Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 (13 page)

Having abandoned the bedroll sometime in the night, Gideon slept on the other side of the fire. His knees were pulled into his chest. His shoulders and boots stuck out from under the tangled blanket.

“Gideon.”

His hand swatted at a fly.

“Gideon,” she said louder.

He stirred and lifted his head, and when his glazed eyes found her, he struggled to stand. “What’s the matter?” He stumbled over to her. With one hand covering an eye, he squinted through the other.

“I ain’t feelin’ so good.” She wished she had a better answer. She ached. Her feet tingled and her skin crawled. With the tips of her ears as cold as her toes, everything in between was chilled through. “Could we stay here for the day and rest? I don’t know if I can go on.”

He hovered over her, his eyes roving. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know.”

A frown creased his lips and he lowered his hand. “No.” His voice was sharp—final.

After eating several handfuls, Gideon picked enough blackberries from the prickly bush to fill his palm, then slid them into his pocket. He massaged the ridge between his eyes. His head throbbed, and he could not get his vision into focus. A berry ran down the inside of his pants leg and struck the ground. He pulled the berries out and found the hole. He slid the plump fruit into a handkerchief and shifted the bundle into the other pocket but didn’t bother to pick up the one he had dropped.

He ran his fingers through tangled hair and tried to set it in the right direction. He glanced at Lonnie. Her unbound hair fell to one side, unruly in the morning dew. A bare shoulder peeked out where her dress had slid down, and her left stocking sank around her ankle. Nearly a week on the trail and the dark circles under her large brown eyes mirrored the shadows in her cheeks.

He straightened his collar and crossed his arms over his chest. At least he was wearing a clean shirt.

Gideon turned and took off. Lonnie fumbled the last things into her pack.

“I’m coming,” she called, as if he had questioned whether she was.

He glanced behind him. She was yanking a loose shoelace into place.

Gideon kicked at a clump of dirt and waited for her to catch up.

“How long till we get to Stuart?” she asked, already breathless.

When he noticed the frailty in her walk, worry inched its way into
his heart. “Few more days, I expect.” He blinked and stuffed any concern aside.

“Then we’ll find a little piece of land?” Her voice was uncertain.

“That’s the plan,” he said, ignoring her skepticism. He had everything under control, but it was just like a woman to doubt that. He knew from experience.

He heard her scurry behind him, and although his strides were long, he quickened his pace. With an eye on the sky, he watched a cluster of thunderclouds approach. “Hurry,” he mumbled.

She panted behind him, but he made no attempt to slow down.

By late afternoon, rain pelted them.

Though he knew he should stop, Gideon didn’t. He was sick of caring if he was pushing her too far. He strode forward as fast as he could. Despite the slippery mud, he kept up a demanding pace.

Lonnie struggled behind him but never complained.

He honestly expected her to. Women were predictable that way. He knew what to expect. Until the day he married Lonnie Sawyer. He hadn’t asked for this. Any of it.

The rain fell harder. Gideon tugged his hat lower, so the wide brim sheltered his face from the sting. He glanced over his shoulder. Lonnie’s wet hair clung to her cheeks. She pushed it out of her eyes and blinked into the downpour. Her drenched dress clung lifelessly to her skin, leaving bare arms and legs with no protection from the tiny pellets.

A twinge of guilt struck him.
You should stop. Give her time to throw on a shawl or sweater
. Gideon let the rain drown out the inner voice—a voice he’d rather not listen to. The more he pushed down his pity, the easier it became.

“Gid,” Lonnie moaned.

When he heard her feet slide in the mud, he halted and turned around. She struggled to stand.

“Can you get up?” He brushed strands of hair from his forehead.

“I’m trying.” Her voice was thick. Rain dripped from her nose and ears, sliding in tiny rivers down her cheeks.

He paced back to her. Reaching down, he lifted her by the arm. Lonnie’s wet skin slipped from his grip, and he struggled to catch her. When she was steady, he moved on.

The slick mud taunted his boots, and he slipped twice. All he wanted was to get away from it all. Why did women always have to try to ruin his life? First his ma. And then Cassie.

Now Lonnie. He just needed to get to Stuart. He wanted a warm bed and a hot meal. And here he was, carting Lonnie the whole way. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew a husband was supposed to take care of a wife. Protect her. But right now, with the rain beating down on his back, hardly a coin to his name, and Stuart still days away, having to shoulder Lonnie’s frailties was beginning to grate on his nerves.

He climbed over a fallen log, and hard bark scraped his legs through his pants. Landing on the other side, his heels dug into wet earth. He held on to the log, suddenly at the top of a deep ravine. He waited for Lonnie to pull herself over. She straddled the fallen tree. With her stockings limp, her bare calves rubbed across the surface. She tried to hold herself up, but her boots dangled above the ground. Her eyes met his, hopelessness carved through her features. His pulse pounded through his veins, and he gritted his teeth.

He reached toward her, and when her hand clamped around his forearm, the muscle flexed, and he helped her over. She let go and, after brushing pieces of bark from her legs, examined the fresh scratches.

Guilt slowed his heart, but he turned away. Gideon chewed the inside of his lip as he considered the best way to get down. Lonnie bumped against him, panting.

“Are you sure this is safe in the rain?” she asked, practically pleading.

He started down. “It’s fine. Look.” He tilted his face to the sky. “It’s stopping.” He reached out a hand, but his stiff fingers lacked compassion. “If I can do it, you can.” His heartless words fell like rocks, visibly crushing what was left of her spirit.

Drenched leaves slipped from under his boots as he made his way down with carefully placed footsteps. At the bottom, he turned. Lonnie clung to trees, stepping sideways on the water-soaked hillside. Mud caked her shoes and dirt streaked her legs.

He waved her forward. “You’ve got it,” he hollered.

She looked at him wide-eyed.

Gideon swallowed. She was following him trustingly, and he was making her suffer. But like a candle in a midnight wind, images of the life he could have had blew out the flame of his concern. “C’mon. You’re almost there.”

She swiped her hand across her lashes, and as she stepped forward, the drenched hillside clung to her feet. She slid and her ankle jerked, twisting to the side. Lonnie gasped and, falling to her knees, righted herself. She crawled to a stand but took only one step, and her foot sank.

She shrieked.

Her body lurched forward, and she tumbled down. The pack slipped off her arm and tumbled into a murky puddle.

Gideon snatched the pack out of the puddle and tossed it to drier ground. He grabbed hold of Lonnie’s arm and pulled her toward him. Her feet skidded in the mud.

“Please don’t.” Her hand held his wrist.

“Get up.”

Her feet fought with the ground as she tried to stand, and when he released his grip, she fell back into the mud.

Gideon took hold of her arm and tried to tug her up. “Look at what you’ve done. Get up!” He shook her, making her head bob forward and back.

Her face twisted as she cried.

“Stop it.” He ground out the words.

Her chin hit her chest, and her shoulders shook with sobs.

Gideon drew in a sharp breath. Something burned like bitter acid in his soul—neither satisfying nor yielding.

The rain slowed, individual drops striking the top of her drenched head. Her crying turned to a whimper. His fingertips smeared mud along her face as he gripped her jaw until it was still.

Lonnie looked at him, her eyes round.

Anger pulsed through his veins, and even as the battle raged inside him, Gideon forced himself to loosen his grip.

Chin trembling, she wriggled her wrist free. His fingerprints lingered on her ivory skin.

“You have no idea what you have put me through.”

Her gaze moved past him as if he were no longer there. When she glanced at the sky, he could almost hear the prayers that filled her heart. Gideon tilted his gaze as if he could see them floating upward. Lonnie had God on her side. That much he knew. Thunder shattered the murky silence—a confirmation.

Gideon grabbed the pack and flung it open. Water had pooled through the opening, soaking the inside of the oilcloth. The bread was
no more than mush. He squeezed it in his hand and walked toward Lonnie. She scooted herself back, and he slapped the soaked bread on the ground in front of her.

“Look at what you’ve done!”

“This has to stop.” She laid a hand on his boot, her fingers slowly sliding to his leg. “Please. I won’t go on like this.” She pressed her cheek to his shin, eyes closing. She mumbled something he could not make out.

Gideon clenched his jaw, hating the way she made him feel like the villain. He shook his leg to release her, but she didn’t let go. He shook his leg again, harder this time. His balance slipped, and before he could catch himself, his foot caught the bottom of her chin. Even over the noise of his struggle, he heard the sound of her jawbone against his boot as he slipped to the ground.

She fell back with a shriek.

Gideon caught himself and stood. He smeared muddy hands on his pants and struggled to keep his footing. Something hard smacked against the back of his head. Pain seared through his skull as he fell forward.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice boomed behind him.

Gideon fell in the mud and rolled to his side.

Click
.

He recognized the familiar sound of a shotgun and froze.

D
on’t move, young man. Don’t even scratch.”

Lonnie lifted her head and pushed back a tangle of hair. An old man stood before her, shoulders squared, shotgun aimed at Gideon.

The man’s voice was gruff but soft. “Miss, are you all right?”

She spat out a mouthful of blood. Her gaze lifted as high as his plaid coat, and she nodded.

Fear filled Gideon’s eyes, and Lonnie felt her body relax, more grateful than she could express for the sudden change in power.

Gideon swallowed. “This is none of your business.”

The old man chuckled grimly. “It looks like it just became my business.” He lifted the gun slightly. “Now I’ve got an idea to introduce this here buckshot to you. What says I shouldn’t?”

When Lonnie tried to stand, the old man made his way toward her, shotgun still aimed at Gideon. He crouched beside her and lifted her arm over his shoulder. She noticed the sweet smell of pipe tobacco as she clung to him. He pulled her to her feet and held her steady. Her throat thickened with relief.

For the first time in weeks—no, in her life—she felt the steady strength of a kind man.

He tucked the gun under his arm, pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket, and handed it to her. She took the folded square and dabbed at her mouth, smearing streaks of mud and blood into the white fabric.

Gideon sat a few feet away, his forehead pressed to his knees. He held the back of his head with his hands, no doubt seeing stars. Lonnie felt a surge of satisfaction.

The old man tossed his head toward Gideon. “All right, you. Get up. Let’s go.”

Gideon glared at him. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and held Lonnie steady. “But you’re not staying here with this little lady.” He stepped away without waiting for Gideon to respond. “Come along, missy. Let’s get you home to my wife. She’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Lonnie’s feet moved slowly, but she pressed her cheek to the plaid shoulder. The deliverance she’d prayed for. She’d never expected an angel could smell of pipe tobacco and carry a shotgun, but never had she been more grateful to someone as she was right then. She needed no further answer, and with her eyes on the horizon, they walked past Gideon. She hoped he wouldn’t follow.

Her escort’s steps slowed to match hers, and she peered up into a wrinkled face half shielded by a coat collar.

She scarcely noticed Gideon’s footsteps behind them. Glancing over her shoulder, Lonnie watched him snatch up the pack, his shoulders slumped. He looked around the ground in clear confusion. And when realization dawned, Lonnie blinked up at the man who clutched two guns beneath his arm.

Her eyebrows knit together. With a smile in his gray-blue eyes, he dipped his head. “My name is Jebediah Bennett. Most folks call me Jeb.”

When she tried to smile, her jaw ached. “My name is Lonnie Sawyer. Uh, I mean Lonnie … O’Riley.” She said the last word flatly.

He chuckled. “Just married?”

Reluctantly, she nodded and looked into a pair of kind, knowing eyes set deep among years of wrinkles. She stared at Jebediah, fearing that if she glanced away, her angel might disappear.