White Fire
And the cheeks unprofaned by a tear
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known
To which time will but make thee more dear.
—Thomas Moore
The Minnesota Territory, 1828
Her flame-red hair blowing loosely in the wind, Flame stood on the top deck of the Virginia, a steamboat that made excursions between St. Louis and the Minnesota Territory.
Now eighteen, and fiercely independent, Flame could hardly wait to arrive at Fort Snelling, a huge fort known as a jumping-off place for Minnesota’s explorers, which had been built where the Mississippi and Minnesota rivers converged. A few months ago Colonel Josiah Snelling, the commandant for whom the fort had been named, had been sent to Saint Louis, to be in command of Fort Jefferson Barracks. Flame’s colonel father had, in turn, been sent from Fort Jefferson Barracks to Fort Snelling, where he was now in command.
Flame’s mother had not moved with her husband to the Minnesota wilderness, nor had she allowed Flame to accompany him there. She had not wanted to leave the security of her home in St. Louis. Nor had her health been good enough for such a move. In time, she had signed divorce papers, giving her total freedom from a husband she had never loved.
Tears came to Flame’s eyes when she thought of the recent burial of her mother. Her father had returned home long enough to set things in order and to attend the funeral, then had rushed back to Fort Snelling.
Flame had stayed behind long enough to see to the final sale of the family mansion.
Now she was going to join her father at Fort Snelling and nothing could make her any more excited than the prospect of living in the wilds of Minnesota where she could seek out adventure every day of her life.
Her green silk dress fluttering around her ankles, her waist so narrow, her breasts so generously round, she clung to the boat’s railing with her white-gloved hands. She closed her eyes in the same fantasy she had clung to since she had been a young girl of ten falling in love with a ’breed. She had thought of no one since then in a serious way.
Yes, she had attended all of the fancy balls and social functions that St. Louis had to offer. But none of her male escorts had meant anything to her. They were just a means to her having fun. Nothing more.
In her mind’s eye she could see White Fire as though his father’s funeral were only yesterday. She had never forgotten the intensity of his midnight dark eyes, nor his long and thick hair the color of a raven’s wing, nor his muscled body.
A sensual shiver rode her spine. “Nor shall I ever forget the lovely color of his copper skin,” she whispered to herself.
How could she have ever forgotten hi
s smile when she had purposely flirted with him? In his eyes she had seen a quiet amusement, yet she felt as though she had possibly seen something more. An appreciation of her.
She opened her eyes and sighed, for she had not found the courage to ask her father if White Fire might be anywhere near Fort Snelling. If White Fire were in the area, she did not want to pique her father’s curiosity over her interest in the ’breed. She knew of her father’s dislike for Indians, half-breed or not.
Her heart pounded the closer the boat came to Fort Snelling. She had prayed over and over that she just might find White Fire again. Wasn’t he headed for the Minnesota Territory all those years ago?
To keep her anxiety to arrive at bay, she concentrated on her surroundings, finding everything so lovely and serene. It was such a beautiful country, with its many high hills covered with pine trees and green grass. The air was fresh and clear, the breeze deliciously warm.
Her eyes widened when she saw mud hens along the sandy shore, and several other kinds of water fowl swooping down to settle in little clusters, rocking on the swells of the river as they waited for some unwary fish for their dinner.
She knew that she would be acquainted soon with Minnesota’s wildlife, for she planned to explore on horseback at every opportunity. Although she was saddened over her mother’s death, she could not deny how wonderful it felt to realize the freedom that lay ahead of her in Minnesota. Her father would be too consumed by his duties as colonel to worry about her and what she might be up to every day.
“White Fire, if you are still in the Minnesota Territory, by damn, I vow to find you,” she whispered to herself.
Chapter 4
All love that has not friendship for its base
Is like a mansion built upon the sand.
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox
War whoops rang out through the forest and across the muddy waters of the Mississippi River as the St. Croix band of Chippewa, under the command of Chief Gray Feather, forged a hearty attack on a Sioux encampment downriver from Fort Snelling.
Before the Sioux could defend themselves, they were overpowered by the Chippewa.
“Gee-bah-bah, Father! Gee-bah-bah, Father!” Song Sparrow cried as she fled from one of the Sioux tepees after realizing that the Sioux were surrounded and held at bay by her father’s warriors.