Though My Heart Is Torn

by Joanne Bischof

The stove inside clanged closed, and Lonnie knew she should be in helping Elsie with supper. She had hardly set a plate in front of each chair before she conjured up an excuse to head outside. She glanced at the woodpile. Elsie would be suspicious if she returned empty-handed.

  Though she stood alone, Lonnie heard Elsie’s words spoken only moments ago.

  “Reverend McKee is coming by for supper this Sunday.” The older woman had searched Lonnie’s face as if hunting for a reaction—some window into her heart.

  Lonnie had excused herself and now stood alone against the elements, weighing the meaning of what Elsie had said.

  She stepped toward the woodpile and lifted several rough logs into her arms before lumbering back up the steps. Sunday was six days away. It wasn’t much time to prepare her heart, but even so, Lonnie could not wait that long to see the reverend. And that startled her. Snow began to fall, and she watched the first flakes float and flutter down.

  Lonnie knew what she had to do when this storm cleared.

  Sun streamed through the window, stinging Cassie’s eyes even from behind her lids. She felt her lips part, but she could not speak. Water. She needed water. Frustration overwhelmed her when she could not speak the simple word, and she turned her head to the side. That’s when she felt his hand, tracing a slow pattern on the back of hers. The flesh beneath his fingers burned but not from the fever, and her skin felt amazingly alive. Cassie tried to stiffen her hand to let him know she was there, but even that was too much.

  Turning her thoughts back to herself, the sweetness of victory made her current weakness minimal.

  She had won.

  She could feel it. The fever was retreating. How long it had raged, she didn’t know, but for the first time since the fever reigned inside her, she felt her skin cooling, felt the ache in her body resigning. It would not conquer her. The sweat that covered her skin and had soaked her nightgown was now drying. She felt sticky, and her cracked lips tasted like salt, but it didn’t matter. She was alive.

  And all that time, all those hours—days of torment and pain—the ebb and flow of her relentless thoughts rushed around one thing: Gideon had said he was sorry. And he had meant it. The ache in his voice, the pain in his apology was unmistakable even in the dark depths Cassie had slipped to.

  But she did not feel free. She did not feel joy. Something still felt unfinished.

  That last thought built a lump in her throat so thick, Cassie had to struggle to force air in and out of her lungs. This sent a course of fear through her, and every muscle in her body tensed. Her throat was so parched she wanted to cry out for water. She felt her lips move but wasn’t sure if the word formed. It must have, for a moment later, Gideon’s hand lifted her head slightly and a cool cup pressed to her mouth. Cassie sipped. The cup clanked on the nightstand.

  Gideon gently squeezed her shoulder. Cassie wanted to say thank you, but instead, she simply savored his touch. All the while, she couldn’t get the sound of his prayers out of her mind. She hadn’t deserved them. Not a single one. And as he spoke, sweet words falling from his lips, the same question had circled her mind: Was this life truly hers?

  She didn’t like the answer she came up with.

  He had a wife. A son. And she had lied to him. Lied about his freedom. All for what? Because she was scared? undecided? Cassie cringed. She tried to move her legs, but they felt so heavy. She focused instead on the hand holding hers. Tears stung her eyes.

  Lonnie. Jacob. They were somewhere out there. His family.

  The lump in her throat grew.

  “Easy, girl,” Lonnie patted Sugar’s thick neck. She tugged her shawl tighter and slid from the broad-backed mule, sinking into ankle-deep snow. Her hands were stiff with cold and her movements slow, but Lonnie managed to tie Sugar’s line to a low spruce branch. She turned and laid a gloved hand on the gentle animal’s back long enough to gather what courage she had inside herself.

  The small shanty sat silent before her. The thin trail of smoke that swirled from the stovepipe promised that the man she sought was home. Although the curtains were pulled open, Lonnie saw nothing but the faint flicker of candlelight coming from the small building. With the sun a mere hour from setting, the cozy hollow was already swallowed in shadow.

  Lonnie tugged the burlap sack from Sugar’s back. When she stepped forward, her boots crunched in the snow. She held her breath, convinced that the faint sound would give away her presence. She stared at the front door, wondering if Toby would appear. Silly girl, Lonnie chided herself. Of course he wouldn’t. Did she expect him to be waiting for her?

  He had better things to do.

  She tiptoed up the single step, crossed the tiny porch, and although her conscience scolded her, peeked in the one and only window. Two stubby candles burned along a narrow mantel. And then she saw him.

  Toby.

  His back was to her. A shirt was draped over a chair, and standing in his pants, he ran a cloth across his chest and down his broad arm. Lonnie gasped and jumped back. Shame burned her cheeks, and she struggled to dislodge the image from her mind.

  Forcing herself to turn her attention to the matter at hand, she dropped the sack at her feet. Her fist hesitated before striking the door.

  When she finally knocked, she heard Toby’s deep voice call out. “Coming!”

  She listened as he stumbled about.

  The door flew open. With his eyes down, Toby pushed the top button of his shirt through its hole. He glanced up, his eyes registered her, and he stumbled back. Turning away, he stuffed the rest of the buttons into their places. “Lonnie.” His ears reddened. “What are you doing here?”

  She lowered her gaze until he stepped forward. “I’ve come to ask you something.” Her feet remained glued to the porch. Her eyes searched the tiny room behind him as if the sight of his home would give away secrets about the man who lived there.

  Toby’s wide eyes explored her face.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, but she was fueled by her resolve. “I brought this,” she blurted. “Just some clothes that I wanted to donate to the church.” As Toby continued to stare at her, she felt her strength wavering. “Perhaps you know of a family … a man … who could use them.”

  He clutched the top of the sack and slid it toward himself. His eyebrows pulled together. “A young man?”

  “Yes.”

  He spoke the words slowly. “These things must be dear to you.”

  “Maybe once … but not now.” The half-truth sent a jolt of pain through her.

  His eyes met hers, hunger clear in the brown depths. “Would you like to come in?”

  “I’m sure it would be better if I didn’t.” Although she tried not to let her gaze linger, the damp curls at the nape of his neck stole her attention. Perhaps this visit wasn’t a good idea after all.

  Toby fiddled with the loose cuff of his shirt. “Sorry. It was inconsiderate of me to ask.”

  Unable to think of a response, Lonnie waved toward Sugar. “I should probably be going.” What a fool she must look. Such a long journey and in the dead of winter, only to deliver a donation of clothing. She bit her lip and hoped Toby would not think her a fool.

  “Well, this was kind of you.” Pressing his hand against the door-jamb, he ran his thumb over the oiled wood. His casual stance did little to conceal his tortured expression. “I ken several families who have a need.” His eyes softened when they landed on her face, and Lonnie saw a twinge of pain, an understanding she did not expect. “ ’Specially this time of year.”

  She shifted from one foot to the other, growing colder by the moment.

  Toby clumsily darted away from the door and returned with a black coat. “Please take this,” he urged.

  Too cold to do otherwise, she accepted the garment. She still had a long ride home. Without standing on ceremony, she slipped the oversized coat over her shoulders, and as the thick fabric blocked out the chill, she fought back a smile. Folding the collar up, Lonnie let the tip of her nose brush
against the rough wool—a habit. Why did I do that? She hoped Toby hadn’t noticed. Her cheeks burned, and Lonnie wanted to kick herself. “Well, I better be going.” She backed away.

  “Wait.” The tips of his fingers brushed against hers.

  The faint touch sent a bolt of heat through Lonnie’s arm. It ended in her toes. Toby stepped forward and closed the door behind him. He hurried to tuck in his shirttails, but his wet hair and socks did little to change his untailored appearance. “I … I feel like I should say something.” His brows lifted sheepishly. “But I don’t know what.” He gestured toward the sack of clothes. “This can’t be easy for you.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “It’s life,” she blurted. She would not cry. Lonnie blinked quickly.

  Toby’s eyes explored hers. His warm palm wrapped around her cold fingers, and Lonnie felt her whole arm stiffen. “You should get home,” he whispered. “It’s getting colder by the minute.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but her mind was suddenly blank. “You’re right. I really better go. Sugar’ll be wantin’ her oats soon.” Toby released her hand, and Lonnie tucked her fists inside the pockets of his coat. “Elsie mentioned you might be comin’ by for Sunday supper. I suppose I will see you then.”

  “Lonnie, I…,” he began.

  She froze but her pulse quickened.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Toby crossed his arms over his chest.

  Lonnie could see her own breath before her face, and for a moment, she wished she had taken him up on his offer to step inside. A warm fire called to her like Eden’s apple, but she knew it was better not to partake. Besides, the coat that covered her shoulders blocked out the chill, and even as she huddled beneath its warmth, she couldn’t help but think of the man to whom it belonged.

  “Would you mind. I mean, would it be all right.” His voice trailed off and he glanced away.

  He sighed. Lifting his thick arms, he ran his hands through his hair, and a deep groan growled out of him. “Would it be all right if I came to call on you sometime? Not just to see Elsie and Jebediah, but to … see you.” His brown eyes widened. “To be with you.”

  When a cool breeze crept up her stockings and ruffled her petticoats, Lonnie crossed her ankles, one over the other.

  His face a jumble of emotions, Toby moistened his lips, setting his dimples even deeper as he waited for her response. For the briefest moment, she no longer noticed the man before her.

  Another face came to mind, and Lonnie’s breath caught. Forgive me, Gideon. There was nothing left for her to do but move on. Besides, she needed to be loved. She wanted to be loved. After drawing in a shaky breath, she relieved Toby of his doubts. “That would be all right.”

  Gideon shifted in his seat, wondering how long this would take. He glanced at a window, where the January sky glinted gray on the glass. His collar was buttoned too high, and his tie was too tight. He tugged at the knot at his throat, and when a plump woman in a bonnet arched an eyebrow, he pressed his palms to the pew seat beneath him and leaned forward into a stand. He helped Cassie to her feet, laying her small hand on his arm. At his side, Cassie held the hymnal. She sang the words as if she knew them by heart, her pretty voice soft.

  He heard a rustling beside him, and his father pressed his shoulder against Gideon’s. It wasn’t uncommon for the O’Rileys to be tardy to church, and seeing the flush on his ma’s face, he could only imagine the morning she’d had. She ushered his brothers and sisters into the row. She stood like a sober bookend, the baby in her arms.

  The hymn came to an end, the vibration of a church full of singers drawing soft. Silent. Cassie sat, and Gideon settled beside her.

  His father leaned toward him. “This came for you last week.” He pulled a letter from his vest pocket. Gideon reached out and took it. Turning it over, he spotted Lonnie’s handwriting. A cold sensation puddled in his chest.

  Reverend Gardner moved to the front of the church, his movements slow, drawn out. Gideon tapped his foot anxiously, knee bouncing haphazardly. His pulse raced, the cold turning into a heat—a fever—that forced him from the bench. “Excuse me,” he whispered to Cassie. She leaned back, and Gideon sidestepped from the pew, barreling toward the door as if Reverend Gardner was not in the middle of his prayer. Heads lifted, but he didn’t stop.

  Lonnie.

  The sides of his jacket flapped open when he strode into the icy mist that surrounded the church. His boots thundered down the steps, past crooked tombstones that sank haphazardly into the moist grass. It wasn’t until the reverend’s voice was but a memory that he finally stopped. Crouching, he rested his forearm on his knee and studied the letter. The paper was worse for wear, but that was Lonnie’s pretty writing. Make no mistake. A muscle tripped through his jaw.

  He tore into the envelope, letting the ripped portion float on the breeze that tousled his tie. He shook the envelope, and a single page fell into his palm. A flip of the folds and her words were before him, sinking into the deep mire of his heart that he’d forced numb. He breathed her name. He breathed their son’s name. Tears stung his eyes as he read words of Jacob’s life. How the boy was growing, what trouble he managed to get into. Gideon chuckled and swiped his hand over his eyes when the page blurred. His sweet Jacob.

  Lonnie’s words grew smaller as if trying to squeeze more onto the page—more into her message, into his heart. Oh, Lonnie. He touched her soft letters, emotion bubbling up inside him. How he missed her. He read the letter once, twice. At the sound of a hymn rising from the chapel, he knew he’d been gone almost an hour. Knowing he’d be sorely missed, Gideon forced himself to stand and, carefully folding the page that had grown supple in the misty air, slid it into his pocket. He strode into the church. More heads turned. In the span of a few whispers, he was at his pew, sliding back beside Cassie. His pulse still raced. He cleared his throat, realizing how heavy he was breathing.

  Cassie leaned toward him. “Are you all right?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Gideon pulled out the letter and handed it to her. She studied the inscription a moment before sliding it into her apron pocket. Her face was grave. Gideon hated parting with the letter, but he didn’t want to hide it from Cassie. It wouldn’t be right.

  The reverend stood for a final benediction. They rose, and Cassie’s hand was soft beside Gideon’s. Feeling more than a few eyes on him, Gideon covered her palm with his. The reverend closed his Bible and clutched it to his chest.

  The reverend’s eyes never found his, but Gideon felt the man’s words as if they stood boot to boot. “I pray that as you go out this day, you will be reminded of God’s calling in your life. Be of strong faith; be of good courage.” He nodded and lifted his hymnal. “We’ll close with a favorite of mine, number one hundred and three.”

  Licking his thumb, Gideon struggled to find the page. Reaching over, Cassie helped him, her face soft, pensive. Finally, he smoothed his hand along the page. The congregation began.

  “Before the throne of God above, I have a strong and perfect plea …”

  Yes, he had a plea.

  Gideon sang the words softly, the hymn foreign, yet a memory of it stirred within him. “A great high Priest whose Name is Love who ever lives and pleads for me.” Pleads for me. Gideon cleared his throat. Did God plead for him? He wanted to scoff. There was nothing in him, nothing about him, that was worthy of such an act of love. Surely God knew that.

  Cassie sang beside him. “My name is graven on His hands. My name is written on His heart.”

  Shifting on his feet, Gideon read the words again. He couldn’t imagine the name Gideon O’Riley written on the Lord’s heart.

  It was impossible.

  The congregation sang on, but Gideon couldn’t make the song form. Even so, he followed along, each word sinking into him like a stone into a river. Plummeting to the bottom. The stones built on one another, filling him in a way that made him glance at Cassie. Not Lonnie. Cassie. She peere
d up at him, a smile on her face. He loosened his tie, not because it was bothersome, but because he wanted to draw a deep breath. Pull into his lungs whatever it was that flowed in this wooden room.

  The words sank in as no words ever had. They seemed to fill him. Fill the spaces of his soul that had felt so empty. “Upward I look and see Him there who made an end of all my sin.” Gideon lifted his eyes to the window behind Reverend Gardner, the small panes crisscrossing over a fog-shrouded sky. The door sat propped open behind him, and he shivered as the mist worked its way in. Cassie moved closer.

  It didn’t fall past him that it was the same doorway he had escorted Lonnie through. His young bride. Gideon lifted his eyes to the rafters above. A plea—no, a prayer—filling his heart. Lord, be with them. Take care of them in the ways I cannot. Look after my son. Be with Lonnie. A lump filled his throat, and he tried to swallow it down. Be with Cassie and with me. Show me what to do. Gideon hung his head. Show me what to do.

  The wind rose, and the door shook ever so slightly. An unbound strand of Cassie’s hair brushed against him. She wiped it away, but the sensation lingered.

  Lead me. He could not do this on his own. Not one more step of it.

  Lonnie lowered her hand mirror and patted her hair for the third time. With a sigh, she grabbed the handle once more and examined her handiwork. Freshly bathed, her hair was still damp and shiny. She had combed it smooth and shaped it into an artful bun at the nape of her neck, finally securing it in more loops and coils than seemed prudent—something she never did. As she wrapped a brown ribbon around the mass and tied it in a secure bow, she bit her lip. Was it too much?

  The grandfather clock in the parlor announced the time, and she scarcely breathed as she counted all six chimes. Toby would arrive at any moment. Wringing her hands, she turned on the ball of her foot to find herself looking at Jacob. He sat in the center of her bed, the stains on his rumpled sweater a reminder of the mashed pumpkin and molasses he had eaten for supper.