Love in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  “Go on, honey, let it all out,” Mike said soothingly. “Maybe you’ll feel better.”

  “It’s all my fault,” Katy babbled. “I should never have gone to see Pablo last week. I thought I could make him understand that I love Iron Wing, but he refused to listen. He said I should divorce Iron Wing and marry him. And now Iron Wing has killed him. But how did Iron Wing find out?” Katy lifted tormented eyes to Mike’s face. “Iron Wing has always been so jealous. I knew he’d kill Pablo if he thought there was anything between us, and now he has.” Fresh tears filled her eyes.

  “Calm down, Katy Marie,” Mike said, patting her on the back. “I’m going to get Juanita to look after John, and then you and I are going into town. I want to hear what Iron Wing has to say about all this.”

  Iron Wing paced the narrow jail cell like a caged tiger, his moccasined feet making little noise on the raw wood plank floor. Now and then he paused to look out the barred window that gave him a clear view of the town’s main street. There were a dozen men milling about in front of the nearest saloon, all talking loudly about a lynching before the night was out. One man had a rope over his shoulder.

  Near the jailhouse, three deputies stood in the street, rifles cradled in their arms. A fourth deputy sat in the sheriff’s office, keeping watch until Smithfield returned.

  With a last look at the crowd, Iron Wing began pacing again. He had seen men hang. It was not a pleasant way to die, with your feet kicking in the air and your eyes bulging from their sockets. He shuddered violently. It was no way for a Cheyenne warrior to meet death. A warrior should die in battle, killing his enemies.

  He felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him as more and more men joined those gathered in the street. Sooner or later, those men would rush the jail and string him up. He would never see Katy or his son again, never return to the sacred hills.

  There was a sudden commotion in the street as Porter Smithfield rode up and ordered the crowd to disperse. Amid considerable grumbling, the mob cleared the street. But they only went as far as the saloon.

  Thirty minutes later, Katy and Sommers swept into the jail.

  Iron Wing’s eyes devoured Katy, wanting to memorize every detail of her face so he could carry her image into the afterlife.

  Katy hurried toward Iron Wing, her hands reaching through the bars so she could touch him.

  “You’ve got just fifteen minutes,” Smithfield said, closing the door that divided the cellblock from his office.

  “We don’t have much time,” Sommers said. “What the hell happened?”

  “Alvarado ambushed me in the hills. When he came to make sure I was dead, I killed him.”

  “That’s it?” Mike asked irritably. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  Iron Wing shrugged. “What difference does it make what happened? No one will believe me.”

  “I believe you,” Katy said softly.

  “But they will not listen to you,” Iron Wing muttered bitterly. “They will see only that a white man is dead, and I am alive.”

  “Damn, that crowd out there looks nasty,” Mike said, jerking his head toward the street where the mob had gathered once again.

  “Mike, take Katy out of here. I do not want her to get hurt.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Sommers said. “Those men sound pretty liquored up. Anything’s liable to happen.”

  “I won’t go,” Katy protested, locking her arms around Iron Wing’s waist, though the bars made such a thing difficult.

  “You must think of our son,” Iron Wing said, loosening her grasp.

  “Iron Wing, please don’t send me away.”

  For a moment, Iron Wing looked at her tenderly. “Go, Ka-ty,” he said thickly. “I am not afraid.”

  “Kiss me goodbye.”

  With a faint smile, he drew her close to the bars. “I love you,” he said as his mouth came down on hers and his arm squeezed her tight. “Go now.”

  There was a loud crash as the jailhouse door was forced open. Mike cursed under his breath. Smithfield had taken his gun. Unarmed, he was no match for a crowd of drunken men.

  “Get her out of here!” Iron Wing shouted, his fear for Katy’s safety making his voice ragged.

  “I’ll take care of her and the baby,” Sommers promised. “Come on, Katy. Damn it!” He cursed as she bit his hand, whirling out of his grasp.

  “I’m not going!”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Mike said harshly. “Think of John.”

  Indecision overwhelmed Katy. She could hear the men arguing with the sheriff in the next room, demanding that Smithfield surrender the prisoner. There was a loud crash, an oath, and then a loud pounding on the door.

  With a sob, Katy pressed her face to the cell door, felt her tears start as Iron Wing gave her a hasty kiss.

  “Take care of our son,” he said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  Katy nodded, unable to speak.

  A gunshot tore the lock from the door and the mob rushed into the cellblock, guns drawn. One man had a rope. Another had the key to Iron Wing’s cell.

  Michael pulled Katy close to him, drawing her into his arms as he eased back into a corner, while all hell broke loose.

  There was no fear on Iron Wing’s face, only contempt as three men entered his cell, their guns aimed in his direction.

  “Come on, Injun,” drawled a man in a black leather vest and black whipcord pants. “We’re gonna have us a little party, and you’re the guest of honor.”

  “Yeah,” another man said with a grin. “A necktie party!”

  When Iron Wing refused to move, the man in the black vest drove the butt of his rifle into Iron Wing’s belly. Iron Wing doubled in half, his hands clutching his stomach. A second man brought his fist down on the back of Iron Wing’s neck, dropping him to the floor, while the third man quickly handcuffed the Indian’s hands behind his back.

  “Listen here,” Mike said, starting forward. “You’ve no right to…”

  “No right to what?” sneered the man in the vest as he swung his rifle around to cover Sommers.

  “Lynching is against the law,” Mike went on doggedly. “Every man is entitled to a fair trial.”

  “We’re gonna try him,” the man in the vest declared insolently. “And then we’re gonna hang him. You wanna try and stop us?”

  Mike glared at the man, itching to make a grab for the rifle aimed at his guts, but he had Katy to think of. He could not start something that might get her hurt or killed. Sarah would never forgive him.

  “Well?” the man in the vest said disdainfully.

  Clenching his fists, Mike shook his head. “I didn’t think you had the guts,” the man jeered. “Come on, boys, get him outside.”

  Katy turned pleading eyes on Mike as Iron Wing was dragged out of the cell and thrust onto the back of a slat-sided gray horse.

  “Do something!” Katy cried frantically. “You can’t let them hang him. Please!”

  “I’ll try,” Sommers said. Running out of the cellblock, he scooped up a rifle from the rack in the sheriff’s office and headed down the street, wondering if Smithfield would survive the nasty blow to the side of his head. Katy ran after Mike, then stopped in horror as she saw the noose around Iron Wing’s neck.

  She stared at the rope, and it seemed as if everything happened in slow motion.

  Mike was running down the street, but he was going to be too late. Already, one of the men standing nearby was raising his hand to slap the gray horse on the rump. When the horse bolted, Iron Wing would be left swinging in the air…

  A sudden gunshot cracked across the noisy street, slicing through the commotion like a knife through butter.

  All eyes turned toward the north end of the street to where Jose Alvarado sat atop a snowy white stallion.

  “Cut him down!” Alvarado said. His voice carried loud and clear in the stillness.

  “Cut him down!” someone hollered. “He killed your son.”

  “No,” Jose Alvarado said sadly.
“My son killed himself.”

  “Now, listen, Don Alvarado,” Jake Simmons said. “We were there.”

  “I know you all mean well,” Alvarado said, his eyes moving over the crowd. “But you do not know the full story. I know that man did not kill my son in cold blood. If anything, it was self-defense. Now cut him down, and go home where you belong. There has been enough bloodshed.”

  Chastened, the men standing beside Iron Wing cut his hands free. In moments, the street was empty save for Iron Wing, Katy and Sommers.

  Katy ran to Iron Wing and threw herself into his arms, covering his face with kisses and tears.

  “Let’s go home,” Mike said. “Your mother will never believe any of this.”

  Strangely, Iron Wing never questioned why Pablo Alvarado had tried to kill him. Katy suspected he had a pretty good idea, but they never spoke of it.

  The day after the attempted lynching, Katy received a letter from Jose Alvarado.

  “My dear Katy,” the letter read, “Please forgive my son for the near-tragedy of last night. Pablo was obsessed with the idea of having you for his wife. Last night, as I went through his dresser drawers, I found a wedding dress with your name on it, as well as a large trousseau. Apparently he could not believe that you would prefer your husband to himself. I am sure Pablo believed that if your husband were out of the way, he could win your love. I do not like to think that my son would have killed your husband in cold blood, and yet I am sure in my heart that such was his intention. I am equally certain that your husband killed Pablo in self-defense. I am truly sorry that my family has caused you such pain. Your humble servant, Jose Alvarado.”

  Poor man, Katy thought as she folded the letter and put it away. How hard it must have been for him to write to her, with his eldest son not even buried yet, his good name tarnished.

  She clung to Iron Wing that night. She had almost lost him. Thank God that Jose Alvarado’s sense of honor was stronger than any need for vengeance.

  Their lovemaking that night was both tender and violent, gentle and frenzied. Because she had almost lost him, Katy poured out her whole heart and soul, giving her love with both hands, wanting him to know how much she needed him, wanted him, loved him. She dug her fingernails into his flesh, reveling in the muscles that bunched beneath her hand, reassuring herself that he was still hers, to touch, to take. Twining her legs around his waist, she pulled him closer, deeper, seemingly unable to get enough of him. She purred with delight as he drove into her, his manhood filling her, making her complete.

  Iron Wing understood Katy’s need to possess and be possessed, for the same primal craving spurred him on, urging him to prove his mastery. He buried his face in the silky mass of her hair, breathing in its fresh, sweet scent, drowning in its blackness. His hands moved over her willing flesh, branding every inch of his. He sought her lips, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that sent fingers of fire darting to every part of her body.

  They made love all through the night, their passion a celebration of life, of renewal, until at last, they slept, sated and content, locked in each other’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Fall, 1877

  When her son was seven months old, Katy realized there was something very wrong between herself and Iron Wing. Though he treated her as tenderly and lovingly as ever, he often seemed withdrawn and far away from her. He spent long hours on the range, ostensibly searching for stray cattle or mending fences. Some nights he did not come home at all, but bedded down under the stars, alone. He had never been one to make idle chatter and now he became even more quiet and subdued. Only when he played with John did his eyes shine with the joy of living.

  More and more Iron Wing excused himself from the parties and sociables that Katy so dearly enjoyed, preferring to spend his time outside, away from the noise and the laughter and the music.

  That fall, he began going away for several days at a stretch. Ostensibly, he was hunting, and he always came home with a deer or some rabbits or a wild turkey, but Katy knew that, in reality, he was seeking escape from the ranch and civilization. Alone in the hills, he could pretend, if only for a little while, that he was a warrior again.

  It was late one night, after a birthday party for one of Katy’s friends, that Katy found Iron Wing sitting on the veranda, his eyes dark and brooding as he stared into the distance. Katy knew then that what she had secretly feared all along was true, Iron Wing was homesick for his old life, homesick for the rolling Montana prairies, for the sight of the Sacred Black Hills.

  Sitting down beside him, her hand resting on his thigh, she let her thoughts go back to the days she had spent with the Cheyenne. Once she had accepted her true feelings for Iron Wing and admitted she loved him, her life with the Indians had been good. True, the work had been hard, the days long, the luxuries few, but there had been a feeling of being a part of the land, a feeling of accomplishment and pride in the work of her hands. And there had been the land itself, the rolling hills, the lush valleys, the endless miles of grass. Iron Wing was a part of that land. The mountains, the rich black earth, the song of the eagle and the hawk were in his blood.

  Her heart went out to him then, and with a little cry of sympathy, she crawled into his lap and buried her face in his shoulder. How foolish she had been! You could catch a wild animal, tame it, and love it, but it was never truly happy again, no matter how big the cage. Wild things were meant to live wild. And Iron Wing had never been happy living in a house, surrounded by solid walls, burdened with alien traditions and the trappings of civilization. That he had put up with such nonsense at all told her more than words how much he loved her.

  “You’re not happy here, are you?” Katy asked, though she did not need to hear the words to know what his answer would be.

  “No,” Iron Wing replied glumly. “But you are.”

  “This is my home,” Katy murmured. “I belong here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you…you aren’t going to leave, are you?”

  “I think so,” Iron Wing answered after a long pause. “I cannot live like a white man, Ka-ty,” he said in a tortured voice. “I thought I could, for you, but I cannot. I feel like I am dying inside.”

  Katy went cold all over as she realized what he was saying, and what it meant. She could beg him to stay, and perhaps he would, because he loved her. But he would never be happy. He needed to be free as only an Indian is free.

  He had not asked her to go with him, and that made Katy smile faintly. No doubt he thought she could only be happy amid the luxury and ease of her mother’s house. And she was happy here, Katy thought, but then, she could be happy anywhere as long as Iron Wing was beside her. He was her home, her land, and she would gladly follow him through fire and flood just to be near him.

  “Well,” Katy said briskly, “when do we leave?”

  Iron Wing looked at her in disbelief, and then a smile lit his face. Throwing back his head, he gave a mighty shout and then he grabbed her in his arms and swung her high in the air.

  “Ka-ty,” he murmured, his voice brimming with emotion. “Do you realize what you are doing? You would leave all this to be with me?”

  “All this and more.” Much more, she thought, just to have him look at her like that, as if she were the most wonderful woman in the world.

  “We will wait until spring, when the grass is new.” Iron Wing looked past Katy to the house. He could see Sarah and Mike sitting in the parlor, reading. It was a cozy scene, the fireplace, the couple sitting together, the expensive furniture and pictures and carpets.

  Iron Wing took Katy’s face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “I will understand if you change your mind. I can never give you the things you are leaving behind.”

  “I won’t change my mind. You’ve given me much more than I’m leaving behind. So much more.” A sound from inside the house drew Katy’s attention, and she looked in the window to see her mother and Mike tussling on the sofa like a couple of kids. It would be hard,
telling her mother they were leaving.

  “Let’s not tell anyone we’re going,” Katy said. “Not for a while. Christmas is coming, and I don’t want to spoil our holiday.”

  “What is Christmas?”

  “It’s a time of celebration,” Katy explained, grinning.

  “What do you celebrate?”

  “The birth of Jesus.”

  “Jesus.” Iron Wing nodded as he remembered the stories the missionary lady had told him of the man, Jesus, and how He was the Son of the white man’s God, sent to earth to save the white eyes from their sins, and how they had killed Him.

  “When is this Christmas?”

  “Next month. It’s a lovely time of the year.”

  And it was a special holiday that year. Knowing it would be the last Christmas she would enjoy at home, Katy was determined to make it perfect. She shopped for just the right gift for her mother and Mike, and finally decided that the best thing she could give them would be a portrait of Iron Wing, John, and herself. Iron Wing balked at sitting so long to have his picture painted, but he did it to please Katy. The painting, when it was finished, perfectly captured Katy’s delicate beauty, John’s delightful personality, and Iron Wing’s strength of character.

  Sarah and Mike were thrilled with the portrait, declaring it was the best present they could have had.

  Katy bought Iron Wing a set of buckskins so he would have something to wear when they left for the Dakotas. Sarah experienced a sense of foreboding when Iron Wing unwrapped the heavy buckskin shirt and pants, but she put the feeling from her.

  Iron Wing gave Katy a set of wooden combs for her hair, and she treasured them because she knew he had made them with his own hands.

  There were numerous gifts for John—toys and rattles and clothes. There was a new Winchester rifle for Iron Wing, a gift from Sarah and Mike. There was a bottle of perfume for Katy, and a new dress, also from Sarah and Mike.

  That night, as the family sat before the fireplace, Sarah declared it was the best Christmas she had ever known.