To a man, the Lakota spoke for war.
An hour later, the warriors sent by Crazy Horse took their leave.
At a signal from Wicasa Tankala, J.T. remained in the medicine man’s lodge after everyone had left. “It is as your woman has predicted,” the shaman remarked.
J.T. nodded.
“You heard what the people said. They want to fight.”
“It’s foolishness,” J.T. exclaimed. “Even though the Lakota will win the battle against Custer, in the end, they will lose.”
“I cannot tell the people what to do,” Wicasa Tankala said with a weary shake of his head. “I can only advise them.” The medicine man smiled sadly, looking far older than his years. “What warrior could turn his back on a fight he knows he will win?”
Brandy was waiting for J.T. outside their lodge, her face lined with worry.
“What is it?” she asked anxiously. “What’s going on?”
“What you said was going to happen has happened,” J.T. said. “Crazy Horse sent three of his men to warn us that all Indians who don’t report to their reservation by the end of January will be considered hostile.”
Brandy placed a protective hand over her stomach as she stared at J.T.. During the next year, the Plains would run red with blood as the Indians made a last effort to hold on to their homeland. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. The warriors want to fight.”
“I’m scared.”
J.T. nodded. He was scared, too, not for himself, but for Brandy and the baby. He wouldn’t be here to defend Brandy when Custer came. Even though the Lakota were destined to win the battle, there was still a chance she might be hurt, or killed.
In the spring, he would take her away from here, find someplace where she would be safe, find a woman to look after her until the baby was born. But for now, for these few precious weeks of winter, he would spend every minute of every day imprinting her image so deeply in his mind that it would last him through eternity.
* * * * *
It was on a cold rainy night in early January that Brandy felt the baby move for the first time. With a startled gasp, she flung off the covers, grabbed J.T.’s hand and pressed it over her belly.
“Did you feel it?” she exclaimed.
“Feel what?” With a frown, J.T. rolled over to face her. “Are you all right?”
“The baby, J.T.. It moved!”
And then he felt it, too, a faint fluttering, like butterfly wings, against the palm of his hand.
“Did you feel it that time?” she asked, and though he couldn’t see her face in the darkness, he could hear the excitement, the wonder, in her voice.
“Yeah,” J.T. said, his own voice tinged with awe. And for the first time, the baby was real to him, a part of himself.
Slipping out from under the covers, he stirred the coals, added a few sticks of wood to the fire, then returned to bed.
Propping himself up on one elbow, he gazed at Brandy. What a wondrous creature a woman was, he mused, that she could take a part of a man into herself and create life. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be a woman, to know there was a child sharing his body with him, to feel that new life moving, growing…
“Brandy.” He whispered her name, just her name.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Do you think Tasina Luta was right? That it’s a boy?”
J.T. nodded. “I believe her.” A son, he thought. His son. He swallowed hard. “Although I wouldn’t mind if it was a little girl as beautiful as her mother.”
Brandy smiled, pleased by the compliment, warmed to the innermost part of her soul by the love shining in her husband’s eyes. “Maybe next…”
The words died in her throat. There would be no next time. She stared up at J.T., seeing her own pain mirrored in his eyes.
And then the baby moved again. “Feel, quick!” she said, grabbing his hand.
For a moment, they gazed at each other, everything else forgotten as they shared the miracle their love had created.
“Until now, I never really thought of it as a baby,” Brandy confessed. “I mean, I knew it was there, that I was pregnant, but now…” She shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”
“I love you, Brandy,” J.T. said, and leaning forward, he kissed her gently, then gathered her into his arms.
She snuggled against him, her heart swelling with tenderness for J.T.. This was a moment she would never forget.
“I want you to do something for me, Brandy love.”
“Anything.”
“When I’m gone, I want you to find someone else.”
“No!” She sat up and stared at him. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”
Pain knifed through him at the thought of another man holding her, raising his son, yet he could not abide the thought of Brandy being left alone when he was gone, of having to go to work to support their child.
“Hear me out,” he said. “I don’t want my son growing up like I did. I want our child to have a mother who’s there for him when he needs her, and a father to look up to. A place to call home.”
“J.T…” She clung to him, not wanting to think of the future, or of a life without him.
“Please, Brandy. You’re a young, beautiful woman. You can’t spend the rest of your life alone. It’s not right. Not for you. Not for our child. Promise me.”
“I can’t. Don’t ask me.”
“Please, Brandy. For me?”
She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. How could he ask this of her? How could she refuse? “I’ll try.”
He took a deep breath, inhaling her fragrance, loving the way she felt in his arms. She would never belong to another man the way she belonged to him. The thought pleased him even as it brought him pain.
He held her in his arms long after she had fallen asleep, reluctant to let her go. He ran his fingertips lightly over her hair, along her neck, over the slight swell of her belly. She had never been more beautiful. He had never loved her more.
He felt the baby stir beneath his hand, and as the first rays of the sun brightened the East, J.T. offered a silent prayer to Wakan Tanka, begging the Great Spirit to watch over his wife and child when he was gone.
* * * * *
Three days later, just before dawn, J.T. left the village to go hunting with Tatanka Sapa and Nape Luta. He hadn’t wanted to leave Brandy, but she had insisted that he go.
“You need to get out, J.T.,” she had said, helping him into the buffalo robe coat she had made for him. “You’ve been cooped up in here too long. It’ll be good for you to spend a little time bonding with the boys.”
J.T. lifted one inquisitive brow. “Bonding with the boys?”
“It’s a modern expression. Now go on, get out of here.”
She’d been right, J.T. mused as he rode over the countryside. He had needed to get out, to spend some time “bonding with the boys”.
While riding, they spoke of the battle that was sure to come, of the seemingly endless wave of whites pouring into Lakota land, of treaties made and broken.
“The wasichu have no honor,” Nape Luta said, his voice filled with scorn. “They make promises they do not keep.”
Tatanka Sapa nodded in agreement. “They have broken every treaty. Not long ago, they promised that the Paha Sapa would be ours so long as the grass grows and the water flows.” He made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “Already the treaty has been broken.”
J.T. wished he could argue with his friends, but he knew they were right. There was no way to keep the whites out of the Black Hills, not now when Custer had discovered gold at French Creek. At first, the Army had made an attempt to turn the miners away, but Sheridan had soon given up the fight as futile. In retaliation, the Indians had began marauding settlements again, which had given the gold miners and adventurers an excuse to strike back.
Nape Luta regarded J.T. thoughtfully for a moment before asking, “Do the white men treat their own with honor?”
&n
bsp; J.T. shrugged. “It depends on the man. The whites aren’t all bad.”
“I will have to take your word for that, tahunsa,” Nape Luta said. “I have never known a wasichu who had any honor.”
“I’d have to agree with you,” J.T. said, grinning. “I haven’t known too many myself.”
It was late afternoon before they found any game. Tatanka Sapa raised his hand, signaling for silence, and all conversation ceased as they concentrated on following the tracks.
There was something almost hypnotic about riding across the snow-covered prairie. Only the sound of the horses trudging through the snow broke the stillness. Dark gray clouds hovered overhead. J.T. huddled deeper into his buffalo robe coat, his thoughts turning toward Brandy as he wondered how she was spending the day. This was the first time they had been apart for more than an hour or two since the Sun Dance. It surprised him how much he missed being with her. Not since his mother died had he allowed himself to care for anyone. But Brandy was ever in his mind, in his thoughts. In his prayers.
His prayers. He had never been a praying man, but now, each morning, he sought a secluded place to commune with Wakan Tanka. A morning song, the Lakota called it, a dawn prayer to the Great Spirit. Always, his prayer was the same: Bless my woman and my unborn child with health and strength. Don’t let them suffer because of me.
He had been surprised by the sense of peace that had been his since he had decided to start each day with a prayer. Several times, he had been tempted to discuss it with Brandy, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to talk about it. And then, one morning when he’d finished praying, he had turned around to find her standing a short distance away.
“I’m sorry,” she had said with an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to spy on you.” She had lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I was just curious to see where you went so early every morning.”
Not knowing what to say, he had merely nodded.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“Of course not.”
He had taken her in his arms and held her close, feeling better somehow because she knew.
During those quiet times of introspection and prayer, he often wondered at Gideon’s silence. It had been a long while since the angel had spoken to him. Did that mean Gideon was pleased with him, or did it mean his guardian angel considered him a lost cause and no longer worth his trouble…
A half-hour later, Nape Luta, the deer they had been tracking. Five does and two yearlings.
J.T. drew an arrow from his quiver and put it to his bow string. Staring down the shaft, he sighted on a doe that didn’t have a yearling at her side.
Holding his breath, he let his arrow fly. Almost simultaneously, he heard the swish of two more arrows. The two surviving does and the yearlings immediately took flight.
J.T. grinned at Tatanka Sapa and Nape Luta, who both grinned back at him.
“A clean kill,” Nape Luta said, nodding at J.T. with approbation.
Tatanka Sapa chuckled. “Remember when he could not hit a target the size of a buffalo?”
“Echa.” Nape Luta said. “He has done well.”
Dismounting, the three men retrieved their arrows, then loaded the carcasses over the backs of their horses.
Tatanka Sapa glanced at the sky. Thick black clouds shrouded the setting sun.
“There is a storm coming,” he predicted. “We should find shelter for the night.”
J.T. shook his head. “I’m going home.”
“You will not make it back before the storm breaks,” Nape Luta said.
“I don’t care.”
“He yearns for the shelter of his woman’s arms,” Tatanka Sapa said with a knowing grin.
J.T. didn’t deny it. He wanted to see Brandy, to sleep at her side. “Are you coming with me?”
Tatanka Sapa and Nape Luta exchanged glances, then grinned.
“My woman’s arms offer more comfort than the cold ground,” Nape Luta mused. “If we hurry, we might yet beat the storm.”
“Yekiya wo!” Tatanka Sapa cried, leaping onto the back of his paint pony. “Let’s go!”
J.T. swung onto the back of his horse, his heart pounding with anticipation as he raced toward home and Brandy’s waiting arms.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was nightfall by the time they reached the outskirts of the village. The storm Tatanka Sapa had predicted had swept past them.
J.T. knew something was wrong even before he saw the first smoldering lodge. His nostrils filled with the fetid stench of blood and death, the acrid smell of smoke. For a moment, he stared at the carnage spread before him, and then he raced toward his lodge, Brandy’s name a cry on his lips.
Whispering Brandy’s name, he stared at the blackened poles, the scorched hide covering.
“Brandy!” Fear unlike anything he had ever known uncoiled within him as he screamed her name. “Brandy!”
There was no sign of her. Digging through the ashes of what had once been his home, he found his Colt. Shoving the pistol into the waistband of his clout, he continued to sift through the ashes. A few minutes later, he uncovered the rattle his grandmother had given him. Miraculously, it was unharmed save for a small scorch mark on the end of the handle.
It was a sign, he thought as he tucked the rattle inside his shirt. A sign that Brandy was alive. She had to be alive.
Please, Wakan Tanka, protect my woman and child. Gideon, if you can hear me, let them be alive and well. Take me now, I don’t care, but let Brandy be alive.
He whirled around at the sound of footsteps. Nape Luta and Tatanka Sapa stood behind him. Blood welled from the long shallow gashes on the arms and chests of both men.
“Only the dead remain,” Nape Luta said.
“What happened?” J.T. asked hoarsely.
“Pawnee,” Tatanka Sapa said, his voice heavy with scorn. “They often raid small villages when the snow is on the ground.” “Most of our old people are dead,” Nape Luta said in a voice as hard and unforgiving as stone.
“What of the men?” J.T. asked. “The women and children?”
“The men who were not killed in battle are probably in hiding. The women and children who survived would have been taken as prisoners.”
Relief washed through J.T.. The Lakota had obviously lost the battle, but Brandy might be still be alive. She had to be alive.
They spent what was left of the night salvaging what they could from the burned-out lodges and burying the dead.
Rage and grief burned in J.T.’s gut like hot coals when he found the bodies of Wicasa Tankala and Chatawinna lying in the wreckage of their lodge.
Nape Luta’s wife had been shot in the back; his two sons were missing. Tatanka Sapa’s father and father-in-law had both fallen prey to the Pawnee.
When they had done all they could, J.T. paced the darkness, oblivious to the rain. His nerves were raw as he imagined Brandy in the hands of another man, frightened, perhaps wounded.
Muttering an oath, he caught up his horse, determined to go after her.
He glanced over his shoulder as he felt a hand on his arm.
“Where are going, my brother?”
“I’m going after my woman,” J.T. replied. He glanced at Tatanka Sapa, who was standing behind his brother. “I’ve got to do something.”
Nape Luta nodded. “We will leave at first light.”
“I’m going now.”
Tatanka Sapa shook his head. “We cannot trail them in the dark. Our horses need rest. We will leave at first light.”
J.T. swore under his breath. Tatanka Sapa was right. There was nothing to do now but wait.
He was sitting back on his heels, resting, when he saw the first warrior. Moments later, several others appeared, and then a handful more.
He saw the fresh cuts on their arms and legs and knew they had spent the night mourning their dead.
He saw the war paint on their faces and chests, and knew they had spent the morning preparing to avenge their dead
.
By sunrise, twenty-three warriors, eighteen women, and eleven children had come down out of the hills.
J.T. listened as one of the warriors related what had happened.
“They came in the hour after sunrise,” Tatanka Sapa’s cousin said, his voice as bleak as winter ice. “They stampeded the horses and set fire to the lodges. Our men fought hard, but we were badly outnumbered.”
Tatanka Ohitika paused, his dark eyes glittering with the memory. “The Pawnee rode through the village, killing everyone. When we saw we could not win, we ran for the hills.”
“You ran!” J.T. exclaimed.
Tatanka Ohitika nodded. “The Pawnee did not come for vengeance or blood, but for our women and horses. We knew the battle would end as soon as our warriors stopped fighting. It was the best way to save the lives of our women and children.”
“Did you see my wife?”
“I saw her,” one of the women said. “She was unhurt.”
“Thank God.”
“We will leave six of our men here, with the women and children,” Tatanka Sapa said. “The rest of us will go after the Pawnee.” He gaze swept the faces of the warriors. “Who will stay?”
Decisions were quickly made. The six eldest men would stay behind. J.T. and Tatanka Sapa would ride ahead. The other men, most of whom were on foot, would follow. In the meantime, Nape Luta and Tatanka Ohitika would ride to Sitting Bull’s camp and ask for help.
An hour later, J.T. and Tatanka Sapa rode out of the village.
I’m coming, Brandy love. I’m coming… J.T. repeated the words in his mind as he rode, willing her to hear them, to know that he would come for her no matter what. He refused to even consider the possibility that she might be injured, or dead. She was alive. She had to be alive.
“Will Sitting Bull send help?” J.T. asked after a while.
“Yes.” No qualifications, no doubts.
The Angel and the Outlaw Page 23
