Though My Heart Is Torn

by Joanne Bischof

  “Might as well let them rest.” She turned forward and sighed. Lonnie trusted that if Jebediah were truly at the bottom of the hill, he would not mind waiting another hour.

  “So I suppose this is it,” Sarah said. The breeze played with a loose strand of her ginger hair, sending it dancing across her lightly freckled forehead. She tucked the lock behind her ear. “You know … it was hard enough having you leave me once. But twice.” She shook her head and fell silent. A tear crawled down her ruddy cheek. Lonnie rarely saw her aunt cry. The confession made her love the woman even more.

  Lonnie squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I’m gonna miss you more than ever.”

  Sarah’s soft bun shook when she bobbed her head. “Look at me. A silly woman.” She wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron and chuckled. “Guess I’m not as good at good-byes as I thought I was.”

  “I hope you’ll visit someday. It would be nice to have family around.” Since Gideon could not love her, anyone who could would be welcome company.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Sarah’s eyes narrowed beneath the weight of her words. “That man of yours—”

  Lonnie raised her hand. “Aunt Sarah. Gideon isn’t my—”

  Sarah caught hold of Lonnie’s wrist and pressed it down. “I don’t care what you say or what they say, but if I must, I’ll just call him Gideon.” Her voice softened, and she picked up Lonnie’s hand, folding it inside her silky palm. “You two have gone through what no couple should ever be forced to do.” Sarah, a woman who had never married, who had never found her own true love, closed her eyes, and the lines in her face drew sharp. “It angers me to see it happen. I know it’s what should be and what must be … but that don’t make it any less wrong in my heart.” Her voice trailed off, and she turned away.

  Wishing her aunt did not have to water the small bud of desire for a man she could not have, Lonnie pulled her hand free. “Yes,” she stated. “But I’m afraid it’s too late. Now Cassie is Gideon’s wife.”

  The reins fell from Sarah’s grasp. She chucked her skirt up to her calves and spun toward Lonnie. She waved a fist in the air. “You’ve got fight in you. I know it—”

  “No!” Lonnie snapped. “There’s no use.” Her voice cracked. “Perhaps he’s made her his wife by now.”

  A sorrowful shadow crossed over her aunt’s face, and Lonnie looked away.

  She eyed the pass that separated her from more than her aunt Sarah. Soon, it would separate her from Gideon. She took a deep breath. If there had been any other way.

  A cool breeze stirred their skirts, and Lonnie felt the chill of the late afternoon on her arms. After a long silence, Sarah put her hand over her niece’s. “Lonnie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have waited until now to voice my opinions. I don’t know what came over me.” She touched Lonnie’s cheek. “I admire your courage.”

  Lonnie fiddled with the tin wedding ring in her apron pocket. “I’m just doing what has to be done. There’s nothing courageous about that.”

  Sarah wrapped an arm around her. She formed her words slowly, and they seemed to hang in the quiet stillness around them. “Sometimes duty takes courage. Oftentimes, more than we think we have.”

  Lonnie scaled the narrow path with Jacob snug in his sling. A gentle tug on Sugar’s line and the old mule plodded along, their two sacks draped over her sloped back. Addie clung to Lonnie’s skirt. Lonnie glanced over her shoulder to where Sarah stood at the edge of the ravine. She heard not a sound as she listened for Jebediah’s presence. Lord, let him be here.

  Then she saw him.

  Smoke swirled around the man in the plaid coat. Having been busy tending his fire, he rose to a stand. Even from a distance, his smile was broad. Lonnie glanced back, and Sarah waved from the top of the hill. Her patchwork skirt flapped in the breeze, and she wiped her hands across her eyes.

  “Good-bye,” Lonnie whispered. She waved. The late afternoon shadows blocked out the sun, and even though she’d slipped into Gideon’s flannel coat, she shivered. When Sarah disappeared from the ledge, Lonnie strained to listen until she heard her aunt holler out a command to Elliot. Lonnie prayed that some of her aunt’s strength had been planted like a seed inside her.

  “Who’s that?” Addie interrupted Lonnie’s thoughts.

  Lonnie squeezed the small hand inside hers. “That’s Jebediah. He’s a kind man. You will like him.” When Jacob saw Jebediah, she could hardly hold the boy, who nearly squirmed from her grasp. She lifted him from the sling.

  With the gait of a man half his age, Jebediah rushed forward and engulfed both Lonnie and Jacob in a tobacco-scented hug. The bristles of his beard tickled her cheek. Crushed beneath his strength, she instantly felt at home. Pulling back, Jebediah caught Jacob as he dove toward him.

  “There’s my boy,” he said with a wide grin.

  Jacob patted Jebediah’s cheek and bounced up and down.

  “We missed you,” Lonnie sighed.

  “And I missed both of you.” Jebediah looked down at Addie, who huddled at Lonnie’s side. “And who’s this?”

  Lonnie stepped back. “This is Addie. My little sister.” Lonnie watched Jebediah’s face for a reaction as she continued. “Would you and Elsie mind if she stayed with us for a while?”

  “You kiddin’? Elsie’ll be thrilled.” Jebediah’s eyes softened when he looked down at Addie. “She always wanted a full house.” Jebediah pinched Addie’s cheek, and the little girl stepped behind her sister.

  Undeterred, Jebediah winked. “That’s all right. An old grizzly like me … well, I don’t blame the girl.” He knelt and his grin widened. “Would you like to come sit by the fire? You look like you could use a molasses cookie. Elsie made them fresh.”

  Like a child on Christmas morning, Addie’s eyes widened with surprise. She nodded eagerly and her dark curls bobbed. She darted toward the campsite without her host. Jebediah followed, Jacob pressed to his chest. Addie sank onto a blanket, and Jebediah lowered Jacob next to her. After pulling two cookies from a dented tin, he handed one to each of them. Addie immediately took a bite, but Jacob rolled his cookie around on the blanket before taking a small taste.

  Lonnie watched the joyful trio, but what little peace had tried to spread its wings in her heart was shattered when her torment returned. Unable to move, she stood frozen. The air pressed on her.

  Jebediah turned. “Lonnie? You all right?”

  She’d held her tears at bay as long as she could. She was tired of trying to be strong. “No.”

  “Oh, Lonnie.” He strode back, and his hands cupped her arms.

  She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. Her throat burned. “I’m so frustrated.”

  Jebediah placed a hand against her head, and his voice was low. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

  Her head slid against his coat as she shook her head. “He’s gone, Jebediah. He’s really gone. Why did this happen?”

  Standing in the presence of Jebediah—the one man who truly loved and shaped her husband, helped mold him into the man she loved—Lonnie felt the loss of Gideon afresh. Sobs overtook her. “It’s gotta be a bad dream.” She clutched the fabric of Jebediah’s coat.

  Jebediah’s voice remained soft. “You did what you had to do.”

  She pulled back. “I keep hearing that! Why did he do this? Why couldn’t things just have turned out well?” She shook her head so fiercely, curls tumbled from her bun. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  “No.” He gripped her shoulders, ducking his head until they were eye level. “You didn’t ask for this, Lonnie. Not for one moment do you deserve this.” Jebediah glanced to the children who cuddled on the blanket, the tin of cookies at Addie’s side. “But sometimes God puts us into the hot water. And when we’re in the middle of it, it’s almost impossible to bear.” He shook his head slowly, face grave. “Why He does that, I’m not sure. But you’re gonna be stronger for it.” His eyes bore into hers, and he shook her shoulders with a gentle strength. “You’re gonna get through this.”

&
nbsp; “How do you know?” Apron clutched, she wadded it beneath the weight of broken hopes. “Was I a fool, Jebediah? Was I wrong to trust him?”

  “No, Lonnie. You’re anything but a fool. He loved you.” Jebediah spoke the last words slowly, each one deliberate. Coupled with the honesty in his eyes, the words brought a fresh wave of emotion bubbling up inside Lonnie. “That man still does. He loves you with everything he has. I know it. God was working in that man’s life.”

  “He was.” The words seemed to break as they fell from her tongue, but she believed them. “I saw it every day. He was changing.” Gideon O’Riley, the man who had once cared about no one but himself, was changing every day for her and for Jacob. She knew it in her heart of hearts to be true. But now he was gone. Lonnie locked her trembling hands together and sent up a prayer—no, a plea—that God would fill the void inside her with His strength.

  Gideon knew that sleep was fooling him, but he clung with all his might to the world he saw. Plaid skirts billowed around her form as Lonnie set down a shallow pan. Icy water sloshed over the edge. A crow flew overhead, and she arched her neck, lifting her face to the thick row of river birch at the edge of the water. Morning dew glistened all around as Lonnie rolled the cuffs of her blouse past cream-colored wrists.

  Gideon’s hand twitched as if to trace his fingers there.

  The crow called again.

  Startled, Gideon opened his eyes.

  It took him a moment, searching the ceiling, to recognize the dark wood, the narrow walls. Lonnie faded. The nightmare of the situation made his heart sink.

  He rolled onto his side and stared at the dark window. The gray sky hinted that the sun was not long from rising. Gideon closed his eyes and tried to bring Lonnie’s image back. The light brightened. He reached over and, from the pocket of his shirt that he’d tossed to the floor, pulled out her ribbon. He fingered the tattered fabric.

  That was all he had left of her. Yellow calico. As it always did, it struck him like a blow to the gut. It was not the first time the realization had come to him, but this time it was final. There was no way around it. It was all he would ever have. She would not change to him. She would not grow with the seasons as he would. Forever in his heart and mind she would be the wife of his youth. Eighteen-year-old Lonnie. Jacob too. The boy would never seem to age beyond the baby who crawled about, causing mischief for his ma and pa. He would grow older in Gideon’s mind, but never in his memories.

  Though it pained him, he tucked his hand beneath his pillow, fighting the urge to lift the ribbon to his nose. It was no use. Her scent was gone. It had already faded away. Sitting up, he forced himself to face the day. With a soft groan, he left the comfort of the mattress and stood before the window. The sky was lighter now, the sun just peeking through the trees.

  He turned and leaned against the windowsill. The room was bright enough now that he could make out the figure lying in the bed. When Cassie rolled onto her side, he held his breath. What would she think if she found him watching her? Her eyelids fluttered but remained closed. Her hand slid across the white sheet and rested beneath her cheek. The messy hair draped over her shoulder lay dark against the pale sheets, dark against skin the color of cream.

  As if sleep had chased away her boldness, her peaceful expression kept his eyes on her face. How many times had he watched her sleep? Gideon blinked. His heart twisted in his chest. She was beautiful. Only a blind man could disagree. Needing to be free of the cramped room, he dressed quickly and left without a sound.

  He grabbed his oilcloth coat and hat. The trees were still and quiet, the sky a mind-numbing blue. A trio of birds darted overhead. Their black wings glinted in the bright sun. It brought him no peace. None of it did. Nothing made sense but the cold that bit at his bare hands. Gideon stuffed his arms through his coat and pressed his hat over his hair. He needed space.

  His boots carried him toward the barn, and without checking to see if he was being watched, he flung the door open. With not so much as a glance over his shoulder, he moved to the farthest stall where the second of the Allans’ horses stood, black tail swishing. The horse glanced at him, large eyes almost curious. Knowing.

  Gideon reached up and yanked a bridle from its peg. He flung a saddle blanket over the stall and reached for the latch. Time to put some distance between him and his troubles, and the sooner the better. Whether he owned the beast or not. He unlatched the stall, moved toward the gelding, and slid his palm up the horse’s muscular neck. He slid the bridle over the long, chestnut nose and gently pressed the bit between two rows of broad white teeth. “Thatta boy.” His hands moved to the buckle, the permanence of his reality driving a wedge into his gut.

  “Come to steal a horse?”

  Gideon jerked his head up to see Jack standing in the doorway.

  “Or are you just tired of female company?” Jack grunted out a laugh. He moved to the edge of the stall, hitched his boot on the lowest rail, and draped his wrist on the top.

  Gideon moved his eyes back to the beast and gave the brown coat one final stroke. “Little bit of both,” he admitted.

  “You weren’t going to ask, were you?”

  “I was thinking about it.”

  “Liar.”

  Gideon chuckled, the sensation foreign of late. “Don’t worry.” He pulled the bridle off and hung it up. He moved back for the blanket. “Your horse is safe.”

  “You know what they’d think.” Jack studied him. His eyes were serious, but his posture still dangled slack on the stall as if he couldn’t have cared less.

  “That I’m running away,” Gideon said flatly.

  Jack screwed his mouth to the side and lifted his eyebrows. He stepped into the stall, picked up a bristle brush, and worked long strokes down the horse’s sleek back.

  “Well, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Gideon pulled his hat off, sifted through his hair, then slid it back on.

  “Of course you’re not.” Jack grabbed the bridle from its peg. He thumbed the smooth leather, eyes down. Finally, with a slow lift of his chest, he stepped around the animal. With quiet movements, he slid it over the horse’s face.

  “What are you doing?” Gideon tapped his knuckles on the stall.

  “Gettin’ ’im ready.”

  Gideon’s hand stilled. “But your brothers. Your pa.”

  Jack draped the saddle blanket over the horse’s broad back. “It’s not their horse.” He settled the burgundy mat squarely, followed by a quilted pad. “Besides. Someone around here needs to show you that there’s a sane one among this lot. We’re not all ogres with shotguns.” The saddle creaked when he lifted it from the stand, and with a grunt Jack hefted it onto the horse’s back.

  “What about Cassie?” Gideon stepped in to help.

  “Cassie’s made her own choices in life. She’s a big girl.” Jack gripped the pommel, straightening the saddle while Gideon buckled the girth beneath the horse’s belly.

  “How do you know I won’t steal it?”

  Jack chuckled. “Because then I’ll have my own reason to shoot you.” He patted the gelding’s rump. “His name’s Abel and he’s mine. Bring him back in one piece, all right?”

  Gideon nodded once, sobered by the man’s faith in him. “I promise.” For the first time in weeks, Gideon took a deep, thorough breath. The cool air lifted his lungs, an invisible weight shifting. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” His voice nearly hitched, so desperate was he to be free of this place.

  Jack moved to a trunk. The heavy lid groaned when he lifted it, and he pulled out an armful of riding gear. “Might as well make a day of it.”

  “Git on up!” Abel scaled the steep slope. The clop, clop of his shod hoofs and the creaking of leather were the only sounds to be heard. They scaled the hill, and the land leveled out into a broad, flat valley. Gideon glanced around. Nothing but open land for miles. He pulled his hat off and used it to shove his hair back before settling it into place. He moved the mount along a stand of trees, the road
beneath him unfamiliar. Untested.

  And the urge to run hit him like a blow to the chest.

  His eyelids nearly fluttered closed. A handful of days and he could be at the Bennetts’ door. Lonnie’s familiar form in his arms. Her scent. Her tears. His hand gripped the reins tighter when a burn threatened to clamp his throat shut. His son.

  Gideon gently tapped his worn-out boots into Abel’s side, and the horse broke into a trot. A tumble of clouds shifted in front of the sun. The air cooled. Gideon tugged his coat tighter, the oilcloth smooth in his fingers. Moments passed as light danced with shadow before the sun broke free. It hit Gideon’s face in a burst of warmth, and he tilted his chin up, wishing he could ride toward it.

  Ride toward it and never stop.

  Not until he reached his bride. And in her hands he could place the tattered remains of his heart. For she was the only one who could mend it.

  Though Gideon kept his eyes down when Cassie pushed a small plate of biscuits in front of him, he couldn’t help but notice the scent of lilac she left in her wake. He’d bet everything he owned that she’d dabbed the fragrant water along her collarbone while dressing. A memory of her he wished away with every fiber in his being.

  He pressed his tongue in his cheek when her hip bumped the table in passing, apron strings bouncing. He caught his coffee cup before it tumbled from the table and into his lap. Hot droplets scalded his hand. That woman.

  Finally sitting, she flashed him a smile. “Ham?” She tipped the pan toward him.

  He lifted his plate without speaking. He knew what game she was playing at, and he wasn’t about to take part.

  A biscuit steamed when he broke it in half. A knifeful of blackberry jam and he folded it back over itself. He licked the tip of his thumb before sliding the jar in Cassie’s direction.

  “Thank you.”

  He gave her a halfhearted nod.

  “I was thinking that maybe we’d get some chickens. It would be so nice to have eggs.”