Climb the Highest Mountain (27 page)

He winked, drinking in her voluptuous young body and wondering how he could wait until midnight. “That’s smart too. Makes it all easier.” He frowned. “You seem too intelligent and well-spoken to be a squaw. There’s something about you that doesn’t seem all Indian.”

Her eyes flashed. “I am all Indian!”

“Hey, squaw, you’d best tell your Indian friends to stay on the reservation,” another of the men spoke up. “The iron horse is coming through, and the Indians had better be out of the way. You know what an iron horse
is, little squaw?”

She glared at him. “I know what it is. It is a train.”

“And trains mean the end of the Indians. You’re one of the smart ones. You know your place.” He winked at her, thinking perhaps he’d return the next night for some of what his friend would be getting tonight. “Yes, ma’am, investors like us have bought up Indian lands and we’ll be making quite a bundle off the railroad. Someday the railroad will stretch from the east coast to the west. Denver will be connected with both. Hang around, honey, and watch this city grow like it never has yet. We won’t need gold to keep us going. We’ll be the center of trade.”

She picked up their empty glasses. “That warms my heart,” she said sarcastically. “I am sure my friends will be happy.”

They all laughed. “Well we showed your friends’ what will happen to them if they get in our way—at Sand Creek, right?”

She froze for a moment, and the look she gave the man chilled him. “Yes. You showed us, all right. I had relatives at Sand Creek.” Her eyes held his boldly and he swallowed.

“Well… uh … you ought to know there were a lot of investigations into that affair,” he told her, trying to get out of the hole he had dug. “Why, Governor Evans himself was forced to resign, and that Chivington fellow dropped out of sight. Now that the Cheyenne are off to their new reservation in Kansas, there won’t be any more trouble. Something like Sand Creek won’t happen again.”

She straightened and smiled bitterly at him. “Sand Creek was only the beginning!” she snapped. She whirled and carried the tray back to the bar. The men all turned to watch the gentle curve of her hips beneath the soft tunic.

“Do you think it’s true they don’t wear anything under those buckskins?” one of them commented.

“I’ll find out later tonight,” the first man answered, putting a cigar in his mouth.

They all chuckled. “She’s a wild-looking one. Better be careful, Stu. She might sink a knife into your belly.”

“Ben wouldn’t have her working here if she was dangerous,” the man replied. “And I’ll tame her down fast enough.”

“Beats going home to a wife with a headache, right?”

They all chuckled again. “A wife for social appearances, a whore for a good time in bed,” the first man answered.

Margaret stood at the bar, waiting for another tray of drinks. A well-built, dark, and very handsome man sat on a stool beside her. She felt his eyes on her, and she turned to meet his brown eyes. He was older, perhaps thirty-five, with dark wavy hair and a lean, provocative look about him. He flashed a wide, handsome smile, his teeth straight and white. There was something warm about his smile. He did not leer hungrily like the others. “Hello,” he said softly.

When she nodded, he glanced back at the table of men. He had watched her conversation with them. Then he looked back at her. “You’re awful pretty to be working in a place like this,” he told her. “Why aren’t you with your people?”

Her smile faded. “My people are dying. There is no future on the reservation, and no future in the white man’s world. There’s nothing left for me but this. I make a lot of money.”

“That I do not doubt.” Their eyes held.

“Are you interested, or are you just making conversation?”

He leaned back and looked her over. “I might be interested. But you seem kind of … special. I think I’d
rather have you because you want me, not for my money.”

She felt a gentle stirring of desire, something she had not felt for some time. She turned away to set drinks on her tray. “Then I guess we can’t do business. Pay me enough, and you can come to my room. You think about it.”

He put on a wide-brimmed hat. “I’ll do that. Name’s Brown. Morgan Brown. And something tells me you have a white name—a Christian name, they call it.”

She kept her face turned away from him. “I have no white name,” she answered. “Why would I have a white name?”

He shrugged. “The way you talk, I guess. There’s just something about you that doesn’t belong here.”

She met his eyes defiantly then. “Believe me, Mr. Morgan, I belong here!” Taking the tray, she walked to another table of customers. He watched her. Perhaps he would do business with her after all, if that was the only way he could have her.

Abbie dismounted from the sleek thoroughbred Edwin had given her to ride and walked to the little stream where they had gone to talk. Edwin dismounted too, tying both horses as Abbie removed her cape. A sudden spring thaw had arrived; the temperature was in the sixties. Another snowstorm was likely, for it was only mid-March, but they enjoyed this break in the weather, during which the heavy snows of the past week were swiftly melting.

“I must go to Denver, Edwin, now that I can get through,” she told him as he walked up to stand beside her. “Another storm could come at any moment and I’ve lost too much time already. I have sent a letter to Anna, telling her to expect me.”

“I will go with you. You shan’t go to that place alone.”

She sighed and stooped down to pick a tiny flower making its way through the snow. Then she rose and looked at Edwin, twirling the flower in her fingers. “I’d rather you sent one or two of your hired help with me. I don’t think it would look right if we went. I’m afraid your love … shows too much, Edwin. People might get the wrong idea. There is nothing between us, and I don’t want people to think otherwise.”

His eyes moved over her, handsome dark eyes that belonged to a handsome dark man, wealthy and titled. She wondered why it was so easy for her to walk away from what he was offering, while he suffered the pains of not being able to have what he wanted—for the first time in his life. “I wish it were the ‘otherwise,’” he answered.

She looked down at the flower. “I’m sorry, but it can’t be … even if Zeke doesn’t come back … not for a long time.” She sighed and blinked back tears. “Oh, Edwin, I have so many decisions to make. I must decide what to do about Margaret and the ranch. I don’t know what has happened to my husband and LeeAnn. Should I send men searching for them? What will I do if something has happened to Zeke? I don’t know where my oldest son is right now, whether he’s alive. And if Zeke is dead, how will I be able to go on living?” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she breathed deeply to control herself. “Edwin, I need you to help me for I must make up my mind soon. Yet I feel guilty for seeking your help when I know how you feel. I can’t return your feelings, and I have no right to be here under those circumstances.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “You will always have a right to be here, and I will help you all I can. I expect nothing in return, Abigail.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve been here too long already. I’ll… I’ll go to Denver and try to get Margaret to come home. Then I’ll take the children and go to Fort Laramie where Dan is. He will help me find a place to live. Perhaps I can do mending or washing for the soldiers, baking and such. I would be near the Cheyenne again … and near Zeke’s Cheyenne brother Swift Arrow, and our son.” Her eyes lit up a little. “Yes! Why didn’t I think of that before? I could be among the Indians again, and near two of Zeke’s brothers and our son.”

He shook his head, smiling sadly. “You really would be happy around the Indians again? Don’t you realize it can’t be the way it was, Abigail? If you approached the Indians now they would probably scalp that beautiful hair from your head, after they did worse things to you.”

She reddened. “Not Swift Arrow.”

“It might be impossible to find him. It’s been a long time since you truly lived among them, Abigail. Many of the Indians don’t even know you anymore. You must understand that it would be as dangerous for you to go north as it would be for any other white woman. I couldn’t let you do that.”

“I don’t care! I’ll go. If I go to Fort Laramie where Dan is, I’ll be safe, and at least I’d be close to the Indians. I’d have a chance to see Swift Arrow and my son.” Her lips quivered and she put a hand to her mouth. “I have to go, Edwin!” she whimpered. “I have to do … something. I can’t just sit here the rest of my life!”

He frowned. “Is it that bad here? That boring?”

She met his eyes again. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean it that way.”

He laughed lightly. “Of course you did. You actually can’t stand all this luxury, can you? You’d rather be
baking and scrubbing and hunting, making your own fires and teaching your children and planting a garden. You’d have Indians camped on your doorstep if they weren’t gone now. And you’d rather be sleeping on a bed of robes with Zeke Monroe than in one of my luxurious, fourposter beds—with me.” His smile faded at the words, and she reddened deeply, turning away.

“I’m sorry, Edwin.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry, Abigail. I love you for what you are. But why choose hardship over the things I can give you, Abigail? And I can offer so much to your children.”

She shook her head and turned back to him. “My children will be just fine. In fact, Margaret might be better off up north. The change might be good for her. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I could put the ranch up for sale. Perhaps you would want it, Edwin. I’ll go north to Dan and Swift Arrow. You could … you could just watch over the ranch for a while, like you’ve been doing, until I know for sure what has happened to Zeke. And if he’s … if he’s …”

A black shudder rippled through her body at the very real possibility that Zeke would not come back this time, nor would her daughter. How could she handle that truth, with Lillian’s death so fresh in her heart? Breathing became difficult, and she dropped the flower and grasped his arms. “What if he really is dead?” she whispered, staring past him at the water. “My God, Edwin! All my strength comes from him. All my reason for living.”

“You have a strength of your own. And your reason for living will be your children. You will survive, Abigail.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide, and she stepped back from him. “No!” Never before had she realized so clearly just what losing Zeke meant. “You don’t
understand … what we have. I couldn’t…” A terrible pain swept through her chest and she put a hand to her heart, turning and walking farther away. “Zeke!” she whimpered. Edwin rushed up to her, grasping her arm.

“Don’t do this, Abigail. Don’t tear yourself apart. You must go to Margaret, remember?”

She hunched over, almost gasping for breath. Zeke! How much longer must she endure not knowing what had happened to him? Edwin pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as though if he did so he could keep her from going to pieces. “Hang on, Abigail. Take deep breaths now. Think of the good things.”

She nodded, breathing deeply. How he wanted to comfort her! To kiss her! To make love to her! He helped her to a sitting position. “You sit there and relax a moment, Abigail. I wanted this ride to be enjoyable for you, but it seems there is nothing I can do to comfort you. I’m sorry about that.” He patted her hair. “Get control of yourself. I won’t have you mounting a horse until you’ve settled down. If you want to go north, then you shall go north. I will help you get there safely. Then I will wait, Abigail. I will wait here in the hope that you will come back. I will—” He stopped and looked over the broad horizon. “Someone is coming—riding hard,” he told her.

She threw her head back, breathing deeply, struggling not to think about the possibility of Zeke Monroe being dead. The pounding hooves came closer and she turned to see one of Sir Tynes’s men on a lathered horse.

“I’ve been trying to find you, sir, thought you might have come here.”

“Ah, you know I like this spot, Frank. And what is it that makes you get that horse so lathered trying to find me?”

The man looked from Edwin to Abbie. “Your husband is back, ma’am—with your daughter. They’re both fine, except your husband has a wounded leg.”

Abbie gasped, then let tears of relief fall. Edwin felt the pain of jealousy and resignation. Surely his hopes were dashed now. “Thank you, Frank. We’ll be along right away.”

As the man nodded and turned his horse, Edwin walked over to help Abbie up. She said nothing to him, but let out a strange guttural sound of total joy and let go of him, running to her horse and mounting the sidesaddle. She did not like this new form of riding she had recently learned. She’d rather ride on a normal saddle or an Indian saddle, which was the next thing to bareback.

“Use your head, Abigail!” Tynes shouted as she turned her horse. “Don’t ride too hard in your eagerness and get hurt before you see him.”

She rode off, ignoring his warning, not caring that he had to mount hurriedly and try to catch up. Abigail Trent Monroe knew how to ride and how to ride hard. She wasn’t worried. Zeke was back! Zeke was alive! And so was LeeAnn! LeeAnn! He had brought her home! Great sobs of relief swept through her, and she breathed deeply of the sweet spring wind, enjoying the feel of it in her hair, loving the look of her horse’s flying mane. Perhaps living with Zeke had made her more wild and a more a lover of freedom than she realized.

Chapter Sixteen

As Abbie rode up to the mansion, LeeAnn ran down the steps toward her. Jumping from her horse before it came to a halt, she hurried to LeeAnn, scooping the girl into her arms. For several minutes, they embraced, saying nothing, only crying. Tynes, who had ridden up, looked around for Zeke but saw him nowhere.

“It was so terrible, Mother!” LeeAnn finally choked out, clinging to the woman. “I thought I’d never see you again. I kept praying Father would find me, and he did! He found me!”

“Of course he found you!” Abbie replied, finally releasing the girl and wiping her eyes so she could take inventory of her daughter. “Zeke Monroe can do anything.” They both hugged again, laughing and crying at the same time.

Then LeeAnn’s mixture of laughter and tears turned to just tears. “Mother, Jeremy said Lillian died,” she sobbed. “And Margaret has run away!”

Abbie held her, stroking the girl’s long, blond hair. “It’s true, dear.” Her heart tightened. “My God, did he already tell your father?” She pulled away again and LeeAnn nodded. Abbie let go of the girl for a moment. Pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her cape, she
blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Where is he, LeeAnn?”

The girl sniffled and wiped at her eyes with her arm. “He asked … where the grave was. I think he went there.”

Abbie looked up at Edwin and the man frowned. “You’d better go out there, Abigail.” She could see the pain in his eyes. She turned back to LeeAnn.

“First I must look you over, LeeAnn, and later we must talk.” She smoothed back the girl’s hair, studying her face. The girl wore a simple cotton dress that Zeke had taken with him in case her own clothing were torn or gone when he found her. The fact that the girl wore the dress brought a sick feeling to Abbie’s stomach. She well knew the horror of rape, but for a thirteen-year-old girl who knew nothing about men … “What did they do to you, LeeAnn?” She put an arm around the girl’s shoulders and walked her away from the others.

“They hit me … made me do work for them.” The girl put a hand to her stomach. “The Comanches weren’t so bad, but they hit me a lot and the women were mean to me. Then they sold me—to Comancheros.”

“Comancheros!” Abbie held the girl closer.

“They were awful men!” LeeAnn whimpered. “I would rather have stayed with the Comanches. They … undressed me … and looked at me.” She wrapped both arms around her stomach. “They raided a ranch and took a white woman and did … cruel things to her. Every minute I was scared … they’d do that to me. But they didn’t. They kept saying I was worth more if they left me alone.”

A wave of relief swept over Abbie, even though she knew her daughter had seen and experienced things that would surely haunt her forever. She kissed the girl’s hair and hugged her close. “We’ll talk more later,
LeeAnn. We’ll talk a lot… as much as you want to talk. You must remember that there are good people, and good men like your father. Being with a man can be wonderful and beautiful, LeeAnn. And you’re such a beautiful child. Don’t let this destroy that.”

“Sometimes I just want to go away, Mother—go East where everything is different… civilized.” She leaned back and looked at her mother, already as tall as the woman who bore her. “Do you think when I’m older I could go East to school, mother? Could I?”

Abbie’s heart was pained at the thought of her children growing up and going away. “We’ll see. Perhaps Bonnie Lewis could give us some advice. I haven’t been back East since”—she thought about Zeke, and how they’d met—“since my father brought me out here from Tennessee. She looked out in the direction of Lillian’s grave, which she could see now from where she was standing. She could see a horse, and the figure of a man kneeling under the huge cottonwood tree that shaded the little grove. She felt as though someone were pushing a sword through her heart. “I must go to your father, LeeAnn.”

“He’s hurt, Mother, but he’s healing.”

Abbie frowned. “Hurt? How? Where?”

“The Comanches. He had to fight them before they would give him information. He got stabbed in the leg many times—his right calf. He told me it got infected and he had to burn it himself.”

Abbie closed her eyes. “Dear God!”

“He said he had to, or he might have lost his leg. He suffered so much to find me, Mother. And he attacked the Comancheros’ camp and killed them all! I never saw him like that before.”

Abbie sighed deeply and stroked the girl’s hair, studying her, hardly able to believe she was standing there in front of her. “What happened to the poor white
woman the Comancheros took?” She shuddered at the thought of it, her own memories of captivity making her feel ill.

“Father said she was dead when he found her in the tent where they kept her, after he’d killed them all. But I know she wasn’t dead before that, because there were men in there with her.” The girl swallowed and held her mother’s eyes. “I think … I think Father killed her himself. He acted funny … when he told me she was dead.”

Abbie’s eyes teared. She remembered when Zeke had ended her little brother’s life to stop the boy’s suffering, knowing the child couldn’t possibly live. She could imagine the condition in which he had found the woman, and her chest ached as she walked LeeAnn back toward the house.

“You go inside and take a bath, LeeAnn, and change and rest. You can have whatever you want to eat. Just ask the cook. Enjoy the company of your brothers and Ellen.”

“What about Margaret?” the girl asked with concern.

“Now that your father is home, he’ll go after her and bring her home. I’m sure of it.” She banished the jealousy that streaked through her at the realization that Zeke would have to see Anna Gale. It didn’t matter. The important thing was to get Margaret home.

“You won’t go, will you, Mother? Don’t go away! I want to be with you for a while. Don’t go with Father. He can get her himself.”

She wanted desperately to go with Zeke, to be with him now for a while, to help him face whatever he must in Denver. But how could she leave LeeAnn? He would have to go alone. She wondered if the family would ever be together again, ever be normal. “I won’t go,
LeeAnn,” she told her daughter.

As LeeAnn walked up the steps to rejoin her sister and her brothers, Abbie looked at Edwin. “He was badly wounded. Will you help LeeAnn find her way around? Give her a room and have someone help her prepare a bath?”

“I’ll watch after her. You’d better go to Zeke now.” Their eyes held for a moment and he smiled sadly. “Go.” He walked closer and helped her onto her mount, and she rode off toward Lillian’s grave and the lone figure who knelt beside it.

Within a few feet of the grave, she halted her horse. Zeke was shirtless, his buckskin jacket on the ground beside him. She knew why, knew what she would find when she walked closer, for he had lost a daughter. His long, shiny, black hair blew loosely in the wind, and the tiny bell he wore in his hair ornament was tinkling softly.

“She should be buried on our own land … beside Lance,” he said gruffly, his back to her.

She studied his muscular shoulders, the scars on his back from the whipping white men had given him many years ago. It seemed she had to strive for breath. “It was very cold … beginning to blizzard. It would have been a dangerous trip. I didn’t want to risk one of the other children getting sick. If it were possible, I’d have taken her there.”

He turned to look at her, quickly scanning the magnificent thoroughbred she rode, noticing she sat sidesaddle and wore an expensive yellow dress. Obviously it had been given her by Sir Edwin Tynes. Her hair was drawn up at the sides with fancy combs but hung long at her back. There was a reddish glow to it in the sunlight. She was beautiful, more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Apparently the Tynes estate had been a good place for her. But she was thinner,
paler. He could imagine the hell she had been through.

Their eyes held for several seconds, saying many things without words. “It was … pneumonia,” she said finally in a shaky voice. Would he ever cease to overwhelm her with his virility and animal-like grace?

Blood trickled from a self-inflicted wound on his chest. She was not surprised or appalled. She had expected it. It was the Cheyenne way of mourning.

“We did … everything we could,” she continued. “We even sent for a doctor from Denver … but she couldn’t hang on. She was never strong.” She struggled to stay in control. “We picked this place because it was high and shaded.”

“We?” There was an odd, cold sadness to his voice. She realized how she must look to him. He must think she had easily adapted to this new life and was enjoying it. When he returned she had been out riding with Edwin Tynes. She wore a fancy dress and a cape, and was perched on one of Sir Tynes’s grand horses.

“Don’t look at me that way, Zeke Monroe! You know me better!” she said, suddenly angry. “I’ve been slowly dying day by day without you, and if you don’t hold me quickly, I’ll faint—right off this horse!”

He rose and walked to her, his dark eyes steady but bloodshot, his face tired—so tired. She noticed that he limped. “I’ll get blood on that pretty dress.”

“I should care at a moment like this.”

He reached up and she let go of the reins and bent toward him. In the next moment she was in his arms. She broke into wretched sobbing, a mixture of renewed mourning over Lillian and utter relief at having her husband and daughter back. He held her tightly, the feel of her against him making him wonder how he would ever tell her she was better off without him. Yet he felt that he should leave her at this place where there was comfort and safety and beauty. His heart was
torn between what he knew was best for her, and his own need. This was where she should be. He could see it, just by the way she looked now. She was all elegance and beauty. It was difficult to remember her wearing a tunic and sleeping beside him in a tipi. Yet doing what was best for her would mean that Sir Edwin Tynes eventually would make her his own, and the thought of any man touching her that way filled him with rage. He held her tightly, hoping there had been nothing between her and Tynes, knowing there had not been. His Abbie girl was incapable of it. If she were not the way she was, it would be easier to turn away from her.

“It’s all right, Abbie,” he told her, running a hand through her hair. “Things will work out somehow. I just… poor little Lillian. If I just could have seen her again.”

She felt him tremble, knew he was weeping, and they remained in an embrace for several minutes. Then he slowly released her, kissing the top of her head. She sensed something different now, and fear gripped her heart when she finally met his eyes. He was somehow removed from her.

“Why did you leave the way you did, Zeke? When I woke up you were gone.”

“You needed to rest. I had to get going and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She pulled back, running her hands over the hard muscles of his arms and shoulders. “No. It was like … like you were saying that was the last time you would share my bed.”

She choked back a sob and he grasped her wrists, pulling her hands away. “There’s no time to talk about any of that now. I have to go after Margaret.”

She hung her head. She needed him to hold her—they had been apart so long—yet he didn’t seem to want to hold her. “Do you blame me … for her
running away?”

He frowned. God how he loved her! How he wanted to hold her again! How was he going to be able to do what was best for her? She was his life’s blood. “Blame you? Why would I blame you?” He took her arm and helped her sit down, sitting down beside her and crossing his legs Indian style. The fringes of his buckskin pants danced in the wind. Everything about him was raw and rugged, a part of the wind, from the dancing fringes of his buckskins to his streaming hair and the soft tinkling bell. When he had held her she had breathed deeply of the familiar scent of leather and fresh air. “Tell me what happened, Abbie,” he said.

She wiped at her eyes and turned to grasp his arm, bending and kissing his shoulder. “First I want to know how badly you were wounded. LeeAnn said the Comanches stabbed your leg.”

He picked up a stick and traced it along the grass. A spring wind had already dried off the hill where they sat. “The Comanches have a strange way of making a person pay for information. I’ll be all right. It’s healing. I burned out the infection myself.”

She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. “Dear God! I wish I had been with you. What about LeeAnn? How was she when you found her?”

He sighed. “She was wearing a Comanche tunic. She’d been treated roughly—rudely—but she wasn’t raped. I’m sure of it. She’ll have some pretty horrible things to forget, though. She’s a smart, tough little girl. She cooperated, knew it was best to do so if she wanted to survive. I think she’ll be all right in time. But she hates the Indians. Even I frighten her. I’ve not been much good to this family lately, have I?”

“That’s foolish talk.”

They looked at each other, and it seemed to her that he wanted to kiss her. But he didn’t, and she realized
with surprise that he hadn’t kissed her yet. He turned away then. “Tell me about Margaret.”

She took a handkerchief from her cape again, untying the wrap and laying it beside her. Then she reached around and dabbed the handkerchief along the cut on his chest, worried by his strange, stubborn mood. It was as though she had just met him and didn’t really know him. How she wished she could say something to make him smile. But she had only bad news for him.

“She became interested in a young man here on the estate—a ranch hand named Sam Temple,” Abbie told him softly. “He was very good to her, or at least put on a good show of it. They became fast friends. Sam is young, handsome, nice enough—or so I thought. There was something about him I didn’t trust, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.” She sighed deeply, refolding the handkerchief and dabbing at a few spots that still bled. The rest of the cut was beginning to scab. So many scars, inside and out! “I love you, Zeke,” she said, suddenly feeling an urgent need to say it, suddenly aware of how much he was hurting.

He turned and met his eyes again. How handsome he was! It seemed aging had only made him more so. His skills had not lost their sharpness, his strength and hard-rock muscle were still intact. But how much suffering did he bear without telling her? Surely he was often in pain, but he never showed it. Again came the fear. Again he did not kiss her. The look on his face at that moment reminded her of the way he used to look at her when she was fifteen and crazy in love with him, when he’d argued that they should not marry because he was part Indian and it could be bad for her. He had been so stubborn then, so hard to convince that she loved him and didn’t care that he was Indian, didn’t care about anything but being his woman. Was he
thinking now, after all these years, that they should not be together?