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Yes, after much thought, she could see herself there, as one of them.
And before White Fire had gone to meet with his father, he and Flame had talked at length about their future. White Fire had promised to build her a cabin, one which would hold many children instead of their trying to live in a wigwam.
Yes, they were going to move to the Chippewa village, so that Gray Feather and White Fire could become totally acquainted as father and son, which had been denied them since his mother had chosen to keep White Fire’s true birthright a secret.
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Flame gazed at the larger wigwam in which her beloved sat with his father, revealing truths to him. She smiled and wished that she could be there to see Gray Feather’s expression once he realized that he had a son, and that son was White Fire!
But she had wanted to give them the privacy they deserved.
“Let’s find pretty shells,” Dancing Star said, yanking on Flame’s hand to get her attention. “Can we, Flame? Can we find pretty shells and make a necklace of them?”
“Yes, that would be fun,” Flame said, laughing softly. “Let’s see who can find the prettiest shells.”
She watched Michael and Dancing Star scamper on ahead of her along the rocky shore, occasionally dropping to their knees to search through the various shells.
Again Flame turned and gazed at the larger wigwam. “God bless, my darling,” she whispered, blowing a kiss toward the dwelling.
Chapter 43
I love thee freely, as man strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise,
I love thee with the passion put to use,
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning
White Fire sat on plush pelts beside his father before the lodge fire. He gave Gray Feather a steady gaze.
“This wire arrived today from my mother,” he said, handing it to Gray Feather.
“You know that I cannot read white man’s scribblings,” Gray Feather said, yet slowly unfolded the paper anyway, gazing down at it.
“I know, and I will explain what the words on the page say,” White Fire said, folding his legs before him.
His knuckles became white from his tight grip on his knees as he began explaining, bringing everything into the open that had been kept secret since his mother had discovered that she had a tiny seed growing inside her womb that had not been planted there by her Miami Indian husband.
“Gray Feather, do you recall a time many years ago when you went to a huge council of various Indian tribes in Kentucky?” White Fire asked. “Do you remember attending that council that was held at a Miami Indian village?”
Gray Feather squinted. His breathing became shallow as he was momentarily lost in thought.
Then he gave White Fire a steady stare. “Ay-uh, I remember being in that council in Kentucky,” he said in a low voice. “I was only in Kentucky once at that Miami village. The stay became a lengthy one. Many councils were held, not only one. Much was achieved in those councils.”
“Do you remember something that happened while you were there, besides sitting in council?” White Fire asked guardedly. He leaned somewhat forward and his heart began to race when he saw a melancholy look suddenly appear in Gray Feather’s fading brown eyes.
“Ay-uh, more was achieved while in Kentucky than mere talks in councils,” Gray Feather said, nodding. His lips quivered into a slow smile as he looked over at White Fire. “There was an ee-quay, woman.”
“I know,” White Fire quickly interjected.
Gray Feather’s shoulders tightened. He stared with questioning at him. “How could you know?” he asked softly.
“Because this woman was my mother,” White Fire said, his words coming slowly across his lips as his gaze tried to capture all of his father’s expression as the knowing was slowly being revealed to him.
“Your . . . gee-mah-mah, mother?” Gray Feather gasped out. “How could you know that I knew your mother? That I fell in love with her? That she—”
