Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 (40 page)

The breeze tousled Gideon’s flannel shirt, pulling it tight across his shoulders. “It’s good to remember, I suppose.” He plucked an apple and held it in his broad hand, studying it. “It’s best not to forget what once was.” He smoothed his thumb over the dusky red skin. “It’s hard to think on it. Believe me, I’d rather not.” His voice was muted, chin to chest. “But”—he glanced up at Lonnie, his hair unruly in the morning dew—”forgetting seems unsafe.”

“Unsafe?”

He gently lowered the apple into the pail and made no move to reach for another. He squinted at her. “If I forget … who I was.
What I
was.” He shook his head, throat working. “I just don’t want to get comfortable. Do you know what I mean?”

She kissed his forehead, inhaling his scent, and lingered when his eyes closed. “I do. And thank you.” Her fingers grazed his hair. “That means the world to me.”

Gideon’s lopsided grin warmed her. He took the bucket from her and gently tipped it; the apples rolled inside the empty wheelbarrow. He faced her. “You’re too good for me, Lonnie Sawyer.”

“It’s O’Riley now.” She laughed and climbed higher.

He winked at her. Peering up at her through branches, he spread his arms out wide, his familiar form silhouetted against a rising sun. “So I got all of this. A second chance. A wonderful wife. And a son.”

Lonnie put a hand up to shield her eyes.

“And what do you get?” His face was maddeningly serious.

Lonnie tugged another apple free. “You still don’t know, do you?” Before she could change her mind, Lonnie motioned him forward. Her bare feet lowered her down the rungs until she stood level with his tall frame.

His eyes widened, and the freckles sprinkled across his nose made him look more like a boy than a man of twenty-three. Placing one hand and then the other on his shoulders, she marveled at the solid flesh beneath his faded work shirt. “I’ll tell you, but only if you don’t tease me about it.”

“I promise,” he said in a throaty whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

An unavoidable smile warmed her lips, and Lonnie delighted in the effect she had on him. “I got the only man I’ve ever loved. There was no one before you, and there will be no one after you. I could never ask for more. In fact”—she pressed fingertips to her chest, so full was her heart—”I think God was smiling down on me the day I married you.” She paused, remembering the rest of God’s grace.

Gideon smiled, joy flooding his face.

It was enough to fill Lonnie’s heart to overflowing.

***

Gideon noticed Lonnie blush as they ducked into the warm kitchen. Elsie glanced up from her chopping block and turned out a bowl of dough. The heavy cutting board wobbled, knocking wood against wood, as Elsie’s pudgy hands began to knead.

Gideon lowered a loaded pail at her feet.

“We have your apples.” Lonnie reached for her apron. She twisted the ties into place and began to hoist the bucket. It scarcely budged.

With a smirk, Gideon lifted it for her.

“Now do I get my pie?” Gideon set the bucket on the table with a
thunk
and ran his hand over his smooth chin, the bare skin a foreign feeling beneath his rough hand.

“Only if your wife stops standing there blushing like a nervous schoolgirl and starts slicing apples.” Elsie winked, and Gideon watched the color in Lonnie’s cheeks brighten.

“I’m not blushing.” Lonnie took her place at the kitchen table, paring knife in hand. “I thought we were supposed to stick together, Elsie.”

When Gideon flashed her a disarming smile, Lonnie swatted him away. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

His hand grazed her sleeve in passing. At the sound of Jacob’s cries above, Gideon strode through the parlor, then took the stairs two at a time. He found the little boy in his cradle, a bundle of blankets around him. Gideon scooped him up, and Jacob pressed a sleepy head to his shoulder, rubbing a tiny fist against his eyes. Gideon kissed his hair and savored the scent of his son as he went back down the stairs.

“Well, look who’s awake.” Elsie held out her hands as an offer to take him.

Gideon hoisted Jacob higher against his chest. “I’ve got to finish a few things out in the barn. Thought he might just come with me.”

A coil of red skin fell into Lonnie’s lap, and she set a bare apple aside. “He’d like that.”

Stepping out into the crisp autumn air, Gideon straightened Jacob’s thick socks and tugged his wool pants down around pudgy ankles. He strode toward the barn, the door already propped open. Gideon ducked into the dim building, and the homey smell of animals and fresh-cut wood met him. Jebediah worked quietly at the bench. He glanced up with a nod when Gideon came in. Jacob flapped his arms. Gideon set the boy down on his tummy on a tattered blanket where a pile of small, smooth blocks would keep him busy for quite some time. Jacob struggled to pick up a block.

Jebediah worked silently, the man never needing to fill empty space with words. He’d been that way for as long as Gideon had known him—since the day Jebediah had rescued Lonnie from a life of sorrow. Laying down the challenge that Gideon could be more than a man of anger. From that moment on, Jebediah had walked every day with him, through the struggles, through the blessings. All for Lonnie. She’d been worth every moment of it.

Sitting on the workbench was a trio of wooden buckets. Gideon had already made and sold a dozen. Though they didn’t fetch much, he had a little silver in his pockets for his family. Come a sugar snow, they would be in higher demand. Made of cedar and white ash so that the sap would retain its sweetness, the buckets were stout and tightly formed, and if Gideon were still a betting man, he’d reckon they’d last many a winter.

With steady hands and a watchful eye on his son, Gideon fitted two pieces together. Not quite right. His chisel made nary a sound in the hard wood. He sighed, enjoying the peace of his work.

“Headed to town tomorrow,” Jebediah said. “Gonna pick up our supplies before it gets too late in the year. Also need to get the mail. It’s been too long.”

Gideon glanced up.

“Elsie and Lonnie have given me their lists. Anything else you need?” Jebediah slid a crinkled paper forward.

Gideon took it, studying their feminine script. Lonnie had written “4 yards of gray flannel,” and Gideon remembered the skirt she’d wanted to make. He penciled in a few items, then thought a moment. He knew she also wanted a new blouse but wouldn’t admit it. He jotted down one last item. “I have the money inside. I’ll get it to you when we go in.” He slid the paper back to Jebediah.

Jebediah eyed it. “Didn’t you pay any attention in school?”

Gideon chuckled. “It’s legible.”

Jebediah squinted. “Hardly.” With a laugh in his gray eyes, he folded the paper and tucked it in his pocket.

“That’s two yards. And make sure you let Mr. Cramer’s wife help you pick that out.” Gideon tugged at his flannel shirt. “Something pretty. Not one of those backwoods patterns you always take to.”

The older man’s mustache tilted skyward in a broad grin. He strode over and scooped up Jacob. “You watch it.” A laugh carried on his husky voice.

Ducking his head, Gideon eyed the pieces of ash, now resting snugly together. “How long will you be gone?”

“Two days. Maybe three if I get held up.” Jebediah’s broad hand patted against Jacob’s small back. The little boy pressed his head to his shoulder.

“I’ll keep up on all the chores.”

“I know you will. And I appreciate it.”

Gideon worked his chisel through another wooden slat. Shavings curled and fell. “Lonnie will be pleased to receive word from home.”

Jebediah stepped toward the doorway and leaned against the jamb. Sun glinted off his boots. “Not you?”

Gideon shrugged, set his chisel down, and reached for Jacob when the boy lunged toward him. “There’s nothing back there for me.”