Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

Gideon flinched.

  “Wasn’t going to shoot you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Jebediah’s voice filled the shanty. He took hold of Gideon’s coat and shook him. “But I’m mighty tempted.”

  Gideon opened one swollen eye. “Jeb?” He looked around the shack, then back at Jebediah. “I …” The cold returned, and his lips trembled. He tried to speak again, but Jebediah stopped him.

  “Let’s get you home. You’re half frozen.”

  Slowly, Gideon sat up and his feet fell like lead to the wood-plank floor. He stared at the wall and made no effort to move. Instead, he glanced up at Jebediah.

  Jebediah squinted at him, as if to study him.

  He felt his good eye widen, but the focus didn’t sharpen.

  Jebediah shook his head and grabbed his arm. “I’ve been up most of the night lookin’ for you. Let’s go.” He shifted the grip on his gun. “What happened to you?”

  Gideon stared at the broken window, where a sliver of the full moon peeked through.

  Jebediah grunted and yanked Gideon to standing. Pain shot through him.

  Catching hold of Gideon’s shirt, Jebediah pushed him through the door. “Let’s go. I ain’t gonna sit around here all night while you find your brain.” The rotting door barely held onto the frame when Jebediah slammed it closed.

  He raised his lantern, and light glinted across the gray-white ground. The light bounced from one snow-covered tree to the next. Gideon swayed.

  His head pounded. He took a few shaky steps down the path and paused. But when a firm hand pressed his back, he trudged on. He touched his bloody lip and winced at the sting. He slid fingers inside his jacket and felt the spot where several ribs cried out in pain. What had he done? Jebediah lifted the lantern up just as a deer bounded into the darkness.

  When Jebediah mumbled under his breath, Gideon did not have to turn around to see the look on the old man’s face. He couldn’t blame him. How would he explain the missing money? He didn’t want to imagine what Lonnie would think. Gideon searched for the right words, but his swollen lips never moved.

  Their footsteps tromped forward.

  “There’s, uh,” Gideon started. “There’s something I need to tell you.” His throat fought the taste of sour blood when he swallowed.

  “I’m listening,” Jebediah said sharply.

  Gideon wrung his hands. “Before I left, I …” He slowed, but Jebediah nudged him. “What I mean to say is that I borrowed, no, I took … wait.” He slammed his eyes shut, then winced. “I took your pouch of coins. Well, at least that’s what I thought it was. I didn’t realize …” He braved a glance at Jebediah. The old man’s face was stone. “I only borrowed it in case I needed it, but I was going to pay you back.” He was only making a mess of the truth, and Gideon knew he looked like the liar and thief he was.

  “I don’t care about your excuses.” Jebediah’s gun glinted in the moonlight where it dangled at his side. “You have more to worry about than stealing my money.”

  When Gideon slowed, Jebediah shoved him forward.

  “You have a wife at home who’s been waiting on you, and you’ve been off—” He sniffed.

  Gideon grimaced.

  If only there was some way he could explain. But he dropped his head, knowing his past had come back to haunt him. He had no way to defend himself.

  Forty-Six

  When a tear dropped and landed on the windowsill, Lonnie wiped its trail away with the edge of her nightgown. Jacob slumbered against her, still snuggled safely in his sling. She peered down through the glass at Elsie, who knelt inside the tiny picket fence. In the bleak light of dawn, the gray-haired woman struck at the frozen ground with a hand spade.

  Scrape. Scrape.

  Lonnie winced at the sound of steel hitting unyielding earth. She glanced away. Oh, Elsie. But even as tears blurred her vision, she forced herself to watch.

  Elsie tossed the spade aside and thrashed at the ground with her hands. She paused and pushed wild hair away from her face. Her mouth twisted in despair. On the ground beside her sat the tiny box. With her throat on fire, Lonnie touched the cold glass.

  The box was so small. Too small.

  Lonnie pressed her forehead to the window, careful not to bump her son. A pine box. That was all she had left of her daughter. Her head spun. In clear defeat, Elsie pressed her cheek to the earth. Lonnie’s vision clouded, and she choked on the tears that spilled forth. Beside the small hole stood a weather-beaten cross that had seen many winters, and Lonnie knew Elsie mourned for more than one little girl.

  God, why? She held her burning throat. Sarah’s life was taken before it ever began. There would be no ribbons or bows or sticky fingers to wipe after baking. No warm sun on a little girl’s hair. When her sobs began to stir Jacob, Lonnie forced herself to step away from the window. She sank into the rocking chair and leaned her head back. Her feet rose and fell. The chair rocked, and she stared at the wall, unable to get the image of the tiny box out of her mind. It was too small to be a coffin. Too final to hold her daughter inside.

  Everything was familiar—gnarled oaks, snow-cloaked rocks, the curve of the trail. Gideon was almost home. He was exhausted, and the sunrise hurt his eyes. He felt sick with hunger. As much as he looked forward to a hot meal and bath, there was one thing he feared. One thing he dreaded.

  Lonnie would not be waiting for him on the porch steps and waving as he once imagined.

  She would want to know what had taken him so long. Gideon watched the puff of breath in front of his face. All he could say was the truth. And the liquor that reeked from his skin and clothes? That wasn’t his fault. They’d done it to him … right after they stole his bag of money. The bag of money that you stole first? Gideon groaned, and even as he lifted his eyes to the treetops, he prayed Lonnie would believe him.

  Jebediah called his name.

  Gideon slowed and looked into a pair of eyes softened by an emotion he couldn’t read.

  Jebediah glanced away. “I’ve got something I have to tell you.” He cleared his throat. “It’s about the baby.” The sorrow in his face pulled Gideon’s feet forward.

  Jebediah ran his hand over the back of his neck. “The baby was born.” His voice trembled.

  Air left Gideon’s lungs. “What?”

  “The baby. It was born.”

  He stepped forward. “Is the baby … all right?”

  With a lift of his brows, Jebediah nodded. “He seems to be doing just fine.”

  Gideon stumbled toward home. “It’s too early. How did it happen?” His breath came in short bursts. Then he froze. “Wait. You said … he?”

  “He.” But Jebediah’s voice cracked.

  Gideon placed his hands to his head. “What is it?” he pleaded. The cry echoed softly through the still forest.

  With bright morning light hitting Jebediah’s wrinkled features, his mouth opened in silent despair.

  “What’s wrong with the baby?” Gideon grabbed Jebediah’s shoulder. “Did something happen to Lonnie?”

  “No. Lonnie’s fine. She’s safe,” Jebediah whispered, his voice hoarse and scratchy, and when tears glinted in his eyes, Gideon’s stomach lurched.

  “Did my child—?”

  “There were two.” Jebediah looked away and stared at the ground.

  “Two?” Gideon fell to his knees as if he’d taken a blow to the chest.

  “Two.” Jebediah stepped closer and knelt in front of him. “A boy.” He kept his eyes on the snow. “And a girl.”

  With his fists on the frozen ground, Gideon pressed his head to his forearms. “What happened?” he said in a small voice that blew cold against the snow.

  “The girl. She, uh.” Jebediah’s voice cracked. “She didn’t make it.”

  “Didn’t make it?” The words charred in his throat. “And Lonnie?”

  “She’s well. Healthy and strong.”

  Air filled his lungs even as tears burned his eyes. “The boy?”

  “He’s hangin’ on. He
’s a strong fella.”

  Gideon sat back on his heels and wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “When?”

  “Yesterday. Not too far apart. Lonnie had a rough time of it, but she was so brave. She’s doin’ good now. Elsie’s watching over her. And that baby—”

  “Tell me.” Gideon lifted his gaze in earnest.

  “He’s a fighter. He’s clinging to his mama, and he’s gettin’ stronger by the minute.”

  Gideon swallowed, but the lump in his throat would not go down. “Did she name him?” Did she name her?

  “Jacob.” Jebediah squeezed Gideon’s arm. “Your son’s name is Jacob.”

  Even as he spoke the words, Gideon’s heart burned as it tore in two. “The girl?” Was she beautiful? Did she look like her mother?

  “Sarah.”

  Gideon’s eyelids fell. In an instant, he saw what would have been. A little girl with freckles. A warm hand inside his. Butterflies and bedtime stories. With slow, impossible movements, he turned his head and wept.

  Forty-Seven

  Elsie wandered in from the cold, gray curls feathered around her forehead and cheeks streaked with dried tears. She sank on Lonnie’s bed, and without a word, she wrapped cold fingers around Lonnie’s hand and prayed for the little girl who was with Jesus. Lonnie caught a tear that slipped from the end of her nose and sniffed as Elsie added words for the men. “Lord, bring them home safe.” With their hands clasped atop Elsie’s damp, muddy skirt, she whispered a soft amen.

  Elsie opened her eyes and smoothed her thumb across her cheeks. “Are you hungry?”

  Lonnie brushed a kiss to Jacob’s temple. She didn’t want to admit it, but her stomach knotted with hunger, and she nodded. “What can I help you do?”

  “Not a thing.” Elsie flashed her a muted smile and sniffed. “I have a pot of soup on the stove that’ll be done in a bit. In the meantime, there’s some cookies to nibble on.”

  She disappeared down the hall, and Lonnie flashed her gaze to the window. Scolding herself for being so anxious, she turned her attention to Jacob. She found it easy to disappear in the joy of his presence. She bounced him gently. His purring slowed, and with awkward movements, he stretched and opened his eyes.

  “Hello there, my sweetheart.” She grazed her thumb across a velvet-soft ear and down his wee nose. “Aren’t you precious?” She tilted him toward the window so the sun could touch his skin as Elsie had suggested. “You are such a wee thing. You will have to get lots of rest and drink all your good milk to get healthy and strong. Then”—she lifted his hand to kiss tiny fingers—“you can play with your pa, and he can hold you in his arms.”

  Elsie returned with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. Lonnie nibbled on a cookie.

  Elsie took a bite of one and brushed the crumbs from her gray dress.

  Lonnie adjusted Jacob, then lifted her chin. “Did you hear that?”

  Elsie arched her neck toward the doorway and placed a finger to her lips, eyes wide. Neither of them made a sound, yet noise came from somewhere.

  The back door opened. It closed.

  “Jebediah.” Elsie jumped up and squeezed Lonnie’s knee. “You sit tight.”

  Lonnie leaned forward, willing her heart to cease pounding. When voices lifted from below, she placed a hand to her heart. Only one man spoke with Elsie. And it was not her husband.

  Jacob whimpered, and she scooted him around until he was in position to nurse. When he quieted, she leaned toward the door. Frustration crawled like hot fingers up her neck and cheeks.

  Finally, Elsie returned, her face somber.

  “Gideon?” Lonnie’s mouth hung open.

  Elsie’s gaze whipped to the hall. “Jebediah found him.”

  Lonnie released her breath. “He’s home?”

  “Yes.”

  Footsteps trudged into the doorway, and Gideon stopped just shy of the room. Lonnie gasped. Blood was caked in the creases of his lips and beneath his nose. A bruise high on his cheekbone fanned into cuts and scrapes that reached his forehead.

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Gideon!”

  He stared at the floor.

  Elsie cleared her throat. “Jebediah found him. He was in a pretty bad way.”

  “What happened?”

  Gideon looked up. His face was heavy with guilt, but his eyes softened when they landed on the bundle against Lonnie’s chest.

  “Is that …?” He hesitated, then took the few short steps forward. Kneeling, he reached out but pulled his hand away.

  Lonnie moved the blanket from Jacob’s face and tilted him toward his father.

  Gideon’s eyes danced over the face of his baby. “He’s …,” he choked. “He’s my son.”

  She looked down on the man she missed more than words could say. “Yes.” They were a family now.

  With his face full of longing and wonderment, Gideon wrapped his arms around her, and fresh tears sprang to her eyes when he gently pressed her head to his shoulder. Lonnie sighed, her eyes pinched shut—savoring his essence—then she pulled away.

  She blinked up at him. “Have … have you been drinking?”

  He leaned back, his face suddenly ashen. “No. I mean, I can explain.”

  Elsie stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Gideon, but she needs to know the whole truth.”

  “What whole truth?” Lonnie glanced from one face to the other, the scent of corn liquor making her stomach churn. “You’ve been gone for two days. What happened? Who did this to you?”

  Pain seared through Gideon’s eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “Gid—”

  “I didn’t tell you, Lonnie,” Elsie interrupted. “Jebediah discovered it just yesterday—”

  Gideon lifted a hand. “Lonnie,” he began. “What she’s trying to say is that I took their money.”

  Lonnie’s jaw fell.

  His eyebrows dropped in clear agony. “Lonnie, please trust me. I would not lie to you.” He wrapped her hand in his cold palm. “The watch … I was trying to find Bert. But he wasn’t alone.” Gideon’s gaze faltered. “He took the money from me. I promise I was going to give it back.” His voice thickened.

  She clutched the sheets in one hand, bracing her heart against her rising pulse.

  “It’s all just a misunderstanding. And this”—he tugged at his soiled shirt—“isn’t what it looks like either. It was those …” He rose. “Bert poured it—”

  “Stop!” Lonnie snapped. “Just stop.” She placed a hand to the pounding beneath her nightgown.

  Hands still raised, Gideon stepped back. His lips parted, eyes pained.

  “Why?” Lonnie moaned.

  Elsie touched Gideon’s elbow. “Maybe this isn’t a good time. Let’s get you cleaned up, and you can talk about this later.”

  “No.” Lonnie closed her eyes. “Leave.” Her finger pointed to the door—a sword tipped to an enemy’s heart. Her eyes narrowed. “Go. And don’t come back.”

  As if a hammer had struck his lungs, Gideon slumped. “But I—”

  “Go!” she screamed, covering Jacob’s head with her hand. He woke anyway and started to fuss.

  “Come on, Gideon.” Elsie motioned him toward the hallway. “Let’s leave her alone.”

  His eyes remained fixed on Lonnie. But with a gentle pull on his arm, Elsie coaxed him from the room. His agonized face disappeared.

  He spoke. “Elsie, I—”

  “How dare you!” Lonnie screamed even as she choked on tears. “You left me!”

  Jacob’s cries rose, and she rocked him from side to side, but he wouldn’t be soothed. Tilting her face to the ceiling, she struggled for breath. Why, God? She wept, her shaking body jostling her son. She heard Elsie and Gideon murmuring at the top of the stairs. Why was he still here?

  Her words came out like poison, hurting not only the one they were spoken to but the one whose heart they came from.

  No going back? she had asked.

  His promise resounded in her heart. No going back. But it
had been a lie.

  “Don’t ever come near me!” she screamed, knowing the daggers of her anger would pierce him. “I never want to see you again!”

  Jacob wailed louder, and she did not have the strength to soothe his cries. She tucked her chin to her chest and wept against his head.

  Forty-Eight

  Lonnie listened. Every stomp of Gideon’s boots brought the end nearer.

  She sat on Elsie’s bed with the door closed. She couldn’t be in the same room with her husband as he packed his things. Obeying her wishes. She tilted her head toward the noise that leaked beneath the bedroom door. Dresser drawers opened, then closed. The bed squeaked. Boards creaked under his feet. Lonnie placed her fingertips to her lips. Every sound tore her apart.

  He was leaving. And she had told him to go.

  A lighter pair of steps walked down the hallway, stopping between the bedrooms. Elsie spoke softly, and Gideon responded, his voice deep and rumbling. Lonnie lowered her face, her resolve thinning. She placed a protective hand on Jacob’s silken head. No. It had to be this way. It was better for her son.

  War raged in her heart.

  Gideon was still so close. All she had to do was run out of the room and tell him she was sorry. And he would stay.

  She clutched the quilt to keep herself from leaping off the bed.

  As Ma would have done? Lonnie gritted her teeth. She couldn’t be that woman. Remembering the sight of Gideon’s blood-caked face and the reek of moonshine, she owed it to Jacob to see this through.

  She heard Gideon speak her name, and when her resolve faltered, Lonnie gripped the quilt tighter. Leave. Her heart wrenched as if the life were bleeding out of it. Just leave. This waiting was too much to bear.

  Footsteps pounded across the floor, steps too heavy to be Elsie’s and too determined to be Jebediah’s. Oh, Gideon. Her head spun.

  The door slammed.

  Lonnie jumped and slid toward the end of the bed. She clutched Jacob close so she wouldn’t bump him. Heavy steps paced the length of the hallway, then descended the stairs. The pounding of her heart mimicked his dogged stride. In the middle of the room, her feet froze in place.