Though My Heart Is Torn

by Joanne Bischof

  “Easy, girl.” Lonnie patted Sugar’s soft, brown face. The mule eagerly accepted the gnarled carrot, and Lonnie wiped the wet remains from Sugar’s rough tongue on her already dirty apron. “You like that, don’t you?” She scratched the bristles on top of Sugar’s head. The mule’s ears twitched.

  Lonnie and Elsie had spent the morning cleaning up the root cellar. Baskets of dirt-caked potatoes had to be sorted. The softer ones, those that had already sprouted little roots, were moved to the top to be used first. The firmer, sounder potatoes were left toward the bottom in hopes they would last the winter. The worst of the lot would be saved for planting. Elsie had gone off to take Gus a bushel of vegetables, and Lonnie had come up for a breather, bringing with her a stolen treat for Sugar.

  The sky outside was a clear blue, but the sunless barn harbored an endless chill. Lonnie shivered beneath her shawl and thought about hurrying back into the warm house. When Sugar stomped her foot and tossed her head, Lonnie laughed.

  “Don’t worry, girl. I won’t leave you just yet.”

  Rising to the toes of her boots, she reached into the pen and scratched the mule’s neck, then stroked her mangled coat. Knowing Sugar always liked a good brushing, Lonnie glanced around for the bristle brush but saw none.

  “Another time,” she promised.

  She had not visited the mule often enough, and the eager way Sugar nudged her open palm made Lonnie feel guilty. “I know. I’m sorry I have not come to see you.” Sugar’s long eyelashes blinked. With a rough nose, she sniffed at Lonnie’s now-empty palm.

  “That’s all I have, girl.” Lonnie leaned in closer so she could whisper. “But I promise to bring you another treat tomorrow.” She knew of half a dozen bruised apples in Elsie’s root cellar that were just right for such an unfussy creature.

  The mule stomped her hoof again and swished her tail.

  Lonnie chuckled. “That’s all! I promise.”

  Addie’s footsteps pounded into the barn, startling Lonnie. The little girl’s cheeks were rosy with cold. Her breathless words tumbled forth. “Lonnie, Lonnie! Come quick.” Addie pointed toward the house, a grin on her round face. “Come see!” She spun around and darted away. Dark curls bounced above her shoulders as she ran.

  With a final pat on the mule’s scruffy neck, Lonnie left the quiet solitude of the barn.

  She straightened her shawl and was careful to close the heavy door behind her and latch it. Spurred on by her own curiosity, Lonnie started toward the house. Before she could guess what all the fuss was about, she spotted a brown mare lowering her head to the snow. Large, fresh prints that could only be Toby’s led up to the house.

  Her heart thumped, sending a warmth through her.

  Voices from the kitchen carried out into the yard. The cheery chatter pulled Lonnie forward. Laughter slipped through the screen door, and she quickened her footsteps. Before her hand landed on the door latch, Toby pushed it open and stood just inches from her.

  “Come in.” His deep voice filled the kitchen, and he made no move to step out of her way. His eyes were soft on her face, his words even softer. “I was wondering if you’d show up.”

  Speechless, Lonnie squeezed past him and into the kitchen.

  Addie’s feet did a funny jig. “Mr. McKee brought presents!”

  Lonnie eyed her sister curiously.

  Toby nodded toward a potato sack. “A few ladies from the church helped.” He tugged the sack closer, and his broad hand disappeared inside the brown burlap. He sank to his knee and lifted his face to Lonnie. “They made some rag dolls for the lassies, and a few men whittled wooden knives for the lads.”

  Turning to Addie, Lonnie noticed the small doll clutched in her sister’s tiny hands. A scrap of pink calico had been sewn into a humble gown, and the plain-faced doll had red hair made from several tidy rows of knotted yarn.

  Like a ship mast being raised, Toby stood, towering over them.

  “That’s awful nice of you. I assure you Addie won’t forget this.”

  “Not just Addie.” Toby pulled a pair of small wooden blocks from his bag—the unfinished wood roughly formed into crooked cubes. “These are for Jacob. They didn’t make anything for the wee ones ’round here.” As if he were embarrassed, his voice fell soft. “I hope they’re not too rough.” He lowered the blocks into Lonnie’s palm. “I tried to sand ’em down smooth.”

  Lonnie fingered the silky wood that was still warm from Toby’s hand. She opened her mouth but again found herself unable to speak. With much noise and clattering, Toby thrust his arm back into his bag.

  “And this is for you,” he blurted.

  He handing Lonnie a small sachet made from the same fabric as Addie’s doll. Lonnie turned it over in her hand. She hesitated briefly, then lifted the sachet to her nose. “Mmm,” she sighed. “That smells lovely.”

  Toby’s dimples deepened. “I thought you might fancy it.”

  Lonnie looked up at the man watching her. “This is so unexpected.”

  “I have a few more stops to make. Perhaps”—his deep voice stumbled over the words—“if you have nothing else to do … perhaps you’d like to join me.” Before Lonnie could respond, he quickly added, “You could ride Gael.” His eyes twinkled. “I’m sure she’d appreciate a lighter rider.”

  “I don’t know that I can.”

  He shook his head. “You’re right. That was inappropriate of me to ask.” His crisp shirt grew taut across his shoulders as he bent over to retrieve his sack. He stood and looked down on her. “It would not be seemly for us to be out without an escort.”

  Lonnie shook her head. “It’s just that Elsie has so much to do this afternoon, and with Jacob due to wake from his nap any minute—”

  “No need to explain.” His smile was genuine. He looked at her with brown eyes that seemed to grow richer by the moment. Lonnie could not help but stare up at him.

  She lifted the sachet to her nose once more.

  Toby gestured toward the door. “I should be on my way if I’m to make all my deliveries by sundown.”

  She thanked him again, and with a wave toward Addie, who had already taken her doll out for a stroll, Toby mounted his horse. With a brisk tap of his heels, he was off.

  Running her fingertips along her apron strings, Lonnie watched him ride away. Toby was different from any man she’d ever met. Different even from Gideon. He was mature from years of study and schooling. Cold seemed to seep through the window, and Lonnie shivered. Perhaps that’s what intrigued her so. Gideon had always been wild at heart, an unpredictable force of passions. Toby was a settled man—sure of his path in life and steady in his ways.

  Gael’s hoofs pounded in the snow. The muscular mount carried its broad-backed rider away from the farm and into the woods. Stepping from the door, Lonnie pushed it closed. She made her way to the bedroom and checked to see if Jacob had woken.

  She sat on the bed and crossed one ankle over the other. Bundled in his quilt, her son slumbered peacefully. Lonnie tried not to shift her weight. With the afternoon light fading, she knew she should start supper for Elsie. Her palm opened, and Jacob’s blocks fell to the quilt. Wanting him to see his surprise the moment he awoke, she pushed them closer.

  Her fingers tenderly grazed the wood. It was not the gift. It was not the outing. It was the man and the way he looked at her. The way his face softened whenever their eyes met. And she had a sense—a burning sense—that hers did the same.

  “Nice.” Gideon lifted his boot only to find it caked in cow dung. “Thanks,” he murmured to the brown beast. Lifting the pail of warm milk away from the dairy cow’s stall, he carried it toward home. Henry had offered Gideon and Cassie milk, and determined to make his own way, Gideon had offered to take over the morning milking.

  The gloves that stuck out of his back pocket bounced with every step. The narrow milk handle dug into his already chapped hands, and more than once, he thought about putting the gloves back on. One glance at the gray sky confirmed coming snow, and
a warm house lured him across the farm. Setting his sight on the little cabin, he made his way through the snow with clear determination.

  He set the pail on the porch near the door. Once it settled, he would lug the galvanized pail inside for the rich cream. Chilled, he rubbed his hands together and slipped inside. The door closed softly behind him. Stepping toward the front window, he pushed the curtains aside. Dull winter light struggled to brighten the room, and he turned in search of Cassie.

  In the corner, the rocking chair creaked.

  “Cassie?”

  She blinked but did not speak. Gideon stepped toward her.

  Her bare feet arched against the wood floor, and the rockers thudded forward and back. The shawl around her shoulders slipped and slid to the armrest. She made no move to retrieve it. Dark circles framed her eyes like muddy puddles. Gideon sank to her side, picked up her shawl, and was careful not to brush his cold hands against her as he draped the gray wool back over her trembling frame.

  Looking up at him, her voice barely formed the words. “I couldn’t make breakfast.”

  He slid his hand behind her and tried to help her to her feet. “I don’t care about breakfast.” He pressed against the small of her back, but she did not budge. “Let’s get you into bed.”

  Cassie rolled her head against the back of the rocker until her face tilted toward him. Her eyelids hung like heavy curtains, and the blue jewels beneath her dark lashes seemed to focus on nothing at all. “I don’t think I can stand.”

  Gideon hesitated before breathing.

  “I’ll help you,” he whispered. When he grasped her hand to lift it over his head, he was stunned to find it limp and lifeless. Bracing himself, he hoisted her frail body from the chair and turned toward the bedroom. “You need to rest.”

  “Gideon.” Hollow eyes pinned him motionless. “There’s … something I need … to tell you.” She panted, and the words seemed to take the last of her strength.

  As he lowered her to the bed, her arm slid free from his neck and fell to the mattress.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Your ma already told me.”

  “I”—Cassie began between uneven breaths—“I should have done it myself.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. We need to get you well.” With one hand, Gideon slid both of her thin ankles beneath the quilt and tucked out the cold. He smoothed a hand across her warm forehead and down her cheek. “Just rest.”

  Cassie nodded, but before she could reply, her eyelids slid closed and her breathing slowed. Gideon watched her for what must have been minutes. When he was sure she had drifted off to sleep, he hurried from the cabin. His mind raced faster than his feet as he darted toward the Allan house. After banging on the door, his heart pounded in his ears. Knowing she could scarcely stand, he was certain he shouldn’t be away from her. Without waiting for an answer, he banged again.

  “Coming!”

  The door swung open, and Eli loomed in the entryway. “What?” he demanded and ran a napkin across his mouth.

  “I need your ma. It’s Cassie.”

  Mary rushed toward the door. Her pitch elevated even as her eyes widened. “She’s ill, isn’t she?”

  Grabbing her shawl, Mary flung it over her shoulders and stuffed her feet into boots without bothering to lace them up. Before Gideon could respond, she thundered down the steps. As they ran, he instinctively kept a hand out to keep her from falling in the thick slush.

  Her mouth drew into a tight line, and her thin cheeks bounced with every step she took. “Where is she?”

  “In bed,” Gideon panted. “She’s awful weak.”

  Mary rushed on but stopped when she reached the porch steps. Turning to Gideon, she caught hold of his elbow. Eyes the same color as Cassie’s searched his. Mary’s voice was grave. “This is what I feared.”

  Gideon cleared his throat at a sting of emotion. Mary tiptoed through the house and disappeared into the bedroom. Gideon tore off his coat. He tossed it over the nearest chair and yanked his sweaty shirttail free from his pants. He approached the bedroom and stood outside the door.

  Kneeling at her daughter’s bedside, Mary fumbled with the buttons of Cassie’s collar. She spread the fabric and pulled it away from her daughter’s neck. Mary’s head fell.

  “We need to fetch a doctor!”

  Gideon stepped closer. “Where? Where do I find him?”

  She waved him from the room. “Hurry! Get Eli. He’ll know where to go.” As Gideon stumbled over his feet, Mary shouted after him. “Hurry back and get this fire goin’!”

  He darted across the farm and burst past the door without knocking. The words that passed from his lips to Eli were minimal, and Cassie’s brother took off toward the barn. Breathless, Gideon rushed back home.

  When he tugged the front door open, Mary’s cries pulled him into the bedroom. “Help me!”

  She was struggling to sit Cassie up. Slipping between them, Gideon pulled Cassie upright as Mary shoved one sleeve of Cassie’s nightgown up. Then the other. “This is bad.” Her chin trembled. “She should never have been at the Coles’. It’s my fault. I should never have—”

  Gideon’s forceful words silenced her. “What will get her well?”

  “I’m not sure. The doc will know what to do.” Mary’s fingers dented Cassie’s arm, and she seemed torn to release her.

  Understanding the desire, Gideon reached for her.

  Mary stopped his hand. “Have you ever had scarlet fever?”

  Gideon held Cassie as Mary pulled the nightgown back in place. The heat coming off Cassie’s skin stung his chapped hands. “No.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be—”

  The look he gave her silenced her. He’d failed Cassie too many times already.

  She sighed. “We’re the only two who can watch after her. The boys are older, but still …”

  Gideon gently lowered Cassie back down.

  Mary stepped back. “I’ll fetch a cool cloth for her head.”

  She disappeared from the bedroom. Sinking to his knees, he smoothed his hand across Cassie’s forehead and pushed the moist locks away from her rosy skin. “You’re gonna be just fine,” he murmured. “The doc’s on his way. He’ll know what to do.”

  Her eyelids fluttered but did not open.

  Cassie. His wife. Yet he had spent months punishing her. For what? For loving him when he was hers to love. For wanting him when he was hers by law.

  Tears stung his eyes. He lowered himself and interlocked his fingers, pressing his forehead there. He listened to Cassie’s quiet breathing.

  And a strange yearning tugged at the key to his heart.

  Her ascent upstairs was slow. Lonnie pressed her palm to the wall and paused. This must be done. She took another step and then another. At the top of the stairs, she shuffled her way into her bedroom and halted just inside the doorway. She slid free of Gideon’s plaid coat and tossed it onto the bed. A few steps took her to the small wardrobe. She gave the ill-fitted door a forceful yank. It was time.

  She stared into the dark wardrobe, glad the thinning light of day gave her only a hint of what was inside. Fearing she would change her mind, Lonnie pulled out a shirt. Frightened to hold it longer than necessary, she stuffed it into the sack. Before she could lose her courage, she spun around. Her knees hit the floor.

  She yanked the bottom drawer open, clutched a handful of clothing, and stuffed it into the sack. An extra pair of socks, two clean undershirts—all the things Gideon had not needed on their short journey to Rocky Knob. Pressing the collar of his best shirt to her nose, she breathed in the spicy scent of his skin, which lingered like a dream she could scarcely recall. Lonnie laid a hand on the drawer and leaned her head against the wardrobe. God be my strength.

  Her eyes fell closed. If only she hadn’t fallen for her pa’s malicious scheme. Although she had wished it a thousand times in the wee hours of the night, when loneliness was her only companion, Lonnie knew the truth—the past could not be undone. She sl
ammed the drawer shut.

  Turning around, she surveyed the room for anything else that did not belong to her. The bed, freshly made, reminded her of Gideon. How many nights had they huddled together beneath the warm quilt? Lonnie glanced away. Some things could not be stuffed in a burlap sack to be discarded so easily.

  Turning, her gaze traveled the length of the bedroom. Her bedroom. A half-burned candle sat on top of the dresser, a dusty doily beneath it. Lonnie smoothed her hand along the brass footboard and crossed the room to the window. A wooden box, nestled behind the lace curtain, held a few coins and other odds and ends.

  She lifted the lid and counted the money. It wasn’t much, but it was Gideon’s from the furs he’d sold. She opened her hand, and the coins jingled back in. She clamped the wooden lid and slid the box back behind the curtain. They were no longer Gideon’s. They were Jacob’s. Surely Gideon would want it that way. She did not want to keep anything that was not rightfully hers.

  Ever so slowly, she moved to the nightstand, tugged open the single small drawer, and found her wedding ring. Lonnie balanced it in her palm. Pulling the box back out, she set the ring among Jacob’s few coins. Another gift for her son. The small lid closed with a soft thump, and Lonnie touched the skin of her naked finger. Gideon was not coming back. And tomorrow was a new day. She would not cry.

  She would not.

  Lonnie swallowed hard, fighting the sting of tears. You can do this, Lonnie.

  Determined to find her strength, Lonnie stuffed Gideon’s clothes deeper into the sack with a resolute sigh. She cleared her throat and carried the small sack out the door and down the hall, then dropped it in the parlor. It would just have to wait a few days until she could get rid of it. A few days, please, God. No more. Lonnie released the burlap. Spent, she sank in the chair at the writing desk.