Though My Heart Is Torn

by Joanne Bischof

  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.

  Lo
nnie 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.

  Gideon glanced at Lonnie, then he forced a smile in Maggie’s direction. “I see you’ve met our Jacob.”

  “Yes.” Her ma made no move toward the baby. The single word hung in the balance, the silence deafening. When the sound of Joel’s steps faded, Maggie reached for the child, squeezing his hand with a muted tenderness. A smile lifted one side of her mouth. She brushed her finger down his round little cheek. A noise made her jump, and she pulled away.

  Lonnie held Jacob tighter. The clock on the mantel chimed, reminding Lonnie just how long the day had been. Knowing that all eyes were on her, she forced a smile as she removed his cap. “He’ll be happy to sleep in a real bed tonight.”

  Her ma shook out her apron. “Yes.” She glanced around the tiny space. “Now to make up some beds for the night.”

  “Please don’t go to any trouble for us. Gid and I don’t mind stayin’ in the lean-to. Oh, but Sid and Oliver are in there.”

  “Take it.” Oliver quipped. “We’ll sleep in the barn.” He elbowed his brother mischievously. “We promise not to try and burn it down this time.”

  Their ma shook her head, but she smiled.

  “Thanks, you two.” Lonnie looked back at her ma. “It’s all settled, then? Gid and I will sleep in the lean-to.”

  Maggie touched her own cheek, pressing pale fingertips into her aging skin. All humor faded away. “Your pa won’t like that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Maggie pursed her lips, a thousand unspoken words in her brown eyes. “He just won’t like it.”

  Lonnie straightened her shoulders. “Well, he’s just gonna have to live with it.”

  Water dripped from the eaves, and Gideon stared up at the soggy lean-to boards. No sunrise slipped through the cracks of the faded gray wood that was dark with moisture. Not this morning. He ran a hand over his face, trying to drive away the sleepiness, but it was no use. He was exhausted. And sleep had been scarce the night before.

  As much as Gideon had wanted to collapse onto the cornhusk mattress and lay aside the weariness of the journey, Joel Sawyer’s abrupt departure had wedged a splinter of worry in his gut. But why, he didn’t know. All he knew was that Joel would scarcely look him in the eye. That he expected. But what he didn’t expect was the way Maggie looked at Jacob. With hesitation. Fear almost.

  He inhaled slowly, the musty damp air filling his lungs. Lonnie lay curled on her side beside him, her hand tucked beneath her cheek. Jacob slept between them, his ginger curls askew.

  Not wanting to get up, Gideon lay back down on the cornhusk mattress and stared at the roof. His eyes landed on a small crack. Droplets of water pooled and then ran down the angle of the slanted ceiling to drip into a bucket on the floor. The sound reminded him of his childhood.

  He pulled the quilt closer to his face and shivered against the cold.

  Lonnie’s quaint voice murmured through the blankets. “You asleep?”

  “No. Did I wake you?”

  “Sort of.” She rolled over to face him. Her ears were red with cold, and she pulled the blanket up to her chin. “But that’s all right. I should get up anyway and help Ma with breakfast.”

  Rain flicked off the tin roof. Another sound that reminded him of home.

  Gideon realized just how long it had been since he’d last seen his folks. Perhaps he’d be able to pay them a visit. He was certain they would be pleased to see Jacob. Somebody had to be.

  As Lonnie lay there watching him, Gideon voiced his idea.

  “I’d be happy to,” she said, truly sounding glad. “We can leave as soon as breakfast is over and—”

  Gideon pressed a finger to her lips. Her eyes widened.

  “Do you hear that?” He moved his hand away, curling the end of her braid around his finger.

  She glanced over, then shrugged. “I don’t hear anything.”

  He sat up, inviting a waft of cool air beneath the blankets. “There it is again. I hear horses.”

  Lonnie rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, there’s something out of the ordinary.”

  “No.” Gideon’s feet fell to the floor. “Sounds like a wagon.”

  “Pa doesn’t have a wagon. Maybe someone’s come to visit. Maybe it’s your folks.” She sat up.

  He doubted it.

  Gideon jumped out of bed and struggled into his pants. “You always assume the best about people.” He winked at her, liking the way her freckled blush scattered his worry.

  Using his good arm, he carelessly stuffed his shirt into his pants and yanked his belt tight, wincing when pain ripped through his shoulder. He struggled to smooth the collar, and when he fumbled with his cuffs, Lonnie hopped up and buttoned them.

  “I better hurry.” With her nightgown twisted around her torso, she was a jumble of knobby arms and legs as she scrambled to get dressed herself.

  Giving her a wedge of space, Gideon pushed past the lean- to door. It fell closed behind him. Maggie emerged from the bedroom. She was dressed and combed, her striped apron already dusted with flour. She peered out the window, then studied him for several breaths. Her eyes softened. Her expression, so different from the night before, was almost apologetic.

  “Mornin’.” Gideon tipped an imaginary hat. “Is it my folks?” He pulled the door open.

  “No … it’s Reverend Gardner.” She studied him with an unveiled sorrow so intense that a cold fog settled in his chest.

  From the open doorway, Gideon watched Joel greet the stout reverend with a two-handed shake.

  Joel’s voice carried up the stairs. “They’re here.”

  Gideon stepped back, but the rickety porch squeaked, and both men glanced up at him.

  Joel motioned to the man beside him. “You remember Reverend Gardner.”

  The man had married him and Lonnie. “Yessir.”

  The reverend followed Joel toward the house.

  “Nice to see you again, Gideon.” His smile seemed forced.

  They scaled the steps, and Gideon made room for them to enter. The reverend closed the door with a soft thud. He turned his black hat, fingers twitching as they traced around the rim.

  “And the others?” Joel blurted.

  Reverend Gardner glanced at Gideon. “On … on their wa
y.” His eyes fell to the floor. “Paid them a visit early this morning.” Bushy eyebrows fell to slants. “A little too early if you ask me, but as you know, the matter is most”—he glanced at Gideon again—“urgent.”

  Gideon’s jaw flexed. “Someone wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

  Lonnie emerged from the lean-to, eyes bright. “What’s the matter?”

  Joel slapped his hands together. “Now that we’re all assembled”—his palms swished as he smoothed them back and forth—“perhaps you’d like to begin?” He waved a hand toward Reverend Gardner, who shook his head so fast, his insipid cheeks bobbled back and forth.

  “Though I don’t wish to be difficult, my colleague, uh, made the discovery, and I feel it might be best to leave it up to him to”—the reverend gulped and moistened pasty lips—“break the news.”

  A tight smile lifted Joel’s mouth. “Suit yourself. Coffee?” He pulled a chair out.

  The reverend settled himself at the table. “Please.”

  Gideon felt Lonnie step beside him.

  “Pa?” she asked. “What’s the matter? What news?”

  “By and by, Lonnie. See to the reverend’s coffee, please.”

  Lonnie moved to the coffeepot, then held it close. She made no move to serve them, and Joel made no move to reach for it. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I will not stand here another moment and let you play your game.” Her voice, though soft, was strong. “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

  His expression hardened.

  Gideon shifted. He rolled his bad shoulder, and a burn shot through his back. Still, he’d use it if it came to that. If Joel even lifted one finger to her.