The Angel and the Outlaw (17 page)

That night, as promised, Wicasa Tankala and Chatawinna held a wedding feast to honor J.T’s marriage to Brandy.

There was food in abundance: buffalo ribs and steaks, venison, and other smaller cuts of meat that Brandy didn’t recognize and chose to ignore. There were wild potatoes and turnips and onions, and thick berry soup. And when the people had finished eating, there was music and storytelling and dancing.

J.T. couldn’t help being surprised by how readily the Lakota accepted him and Brandy. The people knew nothing about him save that he was Tasina Luta’s grandson, but that seemed to be enough.

After dinner, he sat between Brandy and his grandmother, listening to the beat of the drum, feeling the music vibrate through the ground beneath him, hearing the echo of it in his heart and in his soul. The air was thick with the scent of sage and smoke and roasting meat.

He observed the people around him. Their faces were familiar somehow even though most of them were strangers. Hearing the Lakota language filled him with bittersweet memories of his mother.

He watched the dances, the subtle flirting between the sexes, heard the happy, excited laughter of the children as they darted in and out of the lodges. Sitting there, in the heart of his mother’s homeland, he felt as though his whole life, until this moment, had been spent in a foreign land.

Tasina Luta urged him to dance with Brandy and after a slight hesitation, J.T. stood up. Taking Brandy by the hand, he led her toward the dance circle.

Neither of them knew the steps, yet they quickly caught the rhythm. Not touching, they danced back and forth and from side to side, their feet shuffling softly as they copied the movements of the other dancers.

J.T. looked at the woman who was his wife and found no fault in her. He would not have had her taller or shorter. Her skin glowed like sun-kissed honey, her hair glistened blue-black in the firelight, her wide gray eyes sparkled with happiness. The shape of her body was hidden beneath her dress, yet he knew every curve, every slim golden inch of flesh. She moved lightly, gracefully, like a willow swaying in the wind.

His gaze was drawn to her lips and he felt the first stirring of desire as he recalled the touch of those lips on his, the taste of her, the scent of her hair and skin. She was his, only his. The knowledge burned within him, blazing a path to his heart, arousing him until he could think of nothing but the way she had felt beneath him that morning, her hands kneading his back and shoulders, her body sheathing his, enveloping him in satin heat.

As soon as the dance ended, J.T. took Brandy’s hand and led her away from the others. Ignoring the knowing glances of the married couples, the gentle teasing of the warriors they passed, he led her back to the privacy of their lodge.

Brandy’s heart was beating faster than the dance drum when J.T. closed the door flap. She had seen the desire that darkened his eyes while they danced, had felt her own blood stir in answer to the hunger she had read in his gaze.

She went into his arms willingly, eager for his kisses, desperate for the touch of his hands. Hours had passed since that morning. Hours in which she had thought of him, wanted him. Needed him.

With eager hands, they undressed each other, then sank down on the furry buffalo robes that served as their bed.

It was heaven to be in his arms, Brandy thought as J.T. caressed her. His hands were rough against the smoothness of her skin, yet there was something inherently sexy in the feel of his calloused hands on her flesh. The robes were soft and furry against her back; J.T.’s body was hard and warm as he poised himself over her.

She reveled in the feel of his skin against hers. His hair brushed her cheek, his tongue stroked her lips, and she was soaring, climbing higher and higher, lost in the magic of his touch, in the soul-shattering knowledge that he loved her.

And even then he was murmuring her name, his voice like rough velvet as he told her over and over again that he loved her, would always love her.

“And I love you,” Brandy replied fervently. “Love you, love you, love you!”

“Brandy.” He whispered her name, his voice thick with emotion. “Promise you’ll tell me that every day of our time together.”

“I promise.”

Braced on his elbows, J.T. gazed into her face, his body firmly sheathed within hers.

“I love you,” he said again. “I’ll love you every day of my life.”

“I know.” She felt the warmth of his gaze caress her as she stroked his cheek. “I know.”

He buried his face in the soft hollow of her shoulder as he thrust into her again and again, as if seeking to meld their bodies together so that nothing could ever separate them.

Every day of his life,
Brandy thought, aware that they had less than a year to spend together. She blinked back bittersweet tears, knowing that a few months would never be enough.

A million years would not be enough.

* * * * *

J.T.’s sense of belonging increased with each passing day. He spent a part of each afternoon with his grandmother and quickly grew to love her. Tasina Luta was a warm, caring woman, eager to tell him stories about his mother’s childhood, of the grandfather he had never known. For the first time in his life, J.T. had a sense of who he was and where he belonged.

One afternoon, Tasina Luta gave J.T. a rattle fashioned of leather in the shape of a horned toad. Two black and white eagle feathers were fastened to the carved wooden handle.

J.T. turned the rattle over in his hands, admiring the simple beauty of it.

“It belonged to your grandfather,” Tasina Luta remarked, pleased by the admiration in her grandson’s eyes. “It is the only thing of his I have left. It is for you.”

“No,” J.T. said quickly. “I couldn’t take it.”

Tasina Luta patted J.T.’s arm. “It is yours,
cinks
. He told me once that I was never to give it away, that I was to give it to your mother when she came home again. Now it is yours.”

J.T.’s hand caressed the wood. “Tell me about my grandfather. How did you meet?”

Tasina Luta smiled wistfully. “I met him in the summer, during the Sun Dance. He had come to trade with our people. He was a handsome man, tall and straight and strong, with bright blue eyes and dark hair. Big shoulders. Long legs.”

Tasina Luta sighed, remembering the first day she had seen the
wasichu
the Lakota had called Walks the Rainbow. She had seen few white men in her life, but she had known, in that one swift look, that this was the man she would marry.

“He stayed for the Sun Dance,” she went on. “I saw him every day, but always from a distance. When the days of the Sun Dance festival were over, he asked my father if he could stay with our people for the rest of the summer. My father agreed.

“Walks the Rainbow often followed me when I went to the river for water, hoping to catch me alone. We spoke many times. He was not like the other white men who came to us. He respected our people and our ways. He spoke our language. He hunted the buffalo with my father and my brothers.”

Tasina Luta smiled wistfully. “He did not leave our village when winter came, and the following spring he raided the Crow horse herd and brought many stolen Crow ponies to my father’s lodge.

“At first, my father was angry because I wanted to marry a
wasichu
instead of one of our own young men, but Walks the Rainbow was very persistent. In the end, my father gave us his blessing and we were married that summer.”

Tasina Luta sighed. “My husband was a brave and honorable man, and I was proud to be his wife. After a time, no one remembered that he was
wasichu
. I think maybe he forgot it, too. We had three babies before your mother was born. Three little boys. They all died. But your mother was strong, and we loved her.”

“How did my grandfather die?”

She didn’t answer right away; when she did, there were tears in her eyes. “Our village was attacked by the bluecoats last spring. They came in the middle of the night and set our lodges on fire.” Hatred replaced her tears. “Our young men ran out to fight the soldiers to give the women and children a chance to get away.

“Your grandfather stayed behind to help. He was pulling one of our old ones from a burning lodge when a bluecoat shot him in the back. Nape Luta killed the bluecoat and carried your grandfather to safety, but he never recovered from his wound. He died in his sleep last summer.”

Tears burned J.T.’s eyes as he took his grandmother’s hand in his.

“I’m sorry, grandmother,” he said. “I am sorry I was not here when you needed me.”

“The past is a road that cannot be traveled again,
cinks
. You are here now. That is what matters.”

* * * * *

Brandy quickly adapted to life with the Lakota which was, after all, not so different from living with the Crow. Oddly enough, she felt more at home here, with J.T.’s people, more welcome, more relaxed. Perhaps it was because J.T. had relatives here, perhaps it was simply that Tasina Luta made Brandy feel as if she belonged. Each day, she gained a new appreciation for the Lakota lifestyle. She quickly grew to love J.T.’s grandmother, and she developed a keen affection for the children.

She noticed that the little girls quickly learned their place in Lakota society. Women were expected to be reserved in the presence of men and older women. A proper Lakota girl was generous, industrious, kind, and loving to all. She learned early that the women ate apart from men, that they sat on the left side of the tipi, that she must use the female language when she spoke, and that she must sit in a modest position. From her mother, she learned how to cook and gather wood and berries, how to keep a lodge tidy. Quilling and beading were tasks at which she was expected to excel. If she had a younger brother or sister, she would often be responsible for caring for the child.

The Lakota practiced avoidance, which meant that a woman never looked directly at her father-in-law, and never spoke to him. Likewise, a man never looked at or spoke directly to his mother-in-law.

The little boys, no matter what their age, were ever aware that they would become warriors. At an early age, they played arduous games, choosing sides and fighting mock battles. They listened to the old men recite thrilling war stories, they watched their mothers and sisters dance during the Scalp Dance, they saw the young men proudly wearing their badges of honor. They rode horses that had been stolen from the Crow and the Pawnee. And they learned that being a warrior carried risk when a brother or a cousin failed to return from battle and the people mourned, cutting their hair short, slashing their legs in grief. Watching at the young boys, she tried to imagine J.T. as he might have been if had grown up with the Lakota. How different his life would have been, she thought, and yet, selfishly, she couldn’t help feeling grateful that his mother had left home, that J.T. had become a celebrated outlaw, and that, through a mystical force she couldn’t hope to understand, they had been brought together.

As there had been with the Crow, there were men who dressed as women and followed female pursuits. Such men were revered by the Crow, and while they were respected by the Lakota, it was obvious that they were also feared. Because they wore women’s clothes, the
winktes
, as they were called, were an object of disdain and were referred to as having the heart of a woman, which, to a Lakota warrior, was the worst insult a man could receive.
Winktes
lived in their own lodges at the edge of the camp circle, an area set aside for ancient widows and orphans.

Brandy overheard one father telling his son that he must leave the
winktes
alone. There were many reasons why men became
winktes
. Sometimes a man dreamed that, by living as a woman, he would live a long life. Such men made good shamans. It was believed that if a
winkte
was asked to name a child, the child would grow up without illness.

Brandy couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the
winkte
, who was viewed with respect on one hand and feared on the other.

* * * * *

The days slipped by peacefully. By the end of the second week, J.T. felt as if Lakota was his native language.

It pleased him to see how readily Brandy embraced the Lakota way of life. She spent a good deal of time with Tasina Luta, who was teaching her to speak Lakota. She made friends with several of the women. By the end of the third week, it seemed as if they had always been a part of the Lakota circle. The children adored Brandy, and she genuinely liked them, making it easy to see why she had become a schoolmarm in her own time.

“Do you miss being a teacher?” J.T. asked one afternoon while they were watching a handful of boys play the swing-kicking game.

“Yes, I do,” she replied truthfully, and wondered how Nancy Leigh was getting along, and if Bobby was doing better in his foster home.

Thoughts of her class reminded her of home, and she realized, with a twinge of guilt, that she hadn’t thought of her parents or her friends in several days.

“I’m sorry, Brandy,” J.T. said heavily. “I guess this isn’t easy for you.”