Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

  Scrape. Grunt. Scrape. The rhythm broke the silence, and Gideon braved a glance at Jebediah when the man didn’t budge.

  “After you’ve got that finished, Elsie wants us to bring out the wash pot. Tomorrow’s wash day.” Without waiting for a reply, Jebediah began rummaging in a toolbox.

  Gideon leaned the fork against the wall. He had no problem working for his keep. What he didn’t like was some fella taking advantage of that. Sweat slid down the bridge of his nose and stung his eyes. “Yes, master,” he muttered under his breath. He smeared the back of his glove across his face.

  Metal clanged as Jebediah dug through the trunk of tools. He pulled out a can of nails and stood. His hammer hung at his belt. “I’m gonna replace a few clapboards out there. Holler when you’re done, and we’ll get the pot.”

  Gideon nodded without looking up. Soon he heard Jebediah outside and flinched when the wall shook beneath the man’s hammer. Wood creaked and snapped. Gideon stepped away for fear the whole building would come crashing down.

  A slit of light appeared, and Jebediah lowered the sun-rotted piece. Gideon blinked against the brightness. Within moments, another board splintered and came down, illuminating the gloomy barn as if it were high noon. Gideon peered through the gap as Jebediah stripped out a third and then a fourth. A cool breeze brushed his face.

  So the man can work after all.

  The racket made it nearly impossible to focus, but Gideon turned back to his task. Sugar, the old work mule, watched him with clouded brown eyes. She blinked slowly—unconcerned with the stranger in her stall.

  “How’s that for you, girl?”

  She tipped back large ears, lowered her face, and sniffed. Her nostrils flared, blowing pieces of hay toward his shoe.

  “Smells good, don’t it? Well, you’re lucky to have it.” He chuckled, knowing he sounded just like his father. He smoothed the last of the hay, then went to see how Jebediah was coming along.

  With his mouth full of nails, Jebediah pursed his lips in a focused frown. “Hold that side up.” The nails rose and fell as he mumbled.

  The fresh wood vibrated under Gideon’s hand as Jebediah pounded it into place. The older man worked his way down the length of the board, pulling a nail from his lips every few hand widths. Gideon stepped aside and admired the job as Jebediah tugged a nail from his clenched mouth and, with a few loud blows, secured the first piece in place.

  “Few more to go,” Jebediah grunted.

  Gideon’s arms shook as he struggled to balance an awkward piece, and he wished he could be the one to swing the hammer. Instead, he did as told, and when they finished, Jebediah let him put away the tools.

  Jebediah slapped Gideon on the back. “Let’s go get the wash pot.”

  Gritting his teeth, Gideon nodded and stuck the can of nails in the crook of his arm as he reached for the hammer. He stuffed them on a high shelf, then followed Jebediah into the yard.

  With practiced precision, Jebediah laid twigs then wood in a ring of blackened stones. Above that loomed an iron tripod with a hook hanging from the center. Together, they heaved the heavy pot onto the hook, where it rested just above the stones.

  “Time to fill ’er up.” Jebediah elbowed Gideon in the side, then, bending, snatched up two buckets. “Then all Elsie’ll have to do is light it and our job will be done.”

  Gideon sucked in a breath and held it until his lungs burned. His job would never be done. Not if Jebediah had anything to say about it. The lump on the back of his head had turned to a dull ache over the last several days. Gideon rubbed it again.

  Jebediah handed him the buckets, and a metal handle dug into Gideon’s chest. Gideon eyed him. “Ain’t you gonna help?”

  Jebediah fiddled with his fire. “You can’t carry two buckets at the same time?”

  With his jaw clenched, Gideon ground out the words. “Yessir, I can.”

  “Well, then, good.”

  Dismissed, Gideon started toward the creek but froze within a few steps. He spun around. “I just been thinkin’.” He squared his shoulders when his voice faltered. “I’ve been doin’ an awful lot of work around here—”

  “Thought that was your idea.”

  “Yessir, it was. But …” Gideon rubbed the back of his neck. “Well … you ain’t been doin’ much.”

  The wrinkles in Jebediah’s forehead lifted. “Is that so?”

  “Well, yes. I mean … no sir.”

  “Well, which is it? Yes or no?” Jebediah folded his arms in front of him, his stance widening. “ ’Cause the way I saw it, you were gonna earn your keep around here. Isn’t that what we agreed on?”

  “I’ve been earnin’ twice my keep.” Gideon held his ground. It was high time Jebediah stopped making a sport out of punishing him. Gideon gritted his teeth. He’d told Lonnie he was sorry. Wasn’t that enough? Elsie had moved on. Lonnie too. Sort of. Gideon’s gaze faltered. What else did this fuddy-duddy want?

  “That so?” Jebediah’s thick, rough fingers lifted the buckets from Gideon’s grasp. “Why don’t you go inside and take the afternoon off. You must be plumb tuckered out. I’ll fill the wash pot.” He started away. “Maybe you could do some mendin’ on the parlor sofa.”

  “What did you say?” Gideon strode after him.

  Jebediah spoke without turning around. “You heard me.” A breeze picked up and filled out the sides of his plaid coat.

  Gideon lifted his chest even as he quickened his steps. “What is your problem, old man?”

  Jebediah froze. He turned slowly. “Pardon?”

  Stepping forward, Gideon thrust a finger into the man’s chest. “You heard me.”

  Jebediah tossed the buckets aside, and they clanged against the ground. A handle snapped free. In one long swing, he grabbed hold of Gideon’s shirt and yanked him forward. Gideon’s feet skidded in the dirt as his face neared Jebediah’s. “You listen to me, son.” Gray eyes blazed. “You have no idea how lucky you are that I didn’t shoot you like a dog.” He spat out the last words.

  Gideon pulled himself away and stumbled back. His fingers curved into fists, but he knew he could never strike Jebediah.

  “Do you hear me, boy?” Jebediah’s eyes narrowed. “You better watch yourself—actin’ all high and mighty.” He tossed his head toward the house. “You got a wife up there who’s too good for you. This,” he said waving his arms around the farm, “this ain’t nothing. You’re lucky to be where you’re at.”

  Gideon gulped.

  “ ’Cause right about now—oh, I don’t know, Gideon, use your imagination. Where do you think you would be?” He reached for the nearest bucket. “Where would Lonnie be?”

  Gideon winced even as he tried to stomach his anger.

  “If you’re scared of a little hard work, then you best be movin’ on. ’Round here, a man earns his keep. My pa and I built this farm out of nothing.” Color crept into Jebediah’s face. “I’ve run it without you my entire life, and I can do it again.” Steely eyes hardened. “I don’t need a sorry boy cryin’ all day about doin’ a few chores. I’d rather do ’em myself.” He drew in a heavy breath. “Don’t convince yourself that you’re doin’ me any favors, Gideon. Look around you.”

  Gideon blinked.

  Jebediah snagged the broken handle of the second bucket and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “This ain’t nothing”—his voice rose, and he nodded to the bucket under his arm—“to what you’d be doin’ right now if you got what you deserved back there.” His throat broadened as he swallowed. “Don’t make me wish I’d done it.” He strode off toward the well.

  Gideon stormed toward the house. He tore open the screen door, and it slammed closed behind him. The kitchen was empty, and he let out the breath he’d been holding. Climbing the stairs two at a time, he ducked into the bedroom and kicked the door shut.

  He sat on the bed and dropped his head in his hands. Who was Jebediah Bennett to judge him? Gideon pinched the bridge of his nose. Standing, he looked around the room. Enough wa
s enough. He grabbed his pack from the bottom of the wardrobe and yanked open the top dresser drawer. With quick hands, he crammed his things into the pack, not sure if he grabbed it all or not. He just needed enough. Enough to get to Stuart and start over.

  Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. He grabbed his mandolin, slung the strap across his chest, and glanced around for his hat. What he did with his life was nobody’s business.

  The door creaked open, and Lonnie peeked her head around. “Gideon?” Her eyes seemed to take it all in at once.

  “I’m done.”

  “Done with what?” she asked slowly, but he could see that she knew.

  “You know this is for the best.” The words came out strained, and not wanting to stand around and chat, he brushed past her.

  “Gideon!”

  He stomped from the room. Lonnie trailed behind him, her footsteps lighter than his dogged stride. After looking around for his coat, he thrust his hat over his hair and yanked the door open.

  Her fingers grazed his sleeve. “Where are you going, Gid?”

  “Does it matter?” Outside, he saw Jebediah hauling water from the well. The sun blinded him, and Gideon turned in the opposite direction. His lengthy strides barreled him through the yard, and he disappeared into the forest.

  Elsie darted in from the front porch, broom still in hand. “Was that Gideon who just stormed out of here?”

  Lonnie ran to the back door and pulled it open, but Gideon was nowhere in sight. “I don’t know what happened.”

  Elsie’s shoulder brushed hers.

  Lonnie’s fingers clung to the wire screen. “He had everything he owned.” The words scarcely slipped out.

  Jebediah strode up the steps, and his husky voice filtered through the mesh. “I set him off. I’m sorry, Lonnie.” Jebediah shook his head. “But what that boy needs is a trip out to the woodshed.”

  Lonnie searched Jebediah’s face. “Are you going after him?”

  “Only if I can bring a switch.” He glanced in the direction Gideon had gone. “He’s gonna do whatever he wants. No matter what any of us say.” He tugged on his beard. “That boy’s got more than a few lessons yet to learn.”

  Chilled, Lonnie folded her arms in front of her. She studied the path, where it curved out of sight, and thought of the man who had charged through its scattered leaves. “All right, then.” She looked from Jebediah to Elsie, her resolve sinking in. “It’s better this way. If he comes back, fine.” She thought of the life forming inside her. “If he’s the kind of man who’d rather be gone, then we’re both better off.” But her heart throbbed as she spoke.

  Twenty-Three

  Gideon cursed the sky as he trudged down the hillside. The moonless dark made it impossible to see the trail. He stormed through a low stream and soaked his boots. Coming up on the other side, he paused to catch his breath. He folded up his shirt collar, the night air piercing the fabric, and thrust his hands in his pockets.

  His damp feet were turning numb. Some idea this was.

  He had no idea what time it was. His stomach growled, but his pockets were empty. If he were at the Bennetts’, supper would be long over, and he’d be asleep with Lonnie at his side. Her face flashed through his mind, and he smeared his hand across his eyes, hoping it would erase the image. But it was too late. His chest had filled with a sense of longing, and even as he cursed himself a fool, Gideon trudged on.

  He wondered if Lonnie was thinking about him. Wondered if she would wait up, clinging to hope. When dawn broke, would she still wait for him? Gideon slowed his pace and thought about the woman he was walking away from. He nearly stopped when her face filled his mind once more. She had to be wondering about him. She was his wife. Anger had driven him away. Pride was keeping him here. When his feet could carry him no more, Gideon found a place to rest. But sleep was uneasy.

  He set out the next morning with a heavy heart. By late afternoon, without a bite of food in his stomach, he felt queasy and had to rest. Leaning against a tree, he saw a blackberry bush and quickly plucked withered berries. He didn’t care that the thorns poked and scratched his hands.

  He ate hungrily, yet food could not fill his void.

  Gideon sank back on his heels and looked up at the noon sky. Go home, Gid. He surveyed the land around him but, deep down, wasn’t sure what he wanted. His heart and mind wrestled over a broken compass.

  He’d never been good at sorting through his feelings, but he knew one thing: he wanted to go home. Even if he didn’t know where that was. He wanted to go to Stuart, but he suddenly felt empty without Lonnie by his side.

  “Do you want to do this or not?” he said aloud to himself. Going back meant apologizing. Perhaps more. Gideon licked dried berry juice from his thumb as he mulled over the notion. Was it in him to change?

  He wiped stained hands on his pants and turned back toward the Bennett farm. His steps felt lighter. He’d figure it out along the way. His chest lifted as he drew in the first deep breath he could remember.

  “Well, looky here,” a familiar voice sneered.

  Gideon turned. A pair of beady eyes locked with his, and a stout hand lifted in greeting.

  “If it ain’t ol’ Gideon,” Bert said. A group of men loomed a few paces behind him.

  One of them moved into the fringe of his vision, and Gideon took a step sideways.

  Bert glanced around greedily. “Where’s that pretty li’l wife of yers? What was her name? Lydia. No, Bonnie.”

  Gideon squared his jaw. “She ain’t here.”

  Bert grunted.

  “Who’s this?” A man stood head and shoulders over Bert. His eyes narrowed.

  “Just an old friend.” Bert grinned.

  The tall man stepped forward, his words directed at Bert. “Well, I don’t think we should be socializing with nobody.”

  “Don’t worry.” Bert drew out the words. “Gid’s a good fella.” But his eyes said otherwise.

  Gideon knew better than to get on a man’s bad side twice, so he blurted out the first thing he could think of. “It’s good to see you again. Whatcha doin’ around here?”

  A man with dark curly hair cut in. “This here’s our territory.” He was as short and stocky as Bert and had his cap pulled so low Gideon could hardly see his eyes.

  “That would make you a trespasser,” another said.

  Gideon gnawed the inside of his lip and glanced from one face to the other. “Trespasser?” He glanced around. At the bottom of the wooded hill, a shanty was tucked against the mountain. “I didn’t realize anybody owned this land. If you point me in the right direction, I’ll be outa here as quick as I can.”

  A chorus of chuckles filtered through the men. “It ain’t our land. It’s our territory,” the tall man said.

  Remembering Bert’s jug of moonshine, Gideon scanned a row of brush. The men in front of him shifted. Gideon took an involuntary step back. Though he couldn’t see it, he was certain their still was only a few yards away. Narrowed eyes and clamped jaws bespoke it.

  “Well … I didn’t mean any harm, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.” He took another step back. Lonnie was waiting for him.

  “Don’t trouble yourself. I know you’re trustworthy. Come on and join us for a spell.” Bert waved Gideon over. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  Gideon hesitated. He hovered between his past and his future.

  Bert motioned toward the bushes with his head. His eyes dared Gideon to decline.

  Slowly, Gideon nodded. He followed the men up a small hill, dense with trees and heavy shrubs.

  Bert pointed. “There she is.”

  Through the foliage, Gideon spotted a half-shielded metal pot.

  “Drops of golden liquid.” Bert settled himself down on a rock next to his still. “Ain’t nothin’ finer in this world.”

  Gideon nodded. The smell was overwhelming, and his mouth watered. He tried to swallow it away, but when Bert lifted a clear jar—pure moonshine sloshing behind t
he glass—his feet pulled him forward.

  Bert motioned to the still. The big pot, capped with a lid, seemed to be made of solid copper. A small hose poked out and curved down into a simple green jar, then, as if the hose couldn’t make up its mind, it bobbed out, running down into a galvanized pot.

  Bert held up the offering.

  Gideon hesitated. Battled. And when his heart lost, he reached for it.

  With a chuckle, Bert drew it back. “Ain’t you gonna pay first?”

  Pay? Gideon patted his pocket. “I don’t have any money.”

  Bert set the jar beside him. “Aw, shucks.”

  Even as he spoke, Gideon detested the desperation in his own voice. “I could pay you next time I see you.” Just walk away.

  Bert shook his head. “I’ve been burned enough times by that promise.”

  His men laughed.

  Heat splintered along Gideon’s neck. He took a few steps back and folded his arms across his chest. He wanted to leave.

  Bert took a swig, his eyes keen, focused. Gideon’s mouth watered, and he fought the urge, knowing his escape had already been granted. His thumb found his ring finger. The metal was cold to the touch.

  Bert followed the movement.

  Shutting off all his thoughts, Gideon slid the metal from his finger.

  A subtle nod was enough for him to hand it out. Bert took it and studied it a moment, displeasure in his face. Gideon knew it wasn’t worth much. But surely it was worth enough.

  Bert butted the quart jar onto his knee. “All right.”

  Gideon stared at his ring in the man’s palm. Shame coursed through him, like the hot liquid itself. His fingers itched for the glass, and he forced his eyes away from the only thing Lonnie had ever given him. “Are you sure?”

  Bert rolled his eyes and thrust the drink toward Gideon.

  The jar was cool in his hand—the glass icy smooth—but the liquid burned as it slid down his throat. Instead of feeling satisfaction, guilt settled into the pit of his stomach.

  “Somethin’ wrong?”

  “You know what? I changed my mind.” He held out the jar. “Keep it.”