Fields of Grace (9 page)

Y
ou will not take Joseph to that useless hospital room!” Henrik leaped to his feet and balled his fists. Already his father had died under the care of the doctor. Henrik could not let Eli entrust Joseph to the man’s ineffective ministrations.

Eli slipped his arms beneath Joseph’s shoulders and knees and lifted him. “We have no choice, boy.” Although he frowned at Henrik, he spoke gently. “Joseph is ill—the other passengers will not allow him to stay in the sleeping hallway.”

“Then we will find a spot . . . somewhere. And Ma will care for him.” Henrik looked from Eli to his mother. Her pale, stricken face brought him up short. She didn’t look capable of caring for herself, let alone a sick boy.

He squared his shoulders. He was the man of the family now, and he would decide what was best. “Or I will see to him myself. But you will not hand him over to the doctor who let my father die.” The reality of all that the family had lost in such a short time tried to double Henrik with grief, but somehow he remained upright, fixing Eli with a glare. “Give my brother to me.” He held out his arms.

An apology flashed in Eli’s eyes, but he shook his head and pushed past Henrik. “I am taking Joseph to the sick bay and then I will help prepare Reinhardt’s body for burial. Stay with your mother and give her comfort.” He strode around the corner.

Henrik stared after him, shock holding him in place. After a few stunned seconds, he spun on his mother. “Will you let him take Joseph? You might as well sign his death certificate yourself!” Ma looked at him with worry and grief in her red, swollen eyes, but he refused to back down. “Go after Eli and tell him to give Joseph to me.”

Slowly, Ma shook her head. Tears poured down her cheeks. “Eli is right, Henrik. You cannot care for Joseph—the others on the ship will not allow it. And what if you became ill, too? Then what . . . what would I do?” A sob heaved her shoulders, and she adjusted her hold on Jakob’s still form.

Clutching his hair, Henrik groaned. “But how can we let Joseph go into that room with the illness? He might not come out again!”

“Henrik . . .” Ma begged him with her eyes. “We must tr—”

“Trust?” The word burst from Henrik’s chest on a tide of fury. “We must
trust
, is that what you were going to say? Trust whom? Trust the doctor? Trust God?” Henrik laughed, a hollow sound completely devoid of humor. “What good has it done us to trust? Father is dead; Jakob is dead; Joseph is sick . . .” He leaned forward, staring in disbelief at his mother’s white face. “How can we
trust
?”

Ma’s face crumpled. “But, Henrik, what else can we do? We
must
trust. If we have no faith, then . . .”

Henrik waited for her to continue, but the thought remained incomplete. Unable to look into Ma’s grief-contorted face any longer, he lowered his gaze. His eyes fell upon Jakob’s lifeless body. A pain more scorching than anything he’d experienced before sliced through his chest. If only they had remained in Gnadenfeld, Jakob would still be running, laughing, teasing. If they hadn’t boarded this ship, they wouldn’t have encountered the illness that claimed his father’s life and that might—right now—be draining the life from his remaining brother.

Spinning from the sight of little Jakob in his mother’s cradling arms, Henrik pressed his fists to his eye sockets. Colors burst behind his closed lids, an explosion of pain and grief. They had left Gnaden-feld because of him. To save him from harm. But at what cost? Thrusting his arms downward, he stormed out of the dining room. He heard his mother’s frantic voice call his name, but he barreled around the corner and across the deck and thundered down the stairs two at a time.

He nearly knocked over two men coming up, but he didn’t pause to apologize. He must find a place to hide from the wrench of guilt. Like a frantic animal, he paced the lower levels of the ship, seeking a cubby or closet that would provide refuge. But after several minutes of frenzied searching, the futility of the hunt brought him to an exhausted halt.

He dropped onto his bunk and buried his face in the bend of his elbow. There was no place of escape. He would carry this burden of guilt to his own grave.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . .”

Lillian almost scoffed. How absurd the captain’s solemn utterance. Dust . . . in the ocean waves? A hysterical bubble of laughter threatened to escape her throat. But she held it in. Earlier that day, she had listened to the mournful wails of another woman whose husband had died of the fever. She would not resort to such undignified mourning.

Sad-faced passengers surrounded Lillian and Eli. Henrik remained below, huddled on his bunk. Although Lillian worried he would later regret not saying good-bye to his father and brother, she didn’t have the strength to argue with him. So she allowed him to mourn on his own, alone.

Her chest tightened, constricting her breathing, as she watched two sailors lift and suspend Reinhardt’s cloth-wrapped body over the side of the ship. At the captain’s nod, the men let go. A splash signaled the ocean receiving its gift and Lillian gasped, covering her mouth with one hand.

Then the men lifted the smaller bundle. Unthinkingly, Lillian stumbled forward, reaching for her son. But strong hands cupped her upper arms, drawing her against a firm chest. A voice, low and tender—Eli’s—whispered in her ear. “Let him go now, Lillian. You must let him go.”

The captain had allowed her the day to mourn. To bathe her son’s sturdy body, to comb his thick, sunshiny hair, to rock him and sing him his favorite lullabies one final time. But now, as the sun set, painting the sky with jeweled tones of blazing pink, purple, and yellow, she was forced to release her
kjestlijch en Sän
to the ocean’s care. The captain looked at her, his gaze asking a silent question:
Are you ready?

Again Lillian almost released a scornful laugh. Was a mother ever ready to bid a permanent good-bye to her child? But somehow, inexplicably, she found the strength to raise and lower her chin in a nod. After a moment’s pause, another splash—much softer than the first one—reached her ears.

Lillian pulled in a breath that seared her from the inside out. How cruel that her heart continued to beat, her lungs continued to take in air, while her husband and her dear child had no life in them! The captain, sailors, and several passengers filed by, offering condolences, squeezing her hand, promising to pray for her. She murmured her thanks for their inadequate words, understanding they gave the best they knew to offer. But even as she responded in a calm, even tone, she felt strangely distanced from herself.

Surely she was caught in a dream. Tomorrow she would awaken and laugh with Reinhardt about her ridiculous imagination. Together they would watch Jakob clamber over the ratlines while Joseph challenged him to climb higher. In her mind’s eye, she could see Jakob’s impish grin, hear Reinhardt’s laugh and feel his arm around her waist. She crunched her eyes closed, absorbing herself in the scene inside her head.

“Lillian.”

She scowled, resisting the intruding voice.

“Lillian, we must talk.”

The images faded as Lillian opened her eyes. The other passengers were gone. She and Eli stood alone on the deck. Anger swelled. Why had Eli disturbed her?

“Can we go into the dining room and sit at a table?”

Wind, cool and damp, slapped her face. Gooseflesh broke out over her body. She drew her shawl closer around her shoulders. She wanted to go below, curl up on her warm bunk, and let sleep claim her. If she were sleeping, she could dream. If the Lord granted her heart’s desire, Reinhardt and Jakob would appear in those dreams. She turned, intending to go to the stairs, but Eli put his hand on her back and steered her into the dining room as if she had uttered agreement.

He pressed her onto a bench, then sat across from her, folding his hands on the scarred tabletop. “Lillian, I think we must talk about Kansas.”

Kansas? The plans she and Reinhardt had made seemed to be from a lifetime ago. How could she possibly think of Kansas now that her husband was gone?

“I am not going to Kansas.” The strength of her voice surprised her. Perhaps the anger roiling through her insides had given her courage. “Kansas was Reinhardt’s plan for all of us. Since all of us cannot go, I will not go.”

Eli shot her a startled look. “Then what will you do?”

Lillian gave a little jolt. “Return to our home in Gnadenfeld, of course.” In Gnadenfeld, the villagers would reach out, as they always did, to a widow and her orphaned children. But no . . . she couldn’t return to Russia. Henrik would be pressed into military duty. She must go on, as Reinhardt had planned. Yet how would she and the boys survive without his guidance and care? Fear rolled over her like a wind-tossed wave, threatening to bury her in its icy depths. She pressed her fingertips to her trembling lips and stared at Eli.

He leaned forward, stretching one hand across the table to gently grasp her wrist. “Lillian, all day I have been thinking of what is best. We cannot go back without Henrik facing grave consequences. Reinhardt wanted him safe from military duty. Reinhardt would want us to go on. And . . . I believe . . .” He paused, swallowing hard. “I believe Reinhardt would wish for me to see to the needs of his wife and sons.”

Lillian pulled her wrist free, clasping her hand over the flesh still warm from his touch. “You want us to travel on . . . together?” If Eli were Reinhardt’s birth brother, the situation might be acceptable. A brother-in-law could assume the role of helper. But Eli wasn’t Reinhardt’s brother. As close as a brother, perhaps, but not bound by blood. Continuing this trek with Eli would be unseemly at best, debauched at worst.

Above the thick, dark hair of his beard, Eli’s cheeks glowed red. “I know it seems . . . improper . . . but it does not need to be. If . . .” Red blotched his neck. “If we were husband and wife, no one would think ill of our traveling together.”

Lillian bolted from her seat. “H-husband and wife?” She stared at him in horrified disbelief. Not even an entire day had passed since she’d learned of Reinhardt’s death, and already Eli wanted to claim her as his wife? In all of her years of acquaintanceship with this man, she had never found a reason to dislike him. But at that moment, looking into his blushing face, she loathed the sight of him.

He stood, gesturing to the bench she had vacated. “Please, Lillian, sit down. Hear everything I have to say. Then, if you refuse me, I will not ask you again.”

He waited, his expression pleading, while she battled the urge to run from the room. But at last weariness drew her back to the bench. She sat, and he sank down, too.

He cleared his throat. “I know it is sudden. You have much on your heart, and you think me unkind for suggesting this scheme.”

She refrained from nodding in agreement.

He pinched his chin, his fingers disappearing in his thick beard. “Please forgive me for adding another burden to you, but time is short. A week and we will reach America. We must decide what to do.”

As much as Lillian didn’t want to admit it, he spoke the truth. They must make decisions. As a child, she had followed her father’s guidance; after marrying Reinhardt, she had submitted to her husband’s decisions. How simple it would be to acquiesce to Eli and allow him to guide her.

“You suggest . . . marriage?” She forced the words past the lump in her throat.

“Jo.”
He nodded, the movement jerky, but he spoke with assurance. “We can travel on without anyone’s disapproval if we are husband and wife. You, Henrik, and Joseph will have a man to provide for you and to protect you. The boys will have a man to help them grow up in the Mennonite faith. That is important.”

Lillian carefully considered his arguments. While she saw the sense of his suggestion, one question remained. But how could she ask it? She had loved Reinhardt. Slipping into his bed had never been distasteful. But although she knew, liked, and respected Eli, she could not profess to feelings stronger than simple friendship. Would he expect her to be his wife in every sense?

The silence lengthened, and Eli heaved a huge sigh. “I know you have much about which to think. I will not press you for an answer tonight. You take your time. Pray about it.”

Lillian licked her lips. Yes, she must seek the Father’s will.

Eli went on quietly. “If you decide yes, the captain will marry us before the ship docks.” He pulled in a deep breath that expanded his chest. “If you decide yes, we will start out in the new land as a new family.”

He didn’t say what they would do if she chose to decline his offer.

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