My Hope Is Found

by Joanne Bischof

  With a grimace, Toby shifted his head on the pillow, facing her.

  “Gid … He, uh …” Her finger traced the floral pattern. Her eyes moved to Toby’s face. “He brought you back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His voice was so strained, she feared this was too much for him. “You were bleeding. I think he carried you a ways, but then a wagon … I mean a farmer stopped and …”

  “Gideon. Carried me?” The words slipped out airy, weak.

  “Toby, he’s the one who found you. He found you. And he brought you back.”

  Realization dawned in Toby’s eyes. His head sank deeper into the pillow.

  Lonnie turned to her sister. “Addie, will you excuse us for just a moment?”

  Addie’s face fell, but she nodded and moved toward the door.

  “I’ll call you back in a few minutes, and you can say a good-night for the evening.”

  Addie vanished down the hall.

  Lonnie turned back to Toby. “Do you remember what happened?”

  His chest lifted as he sighed. He stared at the far wall, blinking slowly, and Lonnie wondered what pain passed inside his mind.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “No.” He grimaced when he shifted his shoulders. “It’s fine.” Without looking at her, he told her what he remembered, his words slow in coming, patchy. In her mind she saw the faceless men. Heard their voices. And although she saw the bruises and cuts on his face, the gash on the side of his forehead, he mentioned nothing of pain.

  She could only wonder what memories he was sparing her.

  “I’m so sorry.” She touched the edge of the bed.

  “Don’t be.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ve lived to tell the tale.” He let out a weak chuckle and, with a wince, moved his hand toward his side. His voice was nearly inaudible. “That was good of him.” His eyes shifted to the window, hand still pressed to the bandage that hid beneath his shirt.

  Lonnie knew he was speaking of Gideon. “I think it’s what any man would do.”

  Toby glanced at her, and she could tell that he disagreed. “Under the circumstances, Lonnie, it’s what few men would do.”

  Forty-Six

  Wax dripped from the ivory candle in the center of the table, puddling around the base of the copper holder. An icy rain pattered against the window, but the fire roaring in the stove kept the kitchen snug.

  “Thank you, Elsie.” Gideon held his tin mug steady as she filled it with dark brew. He smeared butter on his biscuit, then tore off a piece and handed it to his son. Candlelight danced on curls the color of gingerbread, and Gideon couldn’t resist tousling the little boy’s hair, the strands silk between his fingers.

  Elsie ladled stew into each bowl, then moved her heavy dutch oven back to the stove, where it clanged into place. Lonnie asked for the milk. Gideon grabbed the jug and gently plucked the tin cup from her hand.

  “Can he hold this on his own?” he asked as he splashed milk into the small cup.

  “Not really. But he will want to anyway.” Her mouth lifted in a half smile.

  “Sounds like he’s taking after someone.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I’d say you’re right.”

  Gideon gave the cup to Jacob and watched as milk dribbled down Jacob’s chin and onto his shirt. His lips smacked, and lowering the cup, his smile was covered in cream.

  “Well, he did fairly well.” Using his napkin, Gideon wiped his son’s shirt. “Was that good?”

  Jacob kicked his feet and held out his empty cup, eyes bright and wide.

  Lonnie laughed. Gideon watched her. His hand itched to hold hers. He all but sat on it, forcing himself to look at his plate. Slowly, Gideon shook his head to toss off the dregs of sorrow. He reached for his coffee, knowing one way or another, he’d have to accept what their future held. He straightened in his chair and sipped the bitter brew.

  A sticky hand landed on his arm, and Gideon looked over at Jacob. He fingered the boy’s small wrist, and staring at his son, knew he had to accept it. He had to.

  Leaving just wasn’t an option.

  He would witness Jacob growing up. Even if from afar. When his throat constricted, Gideon took another sip, but it didn’t wash away his ache. He stared at his plate. He had to push through this. God, I don’t even know how to begin. Show me how to do this.

  Candlelight danced across Lonnie’s glass as she took a drink, and he remembered the peace he’d longed for and knew how it felt to finally be filled with it. He wanted more. Needed more. Yet he had one last thing to do. One last burden to shed.

  “Has Toby eaten?” Gideon blurted. When he felt every eye turn toward him, he set his napkin on the table.

  Elsie’s lips moved as if to speak but no words came. She tilted her head to the side. “He wasn’t hungry. I figured I would check on him after we eat and see if he’s got any appetite.”

  Without speaking, Gideon stood and grabbed a biscuit from beneath the cloth. At the stove, he ladled steaming stew into a dish. Without bothering to grab a tray or napkin, as Elsie would have, he marched into the parlor and up the stairs, the silence in the kitchen a clear indicator that he was being watched.

  Toby heard a soft knock and looked up from the Bible in his lap. Gideon stepped into the doorway, his expression a mix of uncertainty and determination. Toby motioned him forward. Grabbing a chair, Gideon set it beside the bed and shoved the bowl of stew onto the nightstand. He sat and lowered his head in his hands.

  Stunned, Toby closed the Bible.

  Gideon’s voice came muffled as he spoke, the words strained, broken.

  Toby listened to words of apology. Words he hadn’t known were due. His eyebrows lifted, but he waited, letting the man share his piece, knowing full well the urgency he himself felt. The need to do the same.

  Gideon fell silent. He glanced up, and his watery gaze fixed on the darkening window. “I’m so sorry,” he said one last time.

  Turning the black book in his hands, Toby stared down at the leather binding, worn and frayed from years of use. He was unsure how to begin. He searched for the words he needed to say, but before he could find them, Gideon continued.

  Rain pelted the window.

  At Gideon’s revelation, awe filtered through him.

  A smile lit Gideon’s face, and he leaned back in his chair. “God and I have a bit more of an understanding now, I think. I thought I would tell you. I figured those kinds of things make preachers happy.”

  Toby couldn’t help but grin. “They make us verra happy.” His voice came out strained, and he stifled a cough.

  Gideon had finally found what he was searching for, what Toby had been praying for. No doubt what Lonnie had been praying for. Toby leaned against the headboard, his heart and mind full of wonder. “I’m amazed, Gideon.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Gideon settled back in his seat. “So you didn’t think it was possible, huh?” His tone was teasing.

  Toby shook his head, the Bible still heavy in his palm. “No. I knew it was possible. I’m just … You were always …”

  Gideon leaned forward, his voice urgent. Eyes alive. “It was always right there. So close yet so far. I just never knew how to take that final step.”

  “Have you told Lonnie? She’ll be thrilled.”

  “Not yet. I don’t know … It would just feel like words.” He scratched his head.

  “You’re a good man, Gideon.” Shifting to the side, Toby tried to push the Bible onto the nightstand. His wound burned and he grimaced. Gideon took hold of the book and slid it into place. Leaning back, Toby rubbed the scruff of his jaw. He had an apology of his own. One that went beyond anything Gideon had ever done to him. “Gid … there’s, uh, something I should tell you.”

  “You’re leaving.” Gideon’s eyes widened, but his mouth broke into a smile, clearly teasing.

  Toby’s side burned when he wheezed out a laugh, but he couldn’t help it. “I am going home t’morrow
.” When the words came out strained, he winced and swallowed. “So that’s a start in the right direction, I s’pose.” And for an instant, he thought of Lonnie, but remembering what still needed to be said, he sobered. “Gid. The other night. On the road.”

  Gideon leaned onto his forearms.

  Gulping, Toby searched for the words. “I listened to their voices, the men.” He glanced at the open doorway, his voice lowering. “I didna tell Lonnie all of this, just parts. But … I couldn’t see who they were. They were covered.” He motioned the shape of the sacks out with his hands. “Their faces were hidden.”

  Gideon shook his head, his disgust evident. “I’m sorry—”

  “Gid …” Toby lifted his hand. He deserved no apology. No pity. “I listened to their voices, wond’ring if”—he swallowed, the truth acidic in his mouth—“if you were among them.”

  A slow emotion dawned in Gideon’s face. Finally, he leaned back.

  Unable to watch the hurt he saw there, Toby stared down at his hands. “There were few people I’d told about the trip. The money. And, well …” He blew out his cheeks.

  After drawing in a slow breath, Gideon spoke. “And what conclusion did you come to?” The words came out quiet.

  “That you’re a better man. A better friend than I deserve.”

  Leaning forward, Gideon shook his head slowly.

  Finally, Toby cleared his throat. “I don’t deserve to ask for your forgiveness—”

  “It’s forgotten.” Gideon’s eyes searched the floorboards at his feet, then he lifted his face. He shook his head again. “Toby, it’s forgotten.”

  Forty-Seven

  With Jacob on her hip, Lonnie strode forward and, after setting her son down, dumped the bucket’s contents into the mucky pen. As the young hog nuzzled at the pile of potato peels and carrot tops, she looked to the wagon tracks that led into the edge of the forest where Toby had disappeared earlier that morning.

  Standing by the side of the wagon, she’d watched him climb into the back, his face hard as stone—concealing pain. She had squeezed his hand, and after speaking to the driver, Toby lifted a wave to them all. The wagon lurched forward, and he clutched the side, his jaw clenching for a moment before he forced a weak smile.

  She’d been doubtful of his leaving. Voicing her concern to Elsie as they watched him go. Elsie had reminded her that he would be well taken care of. That there wasn’t a woman on this mountainside that wouldn’t be bringing him a meal or looking in on him. Lonnie tried to rest easy in the memory of her words, as her hem brushed along young spring flowers, damp with the constant dew. The rain that had started a few days before had finally drizzled out, but a soft fog lingered. Fiddling with the scrap of flannel that held her braid together, Lonnie walked slowly across the yard, Jacob waddling beside her. In the distance, she heard Gideon in the clearing. Lonnie reached for Jacob’s hand, deciding.

  “Shall we go see your papa?” she whispered in her son’s ear.

  Gideon did not look up as she came toward him, and it wasn’t until her skirts had brushed past a dozen freshly planted trees that he saw her. He tipped his hat and rested his wrist on the end of the garden hoe.

  “Your trees are budding. That’s good,” she said.

  He tilted his head from side to side. “It is. I’ll have to watch them carefully. There may be a shift in the weather yet, but they’ll be all right. At least I won’t have to worry about losing any apple blossoms to a cold snap. Another few years before they’re ready to produce.” He paused long enough to tap the hoe against a weed between them. “A few years before they get their feet under them.”

  “You’ve learned so much about all this.”

  “Did it sound that way?” He winked. After cutting free another weed, he rolled his shoulder. Another roll and he stretched his neck to the side.

  When Jacob tugged on her apron, she picked him up, eyes still on Gideon’s movement. “I bet you’re gettin’ a little tired of sleeping in the barn.”

  He tilted his head to the side again. “It grows on you after a while.”

  She doubted it. A hard ground. Prickly hay and the smell of animals.

  Gideon rested the handle of the hoe against his chest and rolled his sleeves past his forearms. “I’m trying to focus on the positives.” He poked a mound of dark earth around. “Three hot meals a day. A place that’s out of the rain. Out of the snow.” He bent and tossed a weed to the side. Kneeling, he pulled another free. “And I get to be near my family. My son.” He pushed dirt into the hole. “And you.”

  Lonnie nibbled on the tip of her thumb, his words touching her. “Those are good reasons.” When Jacob squirmed, she set him down. He wobbled to the nearest tree and patted it.

  “They’re the only reasons I have.” Standing, Gideon looked at her. “There’s no other place for me. But”—he hurried to add—“I’ll keep my distance, of course. If you end up deciding …” He looked toward the road, and she could tell he wanted to drop the matter.

  He would stay. No matter what she decided, he would stay. She studied him in silence. His hair curled around his ears, damp from the fog. Did he not know? The decision had already been made. Lonnie stuffed her hands in the pockets of Gideon’s coat and searched for the right words to begin. Jacob picked up two handfuls of dirt before sprinkling the soil onto his pants.

  Gideon watched him a moment. “He’s growing up so fast.”

  “He really is.”

  “I’ve already missed so much of his life.” Gideon kicked at a clump of dirt. “I don’t want to miss any more.” His eyes bore into hers.

  “I don’t either.” Her heart quickened.

  “So you won’t mind?” The words nearly trembled on his lips.

  “Mind?”

  He poked at the ground with the end of the hoe, his eyes still on her. “If I … stick around.”

  “Stick around?”

  “Yeah. It’d mean the world to me to watch this little boy grow up.” His work stilled and his face sobered. “I promise I’ll deal with the consequences. I just want to make sure it’s all right with you.”

  “All right with me?”

  His mouth quirked up in a smile. “Lonnie, stop repeating everything I say. It’s making me nervous.” His cheeks colored. Something that rarely happened.

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry. I’m just … confused. The thought of you leaving, that you would even consider it. Gid … I don’t want you to go.” She swallowed a rising lump in her throat. “This is your home.” Her voice cracked on the last word at the doubt and torment he was surrounded by. Wishing she hadn’t failed him so in expressing her heart.

  His eyebrows lifted, his face losing every line of concern. “My home.”

  She nodded.

  Gideon yanked off his gloves, tossing them aside. He hesitated a moment, then reached for her hand. His fingers were warm around hers. Another hesitation, and then he sank to one knee.

  Lonnie let out a soft gasp.

  His damp shirt clung to his shoulders. “I love you, Lonnie Sawyer. And this is what I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” His thumb circled the back of her hand. “But I want what’s best for you. What’s best for Jacob.” Gideon glanced at their son, his face peaceful.

  Moving closer, Lonnie grazed her fingertips against the side of his hair.

  Gideon gulped, his nerves showing. “And if that’s not me, then so be it.” He shook his head. “I’ve spent too much time seeking my own happiness. My own satisfaction. I want what’s best for you.” His lips grazed the back of her hand, and green eyes lifted to her face. “I want you to be safe. I want you to be loved.” He shifted forward. His grip tightened on her hand. “I would love to be the man to spend the rest of his life doing that. But if not …” He released her. “I’ve made so many mistakes in the past. I’m sorry. For everything.”

  Lonnie’s chin trembled. Gideon rose.

  “But most of all … I’m sorry for never being the husband you d
eserved. Or the father Jacob needed. Yes, I was gone. The sins of my past pulled me away from you, but when I was here, when I had you both in my arms, I tried to be enough on my own strength. And that’s where I failed. Above all else, that is my biggest regret.”

  She blinked, trying to keep her tears at bay.

  “I’m willing to fight, Lonnie. Not for your heart, because I couldn’t want it any more than I do in this moment, but I’m willing to fight back the man I was and let the man you need come forward. And I can’t do that without God.” He pulled her head against his chest, and his scent surrounded her. Cedar. Earth. “I’m done trying.”

  She nodded, her hair shifting beneath his palm. Hot tears dripped onto her cheeks, and she found herself clutching his sleeve.

  “Please don’t say anything just now. I want you to have the time you need.”

  She didn’t want to let go.

  Then he chuckled, the heavenly sound rumbling against her ear. “One of us should probably be watching our son.”

  Lonnie lifted her head to see Jacob standing up to his knees in a small hole. The boy waved his arms and bounced up and down before tipping to the side, a helpless bundle of sweaters.

  Releasing her, Gideon stepped toward the boy. “Do you want to be planted too?” He tossed Jacob in the air. The boy squealed, and Gideon caught him with broad hands.

  Lonnie’s heart was so full, she thought it would burst. Turning, Gideon glanced at her. His smile was wide, his eyes tender, and she knew. He was waiting for her. Ever so patiently. But more than that, he had found his peace. The peace that comes only from God.

  “I’m going to go visit Toby later,” she said.

  Hoisting Jacob up on his shoulders, Gideon’s eyes never left her face. “And?”

  She started away.

  “Where are you going?”

  She turned. “You asked me not to say anything.” But something must have shown in her face for his own bloomed into wonder. He smiled.

  “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “And people say I’m difficult.”

  Laughing, Lonnie walked away, but her light heart quickly floated down into reality at what was to come. Her joy was bittersweet. By hour’s end, she would see Toby. He loved her so very much, and in countless ways, she loved him too. She searched for the words as she walked to the house, praying they would be sufficient. Praying for God’s strength, His grace. And most of all, praying for Toby.