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Riding at a slow lope, he proceeded, his eyes wary, his heart pounding.
Chapter 15
Our state cannot be severed, we are one
One flesh,
To lose thee were to lose myself!
—John Milton
So unsure of who might be waiting for him in his cabin, his three years with the Sioux fresh on his mind, and not trusting that they had accepted his release that easily, White Fire dismounted in the shadows of the trees and tied his horse’s reins around a low limb.
His rifle clutched in his right hand, he moved stealthily toward his cabin, his eyes watching for movement on both sides of him. He knew that many Sioux could be hiding there. Although Chief Gray Feather’s warriors had escorted their Sioux captives back to their home, which was far from this area, warning them never to return again, White Fire could never believe the Sioux would allow the Chippewa to dictate to them.
Yet he knew that Chief Gray Feather was aware of the other bands of Sioux a day’s ride from here. If Gray Feather had taken any Sioux captive, those others who got word of it would rebel. There would be an out-and-out war between the Sioux and Chippewa, and no one wanted blood spilled needlessly.
White Fire reached his front door and saw that it was slightly ajar. He inhaled a nervous breath, then kicked the door open and jumped into the cabin, his rifle poised for firing.
He was quick to lower his rifle when he saw Chief Gray Feather sitting on the blankets before a gently burning fire in the fire
place. Around him on the floor were many tied bundles, and something else that made White Fire’s eyebrows fork with wonder.
“You see the gifts?” Chief Gray Feather said, smiling up at him. “They are from me to you.”
Very aware of why the chief was there again, bearing many gifts, White Fire smiled awkwardly. He leaned his rifle against the wall, then went and knelt down on his haunches beside the chief.
“When I saw the horse outside, I did not recognize it as yours,” White Fire said, trying to ignore the gifts which he knew were Gray Feather’s bribe to make him do what he wished—marry his daughter.
“The bay-bay-shee-go-gah-shee, horse, was a gift to this old chief from a friend in a neighboring village,” Gray Feather said. “I have brought special gifts to you from Gray Feather. Take. Enjoy.”
“I understand why you have brought the gifts,” White Fire said, his voice drawn. “But—”
Before he could finish, Gray Feather interrupted him. “There are blankets, pelts, jewelry,” he said, motioning with his hands toward the bundles. Gray Feather rose and stretched out a hand to White Fire. “Stand before me,” he said thickly. “Listen seriously to what this old chief says. It is being said from the bottom of his heart.”
White Fire stood up. He swallowed hard when the Chippewa chief placed gentle hands on his shoulders and gazed into his eyes with much warmth and pleading.
“My nee-gee, friend, I have come again to ask you to leave this white world behind you and be my daughter’s husband,” he said. “Be a father for my granddaughter! I would be proud to have you as a son. White Fire, I saw it in a dream! The face of the man sitting at my right side in council was you. You sat there in the capacity of a son.”
White Fire was torn by feelings at having to disappoint this wonderful man again, especially since White Fire himself felt so much for him, as though they were father and son.
Yes, he could understand the chief’s persistence, for the chief’s feelings for him had begun before he had left to join Colonel Snelling at the fort. This, perhaps, was why White Fire had felt the urge to leave. He had never joined the Chippewa with plans of staying with them forever. It was just something that he had gotten caught up in. Their magic and mystique had been so intriguing it had been easy to stay with them and learn. Until he had arrived at the Minnesota Territory, he had been denied everything of his Indian heritage. The hunger for it had been fed while living with the tribe.
“Gray Feather, I am honored that you think so much of me that you would wish for me to sit at your right side in council as your son,” White Fire said softly. “And I understand the power of dreams. But, Gray Feather, what you had was just that. A ee-nah-bun-dum, dream. I cannot go with you to your village. I cannot ever consider marrying your daughter, for you see, Gray Feather, I have chosen another woman, a white woman. In time I will marry her.”
Gray Feather’s hands dropped to his sides. His eyes wavered with disappointment. Hanging his head, he walked toward the door.
Then Gray Feather stopped and gazed back at White Fire. “It is wrong for you to marry another white woman,” he said, his voice drawn. “It was meant for you to marry someone of your own skin coloring. My daughter’s skin matches yours. So does her daughter’s.”
White Fire went to Gray Feather. “You have come today bearing gifts, knowing that I have already said that I would not marry your daughter,” he said warily. “Gray Feather, please know that I find Song Sparrow beautiful and sweet. Her daughter is as beautiful, but my heart is elsewhere. Nothing can change it. I do not feel it is right for me to keep your gifts,” he added softly.
“I brought gifts to you,” Gray Feather said, his voice harsh. “They stay with you.” He turned and left the cabin.
White Fire went to the door and watched the chief ride away. He felt as though he had done something as bad as betray the chief, yet he knew that there was no reason for him to feel such guilt. He had never once promised to stay with the Chippewa.
And although he felt as though he owed the chief for having rescued him from the Sioux, he just could not allow himself to be coerced into doing something that he felt was wrong, just as a thank-you for having been given back his life. He would find a way to thank Gray Feather, someday, some way. But not like this.
He stared moodily at the horizon.
