My Hope Is Found: The Cadence of Grace, Book 3 (5 page)

“Better lie down before you fall down.” She stacked his bowl on top of hers.

Too tired to argue, he sat on his bedroll in front of the fire. Moments later he was lying down, and the quiet clatter of dishes being washed and stacked lulled him to sleep.

Overcome by exhaustion and soothed by the warmth, he felt his body become heavy. He let the day wash through him, out of him. A skirt brushed past his shoulder. Cassie. Gideon nearly spoke her name aloud. Or was it Lonnie? His head spun. The fire crackled and popped, bathing his senses in an orange glow. His dreams grew and just as quick seemed to fade. The memory of Jacob’s laughter fading. Gideon felt his hands flex as if to capture it. But it was too late. Heat tore through his shirt, nearly burning his back, and Gideon shifted.

A shadow moved by, and he opened his eyes in time to see Adelaide’s petticoat brush past his bedroll. Flames swallowed up a new log sacrificed to the roaring hearth. Boiling sap oozed from a splintered crack. Gideon sat up and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

The soles of Adelaide’s shoes tapped lightly on the floor. Gideon looked over to see her cram her burgundy sleeve up past her elbow before she snatched a skillet from the stove and shook a pair of fried eggs onto a plate. She grabbed the remainder of the morning’s bread with her other hand. “I hope you slept well.” She knelt and, using the hem of her skirt,
moved a charred enamel coffeepot away from the flames. Her wrinkled face was the same level as his. “Hungry?”

Gideon ran his hand along his collarbone and felt glistens of sweat. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.” Still dressed, he shook off his blanket and moved away from the fire. Remembering the wood he’d wanted to bring in, he ducked outdoors. The icy air hit him, and he grabbed as much wood as he could carry. Back in the house, he carefully stacked the load on her hearth. His arms finally empty, he brushed dust from his shirt and hands.

“Food’s on,” she said. “Have a seat.”

“This smells”—he shook his head and tugged a chair away from the uneven table—“incredible.”

“Nothing like travelin’ the worn road to make a man want eggs and stale bread.” She sat and filled his coffee. Gideon noticed there was no cream or sugar on the table. He took a sip, not caring either way. He’d take his coffee black any day as long as it was hot, and even that was optional at times.

Adelaide bowed her head. “Thank You, Lord.” She hesitated and Gideon lifted his eyes. With a push of her lips, she shook her head. “Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Butter’s fresh.” She pushed an ivory crock toward him.

After smearing some on his slice, Gideon chewed the crust in silence. He ate his eggs in a few quick bites.

“More?” Adelaide asked, turning in her chair toward the stove.

Gideon waved her down. “I’m fine, thank you.” He did not want to take any more of her provisions than necessary. “There’s plenty of bread here. I hate to waste it.”

“Spoken like a man who’d eat just about anything right now.”

He nodded his agreement. His shoulder ached. From the cold or the journey, he didn’t know. Probably both. He rubbed it gently.

Adelaide glanced toward the fire, her crown of braids catching the light. Gideon studied her hunched form and wondered how she survived all alone. He took in the small space, and though it was humble, it seemed to hold all a body could need.

“I’m afraid you won’t get far in this weather.”

“I’ve walked in a storm before.”

Her eyelids, heavy with petal-thin skin, blinked twice. “I can tell.”

Gideon shifted his boots.

“You comin’ or goin’?”

“Little bit of both. Headin’ back to my family. Wife and son.” He’d spoken too soon. “Well, my son … and his mother.” He cleared his throat.

Something flickered through her sharp eyes. “What took you away?”

It was a question he couldn’t begin to answer. Not now, like this. Gideon rolled his sore shoulder.

She seemed to notice. Knife in hand, Adelaide smeared butter on a slice of bread, then set it gently in the center of her plate. Then she went to her bed and pulled a wooden box from underneath.

He wanted to change the subject. The less he talked about himself, the better. “What about you? Any family?”

She waved away the question as if it didn’t exist. Snapping the case open, she returned with a small glass jar. From the jar she pulled a pinch of something and dropped it into a little pot, which she placed near the fire.

Returning, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Your shirt.” She made the motion of him pulling it off to the side.

Uncertain, he slid the top buttons free.

She frowned.

Fine
. He unbuttoned two more and pulled his arm from both his shirt and long underwear. With leathery fingers, she touched the muscle that always ached in the cold.

“What did you do?”

“I dislocated it. This past fall. Been botherin’ me off and on ever since.”

“Hmm.” She pulled the small copper pot away from the fire and set it on the table. Scooping a finger full of moist, dark herbs, she pressed them against his shoulder. Almost too hot for comfort.

Gideon tightened his jaw, glad when the mixture began to cool.

She grabbed a rag and tore it into a strip. Gideon held his arm out as she wrapped his shoulder, sealing in the warm herbs.

“What is this?” he finally asked.

“It’ll help the ache.” She motioned for him to put his shirt back on.

With the tight bandage, his movements were slow, but he managed to slide his arm into the sleeve of his thermals.

“I’ve got a cure for anything that could ail a body.” She watched as he slid his arm gingerly through the sleeve of his wrinkled work shirt. “But some things can’t be cured with what you can gather from the earth.”

Peering up at her, he started on the buttons.

“There ain’t an herb on earth that’ll cure what’s ailin’
you
.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, and Gideon lifted his eyes to the window. White flakes fell. The sky was growing darker, heavy clouds blanketing mountains that seemed to be holding their breath.

Holding a secret he wasn’t privy to.

“Have you … have you ever wondered what it would be like to begin again?” He looked back at Adelaide. “Just start over. Have everything you’ve ever done wiped clean?”

She set the jar of herbs beside him, and by the look she gave him, it was a gift. Humbled, he studied her wrinkled face. She sat, and after a few moments, she spoke.

“I’m a good listener.” An invitation.

Gideon focused on the last button, finally sliding it into place. He rested his hands on the table. “My whole life I’ve always worried about losing myself. I’ve always worried about missing out on what it was that I wanted.”

“And now?”

“Now.” He folded his fingers together. “Now, all I can think about is them. All I want is my family. Perhaps that’s selfish in itself.” They deserved to be cared for. Could he even do that?

Adelaide pursed her lips. “Letting go can be a harder way to love than holding on.” Like rain on a river rock, her blue eyes glistened.

And he wondered what she’d lived through.

They sat in silence. Gideon rolled his shoulder gently, the soreness nearly a memory.

“S’pose you’ll want to get on the road now. You’ve got a fair bit of ground to cover yet.”

“Yes ma’am.” Gideon stood and pushed in his chair. Adelaide rose and shuffled inside her cupboard as Gideon cinched his bedroll tight and fastened it to his pack. She slid the jar of herbs as well as a larger jar of pickles into his pack. In the corner of the room, she lifted the lid to an old chest and, after shuffling around, pulled out a dark knit cap.

She handed it to Gideon. “Keep warm out there.”

“Thank you.” When she turned away, Gideon slipped his coins on the windowsill beside her bed. After cramming the cap into his coat pocket, it took him but a minute to lace his boots.

Remembering the old newspaper, he asked if she still had need of it. Adelaide handed it to him along with a small bundle of bread. A thank-you on his lips, he slid both inside his pack.

“You take care now,” she said.

“I will. You too.”

Hands clasped in front of her, she stepped back.

Gideon nodded in farewell, then stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, ignoring his gloves. Snow fell gently all around. Beckoning him forward into a land of white and quiet. A purity that was filled with possibilities.

“Letting go can be a harder way to love than holding on.”

But he’d already let go. He saw Lonnie’s face in his mind. Something inside began to ache at the sight, and he swallowed hard.

How he missed her.

There was so much he wanted to say, but Gideon knew that the moment he saw her, words would fail him. Everything else would fade away. He’d fold her in his arms and not let go. The memory of her scent greeted him—a memory that had hidden itself for months. His blood surged, kindling a fire within him. It carried him forward. The feel of her hair, the sound of her voice against his neck.

His footsteps slowed. Would she push him away? Would she believe him? believe that he had loved no other but her?

Why should she? She had no reason to.

His breath quickened. Not after what he’d done. He’d left her to be with another. “But not by choice,” he blurted aloud to himself, his voice so earnest he hung his head. Who was he fooling? He’d left all the same. For months, he and Cassie had lived beneath the same roof.

Husband and wife.

Chills crept across Gideon’s shoulders at what Lonnie would think of him. Of what she must have imagined he’d done. His reputation would be hard to stand down. He’d spent all of his adult life with a woman at his side. On his arm. And then some. Lonnie knew that.

Oh, God
.

What she must think of him? He hadn’t loved Cassie—not in the way the law gave him freedom to these last few months. In the way it had to
appear. But Lonnie had no way of knowing that. Even then, was she to simply take his word that he was no longer married? After all he’d done to break her trust, he didn’t like the idea of having nothing but his promise to give her. He wanted to earn her trust, but he needed her to allow him into her life to do that.

He thought of the papers the circuit rider had slipped into his satchel. His and Cassie’s wish to dissolve their marriage had surely reached the courthouse by now. Gideon had used the Bennetts’ return address for his confirmation that all was settled. Had the letter arrived at the post office in Mount Airy?

It seemed too soon. Much too soon. Gideon’s boots halted, and he glanced in the direction of the small town. He could go there and find out. It’d be a few days’ journey, but even then, it could take
weeks
before he received confirmation from the courthouse. No. That would never do.

Or …

Gideon glanced southeast.

He could go directly to the Patrick County courthouse himself. A day or two would lead him to Stuart, where the courthouse was. A stop there for the proof he needed to show Lonnie that he was an unmarried man, and he would be on his way in no time. It took only a moment to decide, and Gideon picked up his pace.

It killed him to turn away from the path that would lead him home. He longed for his family, but he wanted to reach them as a free man.

And there was only one way to find out. Two more days and he would be in Stuart. One, if he walked fast. Lifting his eyes, he studied the darkening sky, then ducked his head and quickened his steps. One day. He would make it there in one.

“Out you go.” Lonnie shooed a speckled hen from her resting spot, and the chicken flapped out of the coop, into the open yard. She ushered out two more, taking care not to startle them. Rake in hand, Jebediah worked beside her, piling up old hay and feathers. Lonnie laid two green eggs in her bucket, a surprise considering the cold weather, and set the bucket aside. After blowing a lock of hair that fell across her forehead, she fiddled with the handkerchief knotted around her mess of a bun.

Jebediah lowered a shovelful of muck into the wheelbarrow that stood between them. Lonnie gripped the handles, and the wheels squeaked into motion.

“Lonnie, don’t move that. I’ll get it.”

“I don’t mind. Besides, it’s only half full.”

Jebediah’s mustache lifted, and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “That’s ’cause I knew you’d try and move it.”

She pushed the wheelbarrow out of the coop, grateful the fresh snow scarcely rose past her toes. Tipping the load beside the garden just as Jebediah had done the time before, she watched the contents tumble out. A good shake, and the last of it freed from the rusted metal. Lonnie heaved the wheelbarrow to a stand and started back.

Scraping his shovel against the coop floor, Jebediah glanced up. “Let me move the next one.”

“I don’t mind. Honestly, it gets me out into the sunshine.”

Jebediah looked toward the thick woods. Despite the late January temperature, he wiped his sleeve across his brow. “Toby should be here in a bit to lend a hand with the barn. I wanted to pay him, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

Lonnie tugged at the flannel shirt hanging low over her muddy skirt. “He’ll be here in a bit?” She tried to tuck loose strands of hair into her bun.

“He was supposed to be here just after breakfast.” Jebediah’s gray eyebrows fell. He lifted a shovelful of muck into the wheelbarrow and dug in for more. His breath came in spurts when he spoke. “Wonder what’s keepin’ him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

“He will. That man’s the hardest worker I know.”

“Yeah?” Her voice sounded weak. Lonnie licked her lips to keep an unwelcome emotion from betraying her.

“Well.” Jebediah glanced at the ground between them. He ran his palms together as if to wipe dust from memories meant to be forgotten. “You know what I mean.” His tone was distant, apologetic. Gideon’s name hung in the air.

Corralling her thoughts, Lonnie fiddled with the hem of the oversized shirt she’d put on that morning. They stood there several moments without speaking until finally Lonnie grabbed handfuls of clean straw and filled the empty nesting boxes. “Maybe I better go inside and get cleaned up.”