Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 (18 page)

If his spirits didn’t lift, she feared he’d set his sights on the trail before the first frost hit.

She prayed the possibility away. Her hand fell to her stomach. This was a good home. A home where God came first and where drunken anger didn’t shake the walls worse than the autumn winds. This was a home to bring life into.

“Maybe,” Gideon mumbled, finally responding. He rolled onto his back and slid his hands beneath his head, bumping Lonnie in the nose with his elbow. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Sitting up, he leaned over her.

Lonnie giggled and rubbed her nose. “It’s all right.” She stopped laughing and watched him swallow. Gideon cleared his throat and lay back down.

The minutes ticked by on the grandfather clock in the parlor beneath them, but Lonnie could not fall asleep. She listened as the gait of Gideon’s breath slowed. She waited, letting the quickening of her heart beat away the time.

“Gideon … I …” She let out her breath, uncertain how to say it. “If you don’t want this baby, I need to know now.” She wasn’t about to raise
a child the way she had been raised. If Gideon didn’t want anything to do with the baby, then he didn’t want anything to do with her. She wasn’t going to stick around to watch her child suffer for it.

His breathing was slow, steady, and she knew he was asleep. Sighing, Lonnie rolled onto her side, wishing the answer didn’t have to wait until tomorrow.

At the sound of voices, Lonnie shuffled to the window and peered out. Gideon leaned into the weight of a wheelbarrow loaded to the brim with wood. She watched him make several passes, his feet lumbering over dewy grass. His hair stood off kilter, and with his face down, his head hung low between his shoulder blades.

She changed into her calico work dress and tied an apron around her waist. She threw on her shawl before hurrying down the stairs.

Elsie knelt in front of the stove, piercing the coals with a metal poker. “Mornin’!”

“Good morning.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please, but may I get it?” Hopefully it would soothe her stomach, which constantly felt unsettled. She filled the copper kettle and settled it near the percolator on the cast-iron stove, then pulled four tin cups from the cupboard. Just as quick, Elsie snatched two up by the handles and put them away. She went to her hutch, and pulled out two china teacups. She held them up, and Lonnie smiled.

When the water in the percolator bubbled dark and rich, Lonnie filled the tin mugs.

“How does Jebediah like his coffee?”

“Just cream.”

Lonnie dropped a spoonful of sugar into Gideon’s, then splashed cream into both. “I’ll take these out.” She pushed her back against the screen door.

“Take these.” Elsie handed her a bowl of dried apples, and Lonnie nestled it in the crook of her arm before slipping out into the crisp morning air.

Gideon stomped around the side of the barn, and when his eyes found her, he turned toward the house. After climbing the four steps in two long strides, he tugged off his leather gloves. He took the cup from her and slid his hands around the warm tin. He looked down at her.

She watched him take small sips, and as her mind tossed and turned, she remembered her question from the night before. She needed his answer, but instead of speaking, she held the bowl of dried apples out, and he took a fistful, cramming nearly all of them into his mouth. He chewed in silence, his eyes unfocused. His jaw was dusted with a sandy beard, and hair the color of gingerbread stuck out from beneath his hat.

She arched an eyebrow. “You need a haircut.”

His fingers swished over his chin, then tugged at the patch beneath his lip. “And a shave.”

She smirked, then shook her head. “Jeb gotcha workin’ hard this morning?”

When green eyes flicked to hers over the rim of his cup, she cleared her throat, struggling to remember what she had come out here to say.

“Always.” His voice echoed inside the tin, and he took another sip. “There’s lots to do around here.”

Her gaze roved the yard, from the fine house to the large barn. The Bennetts were better off than any family she knew. It was a wonder they lived way up here in the Blue Ridge Mountains. They could sell this
farm and live in town—maybe even a city. Somewhere where they didn’t have to trek for miles to buy supplies. Buy a real fine house and never have to worry about keeping up with the animals or climbing up and down the hill in their old age.

“Why do you think they live around here?” She turned to Gideon only to discover that he was watching her.

He squinted. “It’s hard to leave these mountains, I suppose.” He tossed the last drop of coffee mixed with grounds into the dry grass, then ran his hand up a weatherworn porch post. “Bet this was his pa’s house.” He studied the wood as if seeing the man’s history etched into the faded paint. “Jebediah probably lived here his whole life.” Gideon circled his hand around the post, then moved it back down. Lonnie followed the movement.

As if drawn from a memory, he cleared his throat. “I suppose if a man has lived in these mountains his whole life, he becomes a part of the land. If this is where your pa was born and died, I suppose it will be where you were born and hope to die.”

“But not you?”

“Me?”

“You left Rocky Knob. Your home.”

“That wasn’t home.” His voice held years of heartache.

She leaned against the post. The bowl was empty, so she shifted it to her other arm. “Gideon, there’s something I need to tell you.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Can’t think of what else it could be.” Sarcasm ran thick in his words.

She let out a breath. “Don’t be dramatic. I just need you to know something.” She chewed her bottom lip a moment. “It’s about the baby.” She straightened. “If you don’t want anything to do with our child, I’m not going to force you.” She tipped the bowl, letting the
crumbs fall into the dirt. “But I won’t stay around for you to torment either one of us.” She touched her apron, and understanding registered in his features.

Lifting his chin, he looked across the yard. His thumb hooked into his belt loop. “All right, then.”

“All right, I’m leaving, or all right, I’m staying?”

“I’m not going to torment the baby.” His eyes found hers. “Just know that.”

But she didn’t know. “We’ll see, then.”

“Fair enough.” He thumped his palm against the post. When Jebediah came into view, Gideon tossed his head in the direction of the gray-haired man. “I should get back to work.” He hesitated, then softened his voice. “I won’t torment the baby.” He stared at the empty space between them. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to love it.”

She fiddled with the end of her braid. “And you don’t think that’s the same thing?”

“Obviously not.” He glanced down at her apron, then back to her face. “Or we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we?”

Hot chills covered her cheeks. “I’ll give you until the baby’s born to figure it out. Not a day longer.”

Just then, Jebediah climbed the porch steps.

Lonnie handed Jebediah his coffee, certain his first sip would be a cold one. Jebediah downed it in a few short swigs with nary a complaint. Without a word, he cupped Gideon on the shoulder and walked away.

As if he had more to say, Gideon twisted the side of his mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned and followed Jebediah’s silent request.

Lonnie watched him go.

H
ow’s it going?”

Gideon looked up from his work as Jebediah stepped into the doorway of the stuffy barn. “Almost done,” he panted and thrust the pitchfork forward. His shirt clung to his damp skin as he tossed hay into the mule’s stall. He ran his sleeve against his face and glanced at Jebediah. A second pitchfork stood against the wall, near enough for the old man to touch, but Jebediah simply stood there, arms crossed, watching.

Scrape
. Grunt.
Scrape
. The rhythm broke the silence, and Gideon braved a glance at Jebediah when the man didn’t budge.

“After you’ve got that finished, Elsie wants us to bring out the wash pot. Tomorrow’s wash day.” Without waiting for a reply, Jebediah began rummaging in a toolbox.

Gideon leaned the fork against the wall. He had no problem working for his keep. What he didn’t like was some fella taking advantage of that. Sweat slid down the bridge of his nose and stung his eyes. “Yes, master,” he muttered under his breath. He smeared the back of his glove across his face.

Metal clanged as Jebediah dug through the trunk of tools. He
pulled out a can of nails and stood. His hammer hung at his belt. “I’m gonna replace a few clapboards out there. Holler when you’re done, and we’ll get the pot.”

Gideon nodded without looking up. Soon he heard Jebediah outside and flinched when the wall shook beneath the man’s hammer. Wood creaked and snapped. Gideon stepped away for fear the whole building would come crashing down.

A slit of light appeared, and Jebediah lowered the sun-rotted piece. Gideon blinked against the brightness. Within moments, another board splintered and came down, illuminating the gloomy barn as if it were high noon. Gideon peered through the gap as Jebediah stripped out a third and then a fourth. A cool breeze brushed his face.

So the man can work after all
.

The racket made it nearly impossible to focus, but Gideon turned back to his task. Sugar, the old work mule, watched him with clouded brown eyes. She blinked slowly—unconcerned with the stranger in her stall.

“How’s that for you, girl?”

She tipped back large ears, lowered her face, and sniffed. Her nostrils flared, blowing pieces of hay toward his shoe.

“Smells good, don’t it? Well, you’re lucky to have it.” He chuckled, knowing he sounded just like his father. He smoothed the last of the hay, then went to see how Jebediah was coming along.

With his mouth full of nails, Jebediah pursed his lips in a focused frown. “Hold that side up.” The nails rose and fell as he mumbled.

The fresh wood vibrated under Gideon’s hand as Jebediah pounded it into place. The older man worked his way down the length of the board, pulling a nail from his lips every few hand widths. Gideon stepped aside and admired the job as Jebediah tugged a nail from his
clenched mouth and, with a few loud blows, secured the first piece in place.

“Few more to go,” Jebediah grunted.

Gideon’s arms shook as he struggled to balance an awkward piece, and he wished he could be the one to swing the hammer. Instead, he did as told, and when they finished, Jebediah
let
him put away the tools.

Jebediah slapped Gideon on the back. “Let’s go get the wash pot.”

Gritting his teeth, Gideon nodded and stuck the can of nails in the crook of his arm as he reached for the hammer. He stuffed them on a high shelf, then followed Jebediah into the yard.

With practiced precision, Jebediah laid twigs then wood in a ring of blackened stones. Above that loomed an iron tripod with a hook hanging from the center. Together, they heaved the heavy pot onto the hook, where it rested just above the stones.

“Time to fill ’er up.” Jebediah elbowed Gideon in the side, then, bending, snatched up two buckets. “Then all Elsie’ll have to do is light it and our job will be done.”

Gideon sucked in a breath and held it until his lungs burned. His job would never be done. Not if Jebediah had anything to say about it. The lump on the back of his head had turned to a dull ache over the last several days. Gideon rubbed it again.

Jebediah handed him the buckets, and a metal handle dug into Gideon’s chest. Gideon eyed him. “Ain’t you gonna help?”

Jebediah fiddled with his fire. “You can’t carry two buckets at the same time?”

With his jaw clenched, Gideon ground out the words. “Yessir, I can.”

“Well, then, good.”

Dismissed, Gideon started toward the creek but froze within a few
steps. He spun around. “I just been thinkin’.” He squared his shoulders when his voice faltered. “I’ve been doin’ an awful lot of work around here—”

“Thought that was
your
idea.”

“Yessir, it was. But …” Gideon rubbed the back of his neck. “Well … you ain’t been doin’ much.”

The wrinkles in Jebediah’s forehead lifted. “Is that so?”

“Well, yes. I mean … no sir.”

“Well, which is it? Yes or no?” Jebediah folded his arms in front of him, his stance widening. “ ’Cause the way I saw it, you were gonna earn your keep around here. Isn’t that what we agreed on?”

“I’ve been earnin’ twice my keep.” Gideon held his ground. It was high time Jebediah stopped making a sport out of punishing him. Gideon gritted his teeth. He’d told Lonnie he was sorry. Wasn’t that enough? Elsie had moved on. Lonnie too. Sort of. Gideon’s gaze faltered. What else did this fuddy-duddy want?

“That so?” Jebediah’s thick, rough fingers lifted the buckets from Gideon’s grasp. “Why don’t you go inside and take the afternoon off. You must be
plumb
tuckered out.
I’ll
fill the wash pot.” He started away. “Maybe you could do some mendin’ on the parlor sofa.”

“What did you say?” Gideon strode after him.

Jebediah spoke without turning around. “You heard me.” A breeze picked up and filled out the sides of his plaid coat.