Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

  “I have my secrets.”

  She rolled her eyes and continued stacking her soap. Gideon moved to her side, and she looked up at him. “Do you need something?”

  Gideon pressed a hand to the earthen wall, the soil cool to his palm. “I just thought that you might have something to say to me.”

  Silence settled between them for several moments. “And what gave you that impression?” She didn’t look up.

  He fingered a damp root in the wall. “Oh, I dunno,” he said dumbly, then cleared his throat. Talking to girls had always been easy. Until Lonnie. “It’s just that you haven’t said more than a few words lately, and I figured I’d clear the air.”

  She kept her eyes on her work. “Clear the air of what?”

  “Well, er … of any problems.”

  She let out a soft grunt. “That so?” She straightened another row of soap, and her eyes finally met his. “Where would you like to begin?”

  “I … uh, wanted to make sure you knew that I was sorry. For leaving like that.”

  “I know you’re sorry.”

  “You do?”

  She drew in a slow breath. “You said you were.”

  “Right.” He scratched his head. “So then why are you still mad at me?”

  “Didn’t know I was mad.”

  “Is this your way of saying you like me, then?”

  “Hardly.” Lonnie wiped her hands on her apron. “Gideon.” She shifted her weight. “I’m not mad at you. And I appreciate that you’re sorry. Really, I do. But …” Her eyes scanned the earth ceiling. Lantern light danced across her face. “It’s like that story from the Bible.” She lifted a basket from the ground and slid the handle over the crook of her arm. “When is a thief no longer a thief?”

  “I dunno.” He tugged at the patch of hair beneath his lip. “When they stop stealin’, I suppose.”

  “Not quite.” She fingered the handle of the basket. “It says they’re no longer a thief when they stop stealin’ and do something useful for others. Like plant a field and give food to the poor.”

  “You want me to plant a field?”

  “This is why I don’t talk to you.” She moved to leave.

  “Wait.” He touched her elbow, then pulled back. “I want to understand.” He rubbed his hands together. “Really, I do.”

  Her face softened. “When you say you’re sorry for all that you’ve done, that’s nice and all, but it will mean more to me when the change runs deeper than that.”

  “Deeper.”

  She nodded. “Bein’ sorry is just not enough.” She picked up a jar of green beans and tucked it in her basket. Her eyes scanned the shelf, and she pulled several potatoes from a low crate. Gideon watched her movements as if from a distance, a destination he could never reach.

  Couldn’t, or didn’t want to?

  In an instant, he wondered if he could undo all the damage he had done. Perhaps in time. But did he want to? His eyes fell to her stomach. Another mouth to feed. That’s all a baby was. Wasn’t that the way his ma had put it? Wasn’t that what he was to his family? He watched Lonnie work, her movements slow. Why should his new family be any different? Whether or not Lonnie saw this child as a good thing, he saw it for what it was.

  Lonnie crouched, her knees jutting up against her dress. Her braid fell over her shoulder. He suddenly wanted to feel the end curled around his finger. Gideon found himself unable to look away. The lantern light flickered.

  Did he want her to hate him? He deserved it. After all he’d done, there was no question about it. The severity of the situation struck him, and he tugged at his hair. Surely there had to be some way to smooth this over. Some way to buy himself time until she could better understand what was truly at hand. Maybe it was just Lonnie Sawyer. But she was awful pretty. And when she looked at him with that glint in her eyes, like she knew something about him that he did not, he felt drawn to her in the strangest of ways. He had no name for what she evoked in him. But he had never experienced it before. The feeling belonged to her and her alone.

  He stared at her. His chances were running out—if they weren’t already gone.

  With her hand on the ladder, Lonnie started up. One push on the door and the cellar would fill with light. She would step outside, and he’d still be standing there with his mouth half open. His eyes caught her every move.

  “Lonnie,” he whispered.

  “Hmm,” she hummed as she continued to climb. She took hold of the latch and lifted.

  “Lonnie, wait.” In as much time as it took for him to speak, he climbed the ladder. The old wood creaked beneath their weight.

  The cellar door slammed closed. “Gid, what are you doing?”

  He slid one arm around her and grabbed the ladder with the other. With his feet one rung below hers, their faces nearly touched.

  “Gid—” Her braid slid from her shoulder when she turned to face him.

  The wicker basket poked him in the ribs, and in one final attempt to make any sense out of his actions, he kissed her.

  Her lips moved beneath his. “Gid, what are you doing?”

  He pulled back.

  Still wrapped in his grasp, she made no move to climb away. Her calmness stunned him, and she simply stared, confusion etched in her face.

  “I’m sorry.” Gideon lowered his head and climbed down. You fool.

  The ladder became Lonnie’s again.

  “Don’t let me keep you.” He thrust his hands into his pockets, barely able to look at her. He heard her hesitate, but without a word, she released a sigh, climbed into the sunlight, and was gone.

  Sinking against the ladder, Gideon dropped his head in his hands. What was he thinking? She didn’t love him. And why should she? He didn’t love her. Gideon snatched the lantern up and extinguished the light.

  Twenty-Seven

  Lonnie’s hem brushed along dried leaves as she scavenged for chestnuts. Crouched in the underbrush at her side, Gideon blew on his hands, and puffs of white air escaped through his fingers. He rubbed his palms together, but by the look on his face, he found no relief from the cold October morning. He shifted his legs, head low, and seemed to study something in the distance.

  Lonnie peered past a dead spruce, the brittle needles copper. Less than a stone’s throw away, a hog dropped his face to the ground and rummaged through fallen leaves. They hadn’t come to hunt, but Gideon watched it.

  “Hey, whatcha doin’ over there?” Jebediah stood and tossed a handful of nuts into a bag. “You takin’ a break or something?”

  “He’s just cold,” Lonnie teased. She slid her sack forward.

  Gideon nabbed a chestnut. “I was thinkin’ how I wished I had a gun.”

  Jebediah followed his line of sight, then his gray mustache tilted upward. “Hungry?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Clearly unconvinced, Jebediah chuckled.

  Lonnie leaned forward, and her knees dug into the cold, wet ground, dampening her dress. Beside her, Gideon picked up three nuts, rolled them around his palm, then dropped them into the sack at her side.

  “Are you doing that on purpose?”

  “Sorry?” He looked up, half distracted.

  “Yours is nearly empty.” She clutched the rough fabric of her sack and made a show of its heft.

  His eyebrows fell.

  When she motioned to the empty, limp bag behind him, she couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “You’ve been doing it for the last half hour. Not that it bothers me, mind you.” An icy wind tickled her cheeks, and she brushed wisps of hair away from her face. “But I do feel a little guilty taking all the credit.”

  “Oh.” He shook his head, then glanced around.

  “Gathering nuts must not be your favorite chore.”

  His mouth tipped up on one side, green eyes softening as he studied her. “No, I wouldn’t say that it is.” He snatched the empty bag from behind him and tossed several nuts inside. “I’m more of a field planter.”

  She elbowed him.
>
  He smirked.

  Lonnie gathered up her own handful and added them to his pitiful stash. When surprise registered in his face, she blushed. “Only seems fair.”

  The other half of his grin filled out, softening the face of stone she’d come to know. “Does this mean I get a second chance?”

  “Second?” She clicked her tongue. “I think it would be more like chance number twelve.”

  He winced and his smile faltered.

  “Chance for what?” she added, seeing that for once he was trying to make an effort. “To prove that you’re not a total brute?”

  He stared at the ground a moment. “I haven’t done a good job of being anything else, I s’pose.” His face was pained.

  For a moment, hope stirred inside her. Then her eyes moved to his hand. Her heart seemed to slow.

  As soon as his smile dented his cheeks, it faded. Pressing a palm to the tree, he pushed himself to a stand. Lonnie glanced up at him and blinked into the low sun, unable to speak.

  “Lonnie.” His hair caught the light that filtered through the trees. He flexed his fist and then tucked his hand just out of sight. Hiding his bare ring finger. “For what it’s worth …” His voice fell to a near whisper. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He glanced down at her as if to say something more. Instead, he motioned to a nearby spot. “I think there’s more over here.” He strode off.

  Shoulders back, Lonnie slowly worked her way around the base of the tree. Leaves clung to her skirt. When her eyes stung, she blinked quickly. It’s just a ring. Just a token, she told herself. But the ache still ran deep. And judging by the guilt etched in Gideon’s features, she almost believed him. Almost.

  Though she could not see Jebediah and Elsie, she heard their voices and knew they were gathering just beyond a stand of young oaks. More than once her name floated by on the breeze, spoken in Elsie’s tender voice. Lonnie was curious to know what the older couple thought of them, but in truth, she knew, for with each passing day, the Bennetts continued to welcome them. Lonnie had never found two kinder souls.

  Her fingers rummaged through twigs and brittle leaves. Little by little, the rough sack filled out.

  “You about done?” Gideon asked from behind.

  Her eyes didn’t meet his. “I’d say so.” She sank back on her heels. She started to stand, her legs stiff and nearly numb.

  When she wobbled, Gideon cupped her elbow, only to pull away just as quickly. He heaved his bag over his shoulder, and the small nuts clicked against his back. Her feet tingled as the feeling returned. With a soft grunt, she dragged her bag away from the tree. The heavy load left a trail in the dirt. She gripped the coarse fabric, intending to swing it up to her shoulder as Gideon had done. But before she could, he wrapped his hand just below hers. Surprised, Lonnie watched as he ducked one shoulder, swinging the bag up in the same motion.

  Her lips rounded in silent surprise. “I can carry it.”

  He blinked down at her. “This bag’s heavier than you. Besides, you shouldn’t be carryin’ things like this.” His gaze flicked to the middle of her apron, his expression guarded.

  “We better meet up with Jeb and Elsie,” she blurted out and motioned to where she’d heard them.

  She spotted Elsie a few paces off, raking fingers through a pile of leaves.

  “You two are done already?” Elsie tipped her face back, eyes dancing between them. Without looking down, she dropped a few nuts into her sack.

  Gideon let the bags fall off his shoulder and jingle to the ground. He opened the mouth of one. “I’d bet between us all we have five bushels just this morning. With four dollars a bushel they’re takin’, that’s a good bit of money.” He tapped the arithmetic out on his fingers, but the sum never formed on his lips. He cleared his throat, the skin beneath his freckles reddening. Lonnie pretended not to notice.

  “Where’s Jebediah?” he asked, changing the subject.

  Elsie pointed to a shallow bank. “He took off in that direction. That man’s like a wild turkey the way he hunts these woods for chestnuts.”

  “If I’m a turkey,” Jebediah said, stepping out from behind a tree, “then that must make you a ’coon, ’cause I bet you like ’em just as much as I do.” He pushed his patched-up wheelbarrow, loaded with Elsie’s galvanized washtub full of golden-brown nuts.

  With her hands on her hips, Elsie shook her head. “Come on, let’s go home and roast some of these.” She patted Lonnie’s arm. “We’ll see if your baby likes its first chestnut.”

  Lonnie dropped her gaze to her belly, amazed at how quickly it was growing. When she realized Gideon was watching her, she simply smoothed the fabric. His words from the other day echoed in her mind … It doesn’t mean I’ll love it.

  With a few grunts, Jebediah turned his wheelbarrow and started for home. Elsie fell in step with him. Gideon stood beside her, as if waiting. Lonnie strode forward, their elbows bumping. His pace fell in sync with her own. Lonnie was careful not to rush. She could only begin to guess the weight of the sacks that burdened his back. Neither of them spoke. Lonnie didn’t know what to say. Not after the way Gideon had acted in the cellar. She could still feel his lips against hers, see the determination in his eyes before he’d kissed her. As if something had awakened inside of him. Something that ran deeper than desire.

  Lord, let it be so.

  Twenty-Eight

  Gideon tossed the chisel to the floor with a muffled thud. He ran his hand across the wood. Rough and misshapen. Nowhere near smooth enough. He picked up a piece of sandpaper, and it swished as he passed it across the surface. His tongue stuck to the corner of his mouth in concentration. He wasn’t much for numbers and letters, but he knew how to work wood. Measuring sticks and fractions got lost inside his head. The breadth of his hand, the length of his arm, and a picky eye served as sufficient tools.

  He smoothed his thumb along the red maple. Not there yet. He was doing this project only out of necessity, but it should still be done well. Gideon twisted his mouth to the side and picked up his chisel.

  He heard voices from the house and looked through the barn doorway in time to see Lonnie crossing the yard. She had a lunchpail in one hand and a cup in the other. Her dress was taut across her waist as she swung the pail back and forth. Her lips moved as if in song. Jumping up, he slid the heavy piece behind a stack of old crates and yanked a canvas over the top. He darted away and plunked down on a stool. His heart pounded as he picked up his pocketknife and dug into a soft piece of spruce.

  He looked up from his work when she strode in. “Whatcha got there?” He set his whittling down, hoping his act was enough to distract her.

  “Your dinner.” Lonnie slid the offering onto the workbench.

  Gideon knew Jebediah was inside eating his own dinner. There was no need for Lonnie to pack him a lunch. He watched as she arranged the food in front of him. Elsie could have hollered for him when it was ready, and he would have come. The corner of his mouth turned up.

  Lonnie tucked her hands behind her back. Now in her third month, the calico pinched and puckered at her waist, and each night she labored over the workings of a new dress while loosening the seams in her old ones. Gideon realized just how quickly time passed. Was spring really just around the corner? Lost in thought, he forgot he was still staring. “What did you bring me?” He reached for the pail.

  “Elsie’s rabbit stew. Thanks to you.” She smiled. “Cornbread, milk, and”—using two fingers, she lifted the corner of a cloth with dramatic movements—“a slice of fried apple pie.”

  He couldn’t help but grin. “Sounds like a feast.”

  He unwrapped the cornbread first and licked apple butter off his fingers. He took a bite and washed it down with sweet milk. “Good,” he said, lifting the golden square. He took another bite and realized Lonnie was not eating. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  She shook her head. “I ate inside with Elsie. We waited for you to come, but the time must have gotten away from you.” She scrunched up h
er freckled nose and rubbed at an itch. Gideon pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to offer her.

  “No, thanks,” she said. “Just the cold, that’s all.”

  Without bothering to fold it, he stuffed the white cloth back in his pocket, then propped a foot on the stool rung.

  Lonnie pinched wood shavings between her fingers. “Elsie says there’s a wedding comin’ up.”

  The last of the cornbread vanished inside his mouth. “Did you want to go?” he mumbled and brushed his hands together.

  She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I’d like to. It’d be nice to meet some of the folks around here.”

  He wasn’t much for getting dressed up. Hated the idea of a stiff shirt and tie. But Lonnie’s eyes were bright, and he had a mind to show her that there was indeed a civilized bone in his body. Gideon lifted a spoonful of stew to his lips and stilled, his eyes on his wife. “Then we’ll go.”

  Surprise registered in her face. “Elsie said it’s in a few days.” Her voice brightened.

  “All right.” He watched her and realized they were truly speaking again. He suddenly felt compelled to say more. “Do you want to sit down?”

  When she nodded, he snatched a short stool from the corner, then steadied it as she sat. Her knees poked up, revealing a hole in her stocking. He realized he was staring again—a habit he’d developed around her. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his food.

  He tipped the bowl to his lips and drank the broth. “That was good. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She reached for the bowl, but he tucked it inside the pail along with the rest of his dirty dishes.

  “You don’t need to clean up after me. I can take this inside.”

  “I don’t mind.” She reached for the pail. “I’m not exactly bedridden.” Her eyes sparkled.

  His mouth tipped in a lopsided grin. “Then thank you.”

  She hooked her finger beneath the pail handle, and their hands touched. He watched her for a reaction. Her eyes were warm—the sight trickling through his every limb. He swallowed, suddenly realizing the effect he had on her. His mind drifted to the day Jebediah had found him. Had he really been that monster? Gideon studied his boots as shame made his cheeks tingle.