“You are so small, so dear to me,” he said emotionally. “But because of how your mother died, I must sever my ties with you.”
He bent down and swept his arms around the child, lifted her up and held her close as she snuggled against his chest, sobbing.
“My child,” he whispered, caressing her long, thick, black hair, “I do love you still. I shall evermore love you. But I cannot keep you with me. Seeing you every day would be a reminder of what your mother did . . . how your mother died.”
Dancing Star leaned away from him and gazed intently into his eyes. “Tell me again how she died,” she said, her child’s voice so soft, the words intelligently said for a child of such few years.
“It is not a pleasant thing to talk about,” Gray Feather said, his spine stiffening. “You had to be told the truth once, but never will I repeat it to you. In time, I hope that it will fade from your heart so that you can remember your mother with respect and love.”
“I love her now,” Dancing Star said, her lower lip quivering. “Just because she . . . she killed herself, how could that make you love her less? Do you not see how sad she must have been? Do you not hurt for her, Grandfather, as I hurt for her?”
“Gray Feather hurts so badly for your mother that it is hard to think of anything or anyone else,” Gray Feather said sadly. “So you see, I, also, have much to get through before I can face life again as I faced it before your mother chose to die such useless a death.”
Dancing Star laid her cheek against his chest. “I will never die such a death,” she said, her voice innocently sweet. “I will never hurt you in such a way.”
Knowing that these might be his last private moments with his granddaughter, because he saw no other way than to give her to someone else, Gray Feather stood there for a moment longer in the morning sunshine. He held her close, oh, so near and dear to his heart. And at this moment, he almost turned and took her home with him again.
But having been taught all of his life that suicide was not only a cowardly way to end one’s life, but also a mortal sin, he had no choice but to leave his granddaughter to be raised by someone besides himself. In his heart he saw the child, his precious grandchild, taking part of her mother’s sin.
And thinking White Fire responsible for Song Sparrow’s death, since she had killed herself over him, Gray Feather knew that her child was now White Fire’s responsibility.
“Will I call White Fire ‘Father’?” Dancing Star suddenly blurted out, as she gazed at Gray Feather with questioning eyes. “Will he call me ‘Daughter?’”
“It will be chosen between you and White Fire what you will call one another,” Gray Feather said, taking slow steps toward the open door. “In time, ay-uh, I do hope that you will become his daughter in all respects and that you will be a sister to his son.”
“He has a son?” Dancing Star said, her eyes wide as Gray Feather stepped inside the lodge.
“Ay-uh, he has a son and that is partly why he would not take your mother to a marriage bed with him,” Gray Feather said somberly.
He did not speak of the woman who was the cause of White Fire’s rejection of Song Sparrow, yet he knew that Dancing Star surely remembered the flame-haired woman who had been a captive for a short while at their village.
But he also knew that Dancing Star was too young to understand why White Fire had come and spoken on the white woman’s behalf and took her from the village, no longer a captive. The child was too young to understand that this flaming-haired woman had won White Fire’s heart over her mother.
His jaw tightened as he thought further of Flame. Would she, when she became White Fire’s wife, treat Dancing Star as a mother would treat a daughter? Or would she resent Dancing Star for being part of White Fire’s life? Would Flame be able to accept a son and a daughter as soon as she spoke her marriage vows? Would the beautiful, young white woman be able to accept an instant family?
Gray Feather’s eyes narrowed, thinking that in a sense, Flame was to blame for Song Sparrow’s death as much as White Fire, and it was only right that she, also, would have to care for Song Sparrow’s child.
Knowing White Fire so well, Gray Feather did not doubt that he would see that Flame and everyone else would treat Dancing Star with respect.
And who could not love his Dancing Star?
Ay-uh, Gray Feather saw the flaming-haired woman as soon taking Dancing Star into her arms and loving her as she would her very own flesh-and-blood daughter.
It was evident that Flame did not look at the Chippewa as people beneath her, that she did respect them even though she had been taken captive for a short time, and that their skin color differed. She had fallen in love with someone of such skin color. She would surely love this child as much!
They entered the cabin and Gray Feather instantly saw that everything was quiet and damp, without a fire burning on the grate.
Dancing Star trembled with a chill and twined an arm around her grandfather’s neck and clung t
o him.
“It will be all right,” Gray Feather said, his voice breaking. He studied the cold ashes beneath the grate, knowing now that White Fire had not been there for some time. He could not help but wonder where he had gone when he had left the village, if not here, his own home?
Then his eyes narrowed as he thought about the surly, evil colonel who had become a threat to both Flame and White Fire. Perhaps they had hesitated to return to the cabin, thinking to avoid the colonel’s wrath.
Yet he could not see White Fire as being the sort who would run from such a fight. And Gray Feather knew how much White Fire loved his son. That, also, would be why he would not leave the area.
“Where is White Fire?” Dancing Star asked, now walking slowly around the room, looking closely at everything.