Sunflower (14 page)

They sat quietly for a time, Analisa’s arms about her son, her cheek resting against his glossy black hair. Absently, she rocked him back and forth as she’d done so many times when he was a baby.

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t die.”

His words were a soft whisper in the room. She squeezed him tight and gave him the only answer that would suffice and, in doing so, prayed that nothing would befall her before he was old enough to care for himself, for there was no one else left.

“I won’t.”

In the middle of the long night Analisa, lying awake in her bed, heard Kase moving restlessly on his pallet beside her. A thick comforter kept him warm, and she had seen to it that his bed was dry and free from the bone-chilling cold. She listened for a few moments before she whispered to him in the darkness, “Are you awake, Kase?”

He answered immediately. “Mama, may I get into bed with you?”

“Ja.”

Kase scrambled into Analisa’s bed, snuggling against her protective warmth. Their minds were intent on the man lost somewhere beyond the safety of the sod walls.

“I wish Caleb was here.” It was the hundredth time in the past two months the boy had wished for Caleb. How the man had created such a bond between himself and her son she could not fathom, but then, hadn’t Caleb carved himself a place in her own heart as well? She, too, wished Caleb were here, for even if he could have done nothing to save Opa from his fate, his presence would have offered them consolation.

“I know,” she whispered to Kase, covering them with her comforter, “but he’s not here, and he may never come back. We can take care of ourselves.”

By morning the storm had lifted. Dazzling snow reflected the sun’s brilliance as it shone in an unclouded aquamarine sky. The air was crisp with cold, and as far as the eye could see, the ground lay shrouded in white. Mile upon mile of gently rolling, sparkling landscape surrounded the soddie. Analisa and Kase arose early, thoughts of their missing grandfather having plagued their rest. Snow reached halfway up the cabin door, and the better part of the morning passed as Analisa shoveled and tossed the thick mass up and over the banks she created as she carved out a path. Exhausted by midafternoon, she realized the futility of searching for Edvard now. She would have to wait until some of the snow had melted.

She set Kase to work sweeping an already clean floor and then resorted to having him help her make an apple pie. As she worked, adding spices to apples dried earlier in the fall, Kase rolled and rerolled his portion of pie dough on the floured surface of the table. Once he tired of rolling and reshaping the dough, he cut it into various shapes with tin cookie cutters and sprinkled them with cinnamon and sugar. The treats made of excess dough were always a favorite.

Occasionally he would glance toward Opa’s bed in the corner near the stove and cease his chatter, his eyes meeting Analisa’s own, his brows knit in worry. She wondered, as she watched the movements of his sturdy, capable brown hands, if he at all resembled the man who had fathered him. Perhaps only his coloring came from the Sioux? His features could belong to a distant relative of hers. And yet, she argued with herself, he looked so like Caleb, who was of Indian blood himself, that Kase must have inherited his features from the man who fathered him. It mattered little, she told herself, because no matter who the boy favored, he was her flesh and blood and she loved him beyond a doubt.

The first day after the storm passed into the second and then the third. Finally the earth began to warm gradually and the crust that had formed atop the settling snow began to soften. Analisa wrapped herself once again in her heaviest clothes, this time donning Jan’s long-legged underwear and trousers before she tramped about in the snow in the yard. Kase was bundled to the ears, unwilling to stay indoors and needing his time outside in the fresh air and sunlight. She allowed him to roam the short path she had made outside the door and to roll and play in the well-packed snow near the soddie. Analisa supplied Tulip-the-Ox and Honey with feed for the next week and piled more hay near the shed. She sank the edge of the shovel into the snow behind the soddie, methodically testing the ground inch by inch in her search for Opa. In her heart she dreaded finding him, but also knew that she must continue the search until she did.

It was thus Dominie Julius Wierstra found her as he made his way into the yard driving a sleigh pulled by a heavy-sided draft horse. She heard the merry sound of the sleighbells before he was near the front of the property, and so stopped her search to stand with Kase at the gate to meet him. They followed the sleigh into the yard and watched as the young assistant pastor jumped down from the high seat.

“Welcome, Dominie Wierstra.”

“Analisa.” He nodded politely to her and then looked to the boy. “And this is Kase, isn’t it? I was out traveling the road to see how the folks on the outlying homesteads weathered the storm. The roads have been quite impassable for the last three days, so I had to wait until the snow became packed a bit before I set out. You came through the storm without mishap?”

Analisa noted that he had not inquired about Caleb and wondered if word of her husband’s absence had been reported in the village.

“My grandfather is missing.”

There was no subtle way to tell the man, but Analisa saw by his reaction to her words that he must think her unmoved.

“What? Surely not, Mrs. Storm.”

“He went out the day of the blizzard and didn’t return. I searched for him until I feared that I, too, would be lost. This is the first day I have been able to get across the snow to continue searching.”

“Where is your husband? Shouldn’t he be helping you?” The man’s gaze registered her appearance. Her face was flushed with the effects of the sharp air and the sun reflecting off of the snow, her eyes a brilliant blue above the ruddy cheeks. Tendrils of yellow-gold hair escaped her tightly wound scarf, framing her face and creating an innocent, appealing air.

“Caleb is away on a business trip to the East. I’m not sure when he will return.”

Or if he will return,
the man thought to himself. He’d long ago regretted letting Clara Heusinkveld push him into marrying Analisa and Storm. Mrs. Heusinkveld and her gaggle of biddies were overly concerned with the morals of other people, but the pastor would not let him ignore one of the
dorp’s
most generous contributors to the church.

“Do you have any idea where Edvard might be?” he asked.

“If I did, Dominie Wierstra, I would have found him by now.”

“Yes. Well ...” How was it this young woman could make him feel so inept? Her ice-blue eyes did not waver as she continued.

“He is lost somewhere within the yard. I think he must have become disoriented by the storm on his way in from the outhouse.”

The minister blushed red to the roots of his hair, and Analisa looked away to avoid his embarrassment. Caleb, no doubt, would have laughed aloud at the man’s discomfort over the mere mention of the outhouse.

“Miss Van Meeteren—that is, Mrs. Storm—I can’t let you go on searching for your grandfather alone. He is entitled to a Christian burial, and I will brook no interference from the townspeople on this score. I’m returning to Pella at once to organize the men to accompany me out here to search for Edvard. We have ignored your plight for far too long.”

“Dominie Wierstra—” She started to object, then stopped as she thought of her grandfather’s body lying somewhere beneath the snow. This was no time to let stubborn pride stand in the way. “That would be most welcome help. My father, mother, and older brother are buried in the cemetery in Pella. I know that Opa would be content to lie beside them.”

“Then I’ll be on my way and will return as soon as I can gather the men.”

“Would you like some hot coffee first, perhaps some breakfast?”

“No. I needn’t waste the time. Perhaps you will have food ready for the men when they arrive?”

Analisa nodded in agreement and stood aside as he mounted the sled again and turned the heavy horse back toward the gate. She watched as the snow packed itself under the runners.

It was two hours before the sleighbells could again be heard singing across the frozen landscape as the minister’s sleigh, filled with four well-bundled men, moved into the yard. Behind it was a smaller sleigh driven by a tall blond man. The five men of the village seemed to need no direction as they hopped from the rigs and began to work their way around the yard. Each carried a long pole or the handle of a rake or hoe. Moving in a determined line, the men carefully searched through the snowdrifts for some sign of Edvard Van Meeteren.

Unable to watch, Analisa went inside and stood near the stove, arms folded against her breasts, trying to still the tremors that began as she waited in dread of a word or shout from one of the men. She kept Kase indoors on the pretext of helping her with the food she would serve. Dominie Wierstra divided his time between the kitchen and the yard, often bringing one or two of the men indoors with him for hot coffee and thick slabs of warm bread. Analisa served them with distracted politeness. She had met few of the townspeople during the time she’d lived in Iowa, and she did not know any of these men, but one or two names were familiar to her, their wives having placed orders for gowns. All treated her with a quiet reserve, attempting to study her when her attention was drawn away from them. More than once Analisa found them staring at her and wondered what questions their minds held. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, she turned away from their prying eyes, all the while hating herself for her cowardice.

For his part, Kase kept out of the way, sensing his mother’s unease and the way the men stared at both of them. Caleb had been different from these men. The boy discovered that fact when the men in the room failed to pay him any attention beyond curious stares in his direction. Unlike his mother, Kase met their questioning looks with luminous blue eyes that were disarming in their honesty. When he found that the men turned away from any open attempt at friendship, he stayed near his mother.

After what seemed like an eternity, Analisa heard a shout from the yard. The heavy sound of the men pushing away from the table and their boots tramping across the floor filled the room. Talk turned to speculation as they shrugged into heavy coats and mufflers, shoving their hands into woolen mittens and gloves as they filed outdoors.

Dominie Wierstra turned to Analisa and met her wide, frightened eyes across the room. He thought of the disservice the small, narrow-minded congregation had done this young woman, casting her out to fend for herself and the old man simply because she was forced to bear a child conceived during a brutal attack. If he had been the pastor of Pella four years ago, he asked himself, would he have had the strength and courage to stand up to the openly hostile church members in defense of Analisa? How different would her life have been if he had? As he looked across the room and met her deep blue eyes, eyes filled with fear of what the shout in the yard would bring, he felt an overwhelming compassion for the young beauty and knew that beneath his compassion dwelt some stronger feeling. He pushed the acknowledgment of that feeling aside and became the comforting minister he’d been trained to be.

“Mrs. Storm, would you like me to go out alone?”

“No. I will go with you.”

Somehow he had known that would be her answer. He stepped aside as she crossed the room, drew her heavy coat off of the peg, and pulled it on. The dark gray wool did little to dull her appearance. Instead it called attention to her corn-silk hair and bright eyes, her cheeks flushed from nervousness. He watched her take a deep breath and then turn toward him as she drew on her gloves.

“Will you walk with me, Dominie?”

“Of course.” Julius was sorry that she had felt the need to ask.

She instructed Kase to wait inside, fearing he would balk at her request. Her son’s eyes were bright with tears, but he held them back bravely and sat at the table to await her return.

The men were speculating in hushed tones, a mixture of Dutch and English words floating on the air around them. They stood in a circle around a spot not far from the outhouse but beyond it. As Analisa and Dominie Wierstra approached the men, the circle broke and widened to admit them. Standing tall and proud, slowly drawing the cold air into her lungs, the shock of its iciness helping to calm her, Analisa looked down at the figure of her grandfather. Edvard Van Meeteren looked as peaceful as if he had just fallen into a deep sleep. Her fear slid away. Analisa knelt in the snow and looked carefully into Opa’s face. His eyes were closed as if in sleep, snow still clinging to his hair and clothing where the men had not brushed it away. He looked almost young, the creases of his skin less noticeable. Leaning close to him, Analisa whispered, “Be happy now, Opa. You are with the others.” She knelt near him a few moments longer, the men respecting her grief and standing silently, shifting their feet and blowing on their mittened hands to ward off the cold.

Analisa rose and, looking slowly around the circle of men, drew their attention with her silence. “My grandfather was a good man, a simple man,” she said at last. “He was a fisherman in the old country, working the seas around the north islands. He came here because of my father’s dream of a new life, no doubt the same dream you or perhaps your fathers came to find. Now he is at peace. My son and I thank you for your help.”

She spoke clearly in English, her Dutch accent apparent but not obscuring her words, When she had finished, Analisa turned away from the men without waiting for them to respond. Julius Wierstra followed her, gently holding her elbow to guide her across the snow. He saved Analisa the embarrassment of inquiring into the procedure for her grandfather’s burial by taking the initiative in directing events.

“Close up your home and get your son ready to leave. We will take your grandfather’s body back into Pella and make arrangements for him to be buried in the church cemetery as soon as possible. You will stay the night in the village.” Seeing that she was prepared to object, he forestalled the interruption with a shake of his head. “The pastor is away for two months, spending the holidays in the East. If need be, you will stay in the parsonage with your son, and I will find other lodgings. I will accept no excuses, Mrs. Storm. Surely you will do this for your grandfather?”