Fields of Grace (17 page)

After another furtive glance left and right, he popped the cork and put his nose over the narrow opening. He recoiled at the smell, but as he did so, a memory surfaced. When he was thirteen or fourteen, he and Father had traveled to Volgograd. He’d encountered two Russian youths passing a thick jug back and forth. With wide grins, they’d offered him a sip. The smell coming from the jug had sent Henrik scurrying to his wagon. The youths’ scornful laughter still rang in his mind.

He’d been too afraid to try the liquid then, but he was no longer a boy. He was a man. He lifted the mouth of the bottle to his lips.

“Henrik!”

Henrik jerked, nearly spilling the bottle’s contents. He quickly replaced the cork and rose, holding the bottle by its neck behind his leg. “What?”

Joseph pointed. “
Onkel
Eli is coming.”

Henrik angled his body away from his brother and slipped the bottle into the waistband of his pants. A tug of his jacket hid the bottle from view. Then he joined Joseph in waiting for the wagon. He assumed a casual pose, but beneath his shirt, his heart pounded like Father’s hammer on the cobbling bench.

Eli called, “Whoa,” and the oxen obediently halted. “
Nä-jo
, boys, climb in.”

Joseph started to climb in the back, but Henrik stopped him. “Sit up front with Eli for a while.” He stretched his mouth into a yawn. “I want to lie in the back and rest.”

Joseph trotted around the wagon and hoisted himself onto the high seat. Henrik clambered over the back and slumped into the narrow space between the trunks and the wooden hatch. The top of the bottle’s neck poked into his ribcage, and he shifted slightly to remove the pressure.

The wagon lurched forward, and Ma sent a hopeful smile in his direction. “Did you enjoy your walk, son?”

He nodded. “
Jo
. But I am tired, Ma.” Without waiting for her response, he leaned his head into the corner and closed his eyes. The wagon bounced along, the growl of the wooden wheels against the rough road a familiar sound. Henrik crossed his arms over his middle. The glass bottle felt warm and smooth against his skin. As soon as night fell, he’d sneak away from camp and sample the contents of the bottle. Those Russian boys had seemed to enjoy drinking from their jug. Henrik looked forward to a few moments of pleasure.

“Eli? Eli, wake up.”

The panic underscoring the whispered command filtered through Eli’s sleep-foggy brain and brought his eyes open with a snap. He blinked several times, trying to focus. At last his eyes adjusted enough to recognize Lillian on her knees beside the wagon, peering at him.

She scuttled backward as he rolled from his sleeping pallet and emerged from beneath the wagon. They both stood at the same time, only inches apart. Her golden hair, unfettered, tumbled across her shoulders, gently lifting in the night breeze. A white voluminous gown encased her body, with a dark blue shawl draped around her shoulders. She might have been an angel, so lovely the vision.

He swallowed hard. “W-what is it?”

“I am sorry to wake you, but . . . Henrik is gone.”

Eli scowled. He leaned forward, peeking beneath the wagon. Joseph lay snoring on his pallet, but only a crumpled blanket lay across Henrik’s pallet on the far side of the wagon. “Maybe he is visiting the trees,” Eli offered.

Lillian shook her head. “That is what I thought when I saw him leave the camp. But he has been gone a long time—much longer than what would be needed. And . . .” She bit down on her lower lip, her brow furrowing.

“What is it?”

She crunched her lips into a pained grimace. “When he left, he kept peering back, as if afraid someone was watching. He acted strangely, Eli.”

Eli’s concern for the boy rose. “Which way did he go?”

Lillian pointed, and Eli held back his relief that she pointed to the grassy fields across the road rather than the road itself. If Henrik had headed down the road, Eli would suspect he’d intentionally run away. But a trek across the tall grass in the minimal light of the moon meant he could be wandering. Maybe his looking back was merely out of worry that he would disturb their rest.

Eli put his hand on her shoulder, trapping a wavy lock of hair beneath his palm. The feel of the silky tresses sent a jolt of reaction through his belly. He resisted snatching his hand away and offered a comforting squeeze instead. “Go back to bed and do not worry. He might have found it difficult to find the wagon in the dark.” But as he spoke the words, a log in the campfire snapped, sending up a tiny flutter of sparks. Wouldn’t the fire’s glow guide Henrik back again? He chose not to share his thought with Lillian. “I will light a lantern and find him.”

“
Dank
, Eli.”

He waited until she climbed back into the wagon before plucking a lantern from a hook on the side of the wagon and lighting its wick. Then he set off in the direction Lillian had indicated. He made no effort to move quietly—he wanted any four-legged creatures to hear his approach and scatter. Holding the lantern well in front of him, he let his gaze rove through the circle of yellow, seeking any clue to Henrik’s whereabouts.

Crushed grass showed the path their feet had taken earlier in the evening to visit the trees. Eli stood in the center of the mashed area, turning a slow circle and peering into the night. He tilted his head, listening intently. Only the gentle whisper of wind across the grass, the hoot of an owl, and the distant call of a coyote greeted his ears. But then, so softly he almost thought he imagined it, he heard a chuckle.

Scowling in confusion, he tipped his head and squinted his eyes shut in an effort to focus on listening. The laughter came again, less subdued, and somewhere to his left. Turning, he moved slowly in the direction of the sound. He stumbled when he went over a small embankment, but when he righted himself, the lantern light swung across Henrik’s frame stretched flat in the grass with his arms propped behind his head. Eli charged forward and held the lantern close to Henrik’s face.

The boy scrunched his face into a horrible scowl and covered his eyes with his hands. “
Onkel
Eli, blow that out.” His speech slurred, each word extended to unnatural lengths.

“What is wrong with you, boy, leaving the camp and worrying your mother? Get up.” Eli grabbed Henrik’s sleeve and yanked him to his feet.

Henrik staggered, squinting at Eli. “Careful. You almos’ knocked me down.” He glared with one eye, crunching the other one shut.

Eli shook his head. “What is the matter with you? Did you fall and hit your head?” He reached to run his hand over Henrik’s scalp.

Laughing, Henrik ducked away. His movements were clumsy, uncontrolled. He stretched his arms outward and waved them to keep his balance. Then, his footing established, he laughed again. “
Nä, nä
, I am fine. I am better fine than I have ever been before.”

Eli got a whiff of Henrik’s breath, and understanding dawned. “Have you been drinking?”

Henrik threw his shoulders back and assumed an innocent expression with wide eyes. “Drink . . . ing?” He hiccupped in the middle of the word.

The answer confirmed Eli’s suspicions. “Where did you get liquor?”

Henrik covered his lips with one finger.

“Where did you get liquor?” Eli made his voice stern, leaning close.

But Henrik remained silent, smirking behind the finger on his lips. Fury filled Eli. So this was why Reinhardt had kept such a close watch on the boy—he was prone to dangerous foolishness. Grabbing Henrik by the collar of his shirt, he began hauling him toward camp. Henrik squawked in protest, flapping his arms in wild circles, yet he had no choice but to go along.

When the flicker of firelight shone ahead, Eli came to an abrupt halt and released Henrik. The boy stumbled sideways and nearly fell, but somehow he managed to catch his balance. He stood wavering before Eli with a shamed expression on his face.

“I . . . am sorry,
Onkel
Eli. I only wanted to feel hap . . . py.” Hiccups continued to interrupt the words. “Are you go . . . ing to beat me?”

Truthfully, the thought had crossed Eli’s mind. A few licks might pound some sense into the boy. But Eli couldn’t do it.
I
must father this boy, dear Lord, but how would You have me do it?
In that moment, Eli missed Reinhardt with a fierce ache. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, bringing his temper under control. “Is the liquor all gone?”

“All gone,” Henrik repeated. “Ev . . . ery drop.”

“Goot.”
Eli curled his hand around Henrik’s neck. “You have had your ‘fun.’ But there will be no more such fun, do you hear me, boy? This time I will let it go because everyone is entitled to make one mistake. But to make the same mistake twice is to act with deliberate foolhardiness. Next time, you will get that beating. Do you understand?”

Henrik blinked twice. “Will you tell Ma?”

Eli clamped his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. Should he keep this from Lillian? Surely the truth would hurt her. She didn’t need any more worries. But he decided it was best to leave Henrik wondering. “Not tonight.” He gave the boy a little shove toward camp. “Lie down on your pallet and go to sleep. No more mischief.”

Henrik stumbled toward camp, his shoulders slumped and his head sagging. Eli followed close on his heels, holding the lantern to illuminate the way. As soon as they entered the camp, Lillian popped her head out of the wagon. She curled her hands over the wagon’s hatch. “Henrik, you are all right?”

“He is fine.” Eli bustled forward. He watched Henrik roll onto his pallet, then gave Lillian’s hand a reassuring pat. “He is tired from wandering. Let him sleep. Talk in the morning.”

“Thank you for finding him, Eli.”

Eli blew out the lantern and returned it to its hook. “
Bitscheen.
Go back to sleep now, Lillian. All is well.” But as he crawled back onto his pallet, his words mocked him. All was certainly not well.

16

L
illian wiped her sweaty brow with a wilted handkerchief. Although the wagon’s bonnet extended over the seat, the angle of the sun prevented the canvas from offering even a thumbnail of shade. The sun beat down relentlessly, creating a burning sensation on her skin. She stared at the glistening hides of the oxen. How the poor beasts managed to keep plodding forward when just sitting beneath the shimmering rays made her want to collapse, she would never understand.

Her temples pounded. She twisted her head one way and then the other, trying to relieve the tension in her neck muscles. The movement didn’t help a great deal, and she knew why. The tension went more than skin deep. It pressed from the very center of her soul.

The wagon’s front right wheel hit a rut, and she grabbed the seat to keep herself from tipping against Eli’s arm. Since the night Eli had gone searching for Henrik, he had insisted the boys ride in the back and allow their mother to sit on the wagon seat. She wondered at the reason for the change. Eli had seemed to enjoy pointing out unique land features or sharing his knowledge of plants with Joseph and Henrik, and she hadn’t minded riding in the back. Truthfully, the wagon’s bed provided more protection from the endless wind and blistering sun. But Eli had directed her to sit on the seat, so she did.

Angling a quick glance sideways, she took in Eli’s stiff posture and firmly set jaw. The easy smile she had come to expect was nowhere in sight. The days on the trail had stolen his lightheartedness. Might it return when they reached their destination? His change in demeanor extended to the boys. He seemed emotionally distanced from them. Especially from Henrik, although she noticed he kept her oldest son under his watchful gaze at all times.

Something had happened that night Lillian had sent Eli after Henrik, but neither of them volunteered any information. And Lillian was half afraid to ask. So she pondered in silence while tension ate at the muscles in her neck and gave her a headache no powders could cure.

She peered over her shoulder at her sons. Despite her headache, a smile tugged at her cheeks. They lay across trunks in the back of the wagon, heads on bent elbows, eyes closed, napping. Her heart swelled at the innocent picture they painted. Her boys . . . Mother-love, fierce and aching, rose in her breast.
Lord, let this new
land treat my sons kindly. Let them blossom and grow into the men You
desire them to be. Give us grace, Lord.