Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 (25 page)

His brow creased as he studied the pig in the distance, its dirty snout rummaging through the muck.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

He peered down at her. “I don’t want to talk about money.”

She nearly laughed. “I was teasing you.”

He hung his head.

“Gideon, is everything all right?”

His head bobbed in a nod, but he didn’t look up at her.

She touched his arm briefly, then pulled back. “What’s the matter?”

He ran his hand over his face. “Everything, it seems.”

“What do you mean?”

When he looked down at her, he searched her face. Her cheeks warmed beneath his determination. “It’s all such a mess.”

“What’s a mess? Gideon, I don’t understand.”

“What I’m trying to say is that I wish things had been different.”

“How so?” Her voice sounded small to her ears.

“I wish I had been more.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I wish things had begun different. Much different.”

She let her fingers rest beside his, overlapping ever so slightly. “I do too.” She watched the hog push his snout through a pile of scraps. “But in a way I don’t.”

His eyebrows pinched together.

“There are so many regrets. But not everything is something I would take back.” She smoothed her thumb along the band of her apron that covered her rounding belly.

He followed the movement. “No?”

She shook her head, wishing with all her heart that he might one day feel the same.

His chest lifted, sorrow heavy in his sigh. “I should get back to work.”

Gideon lowered his head as he trudged away. She deserved more than he had to give. Gideon shook his head. Had? Or was willing?

He was never meant to be a father. Nothing about him suggested he could raise a child.
Not even Lonnie’s?
He glanced back to where she sat, dark boots crossed. He wondered what the baby might look like.
Emotion thickened his throat when he imagined a baby with large brown eyes. Just like its mama.

He picked up his ax and carried it toward the edge of the yard. That morning Jebediah had mentioned a fallen branch blocking the path. Perhaps he could have it cleared by sundown.

His boots stomped through the wilting layer of snow. He wondered if Lonnie had gone inside but didn’t look back. What was he so afraid of? He shifted the ax from one fist to the other. He knew the answer.

He wasn’t worthy of Lonnie … or their child. Not with his demons chasing him.

Once he returned the pocket watch to Bert, he’d be able to shake the chains of his earlier life. Nearing the path that meandered from the Bennetts’ farm, Gideon spotted the fallen branch. It lay like a dead man in the snow. He heard the door close and glanced back to see that Lonnie was gone.

Using the side of his boot, he kicked at the hefty branch, but it didn’t budge. He set to work, his arms weary from an afternoon of wielding the ax, but he kept a steady pace. The sound of steel striking wood filled the silent forest, echoing from mountaintop to mountaintop. When he finished, Gideon went back for the wheelbarrow, loaded the smallest portions into the rusted metal bin, and headed back toward the farm. When he brought back the last load, he spotted Jebediah in the doorway of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag.

With a grunt, Gideon dumped the last of the gnarled wood beside the chopping block, pausing only long enough to rub his arm along his temple before he trudged toward the barn. Jebediah had disappeared, and stepping into the warm building, Gideon inhaled the dry scent of animals and feed. The humble smell calmed him.

“Looks like you got the path cleared,” Jebediah said without looking up from his work. Using stout fingers, he smeared grease into a large trap.

“Yessir.” Exhausted, Gideon pulled up a stool, then thought the better of it. “Need a hand?”

“Naw. Just making use of the last hour of daylight.” Jebediah clamped the lid on the can of grease and swiped the grungy rag over his hands. He slid a stool from beneath the workbench, and the rickety wood creaked as he settled down. They sat without speaking for several moments.

Gideon threw words around in his mind but couldn’t think of how to begin.

“Somethin’ eatin’ you, son?” Jebediah spoke without looking up.

Gideon fiddled with the edge of his thumbnail.

Tipping his face up, Jebediah looked to the doorway. The house lay a stone’s throw beyond. “That Lonnie of yours is quite a lady. It’s been a right fine pleasure having her.”

“She is.” That was one thing he knew for sure. Yet he was nowhere near to deserving her.

“I’m starting to get used to the idea of you bumming around as well.”

When Gideon looked up, Jebediah smiled and he saw that he was teasing.

“You’ve been working hard, and I sure do appreciate it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Jebediah glanced at him, his gray beard brushing his coat. “Can’t believe there’s gonna be a little one ’round before we know it.”

Gideon grunted. “Me neither.” He glanced out to the house and
imagined his child playing inside with Lonnie. She would take the baby for walks in the woods. His baby would have pieces of him, whether he was willing to give more of himself or not. Stabbing the toe of his boot against the plank floor, Gideon suddenly wished he had more to give.

He wished he were a better man.

“You ready?” Jebediah straightened, and steely eyes danced with curiosity.

“No.”

“Neither was I.” The older man’s gaze faltered.

“You had children?”

Heavy eyelids, wrinkled with age, blinked. “A girl.” Jebediah rested an elbow on the worktable behind him. “Many years ago. Probably before you were even born.”

Gideon felt his mouth open.

“She died when she was three.” Jebediah smoothed his thumb over a knot in the worktable. “Fever took her.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jebediah ducked his head and seemed to gather himself before speaking. “Don’t be. It was hard at first, especially for Elsie. She was real young then. Fever almost got her too.”

Gideon could think of nothing to say. But something inside him began to ache. The Bennetts deserved better than that.

Deep lines etched across Jebediah’s forehead. “God always has a plan, though. Whether we’re privy to it or not.”

“Can’t say I agree.”

“Didn’t say you had to.”

Gideon glanced at him.

“Life’s short, Gid.” He plopped his heel on the lowest rung. The
stool creaked its age. “It’s too short to be wastin’ time worrying. Too short to be wastin’ time runnin’.”

“I’m not runnin’.”

“You’ve been runnin’ since the moment I met you. Before that, I’d reckon.” He squeezed Gideon’s shoulder. “I’d say the sooner you stop and face whatever it is that’s chasin’ you, the sooner you’ll see how much time you’re wastin’.”

Gideon dipped his head.

Jebediah lowered his face, forcing Gideon to meet his gaze. “I can tell you’ve been thinkin’ about it. It’s time to get off the fence, Gideon. It’s yer pride and nothin’ more.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Gideon chewed the inside of his cheek. Finally, he nodded slowly. Jebediah spoke the truth and nothing less.

“I know you’ve been itching to get you and Lonnie on your way, but that baby’ll be here before you know it. If you want to know what’s good for Lonnie … if you know what’s good for that little one … I hope you’ll stick around here a little longer.” With a weary sigh, Jebediah rose. His movements were slow as he lifted the stool back into place. “Just want you to know you’re welcome.”

T
he air hung heavy with the smell of smoking pork as Gideon walked past the kitchen window, a load of fragrant cedar pressed to his chest. He spotted Lonnie through the glass. She was focused on the bowl of batter she was whisking. Her hair was coiled at the nape of her neck, still damp from the bath she’d taken. The empty tub sat waiting for him, but with Lonnie fully occupied, Gideon quietly set the wood down and strode to the barn, hoping to get a little more work done on his project before suppertime.

He pulled the heavy piece from its hiding place, picked up a square of sandpaper, and started where he had left off. Every few minutes, he ran his hand across the wood. Wherever he felt a spot that was not to his satisfaction, he sanded it some more. Though it was going slower than he liked, the cradle was taking shape. His baby was going to sleep in this cradle. Lonnie would sit barefoot and rock it with her toes. He’d built it large enough to last the baby through the first year. Kneeling, he eyed one edge and ran his thumb across the silken wood. It had to be perfect.

He hummed a tune as he worked. He blew a puff of dust from the edge, the intricate grain a slowly developing mystery. Just last week Elsie
had whispered that Lonnie’s birthday was in a few days. The twenty-first of January. Gideon hadn’t been able to hide his surprise. It pained him as much now as it had then that he’d never thought to learn her birthday. He touched the smooth wood. He hadn’t planned on completing his project so soon, but he didn’t want to pass up on the opportunity to surprise her. A few more days after that and the gift would be ready to oil. He hoped she wouldn’t mind that it would not be finished.

He was certain that Lonnie was in the parlor this very moment, knitting the booties she’d been working on all week. Nearly every afternoon he found her with a different type of needle in her hand. She was always making something out of yarn. When she wasn’t doing that, she spent the quiet evening hours writing letters home. How long was it now that they’d been at the Bennetts’? Gideon shook his head. He’d lost track of the months.

When shadows stretched across the yard, Gideon knew he had lingered too long. He moved the hefty gift out of sight, swept up his mess, and put away Jebediah’s tools. Wiping his hands together, he glanced around to make certain everything was in its place—the cradle tucked safely out of sight.

He stepped out into the cold night air. Snow crunched under his boots. He latched the barn door and rattled the handle. One glance at the dim sky and he was certain it would snow again during the night. After checking the woodbox, he glanced around the farm. All seemed well.

After dropping his hat on the washstand, he rolled up his sleeves and filled the pitcher with cold water. Elsie always set out a hot pitcher before supper, and Gideon glanced in the window, wondering if he’d kept the others waiting.

“Wait!” Lonnie pushed the door open with her hip, a pail of water
pressed to her chest. “I had this warming near the stove for you.” Water sloshed over the edge as she lowered the pail down at his feet. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Now you won’t have to come in and stand next to the stove after washin’ up.” She wiped her hands on her apron. Fir boughs hung on the door behind her, hints of dried needles catching in her hair. Gideon fought the urge to smooth them away.

“Thank you.” He took his eyes off her only long enough to pick up the pail.

“Hurry or it will get cold.” Her fingertips fumbled the side of the bucket as if trying to help him.

Gideon stared at her. Lonnie stared back. It took him a moment to remember what he was doing.
Wash. Right
. He splashed his face and ran a soft rag over his neck. With her still watching, he cracked a smile. “Are you checking to see if I get behind my ears?” Water dripped from his face.

“Maybe.” She held a towel out to him. “It would be a first, I bet.”

He laughed out the words. “Are you saying somethin’?” He slid his hands back into the water, enjoying the way his fingers thawed. Then Gideon rubbed water up and down his forearms, chagrined by the dingy tint to the water. He shook his hands at the bucket, and droplets flew. “Do I have time for a real bath before supper?”

She placed her knuckles on her hips and tilted her head to the side. “Plenty.”

“All right, then. I’ll put some water on the stove.”

“Already been done.” Lonnie smiled and opened the screen door. She disappeared before Gideon could say anything.

He stepped into the warm kitchen.

“Water’s ready.” With a hot pad, Lonnie clutched the kettle away from herself, and Gideon followed, carrying a hefty pot. He struggled to see the steps with the bulky pot in front of him and nearly tripped twice.

“Let me get the door.” She pounded up the stairs, nearly knocking him down. Between her belly and his jutted elbows, it took careful maneuvering for her to squeeze by. As she smashed him against the top of the railing, the smell of dried cedar boughs filled the hallway.

“Sorry!” She slid into the bedroom and held the door. He squeezed past.

She poured the kettle of water into the tub, and steam rose. It took them several trips to fill the washtub, then Lonnie left him to his bath. He heard every click of her shoes as she strode down the hall. The water barely hit his calf when he climbed in. He splashed water up and down his arms, feeling the tension melt away. He scrubbed his face and took extra care to wash behind his ears.

A knock came through the door. “It’s me,” Lonnie called. “I’ve got the scissors. Holler for me when you’re done.”

“Scissors?”

“For your haircut. And I don’t want to hear any excuses.” A smile carried on her voice.