Fields of Grace (32 page)

“Jo.”
Eli bobbed his head, his eyes never wavering from her. “I see that we have worked together to meet all of one another’s needs . . . save one.”

Lillian’s breath came in little gasps. Even though he didn’t speak the words, she knew what need he referenced: the need to be loved. She felt it, too. She wanted it as much as he did. And she wanted it from him. She waited for him to express the need, to give her the opportunity to open her heart to him. But he remained silent, his stoic face offering no semblance of tenderness.

So she licked her dry lips and bravely whispered, “Do you mean . . . you desire to be more than needed as a worker? You desire to be loved as a father . . . and a husband?”

He jerked as if impaled by a pitchfork. Although he didn’t respond with words, she read in his eyes his answer. His hazel eyes pled to have that need fulfilled.

Lifting her foot, she took one forward step. Keeping her voice whisper-soft, no louder than the gentle breeze that teased her skirts and caused one lock of Eli’s hair to dance on his forehead, she said, “All you have to do is ask, Eli, and the desire will be met.”

His gaze searched her face. His hands shot out to cup her upper arms, his fingers biting into her flesh as if he required her support to remain upright. “What are you saying to me, Lillian?”

Her heart fluttered with such intensity she feared it would take wing and leave her chest. “I am saying that I have grown to love you, Eli. I want to be more than the one who cooks for you and washes your clothes. I want to be your wife.”

“Out of pity?” he barked.

She shook her head wildly, twin strands of hair loosening from her bun to smack against her cheeks. “Not out of pity—out of appreciation.”

“But . . . but you have only just become a widow . . . so little time has passed . . .”

Must he argue with her heart? Why couldn’t he merely accept her words rather than fight against them? Didn’t he realize the courage it took to admit how she felt? Wriggling loose of his grasp, she caught his hands and wove her fingers through his, linking herself with him palm to palm.

“I know when counted in days it seems a short time. But think of all we have weathered together. We have lived a lifetime on this land, Eli. We have shared more than many couples share in decades.”

Tears flooded her eyes, distorting his image, but she continued in a tremulous voice. “I have examined my heart, and I know that love for you exists deep within me. I cannot bear the thought of remaining here without you. And I know my sons’ hearts would break, as well, were you to leave us. Please, Eli. Please be my husband, as you vowed to be.”

He pulled his hands free, and for a moment she feared he would turn and stalk away. But then his arms opened to capture her, and she found herself wrapped in his embrace. With a little cry of joy, she burrowed against him, slipping her arms beneath his jacket to circle his torso. She lifted her face, and his lips found hers—warm and moist and flavored of onions. Onions had never tasted so good.

His hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her more firmly into the kiss, and for seconds she forgot to breathe. When she gasped for air, he drew back, concern on his face.

“You are all right?”

Laughter bubbled upward, spilling out in a delightful torrent in conjunction with her happy tears. “I am fine. I am just breathless from your kissing.” She rose up on tiptoe to place a quick smack on his lips, then said coyly, “You are a very good kisser,
Oomkje
Bornholdt. What other secrets do you keep from me?”

He held her loosely in his arms, rocking her back and forth while a smile split his face. “My only secret—which I now regret keeping from you—is that I love you. I have loved you for weeks . . . for what feels like forever. I should have told you sooner.”

Safe within his embrace, she sighed. “I was not ready to hear it until now.”

Suddenly, he frowned. “You are not telling me you love me out of fear that I will leave you without protection and care?”

The uncertainty in his tone created a rush of sorrow. What scars he carried from being alone for so long. “I depend on you, Eli, but my love for you is not based on what you give me, but on who you are.”

His face lit. “Then, to you, I am beloved?”

“
Jo
, Eli. You are beloved.”

“Ahhh.” His sigh spoke of a satisfaction that went to the core of his soul. “To be beloved is more than I hoped for.”

Lillian grazed his beard with her fingers, enjoying the feel of the soft, curling whiskers. “But do you not remember? God gives us more than we expect.”

His smile sent her heart into blissful pattering. He drew her close again, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “We are blessed over and above . . .”

As evening approached, nervous anticipation caused a tremble in Lillian’s hands, making dinner preparations difficult. Lunch had been a simple affair—dried meat, bread, and fried noodles. So she planned a special supper, a meal befitting the morning’s admissions.

Henrik had shot a fat goose at daybreak when a flock honked its way across the sky over the sod houses. The bird now baked in the outside
Spoaheat,
stuffed with bread crumbs, rice, raisins, and walnuts harvested from a tree on the other side of the creek. Lillian set the table with her linen cloth and fine tableware instead of their everyday tin plates. Freshly churned butter sat pale and moist in a bowl next to a loaf of fresh-baked bread.

The boys would take one look at that table and wonder why their mother had gone to so much trouble for a mere Thursday, but Eli would understand. Her pulse quickened as she remembered being swept into his arms and thoroughly kissed. She touched her lips, a smile growing behind her fingers as she relived those moments when Eli literally kissed her breath away.

Guilt nibbled the edges of her conscience. She had relished Reinhardt’s kisses, but he always exercised a restraint, as if afraid to give vent to passion. Eli, however, had held nothing back, and in so doing had opened up a part of Lillian’s heart she hadn’t known existed.

How she wished for a second kiss. But it would have to wait. She had work to do. Potatoes, sliced thin and layered with wild onions, awaited frying. She carried the skillet to the
Spoaheat
. Soon she would cook in the indoor fireplace, but not until Eli said the clay was dry enough. She fried the potatoes to a crisp in hot, aromatic lard, then set the skillet at the edge of the fire to keep the potatoes warm until the goose finished cooking.

As she removed the pan with the browned bird from the oven, Eli and the boys came from the field. Eli took one look at the goose and raised his eyebrows in approval. Then he looked at the formally set table and gave Lillian a tender smile.

Warmth flooded Lillian’s face. She bustled toward the table, holding the goose in front of her like a shield. “Wash up, everyone. Our supper will grow cold if you tarry.”

Eli paused on his way to the washbasin to whisper in her ear. “You have gone to much trouble. I must think of a special way to thank you.”

The mild heat in her cheeks turned to a blazing furnace.

They sat around the table and held hands while Eli blessed the meal. Was his voice huskier this evening, or was it only her imagination? She couldn’t be sure, but she knew she had a heightened awareness of him. When she passed him the butter and their fingers brushed, lightning shot through her midsection. Surely the boys saw the sparks, so intense was her reaction to his simple touch.

But a glance at her sons showed only their enjoyment of the meal. She forced herself to relax and enjoy partaking of the sumptuous feast.

Midway through dinner, Henrik said, “We will need more feed for the animals this winter. Do you intend to purchase fodder, Eli?”

“Not when there are fields of grass, ready for cutting.” Eli carried a forkful of potatoes to his mouth. He swallowed before adding, “Tomorrow and Saturday we will build a connecting hallway between the two sod houses, turning them into one—”

Joseph’s head jerked up to stare at Eli. Henrik imitated his brother’s response, but he stared at Lillian. She focused on plucking free a bit of meat from the goose’s thigh bone while Eli continued. “—and giving us additional storage space. When that is complete, we will spend next week cutting the grass across the creek and stacking it to feed to our oxen and horses this winter.”

Henrik slowly lifted a bite to his mouth, his gaze still fixed on his mother’s face. Lillian refused to look directly at him for fear of recrimination in his eyes. She asked, “You will cut the grass on the other side of the creek? But we do not own that piece of land.”

“I know,” Eli agreed, “and if someone lived on that property, I would not touch the grass. But it is as yet unclaimed. By next spring, when others arrive, the grass will have grown and replenished itself, so we will not hurt anything by harvesting it.”

Joseph, his fisted hands holding his fork and knife upright on either side of his plate, leaned toward Eli. “You said we would join the two sod houses into one . . .”

Henrik cleared his throat—a hint, Lillian was certain, to silence his curious brother. But Joseph, unabashed, continued. “Will you build another sod house, then, for you, since you are making your sod house a part of ours?”

Eli’s eyes collided with Lillian’s across the table. She sensed him asking permission to share the change in their relationship with her sons. With a minute nod of her head, she gave her approval.

“
Nä
, son, I will not build another sod house. Instead, when your sod house and mine become one, then we”—he gestured to indicate all of them seated around the table—“will also become one family, all living together.” Suddenly apprehension attacked his features. “That . . . that will be all right with you boys?”

Joseph’s forehead wrinkled. “So we will have a two-room sod house.” He sat straight up, much like the little barking dogs that popped from holes in the prairie. “Then can Henrik and I move into the smaller room and have our own space?”

Eli looked at Henrik. “Henrik, would you mind . . . sharing . . . a room with Joseph?”

Lillian held her breath, waiting for Henrik’s response. Henrik was old enough to understand the true meaning of Eli’s question. Would he explode with anger, or would he offer his blessing? He had been so distant and cold the day she married Eli. How she needed her son’s approval.

Henrik glanced from Eli to Lillian and back to Eli. His shoulders rose and fell, and he rubbed his lips together as he stared at the half-empty plate in front of him. Then he lifted his head and gave his mother a sad half grin. “I suppose that would be . . . all right.”

Lillian battled the urge to burst into song. Although absent of overt enthusiasm, Henrik’s simple statement spoke eloquently of his altered attitude. So many prayers had been answered. She clasped his hand and whispered, “Thank you,
mein kjestlijch Sän
.”

He nodded, then returned to eating. Lillian faced forward to find Eli caressing her with a soft, adoring gaze. Once more, the breath seemed to be sucked from her lungs. How could she have overlooked the love this man held for her?
Thank You, Lord, for
opening us to one another. Thank You for the gift of this giving, loving,
godly man.

With a little laugh, she picked up the baked goose thigh and carried it to her lips. They finished their meal with light chatter, teasing, and much laughter. While she listened to Eli and the boys discuss where they would store the winter’s fodder for the animals, Lillian’s thoughts bounced forward to Sunday, when only one sod house would sit on their property. Surely happiness would now be her constant companion.

28

H
enrik threw the quilt over the freshly raked pile of sweet-smelling dried grass and stepped back, letting his gaze sweep the small room. Joseph had made his bed in the opposite corner, with a trunk containing their clothes forming a barrier between the two simple beds. A second trunk, which held his collection of books and Jakob’s items—things Ma cherished— huddled next to the wood-framed opening to the newly constructed hallway. The two sod houses were now joined into one.

Joined into one . . . The houses were one, and—apparently— Ma and Eli were one. Over the past two days, Henrik had tried to avert his gaze whenever Ma and Eli were in close proximity. The dreamy looks they shared seemed out of place for people their age and gave Henrik an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Joseph clomped into the room, sat on his bed, and leaned against the sod wall. “Henrik, bring the lantern over here.” He patted the top of the trunk separating their beds. “I want to work on my whistle, and I cannot see well enough.”

Henrik carried the lantern over and set it on the trunk. “Are you whittling again?” Eli had given Joseph a penknife for his birthday. Joseph worked diligently, attempting to turn twigs into usable objects, but in Henrik’s opinion, it was a waste of time.

“I like whittling.” Joseph hummed tunelessly as he flicked curls of wood onto the floor.

Henrik pointed. “You will clean up after yourself. I do not wish to get a sliver in my foot.”