“Sell Tulip and Honey?”
He nodded. “It would be too expensive to ship them, and we won’t have any place to keep them at the fort.”
“Maybe Sophie and Jon will take them.” She looked thoughtful before she added, “The house and the land belong to the church. They let us come here after the attack. I suppose we should just give it back.”
“That will be easy enough. I hate to think you owe them anything.” Caleb glanced around the room. The congregation had felt quite righteous, no doubt, allowing the Van Meeterens to live in the run-down sod house. He’d be glad to see Analisa well away from Pella at last. “Then it’s settled. I’ll leave next week and return as soon as I can get things set up for you and Kase, probably early March. You should be packed and ready to leave by then.”
Caleb let go of her hand with another squeeze and stood, pushing away from the table. He was on his way to Pella to collect Kase and his own belongings. He looked back to see her sitting lost in thought.
“Anja? Are you sure you want to move?”
She nodded with confidence. “Yes. I am sure. It will be good to begin again ... but I am thinking, if you are to be gone for three months”—she met his gaze with a tempting smile—“are you sure you want to rush off after Kase right now?”
Caleb rounded the table and stood by her side. She tilted her head back and stared up at him, feeling the need for his touch surge through her once again.
“Aren’t you afraid he’s been thoroughly ‘rotted’ by Sophie?” His hand slipped into the knot upon her head, and he watched the heavy golden locks cascade around her shoulders. Caleb lowered himself beside Analisa on the wooden bench.
“No,” she began, as his lips descended toward hers, “only a little ruined.”
Chapter Nine
An insistent wind tugged at the wet shirt as Analisa fought to hang it on the clothesline. When she refused to loosen her hold on the garment, the shirt was buffeted backward, slapping her across the face. Frustrated, she balled the freezing fabric in her wind-chapped hands and flung it back into the laundry tub. She thrust her numbed fingers inside the pockets of her worn wool coat and watched as Kase ran into the shed to find a hammer. He was building something, he said.
“Don’t look, Mama. It’s a surprise.”
“Kase,” she called to him above the moan of the wind, “I’m going to hang the clothes inside.”
She heard his response, a muffled Ja, and lifted the copper boiling tub. Hauling the heavy, wet load to waist height, she rested it on her hip and started around the house toward the door.
This was no day to hang clothes outside, she admitted to herself in defeat. The sky was leaden, a sheet of gray tin that pressed down upon the land like the underside of an upturned tub. The relentless prairie wind howled across the bare, frozen ground. The land appeared desolate, now that the snow had melted. The buds of new life lay dormant, sleeping just below the surface of the hard earth, content to remain huddled and hidden the last few weeks before spring arrived. Analisa felt no such compulsion.
It was March 7, 1871, and she was ready for the spring, ready to watch the buds open and see the tulips push above the ground. Lovingly transported from Holland, the tulips reminded Analisa of her mother, and she remembered her own tears as she had placed the bulbs in the ground that first year. Heavily burdened with her unborn child, a constant reminder of her shame, Analisa had fought the hard sod, burying the tulip bulbs deep in the new land. She’d willed them to grow and they had obeyed. Like her, they had lived, if not exactly thriving, after the shock. Now she longed to see them bloom again, but more than anything she longed to see Caleb.
She went inside and hung the clothes on a cord stretched across the room, then decided to refill the tub and indulge in a sponge bath. Sophie had given her a jar of skin cream guaranteed to “soften and luxuriate,” and now Analisa was determined to pamper herself. She couldn’t remember a winter as long and miserable as this one. It must have been the waiting that had made the days stretch on endlessly.
Now that Caleb had entered her life, Analisa knew she would no longer be content to live without him. She was sure the decision to move to Fort Sully had been the right one, and she was anxious to see the move accomplished. If only Caleb would arrive and take them to their new home. Everything had been in readiness for weeks.
Analisa hung the last piece of clothing, her mended pantaloons, and smiled as an idea crossed her mind. After her bath, she would don the silk undergarments Caleb had given her for Christmas. She’d found them tucked into a box he’d hidden beneath the table on Christmas Eve after the Aliens left with Kase. She thrilled at the touch of the heavenly ivory silk drawers and camisole, but she had put them safely back inside the tissue along with the silk stockings. Today, she was determined to slip into them and feel the raw silk against her skin.
As she refilled the tub at the pump, carried it back inside, and heated the water on the old stove, Analisa mentally checked her preparations for the move. Jon and Sophie had agreed to take Tulip and Honey; they would keep them in the small barn behind their house in Pella. The Aliens had also informed the Reverend Mr. Wierstra of Analisa’s impending move. The sod house would revert back to the church.
All of her household goods, except the most necessary items, were already packed in crates and awaited the departure. The room was bare of the few decorative Delft pieces, the lace and embroidery work that had lessened the severity of the soddie and made it a home.
Stripping off her threadbare blue homespun dress, Analisa debated throwing it away. She could no longer afford to look unpresentable, for they’d be living in close contact with others at Fort Sully. Still, her good clothes were few in number, and she hated to wear them while doing household chores. Choosing to decide the fate of the blue dress later, she tossed it over the bench. Perhaps she would cut it apart and use the soft blue material for scraps.
She stoked the stove to heat the room and dipped a linen washcloth into the steaming water, lathering it with a scrap of lemon-scented soap. Dropping the shoulder straps of her cotton chemise, Analisa soaped and then rinsed her body absentmindedly as her thoughts dwelt on Caleb’s letters and the move north. Once again she was thankful to Sophie for her reading and writing lessons.
Caleb had written her six precious letters, which were now carefully stored in her trunk. Analisa had carried each one in the pocket of her apron until she knew the lines by heart and had shared the news with Kase, Jon, and Sophie. The words of love she kept for herself alone, and locked them in her heart.
In the last letter, Caleb informed her that housing was finally available at the fort. In the meantime, he was living with the newly appointed commander, Major Frank Williamson, but would returning before mid-March “to collect his family.” A warmth spread through her at his use of the word. Family. She realized he was trying to put her mind at ease. Analisa would never again let herself doubt Caleb’s sincerity and feelings for her—for that doubt had nearly destroyed their love in the very beginning.
The house they were assigned was partially furnished already. The former occupants had been transferred to the Southeast and decided not to take their heavy belongings with them. They accepted Caleb’s offer to buy the pieces from them. He wrote that Analisa now owned a table with six chairs along with a sideboard in the dining room. Analisa asked Jon to explain what a sideboard was and he translated it into Dutch for her: buffet. She would feel like a queen with a dining table and chairs, let alone a buffet, too. She tried to remember to call it by the English name.
Her own bed would be moved for Kase. No longer would he need to sleep on Edvard’s cot. A complete bedroom set awaited her at the fort. The rocker, organ, her trunk, and Kase’s belongings as well as Caleb’s were all packed, along with the bedding, dishes, and kitchen utensils. The stove, table, and benches would remain for the soddie’s next occupants.
The wind blew steadily against the windows as she hurried to put on the silk garments. Almost
stealthily, Analisa slid the ivory camisole over her head, relishing the cool feel of the silk as it slipped along her skin. She never wore a corset, but was determined to have one to wear under the new rose dress Caleb had given her. For now, she merely stepped into the matching silk drawers, which were cut wide-legged and edged with lace that brushed against her upper thighs. To replace the old blue homespun, she dug through her trunk and shook out a serviceable yellow calico she had not worn since last spring. She had made the dress years ago, and repaired and altered it many times since she arrived in Iowa. Free of adornment, the calico had long full sleeves that ended in plain cuffs buttoned tight around her wrists. She found an old lace collar, yellowed with age, one of the few items she possessed that had been her grandmother Van Meeteren’s.
Analisa tied the collar around her neck and straightened the squared edges of lace about her shoulders. She would not wear the silk stockings and fancy garters Caleb had given her, afraid she might ruin them before the departure for Fort Sully. Instead, she drew on thick wool socks and then slipped into her heavy klompen. They kept the hem of her skirt above the dirt floor.
Dressed to suit herself at last, Analisa took up her hairbrush and let down her hair, working the bristles through the long, thick strands. She brushed her scalp until it tingled and then set the brush down on the trunk lid and took up the jar of cream. Opening the lid, she held the fragrant stuff beneath her nose and inhaled the sweet scent of roses. Analisa dipped a finger into the thick, rich substance and worked it into the thirsty skin of her hands. She applied a second helping to the backs of her hands and between her fingers.
Refreshed, her spirit revived, Analisa wrung out her washcloth and towel and hung them across the laundry cord. A slight metallic sound carried on the wind caused her heart to stand still as her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes, daring to hope, at the same time warning herself it was probably just a trick of the wind. Analisa turned to look through the window. She stood on tiptoe, stretched herself over the kitchen bench, and leaned near the windowpanes.
Silhouetted against the gray sky was the lone figure of a man on horseback. She recognized him. It was Caleb. Then, after watching a split second longer, Analisa was sure it was not he. The man was of the same height and build, yet sat his mount awkwardly, as if unaccustomed to the saddle. The hat was all wrong, too. As he turned into the yard and approached the house, she could see that he wore a bowler and round-lensed spectacles. His legs were thrust stiffly into the stirrups and stood away from the horse’s sides at right angles. She recognized the horse, Scorpio, and now that he was close enough to see clearly, she knew the man was Caleb—but was not Caleb.
Puzzled, Analisa continued to watch as he struggled to dismount, drew an umbrella from the back of his saddle ... an umbrella? ... and stood looking at her from just outside the window.
Analisa thrust her arms into a heavy wool sweater and, holding it closed with her hands, rushed outdoors. She stopped short a few feet from the man.
“Caleb?” She didn’t know how she could be so sure and unsure at the same time.
“Perdón, señora.” He touched the brim of his hat with the hand still holding the reins of the horse. His right arm he held away from his body, elbow bent, wrist cocked, holding the umbrella ahove the ground. Small round glasses were perched on the end of his nose. He peered over them in her direction.
“Perdón, señora,” he repeated. His next words were so heavily laced with a Spanish accent that she barely understood them. “Allow me to introduce myself.”
He bowed deeply from the waist, nearly losing the bowler and making a grab at it with the hand that clutched the umbrella. Shoving the hat down securely around his ears, he seemed unaware of the dent formed in the top by the carved umbrella handle.
“I am Don Ricardo Corona de la Vega, at your service. If you would be so kind as to show me how to tie this beast so that he will not escape,” he lifted the reins in her direction, “I will be most grateful.”
Analisa watched in amazement as he bowed again. She could see that his hair was tied at the nape of his neck with a black stain bow, reminiscent of the style of a century ago.
“Caleb?”
“Señora,” he began again, his voice rising in exasperation, “if you insist upon calling me by another’s name, the least you could do is to greet me as you might this”—he waved his hand limply in an expression of disgust—“this Caleb.”
With that his eyes twinkled at her over the rims of his glasses and he dropped the reins to step toward her. It was Caleb. Analisa was certain as she watched his lips curve into a wide grin. She reached up and carefully drew the fragile glasses off of his nose, folded the thin wire stems, and slipped them into his coat pocket. She then removed the ridiculous hat and handed it to him. Finally, she reached behind his head to loosen the ribbon and free his curls. Not until she was finished did Analisa speak.
“Welcome home,” she whispered before she pressed her hungry lips to his.
He drew her into his embrace and his arms locked about her. His lips crushed hers. Heady with the warmth and smell of him, Analisa let herself forget the world as she reveled in the sensation of being in Caleb’s arms once again. The rough wool of his coat scratched her smooth cheek. His lips were hot against hers, a sharp contrast to the chilly wind that tossed and tangled her unbound hair. Eyes closed, she savored his presence and tasted his tongue against hers. The kiss seemed endless as they rejoiced in each other and their reunion.
“Hey, Caleb! Say hello to me, too!”
Reluctantly, Caleb ended the kiss, forced to acknowledge the small boy tugging at his pantleg. He continued to hold Analisa in his arms while he glanced down at Kase who stood staring up at him solemnly.
“Hello, Kase.” Caleb nudged Analisa, directing her attention to her son. “How can I resist that look?”
She peered down at Kase over the circle of Caleb’s strong arms and sighed, “You can’t, and neither can I.”
Analisa stepped back, allowing Caleb the freedom to scoop Kase up in one arm. The boy looped an arm around Caleb’s neck and one around his mother’s.
“Now we are all together again,” Kase proclaimed. “Komop, wij gaan nu— Come on. Let’s go now!”
The only sound in the soddie was the slow, rhythmic squeal of the ancient oak rocker. The soft hush of evening had descended with the darkness, and weak, flickering light from the oil lamps filled the room. Caleb occupied the rocking chair, Kase asleep in his arms. The man kissed the top of the boy’s head and stood up slowly. Caleb carried him across the room and, after tucking the child into the cot beside the stove, returned to join Analisa.
He watched her for a moment as she sat lost in her work, repairing a tear in Kase’s play clothes. She was sitting on the near side of her bed, leaning against the oak headboard, her head and hands straining toward the lamp on the trunk beside the bed. The yellow calico skirt was spread wide across the coverlet, the colorful print muted by the bright tulip quilt. Her hair was still hanging free, at his request, and he marveled at the life it possessed as it rippled around her shoulders. Silently, Caleb reached out and lifted a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, savoring the silken texture of the golden locks.
Analisa set her sewing aside and raised her arms to him in greeting and invitation. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed beside her and leaned over her.
“Kase is asleep,” he announced unnecessarily.
“Now will you tell me why you have become Don Ricardo Corona de la Vega?” The question had played on her mind all evening. Caleb had refused to explain earlier, afraid that Kase would overhear.
“I hoped perhaps you wished something more of me, beautiful señora.” His eyes flashed in the lamplight.
“I can’t understand you when you talk that way.” Her tone held a note of mild complaint. Her nerves taut from waiting for his explanation, she pushed him away.
Ever persistent, Caleb leaned forward again, slippi
ng his hands behind her as he sought the ties of her lace collar.
“You failed to mention how you knew I was arriving today.” He toyed with the buttons at the back of her gown, ignoring her impatience.
“What do you mean?”
“You are all dressed up.” His eyes slowly appraised her. “Perfume and lace. I hope it was in honor of my homecoming?” His right hand pushed up her skirt and began to trail along her thigh. As he touched the silken drawers, Caleb’s lips formed a sly half-smile. “My, my. Silk undies, too.”
“I didn’t know you were returning today.”
“So who were you expecting?” He pulled back to look into her eyes.
“I was expecting spring, but since it is so slow in coming, I decided to treat myself to the pleasure of a bath, clean clothes, and the feel of silk. I am spoiled by you already. I think I will only wear silk underclothes from now on.”
“I would prefer you wear nothing.” His hand slid easily beneath the loose-fitting drawers.
Caleb awoke well before dawn and drew Analisa into his arms. She barely stirred, burrowing into him as she sought his warmth. He teased her awake by nibbling on her ear and letting his hands rove over her velvet skin.
“Anja?”
“Mmmm?”
“Wake up. We need to talk before Kase is up.”
She stretched and rolled over, fitting herself against the protective shell of his body, her back pressed against him. Caleb felt his passion mount at the touch of her rounded backside pressed so intimately against him.
“Anja.”
His whisper insistent against her ear, Analisa could no longer hide in the world of dreams. She opened her eyes in the weak light before dawn and whispered back, “I’m awake.”
“I need to tell you about Fort Sully and Don Ricardo.”
When she failed to respond, he, too, remained silent, thinking her asleep again.
“What about them?”
“No one there knows who I really am. Even Major Williamson believes I am Don Ricardo Corona de la Vega. Until I know for certain where his sympathies lie, I must keep him in the dark about my true identity and activities.” He shifted his position slightly, drawing her nearer.
Sunflower Page 17
