Ride the Free Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  He sighed. “In a sense. But Olin wasn’t a man torn like I was, Abbie. He didn’t have the kind of memories I did. I wandered because I was looking for something.” He kissed her hair. “And then I found it. Now we’ll just wander together, with the People. And when you want to stay put, we’ll live in our cabin. Hell, we can even go to the mountains any time we want, just you and me alone. I know places where the Crow and Ute and Blackfeet would never find us.”

  “I’d like that. I like being completely alone with you, like when we came here from Fort Bridger.”

  They sat quietly for several minutes, then Zeke patted her shoulder and got to his feet.

  “Abbie, I … I’ve got to go out for a while. I’ve got to feel the wind on my face and wrestle with a few memories.”

  She sighed and looked up at him. “Zeke, it’s blizzarding out there. It’s so cold.”

  “I’ll be all right.” He turned away, his voice strained. “I want to feel the cold, Abbie. I want the wind to sting my face. Please try to understand. I … have to go out for a while.”

  “I understand,” she said softly.

  She got up, too, and placed a hand on his back. She knew he was hurting over Olin Wales, and her own heart ached, for she had come to think of Olin as a good friend also. It was Olin Wales who had helped her understand Cheyenne Zeke on the wagon train journey the summer before. He had understood her love for his good friend. “Go and greet the wind, Zeke.”

  He turned to face her with watery eyes; then he grabbed his buffalo robe and left without another word. He did not return until the morning.

  Seventeen

  The spring of 1847 brought welcome warmth, and just as the wild flowers began to blossom on the plains and prairies and in the mountains, so did the life in Abbie’s womb blossom. By April, according to her own calculations, she was six months pregnant. This child would hang on and be born healthy, she was certain. She felt good, and the baby gave her lively kicks to tell her all was well.

  Although it hurt her not to be able to travel north with the People for the summer, she knew Zeke was right in deciding not to go. He wanted nothing to happen to this baby or to Abbie, and he wanted to build her the cabin he had promised. So they stayed behind when the southern bands headed northward, making only the short trek to Swift Arrow’s village in order to bid them a sad farewell. Abigail Monroe now had many friends among Zeke’s people, but it hurt her most to say good-bye to Swift Arrow, Gentle Woman, and Tall Grass Woman. Her memories of her experiences of the summer before remained vivid and were something she would forever treasure, for that was the summer her white heart had learned the Cheyenne way.

  “Maheo ride with you,” Zeke told Swift Arrow, who lagged behind as the rest of the band moved out.

  “And with you,” Swift Arrow replied, looking from Zeke to Abbie and holding Abbie’s eyes for a moment before looking back at Zeke. He seemed even more reluctant to leave Zeke and Abbie behind than Zeke’s own mother had been.

  “The Pawnee are kicking up again, I hear,” Zeke told his brother.

  “Then perhaps we shall kick a few Pawnee!” Swift Arrow replied with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “It would not upset me to see all of them dead.”

  Zeke grinned. “I’m sure it wouldn’t. Watch out for the devils and take care of our mother.”

  “This I have always done.” Swift Arrow looked at Abbie again. “This time you do not go with us. But we have many memories of our last journey north, when you learned how to be Cheyenne woman.”

  Abbie smiled. “Maybe next year we can go with you again,” she told him. “And when you return, I’ll have a grandchild to present to Gentle Woman.”

  Swift Arrow grinned. “Ai. That will make her very happy.” Their eyes held again, and she knew he was thinking of his own dead son.

  “I hope it’s a good hunt, Swift Arrow,” she told him.

  He nodded and looked at Zeke. “I will bring you meat and hides!” he said.

  “I wish I could go with you, Swift Arrow. You know how I enjoy the hunts.”

  Swift Arrow nodded, and Abbie felt guilty, as though it was her fault Zeke could not go with his people and hunt buffalo and fight the Pawnee and feel the freedom of that life. She had begged him to go, but he would not budge in his decision that she should not travel.

  At least this year Swift Arrow and the others would be back earlier, for they would not go all the way into the Black Hills as they had done the summer before. They had been warned by northern Cheyenne runners that traveling across the Great Medicine Road was becoming increasingly dangerous, that hundreds and hundreds of the white-topped wagons traversed the road almost daily now, and that the nervous white travelers often shot at Indians without reason. It was a bad place to be, for more soldiers also traveled the road. The forts were growing larger with soldiers, and more and more white people were seen stopping and settling in Indian Territory, rather than just passing through it to the land beyond the mountains where the sun sets.

  “They have frightened away most of the buffalo and killed what remains,” the runners told them. “There are few buffalo now. It is best you hunt again at the Smoky Hill River and maybe the Republican, but do not go on north from there, or you will find only trouble. Go back home to your land on the Arkansas.”

  Zeke had urged his brothers to listen to the warning, and he repeated it now to his brother.

  “Don’t go farther than the fork of the Smoky Hill and Republican,” he told Swift Arrow. “And try to be back by the Moon When the Geese Shed Their Feathers,” he added, signifying August.

  Swift Arrow nodded reluctantly. “I do not like being told I cannot go north to the Sioux!” he complained. “Since this white man’s war, everywhere we go, we find trouble. Our own Arapaho brothers fight with the Comanche against the Americans, and the blame goes to the Cheyenne also, just because we have always been friends with the Arapaho. We try to stay at peace with all sides, but they do not let us have peace. The soldiers and white-topped wagons press down on us from the north. The Mexicans and soldiers and more settlers press up against us from the south. The mountains keep us from going west and your white brothers are so many in the East we cannot go that way. I do not like this feeling of being in a cage, my brother. I wish that you could tell us how to get out.”

  “I wish the same, Swift Arrow. But I don’t know what to tell you, except that I’m here and I’ll always be here to help you. I can help with supplies, give you advice if you have a run-in with soldiers or settlers, help you in the trading.”

  Swift Arrow breathed deeply to quell his anger at the white intrusion. “Perhaps it will not get worse,” he replied. “Here we can still ride … hunt.” There was a sadness in his eyes. “Our great council chiefs, Black Kettle, Yellow Wolf, White Antelope—they tell us to keep the peace, that the white men who come do not want war and that not many more will come now. They say when the war with Mexico is over, many will leave. Do you think this is so, my brother?”

  Their eyes held and Abbie had to look away. “No, Swift Arrow,” Zeke replied. “I don’t think it is so. The chiefs are great men, but they don’t know the white world back East. They don’t know how many white men there are, all eager for more land, and for the treasures that lay beneath this land.”

  “But the land is big!” Swift Arrow replied, a note of hope in his voice. “It can be shared! And if they stop killing the buffalo, we can survive.”

  Zeke did not have the heart to reply to the contrary. “Maybe,” he answered. “Go now, Swift Arrow. May you have a good hunt.”

  Swift Arrow nodded, and after casting his eyes once more upon Abbie and giving her a smile, he turned and mounted his painted Appaloosa, riding off to catch up with the others. Gentle Woman waved from her horse, and Zeke and Abbie waved back, watching the small band slowly disappear into the rolling plains.

  “It is a big land, Zeke,” Abbie said quietly. “So terribly big.”

  He stepped ahead of her and gazed out at the empty
plains. “I don’t think it’s going to be big enough, Abbie girl. And that’s the hell of it.”

  They erected their tipi on a beautiful piece of land along the Arkansas River, a green, gentle slope of land surrounded by granite boulders and cliffs. The sound of the river water splashing over rocks was soothing to Abbie, and she cherished this piece of land they would now call home. Far to the West the peaks of some of the higher Rocky Mountains could be seen on the horizon, and yet to the East there were only soft, rolling plains that melted into the blue horizon. The sharp contrast of this “middle land” always fascinated Abbie, for the plains seemed to lead directly to the jutting Rockies, like a floor to a wall. It was as if the great granite mountains suddenly sprung up from the earth to create God’s barrier to the West. But man had surmounted that barrier, and now by the thousands settlers plunged onward and westward, more and more of them every year, while the Rockies watched silently.

  Here where they would settle, though, there was little contact with the migrating settlers. Mostly they were alone, their main worry raiding Comanches who might try to steal Zeke’s Appaloosas. Abbie wondered how long their peace would last in this little green hideaway from the restless world. It was good land—beautiful land—and it was theirs, all five hundred acres of it. William Bent had helped them claim it, preparing the proper papers so that they could officially call it their own. Zeke wanted to start the cabin right away, but first he had to build a fence to corral his Appaloosas and help protect them from raids. The horses were his primary income now, and must be properly cared for and guarded. He would not always have the help of his brothers, and he knew that in the future, income from his own means would be important, for it was becoming less and less possible to rely on the land for all of their needs.

  To his relief, it had not been necessary to go all the way to Independence that spring to sell his horses. The war with Mexico had made the demand for good mounts high, and William Bent had bought several horses from Zeke that spring. All along the Santa Fe Trail there were travelers and soldiers who had ready money for Zeke’s fine Appaloosas, and Zeke knew now that this was how he could make a living and properly provide for Abbie and their future children. It was not easy for a half-breed to find work, and with a white wife, he could not travel with the Cheyenne and roam and hunt. This was a happy medium, making his own way by raising good horses and living near his red brothers, but staying in one place for Abbie’s sake.

  Abbie loved him even more as she watched how hard he worked trying to get the land in shape, tending his horses and chopping at logs for fence posts. The spring was lovely and welcome, smelling of sweet wild flowers and clean air. Abbie enjoyed watching Zeke work, seeing his bronze, muscular arms and shoulders glistening with sweat from the May sun.

  But in spite of her happiness over their land and the beauty of spring and the life in her belly, she hurt inside for Zeke; for she knew that his mind would forever be tortured by the middle road he was forced to walk. And just as she had given up much to be with him, he, too, had given up much when he’d married her. For he would rather be wandering the mountains or hunting with his people … doing all of the things that were natural to his Indian blood. And so, both had compromised, both lived in two worlds, belonging to both and yet belonging to neither. They would have a cabin and hard floors and windows like whites. They would raise horses and do a little farming and earn money like whites. But at times they would wander with their red brothers, and Zeke would hunt with them and play war games with them and let his heart be free, like the Indian that he was. Being together would mean sacrifice and hardship for them both, yet life apart was unthinkable.

  It was a sweet and peaceful interlude in their lives, that May of 1847. Wild strawberries grew in thickets along the river, and Abbie picked them daily, while the sound of Zeke chopping wood assured her he was close by and all was well. The whacks of the hatchet echoed out over the river, and they were good sounds—signs of hope for the future. She would not ask him when the cabin would be done, for she sensed that perhaps it would not get built at all this first summer. There were so many things to do to get the land in better shape, and Zeke had to spend considerable time with two foals that had been born weak and sickly.

  She did not mind waiting for her house. She’d grown accustomed to living in a tipi now, and was not even sure she wanted to leave the dwelling she and Gentle Woman and the other Cheyenne women had worked so hard to build and decorate. Outside it appeared to be a dwelling made only for an Indian’s life. But inside a mahogany mantel clock chimed from where it sat on a fat, upended log. It was another gift from Zeke. Abbie liked to touch its oiled, rich wood, and tears would come to her eyes when she remembered Zeke buying it for her at Bent’s Fort. He had promised her that some day she would have a fireplace with a mantel where she could set the clock, and the gift had just been another way of trying to bring her the white world he thought she should have.

  It was a beautiful clock … too expensive. But he was always buying her such things, as though he feared that at any moment she might run back to Tennessee. The trip to Bent’s Fort had been exciting for Abbie and surprising, for the fort was much larger than she had pictured. Its adobe walls were three feet thick and fourteen feet high, and there were round, castlelike towers at their corners, where guns and cannons could be placed for defense.

  It was no wonder the Mexicans had not tried to storm the fort, for it was virtually impossible. And inside was every kind of supply anyone could ever ask for—a half acre of supplies. Zeke had bought her lovely smelling soaps, a new washboard, and special creams for her skin. He had even bought her a new dress, a white woman’s dress, but she wondered if and when she would ever have reason to wear it.

  Zeke had treated her like a queen that day, letting her be white again, letting her look and touch and choose supplies and treating her to a royal meal of beef and potatotes—everything she delighted in eating—prepared by the Bents’ famous cook, Charlotte Green. Abbie ate real apple pie for the first time in well over two years. She had been fifteen and living in Tennessee the last time she had had apple pie. Now she was seventeen and living in a tipi with a half-blood Cheyenne. It all seemed so odd, as though the Abbie who had lived in Tennessee and had once had a brother and sister and parents was a different person. It seemed impossible that it had only been two years since she had been that innocent child headed West with her father.

  Another month passed, and the land Zeke and Abbie had claimed began to look like home. The corral was finished and held the grand Appaloosas; four more of the mares were heavy with foals.

  “Spring seems to be a time for big bellies,” Zeke teased Abbie, gently patting her own heavy stomach as they stood at the fence watching the pregnant mares lumber about.

  Abbie smiled and blushed, looking down at his big, reassuring hand. She put her own over his, her smile fading. He sensed her fear and had seen it growing. With the nearby Cheyenne village vacant and no doctor at the fort, there would be no one but himself to help her when the baby came. He moved behind her, enfolding her in his arms, with one hand still over her swollen stomach and his other arm wrapped across her breasts. He held her tight against him, kissing the top of her head.

  “Abbie, I’ve delivered plenty of foals, and I delivered Ellen’s and my son. I took an arrow out of you, girl, and burned out the infection. And there’s nothing on God’s earth I love more than my Abbie. We’ll have this baby together and we’ll do okay. You just trust me same as you always have.”

  She nodded quietly, and he felt a tear spill onto the skin of his hand.

  “Don’t be afraid, Abbie girl. Maheo wants us to have this child, and by God we’ll have it. All you have to do is trust me, just like you trusted me to watch over you on that wagon train, and like you trusted me to help Jeremy and to rescue you when them outlaws got hold of you, and when you took that Crow arrow. I haven’t failed you yet, have I?”

  She leaned her head back against his chest. “No,”
she replied quietly. “It’s just … I’ve never been through this. And I want so much to give you a healthy baby, Zeke.”

  “Of course you do. And you will. You’re stronger and healthier than you’ve been since you took that arrow last year. You’ll be okay, Abbie. You trust me and hang on to me and you’ll always be okay.”

  He felt her body jerk as she tried to stifle a sob, and he held her even tighter.

  “Oh, Zeke, don’t go away! Don’t go anywhere before it’s born. I’d be terrified if it came and you were gone!”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I’m going nowhere, little girl. I’ll be right here with you twenty-four hours a day till this baby comes. That’s one promise that won’t get broken.”

  She nodded and sniffed, reaching around herself and clinging tightly to his strong, sure arms. “I’m so happy, Zeke. It’s just that I’m so scared. I’m sorry. I want to be brave about it.”

  He kissed her hair again and smiled. “You’ve always been brave, Abbie. Just look at all you’ve been through, and you never cowered from anything—never once.”

  “I was brave for you. Inside I was falling apart. If it weren’t for you, I would have.”

  He laid his cheek against her hair. “Nonsense. When you boil it down, Abbie, strength comes only from within ourselves. You don’t give yourself enough credit. This thing you feel now is only natural, because you know that baby is going to come whether you’re ready for it or not, and that’s pretty scary. But if you get times when you don’t feel so brave, then you just let me be your courage, and I’ll do the same. Sometimes you’ll be the strong one. That’s what husbands and wives are for, Abbie, if they really love each other.”

  She smiled through her tears. “You always know what to say.”

  He shrugged and turned her to face him. “Just saying what comes naturally,” he replied with a reassuring smile.

  He gently took her face in his hands and she studied his dark eyes and all the love that lay behind them. What a handsome man he was, with the kind of looks that would only grow more handsome with age. Even the thin scar added to his looks, for it told of a rugged, experienced man, one who did not shy away from a fight or from danger. And she was suddenly calm. If Zeke would be with her when the baby was born, what was there to be afraid of?