Though My Heart Is Torn

by Joanne Bischof

  Doubt betrayed his eyes when she looked up at him.

  Perhaps only certain company. Without waiting for him to respond, she jumped up and snatched her things from the hook behind the door.

  Gideon held the door open with the toe of his boot, and she stepped out. Before her spirits could fall, her ma’s words echoed in her ears and were as real as the moment she’d spoken them the morning of the wedding. Cassie knew Gideon would never love her but couldn’t overlook the bead of hope in her mother’s eye. “What that boy wants and what he needs are two different things.”

  Let it be so.

  Gideon seemed focused on the path ahead, but Cassie knew him well enough to understand his thoughts were far from the snowy trail before him. Oh, Gideon. What happened to you? What anguish did he suffer? That moment, Cassie wondered if she would ever be enough to mend his grief. She had once been the delight of his eye. The name spoken on his lips with affection—with passion.

  Her steps fell in sync behind his, and Cassie studied the man before her. What sorrow tormented his heart? She wished she did not understand, but she did. She knew the anguish of being separated. Her pa’s words from long ago echoed fresh in her mind. “Gideon’s going to marry the Sawyer girl.” Alone with her own secret, she had run off to the barn and wept for hours.

  Her husband had found another. And that life had changed him.

  The Gideon she had once known was no more. In his place was a sober, almost pensive man. Gone were his rowdy ways. She hadn’t seen him take so much as a drop of moonshine. He was so different from the man she had once known. In more ways than one.

  Gideon slowed, letting Cassie catch up. He couldn’t help but notice that the tight bun at the nape of her neck smelled like rosemary soap—the heady scent inescapable—and he found himself unable to look away.

  Dark lashes flicked up, and she studied him, her round cheeks smooth.

  Time goes by better with company. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t disagree. Gideon watched as she took the lead. She looked so petite beneath the coat draped loosely across her thin frame—so small beneath the sinister spans of swollen clouds overhead.

  Cassie spun around and smiled. “I’ve seen hogs walk faster than you.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d been teased about being slow. But that only made his chest ache and his mind race toward his treasured memories. Trying to keep his mind in the moment, he quickened his pace to match hers. “Would you like to pull the sled?”

  She waited for him to catch up. With nothing else around the snow-covered farm to distract him, Gideon’s full attention fell on her. He looked down at her silken hair, still shiny from her bath. Like he was being awakened slowly from a long dream, everything about her was becoming familiar once again—the round shape of her mouth, the pinch at the tips of her ears, and the way her nose wrinkled impishly when she smiled at him. Gideon cleared his throat as different memories from the past reminded him how he had adored her once. Intensely. He wished the sweet fragrance of her bath didn’t linger on her skin and was relieved when she wandered off. He rubbed the back of his neck. The muscles there were stiff, complaining. A roll of his shoulders did little to loosen the tension.

  It wasn’t easy sleeping in the hard rocking chair every night. Rarely did he give in to the luxury of a soft mattress, a warm blanket. Because he wasn’t as good as any of them gave him credit for. Sure, he was trying to change, but some habits were hard to break. Sleeping beside Cassie Allan was a habit best left untouched.

  “Here’s one.” She knelt and plucked a thin branch from the ground. Without ceremony, Gideon followed her, and in no time, frozen sticks of all sizes cluttered the inside of the sled. Cassie struggled with a heavy branch.

  “Let me help you.” With a tug, Gideon freed it from the frozen ground and hoisted it into the sled.

  Cassie chatted as they worked. Gideon did his best to respond in complete sentences. She was cheerier than he ever remembered, and after a while, he found himself enjoying the morning—the company. Perhaps this could work. Perhaps he could take pleasure in Cassie’s presence as the companion she was becoming. Gideon freed a chunk of wood from the frozen ground and wiped away powdery snow. But would that be enough for her? for him?

  It has to be. He knew of no other way. Gideon tossed the wood into the sled, and it banged against the side. He chewed his lip and cast a wary glance in Cassie’s direction, glad she could not read his thoughts. The thoughts that hovered around the woman who held every happy desire in the palm of her small hand. Lonnie.

  The name seemed to bore a hole through his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. His love. How he longed to touch her. Hear her voice, her laughter. Feel the curve of her silken cheek on the back of his hand. If only she were here with him now. He would bury his face in her hair and inhale the warm scent of cinnamon that always seemed a part of her. She was forever in the kitchen, endlessly covered in flour and sugar … with Jacob at her feet.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I asked if you think that’s enough.” Cassie dropped a pair of heavy sticks into the sled. “Or should we head deeper into the woods?”

  Gideon blinked into the sun and forced his mind back to the present. His new wife bent to yank a heavy branch from beneath a tree. She tugged with all her strength, then gave up, tilted her face to the sky, and laughed.

  “Maybe we should call it a day before you hurt something.”

  She flung a stick in his direction.

  “Or someone.”

  Cassie laughed, and the fondness in her face when she looked up turned something inside his heart, humbling him.

  “Are you sure you wanna go?” Elsie whispered as Lonnie set Jacob on the kitchen floor.

  Before pulling her hands away, Lonnie swiped her palm over the baby’s rumpled hair. “I’m certain. Some fresh air’ll do me good.”

  Elsie pursed her lips, but her eyes softened.

  “I need to get out and stretch my legs.” Lonnie rolled the cuffs of Gideon’s plaid coat past her wrists so she could tuck in her bulky wool gloves. She tugged the thick plaid back in place and clapped her hands together with a muffled sound. “Jeb’s probably waitin’ for me.” Squatting, she pressed a kiss to Jacob’s warm forehead, then rose and squeezed Elsie’s hand in a silent thank-you. “Jebediah said we shouldn’t be gone long.”

  Before her son could fuss about her hasty departure, Lonnie slipped from the cozy kitchen. Just as an icy gust of wind took her breath away, the sun peeked through thinning clouds. As expected, Jebediah stepped from the barn and waved.

  “Chores are done. Ready to head out?” he called.

  Lonnie left the porch and stepped through thick mounds of snow. “I’m ready.”

  She fell in step behind him and used his large footprints as her pathway. Even so, the snow rose to her kneecaps, and the warmth of her legs melted what clung to her wool stockings.

  They walked in silence. The December sun made the white landscape glisten, making it hard to believe that only a few days before, the sky had been an angry shade of gray. Lonnie savored the warmth and knew it could fade by tomorrow. She glanced over her shoulder but could no longer see the house behind them. Only the northeastern corner of the fence poked out of the snow. They followed the trail as it wound around a cluster of red oaks.

  Jebediah switched his shotgun from one hand to the other and peered behind him. “You all right back there?”

  Breathless, Lonnie merely nodded. Jebediah’s footsteps were farther apart than hers, and she struggled to keep up with his steady pace. When he called back to her again, his breath blew white in short puffs.

  “First snare’s not far from the farm,” he panted. “Just a little ways more.”

  They walked in silence, chests heaving. Lonnie’s calves began to burn, and with a grunt, she lifted her boot out of the snow only to have it sink down again on the next step. Finally, Jebediah paused and raised his arm. Lonnie’s gaze fo
llowed the length of his plaid sleeve.

  “Looks empty, but I’ll check it just the same. You can wait here.” He veered off to the right and sank in the drifts beneath the trees. Chilled through, Lonnie crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. The tiny rabbit tracks that littered the freshly fallen snow wove this way and that in a delicate lace pattern she found strangely beautiful.

  Jebediah slowed as he approached the snare. “Yep, empty.” He looked back at Lonnie. Even from the distance, she could see the disappointment on his face.

  “You still got a few to check, though, right?”

  He waved her forward. “Yeah. We’ll keep goin’.” They walked toward each other until their trails united, and Lonnie fell in step behind his heavy boots once more. They’d hardly gone a dozen paces when he motioned to another snare.

  “Would you look at that!” Jebediah handed his shotgun to Lonnie and hurried off toward the trap. “Got one. Come see.” Wrinkling her nose, she followed his bidding.

  “See how it sprung?” He clamped his gloves together in a swift motion. Jebediah sank back on his haunches and smiled. “Gid chose this spot. I remember ’cause I didn’t think it was a good place. Told him so several times, in fact, but that boy wouldn’t listen.” He shook his head, a smile forming beneath his mustache. “He was right.”

  Her insides hollowed. Lonnie stuffed her hands into the pockets of Gideon’s coat. She closed her eyes. Feeling nothing but the cold in her toes and the bitter air on her face, she could almost imagine Gideon standing in the exact same spot only weeks prior.

  Jebediah yanked off his gloves and struggled to loosen the frozen snare. When the critter had been freed and placed in a burlap sack, he reset the coils. They moved on to check the final location. It was as empty as the first.

  “This one’s yet to bring me luck. Ain’t touched it since …” Jebediah’s voice trailed off to a mumble, and he scratched his jaw before stuffing red fingers inside his glove.

  Staring at the lone trap, Lonnie felt a secret thrill knowing it was empty—exactly the way Gideon had left it. Even now, she could almost see his rough, steady fingers as he cautiously prepared the dangerous metal spring. Lonnie clasped her cold hands between her knees. Come on, Lonnie. You’ve got to do better than this.

  They trudged along in silence, this time side by side. They were in no hurry now. Her stockings were wet, her toes stiff, but there was nothing she could do other than continue on. Her hem trailed along the snow, the worn flannel frozen and caked with white powder.

  “I know it’s gotta be hard to talk about him,” Jebediah began, breaking the unstated agreement of reverence—the silence that had settled between them. “But I sure miss that boy.” His voice trailed off, and he scanned the quiet land around them. “More than I ever thought I would.” He chuckled. “I still remember the day we met.” Jebediah lowered his eyes and draped his gun over his shoulder, the same gun he’d used to protect Lonnie that fateful day on the hillside. A shiny reminder of Gideon’s past offenses. “Who would have thought I’d miss that boy as if he were my own son?”

  Lonnie stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. Gideon had touched them all in ways none of them had expected. She changed the subject. “I want to thank you for everything you and Elsie have done for us. Addie and Jacob and myself.”

  “It’s our pleasure.” His voice was so sincere she could have hugged him. She could hardly express her gratitude to Jebediah and Elsie for offering them a safe shelter when they needed it most. It humbled her further when he had later refused her ma’s money. “Save it for a rainy day.” Jebediah had winked and folded Lonnie’s hands back over the bills.

  A trio of golden sparrows darted from the safety of a small fir, their tiny feet hardly denting the soft snow as they hopped to and fro. They flapped tiny wings and returned to their hiding places. Lonnie peered through the velvety branches where the birds settled and watched them shake frosty feathers.

  The air was strangely still. The breeze that had carried them out like wind in their sails ceased to blow, and now their feet crunching in the snow was the only sound breaking the stillness of the forest. The sun that had offered down its warmth had slipped behind the highest peak. The snow, once golden white, softened to gray blue, lost its shimmer, and seemed to cool the air. Lonnie walked slowly—the rhythm of her steps lulling her into a sweet trance—and she nearly forgot all about her frozen toes.

  A horse nickered in the distance. Stumbling to a halt, Jebediah turned. Startled, Lonnie froze in place.

  An accent as rich as Scotch whisky broke the silence. “Well, if it isn’t two familiar faces.”

  Lonnie turned. Glancing between the trees, she saw a horse and rider approaching.

  Jebediah chuckled. “Toby!”

  The dark-haired man tugged the reins, and the brown mare pranced sideways. Snow sprayed from beneath the horse’s hoofs when her muscular legs stomped to a halt.

  Toby’s smile was warmer than any fire. “I thought I’d take Elsie up on her offer for supper.” He was breathless, eyes bright. “Didn’t think I’d run into two frostbitten trav’lers on my way.” He pulled his hat from his head in a brief salute, and his ebony hair stood on end. Smiling at Lonnie, he replaced the hat.

  Jebediah held up the burlap sack. “Care for some rabbit stew?”

  Those darn dimples appeared.

  “Sounds wonderful, but only if Elsie’ll let me do the dishes.” He winked at Lonnie. “It’s good to see you again.” His kind eyes danced over her face.

  “You, as well.” The words held an honesty that surprised her.

  Lonnie smiled at Elsie. Toby’s eyes twinkled as he indulged Elsie’s plea for one more joke. “The young housewife gave the tramp a large piece o’ pie on condition that he should saw some wood. The tramp retired to the woodshed, but presently he reappeared at the back door of the house with the piece o’ pie still intact save for one mouthful bitten from the end.”

  Elsie was already chuckling, and Toby paused long enough for his audience to lean forward in their chairs.

  “ ‘Madam,’ the tramp said respectfully to the wondering woman, ‘if ’tis all the same to ye, I’ll eat the wood an’ saw the pie.’ ”

  Elsie turned red with laughter. Her cheeks bobbed and her eyes watered. She swiped the back of her hand along her silver hairline. Jebediah chuckled too, and Toby sat back with a grin.

  Jebediah lifted his cup in Toby’s direction. “You do have a way with words.” He nodded a salute.

  “As we say back home, slàinte!” Toby lifted his cup of sweet cider and waited for the others to follow suit. Lonnie’s tin mug clanged against the others, and she took a sip. A soft head of dark curls grazed her arm as Addie leaned forward, her mug barely reaching.

  With Jacob on her lap, Lonnie tipped a spoonful of broth to his mouth, and he took it vigorously. “You like that, don’t you?” she whispered into his velvet ear.

  At eight months old, Jacob had taken to his first weeks of solid food with ease. She dabbed at his mouth with her napkin, and he clapped his hands, an unbridled declaration that he wanted more.

  “Well, you can have all you want.” Lonnie retrieved a chunk of carrot and nibbled it smaller before poking the sweet orange flesh into Jacob’s open mouth. “Chew on that until it’s all gone, and I’ll give you more.” Pinching off a chunk of cornbread, she took a bite and licked the honey from her sticky fingers.

  She felt Toby watching her.

  “He’s a braw eater,” he said.

  Lonnie nodded and ran her hand across Jacob’s delicate hair. Just like his pa.

  When Toby’s spoon finally clanged inside his empty bowl, he sank against the chair and tossed his napkin on the table. “That was a fine stew, Elsie.” He stretched back and rubbed both his hands across his abdomen with a sigh.

  Elsie dabbed at her mouth. “Thanks to Jebediah for the fine rabbit.”

  Jebediah shook his head. “Like I told Lonnie earlier, the credit is Gideon’s.”
/>   After taking a long gulp of cider, Toby lowered his cup to the table. “Gideon?” His Adam’s apple dipped.

  Elsie and Jebediah exchanged slow glances before directing their gazes at Lonnie.

  She had never spoken of it aloud to anyone other than Jebediah and Elsie. Lonnie cleared her throat and wondered what the words would sound like. “He was … my husband.” Her voice came out smoother than she had expected.

  Needing to pull her attention from Toby’s face, she dipped her spoon into her stew and lifted it to Jacob’s lips.

  “I’m verra sorry.” He stared at his plate a moment before speaking. “Had I been around longer, I might have known of his passing, and I would’na have brought it up.” His eager gaze met Lonnie’s. “Please, forgive me.”

  Her hand stilled, but Jacob lunged toward the spoon, sending several drops of broth into her skirt.

  “Well…” Elsie began but fell silent.

  Toby glanced from one face to the next before looking at Lonnie. Setting her jaw, she forced the truth. “It’s not that.” She shifted. She had never said it aloud before. Glancing at Jebediah, she looked for help.

  The older man propped his elbows on the table and leaned toward Toby. “Did you not read the message you brought from Rocky Knob? Did Reverend Gardner not tell you?”

  Toby shook his head. “No sir.”

  Jebediah peeked at Lonnie from beneath bushy eyebrows. When she nodded, he continued. “Gideon didn’t … die. He’s back in Rocky Knob. Matter of fact, you may even have seen him.”

  “Oh,” Toby’s voice lifted, and he leaned back in his chair. “For a moment I thought.” His gentle voice sharpened, and he tilted his head. “What’s he doing in Rocky Knob?”

  Jebediah hesitated.

  Needing the torture to end, Lonnie moistened her lips. “He lives there … with his new wife.”

  Silence.

  Every eye bore into Lonnie’s, and she blinked, surprised at how the words had leaped from her mouth. But it had to come out sooner or later. The neighbors would want to know. She sighed. The world would want to know where Jacob’s father was. Forcing her head up, she tipped her chin and stared bravely at Toby.