by Peterson, Tracie; Davis, Mary; Hake, Kelly Eileen; Stengl, Jill; Warren, Susan May
It was from Heinrick.
Dear Lilly,
I never thanked you for the lessons. Please meet me at our “school” tomorrow night at sunset.
Your friend,
Heinrick
Lilly’s mouth dried, and she nearly allowed the wind to snatch the letter from her grip. In some strange, awkward way, his invitation was a soothing balm on the worry tearing at her heart; as if time with Heinrick could actually help her believe the words she’d so confidently spoken to Marjorie—that God would make everything okay.
She ambled home, attempting to unsnarl the paradox in her heart.
Chapter 19
With the news of the ongoing battle in France, worry moved into the Clark home. It brought with it a foul mood. Olive did nothing but clutch Christian and sit on the porch in the wide willow rocker, staring with glassy eyes out over the dead wheat field. Her father and Frankie rose long before dawn to cut prairie grass. Her mother canned three dozen jars of gooseberry jam, her lips moving in constant prayer. Lilly basted together, in wide stitches, Erica Torgesen’s skirt and hoped she would have a happy occasion to wear it to, instead of a funeral.
Lilly had greeted the dawn by the river, praying and watching the sun creep over the horizon from Reggie’s side of the world. Her morning reading, from Psalm 56, seemed a shield against the barrage of the day. “What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee. In God I will praise his word, in God I have put my trust; I will not fear what flesh can do unto me.” God certainly knew how to meet the need of the moment. Lilly memorized the verse and recited it often, especially when worry curled around her heart like a stinging nettle.
The day drew out like old honey. Although anxiety strummed in her heart, Lilly couldn’t deny that time crawled in response to the anticipation of seeing Heinrick. Curiosity ran like wildfire through her thoughts. More than that, however, she longed for his calming presence to remind her of God’s love. Somehow, Heinrick could see into her soul, unearth her deepest fears, and scatter them with a word of wisdom.
Dinner was sober and simple: new potatoes, hot bread, and gravy. Lilly made a salad from carrots and dandelion greens. Olive excused herself to her room, and Bonnie cleared the table. Lilly washed the dishes in silence, but her heart thundered with the ticks of the mantle clock. Finally, the last dish sparkled, and she dashed upstairs. She changed into a jade green skirt and white blouse with a Buster Brown collar and puffy short sleeves.
Lilly noticed her mother glance up from her knitting and raise her thin brows as Lilly flew past her on the porch.
Heinrick was waiting, embedded in the shadows of a great maple. He’d spiffed up for the occasion, a pair of clean black trousers, polished boots, a brown cotton button-down shirt, albeit frayed at the elbows, and a fringed dark chocolate leather vest. He’d even slicked back his golden hair. He gave her a wide grin and stepped from the arms of the tree.
“Guten Abend, Lilly.” His voice was warm, and he offered her his arm.
“Hello, Heinrick,” Lilly returned, suddenly gripped with shyness. She lowered her eyes, but wrapped her arm around the crook of his elbow. He led her out onto the bluff, then down to their cottonwood bench. The sun melted along the horizon, and the air smelled faintly of drying hay.
He didn’t look at her, but instead chose a family of prairie dogs, darting along the other shore, for his attention. “I wanted to thank you, Lilly,” he started in a halting voice. “You’ve given me my future. If I can read, I can do anything. I know it cost you to meet me, and I will never forget your sacrifice.”
Lilly considered him, her gaze running along his wide-set jaw and his blond hair curling behind his ears. His shirtsleeves tightened around the base of his muscled arms, and he had his hands folded in his lap. She remembered the way those hands had caught the blows of the Craffey brothers, tamed a wild stallion, batted away Clive’s anger, and tenderly wiped a tear from her cheek. So powerful, yet profoundly gentle. She may have taught him how to read, but he’d taught her how to live.
“I have to thank you, also.” Lilly gazed toward the melting sunset. “I did it, Heinrick. I prayed and surrendered to God’s love.” She glanced at him. His eyes drew her in and held her. They were filled with a vivid, tangible joy, and in that moment, she saw herself as he saw her. Not as Reggie’s fiancée, or as a farm girl, or even as his teacher, but as a lady he admired. She knew, as long as she lived, she would never forget the way Heinrick made her believe she was special…and loved. Then he smiled, and she could have danced in the music of it. Heinrick reached into his vest pocket. “I have a gift for you.” He pulled out a wad of cotton and held it out to her.
Lilly unwrapped it carefully and gasped. Inside lay a long-toothed, hand-painted, brass butterfly comb, with an emerald-colored glass stone in the center. Wide wings, painted a ginger brown, flared from the center stone body. At the bottom, a brass tail was fashioned into a row of delicate loops. It was antique, exquisite, and doubtlessly expensive.
“It’s breathtaking,” Lilly whispered.
“It belonged to my mother.”
Lilly’s eyes teared. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t accept it.”
Heinrick frowned. “Why not?”
Lilly bit her lip. Why not? It was just a gift from a friend, a sort of payment for her kind deed. She felt herself shrugging. “I…I don’t know.”
“Please take it, Lilly. I want you to have it.”
With trembling hands, she folded the comb carefully back into the cotton. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”
Heinrick smiled, delight in his blue eyes. “Now, tell me about the dress you are making Erica Torgesen that has her waltzing around the ranch.”
Lilly laughed, and together they sat on the cottonwood bench, knees touching, while she told him about Mrs. Torgesen, the willow tree dress, and her fashion dreams. Heinrick laughed and listened, resting his head on his hands as he watched her.
Twilight hued the Missouri copper. Lilly heard a voice threading through the maple grove, calling her name. A voice edged in panic.
Lilly jumped to her feet. “Over here, Bonnie.” She cast a frown at Heinrick. “I have to go.”
He nodded and scrambled up the bluff, then reached down for Lilly. Lilly climbed over the ridge just as Bonnie burst from the shadows. She skidded to a halt and stared at the pair, eyes bulging, mouth agape. She found her senses quickly, however, and turned her attention to Lilly. Her eyes were troubled and her voice shook. “Come home, Lilly.”
“Bonnie, you’re scaring me.” Lilly wound her arms around herself.
Bonnie’s eyes flooded and her chin quivered, but she managed an explanation. “Olive got a telegram. Chuck’s been killed.”
Lilly covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a cry of anguish. She felt Heinrick’s arm wind around her waist.
“Lilly, that’s not all.” Bonnie paused and took a step toward Lilly, a hand extended as if to steady the news. “Reverand and Mrs. Larsen are up at the house.”
The blood drained from Lilly’s face.
“Reggie’s missing.”
Chapter 20
Lilly leaned back on her heels and rubbed a grimy wrist across her sweaty brow. Her body felt dry and dusty, and her hands were cracked and sore from pulling weeds. But the sting in her palms felt easier to bear than the searing wounds in her heart. Each member of her family dodged the specter of grief in their own way. While Lilly tediously weeded the dying garden, her father worked from dawn ’til dusk in the hay field, dragging an exhausted Frankie with him. Her mother canned thirty-six jars of dills and twelve of relish, DJ chased the kittens around the dry yellowing yard and played with Christian, and Olive stopped living. She was a wasteland, crushed in spirit and hope, withering by the hour. She ceased eating and, after the first day, stopped dressing. By Sunday, she wouldn’t even rise from her double bed. Lilly brought her meals, stroked her sister’s waist-long chestnut hair, and tried to comfort her. But for Olive, there was no solace. To Lilly, she
was a frightening prophecy of what might come if Reggie was confirmed dead. Lilly clung to the hope, should that dark hour transpire, her newfound peace would carry her above the grave and keep her from being, in essence, Olive, a woman who believed she had no tomorrows.
Lilly buried herself in the Psalms. It seemed a desperate escape at first, and Lilly doubted that the Bible would offer her any sort of encouragement. She was infinitely mistaken. The never-before-read passages became nearly tangible in their spiritual embrace and, as she wound herself inside the sorrows and joys of the Jewish king, David, she reaped the one thing Olive lacked—faith. David praised God in the midst of sorrow, and she would as well, clutching the belief that God loved her.
“It’s addressed to Lillian Clark.” Bonnie’s face was ashen as she handed Lilly the telegram. Lilly took the envelope with shaking hands. Two weeks without a word and finally the army had sent news. It must have taken them that long to sift through the bodies.
Her mother crept up beside Lilly and wound an arm around her waist. “Open it, honey.”
As the last embers of hope died within her, Lilly worked the telegram open. Brutally short, it was from the person she least expected to hear from.
Dear Lilly,
Alive. In Paris hospital. Harley KIA. Chuck KIA. Coming home.
Reggie
Lilly gasped, covered her mouth, and sank into a kitchen chair. She handed the telegram to her mother, who read it aloud and wept.
Hot tears ran down Lilly’s cheeks. God had saved Reggie. He was coming home. She wrapped her arms around herself and pushed back a tremble.
“Oh Lilly! It’s so wonderful!” Bonnie squealed and embraced her, and Lilly’s father squeezed Lilly’s shoulder as he passed by. Only Olive was speechless. She stood at the end of the table, looking brutal in her bathrobe and wadded, greasy hair. Lilly glanced at her and, in that instant, felt her sister’s jealousy as if it were a right-handed blow.
Lilly offered a sympathetic smile, but Olive’s disbelieving eyes tightened into a glare. She whirled and ran to her room.
The only thing left to do was to tell Marjorie. Dread weighted Lilly’s footsteps all the way to the Pratt farm. When she rapped on the peeling screen door, Mrs. Pratt opened it and greeted her cheerfully. When she saw Lilly’s face, however, she ushered her to the kitchen, then sent Evelyn into town to fetch Marjorie.
Why it had been ordained for Lilly to inform her best friend her fiancé had been killed, she would never understand. It seemed utterly unfair to be shouldered with the job. And yet, she knew the hope she’d just discovered and so desperately clung to was the only hope she could offer her friend. She longed to tell Marjorie that God could not only comfort her, He could create a future for her despite the destruction of her well-laid plans.
Marjorie read the telegram twice and handed it back to Lilly. Her hands shook. “Maybe he’s mistaken.”
“Maybe.” But doubt filled Lilly’s reply. Marjorie heard it, and her mourning wail shredded Lilly’s heart. Marjorie crumpled into Lilly’s arms and sobs shuddered through her. Lilly rubbed her hair and mourned with her as the horror of war shattered their hearts.
Lilly finally tucked a spent Marjorie into bed. Wandering home under a starlit sky, she listened to the breeze moan in her ears and wondered what tomorrow would bring.
Chuck and Harley were gone, but Reggie was coming home. It was a sign. God wanted them together. She would obey, even though she only saw Heinrick each night in her dreams.
Alice Larsen visited a few days later, recovered from her grief and unfurling dramatic plans for Lilly’s wedding. She was aghast to discover Lilly hadn’t started on her wedding dress.
“I would think, with your love of sewing, you would have it cut out and basted, at least.”
Lilly smiled and mentioned she was helping Erica Torgesen with a dress. Mrs. Larsen waved the thought away with the back of her hand. “You’ll just have to tell Erica Torgesen you are much too busy now to dress her up like a doll. She’s too concerned with frills, anyway.” Mrs. Larsen laid a hand on Mrs. Clark’s arm and, looking at Lilly, breathed into her mother’s corner of the table, “It’s as if she thinks life is a fashion show!”
Lilly and her mother exchanged looks and smiled. That was exactly what Erica Torgesen thought.
“Even so, Mrs. Larsen, I promised her an outfit, and I intend to finish it,” Lilly said.
Mrs. Larsen recoiled as if Lilly had slapped her. “Well, I know you like to sew, Lilly, but really, your priorities are with Reggie, now that he is coming home. I thought he’d written to you as much.”
Lilly gaped. Was Reggie duplicating his letters to her to his mother? She quickly clamped her mouth shut and folded her hands on the table. “Reggie and I will discuss it when he returns.”
Mrs. Larsen gave her a disapproving look. “You shouldn’t have to discuss anything with Reggie. He’s your husband, and your job is to obey.”
“He’s not my husband yet, Mrs. Larsen.”
Mrs. Larsen gasped, but recovered in lightning speed. “And he may not be with that attitude!” She shot a glance at Lilly’s mother, who’d planted a smile on her face.
“Well.” Mrs. Larsen pounced to her feet. She seemed to search for words. “Good day, then.”
Lilly stood. “Good day, Mrs. Larsen.” She smiled, but Mrs. Larsen did not.
“I hope to see some progress on that dress and the wedding plans when I return.”
Lilly nodded as if that was exactly what Mrs. Larsen could expect. The woman let the screen door bang behind her.
Mother Clark’s smile faded as she eyed her daughter. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Of course not, Mother,” Lilly replied in a thin voice.
She was just confused. Things were happening too fast—Reggie’s telegram, Chuck’s death, the elaborate Alice Larsen–created wedding plans. Lilly lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Confusion was the only reasonable explanation for the heaviness that settled over her when she thought about life with Reggie. She was just feeling rushed, all her dreams cascading upon her. Even her prayers seemed to be hitting the ceiling and bouncing back.
She determined to count her blessings and make Reggie’s homecoming everything he and Mrs. Larsen hoped it would be.
August slid by without a word from Reggie, or Heinrick, for that matter. The cessation of Reggie’s letters lit worry in Lilly’s heart. She wondered if perhaps Reggie had been mistaken about his homeward destination. September rode in, carrying with it the crisp, expectant fall air. Lilly finished Erica Torgesen’s suit, but turned her down when Mrs. Torgesen asked for a Thanksgiving outfit.
Mrs. Torgesen frowned her disappointment. “Why, dear?”
Lilly forced a smile. “Because I plan to be getting married right about then.”
A delighted Mrs. Torgesen clasped both hands to her mouth, then embraced Lilly.
Lilly tarried as she left the Torgesen T the final time. She leaned on the corral and watched Buttercup run among the group of stock horses, obviously the master of the herd. The mustang trotted near, stopping five feet away to examine her. His glassy brown eyes seemed to search hers, and she extended a hand to him. He sputtered and backed away.
Lilly withdrew her hand. Well, she understood. Her heart seemed just as skittish, afraid to step forward and be caught.
And yet, that was what she’d been waiting for her entire life.
She dragged home. The prairie grass had turned golden. The leaves were tarnished, the maples blushing red and orange. The smell of wood fires spiced the air. A skein of Canadian geese overhead honked their way south. Winter would soon shroud the prairie, with its endless whiteness and wind that seemed to scream in one eternal blast. Winter was for family, and quiet times, and embracing all hibernation had to offer. By then, she hoped, Reggie would be home, they would be married, and she would finally again know the sweet fragrance of peace.
Chapter 21
May I walk home alone?” Lilly
gathered her shawl over her shoulders and glanced up at her mother, who was tucking DJ into his woolen coat. Her mother met her gaze, compassion written on her face. She nodded.
Lilly let a sigh of relief escape her lips. The cool starlit night would be a refreshing change to Reverand Larsen’s heated sermon.
The reverend’s territory-wide announcement for all members of the congregation to meet and pray for the safety of their soldiers was a gathering meant to heal and extend hope to the hurting. The entire community, tired of harvesting a dying crop and weary of leaning on faith, mustered to the call, and the little church nearly burst to overflowing, yearning for fresh hope. Reverand Larsen, recognizing an opportune moment, preached a pointed sermon about obedience. It seemed to Lilly every word was meant for her ears.
Over the past month, Alice Larsen had been dutiful in her visits, inspecting Lilly’s progress on her wedding dress, as if Lilly were sewing together the older woman’s hopes and dreams.
Lilly exited the church cloakroom. The cool autumn breeze nipped at her ears as she watched Dakotans scatter in all directions, walking or riding buckboards. Her parents, Frankie, DJ, and Bonnie in tow, hustled past her.
“Don’t tarry too long,” her mother whispered.
Main Street was lonely and deeply shadowed. As she meandered down the dirt street, early stars winked at her. Dying leaves hissed, stirred by the breeze. Lilly stared into the night sky, and emptiness panged in her heart. Despite her prayers and growing faith in God’s love, her spirit seemed to be dying within her, and she’d never felt so despondent. “God, what’s wrong with me? Why do I feel as though I am walking through a tunnel that’s only getting darker? Why am I not rejoicing? Reggie is coming home. This is a gift from You!” She wrapped her arms around her waist and moaned. The sound was snagged by the wind and amplified. “Help me, Lord.” The words seemed a catharsis, and, with them, she realized she needed God more than she ever had before. She needed Him to remind her He had it all worked out, that He was still in charge—that marrying Reggie was right and His ordained will. “Please, God, give me peace in my heart.” Her words ended in muffled sobs as she buried her face in her hands. “Lilly?”