“I forgive you, Ma.”
Her breath whooshed out. “Dank, Joseph.”
“But I still want to stay here, with Pa.”
Father, give me grace . . . Although her son’s words pierced her, she drew her shoulders back and met his gaze. “Nä-jo, Joseph, I understand. Your . . . pa”—she flicked a look at Eli to find him eying her guardedly—“and I will discuss this.” Unable to resist, she tweaked the curl behind his ear again. “All right?”
Joseph sighed, but he didn’t step away from her touch. “All right.” Then he whirled toward Eli. “Pa, are we going to McPherson Town today for the chickens and piglets?”
Eli rose slowly, as if unfolding his body. His gaze brushed across Lillian, his eyebrows low, but his expression cleared when he turned to Joseph. “That calf is big enough to be sold, so jo, we will go try to make our trade today.”
“Is . . . is Ma coming, too?”
Lillian couldn’t decide if Joseph was expectant or reluctant. Before Eli could answer, Lillian said, “I have my own work today, Joseph. You men go ahead.” She began stacking the dirty dishes.
Joseph snatched his jacket from the peg by the door. “Hurry, Pa.”
Eli stepped away from the table. “I am coming, son.” He took down his hat and jacket and slipped them on with unusually slow movements. Just before heading out the door, he glanced at Lillian. She held her breath, hoping for words of affirmation or even a tender look. Would he understand that her request for forgiveness from Joseph extended to him, too?
“Did you mean what you said . . . about Joseph remaining on the farmstead with me?”
“I meant it.” Her words came out breathlessly, as if she’d just run a long distance. “He loves it here. He loves you. He should stay.”
Eli nodded slowly. “Jo, it is good that you are thinking of what is best for the boy instead of selfishly.” His tone let her know he’d found her previous behavior selfish.
Heat built in her cheeks, but she didn’t turn away. “I know I hurt him.” And you. “I want to make things right.” With both of you. Will you let me, Eli? She waited for him to ask if she would be staying, too, but his gaze bounced past her to the corner, where the basket of dirty wash she had collected awaited her attention.
“You need not wash my clothes, Lillian. I will see to them myself when the boy and I return from McPherson Town.” He closed the door behind him.
His message was clear: He did not need her. Which meant he no longer wanted her. Lillian’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, Father, please . . . give me grace to bear this pain I have created. . . .”
34
Eli stood inside the rock house and watched Lillian through a window opening. Her bonnet hung by its strings down her back, leaving her face exposed to the sun, but she didn’t pause in her hoeing to tug it back in place. Instead she kept a steady rhythm of chop, chop, chop as she made her way across the watermelon patch.
April’s scattered showers brought new growth, including weeds. She had proclaimed her intention to clear the weeds so the watermelons wouldn’t be choked out. He chose not to explore her sudden interest in working the land when in the past her focus had been on keeping house. Speculation would only lead to heartache. Although over the past two weeks her attitude had softened, giving him a glimpse of the woman she had been before Henrik’s departure, and although she had given Joseph permission to stay on the land with Eli, she hadn’t indicated a desire to stay. And he wouldn’t ask. Not again. A negative answer would certainly shatter what remained of his battered heart.
He turned from the window opening and tapped his boot toe against the pile of lumber stacked in the middle of the floor. “Dank, Father, for Your provision,” he said aloud. The calf had fetched a good price in McPherson Town—better than Eli had anticipated. He’d also sold several pounds of walnuts and a bushel of mushrooms. With the proceeds, he had purchased four red hens, a brazen rooster, two scrawny piglets, and a few supplies. The remaining funds paid for a stack of lumber—hopefully enough to build walls to divide the rock house into four rooms and put in the floor of the loft.
Glancing again at the window opening, he heaved a sigh. He wished he had been able to purchase glass to enclose the openings. But the general store owner in McPherson Town had quoted a price beyond what Eli could comfortably pay. The man had suggested buying glass panes in Newton. Since the panes came on the railroad from the East, and Newton was a closer stop, freight charges—and consequently the heavy goods—were less at the general store there. So now Eli needed to plan a trip to Newton.
Eli smoothed his hand over a planed board, biting down on his lower lip. The money from the sale of the calf was gone. To buy panes of glass, he would need to use some of the funds from the leather pouch. He hated to deplete that supply—especially with no crop to harvest—but there was no other choice.
Unless . . . There was one more thing he could sell. It pained him to consider it, but it would mean preserving their available cash, which he considered a wise choice. “Lord, guide my thoughts and let me find Your will concerning this matter.” With the situation safely in God’s hands, he set his mind to the task at hand.
Joseph was already anxious to move into the loft of this house— so Eli needed to build it. He withdrew several nails from the cloth pouch at his waist and stuck them between his lips. Hefting a board, he carried it to the east wall and stood it in position. His hammer connected rhythmically on the nail’s square head, the force of each blow sending a vibration from his palm to his elbow and the resounding ring echoing through the house. Six nails, six good whacks on each nail, and the board was secure.
By noon the framework was in place, with rough openings for doors, and he was ready to start on the walls. He planned to fill the open space with mud for insulation and to create a sound barrier. The clang of Lillian’s pots and pans in the morning was a discordant start to a day. Eli preferred to be awakened by the first fingers of sunlight creeping through windows. He’d missed the morning sunlight while living in the sod house. In the sleeping room of this house, he would be sure his pillow faced the east to glimpse the first morning rays.
Sadness rolled over him like a wave, buckling his knees. He leaned against the pile of lumber and put his head in his hands. When he planned this house for Lillian, he had envisioned the two of them closing the door to the sleeping room, shutting away the cares of the world together. But now he would be living in that room alone.
At least, he reminded himself, slapping his own knee to drive away the attack of despondence, he would have the boy’s company. So he and Joseph would share this house. Eli raised his face and spoke to the echoey room. “Lord, You have given me a great gift in Joseph. I praise You for the boy’s presence in my life.” Speaking the words aloud cheered him, and he returned to work.
At supper Eli watched as Joseph spooned fried noodles onto his plate. “Those chickens we bought”—the boy shook his head ruefully—“they are not so smart as the ones we bought in Topeka.”
Eli chuckled, taking the spoon to dish a hearty portion of noodles onto his own plate. His stomach growled as the good smell of noodles and fresh eggs fried together in rich lard reached his nose. “Clucks are clucks. All have small heads and small brains.” He handed the spoon and bowl to Lillian. Her fingers brushed his, and he nearly dropped the bowl. With difficulty, he kept his gaze on Joseph.
“Helena, Matilda, and Katrina all came when I called. These four clucks run from my voice. And that rooster.” Joseph’s eyes sparked. “He thinks he is the boss, and he chases them all around.” He shook his finger. “They better learn to mind me or I will take a switch to them!”
Eli laughed, but when Lillian’s tinkling laughter joined his, he fell silent. Leaning over his plate, he focused on filling his belly and allowed Joseph and Lillian to chat. After their long weeks of little communication, they were rebuilding their relationship. He wouldn’t intrude.
He’d finished his last noodle and reached for a piece of
bread to mop up the grease when Lillian said, “Eli?”
His senses immediately went on alert with the sound of his name on her tongue. He gulped, holding the bread in front of him like a shield. “Jo?”
“Joseph tells me you have started building the inside walls on the fieldstone house.”
The tranquil tone, reminiscent of days past, filled him with a desire to return to those wonderful days of kinship with Lillian. He bit into the bread in lieu of a verbal response.
“When do you think the house will be ready for occupancy?”
He swallowed the bread, forcing it past his uncooperative gullet. He considered an appropriate response. With the boy’s help, he should have the walls up and insulated by early May. “In two weeks, probably.” He glanced in her direction, curiosity overriding good sense. “Why do you ask?”
She offered a delicate shrug, lifting a bite of noodles. “I thought I would make curtains for the windows and some rag rugs for the floor. I wondered how much time I would have to work.”
Eli’s scalp prickled. “It is kind of you, but the boy and I do not need window dressings out here away from everyone. Who will look in on us? And rugs, they are much trouble to make. Are there not other things on which you would rather work?”
Hurt flickered in her eyes, but her smile remained. “I enjoy those kinds of tasks, Eli. Curtains will give a finished look to the house. And . . .” She looked at her plate, using her fork to move a noodle back and forth across her plate. “I would like a soft rug to step on when I get out of bed in the morning.” Her face glowed bright red.
Fire shot through Eli’s chest. “You—” His voice squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You intend to live in the rock house?”
The noodle sailed back and forth across her plate, propelled by the fork’s tines. Her head low, she answered so softly he had to strain to hear her. “You built it for me. I . . . I would like to live in it.” Her chin shot up, her gaze smacking into his as the fork clattered onto her plate. “And Joseph is young yet. He needs his mother near. If you have to do the cooking and cleaning, it will be hard for you to get all of the other work finished in building and running this farm. So . . .”
Her words trailed off, but she looked into his eyes, her lips slightly parted, though it seemed no breath escaped.
Eli cleared his throat once and then again, battling frustration. How could she play with him like a cat does a mouse? He swallowed a sharp retort and stroked his fingers through his beard. “Nä-jo. If . . . if you wish to be near Joseph, I understand.” A lump filled his throat, and he was forced to clear it again. “You are probably right that the boy would benefit from having you here, so . . . jo, you and Joseph may move into the house.”
He glanced around the sod house. The door stood open, allowing in the evening air and a band of dimming sunlight. He had anticipated windows and light, but it seemed he would continue living in shadows. Still, Joseph’s needs overrode his own. As Lillian had said, a young boy needed his mother. Having grown up without one, he wouldn’t deny Joseph the presence of a willing mother.
“I can continue to use the sod house until the others come. Then maybe I can rent a room from one of the villagers and ride out to work the fields during the day.” He shot her a sharp look. “You will need me to work the fields? You do not plan to do the farming yourself?”
The oddest look crossed her face—a combination of confusion and disappointment. But she was getting what she requested, so why look at him as though she didn’t understand?
“I am not able to do the farming. We . . . we will need you.”
Her voice quavered, further baffling Eli. “Nä-jo, then it is set.” He pushed off from the table, eager to escape her presence. Her wide eyes begged for something he didn’t know how to give. Turning to Joseph, he said, “I am going to go load dirt into the wagon so tomorrow early I can begin to mix mud for the insulation. Do you want to help me?”
Joseph tossed his cloth napkin aside and jumped up. “For sure, Pa!”
Eli slung his arm across the boy’s shoulders, and they headed for the door. Lillian’s voice called, breaking his stride.
“I will fold the dry clothes after washing dishes. Shall I put yours on the trunk in Joseph’s room?”
Pressure built in Eli’s chest. She had washed his dirty clothes after all. He didn’t want a housekeeper. He wanted a wife. If she couldn’t be his wife, then she should leave his clothes alone.
Lillian waved as the wagon rolled from the yard, carrying Eli and Joseph away. A strange weight had settled on her shoulders when she saw Eli put the oxen in the yoke and tie the horses’ reins to the back of the wagon. Why did he need to take all four animals to Newton to purchase window glass? Did he worry she would climb on the back of one of those horses and ride after Henrik?
Joseph turned backward in the seat, waving, his smile bright. She pushed aside the dark thought concerning Eli and focused on her son. How good to see his smile, to know it was meant for her. After a tentative beginning, they had managed to rebuild the close relationship that had developed between them following Jakob’s death.
An unbidden thought crept into her mind: If Jakob had lived, she would probably still feel distanced from her middle son. Eli’s comment about good coming from deep suffering had proved true in this situation. Joseph was funny and sensitive, with a bright mind. It gave her great joy to truly know this unique, pleasant young man she had borne.
Turning toward the house, she pondered whether Eli’s proclamation might be evidenced in other ways given time. Her heart still ached for Henrik’s return. Daily she prayed for him, but instead of begging God to bring her son back, she prayed for Henrik to seek God’s will in his life. Placing him into God’s hands, trusting God to guide and protect her son, brought a greater peace than anything she had experienced even when Henrik resided beneath her roof. She recognized that a part of her would always long for Henrik’s return, but she had ceased to allow the longing to consume her. The freedom that came with the release of worry was exhilarating.
She lifted the basket of torn scraps that she planned to weave into rag rugs, and carried it to the yard. The spring sun was bright and cheerful, warming the top of her head. After the winter months of being trapped inside the sod house, she welcomed the opportunity to be outdoors again. And next winter would be better because she would have windows that would allow the sunshine in and give her a view of the snow-laden landscape.
“But no more Hoagelsteens, please, Lord!” She giggled after she voiced the impetuous prayer. How wonderful to speak with God as a friend again.
Her hands stilled in tying strips into one long string. Would this painful separation from Eli ever end? Despite her best efforts to reach him, Eli still held himself at a distance. She had always thought him a forgiving man, but apparently he was unable to forgive her for her coldness toward him.
She plunked the tumble of rag strips into the basket and stood. Staring into the distance where the wagon had disappeared, her heart sought a way to convince Eli she had been wrong. She had tried everything she knew—seeing to his needs, engaging him in idle talk concerning the house and the land, inviting him to read the Bible with her and Joseph as he had before Henrik left. She wanted to boldly tell him that she was ready to be his wife again, but each time the words formed on her tongue, his aloof treatment silenced her.
“What can I do, Father?” Lillian lifted her face to the sky, where wispy clouds drifted lazily on a backdrop of soft blue. No answer came from the clouds, but a sense of well-being enveloped her. Just as she would wait for Henrik and trust God to keep watch on her precious son, she would trust God to guide Eli back to her.
Slipping to her knees, she folded her hands and closed her eyes. “Dear God, You love Eli even more than I do. You know what is best for him . . . and for me. We have made vows to be faithful. I . . . failed him . . . but now I wish to make amends. I trust You to open our hearts to one another again, binding us together with
cords that cannot be broken.”
As she rose, a song winged through her heart. She began to sing, “Erstaunliche Anmut, how sweet the sound . . .”
She sang of God’s grace while she braided the rag strips. Her voice caught on the words “The Lord has promised good to me . . .” As she sang, she considered the Lord’s promise for good, and she made a promise to herself: By the time this rag rug was ready to be placed on the sleeping room floor, her relationship with Eli would be restored. Just as the tattered rags would become something of use and beauty, the torn edges of their relationship would be woven together.
35
Eli pulled the oxen to a halt outside the livery stable, then turned to Joseph. “You stay here, boy. I will be right back.” He braced his hand on the wood side to hop down.
Joseph caught his arm. “Are you sure you have to sell the horses?”
Eli understood Joseph’s disappointment. He might never own a finer pair than Socks and Stockings, as Joseph had named the matching bays. But the oxen could pull the plow and the wagon; horses were an extravagance. Finishing the house was more important than riding behind a beautiful team of horses.
“Jo, I am sure.” Eli softened his statement with a wink. “Now stay here, as I said.” He landed flat-footed, dust rising with the smack of his soles against the ground. He swished at his pant legs with his gloved hands, then adjusted his hat and headed for the livery owner’s office at the front of the stable.
“Bornholdt! Eli Bornholdt! Goodendach! ”
The Plautdietsch greeting brought Eli to a startled stop in the middle of the road. He spun toward the voice, squinting against the sun. “Gustaf Plett!” Eli trotted forward to welcome one of his former neighbors from Gnadenfeld. The men clasped hands, laughing and speaking at once, their words tripping over each other in a cacophony of gladness.
Joseph jumped down from the wagon and raced to the men’s sides. “Oomkje Plett, is Wilhelm here, too?”
Fields of Grace Page 28
