Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

  Jebediah nodded.

  Leaning back in his chair, Gideon sighed.

  “We don’t have anywhere else to go,” Lonnie said. She folded her hands in front of her as if the matter were that simple to resolve.

  “But we do.” Gideon rose, strode to where his jacket hung by the door, and yanked out the newspaper clipping. He held it out for Jebediah.

  The man took it, and his eyes scanned the small scrap. “Hmph.”

  “What?”

  “This paper’s two months old.”

  Gideon snatched it up and checked the date. Sure enough. “Doesn’t mean that it’s not—”

  “My neighbor was just in Stuart three weeks ago. Banks are done and two more shops have gone up since then. He said men flooded the area after they posted this. Hotel filled up after a few days. Some of them were sleepin’ in tents on the outskirts of town. Hardly a job to be found.” He tugged at his beard. “There will be again, mind you. Once things settle down.” He folded the scrap and handed it back to Gideon. “But I wouldn’t be rushin’ in there any time soon.”

  Gideon collapsed in his chair. “You mean …” At the defeat he heard in his voice, he fell silent. Every eye was on him, and his ears burned hot. Clenching his jaw, he looked up at Jebediah and forced his tone steady. “Then where are we exactly?”

  “Not much of a town to speak of. Folks call this Fancy Gap. Nice little community. Got a church a few miles up the way and a few other odds and ends. That’s about it. We head down the mountain to Mount Airy now and again. That’s where the railroad comes through.”

  Jaw clenched, Gideon processed his words. “So if we stay, what’s in it for you?”

  Jebediah laughed. “You got yourself an untrusting husband here, Lonnie. And a businessman, I see.” He tipped a tin mug to his lips. “Nothin’ in life’s free, is it, son?”

  “No sir.” But Gideon had a feeling Jebediah was teasing him.

  Jebediah seemed to collect his thoughts a moment, then cleared his throat. “We aren’t spring chickens anymore. You know as well as I do that me and Elsie can’t keep this farm goin’ much longer.” He fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup, but his gaze was strong. “We need help. We need young hands and strong backs that can keep this place runnin’. And you need a place to stay.” He tapped the table between them. “Come spring, there’s corn to plant and the garden to seed. All summer, there’s enough to keep busy feedin’ the livestock. The grass in the meadow will need to be felled for winter hay, and what little wheat we seed will have to be harvested and shocked.” He sank back in his chair as if the thought of all that work drained him. He turned to Lonnie. “How does a roof over your head and a warm bed sound to you? Three hot meals every day?”

  She moistened her lips. “That’d be right nice, sir.”

  Gideon glanced out the window to where the path disappeared into the trees. All he wanted was to hightail it out of here. Where you going, Gid? In more circles? He sighed. Lonnie was going to have a baby in the spring. He had no land and no money. No house and not even a tool to his name to build it with. His heart raced faster than his thoughts.

  He eyed Jebediah. Doubt made him hesitate, but the man’s offer was better than any his family had given him. With his gaze still settled on the man across from him, he patted his hand on the table. “You got yourself a deal.”

  Lonnie straightened, her face brightening.

  Gideon did not mirror her enthusiasm. “I mean to earn my keep.”

  Sliding his coffee cup aside, Jebediah leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure that you do.”

  Twenty-One

  The massive door clanged against the frame, and Gideon leaned under the weight of it. Jebediah, who had been watching with his arms crossed, stepped forward and held it steady. Gideon grunted as he searched his pocket for the peg. His hand fumbled for the metal piece, and he stuffed it in his mouth just as the door slid to the side.

  “Easy.” Sweat trickled down his spine. He hammered the peg into place and knelt. The door slipped.

  Jebediah braced himself. “I got it … I got it.” With three quick blows, Gideon pounded the peg all the way through and sat back on his heels. Quickly, he hammered the other.

  “Whew.” Jebediah stepped to the side. With a touch of his hand, the door opened and closed smoothly. He grinned. “Nice work.” Jebediah handed him a pair of leather gloves and signaled to the ax hanging on the wall.

  Gideon squeezed a tight muscle in his shoulder and didn’t say a word.

  “Can you stack it by the porch?”

  “Over there?” Gideon pointed to the house.

  “Yep, I like to keep wood close to the house during winter.” Jebediah slid his thumbs beneath brown suspenders. “We can keep that stocked when the weather’s good, and when it snows, it will be easy to fill the woodbox.”

  It took Gideon a few breaths to gauge the distance from the woodblock to the porch. Thirty paces—at least. Easily a day’s worth of work. “Got a wheelbarrow?”

  “Well, I got one, but it’s busted.” Then in a thoughtful voice he added, “You know? That’s something else you could do.” Jebediah glanced around.

  Gideon rolled his eyes. Of course.

  He tugged the gloves from his back pocket and grabbed his first armful of wood. He carried small loads across the yard, starting a new stack against the side of the porch. He rolled a large piece of maple away from the chopping block. With an intricate grain, it was too precious to turn into firewood. He lined up the wood in neat rows, determined to stack only once. In the short time he had known Jebediah, he could tell that if the man was not satisfied, he’d have to start the job over.

  Grumbling, Gideon went back for another load. He’d long since lost count. Then an idea hit him. He tore off his gloves to give his sweaty hands a breather, then found Jebediah in the barn. “Where’s that wheelbarrow of yours?”

  Jebediah was stooped over, his mule’s hoof in his open palm. “It’s around back. You gonna fix it now?” He spoke without looking up.

  “Yep. Figured I could use it.”

  Jebediah grunted, and Gideon took it as a dismissal. He found the broken wheelbarrow behind the barn. Weeds hid the handles from sight, and cobwebs had stitched the rusted metal to the side of the building. After dumping out murky water and a collection of bugs, Gideon wheeled it over to the barn.

  It took a few tries, but he finally wrenched the broken handle free. Eying the stub, he tossed it against the woodpile and hunted the work area for something that would fit just as well. He found a straight piece of oak on the far side of the barn and, after peeling off the bark, used his pocketknife to roughly sketch out its new shape.

  By the time he had the wood smoothed and sanded, his thumb ached, and the call for dinner pulled his tired feet home under a high sun. He devoured his share of cold sandwiches, washing it down with a glass of milk, then hurried back to the barn. He shaped the handle to the curves of his palm, cradling it every so often to ensure a comfortable fit. The light dimmed in the barn, and nearly finished, Gideon moved closer to the window. When it looked near enough to the real thing, he attached it to the wheelbarrow and wheeled it out to show Jebediah.

  “So, what do you think? This will make life a little easier around here now.” The wheel creaked to a stop at Jebediah’s feet, and Gideon blew dust from his hands.

  “Looks good.” Jebediah fingered the handle. “But that ain’t my wheelbarrow.” He stepped closer. “It belongs to Gus, my neighbor. He let me borrow it when mine broke, but I somehow busted the handle off of it.”

  Gideon stared at him, and Jebediah offered a lopsided grin.

  “Thanks for fixing it.” His tone was apologetic. “I’ve been meaning to get around to that. After supper, why don’t you take it over to him, seeing how you’re the one who patched it up and all? I’m sure he’d be pleased to thank you himself.”

  Words eluded him. Gideon glanced down at the new handle, freshly sanded and
snugly fit. “This isn’t yours.” It wasn’t a question. Heat crawled along the back of his neck.

  Jebediah shook his head. “Mine’s the one with the hole in it. It’s around here somewhere. The rain finally rusted it clear through last year. It’s still good for haulin’ wood, though. Just not much good for smaller stuff.”

  Biting his cheek so hard it nearly bled, Gideon scarcely heard Elsie call them in for supper.

  The candles had long since been snuffed out, and the scent of smoke faded. Lonnie pulled her pillow closer as she listened to Gideon’s steady breathing. His stiff back was to her, and he didn’t move, not even when she brushed her hand along his shoulder. He’d sat on the parlor sofa after supper, tuning his mandolin. He played a melancholy tune and began another, but after a few strums, he strode upstairs with hardly a word. The instrument now leaned against the chair. Moonlight glinted on the body.

  Lonnie kept her voice soft. “Are you awake?”

  A brief moment passed until he grunted.

  “You tired?”

  Another grunt.

  “You worked real hard today.” She stared at the ceiling, searching the darkness for words to assign to her thoughts. Words Gideon would welcome and respond to.

  He rolled to face her. She did the same and pulled her knees up between them. His eyes glistened, and even in the darkness she knew he was watching her.

  “Do you mind staying?” She held her breath for an answer.

  Gideon blinked. The sheets rustled as he folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t know.” He hesitated. “I s’pose not. Not exactly what I had in mind, though.” The pillow rustled as he shook his head. “Any job would be easier than working for Jebediah. The man hardly lets me sit down all day.”

  “He got you workin’ hard?”

  “Hard? He’s makin’ me do everything around here.” Gideon lowered his voice, his tone sarcastic. “He’s gonna work me to death, I think.”

  Lonnie bit her lip to keep a smile from forming. “Maybe tomorrow will be better.”

  If his spirits didn’t lift, she feared he’d set his sights on the trail before the first frost hit.

  She prayed the possibility away. Her hand fell to her stomach. This was a good home. A home where God came first and where drunken anger didn’t shake the walls worse than the autumn winds. This was a home to bring life into.

  “Maybe,” Gideon mumbled, finally responding. He rolled onto his back and slid his hands beneath his head, bumping Lonnie in the nose with his elbow. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Sitting up, he leaned over her.

  Lonnie giggled and rubbed her nose. “It’s all right.” She stopped laughing and watched him swallow. Gideon cleared his throat and lay back down.

  The minutes ticked by on the grandfather clock in the parlor beneath them, but Lonnie could not fall asleep. She listened as the gait of Gideon’s breath slowed. She waited, letting the quickening of her heart beat away the time.

  “Gideon … I …” She let out her breath, uncertain how to say it. “If you don’t want this baby, I need to know now.” She wasn’t about to raise a child the way she had been raised. If Gideon didn’t want anything to do with the baby, then he didn’t want anything to do with her. She wasn’t going to stick around to watch her child suffer for it.

  His breathing was slow, steady, and she knew he was asleep. Sighing, Lonnie rolled onto her side, wishing the answer didn’t have to wait until tomorrow.

  At the sound of voices, Lonnie shuffled to the window and peered out. Gideon leaned into the weight of a wheelbarrow loaded to the brim with wood. She watched him make several passes, his feet lumbering over dewy grass. His hair stood off kilter, and with his face down, his head hung low between his shoulder blades.

  She changed into her calico work dress and tied an apron around her waist. She threw on her shawl before hurrying down the stairs.

  Elsie knelt in front of the stove, piercing the coals with a metal poker. “Mornin’!”

  “Good morning.”

  “Coffee or tea?”

  “Tea, please, but may I get it?” Hopefully it would soothe her stomach, which constantly felt unsettled. She filled the copper kettle and settled it near the percolator on the cast-iron stove, then pulled four tin cups from the cupboard. Just as quick, Elsie snatched two up by the handles and put them away. She went to her hutch, and pulled out two china teacups. She held them up, and Lonnie smiled.

  When the water in the percolator bubbled dark and rich, Lonnie filled the tin mugs.

  “How does Jebediah like his coffee?”

  “Just cream.”

  Lonnie dropped a spoonful of sugar into Gideon’s, then splashed cream into both. “I’ll take these out.” She pushed her back against the screen door.

  “Take these.” Elsie handed her a bowl of dried apples, and Lonnie nestled it in the crook of her arm before slipping out into the crisp morning air.

  Gideon stomped around the side of the barn, and when his eyes found her, he turned toward the house. After climbing the four steps in two long strides, he tugged off his leather gloves. He took the cup from her and slid his hands around the warm tin. He looked down at her.

  She watched him take small sips, and as her mind tossed and turned, she remembered her question from the night before. She needed his answer, but instead of speaking, she held the bowl of dried apples out, and he took a fistful, cramming nearly all of them into his mouth. He chewed in silence, his eyes unfocused. His jaw was dusted with a sandy beard, and hair the color of gingerbread stuck out from beneath his hat.

  She arched an eyebrow. “You need a haircut.”

  His fingers swished over his chin, then tugged at the patch beneath his lip. “And a shave.”

  She smirked, then shook her head. “Jeb gotcha workin’ hard this morning?”

  When green eyes flicked to hers over the rim of his cup, she cleared her throat, struggling to remember what she had come out here to say.

  “Always.” His voice echoed inside the tin, and he took another sip. “There’s lots to do around here.”

  Her gaze roved the yard, from the fine house to the large barn. The Bennetts were better off than any family she knew. It was a wonder they lived way up here in the Blue Ridge Mountains. They could sell this farm and live in town—maybe even a city. Somewhere where they didn’t have to trek for miles to buy supplies. Buy a real fine house and never have to worry about keeping up with the animals or climbing up and down the hill in their old age.

  “Why do you think they live around here?” She turned to Gideon only to discover that he was watching her.

  He squinted. “It’s hard to leave these mountains, I suppose.” He tossed the last drop of coffee mixed with grounds into the dry grass, then ran his hand up a weatherworn porch post. “Bet this was his pa’s house.” He studied the wood as if seeing the man’s history etched into the faded paint. “Jebediah probably lived here his whole life.” Gideon circled his hand around the post, then moved it back down. Lonnie followed the movement.

  As if drawn from a memory, he cleared his throat. “I suppose if a man has lived in these mountains his whole life, he becomes a part of the land. If this is where your pa was born and died, I suppose it will be where you were born and hope to die.”

  “But not you?”

  “Me?”

  “You left Rocky Knob. Your home.”

  “That wasn’t home.” His voice held years of heartache.

  She leaned against the post. The bowl was empty, so she shifted it to her other arm. “Gideon, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “Can’t think of what else it could be.” Sarcasm ran thick in his words.

  She let out a breath. “Don’t be dramatic. I just need you to know something.” She chewed her bottom lip a moment. “It’s about the baby.” She straightened. “If you don’t want anything to do with our child, I’m not going to force you.” She tipped the bowl, letting the crumbs fall into the dirt. “But I won’t stay
around for you to torment either one of us.” She touched her apron, and understanding registered in his features.

  Lifting his chin, he looked across the yard. His thumb hooked into his belt loop. “All right, then.”

  “All right, I’m leaving, or all right, I’m staying?”

  “I’m not going to torment the baby.” His eyes found hers. “Just know that.”

  But she didn’t know. “We’ll see, then.”

  “Fair enough.” He thumped his palm against the post. When Jebediah came into view, Gideon tossed his head in the direction of the gray-haired man. “I should get back to work.” He hesitated, then softened his voice. “I won’t torment the baby.” He stared at the empty space between them. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to love it.”

  She fiddled with the end of her braid. “And you don’t think that’s the same thing?”

  “Obviously not.” He glanced down at her apron, then back to her face. “Or we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we?”

  Hot chills covered her cheeks. “I’ll give you until the baby’s born to figure it out. Not a day longer.”

  Just then, Jebediah climbed the porch steps.

  Lonnie handed Jebediah his coffee, certain his first sip would be a cold one. Jebediah downed it in a few short swigs with nary a complaint. Without a word, he cupped Gideon on the shoulder and walked away.

  As if he had more to say, Gideon twisted the side of his mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned and followed Jebediah’s silent request.

  Lonnie watched him go.

  Twenty-Two

  How’s it going?”

  Gideon looked up from his work as Jebediah stepped into the doorway of the stuffy barn. “Almost done,” he panted and thrust the pitchfork forward. His shirt clung to his damp skin as he tossed hay into the mule’s stall. He ran his sleeve against his face and glanced at Jebediah. A second pitchfork stood against the wall, near enough for the old man to touch, but Jebediah simply stood there, arms crossed, watching.