Fields of Grace (2 page)

Susie’s soft sigh brought his attention back to her. She twisted a few strands of her long hair around her finger and gazed at him with a mournful expression. “Even if you . . . you chose to fight, I . . . I would still love you, Henrik.” Before he could respond, she spun and dashed into the mud-brick building.

Henrik stood for long moments, staring after her. Although he had suspected Susie carried deep feelings for him, he had not expected her to make a profession of love. They were young, after all—only seventeen. But in these times, with so much upheaval, maybe age didn’t matter.

He took a slow backward step, his thoughts racing. If he were married, then he would be considered a man. Capable of making his own decisions. And he could choose to go, or stay. A band wrapped around his chest, constricting his breathing. Father might see his desire to wed as rebellion, and rebellion was instantly squashed.

For a moment Henrik considered the certain argument that would ensue. Then he remembered Susie’s sweet face, her sorrow-filled eyes, and her whispered proclamation that she loved him.

He would not leave her. He
would not
.

“You
will
go.”

Lillian placed her hand over her husband’s wrist, a silent request to temper his harsh tone.

Reinhardt shook her hand loose. “And I will listen to no more arguments.”

Henrik set his jaw, and Lillian’s heart ached as she met her oldest son’s stony gaze. She understood his reluctance to leave his home. In her opinion, allowing him to voice his thoughts could do no harm, but she knew Reinhardt would never permit anything that hinted at defiance. So she offered her son a sympathetic look and said softly, “It is difficult, Henrik, I know, but things will work out. You will see.”

Six-year-old Jakob sat up like an attentive little gopher. “We get to go on a big ship, Henrik! With sails that puff out like this.” He filled his cheeks with air and held the breath.

Reinhardt tapped the top of Jakob’s head. “
Jo, jo,
we know you are excited, but eat your supper before it gets cold.”

Jakob blew out his breath in a noisy whoosh, flashed Henrik a grin, then spooned a bite of potatoes into his mouth.

Lillian smiled indulgently at Jakob. The child’s sunny personality always brought a lift to her heart. Nothing—not even leaving their home and all they knew—could dampen Jakob’s exuberance. She glanced at her middle son, Joseph. He sat silently, eating his meal with his head low. Did he see their move as an adventure, like Jakob, or did he resent being uprooted, like Henrik? She supposed she would never know. Joseph rarely shared his thoughts. Of her three sons, she knew Joseph the least, and as always a touch of sadness accompanied the realization.

When all had cleaned their plates, Lillian announced in a cheerful voice, “I have a surprise. I made
pluma moos
for dessert. Who would like some?”

Although the thick prune-based soup was a rare treat, only Jakob waved his hand in the air. “I want some, Mama! Me, please!”

Joseph pushed away from the table, the chair legs screeching against the planked floor. “I need to pack my clothes. Excuse me, please.” He ambled to the staircase in the corner, his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

Henrik, too, rose. “I am going to take a walk.”

Lillian flicked a worried glance toward Reinhardt. Would he demand that Henrik stay? Always Reinhardt insisted the boys ask permission rather than state their intentions. But this time Reinhardt merely nodded. Henrik strode out the front door.

Relieved that they had avoided a conflict, Lillian looked at Reinhardt. “No
pluma moos
for you? The cream will not keep—it needs to be eaten.”

Reinhardt opened his mouth to answer, but a knock at the door interrupted. Lillian crossed to open it. Eli Bornholdt stood on the stoop with his hat in his hands. She offered him a warm smile. “
Wellkom
, Eli. Reinhardt and Jakob were just about to have some
pluma moos
. You have some, too.”

There was no other man in the village whom Lillian would invite so casually to her table, but Eli was like family. His broad grin thanked her for the invitation, and he moved quickly to the table and seated himself. Lillian dished up bowls of the cool, fruit-laden soup and handed them around. Then, wiping her hands on her apron, she said, “You enjoy your treat. I am going to . . .” She backed toward the door, waving her hand.

Eli and Reinhardt leaned forward and began talking about the trip, and she slipped out. Although Henrik had indicated he planned to go for a walk, she spotted him sitting on a bench at the edge of their little yard in the dappled shade of their
kruschkje
tree, which was now just beginning to throw off its blossoms and show the promise of fruit. Who would harvest their pears this year?

Turning her attention to her son, she linked her hands behind her and walked toward him with deliberately slow steps. If he desired to be alone, her unhurried approach would give him the chance to rise and flee. But he remained in his elbows-on-knees pose.

When she reached the bench, she pointed to the empty spot beside him with her brows raised high. He gave a slight nod, and she sat, resting her hands in her lap.

She sent him a sidelong look. “It will not be so bad, Henrik.” How she wished she could smooth the creases from his youthful brow. But he was no longer a little boy to be placated. “And who knows? When the explorers return, maybe the Friesen family will also choose to make the journey to America, like so many other villagers.”

Henrik jerked his head to face her. “How did you know I was speaking of Susie when I mentioned staying here to get married?”

A smile tugged at Lillian’s lips. Ah, children—did they not realize a mother read much in her child’s eyes? “I suspected. She is a fine girl, and I understand your fondness for her.”

Henrik shifted to stare straight ahead. The evening sun, sliding toward the horizon, cast his face in a rosy glow. “The Friesen family has no sons. They have no reason to leave.”

Lillian knew many of the families with sons coming of age planned to leave to escape the military service requirement. But other families were concerned about the Russian government’s reforms that took away the control the Mennonites had always held over their own villages. Were the Friesens included in that number? She couldn’t remember. “They might still come.”

Henrik pinched his lips into a scowl. “Two years from now . . .”

“Two years is not so long.”

“But school! I want to finish school. I want to be a teacher, not a farmer. Father says we will all have to farm to survive.”

Lillian experienced true remorse at the thought of Henrik working in fields rather than studying books. He had always been a thinker, and it seemed a shame to waste the gift of a good mind.

“And what if our villagers settle somewhere other than where Father takes us? How do we know we will find the same location that the explorers pick for the community?”

No assurances came to Lillian. She would not make promises that might not be kept. With a sigh, she admonished gently, “There is no sense in borrowing trouble, Henrik.”

Henrik stood and fixed her with a look of betrayal. “You always take Father’s side. I know you want to stay, too, but you will go because Father wants to go.”

Lillian jumped to her feet and caught Henrik’s hands. “I go because I want you safe.”

“Safe.” Henrik snorted. “Why does everyone think I am such a
kjint
that I cannot even serve in a military hospital without being harmed?”

She squeezed his hands. “No one thinks you are a child, Henrik. And I know the government officials say our young men can help in medical care rather than bear arms, but just being in the barracks with the Russian soldiers . . . harm could come to you.” Lillian’s worries went beyond physical harm. What kind of influences might her son’s young, impressionable mind encounter when away from home and the bounds of faith?

For long moments Henrik stood with his mouth clamped tight, staring across the shadowed yard. Finally he met her eyes. “But do you wish we could stay?”

“Jo.”
She swallowed the lump of longing that threatened to strangle her. “I wish we could stay. I love Gnadenfeld and our house, but wishing does not change the facts. If we stay, you—and eventually Joseph and Jakob—will be forced to serve in the army. Our God instructs us not to kill. We cannot support an organization whose purpose is to take lives. As hard as we find it, we must start over in a place where we can live freely, not bound by the rules of a government that has no respect for our beliefs.”

“But so far, Ma? Must we go so far?”

The anguished question made Lillian long to wrap him in her arms and rock away his hurt the way she had when he was little. But Henrik was nearly a man. A hug from his mother would not cure the pain he now carried. She gave his hands another squeeze. “Yes, son, we must go very far.”

Henrik pulled loose from her grasp. “I will take that walk now.”

Lillian watched him stride away through the waning light. The slope of his shoulders and his low-slung head reflected a despondency that matched the somber backdrop of gray shadows and darkening sky. Blinking back tears, Lillian sank onto the bench and lowered her head.

She wished she could pray, but what would prayers avail? Would the czar change his mind about military service? Would Reinhardt change his mind about leaving? No. So she held her prayers and her hurt inside and remained on the bench until the long shadows enveloped her.

2

E
li slipped the paper tickets from his jacket pocket and laid them on the table’s hand-rubbed top in a neat row. “There they are—enough for all of your family and for me. We will board the
Holsatia
in Hamburg on the morning of June fifth.”

Little Jakob wriggled in his seat. “A ticket for me, too,
Onkel
Eli?”

Reinhardt sent the boy a sharp look. “Eat your
pluma moos
and leave the talking to the grownups.”

The child picked up his spoon and slurped a bite. But, unabashed, his bright eyes bounced back and forth between the men as the conversation continued.

“It is a merchant ship, but they have turned hallways into sleeping rooms with bunks that fold down from the wall at night and push back up for space during the day. Most of the passenger list is made up of Germans, so we will be able to communicate with others on the way.” Eli chuckled, winking at Jakob. “We can speak the High German and pretend we are always in worship service,
jo
?”

The little boy rewarded him with a gap-toothed smile, and Eli continued. “Because it is a merchant ship, berths are only for the crew members. I was unable to get a private berth for you and Lillian. We will all be in the sleeping hallways.”

“Bunks?” Reinhardt frowned briefly, but then he shook his head. “It does not matter. We will be on the ship for little more than a month. We can tolerate bunks as long as it means we will reach America.”

Eli nodded. The idea of sharing a sleeping space with dozens of others did not appeal to him, either. Living alone, he had become accustomed to privacy. Yet he wouldn’t complain. Didn’t his Bible tell him to be content in all circumstances? Surely this included being satisfied with a bunk on a ship.

“This means we will arrive in early July, giving us time to travel on to Kansas, build a shelter, and prepare the ground to receive seed for October’s planting.” For a moment, Eli worried his lower lip between his teeth. Would the soil of America receive and nourish their hearty winter wheat as well as Russia’s plains had for the past century?

The thought of wheat reminded him of something else. Resting his elbow on the table, he leaned toward Jakob. “Jakob, could you help me tomorrow?”

Jakob paused with his spoon in his fist. “Help you?”

Eli’s cheeks twitched with the desire to smile at Jakob’s exuberance, but he forced himself to retain a stoic expression. “
Jo
. I have a very important job. Are you big enough, do you think?”

Jakob sat up straight, throwing his skinny shoulders back and lifting his chin. “I am big enough!”