White Fire

He slid from the saddle and led both horses to the water. Then he knelt down on his haunches and took Michael’s hands. “You truly aren’t afraid to ride the pony?” he asked, searching his son’s eyes for any signs of fear, and seeing nothing but excitement.

“I have always liked horses,” Michael said softly. “But my adopted mommy and daddy forbid them to me, as they forbid the outdoors to me. They treat me like a baby—like a girl.”

Michael reached a hand up to his hair. “I hate curls,” he said, gagging. “I want them cut off!”

“You do not have to cut your hair to be rid of curls,” White Fire said, smiling at the boy’s dislike of them. “They can be straightened. Then you can wear your hair like mine.”

“Yes, I like yours,” Michael said, reaching a hand to run it over the smoothness of White Fire’s thick mane.

The horses whinnied, drawing Michael and White Fire apart.

“The pony wants me to ride it,” Michael said, begging with his eyes to White Fire. “Can I? Now? Please?”

“You are not in the least bit afraid?” he asked, lifting Michael into his arms.

“Well, just a little,” Michael said, giggling.

White Fire could feel Michael stiffen as he placed him in the tiny saddle. “Relax,” he said softly. “I shall take the reins and lead the pony for a while. Then I will return the reins to you.”

Eyes wide, Michael nodded.

As Michael clung to the pommel of the saddle, White Fire walked him back and forth beside the stream.

Then Michael reached for the reins and gave them a soft yank. “I am ready to do it myself,” he said, smiling at his father. “Can I have the reins? Can I?”

“If you truly believe you are ready,” White Fire said, hesitating at giving the reins over to the child.

“I am ready,” Michael said. “I remember how. I want to do it myself as you allowed me to when I was way smaller than I am now.”

“Your memory amazes me,” White Fire said, handing the reins to him. “Remembering is a gift. Thank the Great Spirit that he has blessed you with it, that he gave you cause to remember again things of your past.”

“The Great S

pirit is the same as God?” Michael questioned, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes, the same as God,” White Fire said. Then he stepped aside and watched as his son rode off in a slow lope, looking natural in the saddle. White Fire gazed heavenward and gave a silent thanks for small miracles.

Michael came back on his pony. “Ride with me now, please?” he asked, running a hand over the pony’s mane.

White Fire swung himself into his saddle. But before they could ride off together, another horse and rider appeared a short distance away.

White Fire soon recognized the rider. “Flame,” he whispered.

Chapter 18

Shall I love you like the wind, love,

That is so fierce and strong?

That sweeps all barriers from its path,

And reeks not right or wrong?

—R. W. Raymond

Flame couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw White Fire only a short distance away. When she had gone to his cabin and found him gone, she had given up on seeing him today. She had then sought only to enjoy her momentary freedom from her tyrannical father. He was getting more unbearable as each day passed.

She tried to understand why he was so headstrong about her horseback riding. She did know the dangers. But she would not sit idly in her room embroidering or reading. Life was meant to be lived. She would live it.