Feather in the Wind (27 page)

He grinned at her. “I think I can guess.”

“Yes,” Susannah replied dryly, “I’ll just bet you can. Well, never mind.” Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she started to get out of the tub. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

In the blink of an eye, he had positioned her beneath him so that he straddled her thighs.

“Oh no,
wastelakapi
,” he said, his voice husky with desire. “You have started this, and now you must finish.”

Happiness and laughter welled up within Susannah as she gazed into his eyes, deep dark eyes smoldering with need and desire. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she imagined making love to anyone in a bathtub, much less a Lakota warrior fresh from the nineteenth century.

“Persuade me,” she whispered.

“Shall I do this?” One hand caressed her breast. “Or this?” Lowering his head, he ran his tongue over her lower lip, then kissed her.

“Yes,” Susannah murmured, “oh yes.”

Heedless of the water that sloshed over the sides of the tub and soaked the floor and the bath mat, or of the pizza getting cold and the sodas getting hot, she took him in her hand and guided him home.

* * * * *

Much later, they sat in the living room eating reheated pepperoni pizza.

Susannah tried not to stare at Black Wind. She wished she could crawl into his mind and see what he was thinking. He had been extraordinarily quiet since they made love.

She had slipped into a pair of faded Levi’s and a white sweater. Black Wind was wearing only his clout, since he had nothing else.

Earlier, she had taken him on a tour of her apartment, showing him the refrigerator, how to turn the water on and off, how the stove worked, though she doubted he’d be doing much cooking. She had demonstrated how the stereo worked, the TV, the lights. She had warmed the pizza in the microwave, had almost laughed out loud at the look on his face when she showed him how it went in cold and came out warm.

He had said little, obviously stunned by the wonders of the twentieth century. He had marveled at the idea of having running water, seemed somewhat taken aback by the television. She had tried to imagine what it would be like to see moving pictures for the first time.

He had grunted softly at his first taste of pizza, looked somewhat astonished when he took a drink of 7-Up, which he had apparently mistaken for water.

Now, he sat beside her, his gaze wandering around the room.

She wondered what he thought of it. The carpet was French blue, her sofa a blue and mauve print. There was a small fireplace, a coffee table covered with magazines she never found time to read, an end table, a lamp, an easy chair in the same print as the sofa. There were pictures of her family on the mantle, a bookcase filled with books, a curio cabinet filled with DeGrazia figurines.

“Black Wind?”

Placing his glass on the coffee table, he turned to face her.

“Are you all right? Can I get you anything?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “I do not belong here, Su-san-nah.”

“I know how you feel,” Susannah said. “Believe me, I know.”

A wry grin flitted across his face. “Yes, I suppose you do. I should have been more understanding.”

“You made me feel right at home,” she said, snuggling up against him. “I’ll try to do the same for you.”

“Home.” He glanced around the room. Though it was three times the size of his father’s lodge, he felt closed in by the walls, alienated by the strangeness of it all.

“I’ll go to the mall tomorrow and get you something to wear,” she said. “What’s your favorite color?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll just buy one of each.”

“One of each?”

“Shirts.”

“Ah.”

“And you’ll need jeans and underwear and shoes and socks, a toothbrush…”

Tate Sapa shook his head as she reeled off the things he would need. “Su-san-nah…”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to be home, to have you here. I want to take you out and show you everything.”

He forced himself to smile. She had embraced his way of life with courage, accepting his customs and traditions as her own. How could he, a Lakota warrior who had fought the
wasichu
, killed a grizzly, and counted first coup on more than a dozen of his enemies, do less?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Susannah couldn’t help smiling as she walked into the City Mall. She paused inside the door, embracing the familiar scents and sounds and sights that assailed her senses. Michael Bolton was playing over the speakers. She could smell popcorn and cinnamon rolls. Kids were laughing, crying, a little girl was begging for a cookie, a boy was whining for a Gargoyle. She saw a teenage couple necking on one of the benches.

If there had been one thing she had missed while in the past, it was being able to wander through the mall. She loved to browse the shelves at Waldens and Borders, to spend a few minutes in the Disney store. She never got out of there without spending a small fortune.

Walking briskly, she made her way to a popular men’s shop. In the past, she had occasionally shopped for Troy, but never with the enthusiasm she felt now, shopping for Black Wind. Humming under her breath, she picked out two pairs of blue jeans, a couple pairs of walking shorts, a variety of colored tees, a green plaid shirt, a dark-blue cable knit sweater, a gray sweatshirt and pants, underwear and socks.

At the shoe store, she picked up a pair of tennis shoes.

Going into the drug store, she went to the men’s department and bought a hair brush, a comb, a bottle of cologne and a toothbrush for Black Wind, then stopped by the paperback rack and picked up the latest romance by her favorite author.

She was leaving the mall, laden with several shopping bags, when she passed a maternity shop. She paused a moment, then retraced her steps and entered the store, thinking she would have to call Vivian when she got home and tell her the news. Viv would be thrilled, although how she would explain her absence, and Black Wind, was something Susannah hadn’t quite figured out. She would have to call her mother too, she thought glumly.

When she left the shop thirty minutes later, she had a pair of jeans, three pairs of shorts and four tops that seemed as big as circus tents. She ran her hand over her stomach, which was still almost flat. Hard to believe that she would ever be big enough to fill out the clothes she had just bought.

A baby. It was incredible.

On the drive home, she realized they would have to find a new name for Black Wind. He would have to learn to drive a car, get a license, find a job…

Susannah laughed softly as she imagined Black Wind filling out a job application. Finding employment might be a little difficult. There weren’t too many openings for full-fledged Lakota warriors these days. The thought brought her up short. What was she thinking? She couldn’t expect Black Wind to adjust to the twentieth century overnight. She would have to take it slow, let him get used to things gradually.

And while she was helping him adjust to life in the nineties, there were other things that had to be done.

She needed to make an appointment with a doctor.

She had to meet her deadline and get the manuscript in the mail.

At home, she parked the car in the garage, wondering what Black Wind had done in her absence. She hoped he would approve of the clothes she had bought for him.

She found him sitting in the living room, flipping through the channels. She couldn’t help grinning at the picture he made sitting there: a nineteenth-century warrior clad in clout and moccasins holding a can of 7-Up in one hand and the remote control in the other. What was there about men and their need to hang onto the remote? And did any of them ever watch a program all the way through?

“Hi.” She dropped the packages on the floor beside the sofa, then bent to kiss him. “Did you miss me?”

“Always,” he replied. Placing the soda and the remote on the coffee table, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her down onto his lap. “The…” he searched his memory for the word, “phone rang while you were gone.”

“Did you answer it?”

He looked at her as if she had suggested he run naked through the streets.

Susannah kissed him on the cheek. “I’d better see who called. It might be important.” She gestured at the packages on the floor. “The stuff in the blue bag is for you. Why don’t you go into the bedroom and try on your new clothes? I have about a hundred phone calls to make.”

Black Wind glanced at the large blue sack dubiously, then nodded.

Rising, Susannah went into her office to check her machine, then sat back in her chair and stared at the phone.

“Welcome back to the twentieth century,” she muttered, and picked up the receiver.

Susannah emerged from her office an hour later. She had called her parents, her brother and her agent, explaining to one and all that she had felt the need to get away for a while and had, on a whim, gone off on a short vacation to South Dakota. She had assured her parents and her brother that she was fine, assured her agent and her editor that she would get to work on the book ASAP and have it in the mail in sixty days.

Viv hadn’t been home, so Susannah had left a message on her machine, and then called her doctor’s office and made an appointment for the following day at four.

Relieved that she had managed to touch bases with all the important people in her life, she left the room, curious to hear what Black Wind thought of his new wardrobe.

She found him sprawled face down on her bed, his new clothes scattered over the foot of the bed, and on top of the dresser. It was obvious he had tried them all on, and just as obvious he wasn’t crazy about them, since he was still wearing nothing but his clout.

For a moment, she stood in the doorway looking down at him, admiring the width of his shoulders, the broad expanse of his back, his long, long legs. She thought of stretching out beside him and kissing him awake, but he looked so peaceful, she decided to let him rest.

Picking up his jeans, she tossed them in the washer to take out the stiffness, then went into her office and switched on her computer. Much as she might wish it, the book wouldn’t write itself.

* * * * *

Black Wind woke abruptly. He stared at the pale-blue walls around him, momentarily disoriented, and then he remembered where he was.

Getting to his feet, he glanced at the clothes Susannah had brought him. The pants, which had felt stiff and uncomfortable, were missing. He wasn’t sure what the white things were. They reminded him of his clout. He had regarded them a moment, then tossed them aside. The shirts were soft, the colors unlike any he had ever seen.

He cocked his head to the side, listening intently. The house was quiet and he wondered if Susannah had gone out again.

Barefooted, he padded down the hallway to her office and looked inside. She was sitting at her desk. She had showed him her computer, told him it was where she worked. She had even read him a part of the story she was writing. He had been fascinated by her ability to write things down. The Lakota kept an oral record of their stories and lineage, passing them down from generation to generation, but parts were sometimes changed or forgotten.

She was unaware of his presence. Standing in the doorway, he watched her for a long time. Sometimes she spoke out loud, sometimes she sat back in her chair and stared at the computer, once she picked up a book and thumbed through it, muttering something under her breath. She had told him it was a book about the history of the Old West and had promised to read him the parts that referred to his people.

He lost track of time as he stood there, watching her, his mind wandering. It was hard to believe that he was in Susannah’s house, that all he knew was gone, swept away by the hand of time, that everyone he had known, everyone he had loved, was long dead. He glanced around her office and saw nothing that was familiar. Only Susannah…

What was he to do here, in this place? He was a warrior, born and bred. Did she expect him to stay here, in her house, day after day, with nothing to do? It was not his way, to be idle. He could not spend his days sitting on her sofa, watching the strange pictures that moved and talked, staring at images he didn’t fully understand.

He thought of his unborn child and wished he knew how to read and write so he could record the stories and legends of his people as he knew them. He would like to preserve his memory of the battles the Lakota had fought and won as well as those that had been fought and lost, to write of the beauty of the
Pa Sapa
while it was fresh in his mind. His child would never know its grandfather, and he wished he had the ability to write about his father’s bravery so his child would know what a courageous warrior his grandfather had been. He would like to write of Mato Mani’s ability to heal the sick and foretell the future, and of his father’s brother, Hehaka Luta, who had gone to seek a vision and never returned. Some said
Wakán Tanka
had spirited Hehaka Luta into another world. Tate Sapa shook his head. Once, he would have said such a thing was impossible, but no more.

There were so many things his son or daughter should know. Songs and stories and legends. He knew Susannah would write them for him if he asked her to, but he felt a sudden inexplicable need to do it himself. Perhaps Susannah would teach him.

“Black Wind. How long have you been standing there?”

He shrugged. “Not long.”

“Well, I need a break.” She stood up and crossed the floor, her arms wrapping around his waist. “How about some lunch?”

He nodded, then followed her into the kitchen. Sitting at the table, he watched her pull things from the refrigerator. She explained what they were as she put them on the counter.

“Mayonnaise, mustard, Swiss cheese, avocado, ham, tomato, onion.”

He nodded, repeating each word.

Susannah pulled a loaf of bread from the bread box. “I made an appointment with the doctor,” she said as she cut the tomato into thin slices. “Do you want to go with me?”

“Doctor?” He looked at her sharply. “Are you sick?”

“No, but I am pregnant, remember? I need to go in for an examination, and I’d like for you to be there.”

Tate Sapa stared at her. Among the Lakota, childbirth was left to the women. Knowing he would only be in the way, a man often went hunting while his woman was in labor. “Is it the white man’s way, to take part in such things?”

“Well, not always. You don’t have to go with me if you’d rather not. It’s just that I’d feel better if you were there.”

“I will go.”

She smiled at him as she handed him a plate and a glass of iced tea. “It’s a sandwich,” she said. “Hope you like it.”

She sat down at the table across from him and he watched her pick up the sandwich and take a bite. Following her example, he did the same, chewing slowly.

Susannah grinned at him. “So, what do you think?”

“It is…
waste
,” he replied. “Good.”

“Wait until you taste my chocolate pie,” she said, smiling.

He nodded, but his mind was not on food.

“Su-san-nah, will you take me to see the
Pa Sapa
?”

“Of course.”

“Do my people still live there?”

“No, the Hills belong to the government now. I have a book about the history of the Black Hills somewhere. Do you want to see it?”

Tate Sapa nodded.

Susannah left the table, returning a few minutes later with a small book. Sitting down, she opened to the first page. “It says here that the Lakota signed a treaty at Fort Laramie in 1868 which set apart a large tract of land known as the Great Sioux Reservation.”

Tate Sapa nodded. “I know of this treaty.”

“It says that the Sioux were guaranteed ‘absolute and undisturbed use and occupation’. Then, in 1874, Custer and a military expedition went into the hills to survey the area and found gold.” She skipped down a few sentences. “In 1875 President Grant sent the Allison Commission to negotiate with the Sioux to purchase the Black Hills. They offered the Sioux six million dollars, but the Lakota refused to sell. After that, prospectors started pouring into the Hills in search of gold. It says here that in 1876 a handful of Lakota signed an agreement to sell the Hills…”

“My people sold the
Pa Sapa
to the
wasichu
? I do not believe it.”

“Well, the sale wasn’t considered valid since most of the adult males refused to sign.”

Tate Sapa nodded. He could not imagine his people selling the sacred Hills. They were the heart of the People, the spiritual center of the Lakota.

“Anyway,” Susannah went on, “in 1877 the United States Congress passed the Black Hills Act, which put ownership of the hills in white hands. From 1920 to the present, the Lakota have been trying to regain ownership of the Hills. According to this, the battle is still being fought.”

“When can we go?”

“Do you need to go right away? I’ve got to get this book finished.”

“There is no hurry,” he replied with a wry grin. “The
Pa Sapa
will wait.”

Later that day, after finishing up a chapter on her book, Susannah thought again about finding a Christian name for Black Wind. She didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to offend him in any way. She knew how hard it was going to be for him to adjust to her lifestyle, harder for him, perhaps, than it had been for her. She, at least, had had some knowledge of life in the past. Shutting down her computer, she sought him out. He was looking at the pictures in the book on the Black Hills.