Though My Heart Is Torn

by Joanne Bischof

  She heard his words as clearly now as she did that day. “Get up!” he had hollered.

  Lonnie shuddered. Even with the passing of time, she could still feel the rain beating against her hair. Feel the slick mud as she crawled toward him, praying for a deliverance. For days he had set a grueling pace, and for days she had tried to keep up. But it had been impossible, and she’d paid the consequences. The memories turned her feet to ice.

  When she glanced at Gideon, his eyes were glassy with remembrance, his face pale as if carved from stone. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I let myself go that far.”

  “I know.” Lonnie caught hold of his hand and lifted it to her lips. The man who stood before her was nothing like the man from that day.

  His fingers slipped from hers.

  Undeterred, Lonnie slid her arm in the crook of his elbow. Her husband. Her beloved. She peered up into a pair of eyes the color of a meadow in spring and felt the oppression of that moment slip away.

  This was a new day, and her husband, a new man. She patted his forearm. “I can think of one good thing,” Lonnie said, crinkling her nose. “That’s where Jebediah almost shot you.” She leaned her head against Gideon’s shoulder. “Now there’s a memory that brings a smile to my face.”

  His deep laugh awakened a spring inside him, and she felt her cold chills chased away.

  “Thanks!” He gave her that grin. “I’m glad at least somethin’ about this place makes you smile.”

  “Oh, I assure you it does. Though”—Lonnie tilted her head to the side and stared up at Gideon—“I don’t remember it well. Remind me. What was that look on your face again?”

  “Uh … utter terror. And now you’re just hurtin’ my feelings.” He stifled another laugh. “I deserved that one.”

  Lonnie glanced from side to side but knew there was no other way around. “Well,” she began. “In the name of reconciliation, Mr. O’Riley”—she nodded toward the trail they were bound to walk—“would you mind helping me downhill this time?”

  Gideon held his arm out for Lonnie to take once more. “It would be my pleasure, Mrs. O’Riley.”

  Cassie peeled a chunk of bark from a red oak and flicked it toward the water. Her thoughts, having strayed from her chores, had carried her bare feet to the edge of the creek. The water was low this time of year, but enough flowed through the narrow gully to carry the piece of bark over a moss-coated rock and away. She sank to her knees, draped an arm across her lap, and grazed fingertips through the icy water.

  Jack called her name from the house, his voice distant. Cassie knew supper was on, but she ignored him. She wasn’t hungry. Her soaked hem swirled in the water, and she stumbled back. “For heaven’s sake.” She bent over and wrung out the blue and white calico that, like most things she owned, had more frays than trimmings.

  “Cassie!” Jack hollered again. “Supper’s ready. Ma wants you now!”

  “Comin’!” she hollered back. Her voice startled a red-breasted woodpecker, and it rushed from tree to tree.

  She watched Jack return to the house. At sixteen, he was her younger brother by six years. As if the age difference mattered not, he stood a head taller than she was. His shoulders, though wiry, were nearly as broad as Eli’s.

  Her feet clung to the damp hillside as she staggered up the creek bank, trying to keep her wet hem from dragging in the dirt. Despite her efforts, her ma would wonder what she got herself into. Cassie should have been setting the table, but she had slipped out, leaving the task to her younger sister, Libby. It was the third time that week.

  A dozen brown hens swarmed around her ankles, and she gently kicked at them. “Off you go, now. I ain’t got nothin’ for you.”

  The ornery chickens followed her toward the house in a chorus of clucking, and Cassie stumbled around them as she tried to keep from stepping on feathers and wings.

  Weathered boards creaked underfoot as she climbed the three porch steps. Hattie, the old basset hound, lifted her droopy face. Knowing she had but a moment to spare, Cassie quickly scratched the dog between the ears. Her ma peeked through the window and waved her inside. Cassie slipped into the warm house.

  “Where have you been?” Libby groaned as she took her place at the table beside Jack. She glared at Cassie and tucked a strand of hair behind her mouselike ear.

  “I wasn’t gone that long.” Cassie stepped toward the oven. She took the heavy pot her mother offered her and set it in the center of the table.

  “Is something burning?” Samuel asked, tipping his chair back lazily.

  Cassie hurried back to the oven and, with a crumpled dishtowel in one hand, lifted a pan of hot biscuits from the oven.

  “Cassie’s baking again.” Samuel elbowed Eli and the two chuckled. “This should be good.”

  She fought the urge to fling a biscuit at them. They’d probably just eat it anyway. The faint burnt smell tickled her nose. She quickly moved the hard biscuits to a bowl, scalding her fingertips.

  Her pa cast her a warning glance before he took his seat. “Now that we’re all assembled,” he said solemnly.

  “Sorry, Pa.” Supper had been stalled, and it was her fault.

  “Must you really try his patience time and time again?” her ma whispered in passing. Her blue eyes seemed weary. “Not to mention my own.”

  Cassie slid into her seat on the long bench. Seeing there wasn’t much cider, she quickly filled her cup and set the drained pot aside. The tin warmed her hand.

  Beside her, Jack turned his empty cup in his hand. “Thanks a lot,” he said for her ears alone.

  She threw him a sharp look that kept him from saying more. She clasped her sister’s hand and bowed her head lower than normal as if to draw some goodness from the deed.

  Her pa blessed the meal, finishing with an amen and a twist of the kerosene lamp. The room brightened. Cassie’s mind wandered to where she had left it at the creek. Gideon.

  The same warmth puddled in her chest. Might he truly return to Rocky Knob? She’d heard it from Mr. O’Riley that Mr. Sawyer had sent his daughter word, bidding both Lonnie and Gideon home. A shiver coursed through her at the thought of Gideon’s broad frame darkening their steps. Her heart suddenly demanded her attention. She pressed her hand there, pulse quickening.

  Her father spoke in hushed tones, but she heard not a word.

  Cassie chewed the inside of her cheek. She lifted her cup and her eyes as one, glancing at the doorway as if Gideon would fill it at any moment. Her heart misbehaved again. She took a few sips of cider, nearly scalding her tongue. She was certain he wouldn’t come. Certain.

  “Cassie,” her ma said. “Would you please pass the biscuits to the rest of us?” Mary dropped a scoop of creamed spinach on her plate and slid the pot toward Eli.

  Cassie mindlessly lifted the bowl to her pa. Dropping her hands in her lap, she fiddled with her napkin. Gideon had once said he loved her. Not once. Many times. She smeared honey butter over a biscuit half and licked her finger clean before setting her knife across her plate. If he were to return, there would be many questions about their past. Questions that would need answers. Cassie felt her father’s heavy gaze. She wondered if his thoughts mirrored her own.

  Her heart somersaulted. When Libby arched an eyebrow, Cassie pressed fingertips to her warming cheeks, glad her innocent sister did not know the worst of it.

  “Guess we’ve run out of luck,” Gideon yelled as he scrambled for his coat. They’d traveled for three days without a drop of rain. But now the clouds had broken loose.

  Lonnie tugged her shawl over her head and tried to cover both herself and the baby. The rain fell in sheets. Sugar stumbled sideways. Gideon held the mule’s harness with one hand while thrusting his other arm through the sleeve of his coat.

  “Easy, girl,” he said, trying to keep his voice low enough to avoid startling the beast, yet loud enough to carry over the downpour.

  “What do we do?” Lonnie pulled her shawl tighter, but water dripped down
her arm. A wide-eyed Jacob clung to her. His tiny face was scrunched with concern.

  “I don’t know,” Gideon admitted. He’d never traveled with a baby before.

  When a gust of wind swept through the pass, he clutched his hat to his head. “What do you want to do?” he hollered as the rain whipped past them. Droplets stung his face, and he shielded Jacob’s eyes.

  Tugging the sling to make sure it was tight, Lonnie held Jacob close. Her expression was torn.

  Gideon released his hat and used his free hand to help her wrap the drenched wool over the baby. His eyes met Lonnie’s, and his voice rose over the rain. “Do you want to stop?”

  When she shook her head, a ribbon of damp hair swung from side to side, only to cling to her cheek when she stilled. Her gaze narrowed. “I want to get home to my mother.”

  Nodding, Gideon surveyed their surroundings. The woods were thin, and with the oaks having lost most of their leaves, there wasn’t much brush or bramble—no shelter.

  Frustrated, he lifted his shoulders. “We’ll keep moving and keep a lookout for cover in case this gets worse.”

  Lonnie peeled her soaked shawl away from her wet skin and draped the matted mess over Sugar’s back. Kicking himself for not having offered it sooner, Gideon tore off his coat and handed it to her.

  She shook her head, but he held up a hand. “Take it. It’s oilcloth. It will keep you both dry. I’m already soaked.”

  If Lonnie could keep Jacob quiet and comfortable, they would survive the day. The trail, though not steep, was slick. Gideon’s boots squished in the mud, and more than once, he clutched Sugar’s harness.

  “Watch your step,” he called over his shoulder.

  Turning around, he held his breath as Lonnie stumbled forward. Jacob jostled in her grasp, but she held him fast and did her best to keep Gideon’s coat over the child’s damp curls.

  “I’m all right.” She staggered toward him. “Keep going.”

  Lonnie ran her hand beneath her nose and sniffed. Her stockings hung loose around her ankles, and the hem of her dress was caked in mud.

  Jacob’s nose and cheeks were raw from cold. He was soaked through.

  “I think I see something. Let me take Jacob.” They traded one tired mule for a crying, wet baby, and Gideon ducked through an opening in the trees.

  The ground, once firm beneath his heavy boots, suddenly gave way in a shower of wet leaves. Gideon gritted his teeth and clutched his son to his chest. He was falling, and one thought raced through his mind: Jacob was in his arms.

  Time seemed to pass slowly. Somewhere in the distance, Lonnie screamed.

  Then, with a crack, he struck the ground and rolled. Pain shot like a hot bullet through his shoulder. Air left his lungs. Jacob’s shrill wails echoed in his ears. Gideon held the boy as tight as he could, doing all in his might to keep from crushing the baby beneath his own weight as he rolled down the muddy embankment. Finally, his body stilled. Jacob’s cries faded until Gideon heard nothing at all.

  “Gideon.” Lonnie’s voice was faint and far away.

  Pain ripped through his arm as he rolled onto his back.

  “Gideon!” she called again. His name, now louder, rang in his ears.

  He opened one eye, then the other. He blinked against the rain that fell on his face and saw Lonnie leaning over him, her wet braid dangling toward him. “Gid,” she cried, shaking him. “Are you all right?”

  Struggling to sit up, he felt Lonnie’s arm slip behind him and hoist him forward. Gideon shook his head and tried to fit the pieces together in his mind. “Where’s Jacob?”

  “He’s here. He’s fine.” Lonnie lifted the boy from her lap. “He might get a few bruises, but he’s fine.”

  Gideon stared at his son. He could not tell the tears from the rain, but under the circumstances, at least the boy could offer him that. Gideon felt a wave of relief wash over him.

  “How long was I out?”

  “Just a few moments.” Still on her knees, Lonnie inched her way closer.

  “I’m just glad Jacob’s not hurt.” Gideon leaned forward and gasped. He grabbed his shoulder as pain thundered through his back and down into his hand.

  “But you are.” Lonnie lifted his arm into her lap. “How bad does it hurt?”

  Gideon grimaced and she pursed her lips. Lonnie passed her hands over the bones of his wrist, and he winced.

  “I think it’s just a sprain.” Gideon pulled his wrist into his lap. “My shoulder’s what really hurts. I think it might be out of the socket.”

  Lonnie held a hand to her mouth. “What do we do?”

  He peered down at his mud-soaked shirt and let his breath out in a gush. “Pop it back in.” He looked at his young wife but knew the answer before he spoke. “Do you know how?”

  Her face seemed to pale, and she shook her head. Scooting Jacob onto his leg, Lonnie rose to her feet. “Let me see what I have.”

  Gideon heard fabric tear, and she sank back at his side, a remnant of ivory cloth in her grasp. Gently lifting his elbow, she slipped the portion of fabric beneath his arm.

  He winced but opened one eye long enough to survey the makeshift sling. “That looks like my work shirt.”

  “It was.” She yanked the ends in a snug knot and slipped it over his head where it draped securely around his neck. “How’s that?”

  “It helps,” Gideon lied as he gritted his teeth.

  Lonnie pursed her mouth. “I don’t know what else to do until we can get some help.”

  When she looked up at him, worry and grief seemed to stretch in the silence between them.

  The rain was slowing. Lonnie’s voice was soft but strong. “We need to get you out of here.”

  As the rain fell in a weak drizzle, she helped him stand. He tried to put as little of his weight as possible on her. Finally finding his feet, he rose and looked down on her damp hair. She was soaked to the skin. Jacob too. And with no prospect of shelter or a fire. He touched the small of her back, wishing with all that was in him that he could wrap them in warmth and safety.

  Gideon paused and wiped sweat from his brow. He studied the trail ahead. The impossible trail ahead. In too much pain to get comfortable on the hard ground, he had spent the night keeping a watchful eye on Lonnie and Jacob. They’d risen with the sun and worked their way out of a shallow meadow. Now the trail rose. It narrowed.

  Lonnie turned, concern etched in her face. “You’re in pain.” It wasn’t a question.

  Gideon forced himself to walk on. “We’re almost there. Another day at most.” If they made good time, he and Lonnie would be knocking on Joel’s door by nightfall. Another bead of sweat dripped down his forehead.

  As if it had a life of its own, a gnarled root tangled against his boot, and Gideon stumbled forward. He sank to his knees. His good arm flew forward, and his palm pressed into the dirt. Before Lonnie could turn, he struggled to his feet. A sharp pain seized his shoulder. Gideon gasped, unable to go another step.

  Glancing around, he wiped his filthy palm on his pants. The terrain looked more familiar with each hour that passed. He scanned both sides of the damp road, hoping to see a cabin behind the trees. Wasn’t there someone who could help them?

  “There.” Lonnie pointed. She turned, her face bright.

  Gideon glanced through the trees and spotted a two-story building in the distance. He quickened his pace and waved for her to follow. As he burst through the trees, a small pond came into view, and the forest opened. Gideon tilted his head back and sent up a quick prayer of thanks. Cover Mill. As sure as he knew the familiar lines of his pa’s farm, he knew that mill, and as he caught sight of the large water-wheel turning, knew there were workers inside. Workers who could help him.

  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 smo
othed 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.”