Colonel Russell paled. Shaken by what White Fire had said, he grabbed hold of the desk to steady himself. “No, I haven’t smoked any pipes in this study,” he said, his voice breaking. “Nor have I ever. Only cigars.”
White Fire stared at the colonel in disbelief, realizing that he was involved with something quite strange here, for he was certainly smelling the scent of Colonel Snelling’s pipe tobacco. He recalled the many times when the colonel would enjoy smoking his pipe while White Fire was in the study with him.
Colonel Russell stared at the pipes on the desk. “I wish I had rid this damn office of everything that was Josiah Snelling’s,” he grumbled. “The pipes especially. Damn it all to hell, I don’t like what’s happening. I don’t like it at all.”
White Fire turned to the colonel. “Would you mind leaving the study?” he asked, his voice drawn. “This would give me the opportunity to check things out more carefully.” He paused, swallowing hard, then said, “It would allow me some time alone with whatever . . . or whomever . . . might be here, be it a ghost, or whatever.”
“Lord almighty,” Colonel Russell stammered out, then left the study in a rush of footsteps.
The door closed, leaving White Fire alone. He began walking slowly around the room, his eyes darting here and there, his senses alive, waiting for what might happen next.
After only a few minutes of being alone, his back stiffened, for he was very aware of a lot of strong energy and emotion from the past which seemed suddenly to be in the room.
He took a quick step backward and he gasped when a mysterious white, shimmering light appeared along the far wall, then moved closer to him.
Scarcely breathing, trying to stay rational and alert during this eerie happening, White Fire continued to watch the shimmering light as it approached the old oak desk that Colonel Snelling had personally chosen those many years ago for his study.
White Fire gasped and his knees grew weak from wonder when the light now turned into the face of a man, then his full figure in a cavalry officer’s uniform, a pipe clasped between his teeth and pursed lips. There was no doubt that White Fire was being visited by his old friend Josiah Snelling.
Breathless, stunned, White Fire watched as the wavering, hazy likeness of his friend settled into the chair behind the desk.
The likeness of Colonel Snelling rested the pipe he had been smoking on an ashtray and took another pipe from the pipe stand.
In awe, White Fire watched as the colonel lit the pipe and began smoking it.
“Josiah?” White Fire found the courage to say. “I don’t understand how this can be happening, but I welcome the opportunity to be with you again.”
He could tell by Josiah’s wide smile that he was glad to see that White Fire was at the fort, alive and well.
“It was with much regret when I returned from my three year captivity with the Sioux and discovered that you were . . . were . . .” White Fire stammered, unable to say the word “dead.”
He watched as the colonel became more absorbed in thumbing through one of his journals, than in listening to him.
“Josiah, I so miss you,” White Fire blurted out. “Never have I had, or will ever have again, such a friend as you.”
When the likeness of the colonel stayed absorbed in the journal, not responding to White Fire’s comments about their friendship, it was then that he understood that the colonel had come back to him in this way not to renew their friendship, but to show him something that was in the journal.
A particular page was found and left open for him to see. He went behind the desk and started to read it.
Instead, he was stunned by the quickness in how the colonel’s likeness faded away, leaving no trace of him having been there . . . except for the one missing pipe. He had taken the pipe with him into his afterworld. But the smell of the tobacco lingered on.
White Fire looked quickly around the room to see if the mysterious light might reappear, and with it the likeness of his friend. But he saw nothing except for the usual furniture, the rows after rows of books, and—
White Fire’s eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat when suddenly someone playfully slapped him on the back. He swung around and saw that no one was there!
But he knew that he was still not alone. Although he could not see Josiah, he knew that he was there. The slap on the back was like those which Josiah had always playfully given him when they laughed and chatted together about things of interest to them both.
“You are still here,” White Fire whispered. “I feel it. I know it.”
His eyes were drawn quickly back to the journal when the pages fluttered as though a breeze from a window had stirred them.
He looked quickly at the windows, and then at the double doors that led to a balcony, and saw that none of them were open.
“You are still trying to tell me something about the journal, aren’t you?” White Fire whispered.
He rushed back to the desk and sat down in the chair. Slowly his eyes pored over the entries, growing cold the longer he looked and the more he read.
“So now I see why you have come back,” White Fire said, the journal entries showing that Colonel Russell was spending tons of money to build up the arsenal at the fort, purchasing many more firearms than could ever be used, unless . . . the colonel was planning an attack against the Indians in this area.
“You came to warn me about the arms buildup,” White Fire said, gazing slowly around the room, hoping to see the colonel’s likeness again. “You, who kept peace in the area, at all cost, want Colonel Russell stopped. You want to avert a tragedy for this entire area.”
He understood well enough what this all meant. The Indian tribes of the Minnesota Territory had always visited the fort and disposed of their furs peacefully. They had always been given cause to trust the white-eyed pony soldiers. They would never expect an all-out attack on their villages.
For the sake of Minnesota, the red and white skins alike, White Fire must see that Colonel Russell was stopped.
White Fire quickly copied the figures from the pages of the journal onto a piece of paper and slipped it into his breeches front pocket.
He rose and looked slowly around the room. He gave a mock salute. “Josiah, all of the Minnesota Territory thanks you,” he whispered. Then he left the room.
He found Colonel Russell pacing just outside the door. He stopped and stared at White Fire. “Well?” he said nervously. “What do you think? Do I have anything to fear?”
“What do I think?” White Fire asked, biting his tongue to keep from speaking up how he truly felt about the deviousness of this heartless colonel.
He found it hard to think that Flame was related to this evil man. Nothing about them seemed alike.
“I think it is all a lot of foolishness,” White Fire said. “It’s hogwash. You were surely imagining things. There is no ghost.” He laughed throatily. “Who believes in ghosts, anyway?”
“Thank God,” Colonel Russell said, his shoulders relaxing.
“Send for me if you need me for anything else,” White Fire said as he headed for the stairs. He looked at the colonel over his shoulder. “Like interpreting.”
Frowning, White Fire hurried outside. He swung himself into his saddle and left right away for Fort Parker, a fort several miles downriver from Fort Snelling. He would meet with Colonel Edwards, who was in command at Fort Parker. He would explain the situation to the colonel and suggest that the colonel send a replacement for Colonel Russell. If not, there would be the massacre of massacres in the Minnesota Territory! Both Indians and whites alike would suffer many losses.
White Fire’s thoughts went to his son, knowing that, for his sake, a war must be averted!
His jaw tightened when his thoughts went to Flame. He now knew that he must rush things along with her, for once Colonel Russell realized that he had been duped by White Fire, Flame could be lost to him, forever!
This made him ride at a harder gallop along the riverbank. He
must make Colonel Edwards understand the danger of Colonel Russell staying in command. He must. Colonel Russell must be removed immediately.
White Fire would not allow anyone else to tamper with his own future ever again, as did the Sioux those long three years!
Chapter 19
Yes! This is love, the steadfast and the true,
The immortal glory which hath never set;
The best, the brightest boon the heart e’er knew;
Of all life’s sweets the very sweetest yet!
—Charles Swain
Too restless to return home, Flame had rode for quite a while, exploring some more of the land that she was not familiar with,
Then she had gone to White Fire’s cabin to wait for him.
Finding the door unlocked, she wandered inside, as though she belonged there. She wanted to tell him of all of the feelings that were overwhelming her, that the time spent with him and Michael had been wonderful, that it had made her feel as though she belonged to them both.
She wanted to tell him that, adoring children, having always dreamed of having children of her own, she had fallen instantly in love with Michael.
She had a need to tell all of those things to White Fire, though she was quite certain that he had seen it while she chatted and laughed with Michael.
She scoffed at her father’s warning, that she was too young to become an instant mother. She could not help but think that just possibly that gave her father more cause to be upset over the building relationship between her and White Fire than him being, in part, Indian.
“Like he tried with Mother, Father wants to control me,” Flame whispered to herself. “He sees me only as a possession, not someone he loves from the depths of his heart.”
This hurt her deeply, yet she had grown used to knowing this about her father and had lived life as she would live it, ignoring him and the demands he made on her.
Wandering slowly around the cabin as the midday sun poured like satin streamers through the windows, Flame gazed again at White Fire’s furnishings. Her gloves removed and thrust inside one of her front skirt pockets, she ran her fingers delicately over the smoothness of an oak table. She then moved her hands over a thickly cushioned chair. It was so pretty and cheerful with its fabric bright with designs of woodland flowers.
She lifted a candlestick and admired it. It was made of wood and she wondered if White Fire might have made it. She set it back on the table and wandered to the window to take a look outside. Shoving the yellowed muslin curtain aside, she was reminded of who had made them. Mary. White Fire’s wife, Mary.
Flame had not allowed herself to feel the slightest bit of jealousy that so much inside this cabin had been chosen by his wife. Mary was now just a memory. Flame was real and there for White Fire.
“White Fire, where are you?” she whispered as she peered through the pane of glass.
She could not help but doubt that he would be gone this long with his son, for it was apparent that Michael would tire easily from the long ride, despite the invigorating effect of the fresh air.
But if White Fire was no longer with Michael, she wondered where he might have gone. There were to be no councils held at the fort today between her father and visiting Indians. So there would be no need for White Fire to be there in the capacity of interpreter. Sighing, Flame turned away from the window.
She stopped and gazed at the bedroom that lay only a few footsteps away. Her heart began beating more soundly at the thought of being there with White Fire, of being on the bed, of him kissing her, of him telling her how much he loved and adored her.
Flame closed her eyes as she recalled the one time with him when their feelings had gone further than just an embrace. She shivered sensually and hugged herself as she remembered how wonderful it had felt for him to slide his hand inside her blouse, his flesh hot against her own. Nothing had ever felt so delicious. It had stirred such a feeling of blissful excitement within her very soul.
The sound of a horse approaching brought Flame quickly out of her reverie. She turned back toward the window and gazed outside just in time to see White Fire dismount and whirl his reins around the hitching rail.
She smiled as she saw him stop and look at her horse. She giggled when she saw his slow smile, knowing that he recognized the horse.
As he came inside and gazed down at Flame with his midnight dark eyes, she drifted into his arms. “I could not go home just yet,” she murmured, her cheeks flushed hot with excitement. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I came here and waited for you.”
He wrapped her within his arms. “You know that I would love to always find you here on my return from my outings,” he said, his voice husky as his arousal for her could not be denied.
“It seems forever since I first arrived,” Flame said, searching his eyes. “What took you so long? Surely you haven’t been with Michael this long?”
Unsure of whether or not he should confide in her about what he had just done at Fort Parker, White Fire slipped away and went to stare out the window.
“White Fire?” Flame said, going to his side. She took one of his hands and encouraged him to turn and face her. “Where have you been? You seem so troubled.”
When he still said nothing to her, but just gazed at her with a strange sort of light in his eyes, Flame became uneasy.
“White Fire, does your behavior have anything to do with my father?” she blurted out.
Knowing that she must know what he had done, regardless of how she might react to it, he framed her face between his hands.
“Yes, it has to do with your father,” he said somberly.
He took her by a hand and led her to a chair before the fireplace.
After she was comfortably in the chair, he scooted another chair over and sat down and faced her. He gazed intently into her eyes.
“Today, Flame, when I returned home from my ride with you and Michael, I found your father here,” he said softly. “Your father asked me to go with him to the fort. He asked me to go there for a particular reason.”
He proceeded to tell her about his experience with Josiah Snelling’s ghost, and Josiah’s reason for making his unusual appearance to White Fire.
He even told her about having gone to Fort Parker, to inform on her father to the commandant of the fort. He told her that her father was going to be replaced soon, perhaps even court-martialed, and that haste must be made to avert a tragedy from happening in the Minnesota Territory.
Flame was pale from the knowledge, yet she was not all that surprised. “I have always known the ruthless side of my father,” she said solemnly. “That was, in part, why my mother divorced him.”
She eased his hands away from her face, then rose from the chair and stood staring into the gray ashes on the grate of the fireplace left from the prior evening’s cook fire.
“I . . . I . . . knew that I would have to be faced with my father’s ruthlessness when I came here to live with him,” she murmured. Then she swung around and gazed down at White Fire. “But I had to chance it,” she said, sighing. “I would have chanced anything for the possibility of finding you.”
White Fire rose and drew Flame into his arms. Their eyes met and held. “You cared that much for a man you had only met that one time?” he murmured. “Does that mean that you care twice as much for that man now? Enough to marry him?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” Flame said, shivering with delight when his lips came to hers in a powerful, heated kiss.
She clung to him as their bodies strained together hungrily. She was blinded with the rush of need that overwhelmed her. She wanted so much more than an embrace . . . than a kiss. She wanted all of him!
Yet she could not be shameful enough to reveal this need to him by speaking it aloud. She hoped that her kiss, her body pressed hungrily against his, would be enough for him to know that she wanted to make love with him.
Her body was one massive heartbeat as he kissed her a moment longer, then he stepped away from her.
He clasped his hands onto her shoulders. “Flame, marry me,” he said huskily. “Marry me today, before it’s too late.”
Flame’s lips parted in a light gasp. Her eyes widened. “We can’t,” she said, her voice quavering with emotion. “Don’t you see, White Fire? When Father finds out that we’re married, and that we did it behind his back, he will find a way to annul the marriage.”
She drifted into his arms and clung to him. “Please wait for just a while longer,” she murmured. “I will find a way soon to convince Father how much I love you.”
“But there is not much time,” White Fire said, placing his hands at her waist, gently easing her away from him. He gazed intently into her eyes. “Who is to say how quickly your father will be ordered from Fort Snelling?” he said. “If he is not court-martialed, or at least arrested, and is, instead free, he will be out for blood. Mine.”
“He wouldn’t dare harm you,” Flame said, her voice tight. “He won’t harm you.”
She twined her arms around his neck and brought his mouth down to hers. She flicked her tongue across his bottom lip, then kissed him with an unleashed passion.
He was unable to stop himself from this need that had eaten away at his gut from that first moment he had seen Flame step from the riverboat when she had first arrived at the Minnesota Territory. Tired of delaying their togetherness, White Fire stepped away from Flame and reached out his arms and swept her fully into them.
Their eyes locked, their hearts pounding, he carried her to his bedroom and started to lay her on the bed, but she clung to him, preventing it.
“Please don’t lay me on the bed unless you plan to make love to me,” she murmured, her eyes wavering at his as she recalled how he had earlier fought against making love to her. “White Fire, I love you so much. Please show me how much you love me.”
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