Though My Heart Is Torn: The Cadence of Grace, Book 2 (7 page)

Slowing, Gideon turned to Lonnie. “Wait here.”

“Here?”

“Please.” He winced and tugged on the edge of his coat. “I don’t want you to have to see this.”

A moment’s hesitation hung on her parted lips, then she smoothed them into a line. “I’ll wait here.” But her voice was unsteady.

He slid his hand into the base of her hair, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

A silent prayer in her eyes, she nodded. He strode off, the water-wheel gushing louder with each step that drew him closer. The large door was sealed shut. He tugged on the handle. Pain shot down his spine, so severe that in an instant his back was damp. With a grunt and a pain that soured his gut, he pulled on the door. It rolled open, yawning a gap just large enough to duck through.

“Hello?” he called. The air was so thick with ground corn, he could taste it. A fine powder glistened in a stream of light from an overhead window. A dozen kerosene lamps lined the walls, their glass dusty. The gears squeaked and thudded—a massive groan, as if he stood inside the belly of a beast.

Two men stepped from a back room, and Gideon nodded in their direction.

“Can we help you, son?” The nearest man tugged on his gray beard, burly arms thick and threaded until they vanished beneath the rolled-back cuffs of his shirt.

Gideon touched his shoulder and, in the space of a few words, explained his request. The older man nodded, eying his shoulder as if he could see through the soiled fabric.

“Let’s see what we can do.” He nodded toward a dark-haired man with caterpillars for eyebrows, who turned up the light of the nearest lantern. “I’ve seen it done a time or two before.”

Gideon drew in a controlled breath.
All right, then
. His shirt clung like a second skin.

The dark-haired man spoke up. “I’ve got a bottle of brandy. Lemme grab it.” Crouching, he lunged an arm into a low cupboard.

“No.”

“You’re gonna want something to help.” He pulled out a bottle, turning it in his broad palm. The amber liquid sloshed inside the glass. He seemed to size Gideon up in one blink. His dark eyes were sober. “Trust me.”

The memory of the taste flooded Gideon. His mouth grew moist. Lusty. The temptation lured him. This was going to hurt, and he knew it. When he was a boy, his pa had helped a neighbor after a horse accident. Trace Dale had downed half a quart of moonshine an hour before, and even then, his pa had walked away with a black eye. Swallowing hard, Gideon shook his head. Before he could change his mind, he motioned toward the door. “If it’s all the same, my wife’s out there waitin’. I’d be happy just to get this over with.”

Lonnie sat in the dry grass. With her back to the sun and Jacob in her lap, she glanced at the mill door, certain she’d heard voices. One man called out to another; their words puddled beneath the water rushing over the great wheel. Jacob sat motionless in her lap, and Lonnie was certain he could feel her heart thundering against his small back.

Suddenly, Gideon shouted. Another man cursed. A shudder galloped along her spine, her heart racing. Someone hollered back—his tone as taut as a clothesline. Silence fell.

Water rushed over the wheel.

Her heart pounded faster than the seconds passed, and then the door slid open. Gideon stumbled forward. He paused long enough to look at her, then shuffled out. Two men emerged, faces drawn.

She rose.

Sweat glistened on Gideon’s pale face.

“Gid?”

“He’ll be fine, ma’am,” one man interjected. “We set the shoulder.” He exchanged glances with his partner. “If he takes it easy, it should heal up.”

Gideon slowly bobbed his head. “You boys better get back to work. I’ve taken up enough of your day.”

The men tipped their hats and wished them well. Circling back to the open door, they disappeared inside the shadowy building.

Lonnie touched Gideon’s arm. “Are you all right?”

He grimaced. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

She placed an unsteady hand against his back and hoped her voice
was lighter than her heart. “They wrapped it well for you. And the one man said it should heal.”

When Gideon moved, he winced. He moistened dry lips and reached for her hand with his other arm. Lonnie held tight.

Rocky Knob unfolded around them as they walked, the sights returning like long-forgotten memories. Still, Lonnie did not feel at ease. They were so close, yet so far from the place she felt safest. In summer, the meadow to the east would be thick with green foliage and crowned with yellow wildflowers. As if from a distant dream, their surroundings became more and more familiar.

Houses poked out through the trees. Their stout log frames were simply fashioned but strongly built. Though she could not see all the weathered shanties from the pathway, she knew the turns and the moss-laced rocks and trees that marked each property. She knew them each by name. Cole. Miller. She knew their horses. Their children.

Soon they would have a roof over their heads. As if their thoughts were born of the same desire, Gideon quickened his pace and tugged Sugar’s rope. The mule followed close behind as if she too were eager for their journey to draw to an end.

When Gideon glanced back and pointed to the distance, Lonnie knew they shared the same thought.
Tom Baker’s cabin
. They had reached the hollow she’d grown up in.

Almost there.

Thin logs, grayed by years of sun and snow, sat atop one another, forming the humble cabin. Smoke rose from the chimney, and the breeze carried the smell of frying bacon. The path rose. Their steps rose with it. With a sleeping Jacob in her grasp, Lonnie strained with the
steep incline. It seemed to take all Gideon’s strength to tug the mule along.

“Git on up!” he urged, but the creature kept her own pace. She would not be rushed, and after a few steps, Gideon gave up. Night was nearing, and by the time they had scaled the hill and stood at the base of Sawyer land, all that welcomed them was a lone candle flickering in a distant window.

Lonnie’s chest heaved, and she glanced back as Gideon struggled to catch up. She switched Jacob to her other side and straightened his knit cap. “See,” she whispered. “That’s your grandma and grandpa’s cabin.”

Jacob leaned his head on her shoulder.

Finally reaching them, Gideon stopped. She looked up at him and wondered if the fading light cloaked the unshed tears in her eyes. “I’m frightened.”

Gideon kissed the top of her head. He spoke softly against her hair. “I know.”

“I don’t want to see my pa.”

Gideon nodded. “You’ll be able to see Addie.” He squeezed her hand. “Sid and Oliver too. And I’ll be with you.”

Lonnie slowly bobbed her head and swiped at her eyes. “You can settle Sugar over there.” She pointed to the barn.

Gideon led the mule where she pointed, and with nothing more than moonlight shining through a pair of small windows, he ducked beneath the low doorway. Lonnie followed. He urged Sugar inside, made quick work of filling a feed bag with oats, and slid it over Sugar’s long face. As quick as he could, he unstrapped the bedroll and set it aside. Lonnie helped him drape his mandolin in its sack over his good shoulder. He gripped their packs in his free hand and followed her toward
the house. The voices drew Lonnie up the steps. She strained to listen. Addie’s high chatter rose among the others, then Oliver’s laugh. Lonnie would know that guffaw anywhere—the hearty laugh deeper than she remembered.

Her pa’s slow drawl drowned them out. Her back stiffened. She heard Gideon’s feet slow. Chills crept down her spine. Then the night air carried the sound of her ma’s gentle voice, and the joy drew her forward.

“Ma,” Lonnie breathed. Her feet flitted across the dark ground. She bounded up the steps, and before Gideon could catch up with her, she caught hold of the latch and tugged the door open.

Lonnie panted breathlessly in the doorway. Wide eyes stared at her. She scanned each face but landed on one in particular.

“Ma,” she breathed. She dashed toward the rocking chair and, before the woman could stand, sank at her side. Lonnie’s weather-beaten skirts billowed around her.

With Jacob pressed between them, Lonnie dropped her head into her mother’s lap and cried. “Ma, I thought I might have been too late.”

A trembling hand touched her hair.

“When I got Pa’s letter that you were ill …”

Her mother lifted her face and searched her eyes. A secret seemed to fold itself into the lines around her mouth. “I … I ain’t hardly been sick a day in my life.” But her voice shook strangely, eyes wide.

Lonnie knew that look. Something was wrong.

Her ma worried a few strands of her auburn bun back into place with knobby fingers. Tears glistened in the woman’s small eyes. “I sure … sure am glad to see you.” Her voice wavered with heartache. She glanced at Jacob, and her expression was torn between yearning and worry. She breathed the boy’s name, though the word was no more than a whisper. As if it were forbidden.

Lonnie squeezed Jacob tighter, chills covering her skin. “Would you … would you like to hold him?”

Maggie reached out and touched Jacob’s hand with unsteady fingers. She pulled back quickly, her eyes darting past Lonnie. “I … I …”

Boots sounded on the steps, and Lonnie glanced back to see Gideon fill the doorway, keeping his wrapped arm clear of the jamb. His rosy cheeks were a welcome change from the pale demeanor he’d had when they left the mill only a few hours ago. Gideon dropped his pack.

She turned back to her ma. “Where’s Pa?” Lonnie blurted, unease settling about her shoulders like an unwanted blanket. “Why did he send me that letter? He said you were ill.” She rose, heat covering her cheeks. “It was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

Eyes wide, her ma started to speak.

“Keep your mouth shut, Maggie.” Joel’s voice was as cool as ever.

The room fell silent. Gazes shifted to the corner of the room. It was then that she turned and faced him. He sat motionless in the shadows. Smoke rose in a curl from his smoldering pipe. He shook out the match.

“Lonnie,” he murmured flatly. His boots were propped up on a stool, and his chair, balanced on two legs, tilted back and forth. “Glad you’re home.” His chair tipped forward. His feet hit the floor with a hollow
thud
, bringing his face into the firelight.

Gideon stepped forward. “Someone wanna tell us what’s going on?”

Her pa’s brows dipped. “Didn’t your ma ever teach you not to speak until spoken to?” A puff of smoke escaped his thin lips.

Gideon tipped his chin, eyes hard.

Lonnie stared at her pa—his chicken-scratch scrawl as fresh in her mind as the day she had read it.
Your ma ain’t got much time. Better get yourself home
.

“I wondered how long it would take you two to show up.” His voice was eerily calm.

The blood that pulsed through Lonnie’s veins thinned like a widow’s web.

Using his good arm, Gideon pulled the door closed with a soft
click
. “You look well, Maggie.”

A small hand brushed Lonnie’s hip, and she turned to see Addie standing behind her. The little girl’s coffee-colored hair had grown longer, and two thin pigtails landed in curls atop her shoulders. Lonnie squeezed her sister, her heart warming. “I thought this day would never come,” she whispered. Then Lonnie looked up at her ma—as healthy as she’d ever seen her.

Her pa’s chair creaked as he rose. “What happened to you?” he asked Gideon flatly.

Without responding, Gideon touched his arm still wrapped in the sling.

Her pa snorted and drug his chair across the floor, shoving it against the table. “That’s a shame.” He reached for his hat, forcing Gideon to take a step sideways. Gideon lifted his chin, eying the man. Joel returned the stare as he slid his hat over graying hair.

“Where are you going?” Maggie asked.

“I’ve got some business to attend to. I won’t be long.”

Her ma’s eyebrows rose. “Now? At this hour?”

“It ain’t half-past six.” Her pa tossed his pipe on the mantel next to the clock. “I won’t be gone but a little while.”

Her ma shook her head, but before she could say more, he grabbed his coat and paused only long enough for Gideon to step out of his
way. Throwing on his coat, his boots scuffed over the threshold, and he disappeared into the night.