“No, it doesn’t,” he said softly, almost inaudibly. He studied her, his expression strangely urgent. As if finally noticing the rising storm, Gideon motioned to the barn. “Follow me.” They hurried under the eaves, and he pulled the door open. He waited until she ducked into the doorway and then stood beside her, his back to the jamb. The light was dimming.
“What would you say”—his eyes found hers; his gaze was so intense Lonnie couldn’t look away—“if I were to say this might have meant something to me at one time in my life?” He held the letter out, and it seemed to fill the space between them.
Lonnie swallowed, uncertain of how to respond. The wind tugged at her skirt, flapping it around her legs.
“But not anymore.” His forehead crinkled as he looked down at the envelope. “I don’t know who it’s from.” With his chin to his chest, his voice was soft. “I’m sorry to say it could be from a handful of girls.” His hair danced in the rising breeze, and he nodded. “I have no desire to open it.” He moved closer to her and held the letter out. Evening light moved across his face. “Because I … I have you.”
She drew in a slow breath, which she held until it burned. “Me?” she finally whispered.
He nodded.
She took the letter.
“I don’t want to be that man anymore.” He touched her elbow. “For your sake.” His lashes fell. “For the baby’s.”
Her heart throbbed. With the future shining in his eyes and his past in her hand, Lonnie felt torn. “No going back?” She eyed him, needing to be certain.
He shook his head. “No going back.”
A smile bubbled up inside her, and Lonnie held out the envelope. “Then I don’t want to look back.”
He took it from her and seemed to study her a moment before he tore the letter in two. He tore it again, and with a sigh that seemed to lighten his heart, Gideon tossed the pieces to the wind. They landed haphazardly in the snow, only to stir out of sight. He pulled her farther into the barn, farther into the warmth. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to see what I had.” The back of his hand brushed against her stomach, and he turned his wrist to let his fingers graze the gingham that covered her round belly.
Lonnie’s eyelids faltered and her head went light. Her mouth parted to speak, but he shook his head.
“Please, let me say this.” He drew in a deep breath and forced his eyes to meet hers. “I failed you so many times, beginning the night I walked you home.” He hung his head as if the guilt from that night punched the air from his chest. “I hurt you. I never should have done that.” His voice thinned, and when he looked at her in such agony, words failed her. “Oh, Lonnie. I did so many things.”
His plaid coat fell open, inviting her in. Her forehead pressed to his chest. “Gid.”
He groaned and stepped back, peering into her face. “That night when we made camp and we met …” His throat thickened. “The time with Bert—when I should have done more.” He paused, shaking his head slowly, eyebrows clamped together. “I’ve been so unworthy. I’m so sorry.” He cupped the sides of her head, pressing his lips to her hair.
“I forgive you.” Her eyes searched his, and when his face didn’t brighten, her cool palm found his cheek. “But perhaps it’s more than my forgiveness that you need.”
Thirty-Six
Checking the last trap, Gideon saw that it was empty. With a pair of rabbits already slung over his shoulder, it was just as well. His thoughts turned to the evening before. The letter he’d torn. The look in his wife’s eyes when he answered a question she never should have had to ask. For the first time in a long time, Gideon’s heart soared. With Lonnie by his side, the future suddenly looked bright. And a baby on the way—someone to call him Papa. He still wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he was realizing it wasn’t a burden.
What did it matter if there was another mouth to feed? By the sweat of his own back, he’d see the child cared for. Wasn’t that what his pa had done for him? Whether he’d taken the time to appreciate it or not? Nearing the creek, Gideon scaled the bank, his steps steady in the fresh snow. He heaved a slow, heavy sigh. The world had a different light to it now. Jebediah’s words rang in his mind as they often had the last few months.
When a man has a baby, he comes third.
Was he ready for that? Crouching, Gideon dipped his hand in the icy water. With Lonnie’s heart in the balance, it was time to step up. He was determined to never risk her again. He should have lost her already. By some unseen mercy, he hadn’t. So why did he suddenly feel so uneasy? With quick knife work, he cleaned the rabbits, then rinsed his blade in the water.
Gideon knew the baby would be born under the Bennetts’ roof. He’d heard the invitation from Elsie’s lips. And as for Jebediah, the old man had made it clear. More than once. Gideon’s legs were stiff when he stood, but he was eager to get home. With the limp feet in his grip, he lunged up the bank. His damp hands chilled in the morning air. The sky was clear overhead, last night’s storm having blown past before dawn. The land stood bright in its whiteness. Almost blinding. Branches glittered beneath their collection of new snow, and the crisp air was perfectly still. He glanced around, and a nagging feeling tugged at his conscience. Gideon shook his head, trying to toss it off.
Rounding the bend, he spotted the house, nearly invisible in its white surroundings. When he strode into the yard, Lonnie was on the porch, a hand shielding her eyes. She set a basket of laundry at her feet, and her belly seemed even bigger in the morning light. Gideon’s chest swelled, and he fought against the melancholy that threatened to sink in.
He made his way toward her. “How ya feelin’?” he asked, chagrined when he realized it was for the first time.
“Fine, mostly.” Something in her eyes made him doubt her words. She must have sensed it. “Well, a little achy. But not all the time.”
“Is that normal?”
“Maybe. I’m not really sure.”
A tremor mixed with the unsettled feeling already in his gut. “I want you to take good care of yourself. Will you do that for me?”
She nodded, and he saw that he had pleased her.
“I better get these to Elsie.” He held up the pair of rabbits. “I’ll wash up and be back in a few minutes.”
Lonnie picked up her basket, perched it awkwardly on her hip, and walked toward the clothesline. Gideon scaled the porch steps in two strides. At the table, Elsie and Jebediah looked up when he came in. Their conversation clipped to an abrupt end.
“Talkin’ about me again, Jeb?” Gideon chuckled and glanced to Elsie. “Don’t believe a word he says.”
Her small eyes were warm, and when she tilted her teacup to her lips, a smile flashed behind the white porcelain.
“Never you mind what he says.” Elsie motioned to Jebediah. “I still like you.”
“Now, now.” Jebediah leaned an elbow back on his chair. “You’re gonna get me into trouble, woman.” He looked to Gideon, fondness in his wrinkled face. Gideon knew he had a friend in Jebediah. No, he had much more than that.
But why that was, he couldn’t begin to guess. Never once had he deserved the man’s kindness. Never once did he deserve his mercy.
Gideon left the rabbits for Elsie and went upstairs to wash. He unbuttoned his soiled shirt and tossed it on the edge of the bed. The water in the basin was cold, but he scrubbed his arms, then ran a wet hand over his face. He dried his forehead and cheeks on a rough towel. He moved to the dresser and dug through his things before he spotted a clean shirt at the bottom. After shaking out the wrinkles, Gideon slid one arm in and then the other. He pushed the top button into place when something caught the sunlight that came in through the window. His hands stilled.
He reached in and pulled out Bert’s pocket watch. He hated the feel of it in his hand. Hated everything it reminded him of. He’d shoved it into the drawer, where it had fallen to the bottom. Why had he been so stupid? He thought of Bert’s men and the way they spoke of Lonnie. His shoulders tense
d at the thought of them coming around looking for him. If they were to find him …
No. He couldn’t let that happen. He set the watch on top of the dresser and grabbed his coat. He put it on and folded the collar down, catching Lonnie’s faint scent from the flannel. He knew he would never forget the way she’d looked at him the night before. Or the promise he’d made her. No looking back.
He picked up the watch again, and a muscle worked in his jaw. With hesitant fingers, he opened it. Having been neglected all these months, the hands stood motionless. He closed the watch—the remnant of his old life that he did not want around. He’d promised Bert it would be returned. Gideon glanced out the window where the morning sun burned through the treetops. It was time to make good on that promise.
Thirty-Seven
Gideon looked behind him and made sure no one was around. He stepped past the stove and paused. His eyes found the enamel pitcher. With one more glance around the kitchen, he pulled the pitcher down and felt inside. His fingertips nabbed the pouch of coins. Gideon slipped it inside his pocket soundlessly, though guilt made his hand shake.
“You’re only borrowing it,” he murmured to himself.
If Bert crossed his path, Gideon needed some insurance. And then I’m done. No more Bert. No more former life. He patted his coat where the pocket watch nestled against his chest.
Once he got to town, he would trade the skins he had cut and cleaned—products of his own hard work. Any money he might borrow from Jebediah’s stash would be fully returned. Gideon patted his pocket. The coins jingled softly. There was no need to worry.
The air was gray when Lonnie opened her eyes, the sheets beside her cold. A piece of paper lay on Gideon’s pillow, and she struggled to sit up. She tipped the words to the early morning light and tried to make out his crooked scrawl.
On an errand. Be home soon.
Her eyebrows knit together. Clatter from the kitchen drew her out of bed. She dressed slowly and made her way down the stairs.
Elsie sat at the table, paring knife in hand. She lifted an apple from a bucket at her feet. “Mornin’.”
“Did you see Gideon leave?”
“I thought he was sleeping in.”
“No. He left a note that said he had an errand to run but that he would be home soon. Do you have any idea what it could be?”
“No.” A coil of red, wrinkled apple skin dropped onto the table. “But if he said he’d be home soon, then he’ll be home before you know it. How about a cup of tea?”
“I’ll get it.” Lonnie pulled two cups from the cupboard.
With Gideon gone, the house was strangely quiet.
“What are you making?”
“Applesauce.” Elsie plopped a core in a bowl. “These apples have seen better days.”
Lonnie poured the tea, then helped Elsie with the task. When Lonnie paused to rub her lower back, Elsie followed the movement.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
Lonnie picked up another apple and sliced it in half. “Pretty good.” She shrugged. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to feel like.”
Elsie smiled. “I wish I could be more help. I know some about this, but …” She studied Lonnie. “Well, it’s been years. Mind you, I won’t tell you how many.” She plucked a leaf from an apple, her expression soft.
Lonnie moved to the stockpot and dumped in a handful of slices. “I bet you were a wonderful mother.”
Elsie pursed her lips when a mixture of emotion passed through her copper eyes. “Thank you.” A coil of red skin fell into her lap. “I wish I could have …” She set the apple on the cutting board but made no move to slice it. “I wish I could have had more time.”
Lonnie pressed her cheek to Elsie’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Elsie pressed her cheek to the top of Lonnie’s head, and they stayed that way for several moments. “Look at me,” Elsie finally said. She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron. “Carryin’ on in the middle of the day when there’s work to be done.” She pushed her knife through the apple.
“You have to be the strongest woman I know,” Lonnie said.
Elsie rose and tipped her chin. “Why, thank you. I never get through a day on my own.”
Knowing what she meant, Lonnie smiled. “It shows. I hope to have your faith one day.”
Elsie stirred the softening apples with her longest spoon. She tapped the wooden handle on the edge of the pot. “I’d say you’ve got your share of faith, little missy.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’d say you’re doin’ a right fine job.”
The side of Lonnie’s mouth turned up. She drew in a deep breath, and with an ache still in her back, she rubbed it again.
“Why don’t you rest for a bit? There’s nothing left to do but keep an eye on the pot.”
When Elsie ducked outside to fetch jars from the cellar, Lonnie moved to the parlor and settled herself on the sofa. She unlaced her boots, freed her swollen feet, and stretched tired ankles before tucking her feet beneath her.
With her knitting basket in her lap, she pulled out a tiny cap she’d been working on. Her tongue found the hollow of her cheek as she concentrated on each yellow loop. She hummed a nameless tune in rhythm with the gentle click of her needles. Her eyes lifted to the window, her thoughts on Gideon. She wished he’d given her a chance to say good-bye. With a prayer on her heart, she reminded herself he’d most certainly be home for dinner at noon.
After a row was complete, she shifted in her seat. A few moments later, she shifted again. Was there no comfortable position? Lonnie set the knitting in her lap long enough to knead her aching muscles. She let out a weary sigh and stretched her neck from side to side.
Her needles found where they left off, and the clicking began once more. Her slightly swollen fingers tingled, making it difficult to work with accuracy. She scrutinized a row of tiny loops; the yellow yarn weaved in and out in a crooked pattern, and Lonnie grunted as she tugged the yarn loose. A second attempt only produced the same result. Dropping her work in her lap, she leaned her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. This is hopeless.
She laid her knitting basket on the floor and scooted it out of the way. The baby’s cap would have to wait until she got a little rest. She slid a pillow beneath her head, propped her feet on the sofa, and closed her eyes, allowing the quiet of the morning to lull her to sleep. It wasn’t until a chunk of wood clanged into the stove that Lonnie’s eyes fluttered open. She rolled onto her side and peered into the kitchen, but all she could see was the table. The door creaked shut. She glanced to the window, where the midday sun shone bright. The smell of cinnamon and apples pulled her from her nest and carried her into the kitchen, where she stood in the doorway and yawned.
“Have a good nap?” Elsie popped a loaf of bread out of a pan.
Lonnie ran her fingers across her eyes and nodded. “Gideon home?”
“Afraid not.” Elsie eyed her curiously. “Are you feelin’ all right?”
She stared out the window, wishing he would appear on the pathway. She knew her words sounded distant. “A little drowsy, but I feel fine.”
“Hmm.” A touch from Elsie brought Lonnie’s attention back to the kitchen. “Why don’t you have a seat?” She stirred the mush bubbling on the back of the stove. “You can keep me company.”
“I should lend you a hand.” Lonnie moved forward. Her steps were slow. “I’ve been feeling sluggish lately. I’m exhausted every day. I don’t know how I’m going to manage for another few months.”
Elsie nodded. “Little ones will do that to a mother. But spring’s about here. The baby won’t be long after.”
Lonnie gasped. The child inside her moved, and she placed Elsie’s pudgy hand against her dress.
Elsie’s mouth parted. “Oh. What a dear.” Her gaze softened on the empty space between them. “I can’t believe how quickly the baby’s grown.”
“Me neither.” She felt her stomach, stunned at how much baby
could fit inside her. She started to set the table, and by the time she folded the last napkin, her aching back forced her up the stairs, where she sank into the mattress with a soft moan. Tucking her hands beneath her cheek, she closed her eyes. Be safe, Gideon. A prayer lifted from her heart. The stirring of worry grew.
Thirty-Eight
Gideon whistled as he walked, and although it made the solitude pass easier, his steps were slow in the fresh snow. One glance at the lifting sun and he knew he was not making good time. All the same, he would be there soon. He sighed, feeling the sun higher on the horizon than he liked. He knew it wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep an eye out for a place to stay. Just in case.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets. It was a tight fit with his gloves on, but some habits never faded. After a dozen more paces, he slung his pack off his shoulder. Long before daybreak, he’d stuffed the rest of yesterday’s bread in the bottom, followed by a jar of cider. It wasn’t much, but he planned on being home before sunset. He tore off a chunk of bread before tossing his pack back into place.
Gideon crammed the bread in his mouth as he glanced behind him. His were the only tracks except for those of a deer and a few birds. He was completely alone. He shook his head, hoping this wasn’t as crazy as it felt. But he remembered Bert, and he quickened his pace. He wasn’t about to let that man anywhere near Lonnie.
That was all he needed to know.
When the trail split, he slowed. He was certain he remembered where Bert’s camp was, but Gideon kept to the path toward town. On the way back, once he had enough money to cover his debt, he’d veer toward the right and hopefully find Bert. Patting his coat pocket, he felt the coin pouch, certain he would have no need of it.
Lonnie pressed her hand to her throat, but her skin was cool. She leaned against the pillows and laid her hand on her forehead, but her skin held no hint of a fever. Then why did she feel so terrible? She blinked up at the ceiling. It had to be something different. Crossing her arms over her stomach, she rolled onto her side and let her eyes fall closed, but even in the darkness of her mind, the room spun.
Be Still My Soul Page 21