Fields of Grace (18 page)

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 responsibilities, 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.

“I am leaving now.” Eli kept his voice to a mere whisper. “Keep the fire going—I broke up another dead limb last night, so you have plenty of fuel. And remember what I said. Take good care of your mother and brother.”

As Eli disappeared into the shadows, Henrik assumed Eli’s place by the fire and fed twigs to the flames. He yawned frequently, fighting the urge to lie down again. Eli would never know. But if he lay down, the fire would die. He knew they must preserve the matches, so instead of sleeping, he kept the fire going.

Ma rose with the sun, and she wakened Joseph to care for the chickens. While Joseph gave the chickens their feed, Henrik hobbled the oxen’s legs and led them to the grassy area near the creek to eat. By the time the animals had eaten their fill, Ma had breakfast ready. Henrik eagerly took his plate of fried eggs and salt pork.

Ma looked at him, one fine eyebrow higher than the other. “Would you bless our food, Henrik?”

Father—and then Eli—had always prayed for their meals. Self-consciousness attacked Henrik, and his face grew hot. He spluttered something nonsensical.

Ma quirked her lips into a half grin. “It is all right, son. I will pray.” She lowered her head and offered a simple blessing.

For Henrik, the food didn’t go down easily, despite Ma’s fine cooking and the musical accompaniment of birds in the brambles near the small creek. Why hadn’t he been able to offer a blessing for the meal? It wasn’t as if he never prayed . . . although he realized with a shock he couldn’t remember praying since they’d left Gnadenfeld. Had he left God behind on the
steppes
of Russia?

When they finished eating, Ma sent Henrik and Joseph to the creek for a bath. Henrik resisted leaving Ma alone in the camp, but she shooed him off, telling him she would be fine with the clucks and the oxen. Henrik bathed as quickly as possible and returned to camp with his clothes sticking to his damp body. Ma was waiting, scissors in hand.

“Let us make ourselves presentable for our new land.” She gave first Henrik and then Joseph a haircut. Henrik knew they needed it—Joseph’s hair curled well over his ears, and Henrik’s was so long it tickled his neck. Even though little hairs worked their way beneath his shirt to prick him, it felt good to have close-cropped hair once more.

After his haircut, Joseph crawled into the wagon to read, and Ma took out some mending. She sat on the ground, leaned against the wagon wheel, and ran the needle in and out, slowly closing the hole in one of Joseph’s socks. Henrik paced the ground around the wagon, watching the road leading to and away from their camp. If anyone approached, he would fetch the rifle and be ready.

By midmorning three wagons had passed by, but none had stopped, and Henrik’s short night was catching up with him. He yawned repeatedly, shaking his head to battle sleepiness. How did Eli manage on so little rest?

Ma, watching him, let out a soft laugh. She put her stitching aside and crossed to him, placing her hand on his crossed forearms. “Come and sit, Henrik. You’ll wear out the soles of your boots with your marching to and fro.”

“Eli told me to keep guard, so . . . I am.”

Ma clicked her tongue against her teeth. Her thin, lined cheeks didn’t match the girlish sparkle in her eyes. “Even guards occasionally sit. Come. Have a cup of coffee and relax.” She glanced at the sun. “Surely Eli will be back soon with the developer and we will be on our way.”

Although Henrik kept his eyes on the road, he followed Ma to the fire and sat, accepting a cup of rich coffee. He sipped the hot brew, sweat breaking out across his back. It tasted good, and he took another sip.

“Are you . . . happy we will soon reach our land, Henrik?”

Henrik set the tin cup on his knee and toyed with the curved handle. No, happiness did not lift his heart when he thought of establishing a home on the prairie. Over their days of travel, the endless view of rolling plains covered in tall grass had brought no rush of eagerness to claim a portion. This dream of owning land in America was Father’s and Eli’s, not his.

A verse from Philippians—one his father had taught him when he was young—floated through his mind:
Not that I speak in respect of
want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.
Had the author of the Scripture been forced to set aside his deepest dreams to fulfill someone else’s calling?

“I will be glad to be in one place” was Henrik’s careful answer.

Mother’s sad eyes met his. “My son, you will become a teacher one day. Eli has promised me that he will see to it.”

Henrik nodded, but he wondered if Eli would keep that promise. Especially now, when he was still so angry about Henrik’s misbehavior. Henrik stared into the yellow flames. The licking tongue consuming the dry wood became an image of the sun overhead consuming him—melting away his hopes and dreams. His stomach churned with a swirl of mixed emotions.

“Son?”

He looked up.