Cassie patted Libby’s hand, and the girl stepped toward the door. Gideon’s father moved aside, and she timidly squeezed past him. One by one, each of her siblings disappeared into the black night. As much as she longed to follow them, Cassie was too eager to hear what news Mr. O’Riley may have brought. She might have sat in the barn loft, watching the moon as the kittens frolicked in her lap, but as much as she would like it to, that wouldn’t whisk her back to her childhood. No, she was a child no longer, and she was about to pay the consequences for her actions.
Her heart beat away the seconds. Her pa closed the door.
He waved toward the fire and the empty chairs. “Have a seat.”
Nodding once, Mr. O’Riley crossed the floor and sat without a sound. Cassie’s parents locked gazes, and her ma hurried toward the unexpected guest. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” She waved a hand toward the kitchen. “Or some cider?”
He rubbed his palms together. “No thank you, ma’am.”
Her ma sat quietly, stained apron piled on her knees. She patted the chair beside her, and hesitantly Cassie sat. Her pa tugged a chair away from the table and sat at the head. He ran weathered hands over his face. Cassie shifted in her seat. He’d been so angry with her. And for good reason. Yet even through it all, she’d known the love of her father.
“I spoke briefly to Joel Sawyer several days ago.” Mr. O’Riley glanced at each face around the table. “And he sent word to Gideon just as you asked.”
Her pa nodded slowly and loosened his top button, his neck flushed and ruddy. He palmed the table, clearly hesitant. “I just wish we’d seen. Just wish we’d known.” His gaze, filled with disappointment, met hers. A father’s broken heart glistened in his eyes.
Cassie touched her locket, twisting it between trembling fingers.
Lonnie sat on the edge of the blanket, a pair of books tucked in her skirt. Jacob slept on his tummy beneath the broad maple where green leaves played with shades of orange and gold. His pudgy feet poked out from beneath the quilt, and his puckered lips and drooping cheeks told her he would not be waking anytime soon. Her finger skimmed the page of her book, then she flipped back several more.
Gideon sat beside her, their arms nearly touching as he tuned the eight strings of his mandolin. He shifted one leg out and pulled the other toward his chest. He played a nameless tune, a melody that changed with his mood. Though it always retained a beautiful sameness that she had come to love.
“What is that one called?”
“Called?” His hand slid up the fret board, fingers still plucking slowly.
“You’ve always played that song.”
His eyebrows pinched together, and he glanced down at the instrument pressed to his chest. “I dunno.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I’d say it’s the other part of you.” She nodded toward his mandolin. “The sound of that song is as much a piece of you as your voice.”
He ducked his head, smile deepening. Green eyes glanced back up to her. “Wanna know a secret?”
She wrapped her hands around her ankles, watching him.
“I never played this song before you.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “It’s yours and yours alone.” When she glanced away, he let out a laugh. “You’re blushing, Lonnie O’Riley.”
She slapped his leg with the back of her hand. “Well, when you tell a girl something like that, what do you think is supposed to happen?” She pressed her palms to her warm cheeks.
His chuckle deepened, and he tossed back his head. “I need to write you more songs, I see.”
After closing her book, she hit it against his arm. The other slipped from her lap.
“What is it that you’re doing over there, exactly?”
She held the book, spine out. “The Art of Soap Making.”
“Don’t you already know?”
She tipped her head to the side and nodded, then smoothed her fingers over the tattered binding. “Elsie lent it to me a few weeks ago. There is so much I didn’t know. Different ways.” She cleared her throat as if she were a teacher in a schoolroom. “See this here?” She held up the page she had been reading. “It talks about makin’ soap out of goat’s milk. My aunt Sarah had planned on teaching me but never got the chance.”
“Ma used to have that on hand now and again.”
Lonnie nodded. “Yes. I want to try it next.”
“Sounds like you’re gonna need a goat.”
“What do I need a goat for? I have you—”
He snatched her behind the waist and, setting his mandolin aside, pulled her onto his lap. “Now, now. Here I write you a song and all you can do is make fun of me.” He kissed her. Jacob stirred, rubbing his little nose against the blanket before settling his head to the other side.
Lonnie wrapped an arm around Gideon’s shoulder and settled her forehead in the crook of his neck.
She heard his whispered “I don’t deserve you.” She started to speak, but when his sigh likened to contentment, filling her heart to overflowing, she simply kissed his temple. They sat that way until Jacob stirred again, nearly rolling off the blanket. Leaves clung to the folds of his small wool sweater.
Lonnie rose and plucked him up. She lifted her gaze to the distance. “Did you hear something?”
Gideon glanced up the well-worn path. “No”—he blinked—“wait, I do now.”
A harness jingled.
Rising on her tiptoes, Lonnie lifted her chin. “Think it’s Jebediah?”
Before Gideon could respond, Sugar’s brown head bobbed into view. Jebediah waved his walking stick overhead in greeting.
“Any news?” Lonnie asked.
Jacob squirmed in her arms.
“Plenty!” Jebediah called. Mule and cart drew closer. “Enough to keep you busy all evenin’.”
Gideon rose, brushed dust from his pants, and followed Lonnie toward the path. The older man dug in the top sack. Paper crinkled as he lifted a thick bundle, puckered with a knot of gray string.
“How was your trip?” Lonnie asked.
A tug on the knot and a dozen envelopes filled his hand. He offered the stack to Lonnie. “Good. Real good.” He reached for Jacob, kissing the boy’s forehead. Jacob tugged on Jebediah’s beard as they walked on. “The nights were cold. Colder than I would expect for September.”
Lonnie clutched the mass of letters to her chest, shuffling through them as she listened to Jebediah. Her shoulder bumped Gideon’s, and he caught a few envelopes that slipped from her grasp.
“So what do we have?” Jebediah asked.
She straightened the pile. “Several for Elsie, one for Gideon.” Lonnie held out a crisp envelope. “And two”—she squinted as she read the script on the final letter—“make that three for me.” Her voice fell at the end, and she rubbed her thumb over a man’s scratchy, tangled scrawl.
Lonnie tiptoed up the stairs, Gideon on her heels. She nudged the squeaky door open, holding it so Gideon could duck inside. A sleeping Jacob was pressed to his chest. He laid the boy gently in his cradle, and Lonnie tucked his quilt around him. Used and well loved, the quilt had grown thin and faded from frequent washes and hours spent drying beneath the summer sun.
The sun glinted orange beyond the treetops, forcing Lonnie to light the lamp. She crawled onto the bed. Gideon shoved up the arms of his plaid shirt before following her lead. They lay on their stomachs, pillows tucked between elbows. Two pairs of boots crossed, ankle over ankle, and the dirt-caked soles bumped against the brass footboard.
“Elsie’d have a fit if she saw us like this,” Gideon whispered with a wink.
Lonnie lifted a finger to her sly smile.
Without ceremony, she passed Gideon his letter and broke the seal on her own. “We’ll read our own first, then we can switch.” She nearly buried her nose in the page.
Gideon ripped the end off the envelope, all but tearing his letter. He shook the envelope, and a handful of pages fell free. Lonnie peeked over hi
s hand and saw his ma’s writing.
She turned back to her own letter, but when Gideon paused and held his pages out, sliding a callused finger next to a word, Lonnie read it for him. “Hopefully.”
“Thank you.” Gideon continued reading but within a few heartbeats held his letter out again.
Lonnie scrunched up her nose and stared at the crooked scrawl. “Difficult.”
“Difficult,” Gideon repeated, then kissed her shoulder. More than once, either he or Lonnie laughed only to be quieted by the other. One by one, pages fell like autumn leaves to the floor.
“And this one?” Gideon pointed to another line.
“Certain,” Lonnie read for him. She pressed her thumb to her lips.
“What’s the matter?”
She set down the last page. “I miss them. My ma. My brothers and sisters. They’re all growing up. And this is all I have of them.” She folded the paper. “It’s over so soon.”
“Yes, but”—Gideon reached over and tapped a rain-stained envelope—“you have another.”
“I do.” She accepted the wrinkled envelope. The dry, discolored paper crinkled between her fingertips. The light flickered, the room so quiet she could hear the sizzle of the oil lamp. Slowly, Lonnie unfolded the paper. She felt Gideon, his own letter discarded, watching her scan the one and only page. Scratchy, uneven writing rambled along the top of the yellowed paper. Lonnie’s eyebrows pulled together, and her lips sped along silently. She sat up; her hand flew to her mouth.
The bed creaked when Gideon sat up. “What is it?”
She thrust the letter into his hand. “It’s from my pa. I’ve never seen him write a letter a day in his life.”
Gideon skimmed the words.
“It’s Ma.” Shifting to the side, Lonnie gripped the quilt. “She’s ill. Who knows how old this is?” She flipped the letter over as if the answer were written on the back. “He doesn’t even say what’s wrong with her. It could already be too late.”
Despite everything that had happened over the years—the hurt and the heartache—Lonnie’s heart flooded with grief and sorrow for her ma.
Lonnie took the letter. “He said she doesn’t have much time. What could that mean?” She rose, her mind and heart racing as one. She saw her ma, standing at the stove, red hair coiled into a wiry bun. The same way she’d always been—sad eyes, hopeful words. A woman never fully loved. Lonnie’s heart broke anew for her mother even as she thought of her siblings all but fending for themselves. “He said that I should come as soon as I can.” The words shook on her lips.
Lonnie handed Gideon the letter again, eager to be rid of it. It took him a minute to read it. He set it on the faded quilt. Her pa’s misspelled words leaped off the paper: Your ma ain’t got much time. I feer the worst. Better get yourself home. Don’t doddle, Lonnie. She’s in a bad way.
“It may already be too late.”
“We’ll leave as soon as we can.” Gideon squeezed her arm.
She stood motionless, the weight of it all crashing about her shoulders. Gideon knelt, pulled the dusty pack from beneath the bed, and lifted it onto the heap of rumpled bedding.
“Lonnie.” Her name on his lips pulled her back. “We’ll leave at first light. You start packing our things; I’ll go ask Jeb if we can take the mule.”
“Thank you, Gideon.”
He clutched her face in his hands and kissed the top of her head before striding from the room.
Sugar stood stone still and blinked in the early morning light while Gideon added the last pack to her burden. He moved around to the other side of the beast, his boots scraping across near-frozen ground. His breath was a white fog. He eyed the rising sun, pleased that no clouds covered the sky. The days would be warm enough. Yet it was the nights that worried him.
Traveling with a baby stirred in him a desire to bind two more blankets atop Sugar’s matted rump. Gideon slipped the leather strap through the buckle and yanked it with all his might. The mule nearly stumbled beneath his strength, and he patted her side in apology. Under any other circumstances he would have hesitated to set out this time of year, but not now, not when Lonnie so desperately needed to get home.
As if his thoughts had drawn her, Lonnie stepped behind him.
“That’s the last of it,” he said. “Is Jacob ready?”
“He’s dressed and fed. Elsie’s got him inside.”
Gideon pulled his frozen fingers from the final strap and thrust them into his coat pocket. He turned and looked at Lonnie. Her cried-out eyes spoke testament of last night’s restless slumber. “All’s left is to say good-bye, and we’ll be off.”
Lonnie led the way back to the house, and he followed close on her heels. The lingering smells of fried bacon and warm syrup greeted them, and Gideon knew he would miss Elsie’s cooking. More than that, he would miss everything about this place. This was his home now—his and Lonnie’s. It felt strange to be leaving it all behind with Rocky Knob as their destination.
Gideon looked around the snug kitchen and soaked in the familiar sight one last time. Lonnie’s quivering sigh hinted that her heart was on the same path. He squeezed her hand. They would return soon. A few weeks at most.
Lonnie wished Elsie and Jebediah well, her voice laced with a tremor.
It was a bad time of year to travel back to Rocky Knob, and as much as Gideon wished they could delay their journey until spring, he knew he could never ask it of his wife. He only hoped they were still in time for Lonnie to see her ma. If not … Gideon shook away the thought as he slid his hat over uncombed hair.
Elsie clutched his cold fingers in her warm hand. “You keep them safe.”
Gideon tried to chase away his unease with a smile. “I will.” Elsie tucked a small sack that steamed with warm biscuits in the crook of his elbow, and Gideon ducked his head in appreciation. “We’ll be home before you know it.”
Lonnie’s face was flushed and her eyes wide as they stepped toward the door. Gideon wished she had slept better, but her quiet cries hadn’t ceased until long after the last bag had been packed. By the time he collapsed into bed after readying their supplies, her face was toward the wall, faint sniffles breaking the late-night silence. He was certain she cried not only for her ma, but also for the lost childhood and the memories that lingered beneath the storm cloud of her pa’s roof.
Jebediah threw a chunk of wood in the stove, drawing Gideon back to the present. The older man closed the heavy door with a clang.
When silence filled the kitchen, Elsie threw her palms up in the air. “No sense standin’ ’round here with long faces.” She flapped her hands at them. “Off with you two. The sooner you get on your way, the sooner you’ll be comin’ home.”
The door opened, spiriting in the cool morning air. Gideon took Jacob. With the boy’s favorite quilt tucked around him, the red-haired babe blinked sleepily. He was a bundle of warmth with his wool sweater buttoned snugly over two flannel shirts. As Gideon led the way out into the morning, he straightened his son’s cap. The brown wool, knit by Elsie’s loving hands, covered his downy soft curls, and Gideon watched Lonnie stuff into the pack a small deerskin hat that Jebediah had fashioned for the boy.
Gideon cleared his throat, wishing he could calm his jumpy nerves. Jacob will be warm enough, he assured himself. Lifting his eyes to the horizon, he watched the once-orange sky fade to blue as the sun lifted its sleepy head over the clouds. With the mule’s rope in hand, Gideon tugged the old animal along. A pile of leaves blew across their trail. Shades of gold, red, and green glittered in the brightening sunshine as their feet found the trail.
Leaving the familiar farmyard, Gideon only hoped their trip to Rocky Knob would be a short one. “Git on up!” he called and tugged the lead rope. Sugar quickened her pace, and Gideon glanced behind him to make certain Lonnie was close. Turning his attention back to the trail ahead, he eyed the changing landscape. They had yet to travel their first mile, and already the longing for home left him feeling empty.
&n
bsp; Having caught up, Lonnie kicked at a pile of leaves, only to have them spray back on her in the breeze. Gideon’s smirk widened, and she nearly smiled back. They walked on in comfortable silence. The life that called the forest home provided the song that set their feet in motion: birds chirped as they fluttered about, sending down a chorus of jumbled melodies, and the breeze in the dried leaves overhead whispered faintly as it rippled through the branches. With the forest providing the music, Gideon lifted his face, wishing he knew the words to the mysterious song.
They’d hardly gone an hour when Lonnie froze and stared at the steep ravine. Even though the morning sun hit her back, warming away autumn’s chill, her legs went cold.
Gideon shuffled to a standstill, and he exhaled. “Well, I’ll be.”
Her heart a sudden jumble of emotions, Lonnie glanced away and into her son’s sleeping face. He was snuggled in the sling she had fashioned for the journey. Though his nose was red and runny from cold, he seemed peaceful enough. A blue-winged warbler called out, breaking the stillness. Gideon’s hand captured hers, and he offered a firm squeeze.
Still, Lonnie shivered. “I don’t like this place.”
Gideon scanned the trail in front of them, and his gaze met hers. “I don’t blame you. It’s not my favorite place either.”
They stood in silence. The rugged hillside sloped sharply. Trees that had fallen in years past had tumbled down, only to land in a silent graveyard of rotting bark and limbs at the base of the steep ravine. Their rough edges resurrected the painful memory, but before it could form in her mind, she noticed that, with no rain falling, the place looked different. The man beside her more different still.
Gideon pointed to a stagnant puddle, an emotion pulling his voice tight. “Right there.”
Lonnie nodded as the horrid images made their way back to her heart. The cold. The rain.
His anger.
“That’s where I fell,” she whispered.
She had been so tired, so weak. Nothing she could have done or said would have dispelled the anger in Gideon’s eyes. Lonnie turned away, yet the grim images were not easily pushed aside. There had been pain. There had been fear. All of it hers.
Though My Heart Is Torn Page 3
