Fields of Grace (26 page)

“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

W
hat 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.”