Fields of Grace

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Plett rubbed Joseph’s cap back and forth on his head, laughing. “Jo, boy, my son is here, and mein Frü.” Suddenly, the man’s bearded face clouded. “But our Trina . . . she did not last the journey.” His hand shot out to grasp Eli’s shoulder. “Just as we heard Reinhardt and little Jakob were lost. Sorry we were to hear of it.” After shaking his head sadly, Plett brightened, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. “But good it was to find a familiar face in Topeka.”

  Eli’s pulse skipped a beat. “A familiar face? Henrik?”

  “Jo. He works unloading goods at the railroad. He saw us get off the train, and he introduced us to the land sellers. He told us . . .” The man’s ears turned bright red. “You and Frü Vogt married. Ekj graute’leare du.”

  Several responses came to mind: We married only for respectability . . . Lillian wants a divorce . . . It was a mistake . . . But he couldn’t express any of them with Joseph standing beside him. So he nodded and offered a quick thankyou before asking, “How is our Henrik?”

  “Goot, goot. He looks healthy. He sent his ma a letter—my Martha has it. Henrik has many English words in him now—he says he learns the English from a girl named Nora. He is becoming a real American. He says when he has enough money set aside he will go to university to become a teacher.” Plett poked Eli’s chest with his finger. “I told him we could use him in New Gnadenfeld.”

  “New Gnadenfeld?”

  “Jo. The villagers wish to form a town and name it after the village in Molotschna. So we call it New Gnadenfeld.”

  A new field of grace . . . Eli liked the sound of it. He peered past Plett’s shoulder, seeking other arrivals. “Did many families come with you?”

  “Nä.” Plett folded his arms over his chest, puffing with importance. “The village leaders sent Titus Richert and me ahead with money to buy land on which to build our American village. The others will arrive mid-summer. Titus and I are to stake out the village and hold the land until the others come.”

  Joseph whooped with excitement, socking the air with his fist. “They are coming, Pa, just as you said! We will have our village again!”

  Plett grinned at Joseph. “Jo, boy, it is exciting for sure. God is goot to bring us here.” He looked at Eli. “Henrik showed us on the land developers’ plat where the land you bought is located. Richert and I chose sections north and east of yours—enough for the village square and our own homes.” He shook his head, releasing a happy sigh. “It is good to know you are there, are familiar with the land. You can be a big help to us.”

  “For sure I will help you. Joseph, too. He is a good sod house builder.”

  Joseph made a sour face, and Eli laughed.

  “Sod house?” Plett’s brow crinkled in puzzlement.

  Eli briefly explained the process of building a house of sod blocks. “It makes a good, sturdy dwelling that stands up to the wind and rain.” He gave Plett’s shoulder a solid clap. “So we will get you a house built, but right now I need to take these horses inside and see what the livery owner will give me for them. Have you yet purchased your supplies?”

  Plett nodded. “Nä. In Topeka we bought our wagon and horses, but only enough supplies to get us here. We will need more.”

  “Nä-jo.” Eli ushered Joseph forward. “Joseph, go with Oomkje Plett now and take him to the general store. I will meet you there after I sell the horses.”

  Joseph piped up. “Pa is buying windows for our house today.”

  Plett’s eyebrows rose. “Windows in a house of dirt?”

  Pride filled Eli as he corrected, “Windows in a house built of fieldstone. A sturdy, big house. You will see it soon.”

  After making his deal with the livery owner, Eli assisted Plett and Richert in selecting supplies. Joseph chattered with Wilhelm, sharing every trial and triumph from their months in Kansas while the men loaded the wagons. The adults, listening to Joseph’s excited storytelling, alternately raised their brows in surprise, pursed their lips in dismay, and grinned in amusement. The work went quickly accompanied by the boy’s cheerful babble.

  The small caravan of wagons rolled onto Eli’s property early in the evening, and the delight on Lillian’s face as she greeted Frü Plett sent a shaft of jealousy through Eli’s middle, followed immediately by self-recrimination. Why did he still want her to greet him like that? Wasn’t their union going to be dissolved? He resolutely set the emotion aside to assist the new arrivals in pitching tents near the sod house.

  Lillian had already prepared supper—a bubbling pot of potato and deer meat stew—but she added a few more potatoes, wild onions, and several ladles of water. Along with the last three loaves of bread, the stew stretched to feed everyone. Joseph begged to sleep in the tent with Wilhelm, and both mothers approved, so as night fell, Eli found himself alone in the sod house with Lillian. He considered taking the deer hide and sleeping in the rock house, but knowing his action would raise questions in the minds of their guests, he decided against it.

  Lillian hummed as she cleaned up the supper mess. A pile of dishes awaited washing, but no word of complaint left her lips. Should he offer to help her? That would put him elbow to elbow with her—closer than he had been in weeks. He headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  The question, stated in a gently chiding, wifely tone, drew him up short. He grasped the door release and kept his face angled away from her. “I want to unload the wagon.” Truthfully, the glass panes, sandwiched between layers of burlap, could spend the night in the wagon’s bed. It was only an excuse to remove himself from her beguiling presence before temptation to sweep her into his arms and kiss her breathless overwhelmed him.

  She scurried across the floor. Although she didn’t touch him, his skin tingled. He stiffened.

  “Eli, when you left this morning, the horses were with you. Now they are not.” A teasing smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Surely you did not misplace something so large as a pair of horses between here and Newton?”

  He so loved her playful side, too long absent. He rubbed the underside of his nose, bringing the urge to smile in response under control. “I sold Socks and Stockings.”

  Her eyes widened. “Eli! You loved those horses!” Awareness flooded her face. “Did you have to . . . because of the failed crop?”

  That was part of it. A harvested crop would have provided the money for windows. But he shook his head. “Nä. With the village being built nearby, horses are a luxury. They eat hay and do little to earn their keep. Oxen provide milk, work the field, and pull the wagon. We are better off just having oxen.”

  Her brow furrowed, as if questioning his reasons. But then she nodded. “Nä-jo, I am sure you know best. But”—the teasing look returned—“horses are much nicer to look at than oxen.”

  Did she know what an enticing picture she painted with her face flushed from the fire’s warmth, her hair wind-tangled into little coils around her cheeks, and her lips curved into a sweet smile? He pressed his shoulder against the door. “But you will be able to watch the oxen through glass windows.”

  “Windows!”

  The delight in her voice brought a grin to his lips despite his effort to remain reserved. “Jo. That is what I am going to unload. I bought glass for windows in Newton at the general store.”

  She wiped her hands on her white apron and then tugged it off. “May I see them, Eli? Will you show me the windows?”

  Eli shook his head. “It is only a stack of glass squares, Lillian. They will not be windows until they are in sashing and placed in the house’s walls.”

  “I know, but. . . .” She sighed, her eyes drifting closed for a moment as an expression of happiness lit her face. Popping her eyes open, she curled both hands over his forearm. “It has been so long, Eli, since I have enjoyed the pleasure of the sun streaming through a glass window. Please, may I hold one of the windows?”

  Only a few days ago he had bemoaned the lack of sunshine spilling through glass to fill a room with li
ght and warmth. He understood her desire, and his answer came without conscious thought. “For sure you may.”

  He accompanied her to the wagon, where he lifted out one small square and held it out to her. She took the glass by its edges and peered at him through it. A smile broke across her face, and she laughed out loud. Then, with the glass in front of her face, she turned a slow circle, seeming to examine every inch of the landscape in all directions. When she shifted to face west, she gasped, and she whisked the glass down to peer over its top.

  “Eli! The sunset . . . it is magnificent tonight!”

  How long had it been since they had stood together and admired God’s glorious close to a day? His arm itched to ease its way around her waist, to draw her close to his side and rest his jaw on her temple. But he stood, arms stiff at his sides, his face aimed toward the sinking sun but his focus within.

  As soon as the windows were in and the house was finished, he must leave this homestead. Being near Lillian—loving her while knowing their union would end in divorce—was too difficult. For his own sanity he must separate himself from her.

  Lillian turned slowly, holding the pane of glass toward him. He took the glass and stepped away from her.

  “Th-thank you, Eli.” There was a tremble in her voice. She twirled and, with light, eager steps, returned to the sod house.

  Eli, watching her go, experienced a rise of panic. How would he get through this night? He would not be able to sleep, not alone under that roof with her.

  As he wrapped the glass square in burlap, an idea formed. He crossed to the Pletts’ tent and spoke briefly with Gustaf. Then he accompanied Martha to the sod house. Opening the door, he called, “Frü Plett will stay here in the sod house with you, Lillian, and I will sleep in the tent outside. This is a better situation for her.” He ignored Lillian’s look of hurt surprise and bustled toward the tent.

  Lillian nearly burst with pride the following morning as Eli led everyone in Bible reading and prayer. In Gnadenfeld, Eli had not been a leader in the church, and she half expected him to ask Oomkje Plett, a deacon, to assume responsibility for their morning time of fellowship. Yet how her heart sang at the sight of Eli standing tall and confident, the Bible open on his hand as he shared from God’s Word.

  That first day with their guests they established a pattern that would carry them through the week. The men left early to carve blocks from the hard earth and build sod houses to shelter the new arrivals. Joseph and Wilhelm saw to the animals and then walked the mile to the new home sites to help the men. Lillian and Martha stayed behind to weed the watermelon patch, prepare hearty meals, and chat.

  Lillian had never been particularly close to Martha Plett in Gnadenfeld. The woman was ten years younger than Lillian and, in Lillian’s opinion, a bit snobbish given her husband’s position of leadership in the village. But here on the prairie they developed a friendship based on commonality and need.

  Listening to Martha mourn the loss of her three-year-old daughter to illness on the voyage reopened Lillian’s wounds, but she was able to offer empathy to the grieving mother. She shared, “Each morning I must give my son into God’s capable hands for the day. Sometimes I have to do it again before the sun sets, but trusting God to hold him frees me of worry and pain. The burden grows lighter every day.”

  Although she knew Martha surmised Lillian spoke of Jakob, in her heart she pictured Henrik, who was far away from her protective care. The letter the Pletts had delivered offered assurance of Henrik’s well-being. Lillian carried the one-page letter in her apron pocket, and with each brush of her fingers against the folded paper she whispered a prayer for her son and then entrusted him once more into God’s safekeeping.

  With several mouths to feed, cooking filled a great portion of the day. Lillian showed Martha how to kill, clean, and cook rabbits caught in Joseph’s snares. When Martha turned up her nose, Lillian laughed and reminded her that until a butcher shop was established in the new village, Martha would have need of such skills—“Unless you want your husband and son to go hungry.”

  On sunny afternoons, the women sat outside and worked together to finish Lillian’s rag rugs. Lillian had enough rag strips for three rugs—one for the sleeping room, one for the front door, and one to place in front of the kitchen hearth. The rugs, with their varying hues, would provide pleasant splashes of color.

  When Lillian mentioned her desire to sew curtains, Martha offered to trade a length of green calico for some of their dried deer meat. Lillian clapped her hands in delight and eagerly made the trade. No matter what Eli said, a house needed curtains on the windows.

  With Eli helping Oomkje Plett and Oomkje Richert, the fieldstone house remained unfinished. After lunch each day, while Martha rested—the woman claimed her system would not digest food unless she reclined—Lillian visited the rock house, imagining the day when glass panes would fill the window openings. She stepped through doorways, picturing the wood doors that would seal one room from another. In her mind’s eye, the cooking hearth already loomed in the corner of the kitchen, ready to receive her pots and pans. Sometimes she even imagined a whiff of baking bread or simmering soup.

  Each time she left the house, she paused to offer a prayer of gratitude for Eli’s willingness to work so hard to provide for her. A second prayer automatically followed: Lord, please restore our unity.

  With the others here, she had no time alone with Eli. He appeared satisfied with the arrangement, but she grew more frustrated by the day. Watching Gustaf and Martha Plett whisper together after supper as he held his arm around her waist and she rested her cheek against his shoulder increased her longing for Eli’s strong arms encircling her.

  Finally, on the fifth morning, as they gathered for breakfast, Lillian received a glimmer of hope that a reconciliation might be near. Eli pushed his empty plate aside and announced, “Today we will put the thatch roofs on the sod houses. So by this evening, you will be moving into your own houses.”

  Lillian refrained from releasing a cheer. She mustn’t lead the others to believe she resented their company. But she couldn’t stop a smile from growing on her face. She followed the men into the bright morning sunshine and handed Eli the basket of dried meat, bread, and berries that would serve as their lunch. When he took the basket, she curled her hand over his. He froze, his surprised gaze colliding with hers.

  Her heart pounding ferociously at her bold gesture, she offered a trembling smile. “After the others move into their own homes, you will be free to work here again, jo?” She kept her voice low so it wouldn’t carry to Plett’s or Richert’s ears.

  Eli’s Adam’s apple bobbed in a swallow, but he didn’t respond.

  “So you will finish the fieldstone house?”

  Silently, he nodded, his expression steady but wary.

  Lillian licked her lips, gathering courage. “Then be thinking . . . When the windows are in and it is finished, I will want to prepare something special for our first Owentkost in the house. There is still some sauerkraut in the crock that I have been saving for a special supper, and—”

  “Lillian.” His voice sounded hoarse.

  She tipped her head. “Jo?”

  “As soon as I have finished the rock house, I will move in with Titus. So I will be eating supper with him.”

  “But—”

  “Now that others are arriving, we can get that divorce you wanted.”

  She jumped back, pain stabbing so sharply she wondered briefly if an Indian had fired an arrow and impaled her heart.

  He plunked the basket into the back of the wagon and climbed onto the seat. After taking up the whip, he flicked a glance at her. His unsmiling face drove the arrow deeper. “We will be back midafternoon to load the wagons. You and Martha get everything packed so we can load and be gone before dusk.”

  36

  Eli held his breath as he gently tapped the wood frame holding four squares of precious glass. The frame must fit tightly enough to remain in place against strong win
ds but not so tight that the glass cracked when the wood swelled from moisture. During his two days of constructing and fitting windows, he had questioned the wisdom of two windows for each room. So many windows was expensive. Time-consuming. Tedious. Yet how else would sunshine flood the house with light? Lillian craved light.

  A final, cautious tap, tap, tap, and he lowered the hammer. He took a slow backward step and scrutinized the top, bottom, sides, and corners. His breath released in a mighty whoosh. Some clay to seal the cracks, and the house would be weathertight. Satisfaction washed over him as he admired his handiwork.

  The rock house was a thing of beauty. Facing north, with windows looking out in all directions, it would provide a pleasant view no matter which room one entered. No deep shadows would shroud this house . . . except on cloudy days. The steeply pitched roof housed both an attic, which would serve as a smoking room for the porkers growing fat and lazy under the springtime sky, and a sizable loft. Eli chuckled, thinking of how many items Joseph had already moved into the loft. The boy would have the space filled in no time.

  Eli’s meager funds hadn’t stretched to cover the materials needed to construct a decent staircase, but the lack didn’t seem to bother Joseph. He clambered up the ladder rungs, nimble as a squirrel skittering over tree branches. Eli couldn’t imagine Lillian using the ladder, but Joseph would willingly do any climbing and fetching she required.

  Thoughts of Lillian immediately dampened his joy in completing the house. When he’d envisioned this big house, his daydreams had been filled with images of them residing together within its walls. That dream lay crumpled, just like the wisps of crushed wheat stalks that were swept away in the Kansas wind. When other villagers arrived, Eli could purchase seeds to plant a new crop. But he couldn’t purchase a new relationship.

  “I still love her. . . .” He whispered the words to the house, knowing stones would never repeat his secret. But loving her wouldn’t remove the wedge between them. He saw how she carried the brief letter sent from Topeka, repeatedly fingering her apron pocket while a wistful look crossed her face. She pined for her oldest son.