Though My Heart Is Torn

by Joanne Bischof

  “Yes!” Joel yelped, then lowered his voice to a bitter growl. “Of course I know.”

  Cassie Allan had three brothers. Three grown brothers. Each a good shot and skilled with a knife. Joel watched Henry Allan descend the steps, his coat whipping in the wind. Joel did not want trouble. Perhaps for Gideon, but not for himself. There was nothing else to do but comply with the Allans’ wishes. They had the law on their side, which was more than could be said for his fallen daughter and her miserable husband.

  Retreating from the doorway, the reverend nodded once. He started down the steps, and the door creaked closed.

  Joel stepped back and turned to see faces peeking out from behind his bedroom door. “You can come out.” His sons, Sid and Oliver, slipped out of the bedroom and hurried into the lean- to where they collapsed on their cornhusk mattress. With Charlotte tangled in her embrace, his wife led Addie out by the hand, and Joel watched with little emotion as Maggie helped the five-year-old crawl into the bed that filled the corner of the room. The bed that had once been Lonnie’s. Maggie lifted Charlotte in and smoothed the quilt over the two girls.

  With quick movements, she snatched up a pair of plates and tossed the remains into the pot. She glanced up, concern laced across her aging features. “What have you decided?” she whispered.

  “I’ll tell you when you come to bed.”

  Maggie nodded and stepped aside for him to pass in front of her. All but one of the candles were quickly snuffed out and the oil lamp extinguished to save the costly, precious oil. Maggie worked quietly on the other side of the wall, dishes thunking in the washbasin. The darkness of the bedroom wrapped around him like a shroud, and Joel suddenly felt more consumed by the situation than ever.

  Gideon’s boots crunched dried leaves as he made his way from the farm toward Apple Hill and the grove left by settlers long ago. The trees, which had seen many more summers than he, stood stark against the gray sky. Their gnarled, rough-skinned branches held the year’s harvest of crimson fruit.

  With a grunt and a full heart, he leaned into the weight of the wheelbarrow that would have been empty if it weren’t for his wife huddled in the metal bin, plaid skirt tucked around her knees. Lonnie threw her head back and laughed breathlessly as he struggled to scale the steep hill. A smile lifted his cheeks.

  “Someday I’m gonna plant an orchard closer to the house,” he panted.

  She chuckled. “Am I inspiring you?”

  “You’re heavy!” He gasped for breath.

  Lonnie’s voice seemed to float along the cool September breeze. “Keep going; you’re almost there!” She laughed, her long braid bouncing, and her nose, still dusted in summer’s freckles, wrinkled.

  Tempted to tip his cargo over into the dry grass, Gideon grumbled playfully and dug his toes into the moist earth. Lonnie’s fingers clung to the side of the wheelbarrow when it faltered, and her squeal made him think the better of it. The rusted wheel squeaked one last turn, and Gideon dropped the handles. The muscles in his arms burned. He flexed his hands to calm the blood that pulsed through his veins. He could scarcely breathe, and when Lonnie tumbled out, broken bits of laughter drained his lungs.

  She brushed leaves from her skirt. “See,” she said, “that wasn’t so hard.”

  With his hands free, Gideon tore off his coat and used it to wipe his forehead. “Speak for yourself.” He chuckled, draping the coat over the handle of the wheelbarrow. The autumn air collided with his damp skin, cooling him instantly through his shirt. He lifted a bucket from Lonnie’s grasp and ran his thumb under her soft jaw.

  With a rosy-cheeked smile, she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow. Her bare feet fell into a slow rhythm with his worn-out boots, and they circled the small grove of trees as they decided on the best place to start. He handed her the pail and then reached for the ladder leaning against the nearest trunk. Untouched for nearly a year, the sun-rotted wood seemed to have become a part of the thick bark. Clouds challenged one another in front of the sun, dimming the orchard, cooling the air.

  He lifted the ladder over his head and settled it into place, cobwebs trailing. “Ladies first.” He wiggled the end into soft soil that was thick with rotted leaves.

  She hesitated, and he glanced at her.

  “You give me a funny smile every time I say that.” He squinted into the sun when it broke through the clouds.

  “I do?”

  “You do.” With a firm grasp, he held the ladder steady. One hand clutching her bucket, Lonnie grabbed the nearest rung and started up the rickety ladder. It never wavered as Gideon held it fast.

  “I suppose …” She stopped when they were eye level. His green eyes were wide, wondering, and in an instant she remembered the man he had once been. A shiver crept across her shoulders but faded just as quick. Those days were gone. She plucked an apple. Then a second, her thoughts distant. “It just makes me happy. That’s all.”

  Slowly, he added another apple to the bucket. A clear pain tugged his brows together. “It was that bad, wasn’t it?”

  The regret she saw in his face put a stitch in her ever-mending heart.

  Lonnie drew in a deep breath, knowing she could speak nothing but the truth, and her silence was truth enough. As the memories formed themselves anew, Lonnie pictured an unhappy young man standing at the front of the church, her unwanted hand inside his. If he could have wished her away, he would have. Hovering on the brink of a life of despair, she had made her marriage vows to the one man she despised most.

  The man who had tried to steal her innocence one starry night.

  His mouth was drawn, eyes sad as he watched her remember. Lonnie blinked quickly, shaking the icy memories from her heart. It was long ago. Her pa’s merciless grip on her life, further gone still.

  The breeze tousled Gideon’s flannel shirt, pulling it tight across his shoulders. “It’s good to remember, I suppose.” He plucked an apple and held it in his broad hand, studying it. “It’s best not to forget what once was.” He smoothed his thumb over the dusky red skin. “It’s hard to think on it. Believe me, I’d rather not.” His voice was muted, chin to chest. “But”—he glanced up at Lonnie, his hair unruly in the morning dew—“forgetting seems unsafe.”

  “Unsafe?”

  He gently lowered the apple into the pail and made no move to reach for another. He squinted at her. “If I forget … who I was. What I was.” He shook his head, throat working. “I just don’t want to get comfortable. Do you know what I mean?”

  She kissed his forehead, inhaling his scent, and lingered when his eyes closed. “I do. And thank you.” Her fingers grazed his hair. “That means the world to me.”

  Gideon’s lopsided grin warmed her. He took the bucket from her and gently tipped it; the apples rolled inside the empty wheelbarrow. He faced her. “You’re too good for me, Lonnie Sawyer.”

  “It’s O’Riley now.” She laughed and climbed higher.

  He winked at her. Peering up at her through branches, he spread his arms out wide, his familiar form silhouetted against a rising sun. “So I got all of this. A second chance. A wonderful wife. And a son.”

  Lonnie put a hand up to shield her eyes.

  “And what do you get?” His face was maddeningly serious.

  Lonnie tugged another apple free. “You still don’t know, do you?” Before she could change her mind, Lonnie motioned him forward. Her bare feet lowered her down the rungs until she stood level with his tall frame.

  His eyes widened, and the freckles sprinkled across his nose made him look more like a boy than a man of twenty-three. Placing one hand and then the other on his shoulders, she marveled at the solid flesh beneath his faded work shirt. “I’ll tell you, but only if you don’t tease me about it.”

  “I promise,” he said in a throaty whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  An unavoidable smile warmed her lips, and Lonnie delighted in the effect she had on him. “I got the only man I’ve ever loved. There was no one before you, and there w
ill be no one after you. I could never ask for more. In fact”—she pressed fingertips to her chest, so full was her heart—“I think God was smiling down on me the day I married you.” She paused, remembering the rest of God’s grace.

  Gideon smiled, joy flooding his face.

  It was enough to fill Lonnie’s heart to overflowing.

  Gideon noticed Lonnie blush as they ducked into the warm kitchen. Elsie glanced up from her chopping block and turned out a bowl of dough. The heavy cutting board wobbled, knocking wood against wood, as Elsie’s pudgy hands began to knead.

  Gideon lowered a loaded pail at her feet.

  “We have your apples.” Lonnie reached for her apron. She twisted the ties into place and began to hoist the bucket. It scarcely budged.

  With a smirk, Gideon lifted it for her.

  “Now do I get my pie?” Gideon set the bucket on the table with a thunk and ran his hand over his smooth chin, the bare skin a foreign feeling beneath his rough hand.

  “Only if your wife stops standing there blushing like a nervous schoolgirl and starts slicing apples.” Elsie winked, and Gideon watched the color in Lonnie’s cheeks brighten.

  “I’m not blushing.” Lonnie took her place at the kitchen table, paring knife in hand. “I thought we were supposed to stick together, Elsie.”

  When Gideon flashed her a disarming smile, Lonnie swatted him away. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  His hand grazed her sleeve in passing. At the sound of Jacob’s cries above, Gideon strode through the parlor, then took the stairs two at a time. He found the little boy in his cradle, a bundle of blankets around him. Gideon scooped him up, and Jacob pressed a sleepy head to his shoulder, rubbing a tiny fist against his eyes. Gideon kissed his hair and savored the scent of his son as he went back down the stairs.

  “Well, look who’s awake.” Elsie held out her hands as an offer to take him.

  Gideon hoisted Jacob higher against his chest. “I’ve got to finish a few things out in the barn. Thought he might just come with me.”

  A coil of red skin fell into Lonnie’s lap, and she set a bare apple aside. “He’d like that.”

  Stepping out into the crisp autumn air, Gideon straightened Jacob’s thick socks and tugged his wool pants down around pudgy ankles. He strode toward the barn, the door already propped open. Gideon ducked into the dim building, and the homey smell of animals and fresh-cut wood met him. Jebediah worked quietly at the bench. He glanced up with a nod when Gideon came in. Jacob flapped his arms. Gideon set the boy down on his tummy on a tattered blanket where a pile of small, smooth blocks would keep him busy for quite some time. Jacob struggled to pick up a block.

  Jebediah worked silently, the man never needing to fill empty space with words. He’d been that way for as long as Gideon had known him—since the day Jebediah had rescued Lonnie from a life of sorrow. Laying down the challenge that Gideon could be more than a man of anger. From that moment on, Jebediah had walked every day with him, through the struggles, through the blessings. All for Lonnie. She’d been worth every moment of it.

  Sitting on the workbench was a trio of wooden buckets. Gideon had already made and sold a dozen. Though they didn’t fetch much, he had a little silver in his pockets for his family. Come a sugar snow, they would be in higher demand. Made of cedar and white ash so that the sap would retain its sweetness, the buckets were stout and tightly formed, and if Gideon were still a betting man, he’d reckon they’d last many a winter.

  With steady hands and a watchful eye on his son, Gideon fitted two pieces together. Not quite right. His chisel made nary a sound in the hard wood. He sighed, enjoying the peace of his work.

  “Headed to town tomorrow,” Jebediah said. “Gonna pick up our supplies before it gets too late in the year. Also need to get the mail. It’s been too long.”

  Gideon glanced up.

  “Elsie and Lonnie have given me their lists. Anything else you need?” Jebediah slid a crinkled paper forward.

  Gideon took it, studying their feminine script. Lonnie had written “4 yards of gray flannel,” and Gideon remembered the skirt she’d wanted to make. He penciled in a few items, then thought a moment. He knew she also wanted a new blouse but wouldn’t admit it. He jotted down one last item. “I have the money inside. I’ll get it to you when we go in.” He slid the paper back to Jebediah.

  Jebediah eyed it. “Didn’t you pay any attention in school?”

  Gideon chuckled. “It’s legible.”

  Jebediah squinted. “Hardly.” With a laugh in his gray eyes, he folded the paper and tucked it in his pocket.

  “That’s two yards. And make sure you let Mr. Cramer’s wife help you pick that out.” Gideon tugged at his flannel shirt. “Something pretty. Not one of those backwoods patterns you always take to.”

  The older man’s mustache tilted skyward in a broad grin. He strode over and scooped up Jacob. “You watch it.” A laugh carried on his husky voice.

  Ducking his head, Gideon eyed the pieces of ash, now resting snugly together. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Two days. Maybe three if I get held up.” Jebediah’s broad hand patted against Jacob’s small back. The little boy pressed his head to his shoulder.

  “I’ll keep up on all the chores.”

  “I know you will. And I appreciate it.”

  Gideon worked his chisel through another wooden slat. Shavings curled and fell. “Lonnie will be pleased to receive word from home.”

  Jebediah stepped toward the doorway and leaned against the jamb. Sun glinted off his boots. “Not you?”

  Gideon shrugged, set his chisel down, and reached for Jacob when the boy lunged toward him. “There’s nothing back there for me.”

  At the sound of horses, Cassie lifted her head. Her pa moved to the window. Her ma lowered her knitting to her lap, and the rocking chair stilled. “Who is it, Henry?”

  Chatter subsided, and several pairs of eyes blinked up at their pa.

  He stuck his tongue in his cheek and stared out into the night. Silent moments ticked by without a word. Finally, he stepped away from the window. He glanced at his wife before turning his gaze to Cassie. “It’s Bill O’Riley.”

  Cassie gulped. She was going to be sick. But her ma’s face brightened.

  “Oh, Henry”—she smoothed the collar of her dress—“do you think he could be bringin’ news?” She looked at Cassie. “Perhaps he knows of Gideon. Perhaps he’s received word of some sort.”

  Cassie’s pulse quickened as she stared at the dark window. He could be here for another reason. But Mr. O’Riley was not a close friend of her pa’s, and she knew it. Surely his visit had one purpose and one purpose only.

  Samuel grunted and pulled his pipe from his mouth to whisper something to Eli, who sat beside him. Her oldest brother lowered his paper long enough to chuckle. Cassie glared at her older brothers. She knew how they despised Gideon, and as much as she wanted to blame them, she couldn’t. Their friendship had long since ended. Samuel and Eli’s anger was justified. Cassie fiddled with the locket around her neck. Gideon had once been everything she’d thought she wanted. And in a moment of weakness—no, stupidity—she’d sealed her fate. Did she love Gideon? Cassie glanced toward the dark window. He had made her feel alive. He’d made her feel loved. He’d been all she had wanted and more. And now? Now he was married to Lonnie. He hadn’t wasted much time, had he?

  Her heart lurched.

  To everyone else, it mattered little what she thought. Besides, her parents only saw black and white. And all they saw was a soiled daughter. There were few remedies for what had been done. No gaining back what had been lost. Yet her parents clung to the hope that perhaps her honor could be salvaged.

  Cassie circled her thumb and fingers around her wrist when it began to shake, then clutched her apron. Could she go through with this? How she wished her feelings were as easy to read as the paper Eli was studying. When it came to Gideon O’Riley, her desires were a basketful of confliction. Yearning
, frustration, uncertainty. She dropped her apron in a whisper of fabric.

  Flanked by his brothers, Eli sat back in his chair and crossed one ankle over the other. He tugged at his short beard and rubbed the scruff with the back of his fingers. Samuel flashed Cassie a confident grin, but she didn’t share his certainty—his hunger for revenge. She only wanted to get out of this unscathed.

  A shoulder bumped hers, and Cassie’s hand grazed against her sister’s. At thirteen, Libby knew nothing of her older sister’s reckless behavior and would have no suspicions about Mr. O’Riley’s sudden appearance.

  When the waiting became too much to bear, Cassie rose on her tiptoes and slid the last of the clean glasses onto the top shelf. Supper had long since ended, and with four grown men to feed, the pot of venison stew had been picked clean. Cassie pushed the scrap bucket aside and tucked a dangling carrot top in. She snatched up a chipped plate and ran a water-soaked towel over it.

  Mr. O’Riley knocked. Cassie nearly jumped.

  Her pa paused, his hand hovering against the knob. His shoulders rose and fell in a single sigh. He opened the door and tipped his head. “Evenin’.”

  Mr. O’Riley’s boots thudded into the fire-lit room. His hair was tidy, combed off to one side. “Evenin’,” he nodded cordially. His mossy eyes flickered over the dark space, landing on each member of the Allan family.

  Cassie stepped back, stomach churning.

  Her pa peered over his shoulder at his three sons. “Jack. Samuel. Eli. Outside.” Without complaint, they rose in a chorus of shuffling and whispers.

  Her pa glanced back at his guest but nudged Eli in passing. “Take Libby with you.”

  Libby’s eyebrows fell. “Do I have to—”

  “Follow your brothers,” he demanded, his gaze suddenly finding Cassie. Anger sparked in his eyes for the briefest of moments. Though he tempered it well, she could see his frustration rising. This was taking its toll on him. Made clearer in the lines of his face, the hunch of his shoulders. She glanced away before guilt could taint her conscience.