Though My Heart Is Torn: The Cadence of Grace, Book 2 (22 page)

“No. I’m making conversation.”

“You can be really annoying when you want to be.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll just keep silent.”

She nibbled her bottom lip until it pinked. Finally, she rose and turned toward the bedroom. She brushed past the piano so quickly that her music toppled and floated to the floor. With a flush in her cheeks, she bent and gathered the pages. Gideon rose.

“
Don’t
help me.”

Slowly, he sank back down.

With a surprising tenderness, she stacked the pages, tucked them in the rickety piano bench, and without so much as a word, disappeared into the bedroom.

The quilt caught the morning light as Cassie flung it over the bed. After folding it down, she fluffed both pillows and stuffed them in their places. She fought the urge to smooth her hand over the white linens.
He was so close, yet so far. She’d spent the day yesterday scanning the horizon, wondering if he would return. Jack had spoken to her not long after sunrise, promising that Gideon hadn’t flitted, but her spirit struggled to believe it.

Cassie worked her way around the bed. She paused and stared at her reflection in the small wall mirror.
A bride
. What joy should accompany the title, she did not know. Cherished, loved. She was none of those things.

Cassie turned away.

Had he truly sworn his love and devotion once? At least he had pretended to mean it. She closed her eyes and pressed her palm to her forehead. Images of the past came back to haunt her. She remembered Gideon’s smile when he looked at her. The confident way he reached for her hand. She had been desired. Longed for.

Those days are gone
. Reaching down, she picked up her discarded nightgown and tossed it onto the bed. Maybe she was going about this all wrong. Clearly that life was no more. Only a fool would continue to hope. Fine then. No more glances. No more trying to get his attention. He obviously didn’t want her around. Besides … playing hard to get had its own advantages.

Cassie folded the nightgown carefully, slipped it in the top drawer of the dresser, and shut the drawer quietly. The front door opened. Her hand stilled on the cold wood. The front door closed. There was no need to look out the window to know that Gideon was gone. He had no reason to hang around. Cassie knew the way of his heart; the farther he was from the tiny cabin, the better. He wanted nothing to do with her.

Well, two could play at that game.

Making her way around the bed, she stumbled into the dresser and, with a stifled yelp, crouched down. She rubbed a hand across her toes, but the sting remained. After a few deep breaths, she fought the urge to cry, then sank to her knees in a defeated heap. She leaned her forehead against the side of the bed and stared at the floor. Then something caught her eye. She ran her hand beneath the bed and caught hold of a piece of fabric. She pulled it into the light. A yellow ribbon streaked with dust filled her palm. Cassie turned it over and gently wiped it clean. She sat back on her heels and stared at it. It wasn’t hers. Her heart sank even as she let her hand fall to the floor. She’d seen Lonnie wear it that day at the church.

Her cheeks flushed with heat, and she jumped up to open the window. She loosened the rusty latch, and it took both hands to wiggle the window open. A breeze that whispered of coming snow breathed into the room.

But what Cassie heard were her mother’s soft words.
“A little fresh air never hurt anything.”

Sinking onto the bed, Cassie tilted her face to the cold air that floated past the curtains. She remembered the day well. When Reverend Gardner had sealed their fates, she and her ma had come to the cabin to give it a final cleaning.

“Ma, he doesn’t love me.”

Her ma had nodded understandingly.
“He did once. Just give him some time.”
With a mother’s skilled hands, her ma flung the freshly ironed sheet in the air, and it slowly floated to the bed. She looked at Cassie and smiled softly.
“If he’s angry, it’s because his heart is broken.”
They folded the top of the sheet down in unison, and her ma smoothed the fold.
“God will do His work.”

The memory faded away. Cassie looked around the tiny room, feeling more alone than ever. She studied the token in her hand.
How much time, Ma?
As much as it pained her, she folded it carefully, walked to the dresser, and slid open Gideon’s drawer. She did not know where the ribbon belonged. Perhaps it had fallen out of his pocket. She laid it on top of his shirts.

Seeing the yellow fabric lying among Gideon’s things pained her, and Cassie heaved in a shaky breath. There was nothing she could do to sever the unbreakable bond. The ribbon silently taunted her—it had more of Gideon’s heart than she ever would.

Gideon stared at the coop. The structure leaned to the side, and with a puff of his cheeks, he shook his head. A can of grease and a pry bar sat at his feet. As he continued to stare at the miserable coop that needed a new roof and a new door, he shook his head and turned the old hammer around in his palm.
This should be interesting
.

After working in a fingerful of grease, he tugged on the metal handle of the small door. It didn’t move. He pulled harder, using all of his weight to pry the door free. The sharp-edged handle dug into his fingers. Still nothing budged. He jerked away. Trying to brush off the sting, he wiped his fingers on the hem of his shirt. Hattie, who slept against the side of the coop facing the sun, lifted her head at the racket. She sniffed the air and eyed him before dropping her head into the dirt with an unladylike snort.

Gideon picked up the pry bar and jammed it between the door and the frame and tried to force the door open that way. It refused to budge. He pushed harder. His boots dug into the mud, and he grunted against the resistance. The bar slipped, and Gideon’s hand smashed into the splintery wood of the coop. His shoulders heaved as he stared down at his scraped knuckle.

He picked up the pry bar with two fists and with a growl struck the door as hard as he could. The weatherworn boards shattered. All he had
to show for his effort was a giant hole large enough for a chicken-hungry critter to crawl through.

“Well, that’s
one
way to do it.”

Still panting, Gideon stumbled back and turned to see Jack Allan watching him. The kid’s arms were crossed over his chest, and his smile seemed one of satisfaction. Squinting into the sun, Jack scratched his jaw and smiled. “Looks like you could use a hand.” He stepped closer.

Before Gideon could respond, Jack reached out, and his eyes trailed the length of the weathered wood before giving the stubborn door a tug. He braced the toe of a patched-up boot against the coop wall and yanked. The door did not move.

Gideon grunted. What did the man think was going to happen? “The hinges are rusted over solid.”

Jack ran a hand up one side of the door and fingered the freshly made hole. “This ol’ coop probably ain’t been opened in twenty years.”

Rotating the pry bar in his palm, Gideon shrugged. “Then I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

“Mind if I lend you a hand?”

Gideon did not want anyone’s help—he already had a cabin that wasn’t his on land that wasn’t his. Even the butter in his crock, dwindling as it was, came from a cow that wasn’t his. But fixing this coop was the first step in changing that. “Thanks, but I’ve got it covered.”

“Clearly.” Jack studied Gideon. “I’d like to help you if that’s all right. Don’t know nearly enough about working wood as I should. Not really Pa’s specialty.” Then his head bobbed dramatically with each word. “I ain’t got nothin’ else to do today.”

“Fine.” Gideon grumbled as he strode off.

Jack jogged ahead of him. He turned and grinned. His overall
buckles glistened in the early morning light, and the torn pocket across his chest flapped with each backward step. “Try to curb your enthusiasm, all right? Good grief. Cassie told me you could be grumpy. She wasn’t kidding.”

Gideon gave in to a low laugh.

They stepped into the shed where Gideon had organized his things in a haphazard fashion. The wood he had brought from his shop lay stacked against the far wall.

“Where do we start?”

Gideon lifted a pair of boards. “Considering that I just smashed through the old door, we need to make a new one.”

Jack lifted a saw and held it at the ready.

Gideon lowered it. “At ease, soldier.” He eyed Cassie’s brother. At sixteen, Jack was seven years his junior. Most of Gideon’s boyhood had been spent with Eli and Samuel. He’d never paid much attention to the youngest son. Not until the day Jack kept Eli’s rifle from putting a hole in Gideon’s skull.

“First we need to measure the opening for the door.”

“I can do that.”

Gideon held out a yardstick, something he rarely used, but he didn’t trust Jack’s ability to gauge measurements on his own. While the young man was gone, Gideon moved several more boards to the workbench he had rigged up.

Jack returned and gave him the measurements.

Using a pencil, Gideon scratched the numbers on the wood. “Very good.” As Jack watched, he measured and marked where each piece would be cut.

“Do you need this?” Jack held the saw up again.

Gideon slipped the pencil between his lips. “Just about,” he mumbled. He marked the rest of the wood, stumbling more than once over the figures. It’s what made his work slow. Jack didn’t seem to notice his hesitation as he added the sums again for good measure.

“How things been goin’ with you and Cassie?” Jack’s even voice scarcely hinted interest.

Surprised, Gideon did not know how to respond. “Fine enough.” He motioned toward the saw, and Jack moved into position. He hoped the kid wouldn’t pry further. Jack sliced the metal teeth through the pale lumber.

“Cassie’s a good girl once you get past all her annoying ways. Then she’s easy enough to get along with, I suppose.”

“Sure.”

Jack let the matter fall and cut the rest of the boards without speaking. Gideon poked through his can of hinges, finding two that would do the job well. He laid the boards together on the workbench and eyeballed the length he would need for the crosspieces.

Did Jack hold no grudge against him? Did he not hate Gideon as his older brothers did? Jack helped keep the work surface clear with a broad smile. There didn’t seem to be an angry bone in the young man’s body.

“Now what?” Jack asked.

“Fetch that can of nails there.” Gideon pointed. He pressed the saw through the pair of boards, and the ends fell to the growing pile of sawdust around his boots. They worked as the hour passed on. Gideon tried to explain the process as best he could, but he’d never been the teaching type. His brothers had taken no interest in wood. It had always
been him and the quiet. Jack was a quick learner, though, and before long, they had the new door ready to hang.

“We should probably seal it, but I don’t have any on hand.”

“Pa does. I’ll see about borrowing it.”

“That’s all right.” Gideon ran a hand over the finished door. He grabbed his pry bar and hammer and motioned for Jack to follow him back outside. “I’ll figure out another way.” He had no interest in taking from the Allans, and he doubted they had any interest in him. Why Jack was hanging around was beyond him.

Jack cast him a sideways glance. “If you say so.”

Together, they carried the new door out into the sunshine, propping it up against the side of the chicken coop.

“So where are the hens gonna come from?” Jack asked.

“Is there a sign on my back that says I have all the answers?”

Jack chuckled. “No. There’s a sign on your back, but you don’t want to know what it says. Trust me.”

“That bad, huh?

Jack nodded. “Pretty bad.”