Madeline Baker - Lakota Renegade

by Lakota Renegade (lit)

  It was an amazing sight. Warriors mounted on prancing horses. Women talking together as they walked along. Children laughing as they rode the travois ponies. Dogs barking as they raced in and out of the horse herd.

  Jassy had never seen anything like it in her whole life. It was like a circus parade. Mounted on a high-stepping bay gelding, she lifted her face to the sun, her heart swelling with love and contentment. Creed rode beside her. Dressed in buckskins, his black hair glinting in the morning sun, he looked like every other warrior. He rode with the same inherent grace and arrogance as the full-blooded Lakota warriors. Tasunke Hinzi had given Creed a bow and a quiver of arrows; Mato Wakuwa had given him a long-legged gray mare.

  "Where are we going?" Jassy asked.

  "To find the buffalo."

  "Oh."

  "I'll take you to Frisco, Jassy, I promise. Right after the first hunt."

  She nodded, baffled by her churning emotions. One minute she wanted to stay with the Lakota, the next she felt as though Creed cared more for Tasunke Hinzi than he did for herthat it meant more to him to stay and go on some silly buffalo hunt than to get her to San Francisco.

  These days, it seemed as though she was always on the verge of tears. Her breasts were tender and swollen. She was always tired. Sunlata had told her it was being with child that made her want to laugh one moment and cry the next, and Jassy supposed it was true. But understanding didn't make her changeable emotions any easier to live with.

  She snapped at Creed for no reason at all, turned him away even though she wanted to be held, to be comforted. She felt fat and ugly one minute, beautiful and cherished the next. She was hungry all the time. And sometimes, at night, she craved the most peculiar things, like dill pickles and watermelon, neither one of which was available in a Lakota encampment.

  They'd been trailing the buffalo for about two weeks the night she spilled a bowl of soup.

  "Jassy, did you burn yourself?" Creed asked. He reached for her hand, but she jerked it away.

  "Leave me alone!"

  "Jassy . . ."

  "You heard me, leave me alone!"

  He stared at her for a moment, and then, ignoring her objections, he pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

  "Jassy, it's all right. Go on, cry if you want to."

  "I don't want to," she said, and burst into tears.

  He held her and rocked her until there were no tears left, until she sat spent in his arms, her head cradled on his shoulder.

  "I'm sorry, Jassy," he said quietly. "We'll leave for Frisco first thing tomorrow."

  As promised, they left the village early the following morning.

  Tasunke Hinzi provided them with horses, food, and blankets for their journey.

  Jassy felt a twinge of regret as they rode away from the village. Saying good-bye had been harder than she expected. She had come to care for Mato Wakuwa, for Tasunke Hinzi, for Sunlata, and she knew she would probably never see them again.

  She couldn't help feeling guilty for taking Creed away from his people. He had been happy with the Lakota, more at peace with himself than she had ever seen him. And yet, for all that, she wanted to go to San Francisco. She wanted to find Rose. Maybe it had something to do with being pregnant, this need to be among her own people. Whatever the reason, she knew she wouldn't rest until they found Rose. She needed to know her sister was all right. And even if Rose didn't want her, she was still the only family Jassy had.

  After what had happened on the train, Creed decided they would go cross-country on horseback, avoiding towns and settlements unless they ran out of supplies.

  Jassy couldn't help feeling apprehensive as they lost sight of the Lakota camp. It was just the two of them now, alone on the prairie.

  The countryside was beautiful. Spring flowers brightened the hills and hollows. The trees were clothed in leaves of bright green. An ocean of new grass spread as far as the eye could see.

  There was wildlife everywhere. Birds sang in the treetops. They saw spotted fawns hiding in the shelter of the underbrush and fat bear cubs frolicking near a stream.

  Mindful of Jassy's condition, Creed set a slow, careful pace, pausing often to let her rest.

  As the days passed, he hovered over her, making sure she had enough to eat and drank plenty of water. In the afternoons, he found a shady place and insisted that she nap for at least an hour. When they made camp, he did everything but the cooking.

  In spite of the long hours in the saddle and their primitive campsites, Jassy had never felt so loved or so cosseted in her life.

  She was sitting by their campfire a week later thinking how lucky she was to have a man like Creed to care for her, when she felt the baby move for the first time. Startled, she gave a little gasp. Immediately, Creed was at her side.

  "What is it?" he asked anxiously.

  "The baby," Jassy murmured. "It moved." She grabbed Creed's hand and placed it over her belly. "Here, feel."

  Creed shook his head. "I don't feel anything."

  "Wait."

  A moment later, she felt it againa faint fluttering, like angel wings.

  "Did you feel it that time?" Jassy asked.

  Creed nodded, his gaze filled with wonder. He'd known Jassy was pregnant, of course, but until now, the child hadn't been real. Now, for the first time, he realized that there was a living being growing beneath Jassy's heart, a child that would need more than just food and shelter. Never had the weight of responsibility felt so heavy. Never had he felt so unprepared, so inadequate.

  And then he felt that faint flutter again, and his heart swelled with an emotion he'd never known before. His child, he thought, awed. The living proof of his love for Jassy, and her love for him.

  He knew in that moment that he'd never loved her more, that no matter what he did, he'd never be able to repay her for giving him a little piece of immortality.

  Moved beyond words, he pulled her into his arms. "I love you," he murmured. "You know that, don't you?"

  "I know."

  "I'll try to be a good husband to you, Jassy, a good father to the baby."

  "You're already a good husband," she replied. "And you'll be a wonderful father."

  "I hope so."

  "Stop worrying, Creed. We're in this together, remember?"

  I know, but . . ." He shook his head. He had hunted outlaws and trailed renegades without a qualm, but the thought of being a father scared him right down to his moccasins.

  "I've never been a mother before, either, you know," Jassy reminded him. "What we don't know, we'll learn together." She laughed softly. I remember hearing one of the town ladies say that the good Lord gave first babies hard heads and lots of patience because they had greenhorns for parents."

  "I hope she was right," Creed muttered, "because I'm as green as they come."

  It was a long ride to San Francisco. Even though Creed kept their hours in the saddle to a minimum, the journey was tiring for Jassy. At the end of a day on the trail, her legs were sore, her back ached, and she wanted only to sleep. Creed did all the chores, both morning and evening; at night he rubbed her back and shoulders and massaged her feet.

  He held her when she cried for no reason, assuring her that everything would be all right.

  Occasionally, they made love. He was ever so gentle with her then. His kisses were as fervent as ever, but he held her carefully, as though she might shatter in his hands.

  She realized that her pregnancy frightened him, that he was afraid of hurting her or the baby. She tried to assure him that it was perfectly normal for them to continue to make love, at least for another month or so, but deep down, she, too, was afraid. She knew next to nothing about babies; she had never even held one.

  What she did remember was hearing her mother discussing childbirth with some of the other soiled doves, recounting in vivid detail the pains of giving birth. The other women had talked of their experiences, too, then went on to reminisce about friends who had died in childbirth or spent days in labo
r only to deliver a stillborn child or die themselves.

  She tried not to think of those things. She was young and healthy. She had never been with any man but Creed. She wasn't diseased, or old. She didn't drink hard liquor or smoke cigarettes. She had enough food to eat; she got plenty of rest. Surely she had nothing to fear. Except the pain. Young or old, healthy or infirm, all women agreed that nothing was worse than the pains of childbirth.

  "Please, Lord, let us make it safely to San Francisco," Jassy murmured as they bedded down that night. "Please let my baby be strong and healthy. And thank you, Lord, for Creed."

  He was the one constant in her life, the rock she stood on, the hope she clung to. With Creed beside her, she knew she could endure anything.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jassy felt a wave of relief when she got her first glimpse of San Francisco. One of the girls who had worked in the saloon with Rose had spent a Sunday afternoon regaling Rose and Daisy with stories of San Francisco, recounting how, back in the ''old days," eggs had sold for twelve dollars a dozen and houses rented for eight hundred dollars a month. Of course, the thing the city seemed most known for was fires, there being six devastating fires between 1849 and 1851, most of them set to divert attention from plundering and robbery.

  But she wasn't interested in the city's history. At the moment, all she wanted was a hot bath and a soft bed.

  "We'll be there soon, Jassy girl," Creed remarked.

  The trip had been hard on her, he mused, but she never complained. Now, as they rode closer to the town, he wondered if the trip had been worth it. Even if they found Rose, it was unlikely that she still had the money she'd stolen. But even that didn't seem as important as it once had. What mattered now was getting Jassy settled. He'd have to sell their horses to pay for a hotel room, and then he'd have to find a job. He grunted softly. With all the gambling dens in town, finding a job shouldn't be too hard.

  A short time later, he drew rein in front of a whitewashed picket fence. The sign on the gate read:

  He would have liked to be able to settle Jassy into a nice room at one of the better hotels, but weekly rates at a boardinghouse were bound to be a lot less expensive. Not only that, but the price included two meals a day.

  Creed helped Jassy from the saddle. She looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes. Trail dust lingered in her hair and smudged her cheeks. He grimaced as he glanced at their attire, wondering what the landlady would think when she got a look at Jassy's doeskin dress and his buckskins.

  "Why don't you wait here?" he suggested, not wanting to subject her to any rudeness he might encounter.

  "All right."

  "I'll be back in a minute," he said.

  For a moment, he stared at the neatly painted house, the flowerpots that lined the front porch, the blue muslin curtains fluttering in an upstairs window. The place reeked of respectability. Well, there was no help for it. Running a hand through his hair, he opened the gate and walked up to the front door.

  A buxom, gray-haired woman in her late fifties answered his knock. She wore a frilly pink-and-white apron over a starched calico dress. She eyed him warily for a moment.

  "Can I help you?" she asked, her shrewd brown eyes sizing him up in one quick glance.

  "I need a room for myself and my wife."

  The woman glanced over Creed's shoulder to where Jassy stood outside the gate.

  "You're Indian, aren't you?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  The woman stared at Jassy again. "When's your missus expecting that baby?"

  "In a couple of months."

  "I don't allow no drinking in my house," the woman said sternly. "And no tobacco chewing."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "I charge twenty dollars a week for two," she said. "In advance."

  Creed nodded. "I don't have any money just now," he said, steeling himself for her rejection. "But I will have as soon as I sell our horses." He took a deep breath, hating to ask this woman for a favor. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let my wife stay until I get back. We've been on the trail a long time, and she needs a place to rest."

  "Looks like she could use a bath, too."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  The woman regarded him for a long moment, taking in his long hair, the trail dust that covered his buckskins, the moccasins on his feet.

  "What kind of Indian are you?" she asked.

  "Lakota. Sioux."

  "You ever scalp anybody?"

  "No, ma'am."

  A faint smile tugged at the corners of the woman's lips. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?

  "No, ma'am."

  "Well, I'll say one thing for you. You're the most polite Indian I've ever met."

  "I'd venture to say I'm probably the only Indian you've ever met. Ma'am."

  The woman laughed softly. "Well, now, that's a fact." She studied him a moment more, then sighed. "What's your name?"

  Creed hesitated only a moment as he quickly searched his mind for another alias. "Macklin. Creed Macklin, ma'am. My wife's name is Jassy."

  "Macklin?" the woman said, frowning. "That doesn't sound like an Indian name to me."

  "I'm a half-breed. My mother was Irish."

  He waited while she made up her mind, then felt a rush of relief when she said, "I'm Annie Ross. Go on, get your missus. She shouldn't be standing out there in the sun."

  "Thank you," Creed said.

  "I imagine she'll be wanting a bath. I'll tell my girl to heat some water."

  "Thank you," Creed said again.

  Jassy looked at him expectantly as he walked toward her.

  "We've got a room," Creed said. He tethered the horses to the fence. "The landlady's heating water so you can have a bath. And then I want you to take a nap while I go see about selling our horses."

  A bath, Jassy thought. The mere idea sounded heavenly.

  Annie Ross met them in the foyer. Creed introduced the two women. Somewhat shyly, Jassy shook the other woman's hand.

  "Dinner's at six," Annie Ross said. "Don't be late. You can have the room upstairs, last door on the right. It has a nice big double bed."

  "Thanks," Creed said, and taking Jassy by the arm, he led her upstairs.

  The room was neat and clean. A brass bed stood against the far wall. Lace curtains covered the large window that overlooked the side yard. There was a small chest of drawers made of cherry wood, a matching commode, and an armchair covered in a flowered chintz. A small chair stood in front of a curved vanity table.

  "It's nice," Jassy said, sinking down in the chair. "Can we afford it?"

  "We'll manage. How are you feeling?"

  "Fine. A little tired, is all. Stop worrying about me, Creed. Women have babies every day." She smiled at him, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded.

  A short time later, a young girl knocked at the door. "Ma says your missus can come down and bathe whenever she's ready."

  "Thanks," Creed said. "Come on, I'll walk you downstairs. While you're taking your bath, I'll go see about selling the horses."

  "All right." She held out her hand. "Help me up, will you?"

  He grinned at her as he pulled her out of the chair and into his arms. "Pretty soon I won't be able to put my arms around you," he teased.

  "Very funny," she retorted. "Creed, do you think Rose is still here?"

  "I don't know."

  "What if she isn't?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know, honey. All I know is, we're staying put until that baby's born."

  "What if we find her and she doesn't have the money anymore?"

  "Hey, stop worrying."

  "I can't help it. We don't have any money. We don't even have any clothes . . . I'm sorry, Creed."

  "Forget it."

  "I don't mean to complain."

  "Dammit, you've got every right to complain. You deserve a hell of a lot better than you've gotten so far."

  "Creed, don't."

  "It's true, and you know it." He took a deep breath. "You might have
been killed because of me. And now you're gonna have a baby, and . . ." He swore under his breath. She was pregnant and married to a man with no money and no prospects, an escaped con with a prison record hanging over his head. "Come on," he muttered, ''your bath water's getting cold."

  There was no point arguing with him, Jassy thought, and even if there was, she was too tired.

  He hesitated at the foot of the stairs, kissed her quickly, then went out the door without a backward glance.

  With a sigh, Jassy followed Annie Ross down a narrow hallway to a small room that held a large zinc tub. Two large fluffy towels were folded atop a battered bureau.

  "Take your time," Annie Ross said, smiling. "None of my other boarders require baths during the middle of the week."

  "Thank you, Missus Ross. You've been very kind."

  "Pshaw. Mind what I said, dinner's at six. Sharp."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Call me Annie. We don't stand on formality much around here."

  "Thank you, Annie."

  With a wave of her hand, Annie Ross left the room.

  Jassy locked the door behind her, stripped off her dusty dress, and stepped carefully into the tub. She sighed as the water closed over her. She had never realized what a luxury a hot bath was. The Indians had washed every day, but they didn't have bathtubs. Men and women alike had bathed in the river.

  She dragged her fingertips through the water, wishing Creed didn't feel that he had failed her. She didn't care about having a house of her own, or fancy clothes, or a lot of money. All she wanted was Creed.

  With a sigh, Jassy closed her eyes as the water's warmth seeped into her. Of course, a house and fancy clothes would be nice, too. . . .

  An hour later, Creed made his way into the Gold Strike Saloon and ordered a glass of beer. He had sold the horses, bought himself a new pair of trousers. For Jassy, he had bought a couple of dresses and unmentionables, as well as a pair of shoes and stockings and a hairbrush. To save money, he'd kept his moccasins and his buckskin shirt. People would no doubt stare at Jassy if she wandered around town in a doeskin dress, but he doubted that his buckskin shirt and moccasins would draw much attention.

  Walking down the street, he had seen men wearing everything from fancy Eastern-cut suits to homespun shirts and Texas chaps.