Embrace the Wild Land (23 page)

“Mother, it’s warmer today, and there’s no wind. There’s lots of sun,” she spoke up. “I’m so tired of being cooped up in the cabin. Would it be all right if I went for a walk?”

Abbie looked up from the table, where she was kneading bread dough. “I suppose,” she replied. “All of your morning chores are done. You’ve been a very big help with the extra work the soldiers have created for us. I appreciate that, Margaret. And why don’t you take one of your brothers or sisters along on your walk?”

Margaret dropped her eyes. “I’d rather walk alone,” she replied. Wolf’s Blood looked up quickly from the corner, where he sat showing his uncle Lance some Indian weapons, as well as his scars from the Sun Dance. He had noticed the soldier named Billy Troy watching his sister. “I … I’ve been surrounded inside the cabin by brothers and sisters for so many days, I prefer to walk alone.”

Abbie studied her a moment. She would herself enjoy the relief of being completely alone for a few hours. “Go ahead then,” she answered. “Perhaps later you can stay and I will go walking alone myself.”

Margaret smiled. “Thank you!” She rushed up to the loft to get her warmest elkskin coat, then climbed back down, hoping her braids were neat enough. She hurried through the door and Wolf’s Blood continued to look in that direction, even after the door closed. Then he rose and excused himself. “I am going riding,” he told his mother. “I, too, need to go out for a while.”

The boy left, and Abbie looked at Lance and shook her head. “The restless age,” she told him.

Lance grinned and rose to walk over to the table and watch her knead the dough. “I was told you were just about the same age when you married Zeke. Were you
restless when you married him—marry him out of boredom maybe?”

She blushed and chuckled. “The things that happened on that wagon train could hardly be called boring,” she replied.

“And I doubt life thereafter with my brother was boring either.”

She shook her head and looked up at him, wiping back some hair with the back of her hand and leaving some flour on her forehead when she did so. “Life with your brother is like being married to the eagle or a wild buffalo,” she answered. “There has never been a dull moment.”

Lance grinned. “I can imagine.” He shook his head. “You’re some woman, Abigail. I can’t believe all you’ve been through, and you only a couple years older than me.”

She smiled softly and sighed. “I’m so glad you landed on my doorstep, Lance. Having you to take care of has helped the loneliness for Zeke. I can’t wait to tell him I actually met you—and took a bullet out of you no less!”

The man picked at a piece of dough and put it in his mouth. “And I can’t wait to tell Pa I’ve met you. Danny has told him about you. Now I can tell him, too. I wouldn’t mind staying right here, Abigail. But I’ve got a hitch in the Confederate Army to finish, and I’ve got to get back to Pa, now that Lenny is gone. He’ll be needing me. You tell Zeke that I intend to come back out here someday.”

She nodded. “I’ll tell him. I just hope he goes and sees your father while he’s that close to home. I urged him to go, but I’m afraid he’ll avoid it if he can. His feelings for your father are not fond, I’m afraid.”

Lance frowned. “That’s too bad. Pa loved him. Talked about him a lot. He didn’t like the way Zeke got
treated, but he couldn’t change those people. It just couldn’t be helped.”

Abbie broke off a piece of dough and put it in a bread pan. “I suppose not,” she said, staring at the dough, her heart aching for the lost little boy that dwelled inside her husband. “But Zeke is very bitter about it.” She swallowed back a sudden urge to cry. “I just hope that whatever happens to him there, it will be for the good, and that he’ll make it back here to me and the children.”

“He’ll get back all right,” Lance assured her. “You’re the one who said he’s too mean to die, right?”

She nodded, tearing off another piece of dough then and filling another bread pan. “Of course. I did say that, didn’t I? And it’s true. Lord knows he should have met his maker a hundred times by now.”

He saw the loneliness and fear in her eyes, and decided to change the subject. “Hey, is it true you’ve killed three Crow Indians?” he asked her.

She filled another bread pan. “It’s true. I shot them with my pa’s old Spencer carbine. Killed one when Crow Indians attacked our wagon train, and another one was a renegade who ran with the outlaws that captured me—the ones Zeke took care of single-handedly except for the one I shot. I shot the third one the next year, when your brother and I were riding into his brothers’ village. Crows were after us, chased us right into the village. My horse stumbled and I went flying. When I landed I turned and shot one. I made one grand entrance that day, I’ll tell you! But shooting those Crows made me more respected among the Cheyenne, who were enemies of the Crow. It helped get me accepted.” She looked up at Lance. “But I’m not proud of it, Lance. I don’t condone killing and I pray to God every day that He will accept my soul. It’s just that out here, a person has to be practical. There is no law
except the law of survival. That’s one of the first things I learned from Zeke. How to be practical and survive. It was a hard lesson and I still have trouble with it. But it’s been a way of life for Zeke for a long time. I dare say he has no idea how many men he has killed.” She broke off another piece of dough and just stared at it a moment. “It’s strange to see that side of him, and then to know what a good husband and father he is. He is many different men all rolled up into one body. He can be the gentlest of men—and then again he can be the crudest, most vicious man you could ever imagine, but only to his enemies, never his loved ones.”

“Anyone who knows what happened back in Tennessee can attest to that,” the young man replied. “I remember—”

The door burst open then, and Margaret came inside, panting, her lip bleeding. “Mama, I’m sorry!” she sobbed.

Abbie’s chest tightened and she rushed over to the girl. “Sorry for what?”

“I … thought he was … nice.” She looked up at Abbie with wide, frightened eyes. “He … called me names—squaw names,” she whimpered. “Mama, go stop Wolf’s Blood. He’ll kill Billy! He’ll kill him!”

Abbie looked at Lance, putting things together quickly. She ran outside without a coat and’ Lance followed, himself now almost completely healed. Down near the shed men were pulling Billy Troy and Wolf’s Blood apart, but they were having a difficult time with Wolf’s Blood, who growled like an animal and fought and kicked with a strength the men found amazing for a fifteen-year-old boy. Abbie hurried to the scene and stepped right between the two fighting men.

“What is going on here!” she demanded, too angry to be affected by the cold.

“He attacked Margaret!” Wolf’s Blood growled.
“He pushed her down and touched her breasts, the filthy, white bastard maggot!”

“Wolf’s Blood!” Abbie snapped. “Watch your tongue!” She saw in that moment the same angry look she had seen before in Zeke’s eyes, the wild Indian ready to kill. She turned her eyes to Billy Troy, who jerked his arms loose from the men who held him and stood there panting, his face badly bruised and his lip bleeding profusely. Abbie secretly took delight in the battered face of the young man, while Wolf’s Blood had no marks on him.

“She was willing!” the boy spit out. “She’s just a damned squaw, so what’s the big deal?”

Abbie’s cheeks colored with anger and Wolf’s Blood jerked viciously at the three men who held him, almost getting away again. Major Mayes, who had made it to the scene of the skirmish and heard Billy’s remark, stepped up to the man, his eyes angry.

“Get to your tent, and stay in there until we leave out tomorrow, or by God, Troy, I’ll have you shot!” the man growled. “And you will apologize to Mrs. Monroe for that remark. She has shown us nothing but kindness, and we have put her to great extra burden by being here for so long. That girl is no more than a child. Apologize, or you’ll get the worst assignment I can give you when we get back!”

The man looked at Abbie, his eyes roaming her with a sneer. She knew what he was thinking, but she had borne such treatment before. It was Margaret she felt sorry for.

“I apologize,” Troy said grudgingly.

“And you will see that the wood is stacked good and high at Mrs. Monroe’s hearth before we leave out!” the major added. He turned to one of the men. “Accompany Billy to the house and see that the wood gets stacked.”

“No!” Abbie spoke up. “Not yet. I wish to go and talk to my daughter first, and I want to be sure she is not present when this snake of a man goes inside.”

The major looked at her, seeing an anger and a fight in her eyes he did not expect in such a gentle woman. He could see that Abigail Monroe could also be a scrapper when necessary.

“I’m deeply sorry, ma’am,” he told her, admiring her greatly. If he were not so certain she was the kind of woman who had no inclinations toward any man but her own husband, he would have done his best to lure her away from this place and take her for himself.

“I believe you,” she told the major. “But I want you and your men to leave as soon as the sun rises in the morning. I will regret seeing Lance go, but I will not regret seeing the rest of you leave. Go and fight your Civil War, Major. I have enough problems on my hands and my own battles to fight. Remarks like the one Private Troy just made don’t make my job easy.”

She brushed past him and stormed toward the house. The three men who held Wolf’s Blood cautiously let go of the boy, and he glared at Troy, suddenly whipping out a huge blade.

“If your friends were not here, I would cut you to ribbons!” he sneered. “And it would be a pleasure!”

He whirled and followed his mother, and Lance glared at Billy Troy, wishing he were not recovering from a wound, for he would dearly love to finish what Wolf’s Blood had started.

“You dumb bastard!” he growled. “You’re damned lucky my brother Zeke wasn’t here, or your guts would be hanging out on the line to dry.” He stalked away, heading for the cabin. When he entered, Wolf’s Blood sat at the table studying his bloody knuckles. His dark eyes darted up to greet Lance, and Lance sensed that although he was an uncle, he was not entirely welcome
because he was white. This boy had little use for whites, and had been defensive and suspicious ever since the soldiers had come.

“You sure look like your father,” Lance told him. “Act like him, too.”

They both glanced at the loft, where they heard soft crying. Then they looked back at each other.

“My father killed those men who murdered his wife and little boy,” Wolf’s Blood told Lance. “I will gladly do the same if any man hurts my mother or my sisters!”

Lance sighed and sat down near the stove to get warm. “That I do not doubt, Wolf’s Blood,” he answered. Smoke lay near the hearth, staring at Lance with the same dark look that Wolf’s Blood had.

In the loft Abbie tried to console her weeping daughter, whose humiliation at such a tender age would not easily be forgotten.

Eighteen

“Dear Abbie, You would never believe how bad this war has become,” Abbie read, in only the second letter she had received since her husband had left eight months earlier. She sat by the stream in their favorite spot, surrounded by the purple iris that she loved. It was a warm spring day, and the smell of new grass and thawing earth filled her nostrils, while the songs of birds mingled their music with the icy, splashing waters of the stream. She struggled against her tears of loneliness and longing as she read. “I would have written more often, but it is almost impossible to find people who can get letters through, and I have no idea if you will get this one,” the letter continued. “I can only pray to the spirits that you will, and I pray for you, too, just as you pray for me. I am glad we are not living in Tennessee, Abbie-girl. I would be more worried about you here than where you are now. Every place I go there is nothing but destruction and starvation, looting and death. I am sure that by the time this war ends, the deaths will be in the thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. I’ve visited prisons and hospitals searching for Danny, and what I see there makes even a man like myself feel sick. I have never seen so many men with arms and legs
missing or dying from filth and disease. A few months ago in Nashville I buried an old woman who was trampled in the street. I don’t even know what her name was. I wonder now if this country will ever again be at peace. It seems this war will go on forever, let alone what is in store for the Indians in the years to come.

“I have searched every camp I can find, looking for Danny. No prison or hospital seems to have him. I travel among both Union and Confederate camps, sometimes at great risk. Right now any man not in a gray or a blue uniform is suspect, even when it’s obvious that man is an Indian who has no interest in either side. Everyone is suspect, and there are spies everywhere. If I do not find Danny soon, I will simply have to come home and give up the search. I fear for you and the children. I hate to tell Emily he has not been found, but soon I will have no choice. I wish there was a way I could hear from you and know that you are all right, but I move around so much that there is no one place where you could write to me.

“I miss you and the children so much that it is difficult to sleep. I long to hug my little Monroes, and I don’t think I need to tell you how I long to hold you. It is only when I am apart from you that I realize how much I need you for my own strength, and I know it is the same for you. I miss the ranch and the cool mountain air that sweeps down across the land in the spring. It is already hot here. Now I remember one of the things I hated about the South—the hot, wet air and the bugs.

“Tell the children how much I love them. And you know how much I love you, Abbie. Always cling to that. I love you and I will be home by late summer. I promise. I will not let this continue much longer. I know this is a long letter, but it may be the last one I am able to write. Perhaps when you hear from me again, I
can deliver my message in person.

“I am headed for Virginia and should be there in just a few days. I am told a very large Confederate army has gathered there under General Lee and a man called Stonewall Jackson. I will be someplace around Fredericksburg and a little place called Chancellorsville.

“Remember that I am with you in spirit. And if I should never return, I will be with you forever. We are never truly apart, Abbie. I take strength in your love, and send you strength in return. I love you. I love you.

“Zeke.”

She folded the letter. How many times had she read it? She should know it by heart, yet reading it made him seem closer. She watched the dancing waters for a while, remembering another time when he had returned to her right here in this spot. She kept thinking that if she came here everyday, perhaps he would return again to this very spot, and she would feel the strong arms around her, breathe in his manly scent, feel his warm lips on her own, her breasts pressed against his broad chest. What wonderful strength it would give her to be held by him again, just for a while!

She sighed and rose. She would return again tomorrow, and read the letter again. She pushed it into the bodice of her dress, wishing he had mentioned his father. Apparently he still had not gone to see the man.

Zeke picked his way among the fallen Rebel soldiers at Chancellorsville. Although a victory for Lee, the battle here had cost the South thirteen thousand men, as well as the accidental shooting of their own great commander, Stonewall Jackson, who lost his left arm and died a few days later of pneumonia. His death had brought a dark curtain down on the Confederate troops, who in spite of their victory at Chancellorsville,
still felt impending doom. Stonewall Jackson had been of utmost importance as a leader of men.

Zeke walked on foot, leading his horse behind him, as he made his way among the burial detail, looking at each dead body and hoping he would not see a familiar face. Cannon boomed in the distance. The Union Army was still very definitely close by, and an attempt to roust Lee’s forces out of Chancellorsville was expected. Confederates sat scattered here and there, looking weary and half starved, many of them with uniforms that appeared to have been worn day in and day out for months. Some chewed on hardtack, biscuits so difficult to chew that men often broke their teeth on them. Most preferred to dunk the biscuits in water or coffee first, which brought the wiggling weevils to the surface where they could be skimmed off before eating the biscuit. Zeke knew that if the Union Army could not win this war by force and tactic, they would win it simply by waiting for the South to starve to death, which would not take much longer.

Suddenly his blood felt like ice and his chest tightened. He spotted the blond curls first, thick, wavy hair that reminded him of Danny’s. He told himself he was beginning to see things, but when he bent closer he felt as though a vise were gripping at his heart and squeezing it tightly. His breath did not want to come, for the gaunt face he looked at was surely Danny, even though it was so thin he had to study it hard to be sure.

The body lay among a heap of dead bodies awaiting burial. Those digging the graves paid little heed to Zeke, as he bent down to gently turn the blond-haired man’s head to see if there was a scar on his neck where Danny had once fallen against a sharp stick and cut himself badly when a boy. Zeke knew at once by the easy way he could turn this man’s head that the man was not dead at all. If he were, he would be stiff. His
heart pounded when he saw the scar. He turned the head back again and gently lifted an eyelid. The eyeballs were rolled back, but not completely. He could see the eyes were blue. Zeke quickly felt for a pulse, glancing at the burial detail to make sure no one noticed he’d found this man alive. The pulse was faint and slow, but it was there.

Zeke struggled against his excitement. He did not want these men to know Danny was still alive. If they did, they would throw him into the pile of the wounded who lay waiting for a doctor’s help. He might lie for days without that help and die after all. He must take Danny with him and help him himself, find a place where he could heal and then get him back to Emily.

“Hey, what are you doin’ there?” someone called out. A tattered sergeant approached Zeke. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Zeke Monroe. I’ve been searching for my brother,” he told the man. “I …just found him. He’s dead. I’d like permission to take his body and bury him myself.”

The man looked from Zeke to Danny and back to Zeke. “You don’t look like no brother to me.”

“I am his brother,” Zeke repeated, feeling desperate. “We share the same father. But my mother was Cheyenne. I swear to you, he’s my brother. His name is Danny Monroe and he’s from Tennessee. I’ve been searching for him. I’d heard he’d been wounded and taken prisoner, but I couldn’t find him in any of the prisons.”

The sergeant looked down at Danny again. Then he nodded. “That’s Monroe, all right. I served under him when this damned battle here began.” He looked back at Zeke. “He was sickly, though. He’d been wounded like you said. When he came to us he wasn’t really healed but he wanted to get back into the fightin’.”
The man shook his head. “Stubborn sort. I remember now. Saw him go down a couple of days ago to a Union sword. Sorry you had to find him dead, mister.”

“There are a lot of things to be sorry for in this war,” Zeke returned.

The sergeant sighed. “That’s a fact,” He shrugged. “Go ahead and take the body, mister. What the hell? In this damned war who will know the difference? He’s already been listed as dead. With all the bodies we have to bury, one more won’t be missed.”

“Thank you,” Zeke told him, putting out his hand. The sergeant took it hesitantly.

“I ain’t never shook no Indian’s hand before. Don’t seem right. We just got done gettin’ most of you out of the South. Now we got the niggers to worry about.”

He shook Zeke’s hand, and Zeke checked his own anger. He had to get Danny away, and giving this man the punch he rightly deserved would get him nowhere. The sergeant turned, and Zeke dragged Danny’s body from the pile and carefully laid him over his mount. Danny’s uniform was soaked with blood. Zeke threw a blanket over the body and took his horse by the reins, leading the animal on foot.

Zeke headed south. He had to get past Union lines before he could help Danny. Until he did so, no place that he might stop to make a camp would be safe for them. Deep in the woods of maple and ash he stumbled over the dead body of a Union soldier. His eyes darted around the immediate area, his keen Indian senses telling him there was no one alive close by. He quickly pulled out his big blade, slicing Danny’s Confederate coat from his body and then removing the dead Union man’s coat, a difficult job because the body was stiff. He held off an urge to vomit at touching the bloated body. Then he threw the Union coat over Danny’s
body, tying the sleeves around Danny’s neck where he hung face down, and tucking the tails under Danny’s belly. Then he took another blanket from his supplies and wrapped it around Danny’s legs to cover the Confederate pants. If they ran into Union troops,’ he would have to do his best to pass Danny off as a Federalist.

He proceeded quickly then, ever closer to Union camps. He veered to the west, hoping to avoid the Union soldiers altogether. He moved among the trees and underbrush with the expertise of a man long accustomed to moving like a wild animal, ever watchful, quiet, alert. Sometime soon he would have to stop and give Danny some immediate aid, if the man wasn’t already dead. For two hours he kept moving, still walking his horse. Now the cannon were more distant again. So far he had avoided Union forces and the questions they would have for him. He knew that in the town of Orange, only about twenty miles to the west, there was a hospital that served both Union and Confederate soldiers, with no questions asked. In this confusing, unorganized war, he could get help for Danny there with no trouble, and since he was already listed as dead, there would be no Confederate commanders searching for him.

He walked until dusk, sure he could get to Orange before it was too dark to travel any further. He stopped occasionally to pack Danny’s middle with more gauze between his body and the horse’s blanket. But the gauze was soaked so quickly that it seemed fruitless. The only hope he could take in that was that the man was still alive. Otherwise the bleeding would stop. He spoke to Danny occasionally but got no response.

He came within range of Orange, spotting the lights of the town from a high hill above it. He was almost at his resting point. But then a shot rang out, and pain seared across his back at his shoulder blade. His body
spun around and he landed on his back. He heard running feet and saw shadowy figures coming toward him.

“Git his horse ‘n’ supplies!” he heard a man growl. “And strip the bodies. We need everything we kin git. Hurry it up, boys!”

Through slightly blurred vision Zeke saw a grizzly, bearded man bending over him. Hands started to unlace his buckskin shirt, but in the next moment Zeke Monroe’s big blade was out and plunged deeply into the man’s abdomen. There was a strange grunt, and with a strength that came only from that inner place not often used, Zeke shoved the man off his knife in spite of the wound across his back. He quickly got to his feet, letting out a Cheyenne war cry and charging with the big blade. It was all a strange blur to him. He kicked a rifle out of one man’s hand and slashed the blade across the man’s throat. Then he whirled, kicking out again and landing a foot to the side of another man’s head. The man went down, and Zeke pulled a handgun from his waist and fired it point blank into the man’s face.

“Jesus Christ, it’s a wild Indian!” somebody shouted. Zeke turned to see two more men running. He threw the menacing blade, and it landed with a thump between the shoulder blades of one of the men. The man went crashing forward with a cry and the last man kept running. Zeke quickly picked up one of their own rifles and took aim, hardly able to see the man in the darkness. He pulled the trigger, then heard a grunt and a crash.

Zeke threw down the rifle and hurried to the man with the knife in his back. He yanked out the knife, tempted to take the man’s scalp. But then he shoved the knife into its sheath, his breathing labored and his back feeling on fire. He knew it was just a graze, or he would not be alive at all, but he could feel blood running down his back beneath the buckskin shirt. Now he had to get
to Orange before he himself passed out and was of no use to Danny. He stumbled back to his horse and grabbed the reins, heading down the hill toward Orange.

The forty-five minute journey into the town seemed more like twenty-four hours to Zeke. He struggled toward the makeshift hospital he had already seen on his way to Chancellorsville just two days before, but a man stopped him as he climbed the steps.

“Sorry, mister. We’re full up. It’s impossible to take any more.”

“But … my brother … needs help badly. And I’m … wounded.”

“So are a lot of others. You might try down the street, the big white house a few doors down. There’s a doctor and a nurse there takin’ in more wounded.”