Love in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  “Ka-ty.” Iron Wing whispered her name, his voice husky with longing.

  Slowly, Katy turned to face him. The expression on his face, the hunger shining in his dark eyes, started her heart pounding wildly in her breast. For the first time, Iron Wing’s eyes were warm with affection, his expression open and adoring.

  Somehow, Katy was in his arms, her face raised for his kiss. Iron Wing’s mouth was warm and gently coaxing instead of harshly demanding, his arms a welcome support instead of imprisoning flesh holding her against her will. Time seemed to stand still as Iron Wing carefully lowered Katy to the ground.

  Their lovemaking was special that day, almost magical. It was more than a mere joining of their flesh, more than passion. Katy accepted Iron Wing wholeheartedly, with no reservations. She did not think of him as an Indian, but as a strong, virile man who had the power to carry her to the doors of heaven. She loved the touch of his skin beneath her hand, the bulging muscles that rippled beneath her fingertips. The sight of his aroused manhood excited her, making her anxious and eager to receive him. She sighed as he drew her close, whispering her name, his voice deep and husky, softly caressing. When had she stopped hating him? When had she ceased to think of him as an Indian, an enemy, and started seeing him as the epitome of what a man should be?

  She knew a deep contentment as Iron Wing kissed her again, chasing everything from her mind but the wondrous ecstasy of his nearness.

  Iron Wing drew Katy close, feeling his heart soar as every dream he had ever had came true in her arms. She loved him completely, holding nothing back. She was joy and peace and fulfillment embodied in perfect form, and as he buried himself in her womanly sweetness, he felt all his scars fade and disappear.

  Later, cradled in Iron Wing’s arms, Katy touched his shoulder where she had stabbed him. She was suddenly sorry she had caused him pain, and she kissed the scar the knife had made.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured contritely.

  “Perhaps I deserved it,” Iron Wing replied, tenderly stroking her cheek.

  “Oh, you did,” Katy agreed, laughing happily. “You did, indeed! But I’m sorry now that I caused you pain.”

  Iron Wing’s dark eyes caressed her face, his expression as tangible as a caress, and Katy felt the warm sweet longing begin to rise again, swelling, growing, radiating its heat from the center of her being.

  “Do I still have your hatred?” Iron Wing asked in a voice gone soft as honey.

  “Yes,” Katy murmured, suddenly shy. “And my love, too. I guess I’ve loved you for a long time,” she confessed, blushing under Iron Wing’s inquiring gaze. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No,” he answered huskily. “I will bear your love as willingly as your hatred, so long as the results are the same.”

  “Oh, they will be,” Katy assured him with a lingering kiss. “They will be.”

  And it was a long time before they left the shelter of the tall yellow grass.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next few weeks were the most wonderful Katy had ever known. Iron Wing was always at her side, showing her the hidden mysteries and beauties of the wooded hills and plains. He took her on long rides across the burgeoning grassland, showing her a pastoral beauty she had never dreamed existed. The buffalo grass, which would be pale gold and as high as a pony’s belly by late summer, now covered the earth like a velvet carpet, the color so green it almost hurt your eyes just to look at it. Wildflowers bloomed everywhere, making bright splashes of color against the hillsides and on the prairie floor. Trees that had been brown and barren only weeks before were suddenly bursting with tender green shoots and delicate pink blossoms.

  Once, pausing on a high bluff, they watched a buffalo calf come into the world. It was a sight that brought tears to Katy’s eyes, a wondrous miracle of nature that was all the more special because she shared it with the man she loved.

  “It is always the same,” Iron Wing remarked reverently. “No matter how many times you see life renewing itself, there is always the same sense of wonder and awe.”

  Katy smiled into Iron Wing’s eyes. Was this the man she had labeled a godless savage? The man she had accused of having no soul?

  How different everything was now that she saw the world through the eyes of love. Even the endless chores she had once hated took on a new dimension. She dug roots and picked berries and hunted for herbs and seeds and nuts with a light heart, readily joining in the laughter and conversation of the women. She took pride in her cooking, pleased beyond measure whenever Iron Wing complimented her efforts. She found she actually enjoying sewing, and she made Iron Wing four new shirts, a pair of fringed buckskin leggings, and a new pair of moccasins. Soon, he was the best dressed warrior in the village, and the other men began grumbling that Iron Wing was making them all look like beggars in comparison.

  Katy kept his lodge immaculate, and blushed with pleasure when Sun Dreamer remarked, only half-kidding, that maybe he would take a white woman for a wife.

  Iron Wing basked in Katy’s attention. His dark eyes followed her as never before, filled with love and affection. She had always been beautiful beyond description but now, overnight, she was radiant. Her blue eyes sparkled like rare jewels, flashing with vitality and a newfound love for life. She smiled at him often, the glow in her eyes filling him with an inner warmth that was better than the heat from a campfire. His lodge rang with the merry sound of her laughter, and he found himself laughing too, as he had not laughed in years.

  He loved her beyond words, and when the need to express his love grew overpowering, he took her in his arms and made love to her with infinite tenderness, his hands and his lips expressing the feelings he could not voice.

  The days flew by on swift wings. They continued to take long rides into the timbered hills, relishing the moments they spent alone. Iron Wing tried to teach Katy to use his bow, but she had no heart for hunting. The buffalo were so magnificent, the deer and elk so graceful and beautiful, she could not bring herself to shoot at them even though Iron Wing assured her she would likely miss, at least in the beginning.

  Sometimes, at night, they took a blanket outside and watched the stars wheel across the vast Montana sky. Katy knew a deep sense of contentment as she lay beside Iron Wing, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm across her waist. The stars twinkled brightly, and she wondered if anyone else in the world could possibly be as happy as she was.

  Early in the summer, Sun Dreamer made medicine and announced that in three days' time the signs would be favorable for a tribal buffalo hunt. Any warrior found hunting on his own before the appointed day would be severely punished.

  On hearing Sun Dreamer’s proclamation, the warriors began to repair their weapons, checking bowstrings and arrowheads, making sure their buffalo ponies were sound of wind and limb.

  Iron Wing spent many hours going over his weapons, his hands deft and sure as they fashioned a new arrow, or honed the blade of his knife. Now, sitting beside him outside their lodge, Katy put the finishing touches on a new deerskin shirt she had made for him. Somehow, it made her feel very domestic, and she wondered if that was the way married life was, two people sharing a home, each attending to their own chores and responsibilities. Two people sharing one heart.

  Iron Wing glanced at Katy, and her heart swelled with such love that it was almost a physical pain. Tears stung her eyes, and she looked away, but not before Iron Wing saw the moisture glistening in her eyes.

  Quickly, he laid his bow aside and took Katy’s hand in his. “What is wrong, Ka-ty?” he asked anxiously.

  Katy shook her head as the tears came faster and faster.

  “Have I done something to displease you?” he asked, frowning.

  “No, it’s just that…” She laughed through her tears, feeling foolish. “It’s just that I love you so much.”

  “Do you, Ka-ty?” Iron Wing asked in a voice filled with wonder.

  “Yes,” she sniffled. “So much.”

  Abruptly, Iron W
ing’s face closed against hers, and he dropped her hand. “And loving me makes you weep?”

  “No! These are tears of joy. Sometimes, when a woman’s heart is full, she cries.”

  “My heart, too, is full,” Iron Wing said thickly. “You have made my lodge a happy place.”

  For a long moment, they smiled at each other. Then, without saying another word, Katy put her sewing aside and followed Iron Wing into their lodge.

  From a distance, Tall Buffalo watched them, a quiet smile playing over his handsome face. Truly, it had been a good day when he brought the white woman home to his friend.

  The buffalo hunt proved to be a huge success. Every warrior brought down at least one big bull, and there were no injuries among the Indians. It was hard work skinning the heavy carcasses, but the women laughed as they worked, anticipating the feast that would come later. Katy skinned the carcass at her feet carefully. It was a fine pelt, thick and soft, and she smiled as she thought of the warm coat she would make for Iron Wing.

  That evening, the air was filled with the sweet aroma of roasting buffalo. Adults and children alike gorged themselves on sweet hump meat and fat cow, smacking their lips and laughing as the rich red juices dribbled down their chins. Truly the gods had smiled on the Cheyenne this day.

  When everyone had eaten their fill, there was dancing and singing and stories for old and young alike. Most of the stories were of memorable hunts from years gone by, and Katy learned that hunting the great shaggy beasts was much more dangerous than she had imagined. It took a brave man mounted on a brave horse to race alongside a stampeding herd. It took a warrior with a keen eye and a strong arm to drive an arrow or a lance into its heart. It took a pony with speed and sure feet to carry a man in and out of the herd. One slip, one false step, and both man and animal would be pounded into the earth.

  During the next few weeks, the women worked from dawn until dark tanning hides, curing meat, making new robes and moccasins and shirts from the skins.

  Katy was amazed at the variety of things the buffalo provided. Spoons were fashioned from the horn, thread came from the beard and tail, glue came from the hooves. Summer hides were scraped and sewn together for lodge covers. Skins taken in autumn or winter were thick and warm, and these were used for blankets and robes. The bones of the buffalo were used for saddletrees, or fleshing tools. In the winter, the ribs were lashed together with rawhide and used for sleds.

  Yellow Flower taught Katy how to stretch the hides on a willow frame, and how to soften the skin by rubbing them with a mixture of fat and brains, and then pounding them with a rock until they were soft and pliable. It was hard work, but the result was a beautiful robe.

  In midsummer, a band of Sioux joined the Cheyenne for the annual Sun Dance festival, and a holiday atmosphere prevailed as the two tribes renewed old acquaintances. There were dances every night, and contests every day.

  Katy stood between Yellow Flower and Pretty Eyes to watch the first day’s races. Tall Buffalo and Iron Wing were in the contest, and Katy could not help comparing the two men as they waited for the race to start. Tall Buffalo was a little taller, a little younger, his face smooth and unlined, handsome to look upon. But it was Iron Wing who made her heart pound with joy. He was clad in the briefest of wolfskin clouts, and his muscles rippled like silk whenever he moved.

  The first contest was a foot race over a mile-long course. There were perhaps thirty warriors at the starting line. The Cheyenne and the Sioux were avid gamblers, and Katy smiled as men and women hurriedly made last-minute bets on their favorites. Yellow Flower wagered a thick buffalo robe against a pair of handsomely decorated moccasins that her husband would win the race.

  At the signal, all betting ceased and a loud holler went up as the spectators began to cheer the contestants.

  Tall Buffalo and Iron Wing surged into the lead and held it all the way, running neck and neck. Then, ever so slowly, Iron Wing pulled ahead, his long powerful legs driving him faster, faster, until he crossed the finish line a good twenty yards ahead of everyone else.

  Yellow Flower frowned at her husband as he walked up to her. “You!” she scolded in mock anger. “You just cost me a fine robe. I do not know why I continue to bet on you when Iron Wing wins every time.”

  As the days passed, Katy assumed the Sun Dance festival was just an excuse for old friends to get together, to hold contests to see who was the strongest, the fastest, the bravest, or who owned the swiftest horse.

  But on the ninth day, a marked change came over the camp. A special lodge was erected apart from the others. A warrior was sent out to locate a special cottonwood tree that would become the Sun Dance pole. The warrior came back late that day and announced he had been successful, and that night there was a Buffalo Dance to celebrate the blessings of home and life.

  The next day, many women, all renowned for their virtue, went on a ritual hunt for the tree the warrior had “captured” the day before. Four warriors who had been chosen for the task went with the women to count coup on the tree and carry it back to camp. The next day, the trunk of the tree was painted four different colors representing the four sacred directions. Later, cutouts of a male buffalo and a male human, each with genitals so large they made Katy blush, were placed in the fork of the tree, along with other sacred objects, and then the tree was raised to stand inside a sacred circle where the actual Sun Dance would be performed. When the pole was set in the ground, the men of both tribes joined in a war dance around it, shooting arrows at the cutouts.

  At dawn the following morning, the dancers were painted with colors and symbols relating to the degree of pain they had volunteered to suffer. Katy watched in horror as skewers were implanted in the backs of several of the dancers. The skewers were attached, via rawhide thongs, to heavy buffalo skulls. Other participants had the skewers embedded in their chests. Long strips of rawhide were attached to the skewers and fastened to the Sun Dance pole. Now the real ordeal began. Those warriors dragging buffalo skulls began to dance around the sacred pole while the heavy skulls bounced behind them. The other warriors, Bull Calf among them, began to pull back on the thongs that held them bound to the Sun Dance pole.

  Katy turned to Iron Wing. “Why? Why do they do it?”

  “It is our way of giving thanks to Man Above for his blessings. These warriors offer their pain and their blood in behalf of the tribe. Sometimes great visions are bestowed upon those who participate in the Dance.”

  The drumming went on and on. The warriors continued to dance around the sacred pole, their feet moving to the rhythm of the drums. The sun, object of their adoration, rose hot and relentless in the sky. Sweat poured from the spectators and the participants alike.

  Katy watched Bull Calf, his young face bathed in perspiration, his eyes fastened on the sun, the muscles in his body straining against the rawhide. How did he endure the pain without crying out? How could his mother sit and calmly watch while her son suffered?

  “How long must they dance?” Katy asked Iron Wing, wondering how much longer she could stand to watch.

  “Until they pull free of the skewers in their flesh. Sometimes it takes all night.”

  Katy looked up at Iron Wing, her eyes intent upon his face. “Have you ever…?”

  “Yes, when I was a young warrior.” Iron Wing fingered the two faint scars on his chest.

  “Was it dreadfully painful?” Katy asked, wondering why she had never noticed those two particular scars before.

  “At first. But the pain grew less as I stared at the sun.”

  “Did you have a vision?”

  “Yes. A great eagle appeared to me. He told me that if I upheld the ways of the People, I would find that which I had been seeking.” Iron Wing smiled into Katy’s eyes. “It is you, Ka-ty, who have made my vision come true.”

  The summer raced by. Katy’s fine skin darkened until it was almost as brown as Iron Wing’s. Only her brilliant blue eyes distinguished her as a white woman. She spoke the Cheyenne language fluently
now, and she had accepted all the tribe’s rituals and customs. With her prejudices gone, she saw the Indians as people and discovered that, red or white, male or female, people were pretty much the same wherever you found them.

  Iron Wing’s pride in Katy knew no bounds. She was warm and gentle, kindhearted to all, and more beautiful than the sacred hills. She cared for his needs, satisfied his wildest desires, and made him feel like the most wonderful man ever created. But it was when she looked at him, her sky-blue eyes warm with love and adoration, that he cherished her most of all.

  * * * * *

  With the coming of winter, the tribe prepared to move back to the Dakotas. This time Katy needed no help in getting ready. She packed their belongings, dismantled their lodge with ease, and was ready to go at the appointed time.

  Iron Wing had given her a horse of her own, and Katy rode beside Iron Wing leading a travois pony, and feeling very proud of herself. She was almost as Indian as he was. Anyone, seeing her from a distance, would have difficulty recognizing her as a white woman. Her hair was as black as an Indian’s, her skin deep bronze, her clothing and mannerisms Cheyenne.

  Winter was fast upon them when a runner came into their midst with news from the Indian agent at Fort Lincoln. The Grandfather in Washington had ordered all Indians to go to the reservation by January 31 of the new year, or they would be treated as hostiles.

  A great murmur rose through the camp. Was the Grandfather crazy in the head? It was the middle of winter. There was no way families could move their lodges through the deep snowdrifts. Children and old ones would sicken and die on the trail. Surely the runner had misunderstood the Grandfather’s instructions.

  But no, the runner repeated his message. January 31 was the correct day. All Indians must report to the reservation by then, or be considered hostiles and treated accordingly.