Feather in the Wind (17 page)

Susannah felt a sudden catch in her stomach, as if the floor had just fallen out from under her.

“Tate…I…wait a minute, don’t go putting words in my mouth.”

He drew away from her, his dark eyes empty of expression.

“Tell me your words, Su-san-nah.”

She realized then that he hadn’t been asking if she wanted his child. He was asking if she wanted to bear an Indian’s child.

“If you do not want to bear my child, you have only to tell me and I will not touch you again.”

“No, it’s not that. Please don’t think that. I’ve always been afraid of having a baby. Any baby. My doctor told me I would probably have a difficult time, but not to worry because they would take the baby if they had to.”

“Take the baby?”

“It’s called a caesarian.” She drew a line across her stomach. “They would cut me open and take the baby out when it was time for it to be born.”

Tate Sapa stared at her stomach, his frown deepening. He had heard of such a thing being done once. It had saved Otter’s child, but his woman had died.

“I’d love to have your child, Tate,” Susannah said.

He shook his head. “Perhaps it is not a good idea.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not sure.” He did not want to cause her pain or put her life at risk, but he knew of no sure way to keep her from getting pregnant other than abstinence. Could he live with her and not touch her?

“We could try the method the Catholics use,” Susannah suggested, “although you probably won’t like it.”

“What is it, this Catholic method?”

As best she could, she explained it to him. She had expected him to object flat out, but after a moment’s consideration, he nodded his agreement.

“We will try it,” Tate Sapa said. It would not be as pleasurable as finding his release within the warmth of her body. And being able to make love to her only at certain times during the month was better than not being able to make love to her at all.

“Maybe we should try it now?” Susannah asked.

A smile curved the corners of his mouth and chased the darkness from his eyes. “I think that would be a good idea,” he mused as he drew her into his arms. “A very good idea.”

Chapter Seventeen

Because the Bluecoats now knew where the Lakota were camped, Mato Mani decided it would be prudent to move the village.

Susannah had watched in wonder as the women packed up their household belongings, then dismantled the lodges. The horse herd was rounded up, and within a matter of hours, the Indians were on the move.

Tate Sapa had dismantled their lodge and done most of the work in getting ready to go. Susannah had helped as best she could, but at best, she had done very little.

Now, riding alone near the rear of the vast column, she felt a sudden wave of homesickness. The other women rode in groups of two and three, talking and laughing as they went along. Young mothers nursed their infants. Older children raced their ponies along the edge of the caravan. The warriors rode at the front, scouting the way. Teenage boys rode drag behind the herd to make sure none of the horses strayed away.

Susannah looked for Black Wind. He was riding up ahead with his father and a couple of other men. She spent a few minutes admiring Black Wind—the way he sat his horse, loose-limbed yet regal somehow. He wore a wolfskin clout, a buckskin vest and moccasins. Of all the men in the village, she thought him far and away the most handsome.

As though feeling her gaze, he turned around, a smile touching his lips when his gaze met hers. For a moment, time ceased to exist. She felt his love reaching out to her, felt her heart skip a beat as the warmth in his eyes washed over her, and she knew she could endure anything—the suspicion of his people, Wakinyela’s hatred, the hardships of living with the Indians—if she could see that look in his eyes every day.

His smile grew wider, as though he were reading her mind. He waved, then turned his attention once more to what his father was saying.

They rode for hours, never faster than a walk. Just when Susannah began to wonder if they were ever going to stop, the column came to a halt.

Tate Sapa rode back to Susannah. Helping her from the saddle, he took her by the hand and led her away from the others.

“Let us sit here,” he said.

Susannah sat down beside him. For as far as she could see, there was nothing but endless prairie.

“Here,” Tate Sapa said, handing her something that looked a little like a long egg roll.

“What is it?”

“
Wasna
.”

“And what is that?”

“Pemmican. It is made of jerky, chokecherries and suet.” He grinned at her dubious expression. “Try it, Su-san-nah.”

She took a small bite. It was rich and sweet. “It’s good,” she said, her surprise evident in her voice.

Tate Sapa nodded.

“How do you make it?”

“Meat is roasted until it is very brown, then it is pounded very fine, as are dried berries. They are mixed together, then melted suet is mixed in. The Bluecoats are very fond of it.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Kidding?”

“You’re not serious.”

“Ah. Yes, very serious. My people have been known to trade pemmican to the soldiers in exchange for blankets and even ammunition.”

Later, after everyone had eaten and rested and taken care of their personal needs and the people were ready to go, Tate Sapa helped Susannah mount her horse.

“Are you all right, Su-san-nah?”

“Yes, why?”

“I know it is hard for you to be here.”

She shrugged. What could she say? It was hard.

“We will camp at dusk.”

Susannah nodded, felt her heart swell with emotion as he reached up to caress her cheek.

She sighed as she watched him walk away.

* * * * *

“Where are we going?” Susannah asked.

The Indians had ridden until late afternoon, then stopped by a narrow stream to make camp for the night.

Because the weather was warm, the People had not taken time to set up their lodges; they would sleep outside, under the stars.

So many stars, Susannah mused, glancing up at the sky. The moon hung low in the sky, as yellow as a pat of butter.

Numerous cook fires made little beacons of light across the plains. Susannah had gone on an overnight campout once when she had been in the Girl Scouts. She remembered hearing one of the leaders say “white man build big fire, sit far away. Indian build little fire, sit close”.

Now, sitting beside Black Wind, she saw that it was true.

“We are going deep into the
Paha Sapa
,” Tate Sapa replied. “The Black Hills.”

Susannah frowned. The name sounded familiar. Unless she was mistaken, she seemed to recall reading somewhere that Colonel George Custer had found gold there during some fact-finding tour. She couldn’t remember the year, or what had happened after that. She wasn’t sure of the exact year, sometime in the early eighteen-seventies, she thought. She had seen pictures of the Black Hills. It had looked like a beautiful place, the hills covered with pines, the sky a bright clear blue. Her father had gone fishing there once and sent her a postcard. Even today, over a hundred years later, the Black Hills were often in the news as the Indians continued their never-ending battle to reclaim their ancient hunting grounds. The only difference was that, in the future, they did their fighting in court.

Susannah wrapped her arms around her knees, her gaze fixed on the fire. “How long will it take to get there?”

“A few days.”

“And then what?”

“We will stay there until it is time for me to leave to meet with the soldiers.”

“Please let someone else go in your place,” Susannah said earnestly.

“I cannot. You know that no one else speaks the white man’s tongue as well as I do.”

Susannah sighed as Black Wind took her by the hand and drew her to her feet. “Let us not look for trouble, Su-san-nah,” he said, draping a blanket over his shoulder. “It will find us soon enough.”

Hand in hand, they walked away from the camp into the darkness. Her heart was pounding with anticipation when Black Wind stopped. He spread the blanket on a flat stretch of ground, then drew her into his arms and kissed her. On a scale of one to ten, his kisses definitely rated an eleven.

His hands slid up and down her arms, sending little shivers of pleasure running through her. His lips were warm, possessive, drawing her into a world where nothing mattered but the two of them. Reality fell away, leaving them alone in a world of wonder.

She felt the slight tremor in his hands as he undressed her, moaned with soft delight as his hands brushed her bare skin, making her tingle with pleasure.

She removed his vest and moccasins, untied the string that held his clout, then pressed against him, marveling anew at how perfectly her body fit to his.

He drew her down on the blanket, his hands caressing the contours of her breast, the curve of her hip. Kisses trailed in the wake of his hands. He whispered to her, tender words of love spoken in English and Lakota. She strained toward him, wanting him to possess her, but he refused, his hands and lips continuing their sweet torture, until she was wild with need.

He rose above her, his long dark hair brushing against her breasts.

“Su-san-nah…
wastelakapi
…”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes, now…”

The wonder of it, the sheer ecstasy, flowed through her like warm, sweet honey. Eyes closed, her arms and legs twined around him, she gave herself over to the intense waves of pleasure that washed over her, like breakers crashing against the shore, higher, higher, until gradually, ecstasy receded like the outgoing tide, leaving breathless fulfillment in its wake.

With a sigh, Tate Sapa rolled onto his side, carrying Susannah with him. Never had he imagined that loving a woman could be so exhilarating or so humbling. He had known, from early childhood, what mating was all about. One did not grow up in a Lakota village surrounded by dogs and horses without learning how puppies and foals were created. There was little privacy in a Lakota lodge. He had, on more than one occasion, seen his parents in an intimate embrace. But he had never realized the soul-deep satisfaction that resulted from the union of flesh to flesh, had never considered that the act of love was more than merely a joining of bodies. He knew now that it was a melding of minds and hearts as well. A perfect blending of two spirits…

He felt her heart beat in time with his, heard the little contented sounds she made as she snuggled closer. Again, he stood in awe of the magic that had carried her across time to this place, to his arms.

Knowing their being together was nothing less than a miracle, he closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer of thanks to
Wakán Tanka
.

* * * * *

Susannah felt her breath catch in her throat when she caught her first glimpse of the Lakota’s sacred Black Hills, an island in a never-ending sea of grass. The Hills were truly an imposing sight, granite peaks that rose hundreds of feet above the surrounding plains. Black Wind had called the Hills the “heart of everything that is”. It was here he had seen her in vision, here that his people had come to pray for hundreds of years.

They had ridden through lush meadows, through a forest of pine cut with rushing streams filled with fish she thought were trout. There were rolling hills and ridges covered with ponderosa pine, silver-barked birch, quaking aspens, cottonwoods and ironwood. She had caught glimpses of deer and beaver, a fat porcupine.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “No wonder your people fought so hard to keep this place.”

Tate Sapa frowned. Fought? They were still fighting. And then he remembered that Susannah had told him that, at some future time, the Hills would be lost to his people. He could not imagine such a thing, could not imagine how his people could survive if their very heart was taken from them.

They made camp in a meadow near a slow-moving stream.

Susannah watched in amazement as the women raised their lodges. In less than no time at all, the village looked as though it had been there for days instead of hours.

Children ran through the meadow, exuberant in their youth. Dogs were everywhere, barking, fighting, chasing after the children.

The horse herd grazed in the distance, covering the ground like a huge, multicolored blanket.

Soon, cook fires were lit and the scent of roasting meat permeated the air.

Susannah helped Black Wind erect their tipi, her awe for the Indian women increasing. How did they manage on their own? The poles—she learned there were twenty of them, eighteen for the frame and two for the smoke flaps—were heavy. The lodge cover was large and awkward to handle. She knew she could never have raised the tipi on her own, yet none of the other women needed men to help them.

Several of the warriors came by to watch Black Wind. She couldn’t understand what they said, but she knew by the looks on their faces and their gestures that they were teasing him for doing “women’s work”. She overheard the words
winyan wasichu
, and guessed they were saying derogatory things about her because she needed a man’s help.

The lodge went up much faster than she would have imagined. When it was up and the smoke flaps set, Black Wind left her to set up housekeeping.

She was glad to be able to go inside, away from curious stares. She carried their belongings into the lodge, then stood there a moment, trying to remember where everything went. The tipi was quite roomy, probably about twenty feet in diameter.

She spread the sleeping robes along the back wall, dug a small fire pit in the center, arranged the cooking utensils on one side of the lodge. There were two willow bark back rests with furry covers. She would have to ask Black Wind to make one for her too, she thought. A tripod held Black Wind’s shield and lance. Large
parfleches
held their extra clothing; smaller ones held Black Wind’s war paint, extra bridles, strips of rawhide. She piled He Wonjetah’s belongings on his bedroll, certain he would not want her going through his things.

When she was finished, she gathered her courage and went outside. They would need wood for the fire and she was determined to get it. Black Wind had suffered enough ridicule on her account. Finding wood was something she could do on her own.

She was conscious of being watched as she made her way toward the forest that grew on the edge of the meadow. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care that the Indians didn’t like her, didn’t trust her, but she knew it was a lie. She’d never had trouble making friends, never been on the outside looking in, until now.

Back straight, shoulders square, she kept walking, not relaxing until the trees hid her from view. With a sigh, she began to gather the small branches and twigs that littered the ground. Birds twittered in the tree tops; a squirrel watched her pass by. The hum of insects blended with the sighing of the wind.

When she’d gathered an armful of wood, she turned around and headed back the way she’d come, only then realizing that she wasn’t sure which direction to go. She hadn’t walked in a straight line and now, deep in the heart of the forest, she had no idea which way to go. She fought back a rush of panic.