White Fire

She groaned when she glanced down at the river and realized that the boat had become somewhat grounded. She now knew that she would be stuck on the boat for a much longer period than she wished to be.

She was so anxious to begin her new life in the wilderness!

Chapter 6

Does there within the dimmest dreams

A possible future shine,

Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe?

Untouchable, unshared by mine?

—Adelaide Anne Procter

White Fire’s hands shook from anxiety as he broke through the tangle of vines at the front door of his cabin. The door was slightly ajar, and he held his breath as he shoved it slowly open.

When he saw the utter desolation of the cabin, and the thick cobwebs that hung from the ceiling and from wall to wall, it was as though someone had struck him with a fist in his gut. Finding his wife and child gone was traumatic and frightening.

As he made his way slowly through the cabin, smoothing cobwebs aside as he went from room to room, his heart sank. Everywhere he looked he saw the possessions of his family. That had to mean that when they left, it had been in haste, for they had taken nothing with them.

This puzzled him, for his wife would have needed her clothes, and also their son’s. Still there they were, lying neatly in drawers, or hanging on pegs, or on wooden hangers in the chifforobe.

Even his son’s crib was still there, cobwebs claiming the mattress.

Stifling a sob in his throat, fearing the worst now, that they might be dead, White Fire gazed at, a tiny wooden horse that he had carved for his son only a few days before his abduction. It lay in his son’s crib, just barely visible, where a blanket was turned back at one end.

He picked up the toy and held it to his chest as he went through the cabin again, seeing things as he remembered them.

He saw his wife’s knitting basket, with balls of yarn neatly stacked inside it. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared at an unfinished knitted sock that lay across the arm of an upholstered chair.

He went and touched the Bible, where inside were the inscriptions of his wife’s parents. He knew that she would have never left it behind. It was the only thing left of her parents after their untimely death in a fire in a cabin outside Fort Snelling.

“Fort Snelling,” he whispered, his eyes lighting up with a faint hope. He had to go to Fort Snelling and see Colonel Snelling. Surely Josiah would know where his wife and child were, and why they had left their cabin in such haste.

He spoke a quiet prayer that he would find answers about his family that would not devastate him.

Then he laid the toy aside and looked down at his attire. He grimaced at the sight of the breechclout. He couldn’t arrive at the fort dressed in this fashion. At first sight, the soldiers might think he was a full-blooded Indian and not give him quick entrance into the colonel’s office.

He went into his bedroom. Then he jumped back when he saw that on the far side of the room, just above the chifforobe, mud dauber wasps were building a nest.

He avoided them and grabbed one of his suits of doeskin. He hurried into the shirt and breeches, which had fringes on the sleeves and across the shoulders, and down the trouser legs. He stepped into his own moccasins and discarded those that the Sioux had forced upon him.

He raked his fingers through his thick, black hair to straighten it, then hurried to the door and went outside. He swung himself onto the horse, again riding it bareback toward the fort.

Just as he arrived outside of the wide gate that led into the fort, White Fire saw the arrival of a steamboat. As he dismounted and led his horse to a hitching rail, he could not get his eyes off the beautiful woman who was just now coming down the gangplank.

As though mesmerized, finding so much about her familiar, White Fire stood for a moment longer and watched the woman being swept away from the gangplank by a soldier, who led her toward the fort.

As she moved past White Fire, too hurried to notice him standing there, he could not believe his eyes, for he had had time to recognize her.

Yes! Surely it was the girl he had seen in St. Louis at his father’s funeral. She was now grown into a woman. How could he ever forget that flaming red hair, those flirtatious green eyes, or the perfect features of her face? He was very taken by her loveliness, which had been enhanced by maturity.

He was shaken from his reverie when a soldier approached him and stood in the way of his entrance into the fort.

“Sir, what is your business at the fort today?” the uniformed soldier asked, slowly raking his eyes over White Fire.

“I’ve come to see Colonel Snelling,” White Fire said, squaring his shoulders under the soldier’s rude, close scrutiny. “My name is White Fire. I’m a close friend of Colonel Snelling. I must see him. I must inquire about the safety of my wife and son.”