“She’s so young,” Kelsey said.
He grunted softly. “That’s a good thing, to my way of thinking. Young’uns adjust to new situations quicker and she’ll have a lot to get used to. Tipi livin’ won’t be easy for her, but she’s young and strong and she’s tough inside.”
“Maybe, but she’s innocent, too, in spite of the way she was raised. It just seems like such a lot to take on, all at once, a new husband, a new culture, a new way of life.”
Reese grinned into the darkness. “By this time next year, she’ll be as Indian as Hehaka Luta.”
Kelsey laughed softly. “I hope you’re right.”
“Sweetheart, I’m always right.”
Kelsey shook her head. She had never yet met a man who didn’t believe the same thing. Right or wrong, they were always right! She frowned, trying to remember something she’d read or heard that seemed to echo those sentiments. How did it go? Something like, I’m never wrong, but I might not be as right as I usually am.
“Do you think…” Before she could finish her thought, Reese began to caress her.
“I don’t want to talk about Angelina,” he said, his voice husky with mounting desire.
“No?” she asked, her pulse quickly speeding up. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You,” he said, nuzzling her cheek.
“What about me?”
“Everything, like the way your voice trembles when I touch you here…and the way your breath catches in your throat when I do this…the way your skin tastes when I run my tongue across your belly…”
She moaned, all thoughts of Angie and Hehaka Luta stricken from her mind by the sensual touch of her husband’s hands exploring her body, the heat of his tongue laving her skin, the press of his erection against her thigh.
With a low groan, she turned in his arms and began a slow seduction of her own.
* * * * *
Angelina soon discovered that building a tipi wasn’t easy. There were poles to be cut and hides to be measured, cut and sewn together. A small tipi required seven hides, larger ones used twelve or more. Hantaywee’s gift to the bride was nine hides that had already been tanned, along with food and drink for the women she had invited to help her and Angelina build the lodge.
While they worked, Hantaywee explained to Angie and Kelsey that, with practice, a tipi could be struck and packed and its furnishings and contents loaded on a travois in a very short time. In making camp, two women could raise a tipi and set up housekeeping in less than an hour.
Hantaywee also informed them that once the lodge was completed, she would make a dew cloth, which was also made from hides. This would be fastened to the poles on the inside of the lodge and would be roughly shoulder-height. Dew cloths were used to keep dew out of the tipi and also acted as insulation, keeping the lodge warmer in winter and cooler in summer. Warriors often painted their war records on the lining and sometimes invited their friends to come in and do the same.
So much to do, so much to learn, Angie thought as she struggled to sew two of the hides together. Not that she minded the work. Every stitch brought her home closer to completion, closer to the day when she would be Hehaka Luta’s wife. Excitement mingled with trepidation when she thought about living among the Lakota. She didn’t really belong here. Would she always feel that way? She wondered if the young women would make her welcome or if they would shun her because she was an outsider?
With a shake of her head, Angie she put such thoughts from her mind. Though she hadn’t made any real friends among the Indians yet, the young women smiled at her when they passed by, the young men nodded respectfully. The women who were helping her build her lodge seemed friendly enough. She didn’t speak the language well enough to follow their rapid conversation but she didn’t feel excluded. They spoke slowly when they spoke to her, sometimes laughing behind their hands when she stumbled over a word, but there was nothing cruel or mocking in their tone. They were laughing with her, not at her.
That evening, on the pretext of going to the river for water, Angelina ran into Hehaka Luta. Taking her by the hand, he quickly drew her off the path and into the cover of the trees.
“Mitawin,” he murmured. My woman.
“Yes,” she whispered, dropping the waterskin to the ground. “Oh, yes.”
Because he was still shy about being intimate, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him to her. He smelled of smoke and sage, of horse and leather and she loved it. Lifting one hand, she ran it through his hair. It was longer than her own, thick and black.
His eyes grew hot as she rained butterfly kisses on his bare chest.
“You are bold, for a woman,” he said.
“Oh! I’m sorry.” Chastened, she backed away from him.
Hehaka Luta frowned. “Have I offended you?”
“No, but I, that is…” She looked away, her cheeks burning. They had caressed each other under the courting blanket, perhaps that was the only time it was permissible.
With a gentle smile, he drew her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I did not mean for you to stop.”
She looked up at him, confused. “I thought you didn’t like it.”
“Foolish woman,” he replied, his dark eyes sparkling.
She smiled up at him; then, rising on her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Kissed him until her toes curled. Kissed him until his body trembled against hers. Kissed him until he suddenly put her away from him and disappeared into the underbrush.
Only then did she hear the voices of two other women coming down the path.
Smoothing her hair and her skirt, Angie picked up her waterskin and stepped out onto the trail.
She smiled at the two women, both of whom she recognized. They were about her age, both tall and slender, with beautiful black hair and dark eyes.
They both smiled back at her, a knowing expression on their faces as they continued down the path toward the river.
* * * * *
And suddenly the day of her marriage was upon her. Angelina stood in Hantaywee’s lodge, wishing she had a mirror so she could see how she looked in the doeskin tunic the old medicine woman had made for her. She ran her hands over the material. It was cream-colored and buttery soft. Yellow beads adorned the yoke. Long fringe dangled from the sleeves and the hem. Tiny silver bells had been sewn to the fringe, the bells chimed softly each time she moved. Hantaywee had made her a new pair of moccasins decorated with yellow beads, as well.
Angie looked over at Kelsey, who was also wearing a new dress courtesy of Hantaywee.
“You look lovely, Angie,” Kelsey said, smiling.
“Do I?”
“Look into Hehaka Luta’s eyes when he sees you and you’ll know just how pretty you are.”
“You look nice, too,” Angie said. Kelsey’s tunic was similar to Angie’s, although the yoke was plain and the fringe wasn’t as long or adorned with silver bells.
Hantaywee placed her hand on Angie’s arm. “Are you ready, cunksi?” she asked.
Hearing Hantaywee call her “my daughter” brought a quick sheen of tears to Angie’s eyes. Impulsively, she hugged the old woman. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”
Hantaywee nodded. “You are one of us now. You have no family here, so I will be your family, if you wish.”
“Oh, I do!”
Hantaywee smiled. “Your young man is waiting.”
Suddenly nervous, Angie lifted the door flap and stepped outside.
Reese and Papa Joe were waiting outside, but Angie had eyes only for Hehaka Luta. He wore a buckskin clout, a vest painted with suns and moons and moccasins. His long black hair fell down his back, a wide copper band circled his left biceps, a single eagle feather adorned his hair. He was beautiful.
There was no official wedding ceremony, but Hantaywee had prepared a feast to celebrate their marriage. Everyone in the village had been invited. There were gifts for the bride and groom—backrests and blanke
ts, cook pots and fly whisks, a string of bells to tie to one of the lodgepoles, a tool for scraping hides.
Angie was touched by the generosity of the Lakota people. As the feast went on, she grew more and more anxious for the time when she and Hehaka Luta would be alone.
At dusk, Hehaka Luta rose. Taking her by the hand, he led her to their lodge, which was located a short distance from Hantaywee’s. He lifted the flap for her, then followed her inside.
Angelina stood in the center of her new home, her heart pounding. According to Lakota custom, they were married, but she didn’t feel married.
“There should be words,” she said, looking up at her new husband.
He raised one brow in question.
“We should promise to love one another,” she said haltingly, “you know, in sickness and health, for as long as we live.”
“Ah.” Hehaka Luta took her hands in his. “I will love you and protect you for as long as I live,” he said, his voice quiet and all the more powerful because of it.
“I’ll love you as long as I live,” Angie said. “I promise to be a good wife and to take care of you if you get sick and to stand beside you no matter what.”
He squeezed her hands. “I will care for you and provide for you and for our children, always.”
Children. Angie’s cheeks grew hot at the thought of how children were conceived.
“Do you want children?” Hehaka Luta asked.
She nodded, suddenly unable to speak. She could get pregnant tonight. Was she ready to be a mother?
“Mitawin?”
With a sigh, she went into his arms. At the touch of his mouth on hers, all doubts and fears for the future melted away. She was his now, as he was hers. Tomorrow would take care of itself. Today, she wanted to learn more about her husband, what he liked, what he didn’t like. She wanted to taste and touch and explore every inch of him.
She sighed with pleasure when he led her to their blankets in the rear of the lodge and stretched out beside her, as eager as she to begin their journey of discovery, a discovery that, hopefully, would never end.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Kelsey saw Angie the following morning, her first thought was that the expression on the bride’s face was exactly like the one Scarlett had worn the morning after Rhett Butler had swept her into his arms and carried her up that long flight of stairs. Kelsey had a feeling she had worn a similar expression after Reese made love to her the first time. She smiled at the memory.
“Good morning,” Angie said, sitting down beside her.
“Good morning.”
“Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
“Indeed it is,” Kelsey said with a grin. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Angie’s cheeks turned bright red.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Kelsey said, hoping to ease Angie’s mind.
Angie glanced around, her cheeks turning even redder, if possible.
“What’s wrong?” Kelsey asked, puzzled by the girl’s embarrassment.
“Nothing, but…” She fidgeted with the hem of her tunic. “Everyone knows what we did, don’t they?”
“Is that what’s bothering you?”
Angie nodded.
“Believe me, no one is giving it a second thought.”
“I guess…” She blew out a sigh. “I don’t know how to explain it. I spent my whole life thinking what went on between a man and a woman was shameful, you know, something dirty.”
“There’s nothing shameful about it when a man and a woman are in love,” Kelsey said. “It’s the most beautiful way two people can express their feelings for each other.”
“He was so gentle,” Angie said softly. “I never knew anything could be so wonderful.”
Kelsey put her arm around Angelina’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze, grateful that she would have one less thing to worry about when she went back home.
In the days that followed, Kelsey and Angie learned a good deal about Lakota housekeeping. Reese and Hehaka Luta spent their days hunting while Hantaywee taught Kelsey and Angie how to tan the hides their men brought home. It was, Kelsey thought, a rather disgusting process. After staking the hide out on the ground, Kelsey scraped away the meat and gristle with a chisel-like instrument Hantaywee had given her. It was an arduous task, hard on the knees and the back.
Once the hide was scraped clean, it was left to dry in the sun for several days and then it was scraped again with a short tool that reminded Kelsey of a hoe. The purpose of this scraping was to even out the thickness of the hide. When that was done, the hide was turned over so the hair could be removed.
When she finished scraping away the hair, the hide was hard and stiff, making Kelsey wonder if she had done something wrong, because there was no way in the world that that hide could be used for anything other than a door mat, or maybe a bulletproof shield! But, not to fear, she wasn’t done yet. Following Hantaywee’s directions, Kelsey soaked the hide in water for two days and voila! It was soft and pliable.
Now came the most disgusting part of all. Hantaywee showed Kelsey and Angie how to make a mixture out of brains, liver, fat and red grass, which was to be rubbed thoroughly into the skin.
Kelsey glanced at the mess in the pot, then glanced at Angie, who looked as horrified as Kelsey felt at the idea of rubbing the mixture into the hide. Grimacing, Kelsey got to work, figuring that the sooner she got started, the sooner she would be finished. When she was done, the hide was again left to dry.
The next time they got together, Hantaywee showed them how to stretch the hide.
When the hide was finally ready to be cut and used, Kelsey realized she had spent ten days preparing the thing. Ten days! Shopping for clothes at Nordstrom’s was definitely easier!
Hantaywee taught them how to cook over an open fire and how to butcher a deer carcass, which was even grosser than tanning the hide.
To Kelsey’s surprise, Angie quickly mastered everything she was taught. She soon overcame her aversion to tanning and butchering. Her ability to speak Lakota grew by leaps and bounds and by early fall, Reese’s prediction had come true. Angelina Ridgeway was just as Indian as Hehaka Luta. But for her long blonde hair, she could have easily passed for a Lakota woman.
Reese, however, remained a man apart. Kelsey often thought it must be difficult for him to be there when the place and the people held so many unhappy memories, but he never complained. He spent most of his days away from the village, hunting with Hehaka Luta, but he spent his nights with Kelsey. Though they hadn’t spoken of parting, it was always there between them. Their lovemaking grew more frequent. Sometimes quick and intense, sometimes slow and exquisitely tender, they made love as if each time might be the last time.
Kelsey ran her hands over every inch of his body, imprinting the touch of it, the warmth of it, the musky scent of it in her memory. Mentally, she recorded his laughter and his smile, the husky sound of her name on his lips, the warmth of his breath against her cheek, the touch of his calloused hands on her skin, the sweet sensation of his fingers in her hair, the heat in his eyes when he rose over her in the dark of the night, the tinkling of the bells outside their lodge. She wished she had a camera with her so she could photograph him from every angle, waking and sleeping.
Now, sitting on the riverbank in the moonlight, Kelsey gazed at the slow moving water, her thoughts turned inward. The days since Angie’s marriage had quickly turned to weeks, the weeks to months. All too soon it would be time for her and Papa Joe to return to Grant’s Crossing to await the opening of the portal that would take them back home.
Home. She wondered if her condo would ever feel like home again. How would she explain her long absence to her parents, her boss, her friends?
How could she leave Reese?
How could she stay away from her family and everything she was familiar with?
Feeling the onset of tears, she blinked rapidly, afraid if she started crying she would never be able to stop. Maybe she didn
’t have to leave him, at least not permanently. Maybe she could spend six months here, with Reese, and he could spend six months in the future, with her. But that wouldn’t work. She couldn’t leave her job for six months every year and even if she could, there was no guarantee that she would step through the portal into this exact time and place. As for Reese going with her to the future, they had never even talked it. Was it even possible? For all she knew, people from the past couldn’t travel to the future, although it seemed that if you could go from the future to the past, you should be able to go from the past to the future.
She tried to imagine Reese in her time, tried to imagine what a nineteenth-century man would think of the world she knew. Would he take to cars and technology, or would he forever feel out of place, always longing to go back to the world he had known? It would be harder, she thought, for him to adjust to the future than it had been for her to adjust to the past. After all, she had known a little of what the Old West was like, so it hadn’t been a complete shock. Even if movies and TV romanticized the wild west, she’d still had a vague idea of what to expect. But Reese had no inkling of what life was like in the future. Sure, she had told him about it as best she could, but there was no way to prepare him for crowded freeways or airplanes or shopping malls.
She massaged her temples with her fingertips in an effort to avert the headache she felt coming on.
“Here, let me do that.”
His voice sent warmth spreading through her.
“What are you doing out here alone?” he asked, sitting down behind her.
“Just thinking.”
Cradling her body between his thighs, he began to massage her temples. “What were you thinking about?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
“Like going back to Grant’s Crossing,” he guessed.
Closing her eyes, she made a soft sound of assent.
“You’re going, then?”
“It’s where I belong.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t know.” She turned imploring eyes on him. “Oh, Reese, what am I going to do?”
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