Sunflower (33 page)

“Yes.” He pointed to one of the settees. “Come, Mrs. de la Vega, sit here and have some coffee. I’m sure you’ll find it refreshing after the long ride in the wind. What made you decide to come out here today?”

She thought carefully before she answered. Hardy appeared cordial, but she sensed a reason behind his carefully worded questions. Analisa knew she would have to remain on guard, especially since Caleb had warned her of this man with his story of the missing BIA agent. She thought of Millicent Boynton and tried to affect the woman’s attitude.

“Fort Sully is
dreadfully
boring.” Analisa wanted to laugh at her imitation of Millicent. “Especially after having lived in Europe and more recently, in Boston.”

Buff Hardy handed her a finely shaped cup and saucer. The delicate floral pattern on the china contrasted with his slovenly, overabundant figure. Analisa watched as the Sioux woman poured for Hardy without looking at him. She moved with quiet grace, her shining black hair hanging loose about her shoulders. The elegant cut of her silk dress, its high collar and long sleeves banded by black lace, only served to enhance her dark complexion. Her skin was unlined, flawless. She appeared to be no more than eighteen, but her eyes, when they did meet Analisa’s, held the wisdom of one far older.

The coffee served, the maid turned and walked to a chair across the room, near a tall velvet-swathed window. The drapery was swagged to one side, held in place by a length of thick gold braid. From the chair near the window the Indian woman had a view of the agency and the surrounding countryside. She seated herself with a regal air and stared out of the window, ignoring Analisa and Hardy. True to his word, the man must have asked her to act as a chaperon.

“You say you are from Boston?” He leaned over the tray, which sat on a table between them, to select a thick slab of bread from a scalloped plate. His eyes watched her, and Analisa wanted to squirm under his scrutiny.

“We lived in Boston most recently.”

“Whereabouts? I have friends in Boston.”

She tried not to appear cornered. Boston ... Boston. Her mind raced for any scrap of information Caleb had related about the city where his stepmother lived.

“Near the water.” She quickly took a long sip of the coffee and burned her tongue.

“Beautiful city, Boston. I can see how you are bored here. I can’t really think of what Williamson meant by volunteer work, though.”

Hardy shifted in his seat, adjusting his vest again. It seemed to be a habit with him, as if by stretching the fabric downward he could somehow disguise his girth. His eyes bored into hers, and then he looked her up and down. She resisted the urge to pull her sweater tight against his blatant stare.

“Perhaps he merely hoped to give me something to do,” she said. “I would, of course, leave it up to you. Perhaps there are some children to teach? Is there a school here, Mr. Hardy?”

The servant woman was quite visible beyond Hardy’s shoulder. Analisa found she could study her without seeming distracted from her host. At the mention of a school, the woman looked toward Analisa and met her gaze straight on. Her expression revealed nothing, and Analisa wondered what she was thinking. She wished she could converse with the Indian woman rather than with Hardy.

“There’s no school here, and there won’t be if I can help it. I’m from the South, originally, Mrs. de la Vega. Being from Europe, you probably don’t understand the significance of that statement.” He paused as if expecting her to answer.

“You are correct. I don’t.”

“Well, that means that I believe that some men are created masters over others. It’s true of the whites and the niggroes, and it’s true of the way the whites ought to handle the Indians. Some people just aren’t born to take care of themselves. The problem we have here is that the Indians are even worse than the niggroes. At least the niggroes can work, and work hard. These lazy creatures aren’t even good for that. They don’t want to work. Even if you beat ‘em.”

Analisa choked on a mouthful of coffee and was forced to set the cup on the tray until she recovered.

“Are you all right?”

Hardy moved to her side, striking her gently between the shoulderblades to help clear her throat. Analisa waved him away as her coughing spasm died, anxious to have him across the table from her again.

“Thank you.” Her voice was a gravelly whisper. She did not think she could look the odious creature in the eye but forced herself. After all, she reminded herself, she was here for Caleb.

“So, Mr. Hardy, how did you come to be here? I’m sure you must find the area as
dimsal
as I do?”
Dimsal?
Was that a word? She hoped it was the word that Millicent used constantly.

Hardy leaned back against the settee, his coffee finished, and folded his hands across his straining vest buttons.

“I foresaw the fall of the South, Mrs. de la Vega. Call it a sixth sense. My parents were gone, the crops failing. I sold our plantation and came west with all of the old family possessions I could move. It wasn’t easy ten years ago. Had to come out by wagon train. Everyone who settled here knew that the army would be coming out right behind us. The railroads and settlers were demanding protection from the blasted red men.” He shrugged. “I was in the right place at the right time, with connections. When this agency was set up, I was appointed Indian agent. It helps to have friends in high places.”

“You seem to do quite well here. Your house is a palace compared to anything I’ve seen in the territories.”

“It’s not much. I tried to reproduce the old plantation house on a smaller scale. As you can see, none of the things are as elegantly displayed in this small space.”

None of them are as old as you claim, either, Mr. Hardy,
Analisa thought to herself. As familiar as she was with materials and fabric, she was well aware that many of the upholstered pieces were of the latest style. They had to have been purchased recently.

“It is still quite beautiful, Mr. Hardy.” It galled her to have to compliment the man, but he sat waiting, as if he expected it.

Analisa glanced around the room once more. The young woman near the window seemed lost in thought as she studied the view. Analisa noticed that her toes peeked out from beneath the flounced hem of the dress. She was wearing buckskin moccasins, like those of the women outside. Afraid to ignore Hardy for too long, Analisa returned her gaze to him and found that he had been staring at her bodice as she watched the servant. She could not meet his eyes and quickly looked away again.

“More coffee, Mrs. de la Vega?”

He used her name so often that Analisa felt he was attempting to wear her down until she asked him to drop the formality and call her by her given name. She refused to do so. In no way did she wish to become more familiar with this man.

“No, thank you, Mr. Hardy. I’m afraid I must be going. You’ve been very kind, and I’m so happy to have been able to get away from the fort, even for a short time.” She stood up, careful to keep her full skirt from brushing against the china service as she moved out from behind the low serving table.

He stood immediately and, limping slightly, ushered her toward the doors.

“You are certain there is no way I can be of help?” she asked. Hoping she wouldn’t push him into any sort of agreement, Analisa attempted to appear sincere in her offer, although she was secretly relieved to think that she would not have to come to the agency again. She didn’t relish Hardy’s leering company.

“Not at the moment, but I will think about it, believe me. It’s not often that a beautiful lady comes out to this godforsaken post to visit, let alone ... offer her services.”

He leaned near her, his hand on the small of her back as she moved into the entry hall. She stepped away quickly, shrugging off his touch. Still, she could not leave without asking about the maid.

“The girl who works for you is very beautiful. Is she a Sioux?”

He turned and looked back into the parlor, his expression contemptuous. The young woman was collecting the coffee, her delicate profile visible to Analisa as she reached for the tray. The well-tailored dress clung to her figure, revealing her high, rounded breasts.

“Mia? Yes. She’s one of the renegade women brought in last September. Made a lot of progress, that one. It was a while before I was able to get her tamed down enough to work in the house, let alone dress in a civilized fashion. Animals, the lot of them.”

Analisa wanted to argue with him but held her tongue. Millicent Boynton, she reminded herself, would probably agree with the man, and so she remained silent.

As they moved toward the door to the veranda, she asked him about the renegades. He stopped, his hand on the ornate doorknob, and answered her. “If I was givin’ the orders out here, I’d have the army hound them until they rode down every last one. Murdering, thieving bunch. They don’t aim to be civilized, don’t deserve the waste of time and money spent on them either.”

“You don’t think they’ll ever give up and come to the agency?”

“Not that bunch. Most of them have been in here at one time or another, but they run off, break the treaties. They hate it here, won’t live under any sort of discipline. Even the Indian police can’t handle them.”

“Indian police?”

“You’ll see them when you ride out. Take some time to look around before you go. The major can’t afford to send men out here, now that they come up with another new law in Washington. The army has to stay out of all agency handling of the Indians. All they get to do is round them up and bring them in. So, to keep the peace, I hired a few of their own kind to work for extra rations, a little whiskey now and then.” He shifted his weight, favoring his crippled leg. “Give ‘em policemen’s coats. Some of these agency men will do anything for a fancy coat or a top hat, even turn against their own.” His voice held a condescending sneer.

Mia passed them as she moved toward a door that Analisa assumed led to the kitchen. She gave Analisa one final look before turning her gaze to Hardy. Hate blazed from the black eyes, hatred so fierce that Analisa could feel it. If Hardy noticed the open anger in the young woman’s expression, he gave no sign.

Analisa thought he was finished with his explanation, but he continued speaking once Mia departed. “No, Mrs. de la Vega, you can bet that those renegades don’t plan on comin’ in. Besides, they would have to give up, all their white captives if they did, and they don’t intend to do that. They set big store in having white slaves.”

As his words finally registered, Analisa heard a distant ringing in her ears while a sudden clamminess dampened her palms. The shock of his words forced her to breathe deeply as she tried to stay calm and fight against the light-headedness. Her surroundings slipped away. All she was aware of was Hardy and herself, standing near the double doors of the entry hall.

“White slaves?” Her voice was so weak that he didn’t even hear her utterance. “White slaves?” she asked again, forcing the words out as he opened the door. Cool, refreshing air was carried in on the light, steady breeze. It helped to clear her head. She became conscious of the world around them once more.

He stood in the center of the veranda, surveying the surrounding area, reminding her of a king inspecting his realm. Still unable to speak, she looked out at the trading post next door, the Indian dwellings made from hide and adorned with faded paintings of horses, suns, and childlike stick figures. The tentlike structures were scattered over a wide area, the buffalo grass between them beaten into paths that led from one to another and off in the direction of the river. She wanted to be away from the sight of the dismal figures shuffling along between the dwellings or crouched lifelessly before the low doorways, huddled against the sun and relentless chilly wind.

“Sure. They have at least six whites that I know of, just in Red Dog’s band. Can you imagine how many whites have been forced to live like animals all over the West? Why, it’s a shame. The army ought to be riding them down, if for no other reason than to see that those poor creatures get back to their families.”

Shaken, Analisa looked around for Zach and Kase. She needed to get away from Hardy, from this place, and wrestle with her own thoughts. White slaves hidden all over the territories? There was no reason to believe that Meika and Pieter were part of the renegade band living nearby, she told herself. No reason to hope. Still, she did hope. Hope welled in her heart, choking her, threatening to bring tears of joy to her eyes before she could escape this man.

Zach caught her eye from across the small distance that separated the house from the trading post. He was leaning nonchalantly against the hitching post, his hat pulled down low, shading his face, but somehow she knew he was watching them. Her eyes searched out Kase and found him not far from Zach, playing with two children near his own age. A boy and a girl, from the looks of their clothing, their thin, nearly emaciated arms bare against the wind. Dressed in the woolen suit Caleb had given him, Kase appeared abundantly healthy, almost chubby next to them. She watched as Zach alerted the boy and the two of them approached the house. Close to tears already, she swallowed hard when she saw the hardened scout reach down and take her son’s hand protectively as they neared the horses tied before the wide veranda.

“Thank you for the visit, Mr. Hardy. You have been a kind host.” She refused to extend her hand toward him, and he made no move to touch her again.

“It was my pleasure, Mrs. de la Vega. I hope you’ll call on me again, any time.” He bowed from the waist, a gesture she thought reserved for royalty. “I’m sorry I could not suggest any way for you to help out here. If I think of something, I’ll let you know. Perhaps the next time I’m at Fort Sully, I can pay you a call?”

“Thank you, Mr. Hardy. That would be fine.” Her forced politeness was beginning to nauseate her. Analisa stepped slowly off the porch and moved toward the horses where Zach waited to help her mount. She felt as if she were walking in a dream world.
Hold on a little longer,
she told herself.
You’ve come this far.
Zach lifted her by the waist as she stepped up into the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle, then adjusted her skirt modestly.