Feather in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  “I feel fine, really.”

  “I know you do. And I aim to see you stay that way while you’re here.” Hester smiled at Black Wind. “Congratulations, young man. You take good care of this little gal, hear?”

  Tate Sapa nodded, pleased and amused by the older woman’s concern for Susannah. He thought it was too bad that all whites weren’t like Hester Micklin and her husband. Hester was kind and generous and, for all his complaining, Abe was a good man, one Tate felt he could trust.

  Hester quickly cut four slices of pie, poured four cups of coffee, then sat down at the table again. “Maybe the two of you should sleep here in the house. Might be more comfortable than the barn.”

  “We will stay in the barn,” Tate Sapa said.

  Hester frowned at him, then smiled. “Like your privacy, do you? Well, can’t say as I blame you.”

  Susannah felt her cheeks grow warm at the implication of Hester’s words, but she was glad Black Wind wanted to stay in the barn. And for just the reason Hester thought.

  Later, after the dishes were done, Black Wind and Susannah took a walk down by the river.

  “Susannah, I must go back to my people.”

  “All right.”

  “Will you not stay here?”

  “Not a chance.”

  He drew her into his arms and held her close. “Will our child be as stubborn as its mother, do you think?”

  “I don’t mean to be stubborn, Tate, I’m just so afraid that if we’re separated, we may never find each other again.”

  Tate Sapa rested his forehead against hers. It was a thought that had given him some concern too. She had come to him in such a miraculous way, the thought was always there, in the back of his mind, that she might be taken from him, spirited back to her own time, where he would never see her again. He lifted a hand to the eagle feather in his hair and wondered what would have happened if she had taken it when he offered. Had it truly been the means of bringing her to him, or was she a gift from Wakán Tanka, sent to fulfill his vision and ease his loneliness?

  “When do you want to leave?” Susannah asked.

  “Soon.”

  “How will we get there?”

  Tate Sapa blew out a deep breath. He had stolen a saddle and blankets from the Micklins in the past, though it had grieved him to do so, but he could not bring himself to steal their horses. The Micklins had been kind to them; he could not steal from them again, could not take something as valuable as their horses.

  “I will ask Micklin if he will let us borrow two of his horses. If not…” He shrugged. There were other settlers not far from here.

  “If not, what?”

  “Perhaps he will let me do some work to pay for the horses.”

  “What if he won’t? Do you intend to walk all the way to the village?”

  “No.”

  Susannah drew back so she could see his face. “What do you intend to do?”

  “If necessary, I will steal the horses we need.”

  “From Abe and Hester? You wouldn’t!”

  “No,” he replied soberly, “but there are other settlers nearby.”

  “You’d steal their horses?”

  “I told you before, it is considered a coup to steal from the enemy.”

  “But those settlers have done nothing to you.”

  “They are still the enemy, Su-san-nah,” he replied quietly. Susannah nodded. Looking at it from Black Wind’s point of view, it wasn’t stealing, it was war. Still, she was relieved to know he wouldn’t steal from the Micklins.

  Hand in hand, they walked back to the barn. It was warm inside, fragrant with the scent of hay and clean straw and sweet feed.

  Susannah watched Black Wind strike a match and light the lantern. He placed it on the floor near the stall where their bedding was, then crossed the barn and closed the big double doors, shutting out the night, shutting out the rest of the world.

  She watched him turn and walk toward her, his movements innately graceful, sensual. She felt excitement flutter in her stomach as he approached her, felt her heartbeat quicken in anticipation. They stood facing each other a moment and then, wordlessly, she began to undress him.

  She loved the feel of his skin beneath her hands, loved to run her fingers over his broad shoulders, over his biceps. She removed his clout, her hands sliding down his thighs and over his calves. He had nice legs for a man, long and straight and well-muscled.

  Straightening, she smiled up at him, shivering with delight as he unfastened her dress and slid it off her shoulders. She loved the touch of his hands. His fingers were long and strong, his palm calloused, yet ever gentle against her skin.

  Tate Sapa cupped Susannah’s breasts, imagining them swollen with milk, picturing his child suckling there. Stooping, he ran his tongue over her breast. Sweet, he mused, so sweet. His hands slid down her stomach to rest on her belly. Soon, it would swell with his child. And then he felt Susannah’s hands moving over his back, her fingers trailing fire, and he forgot everything but the woman in his arms and the love he felt for her.

  Removing the last of her undergarments, he drew her down on the blankets and kissed her hungrily, her smooth brow, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her lips. His tongue met hers and heat flooded through him. She tasted sweeter than wild honey, more intoxicating than the white man’s firewater.

  His restless hands caressed her, loving the touch of her skin beneath his hands, the soft, urgent moans that rose in her throat as her body responded to his caresses. He kissed her neck, the pulse throbbing in her throat, the sensitive skin behind her ear, her shoulders. His tongue laved her breasts as he rose above her.

  “Su-san-nah, wastelakapi…”

  “Yes, oh yes!” She arched beneath him, welcoming the sweet invasion of his body, her arms folding around him to hold him close, closer, her hips lifting to draw him deeper, deeper, until they were as close as two people could be, bound together body and soul by the love they shared, by the desire that flamed between them, a pure golden fire that warmed them all night long.

  * * * * *

  Abe Micklin shook his head. “Can’t let ya have none of my stock,” he said, sounding genuinely sorry. “Only got the three horses, one fer ridin’ and the two work horses. Even if I could spare ’em, one of the work horses is lame, and ain’t neither one broke to ride.”

  Tate Sapa nodded. “I understand.”

  “I might be able to buy a couple from Kendall or McCracken,” Abe mused, referring to his two nearest neighbors.

  “Are you sure you have to leave?” Hester asked as she refilled Abe’s coffee cup. “You know you’re more than welcome to stay here.”

  “That’s kind of you, Hester,” Susannah said, “but we’ve got to go back and warn the village.”

  “I hate to see you go. More coffee?”

  “Yes please. And I hate to leave.”

  Hester filled Susannah’s cup, then turned to Tate Sapa. “How about you, young man? More coffee?”

  Tate Sapa nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  Hester smiled. “You sure have nice manners for a…that is, I mean…”

  “For an Indian?” Tate Sapa suggested mildly. He smiled at her. “My people also say please and thank you.”

  “Well, of course they do! I didn’t mean…” A crimson flush stole into Hester Micklin’s cheeks. “Please don’t take no offense.”

  “You have not offended me,” Tate Sapa assured her, his smile widening. “My people think the wasichu are barbarians.”

  Hester looked offended for a moment, and then she grinned back at him. “Is that right?”

  Tate Sapa nodded. “They think the whites are a peculiar people, to live in one place the whole year long. They also think it strange that you build square houses when all of nature is round.”

  Hester put the coffeepot on the stove, then sat down beside Abe, her arms folded on the table. “Nature is round? Reckon you could explain that to me?”

  “The moon is round. The sun is round. Th
e sky is round. The stems of plants and the bodies of animals are round. The four winds circle the earth. Life itself is a circle. We are born, we live, we die, and return to the earth.”

  “Well, now, ain’t that interestin’, Abe? Go on,” Hester urged, genuinely interested, “tell me more about what the Indians believe.”

  “What do you wish to know?”

  “Do your people believe in God?”

  “Yes. We call Him Wakán Tanka.”

  “That’s kind of pretty. Ain’t it, Abe?”

  “I reckon.” Abe stood up and grabbed his hat. “I can’t sit here jawin’ all afternoon. I still got a day’s work to do.”

  “I will help you,” Tate Sapa said. He stood up and offered Hester a smile. “Thank you for the meal.”

  “You’re welcome.” Hester beamed at Susannah after the two men left the house. “I like your young man. I really do.”

  Susannah sighed. “Me too,” she murmured. “Me too.”

  Sitting back in her chair, Hester ran a hand through her hair, then smoothed her apron. “A baby,” she mused aloud. “It’s been years since I held a baby in my arms.”

  “Do you have any children?” Susannah asked.

  Hester nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. “Two boys,” she replied, her voice softer than Susannah had ever heard it. “They’re buried yonder, up on the rise behind the house.”

  “Hester, I’m so sorry.”

  “They died young, my babies. Abraham was only six months old when the Lord took him home. My Joshua only lived a week.”

  Susannah placed her hand over her stomach, as if she could somehow protect her unborn child. “What happened?”

  “Little Abe caught the pneumonia. Joshua was just born sickly. He was such a tiny little thing, hardly bigger than a minute.” Hester shook her head. “I tried to have another. My arms felt so empty. But the Good Lord didn’t see fit to send me another.” She stared past Susannah, a faraway look in her eyes.

  “Sometimes I go up and talk to them. It comforts me somehow.”

  Susannah nodded. She wished she could think of some words of comfort, some bit of universal wisdom that would ease the other woman’s heartache. She was a writer, words were her business, but she didn’t think there were enough words in all the world to ease the pain in Hester Micklin’s placid brown eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Susannah sat in the shade of the porch, watching Black Wind split kindling. The heat of the afternoon wrapped around her, making her drowsy, the sound of the axe was oddly soothing, the sight of her husband’s long, lean body was a feast for the eyes. She admired the smooth play of well-defined muscle beneath copper-hued skin as he swung the axe with steady precision, thinking she would be content to sit there all day, just watching him. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his skin, the sun cast blue-black highlights in his hair.

  She marveled at his stamina. He had been chopping wood for the better part of an hour. Earlier, she had gone inside to see if she could help Hester with the chores, but Hester had put a book in Susannah’s hands and shooed her outside, telling her to rest. The book was in her lap, unopened. Watching Black Wind make little pieces of wood out of big ones was ever so much more fascinating than reading about Oliver Twist.

  She glanced over her shoulder as she heard the door open.

  “Thought you might be thirsty,” Hester said, handing Susannah a glass of cold buttermilk. “I brought some fer him too…” Hester’s voice trailed off as she stared, open-mouthed, at Black Wind, her awed expression almost comical. “My, my,” she murmured. “If he ain’t a sight to set a woman’s heart a flutterin’.”

  “Yes indeed,” Susannah agreed.

  “Lordy,” Hester said, fanning herself with the hem of her apron, “he makes me wish I was twenty years younger.” Then, seeing the grin on Susannah’s face, she shoved the second glass of buttermilk into her hand. “I may be old, child, but I ain’t dead nor blind. Go on now, he could probably use something cold to drink. I know I could.”

  Filled with a sense of well-being, Susannah went down to join her husband.

  Black Wind put the axe aside as she approached and handed him a glass. “What is this?” he asked.

  “Buttermilk.”

  Black Wind frowned as he sniffed it, then took a drink.

  “Is it good?” Susannah asked. “I’ve never tasted it.”

  He shrugged, then drained the glass in two long swallows. “When one is thirsty, even muddy water is good.”

  “I guess.” She took a sip, then another. Wrinkling her nose with distaste, she handed him her glass. “Here, you can have mine too.”

  She watched him drink it down, thinking how pleasant it was to live with the Micklins. She pictured herself and Black Wind building a little place of their own not far from here, settling down, raising a family. It would be nice to have the Micklins for neighbors, to have Hester nearby when the baby was born.

  Later that night, lying in Black Wind’s arms, Susannah was still daydreaming. They would have a little cabin at first, just a couple of rooms. She would learn how to sew so she could make curtains for the windows, white ones for the parlor, yellow ones for the kitchen, blue ones for the nursery. In time, she would make friends with the other women, and some day the houses scattered across the prairie would become a town, and then a city. They’d build a church and a school…

  And then, with just a few words, Black Wind shattered her fantasy.

  “Where are you going?” Susannah asked as he slid out from under the covers and stood up.

  “We must leave tonight.”

  “What?” She sat up, watching him pull on his clout and moccasins.

  “It is time for us to return to my people. I cannot wait any longer.”

  “But…”

  “I will not be gone long.”

  “Gone?” She looked up at him and knew, in that moment, that he was going out to steal the horses they needed. “Are you sure you have to do this?”

  “It is the only way, Su-san-nah.”

  She bit back the urge to argue with him, realizing that horse stealing was something they would never see eye to eye on.

  Only the day before, Abe had informed Black Wind that his neighbors didn’t have any horses they were willing to sell.

  “Injuns been raiding to the south,” Abe had said with a wry grin. “Run off most of their extra stock.”

  Susannah had wondered then if Abe knew that Black Wind intended to run off a couple more.

  “Be ready when I return,” Tate Sapa said. Bending, he brushed a kiss across the top of her head. “I will be back soon.”

  She wanted to argue; instead, she nodded. “All right.”

  She kissed him goodbye, then began to dress, her hands smoothing the soft doeskin over her hips. Black Wind had said they would leave as soon as he returned. There would be no goodbyes, as Black Wind wasn’t sure what Abe would do if he learned about the stolen horses.

  With that in mind, she pulled on her moccasins and left the barn. Knowing how the whites felt about horse stealing, Black Wind had warned her not to say anything to the Micklins, but Susannah wanted to see Hester one last time before they left. Hopefully, Hester and Abe were still awake. It was still relatively early. Susannah smiled inwardly. She and Black Wind had retired early that night, though they hadn’t gone to sleep.

  As she neared the house, she heard voices. Abe’s voice, loud and belligerent, demanding that someone “get the hell off my property”.

  Peering into the darkness, Susannah saw several mounted riders gathered in front of the house. Soldiers!

  She was about to turn back toward the barn when one of the men shouted, “Look! There’s the woman!”

  Susannah froze as all attention was suddenly focused on her.

  In moments, she was surrounded by soldiers, all brandishing weapons. Low murmurs reached her ears, accusations of being a renegade, an Injun lover and worse.

  “Where’s the Indian?”


  “He’s not here.”

  “Riggs, McCarthy, search the barn. Hamilton, secure her hands.”

  “See here,” Hester called as one of the troopers dismounted and yanked Susannah’s hands behind her back. “There’s no call to be so rough.”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, I think you should mind your own business.”

  “Susannah is a decent, God-fearing woman, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had,” Hester replied sharply. “That makes it my business.”

  “Is that right? Did she tell you she’s a spy?”

  “A spy!” Hester exclaimed. “Poppycock! Abe, do something.”

  “No,” Susannah said, afraid her friends might be hurt. “Please, I’ll be fine.”

  The soldiers who had been sent to check the barn returned.

  “He’s not in there.

  “You’re sure? He has to be here somewhere.”

  “He left,” Susannah said.

  “We found some blankets in one of stalls,” the taller of the two soldiers remarked. “Looks like somebody’s been sleeping in there.”

  The sergeant nodded. “Search the house.”

  Hester planted her hands on her ample hips and glared at the sergeant. “You’ll do no such a thing,” she declared. “Abe!”

  “Best let them do what they want,” Abe warned. He took hold of Hester’s arm, his gaze focused on the rifle trained in their direction. “Damned redskin,” he muttered under his breath. “I knew he was gonna cause us trouble sooner or later.”

  The sergeant stroked his jaw. “That Injun went through a lot of trouble to come back for the woman the last time,” he mused, thinking out loud. “I don’t think he’ll leave her behind now.” He grunted softly, his mind made up. “McCarthy, you take Hamilton, Fint and Haggerty and hide in the barn. Take the woman with you. McKenna, you take these two into the house and keep ’em quiet. Hambly, get the horses out of sight. The rest of you men take cover.”

  “No!” Susannah began to struggle as one of the men took hold of her arm and forced her into the barn. “Let me go!”

  The sergeant, who had followed them into the barn, pushed Susannah into the stall where the bedding was. “Lie down and keep your mouth shut. One word out of you, and he’s dead. You understand me?”