Fields of Grace (35 page)

“Ah, Lillian . . .” He sighed against her hair, his whiskers tickling her temple. “This will be the happiest year ever, I think. With you and the boys . . . such blessings . . . My life is complete.” He tilted his head and delivered a soft, sweet, full-of-promise kiss on her eager lips.

Lillian sat up, startled from sleep by a single thump on the wooden door. Was someone knocking? She blinked into the room. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls and ceiling. Her senses alert, she listened, waiting for a second knock. But the only sounds that met her ears were the crackling fire and Eli’s steady breathing.

With a sigh, she lay back down, snuggling her head on Eli’s shoulder. His arm came around her, and she smiled. Even in sleep, he held her. She closed her eyes and—
thud! thud!
—the sound came again. This time Eli sat up, dislodging her. She propped herself on one elbow.

“Waut weascht ’et?”
Eli looked around in confusion.

Before Lillian could reply that perhaps someone pounded at the door, a volley of thuds erupted outside. This could be no fists on wood, Lillian realized. Both she and Eli jumped from their bed. Eli’s nightshirt flapped as he raced for the door. Henrik and Joseph staggered from the hallway, their eyes wide. Joseph crossed directly to Lillian.

“Ma, what is it?” His question mimicked Eli’s, but she had no answer for him, either. She put her arm around his shoulder and looked at Eli, waiting for his leadership.

The thuds grew louder, reminding Lillian of the distant sound of hammers on nail heads when the villagers joined together to build a barn. Yet no village existed, and no barns were being built. Her sleep-foggy brain couldn’t comprehend what else would make such a raucous noise.

Eli and Henrik stood in front of the door. Eli alternately reached for the crossbar and pulled back. Lillian had never seen him behave so indecisively, which increased her alarm. Adding to the frightful thuds came the cries of the animals. The oxen’s low-pitched moos contrasted with the high screams of the horses; the chickens’ persistent squawks filled the middle, creating a discordant trio of confusion and fear.

“Pa, do something!” Joseph, nearly as tall as Lillian, clung to her.

Henrik clenched his fists. “We must go out, see to the animals. Open the door.”

And finally Eli opened it. The sound of fierce pounding multiplied with the loss of the protective barrier. Outside, white balls fell from the black sky, bounced against the hard ground, and scattered.

“Hoagelsteens . . .”
Eli gasped the word.

Hailstones!
Lillian rushed to the door. “The chickens! We must—”

Eli grabbed her and pulled her back. “No, Lillian! See how large the stones are? Bigger than goose eggs . . .” He shook his head, his fingers convulsing on her back. “A stone of that size could injure a man. We must stay inside.”

“But—” A chunk of sod fell from the ceiling, cutting Lillian’s argument short. The clump shattered, and a round, white hailstone rolled free. Joseph picked it up and held it out to his mother.

She looked at the damaged ceiling, her heart pounding. Would the ceiling collapse? She clasped her hands beneath her chin and silently begged for God’s protection.

Standing in the doorway with cold wind tossing the tail of his nightshirt around his bare legs, Eli called out, “Dear God, please make it stop!”

For a few frightful seconds the onslaught continued, but then, mercifully, the hail began to abate. Gradually the storm calmed, until only a few stones thunked against the hail-scattered ground. Even after the deluge stilled, Lillian’s ears continued to ring. Eli remained in the open doorway, staring out into the night.

Lillian stepped past Eli and closed the door. Breathing heavily, as if she had run a long race, she leaned against the door and peered into her husband’s pale face. He continued to stare straight ahead, a dazed look in his eyes. With his sagged features and slumped shoulders, it seemed that he had aged ten years in the past few minutes. Lillian swallowed a lump of worry and sorrow. “Eli?” She touched his arm. “Should you go check on the animals?”

“I will get dressed and go, too.” Henrik whirled toward the hallway.

“And me!” Joseph trotted after Henrik.

“Nä!”
Eli’s stern tone brought both boys to a halt. They turned and looked at their stepfather. Eli waved his hands at them. “You stay with your mother. I will go.”

The boys flanked Lillian while Eli pulled on his boots and put on his coat over his nightshirt. He strode out, the crunch of hailstones beneath his boots reaching their ears even with the door closed. It seemed hours passed while she and the boys waited, standing in a silent row, watching the door for Eli’s return.

Finally, the string squeaked in the hole, and the crossbar rose. Lillian took one step forward away from her sons as the door opened and Eli entered the house. He closed the door behind him, and with slow, measured movements removed his coat and lay it across a trunk. Only then did he face his family.

Lillian wrung her hands together. “The animals?”

“The horses and oxen are nervous, but fine.” He looked past Lillian to Joseph. “I am sorry, boy, but the chickens . . . they did not fare so well.”

Joseph clamped his hand over his mouth, and Lillian quickly slipped her arm around his shoulders.

Henrik strode forward, his hands fisted. “What of the wheat?”

Eli closed his eyes and drew a long breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, Lillian glimpsed pain coupled with peace—a combination she could not understand.

Eli placed his hand on Henrik’s shoulder. “The wheat is gone.”

30

E
li tightened his arm around Lillian. She lay with her cheek on his shoulder, her fingers toying with the buttons of his nightshirt. Despite the shattering loss of their crop, she didn’t wail or complain. Yet he had seen fear in her eyes, and he sought words to appease her worry.

“It is only one crop.” He forced a soft chuckle. “What is the loss of one crop in a man’s lifetime? Nothing . . . an inconvenience.” He flicked his fingers as if shooing away a pesky gnat and coiled a strand of her hair around his finger. The dark blond tresses resembled spun gold in the firelight.

Without shifting from her position, she asked, “Will you be able to salvage any seed to replant?”

“Nä.”
The thought brought a sharp stab of pain. The hours of careful choosing, of filling that sack with Jakob’s help, flooded his memory. No bag of seed would ever be as special as that one he brought from Gnadenfeld. “But when the others come, they will bring more seed. We will buy some and plant again.”

Lillian’s thick lashes swept up and down, and her forehead puckered. “Eli . . . will we have enough money to carry us until you harvest next year’s crop?”

Despite himself, Eli smiled. That she was considering next year’s crop told him she hadn’t given up on the land. He kissed the top of her head before answering. “We will be all right. The Lord is good to put us in a place where we can hunt and fish, and glean nuts, berries, and roots from the land. We will not starve.”

Suddenly, a remembrance twisted his heart. “I did want to build you a solid house before next winter.” Even with the fireplace, the sod house remained damp and chilly. Lillian needed a warm, permanent home. “But lumber . . . that costs much money. It will have to wait.” Her sigh stirred his beard. “But do not worry. The Lord has always provided. He will continue to do so.”

She rose up, propping herself on one elbow to peer into his face. “Then you believe we will be all right?”

Eli cupped her cheek with his hand. Her skin, warm and silky, soothed him. “I believe God will not fail us. We will be all right.”

For several seconds, she stared into his eyes, seeming to search for something. Then she gave him a gentle smile. “
Nä-jo
, I trust God . . . and you.”

Mingled emotions—gratitude, love, protectiveness—fought for prominence, creating a huge knot in his throat. He drew her back to his shoulder. “Sleep now, Lillian.”

She nestled, and he wrapped both arms around her. Contentedness enfolded him. Together, with God’s help, he and his Lillian could weather anything.

Henrik startled awake, his body drenched in sweat. Images from a nightmare replayed in his mind: trying to plant wheat only to have the seeds stolen by birds or blown away by the wind. In his dream, he demanded nature leave the seeds alone—he had to grow wheat or he wouldn’t be able to earn money for school—but the birds and wind laughed at him.

Now fully awake, he shivered beneath his quilts and stared at the sod ceiling of his little room. Anger—hot, fierce, all-consuming— made his heart pound just as the hailstones had pounded the wheat into the ground. Eli and his grand plans . . . what would happen now?

Joseph’s soft snore rattled from the other side of the room. His brother would probably sleep until midmorning, given the late evening and nighttime excitement. That suited Henrik fine. He had some things to say to Eli, and it would be best if Joseph didn’t hear.

He rolled from his bed, cringing as the dried grass crackled beneath him. Henrik shimmied into his clothes and then opened the trunk very slowly, holding his breath when the hinges complained. But Joseph slept on. Relieved, Henrik removed the two pairs of Father’s trousers Ma had modified to fit him. He set them aside, then stacked a few shirts, a pair of long johns, and all of his socks on the bed. He closed the trunk lid with a soft thud, and Joseph snuffled, scrunching up his face.

Henrik stood perfectly still, holding his breath as he waited to see if Joseph would fully rouse. To his relief, his brother rolled to his side, pulling the quilt over his head. His snore resumed. Henrik tiptoed from the room, releasing his breath when he reached the hallway.

A faint glow cast by the dying coals guided him to the larger half of the sod house. He stepped into the main room, then immediately drew back. Ma and Eli, sound asleep, lay coiled together in the far corner on Ma’s mattress. The sight brought a new rush of anger coupled with nausea. He clutched his stomach, breathing hard to gain control. Maybe he should just take his things and leave without a word.

But no! He needed money. Eli had promised him money for school, and he would have it. He didn’t know where Eli kept the money pouch—he would have to ask for it. He puffed several breaths, gathering courage. Then he cleared his throat loudly.

A shuffling noise came from the main room.

Still in the hallway, Henrik called, “Eli?”

“Jo.”
Eli’s voice sounded croaky. “Just a minute, boy.”

Soft whispers and more shuffles sounded, and then Eli’s voice again, stronger. “We are dressed. Come in, Henrik.”

Henrik strode to the trunk where they ate their meals. The crumbled chunk of sod from the ceiling lay on the floor next to his stool. He toed the mess. The shattered lump reminded him of his crumbling dreams. Eli must make things right!

“You are up early,” Ma said. “I thought you would sleep late on New Year’s Day.”

“I cannot sleep.” Henrik avoided looking at Ma, focusing instead on Eli. The man ran a comb through his tousled hair, following the comb’s path with his broad palm, unaware of Henrik’s inner torment. “I need to speak to Eli.”

“Nä-jo.”
Eli returned the comb to the little shelf pressed into the wall and crossed to the trunk. He sat on his stool and gestured to the spot across from him. “Sit down. Your mother will get some coffee brewing.”

Ma began ladling water from the bucket into the coffeepot as if the man’s every wish was her command—the same way she had always followed Father’s instructions.

The lump of fury in Henrik’s chest expanded. He remained standing. “I want the money you promised me.”

Eli’s complacent expression immediately tightened into a puzzled scowl. “What?”

“Money.” Henrik drew out the word, his tone deliberately belligerent. “You promised me money for schooling. I want it now.”

Eli flicked a quick glance at Ma, who stood beside the fireplace with a pile of grass logs in her arms. Then he faced Henrik again. “I promised you money from the harvest,
jo
. But, boy, you know . . . after last night . . . we will not have a harvest.”