Sunflower (2 page)

When the stranger moved away from his horse as it drank from the trough and started walking toward the house, Analisa left the window and opened the door wide enough to stand back in the shadowed interior and stare down the sight of the long gun. She aimed to kill. No outward sign of fear exposed the raw terror clutching her heart.

When he spoke, the dark man’s voice sounded strangely distant. At close range, she could see that his steps faltered and his face was flushed, but the brim of his dark hat hid the expression in his eyes. She decided he was drunk, a cowhand fired from a job and on his way to town. By the time his slurred speech registered in her mind and she translated his English into Dutch, the stranger had fallen face forward to the ground at her feet.

She stood stock still for a split second as she watched the motionless form stretched out before the doorway. Was it only a trick to lure her from the house, or had she pulled the trigger without realizing she had done so? When lightning split the sky above her and thunder shook the panes in the window frames, Analisa pushed the door open and stepped outside into the rapidly darkening yard. She knelt at the man’s side and, tugging at his shoulder, rolled the stranger over on his back. She noted with relief that he had merely passed out. His hat had fallen off and lay in the dust near his head. She gingerly placed the rifle on the ground within reach and carefully brushed aside a shock of thick midnight hair and felt the man’s forehead. It was burning with fever.

Large drops of rain began to fall, splattering the ground and filling the air with melodious sounds as they fell on wood, metal garden tools, the water in the trough, and the windowpanes. After another burst of thunder, Analisa grabbed the rifle and moved to collect the reins of the black horse. Oddly enough, the gelding remained quite still, only its eyes showing fear at each peal of thunder.

“Nice horse. Good, quiet horse,” she whispered, her hand outstretched as she approached the tall dark shadow. Analisa wished the proud creature would not look down at her with such disdain. Despite his fierce demeanor, the horse was docile enough as she mustered her courage and grabbed the trailing reins. Analisa hurriedly led him around to a small shed built against the rear of the house where Tulip-the-Ox stood placidly staring at the wall. She tied the reins around a post and promised the animal she would return to remove its saddle and put out more feed. Then Analisa lifted her skirt and, still clutching the heavy gun in the other hand, ran back to the front of the house; The stranger had not moved, but Kase had ventured outside to sit on his haunches in the dust and eye the man with intense curiosity.

“Wie is hij?
Who is he, Mama?”

“I don’t know yet, Kase. Just a sick traveler. Don’t get too close or you may get sick yourself,” she warned.

“Like I was before?”

“Ja.
Now go inside and take care of Opa.”

The four-year-old hurried away, eager to be of help. She could hear him relating the conversation to his great-grandfather while she pondered the nature of the stranger’s illness. Although she knew it would be dangerous to take him into the house without being certain of the cause of his fever, Analisa also realized that the falling rain was gathering intensity, and it boded ill for the stranger to lie in the dirt and become drenched. She carried the gun inside, unloaded it, and returned the shells to the tin, along with the ones she had put in her apron pocket. The task complete, she took a long match from the holder near the stove and lit the tall glass lamp that stood on top of the organ and then the one in the center of the table.

“Anja?” Her grandfather stood in the glow of the lamplight, squinting as he tried to study her expression. “Aren’t you going to bring him in the house?”

“Ja,
Opa.
Ja,
right now.” She knew that her tone was impatient, but lately, between Kase and Opa and their demands on her, Analisa felt as if she were raising two children instead of only one.

Snuffing the match, she threw it into the cooling stove and brushed her sweating palms on her apron, pressing her skirts against her thighs. Without being aware that she did so, Analisa reached for the tiresome honey-gold strands of hair at the nape of her neck and pinned them up once again as she left the house.

Poor soul, she thought as she stood looking down at the stranger, deciding how best to maneuver him into the house. She picked up his wide-brimmed felt hat and dropped it on his chest, then walked around to his head and bent down to slip her hands beneath his shoulders and under his arms. She became aware of the solid feel of the man’s corded muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his body so different from the soft ones of Opa and Kase. Grabbing him by his armpits she tugged and succeeded only in feeling a strain in her lower back. The rain pelted them fiercely, soaking through the back of her dress and forcing her hair down into her eyes. This time she braced her heavy
klompen
in the dirt and pulled with her legs as well as her arms. The man’s deadweight began to slide through the dirt toward the doorway. Analisa pulled him the few feet to the threshold, then unceremoniously tugged him inside, letting his booted feet thud as they cleared the half-foot drop. She left the door open, welcoming the coolness of the falling rain inside the soddie.

“Please bring the lamp, Opa,” she called over, her shoulder.

The old man rose from his straight-back chair and shuffled around the table, his tall frame stooped with the burden of age, his once-bright eyes searching the dim light to see what manner of stranger his granddaughter had pulled into the house. The boy walked behind him, his dark hair and complexion so unlike the white hair and fair skin of his great-grandfather. Kase peered around Opa’s legs, using them as a shield against the stranger’s sickness. The man lay as still as death on the smooth dirt floor, surrounded by three figures staring silently down at him.

Ignoring Opa and Kase, Analisa raised her hand for the lamp her grandfather held, and he handed it to her without comment. She placed it on the floor near the stranger’s head. Kneeling next to his shoulder, she reached across the prone figure for the dish towel hanging nearby and used it to mop away the rain from his face and push his hair back off of his forehead. For the first time she studied his strong features, noting the square jawline, the high, sharp cheekbones, and the straight, aristocratic nose. His brows were raven’s wings arched above his eyes, and his hair, gloss-black and waving above his forehead, was neatly trimmed around his ears and gently curled around the nape of his neck. Analisa stared down at him and felt her hands trembling slightly. He could not be an Indian, she thought, not dressed so well and traveling alone toward Pella. Perhaps he was one of the Spanish from the south, from Mexico. Quickly she unfastened his gun belt and carefully untied the leather cord that held the holster tight against his hard thigh. Then she slowly slid the belt from beneath the stranger, expecting him to wake at any moment.

She glanced up quickly at Opa, who was beginning to ask questions, which she chose to ignore for the time being. Kase was staring down at the man who had dark hair so like his own. It was not often that the child saw anyone with such black hair, even when they went to the village.

Looking at her small son, with his straight, blue-black hair cut neatly into bangs across his forehead and bowl-shaped around his head, she had a sudden intuition as to the man’s illness and began to pull the stranger’s shirttail out of his trousers. Quickly, she unfastened the brass buttons and opened his double-breasted shirt. She noted with an expert’s eye that it was tailored much like the shirts worn by the United States Army’s soldiers. She wondered briefly at this choice of style, for although the shirt was similar to the uniforms, it was black instead of navy and devoid of any bar or buttons marked with the army’s insignia.

Just as she suspected, Analisa saw that the man’s stomach was aflame with a raised, mottled rash. She lifted his head and arms and wrestled with the shirt in order to pull it off of him. The insides of his arms were red as well. Analisa tried to ignore the otherwise cinnamon bronze tint of his upper body. She knew without looking that the rest of him would be of the same hue.

“What is wrong with the man, Analisa? Do you know?” Opa asked the question for the fourth time while Kase stood silent, hanging on to his great-grandfather’s pantleg.

“Ja.
I’m almost certain he has the measles, same as Kase had when he was so sick.”

“A grown man fainting from the measles? You think so?”

“Please help me lift him, Opa,” she spoke quickly, standing and moving the lamp to the table in the center of the room. “We’ll put him on my bed.” Analisa crossed the room and folded back the quilt arid comforter, smoothing the clean sheet with her hand before she returned to her grandfather’s side.

“Kase, put his hat on the chair and get back out of the way. There’s no need to worry now, for you have already had the measles. You will not be sick again.” With a quick, reassuring touch, she smoothed her son’s silky hair and smiled into his china-blue eyes, a mirror image of her own and always startling in his brown face.

“What about his gun?” the boy asked.

Analisa carried the gun belt to the trunk beside her bed. She opened the lid of the chest and dropped the gun and holster inside, where they rested on her neatly folded clothes. She then returned to where Opa and Kase stood near the stranger.

“Come, Opa, take his feet,” she instructed as she again lifted the man’s shoulders to spare her grandfather the full weight. They carried the stranger a few feet before lowering him to the dirt floor again. Breathing heavily, Opa rested while Analisa waited, and in a few moments the pair lifted their burden once more. Walking with quick, short steps, they reached her bed and studied its height.

“I’ll swing his shoulders up and you shove him onto the bed.” Panting with exertion, Analisa swung the man’s solid weight onto the bed. As momentum sent her sprawling across his broad chest, she struggled to pull her arms from beneath him while her head rested near his shoulder. Something froze inside her at the forced contact with the man’s smooth, warm skin. Quickly, she twisted away from him and pulled her arms free. Her grandfather shoved the man’s feet and legs up a second later, and Analisa, freed from the weight of the stranger’s upper body, shoved his hips up and over the edge of the bed.

For a moment Analisa and her grandfather stood panting, trying to catch their breath while they watched the unconscious man. He did not stir.

“Thank you, Opa. Somehow we did it!” She smiled for the first time that evening, a glowing smile of accomplishment that lit her eyes and showed her even white teeth. A blush of color like that of a smooth, ripe peach warmed her cheeks, but Analisa gave no thought to her appearance as she turned to be sure the stranger was at ease. The knot atop her head forgotten, most of her thick hair had tumbled around her shoulders, the darker, honey-gold tresses hidden by the sun-bleached top layers, which fell from a natural center part. Droplets of sweat covered her brow and upper lip. She wiped them away with the back of her forearm. As Analisa walked toward the kitchen bench, she turned to her grandfather.

“Opa, I will pour you some clover tea, and then you should go to bed. It’s getting late.” She was anxious to tend to the man’s needs without her grandfather’s interference.

“Me, too?” Kase asked without taking his eyes off the strange dark man whose tall body lay stretched across his mother’s bed.

“One cup, yes, with Opa, and then you will have to sleep. I’ll sleep in your bed with you tonight. Sit at the table and I will get your tea.”

Carefully, Analisa poured the tea into delicate porcelain cups that seemed quite out of place in the house made of sod. The tea had been brewed yesterday, for today they had managed with cold meals in order to avoid heating the iron stove. While the old man and the boy sat at the long table waiting for her to serve them, she placed blue and white teacups, saucers, and bread plates before them. Analisa worked with swift efficiency, moving as if her life had not just been interrupted by a man dropping on her doorstep. She served them slices of golden cake, fresh two days ago, and taking nothing for herself, filled a tall jar with water from the crockery pitcher on the bench and returned to the half-naked man stretched out on her bed.

The man was beginning to stir. He was uncomfortable, she knew. His head rolled from side to side as he mumbled unintelligibly. She tried to capture his head in the crook of her arm and force water between his lips, but her attempts failed. The dish towel lay nearby, forgotten in their haste to move the man to the bed. She moistened the end of the cloth with the tepid water and smoothed it across his lips and brow. Analisa repeated the movements until he quieted some and then returned to her grandfather’s side.

It was late into the night before Analisa was finally able to slip her soft lawn nightgown over her head and roll the long sleeves up to her elbows. She tied the ribbon below the prim round neckline. The lace-edged collar and smocked bib front broke the severity of the white gown.

After sending Opa and Kase to bed, she had wrestled with the stranger’s boots and finally succeeded in pulling them off. When she unbuttoned the waistband of his trousers, Analisa had discovered to her chagrin that the man was nude beneath the dark material. After a moment’s hesitation, she had covered him with the lightweight tulip-patterned quilt and drawn his pants down by tugging at them with her hands beneath the cover. The task complete, Analisa had smiled at him, pleased at her own ingenuity. Once the man was settled, with a cool compress on his forehead, Analisa had seen to his horse.

Kase, she noticed, was sleeping soundly, his nightshirt twisted up around his short legs, the white material a contrast against his brown skin even in the dark. The boy’s pallet had been pulled out from beneath her bed, and since the stranger had usurped her place, Analisa would either have to share the pallet with Kase or sleep in the rocking chair. Not wishing to disturb the boy on such a hot night, Analisa chose the rocker.