Fields of Grace (6 page)

“Nä, nä.”
She quickly explained her reason for being in the sick bay. “But when did you come here? You were fine at dinner.” She thought about their evening meal, only hours ago. Reinhardt had been unusually quiet, but she hadn’t suspected his silence was anything more than dislike of the bland meal on his plate. Now she realized his picking at the flavorless dish of boiled butter beans had a deeper, more significant root.

“Eli brought me shortly after bedtime. I was worried I would make the others ill.” His face contorted, and he rolled to his side. Lillian snatched a pail from the end of the cot and held it beneath his chin. When the bout passed, he slumped back onto the thin mattress.

She used the handkerchief from her pocket to wipe Reinhardt’s mouth. “What else can I do for you?”

“You need not do anything. I will be fine.”

His tone made Lillian smile despite the shock and worry of finding him here. “Maybe the ship’s cook has some chamomile tea. I will ask, and then I will brew you a pot. It will help settle your stomach.”

Reinhardt shook his head, perspiration beading on his forehead. “
Nä,
Lillian. You must stay away from here. You might get sick, too.”

“But how can I leave you?”

Just then a hand curled around her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. “I told you to get out of here!” The doctor’s purple-rimmed eyes narrowed to angry slits.

Lillian wrenched free of his grasp. “This is my husband!”

The doctor’s expression momentarily softened, but then he grabbed her again and tugged her toward the door. “I will see to him like I do all the others. But the longer you stay, the more likely you will pick up and spread the illness. So you stay out.” He pushed her into the hallway and closed the door behind her. From behind the closed door, she heard him order, “Go wash yourself!”

With tears blinding her, she stumbled up the stairs and made her way to the women’s washroom. Leaning over the porcelain basin, she splashed tepid water onto her face and then scrubbed her hands and arms. While she scrubbed, a prayer rang through her heart:
Make him well, dear Lord; make my husband well.

Clean again, she returned to the sleeping hallway. A dark spot of wet wood marked the place of the woman’s sickness. Apparently the steward had sent someone to mop up the mess. Unfortunately, the odor still lingered. Lillian stood beside her bunk and ran her hand over Jakob’s thick blond hair and pressed a kiss on his round cheek. The little boy slept, oblivious to his mother’s attention.

Assured he was fine, she curled in her bunk. Closing her eyes, she repeated her prayer for the Lord to make Reinhardt well, and then she added a postscript:
And please protect my sons from the illness.
She fell asleep with the prayer hovering on her heart.

In the morning, hand in hand with Jakob, Lillian walked to the dining room. They entered the room where other passengers already crowded around the tightly crammed tables and benches. She scanned the area and spotted Henrik and Joseph standing with Eli alongside the wall, near the beginning of the serving line. Taking Jakob’s hand, she wove between others, muttering, “Excuse me . . . excuse me, please . . .” Although the room was small, it took several minutes to reach her sons.

Eli leaned toward her, keeping his voice low. “I must tell you. Reinhardt—”

She nodded. “I saw him in the sick bay last night.” The image of Reinhardt’s sweaty, pale face flashed in her memory. She hugged Jakob to her side and pushed her quavering lips into a smile she hoped offered assurance to her sons. “But he says he will be fine, and I believe him. God is watching over him. So we must trust.”

“Yes, of course we trust.” Eli gave a solemn nod. Then he turned to the boys. “
Nä-jo
, shall we get in line to eat?”

Henrik and Joseph fell in line with little enthusiasm. Lillian could hardly blame them. At home, breakfast consisted of eggs, sausage, potatoes, and bread. But on the
Holsatia
, every morning the ship’s cook plopped a lump of gray oatmeal into a bowl and didn’t even offer cream or sugar to flavor the unappealing fare. The noon and evening meals offered no enticement, either, but at least the food was filling and she didn’t have to prepare it in the sleeping bay the way she had heard was required of some travelers on other ships.

After they all had received their bowls of oatmeal, they sat together at the end of one long table. As was their custom, they joined hands for a prayer. In Reinhardt’s absence, Eli offered the blessing.

Jakob put a bite of oatmeal in his mouth and promptly spit it back out. “Mama, this is
suä
.”

Lillian frowned. “Jakob, do not be ungrateful. Eat.”

He smacked his spoon onto the planked table. “But it tastes bad.”

Henrik took a careful bite and grimaced. “He’s right. The cook must have used
suä
milk.”

Eli replied, “With no cow on board to provide fresh, of course the milk has soured by now. But even oatmeal made from sour milk is better than what the doctor is giving to your father.”

Jakob stared at Eli, his eyes wide. “What must Papa eat?”

Placing his elbow on the table and bending forward so his face was near Jakob’s, Eli twisted his mouth into a horrible scowl. “Caudle. Gruel mixed with ale. It smells much worse than
suä
milk, I can tell you, and tastes terrible.”

Lillian hid her smile. Although “gruel” sounded bad, she knew the flour and water paste could be quite tasty if flavored with sugar, molasses, or other spices. Eli might be exaggerating, but she knew his tale was meant to distract Jakob.

“Mama says medicine is supposed to taste bad,” Jakob said.

Eli grinned at Lillian. “My
Mutta
always said the same thing. The worse it tastes, the better it is at making you well.” He sat up straight and scooped up another spoonful of oatmeal. “So your papa will be well soon just so he does not need to drink any more caudle.” He pointed to Jakob’s bowl. “And to keep you well, you must have a full stomach. So eat your oatmeal and pretend it is pudding,
jo
? Then it will go down easier.”

Jakob sighed but obeyed. To Lillian’s relief, Joseph and Henrik ate, also. When they finished, they carried their bowls to the washbin. Jakob caught Lillian’s skirt and tugged.

“Mama, may I go? Franz said he would show me how the catharpings are tied.”

“Catharpings?” Lillian shook her head in confusion.

Henrik glanced at her and answered, “Ropes, Ma. They are part of the sail rigging.”

Although the ship was powered by a steam engine, Lillian had noticed the crew releasing large square sails in the afternoon. Little Jakob had explained that the sails caught the wind and helped propel the ship, thereby saving some of the fuel needed to feed the engine. By the time they reached America, Jakob would certainly know all that was needed to be a skilled sailor.

“So may I go, please? Franz said he would teach me to make the special knots.” Jakob danced in place, eagerness lighting his round face.

“Who is Franz?”

“My friend, Mama!”

“One of the sailors?”

“The
best
sailor. He knows
everything
!”

Lillian laughed softly and smoothed her hand over Jakob’s hair. “All right,
tigja Benjel
, go ahead. But do not be a nuisance.”

Jakob started to dash off, but Henrik caught his hand. “Wait for us, Jakob. Joseph and I would like to learn the knots, too. Who knows . . .” A cunning gleam lit his eyes. “Maybe we will be sailors someday.”

Jakob dragged Henrik out of the dining room while Joseph trailed after.

Lillian watched them go, a strange pressure building in her chest. Why had none of the boys expressed concern for their father? Jakob was young and easily distracted by the promise of learning to tie knots. But Joseph and Henrik were old enough to realize the illness could be serious.

Ever since Reinhardt had announced they would be leaving Gnadenfeld, Lillian had sensed her older boys slipping away. Henrik’s comment about becoming a sailor had almost felt like a warning. Would this new start in America mark the end of the family life she cherished?

“Do not look so troubled.”

Eli’s voice jarred her from her musings. She looked at him in silence.

A soft smile curved his lips. “They are only curious. They will not come to harm learning to tie knots from a German sailor.”

Lillian forced a light laugh. “Of course not.” But she didn’t divulge the real reason for her unease. Eli wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t a mother. Catching her skirts, she moved toward the wide doorway leading to the deck. Outside, the wind tried to chase away the melancholy feelings of moments ago.

She paused beside the railing and peered across the broad expanse of sea meeting sky. Everywhere she looked, regardless of direction, there was nothing but blue. She hadn’t realized the world was so big—and she so small—until she’d climbed aboard this ship. In Gnadenfeld, the narrow scope of her village defined her world. Now the perimeters of her world were beyond measurement. Awe at the sheer might displayed before her eyes made her shiver.

When she turned to look at Eli, she saw his face pucker with concern. “Go below deck if you are cold,” he told her. “We do not wish for you to take ill, too.”

Accustomed to following Reinhardt’s directions, Lillian took no offense at Eli’s counsel. Yet she didn’t want to leave the sight of the sea. She fisted the tails of her shawl and crisscrossed them over her body. “I am not cold.”

Here she could inhale the salty, fresh scent of the brisk air and listen to the lovely chorus of whistling wind and sloshing sea. Below deck, the smell of unwashed bodies made her stomach turn, and the engine noise made conversation difficult. Out here, she had room to stretch out her arms if she wanted to; below, even with the beds folded up, the area was cramped with trunks lining the walls and so many people milling in the narrow space. She would certainly be safer from the sickness here in the open air, regardless of the chill.

Eli angled his face toward the distant horizon. “The view from here . . .” He shook his head, his shoulders rising and falling in a mighty heave. “So much water and sky makes my chest feel empty and yet full at the same time.”

Lillian cast a sidelong glance at him. Not many men spoke of simple things like scenic views or feeling empty. In times past, had she ever heard him utter phrases that could be woven into poetry? With a start, she realized she and Eli had never conversed without Reinhardt present. The thought made her take a step away from him. Should she be standing on the deck with Eli, even here on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?

He turned and looked at her. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, embarrassment at her behavior silencing her tongue.

“Are you sure you do not find my odor offensive?” A grin climbed the corners of his lips, making his beard twitch. “I know I have not bathed recently, but the wind should be carrying
en
Kjarpa Je’roch
away from your nose instead of toward it.”

Despite herself, Lillian burst out laughing. Never would she have thought of discussing something like body odor so casually! But then, she had never before been trapped in a sleeping hallway with so many people. One could either laugh or cry over the unpleasantness. She found the laughter refreshing.

He laughed, too, his eyes crinkling merrily. “It is good to hear you laugh. It tells me you are not worrying overmuch about Reinhardt.”

At the mention of Reinhardt, Lillian immediately sobered. How could she be laughing when her husband lay ill? She shifted away from Eli and bit down on her lower lip.

His fingertips grazed her elbow. “Lillian?”

She turned her face to meet his serious gaze.

“Reinhardt is strong. The others who died . . . one was elderly and one had suffered fever before coming on board, so was already weakened. I do not believe we need worry about Reinhardt.”

“
Nä
,
nä
, of course we need not worry. God will take care of Reinhardt.” Gusts of wind loosened strands of hair from Lillian’s heavy bun. The tendrils slapped against her cheek, and she tucked them beneath her bonnet. She frowned across the sea. “Does the wind feel cooler to you?”

Eli lifted his face, seeming to sniff the air. He turned a slow circle, and then his brows came down sharply. “Look in the east. How dark is the sky! I think maybe a storm is brewing. We should find the boys and go below.”

Lillian grasped her shawl more tightly as another gust nearly tore the woven covering from her shoulders.
“Jo.”
She shivered, fear striking for the first time since boarding the ship. “I hope we will not be tossed about too much.”

Eli released a low chuckle and stepped away from the rail. “A big, sturdy ship like this can take high waves. It will be like riding a galloping horse, but we will be safe.” He glanced again at the sky, and concern flashed through his eyes before he formed a cheerful smile. “Come. We do not want to get wet if rain should start to fall. Let us find the boys . . . quickly.”

6

H
enrik folded his arms across his stomach and fought nausea as the ship groaned its way over the next crashing wave. The rise-and-roll motion had already caused several others to empty their stomachs, but Henrik was determined he would not succumb. His resolve faltered, however, as waves continued to rock the ship. When would this storm pass?