Ride the Free Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  He quickly left, and Zeke walked over and tied the leather straps of the animal-skin entrance flap so that it could not be opened. He turned to look at Abbie. “Think you can keep quiet at the council, woman?”

  She smiled. “I’ll try. But it isn’t one of the things I do best,” she answered.

  Zeke chuckled and walked over to where she sat. “White women do seem to talk a lot,” he told her. He sat down beside her. “How are your legs?”

  She shrugged. “They don’t hurt anymore.”

  He pushed her tunic back up to look at them and then pushed it up further, lightly stroking her thighs and sending the pleasant tingle through her body.

  “Do you think I’ll be accepted, Zeke? I want so much for them to like me.”

  He moved one hand up further, rubbing it along the side of her bare bottom. “They already like you, Abbie girl,” he told her. “Let’s both wash and change and we’ll go out there and you can get to know them better.”

  “Will you wear that lovely white, beaded buckskin shirt that I like so much?” she asked. She had only seen it on him three times, that fine, beautifully decorated and bleached doeskin shirt he wore only for special occasions. He looked grand and handsome in it, its bleached whiteness only accenting the dark, provocative air about him.

  “Whatever you want me to wear,” he told her. He unlaced the front of her tunic. “I’ll have to kill lots of deer and buffalo, Abbie girl, so you can sew the skins into some clothes for us. The women will like teaching you.”

  She nodded, feeling a shiver of excitement when he pulled her tunic down over her shoulders, exposing her small breasts. He toyed lightly with one nipple, arousing it and making her blush.

  “Zeke,” she whispered, looking down. “What if someone comes?”

  “No one will come.” He leaned forward and kissed the pinkish scar left from her arrow wound, where the arrow had exited just above her left breast after entering her back. The scar brought back the ache in his heart, the terror he had felt in thinking she might die from the wound, and he recalled the agony he’d experienced at watching her scream with pain when he had to cut her to relieve the infection.

  But it was over now. She was alive! And she belonged to him! Her breathing quickened as he pushed the tunic down to her waist.

  His lips covered her mouth with their sweet moistness, and he laid her back gently, pushing the tunic down more. She thought to herself that he had been right about how practically and comfortably Indian women dressed. Their tunics were soft, and to be free of undergarments was to be free of stiff corsets and pinching supports and hot layers of petticoats and ruffles. In this land a woman had to dress so that she could move quickly and could work without being burdened by stiff, hot clothing. And then, of course, the tunic made it much easier for a man to bed his woman. The freedom of the clothing seemed to bring a physical freedom that was also a sexual one.

  She lay still and let him look at her as he sat up and carefully removed her tunic so that it did not rub against her sore legs. Then he stood up and took off his own shirt and leggings. She drank in his lean, hard body, and felt the excitement and glory of being wanted by a man who knew no fear—a man who was as skilled in his bed as he was in battle. He removed his loincloth to reveal the part of him that was a powerful and masculine extension of his body, its power lying in its ability to make her lose all resistance to him, to make her cry out at the ecstasy of taking it inside herself and therefore claiming the man himself. There was an urgency about him now. Fire flickered in his eyes at the excitement of the recent hand-to-hand battle with his Crow enemies, combined with the joy of again being with his own people.

  He quietly moved on top of her, being careful of the abrasions on her legs. “Welcome home, Abbie girl,” he told her. She felt the near pain of his first entrance and cried out, and the inside of the tipi became a dusky swirl of paintings and smoke and Indian weapons and trappings that hung inside. He whispered something to her in the Cheyenne tongue, and Tennessee and the white world she had once known were rapidly becoming a blurred memory.

  Five

  It began when Mexico successfully separated itself from Spain in 1821. No longer could the King of Spain forbid Mexicans to trade with foreigners. No longer did foreigners have to worry about being arrested or having their goods confiscated for entering Spanish Territory. It had become Mexican Territory, and with an initial load of merchandise costing thirty-five thousand dollars, a United States merchant could realize up to two hundred thousand dollars on the sale of popular American goods to Mexicans. There were millions to be made, and of course, some men were willing to make the investment and to take the risks involved in shipping their wares to Sante Fe, the primary trading point.

  Thus was born the Santa Fe Trail, an eight-hundred-mile journey between Independence, Missouri and Santa Fe, New Mexico. It soon became a two-way road, as Mexicans traveled north into the United States with their pack trains of Spanish goods for sale to American merchants. The trail was shortened just slightly by the discovery of the Cimarron Cutoff by William Becknell, a trader from Franklin, Missouri, who nearly died from lack of water, along with the thirty other men who accompanied him on his first journey via a different route. But they had discovered a stream of drinkable water; and so, the Cimarron Cutoff became a feasible shortcut, although not everyone chose to use it.

  But this birth of trade and the opening of new westward trails only brought more settlers into Indian Territory. And it also brought a hunger on the part of the Americans to possess the Mexican territories that lay so close to their newly acquired state of Texas. A major factor in prompting their desire to make New Mexico and other Mexican territories a part of the United States was the fact that Mexico had begun to tax merchandise that arrived at Santa Fe and at other points for trade. Governor Manuel Armijo, a pompous, eccentric and vicious Mexican ruler, began charging five hundred dollars for every wagonload of trade goods that arrived at Santa Fe from the United States.

  When rumors spread throughout Mexican Territory that the Texans intended to claim the Rio Grande as their western border, Governor Armijo knew this would mean the loss of Santa Fe and Taos, and the Mexicans in general feared the wild, “godless” Texans, who, they were sure, would pillage, rape, and murder their people once ownership of Mexican territory was established. Thus began the buildup of a Mexican Army and the attempt on the part of the Mexicans to defend their territory in a war that had not truly begun and was still mostly more fear than reality. This situation turned into a real war when the men from a Texas expeditionary peace force were captured and sent on a two-thousand-mile forced march through waterless, snake-infested desert land to Mexico City. Governor Armijo’s orders to the sadistic leader of the march: “If any pretends to be sick or claims he cannot march, shoot him and bring me his ears.” When the march was completed, five sets of ears were presented to Governor Armijo in Santa Fe.

  Danny Monroe was twenty when he arrived at Fort Leavenworth to join the forces that would march on Santa Fe. A tall, quiet Tennessee boy who proved to be very skillful with a rifle and good at taking orders, he was recognized at once by Colonel Kearny as one of the better recruits. Like most of the other young boys who had joined up, Danny had felt a restless need to leave the boredom of his father’s backwoods Tennessee farm and seek his fortune in the West; and one very good way for a poor boy to learn about that untamed country and have a meal in his belly every night was to join the Army.

  But for Danny, going West held even more meaning. Since he was fourteen years old, Danny had not seen his half-blood brother, Zeke. He was not certain he would even recognize Zeke now. But once he became familiar with the land, Danny intended to find his brother. Why he needed to find him, he was not sure. Perhaps he wanted to talk to Zeke face to face and to find out the truth about the murders in Tennessee—whether Zeke had truly killed all those men, and, if so, why he had done it.

  In Tennessee, no one in Zeke’s white family had sympathized mor
e with what Zeke suffered for being a half-breed than Danny. Being the oldest of Zeke’s three white half brothers, Danny was the one most familiar with Zeke’s growing-up years: the torments, accusations and insults, the abuse and neglect from the boys’ mother, Zeke’s stepmother; and finally the murder of Zeke’s young wife and son. Danny had never believed Zeke had killed his wife and little boy as the authorities had said. He was certain white men had killed Ellen Monroe and her son, and that was why Zeke had murdered all of them.

  Whatever had happened, Danny wanted to know the truth because he had always held a special love in his heart for Zeke. Once Zeke had gently and lovingly nursed Danny’s puppy back to health after it had been attacked by a bear. Danny remembered that. It was then that he had recognized the gentle side of his half-breed brother and had seen in his eyes a need to be loved and accepted. No one else had cared about the puppy; their father had wanted to shoot it. But Zeke had hidden it in the swamp and had stayed there with it for three days, until the animal had obviously improved enough so that no one would shoot it when he brought it back. After that he had continued to nurse it until the puppy had no sign of injury. It was an event that had remained vivid in Danny’s mind, and one that made Danny certain that Zeke Monroe was not the vicious, bloodthirsty killer that their friends and the local authorities had made him out to be. The compelling urge to know the real truth and to find out what had happened to Zeke had grown inside Danny Monroe until he could no longer quell his curiosity. And so, he headed west, joining up with Col. Stephen Watts Kearny’s volunteers. He would be among those who would march to Santa Fe.

  Abbie forced her legs to walk, desperately trying to ignore the pain in her feet. Refusing to heed Zeke’s pleas to ride, she walked behind the Cheyenne men, who rode horses, preferring to remain with the Cheyenne women and prove she was as strong as they.

  “If the Cheyenne women usually walk, then so will I!” she told Zeke stubbornly every night as he rubbed her tired and callused feet with bear grease.

  “Cheyenne women of wealth ride,” he repeated. “You’re a woman of wealth. I have many horses. To the Indian that is like a white man having his pockets full of gold. They wouldn’t think anything of it if you rode, Abigail.”

  “That isn’t the point,” she answered. “I’ve seen how Swift Arrow watches me. He’s waiting for me to prove my weakness. I’ll not show him any such thing. He’ll soon learn I’m just as strong and brave and industrious as any Cheyenne woman. He’ll soon learn that his brother chose well!”

  “He already knows I chose well. He just won’t admit it.”

  “Then I’ll make him admit it,” she answered bitterly.

  Zeke wanted to force her to ride, but he knew she was not trying to prove something only to Swift Arrow. She needed to prove something to herself as well; and if they were to live among the Cheyenne, he must let her find out whatever it was she had to know and help her learn the Cheyenne way. But after the fourth day of their journey northward, he knew he could not let this situation go on. She did not look well, and he sensed it was something more than just sore feet. Abbie was physically strong, in spite of her tiny frame. But she was growing paler and thinner, and when he saw her vomiting on the fifth morning when she went out to get a bucket of water, he decided he would exercise his husbandly duty of commanding that she obey him and ride.

  She protested weakly and vomited again as he held her from behind. “You’ll ride or I’ll tie you to a goddamned travois!” he told her. “I’ve let you have your way, Abbie girl, but this is the end of it.”

  “Swift Arrow will laugh at me,” she protested, beginning to cry.

  Zeke took her to the edge of the stream and bathed her face with cool water, and she bent down to rinse her mouth.

  “If he laughs I’ll beat the hell out of him,” Zeke told her. “He knows I can do it. You’ll ride, and that’s that.” He pulled her hair back from her face and gently rubbed her back while she rinsed her mouth again. She sat up straighter and breathed deeply. “Look at me, Abbie,” he told her gently.

  Her body jerked in a sob, and she turned to face him. Taking her chin in his hand, he studied her eyes.

  “How long have you been getting sick like this?” he asked her.

  She shrugged. “Off and on for a couple of weeks. But the last three mornings it’s been regular.”

  He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m not ignorant about women, Abbie girl. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I think … maybe. I … didn’t want to worry you. I wanted to be like the other Cheyenne women.”

  He had to grin, and he pulled her into his arms. “Well, for your information, if a Cheyenne woman has trouble with a pregnancy, her husband doesn’t make her walk all the time and do hard work.” He kissed her hair. “Abbie, children are all-important to the Cheyenne. The men don’t want their women to be losing babies. Just because you’re white doesn’t mean problems with having a baby make you any weaker. Cheyenne women have the same problems sometimes, especially the very young ones.” He pulled back and kissed her eyes. “Damn it, woman, you’re going to have a baby—our baby. Ours! Do you know what that means to me?”

  “I hope you’re happy,” she whimpered.

  He grinned. “Happy?” He kissed her lips lightly. “Jesus, Abbie, how could you think I wouldn’t be happy about that? It’s wonderful, and I love you.” He hugged her tightly. “No more walking, Abbie, understand? No more.”

  He helped her to her feet and back to the tipi, making her sit down inside while he made breakfast for them; then he began packing the robes and utensils on their travois. He tied the travois to Abbie’s horse and began dismantling the tipi himself, a job which Abbie had learned quickly and had already become adept at doing.

  Abbie sat outside on a log, watching Zeke with loving and grateful eyes, happier now about her pregnancy because he finally knew and she didn’t have to try to hide it in order to prove she was as strong as the Cheyenne women. But she felt uncomfortable when she noticed Swift Arrow watching from his campfire. She could feel him laughing inside himself, and she wanted to cry. The others in their small party had taken to her quickly, and she had become good friends with Tall Grass Woman. The two of them had developed a method of communication, Abbie learning some Cheyenne words, Tall Grass learning some English, and the two of them getting by most of the time with awkward sign language.

  Abbie liked Tall Grass Woman. It was good to have a woman friend. It had been a long time since she’d had one, for she’d had no mother now for over two years, and she had left all her girl friends back in Tennessee a year ago when her father had decided to come west. After that her only friend had been her sister, Lee Ann. Then Lee Ann was murdered, and there was no one. During the long winter at Fort Bridger, while Abbie waited for Zeke to come back from Oregon, there had been only burly, uncivilized men to talk to, and a few Shoshoni women who spoke no English. Now she had a woman friend again, and it was good. Perhaps she would have more friends after their party met up with Zeke’s mother’s clan and the other Cheyenne who would congregate for the hunt on the Smoky Hill River.

  The only problem now was Swift Arrow. He remained aloof and still insisted Abbie was bad luck. Although he hadn’t actually voiced his feelings to Zeke and Abbie, they were obvious by the look in his eyes and the way he watched her, ready to use any excuse to say “I told you so.” Abbie felt he would gloat if she showed any weakness, and he was gloating now, so much so that he felt compelled to rise and walk toward them with a grin on his face.

  He came to stand near them, his arms folded in front of him, his haughty eyes watching his brother dismantle the tipi.

  “How is it that you do this woman’s work?” he asked Zeke, unable to withhold the chance to discredit Abbie.

  When Zeke stopped what he was doing and turned to face his brother with dark, angry eyes, Swift Arrow lost his smile and dropped his hands to his sides.

  “Abbie is goin
g to have a baby,” he told Swift Arrow. “She’s been sick. My first wife miscarried and almost bled to death once, Swift Arrow. And the son we did have was murdered. I don’t aim to lose another wife or child. Plenty of Cheyenne women have this same problem, so I don’t want to hear you direct one insult toward Abbie, or I’ll make you beg for forgiveness, brother or not. Do you understand me?”

  Their eyes held in a challenge for a brief moment, then Swift Arrow’s softened slightly. “I understand you,” he replied. He glanced at Abbie, then back at Zeke. “She is very young for this.”

  “Yes, she is. That’s why I intend to be extra careful.”

  Swift Arrow stood and watched awkwardly as Zeke returned to taking down the tipi. Then he walked up to Abbie.

  “It is customary that an uncle be appointed to train a son in the Cheyenne ways,” he told her. Abbie met his eyes, realizing that in his own way he was telling her he was glad she was having Zeke’s child and was offering his services in the child’s upbringing. She rose and faced him, and Zeke listened but did not turn around. If anything was to be settled between Abigail and Swift Arrow, it had to be done between the two of them, and no one else could bring them to an understanding. But he had faith in Abbie. Someday Swift Arrow would recognize the quality of the woman.

  “I’ll remember that,” she replied to Swift Arrow. “And if I have a son, I hope he’s as proud and strong and skilled as his Cheyenne uncles. He will be raised as a Cheyenne, Swift Arrow.”

  The man nodded, suppressing a grin. “I accept your praise and thank you.” He started to walk away, then turned to look at her once more. “You shall ride from now on and not walk,” he told her. “I will explain to the others.” He glanced at Zeke, who had turned to face him, and their eyes met in brotherly understanding. Swift Arrow looked back at Abbie. “But your husband should not do woman’s work,” he added. “Tonight the other women shall help raise the tipi, so that Zeke can smoke with the men. They will not mind. They will be happy to know you are with child. They will help you.”