Sunflower

by Jill Marie Landis

  “Señor, a man learns through traveling that one can be understood in any language if he desires to be. The hands tell many things, as do the eyes.” Caleb returned the man’s stare unflinchingly.

  “I guess they do at that, Mr. de la Vega. They do at that.”

  Bowing slightly again, Caleb reached for Scorpio’s reins.

  “I’ll see to your horse, de la Vega.”

  The man’s kind words surprised him, but Caleb covered his response by handing the reins to Zach and reaching into his pocket for a coin.

  “Forget it,” Zach said. “I thought you might like to hurry so’s you can join your wife at the fancy fandango they’re throwin’ in the mess hall.”

  “How kind of you, señor.”

  “De nada.” Elliot answered in Spanish.

  Caleb wondered if it was an attempt on the man’s part to let him know he was familiar with the language. Perhaps not. He rejected the idea, for many men who traveled the frontier knew a few words of many languages. Zach Elliot was probably one of them. Handing the reins over to the scout, Caleb stopped long enough to remove his bags and baggage from the saddle and, shouldering them, moved off into the night. He could sense Zach’s stare through the darkness and so made a great show of tripping on the uneven ground, regaining his balance just before he dropped the bags of cuttings. Shifting the weight of the bags, he turned toward the row of houses across the open square.

  The commissary had been transformed into a most unusual ballroom. Analisa stared around the room again as she stood behind the serving table with Abbie Oats. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, but she found it not too unpleasant a sensation. Ruth had been right. Analisa discovered she was not only accepted at the gathering but welcomed. Soon, she hoped, the wounds of her past would heal.

  The room was festooned with swags of red cotton, the fabric having been generously loaned to the ladies of the decorating committee by the trader, Wilber Gentry. Bouquets of wildflowers stood at either end of the long serving table and formed a ring around the punch bowl as well. The table was laden with pies, cakes, cookies, and breads, some nearly entirely eaten by men long starved for home-cooked meals. The long tables used by the soldiers during mealtime had been pushed back away from the center of the room; they were lined up three deep in places, but no one seemed to notice the inconvenience. Analisa watched as couples danced past the refreshment table, whirling and bouncing to a lively tune played on banjo, fiddle, and harmonica. Her eyes scanned the crowd as she sought out Kase and found him standing on a bench with two other boys. Both were slightly older than he, and from the similarity of their looks, Analisa guessed they were brothers. The trio giggled and pointed at the dancers, caught up in the high spirits of the adults.

  She ladled a cup of punch made from lemon extract for one of the enlisted men who stood gazing at her appreciatively. Analisa was forced to look away, embarrassed by the open admiration in his eyes. She had chosen to help Abbie tend to the table in order to rest her throbbing feet after nearly an hour of continuous dancing. No sooner had they entered the room than she’d been asked to dance by first one and then another of the men. Frank Williamson had no chance to claim her and immediately asked for an introduction to Ruth. Analisa obliged him and noted that Ruth had danced with him more than a few times since and even now stood beside the tall officer, laughing gaily up into his eyes as he inclined his head in her direction. The contrast of colors, Ruth’s raspberry silk beside the midnight blue of Major Williamson’s uniform, presented a stunning picture that Analisa could not help but admire.

  “Have you ever seen such a show?” Abbie’s voice rode high above the music as she drew Analisa’s attention back to the dancers. The colorful gathering moved in a jumbled mass about the room with no attempt at organization. Lively dance steps degenerated into out-and-out stomping. The dancers were allowed no time to rest, although none seemed to require such, for the musicians merely exchanged instruments with others and took up dancing once their repertoire had been exhausted. Occasionally, someone would join in and play Analisa’s organ, which stood against the wall, pounding joyously on the keys as he pumped the pedals mercilessly.

  As her thoughts turned to Caleb, Analisa wondered what he would think when she told him she had traveled to the Sioux agency against his wishes. She knew instinctively that he would be angry, but just how angry and for how long she could not guess.

  “A penny for your thoughts, Mrs. de la Vega.”

  “Major!” Analisa looked up quickly in response to the words spoken so close to her side. “You startled me.”

  “Allow me to apologize, then, by asking for a dance.”

  Analisa suddenly remembered Caleb’s assertion that the major was attracted to her. If she accepted, would she encourage him without intending to? She was determined not to cause a rift between this man and her husband.

  “Has Ruth lost your attention so suddenly, Major?” Analisa glanced around, hoping that he would be distracted by Caleb’s attractive stepmother, but was unable to find her in the maze of dancers.

  “Not at all. She stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. Actually, I want to talk to you for a moment about your guest, but first, how about a dance to put a smile back on your face and a blush in your cheeks?” He laughed down at her, his green eyes sparkling, his usual riot of flaming auburn hair tamed with pomade. Analisa wanted to trust her own intuition about the man; she truly felt he acted only out of friendship.

  “I think I’ve rested long enough. Abbie?” Analisa turned to the other woman, who was cutting a thick wedge of mock apple pie. “I am going to dance with the major. Would you mind to keep an eye on Kase?”

  “Not at all. You just go on, now.” The woman drew herself up importantly and nodded in Kase’s direction. “I’ve got him well within my sights.”

  Analisa allowed Frank Williamson to lead her into the melee. She soon found that he was a graceful dancer and willing to teach her the steps, unlike the others who had merely grabbed her about the waist and propelled her like a sack of potatoes about the room. They moved in time to the lively tune until the music stopped abruptly while the musicians exchanged instruments and loudly argued over the next tune.

  Analisa caught her breath for a moment while the major surveyed the crowd. She stared at the shining brass buttons that adorned his jacket, suddenly awkward at his nearness in the pressing crowd. Analisa had earlier forsaken her shawl for the sake of comfort in the stifling heat of the crowded dance floor. Now, as she stood with Frank Williamson only a breath away, she was all too aware of the low neckline of her pale pink dress, which revealed far too much of the deep cleavage between her full breasts. Unsure exactly where to look, she began to search out Ruth in the crowd. Then suddenly the music started again as abruptly as it had stopped. This time it was a slower tune, and the major did not hesitate to place his right hand at the small of her back while his left lightly held her fingertips. He dipped slightly in the direction he wished to lead her, and Analisa followed, unsure at first of her own ability to master the flowing steps. For the first few bars of the song she watched her feet, hoping to keep them from hampering the major’s own smooth movement.

  “Relax,” he whispered softly. “You’re doing just fine.”

  His words drew her eyes to his face, and she found him smiling down at her, his lips suddenly too near her own. What was she doing? Abruptly she began to speak, trying to fill the silence between them with words that barely carried above the sound of the music.

  “You wanted to ask about Mrs. Storm, my guest?” She reminded him once more of Ruth.

  “I did indeed.” He chuckled and pulled back in order to see her better. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Mrs. de la Vega? You suddenly seem ill-at-ease. Your cheeks are a delightful shade of pink.”

  “Somewhat uncomfortable, yes.” She answered without hesitation.

  “It’s nice to run across an honest woman for a change.”

  “I don’t understand, Major.”

&nb
sp; She felt him loosen his grasp on her waist, opening the space between them.

  “It’s nothing, Mrs. de la Vega.” They moved along to the music, Analisa careful to count the steps in her mind while she listened to his words. “What is your relationship to Mrs. Storm? She’s quite charming, and a widow, I understand.”

  “We are friends, Major. We met in the East.” Analisa looked up and found him smiling down at her, a mischievous glint in his green eyes. “Are you finding something funny about me, Major?”

  “Not at all. It’s just that it’s quite easy to make you blush, and I’m afraid I like nothing better than to tease beautiful women. But you needn’t worry, for I’m sadly convinced that you are content with your professor. Actually, it’s your friend, Ruth Storm, that I’m interested in. Would she mind if I called on her?”

  “You must ask her, Major.”

  “I intend to.”

  They continued to glide around the room, Analisa becoming more confident now that she could relax and enjoy the man’s expert guidance without fear of his intentions. She nodded politely to Millicent, who stared with open admiration at Frank Williamson as she waltzed by in her husband’s arms. Analisa avoided Captain Boynton’s narrow gaze. She supposed the man was annoyed by the fact that she seemed able to enjoy herself while her husband was away. If only he knew how much she wished it was Caleb teaching her to waltz instead of the major. She’d never had the pleasure of dancing with her husband, yet she knew in her heart it would truly be just that, a pleasure.

  The music lulled her with its haunting sound, the fiddle singing out the waltz as the dancers moved around them. Analisa soon forgot she was in the major’s arms, as her mind filled with thoughts of Caleb. Her feet began to move with little effort as they circled the room. When the tune ended, Analisa leaned back and smiled up into the major’s eyes, almost surprised to find it was not Caleb who held her, for she had been so lost in her daydream.

  “Thank you, Major.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. de la Vega.”

  Before Analisa could say another word, the fiddler began again, another tune filled the air, and the major, after a glance around the room, began to dance once more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  No one noticed Caleb when he stepped into the crowded commissary and stopped just inside the doorway. He clutched his bowler hat between his hands, pressing it against his vest front. His hair was still damp from a hurried washing, his usual white shirt replaced by a new one he’d found hanging among his others. He had known immediately it was a gift from Analisa and had donned it with a deep sense of pride, not at all surprised by the expert workmanship. The shirt was a brilliant blue cotton. He looked at the cuff that extended slightly beyond the edge of his coatsleeve and realized that he’d never owned a shirt of such a vibrant color before. He shifted his round-lensed glasses, slid them up the bridge of his nose with one finger, and quickly resumed clutching his hat against his shirt front. He hoped he gave the appearance of a man holding on to it for protection.

  He’d seen Analisa the minute he entered the noisy gathering, his eyes drawn by his wife’s shining white-blond hair as she moved across the far side of the room in the arms of Major Frank Williamson, a dreamy faraway look in her eyes. Caleb noted the tall officer’s gaze continually scanned the room, yet the green-eyed stare had not connected with his own. A slow, roiling boil was beginning to build inside Caleb, stoked by the necessity to stand by and play the part of the polite, bumbling professor while his instincts told him to lash out and claim what was his alone. He fought the urge to assume his more casual demeanor, to lean back against the door frame and watch the unsuspecting couple. He knew that inaction on his part would tell him more than an abrupt appearance on the scene. He tried, but soon failed to force himself to take in the rest of his surroundings. Caleb nodded politely whenever someone caught his eye, but he hoped his rigid stance would put off anyone who wished to engage him in idle conversation.

  The waltz continued, the moving melody haunting him as much as the sight of the elegant figure of his wife as she swayed in another man’s arms. It was not until the dancing couples parted and the music stopped, not until Analisa pulled away from the major for a moment, that Caleb noticed every detail of the dress she wore. Elegant in its simplicity, the gown was made of some dusk pink fabric that appeared entwined with ribbons. The bodice was cut low across her breasts, a style Caleb never dreamed Analisa would be bold enough to wear, although her appearance sent his blood singing through his veins.

  Couples moved away from the center of the room toward the tables lining the walls. Analisa stood beside the major, and as Caleb watched, the two of them chatted amiably. Caleb stepped forward, feeling as if his stomach was lodged somewhere near the region of his throat, his nerves taut, unable to watch the couple a moment longer. He moved with quiet determination across the room.

  “Don Ricardo.”

  The voice was familiar and yet out of context in the surroundings, and so Caleb failed to recognize it was Ruth’s until he turned and saw his stepmother standing beside him. He became aware of her hand on his arm, halting his forward progress.

  Caleb stood speechless. Ruth had called him by his assumed name, but he was not quite sure how to address her. His silence alerted her to his dilemma, and she immediately began to explain. Thankful, he blessed his stepmother for her keen intuition.

  “I’m sure you’re surprised to find me here, Ricardo, but, as I told Analisa when we arrived two weeks ago, you did extend an invitation and I always enjoy traveling. Welcome home. We’ve all missed you, especially Analisa.”

  “No doubt.”

  He let his gaze cut back to the place where he’d last seen his wife talking to the major. The music started up once again, and the couple had resumed dancing. Caught just inside the edge of the dance floor, there was nothing for Caleb to do but dance with Ruth or step back toward the doorway, a move that would take him away from Analisa. Without bothering to ask, Caleb reached for Ruth’s hand and began to dance.

  “May I ask the reason for the dark scowl?” Ruth kept her voice low. “Your lack of response at finding your beloved stepmother here is very touching, Caleb.”

  Caleb answered in a tightly controlled whisper, devoid of the thick Castilian accent, “Welcome to Fort Sully, Ruth.”

  “I know that look of yours. Someone is likely to get hurt before the night is over if you don’t calm down. What is wrong, Caleb?”

  “What’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Nothing except that every time I come home I find the illustrious Major Williamson entertaining my wife.”

  “Ah.” She looked at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Would it help if I told you that a few moments ago the major was very seriously entertaining me?”

  “It might.” He looked down at her, hoping to find the truth in her expression. They were nearer the major and Analisa now, but the other couple remained unaware of Caleb’s presence.

  “He was indeed,” Ruth assured him. “Come, now, Caleb, you don’t look as if you believe me ...”

  Caleb turned away from Ruth, abruptly leaving her alone as he turned to face Analisa and Frank Williamson. He stepped, forward and watched his wife’s reaction as she recognized him. Her eyes widened as her lips parted in surprise. Caleb knew a desperate urge to crush her to him then and there, seal her lips with his own, and loose the pins from her hair. Instead he was forced to stand and watch as the major released her hand and Analisa remained standing, caught between the two men.

  He saw her lips silently form his name before she caught herself and merely whispered, “You’re home.”

  “Quite a surprise, is it not, my dear? And just in time for the fiesta.” He waved his arm wide in a gesture that took in the entire room.

  “Welcome home once again, Don Ricardo.” Williamson bowed slightly in greeting, his mustache-framed smile wider than Caleb remembered. When the man turned toward Ruth, Caleb was surprised to find her still at his side.

  “
Would you do me the honor, Mrs. Storm?” Frank Williamson asked formally, and Ruth readily accepted.

  Finding himself in the center of the dance floor, his wife standing before him, lovelier than ever and stunned by his sudden appearance, Caleb felt his anger slowly ebb. He lifted his hand and before he could formally ask his wife to dance, she moved into his embrace. Hastily he cleared his throat and stepped back the proper distance, widening the space between them. He slipped his forefinger between his shirt collar and his throat, hoping to relieve the sudden constriction that choked him. Her nearness after so long an absence nearly unhinged his reserve.

  “I am supposed to be Don Ricardo, remember?” he whispered near her ear as he began to move in time to the music.

  “And I am Analisa, your wife,” she teased. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Don Ricardo.”

  He could not help but pull her near again in a brief, warm hug of greeting before he resumed dancing at a polite distance. “You look beautiful tonight, Anja.”

  “Dank U wel.” She smiled as she thanked him, caught up in the charade his role of stiff propriety forced upon them both. “I see you found your shirt. Do you like it, Don Ricardo?”

  “Gracias, mi esposa. Es muy hermosa.” Caleb hoped his eyes expressed the warmth he felt for her at that moment.

  He deftly squired her through the waltzing figures, pausing long enough to allow an overenthusiastic enlisted man to lead his partner past them on the way to the punch bowl.

  “That’s a lovely dress, Anja. Was it a gift from Ruth?” He watched a rosy blush stain her cheeks in reaction to his appreciative glance at her revealing décolleté.

  “In a way,” she managed to stammer, regaining her composure. She went on to explain about the sewing machine and the fabrics Ruth had transported from Boston along with a set of china that had graced the Storms’ table for generations.

  “How long has she been here?”