My Hope Is Found

by Joanne Bischof

  Steel-gray eyes found his. “If you’re going to plant an apple orchard, you’ll need help. We both know that, and I’m willing to lend you hand. Was lookin’ forward to it, truthfully. But I’m not going to.”

  Heat rose up Gideon’s neck.

  “Toby’s gonna be your helper.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Tapping his fingertips on the work surface, Jebediah shrugged one shoulder. “Fine. Then tomorrow you’ll move off my farm.”

  “Jebediah—”

  “If you don’t want to work with Toby, fine. I’ll find another use for that land—other than an orchard. And you can find yourself somewhere else to live while you wait to hear back from the courthouse.”

  Head dipped in a nod, Gideon stared at the space between his boots. It suddenly felt like a very long time ago that he’d looked at Lonnie’s pa and pleaded for the man not to make him marry her. Hoping there was some way he could slip out of the situation unscathed. Leave Lonnie in someone else’s hands, for he certainly hadn’t wanted to be burdened by Joel Sawyer’s oldest girl. No matter how much he’d thought he needed her after a quart of moonshine had warmed him through.

  The image of Toby gently cupping her cheek had somehow embedded itself in his mind. In that moment by the wagon, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he and the reverend were nothing alike.

  Gideon’s eyes shifted to the letter. Jebediah must have noticed.

  “This is tough news, son. I’ll give ya that.” He turned the envelope over in his leathery hands. He studied the return address a moment.

  Elbows on the workbench, Gideon lowered his head in his hands.

  “This what started all this?”

  “Among other things. I’m not proud of it, Jeb.” He tossed his head toward the house. “I wish I hadn’t lost it.” He glanced at his friend. “For Lonnie’s sake.”

  Something flickered in Jebediah’s expression. “And Toby? He’s the one you were beatin’ on. You sorry for him?”

  Gideon didn’t like his answer, so he said nothing. The truth hung thick enough in the silence.

  “Well, then.” Jebediah pounded a fist gently on Gideon’s knee. “I’ll leave you to get some sleep.” He shoved the door open. Then hesitated. The wind tousled his gray hair as he stood several moments without speaking. Finally, he stepped back and squeezed Gideon’s shoulder as a father would a son.

  Twenty-Six

  Gideon sat up and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He pulled straw from his hair and, after combing fingers through it a few times, figured it wasn’t helping. He shook his blanket and folded it off to the side. Other than a crate with the kerosene lantern, his books and pipe, and a few other odds and ends, the stall was empty. That’s if he didn’t count the lingering scent of animals.

  His shirt hung over the railing, dry and crisp. After knocking on the back door, he’d asked Lonnie for a bar of soap the night before. Without so much as a word, she’d practically flung it at him. With a scrub in the bucket last night, he’d done his best to wash Toby’s blood out. If only washing away his guilt was as easy. Tugging the wrinkled shirt over his head, his hand still hurt. He folded back his cuffs and, ignoring the suspenders on the top of his pack, didn’t bother to tuck his shirttails in. He needed to fix the Bennetts’ porch railing, but he didn’t want to start pounding on the house while everyone was rising and trying to have breakfast. He’d do it this evening.

  Making mental notes of what supplies he still needed, Gideon moved tools to the clearing. The morning sun had cleared the horizon as he tugged Sugar’s lead rope from the barn. The old mule plodded along, and Gideon knew better than to try and hurry her. It hadn’t snowed in days and days, and here in the clearing, almost every patch had melted away.

  Hitching Jebediah’s old plow to Sugar’s back, Gideon flicked the reins, and she slowly marched forward. The plow’s blade cut through soil softened by warmer days and melting snow. Gideon leaned back, enjoying the satisfying feeling of breaking ground. When the plow stopped suddenly, he bumped into the handle, then knelt to see that it had snagged on a root. Using his hands, he probed the soil, trying to gauge the root’s depth.

  He’d set his tools against a nearby tree. After grabbing a shovel, he tried to work the root out. The blade shot free, spraying clumps of dirt into his face.

  He grunted.

  Startled, Sugar marched forward without him. Gideon jogged after her and, in a few long strides, wrapped his hand around her harness. He smoothed her scruffy neck. “Sorry, girl.” He brought her back around to where he was working. “Easy. You just stay right there.”

  After running the back of his wrist over his forehead, he bent and dug at the root. Another spray of dirt shot up.

  Sugar lunged forward, breaking into a trot. Gideon went after her. He dug his heels in the dirt when his hand caught the harness. “What are you doing?” he asked in as soothing a voice as he could manage. He brought her back, commanded her to stay, and went in search of the root. He found it when it snagged his boot and he tripped. He caught himself against the dirt with his hands. Standing, Gideon picked up his shovel and flung it towards the wood. A low growl rose in his throat.

  “Stay.” He motioned to Sugar when she leaned forward.

  “Your technique could use a wee bit o’ work.” Standing not ten paces away, Toby lifted his chest and slid his hands into a pair of work gloves.

  Gideon stared at him. Slamming his mouth shut, he marched toward his shovel, snatched it up, and leaned it against the tree. Beside it sat his ax, and he lugged it forward. Toby stepped back. In one swoop, Gideon flung the ax over his head and down on the root, which split beneath the sharp blade. Bending, he threw the root aside. Without giving Toby a second glance, he exchanged his ax for the shovel and, after thrusting the blade through the soil, worked the rest of the root loose.

  Without speaking, Toby took hold of a second shovel, and other than the sound of their blades breaking ground, they worked in silence.

  The March sun beat down, bringing perspiration to their brows. Gideon slapped the reins against Sugar’s thick coat, and she picked up her feet, nearly a quarter of the plot tilled. Gideon glanced back as Toby unearthed a thick chunk of root. It clomped on top of a nearby pile when he tossed it.

  Gideon spoke only when necessary, as did Toby. Gideon tried not to pay attention to the flesh beneath Toby’s eyes that was tinted blue. He kept his grip on the plow. Toby followed behind, moving the largest rocks and sticks out of the way. A line of sweat appeared on the reverend’s shirt between his shoulder blades, and Gideon knew he should switch jobs. He mulled over the thought for several minutes before finally offering.

  “I’m fine.” Toby straightened. “I’m happy just to follow you.” He knelt and freed a rock from the soil, then tossed it toward the tree line.

  Gideon clicked his tongue, urging Sugar onward. His arms jerked forward with the motion, grip tight. When his sore hand ached, the knuckles tinted with a greenish bruise, he shook it out gently. After lowering a large rock, Toby winced. Gideon pretended not to notice.

  And he pretended not to notice each time Toby glanced at the house. Which was more often than need be. Lonnie emerged only once, both of them stopping their work when she did. She offered a small wave, ducked into the chicken coop, then walked back to the house without looking their way again.

  Toby and Gideon exchanged sharp looks before turning their attention back to their work, as if each man silently dared the other to let his gaze linger. The sun made its slow arc, rising up one side of the sky and, when it could go no higher, beginning its descent.

  The screen door slammed, and Gideon looked up to see Elsie emerge. A basket hung on her arm. Skirt clutched in one hand, she plodded toward them.

  Her words were breathless. “Sweet tea and sandwiches.” Her bun of gray hair bobbed when she lowered the basket to a stump. Gideon and Toby stopped their work. After unhitching Sugar from the plow, Gideon led the tired mule to some shade for a bre
ak.

  They crowded around her, and Elsie handed them each a damp rag. Gideon wiped the grit from his hands. After studying their faces, she arched an eyebrow. “Where you expecting someone else? someone younger, perhaps?” Her smile was genuine as she pulled out two glass jars of golden-brown tea and a pair of sandwiches. “Don’t worry. You don’t hurt my feelings. Eat up.” She handed them each a napkin-wrapped sandwich.

  Gideon nodded his gratitude. The bread was warm in his hand, the yeasty scent thick and rich. “Thank you, Elsie.” He tucked the jar in the crook of his elbow and sat on a nearby stump. Propping a foot up on a fallen log, he used his thigh as a table.

  “Aye, thank you, Elsie,” Toby said.

  “Looks like you boys have been hard at work.” She glanced around the field.

  With his mouth full, Gideon nodded. He took a moment to swallow. “We have. But we haven’t even started clearing away the trees.” He pulled a pickle from his sandwich and popped it into his mouth, then licked the tangy taste from his thumb.

  “Well, I’d say the two of you got a lot accomplished this morning.” She glanced at each man, a knowing glint in her eye. Instinctively, Gideon slid his injured hand from view, though he knew there wasn’t much about last night that Elsie didn’t already know.

  With half his sandwich left, Toby leaned against a tree and crossed one ankle over the other. “This is good, Elsie.” He took another bite and chewed in silence. “Thank you.”

  Elsie flashed them a smile as she strode away.

  Gideon started on his second half, his fingers stiffening in the cold.

  “Why an orchard?” Toby asked.

  Gideon pretended not to hear him. After a few moments of being watched, Gideon sensed the man would wait for the answer. Fine, then. “It’s something I’ve thought of doing for a while now.”

  The Mason jar flashed in the sun when Toby downed the last of his tea. He set the jar on his knee. Waiting.

  What was this? “You know, on second thought, it’s not really your concern.”

  “Fine. Fair enough.”

  Fair enough. It was none of Toby’s business. None of his business what Gideon did with his life. His family. Gideon picked up a massive root and hurled it toward the pile. An orchard? Because it’s all he had. For Lonnie and Jacob. All he had to give them.

  To leave to them. For everything he read in Judge Monroe’s words suggested that his chance to be with them was slimmer than either of them had imagined. Because Cassie was gone. And the judge was having a mighty hard time finding her.

  In his side vision, Gideon saw Toby stand.

  This was killing him. Slowly, surely, killing him. An orchard? Because he needed to know that they would be all right. That they would be cared for. Even when he could not. Everything rising back up inside him, Gideon tamped it down, forcing his anger to scatter. He couldn’t go there again.

  Gideon motioned to Toby’s face, the flesh flanking his nose badly bruised. “I’m sorry I did that.”

  Toby nodded an acceptance. “And I apologize as well. I’m equally at fault.”

  It wasn’t true, and they both knew it. Rising, Toby grabbed a shovel and got back to work.

  The children’s spirited laughter filled the air. A sound as old as time.

  Sitting on the steps, Lonnie watched Addie play with Jacob in the yard. Lonnie slid to the side when Gideon walked over with a box of tools. Jebediah was just a few steps behind.

  She remembered Elsie’s words as Gideon set the box beside her.

  “He was worth loving.”

  Yes, he was. But in moments like this, everything she knew and loved about him seemed buried under the weight of his actions. She knew what a broken heart felt like—and the sadness she felt this morning was born of the same seed.

  “Am I in your way?” she asked softly.

  “No. Not at all.”

  Eyes down, Gideon shuffled through the box, then moved to the banister and fingered the broken wood. He softly shook his head. Lonnie watched him crouch down and study the damage, wondering if he was recalling all he’d done.

  Finally, he looked at her. “I’m so sorry, Lonnie. I shouldn’t have done this. I have no excuses.”

  No. He didn’t.

  He moved back to the box and pulled out a saw. Addie picked up Jacob and carried him over to the little wagon that sat on the side of the barn. Saw in hand, Gideon worked it slowly against the broken banister. Jebediah went into the house, leaving the door ajar.

  “You have every right to be mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you. Not anymore,” she said.

  He looked at her.

  “I’m sad for you.”

  The saw idle in his hands, he rolled his shoulder. Finally, he nodded. The splintered wood shook as he cut it free. The broken piece fell at his boots, and he picked it up. She wondered what he saw. If he saw the pain he’d inflicted on Toby.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw.

  Lonnie slid her hands into her apron pockets. He sat beside her, the piece of wood still in his hands.

  “What are you going to do?” she finally asked.

  “Carve a new piece.”

  She smiled softly. “I know that, Gid. I mean about Toby.”

  Thumb tracing along the fresh cut, Gideon stared at the broken spindle. Jebediah stepped back out, and they leaned away so he could plod down the stairs.

  Turning the wood in his hands, Gideon watched the older man pick through the box of tools. “There’s something that I need to tell you.” Gideon’s words were near her ear. “I should get back to work, though.” Rising, he reached for his saw, then looked back at Lonnie. “We’ll talk. As soon as you have a quiet moment to spare.”

  Twenty-Seven

  With no moon shining in through the inky black window, Lonnie sat on the edge of the sill. The room around her was dim save a single candle burning on the nightstand. Addie and Jacob were fast asleep; Jebediah and Elsie, long since turned in. Lonnie had thought about going to bed herself, but her nightgown lay idle in her lap.

  For sleep was hard to find.

  She’d tarried as long as she could, scrubbing her face at the washstand until her cheeks were pink. She unplaited her hair only to run a brush through it more times than necessary. She thought of Gideon. She thought of Toby. Her thoughts as tangled as a web, she finally sat, knowing that there would be no unraveling them tonight.

  A glance into the dark night, and she could picture Gideon in the barn. Was he cold? Was he comfortable? She longed to sit and talk as they once had. But those days were gone. Lonnie fiddled with the sleeve of her nightgown, finally setting it aside, her thoughts anywhere but in this room.

  With a sigh, she let her head rest against the window. The glass against her back was so cold, Lonnie found herself rising. She moved toward the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, she tugged off the top blanket, folded it quickly, and stepped from the bedroom. The hallway was dark. Not wanting to disturb Jebediah or Elsie, she tiptoed down the stairs in a series of creaks and groans from the floorboards.

  Nearly breathless, she grabbed the lantern from the kitchen and lit it. She almost stopped to think about what she was doing, but for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to. What she wanted was to see Gideon. And for too many months, she’d been denied that. The thought of him so near all but pushed her toward the door. Her shawl was on its peg, and she threw it over her shoulders before slipping out into the night, the air grabbing her in its icy hands. She shivered.

  With quick feet, she hurried to the barn, not liking the dark or how alone it made her feel. Her unbound hair whipped as she nearly ran across the yard. Her hand found the barn-door latch, and she hesitated briefly. What was she doing? Barging in on Gideon like this. Unexpected. A part of her felt it was wrong, but with the blanket pressed to her chest and an unnamed desire thudding beneath it, she pulled the door open.

  A soft glow met her, and she spotted Gideon immediately. Sitting cross legged on a blanket, he
held a book in his lap. His head shot up when the door opened. Chest heaving, Lonnie blushed beneath the shift in his face. A surprise—an intensity that nearly took her breath away.

  “Lonnie.”

  “I-I brought you a blanket.”

  “Thank you.” His book closed and he rose. He still wore his boots, but his wrinkled shirt hung in untucked folds around his waist.

  Standing in the entryway, she was unsure of what to do. “I … I …” She glanced around nervously. “H-here.” The blanket unfolded when she thrust it toward him.

  Kneeling, Gideon gathered it up. His green eyes glanced up at her, an impish grin on his face. “Developed a stutter, have we?”

  Lonnie pursed her lips. Heat rose from her toes to her ears. He stood to his full height, shadowing her. The lantern all but shook in her hand. Her other caught the tangles her hair had become, collecting them best she could.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

  She could tell he meant it.

  “I should never have done that to Toby. It was uncalled for. I truly am sorry. I won’t do it again. You have my word.”

  “Thank you.”

  Raising the blanket ever so slightly, he gave her a soft nod. His voice was tender. “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “It’s a cold night.”

  He nodded, still standing close. Much too close.

  Her heart was jumping in her chest, demanding her attention. Lonnie pressed a palm there. Gideon took the lantern from her and turned it off, his own burning brightly from the near stall. Feeling more a fool with each passing moment, she glanced around. The animals were bedded down or eying her sleepily. The air felt still, quiet. “You’re reading,” she said dumbly.

  He smiled. “I do that from time to time.”

  Straw crinkled underfoot as she stepped forward. In one blink, she took in his makeshift home. The narrow stall. The fresh, golden straw. A plaid blanket spread over his bedroll, his things scattered around. He knelt, picked up the book, and set it on his jacket.