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White Fire sat beside her on the platform. His chieftain father was on a platform next to them. Flame gazed at her husband. The past three years had been magical. Being White Fire’s wife was something she would have never imagined.
Not even when she was ten and she had fantasized about being with him. Her fantasies had been the best a girl could conjure, but were never as wonderful as it was in real life. Now, as his wife, she awakened every morning in his arms. As his wife, she went to sleep every night being held by him after they shared such sweet lovemaking.
They never raised their voices to one another, nor did they to their three children.
The thought of the children made a sweet peace swim through Flame’s consciousness. She turned her gaze and watched her youngest at play, as Dancing Star watched over her, the doting sister.
Yes, Zoe, born of Flame and White Fire’s love, was now two and as feisty and pretty as she could be with her black, raven-colored hair, green eyes, and her smooth copper skin. Flame knew that when her daughter grew up into a woman there would be men clamoring for her attention.
She looked again at Dancing Star. She also was an eye-catcher with her features so much like her mother’s, which were nothing less than vivacious. Yes, Flame and White Fire would have a fight on their hands when both their daughters grew into women and men began noticing them.
Flame’s gaze shifted again.
Ah, yes, there was Michael, who was still only a child, but who had adapted well to living among the Chippewa, in the Chippewa tradition, for it was his father’s.
And it was good that Michael would be living under the protection of the Indians. If he still lived among the whites, all of the white boys would call him a ’breed. He would have to suffer the same insults his father had when he had lived among whites. He would be tormented by those who knew no better than to behave as their parents, who were for the most part prejudiced against anything and everything Indian.
The drumming suddenly ceased. Chief Gray Feather rose from his platform and went and stood in the midst of his people, who circled around him, watching him, their pride for him in their eyes and smiles.
“Today we have come together as one heart and soul to celebrate my grandson’s initiation into our tribe, required because, in part, he is white, born of a white mother,” Gray Feather said, the many colorful feathers of his headdress fluttering in the gentle breeze. His bare, copper chest shone from a fresh bear greasing. His fading brown eyes danced, his pride revealed to everyone in his gentle smile.
He looked over at Michael, who was dressed in only a breechcloth. “Grandson, come to me,” he said, gesturing with a hand toward him. “Come and stand with your grandfather so that everyone can see you. My grandson, Black Shield, today you make this old grandfather so proud.”
Barefoot, his glistening black hair now worn to his waist and drawn back from his brow by a colorful, beaded headband, Black Shield walked proudly to his grandfather and stood at his side. He smiled broadly at his father, and then at Flame, whom he saw now as his mother.
Then he laughed softly when someone suddenly came to him and held her arms up, silently begging to be held. “Sweet Zoe,” Black Shield whispered, grabbing her up into his arms. She snuggled against his bare chest, laying her cheek against it.
Flame gave White Fire a quick, questioning look, wondering what should be done about Zoe.
“I am certain that her sister will get her when
it is time for our son to go to the river,” White Fire whispered, reaching over and giving Flame’s hand a soft squeeze. “Is not it a beautiful sight to see Zoe caring so much for her older brother?”
“She is like an angel fallen from the heavens into our son’s arms,” Flame whispered back.
They grew quiet and listened as Gray Feather gave a long speech about his feelings for Black Shield, and then his son, White Fire.
His old eyes then turned to Flame, whom he spoke of as though she were his daughter, born of his flesh.
Tears spilled from Flame’s eyes to feel this loved, to feel so at peace with her life with these wonderful people. She wished that everyone could trade places with her for only one day so that they could see how wrong they were about the Chippewa—about all Indians, in general.
In truth, they were filled with more love and understanding than most whites that Flame had known while living in the white world. The Chippewa were as one with nature and their Great Spirit. They were a spiritual people who sought only to live in peace and harmony with everyone.
Gray Feather turned to Black Shield and clamped his fingers on his shoulders. “It is time now for you to go to the river,” he said thickly. “There we will finalize the ceremony. You will then be Chippewa through and through.”
Without having to be told, Dancing Star went and took Zoe from Black Shield’s arms. And before turning to leave him, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.
Black Shield watched his cousin walk away, having found such a good friend in her. They were almost inseparable. He knew that he would protect her with his life.
“Come,” Gray Feather said, placing a gentle hand on Black Shield’s elbow.
Black Shield gave his mother and father a wide grin as they stepped down from their platform and followed closely behind him and his grandfather. Then he smiled again at Dancing Star as she walked beside Flame, Zoe still nestled comfortably in her arms, and clinging around her neck.
The whole village went and stood along the riverbank. Everyone was quiet as the true initiation began.
Flame had taught Black Shield how to swim, and he was not afraid to plunge up to his waist in the river. He stopped and turned to face the witnesses to his change into a Chippewa.
Then three young maidens came to him in the water. He knew that it was a part of the ritual when they began scrubbing him briskly with bars of soap. He had been told that this was required, that by this ritual, every drop of his white blood would be washed out of him . . . that then he would be Chippewa forever and ever.
