Sunflower (25 page)

Each morning before guard mount the men best “turned-out” were excused from guard and fatigue duties to act as orderlies. The coveted positions allowed a chosen few to serve the commanding officers. Major Williamson, the acting commander, saw to it that Caleb and Analisa were assigned an orderly at least three days a week. Tor Jensen, a fresh faced and eager Swede of barely eighteen, managed to win the detail two out of three days.

Analisa noticed that whenever Tor blushed, as he was doing just now, the red hue spread from his throat up to his hairline. The high collar of his shirt pushed tight against his massive neck, and his shoulders strained at the seams of the navy wool uniform. Like many other Swedes, Tor had thick, straight white-blond hair, which was carefully slicked into place. He was shy and polite, and Analisa had appreciated his help and companionship as she became accustomed to her new surroundings.

Still at attention, the young soldier spoke, his English singing with a heavy accent. “Should I bring around the wagon, Mrs. de la Vega?”

“Yes, Private. I need to go to the trader’s store to pick up a few things.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”

She suppressed a giggle when he started to salute her and caught herself, afraid of hurting the serious young man’s feelings. Tor was off the porch in a moment and heading for the stables.

Analisa leaned against the door frame of the small wooden house assigned to Caleb and watched the soldiers drill. The monotonous routine of army life was becoming all too familiar. The enlisted men’s lives revolved around the bugle calls that summoned them to various duties and daily drills. She found the bugle calls a way to mark the slowly passing hours while Caleb was away on an assignment and Kase was off on his daily round of riding lessons and adventures with his new friends.

Tor would return soon, she reminded herself, and so closed the door behind her and crossed the parlor. Pen and ink sat beside a neatly lettered sheet of paper on the dining table. Analisa sat down once again on the high ladder-back chair and searched for the correct words to finish a letter to Sophie. Although writing in English was still a struggle, Analisa held to her promise and wrote her friend at least once a week. In the month since the Storms had arrived at the fort, no news had arrived from Pella, but she was confident that the next shipment of mail would contain word from the Aliens.

Her fingers toyed with the pen as she tried to find a way to conclude the letter. She wrote, “Caleb has been gone for over a week now, and I look forward to his return.” She could not add that she feared for his safety, nor would she let her friends know that the reason behind Caleb’s frequent comings and goings was still a secret he kept from her.

Analisa put the pen back into the ink pot and cradled her chin in her hands, elbows braced upon the table. She was determined not to become angry with Caleb because he would not confide in her, but she found it increasingly difficult to hold her temper as the days turned into weeks.

“It’s for your own protection, Anja,” he had said when she asked him why he could not at least tell her where he was going the last time he left. “The less you know right now, the better. If anything should happen to me ...” He paused a moment before he continued, “Nothing will happen to me, Anja. Nothing. Believe me.”

As she sat staring across the room, Analisa fought against the fear that caused her anger. What if Caleb never returned? She and Kase would be all alone. She shuddered at the thought.
You’re not afraid of being alone,
her conscience scolded,
for being alone is nothing new to you.
Then Analisa forced herself to face the basis of her fear:
I’m scared to death of losing Caleb.

When had it happened? she asked herself, leaning back in the chair and rubbing her upper arms, suddenly chilled. When had Caleb taken over her every waking thought, her very soul? He worked such magic on her that she remembered only the hours he was beside her, what he said, what they did. Nothing else seemed important anymore. Only Kase was allowed into their glowing circle of love; only Kase and Caleb mattered.

Her thoughts were far too scattered to allow her to complete Sophie’s letter, and so Analisa carefully folded the paper and stood, pushing the chair away from the table. She unconsciously smoothed the thick
tafelkleed,
a tightly woven patterned tablecloth of blood-red tones edged with fringe. Too precious to use in the soddie, it now covered the round dining table. Collecting the writing utensils, she carried them to the buffet, where she reserved one of the small, upper drawers for her stationery. Unconsciously, she ran her fingertips across the fine mahogany finish of the sideboard and then turned to survey the room.

Analisa was happy with her accomplishments here. Now that she had mixed her few precious possessions with the various pieces left behind by the previous tenants, the place was beginning to feel like home.

As she crossed the parlor intent upon readying herself for Tor’s return, she glanced down at the carpet that covered almost the entire floor. It was her most prized possession. Caleb had helped to spread fresh straw beneath it, not only to provide additional padding but also to insulate the room from the bone-chilling cold that spread beneath the floorboards. Content with the appearance of the room, Analisa went into the bedroom she shared with Caleb. Although small, the room afforded them the privacy the soddie had lacked.

On tiptoe, she retrieved a soft, lightweight shawl she had folded away among her other clothing on the shelf. As she wrapped the pale yellow material about her shoulders, Analisa stopped before the oval mirror above the dresser and repinned her hair. The black beaded reticule, her precious gift from Sophie, lay on the dresser amid pin boxes and tins of buttons and sewing notions. She slipped the drawstrings over her wrist and felt the purse dangle heavily from her arm. Caleb always insisted on leaving more money than she needed while he was away. She weighed the bag in the palm of her hand, certain that she could live for a year on the sum he’d left behind. Opening the purse, she placed half of the coins in the top drawer of the dresser and then left the room. She passed through the parlor and stepped out onto the porch to await Private Jensen.

The air outdoors was fresh and unusually warm: only a hint of coolness touched her as she stood in the shade of the overhang. The house itself—or the guests’ quarters, as it was referred to—was made of rough-hewn cottonwood logs. Although it was a far cry from the soddie, the structure was nearly as crude in many respects. Clay mud had been used to chink the cracks and openings between the logs, and the place was often cold and drafty. Still, she no longer fought a constant battle with sifting dust and dirt as she had done in the sod house.

Analisa moved forward into the patch of sunlight that crept across the front edge of the plank porch, laced her fingers together, and held her locked hands against the folds of her gray skirt. How often had she stood in the doorway of the soddie, gazing out upon the empty, rolling miles of prairie, wondering if she would ever see what lay beyond the horizon? These days Analisa often marveled at the way her life had changed. A year ago her acquaintances had been limited to a handful of people. Now, at Fort Sully, she moved among the residents of the outpost, who accepted her as the wife of Don Ricardo de la Vega. As yet, Analisa had met no one among the officers’ and enlisted men’s wives who might become as dear to her as Sophie. She felt more comfortable with the wives of the enlisted men, but Caleb had warned her against befriending any of them.

“For appearances’ sake,” he’d told her. She was to play the role of a woman of a certain standing, the wife of a foreign professor. As such, he had explained, she would be used to having servants and should not choose to become familiar with the enlisted men’s wives. Analisa thought it a ridiculous stricture. Now that the world was open to her and none of her new acquaintances were aware of her past, she was forced to live a lie.

Straightening the shawl, which slipped off of her shoulder, she wondered what was keeping Private Jensen. A small sigh escaped her. Analisa scraped the toe of her black leather shoe against a splinter between the planks and then squinted into the sunlight. The increasing sense of boredom and lethargy was beginning to weary her and she was determined to find something to occupy her idle hours. She refused to tell Caleb that she was unhappy here only a few weeks after their arrival, but her thoughts weighed heavily on her mind as she surveyed her surroundings. In Iowa there had been more than enough work to fill the hours of the day. Caring for Kase, gardening, keeping house, tending to the animals, and sewing had demanded all of Analisa’s attention. Now her life had changed abruptly; the fading yellow calluses on her hands attested silently to her transformation.

Perhaps today she would find some new materials that would inspire her to sew. Now that the curtains were hung and she had two new day dresses, Analisa felt there was nothing to do but wait for Caleb’s return. She loathed the feeling of dependence that the waiting forced upon her. Even Kase always seemed to be occupied elsewhere. He had gone off early that morning, eager for his morning riding lesson. Later that day, he would chatter endlessly about his riding and about “Soldier Zach,” the scout who lived behind the store.

This morning she watched with eager anticipation as the open buckboard wagon driven by Tor Jensen rounded the corner of the barracks and traveled the length of the row of houses, finally pulling up before the porch. As Analisa moved off the low step, the private climbed down from the high seat and walked around the rear of the wagon to lend her a hand up. The young, smooth-faced man flushed red to his hairline as he assisted Analisa onto the high wagon seat.

Aware of his embarrassment she tried putting him at ease and ignored his nervousness. He was only a few years younger than she, but she felt they were a lifetime apart in experience. Tor had left his parents’ homestead, hoping to ease their burden of eleven other children. He earned his own pay, thirteen dollars a month, had a place to sleep, regular meals, and a chance to learn English. When he signed up, he had never seen an Indian or ridden more than a few miles on horseback. He’d wanted to become a soldier in the U.S. Army and so he had. Analisa gleaned the information bit by bit from the quiet man whenever he served as the de la Vegas’ orderly.

Content to ride in silence, Analisa enjoyed the morning air and the deep, azure canopy of the sky, and filled her lungs with the heady smell of early spring. Although the Missouri River was too far west to be visible, Analisa marked its location by the thick growth of trees lining the banks. The land immediately around the fort was a virtually treeless plain that afforded a clear view in every direction. There was plenty of well water and enough grazing land for the cavalry horses.

“You wish to go to the store first, Mrs. de la Vega?”

“I think we should go to the stables. I’d like to watch Kase. He’s been begging me to see his progress.”

“He is doing well,” Tor volunteered. “The old man told me Kase has a natural way with horses.”

“Ca ... His father, Don Ricardo, wants him to have his own horse,” Analisa continued after correcting her near mistake. “I’m worried that he is too young.”

“He’s a good rider, Mrs. de la Vega. You shouldn’t worry.” He tried to reassure her. “He’s already a much better horseman than some of the recruits!” Tor laughed aloud, and Analisa was glad the young man was becoming more at ease in her presence.

Tor stopped the wagon a short distance from the corral where Kase sat astride a prancing chestnut mare. Analisa held her breath as she watched her son. He looked so vulnerable perched atop the horse, his sturdy legs gripping its sides, far too short to reach the stirrups.

The man Kase called “soldier Zach” was leading the horse in a wide circle while Kase practiced holding the reins and clinging to the wide body of the animal with his knees. A triumphant glow lit the boy’s face as he successfully completed the exercise, and Zach slowed the mare to a walk.

Analisa realized she’d twisted the strings of the reticule unconsciously as she watched her son perform on the horse. She released her pent-up breath and tried to smile. The lessons were important to Kase, and Caleb had insisted the boy learn to ride; if it had been up to Analisa alone, Kase would have waited until he was older.

“Mama!”

Kase called out to her over the distance that separated them, and Tor slapped the reins, signaling the horse to move forward.

Moments later, Kase was standing beside his mother, tugging on her hand.

“Did you see, Mama? Did you see me ride? Soldier Zach says I’m the best rider here! Come watch me.” Unable to wait, he let go of her hand and ran ahead. “Tell her, Soldier Zach. Tell her how good I am.”

Stepping carefully over the uneven ground pockmarked by hundreds of hoofprints, Analisa, followed closely by Private Jensen, approached the corral. The old soldier sauntered forward with a rolling gait, Kase on his left and the mare trailing behind.

“Howdy, Miz de la Vega.” The man’s voice was gravelly and stern, but Analisa knew his gruffness was a facade that hid a kind heart. Kase idolized the man, and the child was not easily fooled by strangers.

“Hello again, Mr. Elliot. Kase insisted I come to watch, so here I am.” She reached out to shake the man’s rough hand and noticed the beginning of a smile forming at one corner of his mouth. Before he took her hand, he brushed his own against his pantleg. Stiffening at the contact, he shook hands and nodded in greeting. She was certain he felt uncomfortable around women and wore his gruff demeanor as a form of protection.

His appearance was startling to say the least, but failed to frighten Analisa. She’d heard some of the officers’ wives make cruel comments about Zach on more than one occasion, but their snobbery only served to spur Analisa’s determination to show the old man every kindness.

Zach Elliot stood at medium height, his skin baked dark by the sun and creased with lines. His beard seemed to be in a perpetual state of stubble, never long, never clean-shaven. A thick white mustache hid his upper lip and trailed down along the corners of his mouth, outlining his lips with a perpetual frown. One deep-set brown eye glistened intently as he watched Analisa. His left eye had been replaced with thick scar tissue, the result of his years as an Indian fighter, so the stories claimed; a jagged scar trailed from the empty socket down the side of his face to his lower jaw. A wide, floppy-brimmed hat, the crown battered out of shape, rode just above his unruly white eyebrows, hiding his hair. Everything about him was long and bent. He looked as used and worn as his hat, his nose twisted slightly to one side, his legs long and bowed from years of riding. A combination of army issue and buckskin, his clothing hung on his spare frame, the entire ensemble coated with dust. Analisa guessed that Zach was far younger than anyone suspected, but he held his peace, never correcting their assumptions. Word was that he was the best Indian tracker at the fort, better even than the Crow scouts on the army payroll. He seemed to see more with his one eye than most people saw with two.