Sunflower (15 page)

She watched the man’s open features as he stood next to her, a figure wrapped in dark, heavy clothing, a stark contrast against the bright blue winter sky. The land all around them was vast and white with snow. Analisa suddenly felt small and insignificant, lost against the wide horizon, blue meeting white where the sky dipped to the earth, surrounding them in every direction. She had to get away from this house, away from the terrible, stark aloneness of the open prairie, if only for a day or two.

“We will be ready.” She turned toward the soddie and then remembered to thank the quiet young man who stood watching her with such a forlorn expression. Turning back toward the minister, she reached out tentatively to shake his hand. As he closed the space between them to take her hand, she fought the tears that had welled up in her eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”

As the sleigh traveled through the snow-packed streets of Pella, Analisa and Kase huddled beneath a lap robe, surveying the town from the high seat. The late afternoon cold had driven the townsfolk indoors as the sunlight began to wane. Pella stretched out in neat straight lines on the flat, unbroken landscape, halfway between the Skunk and Des Moines rivers. Settled in 1847 by Dominie Hendrike Pieter Scholte and his congregation of eight hundred men, women, and children the town had taken root and flourished on the plains much like the precious tulip bulbs the immigrants carried with them.

Analisa watched as the sleigh slipped past houses and stores. A grand white structure, the Reverend Mr. Scholte’s two-story home, stood in quiet splendor on Washington Street, many of its windows shuttered against the cold. At the corner of First and Washington, the minister’s sleigh turned north and stopped before his own small white frame house.

The sound of their footsteps against the polished floor disturbed the serenity of Dominie Wierstra’s home. Analisa was tempted to tiptoe as she crossed the glossy oak floor in the small entry way. Hat in hand, Kase released his mother’s fingers but stayed near her side, his eyes taking in every detail of the wooden structure. The house was warmed by glowing fires in the drawing room and in the kitchen. The delicious aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through the house.

Although the house was small by town standards, built to house visiting clergymen and the assistant pastor, Analisa knew it must seem like a palace to Kase, who had never set foot inside a home other than his own. She smiled down at him reassuringly and followed Julius Wierstra into the drawing room.

“Let me take your coats, and if you’ll just have a seat, I’ll tell Mrs. Eide, my housekeeper, to serve us some coffee as soon as she can have it ready. Excuse me.” He bowed slightly, awkward and formal even in his own home.

Analisa arranged her heavy wheat-colored shawl around her shoulders and straightened the skirt of her plaid wool dress before she sat down carefully on the brocade settee opposite the fireplace. The dress had been her mother’s and was the fashion of a decade ago, with its wide full skirt and long sleeves gathered at the cuff. It was her warmest presentable winter gown. Settling Kase beside her, Analisa took in the peaceful room.

A small but ornate Belgian rug lay before the fireplace, the settee and two tall wing chairs drawn up in a comfortable grouping around it. Against the wall behind them, a tall standing clock chimed the quarter-hour and ticked away the minutes, breaking the silence in the room. Exhausted, Analisa could do little more than let her eyes wander about the room. She realized how little she’d slept since Opa’s disappearance. She was certain she would sleep soundly tonight no matter where she was.

Glancing down at Kase, she felt a tug at her heart. The little boy was sitting straight and still, his spine pressed against the firm back of the settee, his short legs straight out before him, feet dangling in space. The high tops of his boots were exposed where his pantlegs had hiked up. His sturdy garments were clean and well tailored, made by Analisa herself. Short trousers of wool, a thick flannel shirt, and a woolen jacket completed his outfit. His thick socks kept his feet warm and dry and extended to above his knees. His hair, she noticed, was sorely in need of a trim.

Kase looked quite foreign in the polished atmosphere and traditional surroundings of the minister’s house. The stiff formal furniture, fabric-covered walls, and gilt-edged books lining the bookcase served as an unlikely backdrop for her half-breed son. It was hard for Analisa to imagine him in such surroundings for long. Yet, where did he belong? Surely not in a mission on some reservation, among barely civilized nomads. Would he ever live in a world that accepted him? Analisa wished she’d been able to talk to Caleb about his own life, to ask him how he had come to terms with his heritage. For her son’s sake she should have put aside her pride and asked.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the minister’s entrance. His housekeeper and cook, Mrs. Eide, followed, carrying a large silver tray laden with fine china cups and saucers, a silver coffee service, and an assortment of turnovers. The minister drew a low table up in front of the fire, and the woman set the tray before them.

Mrs. Eide was a short, elderly woman whose figure gave testimony to her skill as a cook. Her round-collared long-sleeved dress with its row of tiny buttons down the bodice was typical of the old-country style. A full, starched white apron covered the dress front and back, allowing only the collar, sleeves, and six inches of the skirt hem to show. A tiny white cap was perched atop the woman’s thick gray curls. Her blue eyes snapped above ruddy pink cheeks as she sullenly met Analisa’s gaze. At Julius’s introduction, the woman nodded, gave Analisa a cursory “Pleased,” and, ignoring Kase entirely, swept from the room.

“Would you like to serve the coffee, Mrs. Storm?”

Julius Wierstra drew her attention away from Mrs. Eide’s rude exit, attempting to set her at ease. He smiled at Kase and extended the plate of turnovers.

“I seem to have upset your cook,” Analisa said softly, handing him a cup and saucer.

“I fail to understand the depth of the hostility these people carry.” He shook his head in puzzlement.

“I like to believe it isn’t really me they hate, Dominie; it’s what I remind them of. Nearly everyone has been hurt by an uprising, or their friends, cousins, and neighbors have. It isn’t easy for me, but I try to understand.”

“But none of it was your fault,” he argued.

“No. But I am here. I’m someone to vent their anger on.”

“You’ve quite resigned yourself to your fate, is that it?”

“What else can I do?” She shrugged.

“I don’t know if I could be so strong. What will you do now that Edvard is gone?”

Analisa was quiet, contemplating the question she had not yet asked herself.

“You could take the boy and move East, begin a new life,” he suggested. “If you need funds, I can see that you have them. Perhaps the congregation would not object to a new project for charitable work. I feel they owe it to you.”

Analisa shook her head, returning his smile, noting his slim hands as they held the porcelain cup. “Where would I go? At least here I have my sewing orders and the land around the soddie. I would not like to begin again.” She watched her son as he walked carefully on silent feet around the room, leaning close to study the books on the shelves, touch a brass paperweight in the shape of a bumblebee, and examine a small, faded daguerreotype displayed on a side table.

“And what of Kase?” she asked. “Do you think he would be any better received in the East?” She was not sure that moving would change their lives.

“I think he might, Mrs. Storm.”

Analisa was silent. She set her cup on the tray and watched the fire glow. The heat brought a flush to her cheeks.

“Is your husband due to return soon?”

Should she lie to a man of the church or tell him the truth? She didn’t know whether Caleb would return to Iowa or not. They had avoided speaking of him at all until now.

“I’m not sure when Caleb will return, Dominie. He has business in the East. He left us well provided for, in any case.” She took a sip of coffee. “I meant to tell you I will insist on paying for my grandfather’s burial.”

“We’ll speak of that later.”

The sound of the door knocker echoing in the entry hall interrupted his words. The minister excused himself and left Analisa and Kase in the drawing room while he answered the summons. Hushed whispers filled the hallway. Minutes later, Dominie Wierstra reentered the room and stood aside to admit a young woman near Analisa’s own age. The woman was a few inches shorter than Analisa and appeared to be very thin despite the thick layers of warm clothing she wore. Her gray wool coat was closely fitted to her figure and edged with fur at collar and cuffs. A pert fur hat sat at a jaunty tilt atop her thick chestnut curls. Her features were small and finely drawn—round sable eyes, a button nose, and full, pouting lips. Analisa did not recall ever having seen the young woman before.

“Analisa Van Meeteren Storm, I would like to introduce you to Sophie Allen. Sophie’s husband, Jon, was one of the men who joined in the search for your grandfather. They are new to Pella.”

“Mrs. Allen.” Analisa acknowledged the young woman, unsure of how she should react to the bright, pleasant smile lighting the young woman’s face.

“Mrs. Storm,” the woman said, “I will come right to the point. When he returned home today, my husband told me all about you and your son, as well as about your grandfather’s death. I must insist that you stay with us while you are in town. We have a large home and more than enough room.”

Overwhelmed by the girl’s invitation, Analisa’s first reaction was one of suspicion. Her feelings must have been apparent, but failed to daunt Sophie Allen. She waved away Analisa’s unspoken protest and continued.

“Oh, I know all about your past. As a matter of fact, I grew quite tired of hearing the local biddies discuss your shortcomings when I first arrived here in Pella. I’ve been dying to meet you so that I could decide for myself just what kind of a woman you are.”

“Sophie and Jon were married last summer and moved to Pella from Minnesota,” the minister interjected. “He plans to open a lumber business.”

“Yes, and I’ve yet to find a friend my own age. Please say you will stay with us, at least for the night?”

“Well ... I have my son with me.” Analisa’s gaze drifted to her son, who was now leaning over the tray of turnovers, trying to decide which one to eat. She watched for Sophie to display the usual reaction at the sight of him. Instead, the young woman sidestepped Analisa and crossed the room to kneel beside Kase.

“Hello.” Her voice was bright, beguiling. “I’m Sophie. Who are you?”

The child smiled at her, his eyes alight at having someone to talk to. The adults had been too concerned with Opa’s death to pay him much attention this day.

“I’m Kase Van Meeteren. Would you like to eat a turnover? They have some apples inside.”

“They do look good.” Sophie watched the boy as he took a bite of his second treat.

“Do you live here?” His usual curiosity forged a link between them as he talked with Sophie.

“In this house?”

Kase nodded.

“No. I live down the road. Would you like to see my home?”

“Yes.”

“You and your mother are certainly invited.” Sophie stood and moved back to where Analisa quietly watched the exchange. “Please believe me, Mrs. Storm; I am sincere. Jon and I would like to have you and your son stay with us for as long as you like. I would appreciate your company.”

Wanting to believe in the warmth she saw in the girl’s dark eyes, Analisa looked to Julius Wierstra for his advice.

“Would you like to, Analisa?” She noticed the minister used her first name.

Daring to hope that she and this enchanting girl could become friends, Analisa nodded to Sophie and was rewarded with a-cry of delight.

Washington, D.C., December 1870

A whistle shrilled, and as the train began to pull away from the station, Caleb took a last look out of the window at the nation’s capital. A dense sleet was falling, but the frozen mass melted when it hit the ground, and was churned to a thick brown slush by the grinding wheels of the street traffic. He was glad to be out of the foul weather and more than glad to be out of the muck and mire of Washington politics. Choosing to sit in a section of vacant seats, Caleb stretched his long legs beneath the seat opposite him. The brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes, he slouched low and rested the back of his head against the padded seat, pretending to sleep. Now that his report had been delivered and his plans laid for a return trip to the West, Caleb planned to spend the last few weeks of his leave visiting his home in Boston.

The months he’d spent in Washington had been filled with long, tedious meetings and endless social obligations. He recalled the way his freedom had come to an end as soon as he had arrived in the capital, and headed directly to Parker’s office to file his report. At least Ely Parker’s welcome had been genuine.

“Caleb! I’m relieved to see you’ve finally returned.” Reaching out to pump Caleb’s hand, the tall full-blooded Seneca rounded his massive cherry wood desk, which was strewn with files and ink-covered pages. Parker’s dark copper-colored skin was deeply creased about the eyes from many years of exposure to the sun. Although only ten years Caleb’s senior, he seemed to have aged rapidly in the few months while Caleb was on assignment in the Indian territory.