Feather in the Wind

by Madeline Baker

  When she was finished, she gathered her courage and went outside. They would need wood for the fire and she was determined to get it. Black Wind had suffered enough ridicule on her account. Finding wood was something she could do on her own.

  She was conscious of being watched as she made her way toward the forest that grew on the edge of the meadow. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care that the Indians didn’t like her, didn’t trust her, but she knew it was a lie. She’d never had trouble making friends, never been on the outside looking in, until now.

  Back straight, shoulders square, she kept walking, not relaxing until the trees hid her from view. With a sigh, she began to gather the small branches and twigs that littered the ground. Birds twittered in the tree tops; a squirrel watched her pass by. The hum of insects blended with the sighing of the wind.

  When she’d gathered an armful of wood, she turned around and headed back the way she’d come, only then realizing that she wasn’t sure which direction to go. She hadn’t walked in a straight line and now, deep in the heart of the forest, she had no idea which way to go. She fought back a rush of panic.

  “Think, Susannah,” she muttered, cheered a little by the sound of her own voice. “You can’t be very far from camp.”

  She glanced around one more time, then started walking, hoping to see a familiar landmark. But the trees all looked the same.

  When she’d been walking for about fifteen minutes, she realized she had to be going the wrong way. Veering to the left, she took off in that direction.

  Twenty minutes later she admitted she was hopelessly lost. Her Girl Scout leader had once told them that if they got lost, they should sit down and wait for someone to find them. Thinking that sounded like good advice, Susannah found a fallen log and sat down, then dumped her load of firewood on the ground.

  She wouldn’t panic. Black Wind would find her.

  For a time, she studied her surroundings. The forest reminded her of the story of Hansel and Gretel. Remembering the story, she grinned as she cast Wakinyela in the part of the Wicked Witch.

  She listened to the breeze whisper to the trees, and wondered what was happening back home. She hated to think of the worry her disappearance must be causing her parents, her friends, her editor. Had she been declared missing? Dead? Abducted by aliens…

  She blew out a sigh, knowing it was useless to worry and wonder. There was nothing she could do about it now.

  Unable to sit still any longer, she picked up her load of wood and started walking again. Even if she was going in the wrong direction, at least she was doing something.

  The forest seemed to get thicker as she went along, and the panic she had been trying so hard to ignore hit her full force. Well and truly frightened now, she began to walk faster. That was when she heard it, a rustling in the brush to her left. Some deep-seated instinct halted her in mid-flight and she froze, her gaze darting toward the noise.

  Her mouth went dry and her heart plummeted to the ground as a brown bear rose behind a clump of bushes. Berry juice, as red as blood, dripped from its mouth and stained its enormous paws. Nostrils flaring, it stared at her through black beady eyes.

  Time stretched into infinity as she stood there, waiting, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. She recalled a TV show she’d seen where a bear had suddenly turned on a woman and started mauling her. But that bear had been muzzled and on a leash. This one looked quite capable of tearing her to shreds. Did bears eat meat? Did it matter?

  She thought she heard footsteps behind her, but she was too terrified to risk a glance over her shoulder. And then she heard Black Wind’s voice, soft and soothing.

  “Do not move, Su-san-nah.”

  She tried to speak but she couldn’t form the words, couldn’t push them past the lump of terror lodged in her throat.

  The bear stood there, unmoving, for minutes without end. She noticed how long its claws were, that it was missing a piece of its left ear, that there were gray hairs mixed in with brown. It seemed as though years passed and then, abruptly, the bear dropped to all fours and ambled away.

  “Su-san-nah?”

  She watched death walk away from her, and then, feeling suddenly dizzy, she went limp. The firewood she had gathered tumbled from her arms.

  “Su-san-nah!” He dropped his rifle and caught her before she fell. “Su-san-nah, it is all right.”

  She looked at him blankly for a moment, then, with a strangled sob, she buried her face in his shoulder as tears welled in her eyes and violent tremors shook her body.

  “It is all right, wastelakapi,” he murmured. “It is all right. Mato has gone.”

  “I was so afraid.” Her teeth were chattering now. “So afraid.”

  “I know.” Effortlessly, he swung her into his arms and held her close, rocking her as if she were a child.

  “What if…if it comes back?”

  “He will not. He is an old warrior, long past fighting.”

  “He…he didn’t look so old to me.”

  “He has wandered these woods for many years, Su-san-nah. He has never harmed anyone.” He smiled at her. “I hunted him when I was very young. My arrow did not fly straight. Instead of his heart, I hit his ear. Old Mato and I have crossed paths many times since then.”

  His voice, low and soothing, calmed her. She tried to imagine what Black Wind had been like as a child, a teenager, a young man.

  He carried her back to where he had left his horse and lifted her onto its bare back; then, leading the horse by the reins, he walked back and gathered the wood she had dropped. He placed it in her lap, then vaulted up behind her, his arm wrapping around her waist, holding her close.

  “How did you know where I was?” Susannah asked.

  “My father saw you leave the village. He said you had been gone a long time.”

  “I got lost.”

  “It is easy to do.”

  Susannah looked doubtful. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Black Wind getting lost.

  They reached the village a short time later. Black Wind slid off the back of the horse and took the wood from Susannah’s hands. He carried it inside the lodge, then came back to lift her from the horse.

  She buried her face against his shoulder so she wouldn’t have to see the faces of the people who were staring at her.

  “I’m never going to fit in here,” she murmured as he lowered her feet to the ground. “Never!”

  “In time…”

  Susannah shook her head, her gaze fixed on the feather tied in his hair. “I want to go home.”

  His dark eyes reflected the hurt her words caused him. His hands fell away from her waist and he took a step backward. “I will not keep you here against your will.”

  “Oh Tate,” she sighed, “it isn’t you I want to leave. But you have to admit I don’t fit in here. And you know your people will never trust me. They think I’m a witch! The only reason I’m even allowed to be here is because they need you.”

  He wanted to argue with her, to tell her it wasn’t true, that, in time, his people would learn to love her, but he didn’t believe it himself. “What do you want me to do, Su-san-nah?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  * * * * *

  Susannah was still pondering Black Wind’s question the following afternoon as she walked down to the river for water. What did she want him to do? She had told him she wanted to go home, but she knew he couldn’t do anything about that. And, deep down, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back, not unless Black Wind could go with her.

  There were several women and children gathered near the river. Susannah wished she could join them, sit down and spend a few minutes chatting with them. But even if she could speak Lakota, she knew she wouldn’t be welcome in their midst. The women glanced her way, then ignored her.

  Susannah knelt beside the water and filled her container, pretending to ignore them too. She smiled as she watched a couple of toddlers splashing in the water. On shore, two little boys were wrestling
. A little girl sat on a blanket, chewing on a piece of jerky while she watched the boys.

  With a sigh, Susannah stood up. She was about to head back to the village when the little girl started to choke. The women quickly gathered around her, thumping her on the back, but to no avail.

  Seconds ticked by. Unable to stand there and do nothing, Susannah ran forward, grabbed the girl, praying that she remembered how to do the Heimlich maneuver.

  The women stood there, astonished, as a piece of jerky flew out of the little girl’s mouth.

  “I think she’ll be all right,” Susannah said. She glanced at the women, who were staring at her in awe. When she heard the word wihmunge, she decided it was time to go.

  When she returned to the lodge, Black Wind was sitting outside, honing the blade of his hunting knife. He smiled at her as she dropped the waterskin and sat down beside him.

  “What has happened?” he asked. “You look worried.”

  “Oh Tate,” she sighed, and quickly told him about the incident at the river.

  “You did the right thing, Su-san-nah. You could not let the child die.”

  “I know, but I heard that witch word again. It scares me. Tate, look.”

  Tate Sapa glanced up to see several men and women walking toward them. He stood up, then offered Susannah his hand and drew her up beside him. “Do not be afraid.”

  Easier said than done, Susannah mused as the Indians came to a halt in front of the lodge.

  A man leading a horse stepped forward. He began to speak. Susannah watched Black Wind’s face, hoping to find a clue to what the man was saying in Black Wind’s expression. Everyone looked so solemn, she was sure it wasn’t good news.

  When the man finished speaking, he handed Susannah the horse’s reins, then stepped back. Two women came forward. One handed Susannah a dress made of doe hide and a pair of soft moccasins, the second offered her a buffalo robe.

  “Are these for me?” She looked at him blankly. “Why?”

  “They are gifts from the girl’s father and mother and grandmother for saving her life.”

  “They don’t have to give me anything for that.”

  “It is our way, Su-san-nah.” He took the buffalo robe, which was quite heavy, and draped it over the horse’s back, then took hold of the horse’s reins. “It would be an insult for you to refuse.”

  “Oh, well, tell them thank you for me.”

  “You tell them.”

  Susannah nodded, one hand stroking the dress, which was as soft as velvet. What was that word? Oh yes. “Pilamaya.”

  The man and the two women nodded at Susannah, then turned away. The others followed.

  “Does this mean they don’t think I’m a witch anymore?”

  “No,” Tate Sapa said, smiling, “but they have decided that you are a good witch.”

  “Like Glinda,” Susannah murmured.

  “What is…Glin-da?”

  “The good witch of the East,” Susannah said, then laughed. “Never mind.” She lifted the reins. “What am I supposed to do with a horse?”

  Tate Sapa lifted the robe from the horse’s back and tossed it inside the lodge, then tethered the horse to a stake driven into the ground near the lodge.

  “It is a fine animal,” he remarked, running his hands over the horse’s neck and over its back.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  “It is a mare.”

  “Oh.” It was a pretty horse, sort of a cinnamon color with a dark mane and tail and one white stocking. “I think I’ll call her Broomhilda.”

  Tate Sapa frowned. “What does Broom-hil-da mean?”

  “It’s the name of a witch,” Susannah said, grinning. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the next few weeks, Susannah found herself being more readily accepted by the Lakota. True, no one was beating down her door in an effort to be her best friend, but at least the people no longer looked at her with dark suspicious eyes. Mothers didn’t hold their children close when she passed by. She had saved the life of a Lakota child and there was nothing of greater worth to the Indians than their children.

  She remembered seeing a bumper sticker once that said something about it taking a whole tribe to raise a child; here, in the land of the Lakota, she saw that saying in action. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, all played a role in the raising of a child. Babies weren’t left with strangers; there was always a member of the family ready and willing to look after an infant. Children didn’t have to look far for someone to play with. If father was away hunting, grandfather was there to teach a young boy how to use a bow and arrow. If mother was nursing the baby, grandma or an aunt was there to make a new dress for a little girl’s doll.

  Now that she was no longer on the outside looking in, Susannah’s entire view of the village changed. She saw the love and concern the people felt for one another, she heard their laughter, saw their sorrow when an aged parent passed away. The Lakota weren’t savages, they weren’t cold and cruel and heartless, they were just people trying to survive and make a home in the most primitive of circumstances.

  She looked at Black Wind with new eyes, too, and felt a warm affection for the people who had raised him, who had made him the wonderful man he was. She wished suddenly that she could have met his mother.

  These were busy days for the people. Acquiring food seemed a never-ending task, yet, in the evening, there was always time to play. Some nights there were dances, some nights were filled with story-telling.

  One evening there was an ear-piercing ceremony. Black Wind told her this was a big event in a young girl’s life, and took place sometime between the age of four and ten. It was a way for the parents to show how much they loved their daughter. A man who was well respected in the tribe was asked to pierce the girl’s ears. The grandmother put on a big feed.

  Black Wind explained that there were spirits who watched over food; if a person was selfish, the spirits would go away, but if a person was generous with what they had, then the spirits would remain.

  Later, the girl sat on a blanket surrounded by all the gifts her parents would give away in her honor. The man who pierced the girl’s ears was given the most valuable gift. Susannah thought it a charming tradition.

  The days passed quickly now. Black Wind was teaching her to speak Lakota. It was not an easy language to learn, but she was determined to master it. Few people in the village spoke English; until she could communicate with them, she would always be an outsider. She quickly learned a few basic words—cinks, pronounced chinks, meant my son; ciye, pronounced chee-YAH, meant a man’s brother; skuyela, was pronounced skoo-YAH-lah and meant sweet; hiya, which was pronounced hee-YAH, meant no.

  The best times, her favorite times, were when Black Wind took her riding. The country was so beautiful, she never tired of looking at it. They rode through lush meadows, up mountains thick with trees, along slow-moving streams.

  They made love on a bed of soft green grass in a lush meadow, beneath the sheltering boughs of a wind-swept pine high on a mountain side, under a blanket of stars beside a slow-moving stream.

  She could not get enough of him. She reveled in his kisses, in the touch of his hand, in the husky tremor in his voice when he whispered that he loved her.

  Sometimes, as now, it amazed her that she could be so happy in this place; she, who had never liked camping or roughing it outdoors, who had loved long hot baths and dining in expensive restaurants. Such a short time ago, she had wanted only to go back home; now she wished only to stay here, in this time, in this place, with this man.

  “What are you thinking, Su-san-nah?” He rose up on one elbow so he could see her face. Gently, he dragged a finger over the tip of her nose, along the curve of her cheek.

  “How happy I am,” she replied.

  “Are you, truly?”

  She nodded, loving the way he looked at her, the way his gaze caressed her. “I never want to leave this place.�
�

  “Or me?”

  “Or you.” She smiled up at him, thinking how handsome he was, how sexy he looked wearing only shadows and a smile. “Do you think your father will ever like me?”

  Tate Sapa blew out a breath, then shrugged. “Perhaps, in time. He has not yet forgiven me for refusing to take Wakinyela as my wife.”

  “It’s more than that. It’s because I’m white, isn’t it?”

  Tate Sapa nodded. “He has a strong hatred for the wasichu.”

  “Well, I guess I can’t blame him for that.” White men had killed his wife and daughter together with many of his friends.

  “It bothers me, though, knowing he wishes I wasn’t here.”

  “Let us not think of that now,” Tate Sapa said. He brushed kisses over her face and neck and breasts. “Let us think only of each other.”

  Susannah sighed, only too willing to do as he asked. She felt like a pagan, making love to Black Wind in the deep shadows of a wooded glen beneath a bright blue sky. She could hear birds singing, the wind whispered soft secrets to the trees, the hum of insects, the beating of her own heart as Black Wind’s kisses became more intense. She was like clay in his hands, her body molding itself to hers, soft and pliable, willing to be shaped to his needs and desires.

  She rose to meet him, welcoming the sweet invasion of his flesh, drawing him deep inside her, her eyelids fluttering down as fulfillment washed over her and through her, and she knew, in that moment, in the deepest part of her being, that they had created a new life between them…

  The next day, a group of hunters returned to the village. There was a feast that night. Everyone dressed in their finest, then met near the center of the village. Women had been cooking all day—ribs and hump meat and tongue. There were wild onions and potatoes and turnips, berries and nuts and wojapi, which was a kind of pudding.

  After the feast, there was dancing. Susannah watched in fascination as the Indians danced. Sometimes just the women, sometimes just the men, sometimes the children joined them.

  Some of the steps were so intricate, she wondered how anyone mastered them; some were slow and simple.