Cassie let out a soft sound. Gideon couldn’t name it, but he knew what he was doing to her, and he felt instantly ashamed. He could stop now and spare them both the heartache this would cause. But then Cassie pressed her forehead to his chest and sighed. Taken aback, Gideon found himself unable to move.
He watched her shoulders slowly rise and fall as she breathed. Finally, she turned her head from side to side. “You don’t mean this.” Her voice muffled against his chest.
A vise of shame tightened his throat. “I don’t?” he whispered.
She struck her fist against his knee. Her words were so faint, it was as if she didn’t want to respond. “We both know the answer to that.”
A long silence followed. Gideon wished he could say what Cassie needed to hear, but a weak excuse came out instead. “I’m trying my best,” he murmured. “And it’s not enough. I can see that. I want it to be more.” He stared down at the messy array of her hair. “All I know is that I hurt you. I hurt you by leaving.”
“I didn’t exactly give you a choice.” Her words floated softly between them.
“I should have tried to change. That’s the worst part.” He pinched his eyes shut. “But I didn’t. I wasn’t what any woman deserved. And then Lonnie …”
Had somehow picked up those pieces.
He swallowed hard. “I … love her.” He choked the last words out and forced himself to look at Cassie.
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks.
Gideon groaned and took her face in his hands. He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes so that all he could feel was her hair beneath his hands and her soft breath on his face. “That’s not fair to you. I don’t know if I can give you what you need. I want you to be happy, Cassie.” He placed a firm kiss to her forehead. “I truly do. I wish more than anything that this could be different.”
Her body went limp. “But you don’t. Because you could never have loved Lonnie in the first place.”
With their foreheads touching once more, Gideon nodded softly. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
She pressed her hand to the top of his, securing it in place. She squeezed her eyes closed, forcing one more tear to plunge after the others. Releasing him, her hand slid to the mattress. “Can we forget about this tonight?”
“Of course,” he said softly.
She looked exhausted—no, weak. Her frailty only fueled Gideon’s guilt. He helped her lie down, then lifted the covers over her. He tossed his shirt aside, blew out the candle, and crawled in beside her. The room was dark. They faced each other. Her knees were pulled up—a barrier. Gideon wrapped his hands around hers. She did not seem to mind. He heard her sniff in the darkness, and more than once she tugged her hand from his to wipe her cheeks. And each time, she nestled her damp fingers back inside his.
Closing his eyes, Gideon hoped sleep would find them quickly.
Cassie opened her eyes and found herself looking into Gideon’s sleeping face. Tilting her head toward the window, she blinked into the sun’s bright rays. Her throat burned, and she pressed her hand to her neck. She felt miserable. Even her cheeks seemed raw from the tears she’d cried. Feeling exhausted, and a little foolish, she nestled her head back into the cool contours of her pillow and sighed.
And then she remembered what this day was.
A smile played at the corners of her lips, and it felt strangely good. After the agony she’d endured the night before, anything above misery was welcome.
How could she have forgotten? Then again, she had been exhausted when she had decided to turn in early. But then Gideon came in and … no wonder today had slipped her mind.
Cassie tucked her arm beneath her cheek and watched Gideon sleep. Her gift could wait until later. She ran the side of her thumb over his arm. Her hand stilled when she waited for him to stir. As she propped her head in her palm, the strap of her shimmy slinked down around her arm, and she tugged it back into place. The air of the bedroom was frosty, and she did not need to tiptoe through the house to know that the fire in the stove had long since burned out.
In his sleep, Gideon moistened his lips. Cassie whispered his name. “Wake up.” She nudged him, and when he squirmed, her smile widened, completing itself.
His eyes finally opened, and he stared at the ceiling for a few moments before turning to her.
“Morning,” she whispered.
Gideon closed his eyes and groaned. “Morning.” Flinging his arm over his face, he rested the crook of his elbow over his eyes and sighed. “Did you sleep?”
Slowly, Cassie sat upright and pulled the quilt to her shoulder. “I slept just fine.” Her throat was dry, and she had to stifle a cough. It suddenly took all her will to keep her words light, but she blurted out the greeting, hoping the cheery distraction would ease his apprehension. “Merry Christmas.”
He squinted at her, his face void of expression. “Christmas? I forgot that it was—”
“I have something for you.”
“You didn’t … have to.”
She smiled and found it surprisingly effortless. “I don’t have to do anything. I wanted to.”
His brow furrowed.
“It’s under the bed. Just a moment.” Crawling from the warm sheets was not easy, and she paused once her bare feet landed on the cold floor.
She crouched, her shimmy billowing around her, and she peered beneath the dark bed. She snuggled back beneath the quilt and held up a package wrapped in wrinkled brown paper that had seen many Christmases and was sure to see many more.
She laid the package in his lap. His eyes darted from the gift to her face.
“Well,” she began, but the word came out hoarse, and she had to clear her throat. “Open it.”
Gideon turned the package over and loosened the ends. The wrinkled paper fell open, and a dark green scarf tumbled free. Picking up the soft folds of knitted wool, his eyes widened. “You made this for me?”
His surprise was her reward. Cassie sank back into her pillow. “I noticed you didn’t have a scarf.”
He shook his head. “I don’t.”
“Well, I’m glad you can use it.”
The man beside her simply nodded. He stared at the gift.
She squeezed his hand. “Gid—”
“Thank you.” His gaze flashed to her face before falling back. “I don’t deserve this. I have nothing for you.”
Pressing her forehead to his shoulder, Cassie closed her burning eyes. Nothing that he could give.
Gideon rolled back the sleeves of his flannel work shirt, letting his dingy undershirt, which pressed tight to his forearms, poke through. He set Cassie’s piano bench on his work surface and let the mixture of sawdust and solitude make sense of his life. Even if only for an hour.
A touch of his hand, and the old bench wobbled. He eyed the legs, making inventory of what needed to be done. He picked up a chisel and worked one of the legs loose. Shoving aside a pair of files, Gideon turned the bench to the side to get a better angle, nearly knocking a can of nails to the floor. Crowded space.
He reached for a larger chisel, sliding it in with a tap, tap of his hammer. The leg loosened more.
“Knock, knock.” Jack stuck his head into the shanty. He propped the door open and strode in uninvited. He glanced around the shack. “Don’t you ever pick up after yourself?”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Not really. Cassie’s over at Ma’s, and they’re startin’ to talk like women folk.” He rolled his eyes, then pulled up a stool and sat, his boots nearly touching Gideon’s.
Gideon glanced at him. Jack rose, pushed his stool farther back, and sat again. “Better?”
“Thank you.” After choosing a mallet, Gideon tapped the leg, and the nail budged. He tapped again, careful not to damage the piece. He pulled the leg loose and set it carefully on his work surface.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Gideon set his mallet down. This was going to be a long morning. “How ’bout
this? You can sit and watch, but I get to charge you a nickel for every stupid question.”
“Whoa. Who spit in your oats this morning?”
“Now you owe me ten cents.”
“I don’t know how Cassie puts up with you.”
Gideon lifted his eyebrows. He didn’t either. With a piece of sandpaper, he smoothed the part where the leg had once rested. “Hand me that can of nails there.”
Jack reached for it. “Oh, so now I’m useful.”
“No. You’re just in my way.” But Gideon chuckled as he shuffled through the rusty can, pulling out a pair of nails that would do the trick.
“Whatcha doin’ this for, anyway? That old bench has worked just fine for years.”
“Guess I wanted to see if it could work better than fine.” Like something else he knew. Maybe there was more to life than just getting by. He’d realized that when he was with Lonnie, something in her had brought him to that point. But when everything he’d ever loved had been stripped away, the first thing he’d done was lose sight of that.
Tipping the bench on its side, he placed the leg in position and with a few taps, hammered it on. He set it upright and shuffled through a box of sandpaper, all of which had seen better days, and found one with enough fine grit to work.
The sun made its graceful arc in the clear blue sky, but he hardly noticed. Jack spent most of the time talking, and Gideon listened on, finding himself laughing more than once at the stories the kid told. He worked fresh oil into the bench, coating every surface.
It wasn’t until shadows stretched long across the yard that he brushed dust from his work surface. Jack swept the floor as Gideon put away his tools.
“Thanks for the company,” Gideon finally said. He could remember a time when it was he and Jebediah working together. Reaching out, he shook Jack’s hand and, with a slap on the young man’s back, led him from the shop. “Suppose I’ll follow you and walk Cassie back.”
“Look who’s turnin’ out to be quite the gentleman.”
Hardly. Yet the desire to try kept growing within him.
Cassie sat on the porch with her ma, a plate of cookies between them. Upon seeing Gideon, she rose, said a good-bye to her mother, and hurried toward him.
Her breathing was heavy when she came to his side.
“You feelin’ all right?”
“I think so. I’m a little tired. Ma and Pa are headed to the church. It’s been so long since we’ve gone, it would be nice. Especially with it being Christmas. But”—she looped her arm through his, and Gideon couldn’t ignore the heat that penetrated his shirt—“I just don’t feel up to it.”
“Why don’t we go inside, and you can take it easy.”
“Sounds good, but I’ve got to get supper together.” Her eyes seemed clouded as she looked up at him. “I thought I could fix us something special.”
Gideon reached an arm around her. “Let me do it.”
“You?” She peered up into his face in awe.
“Hey, I’ve been known to throw together a batch of hot cakes now and again.” He held the door with his back and helped Cassie over the threshold. “Maybe it’s been a few years, but if you sit at the table and put your feet up, you can talk me through it.”
The crease in her forehead softened, and she smiled. “If you insist.”
She sat, and he pulled a chair around, then helped her perch stockinged feet on the seat.
As he mixed the batter, he felt Cassie quietly watching him. Gideon cracked an egg, and the yolk landed in the bowl. When he wiped his fingers on his pants, he fought the urge to turn around and look at her. He picked up a small can.
“How much of the leavening stuff?”
She half smiled. “About a teaspoon.”
Gideon shuffled through the silverware crock and held one up. “Too big?”
She nodded, and he rummaged for a smaller one. As he stirred the lumpy batter, his chest tightened. All that afternoon he’d worked in his shop. For hours he had labored away. Not for Lonnie—for Cassie. In truth, he hadn’t once thought about the woman he’d sworn to love forever. Instead, his thoughts had lingered on the blue-eyed girl sitting behind him. The girl who had knit him a scarf in secret despite everything he had done and said to her.
The girl who kept helping him along when he’d struggled to even be her friend.
Gideon grimaced.
After smearing bacon grease around the pan, he lifted a spoonful of batter over the smoking skillet, and it sizzled when he formed the first round cake. It felt impossible to admit, but somehow, in her own special way, Cassie had claimed a piece of his heart. His fingers trembled as he poured another spoonful of batter into the pan. A piece, only a piece.
It can’t be. He had sworn it over and over.
But he remembered Reverend Gardner’s words: “It must.”
When Gideon slid a plate of steaming hot cakes in front of Cassie, their eyes met.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Unable to speak, he simply nodded. Her cheeks were red, and sweat formed along her hairline. Gideon dropped his gaze. Dare he speak the words aloud? Why hadn’t she come to him first? He scraped the last of the batter from the bowl, turned the cake over when it browned, then settled himself in the chair across from Cassie. He cut his hot cake in two with the edge of his fork. It was then that he noticed she had yet to touch her own supper. When she dropped her head in her hand, Gideon wiped his mouth.
“You shouldn’t be up. We need to get you in bed.” When she started to protest, he insisted. “You need your rest.”
Cassie quickly shook her head. “I’ll wait for you.”
And she did. In the course of a few bites, Gideon stuffed down a single hot cake, scarcely tasting it, then walked her into the bedroom. He helped her into bed and tucked the quilt snugly around her shivering frame.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
He hesitated for the briefest of moments before crawling on top of the quilt, where he lay down beside her. He listened to her shallow breath grow slower and slower until she drifted off to sleep. Gideon rolled onto his side so he could see her face in the moonlight. She was waiting to be loved in so many ways, and he was yet to be the husband she deserved.
And she had waited. For so long.
The burning in his chest seemed to get worse—as if it was trying to divide itself. But no matter how much he cared for Cassie or how much he allowed her into his life, his heart would remain whole. And as long as it was Lonnie’s, it could never belong to the woman beside him.
Cassie had been so cheerful that morning. So kind when he least deserved it. “Merry Christmas.” Her voice rang clear in his memory.
Gideon scoffed. Some Christmas it’s been for her. He would have once thought she was simply putting on an act. The sweetness, a role she knew how to play so well. But something within her had blossomed. A goodness that he admired. For he knew the impossible road she walked. The road he himself was on. Yet did he see a change within himself? Shaking his head, Gideon wished it could be more. Much more. He shifted to his other side and stared out the darkening window where the first stars had appeared in the gray sky.
And what of another Christmas?
His eyes slid closed. He could almost see Lonnie pull Jacob out of the doorway as Jebediah lugged a frosted tree into the parlor. He imagined his son squirming to get free. Jebediah would have let out a deep belly laugh, insisting the little boy only wanted to help. He could smell the scent of fresh-cut spruce mingling with the heady aroma of Elsie’s cooking. Sliding his hand beneath the mattress, Gideon pulled out Jacob’s knit cap. He nearly crushed it in his grip of yearning. His son was growing. And he was missing every day of it.
Gideon’s breath caught in his throat when he was struck with the memory of the boy’s silken cheek beneath his palm. The sensation was as fresh as the day he last touched him. He imagined pressing his lips to the downy head and inhaling the scent of the boy’s mother.
He rose, una
ble to stay still in this small house. The world—though large it may be—seemed to close him in. He strode out into the moonlight and glanced up at the stars overhead.
Merry Christmas, my love. My family.
Gideon covered his aching heart with his hand.
The next morning, Cassie rose from bed, and her body felt as heavy as her heart. Please, God. Don’t let me fall ill. She knew the seriousness of scarlet fever. Having never had it as a child, she had every chance of catching it now. Cassie pushed open the bedroom door and, when it squeaked, glanced behind her at the bed. Gideon’s broad frame filled more than half the mattress, his pants wrinkled. An arm hung limp and heavy over the edge; his knuckles grazed the floor beside his discarded shirt. Night was just turning into day, but her head spun with too much turmoil for her to rest.
She knew the signs well. Her ma had checked her over. Mary had forced Cassie to unbutton her collar, and with a flickering candle held so close to her skin Cassie could feel the heat, her ma had looked for signs of the rash—the reviled mark of scarlet fever. That was days ago.
Every day since, Cassie had checked herself to see if the rash had appeared. Even now as she thought of it, she pulled up her sleeves and turned her arms from side to side. She saw nothing but pale skin. Stepping to the mirror, she stuck out her tongue. It looked pink, but her vision was weak. She blinked, trying to clear the fog.
The fire had all but gone out, and it took all her breath to blow the cooling embers back into a flame. She tossed a piece of fir over the warming coals and waited for the wood to catch before sitting back on her heels. Leaving the door open allowed enough light for her to see by. Might as well save the candle.
Cassie went to sit at the table, intending to wait for the sun to rise. Glancing at her piano, she froze at the sight of her bench. The wood shone so richly, she could nearly see her reflection in it. With a touch of her hand, she felt how sturdy and strong it was.
“Oh my goodness,” she breathed, running her hand along the silken wood. It was smoother than the river stones she collected as a girl. Tucking her nightgown around her, she sat on it, and the bench didn’t so much as wobble. Her chest burned hotter than the coals awakening from their slumber. She pressed her hand to her throat and felt a soft pain—a mending. As if the broken pieces of her heart were drawing closer.
Though My Heart Is Torn Page 23
