Feather in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  He Wonjetah reined his horse to a halt a few feet from where Tate Sapa stood. “Hau, cinks.”

  Tate Sapa nodded. “Hau, ate.” He glanced at the warriors spread out behind his father. “Why have you come here?”

  “To ask you to return to our people.”

  “No.”

  “Our people have need of you. The Bluecoats have sent messengers to discuss a treaty. The young men have taken them prisoner. They are arguing for war. Mato Mani has spoken for peace, but they will not listen to him.”

  “Why do you think they will listen to me?”

  “You have always been their leader.”

  “I have taken a white woman to my lodge. Did you not tell me they would no longer respect me?”

  “Where is the white woman?”

  “There is no need for you to know.”

  “Come back with us, cinks. I fear the young men will kill the Bluecoats and bring the soldiers down on us.” He Wonjetah dismounted and placed one hand on his son’s shoulder. “Our tribe is small. We cannot stand against the Bluecoats. Would you see your people destroyed at the cost of your pride?”

  “What of the white woman?”

  “I have spoken to Mato Mani. He has convinced the council that Wakinyela was mistaken. I give you my word, as your father and a warrior, that the white woman will not be harmed.”

  “I must think on it.” Tate Sapa glanced at the other warriors. “Sit. Rest. There is food inside the shelter.”

  “Where are you going?” He Wonjetah asked.

  “I must discuss this with Su-san-nah. This decision involves her also. I cannot make it on my own.”

  * * * * *

  Susannah watched Black Wind walk toward her. Her nerves were stretched like fine wire by the time he reached her hiding place. She had recognized his father. Had the Lakota come to finish what they had started? Was she to die here, in this place?

  She searched Black Wind’s face but could determine nothing from his expression.

  “Su-san-nah?”

  She had an almost overpowering urge to run away from him, to find a hole and crawl into it, to bury her head in her hands and hide in the darkness.

  “Su-san-nah, it is all right.”

  She stepped into view, the rifle heavy in her hands, afraid that nothing would ever be all right again. “What do they want?”

  He took the rifle from her and cradled it in one arm. “They want me to return to the village and speak to the young men.”

  “Are you going?”

  He blew out a sigh that seemed to come from the souls of his feet. “I think I must.”

  She looked up at him, waiting for him to go on, afraid to ask what would happen to her if they went back. She had seen her share of cowboy movies. She knew what happened to unwanted white captives.

  He must have seen the trepidation in her eyes. Slowly, he lifted his hand and caressed her cheek.”You are in no danger, Su-san-nah. I would not go back with them if I thought they meant to harm you.”

  “They were going to kill me a few days ago.”

  “But now they need me alive more than they want you dead,” he replied matter-of-factly. “My people need me, Su-san-nah. I cannot refuse.”

  “Would you refuse if I asked you to?”

  He put his free arm around her waist and drew her up against him. “Yes, Su-san-nah. If you ask me to refuse, I will.” He gazed deep into her eyes. “The decision is yours. What shall I tell my father?”

  “Tell him you’ll go, of course.” She slid her hand down his chest, deeply moved that he would choose her over his own people. “You’ve got to help, if you can.”

  “I knew I had chosen wisely when I took you for my wife,” Tate Sapa said. “Truly, the gods were kind to send you to me.”

  “I don’t know who sent me,” Susannah murmured, “but I’m glad they did.”

  “As I am,” Tate Sapa replied fervently. “As I am.” He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Come, let us go tell my father our decision.”

  * * * * *

  They rode out of the valley late that afternoon. Susannah couldn’t help feeling uneasy as they rode toward the Lakota village. Only a few days ago, people had been insisting she was a witch and screaming for her death.

  Tate Sapa’s father rode on her left, Tate Sapa rode on her right. The other warriors were spread out behind him. She glanced at them over her shoulder. These were men who knew how to fight and had the scars to prove it. They were not rash young men, nor aged veterans, but seasoned warriors in their prime.

  Clad in buckskin leggings and moccasins, their faces as unyielding as granite, their long black hair blowing slighting in the wind, they were an awesome sight. She was glad they were on her side.

  At dusk, they stopped at a waterhole to water the horses and fill their waterskins, then they on for another hour before making camp near a copse of trees.

  The warriors set about making camp with a minimum of fuss or effort. One of the men started a fire, another produced jerky and some little flat cakes that were soaked in water and produced something Black Wind called wojapi, which was kind of like cherry pudding. Blankets were spread around the fire, the horses were hobbled nearby. One warrior took sentry duty, and the others wrapped up in their robes and turned in for the night.

  Susannah lay beside Black Wind, too keyed up to sleep. All around her came the soft sounds of sleeping men. How had they managed to find sleep so quickly?

  She shifted on the hard ground, wishing for her bed at home, for the familiar sounds of the city to lull her to sleep. It was so quiet here. No car horns blaring. No sirens. No dogs barking. No television to fill the emptiness, no radio turned low to fill up the sound of silence. Just the soft snuffling of the horses grazing nearby and the on-again, off-again song of a cricket.

  “Sleep, Su-san-nah,” Tate Sapa urged. “We will be leaving before dawn.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  He held out his arm, inviting her to join him in his blankets. She didn’t wait to be asked twice. Scooting across the short distance between them, she snuggled against him, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder.

  “It will be all right,” he said reassuringly.

  “No,” she said sadly. “It won’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Susannah bit down on her lip, wishing she hadn’t said anything. But maybe he needed to know. “Be careful of any treaty the Army offers you,” she said quietly. “Whatever promises they make, they won’t keep them. They never kept any of them.”

  “What are you saying?”

  She shrugged. “Just that you can’t trust the Army or anyone else. They’ll make you promises they won’t keep. All you can do is try to stay out of their way.”

  Tate Sapa rolled onto his side, his gaze searching hers in the semi-darkness. “Go on.”

  “I don’t remember names and dates,” Susannah said apologetically. “I never paid much attention to history when I was in school. But when I was trying to find out who you were…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I saw your picture, I went to the library to try to find out who you were.”

  “What is library?”

  “White people keep their history in books, sort of like the Lakota winter count.”

  Black Wind nodded. “Go on.”

  “Well, I did quite a bit of reading and I seem to remember that the government promised to give the Sioux the Black Hills and then, when gold was…is discovered, they’ll change their mind. There’s going to be a big fight. It will be a tremendous victory for the Sioux and the Cheyenne, but it won’t matter. In the end, your people will be defeated and sent to live on reservations.”

  “When does this happen?”

  Susannah shook her head. “I’m not sure. I didn’t pay much attention to dates.” She frowned. “In the mid eighteen-seventies, I think, somewhere around there.”

  “What does that mean? Eighteen-seventies?”

  “Well, accor
ding to the white man’s reckoning, it’s 1870 now.”

  Tate Sapa frowned. “How much time is there until the mid eighteen-seventies?”

  “About five years.”

  It was a long time, he thought bleakly, and yet not long enough. “What can I do to help my people?”

  “I don’t know. Urge them not to fight, I guess. You can’t win.”

  He knew she spoke the truth, knew his people could never win against the wasichu. It was why he spoke for peace, why he urged the young men to avoid the war trail. Perversely, he did not like hearing the same words from Susannah.

  “I’m sorry, Black Wind,” she murmured.

  “It is not your fault.”

  “I know, but…” She let the words trail off. It wasn’t her fault. The fate of the Indians had been determined long before she had been born.

  “Go to sleep, Su-san-nah,” Tate Sapa whispered. “The fate of our people rests, as always, with Wakán Tanka.”

  With a sigh, she closed her eyes, wondering if what she had told Black Wind would somehow change the future.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Susannah’s nerves grew increasingly taut as they rode into the village. People stopped what they were doing to stare at her as she passed.

  The first time she had ridden into the village, the Lakota had viewed her with blatant interest and curiosity. But that was gone now, replaced by suspicion and animosity that was so strong, it was like a living breathing thing, threatening to overwhelm her if she let it.

  She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, refusing to let them know how frightened she really was. Black Wind had promised to protect her, but he was only one man, after all. He might not be able to stop them should they decide to do away with her again.

  As soon as they reached his lodge, she slid off her horse’s back and ducked inside. The interior was cool and dim. She took a long drink from a waterskin hanging from one of the lodge poles, then sank down on Black Wind’s buffalo robes and closed her eyes. When she was alone with him, she knew she was where she was meant to be, but now, in the heart of Indian territory, in the midst of dozens of Lakota lodges, doubts assailed her. His people didn’t want her here. They had accused her of being a witch…

  She looked up as someone stepped into the lodge. “Oh Tate…”

  Crossing the floor, he took her hands and drew her to her feet and into his arms.

  “Do not be afraid, Su-san-nah. Mato Mani has given me his word that you will not be harmed.”

  Susannah nodded. She didn’t know if Mato Mani’s word could be trusted, but it made her feel a little better just the same.

  “I must go talk to the soldiers,” Black Wind said. His gaze caressed her. “Will you come with me?”

  “You want me to be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.”

  The soldiers who had come to parley with the Lakota were being held in a large tipi on the outskirts of the village. Two warriors stood guard outside. Tate Sapa spoke to them briefly and Susannah wondered if he were explaining her presence.

  She followed Black Wind into the lodge, then stood near the doorway while her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. There were three soldiers, all bound hand and foot. Two of them looked to be in their early thirties; the youngest, who was surely no more than eighteen or nineteen, had been wounded. Dried blood made a dark stain on his left shirt sleeve just above his elbow. His face was sheened with sweat, his eyes were dull with pain.

  The two older men stared up at her. Recognition flickered in their eyes. Recognition and curiosity. They were wondering what she was doing there, she thought, wondering if she was there of her own free will.

  Tate Sapa studied each man. The youngest of the three stared blankly at the ground. The other two met his gaze defiantly.

  “Why have you come here?” Tate Sapa asked brusquely.

  “Colonel O’Neill sent us to make peace.”

  The reply came from a ruddy-faced man wearing captain’s bars.

  “My people are at peace,” Tate Sapa replied.

  The captain nodded. “Colonel O’Neill wants you and your chiefs to come to the fort and sign a treaty.”

  “Why?”

  “He wants you to guarantee safe passage for any settlers that cross Sioux land.”

  “Do you think that I am a fool, that I would return to the fort so that you can lock me up again?”

  “Colonel O’Neill has promised all charges against you will be dropped if you will cooperate.”

  “I cannot speak for the Yankton, or the Brule, or the Oglala or the Teton,” Tate Sapa replied. “I speak only for my own people, and only as long as they wish to listen.”

  The captain nodded. “I understand that, but we’ve got to start somewhere. If your people will agree to sign the treaty, Crazy Horse and the others might follow.”

  “I will speak to my people. That is all I can do.”

  “And if your people say no?”

  “If they say no, you and your men will be the first to know it.”

  The captain lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “You mean we’ll be dead.”

  Tate Sapa nodded.

  “I’ve got a man here who’s hurtin’,” the captain remarked, cool as you please. “Do you think you could help him?”

  “I will send the medicine man to look after him.”

  “Obliged to you.”

  With a nod, Tate Sapa left the lodge.

  “Ma’am?”

  Susannah had turned to follow Black Wind outside. Now she glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, Captain?”

  “Colonel O’Neill was right about you, wasn’t he? You are a spy.”

  “No, Captain…what’s your name?”

  “McCarin.”

  “I’m not a spy, Captain McCarin.”

  “Then what are you doing here, with him?”

  “I’m not really sure.”

  “If they let us go, you’re welcome to go back to the fort with us.”

  “Thank you, Captain, but my place is here, with him.”

  “I’d think it over, if I was you.”

  “Believe me when I tell you I’ve thought of nothing else, Captain,” Susannah replied, and ducked out of the lodge.

  Tate Sapa was waiting for her.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I will speak to the young men.” He took her hand and they walked toward the river.

  “What about the other men?”

  “Most of our people want peace. It is only the young men eager to count coup who speak for war.”

  “The captain said they wanted your chiefs to go to the fort. You won’t go, will you?”

  “If I must.”

  “You can’t! How can you even think of it?”

  “I am the only one here who speaks and understands the white man’s tongue.”

  “I don’t care! I wouldn’t trust that colonel any farther than I can throw him.”

  A faint smile moved over Tate Sapa’s face. “I do not trust him either, Su-san-nah, but I cannot turn my back on my people. I must try to ensure a lasting peace before it is too late.”

  Susannah blew out a soft sigh as she slipped her arm around his waist. She’d known she wouldn’t be able to talk him out of it, had known that his love for his people, his honor, would compel him to do what he felt was right.

  They had reached the river now. It was cool and quiet near the water. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the cottonwoods. Tate Sapa listened for a moment, wishing the sacred talking trees would tell him what to do, which way to go.

  He gazed into the distance, his thoughts troubled. How could he convince the young men that peace was the answer?

  Was it the answer? As far as he could tell, the whites did not want peace. A peaceful band of Cheyenne had been massacred at Cedar Canyon only a few years earlier. Another band of Cheyenne had been massacred at Sand Creek that same year.

  Only the year before, Custer’s cavalry had at
tacked a camp composed of Cheyenne, Kiowa, Arapaho and a wandering band of Apache who had chosen to make their winter headquarters in a small valley near the banks of the Washita River. The Army had attacked at dawn, killing over a hundred people, including women and children. Chief Black Kettle, who had long been known as a man of peace, had been slain trying to defend his people.

  Susannah laid her hand on Black Wind’s arm. “Black Wind?”

  With a sigh, he turned toward her. “What is the answer, Su-san-nah?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that, in the end, your people will be defeated and forced to live on reservations.”

  “I would rather be dead,” Tate Sapa said vehemently. “I will not live on the reservation.”

  “Are you going to vote for war then?”

  “I do not know.” He blew out a long sigh. “Is it better for us to die now, in battle, or to have the Army hunt us down and kill us a few at a time? What of our children, Su-san-nah? Our old ones? Will I condemn them to death if I say fight? Will they not die on the reservation if we surrender? How can I speak for them?”

  “I don’t know.” She drew him into her arms and held him tight. She didn’t know what kind of life the Indians had led after the Custer battle. She only knew that, in her time, they lived on reservations where unemployment, alcoholism and suicide were at an all-time high.

  Tate Sapa rested his chin on the top of her head. Her arms were warm and comforting and for a moment he took solace in her touch. And then, resolutely, he took her hand.

  “Come,” he said, “I will walk you back to our lodge. It is time for the council to meet.”

  * * * * *

  Susannah jumped to her feet when Black Wind entered the lodge three hours later. “What did they decide?”

  “I have told them I will not go to the fort. They have agreed to meet with me two moons from now at Rock Tree Creek.”

  “What about the soldiers who were captured?”

  “The injured man’s wound has been taken care of. We have given them food and water. Two of our warriors will ride with them until they reach the safety of the fort.”

  “Do you think your chiefs will sign the treaty?”

  Tate Sapa nodded. “We will try for peace one last time.”