7
1
M
ennonite
village
of
g
nadenfeld
in
M
olotschna
c
olony
, R
ussia
Late May, 1872
L
illian Vogt wept against her husband’s chest, using his striped
nightshirt to mue the sounds o her heartache. The boys,
sleeping in the lot directly overhead, must not be disturbed.Lillian had held back any sign o regret or worry during Reinhardt’s
announcement o their plans at the dinner table. Somehow she’dound the strength to smile and assure their sons they were acing
a grand adventure. But now, in the quiet o her bedroom, snugwith Reinhardt in their amiliar eather bed, the ear 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 ace.The ickering candlelight made him appear harsh and orbidding.She lowered her gaze and toyed with the edge o the white cottonsheet. “But on our own . . . leaving behind our things . . .” Fresh
tears welled and spilled over. “I need time to prepare mysel or
this journey. Can we not wait or the explorers to come back with
8
K i m V o g e l S a w y e r
a report o the land? It rightens me to think o 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 axen hair.
“You know we cannot wait. It may be another year beore the
explorers return. Henrik will be eighteen in only three more
months.”
His ominous tone stilled Lillian’s protests. Yet anger rolled
through her, flling her chest so thoroughly her lungs resisted
drawing a breath. Her amily could remain right here in their little
village were it not or broken promises. So oten her people hadsuered the consequences o broken promises. Had they not cometo the
steppes
o Russia and tamed the land, building their armsand villages secure in the promise o practicing their Mennonitebelies ree o government involvement? Now leaders had decided
not to honor their promises, and once more her people were orced
to make agonizing choices.But, truthully, there was no choice. The mere idea o dear,
scholarly Henrik with a gun in his hands sent shivers down Lillian’s
spine; the reality would be unconscionable. O course they mustgo. But oh! How hard it would be to leave her home and all shecherished. Her own grandather had helped ound the prosperous
village o Gnadeneld. She had been born in this village, as had
her three fne sons.
In her mind’s eye, she pictured Henrik’s frst shaky steps, takenin the grassy yard beneath the owering
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
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