Fields of Grace (40 page)

The aroma of frying pancakes brought both Joseph and Eli from the smaller half of the house. She offered a shy smile as they entered the room, her heart catching when neither returned it. But she reminded herself it had taken weeks to build this barrier between them; it might take weeks to break it down. Her prayers, which had lasted long into the night, had given her the strength to try. She trusted that God would continue to give her grace to repair the damage she had done so she wouldn’t lose yet another son.

“Here you are.” She forked a steaming cake onto each of their plates. “Say your prayers and eat them while they are hot. I will make more.” She turned back to the skillet in the fireplace, leaving them to eat in peace.

The soft clink of forks against tin plates and the mumble of voices was like music to Lillian’s ears as she fried the remaining batter and watched the cakes disappear. Joseph reached to slide the last pancake onto his plate, but he paused with his fork in the browned cake. “Oh. You have not eaten.”

Lillian whisked her fingers through the hair behind his ear. After months of holding herself aloof, the simple touch sent tremors through her frame. Her arms ached to pull him into a hug, but she sensed he would resist her. “It is all right, son. Go ahead if you want it. I am not hungry.”

But instead of taking the cake, Joseph shook it from his fork.
“Nä.”
He dropped his fork onto his plate and sent her a wary look. “I know what you are doing. You are trying to trick me. It will not work.” He rose from his stool and took a step away from her. “I am not leaving this land. I am staying here with Pa.”

“Joseph.” Reproof laced Eli’s tone.

Lillian swallowed the hot tears that filled her throat. Her lips trembled, but she forced them into a smile. “That is fine, son. I will not make you leave if . . . if you want to stay.” She glanced at Eli, noting his puzzled scowl. Turning back to Joseph, she added, “And I did not make
pankuake
to trick you, but to say I am sorry. I know I have been . . . difficult.”

Joseph stared at her in sullen silence.

She rushed on. “Not knowing where Henrik is or how he fares is very . . .” Her throat tightened, and she swallowed again before continuing. “Very hard for me. But I should not have let my worry about Henrik push you away. I am sorry, Joseph. Will you forgive me?”

For long seconds Joseph stood, peering into her face as if trying to decide if she was sincere. She held her breath, awaiting condemnation or absolution. When she thought she might collapse from the tension, he finally gave a miniscule nod.

“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

E
li 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.”