, waiting in the surrounding hills for the forty soldiers to die slowly from thirst and starvation. For two days and a night the Sioux and Cheyenne, who had surrounded and attacked them near a tributary of the Powder River, had continued to harass them, belting out war whoops, dancing and drumming nearby at night, enjoying the advantage of their numbers.

  Dan cursed his superior officer, a greenhorn from the East, who had ordered the patrol. He had told him the dangers involved in the mission, had tried to impress upon the man that there were thousands of Sioux roaming the Powder River and Bozeman Trail territory, not just a handful. But orders were orders. The settlers and miners headed for Montana insisted that the trail be kept open, no matter how many men had to be sacrificed to do it. They didn’t even have a cannon along, and most of their horses had been shot by the Indians to keep the soldiers from getting away. They had crouched behind the dead bodies of their mounts for protection until Dan had ordered trenches to be dug.

  He wasn’t certain how many of his men had been lost, perhaps five or six. Several others had been wounded. The Indian casualties were probably greater than that, but there were so many of them it didn’t matter.

  He cursed their vulnerable location, in a ravine near a creek, with hills all around them, hills dotted with large boulders that made good hiding places. His own feet were soaked, for in digging the trenches they had hit water just two feet down in the boggy ground. Two more mounted platoons were to have started out from Fort Laramie two days after their own departure, but there had been no signs of them yet, no sign that they would be saved from their present predicament.

  There was a lull in the fighting, and he used it to rest, leaning against the side of the rifle pit, wishing he could sit down but unable to because of the water. He thought about Bonnie. He had thought of her often, wondering if he was foolish to consider marrying her so soon after his wife’s death. But Emily had not been a wife to him for a long time, and Bonnie was alone. They were both alone. Out here in this land, people married who hardly knew each other. A woman might be widowed with children, and a settler would marry her because he needed a woman for all the things a man needs a woman for. Women remarried quickly because in the West a woman needed a man. It was done for practical purposes, but the marriages were usually good, often leading to genuine love. He was sick and tired of being alone. He wanted someone like Abbie, and Bonnie was as close as he would come. He had no doubt she’d make a good wife, and she was already accustomed to this land and its dangers and hardships. But maybe she wouldn’t want to marry him. Maybe there would be some religious reason why she couldn’t. And the fact remained that she loved Zeke, but she could not have him.