Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny)

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Get it out! Get it out!” she screamed. “God, help me, Zeke! Get it out of me!”

  “Calm down, Abbie!” he replied in a shaking voice. It was the first time she had ever detected fear in the man. “What in God’s name were you doing out there?”

  “Get it out!” she screamed again. She tried to tug at it herself, but it only made the pain worse.

  “Jesus Christ, Abbie, you’ve got to calm down!” Zeke was ordering her. “Come on, now, where’s my brave Abbie?”

  He kept her on her right side, now pulling her wrists behind her to keep her still. He couldn’t lay her on her back or her stomach, as the arrow stuck out of both sides. All around her she could hear a volley of rifle fire, men shouting orders, Indians screaming, horses thundering around the train.

  “Help me, Zeke!” she sobbed. “I’m scared! I’m scared! Get it out of me!”

  He put a hand under the side of her face that rested against the ground, hollering above the gunfire for Mrs. Hanes to bring a pillow and blanket. He had not had time to get her into a wagon, but she lay almost underneath her wagon where she would be relatively safe.

  “Abbie, I have to help with the fighting,” he told her, bending down close to her ear. “But I’m the only one who can take that arrow out of you. You’ve got to be brave for me and hang on until the Indians leave again.”

  “No! Take it out now! Now!”

  “Damn it, Abbie, I can’t! I’ll help you just as soon as I can, girl. Please, please just lay still, Abbie! Still as a rock. It’s very important that you don’t move at all. If you lay still, honey, the pain won’t be as bad, and there won’t be so much bleeding.”

  “I can’t! I can’t lay here with this thing in me!” she screamed hysterically.

  “You’ve got to!”

  “Oh, Zeke, help me!”

  “You’ve got to help me, too, Abbie, if I’m to help you later! You’ve got to stay calm and do like I say!”

  Mrs. Hanes came with the blanket and pillow, and Zeke put the pillow under Abbie’s head and covered her with the blanket. “Keep her propped this way!” he ordered. “Don’t let her move!”

  “Dear God, what more can happen!” Mrs. Hanes fretted, tears in her eyes.

  “Nothing more!” Zeke growled. “Soon as I get this arrow out of Abigail, I’m taking Connely to the Crow, and nobody here is going to stop me! This is his fault! And they’ve killed Bobby Jones! If Abigail dies, I’ll help the Crow torture Connely!”

  “Zeke, we didn’t think it could really go this far,” Mrs. Hanes tried to explain.

  “Just keep her still!” Zeke replied.

  Their conversation seemed far away to Abbie and had an echolike quality. Her head swam from pain and fear. She heard more shooting and cursing, horses whinnying, children crying, Indians screaming. She breathed dust and felt her body shaking violently, uncontrollably. She knew she was in shock, knew the arrow was still in her, and she tried hard not to think about that, but it was impossible. Then she sensed someone at her side.

  “Drink this, Miss Abbie,” came Olin’s distant voice. “It tastes bad, but you’d best drink plenty of it and get numbed up now so Zeke can take that arrow out just as soon as this is over.”

  Someone raised her head, and she coughed and choked on the whiskey. She swallowed as much as she could, her insides in flames, and then things quickly began to swim and fade before her eyes. She was still aware of the pain, only it had become more of a dull throb that burned into her with every heartbeat. She wondered if she was dying and she called for Zeke, thinking she was screaming when she was actually barely audible.

  Then it seemed to be quieter again. She could smell smoke, and she felt herself being lifted.

  “Won’t be much left of Connely’s wagon,” she heard someone say.

  “And nothing left of Connely himself when that Cherokee finishes with him,” came the reply from the man who lifted her.

  “Zeke?” she whispered.

  There were more voices, and she knew she was screaming as someone laid her down again, but at least now she lay on something soft and cool.

  “Abbie? Can you hear me, Abbie girl?” Zeke asked. “Don’t you go and die on me, Abbie!” Someone kissed her cheek. “Hold her arm up a little, Olin,” the voice continued. “I’ve got to cut off this dress. There’s no other way to get it off.”

  “How are you fixin’ to get that arrow out?” came a man’s voice in reply.

  “I’ll have to break it first, and that won’t help her pain any. But with a head and a tail on it, I can’t do it any other way. I just hope the arrowhead wasn’t poisonous.”

  “Zeke!” she sobbed, coming around a little.

  “I’m right here, Abigail. You lay still and be a good girl for me, and I’ll have this damned thing out of you in no time.”

  “It … hurts! It hurts!” she moaned.

  “I damned well know it hurts, honey,” he answered. “I’ve felt it before myself.”

  She was vaguely aware of her dress being stripped off to her waist, but she didn’t care. She just wanted the arrow out of her chest and the pain diminished. She felt a gentle hand on her back, and then it moved around to her chest and breast. Someone else was holding her left arm up and stroking her hair while her head rested on a pillow.

  “I don’t think any vital organs are damaged,” she heard Zeke say. “But she’s going to be one sick and sore little girl. The dangerous part could be infection.” She felt the arrow move a little, and in agony, she screamed.

  “Don’t touch it! Don’t touch it!” she shrieked, terrified.

  “Abbie honey, I’ve got to get it out,” came Zeke’s voice. “Now a while ago you were screaming for me to get it out of you. I can’t do that without touching it, Abbie girl. I’m damned sorry, but I’ve got to hurt you before I can help you.”

  She just lay there, crying, and his heart ached for her.

  “This goddamned thing is made of buffalo bone,” she heard him say. “There’s no way I can break it, and it would be too painful to have her lay here while we saw it.”

  “How about a hatchet?” she heard Olin reply. “That would be quick. Brace somethin’ underneath it and give it one chop. That wouldn’t even move the shaft much.”

  Zeke sighed. “Damn!”

  “Calm down, Zeke,” Olin replied. “She needs you. Nobody else here can take that arrow out—except maybe me. You want me to do it?”

  Abbie heard an odd, choking sound. She sensed it was Zeke crying, but she was too lost in her own pain to be sure.

  “I’ll do it,” came his strained reply. “Go get the hatchet.”

  “She’ll be all right, Zeke.”

  “The kid’s been through hell!” she heard Zeke groan in reply, “It’s not fair!”

  She sensed that Olin had left the wagon for a moment, and although she could hear Zeke breathing deeply, he said nothing. But he kept her still, gently stroking her hair until Olin reentered the wagon. She heard some scraping sounds; then something was pushed up against her back. She screamed again before she heard Mrs. Hanes’ voice outside saying she had some hot water. There were more voices, and Abbie floated in and out of consciousness as a great deal of commotion seemed to be going on around her. Then she heard a thud, and the arrow jerked some; and she screamed again.

  “I’ve cut off the tail of the arrow, Abbie,” Zeke told her. “Now you’ll have to be real, real brave, because I’ve got to pull this thing out of you. They don’t come out easy, Abigail.”

  Her only reply was to cry harder.

  “Hang on to her,” Zeke told Olin. “Kelsoe, you keep hold of her ankles.”

  Abbie felt embarrassed because Kelsoe was there; she was aware that she was naked from the waist up. But their voices were gentle, and the grasp of their hands was gentle, until Zeke straddled her body and pressed his thighs tightly against her stomach and back to hold her firmly, then told the men to tighten their grips. When their hands tightened on her, her fear mounted and her
body shook.

  Then came the horrible, black pain, as Zeke tugged at the arrow, finding it difficult to get out despite his own strength. Abbie’s shrieks filled the pass, and she let out with a volley of cursing and swearing. She screamed that she hated them all for hurting her, that she hated Indians and the West, hated mountains and wagon trains, and she screamed at Zeke because he hadn’t just let her die.

  Then there was one last jerk, and one last, long scream out of Abbie. After that, she felt her senses fading fast.

  “She’s bleedin’ bad, Zeke,” came Olin’s voice.

  “Get some whiskey on there and let’s bandage it tight!”

  She felt hands quickly working on her and a terrible sting in her wound, then bandages coming around her breast and back.

  “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she heard Zeke saying, his voice actually shaking.

  “She’ll make it, Zeke,” Olin replied. “She’s a fighter.”

  “I … shot one.” Abigail recognized her own voice. She wondered who had moved her mouth.

  “What?” Zeke asked.

  “I … killed … one of those … black-faced … goddamned Crows!” Abbie groaned.

  She heard Olin chuckle.

  “Jesus Christ, she’s a regular Cheyenne at that,” Zeke commented.

  Those were the last words she heard before she passed out.

  Eighteen

  The first time she opened her eyes again, Abbie saw Mrs. Hanes sitting near her feet, reading the Bible. The wagon was moving, and Abbie winced with pain when it bumped over a rock.

  “Where are we?” she asked weakly.

  Mrs. Hanes looked up and smiled. “Abbie!” She moved closer. “Do you know me, child?”

  “Sure I do,” she replied, frowning.

  “You’ve been delirious for two whole days,” the woman replied. “We’ve been so worried about you. How do you feel now, Abigail?”

  She tried to move her left arm, but the moment she even wiggled her fingers pain shot through her shoulder and chest and she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. “Not … very good, ma’am,” she replied.

  “Perhaps it would help you to eat,” the woman told her. “As soon as we stop, I’ll fix you some hot broth.”

  A tear slipped down the side of Abbie’s face. “I hurt awful bad,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to be … a baby about it, but I never … hurt like this before!”

  “Stay calm, Abigail,” Mrs. Hanes said soothingly, stroking her hair back from her face. “Of course you hurt. You have a very bad wound, and Zeke says it will hurt for quite some time. He figures you can rest up good at Fort Bridger, and he’s hurrying to get you there to a solid bed that doesn’t move. But it will be a rough ride and could be another seven or eight days.”

  “Where are we?” she asked again. “Where’s Zeke? Was it him that took the arrow out?”

  “Yes, it was, and a hard thing for him to do, I’ll say. I’ve never seen that man so shaken. Right now we’re headed out of the South Pass. Soon we’ll be at a place called Little Sandy Creek. Zeke says the trail forks there, going south to Fort Bridger, or west through a cutoff. But the cutoff is a rough route, and Zeke says it isn’t worth the time saved. We’ve been through enough, so he’s not taking any chances. Hopefully we’ve seen the last of our bad luck.”

  “I want to see Zeke.”

  “We’ll stop soon. You can see him then.”

  Abbie closed her eyes and sniffled. “What happened … about the Indians … and Mr. Connely?”

  Mrs. Hanes frowned, wetting a rag and gently washing Abbie’s face as she spoke. “Some of the Crow broke through,” she replied quietly. “Then they burned Mr. Connely’s wagon and dragged the man off, and I’m afraid we all just … watched.” Her voice faded and her eyes filled with tears.

  “You shouldn’t feel bad, ma’am,” Abbie told her, feeling sorry for this kindhearted woman. “It would have been foolish … to interfere. Just think about your children … them getting hurt or killed. You couldn’t have stopped all those Crow Indians. It’s like Zeke … says. Out here a person has to …be practical.”

  “Yes. And that’s the hell of it,” the woman replied, surprising Abbie by using the word hell. She dabbed at her eyes. “Sometimes practical means going against what’s really right to do. I hope God can forgive us. I can see what a hard life it will be out here. Lord knows I’d not have come if not for my husband’s big dreams.”

  “You must … love him a lot,” Abbie replied, wincing with pain again.

  “Bradley is a good man. A man is always dreaming, Abbie. You remember that. If a woman stifles those dreams, she stifles him, and their marriage isn’t any good anymore. But if she lets him grow and stretch out and be free, he’ll always be at her side. If a woman is clever enough, she can have a man tied to her apron strings without his even knowing it.”

  Abbie’s heart seemed to pain her as much as her wound, and she wondered which was wounded more. “There’s no tying down … a man like Zeke,” she replied.

  Mrs. Hanes sighed and sponged around Abbie’s neck. “If not for his past haunts, that man would let you tie him down in a minute,” she replied. “I’ve never seen someone so worried as he’s been about you. He’s going to be glad you’re awake and coherent.” She felt Abbie’s forehead. “But he won’t be happy about this fever. You feel awfully warm, Abbie.”

  “I’m … burning up,” Abbie answered, closing her eyes and already feeling tired from their little bit of talk. “Is everyone … all right?”

  “Yes, My husband has a deep scratch on his cheek from a wood chip that flew when a bullet hit near our wagon. Willis Brown got a laceration in his leg from an arrow, but it isn’t serious. And so far Yolanda is still hanging on to her baby. But, of course, we lost Bobby.”

  Abbie’s eyes rapidly filled with new tears. She thought of the sweet words he had spoken to her just before he died, and of his tender kiss. “Oh, poor Bobby!” she sobbed. “Oh, God, I feel so alone!”

  “Please don’t cry, Abbie. I’m sorry I mentioned him. Crying will just make your wound hurt more, darling. It makes your body jerk. Please stay calm.”

  “I want to see … Zeke,” the girl sobbed. “I don’t want … to wait! I want to see him now!”

  She could not stop her crying, even though it did make the pain worse, as Mrs. Hanes had said it would. The pain, the memory of Bobby, and the realization that the time was drawing near when Zeke would leave her, all combined to drive her into near hysterical crying that could not be stopped. Mrs. Hanes tried to calm her to no avail, so finally she crawled to the front of the wagon and called out to Olin, who was leading Abbie’s oxen.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “See if you can get a signal to Zeke! Abbie’s awake and she’s getting almost hysterical. She’s feverish, Olin, and she’s asking for Zeke.”

  “Whoa! Whoa there!” Olin’s voice boomed at the oxen. “Slow down, you damned stupid animals!” It took a moment for the wagon to slow to a halt. “Hold on up the line there!” Olin hollered out. “Somebody get Zeke back here!”

  There were more shouts, and Abbie could hear cursing as others pulled their wagons to a halt. Abbie’s crying continued, her emotions fed by heartache, loss, pain, and weakness. Nothing could make her feel better except Cheyenne Zeke’s face, his voice, and his touch. Her sorrow was compounded by a fear of dying from some horrible infection, for she had a fever, which usually meant only one thing. She remembered how poor little Jeremy had died and wondered if she would suffer the same way. A moment later Olin Wales was climbing into the wagon beside her.

  “Hey, Abbie girl! What’s an Indian killer and a brave little girl like you doin’ cryin’?”

  Her tears continued, and she could not answer him.

  “Please try to calm down, Abbie!” Mrs. Hanes said anxiously.

  “Hey, Miss Abbie, everything is gonna be okay,” Olin assured her. She could hear a horse thundering up then, and she knew whose mount it was
. Only a moment later Zeke climbed into the wagon from the front, and Mrs. Hanes moved to a back corner to make room for his big frame, shutting the canvas so no one else could look inside.

  “Hey, Abbie girl, are you really awake? What’s with the tears?” Zeke asked as he took hold of her good hand. “And here I was bragging about what a brave girl you are—brave and strong as any Cheyenne warrior.”

  “Am I … really?” she responded, wanting to die from the pain. She felt his big hand at the side of her face.

  “Sure you are. You know I never lie.”

  “I’m scared, Zeke!” she sobbed. “It hurts … so bad! I’ll die out … here, like pa … and Jeremy … and LeeAnn! I’ll die out here … all alone … and be buried … where nobody will ever know! I’ll die all alone!”

  He bent down and kissed her forehead. “That’s not so, Abbie. I won’t let you die, and you sure as hell aren’t alone.” He brushed at her tears with his thumb. “Please don’t cry, Abbie. It breaks my heart to see you cry.”

  “I can … stop … if you … stay here,” she choked out. “Don’t go away … Zeke!”

  He sighed. “All right. We’ll camp right here. It’s getting close to dusk.” He looked at Olin. “Go tell the others.” Olin nodded and left, and Zeke asked Mrs. Hanes to help him change Abbie’s bandages. “I don’t like this fever,” he said with concern. “I want to check the wound. She feels mighty hot to me.” He bent down close to her. “Hang on, Abbie. I said I wouldn’t let you die. You can’t make a liar out of me, Abbie girl.”

  “Don’t go away!” she pleaded again.

  “I’m right here. Now you calm down.” He pulled the blankets down to her waist, and she realized she wore no clothes beneath the blankets. She tried to see her bandages, but she couldn’t even bend her head down.

  “Don’t make me move my arm!” she screamed as soon as he touched her.

  “I’ll try not to move you too much, Abbie, but I can’t help but move you some.” He looked at Mrs. Hanes. “She been urinating?”