Sunflower Read Free

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