The men were dancing now. Susannah watched Black Wind, mesmerized by the way the firelight played over his tall, bronze body. He wore a clout, moccasins beaded in red and black, and a fringed vest. His hair flowed down his back like a river of black silk, save for one braid, which fell over his left shoulder. The eagle feather was tied to the end of the braid. He moved with infinite grace, his whole body dipping and swaying to the beat of the drum. He was beautiful, so beautiful, and when his gaze met hers, she felt the touch of it clear down to her soul. Those eyes, dark liquid black eyes that held secrets only she would ever know, promises that only the two of them could keep.
He was dancing for her, only her. It was the sexiest, most romantic thing any man had ever done. Desire flared to life in the deepest part of her as she watched him. The firelight played over his copper-hued skin, loving him, caressing him, reminding her of a Greek statue come to life.
When the dance was over, she was waiting for him, ready for him.
Taking her by the hand, he led her away from the dance circle. She stopped him once, needing to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers. He hugged her close, his lips fusing to hers, kissing her as if he would never stop.
Gasping her name, he swung her into his arms and carried her deeper into the shadows of the night until they came to a secluded glen near the river.
He was a warrior that night, a man who knew what he wanted and would not be denied. But she had no thought to deny him. She gave him her heart and soul that night, the promise of forever…
* * * * *
It seemed unfair that, just as she was beginning to feel as though she had found her place in the village, it was time to leave.
“How long will it take us to reach Rock Tree Creek?” Susannah asked.
“Seven days, maybe eight.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Three warriors rode behind them. She wasn’t sure how she felt about spending a week out on the plains with four men. Black Wind had decided not to bother with a lodge, so they would be sleeping outside. Privacy would be minimal.
What can’t be changed must be endured. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard that, but it seemed fitting. She grinned as she recalled a line of dialogue from Steel Magnolias, something about that which doesn’t kill us can only make us stronger.
Attitude, she mused. It was all attitude. If she looked on this trip as a trial, then it would be. On the other hand, if she decided it was going to fun, well then, it would just be an adventure.
They rode at a leisurely pace. Susannah was struck anew by the beauty of the countryside. It was lush and green, the sky a sharp clear blue. Miles of rolling grassland stretched ahead of them, tall enough to brush the bellies of the horses. It was sad to think that, in only a few years, everything would be changed. The Indians would be rounded up and confined on reservations, their way of life forever gone. They would be forbidden to live as they had always lived. Their religion would be outlawed, their children sent away to boarding schools, forbidden to speak their Native language.
Such inhumanity was beyond her comprehension. Surely it could have been handled differently, she thought. Had it really been necessary to take children away from their parents, to forbid them to speak the only language they knew? Why did her people think their way was the only way?
She shook off her morbid thoughts. She was only one person; there was nothing she could do to change things. History had already been written, the fate of the Indians settled long before she had been born. And yet she was here, in the middle of Indian country…it was mind-boggling.
They rode for several hours, then paused to eat and rest the horses.
Susannah watched Black Wind. He moved with an air of confidence that she had never noticed in the men of her acquaintance. He belonged here, in this place. He knew who he was, what he was, where he fit in the scheme of things. She had learned that the Lakota believed that everything was alive. Rocks, trees, each blade of grass, the mountains themselves, all were alive. When an Indian killed an animal, he thanked the animal for giving up its life so that the people might live, and then he left a part of the meat behind to appease the wanagi, the spirits.
She watched Black Wind lead their horses to a small stream to drink. She never tired of watching him. He moved with such assurance, such innate grace. She knew he was aware of everything around him—the horses, the direction of the wind, the small animals that scurried through the grass.
Chewing on a hunk of jerky, she studied the other warriors.
Two of them were squatting on their heels, sharing a waterskin; the third was standing a little apart, obviously keeping watch.
Susannah looked out over the grassland, thinking it would be virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on them. There were no rocks or trees to shield an enemy, yet one man stood guard.
A short time later, they were riding again. Leaning forward, Susannah patted Broomhilda’s neck. In retrospect, she had decided it was a silly name for a horse, so she had taken to calling the mare Hildy, which probably wasn’t much better. Hildy had a nice, rocking chair walk, a rather bumpy trot and a smooth, easy lope.
There was something remarkably pleasant about riding across the plains. She had heard some of her girlfriends talking about how wonderful horseback riding was. Until now, she had never understood their enthusiasm, but she had to admit there was something relaxing about it. Maybe it was the sense of being in control of such a large animal, although she wasn’t sure she really was in control. Maybe it was the sense of well-being that came from being out in the open. Whatever it was, she was beginning to feel a sort of bond with Hildy.
She slid a glance at Black Wind. She felt a bond of another kind with him, a deep, everlasting bond, as if they had been promised to each other before time began, mated before the foundation of the world.
“Are you all right?” Tate Sapa asked. “Do you need to stop?”
“No, I’m fine.” She smiled as happiness bubbled up inside her. “I’m wonderful!”
Tate Sapa grinned, baffled by her sudden exuberance.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Susannah exclaimed. “And I’m so happy.”
“You do not wish to go back to your own time then?”
“No. I want to stay here with you, forever and ever.” Needing to touch him, she reined her horse closer to his and placed her hand on his thigh. “I’m pregnant, Tate, I just know it.”
He stared at her, speechless. Pregnant!
“You are sure?”
Susannah nodded. It had been seven weeks since the night they had made love in the glen. She had known that night that their union would produce a child, and now she was certain.
She withdrew her hand from his thigh, stung by his silence, by his apparent disapproval. “Don’t you want a baby?”
“Of course, but…” He shook his head. A child. It was too soon, and his life was too unsettled. If an agreement could not be reached with the Army, the Lakota would soon be at war. He felt Susannah watching him, waiting for him to say something. He glanced over his shoulder, then met her eyes. “We will talk of it later, when we are alone.”
“Fine.” Blinking back her tears, Susannah urged Hildy into a lope. She was glad when Black Wind let her go. She needed to be alone.
He didn’t want the baby. She let her tears fall, felt them dry on her face as the warm wind brushed her cheeks. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him so soon. Maybe she should have waited until they were alone. It wouldn’t have changed anything, she told herself angrily. If he didn’t want it, then he didn’t want it, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was pregnant and that was that…
Oh Lord, pregnant! The Indian women didn’t have doctors and hospitals. They had midwives and tipis. And she’d always been such a coward, determined to be out cold if she ever had a baby. Natural childbirth in a hospital was one thing she had never wanted to experience; natural childbirth in an Indian village was unthinkable, frightening beyond words. What if there was a pro
blem? So many things could go wrong during childbirth…the baby could come early, the baby could die, she could die…
“Su-san-nah.”
She turned toward the sound of his voice. She’d been so lost in a nightmare of her own making, she hadn’t even been aware of him beside her.
“What is wrong?”
“I’m afraid! I don’t want to have a baby, not out here.”
One look at Susannah’s face, and Tate Sapa decided they would camp where they were for the night. There were a few trees for shelter, a small stream would provide water. He sent the other men off to see if they could find fresh meat, then lifted Susannah from the back of her horse and sheltered her in his arms.
“What is it, wastelakapi?” he asked quietly.
“I’m not ready to be a mother!” She clutched at his shirt, her fingers curling around the material. “I don’t know anything about babies. You don’t want it, and I don’t want to have it out here, in the wilderness.”
“Su-san-nah…”
“No, no, I’m afraid. I’ve always been afraid.”
“Su-san-nah, it will be all right. Our women have strong healthy babies. They will help you when the time comes.”
“You don’t want it. I thought you’d be glad.”
“I am glad.” Lightly, he stroked her hair. “I hope to give you many children. Many sons.”
She looked up at him, her gaze searching his. He meant it. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. “Sons?” she repeated with a teasing smile.
“Sons.”
Susannah folded her arms over her stomach in an age-old protective gesture. “It could be a girl.”
“She will be welcome.”
“You’re not mad then?”
“No, Su-san-nah, how could I be angry?” His eyes smiled at her. “You did not make this child by yourself.” He dragged the tip of his finger down her cheek. “It is not the child that concerns me.”
“It’s the timing, isn’t it? You’d rather it hadn’t happened now.”
Tate Sapa nodded. “I would have hoped our child would be born in a time of peace.” A deep sigh escaped his lips. “But I fear those times are gone from us.”
Susannah rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
She didn’t know a great deal about history, but she was afraid Black Wind was right. He held her close, as if he could shield her and their child from the trouble that was sure to come.
That first day set the pattern for the rest. They rose early, rode until noon, stopped to eat and rest the horses, rode another few hours, stopped to rest the horses, then rode until dusk. They always found a campsite located near a waterhole or a stream but never camped too close to the source of the water.
“We do not want to scare away the animals that come to drink,” Tate Sapa explained when Susannah asked why they didn’t camp closer to the river. “Our enemies, too, may stop here for water. It is safer not to be too close.”
“Enemies?”
“The Crow.”
Susannah glanced around, as if expecting to see a hundred warriors descending on them. “Here?”
“They often sneak into our land to steal our horses.”
At her stricken look, Tate Sapa grinned. “They are our ancient enemies, Su-san-nah. They steal from us, and we steal from them. It is considered a great coup, to steal an enemy’s war horse.”
“Really?” she asked weakly. She thought of the horse Tate Sapa kept tethered near their lodge. “Sounds dangerous.”
“It can be.”
“Have you ever stolen from the Crow?”
Tate Sapa nodded. “When I was a young warrior, my friend and I went into the land of the Crow. We captured two war ponies, then drove off the Crow horse herd. The Old Ones made a song for us, and our parents held a giveaway to honor our bravery.”
“You don’t do things like that anymore, do you?”
“Not too often.”
In the evenings, the men told stories. Sometimes they spoke of battles, sometimes they told funny stories, and sometimes they told what Susannah thought of as Lakota Bible stories. One of her favorites was the Lakota version of the creation.
Genesis began “In the beginning…” and so did Black Wind’s story.
“In the beginning,” he said, “there was Inyan, who dwelled with Hanhepi, the Darkness. Inyan was soft but without form, but he was all powerful and he was everywhere. His powers were in his blood, and his blood was blue. His spirit was Wakán Tanka.
“Inyan wanted to use his powers to rule others, but there were no others, and so he took a part of himself and created Maka, the Earth. But he used so much of himself that his veins opened and his blood flowed, and his blood became the waters of the earth. The powers could not live in the water, so they became the great blue dome of the sky and became Skan.
“After a time, Maka grew angry because she was not a separate being, but a part of Inyan. She said she could not control the waters, and she could not see herself because it was always dark. She demanded that Inyan banish Hanhepi, but Inyan replied that he had used all his blood in creating her and now he was powerless.
“Maka took her complaint to Skan, who divided Hanhepi in two halves—one remained in darkness and was banished to the regions under the earth. The other half became Anpetu, the Light and commanded that she make all things visible. And now there was light everywhere, but no shadow and no heat.
“Maka saw herself and cried that she was cold and ugly. Then she saw the blue waters and divided them into lakes and seas and rivers and used them to adorn herself.
“But she was still unhappy, and she complained to Skan that she was tired of the brightness, and she was cold. So Skan created Wi, the Sun, and he placed Wi above the blue dome and commanded him to shine and give heat.
“But there was still unrest. Maka complained that the world was too hot, and asked Skan to bring Hanhepi back to the world to give relief from the sun. And Wi complained that he had no rest. So Skan decreed that there should be night time and day time, and Wi should rule over the day, and Hanwi, the Moon, would rule over the night.
“And so there were four Sacred Beings—Skan, Inyan, Maka, and Wi, and these four became Wakán Tanka, which no one can understand. Skan became the source of all power, and his domain was everywhere; Wi became the chief of the Sacred Beings; from Maka would come all creatures of the world; Inyan ruled over the rocks and mountains. Colors were assigned to each of the powers: Inyan’s color was yellow, Maka’s was green, Wi’s was red, and Skan’s was the blue of the sky.”
Feeling as content as a child after a bedtime story, Susannah curled up in Tate Sapa’s arms and went to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
Seven days later, they reached the appointed place. Tate Sapa and his men had dressed with care for the occasion, donning their best clouts, moccasins, leggings and shirts.
Susannah wore an ankle-length doeskin dress that was as soft as velvet. There was a bright red sash at her waist.
Her gaze moved lovingly over Black Wind. He looked every inch the proud warrior in fringed leggings, a wolf-skin clout, and a shirt that had been bleached white. Long fringe dangled from the sleeves, the yoke had been beaded in yellow and black.
Her gaze lingered on the black and white eagle feather tied in his hair. It reminded her of the photograph she had bought at the POW WOW, which reminded her of home. She wished she had some way of notifying her parents and letting them know she was all right.
If time passed in the future at the same rate it did in the past, then she was in deep trouble with her editor, her landlord had most likely boxed up her clothing, put her furniture in storage (or sold it!) and rented her apartment to someone else, and everyone she knew must think she had met with foul play or dropped off the end of the earth…
All Susannah’s worries about home fled her mind, replaced by a sense of foreboding, when she saw the two large tents set up in the grassy hollow between two gently sloping hills. Flags flu
ttered in the breeze that blew over the prairie. Horses were tethered to ropes strung between trees; numerous blue-clad men could be seen engaged in various activities.
She heard Black Wind mutter something under his breath. Following his gaze, she saw several Indians dressed in the garb of Indian police.
“I don’t think we should go down there,” Susannah said. She placed her hand on Black Wind’s arm. “Let’s go back.”
Tate Sapa shook his head. “I must try for peace one last time, Su-san-nah.”
“How far is the fort from here?”
“Not far.” He pointed eastward. “No more than a hard day’s ride.”
“Then the Micklins are close by?”
“That way,” Tate Sapa said, pointing over his shoulder.
Somehow, knowing that Hester and Abe were nearby made Susannah feel better.
“Ready?” Black Wind asked.
She wasn’t, but there was nothing to be gained in delaying any longer.
Tate Sapa gave her a smile of encouragement, then led the way down the hill.
“Riders comin’!”
The shout went up from one of the troopers as they approached the encampment. There was the sound of a bugle. Soldiers grabbed their weapons and formed a line, standing at attention.
Susannah stared at the tall, gray-haired man who emerged from the larger of the two tents. It was none other than Colonel William Henry O’Neill, who had once accused her of being a spy.
“Just like old home week,” Susannah muttered as she reined her horse to a halt. Silently, she prayed that the colonel would not recognize her since she was dressed like a Lakota woman. Her hair had grown a little longer in the last few months, the sun had turned her skin a dark golden brown.
Colonel O’Neill stepped forward, followed by his interpreter.
“Tell them I bid my Sioux brothers welcome,” O’Neill said, his voice stiff and formal.
Tate Sapa nodded curtly. “I understand your language.”
“Oh, well, that’s good,” the Colonel replied. He dismissed the interpreter with a wave of his hand.
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