Fields of Grace (31 page)

“Pa is awake.”

Lillian turned on her stool, wiping her mouth with a square of cloth. Her smile offered as much warmth as the sun. “We saved you some fried potatoes and onions. Come, sit. I will fry you the last two eggs.” She bustled toward the cook fire, where a skillet waited.

Eli didn’t need a second invitation. His stomach growled as the scent of the potatoes reached his nose. He sat on the remaining stool and bowed his head in silent prayer before scooping the remainder of the potatoes onto his plate. They were cold, but he didn’t mind. They tasted good. He’d eaten half of the serving when Lillian approached, a pair of perfectly fried eggs centered on her wooden spatula.

“There you are.” She rested her hand on his shoulder as she slid the eggs onto his plate. His scalp came alive with her touch, and he involuntarily jerked upright. Her hand fell away quickly, and she shot him a puzzled look. Without a word, she returned to the fire and placed the spatula on the edge of the skillet.

His hand trembling slightly, Eli cut into his eggs and lifted a bite to his mouth. But although they were fried just the way he liked them—with the white fully cooked and the yolk warm and runny—he found little enjoyment in the food. Why had Lillian touched him? His mind skittered back to the many times someone had patted his shoulder, offering condolence with sad eyes.

The boys excused themselves and ambled away from the table, heading for their morning chores. Lillian remained beside the fire, scraping the crusty remains of eggs and potatoes from the inside of the skillet into the flames, while Eli finished his meal. As soon as he was done, she returned to the table and picked up his empty plate.

“Did you get enough to eat? I can fry some more potatoes if you are still hungry.”

Her friendly, helpful tone showed no hint of misplaced pity, but his shoulder still tingled from the feel of her hand. He eyed her with suspicion, watching for compassion to creep into her expression.

“
Nä
, I am plenty full,
dank
. And I am behind on my work with my late sleeping. Someone should have roused me.” An unintentional note of accusation colored his tone.

Lillian smiled sweetly in response. “You worked hard yesterday. You earned some extra sleep. The boys are capable of seeing to the morning chores. If you would like to rest, then—”

“Nä.”
Eli rose, swiping his mouth with his napkin. He tossed the rumpled cloth onto the trunk and turned to leave.

But for the second time that morning, Lillian reached out. Her fingers landed lightly on his forearm, sealing him in place as effectively as a stake driven through the toe of his boot.

“What tasks have you set for yourself today?” Her casual tone stood in sharp contrast to the fierce beating of his heart.

“W-why do you ask?”

She gave a delicate shrug, but her hand didn’t move. “I have an idea for an improvement, but I do not wish to take you away from something important.”

He lowered his arm, separating himself from her touch. He immediately felt the absence and wished he had remained still. He swallowed. “I planned to twist the dried grass into logs to burn in the
Feaheat
this winter.”

“More logs?” She laughed softly, a strand of honey-colored hair slipping free of its bun to frame her cheek. “You already have a pile as tall as me in the corner of the sod house.”

“
Jo,
well, it will take much fuel for both warmth and cooking.” His voice took on a defensive tone.

For a moment, Lillian’s brow creased, but then a smile replaced the slight scowl. “Are the boys able to form the logs?”

“For sure they are.” Eli had taught the boys to twist a hank of dried blades so tightly they doubled into themselves, creating bundles the size of a man’s forearm. The bundles didn’t burn as long as wood or buffalo droppings, but they created good heat. The boys were now adept at forming the grass logs. “But Joseph needs to study. If we were in a village, he would be in school. He has an available teacher in Henrik, so I thought the boys would use a portion of the day to study.”

“I see.” Lillian nibbled her lower lip, toying with the hem of her apron’s skirt. Her disappointed reaction stirred his curiosity.

“What did you wish for me to do today?”

Her head shot up, hopefulness lighting her eyes. “I was thinking last night while the wind blew so hard, bringing in the cold, that you will have a difficult time staying warm without the help of a stove or a fireplace.” She turned toward the sod houses. “The houses are close together—only three wide paces apart . . .”

When she started walking, Eli automatically followed. She entered the narrow gap between the houses, then spun and faced him, flinging her arms wide. Her eyes shone with excitement, making her seem much younger.

“What if you cut doors into the walls that face one another and built a hall to connect the two sod houses? Would some of the heat from the fireplace reach the smaller house?”

Eli shook his head slowly. Her suggestion wasn’t a foolish one. Heat would certainly find its way to the second house, taking some of the chill from the room. If he built the walls even with the smaller sod house, they could stack many of the supply boxes on either side of the walkway in the hall, freeing up the living space of the large sod house. He could see the sense of the idea, but she’d neglected one important detail.

“Lillian, if I were to do what you suggest, we . . .
all
. . . would be residing under one roof.”

His subtly emphasized word hit its mark. She stood in shadow, but he saw pink creep into her cheeks. She lowered her gaze and brushed the toe of her shoe over the short cropped grass. “And would that be . . . unpleasant?”

Eli, uncertain he’d heard correctly, took a step closer to her. “What are you saying?”

Her head still down, she lifted her shoulders in a slow shrug. “We are . . . husband and wife. The boys . . . they are getting along well with you. Perhaps . . .”

Poor Eli . . . living alone in the little sod house . . .
The disparaging words trailed through his mind, taunting him. He clamped his jaw for several seconds, gaining control of his emotions before speaking.

“Lillian, we are husband and wife. It was necessary for us to form a union or we could not travel together. But we are not husband and wife as—as you and Reinhardt were husband and wife.” The statement pained him, but speaking it aloud also brought a measure of relief. It was time they stop playing the cat-and-mouse game they had developed and accept the truth. “Our marriage has served its purpose. Henrik is here in America, safe from military involvement, and he will have the means to attend university when the crop is harvested. You and the boys are provided for. But . . . when the others come . . .”

His mouth went dry. He looked into her wide, bewildered eyes and forced himself to continue. “When the others come and our village is established, your needs will be met by the villagers. The church has always cared for widows. My presence in your lives will no longer be needed the way it is now.”

“W-what are you saying, Eli?” Her voice sounded raspy, as if she battled to bring forth words. “Do you . . . do you intend to leave us here alone?”

Eli sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Why did her words make him feel like a traitor? Despite his own fickle heart, which had tricked him into falling in love in the middle of a marriage of convenience, he knew their relationship could never be genuine.

He cleared his throat and continued. “You will not be alone when the others come. At that time, we can have this marriage dissolved and be free to pursue our own lives, just as we would have done if Reinhardt had not perished on the ship.” She cringed, but Eli steeled himself against the reaction and completed his thought. “If we share a roof, the minister will not allow a dissolution.”

She seemed to shrink as he spoke, slowly wrapping her arms around her middle and turning her face away from him. “W-what of the boys?” Her whispered voice barely reached his ears. “You will walk away from Joseph, who calls you Pa?”

Now Eli flinched, pain piercing his heart as he recalled his joyful response to Joseph’s acceptance of him. “We will be in the same village. I will spend time with him, so he will not feel abandoned.”

“It will not be the same, Eli.”

How well he knew living separately was not the same as melding into one family. But he would not let pity be the glue that bound them. His tone turned brusque. “Be that as it may, I see no other solution. Henrik told me it was wrong to marry you when you did not love me. I argued and told him shared commitment was enough, but I was wrong. God designed man and woman to be as one. That cannot occur without love. So when the others arrive, and this union has served its purpose, we will undo the wrong.”

“But, Eli—”

“Do not worry.” He held up both palms, both staving off her argument and making a pledge. “I will keep myself warm this winter, and I will honor my commitment to see to your needs. And now . . .” He began moving toward the sheaves of grass that stood in haphazard rows along the wheat field. “I must get busy before the morning is gone.”

27

T
oo hurt to move, Lillian stared at Eli’s departing back. How could he have misled her so? Why hadn’t he shared these plans before they exchanged wedding vows? Eli had promised to cherish and honor her until death parted them. If he had no intention of keeping his vows, he never should have spoken the words!

Sandwiched between the sod houses in a thick patch of shade, Lillian allowed the hurt to swell until it grew into fury. Then, when the anger became too much to contain, she balled her hands into fists and charged after him. “Eli! Eli Bornholdt, you will stop and talk to me!”

He was nearly to the wheat field, but her high-pitched shriek must have reached him, because he halted and turned, facing her with a disbelieving expression.

She stomped to within three feet of him and stopped, plunking her fists on her hips and fixing him a fierce glare. “Are you a man of your word or
en Läajna
?”

His heavy brows formed a sharp V and his beard bristled. “Lillian, you know I am no liar. I am a man of my word.”

“A man of his word would not make promises and then take them back. You said you would see to my needs and the needs of my sons.” Her voice trembled with the force of her anger. “Yet now you say you will walk away from Joseph and Henrik after they have come to trust you, to rely on you, to see you as their pa!”

“Lillian . . .” He growled the word, his gaze bouncing behind her shoulder.

She turned her head and found Henrik and Joseph, their arms full of dried grass, staring at her. Waving her hands at them, she ordered, “You boys go to the sod house and study.” They didn’t move. “Go now!”

At once they dropped the grass and jogged toward the larger sod house. She waited until the door closed behind them before whirling on Eli again.

“
We
made the decision to be married, Eli. You and I discussed it together, and together we deemed it the best solution to our problems. Not once did you mention it would be a temporary solution. It is cruel now to state otherwise without even giving us a chance to be a part of the decision.”

Eli’s lower jaw jutted, and he folded his arms across his chest.

“You say ‘us’ as if we were a family. But there is no family, only a mother and her sons sharing a piece of property with a man who works the field and cares for the animals.” His tone turned hard. “I might as well be a hired hand.”

His words cut her as deeply as if he wielded a razor. “How can you say such a thing? Do you not know you are much more than a worker to the boys and me? Joseph calls you Pa, Henrik respects you and follows your instruction, and I—”

“You what, Lillian?” He leaned forward, his eyes sparking with hostility. “You feel sorry for me?”

She reared back, her mouth dropping open. “S-sorry?”

“Jo.”

Shaking her head slightly, Lillian tried to make sense of his strange accusation. Before she could process her thoughts, he continued in a harsh voice.

“I have had enough pity to fill my belly a hundred times over. The villagers, always looking at me with sympathetic eyes because I was orphaned, always wondering what would become of Poor Eli, the child who lost his parents. Our agreement did not include your pity, Lillian. I will not receive it.”

She flung her arms outward, angling her body toward him. “I am not offering it!”

“Then why do you come to me now—after learning of how I slept in an attic, not a true part of the Vogt family—and ask me to share your roof?”

“Because I want you to understand you are a true part of
this
family—with Henrik and Joseph and me.” A sob choked her, and she pressed her fist to her mouth, stifling the urge to cry. Tears would only create pity from his end, and that emotion had no place in this conversation. She took a deep breath, regaining control, and continued. “Here on this land—working together, praying together, laughing together . . . Eli, we have become a family.”

She implored him with her eyes and her tone, her heart begging him to understand that he couldn’t—he couldn’t!—just walk away from what they had built together. “Can you not see?”