Charles Garvey cared only that she was educated and beautiful, and to LeeAnn’s great relief, did no further checking into her past. Her college records showed her registered as LeeAnn Whittaker, as did the landlord of her apartment. It all fit, well enough at least for Charles Garvey. If the young man had the cunning wisdom of his dead father, he would have done further checking. But the son was more careless and too quick to grab what he wanted. He wanted LeeAnn, and on February 7, 1873, twenty-eight-year-old Charles Garvey married Miss LeeAnn Whittaker, twenty-one, the orphaned girl from New York. It was a grand church wedding, with all the trimmings.
LeeAnn hadn’t the slightest idea she was marrying the son of her father’s most bitter enemy, that her own father had killed Winston Garvey with the help of Wolf’s Blood, or that Wolf’s Blood had been the one who injured Charles’s leg at Sand Creek. She had no idea that her husband’s father was the man who had raped and hurt her mother to find the whereabouts of Joshua Lewis. Everything had been kept quiet. LeeAnn knew that her mother was abducted and suspected she’d been raped, but she was merely ten years old then, and for the safety of everyone involved, had never been told any details.
The wedding was soon over, and Charles Garvey whisked his new wife off to the fanciest hotel in Washington, D.C. She felt uneasy as soon as they walked through the doors, for her husband seemed to be in too much of a hurry.
“Tomorrow we catch a train and we’ll go all the way to Florida,” he told her excitedly. “Have you ever been there, darling?”
“No,” she answered as he hurried her up the stairs, followed by a young man who carried their luggage.
“You’ll like it, LeeAnn. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen—palm trees, beaches. And maybe next year I’ll take you on a cruise. Would you like to see Europe?”
“Oh, yes, Charles! That would be wonderful.”
“Then you shall see it. You shall go wherever you wish, my love. But of course I have my job, too. I’ll be a lawyer soon, Mrs. Garvey. And we won’t live in my apartment for long. The house I’m building is almost finished. You shall live in the country, away from this bedlam, in a grand mansion—the wife of Charles Garvey, prominent journalist and attorney. You shall have servants, and a nanny for our children.”
Her heart pounded. Children. She hadn’t even thought of that. What if one of the children was born dark, like Wolf’s Blood or Margaret? It could easily happen. What if she bore a child that looked all Indian! No. That could not happen. She was so fair, and Charles was not dark. Their children would be as ordinary as any other children.
They went through a heavy door into a spacious room with a canopied bed. Everything was pink and white and plush. Charles paid the boy who brought their luggage, and suddenly the door was closing and he was locking it. It had all happened too fast. Had she done the right thing? She suddenly wished she could talk to her mother, but she stood there alone in the room with her new husband, determined not to turn into a blubbering baby.
He was at once removing her headpiece. He threw it to the floor and began unbuttoning the back of her dress.
“Charles!” she protested, bolting away. “What are you doing!”
His eyes darkened strangely. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m undressing you. You are my wife now.”
She reddened. “Charles, I … I’ve never … been with a man. I need some time.”
He frowned and began removing his own clothes. “Then take some time—about five minutes. Why don’t you go into the dressing room over there and put on that nightgown I bought for you.”
She put a hand to her crimson cheek. “Charles, you can see right through it.”
He grinned. “Of course. I’ve waited almost two years to set eyes on your naked body, LeeAnn, and I’ll not be turned away on my wedding night. Now go put the thing on and come to bed and let an experienced man make a woman of you. Go on, now. Be a good girl.”
She just stood there staring at him as he stripped down to his underwear. He looked at her with a scowl. “What’s the matter with you?”
She blinked back tears. “Charles, please be patient with me. I’m scared.”
He snickered and came closer, grasping her arms until they began to hurt. “You are Mrs. Charles Garvey. I love you, LeeAnn. I have done you the honor of offering you myself, my fortune, my name. I might remind you that you were a mere orphan, working for a living like a commoner. I am making a lady out of you—a rich one at that. I just told you I’ll take you all over the world, if you want. I’m spending a fortune on a grand house for you. The least you can do is come to my bed on our wedding night.” He kissed her almost savagely. “I won’t hurt you, LeeAnn. It happens to hundreds of women every day. It happened to your own mother, for God’s sake, or you wouldn’t be here. I’ve been with plenty of women in my time, and lots of them whores, so I know what I’m doing. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Now go get these clothes off. I want to see you—every inch of you. Hurry up, before I rip up that pretty wedding dress. I’m sure you’d rather save it in one piece, now, wouldn’t you?”
She could see by his eyes that he meant every word of it. She pulled away and walked to the dressing room, taking her bag with her. Of course her mother had done this. But she knew her father well enough to know that it surely wasn’t like this—frightening and mechanical.
The next two hours were shocking and hideous. Could being raped by the Comanches have been any worse than her husband’s strange sexual pleasures? She lay limp and unfeeling. She didn’t dare feel anything. What was done was done. She had agreed to marry him, had agreed to turn her back on the past. There was no changing it now, and most certainly no going back. She had got what she thought she wanted and she already knew her only happiness would be during the day when she would be alone in the lovely mansion and her husband would be gone. If she was lucky she would get pregnant soon and then he’d not be able to touch her. And after that there would be a baby to love. She suddenly didn’t even care if it looked Indian.
When he was finally asleep she stumbled to the dressing room and vomited.
* * *
The soldiers returned, and Abbie quickly finished packing her husband’s parfleche. Inside the tipi, Wolf’s Blood was saying his own good-byes to Sonora and Kicking Boy, promising to return soon, but his eyes were alive with excitement. He would be riding out alone with his father on a dangerous mission. If he were lucky, he would kill a few whiskey traders, something he would not mind.
Abbie handed Zeke the parfleche, as he buckled his weapons belt. He took the deerskin bag from her and laid it on the table, pulling her close. “I’ll be all right,” he told her. “You know that. So get that worried look off your face. I haven’t come across a man yet I couldn’t handle—or more than one at once. And Wolf’s Blood will be with me. Do you really think anybody can take the two of us?”
She rested her head against his chest. “It isn’t just that. Promise me you’ll come back, Zeke. Tell me you aren’t so sick you’ll do something foolish, like get yourself killed.”
He kissed her hair. “I promise. Have I ever broken one promise I’ve made to you?”
“No.” She leaned back and looked up at him. Their lips met hungrily. The night before had been one of passion and little rest. Every time he knew he was going away it seemed he couldn’t get enough of her, as though he must put a final brand on her and make her remember who she belonged to. But she didn’t mind the branding. He searched her mouth now, wishing the kiss could last forever. But it could not, and he must go. “God be with you,” she whispered, as his lips moved to her cheek.
“And with you,” he answered. “Nemehotatse.”
“And I love you, Zeke.” She blinked back tears and pulled away reluctantly. “There are plenty of biscuits in the parfleche, some jam, and a few potatoes.”
“I’ll get full supplies from the Army, honey. Don’t worry about that.”
She nodded, and their eyes held a moment longer before he finally turned a
nd went through the door. She followed after him, and he said a quick good-bye to the rest of the family, giving some last orders to Morgan.
Sergeant Daniels was there with his company, and he nodded to Ellen, who smiled back at him. “Take care, ma’am,” he told the girl.
“You, too, sergeant,” she replied, reddening again.
Zeke mounted a large Appaloosa mare he favored. He preferred Kehilan, but there might come a time when he’d need a horse that would keep still when he wanted it to, and Kehilan had a mind of his own that sometimes even Zeke could not control.
Abbie watched him, her heart swelling with love. Always she adored seeing him on a horse, so much man, so sure. Wolf’s Blood was already mounted.
Daniels signaled his men. “Move out!” he shouted. He turned to Zeke and Wolf’s Blood. “You two ride up front with me.”
They headed east then, toward Fort Lyon. Both the Monroes looked back at their wives and gave a final wave and a smile. Sonora just watched, holding Kicking Boy. Abbie waved, forcing a smile of her own. She watched until they disappeared over the eastern ridge. There was nothing to do now but wait and pray. She walked back to the cabin. There were so many changes in life, so many good-byes. She wondered how a person stood them all. Somehow most people did.
In Denver the newspaper told of the marriage of Charles Garvey, son of the now-dead Winston Garvey, prominent Colorado businessman and realtor, to Miss LeeAnn Whittaker of New York. There was no picture.
Chapter Eleven
Wolf’s Blood grinned as he spun the chamber of his new Colt revolver, making sure it was fully loaded. “I will say one thing for scouting for the Army,” he commented. “They are generous with their supplies. I wish I could find a way to get some of their rifles to Swift Arrow and his Northern Cheyenne.”
Zeke turned a piece of meat over the fire. “You just remember what you’re here for, my young warrior. Don’t get your loyalties mixed up.”
The boy sat on a new blanket and leaned back against a rock. “That is not always easy when I am out here free on the plains.”
Zeke laughed lightly. “I know the feeling.” He had to agree about the Army supplies. They had each been issued two blankets, a Spencer repeating carbine, a Colt revolver, one hundred forty rounds of rifle ammunition, thirty rounds of revolver ammunition, a lariat and picket pin, a canteen, a haversack for supplies, butcher knives, tin plates and cups, and cold rations.
Zeke had turned down the offer of saddle and bridle. Neither he nor his son used standard saddles, and he did not want to be seen using one. They would be searching out whiskey traders and didn’t want to be suspected as Army spies. The guns and other supplies could easily be explained as stolen from dead soldiers. For all the renegade warring that was going on, what sneaking whiskey trader wouldn’t believe he and Wolf’s Blood had simply taken booty from a couple of soldiers they’d killed themselves?
“Thanks to your fine aim we will enjoy rabbit tonight,” Wolf’s Blood was telling his father, who turned the animal again. “But I miss Sonora’s cooking. I do not know what it is she does to the food, but if I am not careful I will be fat.”
Zeke sat down and rolled a cigarette. “I doubt that. You’re built like me and my father before me. We aren’t made to get fat even if we tried.”
Wolf’s Blood sobered. “Do you ever think of your white father anymore?” he asked.
Zeke sealed the cigarette and lit it, taking a puff. “Sometimes. I hated him most of my life, until I saw him that time I went back to Tennessee because of the Civil War. He was a stooped old man, and he begged me to forgive him for what I’d suffered in Tennessee—for taking me from my Cheyenne mother when I was so small. But I wasn’t ready to forgive him, Wolf’s Blood, even then.” He sighed and puffed the cigarette again, watching the rabbit cook. “He was shot down before I’d had a chance to forgive him, and I knew then what a terrible thing it is to let a parent die without giving them any love. I could see in his dying eyes he really was sorry about my younger years in Tennessee. I finally allowed myself to realize I really did love him, and I told him so. But he died seconds later, so it wasn’t much consolation for me.”
He smoked quietly and Wolf’s Blood studied his father. He would never let his own father die without knowing he loved him. That was why he had come home.
“I will be there, Father,” he said quietly, his throat suddenly hurting. “When you die I will be with you. I know that I will. A dream has told me so.”
Zeke’s dark eyes met his sons over the firelight. “Then I will die happy.”
Wolf’s Blood looked away, pressing his lips together and breathing deeply. “I am not really … your first son,” he spoke up. “Your first son was killed … back in Tennessee. You must wonder what he would have been like, if he had lived.”
Zeke turned the rabbit again. “Sure I wonder. But that was practically thirty-five years ago, Wolf’s Blood. There isn’t much to wonder about anymore, and when I see Timothy again once I walk Ekutsihimmiyo in death, I will be glad, just as I will be glad to be with you. You know how special you are, for I have had you all my life, and you have been everything I wanted in a son.”
The boy grinned, but his eyes were watery as he faced his father again. “And you are everything a man could want in a father. I am glad we are out here alone, riding free again, even though I miss Sonora.”
Zeke finished his cigarette and took the rabbit from the flames. “You are happy with Sonora then, as if I didn’t know.” He pushed the rabbit off the skewer onto a tin plate and began cutting it down the center to split it with his son.
“She is my life. I desire her the same as the first day I saw her. And I am hoping she is pregnant again. I tried very hard before I left her to plant a seed that will grow, for she wants another child and so do I.”
Zeke laughed lightly. “Well, there’s certainly a lot of pleasure in the trying, isn’t there?” They both laughed and Zeke put half the rabbit onto another plate and handed it to the boy. “I’m glad you found a wife, Wolf’s Blood, and glad that she pleases you. A man needs to settle sometime in his life with a good woman, have sons. But it isn’t always easy to stay settled. Every once in a while the old urges to be free nip and snap at him with great annoyance. But then he looks at his woman, and she smiles and beckons him to her bed, and he says to hell with freedom. Who needs it?”
They both laughed again and bit into the rabbit, saying nothing for several seconds as they savored the fresh meat.
“You know,” Zeke spoke up then, “you could search the whole earth and never find another white woman like Abbie—one who understands every corner of her man’s mind.”
The boy’s chest tightened. “And what will she do when you are gone? You are her life.”
Zeke took another small bite and chewed it. “She’s still Abigail Trent, the fiesty, stubborn, strong little girl I met twenty-eight years ago. She’ll survive, better than she thinks.” He bit off another piece, chewing and swallowing. He thought about Anna Gale, the infamous prostitute from Denver. That was an unspoken understanding between himself and Abbie. He had been untrue to his wife only twice in their twenty-eight years, both times with Anna Gale and neither instance out of love, for he lived, ate, and breathed Abigail Trent. Other women had loved him, wanted him, but he loved and wanted only Abbie. In his few moments of weakness, he had succumbed only perhaps because he loved Abbie too much and had wanted to prove to himself he could do without her, for always he wondered at how much better his Abbie’s life would have been if she had married her own kind and settled in a civilized place. She had suffered so much just to stay with him, and he had shed many tears over her suffering. But no matter what had ever pulled him away from her, he could not stay away. He could not live without being one with her as often as possible, and he missed her dearly right now. When he returned, they would make good use of the brass bed, that was sure.
He looked at Wolf’s Blood again. “Let’s not talk about me being gone. I fe
el good, in spite of the cold nights,” he lied. “I promised your mother this was a simple mission from which I fully intend to return. My time has not yet come, Wolf’s Blood, and this rabbit is damned good. Let’s eat up and get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll be in Dodge City—and you’d best do as I say. That’s a good place for a young warrior like yourself to get himself hung, so don’t let that temper get the better of you. Remember why we’re going.”
The boy nodded. “I will try. But the soldiers said it is a wild town since the railroad came through. That is where all the cattlemen take their cattle now from Texas, to meet the train going east—the train my wayward brother Jeremy helped build!” he added with bitterness.
“That railroad would have gone through with or without Jeremy,” Zeke answered. “Don’t blame him too much. Besides, it’s the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe that passes through Dodge City, not the Kansas-Pacific. Jeremy works for the K.P.”
“A railroad is a railroad,” Wolf’s Blood grumbled. “But it is not for the railroad that I blame him. It is for never coming home to see you and Mother.”
Zeke sighed, wondering what his son looked like now, and wondering about LeeAnn, who wrote only occasional letters with no return address. The message was very clear. If he thought she wanted to be found, he’d go and see her. But she evidently did not want him to, apparently not missing them enough to come to Colorado. And he knew with great sadness that he would never see his beautiful LeeAnn again.
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