To cover his blunder, he said, “But house building is months away yet. Maybe I should have Henrik come live with me. It would give you and Joseph more room.”
Lillian stared at the skillet, where something bubbled and sent up aromatic steam. “I suppose that could be one solution. . . .”
Eli tensed, his senses suddenly alert. “You . . . you have another idea?”
For a moment, she dipped her head, her face glowing red. From the fire’s heat? She rubbed her lips together, flicked a quick glance at him, then focused once more on the skillet. When she spoke, he had to turn his ear toward her to hear. “Maybe you could use the small sod house as a . . . a storehouse. And . . . and we could all . . .”
He held his breath, waiting for her to complete the sentence. But she fell silent. His chest exploded with each booming heartbeat. He finished the sentence in his mind: We could all live together. Is that what she intended to say? But wasn’t theirs merely a marriage of convenience? She still loved Reinhardt.
You are more. His mouth was so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to ask questions, to hear her answers, but he couldn’t make his lips cooperate.
“Ma?” Joseph stomped to the fire, his face puckered into a cranky scowl. “When will we eat?”
“Only a few more minutes, son. Be patient.”
Joseph stalked away, muttering. But even though he departed, Lillian didn’t attempt to resume the previous conversation. Eli couldn’t find the courage to mention it, either. When the egg and meat mixture in the skillet was ready, they ate in silence, their gazes meeting and then darting apart. By the time they’d finished the simple meal, full dark shrouded the area, and Eli suggested Lillian wait until morning to wash the dishes.
She followed Henrik and Joseph into the sod house and released the canvas flap, sealing them inside without so much as a backward glance. But what did he expect? For her to turn around and finish the sentence that plagued his mind? By now she no doubt regretted her hasty words.
Eli tossed the remaining coffee from the pot into the fire. He waited until the flickering flames completely died, then pushed to his feet and plodded across the ground to his own little sod house.
Pausing outside the door, he looked at the bigger house only a few feet away. Both houses were constructed of sod, both loomed like black shadows beneath the night sky, but what a difference inside the walls. One sheltered people; one confined a person. He didn’t want to go into his little house. He didn’t want to be alone.
With a heavy sigh, he pushed aside the canvas and forced his feet to cross the dirt threshold. Inside, he stared across the tiny room. Never had the little dwelling felt as dismal as this night.
Lillian dropped heavily onto her feather tick and stared at the dark ceiling. Joseph’s soft snore and Henrik’s distinct, deep breathing let her know she wasn’t alone, yet loneliness sat heavily in her breast. Slowly, as if forcing it through cold molasses, she stretched her arm to the side, to that narrow slice of bed where her husband used to lie. Longing rolled through her as she remembered coiling against Reinhardt’s sturdy frame, being warmed by his body, feeling his breath stir her hair.
She traced time backward, to her final night in Gnadenfeld. Less than half a year ago . . . but so much had transpired in those brief months, she felt as though her time in their little village—her time as Reinhardt’s wife—was a lifetime ago. Was this lonely ache the reason she had nearly invited Eli to share the sod house with her? She searched her own heart. Did she truly wish to share her bed with Eli, or was it merely loneliness for Reinhardt that had brought about the impulsive invitation?
When they had watched the sunset together, she had felt bound to Eli in a unique way. Eli hadn’t scoffed at her fascination at the colors in the sky. Not only had he understood, he had supported her desire to drink in that wondrous beauty. How easily he could have dismissed her desire to admire the sunset given the late hour and the long day, but he had stopped, listened, shared.
Those moments in the wagon when he spoke of acknowledging all God had given that was beyond need flooded back. She had been taught from early childhood that God would meet her needs, and the idea had offered security. But Eli had suggested something more. Did God grant desires as well as needs? Did God give gifts beyond what His children requested? She had never pondered the giving nature of God in such detail before. But the idea that God would bestow over and above what was necessary to survive filled her heart with gratitude. She wished she could burst into a song of praise!
Eli spoke so easily of God, as one would speak of a close friend or family member. A part of her envied his comfortable status with God the creator. But deeper than her envy came a recognition of how his words applied not only to God’s gifts but to Eli’s gifts.
She and Eli were married in name only. He was only required to meet the physical needs of her family. Yet his giving extended well beyond what was required. In Eli’s willingness to offer up all of himself, she witnessed tangible evidence of God extending His loving hand to mankind.
A question filled her mind: When people looked at her, what did they see? She loved God—she had been raised to revere and love God the Father. She believed in Jesus the Son and had received Him as her Savior when she was still a young girl. Yet, examining her own life, she couldn’t be certain her belief showed.
Eli glowed with God’s love. She heard it in his words, saw it in his attitude and his actions. He lived wholeheartedly what he believed. His expression as he quoted the Scripture from Psalms earlier that evening had been so sure, so serene. How had he developed such a godly demeanor?
The Bible . . . of course. Eli read from it each day. He started his day with the Word—in fact, he shared a snippet of Scripture with her and the boys every morning at breakfast. Hadn’t she seen him hunched over his Bible in deep concentration, his finger underlining words? No matter how much work awaited, he started his day in a time of fellowship with God. That must be what helped him carry the essence of God throughout the day.
She, too, must assume his habit. Eagerness made her itch to leap from the bed, light the lantern, and find the Bible Reinhardt had packed in his trunk so she could begin reading immediately. But no . . . lighting a lamp would disturb her sons. She must wait until morning.
Determined to sleep, she rolled to her side and curled into a ball. But her thoughts continued to churn. One troubling idea worked its way to the forefront of her mind. Did she want to read the Bible to grow more like God, or did she hope to evoke a kinship with Eli?
25
Lillian released a sigh of contentment as she closed Reinhardt’s Bible. Daily time with God had increased her desire to know Him more intimately, and she savored the blessed minutes of personal fellowship with the Father.
She laid the Bible next to the lantern that sat on the corner of an overturned crate in Eli’s sod house. Her woven shawl slipped from her shoulders, and she tugged it back into place, wondering what she could do to pass the time, since she had no other belongings with her. After an early breakfast, Eli had instructed her to spend the morning in his sod house, since he would be breaking a hole in the wall of the larger house in preparation for building a chimney.
She would welcome a fireplace for warmth, and she wondered if Eli would build one for his sod house, too. Even inside the thick walls of the little dwelling, with the new wooden door snugly closed in its frame, today’s chill reached her. Yet she wouldn’t complain. Up until the past two days, the weather had remained mild. But as the opening days of November drew near—just as she had come to expect in Gnadenfeld—the temperature dropped, bringing the crust of frost on the grass and the fog of one’s breath in the morning air.
Eli watched the sky daily for signs of snow. He expressed concern that Kansas snow would either be too light to blanket his budding wheat and send it to sleep for the winter or so heavy it smothered the wheat and killed the tender shoots. When Lillian reminded him God would meet their needs—including th
e needs of the wheat—he smiled and grazed her chin with his fingertips. The whisper touch, his gesture of gratitude, had sent a tingle of pleasure through her body.
Laughter burst from outside—Henrik’s or Joseph’s, she couldn’t be sure. Since Joseph’s twelfth birthday a week ago, it seemed his voice had lowered in pitch each day, completely losing the little-boy tremolo. That change made her miss Jakob even more. Ah, Jakob, mein kjestlijch en Sän . . . Would she ever fully release the longing to see her precious little boy run toward her, arms outstretched for a hug, a smile as bright as sunshine on his face? How could she ever cease craving the presence of a child to whom she had given life? Yet over the months, the bitter sting had lessened. God had been good to ease the pain, and thankfulness rose in her breast for His mercy.
Rising from the crate that served as both bench and table, she crossed to the door and cracked it open. Cold air rushed in, stinging her nose. Although she had planned to go out and peek at the progress being made on her fireplace, she closed the door and returned to the crate.
She sat, her skirts brushing the Bible. Shifting slightly, she traced the gilt letters forming the words Heilige Bibel. The touch brought a flood of disjointed memories: her father standing in front of the church, a Bible flopped open on his broad hand as he expounded on the meaning of a selected passage; Reinhardt sitting ramrod straight on the bench on the men’s side of the church in Gnadenfeld with his Bible held two-handed in his lap; Eli cross-legged in the grass, his Bible sandwiched between his broad hand and his knee, reading passages in an earnest voice.
Each picture included a man from whom she had received instruction, care, and guidance; each provided a glimpse of the man’s reverence for God’s Word. She scrunched her forehead, picturing their faces. Two stern, one relaxed; all fervent. She was most drawn to the image of Eli, perhaps because he presented a loving, personal view of religion different from what she remembered of the do’s and don’ts of her father’s and Reinhardt’s staunch beliefs.
She flipped open the Bible again, locating the Scripture she had read that morning. The verses were the same ones Eli had shared the first time they had held their private worship service in Kansas. She scanned the text, seeking the word Anmut—grace. When she located it, she whispered the phrase aloud: “ ‘My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness . . . ’ ”
A smile grew on her face as she absorbed the meaning of the words. When she lacked strength, God would provide . . . even beyond her needs. And as He provided, she would grow in her knowledge, trust, and desire for Him.
More laughter enticed her from the seat. She eased the shawl over her hair and tied the ends in a knot, then slipped outside. The brisk air lifted her shawl, making her shiver as she rounded Eli’s sod house. Abruptly, she halted, gawking in amazement. The north wall of her sod house bore a gaping hole.
Joseph trotted to her side. Grabbing her arm, he tugged her across the grass. “Look, Ma! See how big the fireplace will be?” He bent over, holding his stomach as laughter claimed him. Eli and Henrik exchanged grins, nudging each other with their elbows.
Lillian, looking on, felt like an intruder. She put her fists on her hips. “I have been hearing laughter all morning. What are you doing? You are supposed to be at work, not play.”
Joseph staggered to Henrik’s side, still laughing. Henrik shook his head at his brother, puckering his face into a stern look, but sporadic peals of laughter escaped his lips.
Eli waved both hands toward the ragged hole. “Play? You think chopping a hole of this size while not collapsing the entire wall is play?”
“Well, something has you all caught up in merriment.” She frowned at each of them in turn. “What is it?”
Henrik put his hands behind his back and whistled tunelessly, rocking on his heels much the way Eli often did. Eli held his axe by the head, bouncing the handle against his leg, his expression innocent. Joseph pinched his lips together, his face bright red. None of them offered an explanation.
Shaking her head, she mused, “I thought three men were building this fireplace, but it seems there are three little boys instead.”
If she thought her comment would restore solemnity, she was mistaken. Her words stirred a new, more raucous burst of laughter. With a huff that left a cloud of condensation in the air, she spun and stormed around the corner.
A hand captured her upper arm, bringing her to a stop. She peered into Eli’s face. Genuine concern creased his features. “Are you angry? The laughter is not directed at you.”
Lillian bit the insides of her cheeks to hold back her smile. Although his heavy beard lent evidence of manhood, he looked boyish with hanks of dark hair poking out beneath his cap and his face puckered in worry. Assuming a hurt air, she sniffed. “You all share en Sposkje, but you leave me out.”
He blinked twice, his thumb moving up and down on the inside of her arm and sending delicious tremors from her shoulder to her fingertips. “But the joke, it is not on you.”
“Even so . . .” The wind caught her shawl again, blowing it askew. Before she could reach to straighten it, Eli took hold of the edges and shifted it to frame her face. In so doing, his knuckles brushed her cheeks. His rough skin, cool to the touch, was unfamiliar yet oddly welcome. She sucked in a little gasp of awareness.
He took a giant step backward. “I will tell you what happened that is so funny,” he blurted. His cheeks glowed red above his beard.
Lillian, inching her way toward the sod house door, waved one hand at him and held tight to the knot of her shawl with the other. “Nä, nä, that is fine. You men need a joke amongst yourselves now and then. I was only teasing you. In truth . . .” She licked her dry lips, gathering the courage to share her thoughts. “It is good to hear laughter. It brings a lift to my heart and tells me happiness exists here.”
“Much happiness exists here.” Eli pressed his palm to his heart. “I feel it . . . and it grows day by day. I . . . I have never been as happy as I am here on this land.”
The words “Me too” hovered on the tip of Lillian’s tongue, but she held them back. How could she be happier without Reinhardt and Jakob? Expressing the thought would be blasphemous. So she said, “I am glad,” instead.
The statement seemed to satisfy Eli. A smile spread across his face. Another gust of wind smacked hard from behind, wrapping her skirts around her knees. Eli pulled his hat more firmly over his hair. “It is cold today. You go inside—it would not do for you to get a chill. I must return to work if we want to have that hole sealed by a sturdy fireplace before the day ends.”
Lillian took a step toward the sod house. “Will the fireplace be built today, then?”
“Built, but not yet usable,” he said. “The clay must harden before you can put a fire in it. Two—three days of waiting. Can you manage that long?”
“I can manage.”
His eyes flashed approval. “Goot. Now inside with you.”
Sitting all alone, she discovered, made for a dreary day. During the years in Gnadenfeld with three boys underfoot, there had been moments when she longed for a few moments of privacy. Now she questioned that desire. How could she have been so foolish?
By suppertime she’d had enough of sitting idly. Chill wind or not, she would feed her men a hot supper to reward their day of hard work. After starting a fire in the Spoaheat, she prepared a batch of Bobbat, adding to the thick batter finely chopped deer meat and several handfuls of raisins from the supply purchased in McPherson Town.
To fill time while the Bobbat baked, she rolled and cut noodles for tomorrow’s meal. Fried noodles, mixed with eggs, was one of Joseph’s favorite dishes. She sang while she worked, the words of the hymn “Wach auf mein Herz und Singe” spilling effortlessly from her lips.
Eli opened the door of his sod house to find her stringing noodles over every available clean surface. He chuckled, bringing an end to her hymn. Then he lifted his hand in invitation. “Nä, nä, I like that morning hymn. Keep singi
ng.” Raising his chin, he belted out the opening words. “Awake, my heart, and render . . .”
Lillian joined in, her soprano blending perfectly with his baritone. They sang all four verses in flawless harmony, facing one another across a small sea of noodles. When they finished, Eli drew in a deep breath and released it with an “Ahhh.” He grinned. “Although that is a morning hymn, it is a good way to end a day, too.”
He glanced around the room. “You have turned my sod house into a Nüdel factory, I see.”
“They will be dry enough by bedtime for me to put them in a crock,” she assured him.
“Ach.” His face sagged. “I thought you planned to cook them for our supper.”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Tonight we have Bobbat. It will be ready soon.”
Immediately, he brightened. “A goot choice! But while we wait, come.” He held out his hand, and she took it. They walked together across the brief expanse of grass separating the sod houses. He pushed open her door and gestured her inside.
The once-gaping hole now housed a deep box, mottled gray with drying clay. Lillian bent down and peered up the chimney, then straightened and clapped her hands. “Eli, you are so clever! It will be so nice to cook inside during the winter.”
He rocked on his heels, a pleased smile on his face. “Jo. It is not so nice as a brick Oweback, but it will do until I can build you an oven, and the fire will keep you warm, too.” He jerked his thumb toward the outside. “If this cold continues all winter, you will be very glad for that fireplace.”
“For sure.” She looked around, noticing all the boxes and barrels piled on the opposite side of the room in a disorganized heap. With one eyebrow raised, she said, “What is this?”
Eli looked at the stacks and scratched his head. “We had to push them out of our way so we could work.”
Fields of Grace Page 20
