Fields of Grace Page 6

  Lillian slowly shifted her gaze to peer into Jakob’s still face. Yes, her kjestlijch en Sän—her precious son—would want to be a monkey and climb after the long, stormy days of sitting. She could envision him laughing, scampering away from Franz’s reaching grasp, his bright eyes teasing as he called, “Try and catch me, Franz!”

  Tears flooded her eyes, distorting her vision. She crushed Jakob close to her heart, burying her face against his neck. “Oh, Jakob . . . Jakob . . .” She sank to her knees, still cradling her son. Henrik knelt beside her with his hands on his thighs, his throat convulsing.

  Franz crouched in front of her. “Frau Vogt, I am sorry. So very, very sorry.” His pain-filled eyes beseeched her to forgive him for not saving her little boy.

  But Lillian’s throat closed in her own agony of grief. She could offer no absolution to this young man. Or to herself, for she had entrusted Jakob into his hands. She and Franz bore Jakob’s blood jointly; they must both suffer the pangs of guilt.

  After a few moments, Franz pushed to his feet without a word and walked on stiff legs past Joseph, who hadn’t moved from the doorway. At Franz’s departure, the onlookers who had gathered outside the door also drifted away. The murmur of their voices floated to Lillian’s ears, but she kept her head down.

  Sunlight spilled through the open doorway, bathing Jakob in its yellow beams. She examined her son’s face, memorizing every detail. How peaceful he looked—so innocent with his round cheeks and curling lashes. His full lips were parted slightly, as if a deep sleep claimed him, but no milk-scented breath escaped his lips.

  A shadow fell across Jakob’s body, and she looked up, frowning, ready to tell the intruder not to shield her child from the warmth of the sun. Eli towered above her. Sadness darkened his eyes.

  A sob rose from Lillian’s throat at his sympathetic expression. “How did you hear? Did Franz tell you?”

  Slowly, Eli hunkered down on his haunches. His gaze bounced from Jakob to Lillian’s face. He shook his head slightly, as if confused.

  Pressing Jakob’s cheek to her own, Lillian began to moan. “How will I tell Reinhardt our little boy is gone? Our precious boy . . . our sweet baby . . .” Tears flowed, but she took several calming breaths. She must be strong for Henrik and Joseph. Turning to Henrik, she said, “Go to your brother. Joseph needs you.”

  With a sober nod, Henrik rose and crossed to Joseph. The two huddled together with Henrik’s arm around Joseph’s shoulders, their dark heads close. Both Joseph and Henrik were dark of hair and eyes, like their father. Only little Jakob had Lillian’s fair hair and blue eyes. Reinhardt had often whispered how glad he was that one of the boys carried their mother’s coloring. Jakob’s sunshine hair and sky-blue eyes matched his sunny disposition.

  Oh, Reinhardt, losing our sweet boy will crush you. How could she bear to look into her husband’s eyes when he learned of Jakob’s death? An idea struck—a selfish one, yet it would remove a great burden from her. Lillian bit down on her lower lip for a moment. Hesitantly, she lifted her face to meet Eli’s gaze.

  “Eli, will you . . . will you take this news to Reinhardt for me? I . . . cannot leave Jakob’s body untended, and it will do Reinhardt no good to see his child in death while he lies ill.” She blinked rapidly, clearing her eyes of tears. “Will you tell him, please?”

  Eli slumped forward, his head low. He covered his face with one hand, and his body shuddered. His obvious sorrow heightened her own sense of loss, and it took every bit of self-restraint she possessed not to dissolve into wild weeping. Her chest felt as though it might explode, but she held back her sobs and waited for Eli to gain control of his emotions.

  At last he looked at her. The pain in his eyes pierced her. How deeply he loved Jakob, too. “Lillian . . .” She had to tip her head toward him to hear his raspy, whisper-soft voice. “I talked with the doctor this morning and . . .” He paused, a swallow making his Adam’s apple bob. Stretching out his hands, he grasped her upper arms. His fingers cut into her flesh. “Last night, Reinhardt slipped away. He, like Jakob, is with his Maker now.”

  Nä! Had Eli not held her, she would have toppled sideways. Oh, Lord, it is too much! I cannot bear it! Please, my Father . . . Did she utter the prayer or did it only groan from her heart? What a cruel blow, to hear of Reinhardt’s death while cradling the lifeless body of her youngest child. All her life, she had been told she could place her trust in a loving Father-God, but how could a loving God perpetrate such heartache on one of His own?

  She pushed the rebellious thought aside and tried to rise, but hindered by Jakob’s weight and her trembling legs, she collapsed in a heap. Eli wrapped his arms around both her and Jakob and lifted them. His breath stirred her hair as he spoke. “I will take you to the sick bay where you can say good-bye to Reinhardt. The doctor says we must have a burial today.”

  Lillian stared into his face. The others who had died had been wrapped in cloth and lowered into the sea. At home for a burial, shovels of dirt covered the casket bit by bit, giving one an opportunity to offer a slow good-bye. But at sea, there was a soft splash and the body was swallowed all at once. How could she say goodbye so abruptly to Reinhardt and Jakob?

  The very thought of her beloved husband and son lying in the bottom of the ocean sent a spasm of revulsion through her frame. She shook her head wildly. “Nä. Nä. They must have a place of rest on land. Please, Eli, tell the captain—”

  Eli gave her arm a squeeze. “Lillian, there is no other choice. Their bodies . . . by the time we reach land . . .” He glanced over his shoulder at Henrik and Joseph, who stood together, staring at them with wide, distressed eyes. Facing Lillian again, he ended on a whisper. “We must do what is best for everyone.”

  “Oh, but, Eli . . . not in the sea . . .” A sob choked off her words.

  Eli cupped Jakob’s head with his big hand. “We give only their shells to the ocean. Their souls are already with God, Lillian. Their souls are running free.”

  His tender voice did little to soothe her. Hugging Jakob more firmly to her breast, Lillian pressed her cheek to his hair. “I cannot. I cannot, Eli. Please . . .”

  He opened his mouth, no doubt to express another argument, but a sudden gasp and soft thud from behind him captured their attention. Eli spun, and Lillian looked past him. Joseph lay sprawled on the floor. Henrik knelt beside him.

  “Joseph!” Lillian stumbled forward, her heart pounding. Had the boy fainted from grief?

  Eli dashed to Joseph’s side. “Joseph?” Gently, he patted Joseph’s cheek. Eli’s head jerked upward, and he pinned Lillian with a worried scowl. “We must take him to the sick bay at once. He is burning up!”

  8

  You will not take Joseph to that useless hospital room!” Henrik leaped to his feet and balled his fists. Already his father had died under the care of the doctor. Henrik could not let Eli entrust Joseph to the man’s ineffective ministrations.

  Eli slipped his arms beneath Joseph’s shoulders and knees and lifted him. “We have no choice, boy.” Although he frowned at Henrik, he spoke gently. “Joseph is ill—the other passengers will not allow him to stay in the sleeping hallway.”

  “Then we will find a spot . . . somewhere. And Ma will care for him.” Henrik looked from Eli to his mother. Her pale, stricken face brought him up short. She didn’t look capable of caring for herself, let alone a sick boy.

  He squared his shoulders. He was the man of the family now, and he would decide what was best. “Or I will see to him myself. But you will not hand him over to the doctor who let my father die.” The reality of all that the family had lost in such a short time tried to double Henrik with grief, but somehow he remained upright, fixing Eli with a glare. “Give my brother to me.” He held out his arms.

  An apology flashed in Eli’s eyes, but he shook his head and pushed past Henrik. “I am taking Joseph to the sick bay and then I will help prepare Reinhardt’s body for burial. Stay with your mother and give her comfort.” He strode around the corne
r.

  Henrik stared after him, shock holding him in place. After a few stunned seconds, he spun on his mother. “Will you let him take Joseph? You might as well sign his death certificate yourself!” Ma looked at him with worry and grief in her red, swollen eyes, but he refused to back down. “Go after Eli and tell him to give Joseph to me.”

  Slowly, Ma shook her head. Tears poured down her cheeks. “Eli is right, Henrik. You cannot care for Joseph—the others on the ship will not allow it. And what if you became ill, too? Then what . . . what would I do?” A sob heaved her shoulders, and she adjusted her hold on Jakob’s still form.

  Clutching his hair, Henrik groaned. “But how can we let Joseph go into that room with the illness? He might not come out again!”

  “Henrik . . .” Ma begged him with her eyes. “We must tr—”

  “Trust?” The word burst from Henrik’s chest on a tide of fury. “We must trust, is that what you were going to say? Trust whom? Trust the doctor? Trust God?” Henrik laughed, a hollow sound completely devoid of humor. “What good has it done us to trust? Father is dead; Jakob is dead; Joseph is sick . . .” He leaned forward, staring in disbelief at his mother’s white face. “How can we trust?”

  Ma’s face crumpled. “But, Henrik, what else can we do? We must trust. If we have no faith, then . . .”

  Henrik waited for her to continue, but the thought remained incomplete. Unable to look into Ma’s grief-contorted face any longer, he lowered his gaze. His eyes fell upon Jakob’s lifeless body. A pain more scorching than anything he’d experienced before sliced through his chest. If only they had remained in Gnadenfeld, Jakob would still be running, laughing, teasing. If they hadn’t boarded this ship, they wouldn’t have encountered the illness that claimed his father’s life and that might—right now—be draining the life from his remaining brother.

  Spinning from the sight of little Jakob in his mother’s cradling arms, Henrik pressed his fists to his eye sockets. Colors burst behind his closed lids, an explosion of pain and grief. They had left Gnaden-feld because of him. To save him from harm. But at what cost? Thrusting his arms downward, he stormed out of the dining room. He heard his mother’s frantic voice call his name, but he barreled around the corner and across the deck and thundered down the stairs two at a time.

  He nearly knocked over two men coming up, but he didn’t pause to apologize. He must find a place to hide from the wrench of guilt. Like a frantic animal, he paced the lower levels of the ship, seeking a cubby or closet that would provide refuge. But after several minutes of frenzied searching, the futility of the hunt brought him to an exhausted halt.

  He dropped onto his bunk and buried his face in the bend of his elbow. There was no place of escape. He would carry this burden of guilt to his own grave.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . .”

  Lillian almost scoffed. How absurd the captain’s solemn utterance. Dust . . . in the ocean waves? A hysterical bubble of laughter threatened to escape her throat. But she held it in. Earlier that day, she had listened to the mournful wails of another woman whose husband had died of the fever. She would not resort to such undignified mourning.

  Sad-faced passengers surrounded Lillian and Eli. Henrik remained below, huddled on his bunk. Although Lillian worried he would later regret not saying good-bye to his father and brother, she didn’t have the strength to argue with him. So she allowed him to mourn on his own, alone.

  Her chest tightened, constricting her breathing, as she watched two sailors lift and suspend Reinhardt’s cloth-wrapped body over the side of the ship. At the captain’s nod, the men let go. A splash signaled the ocean receiving its gift and Lillian gasped, covering her mouth with one hand.

  Then the men lifted the smaller bundle. Unthinkingly, Lillian stumbled forward, reaching for her son. But strong hands cupped her upper arms, drawing her against a firm chest. A voice, low and tender—Eli’s—whispered in her ear. “Let him go now, Lillian. You must let him go.”

  The captain had allowed her the day to mourn. To bathe her son’s sturdy body, to comb his thick, sunshiny hair, to rock him and sing him his favorite lullabies one final time. But now, as the sun set, painting the sky with jeweled tones of blazing pink, purple, and yellow, she was forced to release her kjestlijch en Sän to the ocean’s care. The captain looked at her, his gaze asking a silent question: Are you ready?

  Again Lillian almost released a scornful laugh. Was a mother ever ready to bid a permanent good-bye to her child? But somehow, inexplicably, she found the strength to raise and lower her chin in a nod. After a moment’s pause, another splash—much softer than the first one—reached her ears.

  Lillian pulled in a breath that seared her from the inside out. How cruel that her heart continued to beat, her lungs continued to take in air, while her husband and her dear child had no life in them! The captain, sailors, and several passengers filed by, offering condolences, squeezing her hand, promising to pray for her. She murmured her thanks for their inadequate words, understanding they gave the best they knew to offer. But even as she responded in a calm, even tone, she felt strangely distanced from herself.

  Surely she was caught in a dream. Tomorrow she would awaken and laugh with Reinhardt about her ridiculous imagination. Together they would watch Jakob clamber over the ratlines while Joseph challenged him to climb higher. In her mind’s eye, she could see Jakob’s impish grin, hear Reinhardt’s laugh and feel his arm around her waist. She crunched her eyes closed, absorbing herself in the scene inside her head.

  “Lillian.”

  She scowled, resisting the intruding voice.

  “Lillian, we must talk.”

  The images faded as Lillian opened her eyes. The other passengers were gone. She and Eli stood alone on the deck. Anger swelled. Why had Eli disturbed her?

  “Can we go into the dining room and sit at a table?”

  Wind, cool and damp, slapped her face. Gooseflesh broke out over her body. She drew her shawl closer around her shoulders. She wanted to go below, curl up on her warm bunk, and let sleep claim her. If she were sleeping, she could dream. If the Lord granted her heart’s desire, Reinhardt and Jakob would appear in those dreams. She turned, intending to go to the stairs, but Eli put his hand on her back and steered her into the dining room as if she had uttered agreement.

  He pressed her onto a bench, then sat across from her, folding his hands on the scarred tabletop. “Lillian, I think we must talk about Kansas.”

  Kansas? The plans she and Reinhardt had made seemed to be from a lifetime ago. How could she possibly think of Kansas now that her husband was gone?

  “I am not going to Kansas.” The strength of her voice surprised her. Perhaps the anger roiling through her insides had given her courage. “Kansas was Reinhardt’s plan for all of us. Since all of us cannot go, I will not go.”

  Eli shot her a startled look. “Then what will you do?”

  Lillian gave a little jolt. “Return to our home in Gnadenfeld, of course.” In Gnadenfeld, the villagers would reach out, as they always did, to a widow and her orphaned children. But no . . . she couldn’t return to Russia. Henrik would be pressed into military duty. She must go on, as Reinhardt had planned. Yet how would she and the boys survive without his guidance and care? Fear rolled over her like a wind-tossed wave, threatening to bury her in its icy depths. She pressed her fingertips to her trembling lips and stared at Eli.

  He leaned forward, stretching one hand across the table to gently grasp her wrist. “Lillian, all day I have been thinking of what is best. We cannot go back without Henrik facing grave consequences. Reinhardt wanted him safe from military duty. Reinhardt would want us to go on. And . . . I believe . . .” He paused, swallowing hard. “I believe Reinhardt would wish for me to see to the needs of his wife and sons.”

  Lillian pulled her wrist free, clasping her hand over the flesh still warm from his touch. “You want us to travel on . . . together?” If Eli were Reinhardt’s birth brother, the situation might be acceptable
. A brother-in-law could assume the role of helper. But Eli wasn’t Reinhardt’s brother. As close as a brother, perhaps, but not bound by blood. Continuing this trek with Eli would be unseemly at best, debauched at worst.

  Above the thick, dark hair of his beard, Eli’s cheeks glowed red. “I know it seems . . . improper . . . but it does not need to be. If . . .” Red blotched his neck. “If we were husband and wife, no one would think ill of our traveling together.”

  Lillian bolted from her seat. “H-husband and wife?” She stared at him in horrified disbelief. Not even an entire day had passed since she’d learned of Reinhardt’s death, and already Eli wanted to claim her as his wife? In all of her years of acquaintanceship with this man, she had never found a reason to dislike him. But at that moment, looking into his blushing face, she loathed the sight of him.

  He stood, gesturing to the bench she had vacated. “Please, Lillian, sit down. Hear everything I have to say. Then, if you refuse me, I will not ask you again.”

  He waited, his expression pleading, while she battled the urge to run from the room. But at last weariness drew her back to the bench. She sat, and he sank down, too.

  He cleared his throat. “I know it is sudden. You have much on your heart, and you think me unkind for suggesting this scheme.”

  She refrained from nodding in agreement.

  He pinched his chin, his fingers disappearing in his thick beard. “Please forgive me for adding another burden to you, but time is short. A week and we will reach America. We must decide what to do.”

  As much as Lillian didn’t want to admit it, he spoke the truth. They must make decisions. As a child, she had followed her father’s guidance; after marrying Reinhardt, she had submitted to her husband’s decisions. How simple it would be to acquiesce to Eli and allow him to guide her.

  “You suggest . . . marriage?” She forced the words past the lump in her throat.

  “Jo.” He nodded, the movement jerky, but he spoke with assurance. “We can travel on without anyone’s disapproval if we are husband and wife. You, Henrik, and Joseph will have a man to provide for you and to protect you. The boys will have a man to help them grow up in the Mennonite faith. That is important.”