Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 (16 page)

His eyes fell to her stomach, as if it would have grown in the few hours he’d been gone. She swallowed her toast and wiped her mouth. He sat across from her and ran his palms across his pants. Her appetite gone, Lonnie set the toast on the plate beside her. Instead of looking at him, she brushed crumbs from her fingertips.

When he sat there in silence, she knew she would be the one to speak first.

“You look troubled.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine. Just … just worried about you, that’s all.”

She doubted that was the truth. Her heart still aching, she tucked it behind a stone wall. “I’ll be all right.”

He ran his hands across his pants again, clearly stalling.

Lonnie fiddled with a chip in the plate. She broke off a piece of bread and forced herself to take a bite. She chewed slowly, waiting.

“Lonnie,” he began, her name weak on his lips. He looked around the room. “I … I need you to know that I’m … sorry.”

“Sorry?”

He let out a quick
whoosh
of air. “For hurting you.”

“Which time?” When he winced, she knew her words had the effect she’d intended.

“Um …” His palms swished together. Color crept up his neck. “For today. For earlier.” His eyes fell to the bruises on her arm, and she yanked her sleeve down. “You have every right to be angry with me. And you don’t have to accept my apology. I know that.” He paused. “You didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that.”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. He had turned on her as no husband should ever turn on his wife. But she was hardly a wife. She was just the woman he was forced to marry. And now she was carrying a child he didn’t want. Yet here he sat, apologizing. He was her husband, and she had promised to stick by him in front of the church and in front of God. Lonnie did not take those vows lightly.
One more chance. God, do I have the strength for one more chance?
She looked to the darkening window and fiddled with the edge of the quilt. In her mind’s eye all she saw was his anger from earlier. “Go away, Gideon.”

Gideon O’Riley knew little of what he had done to her. He couldn’t. He would never be on the receiving end of someone’s anger the way she had. Someone she could never fight off, no matter how hard she tried. Did he understand that? understand that she would stay despite what he had done?

A few compliments and a handful of smiles, and she’d sold her future for the hope that she could be loved. Afterward, he’d left her that day with hardly a word. Now she would pay the price. Lonnie pressed
her fingertips to her eyes.
Lonnie, what have you done?
She heard Gideon stand. Without speaking, he lifted the creaking chair, and it thudded into the corner. He stepped out and shut the door softly behind him. Lonnie pushed the plate away and lay down. Draping an arm over her eyes, she tried to shut out the remaining light. Tried to shut out her life.

G
ideon ducked into the kitchen, a bucket of fresh water in his hand. At the table, Lonnie and Elsie fell silent. “Afternoon.” He set the bucket down and turned to go.

“Thank you, Gideon.” Elsie rose. “Haven’t hardly seen you all day.”

“Jebediah’s kept me pretty busy.” He’d woken before sunrise and, having skipped breakfast, accepted the bowl of soup she poured for him. He ate in the doorway. He was tired and wanted to sit, but he feared that if he got too close, Lonnie would burst into tears, or kick him in the shin, or whatever it was that women did when they were mad. Gideon took a bite of soft potato and chewed as Elsie used the water to fill the kettle.

“Can I get you anything else, Gideon?”

“No ma’am. Thank you.”

He’d spent a better part of the day working for Jebediah and hadn’t expected to see Lonnie sipping tea at the table. She wore a clean dress, and her freshly combed hair curtained over one shoulder. He ate his soup quickly, then excused himself. He looked around for Jebediah. Surely there were more chores to be done. He’d do anything to be free of the kitchen.

At Jebediah’s request, Gideon made sure the cow had fresh hay and water before he went to fetch the slop bucket. The metal handle dug into his hand as he carried it across the yard and dumped the day-old contents into the pigpen. He heard the back door close and looked up to see Elsie leading Lonnie to the chicken coop. They emerged not a minute later with half a dozen brown eggs tucked in a basket on Elsie’s arm. Lonnie’s steps were slow, but he was glad to see her up and about.

The sun had long since arced across the sky, so Gideon turned his attention back to his work. He tugged on the barn door. As it creaked open, he thought of fixing it then and there, but it would have to wait until tomorrow.

Gideon smoothed his knuckles across his brow. Lonnie seemed to enjoy Elsie’s company. A warm bed with soft sheets was a stark contrast to the rutted ground and damp nights. It would pain her to leave.

They could not stay though. They’d head out tomorrow. Shadows crept toward the house in slow strides as evening neared. By the time he’d filled the kindling box and swept the back porch, Gideon smelled fish frying and realized where Jebediah had been all afternoon. He cursed under his breath, struck with the notion of the old man sneaking off to fish while he labored.

With supper smelling as good as it did, he tried to push his troubles from mind. Besides, deep down he knew the truth—a few chores were nothing in comparison to what Jebediah and Elsie had done for Lonnie. For what they had protected her from. When his frustrations came back to mind, Gideon flexed his hands. He still couldn’t believe that he had pushed Lonnie as far as he had. He hated what his life had become, but he hadn’t known he was capable of that kind of anger. It would get better once they got to Stuart. When they were settled and had a little
money, his burdens would be easier to shoulder. The sooner they got on the road, the better.

When Gideon sat beside Lonnie at the supper table, he struggled to join in the conversation. He pushed a slice of cornbread around his plate. The Bennetts had no need for him and Lonnie hanging around, being in the way. They needed their space. Had a routine. Two more mouths to feed would only burden the couple. Still lost in thought, Gideon nodded to himself. He and Lonnie had imposed long enough, and he had no desire to overstay their welcome.

When Lonnie laughed softly at one of Jebediah’s jokes, Gideon glanced around the table. Rosy-cheeked, Jebediah chuckled and slapped his napkin on his knee. The three of them seemed to have everything figured out. Gideon didn’t know what they needed him for. He could be gone in the morning and no one would care. He tipped his head at the thought. Then again, Lonnie could run back home and complain of how he got her with child and then left her. Gideon grimaced at the thought of Joel Sawyer on his trail. No, that would never do. Whether he wanted to or not, he’d have to take responsibility for his family.

The thought sobered Gideon, fueling the fire under his feet. He would have to find work soon. And a house. He could not offer his family much, not in eight months, but there would be a roof over their heads. Maybe in a few years, when the baby got older, he would have to build Lonnie something finer. Gideon flexed his jaw. Through his own blood and sweat, he would spend the rest of his days repaying an unseen debt. Apparently God hadn’t been satisfied with his sacrifices already. With his fingertips, Gideon turned his glass in a slow circle on the table.
Figures
.

“Something on your mind, son?” Jebediah asked, his voice even.

“Well,” Gideon said slowly, leaning back in his chair. He had eaten more than his share of fried fish and creamed corn. Elsie placed a cup of dark coffee in front of him, and Gideon took a sip to settle his mind. “We’ll be on our way tomorrow. Lonnie and I sure do appreciate your generosity.”

Lonnie’s mouth stilled, and her fork touched her plate. Gideon chewed his cheek.

Jebediah drizzled honey into his coffee, slowly. “Well, we’ll be sorry to see you go. Elsie and I sure have enjoyed your company. You were quite a help around the farm.” A muscle tensed beneath his gray stubble, and he glanced at Elsie.

Even as he tried to interpret the motion, Gideon nodded. “It was hardly enough to repay you. And with the way you took care of Lonnie, it was the least I could do.” The words felt flat on his lips. They didn’t sound as sincere as he’d hoped.

Jebediah nodded once.

Satisfied, Gideon turned to the apple pie Elsie slid in front of him.

When supper was over, Lonnie helped Elsie wash dishes, and Jebediah invited Gideon out to the back porch for a smoke. With a wrinkled and weathered hand, Jebediah stuck a twig in the flames of the kitchen stove, then held it to his pipe until a trickle of smoke curled upward. He handed the makeshift match to Gideon. As Gideon stepped through the door, he shielded it from the cold night breeze, his corncob pipe dangling from his lips. The sweet smell of tobacco wafted toward him, and he shook out the tiny flame, tossing the charred remains into the dirt.

They settled down on the top step, and Gideon rested his elbows on his knees.

Jebediah cupped the end of his pipe with his palm and two fingers.
“Well, son. Havin’ a baby’s about the best thing that can happen to a man.”

Gideon glanced at Jebediah. His aged face was half lit by the kitchen light.

Jebediah’s words mumbled around the mouthpiece. “Gettin’ married, workin’ hard, and havin’ babies is what turns boys into men.” He blew a puff of smoke. “It’s what makes life what it is.” His gaze pierced Gideon.

Swallowing, Gideon studied the step beneath his boots.

Jebediah slid the pipe from his lips, and his speech became clear as glass. “A man takes care of himself first when he is young. When he gets married, he comes second.” He motioned with his pipe as if a man’s entire life spread before him.

Gideon blew out a puff of smoke.

“When a man has a baby, he comes third.”

Third
. Exhausted, Gideon lowered his head between his shoulders, his smoldering pipe forgotten in his hand. Did Jebediah have to talk
all
the time? It made a body think too much, and Gideon was in no mood for that. Besides, he hadn’t even learned to put Lonnie first. How was he going to be a father? Men lived up and down the mountain—some lousy fathers and husbands. Was Jebediah insinuating that he was one of those men? that he was like Joel Sawyer? Annoyed, Gideon chewed the end of his pipe.

Smoke trickled into the cool night air, the tobacco having lost its comfort. Whatever it was Lonnie needed from him, he had nothing more to give.

G
ideon used Jebediah’s pliers to bend the rusty hinge back. He struck the flat end with a hammer. The
clang
of metal rang loud and clear through the silent morning. He lifted the old hinge up to his eye. Satisfied, he polished it on the hem of his shirt and held the metal piece to the door.

“Looks about right,” he mumbled to himself. He was all alone in the barn. The morning milking was done, and Jebediah trudged back and forth with armfuls of freshly cut white pine. Gideon shook his head.
Crazy old man
.

Morning light hadn’t touched the cold floor when Gideon had crawled out of bed that morning. He’d slipped out to start the day, leaving Lonnie in the dim, still quiet.

It had taken all his strength and most of his patience to take down the barn door, and now the weather-beaten wood lay across two saw-horses like a patient on a city doctor’s table. He circled the slab of wood, picked up a file, and smoothed away rotted and rough splinters where the hinge had sat. Then, with a worn piece of sandpaper, he made a fresh spot for it to rest.

When he opened and closed the hinge, an obnoxious
squeak
begged for oil. He dipped his hand into a can of grease and massaged it into the rusted crevices. He noticed the layer of black grime under his fingernails and in the cracks of his broad palm and knew he’d have to scrub up good to be clean enough for Elsie’s breakfast table.

He worked the grease in until the hinge opened and closed like a well-read book. Gideon wiped his oily hand on the rag dangling from the back of his pants, then ran his still-greasy finger under his nose to stifle a sneeze.

“Food’s on,” Jebediah said behind him.

Gideon glanced up from his work. The bright morning sun outlined Jebediah’s husky figure—a black form in the doorless frame.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jebediah stepped in. His hand swished as he slid it over sanded wood. “You did a fine job. This old door has been falling down for years. It’s a shame I wasn’t able to get around to it sooner.”

Gideon shrugged. “It’s the least I can do before Lonnie and I leave this afternoon.”

Jebediah was silent for a moment. “I see. She doin’ better?”

Suddenly fascinated by the hinge in his hand, Gideon dropped his head in a half nod.

“Well, I’m gonna get washed up. Elsie’s got hotcakes and fried ham on the table. Don’t be long.”

After setting the hinge down, Gideon wiped his fingers on the rag too greasy to do any good. “I’m done for now.” His stomach howled for breakfast, and he could finish up later. Besides, the cold barn made him long for Elsie’s warm kitchen.

They walked to the house in silence. Gideon plunged his hands
into the bucket on the back porch and rubbed icy water up his forearms and on his face. His teeth chattered as he reached for the towel. Jebediah held the door, and Gideon stepped into the kitchen.

Lonnie slid a handful of steaming hotcakes into a basket. “Freezin’?” She almost sounded pleased with the idea.

The heat from the kitchen made his cheeks tingle. “It’s a good bit colder this morning than it’s been lately.”

“Tends to get cool fast down here,” Jebediah said. “Bein’ wedged up against the mountain like this, we get a lot of mornin’ shade from one side and evenin’ shade from the other.”

Gideon watched Lonnie pour a spoonful of batter on the hot griddle, his mind on anything but shade.

“Sit.” Lonnie offered him a faint smile, and he saw that it was genuine.

Gideon pressed his worries to the back of his mind, and when she settled into the seat next to him, he smelled the scent of soap on her skin. He found himself staring.