fought her own longing to be with him. And yet she couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was the reason she was here, that their lives were fated to be entwined.
And maybe, she thought, maybe it was just her overactive imagination hard at work.
Turning on her side, she stared out the window. It had been cool and cloudy all day. A brisk wind was blowing across the parade ground. In the distance, she heard the sound of thunder. No doubt it would be raining soon.
The wind rattled the glass in the window and crept up through the floorboards. Shivering, she crawled out of bed and slipped into the heavy cotton robe one of the women had given her. Going into the parlor, she started a fire in the hearth, wishing, for the thousandth time, that she was back home in her cozy apartment with its plush carpets and forced air heating.
So much had happened so quickly in the past two weeks. Now, shivering in front of the fire, she wondered what her friends thought of her abrupt disappearance. No doubt her editor had been trying to get in touch with her. Vivian would be wondering what had happened to her. Her landlord would be expecting the rent. She had bills to pay and a deadline to meet, and an appointment with her agent. What would her parents think when they got back from their cruise and discovered their only child was missing?
The wind howled around the hut, its cold breath seeping through every crack. She thought of Black Wind, huddling beneath a single blanket in the guardhouse. She had watched him work that afternoon. The men set to guard him had refused to let him take a break, refused him food and water, insisting it was wasted on a dirty Indian. They ridiculed him because he was filthy, yet refused to let him wash. It had been cold today, but he had no shirt to ward off the chill. His only apparel seemed to be his clout and a pair of well-worn moccasins.
Chiding herself for being a fool, she went into the kitchen and brewed a pot of tea. When it was done, she poured some into a tin cup, wrapped two slices of bread in a napkin, grabbed a quilt off the foot of the bed, and left the hut.
The wind crept under the robe, under her gown, as she made her way to the guardhouse. Thankful for the clouds that hid the moon and stars, she crept through the darkness toward the back of the building.
She should have known he would be there, at the window, staring out, staring toward home.
“I brought you something,” she said, and thrust the cup and the napkin through the bars.
She heard his stomach growl loudly as he unwrapped the bread. He turned away, and she knew he didn’t want her to see him wolf it down. She saw his head go back as he drained the cup in two long swallows.
And then, slowly, he turned to face her again. “ Pilamaya .”
“If that means thank you, you’re welcome. Here.” She folded the quilt and shoved it through the bars. “I thought you might be cold.”
Tate Sapa took the quilt and wrapped it around his shoulders. It was far heavier and warmer than the filthy, threadbare blanket the Army had given him.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
Susannah whirled around, her heart plummeting to her toes, to find the soldier on guard duty glaring at her.
“I…that is…I mean…” She swallowed, her heart beating frantically as she wondered how she could possibly explain being out here in her nightgown in the middle of the night.
The guard walked up to the window and peered inside, gasped as Black Wind reached through the bars, his hands closing around the soldier’s throat.
“Get…help…” The words were hardly more than a whisper as the guard dropped his rifle and struggled to free himself. Astonished by the sudden turn of events, Susannah could only stand there, watching, as the soldier went limp. When Black Wind released him, the guard slid to the ground.
“What have you done?” she exclaimed. “Don’t you realize they’ll flog you for this, if they don’t hang
And maybe, she thought, maybe it was just her overactive imagination hard at work.
Turning on her side, she stared out the window. It had been cool and cloudy all day. A brisk wind was blowing across the parade ground. In the distance, she heard the sound of thunder. No doubt it would be raining soon.
The wind rattled the glass in the window and crept up through the floorboards. Shivering, she crawled out of bed and slipped into the heavy cotton robe one of the women had given her. Going into the parlor, she started a fire in the hearth, wishing, for the thousandth time, that she was back home in her cozy apartment with its plush carpets and forced air heating.
So much had happened so quickly in the past two weeks. Now, shivering in front of the fire, she wondered what her friends thought of her abrupt disappearance. No doubt her editor had been trying to get in touch with her. Vivian would be wondering what had happened to her. Her landlord would be expecting the rent. She had bills to pay and a deadline to meet, and an appointment with her agent. What would her parents think when they got back from their cruise and discovered their only child was missing?
The wind howled around the hut, its cold breath seeping through every crack. She thought of Black Wind, huddling beneath a single blanket in the guardhouse. She had watched him work that afternoon. The men set to guard him had refused to let him take a break, refused him food and water, insisting it was wasted on a dirty Indian. They ridiculed him because he was filthy, yet refused to let him wash. It had been cold today, but he had no shirt to ward off the chill. His only apparel seemed to be his clout and a pair of well-worn moccasins.
Chiding herself for being a fool, she went into the kitchen and brewed a pot of tea. When it was done, she poured some into a tin cup, wrapped two slices of bread in a napkin, grabbed a quilt off the foot of the bed, and left the hut.
The wind crept under the robe, under her gown, as she made her way to the guardhouse. Thankful for the clouds that hid the moon and stars, she crept through the darkness toward the back of the building.
She should have known he would be there, at the window, staring out, staring toward home.
“I brought you something,” she said, and thrust the cup and the napkin through the bars.
She heard his stomach growl loudly as he unwrapped the bread. He turned away, and she knew he didn’t want her to see him wolf it down. She saw his head go back as he drained the cup in two long swallows.
And then, slowly, he turned to face her again. “ Pilamaya .”
“If that means thank you, you’re welcome. Here.” She folded the quilt and shoved it through the bars. “I thought you might be cold.”
Tate Sapa took the quilt and wrapped it around his shoulders. It was far heavier and warmer than the filthy, threadbare blanket the Army had given him.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
Susannah whirled around, her heart plummeting to her toes, to find the soldier on guard duty glaring at her.
“I…that is…I mean…” She swallowed, her heart beating frantically as she wondered how she could possibly explain being out here in her nightgown in the middle of the night.
The guard walked up to the window and peered inside, gasped as Black Wind reached through the bars, his hands closing around the soldier’s throat.
“Get…help…” The words were hardly more than a whisper as the guard dropped his rifle and struggled to free himself. Astonished by the sudden turn of events, Susannah could only stand there, watching, as the soldier went limp. When Black Wind released him, the guard slid to the ground.
“What have you done?” she exclaimed. “Don’t you realize they’ll flog you for this, if they don’t hang
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