Eagle’s Song (33 page)

She turned and met his gaze again. “Will you stay, too?”

Hawk sat up, crossing his legs and resting his elbows
on his knees. “For a couple of weeks. I have things to get back to in Denver. I’ll clean up what’s left of my court cases over the winter, sell my house, things like that. There are government agencies I need to get in touch with, the BIA, some people who represent the Sioux. In the spring I’ll come back and get you and the children, and we’ll head north.”

Sweet Bird nodded. “We will try not to be a burden to you.”

Hawk frowned. “A burden? My father loved you. Your children are his, my own brother and sister. Why do you think you would be a burden? You’re family.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just want to be sure you are doing this because it is what you want. You are a young, single man with big dreams and with places to go. Now you will be encumbered with the responsibility of feeding and looking out for three more people, playing father to two little ones.”

Hawk turned to face her. “Sweet Bird, I have never—
would
never—think of that as a burden or encumbrance. After what I’ve just been through with my father, how could you think such a thing? What I am doing is in honor of his memory, but I also love Little Eagle and Laughing Turtle. I feel they belong to me now.” He saw the quick question in her eyes, a hint of fear. “For God’s sake, Sweet Bird, do you think I feel I own
you
now? That I can dictate what you will do with your life, or that …” He closed his eyes and sighed. “What is bothering you, Sweet Bird?”

She bent her head to rest it against her arms. “I am just feeling very confused. I want … I need you to hold me … but I do not want you to think I am turning to you in some other way. My heart longs for your father only. If you would want something else … now that he is gone … knowing what he wanted for us”—she
sniffed—“I don’t know. I do not want you to think bad of me … for wanting you to hold me.”

She shivered with a sob, and Hawk’s heart went out to her. “Sweet Bird, I know you too well to ever think bad of you. If you were not completely honorable, my father would never have married you. Don’t you think I know how much you need to be held? How afraid you are of the future? You’ve been torn from a quiet life in the Canadian wilderness, brought to a new land, are living among strangers; your husband, the only anchor in your life, killed. I know what it’s like. I lost my mother and stepmother. I had to tell my father good-bye, knowing I might never see him again, leave the reservation and go live in Denver with my uncle, a place entirely different from anything I had ever known! I attended Harvard, lived among total strangers who wanted nothing to do with an Indian. I know
exactly
what you’re feeling! What better person to hold you than one who understands your loneliness?”

She looked at him, tears running down her face. “I … was not sure … why you brought me here.”

It struck him then just how Indian she was. Did she really think he might choose to take some kind of husbandly rights with her so soon? He wasn’t sure he ever would, even months from now. Perhaps they would go separate ways, both find someone else after living for a while on the reservation. He put a hand to her face. “Sweet Bird, I brought you here only to explain what I’d be doing next, to assure you I’ll always take care of you and my brother and sister, and to let you know you don’t have to pack up and leave here right away. We’ll take things slowly, including our feelings for each other. You will always be free to choose what you want. I hold no claim on you.”

“It … it is not that I would not someday”—she looked away—“perhaps think of you … that way. You
are a most honorable man … a man of courage, like your father. But for now … my heart is broken … and I can think of no one but Wolf’s Blood.”

“Of course you can’t.” Hawk reached out hesitantly, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “You said you needed to be held.”

Her shoulders shook and she suddenly turned and flung her arms around him, weeping bitterly on his shoulder. Hawk lay down in the grass with her, holding her and letting her cry, his own tears joining hers. His father, her husband, was gone.

Thirty

“Abbie! Abbie-girl!”

Abbie sat straight up in bed, sure she’d heard someone call to her. The voice had been so familiar. “Zeke?” It had seemed so real that she trembled slightly, realizing she had broken out in a cold sweat. She slowly rose, pulling on a robe. She touched a brass bedpost, remembering … So many years ago it had been when Zeke bought her this bed. And so many nights of glorious lovemaking they had shared in it.

She blinked, shaking her head. She had apparently dreamed the voice, yet when she first awoke she had almost expected to see Zeke standing there. So shaken was she by the incident, she knew she would not be able to go right back to sleep. She walked into the main room, where she turned up an oil lamp and added some wood to the cookstove so she could heat some water for tea. Hot coals remained, so she was able to start a fire quickly.

She set a kettle over the grate, realizing she could have more conveniences if she wanted them, gaslights and a gas cookstove, things Margaret wanted her to have; but she preferred it this way, the way she’d lived most of her years in this cabin. There was even talk now of bringing electricity to these rural areas, and Margaret finally had a telephone. Whenever there was
the need, she could call Ellen in Pueblo, or even Jeremy in Denver.

Such contraptions! Yet what a wonderful thing the telephone would have been when Zeke used to go on scouting expeditions, or when he had to put himself in danger to help a loved one. So many changes. And here it was the turn of the century. Nineteen hundred! She had never once dreamed she would live to see this. Fifty-five years since she met Zeke Monroe on a wagon train West. Could she really be seventy? My, my. When she was fifteen few people lived to be seventy. She would have thought that very, very old. She looked down at her hands, wrinkled with age now. She’d managed to keep her skin nice far longer than some women, but there came a time when it was impossible to stop the inevitable. What would Zeke think of these hands?

She smiled. He would love them. He would not notice the wrinkles on them or on her face. She was almost glad he had not lived any longer than he had. He was always so tall and strong and handsome. She wouldn’t want to see him grow into a shriveled old man. Not Zeke Monroe. He had died the way he should, and so had Swift Arrow and Wolf’s Blood.

She sat down in her rocker and picked up her Bible, terribly worn now, practically falling apart. How many times over the years had she turned to the Good Book for comfort … sitting by this same stone fireplace, listening to the clock tick away the time? She read a few passages …
Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee, for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried … Ruth 1: 16-17
.

That was her favorite. It was the passage that best described how she’d felt when she first met Zeke Monroe and knew she wanted to be his wife, in spite of
the hardships that would entail. Just like Ruth she had followed her man into a strange new land. Never once had she gone back to Tennessee in all these fifty-five years. She had always known she would never go back, that she belonged right here in this great big land that had once belonged to the Cheyenne.

The tea kettle began to whistle, and she set the Bible aside, rising to pour some hot water into a cup. She took some tea leaves from a little tin can and packed them into a little metal strainer basket, which she placed into the cup of water. She carried her tea back to the rocker, stopping for a moment when an odd little pain pierced her chest. She waited for it to subside, then sat down and sipped the tea.

“Abbie.”

She nearly dropped the cup, setting it aside again at hearing someone calling her name. Zeke! That
was
Zeke’s voice! She looked around the room. What was happening? Was she losing her mind in her old age?

“I’ve missed you, Abbie-girl. Come with me. You’ve done all you can do here.”

“Zeke,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

The pain in her chest grew worse and began to move down her left arm.

“Out here, Abbie. Come to the door.”

She blinked, suddenly confused, torn between reality and this mystical happening over which she had no control. She tried to rise, but the pain was too great. She felt her breath leave her, and then suddenly the pain was gone and she felt wonderful! She rose easily, surprised there were no aches in her joints. She walked to the door, not sure she should open it. When she looked back, to her surprise she saw herself still sitting in the old rocker!

“What! What is this!”

“It’s all right, Abbie. Open the door.”

She looked down at herself, noticing her hands were smooth and young! Glancing into the small mirror that hung by the door, the one she used to take a last look at her hair or to see how her hat looked before she went out. The face that looked back at her was that of a woman of perhaps twenty! She knew then. She knew. And it was a wonderful, beautiful thing! She quickly opened the door and was nearly blinded at first by a bright light.

“Don’t be afraid, Abbie. Walk through the light.”

Yes, that was Zeke talking to her, and he would never tell her to do anything that would bring her harm. If he said not to be afraid, then she shouldn’t be. She walked into the light, feeling a wonderful warmth as an indescribable love flowed over her. She took several more steps, moving into a mist. Beyond that she came out upon a hillside. It was daylight, and the weather was warm and beautiful. The land all around was covered with bright wildflowers, and in a valley below sat an Indian village, tipis everywhere, children running and playing, horses grazing, buffalo browsing on the hill beyond. The grass seemed an intense green, the sky a deeper blue than she had ever seen.

“Mother!” she heard another voice say.

She turned, and there stood Wolf’s Blood, young and strong again. He was wearing white buckskins, and he smiled in welcome. “Son! My son!” She reached out for him, and they embraced. “Others wait below,” he told her, “my little sister, Lillian, and our many Cheyenne friends and relatives, Gentle Woman, Deer Slayer, Red Eagle, all of them.”

“Lillian! My Lillian?”

He nodded, pulling away and turning to another. “And my uncle.” He put out his arm, and there stood Swift Arrow!

Abbie gasped, for he, too, was young and strong again! “My dear, darling Swift Arrow,” she whispered.

He reached out and took her hands. “My beautiful Abigail. Here we can all be happy together. Wolf’s Blood’s first wives are here, Sonora and Jennifer. You will like it here.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I am glad for what we had, but there is another who is more glad you are finally here. Here there are no hard feelings, there is no jealousy, only love. Here we have total peace, never a worry. There is no hunger, no pain. And here we can be with whoever it is right to be with. We know who it is right for you to be with. He is waiting for you.”

This time it was Swift Arrow who turned and put out his arm, and out of a mist he came, tall, strong, also young again. He, too, wore white buckskins, gloriously beaded. A wide sash around his waist held the infamous knife that he had used so viciously at times to protect her or someone else in his family. She knew instinctively it would never be used in a place like this. This was a place where Zeke Monroe would never have to fight again.

At first she stood staring, hardly able to believe her eyes. His long, black hair hung well past his shoulders. His smile was bright. There was no sign of the arthritis. He was whole and well and young again! “Zeke,” she whispered.

“You’re as beautiful as ever, Abbie-girl. I’ve been watching you for over twenty years. I’m proud of how you carried on, kept the family together, brought Jeremy and Wolf’s Blood together, gave strength to all the children and grandchildren.” He came closer. “That’s quite a family we had, isn’t it, Abbie? Who would have thought one of our own grandsons would end up owning all that land, or that another would attend a school like Harvard and become a lawyer? We
sure started something all those years ago when we dared to marry, didn’t we?”

Tears of joy ran down her cheeks. Was she dreaming? Or was death really this wonderful? “Zeke. My Zeke. I don’t know how I did it without you.”

“You did it because you’re a damn strong woman, Abbie-girl. I always knew that. And you knew I was with you. I was always with you, just like I promised I would be.”

Shivering with tears, she held out a shaking hand. “Do I dare touch you? You won’t go away, will you? I won’t wake up?”

He kept smiling that smile that had melted her as a young girl. “You won’t wake up, not to that other world, anyway. You’ll wake up to a whole new world, Abbie.”

He reached out his own hand. Abbie stepped closer, touched his fingers, and in that moment she remembered that very first time their hands had touched, when she’d handed him a cup of coffee over her father’s campfire. In the next moment his strong hand was folded around her own, and then she was in his arms … in Zeke Monroe’s arms again! And she knew she would never leave this place. Why would she ever want to? Never had she experienced such a feeling of peace and love.

Abigail Trent Monroe was buried along the creek where the irises bloomed. She’d been found slumped in her old rocker, her Bible and a cup of cold tea beside her. Everyone in the family was there for her burial, and all agreed that the creek’s side was the best place for her grave. Sweet Bird was sure enough tears were shed to make that creek overflow.

“She’s with him, you know,” Margaret spoke up, as
each took a turn at saying something about “Mother” and “Grandma.” “She’s with Zeke.”

“And Wolf’s Blood,” a sobbing Jeremy added.

“And Swift Arrow,” Hawk said.

“And Lillian,” Ellen put in.

“She’s happier than she’s ever been,” LeeAnn wept.

“She’s probably watching us right now,” Jason said.

“I’ll miss her so much,” Nathan told them.

“So will we.” Zeke put an arm around Georgeanne.

“I’ve never known anyone like her,” Georgeanne added. “She taught me so much about love and forgiveness.”

It was spring, the year nineteen hundred and one. Birds chirped, and wildflowers bloomed everywhere. The family formed a huge circle around the grave, some having to straddle the little creek, there were so many of them. Jason and Louellen had come back for the burial ceremony. Abbie had had to be buried before they could travel all the way from Montana, but Margaret had delayed the ceremony until they arrived.

Hawk stood beside Sweet Bird, holding Laughing Turtle in his arms. Nine-year-old Little Eagle stood between Hawk and his mother, his lips pursed in sorrow. He didn’t like this strange thing called death that took people away, yet all these relatives of his had seemed almost happy for Grandma Abbie. They said she was in a better place, a happier place. He decided that someday he was going to go there and see her.

They all sang hymns taught them by Abigail Monroe, songs they knew she’d like sung at her funeral—“In the Sweet Bye and Bye,” “Shall We Gather By the River.” They knew they wept for themselves, for the void that would be in their lives now that their mother was gone. None wept for Abbie, because they all knew she was where she wanted to be. None could understand
quite how she had survived the hardships and heartache she’d faced in life, all envied her strength.

“We have that same strength,” Jeremy told them. “And so do her grandchildren. Look what Hawk has already been through, and Zeke. I’ve discovered even I have more strength than I ever thought I possessed. Mother would want us to go on from here, stay together, keep bringing pride to the Monroe name, be there for each other whenever we’re needed. We’ve had to part ways over the years, and we’ll have to again. Some of us will go back to Denver, Hawk is going to the Dakotas with Sweet Bird, Jason will go back to Montana. But we’ll be together in spirit, just like Mother always said, and she’ll be with every one of us. She and”—he hesitated, always finding it difficult to talk about the father he’d abandoned and never seen again before his death, the father he wished he could hold once more and tell of his love for him—“she and Zeke both. Wolf’s Blood is with us, too. I have often felt him near me.”

They shared some memories, good memories. There was even a little laughter mixed with the tears. Then they all quieted, even the littlest ones, when a shadow moved over them, causing them to look up. An eagle floated above them on the wind, its wings spread grandly. It circled several times, then cried out and flew away.

“Look!” Zeke called then, pointing to the western rise. “It’s a wolf, isn’t it?”

“In the
day
time?” Nathan commented.

Hawk smiled through tears. “In the daytime.” He put an arm around Sweet Bird. “We are not alone. Not today. Not ever.”

The eagle disappeared over the rise, and then the wolf gave out one long howl before doing the same. Inside the old cabin the mantel clock stopped ticking.
No amount of winding or repair would ever make it work again.

The late-summer storm rumbled out of the Black Hills, moving over the Wounded Knee gravesite, illuminating the black sky with brilliant flashes of lightning that woke Hawk. A clap of thunder seemed to literally shake the simple frame house he shared with Sweet Bird and the children. Most of the Indians here still lived in tipis. There were few true “white man” homes, but those had all been occupied when he’d arrived. Only this very plain, four-room structure that had been used by a teacher had been left. He’d had little choice but to move into it, and because Little Eagle had refused to be anyplace but where Hawk was, Sweet Bird and the children had moved in with him. Neither the reservation agent nor anyone else seemed to think much of it, since the children were Hawk’s brother and sister.

He sat up in bed, listening to the heavy rain let loose outside and hoping the house had no leaks. He intended to build something much nicer for his inherited family. Sweet Bird kept the place neat, and she was a good cook. While she’d lived at the ranch, his grandma Abbie and aunt Margaret had given her lessons in reading and writing, and she’d learned fast. Now Hawk was teaching her more, since she’d never had any schooling in Canada. She seemed determined to learn, and was self-conscious because of his education. He wished he could make her understand it didn’t matter to him that she was still learning. But it embarrassed her that he knew so much and she so little.