Fields of Grace (24 page)

E
li stopped in his tracks, but the oxen kept going, forcing him to stumble forward two or three steps before calling, “Whoa.” The beasts obediently halted, and Eli removed the trace from around his shoulders and turned toward the sod houses. Had he heard correctly?

Joseph stood at the edge of the field, holding aloft a dangling string of plump fish. “Pa! Catfish!”

Joseph had called him Pa! Eli’s heart flipped upside down. He waved one unexpectedly shaky hand and said, “
Jo
, boy, they look fine.” His voice broke much the way Joseph’s had been cracking lately. He cleared his throat and added, “Very fine.” But his words didn’t refer as much to the fish as the heady feeling of being called Pa.

With another wave, Joseph scampered toward the sod houses, the fish bouncing on the string. Eli watched until the boy disappeared inside the larger house. But even then he remained rooted in place, replaying the wonder of the past moments. Joseph had called him Pa as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. As if Eli had been his pa for years.

A shadow snaked across the grass beside the sod houses, then Lillian stepped into full sunlight, her hands curled around the rope handles of their buckets. Her shoulders slumped with the weight, but even after she set the buckets on the ground, her posture didn’t change. Eli’s heart turned another flip, but this one was of apprehension. Had Lillian heard Joseph’s words, too? Would she disapprove of her son calling someone other than Reinhardt Pa?

Spinning, he looped the trace around his shoulders once more and chirped to the oxen. As he trailed the beasts, guiding the plow to complete its final turn of the soil, he reflected on the past months. Although the role of husband and father had been thrust upon him by circumstance, he believed he had risen to the challenge.

Over the years he had observed the men of his community. He had deliberately chosen characteristics to emulate or reject, planning for the day when he would have a family of his own. He believed, with a rare touch of self-pride, that he had chosen wisely. With the boys he was firm but fair, with Lillian honest and tender. He assumed the biblical role of leader for the family, but he explained the reasons for his choices to stave off resentment and to open the door for understanding.

His treatment had reaped positive results. Lillian exhibited contentment despite the hard work and carrying the pain of much loss. Henrik had set aside his brooding attitude. And now Joseph called him Pa. What better sign of acceptance could there be?

He pulled one trace while calling, “Gee.” His hands gripped the plow handles, expertly guiding the blade. On the straight stretch again, he allowed the word
Pa
to echo through his head. The only better word, he concluded, would be
husband
. But it might be too much to ask for Lillian to truly accept him as such. For too long he had been her foster brother-in-law, Reinhardt’s best friend, her children’s surrogate uncle. She viewed him as a friend, but a friend wasn’t what Eli wanted to be.

Alongside the field, bright yellow flowers waved on scraggly stems, reminding Eli of the bouquets he carried to the supper table each night. Lillian received them with a smile of pleasure, but he longed for more. In his imagining, she took the flowers, smiled, and raised up on tiptoe to bestow an appreciative kiss on his cheek . . . or his lips.

His face went hot, and he twisted his hands on the handles, tipping the blade sideways. Quickly, he righted the plow and shook his head to clear the image. It would not benefit him to dwell on youthful flights of fantasy. Clicking his tongue on his teeth to encourage the oxen to complete their last cross of the field, he admonished himself for his greedy thoughts. Lillian had taken his name to obtain a chaperone and to give her boys security. Nothing more. Besides, both he and Lillian were nearing forty. The days of starry-eyed gazes and hand-holding were long past. At his age, he must be practical. Instead of wanting more, he should be thanking God for blessing him with a taste of family life.

His gaze jerked toward the sod houses. Neither Joseph nor Lillian had emerged. Worry gripped his heart. Might Lillian be berating Joseph for granting the title to someone other than his father? Eli couldn’t imagine her being harsh, but Reinhardt’s death—even though they never spoke of it—was not long past. She might think it too soon.

Whatever she decided, he would support her. As much as he longed to be a true husband and pa, he would not trample Lillian’s feelings to satisfy his own longings. But he would forever savor the wonder of that moment when Joseph had met a deep desire of Eli’s heart by calling out, “Pa!”

Lillian tucked the quilt beneath Joseph’s chin and placed a kiss on his forehead. She touched Henrik’s shoulder in lieu of a kiss. “Sleep now, boys. We have much work to do tomorrow.” One thing they needed to do was dress the deer Henrik had shot. Lillian cringed. If gutting a rabbit was distasteful, how would she ever manage to prepare a deer?

Henrik shifted on his makeshift bed, the dried grass crackling beneath him. “Do you think we hung the deer high enough that no animals will reach it?”

An image of the deer hanging head-down from the tallest tree on their property, its throat slit and glazed eyes staring, flashed through Lillian’s mind. She shuddered. It might be a blessing to her if some animal did cart it away during the night. But how disappointed Henrik would be. He’d exhibited such pride when he’d dragged the deer home this evening. Plus they would need the meat to carry them through the winter. The dried beef they’d brought from Gnadenfeld was nearly gone.

“Eli says it is high enough, and Eli is usually right,” Lillian assured her son. “Now sleep.”

She lifted the canvas flap, cut from the wagon canopy, and peeked out. Eli was nowhere in sight. Heaving a sigh of relief, she stepped into the trailing end of twilight. The tall coffeepot still sat beside the coals of her cook fire. She retrieved a tin cup from the wash pan and crossed to the fire. As she poured the dark, aromatic brew, she heard footfalls behind her. She straightened so quickly she splashed hot coffee across her hand.

Hissing, she plunked the pot down. In seconds, Eli was at her side. He took the cup and guided her to the wash bucket. Without a word, he submerged her hand in the cool water. She tried to tug loose, but he held tight, counting slowly in a calm, low tone. When he reached twenty, he lifted her hand from the bucket and gently wiped it dry with her apron.

“Does it burn yet?” His fingers encircled her wrist.

In the dim light cast by the half-moon, Lillian read concern in his eyes. Her pulse had increased when he startled her, and it continued to race. She shook her head. “
Nä, nä
, it is fine. You . . . can let me go.”

He looked down and gave a little jolt, as if surprised to still be holding her hand. He released her quickly and took several scuttling steps away from her. His hands slipped into his pockets, and he rocked back on his heels. “I set your cup beside the bucket, if you still wish to drink it.”

Lillian reclaimed the cup and sipped. The remaining coffee no longer held any appeal, but it helped bring her racing pulse under control. “I . . . I thought you had gone to bed.” She couldn’t allow him to think she had come out to have time alone with him.

Eli sighed, his head dropping back. His thick beard lifted slightly with a swallow. “I went, but I could not sleep. I . . . am troubled, Lillian.”

The somber tone lured Lillian into taking two steps toward him. “Troubled?” As she voiced the simple question, remorse smote her. At supper, she had offered little to the conversation. Joseph’s sudden change from “
Onkel
Eli” to “Pa” on top of her inability to conjure an image of Reinhardt had sent her far inside herself. It wasn’t Eli’s fault—she shouldn’t hold him accountable for Joseph’s choice or her own negligent memory—yet she had purposely distanced herself from him. She had sensed his discomfort at the table, but she’d done nothing to ease it.

He shifted his head to meet her gaze. For long seconds he stood, his head angled, hands deep in his pockets and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Then he released a sigh that carried clearly to her ears. Slipping his hands free, he crouched beside the fire and propped his elbows on his knees. Staring into the coals, he finally responded.

“I am troubled because you are troubled.” He lifted a hand and shook his head as if anticipating an argument. “Do not deny it. We both know it is true.” Another hard swallow communicated the depth of his concern. His head low, he offered, “I will speak to the boy—will tell him I am his uncle and not his father.”

Lillian opened her mouth to protest, but even though Eli made no gesture to hush her this time, words did not spill out. After a few seconds of tense silence, she clamped her lips shut and cradled the cooling coffee cup between her palms.

Eli kept his head low. “This will make things well between us again?”

She couldn’t deny the hurt in his voice. Hanging her head in shame, she sighed. “I am sorry, Eli.”

He chuckled softly. “For what are you sorry? You cannot help how you feel.”

No, she had no control over her feelings. Yet she should be able to control her actions. Punishing Eli for something outside of his control wasn’t right. She blurted, “But you will hurt Joseph’s feelings if you tell him he cannot call you Pa.” Truthfully, she had considered chiding Joseph herself, but she couldn’t find the courage to do so.

Eli gave one slow nod. “
Jo
, that might be true.” He lifted his head, his unblinking eyes met hers. “But right now I am more concerned about you and your feelings.”

Lillian drew closer to the fire, clutching the cup so tightly the handle bit into her palm. “Please do not think of me first.”

His brow crunched. “But why not? You are my—” Eli abruptly turned his head toward the softly glowing coals. The unspoken word hung on the night air as loudly as if it had been shouted.

Oh, Lord, how do we make this work?
The prayer winged from her heart, bringing a sting of tears. She had committed herself to Eli. They worked side by side each day, but each night they went their separate ways. This marriage, although it solved many problems, was unnatural. Confusing. Dissatisfying.

With hesitant steps, Lillian closed the distance between them and poured the contents of her cup into the flickering flames. The coals popped and hissed, sending up a cloud of steam. The remaining glow disappeared, shrouding her and Eli in dark gray shadows. Setting the cup aside, she sat across from him and linked her fingers in her lap.

“Eli, I think it is all right for Joseph to call you Pa. It makes him feel secure, and he needs security with all of the changes that have come into his life.”

Eli shot her a questioning look, and she thought he would argue. When he didn’t, she continued quietly. “My withdrawal from you tonight had more to do with me and something that happened earlier in the day. I should not have allowed it to make me act differently toward you. I am sorry.”

Concern crinkled his brow. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

She had hurt him, yet he treated her kindly. No recrimination or retaliation, just a desire to help set things to right. To her acute embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears.

Eli leaned forward, planting one knee against the ground. “Lillian, what is it?”

Rarely had Reinhardt expressed patience with her tears. He had never been harsh with her when tears threatened, but he usually slipped away to avoid facing them. She had always tried hard to control her emotions so Reinhardt wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

But at the sight of tears, Eli didn’t get up and leave. His tenderly voiced question, combined with the deep shadows in which she could hide, gave Lillian courage. She whispered, “I was at the creek, looking at my own reflection, and I realized . . . I cannot remember Reinhardt’s face.”

Eli seemed to freeze, and then he settled back to sit on his heel. “I . . . see.”

Once the confession had found its way from her mouth, she felt as though a dam had burst. Words tumbled out. “Do you realize we never talk about Reinhardt, Eli? It’s as if—as if he and Jakob never existed. I think of them every day. I look for Jakob, I listen for Reinhardt. The surprise of not finding them has dimmed, yet a part of me still looks and listens, waiting and hoping.

“They haunt my dreams at night, but even then their faces are fuzzy. Reinhardt and I lived together for twenty years, Eli, but now . . . his image is lost to me.” She gulped, swallowing salty tears.

Eli rose, his knees cracking with the sudden movement. He stood looking toward her but not meeting her gaze. “I am sorry, Lillian, at the depth of your pain. But . . .” He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. When he shifted to face her, his smile was sad. “It is late. We should rest. There is much work to do tomorrow between planting my wheat seeds and preserving the meat from Henrik’s deer.”

Confused by the abrupt closure to their conversation, Lillian nodded mutely. He held his hand toward her, and she allowed him to assist her to her feet. The moment she stood, he released her hand and backed away.