Though My Heart Is Torn: The Cadence of Grace, Book 2 (24 page)

A shadow crossed over Cassie’s face. She released the handle of her frying pan, and it tipped back. She brushed past him and disappeared into the bedroom. Gritting his teeth, he followed.

She opened the top drawer of the dresser and pushed aside his things. A rumpled shirt toppled over the edge and fell to the ground. Snatching it up, Cassie jammed it back into the drawer and continued her search. When her hand stilled, she looked at Gideon.

“Here.” She lifted the ribbon. “I did find it, and I put it where it wouldn’t get lost.” Her fingers opened. The ribbon spiraled down to the dresser. She slammed the drawer. “I did not go through your things, and I would never take something that was yours.” Without meeting his gaze, she stepped around him.

“Cassie.”

She turned, and her name hung in the silence between them.

“This isn’t going to end well.”

“What?” Her voice was heavy with a weariness he understood all too well.

He motioned between them. “This. No good will come of it.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Just don’t get your hopes up, all right?”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself.” She strode out, leaving him alone in the bedroom.

Thunder crashed. The walls seemed to shake. Gideon looked up and stared at the ceiling, half expecting it to come crashing down on him. The clock on the mantel chimed eleven. He had tried to sleep, but the rain that beat down on the roof seemed bent on keeping him awake. Not wanting to disturb Cassie, he had gone to the kitchen table and set about the arduous task of cleaning and greasing his traps.

He wiped his fingers on a rag, then laid the greasy cloth on his thigh. Two days ago, he had set snares behind the house, and already he’d caught a pair of rabbits. That night, Cassie had spooned stew over their biscuits.

Another crash made him jump. The deafening
crack
lifted his gaze to the window. He set his trap down and looked at the closed bedroom door. When the thunder faded, he listened to the symphony of raindrops build. Wind blew the rain against one side of the house; moments later, it dashed off the roof with nary a sound. The gust built and sank.

After picking up the rickety contraption again, Gideon worked grease through the joints. He tilted his head and tried to fight a glance at the bedroom. It was useless. The wind shifted, softened. Rain tapped against the glass, then faded as if the earth were drawing a slow, deep breath. Gideon’s fingers stilled. His ears pricked to a new sound. His chair scraped across the floor, and he hesitated before standing.

He stepped toward the bedroom as quietly as possible and paused at the door. He held his breath and listened to muffled sobs. His hand twitched, but he kept it at his side. Pressing his forehead to the door, he stared at his feet. He grazed the metal knob.

Gideon stepped into the dark bedroom. The candle on the dresser had long since burned out. The curtains were drawn open, but the moon provided no light through the rain. Cassie lay on her side facing the window. After moistening his lips, he spoke her name. He stepped closer, leaving the door ajar so weak light could filter in.

Cassie sniffed. Her hand lifted to her face. Tucking her sleeve over her wrist, she wiped at her cheek. The floorboards creaked as he made his way around the bed. Gideon crouched in front of her, but he had no words.

He owed her an apology, yet he couldn’t seem to make it form.

“Are you all right?” he finally asked.

She blinked up at him.

Gideon’s eyes widened at the sight of the yellow ribbon between her fingers.

Thunder cracked. Cassie jumped.

After smoothing his palms over his pants, he unbuttoned the top of his collar and folded his sleeves past his wrists. “Can I sit down?”

Cassie scooted back.

He sat beside her and leaned against the bumpy logs of the cabin. “Some storm,” he whispered.

Still lying on her side, she looked up at him, the spark in her eyes long gone. In its place was a heavy sorrow.

“I keep thinking the window is gonna break,” she murmured.

Gideon felt his mouth lift in a half smile. “Let’s hope not.” He
reached for the ribbon, and her hand trembled against his. He set it aside.

Cassie sniffed. She swiped at more tears.

Her voice was nearly inaudible over the rain. “Are we really married?”

He crossed one foot over the other. “Last time I checked.”

“It feels strange.”

He couldn’t disagree.

“Do you miss her? Lonnie?”

Thunder crashed, and they startled in unison. When it faded, he left her question unanswered. He couldn’t lie. His heart had been put aside—it was no longer his to give.

He folded his arms over his chest to keep from touching her. Still curled on her side, she lay quietly for several minutes. He nearly drifted off, so heavy were his eyelids. Finally, she spoke.

“Can’t say that I blame you.” The words were soft. “I’m sure it’s hard for you not to think about them.” Her voice trailed off as if sheer exhaustion had carried her words away.

She had to bring them up.

The only way he got through the day was by icing over the fire in his heart. Numbing the pain. Her words threw kindling on the coals, igniting a yearning in him that clamped his chest closed. He waited until he was certain she was asleep. When her breathing slowed, her lips slightly parted, Gideon rose soundlessly and made his way to the front room. Pulling the rocking chair beneath the window, he settled down. He folded his arm up and tucked a hand behind his head. Closing his eyes, he tried to let the crackle of the fire lull him to sleep.

Lonnie stood on the porch, Gideon’s plaid coat and her small Bible in hand. The clouds that had loomed all day finally sent down a dusting of snow. She flung the coat over her shoulders and, in one swift motion, stepped out from beneath the porch. Her shoes pressed down into the thin layer of light snow that covered the frozen ground like sugar sprinkled over a cake.

She crossed the yard, her feet leading where they would. As unwavering as the roots that held it in place, the chopping block stood steady and quiet near the barn. The one spot she could still see Gideon.

Jebediah’s words had been unmistakable that evening at supper.
“We need more firewood. Ain’t touched the ax since Gideon last chopped some.”

Now, with the meal long since over, Lonnie drew closer. As she did, she could feel the air leaving her lungs. She walked along the dwindling woodpile. Her eyes grazed the last of the tidy rows, each log split by Gideon’s strength and determination. She swept her hand along the bumps and grooves of the stack, not caring if a splinter caught her skin. All she cared about was that she saw Gideon. His memory was in everything. He was everywhere. Faint snowflakes melted on her neck. Guiding her fingers along the rough collar of his coat, Lonnie tipped the plaid forward. His warmth surrounded her.

And it was time to say good-bye.

Not caring that snow would soak her dress and dampen her petticoats, she sank onto the chopping block. She rested her palms on the frosty wood beneath her. Lonnie lowered her head and stared down at the small Bible in her lap.

She sucked in a deep breath of cold mountain air, and when her lungs began to burn, she let it out slowly. How was she going to do this?

When saying good-bye would not ease her pain?

A cold wind picked up and swept through the yard. Snow lifted and swirled, spinning wherever the wind willed it. It tapped icy kisses on her cheeks. Looking around the sleeping farmyard, she saw Gideon’s smile. She heard his laugh. Saw the pensive determination in his face as he split wood beneath the summer sun. Lonnie wrapped her arms around herself and let the unforgettable images warm her through. Closing her eyes she watched him toss his shirt aside and imagined grazing her hand across his sun-warmed back.

“Good-bye, Gideon.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips. “Good-bye.”

He was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. The life she had come to love was built on sand. On dust. It had crumbled beneath them. She lifted her face to the sky. It was time to begin anew. She had no idea what that looked like, but she knew she had to put one foot in front of the other. Today. Tomorrow. And on. Pulling her legs into her chest, Lonnie let her heels rest on the edge of the block. She pressed her face to her knees and sighed. It was time to stow the memories in the deepest places of her heart and turn the lock behind her.

“Lonnie,” Elsie whispered. A soft hand touched her shoulder.
“Jacob’s fussin’ for his mama. Why don’t you come in out of the cold?” Elsie helped her to her feet.

Elsie’s voice was gentle in Lonnie’s ear as they slowly worked their way back to the house. “You seem near frozen.”

If only it would sink deep, hardening the places soft with hurt.

Lonnie put one stiff leg in front of the other, and by the time they reached the porch, she felt blood in her limbs again, and the stinging in her feet told her that they really were still down there.

“How ’bout a hot bath?” Concern etched its way across Elsie’s face as she pulled the door open.

Lonnie followed her dearest friend into the house. The heat from the stove stung her cheeks. “Really, Elsie. I’m all right.”

Copper eyes searched hers. “Do you mean that?”

She heard Jacob babble from the other room, followed by Jebediah’s smooth voice. “I have to figure out how to go on from here. For me and for Jacob.” Lonnie shivered.

“Look at you, frozen through.”

Lonnie moved the kettle to the hottest part of the stove. “I may take that bath.”

“That sounds like a right good idea.”

“I’ll see to Jacob first.”

“I don’t mind—”

“No.” Lonnie patted Elsie’s arm. “I want to.” She moved about, putting together a bowl of oats sweetened with the juice of Elsie’s canned peaches while Elsie put another pot of water on the stove. Lonnie fed Jacob his supper, wiped his chin and hands, and kissed his downy head as she set him back on the parlor rug. Addie sat beside him, a box of dominoes in her hand. She dumped them out with a clatter. Immediately
Jacob picked one up, turned it in his small hand, and tasted a corner of the black playing piece.

Elsie bustled in. “You go on now. I’ll keep watch.”

“Thank you, Elsie.” Lonnie moved to the kitchen to fetch the kettle. It took several trips, but she soon had the tub filled halfway.

Lonnie undressed slowly. Her red, chapped fingers fumbled with the buttons, but finally, she kicked her dress away, and it landed beneath the dresser. Her petticoats and stockings fell in a pile by the bed. Wriggling free of her shimmy, she tossed it on the bed, then froze. Sinking to her knees, she pulled the shimmy into her lap and stared at what she saw. Her heart plummeted like stones in a brook. The worn-out fabric fell from her lifeless fingers, and Lonnie crawled toward the tub. After climbing in, she sank into the hot water and closed her eyes.

Her hope severed as if it had been cut by a hunter’s blade. There would be no more children. She would have no more of her and Gideon. Too tired to cry, she covered her face with her hands and simply fought to breathe. If she could breathe, she could outlast the pain—outlast the heartache—and maybe someday, it would lessen.

Lonnie did not move. The water did not stir. She closed her eyes. Snow continued to fall outside the bedroom window, and as time passed by, the water grew cold. Her arms began to tremble, and chills covered her skin.

She would not cry. She would not cry.

She would not. Gideon was gone and she would move on. One step at a time. She would be brave. She didn’t know what that looked like, but she made a resolution to find out. She would not cry.

Lonnie repeated the words over and over, fighting the sting in her eyes.