Eli crested the gentle ridge that led to their land claim. It took much self-control not to smack the reins down on the backs of the horses and urge them to race the remaining few miles. Wouldn’t his family be surprised to see horses pulling the wagon? When he had left early that morning, one pair of their faithful oxen stood within the wagon’s yoke, but a good trade with a farmer in McPherson resulted in acquiring two wagon-broke bays. They were not young horses, but they had many good working years left.
Eli admired the horses’ gleaming hides, both the color of stained mahogany. The female bore a white stripe down the center of her nose that matched the stocking on her right foreleg, but the male was solid reddish brown. A more handsome pair of animals Eli had rarely seen, and now they were his. But he hadn’t asked the man for the horses’ names. He would allow Joseph the pleasure of naming the pair.
He chuckled, thinking of how Joseph had named their chickens. The silly clucks even came when he called. The boy had a way with animals, for sure. Maybe he would be a rancher when he grew up, or a farrier. Both would take skill with animals. Joseph was still young, but not too young to be thinking of the future. He would have a talk with the boy soon.
As he guided the horses off the rough road and onto the untamed prairie, the wagon jolted sideways. The bed’s contents clunked as they shifted. “Who-o-oa,” Eli soothed, giving the reins a gentle tug to slow the great beasts. “It would not be wise to bounce out any of that cut lumber or my new plow.” Nor did he want to lose the surprise he’d secured for Henrik.
The thought of Henrik didn’t bring a fond chuckle. Instead, Eli’s stomach clenched with dread. It seemed no matter what he did, Henrik disapproved. He glanced into the wagon bed at the burlap-wrapped package tucked behind the seat. Surely that gift would please the boy.
His thoughts skipped to tomorrow—Henrik’s eighteenth birthday. In Gnadenfeld, his family would have hosted a celebration and invited their neighbors to wish Henrik well in adulthood. Food would have been abundant, with fellowship that lasted well past bedtime.
Here they had no neighbors to invite. It would only be Lillian, Joseph, and he wishing Henrik well. Eli knew it would be very little compared to what he would have received in their Mennonite village, but perhaps the small taste of Gnadenfeld rolling around in that burlap bag would diminish the sting of disappointment.
Eli looked ahead at the cleared patch of ground waiting the plow. So dark and rich-looking, that Kansas soil. Surrounded by thick prairie grass, it offered the illusion of a large package wrapped in brown paper. The image seemed appropriate, because Eli viewed the land and the opportunities it afforded as a gift.
His chest swelling with gratitude, he offered a familiar prayer: “Dank Jie, dia Gott, for this land. May its bounty bring You glory.” Tomorrow was Sunday—a day of worship, rest, and celebrating Henrik’s birthday—and then on Monday he would put his new steel plow and the remaining pair of oxen to work turning the ground.
The wagon rattled around the cleared field, and Eli spotted Joseph and Henrik walking toward the sod houses from the creek. Homemade fishing poles bounced on Joseph’s shoulder, and Henrik held a string of fish. Eli licked his lips in anticipation of that fish dipped in cornmeal and fried to a crisp. Even poor man’s fare appealed to him when it served as batter for fresh fish from the creek on their property.
He knew the moment the boys spotted him, because Henrik came to a halt and Joseph threw his hand in the air in an excited wave. Then the younger boy dashed to the sod house and disappeared inside. When he emerged he was empty-handed, and Lillian followed, wiping her hands on the apron she always wore over her dress. Her smile was evident even from this distance.
Eli’s heart turned over at the sight of his family awaiting his return. Had he ever felt as needed, as happy, as fulfilled as in those moments? His hands curled around the reins as the urge to hurry the horses once more attacked. But he held the team to a slow, steady clop-clop until he reached the sod houses. The moment he drew the team to a stop, Joseph rushed to stroke the nose of the big male. The horse nickered softly and nudged Joseph’s shoulder. Eli, watching, smiled. Yes, the boy had a way with animals.
“Onkel Eli, where did you get horses? Where are Buff and Brody?” Although excitement underscored the tone, Joseph kept his voice low so as not to startle the horses.
With a chuckle, Eli leapt over the side. He grinned in Lillian’s direction before turning to Joseph. “I made a trade—two oxen for two horses. A good trade, I think. Are they not a fine pair?”
“A very fine pair!” Joseph peeked over his shoulder. “Look at them, Ma. Are they not pretty?” Before Lillian could answer, the boy dashed around the wagon to peer into the back. His eyes grew huge. “Look at all the wood!” Turning, he gestured Henrik forward. “Look, Henrik! There is enough wood to build two barns, I think!”
Henrik peeked over the wagon’s side. His lips pulled into a lopsided sneer. “You are domm, Joseph.”
“I am not dumb!”
“Boys . . .” Lillian voiced a soft reprimand.
Eli sauntered over and ruffled Joseph’s hair, diffusing the situation. “This wood will not be enough for a big barn, but it will provide a shelter for the horses and oxen. A small shelter will have to do until we harvest our wheat. Then, with that money, we can build a bigger barn.”
“And a house?” Joseph asked.
“And a house,” Eli agreed.
Joseph ran his hand down the shiny blade of the plow. “You bought wood and a plow . . . What else?”
Eli lifted a bushel basket from the back of the wagon and held it toward Lillian. She skipped forward and tugged aside the burlap covering. She clapped her hands together in obvious delight. “Cabbage! Oh, Eli, I can make sauerkraut!”
“Jo, we must have kraut for the winter.” Eli set down the basket and dug beneath the leafy balls. “I bought a dozen heads, and the man gave me”—he lifted out four sweet potatoes, two in each hand—“a little something extra.”
“What a treat!” She took the potatoes and showed them to Henrik. “We will have something special for your birthday supper tomorrow, Henrik!”
Still beside the wagon, Joseph reached for the remaining burlap bag. “And what is this?”
Eli snatched up the bag before Joseph could touch it. “That is a surprise, boy.”
Joseph’s dark eyes lit with excitement. “A surprise? For me?”
Eli shook his head, grinning. “You are not the one with a birthday tomorrow.” He glanced at Henrik, hoping for a positive response. But Henrik swung the string of fish, his face impassive.
Joseph’s lower lip poked out in a pout. “I wish you had brought something for me, too.”
“You get to name the horses,” Eli said, and Joseph’s pout disappeared. Cradling the burlap bag in both arms, he turned to Lillian. “It seems I am just in time for supper. Fish, jo?”
Lillian bustled forward to take the string of fish from Henrik. “With beans and wild potatoes.”
Eli’s stomach growled at the mention of potatoes. The half bushel of potatoes they’d purchased in Newton hadn’t lasted long, but when digging up the sod to build the little houses, he and Henrik had discovered a starchy root that resembled sweet potatoes but tasted similar to white potatoes. Lillian had wasted no time in learning to cook the root.
Eli said, “Whatever you fix is fine.” Henrik stood silently beside his mother. “Boy, will you help me unload the wagon while your mother cooks the fish? These horses are ready to be released from their rigging.”
Henrik nodded.
“Dank. I will put your surprise away.” He dipped his chin toward the bag in his arms, still hoping for some response from Henrik, but none came. With a sigh, he headed for his little sod house with wide strides. He set the bag in the corner and gave it a pat. To himself, he whispered, “Do not let Henrik’s attitude take away the joy of homecoming. The welcome from Lillian and Joseph is enough.”
Yet as he stepped back into the wani
ng sunlight, he couldn’t deny that some of the shine of those golden moments had been rubbed away.
After supper, Henrik wiped his mouth with the tail of his shirt and stood. “Ma, I am going to take a walk.” In Gnadenfeld, he had enjoyed walking through his village as the sun sank toward the horizon. The sights and smells of the place of his birth had always brought him an element of peace, no matter what challenges the day had offered.
Now, on the threshold of manhood, he felt the need to recapture that peace. Even though there was no village square, no thatched mud-brick houses, and no friends to meet, maybe a walk would allow him to remember those days of walking, thinking, dreaming.
Eli swallowed his last bite of fish and held up one hand. “Wait, Henrik. I will walk with you.”
Ma’s face lit with pleasure at Eli’s announcement, and Henrik looked away before she read irritation in his eyes. If he’d wanted company, he would have invited Joseph. “I prefer to walk alone.”
Eli paused mid-rise. He looked at Ma as if seeking her guidance. But before Ma spoke or moved, Eli straightened fully and turned to face Henrik. “I think I will come anyway. I have some things to discuss with you.”
Henrik released an aggravated huff, but Eli didn’t hear—or at least, he didn’t react. They fell into step and walked between the sod houses, following the path their feet had carved to the creek. On either side of the wide path, thick grass stood almost waist-high.
Eli frowned at the grass lining the pathway. “I should cut down some of this growth. Wild creatures could hide and surprise your mother on her way to the creek.”
Henrik added nothing. Maybe if he remained silent, Eli would return to the sod house and allow him the seclusion he desired.
Eli kicked at the grass for a moment or two, then pointed to the smooth creek bank. “Let us sit, jo?”
Blowing out another breath he hoped communicated his impatience, Henrik trailed Eli to the creek bank. He waited until Eli plopped down, and then he sat a few feet away, tucking his legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees. He stared across the creek toward the sun, which seemed to increase in size as it made its descent toward the horizon.
Now that they were seated, Eli fell silent. So Henrik sat, listening to the sounds of the prairie. Some, such as the wind stirring the grass and the slap of a fish leaping in the creek, were similar to home. But others—the discordant croak of frogs and the howl of an animal that resembled a scrawny dog—were new. Henrik tipped his head, trying to determine how far away the howling dog might be. But with everything so flat and open, it was difficult to discern. He closed his eyes, listening more intently, and Eli cleared his throat. At the disruption, the frog temporarily ceased its chorus. Eli filled the sudden silence.
“I did much thinking on my trip into McPherson Town.”
Henrik looked at Eli.
The man raked his fingers through his beard, his brows beetling. “I drove past a school, and it made me remember how much you wish to be a teacher.”
A cord of longing wound itself through Henrik’s chest. He tightened his hands on his knees and held back words of agreement.
“I had trouble in town, Henrik.” Eli grimaced, shaking his head. “The language . . . not knowing the English words makes a problem.”
Henrik sighed, shifting to peer across the creek again. He didn’t need Eli’s reminder of how difficult it would be to see his dreams to reality in this new country.
“I wondered how I could help you learn the English so you can go to a university and study.” Once more he paused, but Henrik remained silent and waiting. If Eli had a plan, he would listen, but he wouldn’t offer any help. Eli licked his lips and continued. “And I reminded myself of how a baby learns to talk—by listening to others speak. One by one, the words are learned, until he can converse like everyone else.”
Henrik snorted. “Everything is learned in that manner. Step by step, piece by piece, until the task is mastered.” His chest ached with longing to be the one to teach those steps, to see the light of recognition dawn, to build success in his students.
“Jo.” Eli nodded enthusiastically, as if he and Henrik had hit upon some great secret. “And so I know the way for you to learn the English is to be with English-speaking people. You must work beside them, live near them, listen to them, and speak with them.” Eli’s words tumbled out faster and faster. “When you have mastered the language, then you can attend the university and study to become a teacher right here in America.”
“Universities take money.” Confrontation laced his tone, but Henrik did nothing to temper it. He wouldn’t allow Eli to ignite his dream only to dash it with an inability to see it through to completion.
“I know this, boy,” Eli countered evenly. “I have been thinking of how to pay for your schooling. Your father and I talked about it even before we left Gnadenfeld. He wanted to set money aside from our first harvest to help you. But he said you should work to earn some of the money, too.” The sun dropped lower, throwing long shadows over both men and giving Eli’s narrow face a serious appearance. “He believed—and I agree—that one appreciates better something that has been earned.”
Henrik nodded slowly. “I am not opposed to earning money for school.” If only he could be freed from the work on the homestead, he would earn every penny. But he didn’t mention that to Eli.
“Goot.” A smile curved Eli’s cheeks, but quickly it disappeared. “It is good to make a plan, Henrik. A plan gives you something to hope for, something to work for. But plans . . . well . . .” He crunched his face into a scowl. “Sometimes they happen slowly.”
Henrik thrust his jaw forward, his shoulder muscles tightening into a knot. “How . . . slowly . . . will my plan unfold?”
The grimace that crossed Eli’s face tempted Henrik to jump up and flee. But his uncle’s next words held him in place. “The length of one harvest.”
Henrik’s mind spun. Eli would plant the seeds in October, allowing them to soak up the winter snow and grow plump beneath the ground, then emerge tall and strong in the early spring. The wheat would be harvested by mid-May. Eight months.
He murmured, “Two-thirds of a year . . .”
“Jo.” Eli’s voice, soft as the wind that whispered over the seeded tops of the grass, sounded melancholy. “I know it seems a long time for one your age. A year can feel like a lifetime. But it will pass quickly. In no time, I will sell the wheat, have money in my pocket, and give you half of Reinhardt’s portion to help pay for school.”
Henrik stared at Eli. “Half of Father’s portion? But there are three of us with Ma, Joseph, and me.”
Somberly, Eli nodded. “But I will honor your father’s decision. He and I planned to work side by side and share equally of the harvest’s reward. He intended to give half of his earnings to you for school. It will surely not fund everything you need to become a teacher, but it will give you a good start. Does this seem fair to you, Henrik?”
Henrik considered the information, his heart thudding so hard he thought he could hear the beat in his ears. Eli would give him the proceeds of one-half of Father’s share of the harvest! But should he take it? Mother and Joseph would need money, too. Was it fair for one person to take half when two must survive on the remaining half?
“It . . . it is more than fair to me.” The words came out strangled. He felt as though his tonsils were in a knot.
“Then we have an agreement.” Eli held out his hand, and Henrik took it. They exchanged a firm handshake, and then Eli leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. “It is good to have a plan. . . .”
Henrik nodded. Now he could look forward to the future instead of dreading it. His time here was limited. He would go to school, become a teacher, just as he’d always wanted! A part of him wanted to thank Eli for helping him, but then he realized he could have seen his goal through without Eli’s help. It might have taken longer, but he would have accomplished it. Why thank Eli for something he would have done all on his own eventually?
“Boy, I would like it if you would do something. . . .” Eli sat up, fixing Henrik with a steady gaze.
“What?”
Eli clamped his hand over Henrik’s shoulder. “I know you are not happy that your mother married me. I know you are not happy to be in America. I understand, and I do not fault you for your feelings. But your continued glumness causes your mother great pain.”
Guilt pressed as Henrik considered the source of his mother’s pain: leaving their home, losing Father and Jakob. His breath came in little spurts as he battled the rising culpability.
“Now that you know you will be able to go to university and become a teacher, just as you have wanted, will you throw aside your sad face? For your mother’s sake? I would like her last months with you to be pleasant ones, not hurtful.”
Henrik hung his head. Even knowing he could count down the days until freedom to pursue his dreams, remorse still clung to him like the smell of sweat after a long day’s work in the sun. But he could pretend. For Mother’s sake, he would try.
His head still low, he muttered, “I will do my best.”
“That is all I could ask of anyone.” Eli squeezed Henrik’s shoulder and then rose, brushing off the seat of his pants. “Nä-jo, boy, I will leave you to yourself now. Thank you for talking with me.” He ambled up the path, leaving Henrik alone to ponder this new turn of events.
20
For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, my grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.’ ”
As they had each Sunday since their arrival, they sat together on one of Lillian’s quilts in the shade of the sod house for their worship service. Eli’s voice rumbled above the whine of the wind, sending shivers of pleasure up and down Lillian’s spine. How she loved to hear God’s Word uttered in his masculine voice—like the voice of God Himself.
“ ‘Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.’ ” Eli closed the Bible. For a moment his thick palm caressed the worn black leather cover. Then he glanced around the little circle they formed. “Let us pray.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes. Lillian and the boys did likewise.
Fields of Grace Page 15
