My Hope Is Found

by Joanne Bischof

  “Lonnie.”

  “Yes.” She stilled long enough to look him in the eye, and it was then she realized she’d been avoiding it the last few minutes.

  “I want to apologize for what happened the other day.”

  “Oh, Toby, it wasn’t your—”

  “Please. Let me say this. I shouldna have invited you there and then vanished, leaving you all alone in an unfamiliar place. ’Twas daft of me.”

  “You have no need to apologize.” She lifted her chin. None of it was Toby’s fault. Life just worked that way sometimes. She had to learn to keep going. No matter how much it hurt. She had to make the best of it.

  “Look who’s awake,” Elsie called from the hallway. Lonnie turned toward the stairs just as Elsie appeared, a still-waking Jacob in her arms. He rubbed a tiny fist over his eyes. “I think someone wants his mama.”

  Lonnie took Jacob, so soft and warm, into her arms and held him close. “Oh, my wee boy. How was your nap?” She kissed his rosy cheek, still sticky with tears. She squeezed him tight.

  Dust rag still in hand, Elsie marched back upstairs. Jacob rubbed his face against Lonnie’s shoulder, then seemed to notice Toby for the first time. The baby stuck out his hands and reached for the man, all but lunging out of Lonnie’s grasp.

  Loosening her grip, she let Jacob crawl into Toby’s embrace.

  Brown eyes wide, Toby looked at the baby and awe unfolded in his expression. He glanced from Jacob to Lonnie then back again. The little boy pressed his cheek to Toby’s chest, and his small back rose and fell in a single sigh.

  Something twisted within Lonnie’s chest. “He’s taken with you.” She smoothed her hand down Jacob’s back.

  “I—” Toby fell silent. But he held the baby with all the love a father might.

  Her throat thick, Lonnie blinked at the tape in her hands. “What was I doing?” she asked softly, more to herself than Toby.

  “My measurements.” His voice was gentle.

  Glancing into his face, Lonnie saw an expression so earnest she could scarcely look away.

  A quick intake of breath, and she smiled up at him. “That’s right.”

  It was impossible not to touch him as she ran the measuring tape from one shoulder to the other, measuring the width. He held Jacob still against one side of his chest, making it easy for Lonnie to get the measurement. She jotted the number down quickly, certain she’d never keep anything straight with her heart hammering so. Jacob still hadn’t moved, and from the corner of her eye, Lonnie watched Toby kiss her son’s hair.

  Her steps were soft when she walked back to the center of the room. “Almost done.”

  Toby held still as Lonnie rose on her tiptoes and laced the measuring tape around his neck. Her fingers grazed the base of his hair. “Just one moment.” She wrapped it around gently and felt him swallow against her hand. A glance up and she realized he was watching her. Quickly, she read the number. “Nineteen.” She sank back down. “Good grief!”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No,” she nearly squeaked and clamped a hand over her mouth, having not meant to say that aloud. “It’s fine,” she mumbled. She jotted the number down. “What did your mother raise you on?”

  Toby laughed and rubbed his thick neck. His cheeks colored. “Is that all?”

  “Just one more.” Lonnie held one end of the tape near his collarbone and slid the other down to his hip so quickly Toby scarcely had time to hold still. She wrote down the final number and then turned. Her braid slipped from her shoulder.

  “That’s all I need. That and the fabric.” She rolled the measuring tape around her hand. “I could have it to you by next week.” She took Jacob from him.

  Toby seemed to search for his hat.

  Lonnie pointed toward the kitchen. “In there.”

  “You are a dear.” He gazed at the pair of them. “But dinna rush.”

  “I won’t … but even so, it’ll be a pleasure to make it for you.” She patted his forearm. “I will do my best to make it Sunday worthy.”

  “It will be perfect.”

  She could tell he meant every word.

  Nodding his thanks, Toby turned to go. Seeing Addie, he knelt down. He whispered a promise to take her for a ride on Gael the next time he came. Eyes bright, Addie nodded eagerly. He tousled her curls, then rose.

  Lonnie motioned toward the kitchen. “And may I send you home with some pie? Elsie and I made it just yesterday.”

  “That’d be lovely. Thank you.”

  Setting Jacob on the chopping-block surface to watch, Lonnie drew out a knife and cut a thick wedge. Then she searched in the cupboard for a small tin plate. “This should do it.” She slid the pie onto the plate and wrapped it with a bit of cheesecloth. She turned with her offering. “It was my grandmother’s recipe. I’ve been making it ever since I could walk.”

  “It looks mighty fine.” His gaze drifted up from the pie. “Thank you. And I can’t thank you enough for helping me with the shirt. You saved me a trip into town.” He hesitated, and she sensed he wanted to say more.

  “It’s my pleasure.” Truly it was. “There’ll be enough fabric to make two, I’d imagine. So you’re better off in the end.”

  Broad hand pressed to his heart, he smiled down at her. “You are too good to me.” He half grinned. “How can I repay you? And I willna take no for an answer.”

  “You’ve already done so much. This”—she tipped her head toward the parlor, where they’d left the fabric—“is a joy.” She lifted Jacob back onto her hip.

  They stood a moment without speaking. Toby turned the plate in his hands. “It was good to see you.” He nodded gently, then peered at her with dark eyes. “Shall I come and pick you up on Sunday again? Perhaps the Bennetts will be able to join us this time?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “And what about you, Lonnie? You’re always thinking of others. Are you sure it’d be something that you’d enjoy?”

  Lonnie glanced at his hands, where her tears had fallen the last time. “I’m sure.” She drew in a deep breath. “One day at a time …”

  He touched her cheek. “One day at a time.”

  She needed to keep taking those steps—even when they were hard.

  His thumb grazed her skin.

  She wanted to keep taking those steps. Even when she didn’t know where they would lead.

  Eleven

  Standing in the woodshed, Gideon kept his hands steady as he wrapped the scion and the stock together. Owen and Tal worked quietly nearby, each man silent, focused. Despite the gray mist that blew past the open door, they were warm enough inside the old shed. The air inside hung heavy with the scent of ripe apples and old leaves, as if the shed had held a hundred harvests in its crates and barrels. Glancing around at the faded and weathered boards, Gideon could only guess that it had. Crates were piled high, some filled with the hardiest of apples, others empty, waiting. In the far corner stood countless bare-root trees just waiting for a home. A piece of earth to take root in.

  Gideon shifted on his stool. An hour ago, he’d tossed his jacket on the worktable beside him, but now, with the sun sinking behind the tree line, he reached for it. He tugged his suspenders back up over his shoulders, then slid his jacket on, not bothering to button it. The air seemed to grow colder by the minute, and while he longed to go indoors, he had a handful more trees he wanted to finish. Gideon shifted his feet, stomping them to keep feeling in his legs.

  “You boys ’bout ready for supper?” Tal asked, breaking the settled silence.

  “Yes sir,” Owen chimed in. He set his tool down with a clatter and turned on his stool.

  Wrapping the two grafted pieces with thin twine, Gideon nodded his agreement, deciding to make this his last one. Finished, he clipped the twine and carefully set the fused portion on his workbench in the tidy pile, out of the way. Gideon tugged his knit cap low over his ears.

  Using the edge of his hand, he pushed small branch cuttings into his other palm an
d carried them to the bin to be taken to the compost pile when it was full. He sat back down and straightened his tools, then bundled the twine into a tidy ball off to the side.

  “Gideon.”

  “Huh?” Gideon glanced up at the sound of Owen’s voice.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “No.”

  The young man grinned. “You’ve been here two weeks, and still you’re humming that same song.”

  “I wasn’t humming.” Gideon stood. He tossed his cutters on the workbench, then stretched his arms overhead.

  “Tell him he was humming.” Owen glanced over his shoulder at his pa.

  “You were humming.” Tal cut a length of twine. “Same song. Two weeks.”

  Chuckling, Gideon shoved his stool under the workbench. “Great. Now I’m crazy.” He moved toward the open doorway of the shed and leaned against the jamb. “Are you serious?”

  Tal glanced up from his work, a smile in his eyes. “Does this look like the face of someone who’s joking?”

  Gideon folded his arms.

  Owen shoved his tools back haphazardly and turned in his stool. “So why that one?”

  “I don’t know.” Gideon scratched his jaw. But he did. It was the song he’d written for Lonnie, starting with the first notes he’d plucked on his mandolin all that time ago. The one he could never seem to get out of his mind. With two ornery mountain men staring at him—humor in their matching eyes—he wasn’t about to confess as much. “Say, can we talk about something else?”

  “Don’t get embarrassed. You can’t help being a lovesick fool.”

  “And what would you know about it?” Gideon tousled Owen’s hair. Owen smacked his hand away, but not before Gideon had mussed his slicked-down curls. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Tal slapped his palms on his thighs and stood. “All right. I’d say that’s more than enough for one day. Let’s get inside.” He stepped out last, then Gideon and Own shut the two doors to the apple shed. Using his fist, Tal tamped the rusty latch into place. They walked toward the house.

  “Say, Tal. I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Gideon stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What are the chances I could take some trees with me? Could I cash in part of my earnings for some of those bare roots you’ve been storing?” He wanted to bring Lonnie something of lasting worth. Something he could one day leave his son. For they deserved all he could give them and more. “Would that be all right?”

  “Sure thing. We’ll get you set up real nice.” He motioned for Gideon to take the lead up the steps. “Life’s gonna make an apple farmer of you yet.”

  Inside the warm house the air was rich with the smell of seasonings and broth. Mrs. Jemson moved a loaf of brown bread from the stove. Little Jimmy and Carl were busy setting the table. Having grown taller, the boys were lankier than when Gideon first met them. Their freckles darker.

  Gideon sat at Mrs. Jemson’s urging. The family circled around, benches and chairs scraping out of place as they sat. Wedged between the two youngest boys, Gideon felt them watching him with wide, curious eyes as they often did.

  At a soft nod from his father, Owen blessed the food. His voice sure. As if he’d done it a hundred times. Gideon tugged his knit cap off and stuffed it between his knees, all the while wondering what it would have been like to have been raised that way. What it would be like to have a faith that stemmed from some deep spring, that could simply pour forth. At the murmured amens, Gideon lifted his napkin and glanced around at the Jemsons.

  How he wished it were Jacob’s hand he could hold in prayer. Lonnie’s cheery face across the table from him. Swallowing hard, Gideon stared at his food. He wanted Lonnie. He wanted to ask her the countless questions that roiled inside his mind. He wanted to hear her voice. Her faith. He wanted everything about her.

  “Dig in.” Mrs. Jemson popped the lid on the jam jar as her husband cut thick slices of dark, steaming bread.

  As Gideon stirred his soup—a mixture of white beans and beef—the aroma of herbs and spices stirred memories of Elsie’s kitchen. Slicing a tender chunk of carrot in half with his spoon, Gideon ducked it under the broth, his appetite forgotten. It took all his strength not to rise from the chair. Rise up and go get his family. He couldn’t.

  For they weren’t his for the taking. At least not yet. He blew his breath out quick and ran a hand over his face. Soon, he told himself. Soon. A lift of his shoulder and he sighed. Lord, let it be so. Gideon fingered his glass, turning it in his hands. He wondered what he would say to her. What he would do the first time he saw her, saw Jacob.

  “Gideon. Everything all right with the food?”

  Lifting his head with a start, Gideon realized he’d been lost in thought. “Yes ma’am.” He sipped from his spoon. “It’s very fine. Thank you.” He took the slice of bread little Carl offered. Suddenly realizing how hungry he was, he ate his supper and accepted a second ladleful of soup. When the bowls had been emptied and stacked, Tal rose and reached for his pipe. Owen and the boys carried the dishes to the washbasin as Mrs. Jemson wrapped the remainder of the bread.

  Kneeling in front of the stove, Tal stoked the fire, then turned to carry the heavy stockpot from the table for his wife.

  Not wanting to stand idle, Gideon snatched up the broom and swept the floor, then brought in an armful of firewood, stacking it carefully.

  Tal settled down in the parlor, newspaper in hand, a curl of smoke rising from his pipe. Owen sat by the dark window. At his brothers’ urging, he pulled out a whistle he’d been whittling for them. Soft shavings fell beneath his sharp knife. Hands in his pocket, Gideon studied the books on the tall, slender case beside the window.

  Mrs. Jemson slid the kettle onto the stove and waved Gideon into the parlor. “Why don’t you go sit?”

  “No, thank you. You folks enjoy your evening together. I think I’ll turn in early.” Gideon glanced once more at the bookshelf. “Ma’am, may I borrow one of these?”

  “Take any that you want.” She stepped closer and shook out her damp apron.

  Gideon lifted a heavy gray volume and flipped it open. The text was so small and the pages so many, his brain hurt.

  Mrs. Jemson smiled knowingly when he put it back.

  “Which would you recommend?” he asked, lifting up a smaller book. Inside were pictures of pencil-drawn flowers. He put it back, careful to stick it in the same place. Next he found a dusty Bible, a smaller volume than the one that rested on the mantel. His fingers grazed the worn and tattered spine. Gideon slid it back.

  “Well … maybe a good adventure.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “Moby Dick.” She tugged out the thick novel.

  “What’s that one about?”

  “It’s about a seaman who goes on a great voyage, hunting a whale.”

  Gideon wrinkled his nose and shook his head apologetically. Laughing, Mrs. Jemson slid it back into place. She named several others. Gideon flipped through some of them.

  “I didn’t know you enjoyed reading,” she said, wiping dust from a leather-bound book with the edge of her apron.

  Pulling out another, Gideon shrugged one shoulder. He ran his thumb over the brown binding. “I don’t. But I figured I might as well try and like it. Especially since I don’t have anything else to do.” He smiled down on Mrs. Jemson. “Maybe something that takes place on dry land.”

  From his bench, Owen snorted.

  Eyes bright, Mrs. Jemson put the one in her hand away. “Then you might like this one.” She tapped the book already in his hand. “It takes place during the French and Indian War. A great classic. And an adventure.”

  Gideon dipped his head in a nod and turned the book over. “All right, I’ll try it.” He raised it in soft salute. “Thank you.” He eyed the small Bible, gently pulling it from its place. “May I borrow this as well?”

  “You may. And keep them. They’re our gift to you.”

  “No, I couldn’t—”

  She pressed the books toward his chest.
“I insist.”

  Tal shook out his paper and mumbled around his pipe. “She won’t take no for an answer.”

  “All right then. See you in the morning.” With a nod and a thanks to Mrs. Jemson, Gideon stepped out into the cold night.

  Twelve

  With afternoon light streaming in through the parlor window, Lonnie settled down on the sofa and reached for her sewing. It had taken her nearly a week to finish the first shirt, but now that she had the pattern cut, she hoped to have the second one done in shorter time.

  “You’ve made good progress,” Elsie said, bustling in from the kitchen.

  “Thank you.” Lonnie slipped her needle quickly through the fabric and eyed her seam to make sure it was straight. She’d had to triple check Toby’s measurements when she cut the pattern. Even still, she held the shirt up to the light and with a shake of her head couldn’t figure out how a reverend managed to fill out such a thing. “I hope they fit Toby all right.”

  Elsie lifted Jacob from the rug and headed back into the kitchen. “A gunnysack would fit that man all right.”

  Smiling, Lonnie shook her head. At the sound of the washtub clanging into place on the kitchen floor, Lonnie gathered up her sewing and wandered toward the noise. Kneeling on the floor, Elsie was busy tugging Jacob’s brown pants from his chubby legs. His feet kicked in anticipation of his bath. Lonnie tested the kettle, added the hot water, and then watched as Elsie checked the temperature with her fingertips. Jacob all but lunged in. Laughing, Elsie unpinned his diaper and lowered him into the galvanized basin. He tucked his hands into the water. Bending, Lonnie kissed a bare, creamy shoulder.

  “That’s my boy.” Setting Toby’s shirt on the table, she reached for her apron, knowing she’d be damp by bath’s end. “I’ll fetch the soap and his towel.”

  She hurried upstairs and found the soap on the washstand. Tugging open the wardrobe, she grabbed a fresh towel. Her fingers grazed the hair-cutting scissors. Snatching them up, she had a mind to give Jacob’s hair a bit of a trim. The red and gold locks had curled around his ears, and she thought a little trim before church in the morning might do him good. Lonnie bundled the things in the crook of her arm and started for the kitchen. This would be the third week in a row she’d be able to attend church with Toby, and last week the Bennetts had been up for making the trip.