Eagle’s Song (7 page)

Jeremy frowned. “And how did you end up marrying Jennifer, a woman with such light skin and red hair and green eyes?”

Wolf’s Blood grinned. “A woman does not have to be Indian in looks for me to love her. She only needs to have the Indian spirit, a loving, loyal heart. Jennifer is that way. We have only been married six months. She pleases me greatly.”

The words were spoken matter-of-factly, in the way Jeremy remembered most Indians had of being openly honest and blunt. “And Mary pleases me,” he answered. Then he sobered. “What happened to Hawk and Iris’s mother, Wolf’s Blood? Her name was Sonora, I think.”

Wolf’s Blood felt the old ache in his heart. He nodded. “After I killed Charles Garvey I took her to live among the Apache. I knew it was best to go away, and she had always wanted to go back to her people. We
became involved in Geronimo’s flight from the soldiers. She was killed. My children were kept at Bosque Redondo, that hated reservation. I, and others who surrendered, were sent to prison in Florida. Mother and Dan went there and got me released, and she got permission to take the children from the reservation. You know Mother. She will not take no for an answer.”

Jeremy nodded. “I’m sorry about Sonora.”

Longing shone in Wolf’s Blood’s dark eyes. “It was another time, in the days of freedom. Things changed so quickly. It is hard for ones like me, and for our uncle, Swift Arrow. But Hawk is young enough to learn the new ways. I do not like it, but I know that, for my children to survive, it must be done. The old ways are no more. It is good that our father died when he did, before he saw the worst of it. It is not over yet for the Sioux, I fear. There is still much trouble, much unrest, on the reservations in the Dakotas. Hawk wishes to study law. He thinks he can use that knowledge to help keep the government from tricking the Sioux and Cheyenne out of even more land.”

“Maybe he will. I’ll help him however I can. He’ll have a place to stay if he comes to Denver. I’ll look after him.”

Wolf’s Blood nodded. “
Ha-ho, nis’is
.”

“And thank
you
, my brother, for understanding my side, for taking me back into your heart.”

Their gazes held. “You never left my heart,
Ohkumhkakit
.”

Jeremy felt a rush of pride at the use of his Indian name, Little Wolf. It had been so many years since he had even given thought to it, and for a long time he did not think he would feel pride when he heard someone address him that way. “You remembered.”

Wolf’s Blood smiled. “I know
all
the children’s Indian names. I was first called
Hohanino-o
, Little Rock.
Margaret was
Moheya
. Blue Sky. LeeAnn,
Ksee
, Young Girl. Then there was you, then Ellen, called
Ishiomiists
, Rising Sun, little Lillian,
Meane-ese
, Summer Moon, and then Jason,
Eo-ve-ano
, Yellow Hawk.”

Jeremy nodded. “I had forgotten some of them.” He straightened in his saddle. “We’d better get back before Mother sends the whole bunch of them to find us.”

Wolf’s Blood laughed. “It would not surprise me.” He rode off ahead of his brother, and Jeremy followed, beginning to feel free of all the guilt that had plagued him for so many years. How sad that only now were he and his brother feeling close, after all those years of growing up here on the ranch together. It hurt to think of all the lost time, all the things they could have shared. He decided he had also better have a good talk with young Jason, another brother he hardly knew.

He rode off after Wolf’s Blood, who had already disappeared over a hill. Just as he crested the hill, his brother charged back over the top, letting out a war whoop and coming close enough that if he’d had a tomahawk he could have whacked it across Jeremy’s neck and killed him in an instant. The sudden appearance nearly scared Jeremy out of his saddle, and Wolf’s Blood rode past him laughing, then turned and rode up beside him.

“You see how easy it is? An Indian can hide from soldiers without even using trees and rocks. Our uncle, Swift Arrow, says that is how it was for Custer. Thousands of Sioux and Cheyenne were camped just beyond the hills, and Custer did not even know it! They swooped down on him before he had a chance to run. How I wish I had been there!”

He rode ahead again. “I’ll bet you do,” Jeremy muttered. The Custer massacre had been only eleven years ago, and now all Indians were confined to reservations.
How quickly their lives had changed. No wonder so many of them drank and committed suicide, or so he’d heard. He did not doubt it. He hadn’t asked Wolf’s Blood about it because he knew it would upset him. Thank God Wolf’s Blood had remained strong, had stayed away from whiskey, as their father had always warned them to do.

He watched his brother ride down to the ranch, thinking how true it was that a whole way of life was over for the Cheyenne and a new one was beginning. He felt an odd ache in his heart. For all his joy at being close to his brother at last, he could not help but wonder if he would see him again after this reunion. He decided he would stay as long as possible. To hell with the responsibilities awaiting him in Denver.

Seven

The entire family sat around a campfire, little Abbie sleeping in her mother’s lap. It was a time of perfect togetherness Abbie knew they might never again see. It warmed her heart to know Wolf’s Blood and Jeremy were at last close. There seemed to be only one problem to master now, and that was Carson Temple.

“We are all here for you, Margaret,” Abbie spoke up. “And you, too, Morgan. I already know you’re having problems with the man who bought the Tynes property. I think the whole family should know what is going on. Maybe we can help.”

Margaret frowned. “How do you know about it?”

“Zeke told me, and he was right to do so. I can read you like a book, daughter of mine, so I asked Zeke what was troubling you.”

Margaret cast her son a scolding frown. “I didn’t want to dampen the reunion or worry you. Morgan and I will find a way to handle Carson Temple.”

“Temple is a sonofabitch, to put it bluntly,” Morgan put in, bitterness in his deep voice. “He hates Indians and Negroes. I have a feeling he’s part of that group of men who call themselves the Ku Klux Klan. They’ve created a lot of havoc for Negroes in the South since the war, what with murders and hangings. I don’t understand everything about it, but enough to know it’s pretty bad. I think Carson Temple is one of them. Although
whether he is or not, he hates people with dark skin, and he wants this land, wants the riverfront property we own, wants the good grassland. Most of all he’s just a man who can never own enough land, a man who is never satisfied with what he already has. He enjoys showing how important he is, enjoys threatening people, trying to make them shake in their shoes.”

“I would like to stand face to face with this man,” Wolf’s Blood spoke up, his face rigid, his dark eyes blazing.

“No,” Margaret told him. “You go back to Montana and stay out of it, Wolf’s Blood. You would get yourself in grave trouble if you tried to bring Temple any harm. He is a very powerful man, with many men to protect him. He has money and influence, and he literally owns the law in Pueblo. To bring him harm would mean your certain death.”

“What exactly has he done?” Dan asked.

“He knocks down fences,” Zeke answered. “He poisoned one of the windmill troughs. We lost six good horses. We couldn’t prove who did it, but even if we could, nothing would have been done. He’s set fire to grassland, and sometimes he just rides in here with an army of men and threatens us, says we’d better leave or we’ll regret it. He’s also been putting up his own fences, barbed wire. One of my horses was badly maimed by it.”

“Does he have any legal rights this property?” Jeremy asked.

“Of course not!” Abbie answered. “I have the legal deed to this land.” She looked across the campfire at Margaret. “You should have told me about this. I could have brought the deed with me.”

“Temple would only find a way to work his way
around it. The land agent is paid out of Temple’s pockets.”

“Well, I hate to say it, but Mother is going to have to go back to Montana and make a second trip down here,” Jeremy answered. “She should bring that deed. I’ll have an attorney in Denver write up a letter of some kind stating that this land belongs to Abigail Monroe. Maybe we could have Margaret and Morgan’s names added to the deed. Morgan, you’re the one who has stayed on and worked this ranch. God knows
I
don’t deserve any claim to it. If Mother wants all the rest of the children’s names added, we can do that. Temple would never be able to negate that.”

Morgan nodded. “I suppose we can make sure the deed is neat and legal, but Temple has ways of trying to force people out. He can make life miserable for us if he wants, and there is no law to prevent him. If I try to stop him with guns, we all know where that would lead.”

“I’ll send out a U.S. Marshal when Mother returns with the deed,” Jeremy said. “He can inform Mr. Carson Temple of the kind of trouble he’ll be in if he continues to make problems for you.”

Wolf’s Blood turned to look at him. “Well, it seems my brother has a different kind of fighting power than I and our father had. We did our fighting physically. Now Jeremy fights with the law and the pen.” He grinned. “He is a stubborn Monroe after all—ready to do battle a new way.”

“In the courts if we have to,” Jeremy added.

“Then so be it,” Abbie said. “I’ll come back with the deed, and Jeremy’s attorney can update it and verify its legality. Zeke and I claimed this land back when all a man had to do was say, ‘This is mine,’ and that was that. To make it legal, we had William Bent draw up the original deed. The government at that time
didn’t care who took what, as long as the land was settled; and those who ran Colorado Territory didn’t care either as long as the settlers weren’t Indian, so the land is in my name. Negroes have land rights now, too. We’ll add Morgan’s name. Besides, he’s half white.”

“If it will help, put my name on it, too, then,” Dan told them. “I want nothing from it, of course, but at least I’m all white, and I’m a Monroe besides. They can’t do a damn thing about it.”

Margaret blinked back tears. “Thank you, Uncle Dan. That’s a wonderful suggestion.”

“Then it’s decided,” Abbie said. “And I think Jason’s name should also be on it. That way when Dan and I are gone, the Monroe name will still be a part of this land. And if for some reason Margaret and Morgan should ever
have
to sell out, I want it agreed that they are the ones who keep the money. They and their children. They’re the ones who stayed here and worked the ranch.”

“I have no problem with that,” LeeAnn put in. “Lord knows I, too, deserve no claim to it.”

“Ellen and Hal have helped us very much,” Margaret told them, “but things are not going well on their own ranch. Carson Temple has cut off their water supply. He’s after their land, too.”

Abbie sighed in exasperation. “Ellen, why didn’t you tell us?”

“Like Margaret, she didn’t want to worry you,” Hal answered for his wife. “In our case it’s not so important. I’m not the best at this life. I’ve been thinking of moving to Pueblo. What I’d like to do is have our piece hooked onto the Monroe land under a new deed. Morgan can pay us for it as he can. I have a legal deed to that property. With it, Morgan would have even more land for grazing and such, and with more land comes more
power. We don’t want anything from Morgan if he should have to sell this place. All I’d want is something for the five hundred acres I’ll add to it.”

Abbie rose, folding her arms. “That gives Morgan thirteen hundred acres. Not much compared to Temple’s eight thousand, but as long as it’s all legal, he can’t do anything about it.”

“Ten thousand,” Margaret answered. “We’ve heard Temple recently bought up more land than the Tynes property. He has ten thousand acres, and word is, he’ll acquire twice that much before he’s through, between harassment and help from the land agent. What makes me sick is, most of the land he’s acquiring once belonged to the Cheyenne, part of the original Treaty of Fort Laramie, back in fifty-one.”

The words brought back so many memories for Abbie, of days when Zeke and Swift Arrow were both young warriors. Thousands of Indians from many tribes had attended that council, games were played, horse races took place nearly every day for weeks. There was feasting, challenges between enemy tribes; but all knew it was a peace council. All believed the Treaty of 1851 was the last treaty they would have to agree to, that the vast lands granted to the Indians under that treaty would remain forever theirs.

How wrong they all were. The Great Smoke was the beginning of the end for the Cheyenne and so many other tribes. Countless promises had been broken since then. That original treaty took years for Congress to sign, and by then it had been altered so drastically that it barely resembled the original. The government continued to treat the Indians as though they had no importance whatsoever, and as though promises meant nothing. Could anyone blame them for their uprisings, their anger?

So, now men like Carson Temple would own much
of that land. Not one bit of it was left to the Cheyenne. She reached over and took hold of Swift Arrow’s hand, realizing the memories that treaty stirred for him, too. “All we can do now is try to hang on to what we’ve managed to keep in the Monroe name,” she told all of them. “I think we should pray about it, and then I think we should sing some of your father and grandfather’s Tennessee mountain songs. I remember many of them.”

Everyone seemed to relax a little, and they held hands and prayed. As soon as they were finished, Abbie noticed Zeke still looked very troubled. He left the circle as they sang and walked off into the darkness. After several songs Abbie made an excuse to also leave. She walked in the direction Zeke had gone and called out to him.

“Out here,” he said, calling from near the corral.

Abbie allowed her eyes to adjust to the moonlight, then saw his silhouette near the corral gate. She walked in that direction, wishing when she reached her handsome grandson that she could see Zeke’s eyes better. “You’re still troubled, Zeke. Is there something more we don’t know about?”

The young man sighed, turning to rest his elbows on the top rail of the fence. “You’ll be angry.”

“Now why on earth would I be angry?” Abbie folded her arms, frowning. “Listen, Zeke Brown, you can tell your grandma Abbie anything. What is it?”

He swallowed, taking several quiet seconds to answer. “Carson Temple has a daughter. She’s nineteen, and beautiful. Her name is Georgeanne, and she’s nothing like her father.”

Abbie felt an ache in the pit of her stomach. “Dear God,” she muttered. “You’ve been seeing her.”

“Yeah.” He remained turned away. “I love her. If you met her, you wouldn’t believe Carson Temple was
her father. The way she describes her mother, she must be a lot like her, sweet and gracious; except Georgie is a lot stronger than her mother. Her mother … shot herself.”

“Dear Lord!”

Zeke finally turned to face her. “Georgie was pretty young, about eleven. She didn’t realize at first what had really happened, how her mother had died. Her father told her a few years later, and he explained it as though it was her mother’s fault for not being a strong person. Carson Temple has no patience with anyone who cries or who fails at something. Georgie remembers how he used to treat her mother, always ordering her around, berating her for the smallest mistake, always telling her a wife had no rights. Georgie blames her mother’s death on her father. But what’s strange is the man let her go to a finishing school back East, where she stayed with her maternal grandmother. He doesn’t mind her getting a higher education, thinks she’s like him. She says he always talks about how strong she is, how proud he is of her. She’s feisty and independent, and he likes that.” He stepped closer. “But she’s also very warmhearted, very liberal in her thinking … for a wealthy white woman. She doesn’t judge someone by their heritage, only by their character. She says when she went East, she learned how there were a lot of different kinds of people in this world, and she never did feel comfortable with her father’s prejudice and his barbaric way of getting what he wants. It shames her. He’s a narrow-minded bigot who thinks of nothing but his own power and importance.”

“And he would have your hide if he knew you were seeing his daughter!” Abbie added, “Let alone what he might try to do to your parents and this ranch. You’re walking a dangerous line, Zeke!”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “What about you, when you married my grandfather? Everybody knows what you went through to be with him, but you loved him and you stuck it out.”

Abbie touched his arm. “It was another time; and I didn’t have to answer to a man like Carson Temple, nor was I putting Zeke at risk because of such a man. If I had thought it might cost him his life or the ruination of his family, I might have chosen differently, just because I loved him so much. I’ve always preached to my children to follow their hearts, Zeke, but that’s often easier said than done. The way I loved Zeke, I might have stayed with him anyway, but I might also have loved him so much I would have given him up because it was best for him. In our situation, it was the other way around.
Zeke
fought the relationship because he thought it was best for
me
if we parted ways. He even almost left me a couple of times after we were married, just because he couldn’t stand seeing the sacrifices I made to be with him. It’s a terribly difficult choice, Zeke. I wish I knew what to tell you. Your grandfather was married before me, you know, back in Tennessee. Indian haters killed his white wife and their baby just because she dared to love an Indian. He was only about your age then. I wish he were here for you now.”

Zeke rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, so do I.” He closed his eyes. “Damn it, Grandma, I can hardly stand being away from her.”

“Then you had better tell your mother and father.”

He threw up his hands and turned away again. “That’s the hard part. They’ll be furious. And they probably won’t believe Georgeanne could be any different from her father. But she is. I wish you could know her.”

“So do I, Zeke. All I can say is she must be quite
something if she can look beyond your heritage and see the fine young man you truly are. I already love her just because
you
do. Maybe if you are careful for a time, wait until we get things settled with the deed and make sure Temple can’t rob this land from us, maybe then you can be together, maybe go away together. I know it’s hard to be patient when you’re young and in love, but you
have
to wait for a while, Zeke. You understand that, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I guess. I have to see her once more, though, just to tell her that much. There’s a place where we meet and ride together. She goes there every day, hoping I’ll show up.”

Abbie sighed, feeling sorry for his tender heart. “Be very careful, Zeke, for your parents’ sake.”

He nodded. “I will. Thanks for understanding, Grandma.”

She grasped his hands. “Young love is something I totally understand. I was only fifteen when I met your grandfather.”

“Georgeanne is a full-grown, educated woman, old enough to know what she wants, but her father treats her like he owns her. He brags about her being well schooled and independent and all, ‘like a real rancher’s daughter,’ she says he puts it; yet he seems to think she shouldn’t have a mind of her own in some things. She only came home this past spring for a quick visit with him. She never intended to stay, until she met me.”