Though My Heart Is Torn: The Cadence of Grace, Book 2 (26 page)

Gideon lowered the cart and stretched his hands. Cassie stopped a few paces off. She pulled a pin from her hair, tucked it between her lips, and loosened the coils at the nape of her neck, plaiting it quickly. The November sun glistened on the dark strands. Gideon watched her. Then in an instant, he peeled his gaze away and quickly shook his head. What was he thinking? Shaking out his sore wrist, he looked around and took a quick inventory of his surroundings and the fork in the road.

He’d already sold a walking stick and a pair of buckets, and now a few dollars lined his pocket. It sent a surge of satisfaction through him. Cold, he wanted to keep moving and started up the trail.

“Why are you going that way?” Cassie loosened her amber scarf, straightening the knobby folds.

“Because I want to.”

“But there are a dozen more homes up this way.” She studied him a moment, her hand propped up on her waist. A trait he’d forgotten about. “Your folks are up this way, you know.”

He set the cart down. “I know.”

“And?” She hitched her thumb in that direction, flashing a pair of gray, fingerless mittens. Her skin was paler than usual on this cold
morning, making her eyes as vivid as ever. Reaching up, she fiddled with another pin. “Oh come on. Don’t be such a baby.”

He tugged at the patch of hair beneath his lip. Had she always been this annoying? “Fine.”

They walked in silence for several minutes. Cassie hummed a tune, and though Gideon knew the words well, he kept silent.

What he wouldn’t give to hear Lonnie singing beside him. Have her steps lead his through the frostbitten leaves. Cassie walked slowly just a touch ahead, matching his pace. They passed through a chestnut grove, and she bent, plucked a burr from the ground, and let the nut fall into her hand. Dropping the burr, she rolled the chestnut between her wool-covered palms as they walked.

“Tell me about Jacob,” she finally said.

He lifted an eyebrow. “You want to hear about my son?”

“I do. He’s a part of you, isn’t he?” She stepped gingerly over a root that stuck boldly out of the ground.

He struggled to push the cart over it. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“He’s very young, no?

“Jacob was born this spring, a month and a half early.”

“Oh?”

“He probably shouldn’t have made it. But by some miracle he did.”

Gideon shifted his grip on the cart handle, and though the splintery wood scratched his palm, all he could think of was the downy feel of his son’s head. A swell filled his chest. How many times had he kissed that little head? Watched Lonnie press her lips there? His wife. His son. His family.

“Gideon?”

For some reason he’d stopped walking altogether. Cassie stared at him.

“Did you hear me?”

“No.”

Her expression was soft. “I said you must have been so nervous. Terrified that he wasn’t going to make it.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“You weren’t there?”

Gideon leaned into the weight of the cart, wishing Cassie wouldn’t pry. “It’s a long story.”

She swung her hands back and forth. Her petticoats, a mismatch of colors and textures, bounced beneath her skirt. “It’s a long walk.”

They turned the corner, and he was glad to see their first stop. He spotted Old Man Tate in his garden, squatted down among a patch of greens. Gideon showed him the goods in the cart, while Cassie gleaned sprigs of thyme poking through the garden gate. In the end, the man chose a walking stick and paid Gideon with a pair of coins. The sum was small, but the stick would be put to good use by the eighty-year-old.

They bade farewell, and Cassie sidled up beside him.

“So where were we?” Her brown braid bounced on her shoulder, and she fiddled with the ends playfully.

Gideon tried not to notice.

“Jacob.”

He slowed.

Cassie followed suit.

“Look. If it’s all the same, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Sorry. I thought it might make you feel better.”

“No, Cassie. It doesn’t make me feel better.” He motioned with his
hands toward the south. “They’re gone. Gone.” His voice hitched. “And there’s nothing I can do to get them back. Talking about it does not make it easier.”

She pursed her lips. The breeze blew her bangs across her face, and she tucked them into place. “How long are you going to hold on to her?”

“You don’t want me to answer that question.”

“Yes, I do.”

He stopped. This was a bad, bad idea. He should be in his shop. Alone. Not standing here on the hillside with Cassie Allan peppering him for answers that were best left buried. Deep. “Fine … forever. I’m not going to stop. Happy?”

Her eyes sparked. When she stopped walking, he glanced up and realized they were in front of his parents’ farm.

“Perfect.” Grabbing her arm, Gideon tugged her into a stand of trees. “Just what are you trying to do? Bringing me here. I don’t want to go back there.” Didn’t want to relive the memories of the life that had brought him here. He’d tried to make a clean break. He and Lonnie.

Cassie worked to pry his fingers loose, and he let go. “I’m not trying to do anything. Will you stop acting like I’m ruining your life?”

“But you are.”

“No.
You
are. You, Gideon O’Riley, have been ruining your own life since I’ve known you. Every choice—every
mistake
—was yours. Stop putting it on me … or anyone else for that matter.” She pressed her hands together soundlessly. “I know you see this as a mistake.” She motioned between them. “But I don’t.”

“You think this is all right? You think it’s going to work out? Do
you honestly think that God is going to bless this after what we’ve done?”

“You never cared before.”

“I care now!” He nearly shouted it and forced himself to lower his voice. He ran both hands through his hair, keeping them there. “I care now.” Because Lonnie had gotten under his skin. In the best of ways. And the remnants of the faith he’d tried to borrow from her remained. He didn’t want to lose that. Didn’t want to slip back into the darkness. Cassie would never understand that. Yet here they stood. His ring on her finger.

God, why?

When she finally spoke, Cassie’s voice was small. “We have a chance to make this right, Gideon. If this faith you speak of is real, then surely there’s a way to redeem what was lost.” Sunlight laced through the trees, dancing along her face.

No. It was impossible. God didn’t work that way. He and Cassie were too far gone. Their choices too selfish, too sinful. Yet something inside him—memories of what God could build out of nothing—told him he was wrong.

Lonnie sat on the back steps, Jacob in her lap, as she laced her boots. Addie sat beside her, doing the same. A letter to Gideon seemed to weigh her pocket. She’d written it late in the night. For weeks she’d put it off, uncertain if she was strong enough to pen her heart. But then, as she watched Jacob sleep by the light of a single candle, she couldn’t bear the thought of Gideon’s missing every single moment. What little she managed to express in her words would have to suffice. Lonnie fingered the envelope, wishing she could blot out the tear stains that betrayed her.

Jebediah worked at the edge of the yard, tossing vines from the garden into a smoldering heap. The scent of smoke and the herby aroma of the spent summer garden filled the air. Jacob rubbed his nose with his pudgy hand.

When Addie was finished, they strode toward the gate.

“Where ya headed?” Jebediah tossed a squash vine onto the heap and straightened, his pants stained with soot and soil.

“To get a goat.” Lonnie blinked up, and Jebediah was outlined in the glint of the morning sun. “Elsie and I spoke to Gus the other day, and he’s gonna trade me for one.”

“A goat.”

It felt strange to smile, but with Jebediah looking at her like that,
she couldn’t help it. “Yes. A whole goat. Addie’s gonna come with me. We won’t be long.”

Jebediah motioned toward the neighboring farm. “Well, I leave you to it, ladies. Try not to get into too much trouble.” He winked at Addie.

Addie’s round cheeks dimpled in a smile.

Bitter air nipped at her nose, and Lonnie tugged Jacob’s wool sweater down over his round belly. He flapped his arm, eager to be on an adventure. The forest was quiet as if all the creatures were still snug in bed. Lonnie was glad she tucked an extra petticoat beneath her brown dress and insisted Addie wear two pairs of stockings. Lonnie slowed when, somewhere in the distance, she heard a fiddle. The long, lone sound drew her eyes toward a cabin just beyond the nearest trees.

Addie tugged gently on her sleeve. “It’s that man,” she whispered and pointed up the trail. “The one who talks funny. The nice one.”

So it was. Lonnie brushed at a strand of hair tickling her cheek.

He was dressed in the same dark garb Reverend Gardner always wore. The man clutched a Bible to his chest with a thick hand, his features drawn. Dawn broke in his troubled face when he glanced up and spotted them.

“Morning,” he breathed.

“Morning.”

One of his dimples appeared. “You’re out early.”

“As are you.”

He squinted down at her, a shadow of a beard along his jaw. “Aye. It’s been a bit of a night.” A slow glance over his shoulder to the cabin, then his attention fell on her. “Mrs. Bennick passed, and I’ve been sitting with the family.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“ ’Twas an easy passing. And her spirit was at peace.”

The words soothed. “A blessing to the family that you were there for comfort.”

He ducked his head humbly, then glanced down at Addie. “And where might you be going? I see you’re keeping an eye on your older sister here.”

Lonnie caught his disguised wink.

“We’re going to get a goat,” the little girl declared.

“Oh. A goat.”

“For myself,” Lonnie blurted.

“Oh.”

She hitched her foot off to the side. “Why does everybody look at me like I’m crazy when I say that?”

“Am I looking at you like you’re crazy?”

“Yes.”

His face quickly broke into a wide, awkward grin. After several heartbeats, he spoke through his teeth. “I’m frightening you, aren’t I?”

“A little.”

He chuckled and his smile turned natural.

The side of her mouth lifted. “Better.”

“May I … may I walk with you a ways? I’m headed in that direction.”

She studied him a moment. “If you’d like.”

Autumn hues—nearly a memory—burned gold in patches overhead as they strode down the path. The early sun illuminated the still forest, and Addie skipped ahead. Lonnie and Toby walked a whisper apart, Jacob between them.

“So tell me about this goat of yours. What are you going to use it for? Meat, cheese, soap?”

“How did you know?”

“Meat?”

She chuckled. “No, soap.” She fiddled with the cuff of Jacob’s pants, her fingers stiff from the cold. “I’ve been experimenting with a few new varieties. My aunt taught me, but I’ve never made it with goat’s milk before.” She drew in a full breath, holding it briefly. She let it out in a gush. “You could say it’s time for a little change.” She glanced up at him. “Honestly, I just need something to keep me busy.”

His face softened as if he had absorbed more than her words. “Aye, I ken the feeling.” He lifted the Bible. “Part of the reason I’m always working with folks ’round here. Can’t just wait on Sundays or a sickness.”

Her braid slid off her shoulder and bounced against her back. “No, I suppose you can’t.” They approached Gus’s barn, and Lonnie thought about trying him at his house first, when he appeared in the great doorway and waved overhead.

“I’ve been expecting you!” He waved them forward, his smile broad.

“Want to see them?” she asked Toby.

He dipped his head. “Love to.”

The vast space was a far cry from Jebediah’s cozy barn. The front portion was set up as a workshop, and beyond that half a dozen stalls lined each side. Gus led them down the narrow aisle, the essence of animals and feed thick and swampy.

With a hitch of his thumb, Gus alerted them to a stall near the rear. “This is the lot of ’em.” He motioned for Lonnie to take a closer look, and she led Addie in front of her as they crowded around the narrow
space. Gus’s raspy voice, as kind as Jebediah’s, fell soft beside her. “Four all together, though only two are nannies.” Tattered boots carried him into the pen. “This one”—he rubbed the back of a pure white goat—“and that’n.” A speckled kid trotted across the pen. “You may have your pick, Lonnie. Just let me know which one you choose.”

Something warmed in her heart as she watched the pair. “When will they be ready?”

“Too young to breed this year, so come the spring after next, I’m hoping they’ll both deliver a pair of kids. After the babes are weaned, she’s all yours. As long as you don’t mind waiting.”

Lonnie rested her chin on the gatepost. She rather fancied the white one, but something about the way the speckled one moseyed about kept stealing her attention.

“Do they have names?” she asked.

“No.” Gus ran his hands up and down his overall straps. “Don’t fancy myself as sentimental as you women folk. Though it’s high time I got around to calling them something.”