White Fire

“I doubt that,” White Fire said, chuckling.

Maureen set the valise down and stepped out onto the porch. She held her arms out for Michael. “Michael, please let me hold you one last time,” she said, her voice breaking. “Please give Mommie a hug.”

Michael turned his soft, wondering eyes at Maureen. Then he reached his arms out for her.

White Fire almost hesitated to allow his son to go to Maureen. Deep down inside he was afraid that she might change her mind.

But seeing her sincere hurt, he relinquished Michael to her this one last time.

As Maureen held and hugged Michael and whispered softly into his ear, White Fire looked past them and realized that George Greer had already left for work. And perhaps that was best. This way he would not have the sad, final farewell to Michael to work through. Such a good-bye caused a deep hurt, one that was too final.

Michael squirmed free of Maureen’s grip and jumped to the floor. He looked up at her with a soft pleading look. “I want to take my pony with me,” he said. “Please let me have my pony.”

White Fire looked quickly from one to the other, stunned that the child seemed to be begging for something that was already his.

“No,” Maureen said, stiffening her upper lip. She clasped her hands together before her. “I can’t allow you to have that . . . that . . . wild thing. I won’t be responsible for anything that might happen to you while riding it.”

“But it’s mine,” Michael cried. “It is a gift from my true father.”

White Fire’s lips parted, stunned that this woman could be so nice and cooperative one minute, and so ugly and stubborn the next.

“The pony belongs to Michael,” he said sternly. “I will go to the stable. I shall get it.”

“No, I can’t allow that,” Maureen said sharply. “Now if you want to take Michael with you, you’d best do it now, or by God, I will change my mind and fight you all of the way. But I won’t allow him on that . . . that thing. Do you hear? I won’t allow it.”

White Fire wanted to snap back at her and tell her how stupid she was being, for did she not know that he would just go and purchase Michael another pony?

Michael would be allowed to ride. To learn to shoot. To learn to hunt.

“Father, tell her that you are going to take my pony anyway,” Michael pleaded, grabbing his hand, and jerking on it.

“Let her have it,” White Fire said, sweeping Michael into his arms. He whispered into his ear. “Son, we will go where there are many horses to choose from. You will have your pick of them.”

“Where would that be?” Michael whispered back, his eyes wide.

“At the Chippewa Indian village,” White Fire said, stroking Michael’s back.

“At an Indian village?” Michael gasped, his eyes wide.

His father smiled and nodded.

Michael clung to his neck as White Fire carried him to his horse. He gave Maureen a cold stare. Then he placed Michael comfortably on his saddle and swung himself up behind him. He heard Maureen gasp.

White Fire glared at her. “My son will know the joy of riding horses,” he said calmly.

An arm around Michael’s waist, holding him securely in the saddle before him, White Fire wheeled his horse around and rode away.

He ignored the woman’s sobs behind him. Had she not been so stubborn by not allowing Michael to have his pony, White Fire would have offered her and her husband occasional visits with Michael, so that they would not be totally parted from the child they had grown to love.

His jaw tightened. He saw their sort of love as harmful to his son, for it was based on selfishness.

“Can I see Flame soon?” Michael asked, turning to gaze up at White Fire. “Daddy, I liked her a lot.”

So pleased that Michael remembered Flame, and with such fondness, White Fire smiled down at him. “You liked her, did you?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.

“Very much,” Michael said, nodding.

“And you want to see her very soon?”