Feather in the Wind (22 page)

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?”

Susannah nodded. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind but that the sergeant meant every word, or that he was capable of shooting Black Wind in cold blood.

“Good.” He squatted on his heels in a corner of the stall, his pistol in his hand. “You men, take cover. Fint, turn out that lamp.”

* * * * *

Tate Sapa ran effortlessly through the night, reveling in the cool wind against his face, the feel of the earth beneath his feet. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of sage and grass, the pungent odor of a skunk.

It was exhilarating, to be running wild and free through the night, bringing to mind the first time he had gone on a horse stealing expedition. He had been a young warrior then, eager to count his first coup, to steal horses from the Crow, to raid the villages of the Pawnee.

He had soon learned that war had a price, and that it was most often paid by the elderly and the very young. When a warrior was killed, his family sometimes went hungry. When enemy tribes attacked their village, the old and infirm were often struck down. Unable to flee, too old to fight, they sometimes sacrificed their lives to save those who were younger. He had seen men and women too old to fight hurl themselves in front of the soldiers’ horses in an effort to slow them down so that children and grandchildren might have time to run to safety.

His comrades sometimes thought him a coward because he spoke for peace instead of war. But his bravery in battle, the number of coup he had counted, the horses he had stolen, soon silenced their accusations. Of all the young men in his tribe, none had garnered more honors in battle than he had.

He came to a halt atop a small rise, his gaze running over the buildings situated below. No lights shone in the house.

He stood there until his breathing returned to normal, studying the layout of the house and corrals, silently thanking
Wakán Tanka
that the moon and stars were hidden behind a bank of clouds.

Running lightly, he ran down the slope, slowing to a walk as he moved downwind toward the nearest corral. There were three horses inside. He studied them quickly, picking a dun-colored gelding and a dark-gray mare.

Pulling a bridle from the waistband of his clout, he slipped between the bars.

The horses eyed him warily as he moved toward them.

“Easy,
tasunke
,” he murmured. “Easy now.”

Moving slowly, he approached the gray. She whinnied softly, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in his scent.

“Easy,
tasunke
.” He slipped the bridle over her head and fastened it in place, then removed the rope wrapped around his waist, fashioned a loop, and dropped it over the dun’s neck.

Leading both horses, he opened the corral gate, then vaulted onto the back of the gray. Drumming his heels into the mare’s sides, he rode out of the corral.

* * * * *

Heart pounding, Susannah lay in the darkness, ears straining for some sound of Black Wind’s return. She had to warn him away, but how? Beside her, she heard the sergeant shifting in the straw. She could smell the perspiration clinging to his clothes. She couldn’t let these men take him back to the fort, she thought frantically, she couldn’t bear the thought of him being imprisoned again or, worse, being hanged.

She drew in a sharp breath as she heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching the barn, then the soft tread of moccasins as Black Wind stepped into the barn. He hesitated inside the doorway, and she wondered if he sensed something was wrong. She could feel a sheen of nervous perspiration on her brow, the rapid beating of her heart. The other soldiers were in the loft. If she warned Black Wind now, he had a good chance of getting away before they shot him.

“Run!” She scrambled to her feet as she shouted the warning, screamed with pain as liquid fire seared through her right arm and side.

She reeled forward, striking her head on the edge of the stall, and then blackness engulfed her.

* * * * *

“Susannah? Susannah? Landsakes, child, can you hear me?”

Hester’s voice penetrated layers of darkness, calling her from the comfort of oblivion to the awareness of pain. With a groan, she opened her eyes to find Hester hovering over her, a worried expression on her face.

“Thank the Lord,” Hester murmured. “You gave me quite a fright.”

“Black Wind?” Susannah tried to sit up, then fell back against the pillows as pain slashed through her right arm and side. “Where is he? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine.” Hester placed her hand on Susannah’s brow. “You’ve got a touch of fever. Here, drink this.”

She held a cup to Susannah’s lips.

Susannah took several swallows. “What happened?”

“That fool sergeant shot you. He was aiming for Black Wind when you stood up.” Hester sniffed loudly. “Landsakes, child, you might have been killed.”

It was a sobering thought. If she died here, no one back home would ever know what had happened to her. Of course, unless she found her way back home, they’d never know anyway.

“Seems like you’re always doctoring one of us,” Susannah said wearily. “I’ll bet you’re sorry we ever came here.”

“Nonsense! I’m glad to do it. Well, not glad to do it,” Hester said, grinning, “but glad to be able to help. You get some rest now.”