Fields of Grace

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Spinning toward the wash pan, Lillian berated herself. What was she doing, trying to entice Eli to smile at her? Why, she behaved like a ninny! She scrubbed the plates and clanked them into a stack beside the wash pan. Just yesterday she bemoaned an inability to remember Reinhardt’s face, and today she missed Eli’s smile. Perhaps she was becoming senile. Her conduct made no sense—not even to herself.

  The dishes done, she returned to the creek to gather the laundry. The wind had lifted a few items and tumbled them aside. A pair of Joseph’s pants had rolled down the bank; one pant leg trailed in the water. Huffing in annoyance, she yanked the pants up and shook them. Droplets of water spattered her, glistening in the waning sunlight. The tiny droplets resembled tears, and before she knew it, real tears flooded her eyes.

  Collapsing on the creek bank, she hugged Joseph’s damp pants and blinked to chase away the tears. How she wished she had someone to talk to! In Gnadenfeld there had always been people nearby—Reinhardt, her cousins, her church friends. But here there was no one. Except Eli.

  With a start, she realized the source of her frustration: how much she had come to rely on Eli’s companionship over their months together. In Gnadenfeld he had been Reinhardt’s friend; here, on the prairie, he had become hers. But now the friendship had drifted away like the smoke from Henrik’s fire. Left behind was the lingering scent of what used to be, leaving Lillian with stinging eyes and a bruised heart.

  Not until that moment did she realize just how much Eli meant to her. Not as a provider or someone to guide her sons or even as Reinhardt’s beloved foster brother, but as a friend. Her friend. She wasn’t sure how she had lost his friendship. She knew it had happened last night, when they talked together over the dying fire, but she couldn’t understand why he had changed.

  With a sigh, she rose. To her surprise, while she sat musing beside the creek, twilight had fallen, the sun a thin red line beneath a pale yellow glow on the horizon. Stars dotted the dusky gray-blue sky, and shadows lay long across the ground. Eli had cautioned her frequently about the danger of being at the creek after dusk. Wild animals came out at night to drink and hunt. She didn’t care to become prey.

  Quickly, she piled all of the clothes into her arms and turned toward the path that led to the clearing. She moved as fast as her skirts would allow, her gaze darting back and forth through the tall grass. Her heart pounded harder and harder, fear creating an unpleasant tang at the back of her mouth, while she waited for an animal to leap out and attack.

  Halfway up the gentle rise, a loud rustle sent her heart pounding in her throat. Suddenly, a large shadow loomed in front of her. She let out a cry of fright and tossed the clothes in every direction.

  “Lillian!”

  At Eli’s startled voice, she froze in place. She stared at him, her hands over her thudding heart. “E-Eli?”

  “For sure it is Eli. What else did you expect?”

  “I . . . I thought . . .” She bent over and hastily began gathering the scattered clothing.

  Eli assisted her. When they had picked up all of the items, he took her elbow. “I have asked you not to go to the creek after the sun is down.”

  “I know. I am sorry. The time sneaked away from me.”

  “You must pay attention, Lillian. This time it was me who found you, but it could very well have been a wild creature. Will you bide my warning in the future?”

  Scuttling along beside him with pant legs and shirtsleeves dangling over her arms, Lillian experienced a jolt of elation. He had come for her because he was concerned. He wouldn’t be concerned if he didn’t harbor affection for her. Perhaps the friendship hadn’t disappeared for good. It merely needed to be rekindled.

  “I will bide your warning,” she said breathlessly.

  “Goot.” They reached the sod houses, and he dumped the clothes he carried into her arms. “One more day of planting, and then I will dig your well. After that, you will not need to make so many trips to the creek. But even so . . .” His voice held a note of admonition.

  She nodded quickly. “Do not worry. I will watch the sun.”

  “Dank, Lillian.” His face showed relief.

  “Eli . . .” Lillian drew in a deep breath that brought her rapid pulse to a normal rhythm. She met his gaze squarely and uttered in a near whisper, “Thank you for caring enough to come looking for me.”

  The dirt-encrusted creases in his forehead pressed together into a snarl and then released. His mouth opened, closed, opened, and closed again with snap. He gave a gruff nod, spun on his heel, and stalked away.

  The final two weeks of September passed in a flurry of activity, hardly giving Lillian time to draw a breath between chores. Now that the wheat kernels were in the ground, Eli turned his attention to improving things around their sod houses. As he had promised, he dug a well. After lamenting having to choose the location without the assistance of a water diviner, he prayed for guidance and pushed the shovel into the soil.

  Lillian fretted during the three days of digging, watching Eli disappear into the hole, wondering if water would spill in and cover him before he could climb the rope to the top again. Eli fretted that no water would be found and all his digging would be for naught. But late on the third day, his exultant shout let them know his worry was unfounded. As was Lillian’s—he was out of the hole long before the trickle became a rush. And by the morning of the fourth day, Lillian was able to plunge a bucket into the hole and bring up cold water.

  While Eli dug the well, Joseph and Henrik dug a trench for an outhouse. Lillian made no effort to hide her relief that they would no longer have to make use of the bushes on the far side of the property. With two digging, the boys finished their trench the same day Eli struck water. Deciding that covering the outhouse took precedence over the well’s cover, Eli and the boys set to work carving out squares of sod from the land across the creek to enclose the trench.

  Using two long boards purchased in McPherson Town, he constructed a seat. A strip of canvas left over from the wagon bonnet served as a door. When the outhouse was completed, he looked at Lillian. “No more visiting the trees, jo, Lillian?” A hint of orneriness twinkled in his eyes. “Do you want to be the first to try it out?”

  Though fanned by a cool, early-autumn breeze, Lillian’s face flamed. As if she would go in and make use of the outhouse while her family waited in a row outside the canvas door! She stammered out a nä and scurried back to the sod house. But later—away from Eli and the boys—she allowed herself a hearty laugh. That little bit of teasing gave her hope that Eli’s lighthearted nature might have returned . . . and would stay.

  Despite her efforts to coax a smile or engage him in conversation, Eli maintained a cautious distance. It extended to the boys, as well, and Lillian’s heart ached for Joseph. The boy also withdrew, losing some of his bounce with Eli’s change in demeanor. When Henrik asked what was wrong with Eli, Lillian explained he was tired from working so hard. Joseph seemed to accept her answer, but Henrik raised one brow in skepticism. Although he didn’t press his mother for more information, he seemed to watch Eli closely, as if trying to make sense of him.

  One morning near the end of the first week in October, Lillian was preparing for the weekly laundry when a loud whoop made her look up. Joseph, who had been caring for the chickens, scampered to Lillian’s side.

  “Ma, what was that?”

  Henrik stepped from the animals’ enclosure with the milk bucket. He, too, looked puzzled. “Did someone shout?”

  The cry came again, and this time Lillian recognized the shouter. “Eli?” Dropping her armload of clothes, she captured Joseph’s hand. “Come. He is at the field.”

  Henrik put the bucket inside the sod house and trotted alongside them. They discovered Eli at the edge of the field, pacing back and forth while punching his fists in the air. Lillian came to a panting halt. “Eli, what is wrong?”

  “Wrong?” He spun to face them. A huge, bright smile, so long absent from his face, sent her heart
into pattering double-time. Without warning, he caught Joseph’s hands and led him in a wild, stomping jig. Joseph giggled, and Lillian covered her mouth with her hands to hold back her own merriment. How boyish and carefree Eli looked, dancing in a circle with Joseph.

  The pair ended their jig, and Eli tugged Joseph tight against his side while releasing another raucous whoop. “Look out there! Do you see? The seeds have sprouted!”

  Lillian put her hands on her knees and peered across the field. Slender green shoots peppered the cleared ground, pointing toward the sky like tiny arrows. Her heart leapt in excitement. She gasped, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “Oh, Eli!”

  “My first American crop!” He gestured Henrik closer. “Look there, Joseph and Henrik. Wheat! Our Turkey Red wheat poking its head above the ground to peek at the Kansas sun! Just as it sprouted across the ocean, now it sprouts here.” He closed his eyes, his grin wide. “Ach, I can see it at the end of winter, shooting higher and higher after its sleep under the blanket of snow, losing its green and turning as yellow as the sun, the stalks heavy with our hearty wheat kernels.”

  When he opened his eyes, twin tears glistened in the corners. “Can you see it, too, Lillian?”

  Lillian stared at him. Farmers viewed their bounty much differently than merchants, she realized. Although Reinhardt had taken pride in his craft as a shoemaker, she had never witnessed such elation in the end result. But looking into Eli’s excited face, she thought she understood how God must feel when a baby was born—the joy of creation.

  She nodded. “I can see it, Eli.”

  He sucked a mighty breath through his nose and blew it out. Then, smacking his hands together, he said, “Come. We must pray.” He dropped to his knees and closed his eyes. Lillian motioned to her sons, and the three of them quickly knelt as Eli began to pray. “Mein Gott, I thank You for this good rich land. I thank You for the sprouts that poke their little heads from the soil. I thank You for the crop that will grow and will provide for our needs. I thank You for a return on our labor. Bless this wheat, dia Gott, and may it be the start of much blessing in America. Amen.”

  “Amen.” Lillian opened her eyes to find Eli reaching for her. She took his hands, and they rose together. Then, instead of releasing her hands, he drew her beneath his chin and wrapped his arms loosely around her. His heart beat in her ear, his chest warm against her cheek and his arms strong on her back. He sighed, his breath stirring her hair. “Ach, Lillian, I feel so . . . full.”

  Lillian swallowed. She, too, felt full. Before she could completely examine the pleasurable feeling, Henrik gave a little cough, and Eli abruptly dropped his arms and stepped away from her.

  Color flooded Eli’s tanned cheeks. “Nä-jo, now that we have all seen the wheat, we should return to work.” He hurried off. The boys ambled toward the sod houses. But Lillian crouched down, running her fingertips over the tender tips of the closest shoots of new wheat.

  Looking up at the cloud-dotted sky, she smiled. “Dear God, thank You . . .” The wheat wasn’t the only thing blooming on this prairie. Something inside of her had just sprung to life.

  23

  What was I thinking?” Eli kicked at a tuft of grass and plunged his trembling hands into his pockets. He slid a quick, accusing glance skyward. “Did I not ask You to guard my heart? And did You see what I did back there? I held her.” He stopped abruptly, as if colliding with a wall. “I held her.”

  In his lifetime, Eli had received few hugs. He remembered his mother hugging him when he was a little boy, but after her death he could count on one hand the number of times someone had embraced him. Each time had been special, cherished, because of the rarity of the gesture. But this time—taking Lillian into his arms—had been different from all other times before.

  He aimed another vicious kick at the grass and forged onward. After days of keeping himself at a safe distance, of being considerate without investing his emotions, he had completely undone himself in one moment of excitement. “Ach, what was I thinking?” The words exploded, more forcefully than before, scaring two quail from the thick grasses.

  Once again he stopped. Stooping, he plucked a long piece of grass and twisted it between his fingers. The blade spun as erratically as his thoughts, bouncing this way and that. By the time he tossed the blade away, he had come to a conclusion: His thrill over the sprouted seed had spilled over, compelling him to share it. So he had danced with Joseph and hugged Lillian. The hug was only an expression of delight; it didn’t need to mean anything more.

  But as Eli retrieved the sickle and began trimming the grass behind the sod houses, a persistent thought niggled in the back of his mind: That hug was no accident. He had deliberately chosen to share his excitement with Lillian because, deep down, he wanted to share every part of his life with her.

  “Joseph, pay attention.” Henrik pointed to the arithmetic book. His finger sent a long shadow across the page as he tried to make his brother understand. “See here? You have to bring the next number down and continue dividing until what is left of the dividend is too small to receive the divisor. Then, if there is any part of the dividend left over, you record it here as a remainder.”

  Joseph stuck out his lower lip. “There are too many steps, Henrik. I don’t care about long division.”

  Shaking his head, Henrik shot his mother an impatient look. “Joseph prefers to be duslijch.”

  Ma pursed her lips. Her hands paused in stitching a patch onto Henrik’s work trousers. “Your brother does not wish to be stupid, Henrik. He is merely tired of sitting still. You have been studying all morning. Maybe you could take a short break?”

  “And do what?” Henrik threw his arms wide. Rain fell steadily outside, trapping them in the sod house for the third day in a row.

  Ma sighed, poking the needle through the fabric. “Read a book?”

  Henrik slapped the arithmetic book closed and paced the short expanse of open floor. “I only brought three with me besides the study books, and I have read them so many times I have them memorized.”

  “Then recite something to me.”

  “Oh, Ma . . .”

  Joseph bounced up from the trunk. “We could arm-wrestle.”

  Henrik blew out a derisive breath. “No contest.”

  “Come on, Henrik.” Joseph rolled up his shirtsleeve. “I have worked hard and built my muscles. See?” He flexed his arm. To Henrik’s surprise, a small bulge rose on his brother’s skinny arm. “Arm-wrestle me.”

  “Boys . . .” The warning note in Ma’s voice carried clearly over the gentle roll of thunder and patter of raindrops.

  “Just arm wrestling, Ma,” Joseph pleaded, “not real wrestling.”

  Henrik slung his arm around Joseph’s neck and tugged him close. Surprisingly, Joseph’s temple met Henrik’s chin. His brother had grown over the past months. “Ma says no, Joseph. Think of something else.”

  Joseph folded his arms over his chest and twisted his lips into a scowl. “There is nothing else . . .”

  “Knock, knock!”

  Joseph lost his sulk when Eli’s voice called at the door. He scampered the few feet needed to pull the canvas flap aside. “Pa! Why are you in the rain?”

  Eli ducked to enter the sod house, but he stopped just inside the door. Water dripped from his hat, clothes, and beard, but he grinned. “I am in the rain because I cannot avoid it. Such a rain! Steady, but not too hard—a perfect rain to nourish the wheat.” He removed his hat and shook his head. Drops flew, spattering Ma, but she smiled rather than ducking away from the moisture.

  Eli’s gaze seemed to avoid Ma, bouncing instead between Joseph and Henrik. “I have seen to the needs of the animals. The chickens, they cluck in complaint, but the horses and oxen are content to sit and watch the rain fall.”

  Ma, still busily stitching, commented, “These two boys are far from content. They are getting restless from being trapped in here.”

  Eli shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Ach, a
fter all our days of work, you cannot enjoy a few days of rest?” His grin took the sting out of the rebuke. He ran his fingers through his beard. “I thought maybe I would go to the creek and see how well Kansas fish bite in the rain.”

  Joseph darted for his jacket. “May I go, too?”

  Eli chuckled. “Jo, that is why I came here first. I thought you boys might be ready to get out.” He jerked his thumb in Ma’s direction. “Your mother, though—she is probably too Je’scheit to sit on a wet creek bank and hold a pole while rain falls on her head.”

  Henrik half expected his mother to toss aside her stitching and meet Eli’s challenge. Lately, it had seemed she went out of her way to please the man.

  But she only nodded. “Far too prim for such an activity.” Looking up, she arched one brow. “How will you cook the fish if you catch any? The rain prevents me from building a fire.”

  Eli scratched his head. “Hmm . . . Your mother makes a good point. Maybe we should not go fishing after all.”

  “Aww!” Joseph smacked his jacket against his legs. “Please, Pa? Even if we just catch them and throw them back, can we not go?”

  Henrik wasn’t particularly fond of fishing, but when faced with staying inside all day as opposed to getting out for a while, he would willingly fish. “Maybe we could put the fish on a string and leave them in the creek. The rain must stop sometime, and we can cook them after the rain goes away.”

  “See there?” Eli gestured toward Henrik with his hat, nodding at Ma. “This is why your boy will be a good teacher—he solves problems.” He stepped toward the canvas door. “Nä-jo, put that jacket on, Joseph, and fetch a hat. You, too, Henrik.”

  As they walked to the creek, poles bouncing on their shoulders, Eli said, “As soon as this rain quits, we must dig clay and build a Feaheat in your sod house. The nights are cool enough now to sometimes need warmth from a fireplace, and your mother will want a way to cook when it is too cold to be outside.”