Fields of Grace (27 page)

Joseph folded his arms over his chest and twisted his lips into a scowl. “There is nothing else . . .”

“Knock, knock!”

Joseph lost his sulk when Eli’s voice called at the door. He scampered the few feet needed to pull the canvas flap aside. “Pa! Why are you in the rain?”

Eli ducked to enter the sod house, but he stopped just inside the door. Water dripped from his hat, clothes, and beard, but he grinned. “I am in the rain because I cannot avoid it. Such a rain! Steady, but not too hard—a perfect rain to nourish the wheat.” He removed his hat and shook his head. Drops flew, spattering Ma, but she smiled rather than ducking away from the moisture.

Eli’s gaze seemed to avoid Ma, bouncing instead between Joseph and Henrik. “I have seen to the needs of the animals. The chickens, they cluck in complaint, but the horses and oxen are content to sit and watch the rain fall.”

Ma, still busily stitching, commented, “These two boys are far from content. They are getting restless from being trapped in here.”

Eli shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “
Ach,
after all our days of work, you cannot enjoy a few days of rest?” His grin took the sting out of the rebuke. He ran his fingers through his beard. “I thought maybe I would go to the creek and see how well Kansas fish bite in the rain.”

Joseph darted for his jacket. “May I go, too?”

Eli chuckled. “
Jo
, that is why I came here first. I thought you boys might be ready to get out.” He jerked his thumb in Ma’s direction. “Your mother, though—she is probably too
Je’scheit
to sit on a wet creek bank and hold a pole while rain falls on her head.”

Henrik half expected his mother to toss aside her stitching and meet Eli’s challenge. Lately, it had seemed she went out of her way to please the man.

But she only nodded. “Far too prim for such an activity.” Looking up, she arched one brow. “How will you cook the fish if you catch any? The rain prevents me from building a fire.”

Eli scratched his head. “Hmm . . . Your mother makes a good point. Maybe we should not go fishing after all.”

“Aww!” Joseph smacked his jacket against his legs. “Please, Pa? Even if we just catch them and throw them back, can we not go?”

Henrik wasn’t particularly fond of fishing, but when faced with staying inside all day as opposed to getting out for a while, he would willingly fish. “Maybe we could put the fish on a string and leave them in the creek. The rain must stop sometime, and we can cook them after the rain goes away.”

“See there?” Eli gestured toward Henrik with his hat, nodding at Ma. “This is why your boy will be a good teacher—he solves problems.” He stepped toward the canvas door. “
Nä-jo
, put that jacket on, Joseph, and fetch a hat. You, too, Henrik.”

As they walked to the creek, poles bouncing on their shoulders, Eli said, “As soon as this rain quits, we must dig clay and build a
Feaheat
in your sod house. The nights are cool enough now to sometimes need warmth from a fireplace, and your mother will want a way to cook when it is too cold to be outside.”

While Henrik appreciated Eli’s attention to Ma’s needs, he wondered why the man discussed it with him rather than with Ma. But as long as Eli planned to make improvements, there was something else the sod house needed. “We should also build a solid door. The canvas is getting tattered from the wind flapping it all around. And it will not hold out snow when winter comes.”

“Sound thinking again.” Eli crouched, plucked up a worm that wriggled up from the ground, and wove it on his hook. “I think as soon as the rain passes, we will make a trip to McPherson Town. We can get lumber for doors and purchase supplies one last time before winter strikes.”

The thought of going to town—seeing something besides their own plot of rolling prairie—lifted Henrik’s damp spirits. He plopped down next to Eli on the creek bank. Wetness seeped through the seat of his pants, making him shiver, but he ignored the discomfort and baited his hook. “So we all will go to town?”

“Did I not promise the family a trip to town?” Eli tossed his baited hook into the creek.

Henrik had learned over the past months that Eli kept his promises. Having the promise of money to attend school had kept Henrik working faithfully and without complaint until the wheat could be harvested. He threw out his line. Raindrops disturbed the surface of the water, the sound reminding him of eggs frying in grease. Surely the fish were far below, hiding in the calm depths. He might be sitting here getting soaked for nothing. “Are you sure fish will bite during rain?”

Joseph, on Eli’s other side, released a snort. “Now who is
duslijch
? Everyone knows fish bite better in the rain.”

Eli nudged Joseph with his elbow. “Do not call your brother stupid.”

Joseph hunched into his jacket.

Eli continued, “But Joseph is right, Henrik. I learned this from your grandfather. When your father and I were boys, your
Grootfod
took us fishing in the early morning while rain fell. It seems we always brought home many more fish on a rainy day than on a day when the sun shone bright.”

As if to prove his point, his line jumped. Eli flipped a brown, scaly fish with a broad mouth onto the creek bank, where it flopped wildly. Although past experience had taught them this particular fish was not as tasty as the grayish, whiskered fish they called
catfish
, Eli still grabbed it up. Deftly, he ran a string through its gills, looped the other end of the string around his boot, and tossed the fish back into the water.

Joseph watched Eli ply his hook with another worm. “You and . . . and Father fished together when you were boys?”

Eli chuckled lightly and returned his line to the water. “For sure we did. Your father and I, we did most everything together when we were growing up. We got into our share of trouble, too!” With another laugh, he launched into a story about a fishing expedition that turned comical.

Listening, Henrik wondered why Eli suddenly chose to talk about Father. After Father’s death, it seemed everyone had forgotten about him. But now, months later, Eli spoke of him as if he had been the topic of conversation every day. An uncomfortable feeling teased Henrik’s stomach as he thought about Father. Thoughts of Father led to thoughts of Jakob. The guilt, which Henrik had tried so hard to escape through hard work, returned in a rush.

Father and Jakob might be sitting on a riverbank in Russia, holding a pole in their hands, were it not for Henrik. Sorrow as fresh as if the deaths had occurred only that morning struck him hard, and tears began to roll down Henrik’s cheeks. Raindrops mingled with the tears, hiding the fact that he cried—until he sniffed.

Eli’s head shifted sharply, his brows low. “Are you cold, boy? We do not want you to get a chill. Go back to the sod house if you think you might be getting sick.”

Although Henrik knew he suffered no physical illness, he willingly put his pole aside. “I think I will go back.”

On his way to the sod house, something else occurred to him. Joseph called Eli Pa. He, like Henrik, had always called their father the formal title of Father. Never Pa. The name Pa had seemed too casual, too familiar. Henrik’s steps slowed to a stop as another bout of sorrow struck—this time for an entirely different reason. He had loved his father, but he hadn’t really known the man. Father had never taken him fishing, or worked side by side with him building a sod house, or talked to him as if his opinion mattered. In a few short months, he and Eli had shared more intimate moments than in all of his years with Father.

Looking back toward the creek where Eli and Joseph perched together under a veil of rain, Henrik acknowledged a deep need to receive more than discipline and instruction from a father. He had been taught to respect his father, but he also desired to be respected in return. From Eli he had received admonishment, but also approval, respect, and warmth. For the first time, Henrik allowed himself to consider Eli as more than Ma’s husband of convenience.

Pa
. . . The title fit.

Lillian turned and gestured to the boys, who hunkered in the back of the empty wagon. “I can see McPherson Town. Sit up and look.”

The wind, chilly and redolent from the days of rain, tugged at her bonnet strings. She held them beneath her chin and smiled at Joseph, who leaned across the back of the seat and broke into a wide-eyed look of wonder. She understood his astonishment. Although they had seen many towns while traveling to their land claim, they had been alone on the prairie for weeks, and the sight of other people was most welcome.

“Do you see, too?” She included Henrik with her question, even though he remained seated rather than kneeling to peek like his brother. “There
are
other people residing in Kansas. I had begun to wonder.”

Eli laughed, shaking his head. “You think just because you do not see something, it does not exist? I told you McPherson Town was there, and I brought back evidence of lumber and an
Or’büs
. Yet you doubted.”

Lillian smiled in return. His teasing tone let her know he wasn’t scolding, and she liked hearing the light note in his voice. Although she and Eli hadn’t quite recaptured the same degree of companionship they had briefly enjoyed, he no longer treated her so distantly. She responded quickly. “I did not doubt, but it is good to see for myself.” Facing forward again, she drew in a breath. “We have been so busy, there has been little time to think of being lonely. But now that I see a town and people, I realize how much I miss being part of a community.”

Eli flicked the reins to hurry the horses the last few yards. “You will be glad when the others come.”

She looked at him, nibbling her lower lip. “Will you not?”

His gaze met hers, and his brow puckered pensively for a moment. But then he nodded. “
Jo
. It will be good to have others near again.”

Their wagon rolled into town, and Henrik joined Joseph in kneeling behind the seat. Both boys curled their hands over the wooden back and peered around Lillian’s head, commenting on various businesses and speculating on what might be found inside. Joseph hoped for candy, while Henrik admitted a new book to read during the winter months would please him.

Eli drew the team to a stop in front of a store where the wide windows offered a glimpse of stacked flour sacks. “This is the general store I visited the last time. They have most everything we will need.” The boys started to climb out of the back, but Eli caught Henrik’s arm, forcing them to stop. “I am sorry, boys, but we can only buy needed goods—no peppermint sticks for Joseph and no book for Henrik.” His face reflected his unwillingness to disappoint the boys. “Until we harvest the wheat, we must be prudent with the funds we brought from Gnadenfeld. Do you understand?”

Lillian watched dismay creep across her sons’ faces, but to her great pride, Henrik squared his shoulders and gave a firm nod.

“It is fine.” Then he released a humorous snort. “The only books here will be printed in English, and I cannot yet read the English, so what good would it do me to buy one?”

“English candy must taste as good as Russian candy,” Joseph said, then hung his head. “But I do not need any.”

Eli smiled his approval. “All right, then. Let us go in and make our purchases. When we are done here, we will go to the lumberyard.”

Lillian took Eli’s elbow and followed the boys into the general store. The combination of smells unique to a dry goods store— yeast and leather and apples—transported her to the little general store in Gnadenfeld. She drew a deep breath, taking great pleasure in the remembrance.

A woman bustled from behind the counter and addressed them. Being unfamiliar with the language, Lillian drew back. But to her surprise, Eli stuttered out a mixed phrase of Low German and English. He apparently communicated their needs, because the woman smiled and gestured them to the side of the store. Lillian stayed close beside Eli, listening as he made transactions. How quickly he had picked up a few English words! Her pride in him grew as he efficiently exchanged paper money and coins for the goods they would need to carry them through the winter months.

While a store worker organized Eli’s purchases into sturdy wooden crates, Lillian perused the bolts of fabric lining one wall of the neat shop. Her dresses had become tattered from constant wear and being scrubbed against a rock instead of a washboard. Delicate floral patterns caught her eye, and she brushed her fingertips over a pale yellow cotton sprinkled with tiny lavender rosebuds.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she spun to discover Eli behind her. He tipped his head toward the fabric. “You have need of this?”

Glancing at the frayed hemline of her skirt, she battled temptation to request yardage for a new dress. But remembering Eli’s caution and the boys’ willingness to set aside their desires, she shook her head firmly. “
Nä
. I will wait until the others arrive and we have formal church services again. Then I will come back and purchase fabric for a new dress.”

Eli nodded, his eyes bright. “I think that is a good plan.”