My Hope Is Found: The Cadence of Grace, Book 3 (11 page)

“Don’t get embarrassed. You can’t help being a lovesick fool.”

“And what would you know about it?” Gideon tousled Owen’s hair. Owen smacked his hand away, but not before Gideon had mussed his slicked-down curls. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Tal slapped his palms on his thighs and stood. “All right. I’d say that’s more than enough for one day. Let’s get inside.” He stepped out last, then Gideon and Own shut the two doors to the apple shed. Using his fist, Tal tamped the rusty latch into place. They walked toward the house.

“Say, Tal. I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Gideon stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What are the chances I could take some trees with me? Could I cash in part of my earnings for some of those bare roots you’ve been storing?” He wanted to bring Lonnie something of lasting worth. Something he could one day leave his son. For they deserved all he could give them and more. “Would that be all right?”

“Sure thing. We’ll get you set up real nice.” He motioned for Gideon to take the lead up the steps. “Life’s gonna make an apple farmer of you yet.”

Inside the warm house the air was rich with the smell of seasonings and broth. Mrs. Jemson moved a loaf of brown bread from the stove. Little Jimmy and Carl were busy setting the table. Having grown taller, the boys were lankier than when Gideon first met them. Their freckles darker.

Gideon sat at Mrs. Jemson’s urging. The family circled around, benches and chairs scraping out of place as they sat. Wedged between the
two youngest boys, Gideon felt them watching him with wide, curious eyes as they often did.

At a soft nod from his father, Owen blessed the food. His voice sure. As if he’d done it a hundred times. Gideon tugged his knit cap off and stuffed it between his knees, all the while wondering what it would have been like to have been raised that way. What it would be like to have a faith that stemmed from some deep spring, that could simply pour forth. At the murmured amens, Gideon lifted his napkin and glanced around at the Jemsons.

How he wished it were Jacob’s hand he could hold in prayer. Lonnie’s cheery face across the table from him. Swallowing hard, Gideon stared at his food. He wanted Lonnie. He wanted to ask her the countless questions that roiled inside his mind. He wanted to hear her voice. Her faith. He wanted everything about her.

“Dig in.” Mrs. Jemson popped the lid on the jam jar as her husband cut thick slices of dark, steaming bread.

As Gideon stirred his soup—a mixture of white beans and beef—the aroma of herbs and spices stirred memories of Elsie’s kitchen. Slicing a tender chunk of carrot in half with his spoon, Gideon ducked it under the broth, his appetite forgotten. It took all his strength not to rise from the chair. Rise up and go get his family. He couldn’t.

For they weren’t his for the taking. At least not yet. He blew his breath out quick and ran a hand over his face.
Soon
, he told himself.
Soon
. A lift of his shoulder and he sighed.
Lord, let it be so
. Gideon fingered his glass, turning it in his hands. He wondered what he would say to her. What he would do the first time he saw her, saw Jacob.

“Gideon. Everything all right with the food?”

Lifting his head with a start, Gideon realized he’d been lost in thought. “Yes ma’am.” He sipped from his spoon. “It’s very fine. Thank you.” He
took the slice of bread little Carl offered. Suddenly realizing how hungry he was, he ate his supper and accepted a second ladleful of soup. When the bowls had been emptied and stacked, Tal rose and reached for his pipe. Owen and the boys carried the dishes to the washbasin as Mrs. Jemson wrapped the remainder of the bread.

Kneeling in front of the stove, Tal stoked the fire, then turned to carry the heavy stockpot from the table for his wife.

Not wanting to stand idle, Gideon snatched up the broom and swept the floor, then brought in an armful of firewood, stacking it carefully.

Tal settled down in the parlor, newspaper in hand, a curl of smoke rising from his pipe. Owen sat by the dark window. At his brothers’ urging, he pulled out a whistle he’d been whittling for them. Soft shavings fell beneath his sharp knife. Hands in his pocket, Gideon studied the books on the tall, slender case beside the window.

Mrs. Jemson slid the kettle onto the stove and waved Gideon into the parlor. “Why don’t you go sit?”

“No, thank you. You folks enjoy your evening together. I think I’ll turn in early.” Gideon glanced once more at the bookshelf. “Ma’am, may I borrow one of these?”

“Take any that you want.” She stepped closer and shook out her damp apron.

Gideon lifted a heavy gray volume and flipped it open. The text was so small and the pages so many, his brain hurt.

Mrs. Jemson smiled knowingly when he put it back.

“Which would you recommend?” he asked, lifting up a smaller book. Inside were pictures of pencil-drawn flowers. He put it back, careful to stick it in the same place. Next he found a dusty Bible, a smaller volume than the one that rested on the mantel. His fingers grazed the worn and tattered spine. Gideon slid it back.

“Well … maybe a good adventure.” She tapped her finger against her chin.
“Moby Dick.”
She tugged out the thick novel.

“What’s that one about?”

“It’s about a seaman who goes on a great voyage, hunting a whale.”

Gideon wrinkled his nose and shook his head apologetically. Laughing, Mrs. Jemson slid it back into place. She named several others. Gideon flipped through some of them.

“I didn’t know you enjoyed reading,” she said, wiping dust from a leather-bound book with the edge of her apron.

Pulling out another, Gideon shrugged one shoulder. He ran his thumb over the brown binding. “I don’t. But I figured I might as well try and like it. Especially since I don’t have anything else to do.” He smiled down on Mrs. Jemson. “Maybe something that takes place on dry land.”

From his bench, Owen snorted.

Eyes bright, Mrs. Jemson put the one in her hand away. “Then you might like this one.” She tapped the book already in his hand. “It takes place during the French and Indian War. A great classic. And an adventure.”

Gideon dipped his head in a nod and turned the book over. “All right, I’ll try it.” He raised it in soft salute. “Thank you.” He eyed the small Bible, gently pulling it from its place. “May I borrow this as well?”

“You may. And keep them. They’re our gift to you.”

“No, I couldn’t—”

She pressed the books toward his chest. “I insist.”

Tal shook out his paper and mumbled around his pipe. “She won’t take no for an answer.”

“All right then. See you in the morning.” With a nod and a thanks to Mrs. Jemson, Gideon stepped out into the cold night.

With afternoon light streaming in through the parlor window, Lonnie settled down on the sofa and reached for her sewing. It had taken her nearly a week to finish the first shirt, but now that she had the pattern cut, she hoped to have the second one done in shorter time.

“You’ve made good progress,” Elsie said, bustling in from the kitchen.

“Thank you.” Lonnie slipped her needle quickly through the fabric and eyed her seam to make sure it was straight. She’d had to triple check Toby’s measurements when she cut the pattern. Even still, she held the shirt up to the light and with a shake of her head couldn’t figure out how a reverend managed to fill out such a thing. “I hope they fit Toby all right.”

Elsie lifted Jacob from the rug and headed back into the kitchen. “A gunnysack would fit that man all right.”

Smiling, Lonnie shook her head. At the sound of the washtub clanging into place on the kitchen floor, Lonnie gathered up her sewing and wandered toward the noise. Kneeling on the floor, Elsie was busy tugging Jacob’s brown pants from his chubby legs. His feet kicked in anticipation of his bath. Lonnie tested the kettle, added the hot water, and then watched as Elsie checked the temperature with her fingertips. Jacob all but lunged in. Laughing, Elsie unpinned his diaper and lowered him into the galvanized
basin. He tucked his hands into the water. Bending, Lonnie kissed a bare, creamy shoulder.

“That’s my boy.” Setting Toby’s shirt on the table, she reached for her apron, knowing she’d be damp by bath’s end. “I’ll fetch the soap and his towel.”

She hurried upstairs and found the soap on the washstand. Tugging open the wardrobe, she grabbed a fresh towel. Her fingers grazed the hair-cutting scissors. Snatching them up, she had a mind to give Jacob’s hair a bit of a trim. The red and gold locks had curled around his ears, and she thought a little trim before church in the morning might do him good. Lonnie bundled the things in the crook of her arm and started for the kitchen. This would be the third week in a row she’d be able to attend church with Toby, and last week the Bennetts had been up for making the trip.

“You’ll be coming to church again tomorrow?” she asked Elsie when she stepped into the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s so good of Toby to have orchestrated it all for us. Last Sunday was such a treat.” She drizzled water down the back of Jacob’s hair, and Lonnie handed her the soap. She set the towel near the stove to warm. Crouching beside the galvanized tub, Lonnie ran a comb through Jacob’s thin hair and snipped it around his head. Elsie watched quietly.

Lonnie let the tiny, autumn-hued curls fall into her cupped hand. “I’m glad you’ll be coming. It’s always so nice for us all to go together. All the ladies were talking about that buttermilk pie you brought for the church dinner last week.”

Elsie smiled. “The recipe is quite a secret. There’s only one woman in the world I’ll be passing it along to.”

At her heartfelt words, Lonnie smiled. “They say there’s going to be a
wedding next month. I thought it might be nice to go. It’s been so long since we’ve been to one. Could you imagine …” She squeezed Elsie’s hand. “The music. The dancing.”

“You must wear something very fine.”

Lonnie nodded quickly, but only to chase away the emotions that crept in at the memory of the wedding she and Gideon attended last year, Gideon so solemn at her side. She’d loved him then more deeply than she had thought possible. More deeply than he’d even known.

“That blue chambray of yours is awful pretty. You could trim it with that bit of lace we found.”

As Jacob played in the water beside Elsie, Lonnie sat in a chair and picked up Toby’s shirt. A tug on the needle, and her thread snagged, puckering the fabric. “Yes. I need to look my best because this shirt is going to be mighty fine.” The thread tangled worse. Chuckling, she snipped it to begin again.

“You two will make a fetching pair. Folk might wonder if it were the two of you gettin’ hitched …” Elsie’s voice trailed off, and she glanced at Lonnie, apologetically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out like that.”

“No need to be sorry.”

“All in good time,” Elsie said softly. “All in good time—if it’s the Lord’s will, of course.”

“If it’s the Lord’s will.” But Lonnie felt certain it was. Toby was a wonderful man. She counted herself truly blessed indeed to have him in her life. To hopefully one day be his wife.

As if their thoughts had wandered the same path, Elsie rose. “I just want … I just want to see you happy again.” She reached for the towel.

“I’m happy, Elsie.” Lonnie squeezed the older woman’s hand. “A little more so each day.” Lonnie lifted Jacob from the tub and set him in the toweled cradle of Elsie’s arms. A little more each day. Peace and melancholy
seemed to battle within. But only one could take the upper hand. One must overcome the other if she wanted a joyous life for her and Jacob. She didn’t mind being happy. It was a heavenly feeling. It was
allowing
herself to be happy that she struggled with. Allowing herself to be happy despite all she had lost.

Despite the fact that Gideon had let her go.

Opened his hands. And let her go.

Overwrought, Lonnie stared at the sewing in her lap.
A little happier each day, Lord willing
. God promised He would see her through any tempest. Any storm. He wasn’t giving up on her now.

Gloved hands resting on the top of the pitchfork handle, Gideon stared at the graying sky. His mother had used black walnuts to dye her yarn gray. The same hue tinted the rising tempest above. He wondered what the night might hold, and not wanting to dawdle, Gideon gripped the pitchfork and thrust it into the mound of compost to turn the dark, moist earth.

Tal and Owen worked nearby in the woodshed, their voices floating out as they picked over the apples that needed to be tossed. Each time they walked over with a bucketful, Gideon mixed it all together. Though muddy snow covered most of the yard, the bare patches making it possible to work the compost pile, he sensed another storm was on the way.

Mrs. Jemson walked by with a basket of laundry on her hip. She stopped in front of the woodshed and exchanged a few words with Tal. He planted a kiss on her cheek, and smiling, she strode toward the house. Passing Gideon, she slowed.

“How are you enjoying that book?”

“Fine, ma’am. Thank you.” Gideon stopped working and took the opportunity to grab his jacket from where he’d tossed it aside. The temperature was dropping. Fast. “I gotta admit, though, I’m not really sure what’s going on yet.” He shrugged into his coat.