“Are you going to Pella?”
“Just long enough to get supplies. I’m not planning to stay there very long.”
“I’ve been to Pella once,” Kase said proudly, his head bobbing as he spoke.
“Good for you!” Caleb smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm and reached out to ruffle his hair.
“Kase,” Analisa interrupted once again, “go out and find Opa, please. Tell him dinner is ready.”
Kase was out of the door in a moment’s time, anxious to find Opa and return to Caleb’s side. Caleb watched with interest, wondering again if Opa could be the boy’s father. Perhaps the boy was a foundling, an orphan the Dutch couple had adopted. Caleb doubted that, for he knew that Indians rarely gave their children away to anyone other than relatives.
He turned his attention to Analisa, who was sorting through a neatly stacked pile of clothing in a box she had pulled from beneath the cot near the stove. With a folded white cloth in her hands, she approached him again. Caleb noted the flush of embarrassment that burned her sun-darkened cheeks, the heightened color only adding to her soft loveliness.
“Mr. Storm, I have your clothes clean and ready for you to wear, but since you are not leaving yet, would you please wear this nightshirt?” She held the linen shirt out toward him by her fingertips, almost as if she was afraid to touch him. He found this strange after the casual way she had felt for his temperature moments before. Suddenly he remembered his demand for clothing as he had sat naked on the bed earlier, and her startled reaction when she realized he was nude.
“Mrs. Van Meeteren, I’m sorry about my ... well, my rudeness earlier. It was uncalled for. I was disoriented when you first came in. I thought you were a boy.” That was a bare-faced lie, and he chided himself for it, knowing there was no way he could have mistaken her round, lush buttocks and full breasts for a boy’s, even in the ragged trousers and baggy shirt.
“A boy in a sunbonnet, Mr. Storm?”
“No stranger than a woman in trousers, Mrs. Van Meeteren.”
“Please put on the nightshirt. I will get your plate ready for you.” Without further comment, she turned away. Caleb smiled as he watched the decided swing of her hips.
As soon as she turned, her back, Caleb slipped on the long, loose shirt. He was settled and covered again when the door opened and Kase led a tall, weathered old man into the house.
Analisa said something in Dutch to the old man, prompting him to swing his gaze toward Caleb, who nodded silently in turn. The young woman approached the bedside with a large plate laden with steaming food. She waited while Caleb adjusted himself against the pillows. When she started to place a napkin across his lap, color rushed to her cheeks once again. Caleb, aware of her discomfort, took the napkin and arranged it himself.
“This looks good enough to’ eat,” he smiled up at her. “Thank you.” Caleb’s mouth watered as he stared at the plate heaped with pan-fried fish, boiled potatoes seasoned with a sprinkling of green chives, fresh-sliced tomatoes, and green beans. A thick slab of crusty bread slathered with creamy butter lay on the top of the food.
“I’ll bring you some fresh water and a cup of coffee later.” She bent to collect his empty water glass from the top of the trunk.
“This is a feast for a starving man.”
For the first time, she turned to him with a smile, and Caleb was lost. Her soft, peach-hued skin and sky-blue eyes seemed to be lit from within and shining only for him. Her hair, spun gold and rich as honey shot through with strands of sunlight, fell softly about her shoulders where it had escaped the pins. He held her gaze captive with his own, willing her not to move. Kase’s voice broke the spell.
“Mama?”
As she turned away, Caleb looked down at his plate. His appetite seemed to have diminished.
“Mr. Storm?”
It was as if the magic moment had never been when Caleb looked at Analisa. She stood near the old man who was seated at the long table. Caleb nodded again.
“This is my grandfather, Edvard Van Meeteren. We call him Opa in the Dutch way of saying Grandpapa.” She then spoke to the old man, and Caleb heard her say his name, making the introduction in Dutch.
“Please thank him for me for the hospitality, Mrs. Van Meeteren.”
She spoke quietly to the old man and then returned to Caleb’s bedside. For a moment she looked down at her hands and then defiantly raised her eyes and chin, staring at Caleb, her discomfort apparent yet controlled.
“Mr. Storm,” she began softly, her accent suddenly more pronounced, “I am not Mrs. Van Meeteren. I am not
Mrs.
anyone. I am just Analisa Van Meeteren.”
Sensing that her defiance stemmed from humiliation and realizing that the boy, Kase, was indeed her son, Caleb knew the admission had cost Analisa dearly. Admiring her strength, he nodded in silent understanding.
“And I am just Caleb.”
Consciously avoiding the eyes of the man across the room, Analisa turned her attention to the midday meal. She served Opa and Kase before she sat down to her own sparingly filled plate. The heat combined with the raw nervousness brought on by Caleb Storm’s conversation had ruined her appetite. The three Van Meeterens bowed their heads in thanksgiving, and Analisa was aware of a cessation of sound from the corner as the man stopped eating in deference to their prayers. She lifted her fork at last and forced her eyes to remain fixed on her plate, but she could not still her mind as she thought about Caleb Storm.
He claimed to be a half-breed. Analisa would almost have believed him to be a full-blooded Indian, but his deep blue eyes gave testimony to the truth of his words. Memories and realities that she had forced out of her mind resurfaced as his words repeated themselves. “There’s no need for me to tell you that I’m half Sioux,” he’d said. He was right: There had been no need, for just as Kase’s features and coloring could not be disguised, neither could Caleb Storm’s. “It’s not everyone who would take in a total stranger, especially one who’s part Indian.” His words exposed a cruel reality, only one of the many that her son would be forced to suffer during his lifetime. If only she had the power to change things, to guard and protect Kase always, to spare him the hurt that lay ahead. Analisa knew that was impossible, but often her mind dared to fancy a scheme that would spare him the humiliation of his inheritance. Oh, yes, she thought sadly, her mind could weave many plans, but there was no hope of seeing them fulfilled.
They ate in silence, Kase hurrying because he was so obviously eager to return to the man, Caleb Storm, to renew his questioning. Analisa could see that Opa had sensed her unease. Finally, she smiled at the old man and asked what he planned to do all afternoon.
“I am going to try to mend the section of fence that has a post missing.”
Analisa knew how hard it was for her once-vigorous grandfather to sit idle. She never begrudged him the opportunity to remain useful, although more times than not she had been forced to repair whatever he decided to “fix.” His projects did serve to keep him busy while she worked at her own tasks, however, and Opa usually allowed Kase to help him with his work. Lately, Analisa felt the little hoy watched over the old man rather than the other way around. It mattered little, she thought with a smile, as long as they enjoyed each other’s company.
The meal ended, Analisa rose and began to clear away the dishes. Her grandfather went outdoors to fetch a bucket of water. He left the front door open, and heat swept into the soddie. The walls were made of a double thickness of sod blocks nearly eighteen inches wide, making the finished walls a yard deep. Thus insulated, the house stayed cool in the summer and held its warmth in the winter. Analisa closed the door as she passed by to collect Caleb’s plate and fork. She carried a cup of coffee to him, certain that he would relish a strong drink after so many days without it.
Without a word they exchanged dishes. Then Caleb spoke. “Thanks again, Analisa. That tasted as delicious as it smelled.”
She stared at him in silence for a moment, stopped by the sound of her name on his lips. “Thank you, Mr. Storm, although I’m sure you were probably starving and would have eaten anything. You should regain your strength quickly now.”
“I’m sure I will.” He turned to stare out the window as she left the bedside. Through the forest of geraniums along the ledge he saw a stylish covered buggy turn into the yard and stop near the trough. A tall, stately matron stepped out and moved with the determined march of a general toward the soddie. He lost sight of her as she reached the door.
“It looks as if you have a caller.”
Analisa was startled as Caleb’s words and an insistent knocking rang out in the quiet room. Drying her hands on her apron, she hurried to the door. When she recognized Clara Heusinkveld, Analisa suppressed a groan. Of all the residents of Pella, Clara was undeniably the worst gossip, taking delight in spreading tales and embellishing them with her own details. Analisa knew that if Mevrou Heusinkveld saw Caleb Storm, she would spread the story over Pella faster than a prairie fire.
The woman was nearly through the doorway when Analisa stepped outside and closed the door. Mrs. Heusinkveld was startled by the abrupt rudeness, but Analisa feigned ignorance.
Let the old cow think I’m rude,
she thought. That would be better than allowing her inside.
“I wish to place an order for a very special gown,” the visitor said. “I will need it before two weeks are over. I hope you will be able to complete the work on time. If you can, I will give you a bonus.”
“I will certainly try, Mrs. Heusinkveld. Did you bring the material with you?”
“Of course, as well as the picture of
exactly
what I want.” The woman stared at Analisa. “I’ll get them and then explain what I would like you to do.”
As the woman returned from her carriage with the package of fabric carefully wrapped in paper and tied with twine, Edvard appeared with the water bucket. He greeted the visitor in Dutch, but she offered no more than a polite nod. Analisa continued to block the door, forcing them to stand in the hot afternoon sun.
“Take Mevrou Heusinkveld inside, Anja,” the old man said. “Where are your manners?”
Before she could protest, he had reached for the latch string and pulled it, swinging the door wide. Analisa closed her eyes in a brief moment of suppressed anger, then stepped over the threshold into the cool interior of the soddie.
Clara Heusinkveld’s presence was a jarring intrusion in the small room. A high ruffled hat complete with a bobbing plume added to her already imposing height. Although Analisa was not short, the woman towered over her. A wide satin bow was tied beneath her chin, pushing the more than ample folds of skin forward. Her day dress of expensive watered silk was far grander than Analisa’s simple calico. Her height, along with her light eyes and graying brown hair, proclaimed her Dutch heritage.
Standing aloof in the center of the room, Clara Heusinkveld let her eyes adjust to the dim light before she inspected the dwelling with a regal air. She watched while Edvard set the bucket of water near the stove and shuffled outside again. Her eyes took in the unwashed dishes stacked on the drainboard and the remnants of the finished meal on the stove. It was then that her attention was drawn to the hushed voices in the opposite corner of the room. Analisa’s heart sank to her toes as Mevrou Heusinkveld’s gaze came to rest on Caleb Storm and Kase.
The stranger was propped up against the pillows, Opa’s white nightshirt open at the neck to reveal his smooth brown skin. Kase knelt on the trunk beside the bed, his wooden toys spread about the hills and valleys the man’s long form created among the bedding. The two were moving the tiny figures about, ignoring the stares of the two women.
Mrs. Heusinkveld stood as if frozen to the spot for a few seconds before she spoke to Analisa.
“Well?” Her voice was icy as she demanded an explanation.
Analisa drew herself up to her full height and faced the woman squarely. If Clara Heusinkveld wanted information, Analisa was determined that she get all she needed directly from the source. Analisa knew she would be well within her rights to toss the nosy gossip out into the dust, but what Analisa refused to tell her could be construed as worse than the truth. Besides, the woman was one of Analisa’s best customers.
Speaking in a whisper, unwilling to disturb the man and boy, Analisa explained Caleb Storm’s presence in her home and, worse yet, in her bed.
“So you see,” she concluded at last, “when he fainted right at our door there was nothing we could do but help him.”
“Who is he?” the older woman asked, her brows knitted in question as she inspected Caleb.
“All I know is that his name is Mr. Storm and he is from the East.”
“You haven’t asked?”
“I did not feel I had the right to be rude, Mrs. Heusinkveld. Perhaps you would like to question him?”
The older woman missed the insult as she continued to stare. “He looks Spanish to me.”
“Perhaps. I really don’t know. May I see your material now?”
Distracted at last, the woman opened the parcel while Analisa studied the picture the woman had handed her. The dress was ornate with tucks and ruffles adorning the sleeves and skirt. The style was highly unsuitable for Mrs. Heusinkveld’s overblown figure, but Analisa’s services did not include suggestions about style. She was merely to copy the picture.
“I’ll have to make the pattern first, Mevrou Heusinkveld. I have your measurements, but after I cut out the fabric and baste the pieces together you will need to have a fitting. I think perhaps in four days. Would that be all right?”
“Fine. I’ll be back then. You’re certain you will be finished in two weeks?”
“Yes. I’m quite sure.” Analisa stood with her hand smoothing the heavy emerald satin the woman had purchased. The rich material slid through her fingers. It would be a joy to work with, and she could ill afford to tell the woman the task was too great. She would work day and night if need be to complete the gown in time. “Thank you, Mrs. Heusinkveld.”
Analisa had opened the door before she noticed that Clara was once again gaping at Caleb and Kase. Glancing in the same direction, Analisa was startled by what she saw. Her son and Caleb had stopped their play momentarily to smile in innocent greeting to Mevrou Heusinkveld. With their heads close together, they were alike enough to be brothers, or father and son. A cold tremor shook Analisa, but she forced herself to dismiss the other woman in a firm voice. “Good day, Mrs. Heusinkveld.”