Though My Heart Is Torn: The Cadence of Grace, Book 2 (19 page)

Knowing her chin would tremble, Lonnie dared not answer.

Sarah pulled Jacob into her lap and stroked his curls. The breeze rustled through the trees. A flurry of scarlet and gold leaves glistened toward the ground. Sarah hummed quietly. The lows of her voice blended with the highs of Jacob’s babble. She tilted her face to the sunshine, and the pair swayed. The song ended, and Jacob flapped his arms.

“We’ve made good time.” Sarah smoothed her hem and fingered a loose thread. “Very good time.” She yanked the thread free. It floated to the bracken below.

“We would have never made it this far so quickly on foot. We’ll be to the pass in no time.”

Sarah stood and hoisted the food basket onto the crook of her arm. “How far is the pass, would you say?”

Lonnie tilted her head to the side. “Maybe another day. At least not much farther than that.” She squinted up at her aunt. “I hope Jebediah will be there.”

Lifting a piece of sun-bleached canvas, Sarah set the basket into the cart. “From what you’ve told me of the Bennetts, those two would move mountains to get to you.” She turned and smiled down at Lonnie. “I’m sure Jebediah’ll be there.”

“Addie,” Lonnie called as she scooped Jacob into her arms. “Time to get goin’.”

A tiny fist patted against her neck, and Lonnie looked down into Jacob’s face. She smoothed his hair and kissed his brow, fanning the tiny flame of fear in her heart. The day would soon come when he would ask about his pa.

Her heart nearly stilled in her chest.
Is he even old enough to remember him?

Addie gave Sugar a gentle pat, then climbed into the cart. Lonnie lifted Jacob onto her little sister’s lap. She vowed that Jacob would know his father. Even if he never saw him again, she would keep Gideon alive for her son. She would tell him stories and share all the good memories she had made with her husband. She slipped a hand in front of her mouth. He was not her husband anymore.

He was Cassie’s.

When the cart’s wheels rolled forward, they left the warmth of the sun, and the shadows of the forest engulfed them. Reaching behind her, Lonnie pulled a blanket free and handed it to Addie. “If Jacob seems cold.”

Addie took the blanket and, with all the care of a young mother, carefully tucked it around the sleepy child.

Lonnie started to pull the canvas back over her things when something caught her eye. She grabbed the plaid sleeve and tugged the jacket free. Sliding it onto her lap, she fingered the collar and ran her hands across the chest pocket that was still missing a button. How many times had she reminded herself to fix it?

She slipped her arms through the sleeves and draped the jacket over her shoulders. What did it matter now? It was hers. Her instincts directed her hands as Lonnie folded the collar up. The action made Gideon flash through her mind. Would she forget his face someday? Would his sweet woodsy smell fade from the plaid flannel? She pressed her hands between her knees when they began to shake. It was impossible to hope.

Gideon scratched the rake across the dry yard, leaves tumbling toward his boots. He looked up into his pa’s face. “That’s the whole of it.”

His pa shook his head, thin face filled with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, son.”

Gritting his teeth, Gideon simply nodded.

“It pains me that it’s come to this. The Allans … Cassie.” His eyebrows lifted. “How did we never know?”

“Nobody did. I made sure of it.” And look what it had cost him.

“And what of Lonnie?”

With his eye on the rake and its slow, measured movements, Gideon relayed the story.

When he finished, his pa let out a puff of breath, his exasperation clear. “I’m so sorry.” His pa lifted his face toward the cabin.

Gideon followed his gaze to where Cassie sat on the porch, snapping beans.

“Stay for supper,” Gideon blurted, hope leaking into his voice. He could use the company.

“I’d love to. But your ma’s expectin’ me. She wanted me to tell you she’ll visit as soon as she can. Lil’uns are under the weather, and she’s got her hands full.”

“I’m glad you came by. It was good to see you.”

His pa flicked his head toward his farm. “Come with me. Get some of your things.”

Gideon tapped the rake in the dirt. “I don’t know …”

“Come on.” His pa waved him forward. “The leaves will still be there.”

It would be nice to have his tools. Some small piece of normal. Gideon bobbed his head in a nod and followed his pa. He leaned his rake against the chicken coop, and together, they strode from the farm. A fierce autumn wind rippled through the treetops, but as they sank deeper within the forest, the air was nearly still.

His pa chatted calmly, asking questions, answering the few that Gideon sent his way. Their boots crossed onto O’Riley land, and they headed straight for Gideon’s shop.

Gideon opened the familiar door and inhaled the scent of wood and grease. He froze, unable to move. This had been his life.

A squeeze on his shoulder and his pa spoke. “I’ll give you some time to sort through all this. I’ll go get the wagon ready to drive it back.”

After flinging off his jacket, Gideon stepped into the dark building. He didn’t bother lighting the oil lamp that hung over the workbench. He didn’t need to. The faint light that spilled through the grimy window was enough to trace the outlines of his things. His work. He knew it all by heart. Gideon dragged his hand along the edge of the workbench. The same place where Lonnie had. He remembered her small hands as she’d studied the surface. Her eyes wondering, innocent. She had trusted him. Not because she was a fool. But because he knew how to capture that trust. Knew all the right words. It was an art, and he’d been the master of it.

“You idiot.” He kicked a crate and tools rattled. He kicked it again. Picking up a hammer, he flung it across the shop where it clattered against the far wall, nearly shattering the board. He let out a growl and wanted to punch something, anything. But he forced himself to press his hands back to the bench. They shook as anger pulsed through his arms like venom.

He’d taken advantage of all that Lonnie had. To what? Prove to his friends that his luck with women hadn’t truly changed with Lonnie Sawyer. Gideon let his head hang low. His sweet, sweet Lonnie.

She was nothing like Cassie. Cassie was nothing like Lonnie.

There wasn’t an innocent bone in Cassie Allan’s body. She and Gideon were cut from the same cloth. A convenience, he had once thought. An advantage to his desires in the dark hours of night.

“Everything all right?” His pa’s eyes flitted around the dark room. “I heard a ruckus.”

Despite the ache in his chest, Gideon forced himself to collect his tools. “Everything’s fine.” He filled a wooden crate with saws and chisels.

His pa lowered a pair of hammers into another. “I remember this one,” his pa said fondly. He turned the small hammer around in his hand. “It was one of the first. You were just a little tyke—couldn’t even fasten your own overalls yet. Always wanting to pound nails and use a saw. Your ma thought you were going to cut off a hand, so I decided it was time to teach you.”

Gideon felt a half smile form. “I remember that.”

His pa set the hammer in the crate and reached for another, followed by a large mallet.

His files were in a rusty tin can, which Gideon clutched to his chest
as he moved to the door, then stacked them haphazardly on the stoop. Sun hit his shoulders, but the wind, here in the clearing, blew strong, tousling his shirt. The cold seeped all the way through to his bones.

“What about these?” His pa’s voice drew him back.

Gideon watched him lower a small rocking chair from a hook overhead and then pulled down a stool. He motioned to the body of a mandolin that dangled. “That looks mighty fine, son.”

Gideon pulled down the half-formed instrument.

“Don’t you want to take it with you?”

What he
wanted
to do was beat it over Eli Allan’s head, but he just nodded. “Sure. I’ll take this and a few others.” He motioned toward a stack of candleholders and other odds and ends. “Give those to ma.”

“You can sell these.” His pa moved a copper milk can filled with walking sticks toward the door. “They’ll catch a pretty penny.”

He doubted it.

Gideon snatched up a dust broom, a pair of leather work gloves, and a dozen rusty clamps; he tossed them into a crate and straightened. “That’s the last of it. I’ll fetch that wood there. And we can be off.”

“Won’t you come up to the house, have supper with us?”

He thought of Cassie alone. He pressed his tongue to his sharpest tooth and glanced up at the house. That wasn’t home anymore. The wind stirred his hair, making him feel small against the vast clearing. He didn’t know where home was.

As the wind picked up, Gideon and his pa unloaded his things into a small, rickety shed that accompanied the little cabin. It wasn’t much, but it would keep him out of the snow through the winter months.

Gideon set down the last crate. His pa squeezed his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you now. Stop by soon, will ya?”

“I’ll try,” Gideon said halfheartedly.

He watched his pa drive away.

All day, he’d managed to stay busy, but now as the sun sank behind a black line of trees, he could delay no more. Shrugging deeper into his coat, he left the mess to be organized tomorrow.

Seeing the trickle of smoke from the stovepipe, he grabbed an armload of wood. “Hmm,” he murmured. “Not enough.”

Since no dried logs sat waiting to be split, he would have to go into the woods to collect more firewood. He glanced at the house where light poured through the small kitchen window. Cassie walked past, a pair of plates in her hand. She was angry with him now, but Gideon knew better. As mad as Cassie was, deep down she still cared for him. He saw it in the way she looked at him. The realization stood his senses on alert. He knew what she was capable of.

The porch steps groaned beneath his boots. When he swung the door open, it scarcely missed hitting her.

With a grunt, Gideon dropped the armful next to the tiny stove.

“Thank you.” Her tone was reined in.

Brushing dirt and splinters from his shirt, he felt her gaze on him. He sniffed and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. The house smelled good—very good.

“You missed dinner this afternoon.” Cassie said, still working. “Supper’s almost ready.”

His eyes didn’t meet hers. “Then I’ll wash up.”

She pointed to the water bucket warming near the stove. “There’s soap next to the washbasin.”

Gideon dipped his head and stepped around her. “I’ll just be a minute.” The bedroom was dark, and not wanting to fetch a candle, he waited for his eyes to adjust. He washed slowly, working the soap through his hands and up his forearms. The warm water felt good as he rinsed his skin.

When he returned to the kitchen, Cassie motioned toward the table. “Sit.” She tugged out a chair for herself. Her hair was pulled back into a soft bun, tied with the same scarlet ribbon. It grazed her pale skin. Gideon glanced away, wishing he hadn’t noticed.

A wise man kept his eyes on his food when Cassie Allan was in the room.

His boots thudded forward and he sat. The table was small, too small. When their knees touched, he pushed his chair back with a disturbing scrape. Letting his attention fall on the spread before him, he surveyed all she had done. Warm cornbread steamed inside a cast-iron
skillet, and a dutch oven sat in the center of the table. The succulent smells hung heavy in the air.

She lifted her hand to her chin, pausing slightly, before placing it on the table, palm up. Gideon fought an eye roll. Since when was Cassie the praying type? Setting his jaw, he placed his hand over hers. Her skin was warm. Soft. He fought the urge to pull away.

Cassie closed her eyes, and he followed her lead. Silence continued.

He gulped and cleared his throat. “Thank You, Lord, for this food … and for the hands that have prepared it.”

The words were stiff, forced.
Forgive me, Lord, it’s all I have
.

Her hand lingered inside his, relaxed beneath his rigid palm. But it was the wrong hand. Without saying
amen
, he gently unfolded his fingers from hers.