Feather in the Wind (26 page)

“I’m sorry, Susannah.” Carter opened the door to Susannah’s cell. “I don’t need to warn you not to try anything foolish, do I?”

“No,” she replied dully, “you don’t have to warn me.”

“Good. There are two men standing guard in the office.” He smiled at her, his eyes filled with sympathy. “Just thought you ought to know, in case you change your mind.”

“Thank you, Elliott.”

He unlocked the door to Black Wind’s cell, took a step back so she could enter, then closed and locked the door behind her. “One hour,” he reminded them. “I’ll make certain no one bothers you.”

But Susannah wasn’t listening. She was crossing the floor, throwing herself into Black Wind’s arms, lifting her face for his kiss.

Tate Sapa’s arms closed around her. It seemed like years since he had held her, touched her. He whispered her name over and over again as his hands reacquainted themselves with her softness. His hands skimmed over her breasts. They felt fuller, heavier. He kissed her, tasting her sweetness as if for the first time instead of the last. He drew in a deep breath, capturing her scent, letting it fill his mind and his heart, wanting to brand the memory of this moment on his soul.

Still locked together, they slid down on his blankets. In haste, they shed their clothes, wanting nothing between them. When he hesitated, she took him in her hand and guided him home, sighing with pleasure as his flesh joined with hers, feeling her heart break as his tears joined with hers.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“And I love you.” She clung to him, holding him tight, until, for a few brief moments, she forgot everything but the ecstasy of his touch. She held him tighter, tighter, sobbing with pleasure as his life spilled into her, moaning softly with the realization that this would be the last time he made love to her.

She had hoped to spend years with this man, to grow old at his side, and now only minutes remained.

He held her close for a long while. She listened to the sound of his breathing return to normal, heard him whisper again that he loved her.

They dressed quickly, aware that their time together was almost up, then Black Wind gathered her into his arms and held her close, his hands resting lightly on the slight swell of her belly. He imagined his child sleeping there, safe and secure.

“My mother’s name was Tashina Luta,” he said. “Tell my son who his grandparents were. Tell him I loved him.”

“I will.”

“Teach him about his people. Help him to be proud to be Lakota.”

“I will, you know I will. If I can, I’ll take him to see your father. I won’t let him forget you, I promise.”

“Tell him how much I loved his mother.”

She nodded, unable to speak past the burning lump in her throat.

“Su-san-nah…so many things I want to tell you.”

“I know.” She buried her face in his shoulder, not wanting him to see her tears. There would be plenty of time to cry later, but she couldn’t stop the flood of tears, couldn’t stop her heart from breaking.

And then she heard Elliott Carter’s voice in the hallway and she knew her time with Black Wind was almost over.

With a sob, she clung to Black Wind, hugging him to her. How could she live without him? She had heard of countries where women threw themselves on the funeral pyres of their husbands. She had thought it a barbaric custom, had shuddered with revulsion at the mere idea, unable to understand why a woman would want to end her life in such a horrible way, but she knew now. She didn’t want to go on living without Tate Sapa. It was unfair that the sun would rise when he wasn’t there to see it, that people would go on as before, laughing, living, when he was dead.

As if reading her thoughts, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping her tears. “Remember your promise, Su-san-nah. You must be strong now.”

She sniffed back her tears as she gazed into his eyes. His love for her shone in the depths of his gaze, burning strong and bright.

“Death will not part us,” she said fervently. “As long as I live, as long as our child lives, you’ll live too, in our hearts and our thoughts.”

Black Wind nodded. “
Ohinniyan, wastelakapi
.”

“
Ohinniyan
,” she repeated. “Forever.”

She ran her hand through his hair, her fingertips brushing against the eagle feather. Home, she thought, if only she could take Tate Sapa and go home…

“Su-san-nah?”

“Black Wind! Black Wind! What’s happening…”

It was like being caught in the eye or a hurricane. Wind and darkness swirled around her, yet inside there was a great calm, and then it seemed as if the earth fell out from under her, swallowing her in a great black wave…

Chapter Twenty-Three

The blare of a distant siren and the high-pitched howling of the Parkers’ Golden Retriever roused Susannah from a deep sleep. She jerked to a sitting position, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief as she took in her surroundings. She was sitting on the chaise lounge in the side yard off the kitchen, and it was early afternoon.

She shook her head. Either she was hallucinating, or she was home again.

She glanced around, her gaze darting from the high brick wall that surrounded the yard, to the trees and flowers she had painstakingly planted shortly after she first moved in. She heard the sound of a door slamming, the roar of a jet passing overhead.

Had it all been a dream then?

The thought flitted through her mind, making her almost physically ill. But no, it had been real, as real as the old-fashioned calico dress and dusty moccasins she wore.

“Black Wind…” She whispered his name as a sadness too deep for tears engulfed her. She was home, she thought bleakly, only it didn’t seem like home anymore. Not when he wasn’t there to share it with her.

She glanced at her wrist, hoping to find the prayer feather magically returned to her, but it was gone, and with it her only chance of going back in time, back to the man who had claimed her heart and soul.

With a sob, she sank back on the chaise lounge and buried her face in her hands while the tears flowed down her cheeks, unchecked.

Black Wind was gone from her, and she would never see him again, never again feel the gentle touch of his hand, never hear his voice speak her name. It was a pain beyond bearing, made worse by the knowledge that he was dead, that he had been dead for almost a century before she had even been born.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, thinking of her unborn baby, lamenting the fact that her child would never know its father. She wept anew as she realized all that Black Wind would miss, all that they would never share: birthday parties and Christmas, the excitement of watching their child take its first step, the joy of hearing its first word, trips to Disneyland and the zoo, sending their son or daughter off to school.

“Black Wind…” she murmured brokenly. “Oh Black Wind…”

“Su-san-nah. What is wrong?”

His voice. Was she only imagining it?

Not daring to believe, hardly daring to breathe, she looked up and saw him striding toward her, tall and lean and handsome. Joy flooded her heart and soul as she jumped to her feet and flew into his arms.

“You’re here!” She ran her hands over his shoulders, slid her fingertips along his cheeks. “You’re here, really here. I don’t believe it!”

“Here,” Tate Sapa repeated, glancing around. He had awakened beside Susannah. Confused and disoriented, he had left her side to explore his surroundings, confused by the strange-looking house, by the high walls that surrounded him. “Where is here?”

Susannah smiled up at him, thinking how incongruous a Lakota warrior looked standing in the small, neatly landscaped side yard of her condo.

“Welcome to the twentieth century,” she said and then, unable to help it, she began to laugh, tears of happiness and relief streaming down her cheeks.

“Su-san-nah?”

At the tone of his voice, the laughter stilled in her throat. “This is where I live,” she said. She gestured at the house. “This is my lodge.”

Tate Sapa shook his head. “It is not possible. I cannot be here.” He looked at the small grassy area enclosed by a high white wall, at the three small trees bearing some sort of yellow fruit that grew in one corner, at the unfamiliar flowers that grew in red clay pots. “I do not belong here.”

“I know.” She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I didn’t belong in your time either. But you’ll get used to it.”

She glanced around the yard, at the shrubs that hadn’t been watered since she left, at the purple pansies and bright yellow tulips wilting in their pots. She was home, really and truly home.

“Come on,” she said, taking Black Wind by the hand, “let me show you around.”

It was almost more than he could comprehend. He listened to Susannah as she took him on a tour of her dwelling, which was larger than many Lakota lodges combined. Following her from section to section, he wondered if he was in the
Pa Sapa
, lost in some sort of bizarre vision. He saw things that left him feeling dazed—a large square brown box that produced pictures and sound, a tall white box that held food in many odd shapes and sizes and spit out frozen water, another smaller white box she claimed cooked food, another that washed her dishes, others that she said washed and dried her clothes.

He tried to remember the names of these objects, but they eluded his tongue. Strange names for miraculous things beyond his comprehension. No wonder his people had been unable to defeat the
wasichu
, when they were capable of creating such magic. Never in his life had he imagined such wondrous things existed.

Her bed was large and soft and had a room of its own. When he stepped inside, he was startled to see his image reflected back at him.

“It’s a mirror,” Susannah explained.

Black Wind nodded. He had seen his reflection in water, had seen his face in a small round mirror a Lakota woman had taken in trade for a beaver pelt, but he had never seen so much of himself so clearly.

She showed him another room, her office, she called it. He stared at the black-and-white picture on her desk, recognizing his own likeness as the image he had seen in his vision. Looking at it sent a shiver down his spine. He remembered the day he had been forced to stand in front of the guardhouse while two
wasichu
took his photograph. Some of his people believed the white man’s black box could capture a piece of their spirit. He had scoffed at such a thing. Now, staring at his image, he wondered if it might be true.

He followed Susannah into the section of her house she called the living room.

“This is a sofa,” she said. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”

Black Wind sat down, running his hands over the back rest. It was soft and comfortable, covered with cloth unlike anything he had ever seen. The floor beneath his feet was covered with strange material that muffled his footsteps.

Susannah returned a few minutes later. He stared at the container she offered him. A glass of orange juice, she called it. Hesitantly, he took a drink, startled by the tangy sweetness.

“Black Wind?”

He looked at Susannah, then glanced around the room again. There were paintings on the walls, colored images of Susannah standing with a tall, dark-haired man and a woman with hair the same color as Susannah’s; another of Susannah grinning up at a tall boy with dark brown hair and blue eyes.

“Those are my parents, Steve and Nancy,” Susannah said, “and that’s my brother, Rob.”

Slowly, he shook his head. “I cannot believe I am here.”

“I know.” She couldn’t believe it either, couldn’t believe she was actually home again, that Black Wind was there, in her house.

She took a deep breath. There were so many things she needed to do, calls to make, mail to answer, bills to pay. Where to start? It was the sound of her stomach growling that made the decision.

“Are you hungry? We could order pizza or something.”

“Piz-za?”

“Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Tate Sapa watched her cross the room and pick up a strange-looking object. He frowned when she poked at it a few times, then began to talk into one end. Moments later, she put it down and returned to the sofa.

“I ordered pepperoni with everything,” she said, smiling.

He nodded uncertainly.

Susannah grimaced as she glanced down at her wrinkled dress. The days she had spent in the guardhouse had left her feeling unclean in a way that had nothing to do with dirt.

“Would you like to take a bath?” she asked. “I know I could use one. The pizza won’t be here for thirty or forty minutes.”

Tate Sapa nodded. A bath he could understand. It had been many days since he had bathed, and he was eager to wash away the stink of the white man’s iron house. Placing the empty glass on the table, he followed Susannah down a narrow corridor.

Five minutes later, standing at the edge of what Susannah called a bath tub, watching it fill with steamy water, he wasn’t so sure.

“You might as well have some bubbles too,” Susannah remarked. She poured some strawberry-scented bubble bath into the tub, then put the bottle back on the shelf.

Tate Sapa watched, fascinated, as a froth of foam spread over the top of the water.

“We’ll have to find you something to wear,” Susannah mused, thinking aloud. “You can’t run around L.A. dressed in nothing but a breechclout.”

Tate Sapa glanced down at his loincloth and moccasins. His moccasins were dirty and well-worn, his clout stained from his time in the white man’s prison. “I have nothing else.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. I’ll go to the mall later and get you something.”

“The mall?”

Susannah nodded. “It’s like…hmm, like a big trading post. You can buy almost anything you need there.” She studied him carefully, then stood beside him, mentally measuring his size against her own. “Go ahead and take your bath,” she said as she turned off the faucet. “I need to go check my messages.”

She reached into a cupboard and pulled out a fluffy green towel. “You dry off with this,” she said, dropping the towel on top of the sink. “And wash with this.” She handed him a bar of Camay. “It’s soap,” she explained as she turned off the tap.

Tate Sapa nodded, fascinated by the object that brought hot water into Susannah’s lodge any time she wished it.

Left alone, he stared at the foamy water, sniffed the soap. His people had bathed in the river, scrubbing themselves clean with sand.

With a sigh, he took the eagle feather from his hair and placed it on a shelf.

Removing his clout and moccasins, he stepped into the water. In all his life, he had never bathed in anything but a cold river. He smiled with pleasure as the hot water closed over him.

In her office, Susannah switched on her computer, checking the date and time. It was three o’clock, May third. Amazing, she thought, she had spent several months in the past, yet she had been gone from the twentieth century for less than three weeks!

Going outside, she collected her mail, then sat down at her desk and listened to the messages on her answering machine. Six from her agent, three from her editor, about a dozen from Viv, one from her mother, two from her brother and one from her dentist reminding her it was time for her six-month checkup.

Her mail contained the usual—about a ton of ads and mail order catalogs, a half-dozen bills, a reminder that her rent was overdue, a letter from her cousin in Stockton, an invitation to a baby shower for a friend at church.

Susannah smiled as she pressed her hand to her stomach. She would have to start planning for the baby soon. She’d need a crib and sheets and blankets and diapers… Lordy, she had never changed a diaper in her life. Thank goodness Viv lived nearby.

The sound of the doorbell scattered her thoughts. Tossing the mail onto her desk, she left her office, glancing at the bathroom as she passed by. He’d been in there a long time, she mused. Grabbing her wallet, she went to pay for the pizza.

Placing the box and the Cokes on the table, she went into the bathroom to tell Black Wind dinner, such as it was, was ready.

She stopped inside the door. Black Wind was lying back in the tub, his eyes closed, his arms resting on the sides of the tub. Her gaze ran over him, admiring the width of his shoulders, the ropy muscles in his arms. She glanced at the soap. It was still dry.

Kneeling beside the tub, she dipped the soap in the water, then rubbed it over his chest.

With a start, Black Wind opened his eyes. He relaxed visibly when he saw who it was.

Susannah smiled at him as she washed his chest. “Feel good?”

He nodded, a soft sound of pleasure rising in his throat as her hand moved lower, across his belly, and lower still. “Su-san-nah…”

“Want me to stop?” she asked innocently.

“No,” he said, his voice husky, “never.”

She laughed softly. Tossing the soap into the soap dish, she stood up, stripped off her clothes, then slid into the tub, her legs straddling his.

“Is this one of the white man’s customs?” Black Wind asked, drawing her down on top of him.

“Uh-huh. Like it?”

“Very much.” His hands slid up her back, over the curve of her breast. Her skin was soft, slick with soapy water. His body hardened as desire spiraled through him.

“Bet I know what you’re thinking,” Susannah drawled.

“Do you?”

She ran her hands over his shoulders and along his chest, down his arms, reveling in the muscles that quivered at her touch. She could feel his arousal against her belly. “Tate…”

He caressed the soft curve of her breast, loving the feel of her warm soapy skin against his palm. “Tell me what you want.”

Susannah laughed softly. “Don’t you know?”