Sunflower (42 page)

Analisa caught her breath. The quiet village she’d last seen in the darkness now rivaled an ant colony for activity. Paths worn in the grass between the hide dwellings were filled with busy figures of men and women passing to and fro. Packs of children ran about, darting and hiding between the trees that grew along the riverbank. If she listened intently, Analisa discovered she could hear their laughter above the rushing water. She found she was much closer than she had anticipated. The darkness had been deceiving. Dropping her head, she rested her cheek against her forearm and swallowed nervously. She could smell the fresh grass, the pungent scent released by the blades bent beneath her weight. She took a deep breath, fought to still her hammering heart, and raised her head for another look.

Nowhere did she see anyone who resembled Caleb. For that matter, she did not see anyone who might have been white. It dawned on her that Hardy and Zach might have lied to her about the white captives ... but for what reason?

Analisa began to damn her own impulsiveness, wondering if perhaps she had the wrong camp, assailed with the fear that she would never find her way back to Fort Sully. Then her eyes were drawn to a pair of figures that emerged from one of the dwellings near the river. She pulled herself forward with her elbows in order to get a better view, sliding her stomach along the new grass. Only a deep-seated appreciation of the danger she was in kept her from calling out to the girl she saw below. Could it be? she wondered as her heart rattled inside her breast. Strolling along with carefree strides was a young blond woman who stood at least a head taller than the Indian girl beside her. Even across the distance that separated her from the women, Analisa could see the fine white line of the blond girl’s scalp where her hair had been parted into two even braids. They hung down her back, swinging gracefully with every step.

The girl faced the river, her back to Analisa. She found herself wishing the blonde would turn around and look her way, but then Analisa realized the distance was too great. She would never be able to make out the other woman’s features.

Analisa scanned the sides of the bluff in every direction until she found exactly the formation she sought. A crevice was eroded into the walls of the bluff. Further inspection proved it was negotiable. Before she could hesitate and perhaps change her mind, she sat down and slid forward toward the opening. Stretching the toes of her dusty high-top shoes as far forward as she was able, Analisa finally connected with the closest boulder and then lowered herself with her arms until she stood securely on the first step down toward the valley floor.

Rock by rock she worked her way down, alternately crawling and sliding, always remembering to drag the old hickory-stock gun along with her. Her shaking limbs forced her to make frequent stops, and she realized with dismay how quickly she had grown weak from lack of strenuous work. Silently she berated herself for her lack of strength and made a promise that once she was out of this predicament and safely home she would plant herself a garden behind the house even over the objections of Caleb and the entire U.S. Army.

When she reached the valley, Analisa paused to catch her breath and look around. The crevice yawned wide in the face of the hill behind her. For a moment she wondered how she had managed to get down, shaking aside the dismal thought that she might not succeed in climbing back up should she be forced to escape that way with Meika. If the girl she saw
was
Meika.
Go forward,
Analisa warned herself;
never look back.
What was it Ruth had said? She would succeed at whatever she tried today. Analisa held to her friend’s encouraging words and prayed the stars told the truth.

She found herself near the eastern end of the valley, on the village side of the wide, gently flowing stream that fed into the Missouri. Not far away was a well-worn path that led to the water’s edge. Analisa crouched down among the brush that lined the bank of the stream and waited, hoping that she would be able to move toward the camp once evening cast shadows across the land. Long moments passed before the sound of voices drew her attention to the nearby pathway. She took a deep breath and held it, scrunching herself farther back into the bushes, waiting. She felt the blood pulsing along the veins in her neck, urged on by the pounding tattoo of her heart. Wide-eyed, she watched as two, then three Sioux women chatted amiably together and dipped their water containers into the stream.

Although she was close enough to hear some of their words, she was unable to understand any of the lilting language. Their laughter and gentle gestures were universal though, and in seconds Analisa felt herself relax as she watched them, her perilous position all but forgotten. It seemed to be the time of day when all the women gathered water from the stream. Would the white girl be allowed to do so? Would she be alone?

Nearly twenty women had come and gone. From her vantage point Analisa noted every detail of their dress and habits. The women all wore simple dresses fashioned of hides. Curious about the beautiful materials, she wondered how they had cured and tanned the hides to achieve so soft a texture. The basic pattern of the clothing was a straight-seamed sheath, cut wider at the shoulders to provide for the sleeves. None of the women wore cloth dresses, although many had adornments, which surprised Analisa. Scraps of velvet had been sewn into pouches. Calico strips bound their braids. While there were a few items that hinted at contact with the whites, the women adorned themselves with natural fibers and animal skins.

She’d relaxed her position, slipping out of her wary crouch to sit amid the brush. Analisa rested her head on her arms for a moment and longed to stretch, hoping it would not be long before she could stand and make her way closer to the dwellings. The women were fewer in number now, most having collected their water, exchanged greetings, and departed.

More voices called out along the trail, and Analisa looked up. She swallowed, choking back a cry, and felt her eyes flood with tears, which blinded her so that her vision wavered. Pressing her hands against her lips, she let the heavy tears scald her cheeks as she watched the tall, long-limbed blonde approach the stream beside her Sioux companion. There was no doubt: The girl was Meika.

Meika. No longer a child of twelve, but a beautiful young woman of seventeen. No longer the little sister Analisa remembered, but Meika nonetheless. Her hair was white-blond, fairer even than Analisa’s. The girl’s complexion glowed a deep honey gold, attesting to her outdoor life. Her eyebrows were stark white arches above her nearly translucent blue eyes. She was dressed identically to the others except that she wore a decorative beaded headband.

So stunned was Analisa that it was a while before she realized her sister was speaking amiably with the others, smiling and laughing with some of the women, nodding politely to others. In no way was she treated as a slave. It was as if Meika belonged with them, as if they were her friends.

Analisa slowly, carefully returned to a crouch, never taking her eyes off of Meika. She gauged the time it would take her sister to dip the soft skin bag into the stream. There might never be another opportunity to locate her among the crowded dwellings that resembled one another so closely. She seemed to be accepted by the others, so perhaps there was no need for fear. Determined to step forward and call out to her, Analisa reached out and touched the pliant limbs of a low shrub. Surely, with so few women near the stream now, she was in little danger of attack.

Go. Go now.
Analisa tried to summon the courage to step out from her hiding place and reveal herself to her sister. Two of the women walked away, one of them so stout that she was forced to walk alone along the pathway behind her companion. Only Meika and her friend were left beside the stream. The sun had slipped behind the ridge high above them, throwing the valley into cool shadows. The stream bubbled past, rippling over the rocks, swirling in and out of the tufts of grass growing along the bank. All was quiet. In the village, the sounds of life and smells of cooking filled the air and wafted toward the stream. It was an idyllic setting, one that lured Analisa, urging her to act.

“Forgive me, Caleb.” She whispered the thought aloud and then straightened. Pushing aside the surrounding brush with her forearm, Analisa stepped out from her hiding place and moved toward the two girls beside the stream.

Analisa hoped the two women would not look up until she was near enough for Meika to recognize her. Slowly, quietly, she edged toward them, careful not to lose her footing on the damp grass near the water’s edge. Stepping forward, intent on the women by the stream, Analisa did not feel the loose gravel beneath her heel until it was too late. The sole of her shoe slid across the smooth, wet pebbles, and her left leg shot out from under her. Quickly she regained her balance just short of a fall, but not swiftly enough, for the sound of her shoe scraping across the pebbles alerted the two young women, and they turned in unison toward Analisa. For a moment all three stood frozen, staring across the short distance that separated them.

Analisa stared in disbelief at her sister. Meika’s skin fairly glowed, unlined and healthy despite her deep tan. Her cheeks were tinged pink, her eyes clear and bright. At close range Analisa could see the intricate pattern worked in beads on her headband. As Analisa looked on, neither of the others moved, but stood silent, ready for flight, as they assessed her.

“Meika, it’s me. It’s Anja,” she said in Dutch.

Analisa extended her hand toward her sister and felt her heart rushing in her ears. She watched as Meika shook her head in confusion and then, without looking at the girl beside her, issued orders to the startled Sioux. The water skin slipped from the Indian girl’s hand to lie forgotten on the ground, its contents soaking the trampled grass at Meika’s feet while her companion backed away from the scene. With a last, uncertain look in Meika’s direction, the Indian girl turned and bolted toward the settlement.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve frightened your friend.” Analisa continued to speak to her sister, all the while reaching down to place the gun on the ground. She then moved forward unarmed, her palms open, arms wide and pleading. “Meika, don’t you know me? What have they done to you?” The Dutch words seemed to have no effect on the girl.

Analisa’s vision blurred, and her sister’s image wavered as her own eyes filled with tears. The warm droplets soon spilled over her lower lashes to course down her cheeks. She had waited so long, held such hope of finding Meika and Pieter. What had these people done to her sister to cause her to forget her past? Analisa stepped forward, her tears forgotten as they continued to pour down her cheeks. She brushed her hair back and continued to move toward Meika, never taking her eyes off of her sister’s face. The girl stood as if turned to stone as she stared back at Analisa.

“I have no gun.” Analisa’s words were a hurried whisper in Dutch. She could only hope, she was making sense. Her heart continued to pound, and her tongue no longer seemed to fit inside her dry mouth. “Come with me, Meika. Quickly. I have come to take you home.”

The younger girl placed her right hand protectively above her heart and began to back away from Analisa who had slowly closed the distance between them. Meika shook her head, as if to deny Analisa’s presence, or the reality of what she was seeing.

“Komop,
Meika. Come.”

“Nee.”

As the girl shook her head to emphasize her answer, Analisa felt her heart soar.
Nee.
The simple denial spoken in Dutch erased every trace of doubt from her mind. She’d found her. She’d found Meika.

Close enough now to reach out and touch her sister, Analisa made an attempt to grab the girl’s hand but felt her own arms suddenly grasped from behind. Her wrists were forcefully brought together and bound so tightly that the leather thongs cut into her skin. She tried to writhe away from her captors, but only succeeded in causing her captor to grip her upper arms even tighter. Fingers cut into her flesh like steel bands.

“Meika ... why?
Why?”

Twisting and kicking out at her captors, Analisa craned her neck to look over her shoulder. Two half-naked Sioux men held her firmly, their eyes hooded, their faces immobile masks. Before she was able to speak to her sister again, Analisa found herself carried along between the two tall men, her feet barely touching the ground as they hurried her toward the encampment. She turned in a frantic attempt to call out to Meika and was rewarded by a resounding slap that snapped her head back around.

Stay calm. Caleb is here somewhere. You are safe.
Her mind chanted the litany over and over as the two silent men pushed her along the narrow path toward the center of the village. All around her people gathered. Most stood silent, content to stare, while others shouted at her. She recognized the angry tone and somewhere in the back of her mind realized that insults must be universal. A sea of brown seemed to ebb and flow around her as she was jostled through the growing crowd. Hides adorned the Sioux’s bodies. Their dark eyes, some almost coal black, bored into her. Shining black hair hung long about their shoulders. Analisa felt the darkness closing in on her. How had Meika survived it for so long? Nothing was familiar. Nothing was safe. The old panic returned, and Analisa fought against the iron grip of her captors. One man now stood on either side of her, holding on to her upper arms, forcing her to stand at attention between them.

Analisa stared at the crowd, searching frantically for Caleb. Surely he would step forward and explain. Wouldn’t he? Somehow, as her mind raced ahead and her pulse pounded along her veins, she realized he might be waiting in order to conceal his own identity a while longer. She must trust in his judgment. If she had only listened to him in the first place, she would not be here now.

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.