The thought flitted through her mind, making her almost physically ill. But no, it had been real, as real as the old-fashioned calico dress and dusty moccasins she wore.
“Black Wind…” She whispered his name as a sadness too deep for tears engulfed her. She was home, she thought bleakly, only it didn’t seem like home anymore. Not when he wasn’t there to share it with her.
She glanced at her wrist, hoping to find the prayer feather magically returned to her, but it was gone, and with it her only chance of going back in time, back to the man who had claimed her heart and soul.
With a sob, she sank back on the chaise lounge and buried her face in her hands while the tears flowed down her cheeks, unchecked.
Black Wind was gone from her, and she would never see him again, never again feel the gentle touch of his hand, never hear his voice speak her name. It was a pain beyond bearing, made worse by the knowledge that he was dead, that he had been dead for almost a century before she had even been born.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, thinking of her unborn baby, lamenting the fact that her child would never know its father. She wept anew as she realized all that Black Wind would miss, all that they would never share: birthday parties and Christmas, the excitement of watching their child take its first step, the joy of hearing its first word, trips to Disneyland and the zoo, sending their son or daughter off to school.
“Black Wind…” she murmured brokenly. “Oh Black Wind…”
“Su-san-nah. What is wrong?”
His voice. Was she only imagining it?
Not daring to believe, hardly daring to breathe, she looked up and saw him striding toward her, tall and lean and handsome. Joy flooded her heart and soul as she jumped to her feet and flew into his arms.
“You’re here!” She ran her hands over his shoulders, slid her fingertips along his cheeks. “You’re here, really here. I don’t believe it!”
“Here,” Tate Sapa repeated, glancing around. He had awakened beside Susannah. Confused and disoriented, he had left her side to explore his surroundings, confused by the strange-looking house, by the high walls that surrounded him. “Where is here?”
Susannah smiled up at him, thinking how incongruous a Lakota warrior looked standing in the small, neatly landscaped side yard of her condo.
“Welcome to the twentieth century,” she said and then, unable to help it, she began to laugh, tears of happiness and relief streaming down her cheeks.
“Su-san-nah?”
At the tone of his voice, the laughter stilled in her throat. “This is where I live,” she said. She gestured at the house. “This is my lodge.”
Tate Sapa shook his head. “It is not possible. I cannot be here.” He looked at the small grassy area enclosed by a high white wall, at the three small trees bearing some sort of yellow fruit that grew in one corner, at the unfamiliar flowers that grew in red clay pots. “I do not belong here.”
“I know.” She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I didn’t belong in your time either. But you’ll get used to it.”
She glanced around the yard, at the shrubs that hadn’t been watered since she left, at the purple pansies and bright yellow tulips wilting in their pots. She was home, really and truly home.
“Come on,” she said, taking Black Wind by the hand, “let me show you around.”
It was almost more than he could comprehend. He listened to Susannah as she took him on a tour of her dwelling, which was larger than many Lakota lodges combined. Following her from section to section, he wondered if he was in the Pa Sapa, lost in some sort of bizarre vision. He saw things that left him feeling dazed—a large square brown box that produced pictures and sound, a tall white box that held food in many odd shapes and sizes and spit out frozen water, another smaller white box she claimed cooked food, another that washed her dishes, others that she said washed and dried her clothes.
He tried to remember the names of these objects, but they eluded his tongue. Strange names for miraculous things beyond his comprehension. No wonder his people had been unable to defeat the wasichu, when they were capable of creating such magic. Never in his life had he imagined such wondrous things existed.
Her bed was large and soft and had a room of its own. When he stepped inside, he was startled to see his image reflected back at him.
“It’s a mirror,” Susannah explained.
Black Wind nodded. He had seen his reflection in water, had seen his face in a small round mirror a Lakota woman had taken in trade for a beaver pelt, but he had never seen so much of himself so clearly.
She showed him another room, her office, she called it. He stared at the black-and-white picture on her desk, recognizing his own likeness as the image he had seen in his vision. Looking at it sent a shiver down his spine. He remembered the day he had been forced to stand in front of the guardhouse while two wasichu took his photograph. Some of his people believed the white man’s black box could capture a piece of their spirit. He had scoffed at such a thing. Now, staring at his image, he wondered if it might be true.
He followed Susannah into the section of her house she called the living room.
“This is a sofa,” she said. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Black Wind sat down, running his hands over the back rest. It was soft and comfortable, covered with cloth unlike anything he had ever seen. The floor beneath his feet was covered with strange material that muffled his footsteps.
Susannah returned a few minutes later. He stared at the container she offered him. A glass of orange juice, she called it. Hesitantly, he took a drink, startled by the tangy sweetness.
“Black Wind?”
He looked at Susannah, then glanced around the room again. There were paintings on the walls, colored images of Susannah standing with a tall, dark-haired man and a woman with hair the same color as Susannah’s; another of Susannah grinning up at a tall boy with dark brown hair and blue eyes.
“Those are my parents, Steve and Nancy,” Susannah said, “and that’s my brother, Rob.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I cannot believe I am here.”
“I know.” She couldn’t believe it either, couldn’t believe she was actually home again, that Black Wind was there, in her house.
She took a deep breath. There were so many things she needed to do, calls to make, mail to answer, bills to pay. Where to start? It was the sound of her stomach growling that made the decision.
“Are you hungry? We could order pizza or something.”
“Piz-za?”
“Trust me, you’ll love it.”
Tate Sapa watched her cross the room and pick up a strange-looking object. He frowned when she poked at it a few times, then began to talk into one end. Moments later, she put it down and returned to the sofa.
“I ordered pepperoni with everything,” she said, smiling.
He nodded uncertainly.
Susannah grimaced as she glanced down at her wrinkled dress. The days she had spent in the guardhouse had left her feeling unclean in a way that had nothing to do with dirt.
“Would you like to take a bath?” she asked. “I know I could use one. The pizza won’t be here for thirty or forty minutes.”
Tate Sapa nodded. A bath he could understand. It had been many days since he had bathed, and he was eager to wash away the stink of the white man’s iron house. Placing the empty glass on the table, he followed Susannah down a narrow corridor.
Five minutes later, standing at the edge of what Susannah called a bath tub, watching it fill with steamy water, he wasn’t so sure.
“You might as well have some bubbles too,” Susannah remarked. She poured some strawberry-scented bubble bath into the tub, then put the bottle back on the shelf.
Tate Sapa watched, fascinated, as a froth of foam spread over the top of the water.
“We’ll have to find you something to wear,” Susannah mused, thinking aloud. “You can’t run around L.A. dressed in nothing but a breechclout.”
&nb
sp; Tate Sapa glanced down at his loincloth and moccasins. His moccasins were dirty and well-worn, his clout stained from his time in the white man’s prison. “I have nothing else.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. I’ll go to the mall later and get you something.”
“The mall?”
Susannah nodded. “It’s like…hmm, like a big trading post. You can buy almost anything you need there.” She studied him carefully, then stood beside him, mentally measuring his size against her own. “Go ahead and take your bath,” she said as she turned off the faucet. “I need to go check my messages.”
She reached into a cupboard and pulled out a fluffy green towel. “You dry off with this,” she said, dropping the towel on top of the sink. “And wash with this.” She handed him a bar of Camay. “It’s soap,” she explained as she turned off the tap.
Tate Sapa nodded, fascinated by the object that brought hot water into Susannah’s lodge any time she wished it.
Left alone, he stared at the foamy water, sniffed the soap. His people had bathed in the river, scrubbing themselves clean with sand.
With a sigh, he took the eagle feather from his hair and placed it on a shelf.
Removing his clout and moccasins, he stepped into the water. In all his life, he had never bathed in anything but a cold river. He smiled with pleasure as the hot water closed over him.
In her office, Susannah switched on her computer, checking the date and time. It was three o’clock, May third. Amazing, she thought, she had spent several months in the past, yet she had been gone from the twentieth century for less than three weeks!
Going outside, she collected her mail, then sat down at her desk and listened to the messages on her answering machine. Six from her agent, three from her editor, about a dozen from Viv, one from her mother, two from her brother and one from her dentist reminding her it was time for her six-month checkup.
Her mail contained the usual—about a ton of ads and mail order catalogs, a half-dozen bills, a reminder that her rent was overdue, a letter from her cousin in Stockton, an invitation to a baby shower for a friend at church.
Susannah smiled as she pressed her hand to her stomach. She would have to start planning for the baby soon. She’d need a crib and sheets and blankets and diapers… Lordy, she had never changed a diaper in her life. Thank goodness Viv lived nearby.
The sound of the doorbell scattered her thoughts. Tossing the mail onto her desk, she left her office, glancing at the bathroom as she passed by. He’d been in there a long time, she mused. Grabbing her wallet, she went to pay for the pizza.
Placing the box and the Cokes on the table, she went into the bathroom to tell Black Wind dinner, such as it was, was ready.
She stopped inside the door. Black Wind was lying back in the tub, his eyes closed, his arms resting on the sides of the tub. Her gaze ran over him, admiring the width of his shoulders, the ropy muscles in his arms. She glanced at the soap. It was still dry.
Kneeling beside the tub, she dipped the soap in the water, then rubbed it over his chest.
With a start, Black Wind opened his eyes. He relaxed visibly when he saw who it was.
Susannah smiled at him as she washed his chest. “Feel good?”
He nodded, a soft sound of pleasure rising in his throat as her hand moved lower, across his belly, and lower still. “Su-san-nah…”
“Want me to stop?” she asked innocently.
“No,” he said, his voice husky, “never.”
She laughed softly. Tossing the soap into the soap dish, she stood up, stripped off her clothes, then slid into the tub, her legs straddling his.
“Is this one of the white man’s customs?” Black Wind asked, drawing her down on top of him.
“Uh-huh. Like it?”
“Very much.” His hands slid up her back, over the curve of her breast. Her skin was soft, slick with soapy water. His body hardened as desire spiraled through him.
“Bet I know what you’re thinking,” Susannah drawled.
“Do you?”
She ran her hands over his shoulders and along his chest, down his arms, reveling in the muscles that quivered at her touch. She could feel his arousal against her belly. “Tate…”
He caressed the soft curve of her breast, loving the feel of her warm soapy skin against his palm. “Tell me what you want.”
Susannah laughed softly. “Don’t you know?”
He grinned at her. “I think I can guess.”
“Yes,” Susannah replied dryly, “I’ll just bet you can. Well, never mind.” Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she started to get out of the tub. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”
In the blink of an eye, he had positioned her beneath him so that he straddled her thighs.
“Oh no, wastelakapi,” he said, his voice husky with desire. “You have started this, and now you must finish.”
Happiness and laughter welled up within Susannah as she gazed into his eyes, deep dark eyes smoldering with need and desire. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she imagined making love to anyone in a bathtub, much less a Lakota warrior fresh from the nineteenth century.
“Persuade me,” she whispered.
“Shall I do this?” One hand caressed her breast. “Or this?” Lowering his head, he ran his tongue over her lower lip, then kissed her.
“Yes,” Susannah murmured, “oh yes.”
Heedless of the water that sloshed over the sides of the tub and soaked the floor and the bath mat, or of the pizza getting cold and the sodas getting hot, she took him in her hand and guided him home.
* * * * *
Much later, they sat in the living room eating reheated pepperoni pizza.
Susannah tried not to stare at Black Wind. She wished she could crawl into his mind and see what he was thinking. He had been extraordinarily quiet since they made love.
She had slipped into a pair of faded Levi’s and a white sweater. Black Wind was wearing only his clout, since he had nothing else.
Earlier, she had taken him on a tour of her apartment, showing him the refrigerator, how to turn the water on and off, how the stove worked, though she doubted he’d be doing much cooking. She had demonstrated how the stereo worked, the TV, the lights. She had warmed the pizza in the microwave, had almost laughed out loud at the look on his face when she showed him how it went in cold and came out warm.
He had said little, obviously stunned by the wonders of the twentieth century. He had marveled at the idea of having running water, seemed somewhat taken aback by the television. She had tried to imagine what it would be like to see moving pictures for the first time.
He had grunted softly at his first taste of pizza, looked somewhat astonished when he took a drink of 7-Up, which he had apparently mistaken for water.
Now, he sat beside her, his gaze wandering around the room.
She wondered what he thought of it. The carpet was French blue, her sofa a blue and mauve print. There was a small fireplace, a coffee table covered with magazines she never found time to read, an end table, a lamp, an easy chair in the same print as the sofa. There were pictures of her family on the mantle, a bookcase filled with books, a curio cabinet filled with DeGrazia figurines.
“Black Wind?”
Placing his glass on the coffee table, he turned to face her.
“Are you all right? Can I get you anything?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I do not belong here, Su-san-nah.”
“I know how you feel,” Susannah said. “Believe me, I know.”
A wry grin flitted across his face. “Yes, I suppose you do. I should have been more understanding.”
“You made me feel right at home,” she said, snuggling up against him. “I’ll try to do the same for you.”
“Home.” He glanced around the room. Though it was three times the size of his father’s lodge, he felt closed in by the walls, alienated by the strangeness of it all.
“I’ll go to the mall tomorrow and get you something to wear,” she s
aid. “What’s your favorite color?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll just buy one of each.”
“One of each?”
“Shirts.”
“Ah.”
“And you’ll need jeans and underwear and shoes and socks, a toothbrush…”
Tate Sapa shook his head as she reeled off the things he would need. “Su-san-nah…”
“I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to be home, to have you here. I want to take you out and show you everything.”
He forced himself to smile. She had embraced his way of life with courage, accepting his customs and traditions as her own. How could he, a Lakota warrior who had fought the wasichu, killed a grizzly, and counted first coup on more than a dozen of his enemies, do less?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Susannah couldn’t help smiling as she walked into the City Mall. She paused inside the door, embracing the familiar scents and sounds and sights that assailed her senses. Michael Bolton was playing over the speakers. She could smell popcorn and cinnamon rolls. Kids were laughing, crying, a little girl was begging for a cookie, a boy was whining for a Gargoyle. She saw a teenage couple necking on one of the benches.
If there had been one thing she had missed while in the past, it was being able to wander through the mall. She loved to browse the shelves at Waldens and Borders, to spend a few minutes in the Disney store. She never got out of there without spending a small fortune.
Walking briskly, she made her way to a popular men’s shop. In the past, she had occasionally shopped for Troy, but never with the enthusiasm she felt now, shopping for Black Wind. Humming under her breath, she picked out two pairs of blue jeans, a couple pairs of walking shorts, a variety of colored tees, a green plaid shirt, a dark-blue cable knit sweater, a gray sweatshirt and pants, underwear and socks.
At the shoe store, she picked up a pair of tennis shoes.
Going into the drug store, she went to the men’s department and bought a hair brush, a comb, a bottle of cologne and a toothbrush for Black Wind, then stopped by the paperback rack and picked up the latest romance by her favorite author.
Feather in the Wind Page 25
