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But White Fire knew to take it slowly and cautiously. He did not want to turn his son against him. It would take a long time to reacquaint Michael with him.
Maureen gestured with a hand toward a plush, thickly cushioned upholstered chair among those which sat in pairs on each side of the fireplace, in which a roaring fire burned on the grate.
White Fire nodded a stiff thank-you and sat down on the velvet-upholstered chair. His eyes never left Michael as the child squirmed to sit on Maureen’s lap after she sat down in a chair opposite White Fire.
He then glanced quickly around the room and saw the expensive gilt-framed portraits that lined the walls, the satin draperies at the windows, and the many pieces of expensive furniture that filled the dark shadows of the room.
A woman coming into the room, dressed as a nanny, caused White Fire’s insides to stiffen. He watched without argument as Michael was taken into the thick-waisted woman’s arms and whisked quickly from the room.
White Fire realized that, yes, all of this would take time, the return of his son to him, the return of his son’s love.
His gaze shifted back to Maureen as she began to talk in a monotone voice, yet working hard to make her point—that she would fight to keep this child whom she now considered her son.
“Michael is happy with George and I,” she said, stiffly lifting her chin. “I cannot imagine him living anywhere but here. Sir, from what I know of Michael’s earlier years, before we took him to raise as our own, he lived in a small cabin without any comforts whatsoever.”
She nodded toward various objects in the room, at the twinkling crystal vases, at the solid gold candlesticks, at the expensive paintings, then smiled smugly at him.
“As you see, sir, we have much to offer Michael,” she murmured. “I would hope that you would reconsider the foolishness of trying to have him back with you, to live a life of squalor, when my George and I can offer him everything his heart desires.”
She cleared her throat nervously. “Michael’s friends know nothing of his background . . . of him being part Indian,” she said dryly. She visibly shuddered. “Since his skin is white, he passes as white, not as . . . a savage half-breed.”
The way she spoke the words savage half-breed, the insult of it, and her actually shuddering when she spoke of Indians, as though they were the lowest form of people on the earth, made an instant rage enter White Fire’s heart. And even more than that, he was afraid that his son might have been taught to dislike, to mistrust all Indians.
“You bigot, I resent what you said, and what you implied,” White Fire said, his jaw tight. “I am proud of my Indian heritage, as will Michael be, once he realizes that he himself is part Indian.”
Being called a bigot caused Maureen to sit forward in her chair. “I’ll have you know that I am no bigot,” she said, her voice trembling. “I-I just don’t want Michael to know that he is part Indian. His friends would poke fun at him. He would miss many opportunities in life that a man born white is offered. A man who is part Indian, a ’breed, has much to endure.”
She smiled. “But, of course, you must know that, since you are a ’breed, yourself,” she said, her eyes on his face.
“I am a ’breed, yes, that is true,” White Fire said, lifting his chin proudly. “And as you know, I chose to be called by my Indian name rather than the name Samuel, which was my mother’s choice, since she was so wrong to be ashamed of her Miami heritage.”
“That, alone, is cause enough for me to know that Michael is better off being raised here with me and George, than with you—you who cast aside a white man’s name as though it is a sinful thing, a curse,” Maureen snapped back. “This child I have grown to love must not be faced with such decisions. His name is Michael. He is being raised as white. That is how it must continue to be.”
He knew he definitely had a battle on his hands, that he was faced with someone who was determined not to let go without a fight, and it would be too traumatic to just go and grab Michael and abruptly take him away. White Fire decided that now was not the time to make hasty decisions.
Yet even though he saw the prejudice that his son had been forced to live with in his daily life, White Fire still couldn’t see taking Michael away from his adoptive family just yet—at least not until he himself had gotten his own life back in order.
“Let me tell you something about my George and myself,” Maureen quickly interjected. “George and I have come from Boston to this wilderness of Minnesota. George is a smart, skilled, ambitious man. He sees much hope for this small community of Pig’s Eye. He imagines a powerful city rising up from what is now only a few buildings. He wishes to build it. He had seen the possibilities when he heard about the fort being built. He is a trader at heart, having become wealthy from his trading days in Boston. He saw Fort Snelling as possibly one of the better forts used for trading along the two rivers. He sees this as why Pig’s Eye will one day prosper as one of the better cities in America. He has even considered renaming it to something like St. Paul.”
She stopped and drew in a slow, deep breath, then continued. “Michael is now a part of this wonderful awakening in this wilderness,” she said tersely. “As the city grows into something wonderful, so shall Michael’s chances to be a part of its powerful future. And he can only be a part of that if he stays with us, and is given the opportunity.”
White Fire patiently listened, letting her have her say, while, in the end, it was all wasted breath, for no matter what, he would have his son with him again.
Maureen rose stiffly from her chair. She clasped her hands together before her and stared coldly at him as he slowly rose from the chair.
“We will fight to keep Michael,” she said icily. “No matter what you do, he will never be allowed to live in poverty again.” Her tone softened and she looked up pleadingly at White Fire. “Can’t you see that it would be wrong to take the child away from this life that he has grown to love?”
“Can you not see how wrong it is to keep a son from his true father?” White Fire said, his eyes locked with hers.
He turned and walked out of the parlor.
When he reached the front door, Maureen hurried and stood between him and the door.
“Please don’t come back here and confuse the child any more than you already have,” she pleaded. ‘We have been so happy. He has been so happy.”
“I doubt that,” White Fire said, then placed his hands at her waist and lifted her out of his way.
He went out onto the porch, then turned and gazed at Maureen as she stood at the door. “I will be back,” he said thickly. “I want to spend time with Michael. If you do not willingly allow it, you will force me to take him away from you right away, instead of gradually working him into it.”
