Be Still My Soul

by Joanne Bischof

  12. In the final moments of the story, Gideon vows to cherish his family. He also prays that God will keep at bay all which lies outside his own strength. Do you feel a change might be coming for the O’Rileys? What do you think might be on the horizon?

  Acknowledgments

  When I begin to thank You, my great God, words fail me. I am so grateful You can see into my heart. It is my utmost prayer that these pages honor You.

  I am immensely grateful to my parents, Mike and Janette, for allowing me to daydream and make believe from the moment I could hold a pen and paper. Your enthusiasm and support have meant the world to me.

  This book wouldn’t have been possible without my amazing agent, Sandra Bishop. Thank you for your enthusiasm and for championing this story from the start.

  A very special thank you to my editors, Beth Adams and Shannon Marchese. Your insights and wisdom have helped shape this story and this writer. I am incredibly grateful. Also a huge thanks to the entire team at WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for opening your doors to this story and for all the hard work and creativity that has made it take flight.

  Thank you to Rebecca Farnbach and all those at the Temecula critique group for creating a wonderful and safe haven where writers can blossom. And I could never begin to express my gratitude for the hours poured in by Dona Watson, Beverly Nault, and Ashley Ludwig. Your advice, guidance, and encouragement helped me through the last stages of this story. Thank you for the laughs and the tears and the red pens. You are all amazing.

  To the Hemet teachers who led me down the path of creating and discovery: Mrs. Drumm, Mrs. Edmundson, Mrs. Dement, Mr. James, and Mr. Rossi. This is how you live in my heart. Thank you.

  And lastly, a thank-you-so-much-it-hurts to my brown-eyed husband and three brown-eyed children. This green-eyed girl is blessed to have your hearts and your smiles.

  About the Author

  Married to her first sweetheart, Joanne Bischof lives in the mountains of Southern California where she keeps busy making messes with their homeschooled children. When she’s not weaving Appalachian romance, she’s blogging about faith, writing, and the adventures of country living that bring her stories to life. Be Still My Soul is her first novel.

  The Cadence of Grace, Book 2

  Available Now

  Prologue

  September 1901

  Rocky Knob, Virginia

  Joel Sawyer stared at his unwelcome guests in disbelief, the roomful of faces blurring. He stumbled back and sank onto the bench. His head fell against the wall behind him. “This can’t be,” he muttered.

  “I’m afraid it is.” The reverend’s voice trembled worse than the shanty walls, which shook in the evening wind.

  Joel closed his eyes. His jaw clenched, and heat rose up his neck. Gideon O’Riley was a dead man. If the task were up to him alone, he would see it done. Wanting to strike the boy, he curled his fingers against his leg, forming a fist so tight it threatened to turn his hand numb.

  Opening his eyes, he tipped his chin and stared at the young woman who sat across from him. Cassie Allan, pretty girl. Her brown hair was stuffed into a tidy knot at the nape of her pale neck, hints of unruly curls tugging free. A glance into her eyes confirmed the trait ran deeper than appearances. Yes, unruly was the word. If only his daughter were as cunning. He chewed the inside of his cheek until it burned.

  He glanced at the reverend. “So what’s to be done?”

  The question hung heavily on the thick silence. On a bench near the fire, Bill O’Riley lowered his head, hat dangling between limp hands. Defeated. He’d yet to speak, and Joel doubted he would start now.

  Reverend Gardner shifted in his seat, bringing Joel’s attention back to the old man who was too short for his weight. More like a mole than a man. Joel disregarded the thought and forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. The reverend had stuttered his way through the unwelcome news and now sat fumbling with his hat, making Joel wish he could snatch it away, ring the sweat out, and hand it back.

  The bedroom door creaked open, and Maggie emerged from the darkened room. Huddled on the bed, his children, shadowed in the light of a single candle, made scarcely a sound. Never had there been so many people in his house. It was crushing. Maggie stepped from the bedroom and closed the door softly behind her. She offered him a weak smile.

  He ignored her.

  “I apologize for the church’s oversight.” The reverend’s droning words were unsteady, and Joel’s mind hunted for the vital points. “We’d like to put this embarrassment behind us …”

  Joel coughed. He tried to focus.

  “There is no other choice but to remedy this. Gideon and your daughter must return … if we’re to repair the Allans’ honor.”

  Glass clanged against metal. The reverend stopped and nodded to his hostess. With her eyes down, Maggie ducked her head and lit the oil lamp, fingers quick. After silently sliding the glass over the flame, she slipped from the room. The door closed without a sound behind her. One less person. If only Cassie and her pa would leave. Take Bill O’Riley and their horrid news with them.

  Joel felt the reverend’s gaze on him.

  “We must find them.” In the candlelight, shadows haunted his face.

  Leaning forward, Joel rubbed his hands together. Grit ground between his palms. The mistake was Gideon’s—his foolish son-in-law who had deceived them all. The reverend rambled on, and Joel warred with the urge to backhand him. The church’s oversight. Hah!

  It bordered on criminal.

  But Joel could not turn back time. Lonnie was already married to the scoundrel. And now they were asking him to get them home. Now.

  “And my daughter”—Joel ran a hand along the scruff of his jaw—”what’s to become of her?”

  An unwelcome voice invaded the conversation. “It’s beside the point.”

  Henry Allan. Joel glared at Cassie’s father. “Watch yourself.”

  “Gentlemen, please.” Gardner’s quivering hands reached for the space between the men.

  Henry leaned back in his chair, his face filled with a brokenness that was beyond Joel.

  Supper sat untouched on the table, and though the fire in the cast-iron stove had dwindled to meager coals, the smell of roast chicken still hung in the air. A cruel reminder of his empty stomach. If that weren’t rude enough, now Cassie’s father was giving him lip. At least Bill O’Riley was silent where he sat. The man hadn’t an argument to his name. Their children were heathens, the pair of them. The truth made Joel shift in his seat, disgust sliding through his veins.

  Joel rubbed his knuckles together to loosen the tension that swept through the rigid muscles in his arm. “Lonnie’s my oldest girl, and—”

  “And what of my oldest girl? Abandoned.” Henry’s last word slipped out in a pained whisper, and he stood, sending his chair tilting. His hands, now balled into fists, shook with each word. “Think of the pain my Cassie has endured these last months.”

  The young woman rolled her eyes, the wayward motion tipping Joel’s head back. If she were his daughter, he’d smack the look off her face. But Henry Allan was too busy gaining the reverend’s sympathy to notice. Let him have it. Joel had no desire to fight for Lonnie’s innocence. It didn’t exist. They had all been fooled.

  He should have expected it from Gideon. The wretch whom less than an hour ago he had still considered family. And look where it landed him. Joel glanced at the reverend, ignoring the man who hovered angrily beside them. He was finished with Henry Allan for the evening.

  They should pass it off, wash their hands of this disgrace. “Surely this situation is better suited for the law.”

  The reverend cleared his throat, and Joel realized he’d spoken his thought aloud.

  “We would. But we wanted to bring it to you first.” As if he’d mustered some unseen strength, Reverend Gardner’s beady eyes bored so deep into Joel’s that Joel found himself shifting. Again. “It seems that if all parties involved can come to an agreem
ent of peace, we needn’t bring in any outside aid … and the trouble it would bring. We need only resolve the matter and see that the proper documents are in the hand of the circuit rider the next time he journeys on courthouse business.”

  “So, now I need to get them home. Is that it? Is there anything else I should know?” Joel clipped the words off, not caring if his mood leaked through. “What of the child?” he nearly spat.

  The reverend’s eyes filled with sorrow as they met his. “Will be your responsibility, I’m afraid.”

  He should have known.

  The reverend’s face grew somber. “It must be done. You must send word … bid them home immediately.” He slid his hat on and rose slowly. “Or the Allans will indeed involve the law. Something, I believe, neither of us wants.” His fat throat worked. “I’d imagine that having the law knocking on your doorstep, asking questions, isn’t desired.” Firelight drew the shadows long across his face. “The law has a way of … unearthing things.”

  Joel wanted to wring that fat neck.

  Irritation shot through him that the reverend knew of the accusations. The rumors. Joel would deny the stories until his last breath. But still … a man of the law knew how to hunt for truths best left buried deep. He had no desire to test that.

  He stepped toward the door, which was rattling on its hinges in the windstorm that beat against the house. With a single nod, Bill O’Riley rose from his bench and quickly bid the room goodnight in a husky voice.

  The reverend held the door open and, with a stiff nod, motioned for the Allans. Cassie stepped out first, clutching her shawl, which fluttered and slapped with a life of its own. Joel caught the glint of her eyes in the moonlight. Her pa followed close on her heels. The wind howled. Henry Allan glanced back over his shoulder, pinning Joel with a fierce stare before pulling his hat over hair the color of dirty snow.

  The reverend hesitated and turned toward Joel. A gust of wind burst into the house, clawing its chilly fingers through Joel’s thin shirt.

  “Mr. Sawyer. Again, please know that I am sorry. This, uh, sort of thing does not happen … often.”

  “Well, I should think not,” Joel snapped, not wishing for an apology but for an empty house. He wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed and forget this evening had ever taken place.

  “But it must be remedied.” Reverend Gardner’s words choked to a raspy whisper.

  Joel knew the Allans were as unhappy with the revelation as he was. The reverend’s gaze shifted between his eyes.

  The small man continued. “You do know—”

  “Yes!” Joel yelped, then lowered his voice to a bitter growl. “Of course I know.”

  Cassie Allan had three brothers. Three grown brothers. Each a good shot and skilled with a knife. Joel watched Henry Allan descend the steps, his coat whipping in the wind. Joel did not want trouble. Perhaps for Gideon, but not for himself. There was nothing else to do but comply with the Allans’ wishes. They had the law on their side, which was more than could be said for his fallen daughter and her miserable husband.

  Retreating from the doorway, the reverend nodded once. He started down the steps, and the door creaked closed.

  Joel stepped back and turned to see faces peeking out from behind his bedroom door. “You can come out.” His sons, Sid and Oliver, slipped out of the bedroom and hurried into the lean-to where they collapsed on their cornhusk mattress. With Charlotte tangled in her embrace, his wife led Addie out by the hand, and Joel watched with little emotion as Maggie helped the five-year-old crawl into the bed that filled the corner of the room. The bed that had once been Lonnie’s. Maggie lifted Charlotte in and smoothed the quilt over the two girls.

  With quick movements, she snatched up a pair of plates and tossed the remains into the pot. She glanced up, concern laced across her aging features. “What have you decided?” she whispered.

  “I’ll tell you when you come to bed.”

  Maggie nodded and stepped aside for him to pass in front of her. All but one of the candles were quickly snuffed out and the oil lamp extinguished to save the costly, precious oil. Maggie worked quietly on the other side of the wall, dishes thunking in the washbasin. The darkness of the bedroom wrapped around him like a shroud, and Joel suddenly felt more consumed by the situation than ever.

  One

  Gideon’s boots crunched dried leaves as he made his way from the farm toward Apple Hill and the grove left by settlers long ago. The trees, which had seen many more summers than he, stood stark against the gray sky. Their gnarled, rough-skinned branches held the year’s harvest of crimson fruit.

  With a grunt and a full heart, he leaned into the weight of the wheelbarrow that would have been empty if it weren’t for his wife huddled in the metal bin, plaid skirt tucked around her knees. Lonnie threw her head back and laughed breathlessly as he struggled to scale the steep hill. A smile lifted his cheeks.

  “Someday I’m gonna plant an orchard closer to the house,” he panted.

  She chuckled. “Am I inspiring you?”

  “You’re heavy!” He gasped for breath.

  Lonnie’s voice seemed to float along the cool September breeze. “Keep going; you’re almost there!” She laughed, her long braid bouncing, and her nose, still dusted in summer’s freckles, wrinkled.

  Tempted to tip his cargo over into the dry grass, Gideon grumbled playfully and dug his toes into the moist earth. Lonnie’s fingers clung to the side of the wheelbarrow when it faltered, and her squeal made him think the better of it. The rusted wheel squeaked one last turn, and Gideon dropped the handles. The muscles in his arms burned. He flexed his hands to calm the blood that pulsed through his veins. He could scarcely breathe, and when Lonnie tumbled out, broken bits of laughter drained his lungs.

  She brushed leaves from her skirt. “See,” she said, “that wasn’t so hard.”

  With his hands free, Gideon tore off his coat and used it to wipe his forehead. “Speak for yourself.” He chuckled, draping the coat over the handle of the wheelbarrow. The autumn air collided with his damp skin, cooling him instantly through his shirt. He lifted a bucket from Lonnie’s grasp and ran his thumb under her soft jaw.

  With a rosy-cheeked smile, she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow. Her bare feet fell into a slow rhythm with his worn-out boots, and they circled the small grove of trees as they decided on the best place to start. He handed her the pail and then reached for the ladder leaning against the nearest trunk. Untouched for nearly a year, the sun-rotted wood seemed to have become a part of the thick bark. Clouds challenged one another in front of the sun, dimming the orchard, cooling the air.

  He lifted the ladder over his head and settled it into place, cobwebs trailing. “Ladies first.” He wiggled the end into soft soil that was thick with rotted leaves.

  She hesitated, and he glanced at her.

  “You give me a funny smile every time I say that.” He squinted into the sun when it broke through the clouds.

  “I do?”

  “You do.” With a firm grasp, he held the ladder steady. One hand clutching her bucket, Lonnie grabbed the nearest rung and started up the rickety ladder. It never wavered as Gideon held it fast.

  ***

  “I suppose …” She stopped when they were eye level. His green eyes were wide, wondering, and in an instant she remembered the man he had once been. A shiver crept across her shoulders but faded just as quick. Those days were gone. She plucked an apple. Then a second, her thoughts distant. “It just makes me happy. That’s all.”

  Slowly, he added another apple to the bucket. A clear pain tugged his brows together. “It was that bad, wasn’t it?”

  The regret she saw in his face put a stitch in her ever-mending heart.

  Lonnie drew in a deep breath, knowing she could speak nothing but the truth, and her silence was truth enough. As the memories formed themselves anew, Lonnie pictured an unhappy young man standing at the front of the church, her unwanted hand inside his. If he could have wished
her away, he would have. Hovering on the brink of a life of despair, she had made her marriage vows to the one man she despised most.

  The man who had tried to steal her innocence one starry night.

  His mouth was drawn, eyes sad as he watched her remember. Lonnie blinked quickly, shaking the icy memories from her heart. It was long ago. Her pa’s merciless grip on her life, further gone still.

  The breeze tousled Gideon’s flannel shirt, pulling it tight across his shoulders. “It’s good to remember, I suppose.” He plucked an apple and held it in his broad hand, studying it. “It’s best not to forget what once was.” He smoothed his thumb over the dusky red skin. “It’s hard to think on it. Believe me, I’d rather not.” His voice was muted, chin to chest. “But”—he glanced up at Lonnie, his hair unruly in the morning dew—”forgetting seems unsafe.”

  “Unsafe?”

  He gently lowered the apple into the pail and made no move to reach for another. He squinted at her. “If I forget … who I was. What I was.” He shook his head, throat working. “I just don’t want to get comfortable. Do you know what I mean?”

  She kissed his forehead, inhaling his scent, and lingered when his eyes closed. “I do. And thank you.” Her fingers grazed his hair. “That means the world to me.”

  Gideon’s lopsided grin warmed her. He took the bucket from her and gently tipped it; the apples rolled inside the empty wheelbarrow. He faced her. “You’re too good for me, Lonnie Sawyer.”

  “It’s O’Riley now.” She laughed and climbed higher.

  He winked at her. Peering up at her through branches, he spread his arms out wide, his familiar form silhouetted against a rising sun. “So I got all of this. A second chance. A wonderful wife. And a son.”

  Lonnie put a hand up to shield her eyes.

  “And what do you get?” His face was maddeningly serious.