Fields of Grace (3 page)

Swallowing a chuckle, Eli nodded. “
Goot
. I was hoping you would be. You come to my house tomorrow morning. You will help me choose the very best wheat kernels to take to America.”

The boy’s shoulders slumped. “Choose wheat kernels? That is not important.”

Eli raised his eyebrows and stared at Jakob. “Not important? Why, it is the most important job there is! Our good, strong wheat kernels that grow even under the snow and hard ground of Russia have never seen American soil. We want America to know what good wheat we grow—the best wheat! So we must take the very, very best kernels to plant in the new land. Only those kernels that are bright red and hard as little stones will be strong enough to make the journey.”

While Eli spoke, Jakob’s blue eyes grew wider and wider.

Eli waved his hand. “But if you do not think you can choose good kernels, then—”

“I can do it!” The child bounced in his seat. “I can do it,
Onkel
Eli. I can!”

Eli exchanged a quick smile with Reinhardt. “I knew I could depend on you, Jakob. Just wait until America sees what fine wheat we bring. The country will be glad we came.”

“And now”—Reinhardt placed his hand on Jakob’s shoulder— “go wash your face and climb into your bed. If you are going to do such important work, you need your rest.”

Jakob hopped down from his chair and raced to the enclosed stairway at the corner of the dining room. His pounding footsteps shook the rafters.

Eli released a laugh. “That one will never let grass grow beneath his feet.”

Reinhardt shook his head. “You will have your hands full tomorrow with him. But thank you for keeping him busy. Lillian will be able to accomplish much work tomorrow without him putting his nose in the way.”

“He will be a big help to me,” Eli insisted. “I trust him to select the plumpest seed kernels for transport.”

Reinhardt snorted but didn’t argue. “Are there restrictions on what we can take with us on the ship? I know Lillian would like to bring our goosedown mattress and her mother’s china dishes, but that will require a second large trunk.”

Eli glanced at the handcrafted hutch holding the white dishes scattered with roses. There would be no pretty dishes in his trunk, and for a moment he experienced a twinge of remorse at what his life lacked. He had no need for fancy dishes, but what must it be like to have a wife who valued such things?

“Each traveler is allowed one trunk.” Eli traced four tally marks on the table with his finger and then crossed through the row. “So your family will be able to take five. Will that be sufficient?”

“It will have to be.”

The front door opened and Lillian entered, bringing in the scents of evening. Her cheeks were flushed, and Eli wondered briefly if she were upset or if the night air had produced the high color. She crossed directly to the table and scooped up the dishes and spoons. Reinhardt barely glanced at her as she bustled to the large bricked
Spoaheat
in the corner of the kitchen and dipped water from the reservoir into a wash basin.

Eli’s ears tuned to the creaky footsteps of the boys in the loft overhead, to the gentle splash of water accompanied by the clink of dishes in the basin, to Lillian’s soft hum as she saw to her evening chore. So different it all was from the silence of his little house at the edge of the village. A spiral of longing wove through him. These sounds meant family—something he hadn’t truly known since he was a small child. He was thirty-eight already—an old man. Would God ever bless him with a family? Or would he forever live vicariously through his foster brother Reinhardt?

Across the table, Reinhardt released a heavy sigh. “Being allowed one trunk per traveler is good news. I am relieved we are not limited to one trunk per family. That would barely hold our clothing. We must have my cobbler tools and our household necessities for starting over, as well as a few heirlooms to make the new land feel like home, since we must leave our furniture behind.”

Lillian peeked over her shoulder. “Did you visit
Oomkje
Hildebrandt today and ask if he had more trunks for sale?”

“He is special-crafting one for us, larger than his usual storage trunks.” Reinhardt laughed softly. “He can start a whole new business now, making travel trunks for our people. According to Hildebrandt, at least half of the village plans to leave as soon as the explorers return.”

Lillian sent Reinhardt a smile, then turned back toward the basin. The tenderness in her gaze left Eli feeling like an interloper. He stood abruptly. “
Nä-jo
—all right, it is late, and we all have much work to do tomorrow. I will go now. Lillian . . .” He waited until she turned to meet his gaze. “Thank you for the
pluma moos
. It was
en gooda schmack
.”

Her nod and smile acknowledged his compliment.

Striding toward the door, he plopped his hat on his head. “Be sure to send Jakob over early. It will take most of the day to fill a bag with choice seed.” He stepped into the night without awaiting a reply.

Eli hid a smile as young Jakob lifted his straw hat and swiped his hand over his forehead, leaving behind a trail of grime. Jakob’s little face crunched into a scowl. “
Onkel
Eli, I am tired. Can we stop now?”

The normally bouncy boy looked wilted from his long morning of sorting seeds. Assuming a serious look, Eli pointed at the burlap sack hanging on the edge of the workbench. “Is the bag full?”

Jakob tipped his head and carefully examined the bag. “The bottom part is.”

Eli swallowed twice to hold back his laughter. “But until the top part is also full, we cannot quit. We will need a full-to-the-top bag of choice seed to plant in America.”

Jakob sighed, but he leaned over the seed bin and scooped up another handful. With his forehead wrinkled in concentration, he plucked seeds from his cupped palm and dropped a few into the bag. “
Onkel
Eli, what does America look like?”

Without looking up, Eli answered, “I have not yet been to America, so I cannot say. But if God made it, as we know He did, I trust it will be a place of beauty.”

“So it will be a
goot
place to live?”

Eli raised his gaze from the seed bin to Jakob. The worry in the boy’s eyes stirred compassion. “For sure it will be.”

“Then why is Henrik so angry?” Tears pooled in Jakob’s blue eyes. “He wants to stay here and not go to America at all. He and Papa yelled at each other last night, and when Henrik came to bed his face was all red.”

Eli gently chucked Jakob’s chin. “Henrik will be all right. He is just used to being here, and he feels
schrakj
about leaving.”

The child’s eyes flew wide. One tear lost its position on his lashes and spilled down his round cheek. “
Henrik
is scared? But he is almost grown-up!”

A chuckle rolled from Eli’s chest at Jakob’s shock. “Even grownups get scared sometimes, Jakob.”

“Even you and Papa?” Jakob’s jaw dropped open.

Cupping Jakob’s chin, Eli guided the boy’s mouth closed. “Even your papa and me. Starting over again in an unknown place is scary. Being scared need not shame you. But letting fear keep us from doing right . . .” Eli pointed one finger at the boy to emphasize his words. “
That
we must not do, because it means we do not trust God to take care of us.”

Angling his head, Jakob squinted up at Eli. “So going to America is right?”

Eli nodded. “I believe it is. The Bible teaches us not to kill. Military men kill. They kill in battle, but still, it is killing. Our people cannot disobey God’s Word and take part in killing, so even if it makes us scared to leave our home and go someplace new, we must go.”

Very slowly, Jakob bobbed his head up and down. “I can do it.” With his fingertips, he skimmed away the remaining moisture from his cheeks. “And I will be brave instead of scared.”

“Good for you.” Eli pointed to the bin. “Now come, let us try to add another inch to our bag before we stop for lunch.”

Jakob leaned forward to continue the task. After another hour, they stopped to enjoy a lunch of bread, cheese, and pickled pears. Jakob ate just as much as Eli, and his full belly brought on a bout of yawning that Eli couldn’t ignore. He finally tucked the boy in the corner of the barn on a pile of empty burlap bags and allowed him to nap while he filled the remainder of the seed bag himself.

Periodically while he worked, he glanced at the sleeping child, and each time a fond smile curved his cheeks. In sleep, Jakob looked so innocent. The paternal tug at Eli’s heart didn’t come as a surprise—he’d experienced it frequently over the years with Reinhardt’s sons. But it was stronger now that he knew Reinhardt’s family and he would be making a trek across the ocean and settling in a new land, dependent on one another.

If Henrik continued in rebellion, Reinhardt’s focus would certainly be on him. The younger boys would require attention, and Eli was more than happy to provide it. A sigh lifted his shoulders. As much as he loved Reinhardt’s boys, he wondered if he would ever have the opportunity to nurture his own children.

Having grown up an orphan, cared for by the Vogt family yet never really belonging, Eli carried a deep need for family. His own family. So far, God had not granted that gift. And if he left this village for the untamed lands in America, it seemed a fair assumption that it would be years before the desire was fulfilled . . . if at all.

Jakob snuffled in sleep, rubbing his fist beneath his nose before turning onto his side and curling into a ball. Once again, Eli smiled at the boy. For now, having a role in raising his foster brother’s sons would be enough.
But, Lord, someday . . . ?

3

L
illian stood silently beside the wagon. Six well-filled trunks rested in the wagon’s bed. Joseph, Henrik, and Jakob sat atop the handcrafted wooden boxes. Jakob’s straight-up pose reflected eagerness, but both Henrik and Joseph hunched forward as if bearing a weight on their shoulders.

Reinhardt sat on the wagon’s seat with his fingers curled around the reins, his shoulders tense, ready to go. But she remained on the hard-packed road of her dear Gnadenfeld and peered through the early-morning mist at the structure that had been her home for the past twenty years.

Just a simple house, constructed of Mennonite-fired mud bricks and a thatched roof, nearly identical to all the others on the street. Yet it was hers, and looking at it in the soft rosy glow of dawn while white specks winked in the canopy of pale gray sky brought a rush of memories that had to be relived before she could turn her back and drive away.

How many meals had she prepared at the bricked stove? The table on which those meals had been served remained in the house, empty of dishes. At least the dishes would make the journey—they now rested in one of the trunks, sandwiched securely between layers of clothing and bedding.

She closed her eyes for a moment, replaying images of their years in this little house. She could picture each of her sons sitting in the tall wooden chair, their baby mouths opening for a spoonful of mush. In her imagination, she walked up the tiny enclosed staircase to the loft, where first one bed, then two, and finally three stood in a neat row. A smile pulled at her lips as she recalled leaning forward and brushing kisses on warm cheeks before whispering nighttime prayers with the boys.

Henrik had come into manhood in this house; all three sons had been born in the feather bed tucked into the far corner of the main floor. How could she possibly leave this house of memories? Her nose stung, and she crunched her eyes more tightly closed to hold back the tears that pressed behind her lids.

“Lillian?”

Reinhardt’s voice popped her eyes open. She turned slowly and looked up at him.

“We must go now. It is a long journey to Hamburg, and if we do not reach it in time, we will miss the ship.” He held out his hand. “Come.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Lillian cast one final, searching gaze across the house and yard before taking Reinhardt’s hand. Settled on the high seat, she sent a quavering smile back toward her sons. “
Nä-jo
, here we go.”

Jakob bounced on his bottom and clapped his hands, but Henrik turned away, his face sullen. Joseph met her gaze, but his expression was empty, emotionless. Somehow Joseph’s lack of response was harder to bear than Henrik’s open resentment.

With a glance at Reinhardt, she whispered, “I am ready.”

She clutched her shawl around her shoulders as the wagon lurched forward. Torn between regret and relief that they would not drive through the center of the village where she would look, one last time, upon the neat marketplace and their beloved chapel of worship, she focused on the swishing tails of Eli’s team of horses that pulled the wagon. Eli rode alongside the wagon on a third horse, and a fourth one trotted behind the wagon, bobbing its head at the restraining tether.

Eli had expressed hope that he could sell the horses in Hamburg before they embarked, since the ship would not allow livestock. Her heart ached at the thought of so much left behind. Trusted animals, beautiful furniture, lifelong friends . . . But at least, she comforted herself as the wagon rolled into the open country, many of the friends would follow after the explorers returned with their report.