Sunflower

by Jill Marie Landis

  His legs looked like short, thick sausages encased in white linen pants; the outfit he wore was completed by an oversize white jacket of the same rumpled material. His meaty right fist was wrapped about the handle of a tapered, slim-tipped cane, the glint of its gold handle shining between his fingers. He straightened, as if trying to pull himself up to a greater height, but Analisa could see that he was shorter than she by at least half a foot. His snakelike eyes glittered in her direction, and she felt uncomfortable staring so blatantly.

  “Well, well. And to what do I owe this unexpected visit by so charming a guest?” He walked with a noticeable limp to the edge of the porch and waited as if expecting her to approach him. “Come up to the veranda, my dear, and let me see what the fates have sent my way.”

  The words were spoken in a smooth, drawling accent that forced Analisa to pay strict attention. His words dripped with a honey coating that sent a chill of apprehension along her spine. Chastising herself for cowardice and bolstering her courage with thoughts of Caleb in the renegade camp, Analisa stepped forward, a smile on her lips, her legs somewhat steadier now.

  “I would like to introduce myself, sir. I am Analisa de la Vega. I assume you are Mr. Hardy?”

  “Why, yes, I am, my dear. I am indeed.”

  He reached down to assist her as she stepped up on the wide, shady porch. She stretched out her hand and suppressed a shiver when his cold flesh met hers. On level ground with him her estimation proved true: She stood nearly a head taller than he. Hardy seemed not to notice, and was actually preening beneath her stare.

  She felt compelled to explain her unexpected descent upon the agency. “My husband is here from the East to study the plant life of the frontier. While we are living at Fort Sully, Major Williamson has suggested that I might enjoy seeing your agency. Perhaps you can think of a way I can be of help.”

  Buff Hardy stood silent for a moment as if gauging her sincerity. He looked around to where Zach stood watching from beside the horses. Kase was hidden behind the scout.

  “Come, come ... Mrs. de la Vega, is it? Let’s go into the house and have a cup of coffee. You must be quite exhausted after your ride.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hardy.” Hesitantly, she turned in Zach’s direction and tried to avoid his dour expression. “Kase? Come with me.”

  Kase appeared from behind Zach and ran up the steps of the porch. He looked up at Hardy and tried out one of his new salutes.

  “What’s this?” the agent said.

  Analisa noted the immediate change in Hardy’s demeanor. His voice sounded cold and demanding as he stared down at her son.

  “Where’d this brat come from? He slip outta here and get as far as the fort? These little devils are almost worse than the big ones. Thank you for bringing him back, ma’am, but I won’t pay for the fancy clothes you outfitted him with.”

  She felt as if the man had slapped her with his thick hand. Analisa reached out and protectively laid her hand on Kase’s shoulder, quickly glancing at Zach to see if he’d witnessed the outrageous display of bigotry. Her face was flaming with anger. Zach had obviously heard the crass man’s words, for he’d taken a step toward the porch but waited near the horses’ heads, fooling with a bit of rawhide.

  “This, Mr. Hardy, is my son. His father is Don Ricardo Corona de la Vega.”

  She was seething. Analisa wondered how she could ever force down the bitter taste of bile in her mouth and still deal with this man. And how dare he speak of a child with such menace in his voice?

  The man recovered himself, glancing toward Zach, who stood silent, having turned his back on the scene on the porch. Hardy looked at Kase once again, and Analisa felt he was forcing himself to do so. His lips puckered once more, just as they had when she’d first seen him. It was an unconscious habit, she surmised, one he used whenever he was forced to think.

  “Why, yes.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I’m sorry, Mrs. de la Vega. I can see now that the boy does have those blue eyes of yours. Please accept my apologies.” Hardy shifted uncomfortably and pulled at the pointed tails of his vest straining the buttons even more.

  Unable to force herself to speak to him, she merely nodded and then looked down at Kase. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Stay with Zach.”

  She refused to have her son insulted, even to help Caleb. She would face Hardy alone. What harm could befall her over a cup of coffee? She glanced up at the formidable structure and then stood aside to allow Hardy to lead her to the door. A final glance in his direction told her that Kase was safe; he and Zach were walking toward the well near the trading post.

  “You seem hesitant, Mrs. de la Vega.” Hardy’s tone was as smooth as his satin vest. “Let me assure you that I have two servants who will be in attendance. I’ll have one of them stay in the room with us if it will make you feel more comfortable.”

  Why should he have to assure her that she would be safe? Perhaps he was testing her to see if she was willing to do more than have coffee with him. Analisa mentally scolded herself for having forgotten that propriety dictated she refuse a man’s invitation without first inquiring about proper chaperons. Caleb was right. She was naive. And foolish. And afraid. The last admission only served to raise her temper and force her to face Hardy straight on. She could handle this situation, and him, she told herself. Besides, she decided as they entered the spacious entry hall, there was no law against finishing a cup of coffee in a minute or two.

  “I was just about to ask if you lived here alone, Mr. Hardy.”

  “A cook and a maid work for me, Mrs. de la Vega. I’ll ask one of them to attend us, if you wish.”

  “That would be fine. Thank you.”

  Ushered into a parlor that fronted the right side of the house, Analisa was left alone while Hardy went to find the maid and order coffee from the cook. Wandering about the room, she made note of everything she saw as she threaded her way through the maze of furnishings. Chairs were lined up side by side, most of them upholstered in garish brocade. Four settees were crowded into the room, two at opposite sides of the fireplace and two others sandwiched amid the chairs. Gilt-framed paintings of pastoral scenes hung from picture rails on all four walls, adding to the confusion.

  Overwhelmed by the room, Analisa sat down on a brocade settee and thought about Hardy’s belongings. The pieces, she realized, were beautiful in themselves, but their elegance was lost amid the color and clutter. She continued to inspect the room, but remained seated so as not to appear to be assessing it too obviously. Three Chinese vases nearly as tall as Kase were displayed on massive, heavy-legged tables. One of the vases contained a bouquet of emerald peacock feathers. A piano stood in one corner draped with an ebony-fringed shawl and topped by a crystal bowl filled with the purple wildflowers she had seen on the distant hills.

  Attracted by the colorful flowers, Analisa could not resist the urge to enjoy them at close range. She longed for flowers of her own again, now that winter was past. As she moved across the room, her footsteps were hushed by the thick Oriental carpets that overlapped one another to cover the entire floor. When she stood next to the piano, she reached out tentatively to touch the delicate blooms that appeared to have been thrust into the bowl with no attempt at arrangement. Analisa rubbed a petal gently between her thumb and forefinger, smiling down at the happy, open-faced blooms.

  “So, you are attracted to the pasqueflowers?”

  Hardy’s voice startled her, and she whirled around to face him. He stood just inside the double doors that opened onto the parlor. Behind him waited an Indian woman holding a silver tray laden with a coffee service. Analisa was struck by the servant’s beauty as she stood poised behind Hardy, silent and patient, waiting for the man to move his bulky figure so that she could move into the room with the heavy tray. Analisa was so taken by the exotic beauty of the almond-eyed woman in her demure black silk gown that she nearly forgot to answer Hardy’s question.

  “Why ... yes. The flowers are quite beautiful. I noticed th
em on the way here and wondered what they were called. The purple is such a soft, unusual color.” She watched as he moved toward the fireplace and the servant followed with the tray. “Pasqueflowers, did you say?”

  “Yes.” He pointed to one of the settees. “Come, Mrs. de la Vega, sit here and have some coffee. I’m sure you’ll find it refreshing after the long ride in the wind. What made you decide to come out here today?”

  She thought carefully before she answered. Hardy appeared cordial, but she sensed a reason behind his carefully worded questions. Analisa knew she would have to remain on guard, especially since Caleb had warned her of this man with his story of the missing BIA agent. She thought of Millicent Boynton and tried to affect the woman’s attitude.

  “Fort Sully is dreadfully boring.” Analisa wanted to laugh at her imitation of Millicent. “Especially after having lived in Europe and more recently, in Boston.”

  Buff Hardy handed her a finely shaped cup and saucer. The delicate floral pattern on the china contrasted with his slovenly, overabundant figure. Analisa watched as the Sioux woman poured for Hardy without looking at him. She moved with quiet grace, her shining black hair hanging loose about her shoulders. The elegant cut of her silk dress, its high collar and long sleeves banded by black lace, only served to enhance her dark complexion. Her skin was unlined, flawless. She appeared to be no more than eighteen, but her eyes, when they did meet Analisa’s, held the wisdom of one far older.

  The coffee served, the maid turned and walked to a chair across the room, near a tall velvet-swathed window. The drapery was swagged to one side, held in place by a length of thick gold braid. From the chair near the window the Indian woman had a view of the agency and the surrounding countryside. She seated herself with a regal air and stared out of the window, ignoring Analisa and Hardy. True to his word, the man must have asked her to act as a chaperon.

  “You say you are from Boston?” He leaned over the tray, which sat on a table between them, to select a thick slab of bread from a scalloped plate. His eyes watched her, and Analisa wanted to squirm under his scrutiny.

  “We lived in Boston most recently.”

  “Whereabouts? I have friends in Boston.”

  She tried not to appear cornered. Boston ... Boston. Her mind raced for any scrap of information Caleb had related about the city where his stepmother lived.

  “Near the water.” She quickly took a long sip of the coffee and burned her tongue.

  “Beautiful city, Boston. I can see how you are bored here. I can’t really think of what Williamson meant by volunteer work, though.”

  Hardy shifted in his seat, adjusting his vest again. It seemed to be a habit with him, as if by stretching the fabric downward he could somehow disguise his girth. His eyes bored into hers, and then he looked her up and down. She resisted the urge to pull her sweater tight against his blatant stare.

  “Perhaps he merely hoped to give me something to do,” she said. “I would, of course, leave it up to you. Perhaps there are some children to teach? Is there a school here, Mr. Hardy?”

  The servant woman was quite visible beyond Hardy’s shoulder. Analisa found she could study her without seeming distracted from her host. At the mention of a school, the woman looked toward Analisa and met her gaze straight on. Her expression revealed nothing, and Analisa wondered what she was thinking. She wished she could converse with the Indian woman rather than with Hardy.

  “There’s no school here, and there won’t be if I can help it. I’m from the South, originally, Mrs. de la Vega. Being from Europe, you probably don’t understand the significance of that statement.” He paused as if expecting her to answer.

  “You are correct. I don’t.”

  “Well, that means that I believe that some men are created masters over others. It’s true of the whites and the niggroes, and it’s true of the way the whites ought to handle the Indians. Some people just aren’t born to take care of themselves. The problem we have here is that the Indians are even worse than the niggroes. At least the niggroes can work, and work hard. These lazy creatures aren’t even good for that. They don’t want to work. Even if you beat ‘em.”

  Analisa choked on a mouthful of coffee and was forced to set the cup on the tray until she recovered.

  “Are you all right?”

  Hardy moved to her side, striking her gently between the shoulderblades to help clear her throat. Analisa waved him away as her coughing spasm died, anxious to have him across the table from her again.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was a gravelly whisper. She did not think she could look the odious creature in the eye but forced herself. After all, she reminded herself, she was here for Caleb.

  “So, Mr. Hardy, how did you come to be here? I’m sure you must find the area as dimsal as I do?” Dimsal? Was that a word? She hoped it was the word that Millicent used constantly.

  Hardy leaned back against the settee, his coffee finished, and folded his hands across his straining vest buttons.

  “I foresaw the fall of the South, Mrs. de la Vega. Call it a sixth sense. My parents were gone, the crops failing. I sold our plantation and came west with all of the old family possessions I could move. It wasn’t easy ten years ago. Had to come out by wagon train. Everyone who settled here knew that the army would be coming out right behind us. The railroads and settlers were demanding protection from the blasted red men.” He shrugged. “I was in the right place at the right time, with connections. When this agency was set up, I was appointed Indian agent. It helps to have friends in high places.”

  “You seem to do quite well here. Your house is a palace compared to anything I’ve seen in the territories.”

  “It’s not much. I tried to reproduce the old plantation house on a smaller scale. As you can see, none of the things are as elegantly displayed in this small space.”

  None of them are as old as you claim, either, Mr. Hardy, Analisa thought to herself. As familiar as she was with materials and fabric, she was well aware that many of the upholstered pieces were of the latest style. They had to have been purchased recently.

  “It is still quite beautiful, Mr. Hardy.” It galled her to have to compliment the man, but he sat waiting, as if he expected it.

  Analisa glanced around the room once more. The young woman near the window seemed lost in thought as she studied the view. Analisa noticed that her toes peeked out from beneath the flounced hem of the dress. She was wearing buckskin moccasins, like those of the women outside. Afraid to ignore Hardy for too long, Analisa returned her gaze to him and found that he had been staring at her bodice as she watched the servant. She could not meet his eyes and quickly looked away again.

  “More coffee, Mrs. de la Vega?”

  He used her name so often that Analisa felt he was attempting to wear her down until she asked him to drop the formality and call her by her given name. She refused to do so. In no way did she wish to become more familiar with this man.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Hardy. I’m afraid I must be going. You’ve been very kind, and I’m so happy to have been able to get away from the fort, even for a short time.” She stood up, careful to keep her full skirt from brushing against the china service as she moved out from behind the low serving table.

  He stood immediately and, limping slightly, ushered her toward the doors.

  “You are certain there is no way I can be of help?” she asked. Hoping she wouldn’t push him into any sort of agreement, Analisa attempted to appear sincere in her offer, although she was secretly relieved to think that she would not have to come to the agency again. She didn’t relish Hardy’s leering company.

  “Not at the moment, but I will think about it, believe me. It’s not often that a beautiful lady comes out to this godforsaken post to visit, let alone ... offer her services.”

  He leaned near her, his hand on the small of her back as she moved into the entry hall. She stepped away quickly, shrugging off his touch. Still, she could not leave without asking about the maid.

 
; “The girl who works for you is very beautiful. Is she a Sioux?”

  He turned and looked back into the parlor, his expression contemptuous. The young woman was collecting the coffee, her delicate profile visible to Analisa as she reached for the tray. The well-tailored dress clung to her figure, revealing her high, rounded breasts.

  “Mia? Yes. She’s one of the renegade women brought in last September. Made a lot of progress, that one. It was a while before I was able to get her tamed down enough to work in the house, let alone dress in a civilized fashion. Animals, the lot of them.”

  Analisa wanted to argue with him but held her tongue. Millicent Boynton, she reminded herself, would probably agree with the man, and so she remained silent.

  As they moved toward the door to the veranda, she asked him about the renegades. He stopped, his hand on the ornate doorknob, and answered her. “If I was givin’ the orders out here, I’d have the army hound them until they rode down every last one. Murdering, thieving bunch. They don’t aim to be civilized, don’t deserve the waste of time and money spent on them either.”

  “You don’t think they’ll ever give up and come to the agency?”

  “Not that bunch. Most of them have been in here at one time or another, but they run off, break the treaties. They hate it here, won’t live under any sort of discipline. Even the Indian police can’t handle them.”

  “Indian police?”

  “You’ll see them when you ride out. Take some time to look around before you go. The major can’t afford to send men out here, now that they come up with another new law in Washington. The army has to stay out of all agency handling of the Indians. All they get to do is round them up and bring them in. So, to keep the peace, I hired a few of their own kind to work for extra rations, a little whiskey now and then.” He shifted his weight, favoring his crippled leg. “Give ‘em policemen’s coats. Some of these agency men will do anything for a fancy coat or a top hat, even turn against their own.” His voice held a condescending sneer.