Eagle’s Song (5 page)

Young Zeke headed her way then, on a horse. “You want to ride the rest of the way, Grandma?”

“I’d rather walk. Will you walk with me?”

“Sure.” The young man jumped down from his horse, dwarfing Abbie with his fine physique. “Were you always this little, Grandma, or are you shrinking?”

Abbie laughed. “No, I am not shrinking! Five feet two inches is not all that little, but I always did have trouble keeping enough meat on my bones. Besides, when I’m surrounded by men the size of you and your father, I can’t help but seem shorter than I really am. Your grandfather and I used to draw stares whenever
we were together in public. It wasn’t just that I looked so white and he looked so Indian, it was the difference in size. I am sure we made quite a comical couple.”

Zeke grinned, but he felt a pain in his heart. What would people think if they saw him and Georgeanne together? He needed to talk to his grandma about that, but he would give her time to get settled in and to rest. She stopped walking and looked up at him.

“You are so handsome, Zeke! How I wish your grandfather could see you now.”

He shrugged. “Thanks, Grandma. I wish he could see
you
. Mother says you’re fifty-seven now. But you sure don’t look it. She says grandpa was always proud of how pretty you are, made you use creams and such to keep your skin soft. I guess it worked. You’re a really pretty woman.”

“My goodness!” Abbie laughed lightly. She placed an arm around the young man’s waist, and they walked down the hill together. “Tell me something, have your parents decided where on earth everyone’s going to sleep?”

Zeke laughed. “Yes. The women and youngest children in the house, the men and older boys in the barn. We have an area all cleaned out, with clean straw and quilts and all that. It’s plenty warm this time of year, so we’ll survive.”

“Oh, yes. Believe me, the Monroes have survived conditions much worse! Which reminds me, your mother made a strange remark on the way here. She said she wished she had my strength. There’s nothing so strange about that, but it was the way she said it, as though something was troubling her. Is there something going on I don’t know about?”

“No. Everything is fine,” he answered, too quickly.

Abbie stopped walking and faced him again. “Zeke Brown, I’ll have you know that your grandfather could
not hide it from me when something troubled him. Your mother is exactly like him in that way. Something
is
wrong, and I want to know what it is!”

Zeke sighed and looked down at the house. “She told me not to say anything.” He met his grandmother’s eyes again, and he knew she was not going to walk one more step without learning about the problem. He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Mother will hang me for this.”

“No she won’t. I won’t let her.”

Zeke smiled sadly and dropped the reins of his horse to let the animal graze. He folded his arms, and it struck Abbie that this first grandchild of hers was already a man, going on nineteen years old, with the build and countenance of someone much older. Wolf’s Blood had always been that way, and Hawk was fast following. “We’ve got some problems with an adjoining landowner, the man who bought all the property that Englishman owned for so many years.”

Another pain stabbed at Abbie’s heart. She and the children once stayed with Sir Tynes for protection while Zeke went searching for LeeAnn. During that time her little daughter Lillian had died. She still lay buried on Tynes’s property. That had been one of the roughest periods for her and Zeke … And Sir Edwin Tynes had fallen in love with her. He had offered her the chance to live in his stone castle, the chance to be wealthy and to travel, to lead a life most women dreamed about. But she had only wanted her Zeke, a simple life here on this ranch. Sir Tynes had returned to England, taking his broken heart with him. “I didn’t know the property had finally been sold. It sat unused for so many years.”

“Well, I guess the Englishman died, so the family could finally sell off—” He frowned. “What’s wrong, Grandma?”

Abbie had paled and turned away. Edwin was dead!
Another person from her past gone. So many!
Too
many! And there would surely be more before she breathed her last breath. “Sir Tynes was a wonderful friend,” she told him. “I didn’t know he’d died.” Had he thought about her in his last hours? She felt almost guilty for not being able to be with him, tell him good-bye.

“I’m sorry, Grandma. I didn’t know you knew him that well.”

She took a deep breath and faced him again. “So, there is trouble with this new owner?”

Zeke nodded. “His name is Carson Temple. He’s a blustery, bigoted, bragging loudmouth.”
And I’m in love with his daughter, Grandma. I don’t know what to do
. “He wants the ranch because so much of it borders the river. The man owns eight thousand acres of prime grazing land, some of it also bordering the Arkansas. He doesn’t need this measly eight hundred acres, but some men want all or nothing. He’s one of them.”

Abbie held her chin proudly. “Well, he can’t have it, and that’s that. I own this property, legally. I have the papers to prove it, and I came here with the intention of signing it all over to Margaret and Morgan. So, there is no problem, is there?”

Zeke picked up the reins of his horse. “I wish it was that easy, but the man has been harassing us, making threats of what can happen if we don’t sell out to him, that kind of thing. He’s the kind who has enough money and influence to do whatever the hell he wants and get away with it. It keeps my folks constantly on edge and on guard.”
And if they knew I’ve been seeing Temple’s daughter, they would be furious. And that doesn’t even come close to the rage Temple would feel if he knew
. It all seemed so damn hopeless. Already he ached for Georgeanne, missed her. He’d come so close at that last meeting, so close to
having her totally, to branding her as his own; and she’d wanted it as much as he had.

Abbie frowned with concern. If Zeke Monroe were alive, he’d know what to do about this. Carson Temple would lose some of that bluster if he had to face Cheyenne Zeke. The trouble was, Zeke had lived in a time when a man could deal his own justice, which in Zeke’s case meant killing a man if necessary. Men couldn’t do such things so easily now and get away with it. There were laws in this land now, white man’s laws. Margaret was half Indian, and Morgan half Negro—two strikes against them. However, the
real
owner of this ranch was Abigail Monroe, a white woman who still had a lot of fight left in her!

“We’ll talk about this in a few days, Zeke. And don’t you worry. We’ll get it settled. Maybe I’ll pay a personal visit to Mr. Carson Temple. Believe me, after all the years I lived with your grandfather, one thing I learned was not to be afraid of anything or anyone. Carson Temple is nothing. He’s just another human being, no better than anyone else for all his money.” She placed a reassuring arm around his waist again, and Zeke in turn put an arm around her shoulders, thinking how small they were physically, but how big they were emotionally. She was probably the only person who would understand his love for Georgeanne.

“You’re some woman, Grandma. I can see why Grandpa Zeke loved you.”

Her eyes teared. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received from a grandchild.”

“I wish you lived closer. I hope you’ll stay all summer.”

She patted his back. “I’ll stay a good long time, Zeke. I promise.”

Five

Abbie set an apple pie on the long picnic table Morgan had built by hand. The table was spread out under a cottonwood tree in front of the house, a tree that had grown considerably since Abbie was last there and which shed a good deal of shade over the table. There would not be enough room for everyone at the table, so some would sit in chairs on the porch or on the steps, with plates on their laps.

They had all been here two days and up to now had eaten in shifts. Today they would all eat together, one royal feast the women had worked hard to prepare, except for the meat, a side of beef that Morgan and the other men had cooked over hot coals for nearly twenty-four hours. The air was rich with the wonderful smell of sizzling meat, hot biscuits and pies. Everyone gathered, children laughing, the older boys joking and teasing each other. Last night Wolf’s Blood and Swift Arrow had performed the Cheyenne war dance for the children, told stories about the “old days” of freedom for the Cheyenne, stories that had made Abbie cry as she remembered. She knew it felt good to Swift Arrow and Wolf’s Blood to be all Indian again, to remind the children of their heritage. At the reservation, both of them often came to the school to teach, to make sure the Indian children did not forget their ancient customs and language.

The family made a circle around the table, all twenty-four of them. A few feet away stood three hired hands who worked for Morgan, waiting for the family to say a prayer before they, too, joined in on the feast.

“Father in Heaven,” Abbie said, “some of us call You Jehovah and pray to You through Christ, some of us call You
Maheo
, but all of us know You are the same God who watches over all of us. You have brought us here together, carried us through tears and heartache, and we thank You for this moment of happiness we are able to share, thank You for the family members we still have with us. We pray for the loved ones who have”—
Zeke! It still seemed unreal that such a man could be dead. And Lillian … little seven-year-old Lillian … always so frail
—“for loved ones who have gone before us. We know they are with us still … in spirit.” Swift Arrow squeezed her hand. “We also pray for loved ones who live but who are not with us, namely our son, brother, uncle … Jeremy. May he feel our love, know that he will always be welcome if he …”

She hesitated, hearing a rattling noise in the distance. She glanced toward the hill, where she had often watched for Zeke. A buggy was approaching. She could not see who was in it, but somehow she knew. “Jeremy,” she said softly, her heart pounding harder, tears welling in her eyes. She gazed across the table at Wolf’s Blood, who also had turned to look. “Thank You, Jesus,” she finished. “Amen.” She glanced around at the others. “All of you, stay here. And please, this is a very special day. If that’s Jeremy coming, then God Himself brought him. I don’t want anyone saying anything that might make him want to leave. We have a royal feast set out here. Let’s enjoy it, and enjoy the fact that the entire family is together at last.”

Wolf’s Blood turned back around to meet her gaze. She could see the smoldering anger in his dark eyes.

“Please, Wolf’s Blood. Do this for me, and for your father. He would welcome Jeremy, in spite of how badly the boy hurt him. You know that.”

Wolf’s Blood sighed deeply. “You forgive so easily.” He shook his long, black hair behind his shoulders. “Do not worry. I will not spoil things. I will have a talk with Jeremy later—alone.”

Abbie gave him a warning look before leaving the circle. She ran toward the buggy. A stranger drove it, someone Jeremy had hired in Pueblo to bring him here, she supposed. The woman was a stranger, but she had no doubt who the other man was, even though he’d only been seventeen when she’d seen him last. He was heavier, in the way any man fills out beyond his teen years, but there was no mistaking the blue eyes, the wavy, sandy-colored hair. He said something to the driver, and the man drew the buggy to a halt.

Jeremy stared at his mother, then slowly climbed out of the buggy. He was astounded at how she looked, still beautiful for her age, truly hardly any different than when he’d left all those years ago. What was it he saw in her eyes? Shouldn’t she be angry? Unforgiving? She was just a little heavier than he remembered but still well shaped, looking tidy as she always did, standing stiff and straight in a yellow calico dress, very proper … and oh, so strong, a woman of true pioneer spirit.
My God, what she has suffered
, he thought. He had not forgotten the hard times of those early years. Yet she’d been so devoted to his father. He had no doubts about how deeply Zeke Monroe’s death must have affected her, but Abbie, being Abbie, had made it through, stood here now as strong as ever … and he could swear she seemed happy to see him.

Abbie reached out to him. “Jeremy! You came! Thank God you came! Come and let me hold you, son.”

He could hardly make his legs move. Why had he
stayed away so long? Why had he waited so long to explain his heritage to Mary? He’d been so sure she would leave him. He had let that fear, and his shame in his Indian blood keep him away from his precious mother all these years. He had allowed it to take him away from the ranch at a time when his father dearly needed his help, and now he would never have the chance to tell his father he loved him, never be able to feel the man’s strong arms around him. But sometimes a mother’s arms could be just as comforting.

He walked toward her, and in a moment she was in his arms, weeping against his chest, and he, too, was crying. “
Na-hko-eehe
,” he said, surprised he’d remembered the Cheyenne word for Mother. Abbie wept harder, clinging tightly to him.

“You were so loved, Jeremy,” she told him. “So much more … than you ever knew. He’s … here, Jeremy. Zeke is here. I feel his spirit everywhere, and I … I know he’s holding you at this very moment, just as I am.”

The words cut like a knife, and Jeremy broke down, unable to control his own emotions. “I love you, Mother,” he finally managed to say. “Not a day has gone by … that I haven’t thought about you … and that’s the God’s truth. The same goes for … my father. I’ll never forgive myself … for deserting him like I did. I never … I just never imagined a man like Zeke Monroe could die.”

“We all meet death, son. No one is immune from it, not even men like Zeke. I was so afraid … I, too, would die without seeing you again.”

She pulled away, wiping at her eyes, and Jeremy handed her a clean handkerchief from a pocket of his tweed suit jacket. By then his wife was there, handing him a handkerchief from her handbag. “I’m Mary,” she told Abbie, “Jeremy’s wife. And I must say, you’re
even lovelier than Jeremy’s description of you. But you’re so much tinier than I had pictured.”

Abbie smiled through her tears. “And what had you pictured?”

“I’m not sure. I guess, from the way Jeremy described what a strong, resilient woman you are, how you’ve lived with Indians and all … I pictured a big, stout woman who would be rather frightening and overbearing.”

Abbie laughed lightly, glancing at Jeremy. “What on earth have you told her about me?”

He watched her lovingly. “Only the truth, that you’re one in a million. There probably isn’t another woman in this country who could have put up with Zeke Monroe and survived what you’ve been through.”

Abbie shook her head, wiping at her nose and eyes again before her vision cleared enough that she could take a good look at Mary. She was lovely, with an air of elegance about her that spoke of someone who’d grown up in wealth, Abbie decided. Her soft green dress was simple in design, but obviously of fine quality material, and it fit as though specially made for her. Her straw hat was trimmed with dried flowers and a green ribbon that matched her dress. She was slender, her ivory-skinned face showing rouge in just the right places, her gentle brown eyes sparkling with sincerity and love—and wet with her own tears.

“Thank you for welcoming Jeremy as you have,” Mary told her. “This was not easy for him. He didn’t stay away out of meanness or because he didn’t care. It was because of me, Mrs. Monroe. He was afraid to tell me, afraid he’d lose me because I come from a wealthy family in Denver and he figured they would—”

“You needn’t explain,” Abbie interrupted. “I understand these things far better than you could ever imagine.” She looked up at Jeremy. “After a while you were
afraid to come back simply because you’d been gone so long and were ashamed.”

Jeremy’s eyes teared anew. “I didn’t know if I was wanted.”

Abbie closed her eyes. “Jeremy, how could you think such a thing? I wrote so many letters.”

He sighed deeply. “I know. I couldn’t keep them because I was afraid Mary would find them. I just … I couldn’t bear the pain in Father’s eyes, and the rest of the family, I figured they’d rather not see me again, especially Wolf’s Blood. I saw them, Wolf’s Blood and Father both, back in seventy-three in Dodge City. It was by accident. I got off a train there, and I was in a saloon with a couple of other railroad men who were bragging about chasing off some Indians.” His eyes showed his pain. “Then I looked across the room, and there sat Father and Wolf’s Blood, watching me. I’ve never been so devastated or ashamed. We went outside and talked, and the hatred in Wolf’s Blood’s eyes … the pain in Father’s—those looks have haunted me for years. Then I met Mary, and she was so sweet and gracious, and I loved her. I didn’t want to lose her.”

Abbie watched him lovingly. “Surely you knew you could have had children who looked Indian. How did you expect to explain that?”

Mary turned away.

“Mary can’t have children, Mother, although we didn’t know that when we married. I guess I was just too much in love to think that far ahead.”

Abbie remembered how it had hurt after Jason was born and she’d had surgery to ensure she could have no more children. “I’m sorry, Mary. Thank you for loving my son as you do.”

The woman took a deep breath. “Jeremy has suffered more than you know, Mrs. Monroe. You don’t
realize how much it means to him for the family to welcome him.”

Abbie took hold of her hand. “You are family, too, Mary, so you certainly must call me Abbie.” She looked up at Jeremy. “We were just sitting down to a royal feast, a side of beef, apple pies. We were saying grace, and I was praying for you and”—new tears formed in her eyes—“and there you were!” She looked him over. “You look well, strong.” She put her hands on her hips. “And successful. You’re still a railroad executive?”

He nodded, wiping at his eyes again. “I am.”

“And I suppose you have a beautiful home in Denver.”

He shrugged. “Yes, it’s quite nice. I’d like to show it to you. You’re part of the reason I’ve accomplished what I have, you know. You taught me well, gave me as good an education as I could have gotten in any regular school.”

Abbie smiled. “I tried my best. Of course, some of you didn’t care much about learning.”

Jeremy lost his smile. “You mean Wolf’s Blood. Is he here?”

“Oh, yes, he’s here.”

Jeremy sighed. “He’s hated me ever since Dodge City. He wanted to light into me then, but Dad wouldn’t let him.”

“He does not hate you, Jeremy. And if he wants to have it out with you, he’ll have to go through me first!”

Jeremy could not hold back a chuckle. “Now, there’s a picture. You stopping Wolf’s Blood from whatever he wants to do—
anybody
stopping him.”

“Come, both of you. Come down and join us. Even your uncle Dan is here with his wife Rebecca. I want to introduce each and every family member to Mary.” She met Mary’s eyes. “No fancy living here, Mary.”

“I don’t mind. It might be rather fun bunking with all the women—Jeremy told me what the accommodations might be. I am sure everyone will be full of conversation, and much more interesting than the pampered fluff of Denver. I get so bored at some of the parties there. Maybe after learning everything about the family and your past, I can curl somebody’s ears with the stories
I’ll
have to tell when I go back.”

Abbie smiled. She liked this wife Jeremy had chosen. In spite of an apparently wealthy upbringing, the woman had grit. Abbie looked at her son, holding her chin proudly. “You have chosen a woman not so different from one you’d have needed if you had stayed here to run the ranch, Jeremy. In spite of making a far different life from the rest of us, deep inside you are not so different. You’ve fought to be the best at what you do, and it’s your inborn strength and determination that helped you. You got that from Zeke. He hated the railroad. You know that. But he knew it couldn’t be stopped, and he’d be proud to see what you’ve made of yourself. It was only the fact that you were ashamed of your Indian blood that saddened him. It made him think you were ashamed of having him for a father.”

Jeremy shook his head. “Never. I just … I saw so much prejudice, Mother, saw what the Cheyenne suffered, what you suffered for being married to an Indian. I figured it was impossible for me to make something of myself if people knew I had Indian blood. After a while it just got easier to say nothing at all, until I saw Father that night in Dodge City, saw the way he looked at me.” He blinked back more tears. “The terrible disappointment.”

“That is in the past, and he understood better than you know, Jeremy. Now let’s go. The biscuits will get cold.” She turned and headed down the hill.

Jeremy paid the buggy driver, asking him to take the
rig below and unload the luggage, then drew a deep breath and headed down the hill with Mary, watching the family, feeling their stares. He realized he didn’t even know any of the children. When he’d left, Margaret’s baby, Zeke, had only been a year old. His grip on Mary’s hand tightened as they drew closer, and some of his nervousness eased when Margaret and LeeAnn left the others and came to greet him with hugs and kisses and a shower of questions. They welcomed Mary with open arms. Then came Ellen, then his little brother Jason.

Jeremy was astonished at their ages, had always pictured them as they were when he left. Jason had only been eleven. Now he was twenty-eight, and a doctor! His uncles, Dan and Swift Arrow, so much older! Abbie lined them all up, introducing them all to Mary.