Though My Heart Is Torn: The Cadence of Grace, Book 2 (35 page)

The girl who kept helping him along when he’d struggled to even be her friend.

Gideon grimaced.

After smearing bacon grease around the pan, he lifted a spoonful of batter over the smoking skillet, and it sizzled when he formed the first round cake. It felt impossible to admit, but somehow, in her own special way, Cassie had claimed a piece of his heart. His fingers trembled as he poured another spoonful of batter into the pan.
A piece, only a piece
.

It can’t be
. He had sworn it over and over.

But he remembered Reverend Gardner’s words:
“It must.”

When Gideon slid a plate of steaming hot cakes in front of Cassie, their eyes met.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Unable to speak, he simply nodded. Her cheeks were red, and sweat formed along her hairline. Gideon dropped his gaze. Dare he speak the words aloud? Why hadn’t she come to him first? He scraped the last of the batter from the bowl, turned the cake over when it browned, then settled himself in the chair across from Cassie. He cut his hot cake in two with the edge of his fork. It was then that he noticed she had yet to touch her own supper. When she dropped her head in her hand, Gideon wiped his mouth.

“You shouldn’t be up. We need to get you in bed.” When she started to protest, he insisted. “You need your rest.”

Cassie quickly shook her head. “I’ll wait for you.”

And she did. In the course of a few bites, Gideon stuffed down a single hot cake, scarcely tasting it, then walked her into the bedroom. He helped her into bed and tucked the quilt snugly around her shivering frame.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

He hesitated for the briefest of moments before crawling on top of the quilt, where he lay down beside her. He listened to her shallow breath grow slower and slower until she drifted off to sleep. Gideon rolled onto his side so he could see her face in the moonlight. She was waiting to be loved in so many ways, and he was yet to be the husband she deserved.

And she had waited.
For so long
.

The burning in his chest seemed to get worse—as if it was trying to divide itself. But no matter how much he cared for Cassie or how much he allowed her into his life, his heart would remain whole. And as long as it was Lonnie’s, it could never belong to the woman beside him.

Cassie had been so cheerful that morning. So kind when he least deserved it.
“Merry Christmas.”
Her voice rang clear in his memory.

Gideon scoffed.
Some Christmas it’s been for her
. He would have once thought she was simply putting on an act. The sweetness, a role she knew how to play so well. But something within her had blossomed. A goodness that he admired. For he knew the impossible road she walked. The road he himself was on. Yet did he see a change within himself? Shaking his head, Gideon wished it could be more. Much
more. He shifted to his other side and stared out the darkening window where the first stars had appeared in the gray sky.

And what of another Christmas?

His eyes slid closed. He could almost see Lonnie pull Jacob out of the doorway as Jebediah lugged a frosted tree into the parlor. He imagined his son squirming to get free. Jebediah would have let out a deep belly laugh, insisting the little boy only wanted to help. He could smell the scent of fresh-cut spruce mingling with the heady aroma of Elsie’s cooking. Sliding his hand beneath the mattress, Gideon pulled out Jacob’s knit cap. He nearly crushed it in his grip of yearning. His son was growing. And he was missing every day of it.

Gideon’s breath caught in his throat when he was struck with the memory of the boy’s silken cheek beneath his palm. The sensation was as fresh as the day he last touched him. He imagined pressing his lips to the downy head and inhaling the scent of the boy’s mother.

He rose, unable to stay still in this small house. The world—though large it may be—seemed to close him in. He strode out into the moonlight and glanced up at the stars overhead.

Merry Christmas, my love. My family
.

Gideon covered his aching heart with his hand.

The next morning, Cassie rose from bed, and her body felt as heavy as her heart.
Please, God. Don’t let me fall ill
. She knew the seriousness of scarlet fever. Having never had it as a child, she had every chance of catching it now. Cassie pushed open the bedroom door and, when it squeaked, glanced behind her at the bed. Gideon’s broad frame filled more than half the mattress, his pants wrinkled. An arm hung limp
and heavy over the edge; his knuckles grazed the floor beside his discarded shirt. Night was just turning into day, but her head spun with too much turmoil for her to rest.

She knew the signs well. Her ma had checked her over. Mary had forced Cassie to unbutton her collar, and with a flickering candle held so close to her skin Cassie could feel the heat, her ma had looked for signs of the rash—the reviled mark of scarlet fever. That was days ago.

Every day since, Cassie had checked herself to see if the rash had appeared. Even now as she thought of it, she pulled up her sleeves and turned her arms from side to side. She saw nothing but pale skin. Stepping to the mirror, she stuck out her tongue. It looked pink, but her vision was weak. She blinked, trying to clear the fog.

The fire had all but gone out, and it took all her breath to blow the cooling embers back into a flame. She tossed a piece of fir over the warming coals and waited for the wood to catch before sitting back on her heels. Leaving the door open allowed enough light for her to see by.
Might as well save the candle
.

Cassie went to sit at the table, intending to wait for the sun to rise. Glancing at her piano, she froze at the sight of her bench. The wood shone so richly, she could nearly see her reflection in it. With a touch of her hand, she felt how sturdy and strong it was.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed, running her hand along the silken wood. It was smoother than the river stones she collected as a girl. Tucking her nightgown around her, she sat on it, and the bench didn’t so much as wobble. Her chest burned hotter than the coals awakening from their slumber. She pressed her hand to her throat and felt a soft pain—a mending. As if the broken pieces of her heart were drawing closer.

“Easy, girl.” Lonnie patted Sugar’s soft, brown face. The mule eagerly accepted the gnarled carrot, and Lonnie wiped the wet remains from Sugar’s rough tongue on her already dirty apron. “You like that, don’t you?” She scratched the bristles on top of Sugar’s head. The mule’s ears twitched.

Lonnie and Elsie had spent the morning cleaning up the root cellar. Baskets of dirt-caked potatoes had to be sorted. The softer ones, those that had already sprouted little roots, were moved to the top to be used first. The firmer, sounder potatoes were left toward the bottom in hopes they would last the winter. The worst of the lot would be saved for planting. Elsie had gone off to take Gus a bushel of vegetables, and Lonnie had come up for a breather, bringing with her a stolen treat for Sugar.

The sky outside was a clear blue, but the sunless barn harbored an endless chill. Lonnie shivered beneath her shawl and thought about hurrying back into the warm house. When Sugar stomped her foot and tossed her head, Lonnie laughed.

“Don’t worry, girl. I won’t leave you just yet.”

Rising to the toes of her boots, she reached into the pen and scratched the mule’s neck, then stroked her mangled coat. Knowing Sugar always liked a good brushing, Lonnie glanced around for the bristle brush but saw none.

“Another time,” she promised.

She had not visited the mule often enough, and the eager way Sugar nudged her open palm made Lonnie feel guilty. “I know. I’m sorry I have not come to see you.” Sugar’s long eyelashes blinked. With a rough nose, she sniffed at Lonnie’s now-empty palm.

“That’s all I have, girl.” Lonnie leaned in closer so she could whisper. “But I promise to bring you another treat tomorrow.” She knew of half a dozen bruised apples in Elsie’s root cellar that were just right for such an unfussy creature.

The mule stomped her hoof again and swished her tail.

Lonnie chuckled. “That’s all! I promise.”

Addie’s footsteps pounded into the barn, startling Lonnie. The little girl’s cheeks were rosy with cold. Her breathless words tumbled forth. “Lonnie, Lonnie! Come quick.” Addie pointed toward the house, a grin on her round face. “Come see!” She spun around and darted away. Dark curls bounced above her shoulders as she ran.

With a final pat on the mule’s scruffy neck, Lonnie left the quiet solitude of the barn.

She straightened her shawl and was careful to close the heavy door behind her and latch it. Spurred on by her own curiosity, Lonnie started toward the house. Before she could guess what all the fuss was about, she spotted a brown mare lowering her head to the snow. Large, fresh prints that could only be Toby’s led up to the house.

Her heart thumped, sending a warmth through her.

Voices from the kitchen carried out into the yard. The cheery chatter pulled Lonnie forward. Laughter slipped through the screen door, and she quickened her footsteps. Before her hand landed on the door latch, Toby pushed it open and stood just inches from her.

“Come in.” His deep voice filled the kitchen, and he made no move to step out of her way. His eyes were soft on her face, his words even softer. “I was wondering if you’d show up.”

Speechless, Lonnie squeezed past him and into the kitchen.

Addie’s feet did a funny jig. “Mr. McKee brought presents!”

Lonnie eyed her sister curiously.

Toby nodded toward a potato sack. “A few ladies from the church helped.” He tugged the sack closer, and his broad hand disappeared inside the brown burlap. He sank to his knee and lifted his face to Lonnie. “They made some rag dolls for the lassies, and a few men whittled wooden knives for the lads.”

Turning to Addie, Lonnie noticed the small doll clutched in her sister’s tiny hands. A scrap of pink calico had been sewn into a humble gown, and the plain-faced doll had red hair made from several tidy rows of knotted yarn.

Like a ship mast being raised, Toby stood, towering over them.

“That’s awful nice of you. I assure you Addie won’t forget this.”

“Not just Addie.” Toby pulled a pair of small wooden blocks from his bag—the unfinished wood roughly formed into crooked cubes. “These are for Jacob. They didn’t make anything for the wee ones ’round here.” As if he were embarrassed, his voice fell soft. “I hope they’re not too rough.” He lowered the blocks into Lonnie’s palm. “I tried to sand ’em down smooth.”

Lonnie fingered the silky wood that was still warm from Toby’s hand. She opened her mouth but again found herself unable to speak. With much noise and clattering, Toby thrust his arm back into his bag.

“And this is for you,” he blurted.

He handing Lonnie a small sachet made from the same fabric as
Addie’s doll. Lonnie turned it over in her hand. She hesitated briefly, then lifted the sachet to her nose. “Mmm,” she sighed. “That smells lovely.”

Toby’s dimples deepened. “I thought you might fancy it.”

Lonnie looked up at the man watching her. “This is so unexpected.”

“I have a few more stops to make. Perhaps”—his deep voice stumbled over the words—“if you have nothing else to do … perhaps you’d like to join me.” Before Lonnie could respond, he quickly added, “You could ride Gael.” His eyes twinkled. “I’m sure she’d appreciate a lighter rider.”

“I don’t know that I can.”

He shook his head. “You’re right. That was inappropriate of me to ask.” His crisp shirt grew taut across his shoulders as he bent over to retrieve his sack. He stood and looked down on her. “It would not be seemly for us to be out without an escort.”

Lonnie shook her head. “It’s just that Elsie has so much to do this afternoon, and with Jacob due to wake from his nap any minute—”

“No need to explain.” His smile was genuine. He looked at her with brown eyes that seemed to grow richer by the moment. Lonnie could not help but stare up at him.

She lifted the sachet to her nose once more.

Toby gestured toward the door. “I should be on my way if I’m to make all my deliveries by sundown.”