My Hope Is Found

by Joanne Bischof

  “What is the cottage like?”

  Toby glanced at Gideon as if wishing he’d held his tongue.

  “There’s a proper barn for Gael and even a buggy. She won’t know what to do with herself.” He winked at Lonnie and reached for his shovel, and she knew he wasn’t disclosing half the details of the fine home. “There’s a wee garden and an icehouse, but most of the provisions come through the church.” He scratched his head. “When Reverend Gardner told me all this, I wasn’t sure what to say, and frankly”—he softly shook his head—“I’m still a bit overwhelmed by it all.” Bending, Toby pressed dark earth over the roots.

  Gideon turned and glanced around the farm. Taking in the barn, Jebediah’s fine house. Something lived in his expression that Lonnie couldn’t read, but she felt a pang in her heart at watching him. As if noticing, his face changed. “Lonnie.” He motioned with his head toward the last remaining tree. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  She walked toward him, not caring how damp her shawl had become. His wet hair curled around his ears when he smiled down on her.

  “What do I do?”

  Grabbing his shovel, he broke through the soil. “I’ll get it started for you.” He moved several mounds of dirt, then handed Lonnie the shovel. His eyes were bright. “Keep going.”

  And she did. After a minute, he offered to help. “Like this,” he said softly, shaping the hole so that the base of the tree would sit higher and the roots could filter lower. “Now.” He motioned with his hand for her to bring the last tree.

  Water spilled from the roots as she lifted it from the bucket. “Just set it in?”

  He nodded, watching her. “Perfect.” Kneeling, Gideon started to fill in the dirt. Lonnie crouched at his side. Their hands moved in quiet tandem as they buried the tender roots.

  It was then she realized that Toby was gone. Lonnie glanced around, her stomach plunging at having not said good-bye. But then she spotted him, at the far edge of the clearing. He led Gael from the barn. He lifted his hat from his head and arced it down in farewell.

  Slowly, Lonnie waved back.

  Thirty-Two

  Lonnie lifted the smooth wooden box from the cupboard beneath the washstand and clutched it under her arm as she strode down the stairs. The evening light cast a warm glow through the house. Shadows hid her shoes as she hurried past the parlor and into the kitchen. Gideon had knocked on the door only minutes ago, asking if she would fetch the shaving kit for him.

  He sat on the back porch, watching the rain fall. He ran his hand along the bristles of his jaw. Finally, he glanced her way, rose, and brushed at his pants. Then his eyes fell to the box. “Thank you.”

  “Elsie said you’d asked for it.” She moved to the washstand and peeked inside. “I’ll get some water on the stove.”

  Without looking at her, he pressed the lid open with a creak. “Elsie already did.” He pulled out a leather pouch. After loosening the ties, he pinched the handle of the straight razor inside, pulling it free.

  “You’ll need towels. I’ll go get some,” Lonnie blurted, needing an excuse to leave.

  Gideon half grinned, and his eyes fell to a stack of small towels already on the washstand. He rolled one of his shirtsleeves up past his elbow and started on the other.

  She pursed her lips. “Elsie thought of everything.”

  “She did.” Finally smiling at her, he made no attempt to hide that he sensed her distress. “You can go on inside.” He set the pouch down. Staring into the small mirror hanging in front of him, he ran fingertips over his chin. “Or sit.” He flicked his head toward the steps. “Stay with me.” His eyes found hers in the mirror.

  “All right.”

  He pressed the top button of his shirt free, then the one below it, finally folding the fabric away from his neck. He secured one end of the strop to a hook on the side of the house. The sinewy muscles of his forearms tightened as he pulled the other end taut. He ran the blade up and down on the leather strip in quick rhythm, flipping the razor with practiced precision each time. Lonnie looked on, silenced by the simple motion. Gideon caught her watching him.

  “Oh, the water,” she blurted. Inside, she nearly burned her palm on the kettle handle and, with a shake of her head, grabbed a hot pad. She was worse than a schoolgirl. She returned with the steaming kettle and filled the washbasin. Her hand stung, and she blew on it.

  “Do you need some salve?” His eyes smiled, everything about him warm, familiar. She shook her head. The supplies in the shaving box rattled as he shifted through it. “Thanks again for fetching this.” He smeared a finger full of glycerin soap into the enamel shaving bowl. Using the boar-bristle brush, he whipped it into a white froth. He wet his face, dampening the scruff, and smeared soap in a circular motion along his jaw.

  “Reverend Gardner’s making his announcement tomorrow at church. About him moving and Toby taking over.”

  “And are you going?”

  “Don’t really have a way of getting there.” As she spoke, Lonnie stared at the darkening sky, the colors of charcoal and ice. She moved to light the lantern on the washstand as he worked the blade up his throat.

  Stepping back, Gideon snapped his fingers. “Darn. It sounded like a heap of fun.”

  She settled down on the top step. “It’s not about having fun, Gideon.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  Lonnie pulled loose the strip of cloth that bound her braid. With slow fingers, she unraveled it. “Then why don’t you just start saying what you mean?”

  Gideon’s eyes shifted to the mirror and then down to his boots. He tapped the razor against the edge of the basin. “He’s a good man, Toby.” He wiped the last of the cream from his face. “I mean it. He’s a real good man. If I can’t … If I’m not able to …” He swallowed hard and tipped his head to the side as if fighting something. “If I’m not able to take care of you and Jacob, I can’t think of a better man to …”

  Watching his face, she knew what the confession cost him.

  He turned the handle in his fingers and shook his head. Mischief crept into his expression. “Then again, you could just become a nun.”

  A laugh slipped out. “Gideon!”

  “Just saying what I think … per the lady’s request.” He winked.

  “You’re impossible.”

  Humor fading, he sat on the step beside her and folded his hands together. “I hope that day doesn’t come, Lonnie. But if it does …” His eyes darkened. “I might not have as much of a fighting chance as I had once hoped. I won’t ask you not to marry him. That’s not my place.”

  Lonnie circled her fingers around her wrist.

  “Just tell me the truth.” He bounced his heel for a few moments. “Are you resigned to marry him or not?”

  “I … I don’t know.”

  He chuckled darkly. “Yes, you do. He’s either the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. Or he’s not.” He pushed a shirt button into place, then another. “What’s for supper?”

  She blinked. “Food? You’re thinking about food all of a sudden?”

  Hands pressed together, he spoke without looking at her. “No. But you’re pale, Lonnie.”

  Was she truly? Lonnie fiddled with the hem of her apron.

  “I figured you could use a change of subject. Should I talk about the weather instead?” He flashed her a lopsided grin.

  “Rabbit stew. No, I don’t want to talk about the weather. And as for Toby …”

  She had his attention now.

  “I don’t want to lead him on unfairly. Whatever I decide, I want to do it soon. For his sake. And for yours.”

  “Is there a decision to be made?” She sensed he hoped it would be an easy one.

  “Honestly? I don’t know how to answer that question.”

  “Come on, Lonnie. You can do better than that.”

  “I’m serious. And I’ve given it a lot of thought. But it’s not an answer that I have for you. No
t now.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Reaching down, she squeezed his hand. “The same thing you are.”

  Lonnie heard Elsie call for her. Gideon’s head lifted at the sound of her name, but he said nothing more. Lonnie hesitated a moment, wondering. “I should set the table.” When she stepped back, she nearly tripped over the ash bucket.

  Back inside, she pressed her hand to her heart. Elsie looked at her, forehead wrinkling.

  “Are you okay?”

  Lonnie bobbed her head. “Yes.” But it felt like a lie.

  And when she sat at the table as everyone enjoyed the meal, she watched Elsie carry a single bowl and spoon through the dark doorway. The woman returned empty handed. Just before the door closed, Lonnie peered into the night but could no more make out the form of the man who sat alone on the steps than she could make sense of all that might happen.

  Thirty-Three

  Gideon walked between two rows of trees, his boots sinking in the freshly tilled soil. Wind spilled over the woods, pressing through the farm, whipping at his coat. He watched the clouds roll over the land, dark with moisture. Heavy. Powerful. Their shadows danced in waves over the grass. A silent prayer lifted from his heart each time he knelt beside a young tree. Each time, he felt the roots and patted soil into place where need be.

  In the yard, just a holler away, Lonnie pulled sheets from the clothesline, Jacob waddling around at her feet. Hearing a horse in the distance, Gideon lifted his head. Toby just didn’t know how to stay away, did he?

  But this rider was moving fast. Too fast.

  Gideon stood and watched until the horse galloped into view. The thin rider who lifted a black hat in salute wasn’t Toby. The horse’s hooves pounded through the mud, spraying a dark splatter when it slammed to a stop in front of the house. Wiping his dirty hands on a rag in his back pocket, Gideon strode toward him.

  “Can I help you?” he called.

  “I’m looking for a Gideon O’Riley.”

  His walk turned to a run. “That’s me.” Gideon met the man halfway, and a letter was crammed into his hand.

  “What is this?” He glanced over as Lonnie hurried toward them.

  “It’s from the courthouse. On urgent business,” the rider said.

  His eyes on Lonnie’s muddy hem, Gideon couldn’t bring himself to think beyond the pounding of his heart. Then she was beside him, speaking his name. Jarring him into action. Gideon ripped the envelope open, the letter nearly slipping from his hands in his haste. He read quickly, but the words jumbled in his mind, and he had to begin again.

  I bid you to return at once …

  Gideon read the line once more. And then the next. The paper began to tremble.

  Most urgent …

  “Gideon.” Lonnie touched his arm. “What does it say?”

  He looked at her. “I need to go to Stuart. I need to go now.” A quick thank-you to the rider, and he started toward the barn.

  “What’s happened?” Lonnie called.

  As if of their own accord, his feet carried him back to her. What was he thinking? “I’m sorry, Lonnie.” He could scarcely put two thoughts together. He handed her the letter, knowing it would do a better job than he would in this moment. “Cassie’s there.”

  Her eyes widened. She quickly scanned the page. Color drained from her face, and then she handed it back.

  “Cassie’s there, Lonnie. But I have to hurry.” He wanted to pull her close, have her nearness be the only piece of normal he could grasp in this moment. But his mind whirled with too many outcomes to do anything other than force himself to step away. “I have to go, Lonnie,” he said, his tone urgent even to his own ears. “I’ll be back. No matter what, I’ll be back.” Even if it were to say good-bye, he needed her to know that.

  Ducking into his stall, he looked around, his hands moving faster than his mind. In his haste, he knocked the books from his crate. The tie Jebediah had lent him was still where he’d left it, and Gideon rolled it around his hand before stuffing it in his pack. He tried to think if he was forgetting anything, then with a jolt, he grabbed his tin can of money. What few bills and coins he had, he crammed into his pocket. Gideon hurried out into the graying light and jogged across the yard.

  Lonnie had moved to the shelter of the porch. Waiting. Jacob in her arms. The road called to him. Only because his freedom called to him. But seeing her standing there, her shawl whipping around the pair of them, Gideon moved toward her in a few long strides. For one brief moment, he allowed himself to pull them close. His lips grazed the top of her head, and before he could forget himself, he slid his hand behind Jacob’s head and held them as tight as he could. As tight as he dared. Slamming his eyes closed, he sent up a prayer that this would end well.

  Oh, God, that this could end well.

  And just as quick, he pulled away. Forced himself down the steps. Toward Stuart.

  The wagon jostled, and Gideon gripped the side of the wagon bed. Feet dangling over the edge, he rested his hands on his knees and lifted his eyes to the sky. The air was still bright, the sun holding its ground.

  “ ’Bout half a mile more to Stuart,” the man called over his shoulder.

  “Thank you.” Gideon leaned back on a sack of grain. He’d walked all that was left of the day before and come sunrise had walked several hours before the wagon had passed by, ushering him toward Stuart more quickly than he’d expected.

  He’d sensed that the man was the quiet type, and it was just as well, for his mind was whirring with too many outcomes to hold a proper conversation. He savored the quiet, rehearsing over and over in his mind what the judge might do and say. His thoughts held him captive until the first sounds of town drew his attention back to the road. They’d passed the blacksmith’s and were ambling slowly beyond the locksmith’s, the wooden sign that hung overhead creaking in the wind.

  “This is where I stop.”

  Gideon jumped down and grabbed his pack. “Thank you for the ride. I really appreciate it.”

  “My pleasure. Was headin’ this way anyway. Happy to help, son.”

  With a tip of his hat, Gideon turned in a circle, trying to get his bearings. Then he spotted a sign for Main Street. Quickly heading that way, he saw the courthouse in the distance. It took all his self-control not to run down the street and up the steps. Walking as fast as he could, Gideon threw decorum to the wind and jogged toward the massive brick building, stormed up the steps, and pressed past the doors, amazed to find them unlocked. Breathless, he stopped short. The entryway was dim, vacant. He glanced around at the hollow corridors.

  “Hello?” His chest heaved.

  A dark bun popped up from behind the desk. “Oh!” Mrs. Peterson said, a hand pressed to her heart in surprise. “I didn’t know anyone was there.” She pulled papers into her lap that must have fallen, for they were scattered behind her desk.

  Gideon moved to help her. “Is Judge Monroe here?”

  “I’m afraid he’s gone home for the day. I should be out of here myself, but I had some things to finish up. I thought I’d locked the door.”

  The papers collected, Gideon straightened and stepped back, feeling more than a mite guilty for barging in on her like this.

  “But”—she tapped the page edges against the floor, straightening them—“I have something for you. I’m glad you’re here. The judge sent a circuit rider out yesterday.” She struggled to stand, and Gideon quickly helped her. “Thank you.” Her wrinkled hands brushed dust from her skirt. “I didn’t know he would find you so fast. It’s providential,” she said with a shake of her head, handing him a small crease of paper. “This is from Miss Allan.”

  Gideon took it.

  “Come back tomorrow, Mr. O’Riley.” She pulled a beaded purse from the back of her chair, then picked up a cloak. “Judge Monroe will be eager to speak to the both of you.” Her eyes sparkled, filling Gideon with a flood of happiness.

  Was this really happening? “Yes ma’am. I’ll be here.”


  “Good, good.” With a ring of heavy keys in her hand, she moved toward the door. Gideon followed. Together they stepped out into the darkening evening, and she tugged the heavy door closed with a hollow thud. A jingle of the keys, and the lock clicked into place.

  “Miss Allan told me she would be at the ordinary. The one just at the end of the road, owned by the Smiths.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Gideon tipped his hat. With a friendly smile, she started down the steps, no doubt toward home.

  Surrounded by the strange town, Gideon stood a moment and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He opened Cassie’s note, the words no different than the message Mrs. Peterson had spoken aloud. He started toward the ordinary. Reaching the yellow two-story house, he was unsure if he was supposed to knock or walk in. He chose to tap his knuckles against the red door. After a moment, the door opened, and a stout woman with silver hair peered up at him.

  “Evening, sir.” Her Irish accent reminded him of his grandmother’s. Thick and mossy. “Are ye looking for lodgings?”

  “Mrs. Smith? I’m looking for a Miss Cassie Allan.”

  “And who be askin’?”

  Gideon hitched his pack higher up on his shoulder. “I’m—”

  The woman arched an eyebrow, and he could see why this was the best ordinary in town. She wasn’t about to let just anybody in. “I’m her … husband.”

  She sized him up from his boots to his hat. “I’ll be seein’ about that, young man. Just you wait there on the bench. I’ll be just a moment, laddie.”

  The door closed in his face.

  Gideon shifted his feet. Shoulders aching, he set his pack on the bench, nearly knocking over a pot of lacy flowers. His heart pounded at the thought of seeing Cassie. He tried not to glance in the window, but the glow of a fire in the parlor drew his attention. The smell of something sweet baking hung in the air.

  He saw the woman return. Her boot heels clicking stormily across the hardwood floor. “The laddie down here says he’s your husband.” The glass muffled her voice.

  A second trailed it. “The laddie?”