White Fire

His eyes implored White Fire. “Were you not happy with the Chippewa the time you spent with them?” he asked softly. “Did it not feel only natural that you would awaken in a wigwam instead of this place made of logs?”

The more Gray Feather talked, the more confused White Fire was by how he again pleaded with him to live with his people, when the chief did not yet know about White Fire’s discoveries after arriving home from his captivity with the Sioux.

“Gray Feather, please say no more at this time about this that you wish of me,” he said quickly, to interrupt Gray Feather before he went further with his pleas which caused only a strain between them. White Fire could think of nothing or no one at

this time except for his son and getting him back where he belonged. In his own father’s lodge. In his own father’s heart.

“White Fire, now that you have no wife, and now that your son has been taken away from you and is living with a white family, it is only right that you leave this life behind and live where you are needed, wanted, and loved,” Chief Gray Feather said, himself now interrupting.

White Fire took an unsteady step back from Gray Feather. “How did you know about Mary?” he asked, his voice drawn. “How did you know about my son?”

“I have watched you since your return from your captivity,” Chief Gray Feather said. “I have seen you visit your wife’s chee-bay-gah-mig, grave. I have seen you go to the home in which your son now lives as a white boy. All has been taken from you. I am here to give so much more back to you.” Gray Feather gave his daughter a quick glance, then looked at White Fire again.

Song Sparrow stood proudly at her father’s side, yet her eyes had never left White Fire since he had come from his bedroom and found them there.

“My gee-dah-niss, daughter would make you a good gee-wee-oo, wife,” Gray Feather said fervently. “You would make a good husband for my daughter. You would make a good father for my granddaughter.” He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “You would make a good son for this old man who was never blessed with sons. You would be the heir to all I own!”

Taken aback by the knowledge that Chief Gray Feather was this determined to have him as a part of his family, and had actually followed his each and every movement since his return from his captivity, White Fire was momentarily at a loss for words.

Yes, he had known that their friendship was special. He would never forget the year that he had spent with Gray Feather and his people. It was a unique, special time, which felt normal and right to him while there.

But many things had changed since his farewell to Gray Feather. He had changed.

“Do you hear and understand what I say to you this morning?” Gray Feather asked, stepping away from his daughter to place a gentle hand on White Fire’s shoulder. “I offer you way more than you can ever achieve in the world of whites that has given you nothing but heartache. I offer you my daughter’s bed. I offer you my granddaughter, who would be your daughter, who would take the place of the son you have lost to whites. Besides that, I offer you everything that you enjoyed while living among my people—and even more!”

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