Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

  Gideon fiddled with the top button of his shirt until his collar was straight. He smoothed his hand through his hair and strode toward the chicken coop that nestled against his woodshop. He had no idea what he was going to do or say, but he had a mind to prove Hollis wrong. The sooner, the better.

  Nine

  Gideon?” Lonnie looked up when Gideon pushed the small door open. A dozen brown eggs filled her basket, and she clutched another in her hand.

  He leaned against the jamb as casually as he could manage. “Thought I might find you here.” He knew his voice was too smooth when she arched an eyebrow. He cleared his throat, knowing he’d better try a different approach. “I was hoping you might have a few minutes to spare.” He kept his tone light, friendly.

  Girls liked that.

  He motioned with his head toward his woodshop. She followed the movement, her face still uncertain. And why shouldn’t she be confused? When had he ever proven that she could trust him? Gideon swallowed. He hadn’t so much as touched her last night. He hoped he might have earned a tiny bit of her trust with that. All he needed was a little.

  “I wanted to show you something.”

  “Me?” Her eyebrows pinched together.

  “Yeah. I thought I might show you what I do.” He straightened and held the door ajar. “C’mon.”

  Her face was shadowed in confusion, but she set the basket down and followed him into the late afternoon sun. They walked without speaking. Gideon tugged the heavy door open, then pressed his hand to the small of her back. The fabric was soft to his fingers. Lonnie stepped into the darkness. He followed her in, turned the knob on the kerosene lamp, and when a yellow light pooled over his work surface, he closed the door tight.

  Tilting her chin up, Lonnie glanced around. He heard her soft gasp.

  He fought to keep his smile in check.

  Unfinished furniture covered every surface. The tangy scent of fresh-cut wood hung thick in the air. Her mouth formed a small O. Gideon gripped the bottom of the rocking chair that stood in the center of the workbench. The oil had soaked in to a rich sheen, and it shone even in the weak light. Lonnie reached up and touched the curved seat. Her thumb followed the speckled grain of the precious bird’s-eye maple. Gideon had spent hours shaping the seat. He reached up and, with one hand, pulled a child’s stool down from the overhead shelf. He tilted it toward Lonnie. Her gaze roved the intricately carved legs, the delicate spindles that had taken him hours.

  “You made all this?” she said softly.

  “In my spare time.” He leaned against the workbench and studied her, but she didn’t blush as other girls did.

  Her face was soft, as if taking it all in. Good. Gideon folded his arms, giving her time. No sense scaring her off again. Lonnie moved slowly around the workbench, her bare feet leaving small prints in the sawdust-covered floor. Gideon didn’t move. He simply watched her. He’d seen the type before. He knew the kind of girl she was. The kind who just wanted to be loved. The kind who had no idea what that looked like.

  He was just the man to swoop in and show her.

  She seemed to notice a crock full of wooden spoons. She lifted one out and turned it in her hand.

  “No. This one.” He gently took the spoon from her and pulled out a smaller one. It was the perfect fit for her palm.

  She felt the oak handle, and Gideon knew it was as soft as silk. He’d spent a lot of time on that one. Like his ma said, it wouldn’t fetch much, and he was no doubt a fool to spend all his time in this dusty old shop, but he couldn’t pass by a piece of wood without thinking what he might make it into.

  “It’s beautiful,” Lonnie said softly. She went to put it back.

  “Keep it.” Gideon folded her fingers closed around the handle. “It’s yours.” He looked at the floor. “Consider it a wedding present.” He straightened his collar again. “At least until I can make you something finer. Maybe a rocker. Whatever you want.” He sounded too eager, so he reined himself in. “You can think about it for a while.”

  She studied the spoon in silence, and when she braved a glance up, he saw that her expression was torn. He laid his hand on the worktable so his fingers lay close to hers. Her eyes followed the movement. Her mouth parted as if to speak.

  “Please,” he said. “I know it won’t make up for what’s happened.” His pinkie grazed hers.

  When Lonnie looked up at him and he saw the hope in those brown eyes, something stopped him from saying more. He couldn’t. Anything more would be a lie. But why should he care? It had never stopped him before. His confidence wavering, he gulped. Pull yourself together. He cleared his throat. It was now or never. Besides, she was his wife.

  He tipped her chin, letting his finger linger. “I know it won’t come close, but I’d like to try.” He ducked his head until he met her eye level.

  She swallowed visibly.

  Gideon straightened and let his hand slide down until he cupped the side of her neck. Her heart pulsed against his palm as he moved toward her, slowly. Those doe eyes looked up at him. He kissed her forehead, then pulled back to gauge her reaction. She blinked several times. Her eyes searched his face. He was glad she couldn’t read his thoughts. Glad she didn’t know what had him so determined. When guilt pricked at the edges of his mind, he shoved it off. Slowly, he lifted the spoon from her grasp and set it on the workbench. He filled his hands with hers. When she didn’t pull away, he moved closer.

  The first star blinked from a purple sky as Lonnie ran toward the house, her throat on fire. She half expected Gideon to call her name, but he didn’t. She should have known. Oh, Lonnie, you fool. Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she didn’t let one fall until she was safely behind the bedroom door.

  She sank onto the lumpy mattress. She lay on her side, facing the window, and pulled her knees into her chest. Her heart thundered. She pressed a palm there, willing it to slow. When emotion welled in her throat, she slammed her eyes closed. What had she been thinking? Trusting Gideon. She felt his wedding shirt against her face and, with a whimper, shoved it to the floor in a heap.

  He knew all the right words. Said sweet things at the right time. He’d made her feel safe. Loved almost. And she had believed he was sorry. Sorry enough to give her a gift. Sorry enough to prove he cared.

  He’d shown her, all right. Shown her that he was as selfish a man as he’d ever been.

  And in the frame of his arms, she’d given him everything.

  Sniffling, she pressed her face into her arm but only smelled him on her skin. Her shoulders shook with sobs. She’d hardly had time to pull the straw from her hair by the time he’d stepped into the sunlight, mumbling something about needing to get back to work. She’d sat there, a pain blooming in her chest. Surrounded by that very work, she knew it was the best lie he could throw together. It had been clear in the way his eyes didn’t meet hers. He’d wanted to get away from her. He didn’t waste one moment in doing that. Oh, what have I done?

  With early evening light spilling gray across the bed, Lonnie pressed her fist to the ache in her gut and wept.

  Ten

  Lonnie watched Ruth spoon thin broth into two bowls, then cup one bowl and disappear into the far bedroom where Bill lay resting. He’d fallen ill three days ago and was now on the mend, but John had started complaining of an ache in his stomach as well. Since then, both men had been given nothing but broth and brought cool compresses every few hours.

  Muted voices floated from the bedroom, and Lonnie, not wanting to eavesdrop, turned back to her chore. She herself had hardly eaten breakfast. She wiped at the moisture along her temple.

  “You all right?” Gideon asked from where he sat at the kitchen table, greasing traps.

  “Just a little tired.” She spoke without looking at him. She formed another dumpling and set it to the edge of the thick wooden board.

  Mae sat in the rocker near the window, reading to the little ones from a book of fables.

  Ruth stepped from the bedroom and closed t
he door quietly.

  “How is he faring?” Lonnie asked, shaking flour from her fingers.

  “A little better.” Ruth reached for the second bowl.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  When Ruth said nothing, Lonnie simply watched her carry the broth into the lean-to where John slept on the makeshift cot, as ill as his father. Whether Ruth spoke it aloud or not, Lonnie knew what she could do.

  She could give poor John his bedroom back.

  Surely a warmer place to sleep would help set him to rights. Ease the aches in his joints and stomach. Besides, this wasn’t her home. She scarcely belonged here. But there was no sense in thinking that way. This was her home, whether she liked it or not.

  Lonnie forced herself to focus on her task. She moved the dumplings to the soup pot and gently lowered them in. She quick-rinsed her hands and watched the dumplings float along the bubbling surface.

  She felt Gideon watching her. The trap rattled against the table when he set it down.

  She needed air. Lonnie moved to the front door and slipped out. The wind pulled the handle from her grip, and it slammed shut behind her. Her hair whipped, stinging her cheeks. She sank on the top step, not caring if supper overcooked. Ruth had managed her kitchen this long without Lonnie’s help; one more meal would make no difference.

  Lonnie pushed the toes of her boots together and held herself when the cold crept through her dress. She was tired. All she wanted to do was sleep. What she wouldn’t give for her aunt Sarah’s trundle. Lonnie closed her eyes and let her mind wander to the sound of her aunt’s voice reading the psalms. Twenty-four. That’s where they left off. Lonnie knew where Bill kept the family Bible. Perhaps after dinner she could borrow it for a while. She was in need of a heavy dose of comfort.

  The door flung open, and Ruth poked her head out. “Not you too?” she asked flatly.

  Lonnie rose. “I’m fine. Just needed a little air.” Lonnie ducked back inside. She smoothed a hand over her hair and, knowing it was a mess, yanked a piece of cloth from the rag basket. With quick fingers, she wove the unruly strands into a quick braid and tied it securely. She started back toward the stove, but Ruth’s stern look stopped her.

  “Perhaps you should lie down.”

  Lonnie didn’t want to be trouble, but the thought of laying her head down drew her feet to the small bedroom. She closed the door behind her. Lying in the dim room, she listened to the silent house breathe. She stared at the wall and listened to the sounds Gideon made just on the other side.

  Finally Gideon spoke, his voice low. “It’s high time to be movin’ on.”

  Her heart tripped in her chest.

  “Where do you plan on goin’?” Ruth asked.

  Lonnie rolled to her side and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, nestling her head deeper into the pillow. She stared at the rough-hewn door and imagined Gideon on the other side. The thought sent a jumble of emotions through her.

  “Thinkin’ about heading to Stuart. I’d like to leave soon.”

  A small pair of bare feet hustled past the bedroom, and a pot clanged onto the stove. “Why so far? The Allans have that small cabin on their farm. Bet you could—”

  “No.” Gideon cut her off in a tone that made Lonnie lift her head in surprise.

  Chains clinked together as Gideon moved a trap about. Lonnie listened for several moments as no one spoke. Finally, a chair scraped across the floor, as if Ruth now sat at the table as well. “It’s hard to imagine you gone.” Ruth sounded almost sad.

  When Gideon’s voice didn’t filter past the door, Lonnie wondered what silent response he had given her. With her hands folded beneath her cheek, she let her eyes close and gave in to the pull of sleep.

  At a cool touch on her hand, Lonnie opened her eyes. Gideon was crouched in front of her, his face so near she could make out the freckles smattered across his nose. When she met his gaze, he stood.

  “It’s all settled.”

  “Settled?” she sat up slowly, her head spinning.

  “High time I moved on from here.”

  She blinked up at him, unable to respond.

  “From Rocky Knob. I can’t stay here anymore. There’s too much …” He tilted his face to the setting sun that shone orange in the small window. “Too much I’d like to forget.”

  Lonnie smoothed her unruly hair away from her face. “What do you mean?”

  She twirled the cold tin ring around her finger, and when he didn’t respond, she sighed loudly. Apparently he only spoke when he had something to gain.

  Gideon reached under the bed, pulled out a pack, and blew off the dust. Without hesitating, he moved to the dresser and yanked open a drawer. He stuffed a pair of socks into the pack and then another. He shoved the drawer closed and opened the one below it.

  “I take it I’m staying here?” she blurted. She felt a sense of satisfaction when he stopped and looked at her. Surprise leaked into his stony features. Good. It was high time he stopped looking past her as if she didn’t exist.

  He pulled out a white shirt and rolled the wrinkled fabric into a ball. He spoke without looking at her. “You’re my wife.” His voice held a sorrow that made her feel hollow inside. “Better pack your things.”

  Eleven

  I’m gonna miss you, son …”

  Gideon felt the truth in his pa’s words with his firm handshake.

  “You take care of yourself now. And take care of that little lady.” Bill’s eyes drifted to Lonnie, his meaning clear.

  Gideon studied the ground. Dew clung to the wilted grass beneath his feet. The cold chill of morning crept along his bare hands, and he pulled up the oilcloth collar of his outer coat. Lonnie stood beside him, her breathing surprisingly heavy despite the early hour. He glanced at her and, for a single moment, wondered if she was well enough to travel. Bill stepped back, shoulders hunched, cheeks thin from days of illness and weak broth.

  Gideon glanced past his pa to the porch where his ma stood. The dim, gray light of dawn made her look years older.

  “Safe travels.” Her voice, though gritty as ever, trembled slightly.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Lonnie said.

  Ruth nodded, though she said nothing.

  The night before, after his pa had read from the Scriptures and laid the heavy family Bible aside, Gideon had bid each of his brothers and sisters farewell. Sound asleep now in their beds, they would wake to find him gone. Lonnie shifted her weight, silent as a field mouse. She reached up with a thin hand and brushed the wisps of chestnut hair away from her face.

  Lifting his gaze to the dark windows of the cabin, Gideon slid his floppy hat over unruly hair. It was better this way. He wasn’t much for good-byes, and another round was more than he had in him. A bedroll was strapped to his pack, and he hoisted both off the ground. He flung the pack over his shoulder and palmed the smooth wood of his rifle. His mandolin rested snug in its sack, the strap taut across his chest. He turned and headed up the path that would carry him from his pa’s farm. The home of his childhood. Toward what?

  To a life of his own. To freedom. Gideon fingered the newspaper cutting in his coat pocket. But when Lonnie fell in step beside him, he realized he was as far from freedom as he’d ever been.

  Good-bye, Lonnie whispered in her heart, though her family would not hear the words.

  She would not hold Addie one last time or bid farewell to Aunt Sarah. Sorrow stung the back of her throat. Surely she’d see them again. Please, Lord, let it be so. She’d left a note with Ruth, clinging to the promise that Gideon’s ma would see it safely delivered. Again, Lonnie lifted up a prayer that it would be so.

  “Where are we headed?”

  Gideon drew in a slow breath. He strode on several more steps.

  “If you keep actin’ like it’s none of my business, I’m going to perch myself right here and not budge.” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against a boulder.

  He rolled his eyes and then planted them on her
.

  She didn’t blink.

  Finally, his resolve visibly crumbled and he yanked a piece of paper from his pocket. He thrust it toward her. Lonnie took it and read the headline. Her lips moved silently as she read the paragraph that followed.

  “So this is where we’re going? Stuart?”

  He nodded once.

  She screwed her mouth to the side and studied the paper that had been torn out carelessly.

  He ducked beneath a maple branch and paused to hold it out of her way. “Are you coming or not?”

  She looked at him, then back at the fragment of paper in her hand. Sticking her tongue in the side of her cheek, she weighed her options. With Gideon’s ring on her finger, there weren’t many.

  “What if I say no?”

  His eyebrows wedged together. “Would you?”

  “Maybe.” She pressed her wrist to her stomach when memories from the woodshop assaulted her.

  He drew in a slow sigh. “Is this about last week?”

  When emotion flooded her face, she shifted her stance and knew her heart had found its way to her sleeve.

  His face lost its hard edge. “Don’t worry.” The words came out soft. “I won’t come near you again.”

  Still leaning against the boulder, she bounced her heel. She didn’t like the idea of living in the city. But then … she could learn a trade, perhaps. She glanced at Gideon from beneath her lashes. She wouldn’t go home to her pa. Of that she was certain. As she balanced between the two men in her life who could make her miserable, a trade might one day come in handy.

  He waited.

  With a slow, shaky sigh, she folded the paper. “So.” She held it out to him. “Tell me about your plan.”

  He lifted the branch again, and she ducked beneath it. “I figured we’d head there,” he began. “It says Stuart’s growin’, so there’s plenty of work. It wouldn’t be forever.” He stepped over a fallen log, then hesitated, as if deciding. “Maybe eventually we could get a few acres. I could do carpentry or something to make ends meet.” He turned back and helped her over.