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Finally the door swung slowly open. A butler dressed in solid black was suddenly there, his eyes cold, his chin smugly lifted.
“Sir, I have been asked to tell you that Mr. and Mrs. Greer are indisposed this fine morning to whoever knocks at the door,” the butler said. “So I must bid you good day, sir. Do try another day.”
As the butler started to close the door, White Fire placed his hands against it, and with brute force, kept the door from closing.
“You can tell Mr. and Mrs. Greer that I have not come to see them,” he said dryly. “They can stay indisposed. It is Michael that I wish—that I am going to see. And not only see. I am taking him on an outing.”
“That will do for now, Payton,” Maureen Greer said, addressing her butler with a sigh. “I see that the gentleman will not take no for an answer.”
White Fire’s eyes gleamed into Maureen’s as she replaced the butler at the door.
“Why do you persist in coming here when you know that you are not wanted? That, actually, you are trespassing,” Maureen said, her face flushing red from anger. “Can’t you see that Michael does not want to see you? Wouldn’t he be here if he did?”
A voice spoke up from the shadows of the foyer behind Maureen, causing hope to rise within White Fire. He looked past Maureen as his son spoke again, his voice filled with fear.
“I do want to see him . . . but . . . you forbid it,” Michael said, tears falling from his eyes.
“Michael!” Maureen gasped, turning sharply to stare at him. “Get back to your room this instant. Do you hear?”
Hearing the hurt in his son’s voice and the sternness in Maureen’s, White Fire brushed quickly past her.
As Maureen stared in disbelief, he swept Michael into his arms and carried him from the house, outside to the porch.
“Son, I am glad you want to see me,” White Fire said, so happy that Michael had spoken up and voiced his wishes. “Son, I could hardly wait until we could be together again.”
“I had a dream,” Michael said, wiping tears from his eyes. “In the dream I saw you and Mommy together. . . my real mommy. Although, I was so little, I do remember now so many things that I didn’t before . . . before . . . the dream. Father, I remember a toy horse that you carved for me out of wood. I remember sitting on your lap as you carved it.”
White Fire was stunned by what his son was saying he remembered.
And it had come to him in a dream?
He smiled, for he did know the power of dreams. In them, many things of the future and past could be seen.
White Fire was thankful for his son’s ability to dream. It was because of the Indian side of his heritage. The Indians put much weight in their dreams. They made decisions because of them.
He suddenly recalled Chief Gray Feather’s dream: how he had seen White Fire sitting at his right side in the place of a son. He wondered what meaning there was in that dream. But now was not the time to delve into any dreams, except for his son’s.
“Yes, I made you the toy,” he said thickly. “It is at our home. I found it when I returned there recently. I will take you there soon and give it to you again, so that it will be yours forever.”
“That would make me very happy,” Michael said, smiling widely. “Father, one day will you tell me about your time away from me? How you lived? How you survived?”
“Yes, one day—” White Fire said, when he was interrupted by Maureen. She came out on the porch and stood stiffly at their side.
“Michael, you shouldn’t be out here in the sun without a hat,” she said, her hands clasped tightly before her. “You should have a cape around your shoulders!”
“Both the sun and the air will do my son good,” White Fire said, glaring down at Maureen. “And today I plan to give him plenty of both.”
“What do you mean?” Maureen asked faintly, paling.
“Do you see the pony?” White Fire said, more to Michael than to Maureen as he watched his son turn his head to stare at the steed. “I have brought it to you, Michael, as a gift from father to son.”
“The pony is for me?” Michael said, scrambling from his arms.
Michael ran down the steps before Maureen could reach out and grab him. He went to the pony and began to stroke its rust-colored mane.
“I won’t allow you to take him out on that . . . that . . . creature,” Ma
ureen said, puffing as her anger rose within her.
