Henrik’s continued absence would always be a reminder of the day she had hurled accusations at him, throwing his love back in his face. Despite her softened attitude, despite the recent actions that hinted at remorse, despite her decision to remain here on the farmstead with Joseph, Lillian blamed him for Henrik’s leaving. And so he must go, too.
He had three more things to do before permanently moving in with Titus Richert: He must seal the many windows in the house, build Lillian’s Spoaheat in the kitchen so she could cook, and build a bed frame to hold her feather mattress. The final chore, although less physically taxing, would be the hardest. Memories of being joined with Lillian in body and soul tormented him. The sweetness of those moments conflicted with the deep pain of her withdrawal.
With a huff of irritation, he ordered himself to get busy. He set his feet in motion, striding briskly toward the creek and the bank of clay. The sooner he finished these remaining tasks, the sooner he could move on with his life.
God, remind me that I can find contentment in You alone. . . .
“ ‘Be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.’ ”
The words from Hebrews, recited in Eli’s deep, respectful voice, sent a shiver of pleasure down Lillian’s spine. They seemed a direct message on this bright morning, affirming her choice to be satisfied despite the losses of the past year. As promised in His Word, God had not forsaken her. He had given her the strength she needed to face the conflicts, the sorrow. And, she realized with a rush of joy, she had grown in her relationship with Him.
She took Joseph’s hand for prayer, but Eli kept his hands curled around his Bible rather than offering them as had been their custom in the past. The change hurt, but Lillian replayed the verse that she had adopted as her own private tenet: My grace is sufficient for thee.
Later this morning she would move her belongings into the fieldstone house. Eli intended to load his things in the wagon and cart them to Titus Richert’s place. Lillian harbored a different plan—a bold plan. If her actions communicated correctly, then maybe he wouldn’t leave this land. But if she failed, she believed God’s grace would give her the strength to go on without Eli’s steadfast presence in her life. She wanted Eli to stay—she prayed he would stay—but if he chose to go, she would survive.
“Amen.” Eli finished his prayer and rose. “Nä-jo, I will go out and see to the animals now. And when I have finished . . .”
Even though he didn’t complete the statement, Lillian knew his intention. She stood quickly. “I have much to do, too. You see to your chores, and I will . . .” She waved her hands at him. With a sober nod, he strode out the door.
“Do you want my help, Ma?” Joseph picked his teeth with his fork.
Lillian plucked the fork from his hand. “You want to help me? Get out from under my feet.” She smiled as she spoke, letting him know she wasn’t upset with him. “I can move faster by myself.”
The boy shrugged and ambled toward the door. “What should I do, then? Pa said he did not need my help, either.” He sounded forlorn.
Briefly, Lillian wondered if Eli’s reluctance to let Joseph assist him was a means of separating himself from the boy. Father, let my plan work. Joseph cannot lose a second father. With a clap of her palms together, she flashed Joseph a big smile. “I know! I would like fresh fish for tonight’s supper. Would you take your pole and see if you can catch some of those whiskered fish?”
Joseph’s face lit. “May I walk to the Pletts’ and see if Wilhelm can come, too?”
“That is a fine idea. Now go.”
Lillian flew into action, quickly washing the dishes and slapping the clean, damp plates and silverware into a crate. On top of the dishes she piled her dish towels and extra aprons; then she headed out the door. She crossed the ground that led to the fieldstone house, following the narrow pathway carved by Eli’s feet on his many trips to the house. Walking the exact line he had walked so many times sent a sizzle of awareness from her soles to her scalp.
Oh, please, please, let him stay!
She dropped the crate in the kitchen next to her newly constructed Spoaheat and then raced back to the sod house for a second load. Sheets, pillows, and her remembrance quilt made a bulky armload, but she staggered outside and scanned the grounds for Eli. She spotted him stepping from the animals’ enclosure with a bucket in his hand.
“Is that the milk?”
He nodded. “Shall I put it in the sod house or the rock house’s kitchen?”
“The sod house is fine—I will see to the churning later.” She waited until he neared before adding, “Would you please carry the feather bed to the fieldstone house for me? It is schwoafallijch.” She spoke the truth—the plump mattress was too unwieldy for her to carry.
He offered another nod, and she scurried out to the house. She entered the sleeping room, and the crisp scent of newly peeled wood reached her nose. A bed made of stripped saplings and rope stood against the west wall, facing the eastern window.
The sound of a throat clearing caught her attention and she spun, the quilt flopping over her arm. Eli stood in the doorway with the rolled mattress covering everything but his feet. She burst out laughing and dropped her bundle to catch his wrist.
“Come with me.” She drew him forward until his knees bumped the bed frame. “Now drop it.”
He let go, and the mattress flumped across the ropes. He swished his hands together. “Is there something else I could carry over for you?”
His polite yet distant tone gave Lillian pause. She bit down on her lower lip, gathering her courage before nodding. Her heart pounded in nervous anticipation, and when she spoke she sounded out of breath. “J-jo. There is a box inside the sod house door. It needs to come to this room.” Heat rose from her neck to her hairline, increasing the frantic beat of her heart. “W-would you b-bring it, please?”
Eli turned and clomped out the door. Lillian considered dashing to the kitchen window to watch for his return, to see his face when he realized what she had asked him to retrieve, but her trembling legs wouldn’t let her move toward the window. Instead, she rolled the mattress across the ropes and covered it with the coarse cotton sheet. Just as she smoothed the quilt into place, footsteps signaled Eli’s arrival.
She whirled to greet him, a smile on her face, but the smile quickly faded when she realized his arms were empty. “W-where is the box?”
“You must have made a mistake. That box contained my winter shirts and thick socks.”
Her heart thudded so raucously it stole her breath. Lacing her fingers together, she pressed her palms to her dancing stomach and responded. “I made no mistake. I want your things to come here . . . to this room . . . our room.” The final two words rasped out in a voice as soft as the down that filled the mattress.
Eli glared at her for several tense seconds while varying emotions played through his eyes. Lillian waited, her stomach churning and sweat beading on her upper lip. But then, without a word, he spun and stomped out the door.
“Eli!” She dashed after him, catching up halfway between the sod house and the rock house. “Please stop!”
He halted and whirled, pinning her with a fierce look, his hands balled into fists. “Do you think it fun to toy with my feelings? What kind of game are you playing, Lillian?”
“I am not playing a game!”
“Then what? Why do you ask me to bring my own belongings to . . . to that room? Do you know what that speaks to me?”
His emotion-filled words nearly tore Lillian’s heart in two. “I know what it speaks, Eli. I prayed you would hear the message. I prayed you would respond to the message.” Please, Eli, please respond. Please return my love again.
He closed his eyes and sucked in several deep breaths; slowly, his stiff shoulders relaxed and his clenched fists opened. When he opened his eyes, the sadness reflected there brought the sting of tears behind Lillian’s nose.
“Lillian, I am just a man, n
ot a seer. I cannot look beneath your skin to read the intentions of your heart. If you have something to say, speak it plainly.”
The simplest, most direct words she’d ever spoken spilled from her lips. “I love you.”
He jolted, stumbling backward.
“Is that plain enough? I love you, Eli. I love you. Please believe me.”
Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes meeting hers. “How can you say that after . . . after . . .”
“After I said you betrayed me and I could not trust you?”
He didn’t need to answer. In his hazel eyes she glimpsed the pain her words had inflicted. She wanted to turn away, to avoid the consequence of her previous actions, but she refused to surrender to the temptation. Eli needed to look into her eyes and see sincerity as she shared her heart.
“Eli, I was foolish to say you betrayed me. It has taken some time, but God has awakened my heart to realize that you did not betray me. Far from it. You have loved me as God loves me—over and above expectation.” Tears filled her eyes, distorting his image. She whisked them away with her fingertips, then clasped his hand between both of hers. “I am sorry I allowed my hurt to turn to anger. I am sorry I pushed you away. Do you . . . do you think you can forgive me and we can return to what we shared before I . . . before I hurt you?”
Eli pulled his hand free of her grasp and ran his fingers through his hair. Shaking his head, he turned away from her. “I do not know, Lillian.” He looked at her warily. “Even though we know where Henrik is, I will not fetch him back.”
“I will not ask you to.”
“But always it will be there, this place at the table where Henrik used to sit. When you see the empty chair, will you not resent me all over again?”
Lillian hung her head for a moment, remorse sagging her shoulders. Had she really wasted so much time dwelling on her anger? Such damage she had reaped with her behavior. She glimpsed her own hands—open, not fisted—and peace flooded her.
She straightened and pinned Eli with an unwavering gaze. “I will not resent you. I have learned, Eli, to trust.” Holding her hand toward the empty wheat field, she said, “Out there, in the middle of that hail-damaged wheat, I discovered a field of grace.”
She allowed tears to flood her eyes and spill down her cheeks in warm rivulets. But she smiled through them. “Henrik is not here with me. I cannot see to his needs . . . but God can. My son may return to me someday. And when he comes, I will welcome him with open arms. But until that day, I place him in God’s hands and trust that my loving heavenly Father is taking care of him.”
Eli grasped her upper arms and leaned close, peering directly into her eyes. “You are sure, Lillian? I love you—that has not changed—but I will not live under a cloud of recrimination.”
“The cloud is gone, blown away by the wind of faith.” Lillian curled her hands around his forearms, clinging hard. “Other clouds may come, Eli. We cannot live together without disagreeing now and then. I cannot promise I will never feel angry with you, and you could not honestly make that promise to me.”
Seeing his raised eyebrows and thoughtful nod, she released a short, self-deprecating laugh. Then she quickly sobered. “But I make a pledge to you now: I will not let anger take control.” She tightened her fingers, giving his arms a little tug. “When disagreements come, we will talk together, pray together, and find peace together. My time of separation from you has shown me how much you mean to me. I will not risk driving you away again.”
“Lillian . . .” He crushed her to his chest. She threw her arms around his middle and clung, burying her face against his chest. His scent filled her nostrils, his pulse beat against her cheek, and his beard teased her forehead. Closing her eyes, she marveled at the sense of homecoming. She belonged in Eli’s arms, in his heart, in his life. Thank You, my loving God of grace . . .
She heard him swallow, and then his chest rumbled with a low chuckle. He pulled back and searched the grounds.
“Where is Joseph?”
“He took his fishing pole and went to fetch Wilhelm.”
Eli’s eyes glittered. “How long will he be gone, do you think?” His hands spanned her waist, his thumbs slipping up and down her ribs.
A smile twitched the corners of her lips. She looped her hands behind his neck. “Long enough.”
Grinning, Eli swooped her into his arms. She laughed aloud with joy, but the sound was stilled as he pressed his lips to hers and carried her over the threshold of their fieldstone house, over the threshold of their new start as man and wife.
A Note From the Author
Dear Reader,
Although Eli and Lillian come from my imagination, the Mennonites in this work of fiction are representative of my own family history.
The Mennonite Brethren first emigrated from Germany into Russia (present-day Ukraine) in 1790 at the invitation of Catherine the Great, who promised them religious freedom including exemption from military involvement. There, on the steppes (grassy plains) of Russia, they developed a hearty wheat they called Turkey Red, and they grew prosperous on the harsh landscape.
When government reforms threatened their religious freedoms in 1871, they sent explorers to seek out land in the United States. Groups of Mennonite Brethren began to arrive on American soil in 1873. Several groups established homes on railroad lands that encompassed McPherson, Harvey, Marion, and Reno counties in Kansas. Their hardy, red-gold wheat kernels came with them. The crops of Turkey Red wheat and its derivatives made Kansas the “Granary of the Nation.”
Although much of this story is fictitious, including the community of New Gnadenfeld, there are several factual portions. My mother’s grandparents were among those who came from the village of Gnadenfeld (meaning “Field of Grace”) in the Molotschna Colony in the 1870s. Children like Jakob were given the responsibility for choosing the “perfect” kernels for planting in American soil. Eli’s strong faith is very much a part of the Mennonite Brethren heritage, just as Lillian’s hymn singing is an important part of the Mennonite worship service.
Lillian discovered that God grants grace and strength to help us face the challenges of life. I pray you, too, have found God faithful to sustain you. May God bless you muchly as you journey with Him.
In His love,
Kim Vogel Sawyer
Acknowledgments
My sincerest appreciation to the following:
Mom and Daddy, Don, my daughters and precious grandbabies—you fill my life with reasons to sing. Thank you.
Crit Group 14, Ramona, and Judy—your suggestions and encouragement are always so welcome and appreciated. I’m glad we’re in this together!
Carla, Connie, Cynthia, Kathy, Miralee, Rose, 1st Southern Choir— your prayers keep me centered and plowing ever forward. Bless your hearts . . .
Ruth Heidebrecht at the Hutchinson Public Library—thank you for helping me find an appropriate ship to transport Lillian and her family to America.
Herman Rempel (author of Kjenn Jie Noch Plautdietsch?) and Irv Schroeder—thank you for the help in constructing the Low German speech.
“Mama” Ruth Seamands—thank you for sharing your seafaring adventures with me . . . but mostly thanks for your enduring friendship.
Charlene and the staff at Bethany House—my eternal gratitude for making me a part of your “family.” Dreams do come true.
Finally, and most importantly, thank You, God, for being my Compass in this journey called life. I am never without hope when I am with You. May any praise or glory be reflected directly back to You.
About the Author
KIM VOGEL SAWYER is fond of C words like children, cats, and chocolate. She is the author of fourteen novels, many of which have appeared on bestseller lists. She is active in her church, where she helps lead the women’s fellowship and is active in music ministry. In her spare time, she enjoys drama, quilting, and calligraphy. Kim and her husband, Don, reside in Kansas and have three daughters and six grandchildren.
Books b
y
Kim Vogel Sawyer
Waiting for Summer’s Return
Where Willows Grow
My Heart Remembers
Where the Heart Leads
A Promise for Spring
Fields of Grace
Fields of Grace Page 30