Although White Fire had not had the opportunity to live among Indians growing up, learning the ways of braves and warriors, himself, the one year that he had spent with the Chippewa had shown him how it was done among their boys.
And although he had chosen to live apart from the Indian side of his heritage now, he would take his son to Chief Gray Feather’s village often and allow him to learn the ways of the young men his same age. There, among the Chippewa, his son would learn what would make him a man.
“Soon,” he whispered. “I must get him back with me soon.”
He waited before going inside the house. He cringed every time he thought about someone else living there, when he felt it should still belong only to the Snellings.
Yet there was someone there that he did wish to see. She, alone, had lured him here tonight.
Hesitant at going where he had not been invited, White Fire listened to the laughter and the tinkle of glasses drifting from the ballroom to mingle with the sigh of the leaves of the forest, and the cry of a distant loon.
White Fire gazed at the front door of the house, where people were busily coming and going. Although he had only been held captive for three years, he did not recognize anyone. It seemed that when Colonel Snelling was sent to another post, those who had been under his command had left with him.
He looked at how the men were dressed in their fancy black frock coats, with diamonds sparkling in the folds of their ascots.
He then glanced down at himself. Today, while at the commissary, he had decided against buying stiff, uncomfortable clothes, which he had quit wearing after leaving St. Louis to travel. As he had dropped his name Samuel, which identified that white part of his heritage, he had decided against wearing the clothes of a white man.
As now, he wore a fringed buckskin outfit and moccasins. He had acquired a new outfit just prior to being abducted. This would be the first time he could wear it.
Soft, flirting laughter brought his eyes up again. His heart skipped a beat, his thoughts again on his reason for him being there in his new outfit—a girl named Flame!
He sorted through the women standing on the porch, clustered around the door, giggling and chatting amongst themselves, the skirts of their lovely dresses blowing gently in the night breeze.
He saw that Flame was not among them. None had hair that shone like a brilliant sunset. He waited until everyone had gone inside the mansion, then sauntered toward the porch.
When he heard the music begin again inside the house, White Fire stopped on the porch and listened. He could hear the notes of a piano, joined by violins. The lilting music reminded him of the many parties hosted by Josiah and Abigail, who had often invited him to the mansion. His friends had been such gracious hosts, always careful to be sure each guest felt at home with them.
He smiled as he thought back to those times when the Snellings had given their lavish parties. Abigail always made sure the silver was shined and the furniture polished. She directed the servants to empty out the parlor so it could be used for dancing, while the dining table practically groaned under the weight of the platters of food served to guests. And, of course, there was punch or champagne for the ladies and stronger spirits for the gentlemen. White Fire had such happy memories of those warm, lively gatherings.
Soft laughter drifted from the door, causing White Fire to once again think about Flame. He would never forget her laughter, her flirting smile, the softness of her flesh.
These thoughts, the hunger to see her again, hurried his steps on into the spacious hall of the house. He made a right turn and entered the parlor and mingled with the crowd of onlookers watching the dancers whirling around and around on the floor in time to the music.
Having not been invited to the dance, and realizing that he stood out like a sore thumb among the fancily dressed people, White Fire stayed hidden in the shadows. His eyes searched for Flame among the onlookers.
Not finding her, he looked seriously at the dancers. The women were beautiful in their dresses, which seemed as light as a breeze. Some wore full and floating organza; others wore silks and satins, their feet skimming the floor, their skirts twirling.
White Fire’s pulse quickened when he finally saw Flame as she made a graceful, wide whirl on the floor only a short distance from where he stood.
He had never seen anyone as ravishingly beautiful as Flame. His heart raced as he watched at how radiantly she smiled as she gazed up at the man with whom she was dancing. In her white organdy dress with its petallike sleeves, the deliciously feminine skirt bouncing around her ankles as she danced, revealing a glimpse of the sheer lace at the hem of her petticoat, she was a vision to behold.
White Fire smiled a secret smile when he saw that she was wearing the ivory satin shoes he had used as a way of starting their conversation this afternoon.
Then his gaze shifted upward again, at how she wore her hair. White silk flowers pinned above each ear contrasted beautifully against the brilliant red of her hair, which lay in long, lustrous waves across her shoulders, and down her back. Her face was flushed pink with the excitement of the evening, her perfectly shaped, lusciously red lips parted often in soft, gay laughter.
But it was her eyes that held White Fire’s gaze. They were suddenly on him. Between laughter and small talk with her dance partner, White Fire had seen her searching the crowd as she made her way around the dance floor. It was as though she had been searching for him, for once she found him, she looked nowhere else.
His loins reacting to her steady gaze, to the intensity of it, White Fire knew now that he had not been wrong to think that she felt something for him. He could tell that she was glad that he had attended the ball.
When she was whisked away by her partner across the dance floor, and too far away now for White Fire to see anything of her but the flowing skirt of her dress, he looked guardedly around the room for Colonel Russell.
His gaze stopped when he found the colonel standing with other officers who had come from the neighboring forts with their wives for this special occasion. They were smoking fat cigars and holding long-stemmed glasses of wine and champagne, while their wives stood in a cluster, gossiping, as they watched the dancers.
A keen sadness crept into White Fire’s heart. In his mind’s eye he saw Josiah and Abigail standing in the crowd, their smiles beaming as one, and then another would come up to them and chat awhile.
Strange, though, how it felt to White Fire that the Snellings were there, their presence absolutely certain in everything that he looked at in the room.
He gazed at the rosewood grand piano that Abigail had taken pleasure in playing. White Fire had to surmise that whatever pieces of furniture belonging to the Snellings that had been left behind were only left because of the hardships of moving them the long distance to St. Louis.
His gaze shifted, admiring now, as he had the first time he had seen them, the doors inlaid with German silver and bronze, and the gold-and-silver chandeliers. He gazed at the art-glass windows in the walls, and the numerous paintings.
The music stopped, drawing White Fire out of his reverie. His eyes searched for Flame again, stopping and staring at her when her father whisked her from the dance floor, his arm possessively around her waist as he introduced her to his guests.
When her father called her by the name Reshelle, White Fire smiled, for he saw her cringe and understood that she must hate the name.
As Colonel Russell boasted about his daughter, his gaze moved slowly around the room. White Fire stiffened, for he knew that soon he would look in his direction.
Although hidden where the bright candlelight barely reached, White Fire felt that if the colonel saw him, it would cause his mood to darken. It might make it uncomfortable for Flame and ruin the excitement of the night for her.
Quietly White Fire stepped out of the parlor and into the corridor. He looked up the steep staircase. Not only were the bedrooms upstairs, but also the study, where he had enjoyed many a pleasant evening
with Colonel Snelling.
He glanced back inside the parlor and saw that Colonel Russell was still holding his daughter “hostage” at his side as he continued to talk about her. This gave White Fire the freedom he needed to go upstairs and sit one last time with Josiah Snelling, or at least with his memory.
Taking the steps two at a time, he hurried to the study. Once inside, he slowly closed the door, then turned and felt the true heartbreak of missing his friend when he looked around the room and saw that nothing had changed since he had last been here. He saw the true haste in which the Snellings had departed the fort. Not only had Abigail’s prized piano and their artwork been left behind, but also the colonel’s grand oak desk, his many volumes of books lining the walls in oak bookcases, and the hand-carved Palo Verde wood sofa upholstered in red velvet.
Inhaling a deep breath, trying to break free of this melancholy that was overwhelming him, White Fire went farther into the room. He stood over the desk, envisioning Josiah sitting behind it in his leather chair.
Even Josiah’s pipe stand had been left on the desk and in it were all the pipes he had smoked from during White Fire’s visits. Swallowing hard, so immersed in painful remembrances, he delicately touched one pipe, and then another. Then he gazed at the journals that lay sprawled across the desk. One was open, revealing inked-in entries.
Knowing Colonel Snelling’s neat way of writing, he knew that these entries were recent ones, for they were of a handwriting unfamiliar to him. They had been written by Colonel Russell.
Suddenly White Fire sensed a presence in the room. As the feeling became stronger, it was as though someone else was there. Possibly Josiah Snelling’s ghost?
White Fire did feel as though that if he chanced to speak aloud to his friend, Josiah would hear and respond.
Footsteps entering the room behind him made White Fire turn with a start. Discovering who was standing in the doorway made White Fire laugh softly.
“Flame,” he said, wondering if she could sense his relief at seeing her there. If she did, she would never expect that relief was because he was not being visited by a ghost of his past.
“I saw you leave the parlor,” Flame said, lifting the hem of her skirt in her hands as she moved farther into the room. “I needed a respite from my father, as well as the noise. In truth, I need a breath of air.”
“If you needed fresh air, why did you come up here to get it?” White Fire asked, his lips tugging into a slow, teasing smile.
“Because I left the room just in time to see you come up the stairs,” Flame said, moving to stand before him. She tilted her eyes up to hold with his. “I have been told of your relationship with Colonel Snelling. I thought you might be here in his study, reliving special moments with him.”
“And so you wanted to share them with me?” White Fire said, lifting a hand to gently touch her cheek. He noticed how quickly she took in a breath of air, and how the look in her eyes became soft with passion.
“I wanted to be with you, no matter where, or how,” Flame said softly. She lifted her lips in an invitation to be kissed. “I want more than that. I have for so long thought of how it might feel to be kissed by you.”
Hardly believing what was transpiring, having never thought that Flame would be this daring, especially when her father could come in at any moment and discover them together, White Fire hesitated.
Then he took her by a hand and took her toward the French doors that led out on a balcony.
When they were outside in the spill of moonlight, surrounded by the heady fragrance of honeysuckle blossoms, and with the doors closed behind them, White Fire took Flame into his arms.
He brought her supple body against his, and covered her lips with his mouth and kissed her. The euphoria that filled White Fire’s being startled him. Never before had a woman affected him in such a way!
His steel arms enfolded her as their kiss deepened.
Flame had dreamed so many times of being with White Fire, his mouth ravaging hers with heated kisses, but never in her wildest dreams had it been this wonderful. The pleasure spreading through her body was like nothing she could have ever envisioned.
She was not prepared for the intensity that his kiss evoked. She was weakened by the passion overwhelming her in warm, ecstatic waves. And she could feel such hunger in the hard, seeking pressure of his lips.
His need matched the need that was spreading through her, blotting out everything in her consciousness. . . but him.
Although he found himself lost, heart and soul to Flame, White Fire was aware of the danger of their being together in such a way. He fought his needs, his desires, and stepped away from her.
Breathing hard, his heart beating erratically, he turned his back to her and grasped the rail of the balcony. He was almost blinded with passion as he tried to gaze down to the ground spread out below him.
But his vision quickly cleared. He realized that people were departing. The ball was over.
That meant that Flame’s father would expect her to stand at the door with him, to say her cordial farewells to the guests.
Just as White Fire turned to Flame, to warn her, to go down and be with her father, the double French doors burst open and Colonel Russell was standing there like the devil himself, his eyes filled with an angry contempt as he glared at White Fire.
“Leave my house at once,” the colonel said, his teeth clenched, his hands tight fists at his sides. He looked at Flame. “Reshelle, how could you do this? This man is a ’breed.”
“I know what he is, but that does not change my feelings for him,” Flame said, placing herself between White Fire and her father. “And, Father, why must you insist on dictating my life? Do you hunger this much for controlling people, even your own daughter?”
“That has nothing to do with this,” the colonel bellowed. “I will not have you seen in the company of this ’breed. Do you understand, Reshelle? I absolutely forbid it.”
“Oh, Father, please,” Flame said, sighing with frustration. But she did not want to create a scene, and place White Fire in danger. She locked her arm through her father’s. “But let us not discuss it further now. We have guests awaiting us, Father. Let us go and say our good-byes.”
As she led him through the study, leaving White Fire out on the balcony, he sighed heavily. He turned his back to the doors and nervously raked his fingers through his hair. He suddenly realized that the colonel was right to be concerned about his daughter. How could White Fire expect someone as young and beautiful as Flame to be serious enough about him, or enter into a relationship that could lead to marriage and to being an instant mother?
“I’ve got to forget her,” he whispered, though the very thought of never holding her again made a slow ache circle his heart.
His jaw tight, and hollow with loneliness, he left the study and took the back stairs past the servants’ quarters. Then he went outside and grabbed the reins of his horse.
Without even looking he knew that Flame was standing at the door with her father. He knew that she was watching him as he rode off. He could feel the heat of her gaze on his back.
He could still feel the heat in his loins that her kiss had caused.
He knew then, that no matter how hard he tried, there was no way that he could ever forget her now that he had held and kissed her.
Chapter 14
How can I live without thee, how forgo
Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,
To live again in these wild woods, forlorn?
—John Milton
White Fire awakened from a dream that seemed to have continued the entire night—of himself and Flame together making hot. passionate love.
The dream was so real, he leaned up on an elbow and quickly looked over at the other side of the bed to see if Flame had really been there through the night with him. He laughed softly when he saw that, no, she wasn’t there, nor had she ever been.
He yawned and stretched his arms over his head, then sl
id from the bed and pulled on his fringed breeches.
Stretching again, he sauntered into the kitchen and poured fresh water in a basin from a wooden pitcher. Just as he leaned over and splashed water on his face, he heard a soft knock on his door.
Forking an eyebrow, he straightened his back, and grabbed a towel. As he dried off his face and hands, he gazed at the door, wondering who might be there so early in the morning.
He looked at the gray eagle feather on the kitchen table that Gray Feather had left for him. He looked away when someone knocked at the door again.
Could it be Gray Feather? he wondered, realizing that hardly any time had passed since the chief’s last visit. But he knew the chief well enough to know how persistent he could be when he wanted something.
“Or someone,” White Fire whispered to himself.
Again someone knocked. He glanced down at himself. He wore no shirt or moccasins, and he hadn’t yet shaved.
But the persistent knocking caused him to forget his dishevelment. He tossed the towel over the back of a chair, rushed to the door and opened it. Then he took an unsteady step away from it. He was stunned to see Flame standing there so fresh and beautiful, attired in a green riding habit, her long hair pinned up under her hat, a jeweled riding crop in one of her gloved hands.
Flame was taken off guard when she saw that White Fire was half dressed. She could not help but stare at his smooth, copper chest, and then at the muscles bulging in his shoulders and arms.
He could not help but stare at her loveliness, the dream still lingering in his mind, the remembrances of her soft, silken body against his causing fires to rage inside his loins.
But he managed to shake himself out of the reverie. It was dangerous with her there so close, so alone, so vulnerable to a man who had been without a woman for way too long now. He was able to think more logically after forcing his foolish desires from his mind.
And what he suddenly realized made his jaw tighten.
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