Fields Of Grace

1 M ennonite village of Gnadenfeld in Molotschna Colony, Russia L a t e M a y, 1872

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illian Vogt wept against her husband’s chest, using his striped nightshirt to muffle the sounds of her heartache. The boys, sleeping in the loft directly overhead, must not be disturbed. Lillian had held back any sign of regret or worry during Reinhardt’s announcement of their plans at the dinner table. Somehow she’d found the strength to smile and assure their sons they were facing a grand adventure. But now, in the quiet of her bedroom, snug with Reinhardt in their familiar feather bed, the fear exploded into tears. “Shh, Lillian.” Reinhardt rubbed his palm up and down her spine. “You and I had already made the decision to go to America. So why this crying?” With a gulp, Lillian pulled back to peer into Reinhardt’s face. The flickering candlelight made him appear harsh and forbidding. She lowered her gaze and toyed with the edge of the white cotton sheet. “But on our own . . . leaving behind our things . . .” Fresh tears welled and spilled over. “I need time to prepare myself for this journey. Can we not wait for the explorers to come back with 7

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a report of the land? It frightens me to think of going ahead . . . without knowing what awaits us.” Reinhardt sighed, his breath stirring her loose curls. He tugged her beneath his chin and rested his cheek against her flaxen hair. “You know we cannot wait. It may be another year before the explorers return. Henrik will be eighteen in only three more months.” His ominous tone stilled Lillian’s protests. Yet anger rolled through her, filling her chest so thoroughly her lungs resisted drawing a breath. Her family could remain right here in their little village were it not for broken promises. So often her people had suffered the consequences of broken promises. Had they not come to the steppes of Russia and tamed the land, building their farms and villages secure in the promise of practicing their Mennonite beliefs free of government involvement? Now leaders had decided not to honor their promises, and once more her people were forced to make agonizing choices. But, truthfully, there was no choice. The mere idea of dear, scholarly Henrik with a gun in his hands sent shivers down Lillian’s spine; the reality would be unconscionable. Of course they must go. But oh! How hard it would be to leave her home and all she cherished. Her own grandfather had helped found the prosperous village of Gnadenfeld. She had been born in this village, as had her three fine sons. In her mind’s eye, she pictured Henrik’s first shaky steps, taken in the grassy yard beneath the flowering kruschkje tree. She crunched her brow. “Do pear trees grow in America?” A gentle chuckle vibrated Reinhardt’s chest. “I do not know, mienje Leefste.” Reinhardt was a good man who loved her, but he rarely called her his dearest. His doing so now warmed her, but it also prompted 8

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concern. For him to use such tender words, she knew his emotions must also run deep at the prospect of leaving their home. “Just as Eli plans to take his wheat seed, we will take seeds with us and grow kruschkje if we cannot find them. Will you then feel more at home?” Lillian feared it would take more than a pear tree in the yard for her to feel at home in America, but she decided not to burden Reinhardt with the thought. She twisted slightly to look into her husband’s face. “Eli has agreed to come?” “He did not even hesitate when I suggested it.” Although Lillian knew of Eli’s devotion to Reinhardt after having been taken in by Reinhardt’s family when he was orphaned as a small boy, the thought that he would abandon his thriving farm to travel to America puzzled her. “But he has no son to protect from military service.” “Nä, but he loves Henrik like a nephew. And he has farming skills that will help us survive until the others come and we can establish a village.” A mirthless chuckle once more rumbled. “My skill at cobbling, no matter how masterful, will not put food on our table in the new land. Having Eli come, too, is en Säajen.” “A blessing . . . yes . . .” A bigger blessing would be if Eli were married. Then she would have a woman with whom to travel. Reinhardt planted a kiss on the top of Lillian’s head. “Go to sleep now, mienje Leefste. You will need rest to face the work of tomorrow. We must leave for Hamburg in only two more days.” Lillian rolled to her side and nestled into her pillow. But the images behind her closed lids of her beloved Gnadenfeld kept her awake far into the night.

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Henrik stomped his feet against the hard-packed road with such force he wondered if the hand-sewn seams holding the soles to the kidskin vamp of his boot would burst. Every day for the past three months he had met Susie Friesen behind her father’s butcher shop at the end of the school day. Despite his pleasure in studying, meeting Susie was usually the day’s highlight. But not today. Sidestepping a parked wagon, Henrik slipped between two mud-brick houses to proceed free of the watchful eyes of those on the dirt street. Everyone in the village seemed to stare and whisper, surely aware of his family’s plans to leave Gnadenfeld ahead of the others. Even though his father had only informed them at their dinner table last night, news spread quickly. Had Susie already heard the whispers? Would she accept the news better than he had? He reached the back door of the butcher shop with its attached living quarters and waited, as had become his routine, for Susie to appear. When Susie slipped out the planked back door a few minutes later, Henrik knew by the expression on her face that the rumors had found her ears. In all their times of talking, not once had Henrik touched Susie—not to hold her hand or slide his fingers along the line of her jaw the way he itched to do. As a proper Mennonite girl, she had kept three feet of distance between them, and as a proper Mennonite boy he had not made untoward advances. But today it seemed natural for her to dash across the short expanse of grass and throw herself into his arms. His pulse pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer as he curled his arms around her and held tight. He asked, unnecessarily, “Weete dü?” Her face against his chest, she nodded. He felt her shoulders heave in one silent sob. Yes, she knew. And she was no more pleased than he with the plans. Henrik tipped his head slightly, grazing her warm hair with his 10

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cheek. The sparse whiskers that had only recently begun peppering his cheeks by midafternoon caught in her silky hair, pulling loose a few yellow strands. But Susie made no effort to remove herself from his embrace. Henrik swallowed. How could Father expect him to leave? All he knew—and loved—could be found in Gnadenfeld. “I do not wish to go.” He forced the words past the lump of agony that filled his throat. Susie pulled back, nearly toppling him with the unexpected movement. Her blue eyes wide, she stared into his face. “But you must go! You cannot remain here and be forced into military service. My heart would break if you were hurt or . . . killed.” The fear on Susie’s face mirrored what Henrik had seen in his mother’s eyes. Resentment choked him. Did no one have confidence in his ability to fend for himself? Slinking away seemed the coward’s response. Henrik squared his shoulders, drawing in a deep breath. “I would not be killed. I can take care of myself.” Susie’s fine brows dipped down. “You . . . you would go? To war?” Henrik turned his head to look across the neatly sown fields surrounding the village. The tenacious spirit that had allowed the Mennonites to carve the harsh steppes of Russia into flourishing farms resided within Henrik, too. Truthfully, he had no desire to use that tenacity in marching in military parade or aiming a weapon at a man who pointed one back at him, but pride—a pride his father had repeatedly tried to extinguish—kept him silent. 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 11

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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.

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“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. 12

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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 13

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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, fruitladen 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 14

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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.” 15

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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 16

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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.

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2

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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 18

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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!” Swallowing a chuckle, Eli nodded. “Goot. I was hoping you would be. You come to my house tomorrow morning. You will help me choose the very best wheat kernels to take to America.” The boy’s shoulders slumped. “Choose wheat kernels? That is not important.” 19

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Eli raised his eyebrows and stared at Jakob. “Not important? Why, it is the most important job there is! Our good, strong wheat kernels that grow even under the snow and hard ground of Russia have never seen American soil. We want America to know what good wheat we grow—the best wheat! So we must take the very, very best kernels to plant in the new land. Only those kernels that are bright red and hard as little stones will be strong enough to make the journey.” While Eli spoke, Jakob’s blue eyes grew wider and wider. Eli waved his hand. “But if you do not think you can choose good kernels, then—” “I can do it!” The child bounced in his seat. “I can do it, Onkel Eli. I can!” Eli exchanged a quick smile with Reinhardt. “I knew I could depend on you, Jakob. Just wait until America sees what fine wheat we bring. The country will be glad we came.” “And now”—Reinhardt placed his hand on Jakob’s shoulder— “go wash your face and climb into your bed. If you are going to do such important work, you need your rest.” Jakob hopped down from his chair and raced to the enclosed stairway at the corner of the dining room. His pounding footsteps shook the rafters. Eli released a laugh. “That one will never let grass grow beneath his feet.” Reinhardt shook his head. “You will have your hands full tomorrow with him. But thank you for keeping him busy. Lillian will be able to accomplish much work tomorrow without him putting his nose in the way.” “He will be a big help to me,” Eli insisted. “I trust him to select the plumpest seed kernels for transport.” Reinhardt snorted but didn’t argue. “Are there restrictions on what we can take with us on the ship? I know Lillian would like 20

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to bring our goosedown mattress and her mother’s china dishes, but that will require a second large trunk.” Eli glanced at the handcrafted hutch holding the white dishes scattered with roses. There would be no pretty dishes in his trunk, and for a moment he experienced a twinge of remorse at what his life lacked. He had no need for fancy dishes, but what must it be like to have a wife who valued such things? “Each traveler is allowed one trunk.” Eli traced four tally marks on the table with his finger and then crossed through the row. “So your family will be able to take five. Will that be sufficient?” “It will have to be.” The front door opened and Lillian entered, bringing in the scents of evening. Her cheeks were flushed, and Eli wondered briefly if she were upset or if the night air had produced the high color. She crossed directly to the table and scooped up the dishes and spoons. Reinhardt barely glanced at her as she bustled to the large bricked Spoaheat in the corner of the kitchen and dipped water from the reservoir into a wash basin. Eli’s ears tuned to the creaky footsteps of the boys in the loft overhead, to the gentle splash of water accompanied by the clink of dishes in the basin, to Lillian’s soft hum as she saw to her evening chore. So different it all was from the silence of his little house at the edge of the village. A spiral of longing wove through him. These sounds meant family—something he hadn’t truly known since he was a small child. He was thirty-eight already—an old man. Would God ever bless him with a family? Or would he forever live vicariously through his foster brother Reinhardt? Across the table, Reinhardt released a heavy sigh. “Being allowed one trunk per traveler is good news. I am relieved we are not limited to one trunk per family. That would barely hold our clothing. We must have my cobbler tools and our household ­necessities for starting over, as well as a few heirlooms to make 21

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the new land feel like home, since we must leave our furniture behind.” Lillian peeked over her shoulder. “Did you visit Oomkje Hilde­ brandt today and ask if he had more trunks for sale?” “He is special-crafting one for us, larger than his usual storage trunks.” Reinhardt laughed softly. “He can start a whole new business now, making travel trunks for our people. According to Hildebrandt, at least half of the village plans to leave as soon as the explorers return.” Lillian sent Reinhardt a smile, then turned back toward the basin. The tenderness in her gaze left Eli feeling like an interloper. He stood abruptly. “Nä-jo—all right, it is late, and we all have much work to do tomorrow. I will go now. Lillian . . .” He waited until she turned to meet his gaze. “Thank you for the pluma moos. It was en gooda schmack.” Her nod and smile acknowledged his compliment. Striding toward the door, he plopped his hat on his head. “Be sure to send Jakob over early. It will take most of the day to fill a bag with choice seed.” He stepped into the night without awaiting a reply. Eli hid a smile as young Jakob lifted his straw hat and swiped his hand over his forehead, leaving behind a trail of grime. Jakob’s little face crunched into a scowl. “Onkel Eli, I am tired. Can we stop now?” The normally bouncy boy looked wilted from his long morning of sorting seeds. Assuming a serious look, Eli pointed at the burlap sack hanging on the edge of the workbench. “Is the bag full?” Jakob tipped his head and carefully examined the bag. “The bottom part is.” Eli swallowed twice to hold back his laughter. “But until the 22

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top part is also full, we cannot quit. We will need a full-to-the-top bag of choice seed to plant in America.” Jakob sighed, but he leaned over the seed bin and scooped up another handful. With his forehead wrinkled in concentration, he plucked seeds from his cupped palm and dropped a few into the bag. “Onkel Eli, what does America look like?” Without looking up, Eli answered, “I have not yet been to America, so I cannot say. But if God made it, as we know He did, I trust it will be a place of beauty.” “So it will be a goot place to live?” Eli raised his gaze from the seed bin to Jakob. The worry in the boy’s eyes stirred compassion. “For sure it will be.” “Then why is Henrik so angry?” Tears pooled in Jakob’s blue eyes. “He wants to stay here and not go to America at all. He and Papa yelled at each other last night, and when Henrik came to bed his face was all red.” Eli gently chucked Jakob’s chin. “Henrik will be all right. He is just used to being here, and he feels schrakj about leaving.” The child’s eyes flew wide. One tear lost its position on his lashes and spilled down his round cheek. “Henrik is scared? But he is almost grown-up!” A chuckle rolled from Eli’s chest at Jakob’s shock. “Even grownups get scared sometimes, Jakob.” “Even you and Papa?” Jakob’s jaw dropped open. Cupping  Jakob’s chin, Eli guided the boy’s mouth closed. “Even your papa and me. Starting over again in an unknown place is scary. Being scared need not shame you. But letting fear keep us from doing right . . .” Eli pointed one finger at the boy to emphasize his words. “That we must not do, because it means we do not trust God to take care of us.” Angling his head, Jakob squinted up at Eli. “So going to America is right?” 23

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Eli nodded. “I believe it is. The Bible teaches us not to kill. Military men kill. They kill in battle, but still, it is killing. Our people cannot disobey God’s Word and take part in killing, so even if it makes us scared to leave our home and go someplace new, we must go.” Very slowly, Jakob bobbed his head up and down. “I can do it.” With his fingertips, he skimmed away the remaining moisture from his cheeks. “And I will be brave instead of scared.” “Good for you.” Eli pointed to the bin. “Now come, let us try to add another inch to our bag before we stop for lunch.” Jakob leaned forward to continue the task. After another hour, they stopped to enjoy a lunch of bread, cheese, and pickled pears. Jakob ate just as much as Eli, and his full belly brought on a bout of yawning that Eli couldn’t ignore. He finally tucked the boy in the corner of the barn on a pile of empty burlap bags and allowed him to nap while he filled the remainder of the seed bag himself. Periodically while he worked, he glanced at the sleeping child, and each time a fond smile curved his cheeks. In sleep, Jakob looked so innocent. The paternal tug at Eli’s heart didn’t come as a surprise—he’d experienced it frequently over the years with Reinhardt’s sons. But it was stronger now that he knew Reinhardt’s family and he would be making a trek across the ocean and settling in a new land, dependent on one another. If Henrik continued in rebellion, Reinhardt’s focus would certainly be on him. The younger boys would require attention, and Eli was more than happy to provide it. A sigh lifted his shoulders. As much as he loved Reinhardt’s boys, he wondered if he would ever have the opportunity to nurture his own children. Having grown up an orphan, cared for by the Vogt family yet never really belonging, Eli carried a deep need for family. His own family. So far, God had not granted that gift. And if he left this 24

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v­ illage for the untamed lands in America, it seemed a fair assumption that it would be years before the desire was fulfilled . . . if at all. Jakob snuffled in sleep, rubbing his fist beneath his nose before turning onto his side and curling into a ball. Once again, Eli smiled at the boy. For now, having a role in raising his foster brother’s sons would be enough. But, Lord, someday . . . ?

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