He gently pushed his mother away and turned around. “I’ve lost her,” he said. “I intend to go and find Dancing Moon. After that, when Abbie is well enough, I’ll take her back to Tennessee … back home.” He pulled out his knife. “But first I will use this on Dancing Moon!” He threw the knife, and it stuck into the side of a tree, vibrating from the violent thrust.
“No!” his mother protested. “You are Abbie’s husband, and she will need you. You will stay here and be at her side, even if she says she does not want you there. I speak as a woman, Zeke. Listen to one who is older and wiser. She needs you, whether she knows it herself or not. It is your duty to be here. The priest has already given orders that runners should go out. They are to spread the word of this evil deed Dancing Moon has done. She is to receive no help and no home in any camp, not Cheyenne, not Arapaho, not Navajo, not Sioux; no tribe that is friend to the Cheyenne will give her a home. If she tries to take shelter with any of them, she is to be whipped and scarred. She will suffer, Zeke. She will be homeless and despised. There is no need for you to go after her, for the punishment from her own people will be great, and she will have brought it upon herself. Your place is here, with Abigail.”
“She doesn’t want me now.” He groaned. “She doesn’t need me.”
“Oh, my son, do not be such a fool! It is this great love you have for her that makes you speak like a child. I know you better than this. You love her so much that you cannot bear the least little bit of hurt that comes her way, and you are ready to blame all of it on yourself. But we all get hurt, Zeke. Life brings everyone pain and disappointment. If she were a Cheyenne woman, it would have been the same, Zeke. Do you not see this? Dancing Moon would still have attacked her and brought her harm, because of her jealousy. But because she is white, and because of what happened to Ellen, you are ready to say that everything bad that happens to her is your fault, just because she happened to choose a half-breed to love! Look at me, Zeke. Look at me and tell me that you could truly take her back to Tennessee, leave her there, and return to us without Abigail.”
He threw his head back and breathed deeply. “I … saw her … in a vision, Mother,” he said brokenly. “Before we were married. I saw her in a vision … and she was … beside me. She was beside me!”
“Then you know this is how it must be, my son. And you know this is just a little root along the pathway that has tripped you. But when we trip and fall, my son, we rise again. We brush off the dirt and we go on. It will be this way for Abigail. You will see, if you are but patient.”
He walked over to the tree and jerked out his knife, wanting very much to use it slowly on Dancing Moon. It was the first time he had ever wanted to bring harm to a woman. He shoved the knife back into its sheath.
“Has she … asked for me?”
“Not yet, my son. She only weeps.”
He sighed deeply, his back still turned. “I … have to go away for the night, Gentle Woman. I have to be alone. I have to think.”
“I understand.”
“Is her … her bleeding … is it bad? Dangerous?”
“No. At first it did look bad, but the bleeding is normal now. In a few days it will stop.”
He rubbed at his neck and sighed. “I must go to Independence soon. I have money there that I should get out of the bank. And I have to take my horses to trade before all of the wagon trains have left. That is the best market for the horses. I’ll take Abigail with me on a travois and leave her there with a white doctor who can care for her. When she’s well enough, I will take her home—back to Tennessee—even though it is dangerous for me to go there.”
Gentle Woman smiled sadly. “She will not want to go, my son. This I know in my heart.”
He turned to look at her with red, tired eyes. “I pray to Maheo that you are right.”
Abbie stirred slightly, opening her eyes to the morning sun that filtered through a slit in the door of the tipi. She realized she had been taken to her own tipi, and she saw Gentle Woman bending over a small fire. No one else was about. It was the second morning after her attack and miscarriage, and her pain had lessened. The relief from pain seemed to bring a slight relief from sorrow, and she was suddenly disappointed that Zeke was not there, although for two days she had not wanted to see anyone, not even Zeke.
Gentle Woman turned and noticed she was awake; then she smiled kindly and came to Abbie’s side, taking her hand. “You look much better this morning, Abigail!” she said with genuine happiness. “You have color in your face again. How do you feel, child?”
Abbie turned her eyes up to stare at the hole in the top of the tipi, where smoke curled out. “I… don’t know quite yet.” She looked back at Gentle Woman. “Where is Zeke?”
Gentle Woman smiled. “Do you wish to see him?”
Their eyes held. “I … don’t know. Would he … would he want to see me?”
Gentle Woman squeezed her hand. “He has been waiting impatiently.”
Abbie blinked back tears. “You shouldn’t be kind to me,” she told the woman. “I haven’t been very nice. Zeke shouldn’t want to see me at all. I … I hurt him badly, didn’t I?”
“You have only behaved as any woman behaves when these things happen to her. You have been in shock, and many bad things have happened to you since first you left your home in Tennessee.”
Abbie looked away again. “I’m so confused, Gentle Woman. Sometimes I … I want so much to go home. But Zeke can’t go there because he’s wanted there, and even if he weren’t, he could never be happy in Tennessee. Here … on the prairies … in the mountains with his people … here is where he is happiest. I could never destroy that happiness.”
Gentle Woman smiled. “And Zeke talks about you the same way, thinking that here you cannot be happy. So, what do you think can be done about that?”
Abbie sniffled. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“I will tell you one thing, Abigail. For a woman to go with her man, that is what is important. It sometimes does not seem fair. But that is the way it is. Zeke’s people love you. And one day, when you are older and have many children, you will forget this day and this confusion. Then you will know where you belong.”
Abbie wiped at her tears, wincing with pain when her fingers touched the cuts on her face. “I’d like to try to get up today,” she told Gentle Woman. “I don’t want Zeke to see me like this. I want to get up and walk. Will you help me wash, and brush my hair?”
“I will help you wash. And I will brush your hair. But you must not get up yet, child. Wait another day or two. And wait one more day before you talk to Zeke. Today is the first day you have been able to think clearly. Think about Zeke, about Tennessee, and about the Cheyenne. Think about all of these things before you see your husband; for you want to be sure of what you will say, so that no harsh words will be said that you might regret.”
Abbie put a hand to her forehead, her mind racing with confusion and loneliness and regret. “I said … such terrible things! Surely he hates me!”
“Oh, no, child, he could never hate you. It is himself he hates, for bringing you here. Now he thinks it was wrong. He thinks he should take you to a white doctor at Independence when he takes his horses there, and that when you are better he should take you home, to Tennessee. He thinks this is what you want.”
Abbie closed her eyes. “I don’t know now what I want. I thought … I could be so strong … that I could be the perfect woman for him.”
“Abigail.” Gentle Woman took her hands. “Listen to me. You do not have to be anything but yourself. And you can be yourself anywhere, child. You do not have to be back in Tennessee for that. And to be yourself means you cannot deny the love in your heart. You could no more live without my son than he could live without you. You must stop worrying about proving yourself, for he loves you just as you are. And the Cheyenne love you just as you are. We do not expect you to change overnight, or to take up all the Cheyenne ways. You are Lone Eagle’s woman, and you are brave an
d strong. That is all there is to know. And when you do feel weak, then you must let your husband be your strength. That is the way. That is what a man is for, Abigail. To be the strong one when his woman cannot be. And there will be times when the woman must be the strong one. The strength comes from both sides, Abigail, creating a power that is mighty and can bear all things.”
Abbie studied the gentle, brown eyes of Zeke’s mother. This truly was a woman of strength who had suffered much more than Abigail had. “You are good to me, Gentle Woman. Being with you is like … like having my mother with me.” New tears of sadness welled in her eyes. “Sometimes I miss her so!”
Gentle Woman patted her hand. “You lost your family too quickly. You need more time to get over your loss. Zeke understands this. Let him help you, Abbie.”
Abbie sniffed and looked away. “Tell him … to come tonight … when the sun sets,” she told the woman. “I will think about all these things today … and speak with him tonight. I have so much to decide.”
“I will tell him,” Gentle Woman answered. She smiled and leaned down to brush Abbie’s cheek with her own. “Maheo watches over you, woman of Lone Eagle. And always remember to follow your heart. That is most important.”
* * *
Abbie waited with a pounding heart, hoping the cuts and scrapes on her face did not look too terrible, and wondering if he would come at all. The sun had gone down, and she knew what she must do now—what she must say. Gentle Woman had left to get Zeke, and now Abbie could hear his familiar footsteps outside the tipi. She had come to know them. Her heart beat so hard it felt as though it was in her throat when the entrance flap was raised.
He entered almost hesitantly, as though he thought she might throw him out. He wore the white doeskin shirt that was gloriously decorated with beads and paintings, the shirt he usually wore only for special occasions. She knew he had worn it for her, because she loved to look at him in it; it made him even more handsome. And her heart ached with love when she realized he wanted to look his best for her, as though perhaps he needed to woo her all over again.
Their eyes held in a moment of quickly passing emotions, from sorrow to anger to sorrow again. His jaw was set in stubborn determination to bear whatever it was she would tell him. She saw the hurt behind his defensive stance, and could hardly bear the thought that she had done the hurting.
“Zeke, I … I’m sorry … about the baby,” she told him, not sure how to begin. He folded his arms in front of him.
“Why should you be? It wasn’t your fault. It’s Dancing Moon who should be sorry, and when I find her, she will regret the day she was born! None of this was your doing. It was hers. And mine.”
Her eyes widened. “Yours! What on earth are you talking about?”
“I brought you here, didn’t I?”
“I came because I wanted to come.”
“But you don’t want to stay.”
She frowned, confused by his words. He seemed angry, and yet she felt it was a deliberate anger, staged for her benefit. Perhaps he wanted her to go back to Tennessee because he thought it was better for her. Perhaps he was trying to make her want to go back.
“Zeke, the things I said, I said out of pain and depression. Surely you know that.”
He lowered his arms and seemed to soften. He nodded. “I understand that, Abigail. But often the things we say in pain are like the things we say when we are drunk. We mean them but never say them when we are feeling good or when we are sober. It is only the truth that is forced out of us against our will.”
“Zeke, I can’t live without you!”
“But can you live with me?”
She dropped her eyes. “Zeke, I was attacked, remember? I didn’t ask for any of this. I was happy here … with the Cheyenne. Happy with my pregnancy. I … I dearly wanted to give you a son.” Her voice broke and it seemed that in the same moment he was at her side, putting a palm to the side of her face.
“Abbie, I know this is not your fault. But it opened my eyes, and I don’t know if I can bear the guilt.”
“There is no guilt to bear!” she sobbed. “What we are left with is … is a decision; and I’ve made one.” She looked up at him, tears running down the sides of her face and into her ears. She wanted desperately to hold him and to feel his arms around her. But she suddenly knew she must wait, that there was something she had to do first.
“And what is this decision you have made?” he asked, his eyes showing his fear.
“Zeke, you made it too easy for me. Don’t you see? When first we came here, it was too easy, because I had you and I could run to you whenever I needed to. The true test, Zeke, is to live here among the People alone. I… I want you to go to Independence without me.” His eyes widened in surprise. “Take the horses,” she went on. “Take them now while you can get a good price for them. It’s already almost too late. Go on to Independence and leave me here. By the time you come back, I’ll know. I’ll have made my decision as to whether or not I can truly live among the Cheyenne.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Abbie.…”
“Zeke, you must go soon if you want to get a good price for those horses! I’m too weak to go with you, even on a travois. And I have your mother here to care for me, and your brothers and your friends to watch out for me. I need some time alone with them, Zeke; time to face myself and them without you always in between to cushion things. I’m so sorry I’ve been such a child about this, Zeke.”
“A child!” he interrupted. “My God, Abbie, you were attacked! Viciously attacked!”
“Just the same I said childish things that I will regret always. But perhaps … perhaps it was like you said … perhaps those were my true feelings coming out. If they were, Zeke, then I have to face those feelings, and I have to face them alone. Right now the only thing I know for certain is that … that I love you. And finding out if I can stay here is important to that love. Please, Zeke. Please do it this way.”
He touched her hair. “Abbie, are you sure you could stay here alone?”
“No.” She half smiled. “That’s what I have to find out.”
He frowned and ran his hand down over her side to her hip. “How is your wound?”
She closed her eyes and lay back. “Better. The pain is better.”
“I did the best job I could at sewing you up. I haven’t checked it out all day. I’d better have a look at it.” He pulled the robe away from her, trying to ignore the rush of need and love and desire that enveloped him when he looked upon her nakedness. He looked closely at the wound, gently pressing his thumb around it, and she jumped slightly and whimpered.
“Is it bad?” he asked her.
“No,” she replied. “Just sore. Nothing like the pain of infection I felt from the arrow wound.”
“Well, it looks good, thank God.” He sighed and covered her, resting his eyes for a moment on her breasts before hiding them again under the robe. She could see his hand trembling. “I thought … the night it happened … you looked so dead … lying there in the river!” His voice choked, and she grasped his hand tightly.
“Forgive me, Zeke, for hurting you!”
He only nodded, his eyes closed to prevent any tears from showing. He rose and walked toward the tipi entrance. “Perhaps because of this decision you have made … perhaps it is best I do not hold you, Abigail, until I return … and you know what you want to do.”
She wanted to cry out to him that it was not so—that she wanted very much for him to hold her. But there was a strange, unwanted coldness between them, a barrier built by hurt pride and by sorrow and loss.
“I … I guess that would be best,” she told him.
He started out. “Zeke!” she called out. He hesitated but did not turn around. “Zeke, do you think … is there such a thing as … as loving someone too much?”
He stood there stiffly for several seconds. Then he nodded. “There is such a thing,” he replied in a strained voice. He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Abbie … about
Dancing Moon.” He walked out and closed the flap.
Zeke circled the small herd of Appaloosas to keep them in check; then he rode back to Swift Arrow, who stood at the edge of the village waiting for a final good-bye. He dismounted and stood before his brother, putting out his hand. They grasped wrists.
“I know that you are one of those who did not want her here,” Zeke told Swift Arrow. “But you are my brother, and you are a dog soldier. She is my woman, and I can think of no man better able to watch over her while I am gone. I trust you will do this in spite of your feelings for the whites,” Zeke told the man.
Swift Arrow nodded. “I will do this for you, my brother.”
“Black Elk is too young and inexperienced, and Red Eagle drinks too much to be of any use,” Zeke told the man.
“Red Eagle is becoming worthless because of the white man’s firewater!” Swift Arrow grumbled.
“I agree,” Zeke replied. “We must be careful, or the whiskey will ruin more of our people.”
“This I know.”
Their eyes held in a moment of silence. “Take good care of her, Swift Arrow. And try to be more understanding. She is not truly a woman yet. But this decision she has made—it’s the decision of a woman, and it will not be easy for her to dwell among a people so foreign to her without me at her side. I am all she has had, Swift Arrow, for a year now. She’s gone through so much … so many changes. For all I know her love for me was just … just something she needed at the time. It’s possible when I come back that she’ll have decided she’d be better off with her own people and that … perhaps what she felt for me was just a little girl’s need for someone to watch over her.”
Swift Arrow frowned. “You could bear such a decision?”
Their eyes held in brotherly love. “I don’t think so, Swift Arrow!”
Their hands were still clasped, and Swift Arrow squeezed Zeke’s wrist. “I think her decision will be to stay, my brother.”
“It would help if she knew you wanted her to stay.”
Swift Arrow sighed and released his hold. “I will try to understand her and accept her and forget my hatred of other whites. It is only fair, for she is trying to understand and accept the Cheyenne.”
Ride the Free Wind Page 15
