Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

  Lonnie watched as her aunt disappeared, thick skirts swaying. “We should start for home, Oliver.”

  “Home? I’m just gettin’ started. Ain’t even had a chance to talk to Samson yet.” Oliver moved toward the makeshift stage, dodging a rowdy crowd, leaving Lonnie alone with Gideon. Oliver glanced back over his shoulder. “Say, Lonnie, why don’t you just ask Gid to walk you home?” He vanished in a sea of shadowed faces.

  Mortified, Lonnie stared at her feet. Her heart pulsed beneath her shimmy as she searched for some way to remedy her brother’s remark.

  Gideon stood silent, as if he too were embarrassed. His shoulder was so near that she felt the warmth through his plaid shirt. A strap crossed his broad chest, his mandolin tucked safely against his back. When he didn’t speak, she braved a peek at his face. His expression was torn, gaze pinned on a pair of young women giggling a few paces away. His dark lashes grazed his cheeks, and he thrust his hands into his pockets. He kicked at a clump of dirt.

  The banjo sounded in the distance, and Lonnie knew Oliver would soon be immersed in a midnight lesson.

  “You must have somewhere to be. I’m sorry.” The words felt inadequate. Before she could muddle the situation further, Lonnie turned and hurried toward the dark edge of the clearing. The sound of music and laughter faded. Her pa would not be pleased. And she had more than a few words to say to her brother come morning. To think of passing her off to Gideon O’Riley like she was a burden to be carted home. She braved a glance back to see Gideon standing there, indecision thick in his expression. He’d made it more than clear he had better things to do. She hurried on, eager to be home. A lump rose in her throat as she rushed forward. How she wished she could crawl under the nearest wagon and disappear from sight.

  Muted footfalls thumped against the hard-packed earth, and Lonnie spun to see Gideon jogging toward her.

  He caught up to her and peered down. “You walking home alone,” he panted, running a palm over the back of his neck, “just doesn’t seem right.”

  “Please, don’t think you have to—”

  “I insist.” For the first time that night, his smile was for her alone.

  His eyes bored into hers. As if his gaze could read into her heart, she glanced away.

  Before Lonnie had time to think, Gideon whisked her away from the noise and lantern light. Laughter drifted away behind them, and he led her toward the cool, still quiet.

  Two

  A full moon lit the trail home. Gideon pushed a laurel branch out of the pathway, and careful not to bump against him, Lonnie ducked under the glossy green leaves.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Gideon nodded, and when she hesitated, he took the lead on the narrow path. She followed close behind, and although they walked in silence, more than one critter sprang from its snug bed in a rustle of brittle leaves.

  The path widened, and their shoulders touched. Gideon glanced sideways at her. Lonnie stepped away.

  “You all right?”

  She felt him studying her. “Yes, thank you.” She peered at him in the dark and tried to make out the curves of his face in the moonlight. A face she had always known from afar was suddenly clearer. Only a few years younger than him, she’d often seen him in passing but never once had spoken to him. It was rumored around Rocky Knob that only the girls looking for trouble sought out Gideon O’Riley. Is that what Cassie was doing? Looking for trouble? Lonnie shook off the thought. Cassie had always been a sensible girl from what she knew of her.

  And what about you, Lonnie? Here she was, walking the path alone with him. Her mouth suddenly dry, Lonnie blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m sorry my brother made you feel like you had to do this.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” Gideon offered a smile. “Besides”—he stepped over a rock and held out his hand—“you never know who you could bump into out here alone.”

  She grasped his fingers, and he helped her over. They came around the bend, and she saw the rutted surface of a makeshift bridge jutting over a small creek. She’d crossed this bridge countless times, but when Gideon’s unfamiliar hand cupped her elbow, Lonnie feared her wobbly knees might send her into the dark trickle below.

  Once they were safely on the other bank, he released her. Night’s chill tickled her skin. Lonnie pressed her hands together and glanced up. He was even more handsome up close. Having grown up the shy, awkward daughter of Joel Sawyer, she’d hardly spoken to any boy, let alone the one who had mothers whispering warnings in their daughters’ ears and fathers loading shotguns.

  Lonnie gulped, suddenly realizing how alone they were.

  Even in the moonlight she could see the smattering of freckles across his nose and the curl of hair against the nape of his neck. When he looked at her, Lonnie dropped her gaze and studied her trudging feet. She’d never admit it to her aunt Sarah, but she suddenly understood what all the fuss was about. It seemed all her girlfriends were silly over Gideon O’Riley. When his steady hand pressed to the small of her back, she began to see why. Lonnie climbed over a stubborn stone embedded in the path. His hand fell away, and she fought the urge to look at him.

  Lonnie quickened her pace, grateful he could not hear her thoughts. The path narrowed, and he fell in step behind her. She pointed out where a fork in the trail led to her aunt’s cabin. Her refuge. “I’ll be livin’ there soon, I suppose,” she blurted, not liking the silence. “Aunt Sarah’s a soap maker. She’s gonna teach me the trade. Just the two of us.” Lonnie lifted her shoulders in a contented sigh. “I’ve gotta turn eighteen first, Pa says.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of waiting all those months.

  “Is that so?”

  “Then I’ll be free.”

  “Free?”

  “Of my pa. Though I don’t know why he makes me wait. It’s not like he wants me around. I’m surprised he didn’t ship me off long ago.” She screwed her mouth to the side, realizing she may have said too much. If her pa got wind of her true feelings, there’d be hell to pay. Yet she could not catch her words and take them back. She wouldn’t, even if she could. It was no more than the truth. “I hope that doesn’t make me sound ungrateful.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” He winked.

  They walked on.

  “Almost there.” Her heavy breathing slowed her words, but she wanted to change the subject. “Home’s not far.”

  Digging her toes into the hard-packed dirt, Lonnie trudged upward. More than once, she heard Gideon slip behind her. Her pa’s cabin was higher than most folks’, but having lived there her whole life, Lonnie had no more trouble climbing the steepest parts of the Blue Ridge than a mountain mule.

  “Couldn’t your pa find any better land than this?” A smile carried on his voice.

  “C’mon,” Lonnie teased. “I thought you were a mountain boy. Are you saying this little hill is too hard to climb?”

  “Yes,” Gideon chuckled between breaths. His laughter fell to a mumble. “Better be worth it.”

  The air cooled as they rose. Lonnie rubbed her arms.

  Gideon hurried to catch up with her, walking closer than necessary now that the path had opened. “So where is the top of this mountain of yours?” The back of his hand grazed hers.

  “Right there.” Lonnie paused and pointed. “That’s as far as I go.” Breathless, her chest heaved.

  A small cabin stood quiet and humble on the hillside. Its rough timber and warped windowsills told of a harsh life. A candle flickered in the window, giving off the only light to be seen. Lonnie knew her ma had placed it there so she could see when she got home. She remembered just how late it was. Surely her family had long gone to bed.

  A night owl hooted.

  Gideon shoved his hands in his pockets. “I suppose this is where we part ways.”

  Lonnie studied him. It struck her how far he had come. Here she was worried that she had arrived home too late, and he had another hour of walking yet to do.

  “Gideon.” She turned towar
d her house, then paused, uncertain. “Thank you for walking me home. It was awful nice. You better hurry on if you want to beat the sunrise.”

  He tilted his head toward the stars.

  Lonnie shook her head at the thought of the early morning glow lighting his way home. “I’m sorry I live so far. You shouldn’t have walked me.”

  As if the pull of her words had tied a string to his heart, he looked at her. He stepped forward, confidence squaring his jaw. “It wasn’t as much trouble as you might think.”

  Lonnie rubbed her palms together. “I better get inside. Ma will be worried.”

  Gideon didn’t look at her as he spoke. “Don’t a fella get a good-night kiss? I mean … you do live pretty far.”

  Her breath caught. She had never kissed a boy before. Her ma always said kissing was for married folk. “Well, I don’t know.” She turned away and stared at the lone flame that beckoned, and she wished someone would wake and call her inside. Her hesitation spoke what she could not.

  “I see. Good night, Lonnie.” He looked at her cabin before turning. He started back down the path.

  Torn, Lonnie glanced back at the man who’d come so far—just for her. She’d always disappeared in a crowd, but not this night, not with Gideon at her side, smiling down on her as no man ever had. “Gideon, wait.” She ran to catch up with him.

  One kiss might not be so bad. Not for the man who’d promised to keep her secret.

  Lonnie blurted out the words before she could change her mind. “You can kiss me good night. If you want to.”

  Gideon stepped toward her, closing the gap in three long strides. Her heart jumped, and she feared he would hear. She smoothed her dress and folded her hands, as if a nice appearance would affect his answer.

  He leaned forward, and cool lips touched hers. Like the brush of a feather, Lonnie could feel his wide-brimmed hat covering her face, hiding their kiss from the stars.

  A few moments passed, and she tried to pull away, but Gideon slipped his hand behind her and drew her closer. The taste of corn liquor was bitter on his lips. With his other hand, he clutched at her dress, lifting it above her knee. His fingers traced her flesh like a spider’s spindly legs. Lonnie gripped his hand, but the strength there was impossible.

  “Stop.” She ground out the word.

  A groan, like the sound of an old bear, came from the back of his throat, striking a chord of fear in her unlike any she had ever known.

  When he nestled his mouth in the crook of her neck, chills shot through her. Lonnie squirmed. She pushed against him with one hand and kept the other locked around his, lest it go where it wanted. If she screamed, her pa would stumble onto the porch in two heartbeats—shotgun in hand.

  But her innocence would be hard to prove.

  Gideon leaned into her, nearly crushing her with his hold. Fear sped her breath and her head spun. Desperate, Lonnie did the only thing she could think of.

  “Gid, stop!” she yelled as loudly as she dared. With all her strength behind it, her fist crashed against his jaw. Gideon stumbled back, his eyes unfocused, as if still stuck in a dream. Lonnie snatched up a mound of dirt and hurled it at him. It shattered against his chest.

  Still panting, his eyes narrowed into slits. “What’d ya go and do that for?” Turning his head, he spat a few drops of blood. He rubbed his jaw and glared at her.

  With a wave of fiery tears building inside her, Lonnie turned and ran up the pathway to the steps. She brushed a wrist over her eyes before she halted and turned. “If I didn’t know any better …” Her vision blurred and she shook her head. “I trusted you.” She climbed the steps and slipped inside the door without making a sound. How could she have been so foolish?

  She stepped to the window, the glass cold in the snug room. Cupping the flame with her palm, she puffed it out. From the darkened room, she watched Gideon straighten the strap over his chest and felt his gaze on the window. He turned and disappeared into the trees.

  “Is that you, Lonnie?”

  Lonnie dropped the curtain, shutting out the moonlight. A set of small, shining eyes looked up at her.

  “Go back to sleep, Addie, baby. It’s just me.” Lonnie hung her sweater over the chair, then slipped out of her dress. The wood floor was smooth beneath her bare feet as she stepped toward the bed. She slipped beneath the covers with her little sister and pulled up the worn quilt. She slid as close to Addie as she could, draped her arm over her sister, and closed her eyes.

  Still on the edge of slumber, the four-year-old mumbled, “You’re cold.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep, baby.” But Lonnie lay there wide-eyed.

  Images assaulted her.

  She could still feel Gideon’s jaw beneath her hand, see his bloody lip. She could still feel his fingers crawling on her skin. Cold lips touching her flesh. Lonnie shivered. Her ma had told her to never lead the boys to thinking things. Lonnie’s eyebrows pulled together, but she shook her head. She hadn’t led him on. But she certainly never should have kissed him.

  With Sid snoring like a bear in the lean-to, her parents nestled behind their closed door, and Oliver yet to come home, gratitude coursed through her that her family hadn’t seen what happened. Lonnie buried her face in her sister’s hair and forced her eyes closed.

  She felt violated. Worse. She felt sinful. Her chin trembled. God knew the truth. Lonnie stared at the mantel clock, ticking away the late hour. If only turning back time were as easy as cranking the key. Her stomach dropped and churned. The grabbing and the touching—a shudder passed through her.

  Lonnie pulled her pillow close, sank her face into the feathers, and let out a shaky breath. The back of her throat burned. She looked at Addie’s baby-soft cheeks, so full and plump. Such innocence. A tear slipped down Lonnie’s cheek and onto her pillow. If only she could turn back time and be as naive as Addie. As naive as she had been yesterday.

  Three

  Gideon lifted his head when sunlight glinted through the glass above his bed. With one eye cracked open, he glanced around. The room was a blur of light, and he saw that his brothers were already up. Dropping his head to the mattress, he moaned. His head hurt. Or was it his jaw? He hadn’t had that much to drink the night before.

  Images moved through his mind as memories unfolded. He rolled onto his side and ran a hot hand over his eyes. Something about Cassie. In his mind, he could see her full cheeks and rosebud lips. She was there last night. Wasn’t she? Or was it Lonnie? The one with the freckled nose. The one who never seemed to meet his gaze. Joel Sawyer’s oldest girl. Gideon blinked his eyes open. He stared up at the ceiling.

  That’s right. It was Lonnie.

  He rubbed his jaw and winced when the skin beneath his fingers throbbed. No girl had ever hit him. Gideon licked his lips. The taste of blood on his tongue was more than a memory. He sat up, his head spinning, and lumbered to the mirror that hung at an odd angle on the far wall. He peered into the dust-streaked glass and saw a split in his lower lip where a smear of crimson blood had long since dried. He licked his thumb and rubbed it away. The pain intensified.

  “Why, that little …” Gideon shook his head even as he stumbled back to bed. He wasn’t ready to face the day. “Hadn’t even been worth it,” he mumbled into the mattress when he collapsed. His frame was too long for the rickety bed.

  He knew he should get up and get to work. He had a rocking chair to finish for Old Man Tate, but his head was pulsing and he’d probably just end up cutting off a finger or doing something stupid. His stomach grumbled, and although the smell of bacon wafted heavy from the other side of the door, the sun was warm on his back, and he gave in to the pull of sleep.

  Lonnie stepped over a pair of rocks and knelt at the water’s edge, being careful not to slip on the wet maple leaves gathered there. She tipped her bucket, breaking the surface of the sleeping pool, and cool liquid rushed over galvanized metal. After heaving the bucket onto the bank, she climbed out of the creek bed, her bare knees sinking into th
e moist earth. With a day’s worth of chores yet to be done, there was no time to dawdle.

  She dashed across the yard, and with a glance over her shoulder, she spotted her younger brothers in the distance just as she reached the bottom step. Their hammers split the silence of the quiet mountain morning. Backs hunched, Sid and Oliver pieced together the fragments of a busted fence.

  Her bucket sloshed as she trudged up the stairs, and when she slipped inside, the warm air, infused with the smell of fresh-baked bread, greeted her. Before she could set down the bucket, her ma handed her a clump of lye soap.

  Her ma wiped her hands on her apron. “Addie, run outside and fetch your sister some sand.” With a busy day of work ahead, she panted out the order.

  Lips pushed into a pout, the four-year-old slid off the rocking chair and went to the door.

  “Take this.” Maggie handed her a cracked pie pan.

  When she heard her sister lumbering down the steps, Lonnie glanced at her ma. Did she suspect anything? Her ma’s weathered complexion revealed nothing but a focus on the day ahead.

  Lonnie sank to the floor. Her gingham work dress barely reached past her knees, but she pulled it up to keep water from soaking the dark gray hem. She dipped a rough brush in the water, and soon the scratchy sound of bristles on planks filled the cabin. When Addie returned with the creek sand, Lonnie sprinkled it over the floor, careful to get under the table. Addie watched from the rocker, her grubby feet dangling high off the floor.

  Lonnie wiped away beads of sweat along her hairline. As she worked, the door opened and slammed more times than she cared to count. Each time one of her brothers tried to come inside, Lonnie was quick to stop him. Their dramatic groans were enough to make her chuckle, but she cringed at the thought of muddy boots tramping across the wet, clean floor.

  A song kept her spirits up and her arms in quick rhythm. Her ma didn’t like scrubbing floors. She disliked making soap even more. Every few weeks, Aunt Sarah sent Lonnie home with a new bundle. As Lonnie scrubbed, the suds were clean and fragrant. After giving the floor a good rinse, she set the scrub brush aside. She swabbed up what sand she could and swept away the rest. Sitting back, she admired her work, then stretched her neck from side to side.