My Hope Is Found

by Joanne Bischof

  Not just for him. For others involved. He thought of Lonnie. He thought of Jacob. Little Addie. And he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what was right. Bending, he yanked the root free. If only the answer could be pulled to the surface as easily.

  Lonnie was the only good thing about him. The only thing that was pure and right and deserving. Without her, he was nothing. And that frightened him. Frightened him at the thought of losing her. Worse was the realization that he could burden her by simply staying in her life. He’d hated his rotten existence—until he’d met Lonnie. The girl with the big brown eyes. The girl who had trusted him to walk her home. But he wasn’t worthy of the trust; he’d kissed her in a way he had no right to.

  Gideon ran a hand over his face. Wishing he hadn’t been that man. The man who let his lusts rule him. He’d have taken her innocence that night if she’d let him. There were few things he cared about back then, save himself and what he wanted. Gideon glanced around him. Was all that lived inside him in this moment any different? He knew what it was to be addicted. Knew how to hold on to something with everything inside him. All for his own satisfaction. How many times did he tell himself that his love for Lonnie was different?

  How many times?

  Gideon picked up the ax handle, smooth from years of wood oil and sweat. Out of habit, he glanced over his shoulder, but Toby had left a few hours back. The man had been quiet, somber. Gideon couldn’t blame him. Not for one moment. He grunted as he brought the blade down, making a splice through the moist, sinewy fibers and, after countless strikes, stepped back for a breath. He shifted his stance, adjusted his grip on the ax, and after three more blows, the masticated root fell loose.

  With the choker chain wrapped around the jagged stump, he urged Sugar on, the sounds of popping roots and falling soil filling the quiet clearing. When she finished, sides heaving, Gideon pulled half an apple from his pocket. “That’s a good girl.” He patted her hide and loosened the chain before leading her back where she could rest as he started on the second stump.

  By sunset, he heard someone approach and, when he turned, saw Lonnie striding toward the clearing, Jacob on her hip. Gideon smeared his palm against his chest, though it was useless in rubbing away the ache he suddenly felt. Her eyes were serious. Sad.

  He hoped and prayed for the strength to do this.

  She stilled beside him. “Amazing.” Her gaze drifted over the new trees planted in neat rows.

  He leaned back on one leg and tugged his gloves off. “Thank you. Of course … I had help.”

  She glanced at him, a knowing look in her eyes.

  Wishing he hadn’t brought that up—not just yet—he pulled Jacob from her grasp and nuzzled the boy’s neck until Jacob giggled.

  Her shoulders rose as she let out a sigh. “Shall we sit?” Jacob dove toward her, and Gideon lowered their son into her arms. The boy’s wiggling continued, and Lonnie set him down. He wandered toward the nearest stump and patted a chubby hand against the rough bark.

  “Is he …” she began.

  Gideon nodded. “He’s safe.” But he stepped toward the boy, and Lonnie followed.

  Sinking down, Gideon leaned against the stump, and Lonnie surprised him by doing the same. She tucked her plaid skirts beneath her before sitting in the dirt. They watched Jacob in silence. The boy gathered sticks and chewed on each one before adding them to a little pile at his side. The sky grayed, and the hazy shadows that swallowed up the land sent a chill through Gideon’s damp clothes. Although he knew where his jacket lay, he had no intention of moving from this spot. Her shoulder was too warm beside his. This moment, too right.

  And he was about to mess everything up. He might as well place her hand inside Toby’s. Was he ready for this? Gideon squeezed his shoulder. He spoke before he could change his mind. “There’s something I need to tell you, Lonnie.” He picked up a twig and snapped it. “I’d rather not … but it just doesn’t feel right not to. No more secrets, right?”

  A smile was in her voice. “No more secrets.” She leaned back, settling in, and smelled as sweet as ever with hints of soap clinging to her damp apron.

  “Lonnie, I don’t know how to say this, but I’d rather you hear it from me than some stranger.” He pressed his fists to his knees. “It’s been made known to me that there are some folks who don’t believe right. About you. And the children.” When she didn’t speak, he continued. “Because you’re not married. Because I wasn’t around.”

  Her face was sad. “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Toby told me.”

  Toby. He flexed his hand, then tucked it against his stomach. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “People will think what they want, I s’pose. There’s not much I can do about it now.”

  But there was. Did she not see that? “You’re just fine with it? You’re just fine with what they say about you and Jacob? about Addie?”

  Jacob started to fuss.

  “Addie?”

  “That she’s yours.”

  “Mine?” The word slipped out small. Lonnie’s mouth opened, then closed.

  The man’s words still haunting him, the pain in her face all but sealed his decision. “The preacher’s good Christian name’ll smooth things over for those little uns.”

  Her eyes searched the ground. “But that would mean—”

  “Yes. It’s not good, Lonnie. Not for you or them.”

  “Give them a right bright future despite it all.”

  The name McKee held a goodness that he could never hope to have. O’Riley—only shame. Trouble. Gideon clenched his fists. Jacob’s whimpers growing louder, he rose and picked up his son. Lonnie followed a step behind.

  She seemed lost in thought, so Gideon allowed her the quiet as they walked back to the house. They strode into the kitchen, and at Lonnie’s bidding, Gideon nestled the baby into his highchair, fumbling with the leather strap. Lonnie’s eyes were sad as she buttered a piece of bread for him. Gideon moved to speak to her, sliding his hand to the back of her neck, the skin so soft his head spun. He was glad when Addie bounded into the kitchen, followed by Jebediah and Elsie. Gideon stepped away.

  “Look what’s happened!” Addie held up a wooden pull toy, a small horse that had seen better days. “His little wheel fell off.” Her bottom lip stuck out.

  Hungry for the distraction, Gideon knelt and took it gently from her. “Let’s see here.” He took the wheel and slid it into place. “This little peg snapped off.” Using his pinkie, he showed her just where it had broken. “See that?”

  Addie nodded.

  “After supper, I can make a new peg. Would you like to watch?”

  Her dark curls bobbed when she nodded.

  “You can be my helper.” He tousled her hair and her dimples appeared. “Why don’t I set it on the desk, where it’ll be safe until then?” He stepped into the parlor and returned just as quick.

  Addie hopped into her seat as Jebediah unfolded his napkin. Gideon pulled out his own chair, and Lonnie sat with a sigh, slowly unfolding her napkin. When she’d smoothed it across her lap, Jebediah blessed the food. Lonnie spooned food onto Jacob’s tray without speaking. In the flicker of candlelight, Elsie and Jebediah exchanged glances.

  “Tell us about your trees,” Elsie blurted.

  “My trees.” Gideon straightened and collected his thoughts. “My trees are good.”

  She slapped her napkin in his direction. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah,” Jebediah lifted his cup. “How has it all gone?”

  Gideon gripped the breadbasket when it came his way and pulled out a piece before passing the lot to Lonnie. Accepting it, she seemed to take care that their fingers didn’t touch.

  “Really well.” His voice faltered. “They’re all in the ground in time, and now I’ll just watch them closely and keep them watered. Hope we don’t have any late storms.” He ran his hands along his thighs, not really wanting to talk about his trees.


  Elsie patted his arm. “Such a blessing. To think, we’ll have an orchard right out our back door. No more climbin’ up to Apple Hill.”

  “All the cider and pie you could ever make. But it’ll take a few years to get there.”

  “It’ll all happen in due time,” Elsie added.

  “That it will.”

  Jebediah’s mustache lifted. “Do I sense … calm and patience? What happened to you?”

  Gideon chuckled. “Is that an insult?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  After breaking his bread in half, Gideon offered it to Lonnie, motioning with his head toward their son. She slid the bread onto the boy’s tray, and Jacob dropped a green bean to reach for it, sending a chorus of laughter around the table.

  Lonnie shook her head, but a soft smile parted her pretty mouth.

  “Well.” Gideon leaned back in his chair. “I guess there’s no point in worrying.”

  “So you’ve realized that it’s better just to wait on the Lord, huh?” Jebediah asked.

  When Lonnie reached for the butter, her arm brushing his, he cleared his throat.

  “Let’s say I’m working on it.” Gideon poked food around his plate. “Sometimes better than others.”

  When supper was over, Addie hopped up and ran into the parlor, returning with the toy and a toothy grin. The way Addie reached for his hand, holding it tight, made Gideon thankful for the distraction.

  “I’m ready to be your helper, Mr. Gideon.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Then off we go.” They walked through the kitchen and out into the night. In the barn, he lit the lantern. She sat on the workbench, watching closely as he whittled a new peg. She talked the whole time about everything under the sun, from the goats to Jacob to the little garden Elsie was going to let her plant.

  Gideon looked at her—brown eyes just like her sister’s—and soaked in her happiness. When he nicked his finger with his chisel, he thought she was going to cry. She jumped to her feet and, standing right there in the middle of his workbench, took up his finger in her little apron. She bundled it tight, her sweet face drawn in worry.

  His finger was no pain compared to the ache in his heart.

  He wanted to rewind time. Rip that man down from his wagon. Tell him what it meant to love someone and to be loved. He wanted to stanch the rumors. Snuff out each flame with his bare hands. But he could no more do that than he could hold the river back. Looking into Addie’s chestnut eyes, he wished with all his might that he could.

  Thirty-Nine

  With the sun peeking through the clouds just so and the echo of birdsong coming from the forest, Lonnie’s heart felt light as she lowered the corners of her apron, dropping a pile of thyme onto the cutting board. She’d found a small, rickety table in the barn, and it had taken most of her strength to drag it to the right spot. Through the open barn doors, she could see Gideon at the workbench, Addie at his side. The pull toy and an array of tools were sprawled between them. Though he’d fixed the wheel the night before, he’d offered to help her paint it.

  With a shake of her head, Lonnie smiled and turned back to her work. Earlier that morning, she’d knelt in Elsie’s garden, gathering sprigs of the hearty thyme. Lonnie worked the large kitchen knife through the fragrant herb. The only thing that made sense in this moment was sitting right in front of her.

  Grabbing the pan she’d prepared, Lonnie strode to her lye barrel and, after pouring rainwater through, set the pan to catch the drips. Her patchwork skirt brushed the mud, and she hoisted it above her knees, black stockings poking out. Gideon jogged toward the well. The morning sun glinted golden on his shoulders. Filling a bucket, he hurried back to the barn.

  Lonnie stood and shielded her eyes. “Everything all right?”

  “Oh yeah!” His voice was a bit higher than usual. “We may or may not have knocked over the can of paint.” He disappeared into the barn, and Lonnie heard Addie laugh.

  Her heart near to bursting, she carefully carried the lye mixture back to her work space. She added fat, stirred it slowly, and mulled over what oil she might add for fragrance. Small bottles of lavender, rosemary, and peppermint stood at attention, and she reached for the lavender oil, certain it would make a nice accompaniment to the thyme. Gus had returned from his last trip to town with the oils wrapped in parcel paper and a message from another shop owner that if Lonnie’s soap was as fine as the neighbors had made it out to be, he’d order three dozen bars or more. The corner of Lonnie’s mouth turned up in a smile.

  As the fat melted, she rushed into the kitchen for her soap molds. In the low cupboard, she pulled out a trio of old pans and hurried back into the sunshine and her soap mixture that desperately needed to be stirred. Working an old spoon through it, she waited for the trace, the telltale sign that the soap was ready to pour. Her spoon hit the table, and with a flick of her wrist, she sprinkled in specks of thyme. The familiar motions—the busy dance of this work—filled her with contentment.

  At the sound of hooves, she glanced up. Toby rode into the yard, his black coat flapping open. She forced herself to keep her hands steady as she filled the first pan. Nearing, he dismounted. His gaze as earnest and as kind as she’d ever known. The last drops of soap mixture dripped into the third pan, and she set the pot aside.

  “Afternoon,” he said when he neared.

  She peered up into the face she’d come to know so well. “It’s good to see you, Toby.” She meant it with all her heart.

  “And you.” He smiled and a dimple dented each cheek. He stood a moment watching her. “Oh, wait.” He opened the saddlebag and pulled out a wilted bouquet. “Och, these looked better a quarter of an hour ago.” He held them gently in his oversized hands, the sight touching her heart. He handed them to Lonnie. “It’s to say sorry for walking away the other day. I was just …”

  And she knew. Lonnie smelled the flowers. “You have nothing to be sorry about. If you only knew the gentleman that you are.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, expression humble.

  “A bit of water, and they’ll perk right up. I’m nearly done here, and then we can walk up to the house.” She peered up at him. “I’d love to sit and talk. There’s so much to say. I can put on some tea.”

  “I canna stay long. I just came to say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye?”

  He chuckled. “For a few days. I’m going to take some money to the church up in Richland Knob. A large group has been meeting in a barn for years, and we’re putting in some funds to help them break ground on a small building.”

  Gently setting the flowers at her side, Lonnie tapped the pan, letting bubbles rise to the surface of the soap mixture, her mind no longer on the task. “That’s wonderful. How long are you going to be gone?”

  “Just a few days.”

  Addie bounded into the yard. “Reverend McKee!” she squealed and hopped over a puddle, then another, her path zigzagging to find them. Barreling past him, she buried herself in Lonnie’s skirt, then poked a grin around just for him. “I’m ever so glad you’re here. I want to show you my horsy! Mr. Gideon fixed it for me, right quick. He even let me use his hammer.” Tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, she mimicked a pounding motion. “And I only squished his finger twice!”

  Lonnie’s eyes widened, and Addie bounded back the way she’d come.

  “I think perhaps he has a new admirer.” Toby winked at Lonnie, but his eyes were sad. In a motion that caught her by surprise, he reached out and brushed his thumb over her cheek. A farewell—she could feel it.

  And she knew he wasn’t really talking about Addie.

  Toby glanced past her, and following his gaze, Lonnie saw Gideon leaning against the doorway of the barn, wiping paint from his hands with a rag.

  A tip of his hat and Toby stepped back. “I need to speak to him. I will see you soon,” he promised. His eyes found Lonnie’s. “Good-bye.”

  Gideon watched as Toby walked toward him. The man nodded cordially, and Gideon re
turned the nod. He stepped into the barn. Toby followed. Picking his chisel up, Gideon looked around for something to keep his hands busy. His fields called to him. Sweat called to him. But this would just have to do. He pulled down a kitchen stool he’d started for Elsie and worked the chisel through the soft wood.

  “I see you got the rest of the field cleared.”

  “Suppose I could have waited.” Eyes on his work, the shavings fell.

  “But you didn’t.” Toby’s voice held admiration.

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorta new to this patience thing.” Gideon pressed the chisel in deeper—wounding. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

  “At least you’re trying.”

  Gideon tossed the chisel aside before he lost a finger.

  “I don’t know how you’re doing it.” Toby watched him.

  Gideon let out a heavy breath. The man was the epitome of patience.

  “You’ve been home for days, Gideon.” Toby glanced at the house. “And still …” He shook his head. “If it were me, I’d have married Lonnie by now.”

  “Are you waiting for me to put you out of your misery?”

  Toby said nothing.

  “Lonnie needs to choose. It’s the best way, and we both know it.” He’d watched the exchange between them. The tender way Toby reached for her. The tender way she responded.

  Gideon grabbed a piece of sandpaper, but it felt insufficient. He needed a hammer. An ax. He wanted to crush the wood in his hands, not make something out of it. Forcing himself to cradle the sandpaper gently, he fought the urge to give up.

  “I’ll be gone for a few days. Heading up to Richland Knob. I have a deliv’ry for the church there.”

  “Well … try not to get eaten by a bear while you’re gone.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Toby scratched the back of his head, then glanced at the sun that was rising higher. Jebediah was walking toward them. “I need to be going. I have a few things to see to before I leave.”

  Gideon watched his greatest rival walk from the barn. His greatest fear mounted the dark mare and, with a click of his heels, disappeared from view. If only life were that simple.