Gray Feather paused, then said, “White Fire, it is time for you to choose your red-skin heritage over the white,” he said solemnly. “Is it not obvious that no one is there for you now in the white community to make you happy? Be proud of the red side of your heritage. Live the life of a redskin! Not white!”
White Fire’s eyes wavered, for he knew that much of what the chief said was true. He had lost much. But none of it was the fault of white eyes! If not for the Sioux, he would be content with his family, rising each morning to his son’s laughter, to his wife’s sweetness.
Yes, he argued to himself, he never truly loved his wife with the passion he knew was possible between a man and woman. But it was their genuine caring for one another that had mattered. And she had given him the greatest gift of all: a son.
That son would not be denied him now had it not been for the redskins, the Sioux.
No, he would never fault whites for anything, except for only one family, those who now would try and deny him his son. And he was going to change that! His son would again be his!
“Gray Feather, I am proud of the Indian side of my heritage,” White Fire said, expelling a heavy sigh. “But you must remember, Gray Feather, except for my one year with the Chippewa, and the captive years with the Sioux, I have always lived the life of a white man.”
White Fire swallowed hard. He turned his gaze down at the fire and stared into the dancing flames. “And, Gray Feather,” he said solemnly, “although my son is not with me at this time, he is still my son, a white son who is true blood kin.”
White Fire then turned quick eyes back to the chief. “And I have duties to this son,” he said tightly. “I must ready a life for him in the white world . . . in my world.”
Chief Gray Feather looked sullenly at White Fire for a long moment, then he left the cabin. He went to his horse and reached inside a parfleche bag and removed a long, smooth, gray eagle feather from inside it.
Then he went back inside the cabin and placed the eagle feather on White Fire’s kitchen table. He turned weary, sad eyes to the younger man. “This mee-gwun, feather, is a gift from Gray Feather to you,” he said thickly. “Each time you look at the feather, think of the Chippewa and Chief Gray Feather. Look into the life of the Chippewa as one that would be good to you. As my adopted son, the world of the Chippewa would be yours. Would you not be proud to be a central part of my people’s lives? Of my family’s?”
White Fire didn’t get the chance to respond. Chief Gray Feather ushered his daughter and granddaughter from the cabin.
He got to the door just as Chief Gray Feather rode away with his daughter and granddaughter on the same horse.
And when Gray Feather did not turn his gaze back and wave a farewell to him, White Fire could feel the old chief’s hurt and rejection deeply inside his own heart.
Sad that he had to disappoint the old chief over and over again, feeling so much for him, as though Gray Feather could be a substitute for his dead father, White Fire watched Gray Feather until he rode completely from sight into the deep, dark shadows of the forest.
A part of White Fire did want to go with Gray Feather, to leave behind the sadness that he had found on his return from his captivity. Yet a bigger part of him knew that he must never give up what was rightfully his.
His son!
Chapter 10
The essence of all beauty, I call love
The attribute, the evidence, and end,
The consummation to the inward sense,
Of beauty apprehended from without,
I still call love.
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Dressed in her green velvet riding habit, a sheer veil from her hat shielding her green eyes behind it, Flame eased her horse behind a thick cover of brush when she had seen the Indians leave White Fire’s cabin. She watched them as they rode away, not catching her spying on them.
It had been by pure chance that they had led her to him. When she had sneaked away from her room just as the sun rose to go horseback riding, she had found such pleasure riding through the forest. Then she had seen the dignified older Indian riding with the woman and child on his horse.
Intrigued by the sight, Flame had followed them, keeping back just far enough so that they would not be aware of her presence. She had felt no threat in doing this. Not while the Indian warrior had a woman and child with him.
When their travel had taken them to a cabin, and they had gone inside without knocking, Flame could not help herself. She was too curious not to continue watching them, especially to see if they lived in the cabin apart from other Indians. It did not seem the norm in the Minnesota Territory that Indians would live like that.
She secured her horse in the woods, then had sneaked up to the cabin and looked into a window. She had watched the Indian warrior build a fire as though he belonged there.
Yet it was the behavior of the woman and child that had made her believe this was not their home. They had stood stiffly, watching the warrior instead of going about their own business. It was as though none of them belonged there.
That had made Flame continue to spy, even though she knew there was a chance of getting caught in her shameful act of voyeurism. She had intended to ride long enough today to possibly find White Fire’s cabin. But the intrigue of the Indians had sidetracked her. She would search for White Fire another day.
As she continued to watch the Indians through the window, and then saw White Fire suddenly make an appearance in the room, she had almost fainted. The Indians had unknowingly led her to him.
Upon first seeing him, so handsome even this early in the morning, Flame knew that her heart, as it had been as a child of ten, was truly lost to him. She had thought of him, had dreamed of him so often through the years, it was as though she truly knew him.
For certain it was now no fantasy or dream that she was this close to him. It thrilled her to know that she could return another time and talk to him. She could hardly wait for that time.
But for now she had only been able to observe through a pane of glass and wonder what was being said between the Indians and White Fire. When the child had gone to him, and he had taken her into his arms so sweetly and gently, Flame’s heart had melted with love for him.
Ah, how she longed for children.
And this man, to whom she would give her heart, loved children as much as she. She saw it in his eyes and in the way he held the Indian child.
She had to wonder how he now felt about his son living with someone else and if he had gone yet to see him. Was he going to have a fight on his hands to get the child back from those who now claimed his son as theirs?
Knowing that she must return home before her father caught her gone, and excited about going to choose a new wardrobe, Flame hurried back to her horse. She rode off in a hard gallop toward the fort.
But she would never forget this morning. She laughed softly when she recalled her fright when the Indian warrior had momentarily left White Fire’s cabin.
She had moved swiftly to hide at the back of the cabin, yet had managed to still look around the corner of it to see the warrior take an eagle feather from a bag at the side of his horse.
When he had gone back inside, she had crept back to the window and watched him place the feather on White Fire’s table.
Then she had felt that she had taken too many chances by staying so long. She had fled back to her horse and rode off and had hidden just in time not to be caught by the Indian as he had rode away from the cabin.
“I so badly wish I could have gone inside and talked with White Fire,” Flame whispered as the fort came into view through a break in the trees a short distance away.
But even now her father could be waiting in her room with words of anger about her escapade this morning; warning her about the dangers of it.
She smiled when she recalled her father’s habit of sleeping late each morning. While living in St. Louis, he had never risen until around nine, always depending on oth
ers to see to the early morning duties at the fort. He was older now. She imagined he might even sleep later.
As she rode out in the open, she glanced at the horizon and saw the sun was now creeping up behind the trees. She knew that it was not yet seven o’clock, and felt safe enough. The sentries at the fort would surely not tell on her for fear of stepping out of line.
Her chin lifted, Flame rode on past them, hurried her horse into the stables. Then, unladylike, she climbed the trellis that led to her balcony, and to the privacy of her room.
When she was finally inside her room, she smiled at the thrill of her discoveries this morning.
“I found him!” she whispered, shivering with ecstasy at the mere thought of having been that close to White Fire again, and especially for now knowing where he lived.
She had to wonder how he would feel if he awakened and found her waiting for him some morning, as he had found the Indians this morning.
“No,” she whispered, whisking off her riding hat, “I can’t be that shameful!”
Not yet, anyhow, she thought, smiling mischievously at the very idea of being brazen enough to do it.
Chapter 11
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that’s best of dark and bright,
Meets in her aspect and her eyes.
—Lord Byron
Taking the first necessary step to get his life back in order again, to get his son back, White Fire stood at Colonel Russell’s desk.
Colonel Russell gazed up at him. “You say that you need employment,” he said dryly, flicking ashes from his cigar into an ashtray.
“Yes, and if possible, I would like to once again be involved in the plans for more road construction in this area,” White Fire said. “During the three years I was gone, the population has almost doubled. More than ever roads are needed to help make the settlers’ travels more convenient and safe. I believe much more careful planning must be made to see that the roads are not as isolated as before. More trees should be removed. Those who travel the roads should not be made to feel so closed in by the forest on each side of them. Who could not worry about outlaws or Indians if the road is crowded on both sides by dense brush and trees?”
Colonel Russell nodded toward a chair before his desk. “Sit down,” he said coldly, resting his cigar in the ashtray.
After White Fire sat down, Colonel Russell leaned toward him. He rested his elbows on his oak desk and placed his fingertips together. “I understand your concern about the roads since you were abducted while involved in building them,” he said tightly. “And I am certain that you would have ideas that would be beneficial.”
“Most times my duties kept me at the fort,” White Fire said, glancing over his shoulder. The office that had been his, when he worked as road commissioner for the fort, was just down the corridor. He didn’t expect to be appointed commissioner over who was now working in that capacity. But he would certainly enjoy working with him. “It was only by chance that I was far from the fort the day I was abducted,” he continued, his eyes now locked with the colonel’s. “I had gone to oversee things after I had been told of a problem. The men under my guidance were having troubles with their measurements. I went there, alone, to remeasure things. My solitude made it easy for me to be abducted. Otherwise, I would have been at the fort, safely at my desk, drawing plans.”
Frowning at White Fire, suddenly in deep thought, Colonel Russell leaned back in his chair. “I see,” he finally said, nervously drumming his fingers on his desk. ‘Well, I hope I don’t disappoint you when I tell you that I have something else in mind for you.”
White Fire’s eyebrows forked.
‘What I have in mind for you would serve me better,” Colonel Russell said, slowly nodding. “White Fire, I am in dire need of an interpreter, and since you are, in part, Indian yourself, a ’breed, and someone who has lived not only with the Chippewa, but also with the Sioux, you are more trained in the art of languages than anyone else I know. I would like to offer you the job of interpreter for the fort. Would you be interested?”
His spine having stiffened at the colonel’s reference to him being a ’breed, always having found that word a way to brand someone who was born with dual bloods in his veins, White Fire waited for a moment or two before responding to the colonel’s offer.
In truth, had the colonel not called him a ’breed, White Fire would have jumped at the chance to be the fort interpreter. That was something he would thoroughly enjoy. Being an interpreter would be a way to mingle with the Chippewa more often than had he taken on other employment. He did enjoy the company of Chief Gray Feather and his people. While with them that year at the village, something awakened inside him that he could not explain. He had felt closer to nature, to life in general, while with them. It was as though somewhere in time he had been a part of the Chippewa culture.
Yes, Chief Gray Feather would enjoy his visits, the time of camaraderie that would be created by White Fire being an interpreter.
“Yes, I would appreciate the employment as the fort interpreter,” he suddenly blurted out. “When shall I start?”
His eyes danced, truly looking forward to the job of interpreter. It would also give him the opportunity to help keep peace between the different bands of Indians and the soldiers and their families stationed at the fort. He would even enjoy going from village to village, whenever required to, to sit in council.
“White Fire, whenever the need arises, when you are needed to interpret, I shall send word to your cabin,” Colonel Russell said, his eyes gleaming. “There is no need for you to set up residency here at the fort.”
White Fire stiffened, thinking now that the colonel had, in a sense, just duped him. By assigning him to a job that would only occasionally bring him to the fort, the colonel would be free of White Fire more often than not.
Then he smiled to himself at something that would give him much pleasure, and a way to put the bigoted colonel in his place. While sitting in council, being the only one who could interpret the different languages to this bigoted colonel, it would be a way to make the man feel inadequate and for everyone else to see his inadequacies. It could make the colonel look less of a leader in the eyes of all the Indians. This, for a man who thought he was God’s gift to mankind, could disgrace him more than disgrace itself.
White Fire rose from the chair, forcing himself to reach out a hand to seal the deal. Then he cringed when the colonel placed his sweaty palm against his as he shook it.
“I appreciate your kindness,” White Fire said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
He eased his hand from the colonel’s. Then he turned to leave, stopping and turning around again to gaze in surprise at the colonel when he made an offer that seemed out of character.
“I know that you’ve been gone for the past three years, and during that time you have had no means to set aside the monies needed to settle into a normal life,” Colonel Russell said, rising from his chair. He went to a wall safe and opened it. “I am going to give you an advance on your pay so that you can purchase firearms and food.”
He glanced over at White Fire and raked his eyes slowly over him. Then his look turned to one of superiority. “Also clothes,” he said dryly. “The commissary will provide you with everything you need. Since my arrival at Fort Snelling, I have made certain that the commissary is well supplied at all times.”
White Fire was rendered speechless by this man whose feelings seemed as changeable as a chameleon.
White Fire squared his shoulders proudly. “I need no advance,” he said tightly. “I will do just fine.”
“I insist. I do not want it ever to look as though I am someone who treats a ’breed less kindly than someone else I might hire here at the fort,” Colonel Russell said, turning around to thrust a handful of bills toward White Fire. “Anyone who is assigned duties here at the fort who has seen hard times gets an advance on his pay.
” He frowned and sucked in a deep breath of air. “So, ’breed, do not take this as something special I do for you.”
“You know exactly what you are doing every time you are addressing me as a ’breed, don’t you?” White Fire said, placing his fists on his hips. “It is meant to put me in my place, to make me remember that my skin color differs from yours.” His jaw tightened. “If not for my son, and needing a job to help get Michael back, I would tell you to go to hell and spit in your face,” he growled out.
Then his lips quirked into a smug smile. “And there is something more that keeps me here at the fort,” he said smoothly. “And it has nothing to do with money, position, or my son.”
Colonel Russell eased his hand to his side and clutched the bills. He glared at White Fire. “And that is?” he said tightly.
“A beautiful woman with flaming red hair,” White Fire said, laughing bitterly when he saw the colonel’s face drain of color.
He ignored the rage that lit the colonel’s eyes. He walked to the door and opened it, then stiffened when the colonel was suddenly there, blocking his way.
“I know of only one woman whose hair is flaming red,” the colonel said, his teeth clenched.
“Exactly,” White Fire said, enjoying toying with the colonel’s emotions, yet understanding that there might be some danger in doing it.
But the colonel showed no threat to White Fire. The colonel’s hands were tied as far as White Fire was concerned. The colonel had to be aware of what the younger man’s position at the fort had been before he had been captured by the Sioux. Although he had never been given any rank in the army, he had been second to Colonel Snelling, admired and liked by everyone.
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