Fields of Grace

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Sure, Pa.”

  Eli turned. “He is going.”

  She nodded. For a few moments she stood silently, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. He waited patiently, his palms sweating. Finally, she released a heavy sigh.

  “Remember when you said you planned to have the minister dissolve our marriage?”

  Eli jolted, the comment catching him off guard. The conversation had been so long ago, and so much had transpired in the intervening months, he had forgotten the intention. But he nodded. “Jo . . . I remember.”

  “I would like you to speak to the minister when the others arrive—make arrangements for the dissolution of our union.”

  Eli licked his lips, his temples throbbing. “Lillian . . .” He cleared his throat, staring at the spot of ground between his boot toes. “That . . . that is no longer possible.”

  “Why not?”

  The confrontational words brought his head up. Heat built in his neck and ears. Could she be so naïve? “We have . . . have lain together.”

  Color rose in her cheeks, and she turned her face away. Her throat convulsed.

  “Why do you want this now, Lillian?” Pain laced his voice, and he made no effort to hide it. She needed to understand how her behavior inflicted hurt.

  “We cannot go on like this.” The words, strained and hoarse, barely reached his ears. “I cannot live with you now that I know . . .”

  Although part of him feared the answer, the greatest part needed the truth. He stepped forward, stretching one hand toward her. “Know . . . what?”

  She swallowed and met his gaze. Her wide blue eyes expressed disappointment, disillusionment, despair. “Our love was a farce.”

  Memories tumbled through Eli’s mind—moments of sweet intimacy, moments of awakening. A farce? A pretense? He hadn’t pretended. Every word, every touch, every emotion had been genuine and cherished. Until now.

  “How can you say such a thing?” Anger lowered his voice to a growl. “How can you sully the memory of our lovemaking?”

  “Do not speak to me of lovemaking!” She matched him in tone and volume. “Our bodies were joined—yes. But our souls? I thought they were . . .” For a moment her voice faltered, but then she set her jaw and continued in a steely tone. “But I was wrong. Very wrong. And I will not continue in this make-believe marriage!”

  She spun to leave, but Eli tromped forward and grabbed her arm. “Nä, Lillian! You tell me why you call our marriage make-believe.” When she clamped her lips together, he shook her slightly. “Tell me!”

  “All right!” She wrenched free and faced him, her body tense and her chin high. “You professed to love me. You promised to meet my needs. But my greatest need—to have my remaining children close to me—you . . . you tossed aside as if it were nothing of importance. Although I begged you not to, you sent Henrik away.

  “Now you build this big house.” She threw her arms wide, her disparaging gaze bouncing off each wall in turn. “But for what purpose? The family that could have resided here is no more. The family crumbled, Eli, the day my son walked away in the snow. And if there is no family, then there is no marriage. I . . . want . . . out.”

  The spiteful words hung in the air. They stood, facing each other across an empty expanse. Tears glittered in her eyes, but they didn’t fall. Eli’s chest felt as though it would collapse, so great his hurt and frustration. Lord, how could we have shared so much and now be so far apart? If only he didn’t love her . . . But he couldn’t do what she asked. To request a dissolution, he would have to lie to the minister. And he would not lie.

  He took several deep, slow breaths. His next words shouldn’t be spewed in anger. “Lillian, if you want out of this union, then we will have to seek a divorce.”

  Her face went pale. The ugly word, rarely spoken by Mennonites, loomed like a black cloud.

  He gave her no time to respond but continued in an even tone. “If that is what you want, when the others arrive, we will go into McPherson Town and inquire about ending our marriage. Are . . . are you sure?”

  Tears trembled on her lower lashes, and she swished them away with her fingertips in quick, impatient movements. “I cannot continue as we are. It is too . . . hard.”

  Eli agreed. But the thought of divorce tore his heart in two. She started to leave, but once again he caught her arm. He held her gently, aware of her tense muscles. “Lillian, will you consider something?”

  She stared into his face, her eyes large and distrustful. Her chin raised in a slight nod.

  “Sometimes the things that wound us the most deeply are channels to great blessing.” He spoke firmly, addressing himself as much as her. “God is not a wasteful God. He can use everything—even our heartaches—for good if we allow Him to work.”

  Lillian withdrew her arm from his grasp, stepping sideways. “I want to believe you, Eli. I want to think that maybe some great blessing will come from this time of pain and disappointment. But to believe you would be to trust you. And I can no longer trust you any more than I can trust God. You . . . and God . . . have betrayed my trust.”

  “Lillian—”

  “Nä! No more talk.” She took two backward steps and paused. Framed by the doorway with sunlight dancing on her hair, she gave the appearance of an angel standing at the gate of heaven. She glanced around the room, and a rueful chuckle left her lips. “Build your house, Eli. Keep that promise.” A tear trailed down her cheek. “But do not expect it to be enough to make up for the promises that have been broken.”

  33

  The first day of April, Eli and Joseph planted the seeds saved from Henrik’s birthday watermelon. Eli listened to Joseph’s cheerful humming while they worked, bending over to poke a seed into the ground, tamping the soil with their feet, then taking two large forward steps and repeating the process. But despite the sunny day and Joseph’s obvious good mood, Eli battled melancholy.

  When these seeds sprouted, Lillian and Joseph wouldn’t be here to celebrate the first white flowers or anticipate picking the first ripe, juicy melon. Was it fair to let the boy go blithely on, unaware of the changes that would soon be thrust upon him?

  Lillian’s demand for a divorce haunted Eli. Despite his frequent attempts to change her mind, she remained firm. When the others came, she would take the boy and what was left of Reinhardt’s money and move to the village, leaving Eli the homestead. So he would again be alone. He almost wished he’d never been given this brief time of family life. When Lillian and Joseph left, the loneliness might destroy him.

  Joseph stood and peeked over his shoulder. He rolled his eyes and grinned. “Will I plant the whole patch myself? Hurry, Pa, so we can go fishing before suppertime.”

  Eli chuckled and waved his hand. He removed a seed from his pocket and knelt to push it into the cool, moist soil. But then he remained hunkered low, his thoughts once more holding him captive. After a moment or two, a shadow fell across his knees. He looked into Joseph’s teasing face.

  The boy propped his fists on his hips and shook his head. “You are no help at all. What is wrong?” The teasing look drifted away, and his face pinched with worry. “Are you sick?”

  Sick at heart. But Eli kept the words to himself. It was spring already. The others would surely arrive soon. Joseph needed to know that more changes awaited him. As much as it pained Eli to share the news, he knew Lillian wouldn’t do so. So he must.

  Rising, he clamped his hand over Joseph’s shoulder and led him to the edge of the cleared patch. “Come here, boy. Let us talk.”

  Joseph squinted upward. “About what?”

  Eli sat and waited for Joseph to sink down beside him. He plucked a green blade of new grass and examined it rather than looking at Joseph. “About your mother and me . . .” He forced a soft chuckle. “We have not been getting along so well. Not since . . .”

  “Since Henrik left?” Joseph provided the words Eli was reluctant to voice.

  Eli tossed the blade of grass aside and faced the boy. “Jo
. Your mother is no longer happy here . . . and so we have made a decision.” Although the decision was Lillian’s, Eli believed it was best not to throw all of the blame at her feet.

  Joseph waited quietly, his dark eyes unblinking and his face innocent.

  “When the others come, and our village is built, she wants to move to the village instead of living here on the homestead.”

  Joseph frowned. “We will leave the farm?”

  “Nä, boy. Not all of us. Only you and your mother.”

  The boy drew back, his eyes round. “Without you? But—but you and Ma are married! Married people live together!”

  Eli nodded, his heart pounding hard enough to bruise his insides. “Jo, married people most often stay together, but sometimes they divorce. This is what will happen with your mother and me.”

  “Nä!” The word exploded from the boy. Joseph jumped to his feet and glared at Eli. “Divorce is against the Bible! I heard the preacher say so!”

  Eli rose and curled his hand around the back of Joseph’s neck. “I know this is hard, boy, but your mother . . .” Could he form the words without breaking down himself ? It would do Joseph no good to see his stepfather cry like a child. He sucked in a fortifying breath and finished. “Your mother deserves to be happy, Joseph. If she cannot find happiness here with me, then it is best to—”

  “Nä, Pa.” Tears rolled down Joseph’s cheeks. “It is not best. Not for me.” He swiped his face with his sleeve. “I want to stay here, on the farm. We built that house. I want to live in it. You said we would get more chickens and a piglet. I want to help raise the piglet.” His tone grew in belligerence. “Ma can go if she wants to, but I will stay with you.”

  “Joseph . . .” Eli thought his chest might split in two, so great was his pain.

  The boy jerked loose. “Ma is not happy with you—that is why you are going to let her leave you. Well, she is not happy with me, either. All she wants is Henrik and Jakob, not me. So she can move to the village by herself! I will not go with her!” He spun and took off running.

  “Joseph!”

  The boy didn’t slow. Stumbling, his sobs carrying on the wind, Joseph disappeared over the gentle rise that led to the creek. Eli started after him, but a soft whimper from behind him held him in place. He turned toward the sound. Lillian stood in the doorway of the large half of the sod house. Her pale face told him she had heard Joseph’s outburst.

  He stared into her stricken eyes, searching his heart for words of comfort. But none came. She had created this heartache; she would have to bear the burden of it.

  He cleared his throat. “Do not worry. I will bring him back.”

  She pressed her fingers to her trembling lips and offered a short nod.

  Eli turned away from his wife and strode after his son.

  “Dear Lord, what have I done? Oh, what have I done?” The moan crawled from her tortured soul. What kind of mother allowed her child to believe she had no use for him?

  On legs so unsteady they might have been carved from wood, Lillian stumbled across the newly sprouting grass to the rock house. Not since the day she had told Eli she wanted a divorce had she come near the structure. Although no windows or doors filled the openings, a thatched roof, similar to the roofs of houses in Gnadenfeld, topped the tall, sturdy dwelling. A chimney of the same varied, colorful stones that formed the walls rose from the center of the house to point proudly skyward. It was a beautiful house—big, like Eli had promised.

  Other Eli-promises rolled through her mind—vows to protect her, provide for her, cherish her. . . . She looked across the property at the cropped grass, the well, the barn and animal pens, the sod house, and the turned soil of the wheat field. Everything he did, he did to create a comfortable home for her. Evidence of his provision greeted her from every direction.

  “But he did not cherish me. He did not cherish my son. He dishonored my wishes and sent Henrik away.” She spoke the insolent words aloud, but as she heard her own voice she was stricken with guilt. In typical Eli fashion, he had gone beyond the vows made to her and loved her boys as if they were his own. Yes, he had let Henrik go, but he hadn’t driven Henrik away. Not like she had driven Joseph away with her sullen withdrawal.

  She stood in the middle of the area Eli had claimed would serve as the sitting room. Sunlight streamed through a window opening, bathing her in light and warmth. Standing in the splash of sunshine, she allowed tears to fall. Hot tears, choking tears. Outside the windows, spring had arrived, bringing with it shoots of green grass and tiny unfurling leaves on bushes and scrubby trees. New life blossomed around her . . . but she felt dead inside. As empty as this carefully built rock house.

  She had blamed God for taking Jakob and Henrik from her. But she couldn’t hold God accountable for the loss of Joseph. She alone bore the responsibility for his loss. Nearly blinded by tears, she stumbled from the house. Aimlessly she crossed the grass and found herself in the middle of the empty wheat field.

  All around her, brown, withered scraps replaced what should have been waist-high wheat. In her heart, a hollow ache replaced the feeling of joy and completeness she’d once known. She sank to her knees and buried her hands in the dry wisps while tears flowed.

  “Dear God,” she sobbed, her shoulders heaving, “I need a gnadenfeld—a field of grace. Your Word proclaims that Your grace is sufficient, that Your strength is made perfect in weakness.” Lifting her face to the sky, she admitted, “I am weak, God. There is no strength left in me. No strength to give Joseph what he needs; no strength to forgive Eli for letting Henrik go; no strength to crawl into Your arms of comfort. Fill me with Your strength, God. Give me grace. Please, bloom in me a field of grace.”

  She remained with hands and knees pressed into the Kansas soil, her head hanging low and tears flowing until she felt completely drained. When her tears ran dry, she cleaned her face with her apron and staggered to her feet. As she turned toward the sod house, she spotted Eli and Joseph cresting the rise from the creek. They froze in place for a moment, both looking toward her. Stiffly held shoulders and solemn faces evidenced the torment she had inflicted. Why had it taken her so long to recognize she wasn’t the only one hurting?

  Oh, to return to the days when Joseph came running to her, bubbling about an animal he had startled, a fish he had caught, or some other boyish joy. Her heart pined for Eli’s soft, adoring gaze that prefaced sweet, tender touches. For several seconds they stared across the ground at one another, and then Joseph shifted his head to look up at Eli. Eli’s arm rose to curve over Joseph’s shoulders, and the two of them headed toward the garden.

  Lillian remained rooted in place, watching them bend to work in the section of ground cleared for a watermelon patch. A lump of desire so great it threatened to choke her rose from her chest. New tears stung her already sore eyes. She had told Eli that a family no longer existed on this land, but she was wrong. Eli and Joseph were most certainly a family. But after her self-inflicted seclusion, would they allow her to be a part of it again?

  Saturday morning Lillian rose early and mixed a batch of pankuake batter. Joseph particularly enjoyed the pancakes sprinkled with sugar or smothered in peach jam. Without eggs, she used saleratus to keep the cakes from being flat. After so many other accommodations to recipes, she didn’t even blink when stirring in the crumbly white powder instead of beaten eggs.

  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.” S
he 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.