Though My Heart Is Torn

by Joanne Bischof

  “I’ll round them up something to nibble on while we wait for you.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  Elsie toted off the empty jug and ushered the children into the house.

  A dozen chickens clucked around, and Lonnie shooed them away. “Off with you, ladies.” Her tone was sharper than she’d intended. “Don’t get too close, or you’ll be sorry.” She held herself as she watched the liquid drain. The air was cold and damp, feathering the curls of her hair. Lifting her gaze, she stared at the point hovering between north and east. Her stomach soured at the thought of Gideon and Cassie together. Anger bubbled up inside her. Why, God? Why did this have to happen? Why did she have to love Gideon? A man who could never love her back. Her spirit as punctured as the bucket she watched, Lonnie studied the stream of liquid that thinned, slowing to a drip, drop. With it nearly finished, she knelt.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d made lye, but it was the first time she’d done it for soap she aimed to sell. The act brought her aunt Sarah to mind. How she missed that woman. How many years had she spent dreaming of living under her aunt’s roof, making soap and whiling away the days, just the two of them? Happy as could be.

  How different her life had turned out. Her heart had been broken, time and time again, then in one last act, shattered completely. Lonnie glanced around the yard as the chickens pecked and scratched at the mess of soil and ice. Here she stood, slowly, piece by piece, trying to put it back together. What was this great plan of God’s? And how did it include her?

  Lonnie tilted her face to the darkening sky. God, why? What’s to come of this? The wind twirled her hair, lifting her apron with its cool fingers. She listened, waiting. And in her heart of hearts knew the Lord had a purpose. He had to. Nothing was in vain.

  Not even this heartache.

  Her spirit clung to the hope that somehow, some way, Gideon might hang on to the faith she’d seen bloom in him. That one day they might stand face to face again, though not in this lifetime.

  Lonnie rubbed her collarbone when the loss of him struck afresh.

  “Gideon.” She dared to breathe his name. Just once. A deep inhale and she tried to chase away all that could never be again. She would be brave. She would be strong. She glanced northeast, where somewhere out there, she was certain, he worked beneath the same sky. Her eyes fell closed, and she tilted her face to the breeze that blew like a stormy kiss over the farm. She could see him now. See his collar pulled up to his jaw, and she was certain he hadn’t shaved in a week. Maybe two.

  Her fingers opened as if to trace the lines of the face she knew and loved so well. Sweet Gideon. Her longing burned as strong as ever. But she braced it against the reality that he would never come back. Forcing the ache into the deepest places of her heart, hoping the depths were enough to contain such sorrow.

  Opening her eyes, she turned back to the task and knew she’d wasted enough time with her daydreams. A gust rustled through the jagged and leafless limbs that towered overhead. The cold seeped beneath her scarf, chilling her to the bone. It was high time she hurried into the kitchen before she froze through.

  With a grunt, Lonnie lifted the pan. It was now filled with the dark, pungent water. The beginning of soap. She dared not let it splash her clothes or skin, and with slow, careful steps worked her way into the house. She nudged the door open with her boot, and instantly the heat of the kitchen stung the tips of her frozen fingers and ears.

  She shuffled in. “Will you get the door, Addie?”

  The little girl hopped up and pressed it closed. Elsie pulled a tray of dried-berry scones from the oven. Even in the failing light, the dusting of sugar and egg wash tempted. “I just brewed some tea,” Elsie said, sliding the kettle to the edge of the stove so Lonnie could set down the pan.

  “The lye will need to thicken over the next few hours.” Lonnie held her stiff hands over the hot stove, and her palms tingled back to life. She washed up, taking care that her hands were very clean before scooping Jacob up in her arms. She squeezed him tight, savoring his warmth, and tried to nuzzle away his fussiness. A patch of skin showed beneath his wool sweater, and she kissed it. She held him close, and his green eyes searched hers. “My sweet boy,” she whispered into his hair. With a hymn on her heart, she turned him in a slow circle, delighting in the way he pressed his head sleepily to her shoulder. His small back rose and fell in a soft sigh.

  She brushed crumbs from his hair. “I see you’ve had your snack.” He flapped his arm, and she caught a sticky hand, kissing it once. Twice. Wishing with all her might that she could bottle this moment, seal it with her love, and send it to Gideon.

  She had run home without stopping. Finally halting in front of her pa’s well, Cassie pressed a hand to her cheek. Her fingers trembled against her skin. What have I done?

  She had wandered into the Coles’ cabin when no one answered the door. A bleary-eyed Caroline Cole had struggled to sit, her nightgown falling off one shoulder to reveal the rash that dotted her throat and chest. “Scarlet fever,” she murmured through gray, chapped lips. She coughed and pressed a wrinkled handkerchief to her mouth.

  Adam Cole had ushered Cassie from the cabin as quickly as he could. “You shouldn’t be in here! You must get out! Hurry, Cassie.” His broad hand pressed against her back to move her along. “It isn’t safe for anyone.”

  Stricken with fear, she had rushed toward the door.

  Now as she struggled to catch her breath, she fought back the lump in her throat. Needing a distraction, she decided to pour herself a nice bath. After filling a bucket at the pump, she heaved it closer and, with a grunt, hoisted it off the ground. Her other hand grasped a second, and she turned toward the house.

  The buckets were so heavy she had to take very slow steps.

  Water sloshed over the edge, dampening her already-frozen boots. Her arms shook. Cassie looked down at her fingers wrapped around the bucket handles, the taut skin nearly as pale as the snow. She looked away, not liking the reminder it brought of Caroline Cole’s own hands as she clutched her bed sheets.

  Hasty footsteps crunched behind her. Cassie turned in time to see Gideon dart past the well. In a few long strides, he was at her side.

  “Let me help you with that.” His hand brushed hers, and although it was brief, the touch left a warmth that lingered. “Just ask next time, and I’ll be happy to do this.” Without another word, he took each bucket from her.

  “I didn’t know I needed water.” She slid her hand inside his elbow.

  Gideon’s brow furrowed.

  Her footsteps were slow.

  “Are you all right?”

  Cassie kept her gaze straight ahead. Her body felt fine—it was her spirit that quaked. Dare she confess her foolish actions? “Just tired. That’s all.” She hoped her hidden fear did not echo in her voice. “Thought a hot bath might soothe me.” She lifted her eyes to Gideon’s. “That’s why I came to fetch water.”

  “Just holler next time, all right?”

  Wishing she could turn back time, Cassie forced a smile. “Where did you go, anyway?”

  Gideon glanced over his shoulder. “Jack invited me to head out with him scoutin’ deer. He said there’s been a few bucks ’round lately. We hoped we might get us one.”

  Cassie pulled herself closer to him. “See anything?”

  “Not a thing. But while we were out, I helped him reset some small game traps with fresh bait. I’ll go back out in the morning. Tomorrow’s another day.”

  So it is.

  “And where were you? I saw you take off this morning.”

  Cassie did not want to lie, but she wasn’t ready to put words to her mistake. “I went for a long walk.”

  Gideon did not question her. They strolled the rest of the way, and he filled in the silence with small talk about his morning with Jack. His voice was mahogany, deeply rich and smooth. It lulled Cassie to a slow cadence, and she had to fight the urge to press her head against his shoulder. Less than willing, she rel
eased his arm when they reached the steps.

  Gideon lowered his buckets. “If you start the kettle, I’ll go fetch the washtub.”

  “Thank you.” She filled the kettle and plopped it on the stove. She thought about making herself a cup of tea.

  By the time Gideon lugged the washtub into the bedroom, she had poured water into several more pots and set them to heat. Before long, the tub was full and steaming. Gideon left and shut the door behind him.

  Stripping herself of her cold clothes, Cassie shivered as she sank into the tub at the foot of the bed. The water warmed her toes and fingers, and she sighed. When she tugged the ribbon from her hair, the brown kinks fell around her shoulders, and before the tips could hit the water, she caught hold of the mass of hair and twisted it into a low bun, securing it by looping it through itself.

  Gideon called to her. “How ya doin’?”

  She stared at the closed door. She should tell him the truth. She was frightened. Sinking as low into the water as the cramped tub allowed, she stuck her chin beneath the warm water. She knew Gideon was waiting for a response.

  “Cassie?”

  “Yes,” she called at last. “I’m just fine.”

  Something wasn’t right. Sinking to the floor, Gideon sat and pressed the back of his head against the door and listened to the muffled sound of churning water and the soft drips and drizzles that sang out like tiny chimes whenever Cassie moved. She wasn’t herself—and he knew the reason.

  He was hurting her.

  She knew the truth. Surely she saw it in his face when he looked at her, heard it in his voice when he spoke. He’d finally gone to visit his family. Never once had he considered bringing Cassie with him. Cassie knew the truth as much as he did.

  He did not love her.

  Gideon banged the back of his head against the door, inflicting a small amount of pain. He was miserable. And he made her miserable with him. Gideon groaned. He was trapped. He had no choice. The chains that held him here were invisible yet unbreakable. What chains? Gideon silently scoffed when he made himself sound like the victim. This was the life he had chosen when he’d married Cassie before Lonnie. This was his sentence. He cringed at the callous word that should never be used to describe a marriage. No wonder Cassie was miserable. No woman deserved to be that to her husband.

  Gideon rubbed his finger and thumb together as the thoughts built on one another. Was it in him to change? His fingers stilled. He could try—he could pretend. Gideon swallowed. He knew what that would entail, and he didn’t know if he had it in him to fool Cassie that way.

  He banged his head again, this time inflicting as much pain as he could muster.

  “Gideon?” Cassie called, her voice hesitant. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, sorry.” He stood.

  Water trickled from behind the door. Pressing his forehead to the wood, Gideon closed his eyes and wondered if he had the courage to move forward with this.

  After her news poured forth, Mary fell silent. Gideon struggled for a coherent response. Three facts moved around in his mind. The first—there was talk of scarlet fever in the Cole cabin. The second—Cassie had been in their home a week ago.

  Gideon ran his hands into his hair, tugging at the strands.

  And the third—Caroline Cole had died in the night.

  “I wonder why Cassie didn’t tell me she’d been there.” He breathed out the words as best he could.

  Mary shook her head, then lifted her face to the horizon and the setting sun. Although the day was nearly done, a cock crowed. The familiar cry sounded melancholy as it echoed through the evening air, finally fading into silence.

  Elbows on knees, Gideon folded his hands together. “I wish I’d have known. She may be frightened.”

  Sitting on the back steps of her house, Mary stuck her shoes together and tapped her worn heels repeatedly.

  Gideon’s mouth felt strangely dry. “Do you think she has a… reason to be frightened?” He pressed his palms against the porch step. When Mary hesitated, Gideon’s grip tightened, and the coarse wood scraped his fingertips.

  “I hope not.” Her shawl slid from her shoulders, and she made no move to retrieve it. “They say scarlet fever occurs more often in children.” Hugging herself, she stared into the distance before finally facing him.

  “And Caroline was younger than Cassie, right?”

  “Not by much.” She said it as a sigh.

  Gideon saw a mother’s love traced inside the thin lines of her aging face. He ran a hand down his face and struggled to put his frustration into words.

  “Surely she couldn’t catch the fever so quickly. You said she was in there but a minute.”

  A shadow crossed Mary’s features, and she did not respond. Needing answers, Gideon stared at his mother-in-law. Lifting her hands to her face, Mary cupped them over her mouth and closed her eyes.

  His heart felt as heavy as a stone. Please answer me.

  Mary turned to him, her mouth drawn in a thin line. Her eyes searched his as if hunting for answers of her own. Gideon wondered what question she could have for him. Then, when it struck him, he turned away, unable to watch the pain in Mary’s features. He could not give them what they wanted.

  For in the deep blue eyes, he’d seen more than a mother’s pain. He saw a mother’s heart for her daughter’s happiness. Her hope for something greater.

  Cassie stared out the window and watched Gideon cross the yard toward her. His gait was slow. His head hung down. Cassie moistened her lips. She touched the pane and wished for more than cold glass beneath her fingertips. When Gideon covered his face with his hand and smeared fingers over his eyes, her heart plummeted.

  He missed his son. He missed Lonnie.

  Like a bad dream that would not free her, she knew it to be true. The possibility of waking from the trance they were in felt slimmer than ever before. Then Cassie tipped her chin up, clinging to the tattered frays of wisdom she’d gained from her mother, wishing with all her might that she’d been smarter, more apt to listen with a humble heart. Cassie searched within for all she knew to be true. Truths she’d pressed down for far too long. Wasn’t the sun’s warm promise on the horizon? Perhaps someday—though it may be a long way off—they would each find joy.

  Stepping from the window, she lumbered toward the bedroom. Her body was weary. Supper still needed to be started, but she needed to stoke the fire first. The bedroom circled her in darkness. The gray shadows that had grown long across the floor had finally chased away any last traces of sunlight, engulfing the room in evening’s cool cover.

  Her cheeks tingled, and Cassie pressed her palms there. She licked her lips again, the flesh warm. Please, God. Don’t let it be.

  Gideon scanned the front room, but she was nowhere in sight. With the bedroom door cracked open, he slipped in as quietly as possible and halted. Cassie’s hair was pulled off to one side. Her cheeks were flushed and rosy. The dress she was unbuttoning draped over her small shoulders in a silhouette of blue and white.

  His breathing slowed, and Gideon struggled to speak. “How ya doing?”

  She shrugged. “Fine, why?” Her dress fell to the floor, and she kicked it aside into a muddled heap beneath the dresser.

  Gideon stared at her. “No reason.”

  Sinking onto the bed, Cassie sighed and let her head hang forward. The sharp curve of her slender neck arched gracefully, and she closed her eyes. After rubbing her hands together, she stared at her palms. “With all this cold weather, my skin is so chapped.” Her voice was muffled against her chest.

  Gideon eyed his own rough palms. “Mine too.”

  She lifted her head long enough to point toward the dresser. “There’s a can of salve in that drawer. Would you fetch it for me?”

  His movements were slow as Gideon slid the drawer open. He pushed aside a hairbrush and comb and found the jar in the back.

  As he stepped toward the bed, the wide eyes peering up at him were rimmed in red. Knowing of nothing el
se to say, Gideon touched his chin to his chest and stared at the jar. “Here.” He sank down beside her and lifted her hand onto his knee. She tried to pull away, but he held her wrist. “Please.”

  Her face softened even as he allowed his gaze to trace the smooth forms. He dipped his finger in the thick salve and set the jar aside. Holding Cassie’s hand in his, he smeared the cool balm over skin that radiated heat.

  As he worked the ointment in, it seemed every nerve in his hands was wide awake. His shoulder moved against hers. The subtle sound all that broke the silence. It had been so long since he had touched her. since he had touched any woman.

  Gideon fought back the image of Lonnie’s pretty face.

  As much as he wanted to linger on the memory of her, it would only make what he was about to do that much harder. He looked down at Cassie’s round face and swallowed the bitter truth—it was her, and her alone, who would fill his future. She was his wife now, no matter how many ways he wished it weren’t so.

  His hand worked in slow circles over Cassie’s. Lowering it to her lap, he reached for the other, his movements gentle—asking. He dipped his finger in the jar, and the warmth of her skin melted the salve, making it easy to smooth in. “Does that seem to be helping?” he whispered. Tense apprehension made his voice come out weaker than he had planned.

  She nodded slowly.

  Gideon squinted down at her and sent up a quick prayer. He wasn’t much of a praying man these days, but he didn’t know how else to get the strength he needed. Finished, he did not lower Cassie’s hand as he had the other.

  He lifted it toward him.

  He kept his gaze glued to her face and watched her eyes widen as he slowly lifted the inside of her wrist to his lips. He paused briefly, as he waited for the last reservations of his mind to numb over. Then, closing his eyes, he kissed the silken skin softly, letting his lips linger longer than he wanted. His head felt hot but not with desire. Forgive me, Lonnie. Leaning toward Cassie, he pushed her hair away from her face and then gently kissed the base of her neck.