White Fire

With a sigh, a smile?

—Ernest Dowson

Although White Fire knew that Colonel Russell would be fit to be tied over Flame’s absence, he felt that he had no choice but to spend the night with the Chippewa. He felt that he needed this time to console Gray Feather over his plan having gone awry, and for learning for certain that White Fire would never live with him, and would never marry his daughter.

White Fire took Flame’s hands. He edged her a few feet from the chief so that they could talk in private about what he wished to do.

“We can’t stay,” Flame blurted out, her eyes wide as she gazed up at him. “My father is already angry over so many things, especially over my having left the fort in such a way.”

“And he has a right to be angry,” White Fire said, sighing. “You see what happened by you having left the fort at night? You were easily abducted.”

“I had to leave,” Flame said, yanking her hands free. “Father was so horrible about things when I told him I was going to many you. He . . . he . . . made threats. I ran out on him before he could grab me and imprison me in my room!”

“You can never return to him, you know,” White Fire said, his voice drawn. “You will stay with me. We will be married soon. Then just let your father try and interfere. You will be mine to protect. I will protect you with my life.”

Feeling so much for him at this moment, seeing the depth of his feelings for her, and realizing the sort of sacrifice he might be making to have her as his wife—that her father’s threat would always be there, to haunt White Fire’s every move, Flame floated into his arms and hugged him.

“I love you so,” she murmured. “And I am so afraid for you. For both of us to be free of my father’s wrath, perhaps we should leave the area. We could go and get Michael and go where Father could never find us.”

“Your father is an obstacle for only a while longer,” White Fire said. “If Colonel Edwards does as he promised, your father will soon be no threat to anyone again.”

“But until he does, both our lives are in danger,” Flame said, stepping away from him, gazing into his eyes. “Even though I am his daughter, I truly believe he now sees me as no less than an enemy. I fear his wrath so, White Fire. When someone crosses him, he is capable of anything.”

“Tonight we are safe from him,” White Fire said soothingly. “Let us relax and enjoy this time with the Chippewa.”

“I shall try,” Flame said, then turned and walked with him back to Chief Gray Feather.

“We both accept your offer to stay,” White Fire said, which caused the old chiefs eyes to light up.

But when White Fire looked over at Song Sparrow, and saw a strange sort of emptiness in her eyes, he could not help but be afraid for her. It was not just that he had refused to marry her, it was the way it had all transpired in the presence of her people. She appeared to be totally dejected and ashamed.

When Song Sparrow turned and left, he was glad, for surely when she joined her daughter in the privacy of their lodge, she would realize who was truly the most important person in her life: her daughter. Being a mother, Song Sparrow must know that she must consider her daughter’s welfare over her own. Her daughter was solely dependant on her now since she no longer had a father.

“It is good that you will stay,” Chief Gray Feather said, taking White Fire by an arm. “Come inside my lodge. Wear the clothes of my people. Let us share tonight what we shared in the past.” He nodded at Flame. “Come. Join us.”

Flame smiled awkwardly at him. Then she went inside the chief’s large wigwam and sat down beside the fire on rich, soft pelts. White Fire and the chief went to the far shadows of the lodge, where the younger man changed from his clothes into a breechclout.

Trying not to be embarrassed while this was done, Flame centered her attention on other things. She looked slowly around her. Even though she had come here as a captive, she was as in awe of it now, as she had been the first time she had seen it earlier in the evening.

The lodge was just a single room, built of saplings which had been covered with woven rush mats and bark to keep out the cold. Flame noticed that the bark had been cut in a decorative zigzag pattern, and more mats on the floor were dyed in bright colors, giving the whole dwelling a cheerful appearance.

In the center of the lodge, a crackling fire provided warmth and shed a soft glow over the space. At the door, a hide had been hung to keep in the heat during the winter months. Warm blankets, bear skins and hides were hung from the rafters or arranged around the edge of the wigwam for sitting or sleeping. It was completely different from any home Flame had ever seen, but it seemed cozy.

Gray Feather’s cache of weapons were in the shadows at the back of the lodge.

As Gray Feather stood close by, his loose robe hanging in folds over his left shoulder, White Fire fastened his breechclout.

“Share body paint tonight with me also?” Chief Gray Feather asked, holding out a pot of assorted paints toward him.

White Fire gazed questioningly at the chief for a moment, then nodded and accepted the paints.

They took turns painting each other’s faces in colorful zigzag designs in colors of red, yellow, and blue.

Then White Fire watched the chief remove a long-stemmed calumet pipe from a sacred bag. Together they went and sat down by the fire.

Flame gasped when she saw the paint designs on their bodies and faces. For the first time, ever, she saw just how truly Indian White Fire was, and found it intriguing.

She said nothing, but only watched as White Fire and the chief exchanged smokes from the long-stemmed pipe. It seemed to be some strange sort of ceremony in how the pipe was smoked as the chief lifted it toward the east, the west, the north, and then the south.