Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 (33 page)

Lonnie gripped a handful of sheets. What if Gideon didn’t want to
be found? Her heart throbbed. Forcing away the fear, she clung to the hope that something had delayed him. Clung to the hope that he would make good on his promise to never go back to the man he had been.

When uncertainty deepened the wrinkles of Jebediah’s forehead, Lonnie shifted her gaze to the wall. “I would feel so much better if you did.”

Elsie touched her husband’s shoulder. “Are you thinking of leaving now? It’ll be dark soon.”

“If Gid’s in trouble,
he’ll
be out there. I have to go.”

He rose, and Lonnie caught him by the hand. “Thank you, Jebediah. This means the world to me.”

He cleared his throat, but the words came out choked anyway. “That little fella’s got a papa out there somewhere, and there’s a reason he ain’t home. I’ll find him. I will.”

Gideon rolled onto his back and peered up at an orange sky. He blinked several times, trying to recall where he was, but it wasn’t until he sat up that the ache in his side reminded him of what had happened. Pain seared through his skull, blurring his vision, and Gideon blinked furiously, trying to focus. He groaned as he struggled to stand. Bert’s men were strong, and their blows did not fall lightly.

He had wasted enough time. After scrambling to his feet, he swayed and the forest spun. He clutched his head, and his fingers touched dry blood. Gideon grimaced, his stomach churning. His ribs cried out in pain as he brushed snow off his clothes. But it did little good—he was soaked to the skin. He looked around and found his hat lying in the snow, trampled and crushed. His pack was not too far off, its contents
strewn about. Gideon spotted the last of his food, now ruined, and grabbed his few belongings.

He stuffed his things into the pack. Sitting back on his heels, he scanned the empty ground. His heart quickened. Yanking the pack back open, he thrust his hand inside. Frantic, his fingers groped one pocket, then the other.

His search proved useless. The money pouch was gone.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes, willing this to be a bad dream. He began to shake. From cold or fury, he didn’t know. With a deep breath, he rose to his feet. Afternoon had come and gone, and now the first stars announced the last minutes of light. Gideon growled, startling a bird nearby.

How long had he been lying there? He had no answers, only a name that stirred his heart into action: Lonnie.

He stumbled forward and clutched his aching head. The first stars seemed to trade places with the cold, wet ground, and Gideon fell forward into the slush. He coughed, making his ribs ache more, and a spatter of blood appeared against the stark white. He gasped against the pain and struggled to his knees. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Home
.

His arms shook as he pushed himself up, but as he tried to stand, his vision blurred and the forest darkened, then went black.

G
ideon felt himself drift in and out of consciousness. His body shook uncontrollably, and pulling his coat tighter didn’t help.
I should light afire
. Teeth chattering, he didn’t know how to begin. One thought ran into the other.

He struggled to move and felt something cold and hard against his head. That’s right. He was in the shanty. He couldn’t remember why he’d searched for the shanty, but with his clothes still damp from the snow, Gideon was thankful he’d found it. The air bit through his wet coat, but the small room was dry and the four walls blocked the worst of the winter wind. How many hours had he been lying here?

A breeze whistled through the crack above his head. Opening one swollen eye, Gideon glanced up at the moonlight that slivered through.
Lonnie
. She would be worried about him. Or had she been with him? His muscles worked as he tried to lift his head. No. She was home safe.

Jebediah’s voice came to mind. As if the man were calling him by name.

Gideon’s swollen lip flinched. If there was anyone who would protect Lonnie, it was Jebediah. He knew the man would do anything for her. The peace of that knowledge seemed to warm him through, and
the shaking began to subside. Gideon relaxed deeper, his cheek pressed to the rough wood. Sleep called to him, luring him away from the pain.

The door creaked open. A rush of icy air followed. Thick hands rolled him onto his back.

Gideon flinched.

“Wasn’t going to shoot you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Jebediah’s voice filled the shanty. He took hold of Gideon’s coat and shook him. “But I’m mighty tempted.”

Gideon opened one swollen eye. “Jeb?” He looked around the shack, then back at Jebediah. “I …” The cold returned, and his lips trembled. He tried to speak again, but Jebediah stopped him.

“Let’s get you home. You’re half frozen.”

Slowly, Gideon sat up and his feet fell like lead to the wood-plank floor. He stared at the wall and made no effort to move. Instead, he glanced up at Jebediah.

Jebediah squinted at him, as if to study him.

He felt his good eye widen, but the focus didn’t sharpen.

Jebediah shook his head and grabbed his arm. “I’ve been up most of the night lookin’ for you. Let’s go.” He shifted the grip on his gun. “What happened to you?”

Gideon stared at the broken window, where a sliver of the full moon peeked through.

Jebediah grunted and yanked Gideon to standing. Pain shot through him.

Catching hold of Gideon’s shirt, Jebediah pushed him through the door. “Let’s go. I ain’t gonna sit around here all night while you find your brain.” The rotting door barely held onto the frame when Jebediah slammed it closed.

He raised his lantern, and light glinted across the gray-white ground.
The light bounced from one snow-covered tree to the next. Gideon swayed.

His head pounded. He took a few shaky steps down the path and paused. But when a firm hand pressed his back, he trudged on. He touched his bloody lip and winced at the sting. He slid fingers inside his jacket and felt the spot where several ribs cried out in pain. What had he done? Jebediah lifted the lantern up just as a deer bounded into the darkness.

When Jebediah mumbled under his breath, Gideon did not have to turn around to see the look on the old man’s face. He couldn’t blame him. How would he explain the missing money? He didn’t want to imagine what Lonnie would think. Gideon searched for the right words, but his swollen lips never moved.

Their footsteps tromped forward.

“There’s, uh,” Gideon started. “There’s something I need to tell you.” His throat fought the taste of sour blood when he swallowed.

“I’m listening,” Jebediah said sharply.

Gideon wrung his hands. “Before I left, I …” He slowed, but Jebediah nudged him. “What I mean to say is that I borrowed, no, I took … wait.” He slammed his eyes shut, then winced. “I took your pouch of coins. Well, at least that’s what I thought it was. I didn’t realize …” He braved a glance at Jebediah. The old man’s face was stone. “I only borrowed it in case I needed it, but I was going to pay you back.” He was only making a mess of the truth, and Gideon knew he looked like the liar and thief he was.

“I don’t care about your excuses.” Jebediah’s gun glinted in the moonlight where it dangled at his side. “You have more to worry about than stealing my money.”

When Gideon slowed, Jebediah shoved him forward.

“You have a wife at home who’s been waiting on you, and you’ve been off—” He sniffed.

Gideon grimaced.

If only there was some way he could explain. But he dropped his head, knowing his past had come back to haunt him. He had no way to defend himself.

W
hen a tear dropped and landed on the windowsill, Lonnie wiped its trail away with the edge of her nightgown. Jacob slumbered against her, still snuggled safely in his sling. She peered down through the glass at Elsie, who knelt inside the tiny picket fence. In the bleak light of dawn, the gray-haired woman struck at the frozen ground with a hand spade.

Scrape. Scrape
.

Lonnie winced at the sound of steel hitting unyielding earth. She glanced away.
Oh, Elsie
. But even as tears blurred her vision, she forced herself to watch.

Elsie tossed the spade aside and thrashed at the ground with her hands. She paused and pushed wild hair away from her face. Her mouth twisted in despair. On the ground beside her sat the tiny box. With her throat on fire, Lonnie touched the cold glass.

The box was so small. Too small.

Lonnie pressed her forehead to the window, careful not to bump her son. A pine box. That was all she had left of her daughter. Her head spun. In clear defeat, Elsie pressed her cheek to the earth. Lonnie’s
vision clouded, and she choked on the tears that spilled forth. Beside the small hole stood a weather-beaten cross that had seen many winters, and Lonnie knew Elsie mourned for more than one little girl.

God, why?
She held her burning throat. Sarah’s life was taken before it ever began. There would be no ribbons or bows or sticky fingers to wipe after baking. No warm sun on a little girl’s hair. When her sobs began to stir Jacob, Lonnie forced herself to step away from the window. She sank into the rocking chair and leaned her head back. Her feet rose and fell. The chair rocked, and she stared at the wall, unable to get the image of the tiny box out of her mind. It was too small to be a coffin. Too final to hold her daughter inside.

Everything was familiar—gnarled oaks, snow-cloaked rocks, the curve of the trail. Gideon was almost home. He was exhausted, and the sunrise hurt his eyes. He felt sick with hunger. As much as he looked forward to a hot meal and bath, there was one thing he feared. One thing he dreaded.

Lonnie would not be waiting for him on the porch steps and waving as he once imagined.

She would want to know what had taken him so long. Gideon watched the puff of breath in front of his face. All he could say was the truth. And the liquor that reeked from his skin and clothes? That wasn’t his fault. They’d done it to him … right after they stole his bag of money.
The bag of money that you stole first?
Gideon groaned, and even as he lifted his eyes to the treetops, he prayed Lonnie would believe him.

Jebediah called his name.

Gideon slowed and looked into a pair of eyes softened by an emotion he couldn’t read.

Jebediah glanced away. “I’ve got something I have to tell you.” He cleared his throat. “It’s about the baby.” The sorrow in his face pulled Gideon’s feet forward.

Jebediah ran his hand over the back of his neck. “The baby was born.” His voice trembled.

Air left Gideon’s lungs. “What?”

“The baby. It was born.”

He stepped forward. “Is the baby … all right?”

With a lift of his brows, Jebediah nodded. “He seems to be doing just fine.”

Gideon stumbled toward home. “It’s too early. How did it happen?” His breath came in short bursts. Then he froze. “Wait. You said … he?”

“He.” But Jebediah’s voice cracked.

Gideon placed his hands to his head. “What is it?” he pleaded. The cry echoed softly through the still forest.

With bright morning light hitting Jebediah’s wrinkled features, his mouth opened in silent despair.

“What’s wrong with the baby?” Gideon grabbed Jebediah’s shoulder. “Did something happen to Lonnie?”

“No. Lonnie’s fine. She’s safe,” Jebediah whispered, his voice hoarse and scratchy, and when tears glinted in his eyes, Gideon’s stomach lurched.

“Did my child—?”

“There were two.” Jebediah looked away and stared at the ground.

“Two?” Gideon fell to his knees as if he’d taken a blow to the chest.

“Two.” Jebediah stepped closer and knelt in front of him. “A boy.” He kept his eyes on the snow. “And a girl.”

With his fists on the frozen ground, Gideon pressed his head to his forearms. “What happened?” he said in a small voice that blew cold against the snow.

“The girl. She, uh.” Jebediah’s voice cracked. “She didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t make it?” The words charred in his throat. “And Lonnie?”

“She’s well. Healthy and strong.”

Air filled his lungs even as tears burned his eyes. “The boy?”