Sunflower (7 page)

As his anger ebbed, the pain behind his eyes returned and his head ached. He regretted his harsh words, but he regretted even more the look he saw in Kase’s eyes before the boy cast his gaze toward the ground. Silently, Kase walked past Caleb, his small shoulders slumped, his head bowed, unwilling to meet the man’s eyes as his feet scuffed the dirt.

“Listen, Kase—damn!” The boy had disappeared around the corner of the house, and Caleb Storm, his anger spent, was left to finish his shave, no longer feeling quite as tall as he had moments before.

Inside, Analisa tried to ignore Kase, who sulked in the rocker. She took up her scissors and ruthlessly cut into Clara Heusinkveld’s emerald cloth with a vengeance, wishing the fabric were Caleb Storm’s hide or, better yet, his heart. She was convinced that would break the scissors, for his heart was surely made of stone. Analisa soon realized that in such an agitated state she might ruin the cloth beyond repair. Carefully, she put down her scissors and began to fold the pieces of cloth. She started with the larger sections of material, taking care not to dislodge the paper pattern pinned to the silk. It had taken the better part of the afternoon to sketch the pieces and then enlarge them in proportion to Clara Heusinkveld’s size. Tomorrow would be a better time to cut out the rest of the material, she decided, after
he
was gone and she was in control of her anger.

First she folded the large panels that would be sewn together to form the skirt. Then she placed the smaller pattern pieces —the bodice, sleeves, collar, and cuffs—together and wrapped them inside the large uncut portion of material. She rewrapped the entire stack in butcher’s paper to keep it clean and placed the bundle carefully on top of the organ. Behind her, the door opened and closed. Analisa stiffened, somehow knowing it was not Opa who entered, but him. Caleb Storm.

She kept her back to him and listened to the sound of his movements. He apparently chose to ignore her, and Kase as well. When the sound of his footsteps ceased, Analisa turned around slowly. Caleb stood beside her bed, his folded clothes in his hands as he stared out the window into the late afternoon light.

“I’m sorry about what I said out there.” His words were clipped and awkward, as if the apology did not come easily. When she failed to answer him, he turned to face her. A darkness shadowed his eyes as they met Analisa’s. He glanced at Kase. The boy was watching him silently from the rocker, his knees drawn protectively against his chest. His high-top laced boots, scuffed and covered with dust, rested on the oak seat of the chair, an offense Caleb knew Analisa would not tolerate in other circumstances.

“Go outside for a few minutes, Kase. I’d like to talk to your mama alone.”

The child looked to his mother for permission. At her slight nod, Kase stood up. He slipped from the room while Caleb and Analisa faced each other silently.

“I meant what I said,” Caleb began again, stepping toward Analisa, her look of discomfort checking his movement. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I had no reason to talk that way in front of the boy. It isn’t the way I wanted to repay you for your kindness. You didn’t have to save my life, but you did. Everything I own was on that horse when I rode in—my rifle, savings, clothes, everything. You could have robbed me, left me to die ... but you didn’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Caleb ignored her. “I’d like to stay for a while and help around here, to pay you back for your kindness. There’s plenty of repair work to be done, chores that your grandfather can’t handle. I’d like to leave knowing I’ve been able to help you in some way.”

“Mr. Storm, I really don’t think—”

“I’ll be on my best behavior, Miss Van Meeteren. I promise to keep my clothes on, too.” A slow smile spread across his face, erasing the concern she had seen shadowing his eyes. Clean-shaven, with his thick hair still damp and swept back away from his face at forehead and temples, Caleb Storm’s rugged handsomeness was suddenly all too apparent to Analisa. She realized as she stood gauging the depth of his sincerity, that she had not thought of him as handsome, at least not in the way she judged other men. Caleb Storm’s dark hair and the cinnamon cast of his skin only enhanced his strong features. His deep blue eyes added mystery to the man. People would always wonder what manner of a man he was, where he was from. He was so very unlike the other handsome men Analisa had known—the blond, ruddy-skinned Dutchmen of her family, and the other immigrants who had traveled with them on the journey west. Although Caleb Storm was the opposite of those men, she was drawn to him, to this shadowy stranger who’d ridden into her life as storm clouds gathered.

Hypnotized by his steady blue stare, Analisa relaxed her guard slightly, shining her weight as she placed one hand on the organ.

“I don’t often apologize.” He smiled again and waited for her response.

“I can tell that you don’t, Mr. Storm. It seems a very hard thing for you to do.” She took a deep breath and continued, “So it seems to me that I must apologize also. I did not mean to accuse you unjustly about ... about undressing in front of my son.” She felt her face flame and fought the urge to cover her cheeks with her palms. “But he is so innocent, so trusting. I’m afraid life will not be easy for Kase.”

“You can’t protect him forever, Analisa. You may do him more harm than good.”

“I will try to protect him for as long as I can.” When she looked away, lost in thought, Caleb moved toward the door.

“I’ll change into my clothes in the cow shed. I assume you’ve accepted my apology and my offer to help out?”

“Ja
—yes,” she said, immediately correcting herself. “The next two weeks will be busy for me, with Mevrou Heusinkveld’s dress to complete. Your help and your apology are accepted, Mr. Storm.”

“I’d like it if you would call me Caleb.”

She nodded, watching as Caleb Storm stepped out into the yard. As she went across the room to fill the stove with buffalo chips and scraps of wood, Analisa hoped she was not making a mistake.

Stars peppered the sky from horizon to horizon, some clustered together, others hanging alone, all sending their fiery light from distances Caleb knew he could never fathom. His mother’s people told stories about the stars, stories as old as time, as old perhaps as the stars themselves. Someday he would write the stories down, translate them from the language of the Sioux into English so as to save them for the day when the Sioux were no more. If he had the time.

He shook his head, chiding himself as he lay on the ground, his head resting on the smooth, worn leather of his saddle. He was two weeks behind schedule already, and still he stayed at the Van Meeteren home, mending fences, rebuilding the henhouse, repairing the small wagon that was little more than a cart. With each task he completed, he told himself it was time to leave, but when he tried to say good-bye to Analisa, her cornflower-blue eyes stopped him. Instead of leaving, he would hear himself telling her what project he intended to take on next.

At first Caleb had told himself he was only biding his time until he recovered from the measles, but the illness was far behind him now. Caleb knew that if he didn’t send word to Parker within a month or two, the man might become alarmed and send someone out in search of him. Soon, Caleb reminded himself for the hundredth time, he would have to move on.

The embers of the dying fire near his bedroll pulsed with what little life remained in them. Caleb watched the coals glowing red against the white ash and let his mind drift over the weeks he’d been helping Analisa. An awkward truce had existed between them during the first few days of his stay, but Caleb could sense Analisa’s increasing gratitude as he worked with Opa and Kase. He had kept the old man and the boy occupied while Analisa worked from dawn until far into the night on the green satin gown. The dress had been ready when the pompous Clara Heusinkveld arrived to pick it up. Caleb had spent the day fishing at the creek with Kase and Edvard in order to avoid the woman’s scrutiny and to spare Analisa embarrassment.

He watched a shooting star as it fell from the heavens. Behind him, the water in the creek splashed softly over the rocks and lulled him into a peaceful contentment. Caleb had been sleeping beside the stream under the cottonwoods since the day Analisa agreed he could stay to help out. He recalled their conversation after he had finally changed into his own clothes and returned to the house. When he handed the folded nightshirt to Analisa, Caleb had become aware of her scrutiny. She seemed surprised by his appearance, in a way almost wary of him. He sensed that it would be best to move out of the soddie and put her mind at ease. Now that he was up and dressed, their roles had changed. Analisa was no longer completely in control, and rather than unnerve her any further, Caleb felt it was best that he move out.

“I’ll be sleeping outdoors now. I’m sure you need the space, anyway.” He looked around for his hat and found it hanging on the wall near the window. “Where does the boy sleep?”

“He has a pallet under the bed; I pull it out at night for him.”

“So you did give up your bed for me?”

He turned and caught her glance before she lowered her lashes and studied her hands, hiding the thoughts he tried to read in her eyes.

“You needed it. I slept in the rocker.”

“One more reason for me to repay you.”

“I told you that is not necessary.”

He could see by the sudden protest that she did not wish to be beholden to him.

“It’s something I’d like to do, Analisa, not something I have to do.”

There was an awkward silence in the room while he pulled up the comforter in an attempt to straighten the bedclothes.

“I will tend to the bed. You are welcome to take your meals with us, Mr. Storm. I’m sure that you should rest for a few days until you feel stronger.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate the meals. If you don’t mind, I’d like my gun and holster back.” At her questioning look he hurried on, “I’ll keep it with my gear out back, but I would feel better knowing where I can get my hands on it.”

She walked to the trunk that served as her bedside table. After carefully setting the medicine bottles and water on the floor, she opened the lid and lifted out Caleb’s gun and the dark leather holster. As if she were carrying a live shake, Analisa crossed the room and held the gun and holster out to him at arm’s length.

“Are you afraid of guns, Analisa?”

“No, just respectful.”

“I see.”

“I’m not afraid of much anymore, Mr. Storm.” She tilted her head and raised an arched brow as she stared at him. “Do you remember anything about the night you arrived?”

“No.” He hid his puzzlement.

“I was the one who aimed a shotgun at your heart. I thought perhaps you would remember.”

“No, I can’t honestly say I do ... but I’ll keep it in mind, if that’s a warning.”

She smiled, and Caleb laughed with her. He admired her spirit, and although there was much she kept locked inside herself, he found the quiet mystery surrounding her only made her more appealing to him.

The smooth leather creaked as he shifted his head on the hard surface of the saddle. The fire had died to a low mound of glowing embers. Dawn would come early and with it another chance to talk with Analisa, to watch that quick smile light her eyes, to hear her soft laughter as she watched Kase at play.

You’d better get riding, Storm,
he mentally warned himself, knowing he would have to leave soon or he might not leave at all.

The kerosene lamp flared and sputtered, smoke trailing up the glass chimney. Analisa folded the material she’d been stitching and extinguished the lamp. She moved through the darkened room to the window and glanced out at the quiet yard. Nothing moved in the darkness beyond the glass panes. In one corner of the room, Opa snored softly. Analisa rolled her head from side to side, kneading the tight muscles at the base of her neck.

Since Caleb had begun helping with the outdoor work, she was able to devote more time to the sewing orders she received, happy to relegate the farming tasks to his capable hands. It would be difficult to adjust when he left and she was forced to resume the chores. Analisa was surprised at how much the man had accomplished in so little time. He’d set Kase and Opa working at jobs Analisa had always done herself for fear that the boy and the old man would find them too taxing. She quickly learned that Kase was more than capable of gathering eggs and weeding the garden. Kase’s attention often drifted from the task at hand, but Caleb praised him for the work he accomplished and taught him how to do a fairly good job. Although Edvard could not understand much of what Caleb said, the two men were able to work side by side, making their wishes known to each other.

Analisa moved closer to her bed and reached across Kase, who was sound asleep on his pallet on the floor. She changed into her nightgown, then stepped carefully over the sleeping boy and climbed into bed.

Stars burned in the heavens outside her window. Analisa lay awake, watching them hanging against the midnight sky. She felt too exhausted to sleep. It was strange, she thought, how quickly she fell asleep after working outside, while sewing all day only led to cramped shoulders and restlessness. Closing her weary eyes, she shut out the sight of the star-spattered sky and tried to relax, but sleep did not come. Instead, somewhere between sleep and full consciousness, the nightmares began to appear in her mind, scenes from the past that Analisa could not forget. Her memory would not let go of them. She often managed to live for weeks at peace, but then suddenly the memories would return to tear apart all of her well-constructed defenses.

Suddenly she saw them all again: Jan, his body twisted in death, his blood soaking the ground; Papa, staring with unseeing eyes into the blue prairie sky; Meika, screaming for Analisa’s help before dark hands reached into the wagon bed to carry the girl away; and little Pieter, only eight years old, eyes wide with fear as he sat on a racing pony, held in the grip of his captor.

Her heart began to pound as the scenes flashed rapidly behind her shuttered eyes. The sight of the dark man standing over her in the wagon bed, the feel of his rough hands as they tore at her clothes, the sound of her own cries, harsh and shrill, reverberated through her mind until finally she could almost feel the white-hot searing pain of the knife that slid into her flesh when he was through with her body. Her struggling had saved her life, but the blade had grazed her ribs, leaving the crescent-shaped slash that curled down from her right breast almost to her waist.