Black Wind nodded. She had mentioned this place several times, had gone there to buy his clothes. He was curious to see what it was, this mall. He stared straight ahead as she pulled out of the driveway onto the street, his hands clutching the edge of the seat. His trepidation turned to amazement and then delight as the car picked up speed. The fleetest pony he had ever owned had not been able to travel at such great speed.
Susannah smiled at the look of enjoyment on Black Wind’s face. Bypassing the mall, she decided to take him for a short ride on the freeway, then circle back.
He looked a little alarmed as cars began whizzing by on both sides, but he was soon urging her to go faster. Men and cars, she thought, and knew there was at least one thing about the nineties that he was going to love.
Later, they walked through the mall. Susannah tried to see it through Black Wind’s eyes—the bookstores, the dress shops, the Candy Factory, the Disney Store. He stopped at every window, peering inside, asking dozens of questions. She took him into the bookstore and showed him her book on the shelf. From there, they went into the Candy Factory, where she bought several varieties of chocolates so he could try them out. They stopped in one of the men’s shops and he walked up and down the aisles, staring at the mannequins, examining the suits and ties, touching everything. She heard him mutter something about the white man wearing too many clothes.
They took the escalator to the second floor. Black Wind was hesitant to step on at first, and then, when they reached the top, he wanted to go back down. Susannah was happy to oblige, and they rode up and down the escalator three times.
“Remarkable,” Tate Sapa remarked.
At the food park, Susannah bought a double scoop of chocolate ice cream for herself, a scoop of chocolate and one of vanilla for Black Wind. He watched her take a lick of hers, then did the same.
“Good?” she asked, and he nodded, too busy eating to reply. He watched the people coming and going, amazed at their number, stared at a young woman who had purple hair. The man with her had shaved his head except for one long yellow strip in the middle. He saw women wearing hardly anything at all, and others who wore long flowing robes that covered them from their necks to their ankles.
“It is quite amazing, this world of yours,” he remarked when they were on the way home. “So many strange things to see. No wonder you were so anxious to come back to your own time.”
“Well, I did miss it,” Susannah admitted, “but I’d have been happy to stay in the past with you.” She bit down on her lower lip. “But you’re not going to be happy here, are you?”
“I am happy to be with you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I do not think I will ever belong here.”
“Don’t say that. You’ve only been here a couple of days. Give yourself some time to get used to it.”
“I have no other choice,” he replied, his voice wistful and resigned at the same time.
Susannah nodded, but, deep inside, she wondered if that was true. She thought of the prayer feather hanging on a nail in her bedroom. The feather had carried her to the past, and brought Black Wind to the present. Might it not also take him home again if he wished to go?
* * * * *
Doctor Fries smiled as Susannah entered his office and sat down next to Black Wind.
“Well,” he said, “everything appears to be fine, just fine.” He handed her a slip of paper. “I want you to start taking prenatal vitamins right away. You don’t smoke, do you? Good, good. I’ve put your due date at November 13.” He paused to thumb through the file on his desk. “I guess that’s it. I’ll want to see you once a month for the next few months, and then every week. Any questions?”
Susannah glanced at Black Wind. She wanted to ask the doctor if traveling through time would affect the baby, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud for fear of sounding like a lunatic. “No, I don’t think so.”
The doctor looked at Black Wind. “Do you have any questions?”
Black Wind shook his head, still somewhat stunned by the ride in the elevator. The building was larger than anything he had ever seen, filled with people who seemed to be in a hurry. He had sat in the waiting room while Susannah went in to see the wasichu shaman, conscious of the curious stares of the other people in the room. Even though he was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he knew he stood out from the others. And not just because of the color of his skin. There were people in the room with skin darker than his. He wondered if they knew, as he did, that he didn’t belong there.
“Well then.” The doctor stood up and shook hands with Black Wind. “I’ll see you next month, Susannah,” he said, giving her a hug. “Give my regards to your family for me.”
Susannah smiled at him. Doctor Jay Fries had been their family doctor for as long as she could remember. “I will. Thanks, Doctor Jay.”
“November,” she mused as they rode down in the elevator. “I didn’t realize I was so far along.” She glanced down at her stomach. “I don’t show hardly at all,” she remarked, and shook her head. It was amazing. She was three months pregnant, yet she’d been gone less than a month in her own time. She tried to figure out the time ratio between past and present, but it was impossible. She hadn’t tried to keep track of time while in the past and had no idea how long she’d spent there. Seven months, eight? Did it really matter?
Black Wind’s hand tightened around hers as the elevator lurched to a stop on the main floor.
“You okay?” Susannah asked, grinning up at him.
“O-kay? What is o-kay?”
“It means all right. Are you all right?”
“I am all right,” he replied, returning her grin. “Boxes that go up and down. Stairs that move. Has it always been so with the wasichu?”
“Not always.”
He found that hard to believe. The wasichu, it seemed, could do anything. They made cars that went faster than a fleet pony and built buildings taller than the Devil’s Tower. Susannah had placed his new leggings in one of her machines and they had come out soft and warm and dry.
Susannah fell suddenly silent on the drive home, making him wonder if there was something she wasn’t telling him. He glanced at her several times, noting the worry lines on her brow, the way she chewed on her lower lip.
He followed her into the house, afraid the wasichu shaman had given her bad news that she didn’t want to share.
“Su-san-nah?”
“Hmmm?”
“What is wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing.”
He crossed the room and gathered her into his arms. “Something is bothering you. Can you not tell me what it is?”
“I was just thinking about my mother. She’s going to be upset when she finds out I’m pregnant.”
“Does she not like children?” he asked, astonished at the idea.
“It’s not that. She’s kind of old-fashioned.” That was putting it mildly, Susannah mused. No doubt her mother would faint when she found out her only daughter was living with a man and was going to have a baby.
Susannah sighed. She loved her mother, she really did, but they hadn’t gotten along since Susannah turned fifteen. Nothing Susannah had ever done had been right as far as her mother was concerned. She had hoped Susannah would become a doctor or a lawyer, something that would, in her mother’s opinion, “contribute something worthwhile to the world”. She did not consider writing romance novels worthwhile.
“What is old-fashioned?”
“She thinks girls should get married before they get pregnant.”
“We are married,” Tate Sapa remarked. “You are my woman.”
“I know.”
Susannah wrapped her arms around Black Wind’s waist and smiled up at him. She was a big girl now. She didn’t need her mother’s permission to fall in love; she no longer needed to earn her mother’s approval.
And then Black Wind bent his head and kissed her. He might not feel at home in the twentieth century, Susan
nah mused, her thoughts melting like butter in the sun, but he certainly knew his way around her heart. He deepened the kiss, stoking her desire, making her knees go weak.
She melted against him, everything else forgotten in the joy that engulfed her as he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tate Sapa stood at the window in the living room, staring out into the darkness beyond.
With a sigh, he watched the cars pass by, marveling again at the wondrous machines the white man had created. He had learned much in the past few days. There seemed to be nothing the wasichu could not do. He had great ships that crossed the oceans, airplanes that soared through the skies, cars that traveled long distances faster than he had ever dreamed of going. The white man’s weapons were far more deadly now than the rifles and cannons they had used to make war against his people. Susannah had told him of bombs that could destroy thousands of people in a matter of moments, missiles that could sow destruction in lands thousands of miles away. The wasichu were still trying to conquer the world, he thought bleakly, never content with what they had, where they had been born, always wanting more.
He lifted a hand to the window, feeling the smooth cool glass beneath his palm. There was nothing in this time that was familiar to him, nothing save Susannah. He spoke her language, yet there were many words he heard that he did not understand, words that had meant one thing in his time and now conveyed a different meaning. Every fiber of his being yearned for home, for the vastness of the plains, for the sound of his native tongue, for the taste of food and drink that was familiar. He missed the scent of roasting buffalo meat, of sage and sweet grass. He longed for the freedom of riding across the vast sunlit prairie, for the stillness of the Hills when snow lay heavy upon the ground.
Feeling as though the pale-blue walls were closing in around him, he went into the bedroom, noting that his footsteps made no sound on the thick carpet. He plucked the prayer feather from the nail beside the bed and slipped the loop over his wrist. For a moment, he gazed down at Susannah, who was sleeping soundly, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Resisting the urge to reach down and touch her, he left the house.
Outside, he drew in a deep breath, and then he began walking. The concrete was hard and cold beneath his moccasins and he moved off the sidewalk onto the grass that grew along the edge of the cement, wondering why the wasichu avoided walking on Mother Earth.
A full moon hung low in the sky. Street lamps made small pools of pale-yellow light at intervals along the sidewalk. Walking briskly, he passed one house after another. Now and then, dogs barked at him. Occasionally, a car drove by, the growl of the engine breaking the silence of the night.
He walked faster and faster, until he was running, his footsteps muffled by the thick grass along the parkway. He ran for miles until he came to a large expanse of grass and trees. A few benches were scattered about. There was a small grassy mound beneath a weeping willow.
He made his way to the rise and sat down. Staring into the darkness, he wondered how he would ever fit into Susannah’s world. There was nothing for him to do here, in Susannah’s time. There was no need for a warrior; his skill with bow and arrow and lance were useless. Men did not hunt for game in this place; she had no enemies for him to fight, no need for his protection. How long would she love him, respect him, when he was no better than the coffee coolers who hung around at Fort Laramie, hoping the wasichu would give them whiskey?
He ran his fingers over the smooth spine of the eagle feather, felt it grow warm in his hand.
Only think of home, wish to be there, and I will take you back.
He heard the words clearly in his mind and knew that the power to go back to his own people, his own time, rested in his hands. He pictured the majestic beauty of the Pa Sapa. The Lakota called the sacred hills Wamakaognaka E’cante, the heart of everything that is. It was the burying place of his ancestors, whose bodies turned to dust, returning to the earth from whence they came, making the ground holy. His people never lived in the Hills, but camped on the plains. They cut their lodge poles from the trees that grew in abundance on the mountains, always leaving an offering to the gods in their place, never taking more than was needed.
In the hills to the south was a placed called the Wind Cave. Sometimes, if a man listened carefully enough, he could hear the soft sound of Mother Earth breathing through the cave. An old Indian legend claimed that the first buffalo had been born within the womb of the cavern.
The Pa Sapa was the home of the Thunder Beings, who brought rain and thunder and lightning to make the earth green and fertile. He wondered if, in this time and place, his people still climbed the sacred mountains to pray.
To the north of the Hills, standing apart from the Pa Sapa but still a part of them, was Bear Butte, another place that was sacred to the Lakota. Its rocks and pines rose high above the plains in lofty splendor. The leaders of his people had often gone there to seek the guidance of the Great Spirit.
But it was the memory of the Pa Sapa that symbolized all he was, all he had loved and lost, all that he yearned for. He thought of his people, of the young men who had been eager for war, of his father’s wisdom, of Mato Mani’s reverence and power. All were dead now, yet he knew if he returned to his own time, he would find them as he had left them, alive and on the brink of war with the wasichu.
And then, like a fox returning to its den, his thoughts turned to Susannah. He could not leave her now, not when she was carrying his child. The very thought of her bearing his son or daughter filled him with awe. There was nothing he could do to help his people. Their fate had already been determined. He would stay with Susannah until the child was born and then he would go back where he belonged. He only hoped Susannah would not hate him for his decision. It humbled him to know she was stronger than he was, that she had been able to adjust far better to his time than he could to hers. But he feared he would never belong here, in this place. He was a warrior in a time that had no need of warriors.
He felt the mystic power drain from the feather as he made his decision. Heavy-hearted, he left the park and retraced his steps back to Susannah’s lodge, wondering if, in deciding to remain in Susannah’s world, he had forever lost the ability to return to his own.
He heard her voice as soon as he stepped into the living room.
“Black Wind, is that you?” She stood up and turned on the light beside the sofa. “I’ve been so worried.”
“Su-san-nah, it is late. You should be sleeping.”
“How could I sleep? I woke up and you were gone. Are you all right? Where have you been?”
“I could not sleep.”
“Is something wrong?”
He shook his head, wondering how to explain it to her. The bed was too soft. The sounds of the night were unfamiliar. He missed the sighing of the wind through the cottonwood trees, the occasional bark of the camp dogs, the snuffling of the war horse he had kept tied outside his lodge, the company of his father, the camaraderie of the young men.
“Can’t you tell me?”
He shrugged. “The bed is too soft. The night is filled with strange sounds.”
“Give yourself some time to get used to things. It’s only been a few days.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, wishing she could think of a way to make him feel more at home in her time, thinking, again, how much easier it had been for her to go back in time than it had been for him to come forward. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“Su-san-nah, are there no Lakota in your world?”
“Of course there are.”
“Where are they?”
“Gee, I don’t know. I suppose most of them are on reservations in South Dakota or Montana, I’m not sure which. Maybe when I get this book finished, we could take a trip there.”
“I would like that.”
“I’ve never seen a reservation,” she replied slowly, “but I’ve been told they aren’t very nice. There’s a lot
of poverty…that is, most of the Indians don’t have very much. A lot of them are alcoholics…” Susannah frowned, knowing he wouldn’t understand the word. “They drink too much whiskey because they don’t have a way to support their families. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
Tate Sapa nodded. In his time, there had been warriors who drank too much of the white man’s firewater, men desperate for drink who had sold their women for whiskey, thereby bringing shame and disgrace to their families.
“I understand.” He looked thoughtful a moment. “You said an old man gave you the prayer feather. I would like to meet him.”
“Gee, I don’t know who he was. I met him at a POW WOW.” She frowned. “You’re not going to believe this, but he looked an awful lot like your father.”
“Can we go there?”
“It’s over now, but we might be able to find another POW WOW,” she said, seeing his disappointment.
“I must find the man who gave you the feather.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I do not know.”
“Well, we might be able to find him. I still have the ad from the newspaper. Maybe I can find out where they’ve gone.”
“Will you try?”
Susannah nodded, a heaviness born of fear for what he might find settling over her heart. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
As luck, or Fate, would have it, there was a POW WOW at the Orange County Fairgrounds the following weekend.
Susannah felt a strong sense of foreboding as she parked the car. She glanced at Black Wind. He was wearing a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt and his moccasins. The eagle feather was tied in his hair.
She felt a shiver of apprehension as they walked toward the fairgrounds. Did he feel it too, or was it only her own unspoken fears making themselves known? In spite of his clothing, there was no mistaking the fact that Black Wind was a full-blooded Indian. Even now, surrounded by other Native Americans, he stood out from the rest like a mustang in a herd of draft horses. There was an arrogance about him, an inherent wildness, that set him apart.
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