Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

  “He is, but you’re doing a fine job. Jacob is lucky to have a mama who cares so much about him.”

  When Lonnie struggled to pick up her teacup, Elsie turned the handle so it faced her. “You just eat up. I want you to get your strength back.”

  Lonnie licked syrup off her thumb. “I will.”

  “I figured you might be starving.”

  “Mmm hmm,” Lonnie mumbled into her teacup. She wiped her mouth, her voice soft as the words trailed off. She pulled the blanket away from Jacob’s down-covered head and studied him. “He has hair everywhere.”

  “That will fade. That little boy has a lot of growing to do. It will all come in time. Soon he will be as chubby as any baby. Why don’t I fetch his cap?”

  Lonnie pointed to the dresser, and Elsie rummaged through the top drawer, finally finding it.

  “It doesn’t fit very well.” Lonnie adjusted the cap from side to side. She took a small bite of hotcake.

  Elsie moved a sack of soiled rags into the hallway and stacked two enamel bowls that once held hot water.

  As carefully as she could, Lonnie smeared syrup on her hotcakes. Elsie slid the cradle closer to the wall, but then her trembling hands stopped. The smile faded from the old woman’s face, and sorrow—the ache Lonnie had tried to keep pressed down—rose in her own heart.

  Elsie smoothed the fair wood. “It’s hard to be happy.”

  Lonnie swallowed and, even as she tightened her hold on Jacob, yearned for the little girl who should have been asleep in her cradle. Her throat burned.

  Eyes watering, Elsie coughed, then sniffed. “Somehow I want to get you changed and put fresh sheets on the bed.”

  “All right.” Lonnie fought the quaver in her voice. But within a few minutes, she was sitting under the window, and she rocked Jacob gently as Elsie stripped the bed and set it to rights with fresh sheets and clean blankets.

  “Now, about your nightgown.”

  Lonnie tried to work the buttons loose and then finally gave in to Elsie’s help. By the time she had wiggled out of it, Elsie had filled the basin with warm water. Jacob didn’t even stir, and Lonnie was washed and back in bed, blankets nestled around both her and baby. “Any sign of Gideon?”

  “I’ve kept an ear out for him all morning. But nothing.” With the mound of bedding clutched in her grasp, Elsie backed into the hallway. “I will get these things washed. I’ll be back to check on you later. Oh.” She stilled. “I cut up some fabric for diapers. They aren’t hemmed yet, but they will do the trick for now.” She turned to leave.

  “Elsie?”

  The older woman halted. “Yes, dear.”

  “Whatever happened with …”

  Elsie smiled softly, her eyes sad. “Jebediah built a little box last night.”

  “Is he going to bury her?”

  “Ground’s pretty frozen,” she whispered. “But it’s such a small box. He’s gonna try.”

  Fire licked the back of her throat, and Lonnie pinched her eyes shut as she kissed Jacob’s head. She wished Gideon were here. She looked to the window, but the curtains were still closed. “Would you?”

  Elsie flung back the curtains and let in the light. “Now you can watch him come home.”

  Gideon recognized the fork in the trail and followed the path as it veered left past two small oaks. As the sky brightened, he kept up his brisk pace. If he didn’t slow, he’d be home within a few hours. Like a fool, he’d slept later than he meant to, and with morning light spilling through the shanty window, he had coaxed his sore muscles out into the chilly sunlight.

  When his shoelace unraveled, Gideon crouched to tie it. His fingers were stiff, nearly frozen.

  “Well, looky here,” a voice bellowed.

  He did not need to look up to know who stood there. Gideon tucked the lace into place. He hated knowing that they were so close to his home, but he kept his fear in check as he slowly rose.

  “If it ain’t Gideon O’Riley.” Bert stared from beneath a broken straw hat. Shadows struck his face in odd places. “What brings you out this way?”

  “Lookin’ for you, matter of fact.” Gideon glanced at the other men. There were four now.

  Bert flailed a hand. “Gordy.” He motioned with his head toward Gideon.

  The large man rushed forward. His potbelly hung over his pants, stretching his suspenders to the limit.

  Gideon took a few steps back and yanked the pocket watch from his coat. He forced his eyes away from arms as thick as aspen trunks.

  Gordy glanced at Bert. At Bert’s nod, he took the pocket watch.

  “And the rest?” Bert asked flatly.

  “I have that too,” Gideon said.

  Bert announced a sum that would nearly buy another watch.

  Gideon’s mouth parted. “You’ve got to be—”

  “It’s called interest, Gideon. And I am a businessman. Of course, we could get our payment another way.”

  His own money would never suffice. Swallowing his agony, Gideon reached in his pocket and withdrew Jebediah’s pouch. Loosening the strings, he began gathering up coins when his fingertips struck paper.

  Blood drained from his face.

  This was supposed to be a coin pouch. Clutching several coins in his palm, Gideon withdrew his hand, careful to keep its true contents concealed. But when he stuffed the jingling pouch back in his pocket, an evil longing flashed in Bert’s eyes. Stepping forward, Gideon dropped all of his earnings plus Jebediah’s money into Bert’s outstretched hand.

  Bert made a show of counting the coins. He pocketed them. When he glanced up, the look in his eyes made Gideon take a step backward. His hand clutched over Jebediah’s pouch.

  “A deal’s a deal,” Gideon said.

  “That so?” Bert patted his upper pocket where the watch now resided. “How do I know you’re not gonna pull that funny business again?” His face darkened, and Bert flicked his head toward Gideon. The men closed in.

  Gideon glanced from one man to the other and knew that his only chance was to run fast. If he could catch them by surprise, tear through the shrubs to his left, he might be able to lose them.

  Before he could change his mind, Gideon darted off.

  He stole only steps before an arm clamped around his throat and a man’s weight struck his back. Another foot clipped his, and he landed on his stomach in the snow. Strong hands gripped him. Gideon tried to toss them off, even managing to kick one in the knee before his face struck the snow. He blew out icy gasps.

  Three sets of arms flipped him onto his back, and Gideon stared up at a cloudless sky until Bert leaned over and sneered down. The man pulled a flask from his coat pocket and swigged. “Looks like you ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Droplets of auburn liquor fell from his lips as he spoke.

  Gideon felt the veins in his neck bulge as he fought to free himself.

  “Get ’im to his feet.”

  A pair of iron arms jerked him off the ground.

  “You thought you were pretty smooth, huh?” Bert took another drink. “Well, it’s time you had a taste of your own medicine.”

  A dense arm draped around Gideon’s neck, holding it fast, and the man behind him chuckled. The others yanked his wrists behind his back, and Gideon glared at Bert even as he fought against the grip around his neck.

  Bert paced in front of him. “Say, Gid, how’s that little wife of yers?”

  Gideon spat.

  Bert moistened his lips. “She sure was a pretty li’l thing …” A shrill whistle escaped his teeth.

  Gideon clenched his jaw and tried to lunge forward. A searing pain wrenched through his arm. His vision blurred when the vise around his throat tightened.

  “Think you’re goin’ somewhere?” Reeking breath sneered in his ear, but the grip loosened.

  “Like I was sayin’.” Bert rolled his eyes. “Lonnie …” His smile returned. “By the way, I hear congratulations will soon be in order.”

  “How did you …” Gideon thrust his shoulders forward, and a fi
ery pain shot through his back.

  “Struck a nerve there?” Bert smoothed his palms together, an evil glint in his eye. “I have my sources. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where you’ve been staying.”

  “If you ever come near—” Gideon bit his tongue when a fist struck his side. He doubled over, spitting blood into the snow.

  Bert scratched his jaw. “You know … it’s customary for the father to be around at birthin’s …”

  Gideon pulled all three men forward before they dug their heels in and yanked him back.

  “So I’ve been thinking. When the time comes, somebody better send for me—”

  Three sets of arms couldn’t hold him.

  Gideon rammed into Bert’s chest, knocking him down. He put all his strength into a single punch, knowing it would be his last. And just as Bert cried out, hands snagged Gideon, and he slid backward, still kicking. Bert shrank back, blood dripping from his nose.

  Blow after blow, the men found different places to strike Gideon’s body. He tried to cover his face, but it was no use. His vision blurred, and his head throbbed with a pain he likened to death. Someone grabbed him by the hair and hoisted him up until he stared Bert straight in the eyes.

  “Good knowing ya.”

  A pair of fists pounded Gideon’s ears, and he went limp. The only thing he could feel over the cold and pain was the realization that he couldn’t get to Lonnie.

  Someone shook him.

  Through one swollen eye, Gideon looked up to see Bert standing over him, a flask in his hand. He took one final swig, light glinting on shiny metal, then Bert tipped the flask upside-down and poured the rest of the liquid on Gideon’s face. Bert chuckled, his expression dark. “Hey, we got any more?”

  “You ain’t wastin’ it on him,” a voice said.

  “Just bring it here!”

  Gideon tried to twist free, but pain pierced his body, paralyzing him. Warm blood trickled down his temple and into his hair.

  Bert took the jug and uncorked it. “Hold him.”

  An arm wrapped around Gideon’s head, holding him still, while a greasy finger pried his mouth open. Gideon bit down.

  “I said hold him!” Bert shouted when the man yelped.

  “He bit me!”

  “Someone else help!” Bert growled.

  Merciless hands held him down, and Gideon gasped for breath as Bert poured moonshine into his mouth. He coughed and choked, sputtering liquor down his chin. When he managed to tip his head to the side, the liquid oozed down his neck, soaking his shirt. The cold air stung his skin, and Gideon shivered, his lips trembling.

  “Keep holding him,” Bert demanded, shaking the jug.

  “What are you doing?” one man asked.

  “Let’s just call this a little insurance, huh?” The last of the moonshine dripped from the jug, and Bert corked it. “Leave him.”

  Gideon hit the snow with a grunt, and by the time he managed to lift his head, they were gone.

  Forty-Four

  Lonnie could not stay awake. She drifted in and out of sleep all day. Each time Jacob woke to nurse, she struggled to keep her eyes open. She was all the more grateful for Elsie’s help.

  When she looked at Jacob sleeping, her heart lightened. His little cheek pressed against her chest, making his rosebud lips pucker. Tiny legs and arms were tucked cozily in the blanket, and Lonnie took care to move him as little as possible. She tried to do all that Aunt Orla had instructed, knowing with all her heart that nothing could be better than this.

  If only Gideon were here. She looked to the window but saw only the reflection of the late afternoon sun. Both breakfast and dinner had come and gone without him.

  Elsie had brought Lonnie a plate of biscuits and ham, and as Lonnie nibbled on everything in front of her, Elsie looked on. She waited for Lonnie to down a glass of cold milk, then whisked away the tray. Lonnie realized it had been several hours since Jacob had nursed, and she positioned him. She was getting better at it now and rocked him gently until he woke. “There you are, my sweet boy.”

  Lonnie spoke softly to Jacob as Elsie bustled in and out of the room.

  Elsie returned with a stack of clean linens. “Being a mother comes so natural to you. You are doing wonderful.”

  A flap of Jacob’s blanket fell in front of his mouth, and she brushed it away. While Jacob clung to her, snug in his sling, Sarah was nestled in her tiny box. “And to think”—her voice faltered—“Gideon doesn’t even know yet.”

  Elsie lifted her head, her eyes filled with sorrow. Lonnie drew in a short breath, her heart breaking anew.

  Gideon should have been home by now.

  When Jacob drooped against her chest, asleep, Lonnie turned her heart toward her blessings, knowing it was the only way she would get through another day. She kissed the top of his head, inhaling his scent.

  A knock came at the bedroom door, and Lonnie hurried to straighten her nightgown. Elsie waited before answering.

  Jebediah stepped quietly around the door. “How’s he doing?”

  “Fine.” Lonnie tilted Jacob’s face up for him to see. The tiny newborn grunted and stretched a wobbly, thin arm above the sling. Jebediah pulled up a chair and sat.

  “He’s a handsome fella.” He leaned forward and grazed Jacob’s blanket with a rough finger. “Boy, he looks like Gid.”

  Lonnie grinned. “He sure does.”

  Jebediah fiddled with his mustache, eyes on the floor. “Lonnie, I get the strange feeling that somethin’s the matter.” His eyes narrowed when they met hers, and he shook his head. “Wherever he went, it shouldn’t have taken Gid this long to come home. Now, don’t get alarmed, mind you.” He wiped his palms on his knees. “I would just feel better if I went lookin’ for him.”

  Lonnie gripped a handful of sheets. What if Gideon didn’t want to be found? Her heart throbbed. Forcing away the fear, she clung to the hope that something had delayed him. Clung to the hope that he would make good on his promise to never go back to the man he had been.

  When uncertainty deepened the wrinkles of Jebediah’s forehead, Lonnie shifted her gaze to the wall. “I would feel so much better if you did.”

  Elsie touched her husband’s shoulder. “Are you thinking of leaving now? It’ll be dark soon.”

  “If Gid’s in trouble, he’ll be out there. I have to go.”

  He rose, and Lonnie caught him by the hand. “Thank you, Jebediah. This means the world to me.”

  He cleared his throat, but the words came out choked anyway. “That little fella’s got a papa out there somewhere, and there’s a reason he ain’t home. I’ll find him. I will.”

  Gideon rolled onto his back and peered up at an orange sky. He blinked several times, trying to recall where he was, but it wasn’t until he sat up that the ache in his side reminded him of what had happened. Pain seared through his skull, blurring his vision, and Gideon blinked furiously, trying to focus. He groaned as he struggled to stand. Bert’s men were strong, and their blows did not fall lightly.

  He had wasted enough time. After scrambling to his feet, he swayed and the forest spun. He clutched his head, and his fingers touched dry blood. Gideon grimaced, his stomach churning. His ribs cried out in pain as he brushed snow off his clothes. But it did little good—he was soaked to the skin. He looked around and found his hat lying in the snow, trampled and crushed. His pack was not too far off, its contents strewn about. Gideon spotted the last of his food, now ruined, and grabbed his few belongings.

  He stuffed his things into the pack. Sitting back on his heels, he scanned the empty ground. His heart quickened. Yanking the pack back open, he thrust his hand inside. Frantic, his fingers groped one pocket, then the other.

  His search proved useless. The money pouch was gone.

  He lowered his head and closed his eyes, willing this to be a bad dream. He began to shake. From cold or fury, he didn’t know. With a deep breath, he rose to his feet. Afternoon had come and gone, and now the first stars announced the last
minutes of light. Gideon growled, startling a bird nearby.

  How long had he been lying there? He had no answers, only a name that stirred his heart into action: Lonnie.

  He stumbled forward and clutched his aching head. The first stars seemed to trade places with the cold, wet ground, and Gideon fell forward into the slush. He coughed, making his ribs ache more, and a spatter of blood appeared against the stark white. He gasped against the pain and struggled to his knees. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Home.

  His arms shook as he pushed himself up, but as he tried to stand, his vision blurred and the forest darkened, then went black.

  Forty-Five

  Gideon felt himself drift in and out of consciousness. His body shook uncontrollably, and pulling his coat tighter didn’t help. I should light afire. Teeth chattering, he didn’t know how to begin. One thought ran into the other.

  He struggled to move and felt something cold and hard against his head. That’s right. He was in the shanty. He couldn’t remember why he’d searched for the shanty, but with his clothes still damp from the snow, Gideon was thankful he’d found it. The air bit through his wet coat, but the small room was dry and the four walls blocked the worst of the winter wind. How many hours had he been lying here?

  A breeze whistled through the crack above his head. Opening one swollen eye, Gideon glanced up at the moonlight that slivered through. Lonnie. She would be worried about him. Or had she been with him? His muscles worked as he tried to lift his head. No. She was home safe.

  Jebediah’s voice came to mind. As if the man were calling him by name.

  Gideon’s swollen lip flinched. If there was anyone who would protect Lonnie, it was Jebediah. He knew the man would do anything for her. The peace of that knowledge seemed to warm him through, and the shaking began to subside. Gideon relaxed deeper, his cheek pressed to the rough wood. Sleep called to him, luring him away from the pain.

  The door creaked open. A rush of icy air followed. Thick hands rolled him onto his back.