Though My Heart Is Torn

by Joanne Bischof

“Perfect.” Grabbing her arm, Gideon tugged her into a stand of trees. “Just what are you trying to do? Bringing me here. I don’t want to go back there.” Didn’t want to relive the memories of the life that had brought him here. He’d tried to make a clean break. He and Lonnie.

  Cassie worked to pry his fingers loose, and he let go. “I’m not trying to do anything. Will you stop acting like I’m ruining your life?”

  “But you are.”

  “No. You are. You, Gideon O’Riley, have been ruining your own life since I’ve known you. Every choice—every mistake—was yours. Stop putting it on me … or anyone else for that matter.” She pressed her hands together soundlessly. “I know you see this as a mistake.” She motioned between them. “But I don’t.”

  “You think this is all right? You think it’s going to work out? Do you honestly think that God is going to bless this after what we’ve done?”

  “You never cared before.”

  “I care now!” He nearly shouted it and forced himself to lower his voice. He ran both hands through his hair, keeping them there. “I care now.” Because Lonnie had gotten under his skin. In the best of ways. And the remnants of the faith he’d tried to borrow from her remained. He didn’t want to lose that. Didn’t want to slip back into the darkness. Cassie would never understand that. Yet here they stood. His ring on her finger.

  God, why?

  When she finally spoke, Cassie’s voice was small. “We have a chance to make this right, Gideon. If this faith you speak of is real, then surely there’s a way to redeem what was lost.” Sunlight laced through the trees, dancing along her face.

  No. It was impossible. God didn’t work that way. He and Cassie were too far gone. Their choices too selfish, too sinful. Yet something inside him—memories of what God could build out of nothing—told him he was wrong.

  Lonnie sat on the back steps, Jacob in her lap, as she laced her boots. Addie sat beside her, doing the same. A letter to Gideon seemed to weigh her pocket. She’d written it late in the night. For weeks she’d put it off, uncertain if she was strong enough to pen her heart. But then, as she watched Jacob sleep by the light of a single candle, she couldn’t bear the thought of Gideon’s missing every single moment. What little she managed to express in her words would have to suffice. Lonnie fingered the envelope, wishing she could blot out the tear stains that betrayed her.

  Jebediah worked at the edge of the yard, tossing vines from the garden into a smoldering heap. The scent of smoke and the herby aroma of the spent summer garden filled the air. Jacob rubbed his nose with his pudgy hand.

  When Addie was finished, they strode toward the gate.

  “Where ya headed?” Jebediah tossed a squash vine onto the heap and straightened, his pants stained with soot and soil.

  “To get a goat.” Lonnie blinked up, and Jebediah was outlined in the glint of the morning sun. “Elsie and I spoke to Gus the other day, and he’s gonna trade me for one.”

  “A goat.”

  It felt strange to smile, but with Jebediah looking at her like that, she couldn’t help it. “Yes. A whole goat. Addie’s gonna come with me. We won’t be long.”

  Jebediah motioned toward the neighboring farm. “Well, I leave you to it, ladies. Try not to get into too much trouble.” He winked at Addie.

  Addie’s round cheeks dimpled in a smile.

  Bitter air nipped at her nose, and Lonnie tugged Jacob’s wool sweater down over his round belly. He flapped his arm, eager to be on an adventure. The forest was quiet as if all the creatures were still snug in bed. Lonnie was glad she tucked an extra petticoat beneath her brown dress and insisted Addie wear two pairs of stockings. Lonnie slowed when, somewhere in the distance, she heard a fiddle. The long, lone sound drew her eyes toward a cabin just beyond the nearest trees.

  Addie tugged gently on her sleeve. “It’s that man,” she whispered and pointed up the trail. “The one who talks funny. The nice one.”

  So it was. Lonnie brushed at a strand of hair tickling her cheek.

  He was dressed in the same dark garb Reverend Gardner always wore. The man clutched a Bible to his chest with a thick hand, his features drawn. Dawn broke in his troubled face when he glanced up and spotted them.

  “Morning,” he breathed.

  “Morning.”

  One of his dimples appeared. “You’re out early.”

  “As are you.”

  He squinted down at her, a shadow of a beard along his jaw. “Aye. It’s been a bit of a night.” A slow glance over his shoulder to the cabin, then his attention fell on her. “Mrs. Bennick passed, and I’ve been sitting with the family.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “ ’Twas an easy passing. And her spirit was at peace.”

  The words soothed. “A blessing to the family that you were there for comfort.”

  He ducked his head humbly, then glanced down at Addie. “And where might you be going? I see you’re keeping an eye on your older sister here.”

  Lonnie caught his disguised wink.

  “We’re going to get a goat,” the little girl declared.

  “Oh. A goat.”

  “For myself,” Lonnie blurted.

  “Oh.”

  She hitched her foot off to the side. “Why does everybody look at me like I’m crazy when I say that?”

  “Am I looking at you like you’re crazy?”

  “Yes.”

  His face quickly broke into a wide, awkward grin. After several heartbeats, he spoke through his teeth. “I’m frightening you, aren’t I?”

  “A little.”

  He chuckled and his smile turned natural.

  The side of her mouth lifted. “Better.”

  “May I … may I walk with you a ways? I’m headed in that direction.”

  She studied him a moment. “If you’d like.”

  Autumn hues—nearly a memory—burned gold in patches overhead as they strode down the path. The early sun illuminated the still forest, and Addie skipped ahead. Lonnie and Toby walked a whisper apart, Jacob between them.

  “So tell me about this goat of yours. What are you going to use it for? Meat, cheese, soap?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Meat?”

  She chuckled. “No, soap.” She fiddled with the cuff of Jacob’s pants, her fingers stiff from the cold. “I’ve been experimenting with a few new varieties. My aunt taught me, but I’ve never made it with goat’s milk before.” She drew in a full breath, holding it briefly. She let it out in a gush. “You could say it’s time for a little change.” She glanced up at him. “Honestly, I just need something to keep me busy.”

  His face softened as if he had absorbed more than her words. “Aye, I ken the feeling.” He lifted the Bible. “Part of the reason I’m always working with folks ’round here. Can’t just wait on Sundays or a sickness.”

  Her braid slid off her shoulder and bounced against her back. “No, I suppose you can’t.” They approached Gus’s barn, and Lonnie thought about trying him at his house first, when he appeared in the great doorway and waved overhead.

  “I’ve been expecting you!” He waved them forward, his smile broad.

  “Want to see them?” she asked Toby.

  He dipped his head. “Love to.”

  The vast space was a far cry from Jebediah’s cozy barn. The front portion was set up as a workshop, and beyond that half a dozen stalls lined each side. Gus led them down the narrow aisle, the essence of animals and feed thick and swampy.

  With a hitch of his thumb, Gus alerted them to a stall near the rear. “This is the lot of ’em.” He motioned for Lonnie to take a closer look, and she led Addie in front of her as they crowded around the narrow space. Gus’s raspy voice, as kind as Jebediah’s, fell soft beside her. “Four all together, though only two are nannies.” Tattered boots carried him into the pen. “This one”—he rubbed the back of a pure white goat—“and that’n.” A speckled kid trotted across the pen. “You may have your pick, Lonnie. Just
let me know which one you choose.”

  Something warmed in her heart as she watched the pair. “When will they be ready?”

  “Too young to breed this year, so come the spring after next, I’m hoping they’ll both deliver a pair of kids. After the babes are weaned, she’s all yours. As long as you don’t mind waiting.”

  Lonnie rested her chin on the gatepost. She rather fancied the white one, but something about the way the speckled one moseyed about kept stealing her attention.

  “Do they have names?” she asked.

  “No.” Gus ran his hands up and down his overall straps. “Don’t fancy myself as sentimental as you women folk. Though it’s high time I got around to calling them something.”

  Lonnie watched the speckled one, wondering what she might call it.

  “That one’s a bit of a handful,” Toby said, pointing to a brown goat in the corner who was rubbing its head against the post. The kid turned and rammed the other male in the side, sending it trotting out of the way.

  “That little billy gives me more trouble than the lot of them put together. Unruly. Stubborn as they come. A spirit about that one.” Gus’s mouth tipped up in a smile despite his complaint.

  Lonnie had the perfect name for it come to mind. Gideon’s memory sent a shard of pain through her chest, and she pressed her hand to her blouse.

  “You all right?”

  She glanced up to see Toby watching her and realized she was frowning. “Yes, fine.” She cleared her throat, folding the sadness in a hidden place, and held Jacob tighter to chase away the yearning. She struggled for words. “I … I’m thinking of that one there.” She squinted one eye and pointed at the speckled one. He looked where she pointed.

  “Aye. Good choice.” Toby lifted Addie onto the railing for a better view. “And what do you think?”

  “I like that one the best too.” Addie bounced her heels, pigtails dancing. Toby grinned down at her as if she were his own. The action called Lonnie’s heart from its hiding place.

  “Then that one it is.” She winked at her sister and fought the urge to tell Gus she’d take the brown male too. Pull yourself together, Lonnie. “I’ll bring you all the soap you need.”

  “It’s a deal.” He reached out to shake her hand, and she took it. “A fine deal for an old bachelor like me.”

  And she would have a way to make a little income. For the first time in her life, she would be able to stand on her own two feet. She couldn’t rely on Jebediah and Elsie’s kindness forever. She had to see to Jacob’s needs. Addie’s too. She wouldn’t have much, but it would be a start. Suddenly, she remembered the letter in her apron pocket. She pulled it out. “Jebediah said you’re making a trip into Mount Airy.”

  “That I am. Day after tomorrow.”

  “Would you take this to the post office for me?”

  “Be happy to.” He took the letter and slid it inside his coat.

  She bid farewell to Gus and led the way back into the fresh air. The sky had clouded over, blanketing the morning in cool, gray light. The air was damp with a coming rain. Lonnie held Jacob close.

  “May I walk you home?” Toby asked.

  “I don’t want to take any more of your day.” She motioned to the road. “It’s a short walk.”

  “To the end of the drive then? What say you, Addie?” He winked down at the girl. “Will you walk with me, lass?”

  The little girl nodded heartily and held his hand with both of hers. They strode a step ahead, Addie skipping. Lonnie watched them for several minutes, a thousand thoughts colliding in her mind and heart. Finally, Toby stopped and turned.

  “This is where we part ways.” The breeze tousled his dark brown locks. His dimples deepened in a smile. “I thank you lassies for letting me accomp’ny you this fine morning.” He pressed a broad hand to his chest. “I was feeling a bit melancholy before and spending the hour with the pair o’ you chased that away.” His large, brown eyes held Lonnie’s gaze.

  The feeling was mutual.

  Feet propped up on the porch railing, Gideon tipped his chair back and watched a tumble of clouds move boldly toward the farm. With his mandolin to his chest, he picked a slow song—a harmony of fragments as if the indecisiveness of his spirit had found its way to his hands. His unlaced boots bounced, the tempo increasing, as emotions that were best laid to rest stirred things inside him. The scent of something colder than rain carried on the wind.

  He thought of Lonnie. He thought of Cassie. And no song would form. From the eight strings, he merely plucked a jumble of melodies, a tangle of notes. A dance between melancholy and yearning—all that was in him and through him. All that he had become. He sang here and there, but pain rubbed sand through his voice.

  Hymns danced on the outskirts of his mind, beckoning him to partake, but he wouldn’t let himself go there. His soul wrestled too fiercely to allow himself that kind of reprieve. He needed to get this out. Needed to make sense of the mess his life had become. If only for an hour. If only for a night, he needed to give in to the madness.

  A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the kettle steamed. He let it billow several minutes more, exhausting his senses. Finally he rose, set his mandolin aside, and using the edge of his shirt, carried the kettle into the bedroom.

  Cassie was at her parents, so for a few blessed moments, he had peace and quiet. He filled the washbasin and tested the water, shaking scalded fingers like an imbecile. He hadn’t shaved in two weeks, and staring at the small, square mirror, he could see that a pass with the razor was long overdue. He peeled his shirt off and tossed it on the bed. His long underwear clung to his skin, and with quick hands, he shoved the dingy sleeves past his forearms. He flicked the top buttons loose and pulled the fabric away from his collarbone to keep it dry.

  With a rag, he dampened his whiskers. The hot water stung, but only for a moment. He lathered his skin. Without having anything to sharpen his razor with, he ran the straight razor up his throat in slow, steady strokes. He rinsed the blade clean and worked his way up his jaw.

  Lonnie used to sit on the bed, watching him. The side of his mouth tipped up. He’d never known if she’d meant to keep him company or if she was keeping watch to make sure he actually committed to a clean shave, so sparse they were. He dragged a long breath in through his nose, remembering the sight of her lying on her stomach on the bed, feet crossed behind her. She would talk and talk, and he would listen. He glanced at the rumpled bed. How he wished she sat there now.

  And what would you say?

  He wouldn’t have to say anything. He would simply listen. Listen to how his son was growing. Listen to how she made it through the day without him. For he had yet to understand the secret to making it through the day without her.

  Hands braced on each side of the washbasin, he stared at the murky water, his shaving forgotten. Lonnie. His hands itched to hold her. To cup her face between his palms. The coals in his chest that he tried to smother bloomed, fanned by longing. His sweet, sweet Lonnie. His Jacob. He glanced in the mirror and saw Cassie in the doorway.

  “You’re back.” With the damp rag, he wiped the rest of the cream from his face and rinsed his hands.

  Sinking onto the edge of the bed, Cassie pulled a knee up and began unlacing her boots. She set one aside and then the other. Blue eyes found his in the glass. “I thought there might be a handsome man under all those whiskers.” She pulled her skirt up past her knees and slid her stockings down.

  Letting her words hang, Gideon rinsed the blade. He stifled a cough.

  “My folks invited us over for supper. I thought it might be nice to visit.” Reaching behind her, she worked on the buttons of her dress.

  “If you say so.” Lifting the rag, Gideon wiped his neck clean. He glanced at her in the mirror.

  She freed one shoulder, the strap of her shimmy poking through.

  “What are you doing?”

  Her hands stilled. “Changing. I’ve been peeling apples, and my dress is damp.”


  Their gazes locked, and he could tell she was trying to read him. He had no words. No words to prevent her from being his wife in every sense of the title. She wiggled free of her dress and stepped out of it. Averting his gaze, Gideon cleared his throat, knotting the rag in his hands. It was all too familiar. The cramped room. The woman. What it was doing to him.

  Without even bothering to fetch a clean shirt, he strode from the bedroom and embraced the cold outside.

  “Help yourself to seconds please, Gideon.”

  Gideon glanced down at his empty plate and licked his fingers. “Thank you, ma’am. This is the best fried chicken I’ve ever had.”

  “Eat as much as you want. And potatoes … another scoop?” Cassie’s ma reached for the wooden spoon before he could respond.

  He held out his plate, and Mary piled a heaping spoonful next to his chicken. He sank his fork in, then licked butter from his thumb.

  Henry Allan accepted another serving of potatoes but did not lift his eyes as he stirred his food around on his plate. Gideon cleared his throat.

  “Thank you for lending me that cart of yours.”

  A curt nod was Henry’s only reply.

  “Jack told me you taught him how to build a few things in your wood shop, Gideon.” Mary smiled kindly. “That was awful nice. He’s spoken very highly of you.”

  Henry nearly choked. He reached for his cider.

  Gideon stuck his tongue in his cheek.

  Beside him, Cassie pushed food across her plate and listened to a story Libby was telling about school.

  “Where are the boys?” Cassie set her fork down, eyes fixed on her pa.

  Gideon lifted his head, trying to appear curious. But he knew the answer. Her brothers wanted nothing to do with him. He was an outcast to his own friends. At least to Samuel and Eli, but considering that Jack was outnumbered, Gideon could not blame the youngest Allan boy for tagging along with his older brothers.

  Mary waved her checked napkin in the air. “Oh, they’re off on some jaunt. Guess they think they’re too old to tell their ma where they’re goin’ anymore.”

  A sip of cider and Gideon cleared his throat. He had a hunch that the Allan boys had decided to skip dinner when he had been invited.