Embrace the Wild Land

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Wolf’s Blood,” she spoke up, glad to have this rare, intimate moment with him, for she had not been as close to him as had Zeke. “When I came west from Tennessee with my father, I wasn’t thinking about love and marriage and men,” she continued. “But I had a very firm idea of what I’d want in a man when the time came. I wanted someone strong and dependable, brave and sure of himself. I wanted a man I knew would love me forever, who would gladly die for me if need be, who was afraid of nothing and no one. And I dreamed of some kind of prince who would sweep me off my feet.”

  She blushed a little and smiled, and Wolf’s Blood remained sober and attentive, trying to picture her at fifteen. It was easy, for as she spoke about his father, her eyes were bright in the moonlight, and they danced with love, as they must have then.

  “At any rate, I didn’t expect to find that kind of man easily,” she went on, “especially not one who would be handsome besides.” She sighed and dropped her eyes. “And then one night, when we were all waiting at Sapling Grove and arguing about who would lead us and how we’d get where we wanted to go, your father stepped into the light of my pa’s campfire to offer his services as scout.”

  She sighed deeply. “The minute I laid eyes on him, I knew he was the kind of man I had in mind, and something … stirred inside of me—something I had never felt before. I offered him some coffee, and when he took it his hand touched mine for a brief moment.” She smiled and shook her head, meeting Wolf’s Blood’s eyes; her own eyes were misty. “I’ll never forget that moment for the rest of my life, Wolf’s Blood. Not ever. I looked at him, and he looked at me, and somehow we knew. We knew right then and there.” She turned and looked out at the distant mountains. “It took awhile for your father to understand he had a right to love me. After those men murdered his white wife and their son back in Tennessee, he figured he was no good for another white woman. He was afraid harm would come to me if he made me his wife. But I never worried about that. Your father was just the kind of man I wanted, and I was willing to suffer anything to be at his side. Even after I found out he’d been a wanted man back in Tennessee and had killed all those men, it didn’t affect my love for him. It only made me feel sorry for him, knowing the hell he must have been through growing up a half-breed back there. And I understood then the loneliness that lay behind those dark, angry eyes of his. I sensed the gentle side of him, the little boy inside the man, who wanted only to be loved.”

  She pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Zeke fought his feelings most of that trip, but so many terrible things happened: I lost my family and all, took that Crow arrow that almost killed me. I guess that’s when Zeke knew he didn’t want to live without me, when he realized I might die and how he’d feel if I did.” She turned to face her son again. “So we were married at Fort Bridger, and I recuperated there for the winter. And in the spring, after getting the wagon train the rest of the way to Oregon, your father came for me.” Her eyes lit up more. “And that is another moment I will never forget.”

  Wolf’s Blood stooped down to pet Smoke, who had come outside to lie down beside his master. “Were you not afraid to come and live with the people?” the boy asked.

  “Afraid?” Abbie laughed lightly. “I was terrified! I knew absolutely nothing about Indians. And your uncle, Swift Arrow, scoffed at me and wanted me to leave. He was not the good friend then that he is now. Black Elk was kind to me, but Swift Arrow did all he could at first to frighten me away.”

  Wolf’s Blood grinned and rose. “I miss my uncle,” he told her. “He taught me many things about warrior ways.”

  She studied the brawny young man who had once suckled at her breast. This was her first, the son she had so proudly presented to Zeke to replace the son he had lost in Tennessee.

  “And you shall be a great warrior, Wolf’s Blood,” she replied. “I knew even when you were tiny what you would choose to do. I saw the fire in those dark eyes, the look I often see in your father’s eyes. I saw the courage and the restlessness, and I knew.”

  The boy shrugged. “I cannot be a bookworm like Jeremy.” He sighed and turned. “I tried, Mother. But when I would sit and read, I could feel the wind blowing on me through the window. I could hear the eagle cry and the horses whinny. And I … I sometimes felt like I would go crazy if I could not run outside and greet the sun, feel the power of a good horse beneath me.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “I understand, Wolf’s Blood. You are like your father, and I can’t say I’m not proud of that, because I am.”

  He studied the love in his mother’s eyes. He swallowed. “Will I know?” he asked. “Will I know … like you knew when you touched my father’s hand?”

  She smiled lovingly. “I think perhaps you already know, even though you are still too young to take a wife.”

  He grinned sheepishly, a rare smile that warmed her heart. “How do you know this?”

  She pulled on a piece of his hair. “Because I am a woman, and I have seen how a certain little Cheyenne girl watched you at the Sun Dance. It reminded me of the way I used to look at your father.”

  The boy smiled sheepishly. “I like talking to you, Mother. We have not talked this way many times. I am glad you came out here tonight.”

  Their eyes held. “So am I,” she answered.

  Little Jason was suddenly standing at the doorway. “Mommy?” he spoke up through puckered lips, rubbing at his eyes. “Sleep with me?”

  Abbie turned to him in surprise. “What are you doing out of your bed, little one?” she chided. Then she smiled. “Yes, I will sleep with you. Run and climb into Mommy’s bed.” The boy ran off and Abbie patted Wolf’s Blood’s arm. “Get some sleep, son. There is a chill of autumn in the air, and you have wood to cut tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Mother.” He watched her go inside. Zeke had told him once that he had made Abigail Trent his woman earlier on that fateful wagon journey, before they were married the white man’s way at Fort Bridger. The boy did not want to embarrass his mother by telling her Zeke had confided such a thing to him, but he had to smile at the thought of his mother’s dancing eyes when she was talking about Zeke. It made her look like a teen-ager again. He could see that nothing had changed over the years, and it warmed his heart.

  He turned and closed his eyes, concentrating on Maheo, the Great Spirit, praying for his father’s safety. He was not certain he would want to live without his father. But more than that, how would Abigail Monroe go on living without her husband?

  Autumn turned to winter, and it would be a cold and hungry one for the Southern Cheyenne, who huddled in tipis against the cruel winds of the Colorado plains. The promised supplies had not been sent, nor was game easy to find on the sparse land they were to call their home. Only those who dared to risk being shot by venturing out to the distant mountains and better hunting grounds found enough food to bring home that autumn, and what there was had to be divided among the whole tribe, so that there was never a plentiful supply for any one family.

  Abbie gave what she could, creating all kinds of dishes out of leftovers and odd foods such as roots and meat fat that they would not ordinarily eat. With only Wolf’s Blood to hunt while Dooley watched the ranch, their own table was not always abundant with food, but she made do, and she kept a happy spirit for the sake of the children.

  Zeke had left enough money to tide them through the winter by buying supplies at Bent’s Fort, but Abbie chose to use the money as sparingly as possible, always afraid that he might not return at all and she would have to stretch the money farther than originally planned. Dooley, faithful friend that he was, and as he had done many other years, accepted a wage far below that which was due him, always saying just a roof over his head and Abbie’s home-cooked meals were all he needed. He was a quiet, loyal man, with few needs other than to find himself a loose Indian woman or to venture to the closest town a few times a year to visit the whores. He was a loner, a man who had once hunted and trapped with Zeke in the old fur-trading days, and one who had n
ever been inclined to settle down to a wife and children. He had come to the ranch before Wolf’s Blood was even born, and he had never left; and he was one of the very few white men Wolf’s Blood respected and cared about.

  It was mid-February of 1863 when the soldiers came. Outside the snow was almost knee-deep from a recent blizzard, and even now the winds howled mercilessly, the air filled with blowing snow but no real precipitation coming from the skies. The little cabin creaked against the icy winds, but inside it was warm, thanks to a potbelly heating stove Zeke had purchased at Bent’s Fort the previous spring, swearing to Abbie and the rest of the family that they would not spend another winter shivering in front of the big fire place that seemed to eat up more heat through its chimney than it gave off.

  Wolf’s Blood added another piece of wood to the stove, and Abbie smiled as a kettle of water on top of the contraption hissed with steam. Here was another gift of Zeke’s love. The warmth of the stove was to her representative of the warmth of his arms, and she knew he was with them this night.

  “I hope we have enough wood to get us through the rest of the winter,” Wolf’s Blood lamented. “It looked like so much when I stacked it in the fall.”

  “It always looks like a lot when it is warm outside,” she replied, rocking near the stove as she mended an elkskin jacket for the boy.

  It was then they heard Dooley’s boots tramping onto the porch outside, and in the next moment he banged on the door. “Let me in quick,” he called out.

  Abbie set down her sewing and rose, while Wolf’s Blood unbolted the door. Dooley came inside, his hair encrusted with snow, and snow blew in through the door before Wolf’s Blood could get it closed again.

  “There’s a lot of men comin’, Abbie,” Dooley told her quickly. He had his rifle in his hand, and Wolf’s Blood immediately went for his own rifle.

  “What men? Where?” Abbie asked.

  “Down the north ridge. I was out at the shed checkin’ the horses when some of them got skittish, and I thought I heard a shout far off. The wind’s blowin’ down from the north. Carries a man’s voice quite a ways. I closed up the shed and rode out a ways—seen several men between gusts of snow. There must be ten or twelve. I could hear the voices and I seen quite a few lanterns. I heard orders shouted, like maybe they was soldiers.”

  “Soldiers!” Wolf’s Blood stiffened. He had bad memories of soldiers. He cocked his rifle.

  “Wait, Wolf’s Blood!” Abbie ordered. “We don’t know if they’re Union soldiers or Confederates. Perhaps they’re even Colorado volunteers.”

  “That would be the worst!”

  “If there are ten or twelve then there are too many!” Abbie told him. “We have your brothers and sisters to think about. It’s possible they mean no harm at all. Perhaps your father is with them.”

  The boy paced. “If he was with them he would be here already, riding in fast. You know that.”

  She sighed, glancing around the room as though something there would tell her what to do. She looked at Dooley. “What do you think?”

  “I think we have to wait and see what they want. Wolf’s Blood and I will each take a window. You’d best get your own rifle ready. They’ll be here too damned fast for us to make any real plans. We’ve got no choice but to hope they mean no harm.”

  She breathed deeply for composure, glancing up at the loft where the rest of the children slept snugly, oblivious to the possible approaching danger. Already she could hear the voices herself as the men came close to the cabin. She walked to the corner and retrieved her faithful Spencer. She had used it before. She would use it again if necessary.

  Sixteen

  The inevitable knock came to the door, and Abbie breathed a sigh of relief. At least they had not tried to storm inside uninvited. Abbie glanced at Wolf’s Blood.

  “Let Dooley and I handle this, Wolf’s Blood. These men are white. We understand how to handle them better than you. Don’t act rashly.”

  The boy’s breathing was rapid. “There are many of them, and you are the only woman! I promised Father—”

  “Not all of them are like the soldier at Fort Lyon,” she interrupted. There was another knock at the door and she gave Wolf’s Blood a warning look. “Keep your gun ready, but don’t point it,” she told him. She glanced at Dooley. “The same goes for you. With that many men we can’t afford guns going off in every direction. The children might get hurt.”

  Dooley nodded, but she knew by the way he looked at her that if one man made an advance, Dooley’s shotgun would blow the man in half. She went to the door.

  “Who is there?” she demanded.

  “I am Major Tilford Mayes, ma’am,” came a shouted voice. “We have a man here who’s been wounded—several days back in a skirmish on the Santa Fe Trail. We beg of you to give him a warm place to rest for a few days. My men are freezing. If we could take turns warming by your hearth, we would be deeply grateful.”

  The man had a strong Southern accent. Abbie looked at Dooley. “From the sound of his drawl they must be Confederates.” She looked back at the doorway, stepping closer so he could hear her better. “How do I know you aren’t lying about a wounded man?” she shouted.

  The children began to stir then, and Margaret came wandering out to sit down on the edge of the loft where it met the ladder to climb down. She rubbed her eyes. “Get back!” Wolf’s Blood ordered her. “Keep the rest of the children up there. Do not let them come down.”

  “What is it?” she asked sleepily.

  “Soldiers! Get back.”

  The girl’s eyes widened, and she scooted back out of sight.

  “I beg of you, ma’am, I’m telling the truth!” came the shouted reply. “I will leave the wounded man by your door and the rest of us will go farther away and build a campfire. May we use some of your wood that is stacked outside?”

  Abbie closed her eyes in apprehension, struggling with her decision. “All right,” she finally spoke up. “Leave the wounded man here and we will see what we can do for him. The rest of you may use some of our wood to build a fire and pitch your tents outside. There is not enough room inside the cabin. You may send in two men at a time, taking turns an hour each by the stove. Go lightly on the wood, and I hope you have food. I haven’t near enough to share. How many are with you?”

  “Eleven, ma’am. Plus me. Thank you, ma’am. Thank you. We’ll bring the wounded man right up.”

  “Wait!” Abbie called out. “You haven’t told me what kind of soldiers you are—Federals or Confederates.”

  The wind blew wild again and for a moment he did not answer. “Does it make a difference?” he finally asked, wanting to make certain an unknown enemy was not waiting inside.

  “No difference,” she shouted through the crack in the door. “We take no part in the war in the East. But I am originally from Tennessee.”

  “Tennessee!” the man exclaimed. “Damn, we came to the right place. We’re Confederates—good ole Southern boys! Thank you, ma’am. Thank you!” She heard him leaving the porch, and began to relax a little more. They were Confederates. She looked at Dooley.

  “I’ve never gone back to Tennessee in all these years,” she told the man, “and I swear no allegiance to it now. But at the moment I think I am glad I was born and raised there, and it might be wise to let them think we sympathize with the Confederates. It would be safer for me. Perhaps if we are kind to them they’ll leave without robbing us of everything we own, and perhaps my being from Tennessee will create enough respect to keep their minds off things they should not be thinking about.” She reddened at the words, but they had to be said so that there was an understanding.

  Dooley nodded. “Good idea. I’m partial to Georgia myself, so we got no problem there.” He looked over at Wolf’s Blood. “Take it nice and easy, son, and we’ll get through this just fine.”

  The boy’s dark eyes glittered with apprehension. He trusted no strange white men, whether they be Federals or Confederates. There was a thumping on
the porch again and a rustling against the door.

  “Got the wounded man here,” came the major’s voice again. “Name’s Monroe. Lance Monroe.”

  Abbie’s eyes widened in shock, and her body tingled from the thought of how fate acted to strangely twist peoples’ lives. Her mind raced and her ears did not hear the major as he told her he was leaving to set up a camp. All she could think of was that Zeke had been gone for nearly five months, and now a wounded man lay on her doorstep that might be his long lost white brother from Tennessee, the youngest one that no one had heard from since first he went off to war. She started to open the door in her excitement, but Dooley grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  “Let me do it,” he told her. “Step back out of the way.”

  She nodded, her breathing rapid. Could it be Zeke’s brother? She looked at Wolf’s Blood, whose eyes showed the same surprise. “Monroe,” he spoke up. “My father has a brother called Lance. He told me.”

  Abbie nodded. “He does. But it could be a coincidence,” she told the boy, praying it was not. Nothing would soothe her longing for Zeke as much as being able to help one of his brothers.

  Dooley cautiously opened the door and peeked out. A man lay on the porch, and others were several yards away. He could hear orders being shouted. Dooley opened the door farther and reached down to drag the wounded man inside, bringing him over to lay him on a buffalo skin in front of the wood stove. The buffalo skin still had shaggy fur on it and made a decent temporary bed.

  Wolf’s Blood quickly bolted the door again, and Abbie was already bending over the wounded man, helping Dooley unwrap woolen scarves from around the man’s head and face and unbutton his tattered coat.

  “My God!” Abbie exclaimed, looking at what could be Danny Monroe’s twin, only with dark hair. His eyes were closed, but somehow she knew they would be brown, not blue like Danny’s. Zeke had told her Danny was the only one of the three white brothers who had inherited his white mother’s blond hair and blue eyes. His father had been dark, and this man was dark, with the same tall, broad physique of Zeke and Danny. “Surely this is Zeke’s half-brother,” Abbie whispered. “God has blessed me this night, Dooley. He has brought me Zeke in the form of his brother.” She looked at Dooley. “I only hope that if Zeke is wounded, someone will be there to help him also.”