Though My Heart Is Torn: The Cadence of Grace, Book 2 (38 page)

Gideon hung his head and saw Cassie not as she was, but as he remembered her.

“Gideon.” Cassie laughed
.

Closing his eyes, he heard her cheery voice in his heart. He could almost see her small frame cross the bedroom in the wee hours of the morning when she had thought him sleeping. He cringed. How many times had he stayed away? How many times had he avoided her touch? Gideon covered her hand with his, engulfing it in the cool embrace of his chilled palms. Was it in him to make it right?

Footsteps shuffled into the small cabin, and a voice, so similar
to Cassie’s, broke the silence. “Gideon. I brought you something to eat.”

He did not lift his eyes from Cassie’s face. “I’m not hungry.”

“You must eat.” Mary’s voice grew thin. “She’ll be there when you’re done.”

Gideon shook his head.

“Please, Gid. You both need your rest. Let her sleep. You’ll be no use to her if you don’t keep your strength up.”

As much as it pained him to leave Cassie’s side, he did as Mary asked. Sinking down at the small table, he watched her pull food from a basket.

“I made you a sandwich.” She laid the meal in front of him, then lifted out a jar of cider. “And this.” She unscrewed the lid. “You eat. I’ll go sit with her.”

Needing to form the words, Gideon cleared his throat and spoke her name.

Mary turned slowly.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed. Unable to eat, he lowered the sandwich to the table. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Gid.” Mary sank into the chair across from him.

There wasn’t enough moisture in his mouth to swallow his guilt. He could still see Cassie reach for his hand only to have him turn away. He could still feel her touch his shoulder only to have his muscle tense beneath her palm.
God, how do I fix this?

There had to be a way to change. Alter the course of his heart to be the husband Cassie needed. It would require more than sacrifice. It would require more than a lie. It would require his life—his heart.

A muffled noise caught his attention, and Gideon lifted his head. Mary followed his lead. Her brow furrowed.

Crash!

“Cassie,” Mary breathed.

Gideon jumped from his chair, sending it spinning across the floor. He rushed toward the bedroom and barreled past the door.

Hot wax spilled from the candlestick that rolled across the floorboards. The tin candleholder spun away.

“Grab that bowl!” Mary darted toward the bed, nearly knocking over a chair. She tore the quilt off Cassie’s trembling body.

Gideon reached for the chipped crock, but his hand knocked it from the nightstand. The ivory stoneware hit the floor with a disturbing
thud
. Water pooled beneath the nightstand, spreading wherever it willed. Gideon dropped to his knees.

Mary tossed the quilt to the floor and waved her hand at him. “Just toss me the rag!”

Gideon snatched up the rag and wrung it out over drenched floorboards. He tossed it to Mary’s outstretched hand and stared as she swept it across her daughter’s glistening forehead. She folded the rag and dabbed at Cassie’s lips. What pain tormented her body, Gideon would never know. All he knew was that while he had stopped for supper, she had been alone in the bedroom. Fighting for her life.

He struggled to his feet. Cassie tossed her head from side to side and arched her back. Her wrinkled nightgown, now damp, clung to her translucent skin. The illness inside her was raging now. Gideon watched in horror as she fought violently to breathe. Her lips parted.
She extended her frail neck. Pressing her head deeper into the pillow, she pitched her head to the side and gasped. Gideon’s mouth went dry.

Breathe, Cassie!

He found himself holding his breath, and when he finally drew air into his burning lungs, fear consumed him. There was nothing he could do to help her. Cassie gasped and her body settled. Rolling to the side, she coughed into her pillow.

“She’s burnin’ up,” Mary said.

Cassie’s hand searched the disheveled sheets. Her fingers groped at nothing. Gideon slid his hand out for her to grab. Instead of taking hold, her lost fingers blindly fumbled the rumpled bedding.

Mary swiped her sleeve across her own forehead. “I’ve never seen a fever this bad.”

Mouth dry with fear, he rose. “I’ll get more water.”

He needed to make himself useful somehow—someway. Snatching up the crock, he dashed into the kitchen and thrust it into the bucket of cold water. He returned in time for Mary to dip the rag and wring it out once more. She laid the cloth over Cassie’s forehead. “I just don’t know what else to do.” She shook her head.

Gideon stared at her. It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be.

Finally, Cassie’s body settled. The rise and fall of her chest slowed.

“There has to be something else we can do.” He grabbed the rag and rinsed the tattered fabric before smoothing it down Cassie’s arm. He lifted her limp wrist and pressed the cool cloth into her palm.

“There must be some way to draw this out of her.” Despair wrapped its merciless hands around his heart.

Then the idea struck him. Pushing the rag off Cassie, he slid his arms beneath her frail frame and hoisted her off the bed.

Mary stood. “What are you doing?”

Swiveling through the doorway, Gideon thundered through the kitchen and out the door, Cassie’s hot body clutched against his chest.

Mary followed him. “Gideon!”

He sank to his knees in the snow and held Cassie tight. “She’s burning up.” He lifted his eyes to Mary. “Please help me.”

She knelt at his side, and her hands trembled in hesitation. Then she grabbed a handful of snow and ran it along her daughter’s collarbone. Cassie winced and shuddered. The snow that melted against her skin dribbled beneath the lace neckline, dampening her nightgown.

With red fingers, Mary scooped up another mound of snow; this time she smeared it down Cassie’s arm. Frail fingers curled around the snow. Water trickled from the creases of Cassie’s hand. Turning toward Gideon, Cassie buried her face in his chest. Her body began to shake.

He held her that way for several minutes, then finally Gideon spoke, his voice faltering. “I don’t know what to do.”

Cassie shook harder and coughed into the sleeve at her wrist. Gideon looked at his mother-in-law.

“Get her inside,” Mary gently urged.

Gideon carried Cassie back into the house and laid her on the rumpled sheets.

When her body settled, he knelt beside her and clasped her hand. “I don’t know if this is right. I can’t do nothin’.”

Mary crumpled into the rocking chair and dropped her head to her knees. Her silver-laced bun tumbled free, and her body shook with sobs. Kneeling against the bed, Gideon pulled Cassie’s hand into his.

“Cassie. Listen to me. You hang on. Just hang on—” When his voice cracked, he dropped his head to the mattress.

He heard Mary whisper a prayer. Her plea so fervent, he closed his eyes. His own lips moved in quiet petition; he hoped the words would be enough. A hot tear puddled and fell.

The wind picked up, swirling snow in a glittering spiral across the yard. Lonnie stood on the porch steps and watched the land before her transform. What had been a sunny day was being swallowed up by the menacing storm that loomed on the horizon, threatening to drop its heavy burden on the land below.

Jacob had babbled the word
Mama
that morning. Filling her heart to overflowing. Yet she wondered if he would ever know another word—
Papa
. The sack of Gideon’s things still sat in the parlor. All that they had left of him. Waiting. Waiting for her to let go. Lonnie ran her fingertips together.

Lifting her face to the trees on the other side of the house, she watched dark-gray clouds slowly roll in. The thick mass that filled the sky promised more snow. Lonnie shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. The sun was gone, and she was certain it would be days before its light warmed the land once more.

A cold wind, colder than any she’d ever felt, crept beneath her thick layers. Her shawl flapped, but Lonnie hugged herself tighter.

The stove inside clanged closed, and Lonnie knew she should be in helping Elsie with supper. She had hardly set a plate in front of each chair before she conjured up an excuse to head outside. She glanced at the woodpile. Elsie would be suspicious if she returned empty-handed.

Though she stood alone, Lonnie heard Elsie’s words spoken only moments ago.

“Reverend McKee is coming by for supper this Sunday.”
The older woman had searched Lonnie’s face as if hunting for a reaction—some window into her heart.

Lonnie had excused herself and now stood alone against the elements, weighing the meaning of what Elsie had said.

She stepped toward the woodpile and lifted several rough logs into her arms before lumbering back up the steps. Sunday was six days away. It wasn’t much time to prepare her heart, but even so, Lonnie could not wait that long to see the reverend. And that startled her. Snow began to fall, and she watched the first flakes float and flutter down.

Lonnie knew what she had to do when this storm cleared.

Sun streamed through the window, stinging Cassie’s eyes even from behind her lids. She felt her lips part, but she could not speak.
Water
. She needed water. Frustration overwhelmed her when she could not speak the simple word, and she turned her head to the side. That’s when she felt his hand, tracing a slow pattern on the back of hers. The flesh beneath his fingers burned but not from the fever, and her skin felt amazingly alive. Cassie tried to stiffen her hand to let him know she was there, but even that was too much.

Turning her thoughts back to herself, the sweetness of victory made her current weakness minimal.

She had won.

She could feel it. The fever was retreating. How long it had raged, she didn’t know, but for the first time since the fever reigned inside her, she felt her skin cooling, felt the ache in her body resigning. It would not conquer her. The sweat that covered her skin and had soaked her nightgown was now drying. She felt sticky, and her cracked lips tasted like salt, but it didn’t matter. She was alive.

And all that time, all those hours—days of torment and pain—the ebb and flow of her relentless thoughts rushed around one thing: Gideon had said he was sorry. And he had meant it. The ache in his
voice, the pain in his apology was unmistakable even in the dark depths Cassie had slipped to.

But she did not feel free. She did not feel joy. Something still felt unfinished.

That last thought built a lump in her throat so thick, Cassie had to struggle to force air in and out of her lungs. This sent a course of fear through her, and every muscle in her body tensed. Her throat was so parched she wanted to cry out for water. She felt her lips move but wasn’t sure if the word formed. It must have, for a moment later, Gideon’s hand lifted her head slightly and a cool cup pressed to her mouth. Cassie sipped. The cup clanked on the nightstand.

Gideon gently squeezed her shoulder. Cassie wanted to say thank you, but instead, she simply savored his touch. All the while, she couldn’t get the sound of his prayers out of her mind. She hadn’t deserved them. Not a single one. And as he spoke, sweet words falling from his lips, the same question had circled her mind: Was this life truly hers?