Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny)

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Will he follow us?” Abbie asked.

  “Already is.”

  Abbie’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

  “Yup. Zeke knows it, too, but he can’t do nothin’ about it, not unless Rube shows his face around here. Zeke has the train to think about. He can always take care of Givens later. But he’ll take care of him sooner than that if he bothers anybody on this train, especially you. But if I know Givens, he’ll not show unless it’s a time when Zeke’s at a disadvantage and can’t do nothin’ about it. He liked to goad Zeke that way.”

  Abbie rested her chin in her hand. “How did Zeke get that scar on his face?”

  Olin puffed the pipe again. “A Crow did that, up in Montana. Crows and Cheyennes never did get along. Them Crow is a wicked lot. Zeke had a run-in with one who decided to prove he was the better man. He managed to get a cut at Zeke’s face, but that Crow’s insides soon saw daylight, I’ll tell you. Zeke split that man right up the middle and—”

  “Please!” Abbie interrupted, holding her stomach. “I … don’t think I want to hear the rest.”

  Olin grinned. “Sorry. It’s just that I ain’t never seen anybody use a knife like that. At any rate, I reckon now you’ve got a pretty good idea of the kind of wild man you’ve been havin’ romantic thoughts about. He ain’t for the likes of you, Miss Abbie.”

  Abbie blushed and looked over to where Zeke still sat behind Mary. His brawny frame was outlined in the eerie firelight, and he was sitting quietly and praying over little Mary. Abbie felt a strange chill, and wondered if she truly would need the crying stones.

  Zeke stayed by Mary all that night and all the next day, while she sweat out a fever and whimpered and cried. He never moved, not even to get up and go to the bathroom. The others used the camp time to mend wagons, to rest the oxen and mules, and to bathe in the Platte River. Some hunted, bringing back a couple of deer and a buffalo, which they quickly dressed out, hanging out the meat to dry and packing some in lard to preserve it. It was hard work, and Abbie helped, all the while glancing over to where Zeke still sat and pondering the extreme diversities of the man’s personality.

  When they threw out most of the buffalo bones, the odd pieces, and the skin, Yellow Grass, who had come to help, shook her head and carried on in her own tongue, looking very upset. Abbie guessed that an Indian probably had a use for every part of the buffalo, and that Yellow Grass was upset with the waste, but the people in the train didn’t know how to use the other parts, only the meat. The Indian girl finally returned to Zeke and Mary, still fretting to herself over the waste.

  It was late in the afternoon, the day after the snake bite, when the fever broke. As Abbie was heading over to see how the girl was, Zeke stood up, raising his arms in the air, his shoulders gleaming in the sun and his hair streaming down his back. Abbie thought again what a magnificent specimen of man he was. Suddenly Zeke looked up at the sun and let out a strange sound, like a battle cry. Then he got down on his knees and started digging around Mary with his hands. The Haneses stood up and watched, looking anxious; and people came running to see what was going on. Then Zeke pulled little Mary out of the mud and held her naked body up high in the air toward the sun. She was caked with mud. Zeke laughed.

  “Kse-e, rarutah!” he said with a big grin.

  “What did you say?” Little Mary asked him with a scowl.

  “I said, young girl, you are filthy!” Zeke replied. White streaks were still painted on his face and chest. Mary covered her mouth and giggled, and Zeke handed her to her mother, who quickly put a blanket around her. “Wash her. She will be fine,” Zeke told Mrs. Hanes. The woman’s eyes teared.

  “What can we say? How can we thank you?”

  “I did nothing. It was our God who saved her. I only prayed and kept her calm,” Zeke replied.

  “You did more than that,” Hanes replied, putting his hand out to Zeke. Their eyes held for a moment, and Abbie suspected this was one of the rare times when Zeke had found a white man who had confidence in him and would shake his hand. He shook Hanes’s hand.

  “Tonight we will celebrate!” he told Hanes. He turned to Olin, catching Abbie’s eyes for a moment and then looking away. “Bring my things, Olin!” he shouted. He turned and put his arm around Yellow Grass and walked to the river with her. Abbie’s heart burned with jealousy at the sight of them walking together. And when Zeke and Yellow Grass did not return for quite some time, her insides hurt so bad she thought she might die. When they did, Yellow Grass was smiling, and Abbie was woman enough to put two and two together. Surely, after the long ordeal of praying and fasting and worrying, Cheyenne Zeke had been ready to let loose in more ways than one. And as they had performed prayers and rituals and chants together, a closeness must have developed between himself and the lovely Sioux woman. Perhaps that closeness had become even greater while they were alone together.

  Zeke seemed completely changed when he returned, his arm still around a smiling Yellow Grass. Now his serious, sober face was gone, and he was smiling and happy over Mary’s recovery. Abbie was sure he’d also been drinking some. He asked if there was anything to eat, and in her gratitude, Mrs. Hanes scrambled to get him something, while Zeke talked to little Mary, who had been scrubbed up and now wore a pink dress. Zeke himself was dressed in his buckskins. His hair, rebraided, hung down his back and he wore a headband with the gray eagle feather in it. This evening he wore no weapons except the one big knife in his belt. The white paint was gone, and he was more talkative than usual as he ate voraciously. When he had finished, he made an announcement.

  “Folks, we are going to celebrate little Mary’s recovery tonight. No work! We’ll celebrate the Tennessee way. Tonight I’ll be a Tennessee man with the rest of you. Now you tell me what Tennessee folks and Kentucky folks and other Southern folks do to celebrate.”

  “Plenty of singing and dancing!” Hanes replied with a laugh.

  Zeke picked up little Mary, who hugged him. “Your father is right, Hohanino-o!”

  “What is that?” the child asked with a giggle.

  “That is your Indian name. It means ‘Little Rock.’ You are a brave little girl, and strong like a rock. So that is my name for you.”

  The child tried to repeat the name, and everyone laughed.

  “Trent, get out your fiddle,” Zeke told Abbie’s father, as he set Mary down. “David, get your banjo. And I will show some of you doubters that I can be a Tennessee man when I choose to be. Olin, go get my mandolin.”

  Abbie’s eyebrows went up, as did others. Cheyenne Zeke played a mandolin. So, that was what she’d seen sticking out of his supply pack! Zeke took out his flask of whiskey and took a swallow, and the preacher scowled and left the group.

  “Mind sharing some of that?” Kelsoe spoke up.

  “Don’t mind at all,” Zeke replied, handing it to the man. Kelsoe took a swallow and handed the flask to Jason Trent, who also took a swig before handing it back to Zeke. Jeremy came running with his father’s fiddle, while David Craig hurried over with his banjo, but Quentin Robards watched Zeke with hatred in his eyes. He put his arm around LeeAnn.

  “We’ll sneak off in a bit,” he whispered in her ear. “They’ll all be busy with their hoedown, and Zeke will be with them. No one will know.”

  He rubbed her back, and LeeAnn felt weak and hot. In the three times they had managed to go off alone, Quentin Robards had shown her things she’d never dreamed men did to women, and it had been exciting and thrilling. She was Quentin’s woman now, and soon they would be married—just as soon as they figured out how they could get back to civilization. She did not even ask herself why he didn’t marry her then and there. After all, there was a preacher along. But Quentin wouldn’t want it to be that way. He would want a fancy wedding, in a proper church. His hand moved down and rubbed across her hips, and she knew she was totally in love.

  When David Craig and Jason Trent charged into a fast mountain song, Zeke picked up little Mary and did a Tennessee stomp with h
er that amazed all of them. He side-stepped in one direction, turned, and side-stepped in another; then he whirled around and around, while little Mary screamed and laughed. The others clapped their hands to the fast beat, and that night, for all intents and purposes, they were all back home again. Abbie ran to her wagon and put on her prettiest dress, a yellow cotton with a ruffled hem. She brushed her hair until it shined, then tied a yellow ribbon in it and came back out, wanting to look pretty and womanly for Cheyenne Zeke that night. Perhaps he would even dance with her.

  “How can they let that half-breed hold their daughter and dance with her like that!” Yolanda Brown was commenting to her mother-in-law. “I’d never let him touch a child of mine! Who knows what’s going through his mind! He’s even drinking whiskey!”

  Abbie’s blood boiled, and she stepped close to Yolanda and talked low to her. “Cheyenne Zeke saved their little girl’s life,” she said heatedly. “How can you say such a thing? You’ve got about as much sense as a muddy pig!”

  Yolanda’s mouth fell open, and then her eyes narrowed into angry slits. “You’d best watch out, sticking up for a half-breed, Miss Abigail Trent! It could make you look real bad.”

  “Zeke’s never done anything but help all of us!” Abbie shot back. “I might remind you he’s been looking out for you, too, making sure you don’t lose that baby! Don’t you have any feelings of gratefulness when somebody helps you?”

  “I don’t like him telling me what to do with my own wife!” Yolanda’s husband replied proudly.

  “Well, it appears he has more concern for her than you do!” Abbie shot back. She turned and left before he could reply, going over to sit beside her father. Everyone but the preacher seemed to be having a good time, except when David Craig watched with sad eyes as LeeAnn and Robards quickly disappeared into the darkness.

  Olin came back with Zeke’s mandolin, and Bobby Jones asked Abbie to dance. Abbie obliged, only because she thought perhaps she could make Zeke a little jealous. She stepped lightly, whirling her skirts and letting her hair fly, trying to look as pretty and tempting as possible. But to her disappointment, Zeke didn’t seem to notice. As he walked around talking to others, carrying his mandolin in one hand and a flask of whiskey in the other, he took several more swigs and also shared the whiskey with the other men; and the dancing and music continued, with everyone loosening up and forgetting hardships and prejudices. They all sang some humorous mountain songs; then Zeke sat down with the mandolin. Everyone quieted, finding it hard to believe that the “wild Indian” who had sat with Mary could be so different now, changed back to a Tennessee man and strumming a mandolin. They waited curiously to see just how good he was with the instrument, and his strong but graceful fingers moved over the strings, producing a beautiful, strange, echoey sound that turned the night to magic. To top off the amazingly beautiful mandolin music, Zeke surprised them even more when he began to sing:

  “Oh, give me Tennessee music

  When my heart is feelin’ low.

  Take me to the hills again;

  It’s there I want to go.

  “Ain’t nothin’ like the Smokies;

  Good music and moonshine!

  Throw in a pretty Tennessee gal,

  And I’ll get along just fine!”

  The mandolin music floated over the night air, and his voice was smooth and mellow. Abbie’s heart was close to bursting with love, for now she knew that Cheyenne Zeke could also be a part of her white world, all Tennessee, except for his long hair and dark skin. And it turned out to be a wonderful evening for all of them, because Zeke next joined with Trent and David, and the three of them sang song after song, harmonizing beautifully. Some of the tunes were funny, toe-tapping songs that had everyone laughing and keeping time.

  Abbie forgot about the blue stones and Zeke’s vision that she would be alone and that there were many tears ahead for her. It was wonderful to see Zeke having a good time with the others and being all “Tennessee” that night. The music they made floated out over the prairie, and Abbie wondered if Rube Givens was out there somewhere and could hear it. Zeke’s fingers flew over the mandolin strings, while Trent fiddled away and David beat the banjo strings, all of them feeling their whiskey. But later in the evening, the whiskey seemed to make Zeke begin to mellow and sadden, and he announced that he had a couple of slower, pretty songs he’d like to sing—songs he’d made up himself. The others readily agreed, pleasantly surprised by Zeke’s appealing voice and his talent with the mandolin. Everyone quieted, and the night was warm and still except for a soft breeze. It seemed to Abbie that there were a zillion stars overhead. For a moment, Zeke strummed the strings, trying to find the right tune; then he looked at Abbie, almost longingly, as though she were someone else, and she felt a stirring deep inside herself. When he sang, his beautiful voice and touching words seemed to transmit his inner pain into the atmosphere, and the others listened transfixed and touched.

  “See the mist a-risin’,

  Out there upon the hill.

  The mornin’ sun’s a-comin’ up,

  And dawn is bright and still.

  “I’ve lived on this here mountain

  Since I was freshly born.

  And there ain’t nothin’ nicer

  Than a misty mountain morn.

  “Lord, I know heaven’s pretty,

  And death I do not fear.

  But I hope that heaven’s mornin’s

  Are like the ones down here.

  “I’ve lived on this here mountain

  Since I was freshly born.

  And there ain’t nothin’ nicer

  Than a misty mountain morn.”

  Abbie and Mrs. Hanes actually got tears in their eyes, and even Yolanda Brown was touched. Most of the people in the train were beginning to miss home badly, and all wondered if the prairies would ever end.

  “What are the Rocky Mountains like, Zeke?” Mrs. Hanes asked, dabbing at her eyes. “Are they as nice as the mountains in Tennessee and Kentucky?”

  Zeke looked up at her with his dark eyes, and everyone was so quiet Abbie thought they’d hear the sagebrush growing.

  “There’s nothing like them, ma’am. You’ve not seen mountains until you’ve seen what’s waiting out there for you. I know it seems like the prairie will never end, but it will. All of a sudden you’ll see them way out in the distance, looming up to the clouds stark and gray on the horizon, jagged peaks cut out sharply against the blue sky and reaching up to the heavens like church spires.” He closed his eyes. “They’re high. Higher than anything you’ve ever seen before. Ten thousand, thirteen thousand, fifteen thousand feet high … With snow on top that never melts because it never gets warm enough to melt … so high nothing will grow there. Pure rock, they are—gray and purple and red. Always the same, yet always changing. I see a lot of change ahead for this country—some good, mostly bad, especially for the Indian. A hundred years from now the red man will be about gone, and most of the country won’t be anything like it is now. Man will destroy it. All except the mountains. They’ll be the same forever. They’ll last through everything, even to the day when this world comes to an end, which it will. Man will see to that somehow. But them mountains, they’ll still be there—silent, strong, immovable. Always and forever, there will be the Rockies and the Sierras … there’ll be the Guadalupes, the Santiagos, the White Mountains, the Wind River Range, and the Tetons. They’ll never die, not like people.”

  He opened his eyes, and they were full of pain. Everyone had listened like little children. Zeke had a way of putting people under his spell, and now no one said a word. The next thing they knew, Zeke was singing again, his voice strained and kind of far away, as though he wasn’t really there. He strummed the mandolin softly and sang:

  “My lady, she waits at the old oak tree.

  Her hair long and soft, she waits there for me.

  She’s got lips red as roses, and her kisses are free.

  Yes, my lady, she waits there for me.
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br />   “I can see her there still, at the old oak tree.

  Her eyes full of love. Yes, sweet love, just for me.

  Her skin soft as velvet, what an angel is she!

  Yes, my lady, she waits there for me.”

  He strummed quietly, unable to go on right away, and Abbie’s heart ached for him, for all the sadness and loneliness she knew lay behind his dark face and flashing eyes that seemed close to tears.

  “But I find that I’m dreamin, when I get to that tree.

  ’Cause my lady is gone; from this life she did flee.

  She’s way up in heaven, leavin’ poor, lonely me.

  And now that is where she’s waitin’ for me.

  Up in heaven is where she’s waitin’ for me.

  “But I see her there still, at the old oak tree.

  Her eyes full of love, yes, sweet love, just for me.

  Her skin soft as velvet, what an angel is she!

  Yes, my lady, she waits—”

  He suddenly stopped playing and blinked, then set down the mandolin and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said in a broken voice before he walked off into the darkness, and everyone looked confused until Olin stepped forward, smiled, and tried to liven up the party again.

  “Okay, everybody, just keep on celebratin’ like you was doin’. Zeke’s just feelin’ a little sad from too much whiskey, but he’d want you to have a good time on account of little Mary bein’ okay, so let’s get to it!”