He found Colonel Russell pacing just outside the door. He stopped and stared at White Fire. “Well?” he said nervously. “What do you think? Do I have anything to fear?”
“What do I think?” White Fire asked, biting his tongue to keep from speaking up how he truly felt about the deviousness of this heartless colonel.
He found it hard to think that Flame was related to this evil man. Nothing about them seemed alike.
“I think it is all a lot of foolishness,” White Fire said. “It’s hogwash. You were surely imagining things. There is no ghost.” He laughed throatily. “Who believes in ghosts, anyway?”
“Thank God,” Colonel Russell said, his shoulders relaxing.
“Send for me if you need me for anything else,” White Fire said as he headed for the stairs. He looked at the colonel over his shoulder. “Like interpreting.”
Frowning, White Fire hurried outside. He swung himself into his saddle and left right away for Fort Parker, a fort several miles downriver from Fort Snelling. He would meet with Colonel Edwards, who was in command at Fort Parker. He would explain the situation to the colonel and suggest that the colonel send a replacement for Colonel Russell. If not, there would be the massacre of massacres in the Minnesota Territory! Both Indians and whites alike would suffer many losses.
White Fire’s thoughts went to his son, knowing that, for his sake, a war must be averted!
His jaw tightened when his thoughts went to Flame. He now knew that he must rush things along with her, for once Colonel Russell realized that he had been duped by White Fire, Flame could be lost to him, forever!
This made him ride at a harder gallop along the riverbank. He
must make Colonel Edwards understand the danger of Colonel Russell staying in command. He must. Colonel Russell must be removed immediately.
White Fire would not allow anyone else to tamper with his own future ever again, as did the Sioux those long three years!
Chapter 19
Yes! This is love, the steadfast and the true,
The immortal glory which hath never set;
The best, the brightest boon the heart e’er knew;
Of all life’s sweets the very sweetest yet!
—Charles Swain
Too restless to return home, Flame had rode for quite a while, exploring some more of the land that she was not familiar with,
Then she had gone to White Fire’s cabin to wait for him.
Finding the door unlocked, she wandered inside, as though she belonged there. She wanted to tell him of all of the feelings that were overwhelming her, that the time spent with him and Michael had been wonderful, that it had made her feel as though she belonged to them both.
She wanted to tell him that, adoring children, having always dreamed of having children of her own, she had fallen instantly in love with Michael.
She had a need to tell all of those things to White Fire, though she was quite certain that he had seen it while she chatted and laughed with Michael.
She scoffed at her father’s warning, that she was too young to become an instant mother. She could not help but think that just possibly that gave her father more cause to be upset over the building relationship between her and White Fire than him being, in part, Indian.
“Like he tried with Mother, Father wants to control me,” Flame whispered to herself. “He sees me only as a possession, not someone he loves from the depths of his heart.”
This hurt her deeply, yet she had grown used to knowing this about her father and had lived life as she would live it, ignoring him and the demands he made on her.
Wandering slowly around the cabin as the midday sun poured like satin streamers through the windows, Flame gazed again at White Fire’s furnishings. Her gloves removed and thrust inside one of her front skirt pockets, she ran her fingers delicately over the smoothness of an oak table. She then moved her hands over a thickly cushioned chair. It was so pretty and cheerful with its fabric bright with designs of woodland flowers.
She lifted a candlestick and admired it. It was made of wood and she wondered if White Fire might have made it. She set it back on the table and wandered to the window to take a look outside. Shoving the yellowed muslin curtain aside, she was reminded of who had made them. Mary. White Fire’s wife, Mary.
Flame had not allowed herself to feel the slightest bit of jealousy that so much inside this cabin had been chosen by his wife. Mary was now just a memory. Flame was real and there for White Fire.
“White Fire, where are you?” she whispered as she peered through the pane of glass.