Sunflower

by Jill Marie Landis

  Somewhat calmer at last, Analisa brushed her hands on her pants and took a deep breath. The familiar smells surrounding her brought her back to reality and helped put her at ease. The herbs growing among the other plants on the windowsill next to her, the rich, warm earth, and even the farmyard scents helped calm her racing thoughts. He would soon be gone, the stranger, and Analisa could resume her normal routine.

  She pushed herself away from the wall, forced by the klompen to walk slowly. Analisa had taken to wearing her brother Jan’s clothes when she worked in the garden. They saved her own from soil and wear, and besides, Jan would never wear them again. For a fleeting moment the memory of her older brother lying so still, drenched in his own blood, appeared vividly in her mind. Analisa shook it away. Was there nothing she could think about safely this morning?

  A strong clothesline hung between two slim cottonwoods behind the house. Analisa hurriedly took down the man’s freshly laundered shirt and pants and smoothed them against her legs as she folded them. She knew she would never be able to walk back into the house with the clothes and face that man and his laughing eyes. Could she have imagined that his eyes were blue? His outward characteristics were those of a Spaniard or, at the worst, and Indian, but she would not let her mind dwell on such a thought. It was not possible that the stranger’s eyes were as blue as the summer sky.

  No matter, she thought. She might never have to see him again. Perhaps he would put on his clothes and ride away. She would have her grandfather take in the clothes and give them back to the man along with his gun. Opa would not understand a word the stranger said, and the old man’s eyes were so poor that he would not wonder at the man’s appearance. Yes. That was as good a plan as any she could devise so quickly. Analisa started across the yard to find Opa and Kase.

  She could hear their voices before she actually saw them. They were standing beneath the cottonwoods along the creek that meandered across the prairie a short distance from the sod house. Part of the web of tributaries running into the Skunk River, the creek provided them with bullheads and catfish in the summer, quite a welcome change from cured pork and jerky. Analisa watched and listened to the two companions before she interrupted them. She heard Kase’s high, piping child’s voice clearly, but could not always hear the words Opa used to answer him.

  Kase always spoke Dutch to his great-grandfather. Although the boy had not been exposed to much English, he knew that language as well and was able to converse with Analisa when she insisted they practice together.

  “Opa, tell me what the old country was like.” The boy looked up at his great-grandfather. He had asked the question many times, but Analisa knew he was always ready to listen to the stories Opa told about Holland.

  “The old country was green and beautiful, Kase, not like this land.” The old man waved his hand toward the flat, wide plain before him. “We lived on an island in the North Sea and spent our days fishing. There were great cities. Everyone was Dutch.”

  “Why did you leave there?” Kase looked up at the clouded blue eyes and wrinkled face of his great-grandfather and waited for a reply.

  Edvard Van Meeteren sighed. Analisa watched his shoulders rise and fall with the weight of memories. She waited, like her son, for his answer, and blinked away her tears when it finally came.

  “We came here because we needed work and room to grow. The old country was beautiful, but it was hard to make a living from the land. Now the only ones who are left are your mama and myself, and we are not free.”

  Analisa was deeply hurt by the sadness in his voice.

  “Tell me about the others.”

  Analisa approached with rapid steps, calling out to them. “Kase! Opa!” She tried to sound lighthearted.

  The boy always asked about the others, and the old man, forgetting how many times he’d told his great-grandchild about the family, would begin all over again. Analisa could not bear to hear their names, not today. Emmett, her father, Henrietta, her mama, and Jan, the older brother she had been so close to—all gone now. No, she did not want to hear it again. And what of Pieter and Meika? Would she ever see her younger brother and sister again? Analisa had wondered for four years. She would put it aside for now. There was the stranger to see to.

  “Come to the house with me now. Oh, what fine fish, Kase! Opa, you must take the man his clothes so that he can leave. He is awake now.”

  Kase asked if the man could talk, eager no doubt to ply him with questions while Opa demanded to know who the stranger was and where he was going. They both spoke at once until Analisa laughed at their babble.

  “Listen to us! Come home now. I’ll wash up for dinner and you two will eat, but first you must clean these fish and see that the stranger leaves.”

  “Will he eat with us, Mama?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” Kase questioned her in English, sensing from his mother’s terse reply that she did not want the stranger around. He knew she might not want to share her reason with Opa.

  “Because he has been here far too long already and needs to be on his way. Now, take Opa’s hand and we will all go back to the house.”

  Analisa watched as Kase took the old man’s hand in his own small one. Opa carried the thin pole and fishing line, and Analisa gathered up the bucket and the four shining bullheads that had been strung together through mouth and gill.

  A strange foreboding crept along Analisa’s spine as she stood alone beside the slow-moving creek, her grandfather and Kase having moved away from her across the grassy field. With a sudden wariness brought on by the feeling, she turned her gaze across the small stream and searched the low growth beneath the cotton woods. Unable to see anything threatening hidden among the shining green leaves, Analisa shrugged at her silliness and turned to follow the others.

  Upon reaching the yard, Analisa called to Opa and gathered the stranger’s clothes from the fence rail where they hung, neatly folded. She smoothed the dark material of the shirt one last time, relishing its quality before she handed the pants and shirt to her grandfather, instructing him to take them into the house, give them to the traveler, and then fetch the man’s mount.

  More than happy to be useful, Edvard nodded in agreement and disappeared around the corner of the sod house. Kase started to follow the bent figure, but his mother called him back. She knew the boy could speak English well enough to answer any questions the man might put to him and so sought to keep from having to do so herself. The stranger could gain no information from Opa and would, she hoped, be on his way very soon.

  Her stomach taut with nervousness, Analisa busied herself filling the large bathtub behind the soddie. As soon as the man was gone she planned to wash and change, then prepare the midday meal. A tall windmill in the yard churned up the precious water needed for life on the open prairie. A hand pump served to force the water into whatever container was provided. Analisa dreamed of having a pump inside the house someday so that she could dispense with carrying the water indoors for cooking and cleaning, but as poor as they were, she knew it was a dream that would not be realized in the near future.

  Analisa watched the water fill the large round oak tub, laboriously working the pump handle until her grandfather’s shuffling gate disturbed her thoughts. She looked up from her task to see him walking toward her, shaking his head in confusion.

  “Is he getting dressed, Opa?”

  “Nee. The man is asleep again and I did not disturb him. He seems to be feverish but not so bad as before. He will not be able to leave yet, Analisa.”

  She turned away to hide her irritation. Was there no end to the man’s presence? Now she would be forced to face him again, perhaps even tend to him if his illness worsened. If only he would recover enough to ride the few miles into town, he could rest there until completely well. Determined not to let the stranger disturb her life any more than he already had, Analisa straightened her shoulders and faced her grandfather once again.

  “Thank you, Opa. Please see that Kase wash
es up and let him help you clean the fish. You can also light the stove, but quietly, so that the stranger is not disturbed. I’ll wash up out here and then change. Dinner will soon be ready.”

  She issued the orders easily, not because she wanted to do so, but because the burden of running the household had fallen upon her shoulders since the attack on the family. Edvard Van Meeteren, nearly ninety and becoming more disoriented daily, accepted his granddaughter’s role as head of the small household.

  Stripping off her brother’s shirt, Analisa stood in her camisole and rough homespun pants, quickly washing herself with a rag, which she dipped into the tub. The dampness felt refreshing against her skin as she lifted the hair sticking to the nape of her neck and wiped the cloth along the slender column, then down over the rise of her breasts. She had grown used to washing outdoors during the warm months of summer, and although she had not dared to bare herself completely and bathe in the tub behind the house, she felt secure and protected, having an unobstructed view of the open plains and cornfields surrounding the house. Her simple toilette complete, Analisa pulled on her shirt and went inside to gather up her clothes. While the stranger was in the house, she changed outside in the cow shed, preferring to dress alongside Tulip-the-Ox and the milk cow, Honey, or in their empty stalls. Analisa would indeed be grateful to see the back of him as he rode away.

  A tempting aroma emanated from the cast-iron stove and drifted through Caleb’s senses and into his mind. Soon the clatter of dishes and cooking utensils woke him. Motionless, with eyes hooded by lowered lids, he rested against the pillows in the high oak bed and watched a honey-blond figure move efficiently about her tasks across the room. He knew it was the same young woman he had seen earlier dressed in the ragged pants and oversize shirt, although she now wore a blue calico dress. Her back was turned to him as she stood before the stove, lifting the lids from simmering pots and stoking the oven with buffalo chips. She opened the oven door to peer inside, and Caleb admired the view of her firm, shapely backside. Now and again when she moved to work at the kitchen bench, he could just see her profile, a pert nose tilted slightly upward at the end, the thick wing of eyelashes, the soft, lush swell of her lower lip. He could see from where he lay that she worked without a smile, and for a moment he wondered what it would take to make her smile.

  The room was empty save for the two of them, and Caleb began to wonder if the woman lived alone. He could not remember seeing anyone else earlier. After watching her silently for a few more moments, Caleb was about to speak when the door opened. For some unknown reason, he felt compelled to close his eyes once more, feigning sleep while he watched from beneath his lashes to see who had entered. It was a small boy whose dark head was barely visible above the end of the bed.

  The boy ran toward his mother and threw his sturdy arms around her knees. Caleb did not understand any of the words the boy said except one, “Mama,” and that one word was enough to add a vivid detail to the picture he was forming in his mind. He knew he had no right to feel disappointed upon learning the woman had a child. If anything, he should have been glad to learn that she did not live alone so far from a settlement, yet he knew that if she had a child she most assuredly also had a husband, and that knowledge strangely gave him a feeling of loss.

  The woman laughed down into the boy’s upturned face and stopped her work long enough to bend over and squeeze him tenderly. With a motherly gesture, she arranged his hair with her fingers, then turned back to her work. Dismissed, the boy crossed the room toward Caleb, who closed his eyes completely when he realized the child was standing next to the bed. The little boy was so close that Caleb could hear his soft, even breathing.

  “Kase, come to the table. Where is Opa?” This time the woman spoke in English, her voice as softly accented as he remembered it earlier. Who was Opa? Caleb wondered. Could it be the boy’s father?

  Tired of his game, Caleb slowly opened his eyes and met a pair of blue ones level with his own. As he studied the boy, Caleb felt as if he were gazing into a mirror, a mirror in which one could look backward through time. He was very sure of one fact: This child’s father was either an Indian or a half-breed like himself.

  Caleb and the boy exchanged silent stares, studying each other. The boy seemed to be weighing the man’s worth. Caleb noted that the only feature which claimed him as the woman’s son was his eyes, which were wide and blue, fringed by silky black lashes. The youngster’s hair was neatly trimmed in a fashion the likes of which Caleb had never seen before. It looked as if the boy’s mother had inverted a bowl on the child’s head and trimmed around it. Though it was unusual, Caleb thought the haircut an appealing one, allowing the straight, dark hair to frame the boy’s round face.

  A wide smile appeared on the child’s face when he realized Caleb was awake at last. Without moving, he turned and called out to his mother, speaking English this time.

  “Mama! The stranger is awake! I may talk to him now?”

  A pan clattered against the stove, drawing Caleb’s eyes away from the child’s to lock with the woman’s. She stood frozen at the other end of the room, watching Caleb warily. What had he done to instill such fright in a woman he’d spoken to only briefly? Aware of her fear, Caleb smiled, trying to put her at ease. She did not move, nor did she return his smile as she wiped her hands nervously on her white apron. He wished she would walk toward him and lessen the distance between them.

  “What’s your name?” the child asked, stepping closer and leaning an elbow against the side of the bed.

  “Caleb. What’s yours?”

  “Kase.”

  “That’s a fine name. I’ve never heard it before.”

  “It’s Dutch.”

  “I see.” Caleb looked from the boy to the woman, who was watching their exchange. “So your mama is Dutch, too?”

  “Ja. But I am not Dutch, only my name. I’m an American. I was born here, in this Iowa land.”

  “Kase.” The woman called at last, her voice softly accented. “Leave the man alone. He is not feeling well.”

  Caleb welcomed the excuse to speak to her.

  “He’s no problem, ma’am.” He wondered if she would refuse to speak directly to him much longer. He watched as she seemed to draw upon some inner strength, straightening her shoulders. Smoothing her apron, the woman walked toward the bed. She came to stand behind the child, keeping him between them, her slim fingers resting gently, protectively, on the boy’s shoulders. She faced Caleb squarely, daring him to ask a question or make a comment about the boy.

  “I am Analisa Van Meeteren. This is my son, Kase.” As she spoke she held Caleb’s eyes steady with her own.

  “I’m Caleb Storm, ma’am. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you. I don’t know what happened. The last thing I remember is riding along the corn rows, needing a drink of water.”

  “It seems you have the measles, Mr. Storm. The illness has spread throughout the area this past spring and summer. It seems to affect some people more than others.” Analisa’s stare hardened as she explained. Caleb did not look away, but answered her unspoken question.

  “I understand what you are hinting at, Mrs. Van Meeteren. I guess there’s no need for me to tell you that I’m half Sioux. My looks give my heritage away. I know measles have wiped out a good part of the Indian population in this country. I didn’t realize I’d been in contact with anyone who had them.” He noticed that she did not volunteer any explanation regarding Kase and decided that perhaps she did not wish to speak in front of the child.

  “How do you feel, Mr. Storm? Are you well enough to travel?”

  Caleb smiled at her obvious impatience to be rid of him. He noted her discomfort. She avoided looking at his bare shoulders and midriff. Out of deference to her sensitivity he pulled the quilt up and held it securely beneath his arms. He knew that despite his light-headedness he would be able to travel if forced to do so, but for some inexplicable reason, Caleb couldn’t bring himself to leave yet. He told himself the reason w
as his curiosity about the boy, but he knew, too, that the clear blue eyes and overripe lips of Analisa Van Meeteren had much to do with his sudden reluctance to move on.

  “I still feel a little weak, ma’am.” Caleb did his best to look helpless, but was unaccustomed to malingering and so doubted the success of his attempt. He was surprised when Analisa reached across the boy and placed her hand firmly on his brow.

  She sighed resignedly before she spoke. “You do feel a bit feverish, Mr. Storm. Perhaps you should stay another night. Dinner will be ready soon, and I will fix you a plate.”

  “That would be fine, ma’am. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. It’s not everyone who would take in a total stranger, especially one who’s part Indian.” He smiled up at her with genuine gratitude and was surprised when she turned away abruptly without so much as a nod.

  “Where do you live?” The boy was still rooted next to the bed and curious.

  “Kase!” The woman called out from where she stood near the stove. “Don’t bother Mr. Storm.”

  “He’s no bother, really, Mrs. Van Meeteren.”

  Kase smiled his thanks at Caleb and waited for an answer to his question.

  “Well, I guess you could say I’m from the East, although I was born very near here.”

  “Are you going to Pella?”

  “Just long enough to get supplies. I’m not planning to stay there very long.”

  “I’ve been to Pella once,” Kase said proudly, his head bobbing as he spoke.

  “Good for you!” Caleb smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm and reached out to ruffle his hair.

  “Kase,” Analisa interrupted once again, “go out and find Opa, please. Tell him dinner is ready.”