Sunflower

by Jill Marie Landis

  They sat in the stillness, surrounded by shadows lurking in the corners of the room, A ring of light made a halo on the wooden ceiling above the lamp, the flames creating dancing, leaping circles.

  Analisa cradled the brandy glass in her hands, resting them on her lap. With her feet pressed together at the ankles, she slowly pushed against the carpet with the toes of her gray kid shoes to rock the chair gently back and forth.

  Finally, the deep resonant sound of Caleb’s voice broke the stillness, his words spoken so that she barely heard them. “I told you I work for the government.”

  She nodded and pronounced each word distinctly. “The Bureau of Indian Affairs

  He stared at the lamp as if the flame held an unknown secret.

  “For years the army, on behalf of different Presidents, has made useless treaties with various Indian leaders. Most of them are invalid. The problem stems mainly from the fact that the government doesn’t understand that each one of the Indian clans and nations is a separate entity.” He paused to glance in her direction. She nodded again to let him know that she understood so far.

  “No one man can speak for other clans of the same nation. So any treaty made by, let’s say, a Sioux war chief is not binding for others—only for his band.”

  “I see.” Analisa sipped the brandy again as she rocked.

  “When the other Sioux clans continue to raid the white settlements, all are blamed for breaking a treaty that never included them in the first place. The army is sent to punish the criminals and ordered to bring them onto agency land.”

  “But they don’t want to live there.”

  “No. Why should they? Most reservations are no better than prisons.”

  She watched the side of his jaw tense with suppressed anger. He tossed down the last of his brandy.

  “The Indian is being cut off from his land. Railroads are dividing the plains into smaller and smaller sections and bringing in more settlers.” Sadness replaced the anger in his voice. “The old way of life is dying, and the Indian people will die with it if they can’t adjust to living in the white world.”

  “But you’re only one man. What can you do?”

  “Very little, I’m afraid.” He sighed.

  “Still, you are here for some purpose.”

  Caleb went to refill his glass, then sat on the floor near her feet and leaned back against the settee.

  “Sometimes I wonder what I am doing here. Other times, I realize I couldn’t be anywhere else. I cannot turn my back on my past even though I’ve chosen to live another life.”

  “How can you help them, Caleb?”

  “I hope I can at least save a few lives, perhaps put an end to the slaughter for a time. That’s why I’m here.”

  “You still haven’t told me anything.” She took a deep breath. “Where do you go when you leave here?”

  “To a renegade stronghold along the river. It’s not far, just very well hidden.”

  Her heart began to pound with fear. “They accept you there?”

  “Not as Caleb Storm. Nor as de la Vega. They know me by my Sioux name, Raven’s Shadow. I claimed to have renounced my father’s name and told them I had come back to fight with them.”

  “These are your mother’s people?”

  “No. But some of the older men knew of my grandfather. The men believe me, but their leader is not so sure. He’s been suspicious of me, thinks I may be scouting for the army. He’s had me trailed, but so far I’ve managed to keep my life here a secret.”

  “If ... if you were followed, found out...” Her words hung on the air.

  He shrugged. Without words he told her his life would be forfeit.

  “But how can you leave there and return here to the fort? Aren’t they becoming ... suspect?”

  “Suspicious. Not yet. I’ve set myself up as something of a loner. When I say I’m going off to hunt, I usually return with a rifle or a rustled steer, something to share with them to prove my loyalty. They don’t know that I purchase the ‘stolen’ goods with white man’s money.”

  “Were you part of the raid on the paymaster’s wagon?” She tried to control the quiver in her voice but failed. He reached up and took one of her hands in his own and held it against her lap, the brandy in the other hand forgotten.

  “No.”

  His eyes said all. She believed him.

  “I left the renegade camp that morning. I suspect the raid was already planned, but Red Dog kept the knowledge of it from me.”

  “Red Dog?”

  “He’s their leader. Not quite twenty-two, I’d guess, but he’s as sharp as a finely honed knife and twice as dangerous. And he’s running scared. After all, he’s responsible for the lives of all the renegades, women and children included.”

  “How many live in the camp?”

  “It’s a good-size band, so it would be hard to keep them on the run. Nearly a hundred and fifty.”

  “Oh.”

  He squeezed her hand while she took another drink. The strong, pungent liquor numbed her tongue and made swallowing the stuff easier as the level in the glass began to sink.

  “Where will all of this lead? Are you spying on them, Caleb? Is it your job to turn them in?”

  “No, it’s not as simple as that. I’m to convince them that they’ll be safer at the agency.”

  “But how can you succeed? If you even mention the BIA or a return to the agency, won’t they lose trust in you?”

  “Yes. But I don’t intend to do any such thing until I can remove the one barrier that keeps them from coming to the reservation voluntarily.”

  Her thoughts raced ahead. What barrier could he possibly mean? The army?

  “Ik begryp het niet.” She knew he was now familiar with the Dutch phrase that meant “I don’t understand.”

  “The agent—Buff Hardy. He’s the reason they won’t surrender. He’s also the reason so many have become renegades.” Caleb set his empty glass beside him on the carpet. “And he’s also the reason I don’t want you anywhere near the reservation, Anja. Not until he’s gone.”

  “But ... how do you plan to get rid of him?”

  “I have to come up with enough evidence to present a strong case against him, but Hardy’s covered his tracks so well that he looks good on paper in Washington. That makes my job harder, but I’ll get evidence sooner or later to prove that Hardy is corrupt and cruel. The men in Red Dog’s camp have already told me that Hardy gives very little food to the Sioux on the reservation, and what he does provide is of low quality. I also know that the government sends an abundance of goods to the Indians and that Hardy sells most of it to the white settlers or keeps it for himself. He’s making a fortune by selling government food and goods while the reservation Sioux are starving.”

  “Why don’t you just tell him you know what he’s up to?”

  “And disappear?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what happened to the BIA agent who was sent out here two years ago. We heard from him once. He said he suspected Hardy of stealing, and then he supposedly became lost during a blizzard.”

  “Oh, Caleb.” Her hand went to her throat. She could feel her pulse throbbing along the vein in her neck.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t make a move until I’m sure I’ve got him.”

  “Why doesn’t the army do anything?”

  “Do you mean the major?”

  “No, I mean the army.”

  He drew up one knee and leaned an elbow on it.

  “I can’t ask for the army’s help until I’m sure that Williamson isn’t in collusion with Hardy. They could be splitting the money, or at the very least, the major may be taking a bribe to look the other way.”

  “I can hardly believe that.”

  “Because the major has been kind enough to take an interest in you, Mrs. de la Vega?”

  “Because,” she bit back, “Professor de la Vega, I think I know a little about people.”

  “You have to be very careful, Anja. P
eople are not always what they seem.”

  He stood, removed the empty glass from her hand, and set it on the table. Pulling her up with both hands he kissed her full upon the mouth. He tasted of brandy.

  “Now. Will you please be content to amuse yourself here awhile longer? I can’t be worrying about you while I’m trying to juggle my dual roles.” He kissed her again and held her hand as he walked over to the lamp on the side table.

  “All I ask is that you be here for me, Anja. Welcome me when I come home; brighten the day as you do each time I see you. Wait until this thing is over.”

  He picked up the lamp and led her toward their room. Once inside he gently closed the door, set the lamp on the bureau, turned back to her, and reached up to remove her hairpins.

  “Will you be here for me, Anja?”

  His eyes were blue flames shining in the lamplight, his whispered words caressed her beating heart.

  “Always.”

  Always. She thought of her promise to Caleb again as she helped Kase set the table in the kitchen. She hoped he’d forgive her when he found out that she’d gone to the agency against his wishes. Could she keep Zach from telling him? And what of Kase? She would deal with them after she’d met Buff Hardy. All she was concerned with now was finding a way to obtain information for Caleb. The sooner Hardy was found out, the sooner Caleb could end his dangerous charade. She couldn’t rest safely knowing the danger he faced constantly.

  Hoping that Zach would feel more comfortable at the simple pine plank table than in the parlor, she added a final touch by straightening the napkins. Whenever Caleb was away, she and Kase took their meals in the kitchen, relishing the warmth of the stove and the intimacy of the tiny room.

  Analisa heard Zach ride up and opened the back door. He hitched the two horses to the post near the back wall of the house and swung down from his mount.

  “Howdy, ma’am.”

  She immediately noticed the missing plug of tobacco that usually deformed the side of his cheek.

  “Hello, Mr. Elliot. You are right on time.” She held the door open for him as he removed his battered hat and beat it against his leg, setting loose a cloud of dust that rose from the faded army trousers.

  He shuffled in on heavy feet and stood, awkward and uncertain, in the center of the room. Zach kept glancing skyward as if having a roof over his head posed a threat.

  Analisa had never seen a filthier pair of army-issue cavalry pants. The usually bright yellow stripe running the length of each leg was nearly indistinguishable. Perhaps, she thought, she’d made a mistake. Her inclination was to dunk him in a tub of water, clothes and all, and give up the whole wild idea of trekking off to the agency. Her time would be better spent cleaning up Zach Elliot. Another look at the face of the hardened, wiry man wiped the notion from her mind.

  “Sit down, Mr. Elliot.” She indicated the table, which was flanked by chairs covered with peeling white paint, relatives of the one on the front porch. She had been meaning to paint the table and chairs ever since her arrival. This might be a good day.

  Realizing that her nerves were calling up any reason to avoid the trip to the agency, Analisa tried to stay calm. Remember, you’re doing this to help Caleb, she reminded herself. Since his disclosure the night before, Analisa was determined to help her husband bring Buff Hardy to justice. It was just that she lacked any sort of a plan, and knew that she would not have one until she sized up her opponent. A trip to the reservation seemed to be her only recourse, and Zach Elliot her only means of achieving that end.

  “Kase, take your seat. Once a guest is seated, you may sit down.”

  The boy stared at his new hero, the thrill of having his riding teacher in his own kitchen all too apparent upon his upturned face. Only two places were set at the table, and Analisa explained quickly to Zach that she’d eaten earlier. In reality, she was far too nervous to swallow a mouthful.

  “You eat with Zach while I change my shoes, and after dinner we’ll all go riding.”

  “Well, boy, you gonna help me clean out your mama’s pantry?”

  “You bet!” Kase used the latest expression he’d picked up from Tor.

  “If you two will excuse me?”

  Analisa turned to leave them, intending to change into an old pair of black shoes. She would travel in the plaid wool dress, for besides providing protection against the cool breeze, the generous old-fashioned skirt would afford her more modesty while she sat astride the horse. After all, she was not setting out to impress the corrupt man she was about to visit.

  “Miz de la Vega?” Zach’s voice stopped her before she left the kitchen. “You really plan on takin’ this boy out there?”

  She tried to find a reason for his question and searched his expression. All his face revealed was his usual staring, all-knowing eye and the ever-frowning mustache.

  “Of course. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Nothin’, ma’am. Jest a thought, is all.”

  “Don’t you feel you can take care of us both, Mr. Elliot?”

  “Doesn’t have nothin’ to do with it. As I said, Miz de la Vega, forget it.”

  Determined to do just that, Analisa left the room with far too many questions on her mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Analisa rode uncomfortably, her jaw set in a stubborn line, Kase riding behind her, clinging to her waist. She sat the horse as if someone had rammed a pole down her spine, and try as she might, she could not seem to stop struggling against the hard leather saddle.

  She glanced across at Zach Elliot and watched him spit a stream of brown tobacco juice at the ground, barely missing a flattened round of buffalo dung.

  “How far is it?” Analisa managed to ask between bounces.

  “Not far. ‘Bout two mile.”

  “Why didn’t they just build the agency next to the fort?”

  “It don’t do anybody good to have a whole passle of yellow legs camped out next to a corral full of Sioux.”

  “Yellow legs?”

  “That’s what the Injuns call the cavalry, ‘cause of the yellow stripe down their pants.”

  “Do you know the agent, Mr. Hardy?”

  He deliberated a moment too long before he answered. “Some.”

  After the curt reply, Analisa turned her concentration to the rutted road they were following. The prairie seemed flat, but as they traveled on, she realized the earth was deceptive. It rolled expansively, slowly rising upward from the river valley. Lavender blooms sprinkled the hills in the distance. She longed to get closer to them and see exactly what type of plant they might be, but it was all she could do to hang on to her horse for the last few yards until they reached the agency. She saw the entrance looming ahead and suddenly wondered why she was going against Caleb’s wishes, interfering with his job.

  She would just meet this man, Hardy, and then leave, she resolved. At least that way she’d know what Caleb was up against. Not that it would matter. He would never give up until Hardy had been dismissed from the post; she knew Caleb well enough to know that much.

  Zach slowed up and waited until her horse was alongside his. He rode through the gate beside Analisa and, with a nod, directed her toward a large two-story house on her right. The house seemed sorely out of place, especially as it stood next to a low, ramshackle building made of cottonwood logs and odd-size pieces of lumber. Indian women of every conceivable size and age stood two deep in a serpentine line that disappeared around the corner of the low building. They whispered in small groups or stared blankly ahead while they waited in the sun, beaten by the briskly blowing wind.

  “What are they doing? There must be over a hundred of them.” Analisa hoped her hushed voice would carry to Zach over the sound of the horses’ hooves.

  “They’re waitin’ to be issued their monthly ration. Each of ‘em gets thirty pounds of flour and a handful of salt.”

  She watched Zach’s eye squint along the line of women from beneath the lazy brim of his hat. “Is that all?”

>   “Sometimes they get tobacco or sugar.”

  It was nearly impossible for Analisa to tear her eyes away from the women standing so patiently, shuffling their moccasin-clad feet forward as the line inched along. She was too far away to study their clothing closely, but saw that it was made of softened hide decorated with colorful trim. Long swaying fringe decorated skirt hems and sleeves. The designs and materials intrigued her, and Analisa wished she could get close enough to see how the clothing was sewn together.

  “Miz de la Vega?”

  Analisa jumped in response to Zach’s voice and turned toward him.

  “I’ll stay with the horses while you go callin’ on Hardy. Want to leave the boy with me?”

  Zach dismounted and stood beside her horse, waiting to lift Kase down. Was it her imagination or did his tone hold a warning?

  “He’ll be fine with me,” Zach said.

  She waited in the saddle until Kase was lifted down, then stood in the stirrups and tried to unbundle her gathered skirts enough to swing her own leg over the saddle. Zach steadied her, his hands at her waist until she was on the ground.

  Analisa felt her legs trembling with fatigue after the unaccustomed ride. The ground swayed beneath her like the deck of a rolling ship.

  “It’ll be right in a minute,” Zach said quietly behind her.

  She looked up at the massive flank of the horse and watched the muscles contract beneath the hide as the animal flicked away a pesky fly. The sound of booted footsteps rang out on the wooden porch of the house, alerting them both. Analisa turned toward the sound and found herself staring at the approaching figure.

  Analisa was immediately reminded of a fine fat goose when she looked at the man who could only be Buff Hardy. She tried to take in the picture of him all at once, found it too overwhelming, and studied him inch by inch.

  His hair was silver white, swept back away from his forehead and slicked down with pomade. A bulbous red-veined nose called attention away from the man’s narrow eyes. His thin lips were pursed into a bow, underlined by hanging jowls that sported muttonchop whiskers. An ivory satin vest, embroidered with ivory roses, was stretched to its limit, the buttons clinging desperately to the strained buttonholes. A long gold chain trailed after a pocket watch stuffed into his vest pocket.