Fields of Grace Page 5

  Joseph, on his right, bumped his arm with his shoulder. “Scared?”

  Henrik forced a blithe tone. “Nä.” He planted his feet, pressing his back more firmly against the wall, as the ship began another rolling lift. His stomach protested the motion, and he sucked in air through clenched teeth. “But I am bored. I wish we could get up and walk around.”

  Joseph nodded slowly. “If we could move around, I would go to the women’s hallway.”

  Henrik grinned.

  Red crept up his brother’s neck. “To make sure Ma and Jakob are all right, I mean.”

  Joseph’s statement didn’t fool Henrik, but he decided not to tease his brother. “If I know Ma, she is leading the women in singing hymns.” Did he admire or resent his mother’s cheerful nature? At that moment, he wasn’t sure.

  Joseph leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “I feel sick.”

  “Try not to think about it,” Henrik suggested. He hoped his brother wouldn’t add to the foul smell of the hallway. “Think about something else—something pleasant.”

  Eli, who had sat quietly beside Joseph with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep, leaned forward. He wrapped his arms around his knees and faced the boys. “Henrik gives good advice, Joseph. Even the Bible, in the fourth chapter of Philippians, tells us that we should think upon whatsoever things are lovely. So, Henrik, tell us something pleasant to get our minds off”—Eli pinched his nose shut, which gave him the appearance of an ornery young-ster—“ the not-so-pleasant. When you think ‘lovely,’ what comes to mind?”

  Immediately an image of Susie Friesen flashed through Henrik’s mind. Pain stabbed his middle, and he knew it was unrelated to the tossing of the ship. If remembering Susie was meant to bring pleasure, he’d just experienced the opposite. He shook his head.

  Without a change in expression, Eli turned to Joseph. “What about you? What pleasant things do you recall?”

  Joseph sighed, a grin lifting the corners of his mouth. “Racing Jakob. Fishing. Sleeping in my soft bed in our loft. Eating Ma’s cooking instead of what the cook serves on the ship.” He smacked his lips. “I would like some of her Rasienenstretsel. ”

  Henrik’s mouth watered at the thought of biting into a thick slice of the raisin-studded pastry.

  Eli chuckled. “Jo, everything you say brings good thoughts, Joseph. And you know?” He raised his eyebrows, bumping Joseph lightly with his elbow. “All of those things you will do again once we are off of this ship. You will race your brother, throw a line into the water to fish, sleep in your bed in a brand-new loft, and enjoy your mother’s fine cooking. This present time of not-so-pleasant will pass, and it will all be just a memory. But those things you cherish will be lived again. That is a good thought, too, hmm?”

  Joseph nodded thoughtfully, a pleased smile lighting his face. But Henrik frowned. Perhaps the things Joseph had mentioned could be relived, but how would Henrik ever regain the sweet times he’d shared with Susie? What if her family never left Gnadenfeld? And even if her family did come to America and somehow met up with his family, so much time would have passed. Someone else might turn her head while he was far away.

  He leaned against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe sleep would make the time pass quickly.

  Eli woke with a jerk. Something was different . . . but what? After a moment, he realized his ears no longer buzzed with the roar of wind, the slash of rain, and the groan of the ship’s wooden ribs against the push of the sea. Instead, he heard the rumble of the engines. During the two days they had battled the storm, the engines had remained silent. Surely this sound meant the storm had finally passed.

  He stumbled to his feet, holding the wall to keep his balance. After the long stretch of sitting—they had only moved from their positions to go to the toilet—his legs felt wobbly and unsure. Around him, men sprawled on the stained floor. Snores competed with the engines’ steady roar. With one arm across his nose to shield himself from the pervasive odor, he used his free hand to unlatch the closest porthole and fling it wide.

  Outside, a pinkening sky and a sea as smooth and shiny as glass greeted his eyes. Oh, thank You, my Father, for Your safe delivery. The prayer formed without a thought, and he repeated it for good measure. Surely God’s hand had been upon them all through that long, perilous storm.

  Crouching down, Eli shook Henrik’s shoulder. The boy roused, blinking in confusion. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up. Eli told him, “The storm is over. I am going up on deck and then to the sick bay to check on your father. You open the portholes and let in the morning air, hmm?”

  Henrik yawned and nodded. Scratching his head, he pushed to his feet, nudging Joseph as he did so. Eli crept from the hallway, careful to avoid stepping on the hands or feet of sleeping passengers. On deck, he grasped the damp railing and sucked in great drafts of fresh, crisp air. The foul odor that had plagued his nostrils for the past days washed away.

  Turning, he kept hold of the rail with one hand and opened his jacket with the other. The wind flapped his jacket against his sides and flattened his rumpled shirt to his belly. Letting his head flop back, Eli closed his eyes and relished the clean air pulling at his hair, his beard, his clothing. It was almost as good as a bath.

  “Was tun Sie heraus hier?”

  Eli opened his eyes and spun from the railing. Jakob’s friend Franz stood a few feet away, fixing Eli with a puzzled look. Eli supposed the sailor had reason to question what he was doing; he must look like a child standing with his face to the wind and his arms outstretched.

  Grinning, Eli answered in German. “Outside I came to breathe the fresh air.” He sniffed, his chin high. Then he pushed his lips into a fierce grimace. “The sleeping hallway . . . very smelly.”

  Franz’s blue eyes sparkled as he laughed. The boy was not much older than Henrik, Eli realized. But he spoke with authority. “I will send a cabin boy down with bucket and mop. A clean floor and open portholes will make an improvement.”

  “Jo.” Eli nodded in relief. “Dank.”

  “Sie sind willkommen.” Franz started to leave, but then he turned back, his face hopeful. “The little yellow-haired boy . . . Jakob . . . he is eager to be out again?”

  Although Eli hadn’t seen Jakob during the long storm, he knew the child would be very eager to clamber all over the ship once more. “Ach, jo.”

  Franz’s smile flashed. “Good. He reminds me of my own little brother, Friedrich. I only see him when we port in Hamburg, and it is not nearly often enough.” For a moment, sadness colored the young man’s expression. But then he brightened. “But Friedrich says he will be a cabin boy one day, so who knows? Perhaps we will sail together.”

  “Perhaps,” Eli mused.

  “I must return to work.” Franz pointed at Eli. “Be careful out here alone. The sea is calm this morning, but the deck is slippery from the rain. We would not want to lose you overboard.”

  Eli gave a solemn nod and shifted away from the railing. Franz disappeared around the corner. Eli remained on deck, watching the sun dapple the water as it rose from its hiding spot behind the sea. The sky changed from pink to streaky yellow and orange and finally robin’s egg blue. And that change seemed to signal to the others on board that it was time to be up.

  One by one, people spilled from the lower levels to cluster on the deck and chatter excitedly. Eli, his moments of solitude spent, went to check on Reinhardt. During the days of the storm, several more people had been taken to sick bay, but only one man had been deemed well enough for release. He hoped Reinhardt might rejoin his family soon. Those who remained in the sick bay when the ship docked might not be allowed to enter America.

  Halfway down the stairs, he encountered Lillian and Jakob on their way to the deck. “The storm is over, praise the Lord.”

  Lillian’s wan face evidenced the rolling boat’s effect, but she offered a smile. “Praise the Lord indeed. And how good it feels to be up and moving around.” She glanced at Jakob, who fidgeted beside her.
“I am certain I would not have been able to keep him still for even one more hour.”

  Eli chucked Jakob under the chin. “Your friend Franz asked about you. He thinks, like your mama, that you are ready to run and play on deck.”

  Jakob giggled, hunching his shoulders. “I like Franz.” He turned a pleading gaze on his mother. “May I find Franz, Mama? May I?”

  Lillian smiled warmly at her son. “You and your friend Franz— I am thinking you will miss him when we leave the ship.”

  Jakob nodded so hard his thick blond hair flopped on his forehead. “Jo, I will miss him. So may I go see him now?”

  “After breakfast.” Lillian softened the denial with a stroke of her slim hand over Jakob’s hair. The boy stuck out his lower lip, but he didn’t argue.

  Eli said, “I am going to the sick bay to see how Reinhardt fares this morning. The doctor probably will not let me in—when we took a sick man down yesterday, he made us stay in the hallway and only allowed the sick one in. But I will knock on the door and ask.”

  Lillian’s shoulders slumped for a moment. “Thank you, Eli. The doctor told me to stay away, and I have honored his demand, but I wish he would send word. I suppose he is too busy caring for the sick to think about sending messages.”

  Eli nodded, but his thoughts turned to what he had glimpsed through the doorway to the sick bay: a sheet-wrapped body, ready for burial. Lillian didn’t need such an image in her mind. “Go on up on deck, but be fäasejchtijch. All of the rain has made things slick.”

  Lillian grasped Jakob’s hand. “We will be careful. Thank you for the warning.” She and Jakob moved past him, and he continued to the lower level. A light tap on the door to the sick bay brought no response, so he pounded a little harder.

  The door opened just enough to reveal one red-rimmed eye, which looked him up and down. The doctor’s voice barked, “You do not look sick.”

  Eli linked his hands respectfully over his stomach. “I am not ill, and I am sorry to disturb you. But I came to check on one of your patients—Reinhardt Vogt. He is doing better?”

  “Vogt . . . Vogt . . .” The door widened enough for Eli to see the doctor’s face. The man blinked twice, his expression blank. Then his lips twisted into a grimace. For a moment it appeared he would close the door, but then he slipped into the hallway. “You are family?”

  A chill of foreboding crept up Eli’s spine. “He is . . . my brother.”

  Lowering his gaze, the doctor rubbed the underside of his nose for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. His head still down, he mumbled, “Reinhardt Vogt died during the night.”

  The words struck like a shotgun blast to the middle. Eli stumbled backward. Reinhardt . . . dead? Eli’s legs began to shake, and he groped for support. With both hands pressed to the solid wall, he fought a wave of sorrow that threatened to knock him to his knees.

  “I lost three passengers during the storm.” The doctor spoke in a detached, tired voice empty of sympathy. “Now that the sea is calm, we can have burials.”

  Eli knew the doctor meant that the deceased would be dropped overboard. But such a fate for his lifelong friend and foster brother defied acceptance. “B-but you c-cannot—”

  “Well, we cannot keep them on board,” the doctor snapped. Then he drew in a deep breath, and when he spoke again, kindness underscored his tone. “It is still a week to dry land. The bodies . . . will not keep. There is no other choice.”

  Slowly, Eli bobbed his head in agreement even while his heart rebelled. How could they dump Reinhardt’s body into the water? How would he tell Lillian? How would she bear the pain? Suddenly he pushed away from the wall. “I . . . I must go tell his wife and . . . and sons.” Poor little Jakob—would he understand? And Henrik and Joseph . . . As young men, they needed a father’s guidance. Oh, dear Lord, why? Why?

  Without another word, the doctor stepped back into the sick bay, and Eli moved to the stairway. His feet might have been crafted of lead, so hard it was to lift them to each riser. His heart lay somewhere in the pit of his belly, a stone of dread and sorrow.

  He must break the news gently. Even now, more than thirty years after the death of his own parents, a harshly delivered message from a neighbor was embedded in his brain. “They are gone, boy, and tears will not bring them back. So hush.” Years later, he understood that the man’s callous behavior was a mask for the shock of finding young Eli crying beside the wrecked wagon under which his parents lay. But at the time it had seemed as though no one cared.

  He reached the deck, surprised by the bold yellow sun glowing overhead. Shouldn’t it be shadowy and dark when he carried such a horrible burden? People stood in small, animated groups with smiling faces, happy to have left the storm behind. But inside Eli, a new storm brewed. The sun, no matter how warm and bright, could not light his soul.

  7

  Lillian raised the mug to her lips and took a sip of coffee. The brew was strong and black, the way Reinhardt liked it. She drank it because it was all that was available, but she would have preferred to sweeten it with two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a dose of thick cream.

  Eli planned to use some of the money from the sale of his horses to purchase milk cows when they reached their destination. How she wished they’d already arrived in Kansas. How pleasant it would be to live in a house rather than sharing a narrow space with so many others; to stand on solid ground rather than finding one’s balance on a constantly rocking deck; to prepare hearty meals that not only filled the stomach but pleased the tongue.

  In one more week they would reach the harbor at New York, the cook had said at breakfast. The good news had sent everyone from the dining room with smiles on their faces, including her boys. It had given her heart a lift to see a smile on Henrik’s too-often-sullen face.

  Now she sat alone at the table, listening to the excited chatter of passengers outside on the deck and the clatter of dishes in a washtub from the cooking area. Closing her eyes briefly, she offered a silent prayer of gratitude for protection during the storm, for the promise of reaching land soon, and for the opportunity to live freely. Like the comfort of her woven shawl, contentedness enveloped her. One more week and their new life could begin.

  “Ma?”

  At the single-word query, a hush seemed to fall across the deck. Lillian experienced an odd tingle of awareness. Peering over her shoulder, she spotted Henrik and Joseph in the wide doorway. The sun behind them cast their faces in shadow, but she sensed a reluctance to draw near. The boys’ reticence coupled with the silence of the watching passengers told her something was amiss. No doubt her boys had been up to mischief.

  She laughed softly. “You two look as if you have been caught stealing cookies from the crock.” She extended her hand to them. “Come here and tell me what misdeed you have performed.”

  Instead of approaching, they separated, and a third person in sailor garb stepped between them. He carried a small bundle, and Lillian rose when she recognized Jakob’s form draped in the man’s arms. Fondness warmed her when she saw her son’s closed eyes and relaxed posture.

  Sighing, she shook her head. “Less than an hour of play, and already he naps?” She shifted her attention to Henrik. “Why did you not carry him down and put him on his bunk?”

  Henrik took two forward steps, moving out of the shadows. “Ma . . .”

  Lillian’s heart caught at the broken tone and the bright tears swimming in his eyes. Behind him, the doorway suddenly filled with other passengers straining to peek in at her. Trepidation made her pulse race. “Henrik?”

  But Henrik remained silent, his chin trembling. Joseph hovered in the doorway, as if holding back the crowd. Lillian faced the sailor. His sorrowful expression flipped her stomach upside down.

  “What is it?” Rushing forward, she touched Jakob’s hair.

  The little boy didn’t stir. His arms hung limply. Lillian caught his hand and raised it to her lips. “He is sleeping, jo?” Even as she asked the question, her heart knew the answer
. “Jakob, mein kjestlijch en Sän, wake up now for Mama.”

  A single tear slipped from the sailor’s eye to his chin. It quivered there for a moment before plopping onto Jakob’s chest. “After the rain, with everything wet and slick . . .”

  Lillian fought the urge to cover her ears with her hands. She did not want to hear this man’s words.

  “He loved to climb on the ratlines with me. But . . . this time . . . he slipped, and his foot caught. When he fell, his head . . . he . . .”

  “No!” Lillian scooped Jakob from the sailor’s arms. She hugged him to her aching chest. He lay motionless in her grasp. Only then did she notice the rivulet of blood running from his left ear.

  The sailor reached out one hand but stopped inches short of touching Jakob. “The captain said he broke his neck. He . . . he did not suffer.”

  Lillian stared at the young man. Did he believe his words would bring her comfort? Suddenly realization dawned. “You are Franz.”

  He nodded.

  Jakob’s sweet voice echoed in her mind: “Franz is the best sailor!” Fury consumed her like a fire devouring dry leaves. Her body trembled with the effort of containing a hatred she hadn’t known she was capable of harboring. “Jakob called you his friend. But you betrayed him. You let him climb where it was not safe. You let him fall. You let him die!” She flayed the young man with her words, even as tears poured down his face. “You killed my son!”

  Had she ever spoken such hateful words to anyone? No, never. But a pain this intense had to be excised, and she knew no other way than to fling it at someone. Franz—this stranger with tears staining his tanned, square face—provided a willing target. He stood silent and defenseless against her anguished rage.

  She opened her mouth to release another torrent of words, but Henrik leaped forward. “Ma! Nä! Franz did nothing wrong. He tried to stop Jakob. He told him no, not to climb on the ropes today. But Jakob laughed and said he was ne Op—a monkey.” Henrik’s voice broke on a sob. “He . . . he would not listen, Ma.”