Sunflower

by Jill Marie Landis

  The luxury of such speculation was no longer hers, for her captors now jerked her forward without ceremony, signaling for her to wait before the closed flap of one of the dwellings. Standing only a few feet away from the structure, Analisa could see that its sides were decorated with faded paintings of horses, riders, and walking figures.

  A thick, cloying odor emanated from the men beside her. It tickled her memory, touching off waves of fear, and caused her skin to crawl. She risked a glance at the man to her left. He was as tall as she, his nose long and bent to the side, as if once broken. He stared straight ahead, ignoring her. The man on her right was at least a head shorter than she, but sturdily built, his skin stretched tight over wadded muscle. His face was round, unlined, yet showed no kindness. He leered up at her, and if his expression was meant to intimidate, he had succeeded.

  The sound from the crowd around her swelled to an angry crescendo, then suddenly gave way to silence as the tent flap was pushed aside. As if unfolding from a cocoon, the stooped figure that emerged stood to tower over Analisa. The hush of the crowd warned her this man was someone to be reckoned with, and so it surprised her to find him so young. She guessed him to be not much older than herself, and younger than Caleb. In a way, the young leader reminded her of her husband, not in appearance so much as in stature and bearing. In a glance he took in the angry crowd around him before he let his eyes drop to meet hers. As the fathomless ebony eyes met hers, Analisa felt her blood run cold. This man would show her no mercy, for his eyes mirrored the depths of his soul. Hate radiated from him, hatred for her kind and the life he was forced to lead.

  The man’s lips were pressed together in a rigid line, one corner lifted in disdain. His hair was swept back from a high, smooth forehead, worn long in the Sioux fashion and hanging nearly to his elbows. Unlike her captors, he was completely clothed, his fringed and beaded buckskin shirt serving as a backdrop for the array of jewelry adorning him. Thick strands of white beads hung in graduated lengths around his neck. Beneath the longest strands he wore a breastplate of tubular shells and beads edged with dancing feathers. Loops of metal holding round flat shells hung from his earlobes.

  The leader’s deep-set hooded eyes were further recessed by his high cheekbones. She was aware of his nostrils, flared in anger, beneath his long, straight nose. Analisa was drawn to his stare, unable to look away while fear radiated through her. Before she had time to react, his hand shot out and grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. He studied her features as carefully as if reading a hidden trail. Where his fingers touched her sensitive skin, she burned, and felt her face redden with anger and embarrassment. Analisa tried to pull away, to force him to release his grip, but failed. Finally, his perusal of her over, he pushed her chin aside in dismissal. He spoke, not to the waiting crowd, but spat out words to the men at her side. His voice was low, guttural, and curt.

  At once the two men pulled her away from the leader and dragged her unceremoniously across the camp.

  “Stop! Where are you taking me?” Attempting to dig her heels in the ground and force them to halt, she was soon overpowered by her silent guards.

  The crowd closed around her again. Analisa noticed the men of the village no longer seemed interested in her, but the surge of angry women grew. Their sharp, screeching catcalls reverberated in her ears, and as they pressed closer, Analisa expected the men beside her to bark orders at them to back away, yet nothing was said to the maddened crowd. Where was Meika? Analisa frantically tried to see her sister among the women who were now pushing against her and jeering. An old woman, her hair more gray than black, reached out with a wizened, claw-shaped hand and rent the sleeve of Analisa’s gown from the shoulder. The plaid wool slid down her arm to gather at her bound wrists. Another hand reached out to pluck a button from the front of her dress, and at the woman’s success, others followed suit. Soon the bodice of the dress was hanging open, Analisa’s camisole exposed to their view.

  As she sought to escape their clutching, grasping fingers, Analisa twisted toward her guards and succeeded in trodding upon the shorter man’s foot with the heel of her shoe. His muffled grunt sounded in her ear and was followed by a resounding slap to the side of her head that nearly knocked her senseless. Analisa fought to stay conscious, knowing full well that, should she falter, the angry women would most likely tear her apart.

  “Stop it!” she screamed as a hand wound itself in her hair. “No!” Unable to fight back in any other way, Analisa turned her head toward this new attacker and sank her teeth into the woman’s wrist. A sense of satisfaction overwhelmed her when she heard the woman’s startled cry and the hand entangled in her hair was released.

  The mob parted. Analisa was thrust into a hide-covered dwelling. Momentum impelled her forward, and she fell headlong onto the hard-packed ground inside the dark hut. Her hands still bound behind her, she was unable to break her fall and cried out as her cheek slammed into the ground. For a moment she lay stunned, her face pressed against the cool dirt floor as she listened to the sounds of the angry crowd slowly diminish. The place was damp and musty, the air close and still. Slowly she rolled to her back, her gaze drawn upward along the slanted walls of the shelter, up the slender poles that formed its skeletal framework. The apex was open to the sky, and she stared at the clear, bright blue above her, surprised to discover so familiar a piece of her world in the midst of the hellish scene.

  The moment of peace was shattered when a crouched woman stepped through the opening and stood to her full height. She was soon followed by a second. Analisa quickly rolled to her side and pushed herself up on her right elbow. Dizziness attacked her in waves; her vision blurred and then cleared.

  “Don’t you touch me. Keep away!” She pushed herself to a sitting position and tried to scoot backward across the floor, away from the women.

  They moved toward her, undaunted by her shouted command, and set to work. One held her thrashing legs until Analisa was forced to sit still. The other worked to unlace and remove her shoes. Her thick sokken followed. The two then examined the wool dress and spoke quietly between themselves as if deciding how best to remove it.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!”

  Analisa shimmied farther away from them while they concurred, but found herself wedged against the wall of the shelter. She was forced to wait until they approached her again.

  The heavier of the two then drew a knife from a sheath at her waist, and Analisa screamed. The woman reached out, not with the weapon, but with her open palm, and silenced Analisa with a firm slap that rattled her teeth.

  Her voice reduced to a whimper, Analisa hated the fact that she was cowering now, but exhaustion and pain were fast eroding her courage. “No. Please.” She shook her head, hoping to dissuade them, but the heavy woman proceeded to cut away the sleeves of her dress, first the left and then the already ripped one. Swiftly the woman parted the rent bodice and cut it away from the gathered waist. Her companion pulled the skirt down over Analisa’s hips and thighs until it was free. Clad only in her thin cotton chemise and the bodice of the dress, which now hung open like a tattered vest, Analisa was released. The women turned and left the dwelling as suddenly as they had entered, abandoning Analisa once more to the semidarkness.

  Nerves stretched to the breaking point, Analisa lay tense and alert, staring at the sky, trying to hold on to the patch of light high above her, trying to ground herself in reality. No one else came in to disturb her. As time slowly passed, she felt herself slowly relax as knotted muscles loosened up. Pain shot upward along her arms from her bound wrists. She could tell by the burning sensation around the leather cords that her skin was raw, perhaps even bleeding. She tried to reason with herself in order to fight down her fear. Caleb would come. He would find her and talk to these people. She would wait.

  What if this was not Red Dog’s camp? The doubt nagged at her, for she had no real proof that the Indian pony had indeed carried her to his settlement. This has to be the one, she reassured her
self. Hadn’t she found Meika here? She would not give up hope. Perhaps her sister might help her escape. She clung to her dream, to the image of Caleb walking through the door, her sister beside him. It would all work out. Analisa was convinced she had come too far to have it end this way.

  Analisa was certain of only one thing as she stared up through the darkness and watched the sky transform itself from blue to radiant rose to pale twilight lavender. She knew that if, and when all hope vanished, she would never allow herself to be taken by another man the way it had happened years ago. No man would touch her in lust, no one would force himself on her again, even if she had to fight to the death. No one.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dampness seeped into the hide dwelling, chilling the figure lying curled up on the dirt floor. Analisa roused herself and stared up toward the smoke hole to gauge the passing of time. It was early evening. The rising moon’s light reflected off the clouds that shrouded the stars. Tonight was cooler than last. As she lay trussed up like a Christmas goose and forgotten in the deserted shelter, Analisa wished for the warmth and security of home. The cotton chemise and torn wool bodice did little to protect her from the chill that rose from the ground beneath her. She realized she must have slept, and wondered how. Her wrists were still bound tight despite her struggles, her lips parched and dry. Analisa prayed that someone would come to ease her discomfort and in the same breath prayed that the Sioux would leave her alone. What of Meika? Surely the girl knew Analisa was a prisoner. Perhaps her sister would rescue her. And what of Caleb? Was he here at all?

  Her right shoulder was numb from lying on it, her fingers devoid of feeling. Analisa rolled to her left side and faced the doorway again. The flap was closed, and, she assumed, secured on the outside. Her eyes had become accustomed to the shadowy light inside the dwelling, but all she could see was a circle of charred stones that marred the open expanse of the floor. Ashes remained in the center of the fire pit, ashes and the lingering scent of wood smoke, the only reminders that the place had ever been inhabited.

  The numb sensation in her right hand gave way to sharp tingling. She tried to wiggle her fingers, but the pain that shot through her wrist forced her to stop. She closed her eyes against the reality of her situation. Kase. Think of Kase. She pictured him safe, tucked into his bed between clean white sheets. Ruth would see to that. Ruth and Abbie. They would care for her son until she returned. She would not even allow herself to think of the alternative. Ja, she would return from this, she knew she would ...

  At the sound of footsteps Analisa’s eyes flew open and she watched, tense, as the door flap was thrown aside. For a moment a dark shadow filled the opening, then moved inside. Uncurling to its full height, the figure proved to be that of a man, tall and finely honed, from what she could see in the darkness. She forced herself to rise up, first on her knees and then to a sitting position. Without a sound, the man began to cross the shelter toward her. As he moved closer, she pressed herself back against the hide wall. He did not speak. Uncertain, Analisa guessed from the height and build of the man, it could be none other than Red Dog. As he passed beneath the circle of light that shimmered down from the smoke hole, she caught a glimpse of shining shoulder-length hair and a naked upper torso. His face was cast in shadows. He carried a bundle of some sort, perhaps a crude pouch, she could not tell, but she became aware of the heavy scent of hair grease that often clung to Caleb when he returned home from the camp.

  He had not spoken. She found she could not. Her lips were sealed with a terror so stark that Analisa feared her heart would burst. It was all too real this time and yet exactly like the dream that had haunted her over the years. The man who attacked her was but a shadow in her memory. Now she lay at the mercy of another shadow, one that was alive and real and edging slowly toward her. Analisa shook her head from side to side in silent protest. She did not want to remember it at all, but the old dream began to mix with this new, dark menace. Her lips parted, and she summoned every ounce of strength in order to cry out, but all that escaped was a hoarse, shuddering sob.

  “Anja?”

  Caleb stopped when he heard the pitiful, heart-wrenching cry. Could it have come from his wife? His proud, stubborn Analisa?

  Early in the evening Caleb had listened intently as he sat crouched before the old woman’s tepee, careful to keep his eyes downcast while he cleaned his rifle. He heard the women speak of the tall blond one who’d tried to speak to Swift Otter’s young wife. He let his fingers lightly ply the soft leather cloth over the highly polished hickory stock of his rifle and hoped that he appeared lost in thought.

  He had returned to the camp bearing a brace of pheasants, a welcome surprise for the ancient one, the childless widow older than time, who cooked for Caleb when he chose to eat in the camp. With no one to provide for her, the nearly toothless hag was forced to rely on the generosity of others. Caleb’s offerings were always welcome. While she cleaned the fowl and prepared the evening meal, Caleb sat before her tepee and worked on his rifle, cursing the fact that it had taken him longer than he had anticipated to return to the camp.

  A rock had slipped between Scorpio’s hoof and shoe, forcing Caleb to slow his pace. Stopping at his hiding place to change into his Sioux clothing had caused another delay as well as the time it took to kill the pheasants in order not to return empty-handed. Caleb finally arrived, only to hear the women softly talking about the white captive, speculating as to how she had come upon their camp. His heart seemed wedged in a steel trap of his own making when Caleb heard them describe Analisa. He had no idea how she’d located the camp alone and unseen in broad daylight, or how she’d found her sister so easily, but now that the damage was done, he was forced to think of a way to rescue her and take her out of the settlement.

  All that led up to the moment at hand was quickly forgotten when he heard the gasping sobs that pierced the stillness in the darkened interior of the tepee. He knelt, at the same time setting his bundle down beside him. Reaching out, his hand connected with Analisa’s shoulder, and he leaned forward to wrap her in his embrace. The soft sound of her anguish became muffled against his shoulder as he knelt with her in his arms. Caleb stroked her bare arms and felt the chill on her skin. The faint scent of her talcum was so familiar that he found himself forced to choke down the knot that lodged in his throat. His hands quickly found the rawhide ties that bound her wrists, and he swiftly drew his knife from the sheath at his waist and sliced the bindings. Setting her away from him, he pulled her arms forward and rubbed the circulation back into her hands. She had not spoken a word, nor had she acknowledged him by name. Caleb waited to speak until she had calmed.

  “Anja ...” He again cradled her with one arm while he continued to stroke her with his hand. “Are you all right? Come on, say something.” He whispered near her ear.

  “Oh, Caleb ...” Her voice was ragged between sobs. “I was so ... scared. I did not know it was you. I saw ... Meika ... and she didn’t ... she didn’t even ... know me.” Her last words were nearly inaudible.

  Caleb felt her arms encircle his neck and could tell by her weak attempt to draw him close that she was near collapse.

  “Shh. Let me light a fire to warm you. I have some food and water.” She did not respond to his words, nor did she lessen her hold. “Anja? Come on, now. Let go.”

  He reached up to unlock her arms from his shoulders and draw her hands down to her sides. With quick efficiency he unrolled a length of buckskin and removed from it a few pieces of firewood, a water bag, and a packet of cold cooked pheasant. From a small pouch at his waist he drew a shard of flint, and soon a low fire crackled in the stone-ringed pit. The dim, shimmering light cast its glow upon Analisa, and he glanced across the small distance between them to find her staring at him, her knees drawn up to her breasts, her matted hair hanging about her shoulders.

  The firelight played upon the swell of her breasts beneath the thin camisole. The tattered bodice of her plaid dress hung open, providing little p
rotection from the chill of the night air. Her short pantalets revealed the curves of her long, shapely legs all too clearly. His anger at her impulsive act and his fear of losing her dissolved at the sound of her broken sobs. He added another small piece of wood to the low-burning fire and watched the smoke curl up toward the apex of the tepee. Drawing the water bag toward him, Caleb returned to Analisa’s side and crouched beside her, offering her the container,

  She took a sip and then another, all the while avoiding his steady gaze. Finally, her thirst slaked, she poured a small amount of water into the cupped palm of her hand and bathed her face With it. Reaching down, she drew up the corner of the torn bodice and wiped at her eyes. Still she avoided looking at him. Caleb watched her silently for a moment, the sight playing havoc with his insides. One part of him wanted to rail at her. Was she pleased with the mess she’d gotten herself into? The rest of him wanted to hold her close until the frightened, wary look was banished from her eyes. The overwhelming sense of relief that flooded him only stoked the fire that burned in his loins. Now that he’d found her safe and relatively unharmed, he longed to press her down on the earthen floor and move within her as he’d done so often, reveling in the feel of her, always pleased and awed by her immediate response. But Caleb knew he had to wait. What she needed now was his love, not his lust.

  “Are you hungry?” He leaned close, brushing her hair off her cheek and tipping her chin up so that he could see into the blue depths of her eyes. They sparkled with unshed tears.

  “No.” The word came out a whisper, and she cleared her throat. Her eyes did not leave his face, but clung to his as if she feared he might disappear.

  “How did you get here, Anja?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light and understanding. He rested an open palm on her shoulder. Her skin had warmed.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I took the pony you brought home to Kase. Zach said it would return to its home if it was turned loose.”