Søren ran toward the house leaving Jan alone.
And then? After even the dead locusts are gone? Jan sat down on one of the remaining bales of hay and dropped his head in his hands.
We have no feed, no hay, no browse for any of our animals, and neither will anyone else. Jan rocked back and forth. We will have to slaughter most of our animals, saving only breeding stock to rebuild our herds. But what will we feed even them? And what will I feed my family through the winter, Lord?
He began to shake. O God! This land! It has taken so much! My brother, my child, and my wife! Our crops! And now our animals!
“Oh, God!” Jan cried aloud in agony. “This land! This land is breaking my heart! I have nothing left of my dreams but this dust and my tears.”
~~**~~
Chapter 30
News trickled into the community. The swarm of locusts, the largest ever sighted in the Americas, had swept through Nebraska, Kansas, and the western edges of Missouri. Some said the swarm numbered in the trillions.
Jan could not comprehend a number that large, yet he had only to recall the cloud of insects that fell on them to believe the report to be true.
They also heard a rumor that, by tracking the swath of insects through telegraphed reports, the swarm had been measured at 1,800 miles in length and some 110 miles wide. And the locusts devoured every growing thing in its path.
The Thoresens, like other farmers in the community, slaughtered all the animals they could preserve and eat that winter. Jan, recognizing that some families had no stock to slaughter except a milk cow and plowing mule or ox, gave away many of their steers and pigs.
At least they will have meat this winter, Jan consoled himself.
Keeping back the stock they hoped to keep alive through the coming winter, they shipped the rest to Omaha for immediate slaughter or sale.
They received just pennies on the dollar.
With the last of their money, Jan bought seed wheat, corn, and oats. He and Søren tilled the fields closest to the house and planted a small crop of winter wheat.
“What will happen in the spring?” Søren asked quietly. “If the locusts laid eggs here, will they hatch and swarm again?” Søren knew, every bit as well as Jan did, that if the locusts returned and destroyed spring crops, outright famine would grip the prairie and plains farmers.
“I don’t know,” Jan answered. “Only God knows.”
Winter set in. A more normal snowfall watered their fields through the winter. In March Jan and Søren watched, with cautious optimism, their winter wheat sprout and grow lush in the spring rains.
As the prairie came alive, they herded their few animals out to feed on newly green browse. The stock, near to starving, ate to the ground whatever they could find.
Jan or Søren moved them to new browse three times a day and brought them into the barn each evening. Prairie predators, too, were starving, and were a constant threat to Thoresen livestock.
Jan had kept two cows and their calves, two oxen, and breeding stock from their goats, chickens, and pigs. At the last minute he kept the bays, hoping that he could, somehow, keep them from starving. Now he hobbled the horses, with ribs outlined under their coats, alongside the cows and oxen and allowed them to eat their fill.
In April and May Jan and Søren plowed as many fields as they had seed. Then they prayed.
Spring rains watered the fields and the Thoresens rejoiced. Within two weeks the seeds were greening the prairie. Jan kept Little Karl, Arnie, Kjell, and the farm’s dogs busy running off the prairie nibblers, who were also starving.
Alarming news of another great swarm of locusts spread through the farming community. This swarm, hatched from the rain-watered soils of Kansas and Missouri, was reported to be devouring all in its path, a swath northwards to Minnesota and south through Texas to the Gulf of Mexico.
The Thoresens prayed for mercy. The infestation of locusts stayed east of RiverBend and its neighboring lands. God willing, the drought was ending and they would harvest a crop!
1875
“You have changed, Jan,” Amalie said quietly after the children had been excused from the table. “I was just remembering . . . when we came from our old country. You were a different man back then, joyous, full of mischief and fun. Not so . . . serious.”
Jan didn’t answer her right away. What was there to say? He shrugged.
“Jan, you should, perhaps, pray about taking a wife, ja? You could have your choice of several very eligible women, don’t you know?”
“And you, Amalie? What of you?” Jan shot back.
She laughed, but without much mirth. “Ah, Jan. Who would marry a woman with five children, eh? A man might take me and my children to gain my land, but you know I will never give away what belongs to Karl’s sønns.”
And that was the excuse Jan used to push away suggestions that he marry again. He could barely manage his and Karl’s land—320 acres—by himself. Yes, Søren was shouldering a man’s load now, but how could he, Jan, take on a wife? He had Søren, Amalie, and her five children leaning on him already.
Of course he was a changed man!
Amalie spoke again. “Besides, I have prayed, and I am content to care for our families. It is what the Lord would have me do. But you, Jan. You are not content, eh?”
Jan put his head in his hands. “Enough, Søster. I thank you for your care and concern!” Sorry for his sharp tone he added, “Will you pray for me, then?”
“Ah, Jan. I am always praying for you,” she whispered.
Jan thought of Elli every day. As he milked, his hands knew what to do, so he let his mind wander. When he plowed, he could make straight rows without conscious thought, so he dwelled on his memories of Elli.
For the first few weeks after she and Kristen had died, he had been tempted to blame the Beckers—but watching a very broken Maria Becker and her only remaining son leaving their homestead and returning to her father and mother had been chastisement enough on that count.
Then, although he avoided plumbing his feelings too deeply, he had also been tempted to blame Elli herself. For her servant’s heart.
If only she had been content to stay home and not give of her time and care to others, she would never have been exposed to the sickness! Was not our family, our love enough for her? Jan found himself mulling over those and similar thoughts.
But he knew the truth of it. Lord, you sent her to serve others. She heard you speaking to her! Yet what good did that do, if now she is dead? Why did you take her if she was doing your bidding?
During this spring’s work, he thought on how God had slowly transformed Elli, changing her mourning over their lost baby into the joy of serving others. Jan had not been blind to Elli’s struggle—he had seen how, with stern determination, she had pressed in to what God had called her to do.
His eyes welling with tears, Jan swallowed the same medicine he gave to Elli now more than three years past. It is so. I am wasting my life and joy pining over what I do not have—what I will never have again in this lifetime. Elli is gone. I must surrender her to you, once and for all, Lord.
He pushed such recollections from his mind, but they always seemed to return. Gradually he began to wonder—to question whether the Lord was bringing Elli’s choice to mind for a purpose.
Maybe I should take a lesson from Elli, eh, Lord? Jan pondered. Perhaps Amalie is right and I have allowed these hardships to change me too much. But what can I do to serve others, Lord, that I am not already doing? Do you have something other than the strength of my back for me to give?
Jan, Søren, and the younger boys were hoeing weeds between the rows of corn. The stalks were growing tall and thick. Harvest would be on them soon!
Jan found himself humming an old song, a jaunty little tune, bringing his hoe down in rhythm to it. In the row to his left Søren picked up the tune, whistling it softly between his teeth. The chop of his hoe matched Jan’s.
To Jan’s right, Little Karl and Arnie started si
nging the words and Jan joined in. They sang louder. The hoes slashed through the weeds and the clods in time with their song. Søren harmonized and they picked up the pace.
Amalie, Sigrün, and Heidi, bending over laundry tubs in the yard, heard the song wafting toward them. Amalie paused, looking away toward the creek where the men and boys were working.
“They’re singing,” Kjell hollered. “Onkel and Søren are singing!”
“Singing,” little Uli repeated, clapping her hands.
Heidi smiled joyously and Amalie grinned back. “Ja, they are singing! It is a happy sound, is it not?”
When Jan reached the bottom of the row he ended the song and the boys laughed for the sheer joy of it. Jan grabbed Little Karl and hugged him. Arnie, not willing to be left out, dropped his hoe for a hug, too.
Jan motioned to Søren and the four of them stood on the edge of the field, hugging and laughing. “Such good men I have,” Jan praised them. “No man could ask for better, eh? It’s a happy man you are looking at.”
Søren grinned. He knew his pappa was speaking mainly for the young boys’ benefit, but he appreciated Jan’s words anyway. Karl and Arnie, now ages nine and seven, basked in Jan’s embrace, their faces shining with pride and confidence.
Be a father to the fatherless, a voice spoke in Jan’s ear.
The words were so clear, Jan nearly turned to see who spoke them. But he did not—for immediately he recognized their source.
The voice spoke once more: Be a father to the fatherless.
“What is it, Pappa?” Søren asked. Jan had gone from laughing to complete stillness.
“I have heard the Lord,” Jan slowly answered, wonder in his eyes. “He has told me what I am to do.”
He sank to his knees. “Will you let me pray for you, boys?”
Søren, Little Karl, and Arnie dropped to their knees beside Jan. Jan placed his hands on Little Karl and Arnie’s heads. “Lord, do you see these fine young men? I ask you to be as real to them as the earth upon which we kneel is real. Come close to them, Lord God. Show yourself to them and call them by name to surrender their lives to you.”
He lifted a hand and placed it on Søren’s shoulder. “Do you see my sønn, Lord? Ah, how I thank you for him and give him into your care—I ask you to call him by name to your side. And these nephews of mine, O God, I thank you for them. They are as dear to me as my own sønn is, Lord.”
He drew the three boys to him. “Let us walk rightly before you all of our days, Lord God! Let us live for Jesus’ sake and be his light in this dark world.”
“Amen!” Søren, Karl, and Arnie said in unison.
That night Jan knelt next to his bed in the barn and prayed. “I know you were not speaking to me only of my brother’s sønns, Lord. For I saw, for a mere second, a little picture in my mind of others . . .”
As Jan waited for the Lord to speak to him, he clearly saw Ernst and Frank Veicht. “Ja, Lord. I will be a father to these fatherless ones. They will be the first.”
He prayed longer and assented to what he felt led to do. “Tomorrow I will begin, Lord. First thing!”
Jan laid his head down in peace. “Ah, Lord. Your peace is my comfort.”
And he slept.
The following morning Jan and Søren rode out on the bays. “We will be back midday,” he had told his family at breakfast. As they rode to Tomas and Heidi Veicht’s old property, Jan quietly explained his purpose to Søren.
It has been more than two years since I have been here, Jan realized. He stood in the saddle and searched for the young men. They were in the fields and came when they saw Jan and Søren.
The two young men greeted Jan warily. “Herr Thoresen. Søren. We did not expect you. Is our großmutter well?” Ernst asked. He was not as angry as when Jan had seen him last.
“Ja, she is well,” Jan assured them. “I came to talk with you. Can you spare me a few minutes?”
“Of course, Herr Thoresen!” Frank nodded with a smile. He challenged Ernst with a glance. Ernst shrugged and led the way.
As they settled around the kitchen table, Jan appraised the two Veicht men and the condition of the house. “Heidi would be proud of you,” he began. “You are growing into good farmers and responsible men.”
They ducked their heads and thanked him, but Jan could tell his words meant a lot. He smiled and said softly, “Yesterday I believe the Lord spoke a word to my heart.”
Their reaction was immediate. Ernst and Frank both looked down in what Jan thought was a combination of fear and anger.
“Ja, I know . . . how that sounds, but I am not like—” Jan did not want to say “I’m not like your stepfather, Adolphe,” so instead he amended, “May I explain? I would like to ask you to join Søren and me one evening a week to study the Scriptures together.”
Frank looked at Ernst who continued to look down at the table. His face was flushed, his mouth pulled into a tight line.
“Ernst,” Jan gently probed. “This does not sound good to you, ja? I think you have had the Bible taught to you without . . . a father’s love?”
Ernst’s chin came up and he studied Jan. Jan did not flinch from the examination.
“I remember your grandfather, Tomas, teaching about the grace and goodness of God as well as his righteousness,” Jan added. “I . . . propose that we study the Bible in such a balanced way as Tomas did, so that God’s goodness can draw us to him.”
He smiled at both Frank and Ernst. “That is what the Bible says, ja? It says God’s goodness leads us to repentance? We will talk of many things and share our hearts together as men. What do you say? Will you try it?”
He looked from Ernst to Frank as they considered his words. In silence they looked at each other, and then Ernst answered, “Ja, we will try it.”
“Gud! Good. Can you come this Wednesday evening? Bring your Bibles and we will search for God’s goodness together.”
They stood and Jan offered his hand. As Ernst took it, Jan gently pulled him into a hug. Ernst, confused and a little embarrassed, did not know how to respond. Jan embraced him, patted him firmly on the back, and let him go.
Then he turned to Frank, extending his hand in the same manner. But when he looked into Frank’s eyes, he saw tears standing in them.
“Ja, Frank, I know. I know,” was all Jan said as he enfolded the young man in a hug. Frank clung to Jan, weeping silently.
Søren cast his eyes to the floor, a witness to something both terrible and beautiful in its power. Be a father to the fatherless, his pappa had said.
I am so very blessed, Søren suddenly realized.
~~**~~
Chapter 31
Through the remainder of the summer and into harvest, Jan, Søren, Ernst, and Frank met weekly. Mostly they read a chapter of Scripture and then Jan invited questions and discussion.
Heidi was beside herself with delight knowing she would see her grandsons on a weekly basis. Before long, Ernst and Frank were regulars at their dinner table on Wednesday evenings.
The commitment to meet weekly—especially during the harvest—was not an easy one, but it was a price Jan paid willingly. Søren, with no little awe, watched as his father drew Ernst and Frank into the fiber of their family.
As fall came on and time was a little more relaxed, Jan occasionally rode over to visit the two brothers by himself. Søren imagined he understood the once or twice when Jan returned heavy-hearted and closemouthed. Søren had witnessed Adolphe’s treatment of his stepsons and could only imagine the painful things of which Ernst and Frank were unburdening their hearts to his father . . . so Søren understood when Jan declined to discuss those visits.
Lord, Søren prayed, Please give my Pappa the ear that can hear and the words that can heal!
The small church that met in Norvald’s barn was surprised to see Ernst and Frank one frosty Sunday morning. Jan clapped both of them around their shoulders and introduced them to members who had not attended the German church.
Ivan sidled up t
o Søren. “What’s this I hear? You and Ernst and Frank have Bible study with your father each week? Why have you not told me?”
Søren shrugged and grinned. “If you ask my father nicely, he may let you come.”
The following Wednesday Ivan and another young Swedish man showed up. The study and discussion was lively and warm, the best Søren could recall.
“Pappa, this is a good thing, our study night. Can we open it to others?” he asked before the gathering disbanded that evening.
Jan looked around. “I think it is up to us, ja? I will only say that it should be for young men. This is the vision the Lord spoke to me. So that we will grow up into men together, ja?”
The others nodded their heads in vigorous agreement.
“Gud. Then we are agreed.”
By the time winter was spent, the group of young men had grown to nine. They had missed a few meetings when storms came through, but the study and fellowship was growing in importance to them all.
“You have changed, Jan,” Amalie observed again one evening, but she was smiling. Heidi was smiling, too.
Jan chuckled. “So. A gud change this time, eh?”
“Yes! Very good!” Amalie laughed, something that was becoming more common.
“And you, too, Søster, eh?” Jan studied Amalie—the woman who had been nearly conquered by the hardships of their first months on the prairie and who had withstood the crushing loss of her husband. “You have changed, too.”
Jan and Amalie smiled at each other, the bittersweet and knowing smile of those who have fought a battle and survived together.
Another spring and summer passed. The Thoresens gathered in good harvests and Jan was able to put money in the bank.
We have been in America ten years now, he mused. And Elli, Kristen, and Karl have been gone four years.
He was surprised that the pain that had accompanied such thoughts for so long did not stab quite as deeply as it had in the past.
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