Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

  She touched his arm, drawing him from his thoughts. “What are you thinking?”

  He lifted his gaze. After all that, here she stood.

  The realization baffled him, but he forced his brow to unfold. “Nothing.” He glanced to the open doorway, where tiny specks of white floated down. “Lonnie.” He pointed. “Look.”

  Her chin brushed her shoulder when she peered behind her. He heard her gasp. “Would you look at that?”

  “C’mon. It’s too cold for you out here.” He grabbed his jacket off the workbench and, with her still seated on the little stool, draped it over her shoulders.

  “Won’t you be cold?” she asked, even as she slipped her fingertips into the flannel-lined pockets.

  “Nah. I’m fine. Let’s go inside.” Without thinking, he held his hand out to her.

  She hesitated, blinking quickly. She slipped her hand inside his, and he helped her stand. He released her fingers as gently as he could, but the foreign sensation lingered on his skin. They walked back to the house side by side, and when their arms brushed, Gideon offered her more space. He had no idea how to act around her anymore.

  It wasn’t in him to follow through. Never had been. How could he make this time different? The scent of cinnamon lifted from her flour-dusted apron when she stepped too close. He gulped at the thought of failing.

  Snow fell in a whisper around them, and the November breeze tousled his cotton shirt, but Gideon felt none of it. He opened the door for Lonnie, and they stepped into the warm kitchen, fragrant with the scent of fried apple pie.

  Elsie dropped diced carrots into a pot and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, aren’t you a pair, all bundled up.”

  “Gid sure ain’t.” Lonnie squeezed his arm. “Go and sit by the fire.”

  He enjoyed her touch too much to argue.

  Jebediah burst in. “Wanna lend me a hand?” he panted. “These wives of ours want to take a bath again. I got the washtub set up in your room already. I just need help haulin’ water upstairs.”

  Lonnie ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have to—”

  “Jebediah Bennett!” Elsie shook her wooden spoon at him, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. “How dare you. Lonnie is our guest.”

  Jebediah chuckled. “Now, now. Don’t get your feathers all ruffled. I was just teasin’ her. Really, Lonnie, I don’t mind.” With his palms up, he backed onto the porch. “You were probably used to takin’ a bath every Saturday, before church back home.”

  Lonnie nodded, and Jebediah smiled. Gideon watched the exchange, knowing full well the Bennetts did not attend church. It was too far for them to walk, and they had no wagon.

  “Are you sure?” Lonnie asked again.

  The old man tipped Elsie’s chin. “I just like to get my wife all fired up sometimes.”

  Elsie stopped stirring to put her hands on her hips, and broth dripped from her wooden spoon onto her apron. It took only one look from Elsie and, still grinning, Jebediah left. Lonnie handed Gideon his jacket, and he followed the older man outside.

  Jebediah’s gray beard grazed his plaid collar. “You know I don’t really mind, right?”

  “I know.”

  They strode shoulder to shoulder, and Jebediah flicked his thumb back to the house. “That’s what women are for, I suppose. Keeping us busy.”

  “Always needin’ something.”

  “Who you foolin’?”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve watched you with her lately. I’d say you don’t mind half as much as you’re lettin’ on.”

  Gideon’s throat worked. He glanced toward the house, feeling colder, and knew it wasn’t just the loss of the fire.

  Twenty-Nine

  A lone fiddle played as a crisp breeze swept into the old barn. The preacher turned toward the groom, the smile on his wrinkled face a clear symbol that he was pleased with the match. The music faded.

  Lonnie’s hand rested beside Gideon’s, their fingers almost touching. She blinked back tears. She tilted her gaze to the heavy beams supporting the barn roof and willed her eyes to dry. Sniffling, she savored the sweet smell of straw that filled the giant building. The bride, wearing a dress the color of creamy columbine, stood beside her groom, her smile radiant as she looked into the face of the man she loved. Lonnie wiped her nose with her handkerchief.

  She saw joy. Pure, unbridled joy in the young woman’s face.

  Lonnie remembered the morning she had given Gideon her own vow. Her tears had not been happy. She wiggled her fingers absent-mindedly. His head dipped, hand hesitating against hers, before he clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward. Lonnie folded her hands in her lap, and the tin ring warmed. She did not need to look at Gideon’s hand to know his was long gone. The ache in her chest grew, and she turned her attention back to the wedding. How lucky to be so full of joy on one’s wedding day. Her chest burned as she drew in a ragged breath and fought to hold her emotions in check.

  Hanging his head, Gideon’s back lifted as he sighed. Lonnie wished she could read his mind. Wished she could better understand the man who sat beside her.

  When the bride’s mother dabbed her nose with a lace-edged handkerchief, the sight made Lonnie think of her own mother, and she tore her gaze away. An ache rose deep in her chest. Brushing her wrist against her stomach, she heaved out a shaky sigh.

  What she wouldn’t give to see her ma. Hear her voice. How she longed to visit with her aunt Sarah. Whisper her deepest desires.

  She longed to be loved.

  Lonnie inched closer to Gideon. He didn’t budge, and his shoulder warmed hers. A tear slipped from her cheek, and Lonnie hurried to wipe it away. Gideon traced slow circles on the back of his hand.

  The preacher closed a thick Bible and prayed a benediction for the happy couple. Folks clapped and cheered when he finished. Lonnie offered her applause, while Gideon clapped slowly, as if distracted. Lonnie spotted a young woman eying her husband and felt a flush in her cheeks. She braved a glance into Gideon’s face, but he stared straight ahead, eyes wide, as if in another world completely.

  Lonnie gently touched his arm, and he looked at her, his expression full of pain. Something she saw there made her breath catch. But before she could speak, chair legs scraped the plank floor. Women bustled to the food tables, slicing pies and stirring beans. The men cleared away dozens of mismatched chairs, moving them against the walls. Soon the music began. Lonnie stood beside Gideon in line for dinner. The boy behind her tapped his feet to the music, and turning, Lonnie smiled at him.

  Tables draped in red gingham cloths were covered with bowls of creamed corn, dill pickles, and platters of ham. Lonnie also spotted plates of biscuits, a crock of potato salad, and fried cabbage. Gideon cut two slices of bread, smearing his with apple butter and the other with blackberry jam—Lonnie’s favorite.

  “Thank you.” She took her plate and forced herself to pass by a dozen pies. She glanced up at the broad black coat in front of her and watched as the groom’s father shoved a cookie in his mouth.

  Gideon did the same, and when he saw Lonnie watching him, he shrugged and grinned. He chewed quickly. “It’s more food than a man can fit on his plate.”

  A spotted dog poked his nose out from beneath the table, eyes large and golden. Gideon slipped a piece of ham beneath the checked cloth, where it vanished. He cleared his throat, and Lonnie shook her head. They made their way over to the Bennetts’ picnic blanket, spread out beside a dozen others on the plank floor of the giant barn.

  Gideon rolled a piece of ham and took a bite, then sipped his cider and shivered. “It’s cold.” Setting his plate aside, he blew on his hands.

  Lonnie broke off a piece of biscuit. “Put your gloves on.”

  “I can’t eat with my gloves on.” He flashed her an impish smirk.

  Lonnie soaked in the sight. “I will go and get you a fork. Anyone else need anything?”

  Jebediah lifted a fried chicken leg. “A napkin would do me good.”


  “I’ll be right back.” She ducked into the line long enough to snag what she needed, and when she returned, Jebediah was busy licking his fingers. She tossed him the napkin, then handed Gideon the fork. “You’re a lot of work, you know that?”

  His smile bloomed into a grin. Her breath caught. She sat down, closer than she needed to, and tried to think of something to say that would keep him smiling.

  A man behind her cleared his throat. “Excuse me, are you Gideon?”

  They turned in unison, and Lonnie glanced up at a bearded man who balanced a tow-headed girl on his hip.

  Gideon wiped his mouth. “Yep, why?”

  The man tipped his head toward the makeshift stage. “Wanna play for a bit? A man over there said he heard you a time or two in Rocky Knob. Said you played the mandolin real good.” He shifted the long-legged girl to his other side. “And I need a break.”

  “Good?” Gideon lifted his eyebrows and glanced into the crowd, and Lonnie followed his gaze in search of the familiar face. “Well, I don’t know about that.” His tone was humble.

  Lonnie elbowed him. “C’mon, Gid. Play.”

  “I don’t have my mandolin.” He shrugged it off.

  The man slapped a friendly hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “You can borrow mine. I’m plumb tuckered out up there.” He shook his head. “It’s gonna be a long day, and I could use a bite of food.”

  Gideon looked at Lonnie. “Do you mind?” He licked his fingers, and she thrust a napkin into his hand.

  “Not one bit.”

  He tried to fight a smile but failed. “Just a few songs?”

  With a laugh, she pushed against his chest, urging him toward the music. “Go. They’re waiting!”

  Gideon felt the crowd swallow him up. He brushed past people he didn’t know, faces he’d never seen before. He spotted a stout fellow in the corner, the man’s thick arm around a dark-haired girl. His heart froze. Was it Bert? But when the man tipped his chin and lifted his face, thick eyebrows and broad-set eyes declared him a complete stranger.

  Gideon sighed in relief, grateful Bert wasn’t around. As he walked past, he felt the girl watching him. A glance confirmed his suspicions. Gideon ducked his head and walked on, leaving the couple behind him as he neared the stage. A few short months ago, he would have paid attention, but he felt no pull to the girl or what she might have to offer.

  The realization lifted an unseen weight off his shoulders.

  He’d gotten more than one stare from a girl that afternoon, yet he cared nothing for the glances he’d received or the dimpled smiles meant for him alone.

  There was only one girl whose gaze he hoped to capture.

  And he’d left her sitting on a plaid blanket in the center of the barn.

  The man lunged onto the stage, Gideon right behind. He handed Gideon a mandolin and scratched his dark hair. “It’s nothin’ special, but it stays in tune.”

  “Looks nicer than mine.” Gideon rubbed his thumb along the spruce top.

  The man chuckled. “I’ll be back in a few songs. Hey, I appreciate this.” He set the little girl down, then held her hand as they walked away through the crowd. Gideon quick-checked the tune.

  “What can you play?” A stout blond looked up even as he tucked his fiddle beneath his chin.

  “Anything you want.” Gideon pulled up a crate and slid it between his legs. He held the mandolin snug in his lap, the feel of wood familiar against his chest. “You pick. I’ll just follow along.”

  “If you say so.” The fiddler smirked. “That’s Tom Parson on the banjo over there. Just thought I’d warn ya.” The bow stretched across the strings. “Good luck.”

  Gideon’s mouth parted, but he slammed it shut. He glanced at Tom, who held his banjo ready, and it struck Gideon just what kind of lick this would be. He stretched his fingers, wishing he’d had the chance to warm them up. The crowd cheered at the fiddler’s teasing.

  The stout blond leaned forward, and his bow slowed, then silenced. Vibrations hovered among the rafters. Gideon sucked in a deep breath.

  As if tipping his sword in a duel, Tom dipped his hat. Gideon nodded, and the duel began. Tom started, and Gideon followed just as fast. The mandolin trailed the banjo—nine plucks from each. The crowd cheered louder. They played quicker. Gideon’s stiff fingers struggled, but as his hand softened to the instrument, he felt a fighting chance inside him.

  The song quickened. Stubby fingers twanged the banjo so quick, Tom’s cap fell off, and Gideon took no care to hide his pleasure. The faster they played, the louder the crowd yelled. A boy in the front let out a shrill whistle, and Gideon felt the vibration of a chuckle in his chest, though the sound was lost in the roaring room. A wave of clapping kept the tempo ever quickening until finally, to the crowd’s clear dismay, Tom threw up his hands. Exhausted, Gideon lowered his head and clapped in honor of his opponent.

  “How did you learn to play like that?” Tom yelled from across the stage.

  Gideon shrugged off the compliment. “You wore me out!” he hollered. “No wonder your other man needed a break!”

  They played a few more songs, most of which Gideon knew. Those he didn’t were easy to pick up. After a final waltz, the band stopped for a rest, and Gideon gladly returned the instrument to its owner.

  “Here.” Tom set his banjo aside and waved Gideon to the back corner of the stage. He tipped a bottle of whiskey to an empty glass. “You earned this.” He held the glass to Gideon, amber liquid sloshing against the sides. Tom’s smile was genuine.

  “I—uh …” Gideon stared at the offering as his heart picked up its pace. The liquid stilled.

  Tom’s eyebrows knit together.

  “No, thanks.” Gideon blurted out, stunned by the sound of his own voice.

  “No problem.” Tom downed the glass in one shot, then clapped Gideon on the back. “Good job, man. That was fun.”

  “Yessir,” Gideon said, his heart suddenly lighter.

  As the band shared a celebratory drink, Gideon strode off in search of Lonnie. His stomach growled and he remembered his half-eaten supper, but as he pushed his way through the thick crowd, he had to pause for handshakes.

  “That was amazing,” a tall man said.

  “Where are you from?” a croaky voice asked.

  Gideon just shook their hands. “Thank you” was all he could get out. His head spun. He needed to find Lonnie. Finally, he spotted her with Elsie, curled up on the blanket, her dark shawl draped over her body. Several pieces of golden straw stuck to her hair. Her face was peaceful, and her wrist lay gently across her belly.

  “How long has she been asleep?” Gideon knelt beside her, his voice barely audible over the hubbub around him.

  “Not long, but I don’t know how she can sleep with all this racket.” Elsie handed Gideon a stack of cookies wrapped in his napkin. “I’m going to go find Jebediah. We need to get her home.” She disappeared into the crowd.

  Gideon leaned against a bale of hay, and as he ate his cookies, he watched the commotion. When the music began again, dancers found their partners, and a few men on the outskirts jigged alone. An awkward display of knees and elbows. Gideon recognized one too many drinks in their faces. The lusty taste of liquor filled his mind, but a smile tugged at his mouth, and he glanced down at Lonnie.

  He pulled a piece of straw from her hair, smoothing his fingertips across limp curls—something he would never have dared had she been awake. Her hair was silk to his skin. She shifted beneath her shawl. He grinned. With his head clear and heart light, he knew no bottle or jug would have made this day any better.

  Thirty

  Gideon blinked into the light that filtered through the curtains, spilling across the floor. He sat and shook his head, stunned to see the sun so high. He’d never slept in this late, but by the time his head hit the pillow the night before, it had seemed morning was already itching to rise. He glanced to his side, only to find the bed empty. He rose and coveted the warm covers even as he dressed and lumbered
downstairs.

  Pots clanged and dishes clattered into place at the table. He combed fingers through his hair but knew it wouldn’t improve his appearance. Still standing in the entryway, he rubbed his knuckles against his jaw and watched Lonnie and Elsie prepare breakfast. Batter dripped down the side of the skillet, and there was a broken eggshell on the floor. It looked more like chaos than anything else.

  “Mornin’.” Lifting onto the pads of her feet, Lonnie reached for a stack of plates and spun toward the table. “You must be hungry.”

  Gideon yawned. “Starv-ing.”

  “Breakfast is almost ready.” She pointed to his chair. Her striped apron caught the air as she turned again. Her hair was freshly combed and plaited. A few tendrils scattered around her face. Gideon remembered the feel of it in his hands.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I better do the chores first.”

  Lonnie cleared her throat even as Jebediah pushed his way into the kitchen, a pail of milk in his right hand.

  Gideon straightened.

  “Those girls don’t wait for sleepyheads like you who were out too late.” Jebediah scooted the bucket off to the side.

  Elsie clicked her tongue. “Let the poor man have two minutes without having a chore or fence to build or whatever else you make him do.”

  “I second that.” Chuckling, Gideon sat. He propped his elbows on the table and dropped his face in his hands. He rubbed his palms against burning eyes.

  A sting struck his arm, and Gideon glanced up.

  “Elbows?” Elsie propped her hands on her hip, wooden spoon hovering. Her eyes sparkled.

  “Sorry.” He rubbed his arm.

  When Lonnie sat next to him, her cheeks were rosy from the stove. Gideon’s stomach growled as he waited for Jebediah to bless the food, and he hardly had enough time to lift his fork before Elsie filled his plate with hotcakes. He drizzled maple syrup on top and helped himself to the stewed apples Lonnie pushed his way.