Embrace the Wild Land

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Hey, what are you doin’ there?” someone called out. A tattered sergeant approached Zeke. “Who the hell are you?”

  “My name is Zeke Monroe. I’ve been searching for my brother,” he told the man. “I …just found him. He’s dead. I’d like permission to take his body and bury him myself.”

  The man looked from Zeke to Danny and back to Zeke. “You don’t look like no brother to me.”

  “I am his brother,” Zeke repeated, feeling desperate. “We share the same father. But my mother was Cheyenne. I swear to you, he’s my brother. His name is Danny Monroe and he’s from Tennessee. I’ve been searching for him. I’d heard he’d been wounded and taken prisoner, but I couldn’t find him in any of the prisons.”

  The sergeant looked down at Danny again. Then he nodded. “That’s Monroe, all right. I served under him when this damned battle here began.” He looked back at Zeke. “He was sickly, though. He’d been wounded like you said. When he came to us he wasn’t really healed but he wanted to get back into the fightin’.” The man shook his head. “Stubborn sort. I remember now. Saw him go down a couple of days ago to a Union sword. Sorry you had to find him dead, mister.”

  “There are a lot of things to be sorry for in this war,” Zeke returned.

  The sergeant sighed. “That’s a fact,” He shrugged. “Go ahead and take the body, mister. What the hell? In this damned war who will know the difference? He’s already been listed as dead. With all the bodies we have to bury, one more won’t be missed.”

  “Thank you,” Zeke told him, putting out his hand. The sergeant took it hesitantly.

  “I ain’t never shook no Indian’s hand before. Don’t seem right. We just got done gettin’ most of you out of the South. Now we got the niggers to worry about.”

  He shook Zeke’s hand, and Zeke checked his own anger. He had to get Danny away, and giving this man the punch he rightly deserved would get him nowhere. The sergeant turned, and Zeke dragged Danny’s body from the pile and carefully laid him over his mount. Danny’s uniform was soaked with blood. Zeke threw a blanket over the body and took his horse by the reins, leading the animal on foot.

  Zeke headed south. He had to get past Union lines before he could help Danny. Until he did so, no place that he might stop to make a camp would be safe for them. Deep in the woods of maple and ash he stumbled over the dead body of a Union soldier. His eyes darted around the immediate area, his keen Indian senses telling him there was no one alive close by. He quickly pulled out his big blade, slicing Danny’s Confederate coat from his body and then removing the dead Union man’s coat, a difficult job because the body was stiff. He held off an urge to vomit at touching the bloated body. Then he threw the Union coat over Danny’s body, tying the sleeves around Danny’s neck where he hung face down, and tucking the tails under Danny’s belly. Then he took another blanket from his supplies and wrapped it around Danny’s legs to cover the Confederate pants. If they ran into Union troops,’ he would have to do his best to pass Danny off as a Federalist.

  He proceeded quickly then, ever closer to Union camps. He veered to the west, hoping to avoid the Union soldiers altogether. He moved among the trees and underbrush with the expertise of a man long accustomed to moving like a wild animal, ever watchful, quiet, alert. Sometime soon he would have to stop and give Danny some immediate aid, if the man wasn’t already dead. For two hours he kept moving, still walking his horse. Now the cannon were more distant again. So far he had avoided Union forces and the questions they would have for him. He knew that in the town of Orange, only about twenty miles to the west, there was a hospital that served both Union and Confederate soldiers, with no questions asked. In this confusing, unorganized war, he could get help for Danny there with no trouble, and since he was already listed as dead, there would be no Confederate commanders searching for him.

  He walked until dusk, sure he could get to Orange before it was too dark to travel any further. He stopped occasionally to pack Danny’s middle with more gauze between his body and the horse’s blanket. But the gauze was soaked so quickly that it seemed fruitless. The only hope he could take in that was that the man was still alive. Otherwise the bleeding would stop. He spoke to Danny occasionally but got no response.

  He came within range of Orange, spotting the lights of the town from a high hill above it. He was almost at his resting point. But then a shot rang out, and pain seared across his back at his shoulder blade. His body spun around and he landed on his back. He heard running feet and saw shadowy figures coming toward him.

  “Git his horse ‘n’ supplies!” he heard a man growl. “And strip the bodies. We need everything we kin git. Hurry it up, boys!”

  Through slightly blurred vision Zeke saw a grizzly, bearded man bending over him. Hands started to unlace his buckskin shirt, but in the next moment Zeke Monroe’s big blade was out and plunged deeply into the man’s abdomen. There was a strange grunt, and with a strength that came only from that inner place not often used, Zeke shoved the man off his knife in spite of the wound across his back. He quickly got to his feet, letting out a Cheyenne war cry and charging with the big blade. It was all a strange blur to him. He kicked a rifle out of one man’s hand and slashed the blade across the man’s throat. Then he whirled, kicking out again and landing a foot to the side of another man’s head. The man went down, and Zeke pulled a handgun from his waist and fired it point blank into the man’s face.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s a wild Indian!” somebody shouted. Zeke turned to see two more men running. He threw the menacing blade, and it landed with a thump between the shoulder blades of one of the men. The man went crashing forward with a cry and the last man kept running. Zeke quickly picked up one of their own rifles and took aim, hardly able to see the man in the darkness. He pulled the trigger, then heard a grunt and a crash.

  Zeke threw down the rifle and hurried to the man with the knife in his back. He yanked out the knife, tempted to take the man’s scalp. But then he shoved the knife into its sheath, his breathing labored and his back feeling on fire. He knew it was just a graze, or he would not be alive at all, but he could feel blood running down his back beneath the buckskin shirt. Now he had to get to Orange before he himself passed out and was of no use to Danny. He stumbled back to his horse and grabbed the reins, heading down the hill toward Orange.

  The forty-five minute journey into the town seemed more like twenty-four hours to Zeke. He struggled toward the makeshift hospital he had already seen on his way to Chancellorsville just two days before, but a man stopped him as he climbed the steps.

  “Sorry, mister. We’re full up. It’s impossible to take any more.”

  “But … my brother … needs help badly. And I’m … wounded.”

  “So are a lot of others. You might try down the street, the big white house a few doors down. There’s a doctor and a nurse there takin’ in more wounded.”

  Zeke was too weary to argue. “Thanks,” he muttered. He stumbled back down the steps and pulled on his horse, the white house seeming six miles away. He finally reached its gate and walked through, pulling his horse with him up to the steps. He tied the horse and struggled up the steps, feeling more and more dizzy. He leaned against the door frame and pounded on the heavy door. He could hear footsteps, and finally the door opened. A lovely woman with light hair and blue eyes greeted him, and for a moment they both stared in utter shock.

  “Zeke!” she exclaimed. “It is you, isn’t it?”

  A grin made its way through his pain. The spirits truly were with him. “Bonnie,” he whispered.

  Out of sheer joy at seeing someone he knew, someone who would most definitely help him, someone he could call friend, he grabbed her close and clung to her.

  “Bonnie Lewis!” he muttered. “Thank God!”

  She breathed deeply of his earthy, manly scent. How many years had it been? Too many. Far too many. Zeke! She let him hold her. For this one brief moment in her life she could share his arms again.

  Winston Ga
rvey studied the ugly scars on Buel’s face and neck, put there by Wolf’s Blood’s pet wolf the day Garvey’s men made trouble for Zeke Monroe and his family. He moved his eyes to Handy, whose hideous, deformed face had never healed right after Zeke Monroe had smashed a rifle butt into it.

  “I have a mission for you two,” he told the men. “It’s highly secret. I want no foul-ups, understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Buel replied, speaking for Handy, who had difficulty moving his jaw.

  “I’ll pay you well—very well.”

  Both men’s eyes lit up eagerly.

  “It’s May. Most of the snow has thawed from the plains and you should be able to travel. I’ll give you a map my spies have drawn up for me. I want you to take at least ten more men along—good men who can keep their mouths shut and who don’t ask questions as long as the pay is good. Can you find them?”

  “We can find them,” Buel replied, nodding. “Where are we going?”

  Garvey leaned back in his chair. “To southeast Colorado, around Bent’s Fort. There’s a ranch down there in Indian territory, near the Arkansas River. Belongs to a man by the name of Zeke Monroe.”

  Buel’s eyes lit up. “You mean the big guy that headed that bunch we got into that fight with last summer?”

  Garvey nodded. “Same one. I want none of the children hurt or taken. There is a ranch hand there. If he’s killed it makes no difference. I am told the Indian himself is gone—went back East for some reason. So the woman is there alone. I’d never get any information from Monroe, so I’ll go to the weak one—the woman. I want the woman. She has some information I need. What it is makes no difference to you. It’s none of your business. Just bring her to me.”

  Buel grinned. “I remember her. She’s the white woman. And she’s damned pretty.”

  Garvey scowled. “I don’t want her harmed or raped. I’ll decide what to do with her once you bring her to me—and, by the way, once your extra men help you get her away from there, pay them off and send them on their way. Only the two of you are to know that you brought her to my place, understand? No one must be aware of where she has been taken.”

  “You’ve got it,” Buel told the fat senator.

  “Very good,” Garvey answered. “Take your time. Don’t move too quickly. Ask around first. Sometimes the Cheyenne camp out around there. Monroe has relatives among the tribe and they watch out for the woman. Make sure you pick a day when there are no extra men there. Sometimes they go off to hunt. And watch out for the oldest kid. He’s a mean one.”

  “We’re already aware of that,” Buel replied. “We’ll watch out for him. I just hope the father still ain’t home when we get there. Him I don’t want to mess with again.”

  Garvey just grinned. “Buel, by the time I’m through, that man will be crawling to me on his knees. That bastard will be begging to get his woman back. But there is only one way he will get her. But then perhaps I’ll find out what I need to know from her own lips.”

  Buel smiled. “She’s got pretty lips, Senator.”

  Garvey just chuckled. “Let’s get down to business and study the map,” he answered, opening a desk drawer.

  Nineteen

  Zeke’s eyes were heavy with sorrow as he watched Bonnie Lewis and her father work diligently on Danny. His handsome, robust, younger half-brother was shockingly thin and pale. His stomach, exposed for surgery and stitches, was sunken; the man’s bright blue eyes were closed and hollow-looking.

  “He has an older injury that wasn’t taken care of properly,” Doctor Beaker muttered as Bonnie sponged away more blood.

  “He was wounded at Shiloh,” Zeke spoke up in a strained voice. “That’s all I know.”

  “Well, that and this new wound have taken their toll. It’s truly amazing that this man is even alive.”

  Zeke smiled sadly. “He’s just stubborn like me,” he replied.

  Bonnie glanced up at him, the trauma of the moment only soothed by the fact that Zeke Monroe had found his way to her doorstep. What ravaged her heart most of all was that he had not changed one bit, except that now he looked so very tired and lonely. There was much to talk about, but it would not be easy talking to him. His reappearance in her life brought shocks of terrible need to her long-sleeping body, needs Zeke Monroe always awakened her to. How strange and cruel was the hand of fate that brought this man to her heroic rescue years ago from the hands of vicious outlaws; for although he had saved her from a fate worse than death, he had also stirred within her womanly instincts she had not known existed in her soul. She had ignored them, for Zeke Monroe was totally in love with and married to another woman; and Bonnie, being a proper preacher’s daughter, buried her sinful love for a man she could not have and married a preacher. Now she must struggle to hide her feelings again, but Zeke Monroe knew that she loved him.

  “You look tired, Zeke, and we’ll have a look at your back as soon as we’re finished here.”

  “I’m all right,” he answered. “It’s Danny I’m worried about. I’m just glad I found you. I’d have had to work on him myself if I hadn’t found help when I did. You can do a better job. You have all the right supplies.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, then she turned back to her work, feeling warm and excited. “With all of your experience you probably could have done just about as good a job as we’re doing,” she answered while her father began taking stitches. “I remember how you told me you had to cut infection out of Abbie when she was wounded with an arrow, and even had to burn some of it out. I’m sure you could have helped Danny.”

  The mention of Abbie’s name brought on the old ache. He turned away, walking out into the cool hallway of the huge home that Bonnie and her father had occupied and set up as a hospital. The owners had fled to parts unknown, leaving a good share of their belongings behind, including several beds, all of which were full. A less injured man would have to be moved to make room for Danny. Zeke would be content to sleep on the floor, for he had slept on the hard ground most of his life and hated soft beds. Again, he thought of Abbie, who had given up soft beds for a bed of robes …a bed they shared very happily. To lie beside her this night was the most wonderful thing he could imagine. How many months had it been? Seven? Eight? God, how he missed her! He pulled out a pipe and filled it, walking to a parlor and sitting down wearily on a rose-colored love seat. He lit his pipe and puffed it, closing his eyes for a moment, fighting a much-needed sleep. When he opened them, he stared in surprise and pleasure.

  Before him stood a boy of perhaps eight or nine, a very handsome boy with olive-colored skin, sandy hair and blue eyes. He wore short pants … and a leg brace.

  “Joshua?” Zeke asked.

  The boy smiled brightly, and Zeke’s heart swelled with exceeding relief. They had most certainly done the right thing by allowing Bonnie and Rodney Lewis to adopt this little half-breed. He was obviously happy and looked healthy and robust, in spite of the brace; and as the boy walked toward Zeke, he showed a limp, but not a bad one. At least he was walking. The baby Zeke and Abbie had handed over to Bonnie Lewis all those years ago had been so badly twisted and crippled, they found it hard to believe anything could be done for him. Yet here he stood. And what was most difficult to believe was that this charming boy before him could have been sired by Winston Garvey.

  “How do you know my name?” the boy asked.

  Zeke frowned. He had no idea how much this boy knew about his roots. He must be careful.

  “Your mother told me in the operating room,” Zeke replied. “I brought in my half-brother who’s been badly wounded. She said if I came out here and saw a young boy, it would be her son, Joshua.”

  “Oh,” the boy answered, stepping cautiously closer, his smile fading. He suddenly took on an apprehensive look. “Are you … an Indian?” he asked. “You look like the Indians I know out West in the Dakotas and Wyoming.”

  Zeke nodded. “I’m only part Indian, though. Half Cheyenne. My name is Zeke Monroe. Ever heard it?”

/>   The boy puckered his lips in thought. “Nope,” he finally answered. “Do you know my mother?”

  Zeke puffed his pipe. Apparently this boy knew nothing about his past. Perhaps he didn’t even know yet that he was himself half Indian, for he had very little of those features, except for the olive skin and rather high cheekbones.

  “I, uh, met her once, down in Santa Fe, when she lived there with your grandfather before she went north to marry your father.” He would not say anything about the outlaws. Perhaps that was another thing Bonnie had never told him, and perhaps it was something she would never want him to know.

  “I haven’t seen any Indians since we came here,” Joshua was saying.

  “That’s because all the eastern Indians have been chased west,” Zeke replied. “There used to be lots of Indians around here, son—Creeks, Choctaws, Cherokees, Iroquois, Delaware, Catawba.”

  The boy eased himself into a chair near Zeke. “What happened to them?”

  Zeke puffed his pipe again. “Well, the whites came along and wanted their land. And since there were a lot more whites than Indians, and since a lot of the Indians died from the white man’s diseases, the whites were able to just kick out the Indians and send them west. Trouble is, the same thing is happening out west now. The Indians are getting pushed into smaller and smaller territory.”

  The boy thought for a moment, toying with a button on the arm of the chair he sat in. “That’s kind of mean. I like Indians—most of them, anyway. Some are kind of mean back, but I think it’s because the whites are mean to them.”

  Zeke grinned. “You’re a clever little boy.”

  “I listen to my mom and dad talk, and my grandfather,” he answered very seriously. “They talk about the Indians. They help them sometimes. Grandfather helps them when they’re hurt or sick, and I’ve heard my mother say that most white doctors won’t help Indians like that.” He sighed, then sat up straighter, feeling more important. “I think I’ll help Indians someday, too. I don’t know how yet, but I have Indian friends, and I get mad when my white friends won’t play with them. They make fun of them and spit at them.”