The Angel and the Outlaw

by Madeline Baker

  “I know.” She laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  It wasn’t fair, he thought bleakly. For the first time in his life, he had a fine, decent woman to love, someone who loved him in return, and he had less than a year to enjoy it.

  J.T. gazed at Brandy and saw his own thoughts reflected in the clear gray depths of her eyes: the incomparable joy of their love, the pain that waited for them when his time was up, the hope of a child to bind them together when they were parted, the anguish that she would have to raise that child alone.

  “Brandy…” He placed his hand over hers.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.”

  Gideon, what am I going to do? The words rose in J.T.’s mind, a prayer for guidance, a plea for help, but no answer was forthcoming and he knew this was a decision he had to make on his own.

  “Brandy, you said you read about me in a history book. Did it say I got married? Had children?”

  “No, but then, it was written before we met.” She frowned. If she married J.T., if they had a child, if she made it back to her own time, would she find her own name included in the history books? An additional line or two in J.T.’s life.

  Brandy closed her eyes a moment, letting her imagination take over. J.T. Cutter married Brandy Talavera in May of 1875. They had one child, a boy, born a few months after Cutter’s death. Mrs. Cutter never remarried…

  “Brandy?”

  She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Whatever the future held wouldn’t be solved in a moment, or a day.

  J.T. gave her hand a squeeze, then clucked to his horse. It would be dark soon. They needed to start looking for a place to spend the night.

  They were in the middle of a stretch of open prairie when a faint movement caught his eye. Indians. Three of them.

  He slid a glance at Brandy. ”We’ve got company,” he said quietly.

  He heard her gasp as she saw the warriors riding toward them. “What are we going to do?”

  “Nothing,” J.T. said, excitement evident in his voice. “They’re Lakota.”

  J.T.’s horse snorted and danced sideways as the three Indians raced toward them. They were magnificent, J.T. mused as the warriors drew rein in front of him. Simply magnificent, from the eagle feathers in their long black hair to the beaded moccasins on their feet.

  He recognized the design on the shield of the foremost warrior. When J.T. had been a boy, his mother had once stitched a similar design on a pillowcase.

  For days, J.T. had been trying to recall his mother’s native language in case he had occasion to use it. Now, hesitantly, he held out his hand in a gesture of friendship. “Hou, kola.”

  The warriors looked at each other and nodded.

  “Hou, tahunsa,” replied one of the warriors. “I am Tatanka Sapa. We have been waiting for you.”

  “Waiting for me?” J.T. asked, confused.

  “Hin. Wagichun Wagi told us of your coming.”

  “Wagichun Wagi?” J.T. frowned, wondering if he’d heard right. A cottonwood tree had foretold his presence?

  “Hin. Wagichun Wagi told Wicasa Tankala that one of our lost ones was coming home. A lodge has been prepared for you.”

  One of our lost ones. The words sent a shiver down J.T.’s spine. “My name is Tokala,” he said. “This is my betrothed, Brandy.”

  Tatanka Sapa smiled at Brandy. “Welcome, Bran-dy.” The warrior gestured at his companions. “This is my brother, Nape Luta, and my cousin, Tatanka-Ohitika. They do not speak the white man’s tongue.”

  Brandy smiled at each man in turn.

  “Come,” Tatanka Sapa said. “Our village is just over that ridge.”

  A half an hour later, they were in the midst of a large Lakota encampment, surrounded by dozens of curious men, women, and children.

  J.T. dismounted, then turned to help Brandy from her horse.

  He experienced a thrill of excitement as his gaze darted around the village. His mother had grown up in a camp like this; perhaps, at one time, she had lived in this place.

  He took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm, yet feeling his heart begin to pound harder still as he inhaled the scents of sage and sweet grass. A faint aroma of roasting meat made his mouth water.

  Tatanka Sapa introduced J.T. to Wicasa Tankala, the tribal shaman.

  Wicasa Tankala stood tall and straight, though his dark, copper-hued skin was as withered as an old apple. The red feathers tied in his hair indicated that he was a shaman, for only holy men were permitted to wear the red feathers of the woodpecker.

  Half-remembered bits of knowledge and information crowded J.T.’s mind. Green indicated generosity and hospitality; blue was the color of the Great Spirit.

  The old man’s eyes, as black as obsidian, seemed to see in and through J.T. as he bid him welcome.

  J.T. met the gazes of several of the warriors who had gathered around. He could almost read their thoughts. Here was a stranger who spoke Lakota, but wore buckskins and moccasins cut and beaded in the manner of the Crow.

  He took Brandy’s hand in his, and the two of them followed the medicine man into his lodge.

  “Sit,” Wicasa Tankala said.

  With a nod of his head, J.T. indicated Brandy should sit behind him. He smiled at her as he sat down, his heart beating a quick tattoo as he watched the old man sit in the place of honor in front of the door.

  Wicasa Tankala smiled at his guests. “Will you eat?”

  “Yes, thank you,” J.T. replied.

  The medicine man’s wife brought food and drink, then sat in the rear of the lodge, quilling a pair of moccasins, while they ate.

  Brandy stared around the lodge, feeling decidedly out of place. It was obvious that, in this place and time, she was expected to be seen and not heard.

  When the meal was over, the old man took up his pipe, filled it, lit it with a stick pulled from the fire. Murmuring softly, he offered the pipe to the four directions, then he took a long puff and passed the pipe to J.T..

  There was silence in the lodge while the two men smoked, then Wicasa Tankala laid the pipe aside and fixed his gaze on J.T.’s face.

  “We have been waiting for you,” the old man said. “Two suns ago, while I was praying to the Great Spirit, Wagichun Wagi whispered your name to me.”

  “I hear you,” J.T. replied, surprised at how easily he understood the Lakota language, at how readily his mother’s tongue came to his mind.

  “Your mother, Sisoka, is my cousin. She was taken from us many years ago.” The shaman paused. For a moment, he gazed into the fire, and then his attention returned to J.T.. “Is your mother well?”

  “She has gone to Wanagi Yata.” The Place of Souls.

  “Ah.” The old man nodded as if he had known it all along. “It is sad that she never returned to her people.”

  “She was ashamed to come back.”

  “I understand, but the shame was not hers.”

  “My grandparents,” J.T. said. “Do they yet live?”

  “Your grandfather died last summer.”

  “And my grandmother?”

  “Tasina Luta still lives. Tatanka Sapa will take you to her lodge when you wish.”

  J.T. closed his eyes for a moment. All this time, he’d had family here, grandparents he had never met. His grandfather was gone, but his mother’s mother was still alive.

  Wicasa Tankala studied Brandy for a moment. “Is this your woman?”

  “She is my betrothed,” J.T. replied. “Her name is Brandy Talavera. We wish to marry.”

  “Ah, that is good.” Wicasa Tankala smiled at Brandy. “It is not good for a man to dwell alone. When is the marriage to take place?”

  “Soon,” J.T. said. He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. “Tonight, if possible.”

  “You have given this much thought?”

  “Yes.”

  “The woman agrees?”

  “Yes.”

  “It shall be as you ask, tahunsa. I wi
ll ask my woman to help Bran-dy prepare for the ceremony. Tatanka Sapa will show you to your lodge. You will find food and clothing there.”

  “Pilamaya, tunkasila,” J.T. said respectfully. “My thanks, Grandfather.”

  Brandy had sat quietly while J.T. talked to the old man. She understood nothing they said except for her name. Now she stood up, her brow lined with concern as J.T. prepared to leave.

  “What’s going on?” she asked anxiously.

  “It’ll be all right, Brandy,” J.T. said, taking her hands in his. “Wicasa Tankala’s wife is going to help you get cleaned up.” He smiled at her, his heart filling with tenderness. “We’re going to be married tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind.” He paused a moment. “You haven’t, have you?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky.

  She stared up at him, and then she smiled, the glow in her eyes brighter than a thousand suns. “No,” she replied fervently. “I haven’t changed my mind. Did you ask about your grandparents?”

  “Yeah.” J.T. smiled at her. “My grandfather’s dead, but my grandmother is still alive.”

  “I’m sorry about your grandfather, J.T.. We can postpone our marriage, if you want.”

  “No.” He had too little time left, and he’d been alone long enough. All his life, he thought, he’d been alone all his life, until Brandy. He bent down and brushed her cheek with his lips. “I’ll see you later, then.”

  Tatanka Sapa was waiting outside for J.T. “Come,” he said, “your lodge is located near my own.”

  “I’d like to see my grandmother. Tasina Luta.”

  “As you wish.”

  Moments later, they reached a small lodge located near the end of the village. Tatanka Sapa rapped on the door flap.

  J.T. felt a peculiar catch in his heart when a frail voice bid them enter.

  Lifting the door flap, Tatanka Sapa stepped into the lodge.

  J.T. took a deep breath, then followed the other man into the dwelling. Inside, J.T. glanced quickly around the lodge. There was very little inside: a bed, a backrest, a few cooking utensils. A frail old woman sat on a buffalo robe, her back supported by a willow back rest.

  “Greetings, Tasina,” Tatanka Sapa said. “The one we have been expecting has arrived.”

  Tasina Luta smiled at J.T.. “You look much like your grandfather,” she said. “Come, sit here beside me.”

  Tatanka Sapa took his leave, and J.T. crossed the lodge and sat down beside his grandmother. Her hair was long and gray. Her skin had been lined by years of living outdoors, yet age had not completely erased her beauty. Her eyes were clear and dark, her features delicate.

  Tasina Luta leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she stared at J.T.. “Welcome, cinks. Wicasa Tankala told me you were coming, but I did not believe it.”

  “Unci, I am glad to see you.”

  “Why did you wait so long to come home?” she asked, a faint note of accusation in her voice.

  “I’m not sure. I think maybe I was afraid.”

  “Your mother did not come with you?”

  “No. She died long ago.”

  “Was she happy? Did she have a good life?”

  J.T. hesitated a moment, wondering if a lie would be kinder than the truth. But he found he couldn’t lie to his grandmother, not when she was watching him so closely. “She knew very little happiness in her life, unci… I think she was glad to die.”

  “She should have left that man and come home.”

  “I know, but she was ashamed.”

  “You look very much like her.”

  J.T. nodded.

  “She was a beautiful child, my daughter. I told her not to go away with the man Frank. I told her he would not make her happy, but she would not listen. She said that if I could be happy married to a wasichu, so could she.” Tasina Luta shook her head. “I could not make her understand that her father, while not of the blood, had the heart of a Lakota warrior. The man Frank had no honor.” Tasina Luta placed a gnarled hand on Cutter’s forearm. “I do not mean to speak ill of your father, cinks, or to offend you.”

  “It’s all right, unci. I know what he was.”

  “And you, are you happy?”

  “Yes. I am to be married tonight.”

  “Married!”

  J.T. smiled. “Her name is Brandy. Chatawinna is helping her get ready. I want very much for you to be there.”

  “I would be honored. Has she a dowry?”

  “No. Wicasa Tankala has given us a lodge.”

  Tasina Luta nodded. “It is good that you have a place to live, but a dowry is more than a lodge. Your bride must have a pair of robes, an awl and thread, a cook pot, an ax and a knife.” She smiled up at him, bidding him to understand. “It is custom, cinks, and I would be pleased to provide it for her.”

  “I know she will be pleased by your generosity, unci.”

  Tears welled in the old woman’s eyes as she opened her arms to her grandson. “Welcome home, cinks,” she whispered tremulously.

  “Pilamaya, unci,” he replied fervently, and in that moment, he couldn’t help feeling that, for better or worse, Fate had taken J.T. Cutter in hand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  J.T. paced the lodge restlessly, wondering what was taking so long. He paused a moment, awed by the realization that the spirits had foretold his coming, that Wicasa Tankala had heeded the voice of the cottonwood and prepared for their coming.

  Shaking his head, he began to pace again. An hour ago, he had bathed and donned the clean buckskin shirt and fringed leggings Wicasa Tankala had provided, and still Brandy did not come to him.

  Had she changed her mind, after all? Could he blame her if she had?

  He glanced at the bowls of food that Tasina Luta had brought him, but he was too edgy to eat.

  His hand slapped nervously against his thigh. He missed the familiar weight of a Colt on his hip. He had carried a gun for so many years he’d come to feel as though it was a part of him, like his arms and legs. So much a part that now he felt incomplete without it.

  For a moment, he considered strapping on his gunbelt and holster, and then he thrust the thought aside. This was his wedding night. He would not meet his bride-to-be armed with the tools of his old life. He was a man of peace now.

  J.T. laughed softly. “The love of a good woman,” he thought wryly, and felt a blanket of warmth surround his heart as he thought of her. She loved him, loved him enough to marry him. Of all the miracles he’d encountered lately, Brandy’s love was the most extraordinary of all.

  He came to an abrupt halt as he heard the muffled sound of footsteps outside the lodge.

  Crossing the floor, J.T. lifted the flap, felt his breath catch in his throat when he saw Brandy standing in a pool of silver moonlight.

  She wore a dress of bleached doeskin. Elks’ teeth adorned the bodice; tiny silver bells had been sewn to the long fringe that dangled from the sleeves and hem. Fairy bells, he thought, their music like the sound of angels laughing.

  Her leggings were ornamented with porcupine quills and feathers, her moccasins were adorned with quills that matched those on her leggings.

  Her hair had been parted in the middle, the thick braids hanging down her back as befitting a married woman. There was a touch of color on her cheeks and in the part of her hair, copper bracelets on her wrists.

  Wicasa Tankala and his wife, Chatawinna, followed Brandy into the lodge, accompanied by Tasina Luta, but J.T. had eyes only for Brandy. His woman. Soon to be his wife.

  A knowing smile hovered over Tasina Luta’s lips as she placed Brandy’s dowry inside the lodge near the door. It was obvious that her grandson was very much in love with the beautiful white woman.

  “Since you have already agreed to marry, there is no need of a formal proposal or a gift of horses,” the shaman said solemnly, “and so the ceremony will be short. And yet it is not the words that will bind you together, but your feelings for one another. Among the Lakota, marriage takes place in the soul of the man and the heart
of the woman, forming a bond that cannot be broken.”

  J.T. nodded, then turned toward Brandy. Tears glistened in her eyes as he translated the medicine man’s words. And beneath the tears, he saw her love for him shining forth, bright as the North Star.

  “From this time forward, the two of you will be one blood, one flesh, one heart,” Wicasa Tankala said. “There will be no cold, for you will warm each other. There will be no loneliness, for now your souls are joined and your hearts will be one.”

  The medicine man paused so J.T. could again translate for Brandy, and then he took J.T.’s right hand and Brandy’s right hand and held them both in his.

  “Be kind to each other,” Wicasa Tankala said. “Remember always the love that flows between you this night, this moment.”

  The shaman looked at them soberly for a moment, and then he joined their hands together and smiled.

  “Share your love for one another this night. Tomorrow night my woman and I will honor your marriage with a feast.”

  J.T. repeated his words to Brandy, then clasped the old man’s hand in both of his. “Pilamaya, Tunkasila.”

  Wicasa Tankala nodded. “One thing remains. Brandy, you must take Tokala by the right hand and escort him to the place of honor.”

  Wicasa Tankala gestured toward the rear of the lodge, opposite the door.

  J.T. translated, then offered Brandy his hand. Her cheeks bloomed with color as she led him to the place that would now be his.

  Chatawinna stepped forward and offered Brandy a pair of moccasins.

  “You must put those on your husband’s feet,” Wicasa Tankala instructed, “then take the woman’s place, which is at the right side of the fire.”

  Brandy listened carefully as J.T. translated for her. Holding the moccasins close to her heart, she crossed the lodge and knelt before J.T., her gaze fixed on his face as she placed the moccasins on his feet, then took the place Wicasa Tankala had indicated.

  Wicasa Tankala nodded. “You are now husband and wife,” he said solemnly, and taking Chatawinna by the hand, they left the lodge.