Sunflower (13 page)

“When will Caleb be back, Mama?”

“I’m not sure, Kase.” Analisa choked back the sob that threatened to burst from the aching lump in her throat.

“I would rather have Caleb here every day than a Christmas present. Wouldn’t you, Mama? ... Mama?”

When Kase finally turned to demand an answer from her, he saw that his mother had left his side and was running toward the soddie. With a last look in the direction of the man riding away from the homestead, the boy picked up the forgotten picnic basket and walked slowly toward the house.

Silent snowflakes fell from gray skies, slowly molding themselves into drifts around the soddie. Inside, secure behind the thick walls and warmed by the low, ever present fire in the stove, Kase and Opa occupied themselves on the far side of the room while Analisa concentrated on fitting the pieces of a velvet gown together. It was the first time she’d attempted to make one of the newly designed gowns with a bustle. The dress was a special order placed well ahead of the approaching holiday season. As Analisa carefully gathered a long ruffle onto her needle and pushed the material along the thread, spreading the folds evenly along its length, her thoughts drifted like the soft snow outside.

It was the tenth day of November, two months since Caleb had left for the East. During that time not a day passed that Analisa did not spend time thinking of him. Shut inside by the cold weather, she watched the long days stretch on as she lost herself in the thousands of stitches she plied. Her business seemed to have doubled since September, the month Caleb left, the month they were wed.

Mevrou Heusinkveld had wasted little time, it seemed, spreading the news about Analisa Van Meeteren’s new husband and the details of their impromptu wedding. At least twice a week one or more of the fair ladies of Pella would arrive at the soddie, material in hand, to place an order. Analisa would politely invite them in and offer refreshment, which they would politely refuse. The women waited curiously for Caleb to appear. It galled Analisa that they never inquired after him, just watched the door expectantly. They called her Mrs. Storm in deference to her new status, but refrained from asking her husband’s whereabouts. Stubbornly, she never offered them an explanation.

Edvard moved away from the corner where he had been teaching Kase to make hats from folded newspaper. Analisa glanced up from her work long enough to smile and nod at her grandfather when he donned his woolen jacket and stepped outside into the softly falling snow.

“Kase,” she called out, demanding her son’s attention, “do you need to go with Opa?” With the snowdrifts deepening, Analisa preferred Kase did not go out to the privy alone. When he shook his head, she turned once again to her work. The long silk ruffle finally gathered, she began to baste it near the hem of the rich brown velvet with long, smooth stitches.

Her concern regarding her grandfather had mounted as the fell passed and winter set in. Edvard, ninety years old in October, seemed to be slipping into a world of his own. Often, like Kase, he would ask about Caleb, but unlike her son, he thought his granddaughter’s husband was just outside working on some task and due back any moment. Other times he would speak of his own son, Emmett, Analisa’s father. When she reminded him that Emmett and Henrietta were no longer alive, he would reply,
“Ik begijp het niet.
I don’t understand,” shaking his head in sad confusion, his blue eyes dim and watery.

She turned the thick material as she worked, resting the heavy folds against the tabletop until, at last, the long ruffle of contrasting gold silk lay in place against the warm, deep velvet. Placing both palms against the small of her back, Analisa straightened her spine and stretched her tired muscles. A cup of tea was just what she needed to break the monotony of her work.

“Kase, would you like tea and cookies?”

The boy had built himself a playhouse from a sheet draped over the rocking chair, anchored at each corner by a book.

“Mama, come and see my house.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he thrust his head from between the overlapping edges forming the door to his tent house. Analisa walked across the room to inspect her son’s handiwork and, as she did, realized that Edvard had not yet returned. Had she been so intent on her work that she missed his entrance? Had he come inside and then gone out again without her knowledge?

“Kase, did Opa come back in yet?”

No answer.

“Kase!”

“What?”

“Did Opa come back inside?”

Silence. Finally, the boy stuck his head out again and smiled up at his mother. “Not yet. Maybe he is feeding Tulip-the-Ox.”

Analisa fought her immediate reaction of fear. There was nothing to worry about, she told herself. Opa was just outside seeing to the animals, perhaps checking the latch on the chicken coop; it had blown open two days ago. Everything was all right.

Quickly, she went to the window and tried to see outside. Condensation fogged the panes, obscuring her view. She wiped the pane with a swift, circular motion and, still unable to see outside, quickly went to the door and opened it far enough to look out into the stark whiteness beyond. The gently drifting flakes of an hour ago had gathered in intensity until now they were falling in thick, clotted sheets. The cloud carrying them had sunk to earth as well, enshrouding the silent, white flakes in a dense fog. Analisa could not see more than an arm’s length.

“Opa!”

The sound of her voice seemed muffled by the thick snow. Analisa listened intently for even a hint of a sound from her grandfather. Snow sifted in the open door, chilling her. She closed the door and pulled her long, gray woolen coat from the peg beside the door, trying to still the wild beating of her heart as she prepared to go outside in search of her grandfather.

“Kase?” Wrapping a fringed shawl about her neck, she pulled a pair of woolen gloves from her coat pocket and began to put them on. When Kase failed to respond, she called him again impatiently. “Kase! Please come here.”

Aware of the command in his mother’s tone, the boy wriggled out from beneath his cloth structure and crossed the room to stand before Analisa, his bent paper hat cocked to one side on his shining black hair. “Yes, Mama?”

“I am going out after Opa. The snow is falling heavily now, and I don’t want you going out at all. Do you understand me?”

Never had his mother spoken so harshly to him. Kase nodded in silent response.

Aware of the fear creeping into the child’s innocent eyes, Analisa knelt before him and pulled him into her embrace. “Kase, I’m sorry. I am just worried about Opa. I will be right back. You be a big boy and stay in the house. Promise me.”

“Yes, Mama,” Kase whispered against her shoulder, his mother’s fear having communicated itself to him.

Pulling the shawl up over her hair and tight against her mouth, Analisa knotted the ends behind her neck. She opened the door and stepped into the snow, her leather shoes crunching in the deep powder. Analisa knew the risks of straying too far from the soddie. Settlers caught in blizzards had been frozen to death a few feet from their homes.

One hand against the rough, frozen sod wall, Analisa felt her way slowly along the house. The snow was deep and unpacked. With each step, she sank up to her knees. At the corner of the building, Analisa turned toward the back of the soddie. Her movements were slow and exhausting, the wet, clinging snow soaking her through to the skin. She kept on until she rounded the final turn along the wall and entered the cow shed.

Snow had piled up outside the open doorway, and Analisa could not find purchase. One foot and then the other went out from under her, and she landed heavily on the straw-covered floor. Righting herself, she brushed the snow from her wool clothing. She was soaked through, yet warm from the exertion of winding her way through the snow. The muffler was sodden and clinging to her mouth and nose, dampened by the warmth of her breath. It itched unbearably, and so Analisa unwound the shawl and draped it across her shoulders.

A quick glance in their direction told her that Tulip-the-Ox and Honey were comfortable and oblivious of the storm outside, their heavy bodies filling the small room with a close warmth. They turned their gaze on Analisa as if expecting her to rub their noses and whisper nonsense words to them as she usually did. But not today.

Standing just inside the snow-filled doorway, Analisa tried in vain to see across the fog-shrouded yard.

“Opa!”

She called his name in a loud, clear voice, first in the direction of the outhouse, and then to the left and right, in case Opa had become disoriented. Her attempts brought no results, and silence met her on every side. Frustrated, Analisa was aware that if she stepped a few feet from the soddie she, too, would become lost. She struggled against tears. “Think!” she admonished herself.

The idea came on her in a sudden flash of inspiration. Analisa whirled around and lifted a coil of rope from a hook on the wall. The rope was stiff from the cold and barely manageable. She peeled her gloves off and stuffed them into her coat pocket. Willing the rope to cooperate, Analisa tied one end around an iron ring embedded in the shed wall. She pulled on the rope to test the knots. After tying the other end of the rope around her waist, she examined the coil to be sure it was free of tangles. She then began to climb up the bank of snow in the doorway.

Carefully gauging the position of the outhouse in relation to where she stood, Analisa began moving forward, calling for Edvard every few steps. Realizing he could have collapsed inches from her and might now be covered with a fine layer of snow, Analisa beat the powder with her hands. No sign of Edvard appeared to relieve her fears. Struggling forward, Analisa felt the rope pull taut all too soon; she had not yet reached the outhouse. Turning, she looked back in the direction of the soddie. It had disappeared from view and was now enshrouded in snow and fog. The rope trailed off to disappear in the snow as well. It was impossible to see where the sky stopped and the earth began. The silent white world had an eerie, almost magical quality. For a moment Analisa was distracted from her search as she stared around her, heavy flakes falling on her cheeks and lashes.

After one last frantic shout, Analisa sighed, admitting defeat, and turned back, pulling herself along, letting the rope guide her to the shed. The deep footprints she had left behind her were already nearly obliterated by the snow. Struggling on, she was determined to return to the house as quickly as possible; she was worried that Kase might become frightened enough to step out in search of her.

“Please, God, keep him safe indoors.”

By the time she entered the soddie and felt the warmth of the small room surround her, Analisa was trembling violently from exhaustion and fear. She dropped the heavy weight of the rope to the floor. Kase ran to her side, his usually bright, eager expression clouded with worry.

“Did you find Opa?” His eyes told her he knew the truth although he asked anyway, hoping that perhaps his great-grandpapa would come in on Analisa’s heels.

Still standing inside the door, her sodden clothing clinging to her, the snow melting to form a puddle on the earthen floor, Analisa met her son’s gaze intently. There was no story she could tell, no lie that would shield him from Edvard’s fate. An angel from heaven had not swooped down to carry the old man away. It would be cruel to lie to the boy when she never had before.

Slowly she unwound the shawl from around her shoulders and hung it over the bench near the fire. She pulled the balled woolen gloves from her coat pockets, straightened the fingers, and put them beside the shawl. The smell of wet wool filled the air.

“Mama?” Kase followed her to the bench, where she sat down heavily and unbuttoned her coat. She wanted to hold him when she explained. Thankful that the bodice and sleeves of her dress were still relatively dry, she shrugged her coat aside and held out her arm to him. The little boy scrambled up onto the bench, and Analisa drew him close.

“I couldn’t find Opa, Kase. I went to the shed and used the rope as a guide so I wouldn’t lose my way. I called and called, but he did not answer.”

“Were you scared?”

“A little.”

“Will Opa ever come back?”

“I don’t know, Kase. Perhaps he has found shelter and is waiting for the storm to lift.” She smoothed his forehead with her fingertips.

“Do you think he’s buried in the snow?”

“I hope not, but I’m so afraid he might be.”

The boy was silent. Analisa knew he was conjuring up scenes of Opa trapped beneath the snow, cold, frightened, dying.

“Kase.” She drew him closer and looked at him steadily, hoping to make her thoughts clear without frightening him. “Everyone—you, me, Opa, Caleb, all the other people you’ve ever known—everyone has to die someday. We learn this when we come into the world. We will die, but at our own special time. We never know when that time will come. Opa is a very old man and he’s had a very long, good life. Perhaps his time to die was today.”

“Did it hurt Opa to die?”

“If he is dead, I’m sure he simply drifted off to sleep in the snow.”