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“White Fire, I love you!” Jania May cried, waving at him as he gave her a quick look over his shoulder. “Samuel White Fire, I shall so terribly miss you!”
Chapter 2
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appear,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest!
—John Donne
A book of poetry resting on her lap, Flame sat at her ailing mother’s bedside, her gaze and her thoughts elsewhere. She was looking through the bedroom window, watching the sky and how the setting sun was sending the most beautiful shades of crimson across the horizon.
Flame could not help but wonder where White Fire might be at this moment. She had heard her father discussing with some of his soldier friends how White Fire had planned to leave today after his father’s funeral, to journey alone into the wilderness.
A thrill coursed through Flame to think of how wonderful it would be to join White Fire on his exciting adventure. Although Flame’s life was filled with many activities, and she had just discovered the wonders of dancing and enjoyment of the glances from boys her own age, and even of older men, she was bored more often than not. She hungered for adventure.
She loved to ride on horseback, feeling the freedom when she rode through the knee-high grasses on her father’s broad expanse of land along the Mississippi River.
She wished she were outside now, instead of in her mother’s bedroom, the bitter smells of medicine wafting up her nose. Ah, how she would, instead, love to be walking amidst swirling, clambering vines and starry flowers!
But now wasn’t the time to think of herself. She was there for her mother. She was dedicated to her mother who was ill quite often, with first one ailment, and then another.
“Reshelle, why have you stopped reading poetry to me?” Elizabeth Ann Russell asked, drawing Flame’s eyes quickly to her. “Daughter, what’s taken your thoughts away? What are you fantasizing about now? I do wish you wouldn’t wish on things that can never be.”
Flame flipped her long, red waves back from her shoulders and forced a smile as she gazed at her mother, when truly, looking at her mother only saddened her. Elizabeth Ann was frail and pale, not only because she was so prone to illness, but because she scarcely ever went out into the sunlight, saying that it was bad for her ivory skin.
“Mother, I’m sorry,” Flame said softly.
She again opened the poetry book where she had marked the last page that she had read with a pale blue velvet ribbon. “I shouldn’t have stopped reading,” she murmured, “but, Mother, something happened today that I can’t get off my mind.”
She closed the book again and laid it aside. She leaned over and straightened her mother’s blanket, then smoothed some locks of her mother’s auburn hair back from her pale brow.
“I saw a man today, Mother,” she quickly said. “I have seen him many times before, but never so close.” She sighed. “I shall never forget him, Mother. Never.”
“Reshelle, Reshelle,” Elizabeth Ann said softly, “you are only ten. You shouldn’t be thinking of men.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t call him a man,” Flame said, cocking an eyebrow. “I believe he is only eighteen or nineteen.”
“Reshelle, anyone who is eighteen or nineteen is a man and much too old for you to be thinking about,” Elizabeth Ann scolded. She turned her head away from Flame and coughed.
“I truly wish you would call me Flame,” Flame said, sighing. “Reshelle is such a cold, assuming-sounding name.”
Elizabeth Ann turned a slow gaze to Flame again. “The name Reshelle is full of sunshine,” she said softly. She reached a cold, clammy hand to Flame and patted her on the arm. “Daughter, you shall always be Reshelle to me. Wanting to be called Flame is just another childish notion you will soon get over, just as you will soon forget the young man you saw today.”
“A ’breed, mother,” Flame quickly interjected. “Mother, he’s a ’breed, part Indian. Miami, I believe. Isn’t that exciting?”
Elizabeth Ann gazed at Flame a moment longer, then slowly closed her eyes.
“Mother, I’m going to marry the handsome Indian half-breed one day,” Flame blurted out. “When I grow up, I will search for him. He will be mine!”
Elizabeth Ann’s eyes flew open. “Reshelle, stop that right now,” she scolded. “Such talk . . . such thoughts . . . are scandalous.”
To soothe her mother’s anger, Flame grabbed the poetry book, opened it, and began reading passages. She knew, though, that she couldn’t get White Fire off her mind, even though it was frivolous of her to think of one day marrying him. And deep down inside she doubted that she would ever see him again.
But it would be a deliciously fun thing to wish for on the stars in the heavens each night!
Chapter 3
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own
