Fields of Grace

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Eli? Eli, wake up.”

  The panic underscoring the whispered command filtered through Eli’s sleep-foggy brain and brought his eyes open with a snap. He blinked several times, trying to focus. At last his eyes adjusted enough to recognize Lillian on her knees beside the wagon, peering at him.

  She scuttled backward as he rolled from his sleeping pallet and emerged from beneath the wagon. They both stood at the same time, only inches apart. Her golden hair, unfettered, tumbled across her shoulders, gently lifting in the night breeze. A white voluminous gown encased her body, with a dark blue shawl draped around her shoulders. She might have been an angel, so lovely the vision.

  He swallowed hard. “W-what is it?”

  “I am sorry to wake you, but . . . Henrik is gone.”

  Eli scowled. He leaned forward, peeking beneath the wagon. Joseph lay snoring on his pallet, but only a crumpled blanket lay across Henrik’s pallet on the far side of the wagon. “Maybe he is visiting the trees,” Eli offered.

  Lillian shook her head. “That is what I thought when I saw him leave the camp. But he has been gone a long time—much longer than what would be needed. And . . .” She bit down on her lower lip, her brow furrowing.

  “What is it?”

  She crunched her lips into a pained grimace. “When he left, he kept peering back, as if afraid someone was watching. He acted strangely, Eli.”

  Eli’s concern for the boy rose. “Which way did he go?”

  Lillian pointed, and Eli held back his relief that she pointed to the grassy fields across the road rather than the road itself. If Henrik had headed down the road, Eli would suspect he’d intentionally run away. But a trek across the tall grass in the minimal light of the moon meant he could be wandering. Maybe his looking back was merely out of worry that he would disturb their rest.

  Eli put his hand on her shoulder, trapping a wavy lock of hair beneath his palm. The feel of the silky tresses sent a jolt of reaction through his belly. He resisted snatching his hand away and offered a comforting squeeze instead. “Go back to bed and do not worry. He might have found it difficult to find the wagon in the dark.” But as he spoke the words, a log in the campfire snapped, sending up a tiny flutter of sparks. Wouldn’t the fire’s glow guide Henrik back again? He chose not to share his thought with Lillian. “I will light a lantern and find him.”

  “Dank, Eli.”

  He waited until she climbed back into the wagon before plucking a lantern from a hook on the side of the wagon and lighting its wick. Then he set off in the direction Lillian had indicated. He made no effort to move quietly—he wanted any four-legged creatures to hear his approach and scatter. Holding the lantern well in front of him, he let his gaze rove through the circle of yellow, seeking any clue to Henrik’s whereabouts.

  Crushed grass showed the path their feet had taken earlier in the evening to visit the trees. Eli stood in the center of the mashed area, turning a slow circle and peering into the night. He tilted his head, listening intently. Only the gentle whisper of wind across the grass, the hoot of an owl, and the distant call of a coyote greeted his ears. But then, so softly he almost thought he imagined it, he heard a chuckle.

  Scowling in confusion, he tipped his head and squinted his eyes shut in an effort to focus on listening. The laughter came again, less subdued, and somewhere to his left. Turning, he moved slowly in the direction of the sound. He stumbled when he went over a small embankment, but when he righted himself, the lantern light swung across Henrik’s frame stretched flat in the grass with his arms propped behind his head. Eli charged forward and held the lantern close to Henrik’s face.

  The boy scrunched his face into a horrible scowl and covered his eyes with his hands. “Onkel Eli, blow that out.” His speech slurred, each word extended to unnatural lengths.

  “What is wrong with you, boy, leaving the camp and worrying your mother? Get up.” Eli grabbed Henrik’s sleeve and yanked him to his feet.

  Henrik staggered, squinting at Eli. “Careful. You almos’ knocked me down.” He glared with one eye, crunching the other one shut.

  Eli shook his head. “What is the matter with you? Did you fall and hit your head?” He reached to run his hand over Henrik’s scalp.

  Laughing, Henrik ducked away. His movements were clumsy, uncontrolled. He stretched his arms outward and waved them to keep his balance. Then, his footing established, he laughed again. “Nä, nä, I am fine. I am better fine than I have ever been before.”

  Eli got a whiff of Henrik’s breath, and understanding dawned. “Have you been drinking?”

  Henrik threw his shoulders back and assumed an innocent expression with wide eyes. “Drink . . . ing?” He hiccupped in the middle of the word.

  The answer confirmed Eli’s suspicions. “Where did you get liquor?”

  Henrik covered his lips with one finger.

  “Where did you get liquor?” Eli made his voice stern, leaning close.

  But Henrik remained silent, smirking behind the finger on his lips. Fury filled Eli. So this was why Reinhardt had kept such a close watch on the boy—he was prone to dangerous foolishness. Grabbing Henrik by the collar of his shirt, he began hauling him toward camp. Henrik squawked in protest, flapping his arms in wild circles, yet he had no choice but to go along.

  When the flicker of firelight shone ahead, Eli came to an abrupt halt and released Henrik. The boy stumbled sideways and nearly fell, but somehow he managed to catch his balance. He stood wavering before Eli with a shamed expression on his face.

  “I . . . am sorry, Onkel Eli. I only wanted to feel hap . . . py.” Hiccups continued to interrupt the words. “Are you go . . . ing to beat me?”

  Truthfully, the thought had crossed Eli’s mind. A few licks might pound some sense into the boy. But Eli couldn’t do it. I must father this boy, dear Lord, but how would You have me do it? In that moment, Eli missed Reinhardt with a fierce ache. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, bringing his temper under control. “Is the liquor all gone?”

  “All gone,” Henrik repeated. “Ev . . . ery drop.”

  “Goot.” Eli curled his hand around Henrik’s neck. “You have had your ‘fun.’ But there will be no more such fun, do you hear me, boy? This time I will let it go because everyone is entitled to make one mistake. But to make the same mistake twice is to act with deliberate foolhardiness. Next time, you will get that beating. Do you understand?”

  Henrik blinked twice. “Will you tell Ma?”

  Eli clamped his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. Should he keep this from Lillian? Surely the truth would hurt her. She didn’t need any more worries. But he decided it was best to leave Henrik wondering. “Not tonight.” He gave the boy a little shove toward camp. “Lie down on your pallet and go to sleep. No more mischief.”

  Henrik stumbled toward camp, his shoulders slumped and his head sagging. Eli followed close on his heels, holding the lantern to illuminate the way. As soon as they entered the camp, Lillian popped her head out of the wagon. She curled her hands over the wagon’s hatch. “Henrik, you are all right?”

  “He is fine.” Eli bustled forward. He watched Henrik roll onto his pallet, then gave Lillian’s hand a reassuring pat. “He is tired from wandering. Let him sleep. Talk in the morning.”

  “Thank you for finding him, Eli.”

  Eli blew out the lantern and returned it to its hook. “Bitscheen. Go back to sleep now, Lillian. All is well.” But as he crawled back onto his pallet, his words mocked him. All was certainly not well.

  16

  Lillian wiped her sweaty brow with a wilted handkerchief. Although the wagon’s bonnet extended over the seat, the angle of the sun prevented the canvas from offering even a thumbnail of shade. The sun beat down relentlessly, creating a burning sensation on her skin. She stared at the glistening hides of the oxen. How the poor beasts managed to keep plodding forward when just sitting beneath the shimmering rays made her want to collapse, she would never understand.

  Her temples poun
ded. She twisted her head one way and then the other, trying to relieve the tension in her neck muscles. The movement didn’t help a great deal, and she knew why. The tension went more than skin deep. It pressed from the very center of her soul.

  The wagon’s front right wheel hit a rut, and she grabbed the seat to keep herself from tipping against Eli’s arm. Since the night Eli had gone searching for Henrik, he had insisted the boys ride in the back and allow their mother to sit on the wagon seat. She wondered at the reason for the change. Eli had seemed to enjoy pointing out unique land features or sharing his knowledge of plants with Joseph and Henrik, and she hadn’t minded riding in the back. Truthfully, the wagon’s bed provided more protection from the endless wind and blistering sun. But Eli had directed her to sit on the seat, so she did.

  Angling a quick glance sideways, she took in Eli’s stiff posture and firmly set jaw. The easy smile she had come to expect was nowhere in sight. The days on the trail had stolen his lightheartedness. Might it return when they reached their destination? His change in demeanor extended to the boys. He seemed emotionally distanced from them. Especially from Henrik, although she noticed he kept her oldest son under his watchful gaze at all times.

  Something had happened that night Lillian had sent Eli after Henrik, but neither of them volunteered any information. And Lillian was half afraid to ask. So she pondered in silence while tension ate at the muscles in her neck and gave her a headache no powders could cure.

  She peered over her shoulder at her sons. Despite her headache, a smile tugged at her cheeks. They lay across trunks in the back of the wagon, heads on bent elbows, eyes closed, napping. Her heart swelled at the innocent picture they painted. Her boys . . . Mother-love, fierce and aching, rose in her breast. Lord, let this new land treat my sons kindly. Let them blossom and grow into the men You desire them to be. Give us grace, Lord.

  Suddenly, Eli cleared his throat, and she spun to face forward. At the quick movement, little dots danced in front of her eyes, and she grabbed hold of the edge of the seat as a wave of nausea attacked.

  Eli sent her a worried look. “You are all right?”

  She was hot, her head hurt, and her heart ached. But complaining wouldn’t change any of it. “I am all right.”

  His head bobbed in a slow nod. “By tonight, if I am thinking correctly, we should reach Newton. Then one more day of travel and we will be at our land.”

  Lillian’s heart lurched in her chest. “Oh, Eli, that will be wonderful.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “Jo, wundascheen for sure.” He grimaced and rolled slightly on the seat, lifting one hip and then the other. “I will be very happy to climb down off this wagon seat for good. All of this sitting has made me ache in places that usually do not have cause to ache.”

  A giggle formed in Lillian’s throat, but a remembrance chased it away. The day they had left Gnadenfeld, Reinhardt had given her permission to walk for a while after teasing her about her sore bottom. Oh, Reinhardt, I miss you so, my husband! Tears sprang into her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to prevent Eli from seeing them.

  But he looked at her with a scowl. “Lillian? What is it?”

  “I . . . I . . .” She swallowed the explanation before it formed on her tongue. What good would be served by speaking of Reinhardt? He was gone, he wasn’t coming back, and Eli was her husband now. Sniffing hard, she brought the tears under control. “I have a headache.”

  Eli’s lips pursed in sympathy. “Maybe a doctor in Newton can prescribe something for you.”

  “Nä, nä, it is only from the sun.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  She rushed on. “I have headache powder in the trunk. When we stop, I will take some. But . . .” She turned a hopeful look on him. “If we are going to reach Newton by evening, maybe we can stay one night in a hotel?” A soft bed would be pure pleasure.

  “Nä.” His answer came so quickly, she knew he didn’t give her suggestion one second of consideration.

  Puzzled, she asked, “Why not?”

  Eli’s jaw thrust out stubbornly. “Because I say no.”

  He had never been so dictatorial. The stern refusal, coming from Eli, who had always been considerate in the past, stung like a slap. Lillian jerked her gaze forward and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She stared ahead at the little puffs of dust rising from the oxen’s hooves, at the thick grass growing alongside the road, at a hawk circling overhead. But she carefully refrained from glancing at Eli.

  After a few minutes of tense silence, he spoke again, his tone kind but firm. “We will camp within walking distance of Newton. Then, in the morning, you and the boys will stay at the camp while I walk to town and fetch the agent who will show us to our land.” He flicked a glance over his shoulder into the back of the wagon, his brows low. “It will be best that way.”

  Although he didn’t explain why it would be best, the grim line of his mouth discouraged her from questioning his reasons. But the way he’d glanced at the back of the wagon made her wonder if it had something to do with Henrik.

  As the wagon rolled to a halt, Henrik poked Joseph. His brother sat up, blinking sleepily from his perch on an oversized trunk.

  “Climb on out of there and collect fuel so your mother can build a fire,” Eli called to them. “Our last night of camping on the trail. Tomorrow we will reach our land.”

  Joseph clambered over the side of the wagon. “Really, Onkel Eli? Tomorrow we will be on our farm?”

  A light chuckle rolled from the big man—the first Henrik had heard from Eli since the night Henrik drank the liquor. “Jo, boy,” Eli answered, “but it will take us some time to build the farm. We will still sleep under stars for a while, but we will sleep under stars that cover our own land. And that will make it better.”

  Joseph whooped and socked the air. “Our own land! No more riding in the wagon!”

  Henrik leapt from the wagon. The jar of his feet connecting with the hard ground sent a tingle through his soles. He wriggled his toes within the confines of his boots and looked across the prairie. Although the sky had dimmed as evening fell, there was enough light to make out gray shapes rising from the grassy plain not far away—no more than two miles. This was the town called Newton. But Henrik wouldn’t get to see it; Eli had made that clear.

  He’d overheard the conversation between his ma and uncle, and he had come close to sitting up and telling Ma why Eli wouldn’t take them into town. But he’d held his tongue, unwilling to risk his mother’s disappointment. Facing his guilt over Father’s and Jakob’s deaths, as well as Eli’s censure, was enough of a burden.

  Grabbing Joseph’s shirtsleeve, he said, “I see a fallen tree down by that creek. Help me drag one of the dead limbs over for Ma’s fire.”

  Eli called after them, “Do not dally. We stopped later than usual so Newton would be in sight. Night will fall, and I do not want you caught away from the camp with no fire’s glow to guide you back.”

  “Jo, Onkel Eli.” Joseph began whistling a merry tune. Henrik couldn’t decide if he resented or envied his brother’s cheerful attitude.

  During supper, Henrik stared toward town. Lights came on one by one, turning the city into a living creature with many winking eyes. He caught Eli’s hooded gaze watching him, and he focused on his plate instead of the lights. As had become their custom, he and Joseph washed the dishes. They made use of the creek water, rather than only scraping the plates clean. With the dishes tucked back in their trunk, Henrik headed for his pallet, but Eli beckoned him to the edge of the camp.

  “Tomorrow early, before the sun rises, I will set out for Newton. I want to be on the land developer’s doorstep as soon as he opens for business so we can be on our way by midafternoon for sure.” Eli’s heavy hand descended on Henrik’s shoulder. “You, your mother, and brother will be here alone. I do not expect trouble, but I want you to be alert.”

  Henrik resisted heaving a sigh. Eli might be able to suck Joseph in by bestowing responsibi
lities, but Henrik was more world-wise. He recognized the ploy, and he wouldn’t be duped by it. Eli only wished to trick Henrik into staying well away from town.

  Eli leaned in, lowering his voice to a gruff whisper. “In your father’s trunk, wrapped in sheeting, is a loaded rifle.”

  Henrik gawked at his uncle. He knew of no men in Gnadenfeld, except Susie’s father, the butcher, who owned a gun. He couldn’t imagine his father purchasing one.

  “He bought it in Hamburg for protection while traveling and for hunting when we reach our land.” Eli’s hand tightened. “If trouble should strike—strangers causing problems or a need for help to come quickly—I want you to take out the rifle and fire it straight in the air. It is loaded with two shots. Only fire in the air once. Save the second shot in case you need to point it at . . . an enemy.”

  Henrik licked his lips, his heart thudding hard against his ribs. “Do you think I will have need?”

  Eli shook his head. “I do not expect trouble, but it is always best to be prepared. Can you do this, Henrik?”

  All suspicions of Eli tricking him with manufactured responsibilities fled in light of his uncle’s serious tone. “I can do it.”

  “Goot.” Eli gave Henrik’s shoulder a thump and then dropped his hand. “To sleep now. I will keep watch during the night. I will wake you when I leave.”

  Henrik rolled onto his pallet and curled on his side with Joseph pressed against his back. Eli sat facing the flames, his back to the wagon. He hunched forward and propped his elbows on his knees with his head dropped back. Did he examine the stars? Or was he praying? Henrik drifted off to sleep without knowing.

  Someone shaking his shoulder roused him. He opened his eyes to find Eli leaning over him. Henrik tossed aside the blanket and stumbled to his feet. He rubbed his eyes and peered around. Stars glittered in a dusky gray sky, but no sign of the sun yet touched the eastern horizon. Sunrise was still at least an hour away.