Sunflower (9 page)

“Please,” Analisa interrupted, “sit down, everyone. I have some coffee ready, and some cookies if you’d like.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do outside.” Seeing his chance to escape, Caleb stepped toward the open doorway, nodding to the group as a whole.

“Just a moment,. Mr. Storm.” Mevrou Heusinkveld’s voice sounded shrill and authoritative in the small room. “Actually, you’re the reason Dominie Wierstra and I have come to speak to Analisa. Perhaps it would be best for you to stay.” She sent an encouraging look in young Dominie Wierstra’s direction, forcing him to speak.

“Yes. Please stay, Mr. Storm. I hope that this will only take a few moments of your time.” His words were almost an appeal for Caleb’s understanding.

Mrs. Heusinkveld sat beside the young minister on one side of the table while Edvard took a seat on the bench across from them, speaking to the man in rapid Dutch, eager to glean what news he could of Pella. Caleb chose to remain standing, his hips leaning against the tall wooden workbench, his legs crossed at the ankles.

“Kase, please leave us,” Analisa commanded the boy as he began to climb onto the bench beside Edvard.

Starting to protest, Kase looked to Caleb for support.

“Run outside and check Scorpio.” Caleb spoke softly to the boy. “Be sure he has feed and water. Can you do that for me? We’ll save you some cookies.”

As Kase scampered away, happy to do Caleb’s bidding, Analisa noticed the smug look Mevrou Heusinkveld exchanged with the minister.

While Dominie Wierstra and Edvard continued their conversation, Analisa set out cups and saucers and a plate of cookies. Caleb watched in silence, noting Analisa’s high color and the rigid set of her shoulders as she avoided the eyes of the young minister. She eased herself quietly onto the bench beside her grandfather as if she hoped to remain unnoticed.

Apparently unable to stand Analisa’s silence, Clara Heusinkveld drew herself nearer the table, straightening her spine and raising her ample breasts, looking ready to do battle.

“Analisa, I think we should come right to the point of our visit.” Clara’s blue eyes flashed a challenge as they bored into Analisa’s. “I informed Dominie Wierstra of the fact that you had a man living here with you, and ... well, he felt it was his duty to investigate the situation. Naturally, the church community is concerned that you may be in need of guidance, if not protection.” She risked a quick glance at Caleb, who was standing in ominous silence behind her, his arms now crossed over his chest. “As an unmarried woman, Analisa, you must be fully conscious of the circumstances you place yourself in, even though you do not live within the confines of the
dorp.”

As Mrs. Heusinkveld continued speaking, she seemed unaware of the angry set to Analisa’s tense posture and the ice-blue glint in her eyes. The minister sat in silence beside Mevrou Heusinkveld, allowing her full rein, his pale face flushed to the hairline with embarrassment as the woman carried on.

“Katrine Oldorph came directly to me last week after she had driven out here to order a new gown from you, and I can tell you very honestly that she was in quite a state. She told me that the stranger you had taken in was still here. That was quite a surprise to me, Analisa, since you had told me he’d be leaving as soon as he was able, and quite a startling surprise to her as well. Katrine, like myself, noticed the striking likeness between your ... your friend, Mr. Storm, and your son. Naturally, the conclusion one
might
draw is that perhaps he is someone you knew in the East, someone you met on the journey to Iowa. We feel it is possible that your son might not be, as you claimed, the product of the attack on your family, but of your previous
knowledge
of this man.”

“Mevrou Heusink—” Analisa began to protest but the older woman raised her hand dramatically in a signal for silence.

“Please allow me to finish, Analisa. Your grandfather is too old and feeble to protest your shocking behavior. He is probably not even aware of what is going on around him anymore. It is a sorry state of affairs here, I can see that, what with you refusing to give up the boy and then taking in this—”

“Excuse me, Mevrou Heusinkveld, if I may.” Dominie Wierstra turned politely to the now sweating matron. He spoke in soft unaccented English, returning his gaze to Analisa, who continued to sit in stunned silence.

“Miss Van Meeteren,” the young man began, “I realize that I have not met you until now, and so whatever facts I’ve gained have come to me secondhand, but since there has been quite a bit of talk in town lately, I felt it best to accompany Mevrou Heusinkveld here and speak with you personally. Our only concern is to stop the gossip already circulating among the townspeople.”

He paused. Analisa nodded in understanding, and the young man continued.

“I am sure you have a perfectly good explanation for Mr. Storm’s continuing presence in your home?”

The question hung in the air as Analisa stared into the minister’s pale blue-green eyes, trying to collect her scattered thoughts. She could feel Caleb’s anger from across the room, but she spared him not even a glance as she laced her trembling fingers together beneath the table. Facing the young minister squarely, she met his gaze and spoke in a strong, even voice that belied the turmoil seething below her cool surface.

“Yes, Dominie, it is true you never came to visit my grandfather properly as head of this household. I’m glad he cannot follow our conversation, for he would have asked you to leave before now. As you say, you know little of the circumstances surrounding my family, at least as I would explain them to you, but I realize you have been given a thorough accounting by Mevrou Heusinkveld and the other ladies of the congregation. You have been told that I am unmarried and have a four-year-old son. I’m certain you were informed of the circumstances surrounding his birth?”

Forced to answer her question the minister only nodded.

“Yes. I can see by your embarrassment that you have learned my son is half Indian, a half-breed as such children are called. I was attacked and left for dead in a raid that took the lives of my father and older brother, left my mother unbalanced, and saw my younger sister and brother taken captive.”

“Miss Van Meeteren, you need not—”

“Oh, yes, Dominie,” she interrupted, shooting a cold glance in Clara Heusinkveld’s direction, “I need to explain, obviously, once more. Following the attack, the people of Pella gave us this abandoned soddie to live in and offered us ways to earn a meager living.

“My sin was that I lived after the attack, although no one had expected me to recover. I found I was carrying a child. At first I wished I had died at the hands of the murderers, but I lived and took care of Opa and my mother. She lived for two years, a helpless, mindless soul.

“When Kase was born, the people of Pella urged me to send him away to be raised on a reservation. They wanted him elsewhere so that they would not have to be faced with a child of mixed blood, a child born not of love but of rape and murder. My second sin is that I refused.

“We live apart from the community, and we ask for nothing, except to be left alone. For that reason I will not explain Mr. Storm’s presence in my home, nor will I defend my action in taking him in. Let the good people of Pella think what they will.” Analisa rose and stared down at Clara Heusinkveld and the minister.

“Miss Van Meeteren, please.” The minister stood as well, tugging on the rumpled sleeves of his black coat and then running a finger around his stiff white collar. “I agree that the circumstances were not of your making, but the Lord has afforded you a chance to make up for the past. You must remember that you are, and always will be, subject to public criticism. Such is the nature of humanity. I’m sure that Mr. Storm”—he nodded in Caleb’s direction—“understands that his presence here is but another smear against your name. Surely now he will be more than willing to—”

“That is beside the point, Dominie Wierstra. I am free to choose whom I will shelter under my roof. Mr. Storm is here at my invitation and welcome to stay for as long as he cares to.”

“You see?” Clara Heusinkveld exploded, her cheeks flaring with color, her jowls shaking above the wattles of her neck. A purple satin bow tied beneath her chin held a bobbing ruffle-edged hat on her head. An amethyst brooch glittered against the stiff bodice of her gown.

Unable to stand any more of the scene unfolding before him, Caleb pushed his dark-clad form away from the workbench and stepped forward. He moved to stand behind Analisa’s rigid form and placed a hand on her shoulder. Analisa was too angry to protest the familiarity of the action.

Caleb looked steadily at the younger man, ignoring the matron. “I would ask the privilege of speaking for myself. Your accusations against Miss Van Meeteren are quite unfounded. They are as offensive to me as they are to her. If this were my home, I would have shown you the door long ago.”

The two townspeople sat listening to the tall man who spoke to them with such aristocratic grace. The contrast between his rough appearance and his polished eloquence served to confound the listeners. He was dressed like a cowhand, and yet he spoke like an educated leader of men. His blue-black hair accented the brilliant sky blue of his eyes, eyes that now sparked with stubborn pride and anger, and his lips were set in a firm line.

Caleb could feel Analisa trembling beneath his fingertips as he gripped her shoulder. He’d listened in stunned silence as she spoke of the outrage committed against her. In his mind he saw her as she must have been before the attack, an innocent young woman, a stranger in a strange land. Anger shook him as he heard the exchange between Analisa and the two self-righteous hypocrites who proclaimed themselves God-fearing Christians. He wanted to lash out against them, to watch them suffer pain as deep as that they so callously inflicted upon Analisa. The unfairness of her situation had troubled him all along, and now that he knew the details of Analisa’s past, Caleb was moved by an emotion more intense than any he had ever experienced.

Staring at the stunned listeners, he spoke in quiet, menacing tones. His gut-churning anger drew him out of himself, and it seemed to Caleb he was watching the scene act itself out, watching himself, unaware of what his words would be until they were spoken.

“This woman has more forgiveness in her than your entire congregation. She has more faith in God and herself, more love for her fellowman than all of you rolled into one. Analisa could have cast her son away as you asked her to, left her grandfather here alone, and moved on to begin again, but she didn’t. She chose to stay and give of herself. I, too, was a recipient of her kindness. She took me in.” He paused in order to emphasize his next words. “I was a total stranger, and yet she saw me through my illness. I believe the lady has defended herself to you for the last time. You are welcome to leave now, and if you feel a need to report to the congregation, tell them that Analisa Van Meeteren has no further need of your meddling ‘protection,’ as you like to call it. She does not need it,” he added curtly, “because she has agreed to become my wife, and I take care of my own.”

Attempting to rise and protest, Analisa found her progress hampered by the force of Caleb’s hand pressing down on her shoulder. His fingers were nearly embedded beneath her collarbone, his terse announcement echoing in her mind. Wife?
His
wife? What was the man thinking of? Surely he had spoken in anger and haste. He had only wished to defend her before Mrs. Heusinkveld and the minister. He could not possibly have meant those words.

Clara needed only to glance at Analisa’s shocked expression to guess correctly that the man, Storm, had spoken in haste. She would force his hand to get to the truth of the matter.

“Then it is quite lucky we arrived, is it not, Dominie Wierstra, to set matters aright? Analisa would not be permitted a church ceremony under the circumstances, so you can marry them this morning, right here in her home.” The older woman glanced slyly at Analisa and was rewarded in her efforts to uncover the deception when the girl began to protest.

“I—that is, we—” Analisa met Caleb’s eyes with a haunted expression that all but begged him to save her from the awkward situation.

“We’d be delighted. If we could have a moment alone ...” Caleb’s voice expressed many emotions, the least of which was delight.

Relieved, the minister grasped Clara Heusinkveld’s plump elbow and began to walk her toward the door. “We’ll wait outdoors for a few moments while you gather your thoughts before the ceremony.” Before the older woman could speak, adding any further to the strained atmosphere in the room, he had propelled her through the doorway.

For a moment, Analisa was tempted to cradle her head in her arms and sob, but she collected herself and stood on trembling legs when Caleb released her shoulder. Without sparing a glance in his direction, yet painfully aware of his rigid presence behind her, she moved to speak softly to her grandfather, explaining to him that she wished to speak to Caleb alone. Analisa then ushered Edvard outside, fully aware of the damage the others might do when they told him what had been discussed. There was nothing she could do to prevent it. For now, she needed to face Caleb.