Lonnie’s rocker stilled. “Oh, Elsie. You don’t have to do that for me.”
“Fiddlesticks. It’s something to celebrate.”
“Sure is,” Gideon added.
The color in her cheeks deepened.
Gideon smiled. Rising, he offered Lonnie his arm. She hesitated briefly before taking it. They walked up the stairs without speaking, and by the time Gideon had unbuttoned his shirt, Lonnie was crawling beneath the covers. He slid in beside her but could not shut his eyes. Lonnie rolled to her side, and her breathing slowed. Lifting his head, Gideon saw that she was already asleep.
He turned toward her, his hand resting on the mattress between them, the tip of her braid near enough to touch. Ever so softly, he grazed the silken strands with his thumb. He was not the least bit tired, so he rose and made careful to tuck the blankets gently around Lonnie. With the snow falling harder now, no moonlight slipped in through the window, and he could scarcely make out her sleeping form. Gideon stepped from the room and moved down the stairs as quietly as he could. With Lonnie’s birthday only a few hours away, his surprise had to be finished.
A bright morning glinted against her face, and Lonnie opened her eyes. She was eighteen today, old enough to be on her own. If she were home, she’d be packing for her aunt Sarah’s. Those dreams seemed like a lifetime ago. Lonnie rolled onto her side only to see that Gideon was gone. Her brows knit together. From the kitchen, she heard stove lids clanging. Lonnie climbed out of bed and dressed quickly. She shivered her way to the wall, grabbed her shawl from the wooden peg, and with a quick peek out the window, went in search of Gideon.
She stopped when she saw Elsie in the kitchen. “Good morning.”
“Happy birthday.” Elsie closed the stove door. “You look mighty cheerful. Bet that husband of yours is still asleep.”
“He’s not up already?”
“Haven’t seen him.” Elsie licked the end of a spoon before tossing it in the washtub. “And I’ve been up since Jebediah left to check his traps.”
Lonnie chewed her lip and stepped to the window. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured against the cold glass. She stepped outside and tightened her shawl as she peered through falling snow, awash with the brightness of day. The barn door was sealed shut, and no fresh footprints forged a path in that direction.
A dull pain caught hold of her lower back, and with a soft moan, she massaged it. She pressed a hand beneath her stomach, which seemed to get bigger each day, and gave it a little lift, trying to make both her and the baby more comfortable.
She decided to try the barn anyway. Her boots sank in the deep snow that crept above her ankles and moistened her stockings. She lifted her dress until the hem brushed her knees. Lonnie reached the barn, gripped the icy latch, and struggled to tug the door open. She blinked into the darkness. Her mouth parted, a small gasp slipping out.
Leaning against the workbench sat Gideon, his chin to his chest. An elbow was propped up on the milk stool, and his other arm draped across a large cradle. A piece of sandpaper lay just inches from his relaxed hand.
Lonnie touched her fingertips to her heart.
Gideon lifted his head, and when she stepped closer, his eyes opened.
“Lonnie?” He blinked up at her.
She crouched beside him. “You were gone, so I came to find you.”
He glanced from her to the cradle and jumped up. “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to see this until your birthday.”
“It is my birthday.” She couldn’t hide the smile in her voice.
His brows pinched together. “But it’s not your birthday in the barn.” He broadened his stance. “You can’t see this yet.”
“Did you make this …?” She stepped around him. Kneeling next to the cradle, she smoothed her hand along the side. “It’s beautiful.”
His voice was soft behind her. “It’s for you—and the baby.”
“The baby,” she whispered and looked up at him, tears blurring her vision.
His hands were dusty as he pressed them together. “Do you like it?”
Lonnie nodded, unable to speak.
“I … I’ve been working on it for a little while now.”
“When did you find the time?”
“Here and there.” He sank beside her and, with a broad hand, set the cradle to rocking. “I figured every baby needs a place to sleep.”
The ache rose in her heart, and she pushed it down, hoping that perhaps he saw their baby as more than a burden.
“Lonnie, I … I want you to know that I regret so many of the things I’ve done. Especially the things I’ve done to you.” His hand moved to her jaw, the skin smooth beneath his thumb.
Her throat tightened.
“If I could change the past, I would.” He stood.
She peered up at him. He would never have married her. Is that what she saw in his eyes?
“If I could go back and be the man you deserved, I would.”
Hope filtered into her heart. “And you think it’s too late?” She started to rise, needing him to know it wasn’t.
He glanced away with a sheen in his eyes. With him still standing above her, she expected him to turn and walk out as he’d always done. His shoulders sank and rose, his face pensive. When he looked down on her, she saw the same hope reflected in his eyes. He held out his hand, and Lonnie studied the lines of his palm. Tentatively, she reached up and took it.
Thirty-Four
The ink pen scratched across the page as Lonnie sat in the upstairs rocker and scribbled a last few words to her aunt. She’d already written her ma, and the letter was sealed and ready to be delivered the next time someone made it into town. Finished, Lonnie read her words again. They were a bittersweet reminder of how much she missed her family. She felt a tremble in her chin when she envisioned her aunt holding this very page one day.
“Knock, knock.” Gideon nudged the door open with his boot. He carried the gift she’d discovered nearly two weeks ago. It was now stained and oiled and ready to be brought in.
When he shouldered past the door, she tossed her letter to the bed and nearly jumped up.
“Where do you want this?” he grunted, arms taut from the weight of the hefty piece.
She pushed a pile of books out of the corner and stepped back. “Here, please.” She wiped dust from her hands, her joy nearly bubbling over.
Stooping, Gideon lowered the heavy piece into place. “Is this good?” He straightened and shook out his wrist. The cradle rocked from side to side, and he steadied it.
“Perfect.” Lonnie smoothed her hand over the oiled wood.
“I’m just glad you like it.” He ran his thumb along a blotch of stain.
Lonnie wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have let me do that part.”
“You were very adamant.” His voice was serious, but when she looked into his face, she saw a smile edge his eyes.
“It’s just beautiful,” she said breathlessly.
Gideon brushed dust from his shoulder. “I’m just glad you like it.”
“To think”—she perched on the edge of the rocker, surprisingly tired—“soon a baby will sleep here. Our little baby.” She watched Gideon for a response.
He stared down at the cradle as if unable to speak.
Her smile faltered.
Kneeling beside his gift, he touched the wood with a gentle hand, and the cradle rocked from side to side. “Pretty amazing.” His voice was soft.
Her chest lifted. “Truly?”
His nod was brief, but when he glanced up at her, something filled his eyes that she’d never seen before. The emotion nearly knocked her from her seat. Lonnie slid down and crouched beside him. “Gideon.” Her throat was so tight, she could hardly squeeze out the word.
“I don’t know if it’s in me to be—”
“Shh.” She touched his arm. “Don’t say it. This …” Her hand slid down to his and she held on tight. “This is enough.”
His eyes we
re pained, and his lips parted as if to protest.
“Believe me.” Bending forward, she kissed his hand.
His throat worked, eyes wide.
“This is enough.” She was more thankful than she could express.
Gideon’s gaze dropped to her belly. His fingers twitched as his hand slid forward, finally pausing on his knee. Lonnie held her breath, and chills covered her skin like a morning frost as she waited.
Seconds ticked by, but he didn’t move his callused hand to her gingham dress.
Green eyes scanned her face, and he cleared his throat. “A name.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Does the baby have a name?”
“I’ve thought of a few.” Lonnie fiddled with the hem of her dress, tugging on a loose thread. “I was hoping to give our baby a name that means something.”
“Means something?” His forehead wrinkled. “You mean like … George Washington?”
“No.” She smiled. “Not like that. A name that means something special, like the name of a past relative. Or a Bible name.”
“Bible name,” he repeated.
“You have a Bible name.”
Still crouched beside her, he seemed to ponder her words a moment. “Well … is Lonnie a Bible name?” He looked up at her with eyes as wondering and unknowing as a child’s.
She chuckled. “I’m afraid not.”
He blinked. “I suppose you’d have to pick one for a boy and one for a girl, since there’s no knowing.”
“That would be wise.”
He sat quietly for a moment and pressed his knuckles to the floor. “I like the name Jacob. My pawpaw’s name was Jacob.”
With the tip of her finger, she traced a line of grain in the maple. “That’s a good name.”
Slowly, he rose and wiped dust from his pants. “I better get back to work.” She felt his fingertips brush her shoulder, and he was gone.
Lonnie didn’t move. She replayed his words in her mind, hope building inside her. Were her prayers being answered? Tilting her face to the ceiling, she closed her eyes. Please, Lord, let it be so. Reaching, she pushed the cradle into motion.
Where there was only smooth maple, Lonnie pictured cozy blankets knit from the softest wool and a tiny face peeking out at her. As a little girl, she had never imagined being a mother, but now that she was almost one, she could not wait to hold her precious child in her arms and—
A kick!
Lonnie gasped. She placed a hand where life had made its presence known, and smiled. It was not the first time she had felt the baby, but each small kick and wiggle filled her with joy. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine whether it was a hand or foot that pressed against her, but as quickly as the baby moved, it stilled, and she felt a different sensation. It started low in her back, then worked forward and down. Her breath halted, and she clutched the rocker beside her. The horrible grip tightened, as if her insides were a rag being wrung out.
“Gideon!” she cried, even as her vision blurred. Then the pain released its hold and her body relaxed. She sank back and tilted her face to the ceiling that seemed to sway with every beat of her racing pulse.
Elsie stormed up the stairs and stopped in the open doorway, her wrinkled features etched with fear. “He’s outside. What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.” Elsie’s face blurred as tears pooled in Lonnie’s eyes.
Elsie dropped to her side and pulled her into an embrace. “Shh, shh,” she whispered and ran a soothing hand down Lonnie’s back. “Was it the baby?”
Lonnie nodded and swallowed. “I don’t know what it was.”
A cool hand covered her stomach, sliding from side to side. “Might have been a birth pain. How do you feel now?”
“A little tender, but it doesn’t hurt like it did before. Is the baby gonna be all right?”
“Should be. I wish I knew more about this than I do.” Elsie rose. “Do you want me to have Gid fetch Aunt Orla?”
Lonnie wiped her forehead. “Who?”
Elsie smoothed Lonnie’s hair away from her face and tucked it into her braid as only a mother could. “She’s the midwife. Gideon could leave and have her back here in no time.”
The pain was gone. Lonnie stared at the empty cradle, knowing it was much too soon to be thinking about the baby coming. “I feel better now.”
“If you’re not in pain anymore, maybe everything is fine.” Elsie paused, and Lonnie knew she had more to say. “It may happen from time to time, but if it’s severe or if …” She hesitated. “If there was blood …”
Lonnie felt her eyes widen.
“You check.” Elsie patted her hand. “I’ll heat some tea. I have something that should soothe your muscles a bit, and then you can lie down and rest. I want you off your feet for the rest of the day.” Elsie bustled from the room.
As Lonnie changed into her nightgown, her hands trembled with fear. When she saw that all was well, she closed her eyes and nearly fell as relief washed through her.
When Elsie returned with a cup, her mouth was drawn in a tight line. “So?”
“Nothing.”
“Praise the Lord. That’s a good sign.” She handed Lonnie the tea. “Now drink this and don’t get out of bed. Do you want me to send Gid just in case?”
Lonnie sipped the hot brew. “I feel better now.”
“Well …” Elsie lifted her eyebrows. “If it happens again, you tell me.”
“I promise I will.” Lonnie took another sip.
“Try and rest a bit.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Elsie straightened the blankets and tucked them under Lonnie’s elbow. She fluffed the pillow and made sure there was an extra covering, then checked that the window was closed snug. She turned to leave. “Are you sure you don’t want me to—”
Lonnie nodded but willed her cup not to shake between her hands. “I am.”
Thirty-Five
A tumble of clouds blocked out the last of the sunlight as Lonnie waddled down the path to the henhouse in search of eggs. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she shivered and wished she’d grabbed more than a shawl. Gideon waved as she passed the barn. Lonnie waved back, feeling a stirring inside that seemed to intensify with each passing day. She ducked through the small doorway and into the room where half a dozen hens roamed. They flapped out of her way when she checked the roosting boxes. She found only two eggs, but considering the cold weather, that was good. When the stubborn door wouldn’t close right, she pushed it shut with a grunt. The wind stung her cheeks, and she clutched her hair before it could whip about.
Gideon set down a loaded wheelbarrow to wave again as Lonnie passed back by. Her shoes scurried along, barely grazing the snow as she headed to the house. She nearly tripped when Gideon flashed her a disarming smile.
The door slammed as she panted into the kitchen. Elsie looked up and eyed Lonnie curiously.
“Here are the eggs.” Lonnie set them near the cutting board. “Supper’s smelling good. What can I help you do?” She rubbed her hands together over the stove.
Elsie waved a flour-covered hand in the air. “Just sit and chat with me.” She brushed away a gray lock and tucked it behind her ear, leaving a white streak across her wrinkled cheek. Her copper eyes sparkled with mischief.
Curious, Lonnie did as told, but before she had pulled out a chair, she spotted a small stack of mail in the center of the table. Her name, written in her ma’s scratchy hand, sat on top. Lonnie gasped.
“Thought you’d be surprised.” Elsie wiped her palms on her apron. “Jebediah picked those up weeks ago. Found them in a nook in the barn just now.” She shook her head. “Somethin’ about having been in a hurry.” Elsie let out a fond laugh. “That man.”
“It’s been months since I first wrote my folks.” Lonnie pulled out a chair and wasted no time tearing into the envelope. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever get word.”
“I bet they miss you something terrible,” Elsie said. Her voice held a hint of sorrow.
&n
bsp; Lonnie unfolded the page to find that a letter from her aunt was tucked inside. Her chest swelled. She read through the letters quickly, knowing full well she’d read them again and again over the coming weeks. By the time Elsie had set three loaves to rise, Lonnie was folding the pages and sliding them back into the torn envelope.
She pulled the rest of the stack closer and saw that one was for Gideon. His ma’s name was written in careful print in the corner. Another letter was also addressed to him—the penmanship graceful, methodical. There was no other name on the envelope. Lonnie felt the thin parcel and fought the urge to hold it up to the light.
“Somethin’ wrong?” Elsie asked.
Lonnie glanced up to see that the woman had stopped working. “Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “I was just thinking that I should go show Gideon.”
Elsie kneaded another mound of dough in silence. Staring into the yard, Lonnie watched Gideon stride toward the house, burdened with an armload of firewood. His breath blew white as smoke. The wind whipped at his open coat.
She rose, pinched a piece of dough from Elsie’s board, and chewed the sweet dough as she flung on her shawl. Outside, the wind nipped at her cheeks, and she shivered. A few snowflakes fluttered down. She blinked up at a dark and ominous sky. She clutched Gideon’s letters to her chest and walked toward him. Her gait was slow and awkward.
“Whatcha got there?”
She held them out, the wind trying to tug them from her grasp. “Letters from home.” She smiled.
Gideon tugged off his work gloves. “That so?” He took them from her, and his eyebrows pinched together as he read the first envelope. “Jebediah had these weeks ago.” He shook his head, a grin warming his scruffy jaw. “Crazy old goat,” he muttered. He flipped to the second letter. His smile faded as his eyes scanned over his name written in the flowery script. “Hmm.” Moistening his lips, Gideon continued to study it.
Her curiosity heightened, Lonnie stepped closer and touched his arm. “Something wrong?”
He blinked down at the envelope, turning it over. It was blank.
“It doesn’t say who it’s from,” she offered, hoping to make sense of the shift in his demeanor. The wind stirred her hair, and with cold fingers, she brushed the thin strands from her face. The snow seemed to fall quicker.
Be Still My Soul Page 20