Though My Heart Is Torn: The Cadence of Grace, Book 2 (27 page)

Lonnie watched the speckled one, wondering what she might call it.

“That one’s a bit of a handful,” Toby said, pointing to a brown goat in the corner who was rubbing its head against the post. The kid turned and rammed the other male in the side, sending it trotting out of the way.

“That little billy gives me more trouble than the lot of them put together. Unruly. Stubborn as they come. A spirit about that one.” Gus’s mouth tipped up in a smile despite his complaint.

Lonnie had the perfect name for it come to mind. Gideon’s memory sent a shard of pain through her chest, and she pressed her hand to her blouse.

“You all right?”

She glanced up to see Toby watching her and realized she was frowning. “Yes, fine.” She cleared her throat, folding the sadness in a hidden place, and held Jacob tighter to chase away the yearning. She struggled for words. “I … I’m thinking of that one there.” She squinted one eye and pointed at the speckled one. He looked where she pointed.

“Aye. Good choice.” Toby lifted Addie onto the railing for a better view. “And what do you think?”

“I like that one the best too.” Addie bounced her heels, pigtails dancing. Toby grinned down at her as if she were his own. The action called Lonnie’s heart from its hiding place.

“Then that one it is.” She winked at her sister and fought the urge to tell Gus she’d take the brown male too.
Pull yourself together, Lonnie
. “I’ll bring you all the soap you need.”

“It’s a deal.” He reached out to shake her hand, and she took it. “A fine deal for an old bachelor like me.”

And she would have a way to make a little income. For the first time in her life, she would be able to stand on her own two feet. She couldn’t rely on Jebediah and Elsie’s kindness forever. She had to see to Jacob’s needs. Addie’s too. She wouldn’t have much, but it would be a start. Suddenly, she remembered the letter in her apron pocket. She pulled it out. “Jebediah said you’re making a trip into Mount Airy.”

“That I am. Day after tomorrow.”

“Would you take this to the post office for me?”

“Be happy to.” He took the letter and slid it inside his coat.

She bid farewell to Gus and led the way back into the fresh air. The sky had clouded over, blanketing the morning in cool, gray light. The air was damp with a coming rain. Lonnie held Jacob close.

“May I walk you home?” Toby asked.

“I don’t want to take any more of your day.” She motioned to the road. “It’s a short walk.”

“To the end of the drive then? What say you, Addie?” He winked down at the girl. “Will you walk with me, lass?”

The little girl nodded heartily and held his hand with both of hers. They strode a step ahead, Addie skipping. Lonnie watched them for several minutes, a thousand thoughts colliding in her mind and heart. Finally, Toby stopped and turned.

“This is where we part ways.” The breeze tousled his dark brown locks. His dimples deepened in a smile. “I thank you lassies for letting me accomp’ny you this fine morning.” He pressed a broad hand to his chest. “I was feeling a bit melancholy before and spending the hour with the pair o’ you chased that away.” His large, brown eyes held Lonnie’s gaze.

The feeling was mutual.

Feet propped up on the porch railing, Gideon tipped his chair back and watched a tumble of clouds move boldly toward the farm. With his mandolin to his chest, he picked a slow song—a harmony of fragments as if the indecisiveness of his spirit had found its way to his hands. His unlaced boots bounced, the tempo increasing, as emotions that were best laid to rest stirred things inside him. The scent of something colder than rain carried on the wind.

He thought of Lonnie. He thought of Cassie. And no song would form. From the eight strings, he merely plucked a jumble of melodies, a tangle of notes. A dance between melancholy and yearning—all that was in him and through him. All that he had become. He sang here and there, but pain rubbed sand through his voice.

Hymns danced on the outskirts of his mind, beckoning him to partake, but he wouldn’t let himself go there. His soul wrestled too fiercely to allow himself that kind of reprieve. He needed to get this out. Needed to make sense of the mess his life had become. If only for an hour. If only for a night, he needed to give in to the madness.

A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the kettle steamed. He let it billow several minutes more, exhausting his senses. Finally he rose, set his mandolin aside, and using the edge of his shirt, carried the kettle into the bedroom.

Cassie was at her parents, so for a few blessed moments, he had peace and quiet. He filled the washbasin and tested the water, shaking scalded fingers like an imbecile. He hadn’t shaved in two weeks, and staring at the small, square mirror, he could see that a pass with the razor was long overdue. He peeled his shirt off and tossed it on the bed. His long underwear clung to his skin, and with quick hands, he shoved the dingy sleeves past his forearms. He flicked the top buttons loose and pulled the fabric away from his collarbone to keep it dry.

With a rag, he dampened his whiskers. The hot water stung, but only for a moment. He lathered his skin. Without having anything to sharpen his razor with, he ran the straight razor up his throat in slow, steady strokes. He rinsed the blade clean and worked his way up his jaw.

Lonnie used to sit on the bed, watching him. The side of his mouth tipped up. He’d never known if she’d meant to keep him company or if she was keeping watch to make sure he actually committed to a clean shave, so sparse they were. He dragged a long breath in through his nose, remembering the sight of her lying on her stomach on the bed, feet crossed behind her. She would talk and talk, and he would listen. He glanced at the rumpled bed. How he wished she sat there now.

And what would you say?

He wouldn’t have to say anything. He would simply listen. Listen to how his son was growing. Listen to how she made it through the day without him. For he had yet to understand the secret to making it through the day without her.

Hands braced on each side of the washbasin, he stared at the murky water, his shaving forgotten. Lonnie. His hands itched to hold her. To cup her face between his palms. The coals in his chest that he tried to
smother bloomed, fanned by longing. His sweet, sweet Lonnie. His Jacob. He glanced in the mirror and saw Cassie in the doorway.

“You’re back.” With the damp rag, he wiped the rest of the cream from his face and rinsed his hands.

Sinking onto the edge of the bed, Cassie pulled a knee up and began unlacing her boots. She set one aside and then the other. Blue eyes found his in the glass. “I thought there might be a handsome man under all those whiskers.” She pulled her skirt up past her knees and slid her stockings down.

Letting her words hang, Gideon rinsed the blade. He stifled a cough.

“My folks invited us over for supper. I thought it might be nice to visit.” Reaching behind her, she worked on the buttons of her dress.

“If you say so.” Lifting the rag, Gideon wiped his neck clean. He glanced at her in the mirror.

She freed one shoulder, the strap of her shimmy poking through.

“What are you doing?”

Her hands stilled. “Changing. I’ve been peeling apples, and my dress is damp.”

Their gazes locked, and he could tell she was trying to read him. He had no words. No words to prevent her from being his wife in every sense of the title. She wiggled free of her dress and stepped out of it. Averting his gaze, Gideon cleared his throat, knotting the rag in his hands. It was all too familiar. The cramped room. The woman. What it was doing to him.

Without even bothering to fetch a clean shirt, he strode from the bedroom and embraced the cold outside.

“Help yourself to seconds please, Gideon.”

Gideon glanced down at his empty plate and licked his fingers. “Thank you, ma’am. This is the best fried chicken I’ve ever had.”

“Eat as much as you want. And potatoes … another scoop?” Cassie’s ma reached for the wooden spoon before he could respond.

He held out his plate, and Mary piled a heaping spoonful next to his chicken. He sank his fork in, then licked butter from his thumb.

Henry Allan accepted another serving of potatoes but did not lift his eyes as he stirred his food around on his plate. Gideon cleared his throat.

“Thank you for lending me that cart of yours.”

A curt nod was Henry’s only reply.

“Jack told me you taught him how to build a few things in your wood shop, Gideon.” Mary smiled kindly. “That was awful nice. He’s spoken very highly of you.”

Henry nearly choked. He reached for his cider.

Gideon stuck his tongue in his cheek.

Beside him, Cassie pushed food across her plate and listened to a story Libby was telling about school.

“Where are the boys?” Cassie set her fork down, eyes fixed on her pa.

Gideon lifted his head, trying to appear curious. But he knew the answer. Her brothers wanted nothing to do with him. He was an outcast to his own friends. At least to Samuel and Eli, but considering that Jack was outnumbered, Gideon could not blame the youngest Allan boy for tagging along with his older brothers.

Mary waved her checked napkin in the air. “Oh, they’re off on
some jaunt. Guess they think they’re too old to tell their ma where they’re goin’ anymore.”

A sip of cider and Gideon cleared his throat. He had a hunch that the Allan boys had decided to skip dinner when he had been invited.

“Probably off on a coon trail or some such nonsense.” Cassie elbowed Gideon in the ribs. “Remember the time you all went out huntin’ for squirrels and got lost? By the time supper was on the table, Pa had to go look for you boys. You couldn’t have been much more than ten.”

Gideon took another sip. “Who’da thought your brothers could get lost in their own backyard? Guess that’s what happens when the sun goes down.”

Mary smiled.

“All I remember was the four of you up to your knees in mud and not a squirrel to be seen.” Still laughing, Cassie reached for her cider. She bumped the glass, and it crashed against Gideon’s plate.

Cold cider trickled into his lap, and he jumped. “Oh, Lonnie!”

The room fell silent. Panting, Gideon glanced at Cassie. Her face paled.

“Gid, I …” Her chin trembled. She dropped her napkin to the table. Her chair skidded back. Before he could stop her, she flitted from the kitchen.

He felt heavy gazes as he swiped at the spill with his napkin and brushed the cider from his pants. “I …” His neck burned, and he glanced to the door. The auburn liquid trickled to the floor.

Lonnie? You idiot
.

“I … excuse me.” He jogged through the kitchen and pushed past the back door.

Cool night air hit his face. “Cassie?” he called into the darkness.

With a full moon out, it did not take long for him to spot her running for the cabin. In a few short moments, his long strides overtook hers, and he caught her by the wrist.

“Cassie,” he breathed.

She wriggled her arm and yanked away.

He caught up to her, circling her small wrist gently with his hand. “Cassie, wait. Stop.” He dug his heels into the rain-soaked ground. She kicked at him. “Cassie,” he panted.

She tugged once more, then stilled. Her other hand brushed across her eyes before turning around.

“I’m sorry.” Gideon wished he could say it less plainly. “I really am.”

Reaching out, he grabbed hold of her other hand so she faced him. Dipping his head, he tried to catch her gaze. “It slipped out.” Cold air bit through his shirt, and he suddenly wished he had a coat to offer her.

Cassie sniffed. She would not look at him. “I don’t believe you. It meant everything.” Her voice wavered. “She means everything.”

His eyes slammed closed, and he breathed away the seconds. “She’s not my wife anymore,” he said flatly. “You are.”

Pulling her hand free, Cassie wiped her sleeve beneath her nose. Her hair whipped in the wind, and she collected the unruly strands before twisting it over her shoulder. Moonlight played with her features, taunting him. “That means nothing, and you know it.” In the dusky light, her eyes searched his. They searched his soul, and Gideon hoped that the truth, hidden in the depths, would not be seen.